Old 08-29-2014, 07:13 AM   #1
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default So, I'm a writer now

Last Activity: 02-18-2011. Has it really been so long? I even had a private message awaiting my return from my good friend bwvejeymk informing me of the glorious 2013 Christmas hot sale with 70% discounts and special deals every day. You wouldn't believe how upset I am that I missed that!

It's good to see the forum still thriving. I'm not sure how many of you are still here from my halcyon days of actually posting who would remember me, even less that I used to write short stories and generally overlong paragraphs of text? Well in 2012 I started writing part-time. In the two years since I've somehow managed to write enough to fill four books.

If anyone's interested, you can buy copies here.

Or if you want free samples, I have three short stories here or you can download a fourth short story here.
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-29-2014, 07:42 AM   #2
blindreper1179
Vice President Of TGB
FFR Veteran
 
blindreper1179's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jun 2006
Location: repping tha D!
Age: 30
Posts: 5,924
Send a message via AIM to blindreper1179 Send a message via Skype™ to blindreper1179
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Not sure if back for posting


Or to sell shit and disappear.


Either way, welcome back, nice seeing oldies. I remember you, probably don't remember me. Plan on frequenting a bit again?
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by thesunfan View Post
absolutely I want to vomit on your face irl
Quote:
Originally Posted by choof View Post
It was like trying to throw logic at a fuckin brick wall lmao
Quote:
Originally Posted by choof View Post
whats more dense, a black hole or an icyworld file
Quote:
Originally Posted by Celirra View Post
I've never been so disappointed by a man from Alabama than I am right now
Overwatch streaming whenever I'm on(Trying every tuesday night (10pm-12/1am EST) https://www.twitch.tv/blindreper
blindreper1179 is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-29-2014, 07:45 AM   #3
Wayward Vagabond
Confirmed Heartbreaker
Simfile JudgeFFR Simfile AuthorFFR Veteran
 
Wayward Vagabond's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jul 2012
Age: 30
Posts: 5,653
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Holy shit its TRD out of fucking nowhere

I'll purchase a copy
__________________
Wayward Vagabond is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-29-2014, 09:00 AM   #4
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Quote:
Originally Posted by blindreper1179 View Post
Not sure if back for posting. Or to sell shit and disappear.

Either way, welcome back, nice seeing oldies. I remember you, probably don't remember me. Plan on frequenting a bit again?
I'll be around but I'm not sure I'll be that active with posting. We'll see how it goes. I have been around a couple of times in the last few years, I just never logged in.

Sorry, my memory is atrocious. If I said 'vaguely' to remembering you would you be offended?


Quote:
Originally Posted by Wayward Vagabond View Post
Holy shit its TRD out of fucking nowhere

I'll purchase a copy
Many thanks. I hope you enjoy. They're each very different so if you want more information or anything just ask away.

And I've always been but a click away. My last.fm signature continued updating through my absence and I tend to check that a few times a week.
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-29-2014, 09:06 AM   #5
blindreper1179
Vice President Of TGB
FFR Veteran
 
blindreper1179's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jun 2006
Location: repping tha D!
Age: 30
Posts: 5,924
Send a message via AIM to blindreper1179 Send a message via Skype™ to blindreper1179
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Quote:
Originally Posted by TheRapingDragon View Post
I'll be around but I'm not sure I'll be that active with posting. We'll see how it goes. I have been around a couple of times in the last few years, I just never logged in.

Sorry, my memory is atrocious. If I said 'vaguely' to remembering you would you be offended?
Not at all, I'm not that known, and especially wasn't back went you posted quite often.

also, I'll take a look at the freebies, it's been about 11 years since I've read anything that's not internet reading. (forums, surveys, bs)
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by thesunfan View Post
absolutely I want to vomit on your face irl
Quote:
Originally Posted by choof View Post
It was like trying to throw logic at a fuckin brick wall lmao
Quote:
Originally Posted by choof View Post
whats more dense, a black hole or an icyworld file
Quote:
Originally Posted by Celirra View Post
I've never been so disappointed by a man from Alabama than I am right now
Overwatch streaming whenever I'm on(Trying every tuesday night (10pm-12/1am EST) https://www.twitch.tv/blindreper
blindreper1179 is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-29-2014, 10:17 AM   #6
Mahou
魔法少女
FFR Veteran
 
Mahou's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jan 2006
Age: 28
Posts: 2,020
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

As a fellow amature author, I would like to say that this pretty damn cool.
Mahou is online now   Reply With Quote
Old 08-29-2014, 11:59 AM   #7
Wayward Vagabond
Confirmed Heartbreaker
Simfile JudgeFFR Simfile AuthorFFR Veteran
 
Wayward Vagabond's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jul 2012
Age: 30
Posts: 5,653
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Quote:
Originally Posted by TheRapingDragon View Post
I'll be around but I'm not sure I'll be that active with posting. We'll see how it goes. I have been around a couple of times in the last few years, I just never logged in.

