Here is what I think is my real problem. It's not "writer's block".
It's laziness.
The entire reason that I started writing stories like these was because I had no access to porn. I wrote my first stories when I was 14 years old, in 1980, long before the Internet came along. In 1980, I had my sexual fantasies, and of course most of them were what you would expect from a 14YO, virgin boy. Except there was this spanking thing. The only exposure to "porn" for me was occasional peeks into the Hustlers my friend could sneak out of his dad's stash, and riding my bike to the nearby convenience store where the 30-year-old dudes behind the counter looked the other way while I stood at the magazine rack and paged through Playboy, Penthouse, and Hustler.
I didn't even know I was a spanko at that age. I had some neighbor kids I grew up with, and we did the "playing doctor" thing, and more than once I persuaded them to include spanking play in our little games, but it was just "play". At those young ages, "butts" were still "funny" ... and a little bit sexual. And when we played, it didn't matter whether the butts were male or female. We treated each other's butts as just butts. There was nothing "gay" about it if I spanked my male friend's butt. It was just butts. At least before any of us hit puberty. Once we all started hitting puberty, things got more complicated, and the games sorta stopped (largely because of parents thinking we all shouldn't be spending so much "alone time" together).
In any case, one day I was at that local convenience store, flipping through the skin mags while the clerks looked the other way. And I finally noticed the small magazines off to the side. Penthouse Forum, and Variations (also published by Penthouse). I decided to look into an issue of Variations one day. And I found a spanking story.
Oh my goodness. In hindsight, with all of my adult experience, the story I read was kinda lame. But, at 14 years old, it was an awakening. I read that story about a woman wanting her husband to spank her, and maneuvering him into doing it ... and I found myself with a harder hard-on than I had ever gotten while peeking at naked ladies in Hustler or any of the other skin mags.
And so I started writing my own. Wow, those first stories were ... incredibly awful. I used my teenaged classmates as characters in my stories, and wrote about spanking them, and started writing sex scenes that were completely ridiculous, because I was a 14-year-old virgin.
But that origin of my writing, even as my writing got better and more realistic, as I gained sexual experience, had one profound impact on my personal experience while writing: I was still writing to get myself off. When I wrote as a virgin teenager, I was writing in longhand in spiral notebooks. In bed. To write in bed, I had to turn my pillow lengthwise ... which left me basically fucking my pillow while I wrote. And I wrote each night until I effectively masturbated myself to orgasm.
And that just hasn't changed. Most of the stories I've published here took a long time to write because I could only write until I mastubated to orgasm. And that is the root of the problem. The stories I've shared here were all written in my thirties. I'm 50 years old now.
At some point when I was writing those stories, I had the realization that I was old enough to be the father of the girls who were getting spanked in my stories. I realized that my characters had not aged along with me. I was getting off on the idea of spanking my figurative daughters.
I think, at some point, I subconsciously made that connection. It's probably why my later stories took a turn into psychology, and the mindset behind wanting to spank/be spanked, as evidenced in my incomplete Pamela & Richard series.
By the time I'd finished Chapter 7 of the Pamela & Richard series, the Internet had caught up to my fantasies, and ... I no longer needed to write out my fantasies. I can now just Google whatever fantasy crosses my mind and gets my dick hard, and there it is. Somebody has done it for me, and I can get off to it. No need to write.
And that sucks. I know I'm a good writer, and I have great stories to tell. I happen to be related to a published, successful, well-respected author of children's books. I worked up the nerve to contact her on Facebook and share one of my stories (The House in the Woods) with her. She gave me nothing but encouragement, and told me that I was a great storyteller with great ideas. (For obvious reasons, I am not going to name her.)
Yes, I'm a good storyteller with great ideas ... except that, in my mind, my stories are just there to get myself off. And that's why I can't write. I pick up one of my stories, I write a few sentences ... and I get off, and that's all for tonight. And then I beat myself up because I'm 50 and writing about spanking teenagers. I beat myself up because I realize that my sexuality is stunted.
Arg. |