Sorry, my memory is atrocious. If I said 'vaguely' to remembering you would you be offended?




Many thanks. I hope you enjoy. They're each very different so if you want more information or anything just ask away.

And I've always been but a click away. My last.fm signature continued updating through my absence and I tend to check that a few times a week.
ah there lies the problem. ive had signatures off since like 2008
__________________
Wayward Vagabond is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-29-2014, 11:32 PM   #8
choof
Banned
FFR Simfile AuthorD7 Elite KeysmasherFFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Nov 2013
Location: custom title forever
Posts: 7,481
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

all I really remember about you is that you hated me as much as rairai did

godskin sounds pretty interesting, is it set in the present?
choof is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-30-2014, 12:29 AM   #9
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Quote:
Originally Posted by blindreper1179 View Post
Not at all, I'm not that known, and especially wasn't back went you posted quite often.

also, I'll take a look at the freebies, it's been about 11 years since I've read anything that's not internet reading. (forums, surveys, bs)
Let me know what you think of them.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Mahou View Post
As a fellow amature author, I would like to say that this pretty damn cool.
Thanks. Do you have links to anything of yours that I could read?

Quote:
Originally Posted by choof View Post
all I really remember about you is that you hated me as much as rairai did
I never hated anyone, even if I acted like I did.

Quote:
Originally Posted by choof
godskin sounds pretty interesting, is it set in the present?
Godskin is still my personal favourite because it was so much fun to write. A lot of the book is set in the present, such as the start with Max and Eloise, but there are sections that are set outside of time.
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-30-2014, 05:06 AM   #10
choof
Banned
FFR Simfile AuthorD7 Elite KeysmasherFFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Nov 2013
Location: custom title forever
Posts: 7,481
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

oh I didn't even see the paperback teaser lol, I had just assumed they were all e-books

I'll have to check this out now
choof is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-31-2014, 02:50 AM   #11
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Quote:
Originally Posted by choof View Post
oh I didn't even see the paperback teaser lol, I had just assumed they were all e-books

I'll have to check this out now
I prefer having the physical copies of everything so they're all available both as e-books and as a paperback. Covers all lovingly (& poorly, art is not my strong suit) designed by me.
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 08-31-2014, 04:43 AM   #12
choof
Banned
FFR Simfile AuthorD7 Elite KeysmasherFFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Nov 2013
Location: custom title forever
Posts: 7,481
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

i'll grab the paperback in a bit

dat new book smell
choof is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 09-1-2014, 06:00 PM   #13
Litodude
FFR Player
 
Join Date: Feb 2006
Location: state of awesome
Age: 28
Posts: 4,548
Send a message via AIM to Litodude
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

holy shit i thought ur wife murdered u or something wb
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by t-rogdor View Post
i finally got a weed hookup again and i texted the dude asking where to meet him tomorrow and the dude just said "out west"

dude
out west?
the fuck kinda location is west?
am i buying weed off a gotdamn pirate


Quote:
Originally Posted by lurker View Post
remind everyone that i am an outed racist neo-nazi who no one in their right mind should ever interact with in any way whatsoever

http://imgur.com/a/Ww9g3
Litodude is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 09-1-2014, 09:41 PM   #14
Tokzic
FFR Player
 
Tokzic's Avatar
 
Join Date: May 2005
Location: TGB
Age: 29
Posts: 7,109
Send a message via AIM to Tokzic
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

hi trd i mist u~
__________________

Last edited by Tokzic: Today at 11:59 PM. Reason: wait what
Tokzic is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 09-2-2014, 01:58 AM   #15
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Quote:
Originally Posted by Litodude View Post
holy shit i thought ur wife murdered u or something wb
Those reports were grossly exaggerated. She only nicked me. What's twenty stitches between lovers.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Tokzic View Post
hi trd i mist u~
<3. If you read my stuff it'll be like I was never gone. Happy endings all around.
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 09-13-2014, 09:41 PM   #16
Vendetta21
Sectional Moderator
Sectional Moderator
 
Vendetta21's Avatar
 
Join Date: Aug 2006
Location: Seattle
Age: 31
Posts: 2,753
Send a message via AIM to Vendetta21
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Missed you TRD I remember having good posting times with you
__________________
Vendetta21 is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 09-13-2014, 10:02 PM   #17
hi19hi19
lol happy
FFR Simfile AuthorFFR Veteran
 
hi19hi19's Avatar
 
Join Date: Oct 2005
Location: DESTINY
Age: 28
Posts: 11,867
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

Whoa. Blast from the past.
__________________



hi19hi19 is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 09-20-2014, 04:38 AM   #18
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

This place is pretty quiet. Can't deny I was hoping for a few comments. Here, have the first bit of the newest story I'm working on:

The Rob-Inn


Intrepid explorer and all-around ace reporter, Clive King, sat hunched up in a small two-person lifeboat with his arms wrapped as tightly as his wet hands could muster around his only surviving suitcase. The other two, the lost ones as they would be forever known, were floating somewhere in the North Atlantic ocean to the north of Northern Ireland.

He wasn't even certain what supplies had survived, for the tags attached to each bag had washed away leaving the surviving bag nondescript, completely interchangeable with any other black medium sized bag. He silently rued his decision to purchase the set of three 'smart, modern luggage case (colour: Black)' for a reduced price compared to buying them individually. Perhaps if they had been of different sizes then it would be fine, he'd turn around and say oh of course, it's the small one with undies, socks, and pyjamas, but that foresight didn't occur to him at the time, only the price, which had temptingly persuaded him with its slashed out retail price and the large font, 'eighty percent off', emblazoned in no less than three places.

The faint outline of a coastal region that belonged to Inishtrahull Island could be seen to the north, and it was this land that the two men in the row-boat were heading slowly towards.

The man at the bow of the boat was rowing methodically while humming an old sea-shanty that sounded unusually complicated, changing pitch and tone and even time signature, switching from a rowdy four-four in the verses to a six-four chorus that sounded forlorn and desperate, bridged with a twelve-four section that required the man to purse his lips and sound out a few bilabial clicks as if greedily adjusting false dentures. Clive had to admit to himself that the man was pretty talented.

The boat was leaking. This seemed to bother Clive a lot more than the rowing man, which perplexed Clive for he rather felt he was showing the correct amount of worry for a leaking boat in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a faint coastline for company. The man would stop after every ten or so paces, shake off the water from the paddle, and use it to scoop some of the water overboard, never missing a beat in the song he sang within his head. Clive, trying to continue showing an air of confidence and calmness, was wrenching his fingers together against the side of his suitcase, fighting the urge to scoop fingers into water and try somehow to funnel it back into the sea.

The man began adding the most curious lyrics to his song, singing about the perils of sinking and the need to lighten their load. Clive's brain caught up with his ears as the man repeated his statement, spoken in measured tones without an ounce of trepidation, “Boat's gonna sink.”

“Excuse me?” Clive said, prodding a finger in his ear to squelch out water, merely resulting in adding more moisture to the mostly-dry lobe.

“Said boat's gonna sink. Too heavy. Water's gettin' in,” and the man returned to his humming as he continued rowing nonchalantly. He was the very visage of a captain going down with his ship, dignified and calm to the end.

Clive was not, expressed in a voice of growing concern: “We have to do something.” He stood, pushing on the heavy suitcase and holding onto the top handle for balance and support, “I mean we're pretty close, must be something we can do?” The boat sank a few inches, water rising up to the rowing man's knees as Clive tried to inch himself taller than his five feet and five inches frame would allow, craning his neck to see if he could find a quicker, leaner route to land.

“Come on, man,” Clive urged with panic, “row! Get rid of the water, paddle it out, paddle it.”

“No point,” the man shrugged and hummed a few seconds before speaking again, “too heavy. Water's gettin' in quick'r than I can remove it.”

“Well look at us, we're no sofa snugglers that's for sure, why you're practically a rake. If you weren't wearing clothes I could probably use that paddle to play music on your ribcage. And me, well I diet, I work out and walk four miles a day, I look after myself. So I don't see how we're so heavy you can't get us safely to land, I mean that's your job after-all, so you're doing a pretty poor job right now and you need to correct that. Where's your sense of pride, man? Come on now, think, there must be something we can do to lighten the load?”

The man stared up at Clive then down to Clive's hands, up, then down, before returning to his rhythmic rowing.

Clive stared down at the man, then to his hands, back to the man then around to his hands again. It dawned on him but Clive was not one to let a little stupidity hold him back.

“Why of course,” he said loudly with a finger pointed skyward, quickly returned to the suitcase as he nearly lost his balance, “don't fear, old man, ace reporter Clive King is on the case. Quite literally this time,” and he allowed himself a nervous chuckle at his witty repartee. “Just let me have a quick check first to see if there's anything important I might want to salvage.”

The suitcase was opened with a shaky hand as Clive plunged his arm within. After a few seconds of clinking and clacking he made a triumphant noise of success, “Jackpot,” he exclaimed as he pulled out a full bottle of Jack Daniels whisky and held it aloft as if it were a prize from a football cup final, “it is my lucky day,” he surveyed the vast expanse of water all around him, “well, almost.”

Feeling like Captain Clive, Pirate King and all around roguishly lovable scallywag, Clive placed one foot atop the suitcase as his hands worked together to prise the cap off the bottle. “A toast,” he cried to his long-suffering yet faithful steward, who he had named Finchley in honour of his newly born piratical leanings, “to new adventures.”

Clive kicked at the bag as he took a swig of alcohol, a multi-task too far as his standing foot slipped from under him and he toppled backwards. The bag splashed over one side with a thunderous bang as Clive fell over the other, his glugs of satisfaction changing into a splattered scream as the whisky splashed over his face on his journey seaward, hitting the water with a rather less vociferous splash than the bag had managed.

A few seconds passed before Clive resurfaced, spitting out salty water that had mingled with the whisky stuck in his throat. He scanned around for the boat, saw it about a metre away as the man carried on rowing as if nothing had happened. “Hey,” Clive spluttered between accidental helpings of briny water, “wait! I've fallen over, wait for me.”

He kicked his legs and thrashed his arms and concocted a kind of twist on the classic doggy-paddle that managed to propel him at a marginally faster pace than the boat was managing, reaching it after a minute or two, pulling himself back on board and lying cowering with his knees up to his stomach, for there was not enough room to stretch his body out, as he gasped in fresh air.

“Why didn't you stop?” Clive said between hiccuped wheezes.

“Boat's sinkin', no time to stop.”

Clive paused in silence for a second. “I guess you've got a point,” he said, “good thinking there. We're going to need all our ingenuity when it comes to infiltrating this mysterious island. Who knows what dangers will lurk within the shrubbery.”

“Uh-huh,” the man replied without really listening, rowing onward, the waves kindly lapping in the direction they were headed, soon to dump them ashore on a golden, untouched beach.

Feeling a little less nauseated, Clive managed to shuffle to his knees, then up on to his bottom with a squelch. His skin was sodden, soaked completely through his t-shirt, jeans and trainers. He looked to the sunny sky and heaved a sigh, “Thank god for Irish weather. Reliable. I'll be dry in no time.”

The rain started but a minute later, dark clouds covering the sun to blanket the ocean with a darker tint of blue, reminiscent of a silken blindfold being wrapped around your eyes.

Clive didn't even bother to cover his head, simply looked forward at the ever-rowing man, sighed, and said, “I wish I had a drink right about now.”

When the boat was a few metres shy of the beach, Finchley (for Clive had still not enquired on his name, not that it would have been proffered had the question been asked) jumped out, his legs sinking into the water up to his knees, and looked expectantly at Clive.

“I was thinking you would take us to shore?” Clive said in response to the man's ten-yard stare, which didn't falter for a second, “well yes, I guess you have a point. I am already wet here, what's a bit more water.” Clive hopped out the left side of the boat and his body sank, kept sinking past knees and thighs and stomach and caught his mouth unawares as it tried to grab some air, swallowed water, flung his hands and legs upwards and managed to surface. His hands grasped at the boat and hung on for dear life.

“That side's deep,” the man said as if Clive should have known that already.

“Yes. I found that out, quite skilled recovery skills though, wouldn't you say?” Clive continued hanging to the boat, “but perhaps a few more seconds recuperation? If you don't mind, maybe just drag me up there, it's only a few feet. I fear my strength is sapped and if I let go I might just sink into this damnable ocean. You wouldn't want a drowned man on your conscious?”

The man did not seem like the kind of man who cared about a drowned man upon his conscious. Quite the opposite in fact, and his stare implied that he would be more likely to be the one doing the head holding than the one drinking water into his lungs; Clive shivered, unsure if it was attributable to the stare or the cold or the rain or the flicker in the corner of his eye that may or may not have been a fin.

“It's only a baskin' shark,” the man helpfully confirmed.

“A...shark?” Clive's eyes darted to and fro as he tried to locate the murderous beast with the razor-sharp fin that would no doubt carve his body in two if he continued loitering on the side of this lifeboat. “Well, I must thank you for the brief respite but I feel myself reinvigorated and suggest we move this boat sharpish.” Clive tried kicking his feet but was unable to generate any forward momentum. The man shrugged and tugged the boat the last few feet up to the shore, Clive followed, dragging his body up to the sandy shore and collapsing in a heap.

Peace descended upon Clive as he stared up at the rain, letting it wash away the pain burning in his lungs, wishing he could take a heavy breath and appreciate just how great life was when you were getting up to all sorts of adventures.

“Boat's gone,” the man said as if reporting the weather.

Clive sat upright, rivulets of water falling down his sides, brushing away an inquisitive crab who had been a few seconds away from going for Clive's cavern of an earlobe. He watched the boat floating away on the waves, sinking with every passing minute as water invaded. “Well, can't you just go get it?”

The wind picked up, enough to cause Clive's damp hair to blow upwards as if re-enacting a scene from a fifties Frankenstein movie. He tried futilely to push it back down, soaking his hand, then tried to wipe the wetness from his hand using his t-shirt, getting sand between his wet fingers; he gave up and shook his hand in the air, causing sand to blow into his eyes. He attempted to clean out his eyes with his clean hand.

“Boat's proper gone,” the man said as a loud crack echoed from afar.

Clive opened his eyes, sand be damned, and spied through blurry eyes the vague image of an upturned boat, cracked in two by an errant basking shark that had slammed into it without meaning to, both ends sinking into the ocean, momentary wooden buoys that failed to fulfil their purpose. They disappeared beneath the waves with a silent pop, bubbles floating on the surface.

“This is not a disaster,” Clive intoned, “this is not a disaster. We'll think of something.”

From behind Clive, a swish arced through the air. He had no time to turn and inspect its origins before a large thud echoed inside his skull. Strange, he thought for a second as the echoes failed to dim, turning instead into a white-hot heat that morphed into explosive pain that roared within his head.

He blacked out from the pain.
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 12-15-2014, 12:42 PM   #19
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

My writing has been coming and going in fits and spurts. The Rob-Inn made it three chapters before I went back to another idea. That one lasted 12,000 words before I stopped.

I blame Sony. Stupid Sony giving me Isaac: Rebirth for free, then putting Persona 4 on sale. And Gravity Rush. And Demon Gaze. Basically every game I had on my wishlist. I had to give up sleeping, there was just too many games to play. Multiplying every day.

But I found time to write a story last week without stopping midway through to get distracted. Some of the content in it could be called 'sexual' but really, it's nothing you wouldn't hear in a teen-rated horror movie.

As always, comments or opinions would be greatly appreciated.

Naked

Garden of Eden, circa 2000, two thousand years after God forgave the snake his – forever his, for she walks without shadow and casts not the first stone – indiscretions and decided to let bygones be bygones. What's an apple amongst friends after-all when it comes to the eternal suffering of humankind?

Following forgiveness, sin was enveloped and overturned. Scientists blamed global warming, even as their instruments malfunctioned and grew greener and grassier and sprouted flowers and shoots.

Maliciousness was curbed, malign provocation stomped and envy became youthful exuberance developed meaningfully into creative output.

Destruction was removed from all vocabulary. People around the world lined up to throw their woes into the fire of purification. Those who attempted to hide contraband were found and, well, the word doesn't exist anymore for what was done to them but it rhymes with suction and begins with a phonetically spoken d's.

First went weapons, then words and finally, after a considerable look into the fashion industry and the terribly horrendous bitchiness spewing forth from within, clothing that caused provocation amongst the loins.

Positivity reigned supreme within the cosmos, which was shrunk considerably and kept confined to a single galaxy, each humankind picked up and placed into their own garden, all situated on the earth and within close proximity to one another. Just don't expect to travel. Segregation is the order of the day and God doesn't take kindly to folks who mingle interracially, too much contamination within the gene pool and his eyesight isn't getting any better.

Humans were, of course, always messed up, evolutionarily speaking. Millennia of inbreeding since Adam beget Eve, ignoring Destiny, Chloe, Beatrice and Annabel, God's original foursome. Citing the following problems preventing his breeding amongst the group: An unappealing birth defect (joys of being crafted out of the funny bone, you end up looking like a joke), the wrong hair colour (hair dye not yet created, the simplest solutions often being overlooked), eyes too wide apart (that would later become the inspiration for the noble sloth), and irreconcilable differences (later to be used as a defence against unwinnable arguments).

These four rejected specimens would become God's right hand, left hand, righter hand, and lefter hand. Theologians would later mistakenly call them the horsemen – always men – of the apocalypse and give them snappy titles like Conquest and War, never quite realising that they all had the same title: Wrath, for what is worse than the combined wrath of four scorned women with an eternity to stew it over.

Two thousand years of reconstituted heavenly elbow grease doesn't always necessarily remove the stain etched within humanity's consciousness from millions of sweaty encounters. Hence, human perversion was overlooked and very much alive today, transformed by nature and forced to evolve as we all are want to do in times of deep desire and longing and incredibly repetitive boredom.

Enter Charlie Parker of One Provincial Cloud, a nice little residential lay-by up past the respectable shrubs lining Escher Street. Each street was the same, each shrub equidistant to the next, each house aligned exactly as preordained by the one true almighty saviour of the human race.

Charlie had a secret yearning that had been nagging at the back of his skull like some annoying subconscious itch, perpetually berating him with thoughts most wicked. His dreams were laced with their contents: Fashion shows from a forgotten city called Milan; Wet t-shirt contests; Slumber parties with college students in their nighties; Raves filled with colourful leggings and slashed costumes; Mafia-operated strip-joints, those classy affairs where women wore nipple tassels and themed teases.

Charlie would wake each morning drenched in sweat – though part blame could be given to the newly introduced climate control required as a by-product of having all life clothed in nothing but the skin they were born in – and sporting an uncomfortable protrusion between his legs.

Oh but of course his assigned partner, Susie Stoker formerly of Ebony Bough Lane until plucked from her family and given the task of being the female yin to Charlie's male yang, satisfied the physical malady with much enthusiasm. Her head would bob and he would shuffle convincingly and naturally things would take their course and she would gulp and he would sigh as if satisfied before returning the favour – God is not a complete misogynist after-all, merely believing in the natural order of things: Men came first and thus shall it always be – in equal measure until her lower parts spat a little watery gush upon his face and she sighed and they began the day afresh.

Thus finished, they would part ways to do their daily duties of prayer and worship for this exceptionally blessed existence.

Except Charlie would get looks. Mr Kline of number fourteen down the road would cast a sideways glance of derision as he worked on Patty’s bush from number sixteen. Patty's partner, Greg, watched on approvingly and occasionally offered some slight alterations to the fringed hedge that separated their houses, the hedge that Patty adored and spent hours debating with Mr Kline the local gardener and twice award-winning horticulturist.
Those men had been satisfied, such was their softness between the thighs. Charlie sported his dissatisfaction like a torch, burning hot and bright and sashaying left to right as he walked.

Ben, the baker of bread, would tut disapprovingly as Charlie came in for his morning doughnut, the same routine every day, the doughnut held down and forever trying to hide the protrusion that stood unceasingly erect. Women seated within the bakery would find themselves groaning or sighing uncontrollably as they spied Charlie, his hands having to bat away their attempts to alleviate him of his obvious yearning, their god-filled mind programmed with the knowledge that a man engorged required instant rectification.
At first he had relented, had allowed the women their run of him, reciprocated on one and all until the whole bakery smelled of satisfaction, leaving with his doughnut glazed and his bulge already returning to faithful straightness. But this needless distraction, that solved nothing for his problems, merely resulted in a rush to catch up with his daily routine, which had not waited around for his bakery boudoir episode to finish.

Returning home, Susie would be right-angling over the kitchen table as pots and pans bubbled away on top of the oven, her nakedness spread and pre-warmed for his arrival. Charlie would sigh, thrust until her vocal chords cracked, before dutifully conceding himself inside her to avoid displeasing her or the eternal overlord who had organised this little routine.

There were no garments to hide his shame as his protrusion grew forth during the night again, unsatisfied loins sheathed under splayed, shamed fingers.

A day like no other started when Charlie exited the bakery one cloudy morning – it was always cloudy, for positivity required a medium that will allow one to say the glass is half full rather than becoming complacent with a full glass that never empties – and spied a woman that caused his muscular instrument to swell most resplendently, for she brazenly wore a pair of lace white panties. She removed them, twirled them atop her index finger, then let them fall across her knuckles as she bid him to come over.

She led him down a dimly lit alleyway that felt discarded, a leftover piece from God's Grand Reimagining, her lace underwear held tantalisingly over her shoulder to guide him onwards. They entered a door, a room, up stairs that creaked and groaned as if alive with their every step, through a red-rimmed door monogrammed with runic symbols, subtle protection against celestial eyes.

He was led to a bench and bid to sit, obliging. The girl guide left and returned a few moments later with four girls in tow. They lined up before Charlie. He was transfixed by their heaving racks, bulging and delicately balanced, filled as they were to the brim with clothes. Each woman sported a single tattooed letter emblazoned onto their collarbone that matched their names as they introduced themselves.

In time, Charlie would get to know each woman most intimately, but on that first day he was allowed only one choice. Her name was Desi and she brought her rack into the room with them and pushed it into a walk-in wardrobe. Charlie had never seen a wardrobe before, had merely dreamed about their existence and believed he was insane to imagine such a contraption existed.

Standing there naked before him, Desi did the unthinkable and began choosing articles of clothing. Charlie could not believe what he was seeing, that such an innocent looking woman could be so perverse, but he was freshly astounded as the woman flashed him a generous pair of underwear that she slipped into, the fabric covering all of her rear and front, leaving no slice of skin to sight. Charlie was panting heavily now as his dreams turned into reality before him and he felt his protuberance clamouring for more.

Desi obliged, selecting a flattering brassier from a shelf and expertly sheathing her bosom within, covering everything, even the line that bisected her breasts. Why to look at her now you wouldn't even know she was a woman, such was the coverage, and Charlie was trying to mentally control himself, feeling like a child let loose in the sea of satisfaction.

Desi was not finished, heading to the wardrobe and returning with a leather jacket taken off the rack. She seductively slipped one arm inside the sleeve, waved her naked hand from the exit hole before hiding it again. She slowly slid her other arm in, tantalising in her dreamlike movement, yet before he knew it she had done the impossible and shrugged her shoulders into the jacket, both arms fully elongated into the sleeves, and the piece de resistance: Zipped it up. He gasped, his breathing shallow now and filled with heavy longing.

They had passed the point of no return, he couldn't have stopped her now even if he had wanted to, such was her enjoyment of their taboo encounter, visible upon her brow that was glistening with the sweat of ecstasy. She followed the jacket with a surprise reveal of leather jeans that she thrust her legs into, one then two, quick jabs that Charlie felt reverberate up his legs and through his thighs. He gripped himself tightly in his hands. Now gloves, socks, shoes; she was really speeding up now, getting into it, enjoying the pleasurable torment she was inflicting upon her willing viewer.

Control lost, Charlie shuddered as his aching appendage released itself of his pent-up need, the gorgeous visage of this fully clothed woman before him. Shame followed quickly and he found himself blabbering for forgiveness. Desi walked to his side to put a gloved finger softly against his lips to shush his worries, a finger he couldn't help licking, if only to taste the sweetness of the course fabric upon his tongue, and before he knew it he was ready for round two. Desi was more than willing to let him play dress up and they spent the next two hours dressing each other and reaching plains of pleasure Charlie thought didn't exist.

Trixie and Clowy were strictly a twosome, Charlie was quick to learn, but their shows were filled with such debauchery that he often left feeling sexually invigorated, quickly returning home to satisfy Susie Stoker while the thoughts were fresh in his mind. He got so carried away after these sessions that Susie could barely reciprocate upon him the next morning once her legs had regained the blood-flow and the pins and needles had subsided.

Trixie and Clowy excelled in the visual tease. They would begin as we all do, naked, with an array of costumes ready to be used. Charlie would have the honour of choosing his restraints, leaping between options from session to session: Soft silken scarf one day; Harsh coarse nylon leggings on another. Tied to a chair, he would be helpless as they giggled and fake-bickered between themselves on what to choose.

This one? Trixie would muse questioningly to Clowy, holding it against her bare skin, Charlie holding back a groan imagining how those clothes felt against her skin, how they would look when worn, how her shape would change to accommodate the fabric.

No, no! A shake of Clowy's head as she grabbed the garment, tossed it aside, and picked another piece of clothing to hold against Trixie. Much better, indicated by a silent nod of her head and a corresponding smile from her partner.

They would dress slowly, often changing their mind and taking it off again, constantly teasing Charlie's sight by keeping him guessing as to which parts of their body would be clothed next, his mind in sensory overdrive. They would 'accidentally' get in each other's way, the naked one cruelly hiding the clothed one's visage from view as they argued over the proper accessories to match the dress being worn.

If he was lucky, Charlie would get a pay-off for all this teasing. The girls would acknowledge his existence as if he were a passer-by, oh excuse me kind sir, and they would teeter over to him on glorious heeled shoes that let the toes breathe – as alluring as having the nipple on a breast be barely covered, clothed to the minimum level of arousal – and they would request his opinion on this outfit or that. They would once more 'accidentally' brush their bra or their coattail against his face, apologising mock profusely at their illegal gesture, before letting an unhooked bra or a wrongly held glove fall into his lap and causing him to erupt all over it.

Those courtesans knew no limits of depravity. They would scoop up the afflicted accoutrement and put it back on, wearing it around the room and acting as if nothing untoward had occurred, his prior emission dripping down between hemlines, drying into dresses, seeping onto socks. It drove him insane with lust, instantly getting a rise again no-matter how little time had passed since he had previously lost himself.

Annie was perhaps the most captivating of all the women on offer. She excelled in the ancient art of spoken seduction. Unlike Susie Stoker, the bakery broads and their ilk, who spoke nakedly and with full transparency, Annie veiled her words in subtle illusions, never quite giving away her true intentions and leaving Charlie with quickened palpitations. She would merely imply and insinuate, through clothed lips draped in ruby red lipstick, leaving Charlie to figure out the rest, giving his mind a workout that he had never before felt in his life.

Lying naked – Annie's act needing no clothes to satisfy – together on the bed, Annie would gently take Charlie's hand within hers and trace his finger down the nape of her neck, bidding him to imagine how it would feel if the necklace she described in graphic detail was to be upon her neck at this very moment, how it would feel, how Charlie would personally feel getting to touch her most intimate of clothing.

She would guide his hand south, her mouth moving so close to his ear he could hear the silent smack of the lipstick as her salivating lips caressed each other, a whispered secret amongst the closest of friends. Explicit instructions guided his hands over her chest that she said could be held within a bra of his choosing, so convincing that he found his brain being able to ignore the nipple and feel nothing but soft and smooth globes of rarest lace, right down to the indent between the stitching.

Only once did he manage to last through her full act without his body expressing its weakness. Even as she pressed the palm of his hand against her groin, bade him to imagine how the wetness would coalesce to one solitary spot against her panties, how it would seep through the silk and distort the material, how the clothing would visibly darken right before his very eyes; Seduction at its finest as she remained mundanely naked, for at no point did she clothe herself and make good on her promises of feeling the touch of forbidden renaissance lace pushed against his body, the caress of corduroy against his thigh, nor the fleeting imprint of linen trailing between his toes.

His visits hastened to the point of being a part of his daily routine, expunging the bakery in order to make time for his illicit activities. He wanted to quiz the women on how they managed to hide such brazen activities from the eyes of God but didn't want to embroil himself in such trivialities if it meant having less time watching them get dressed.

He did, however, once have the courage of asking where they got all the contraband clothes. All four women had the same answer: The owner, the one who had first led him to this place of merriment. Every visit since that fateful day he had failed to spot her again and he often wondered where she was.

Charlie was becoming completely enraptured by his clothed escapades and it came to a head when he stole from Desi. It was only a swimsuit he surmised, pink and frilly with a bow at one side of the underwear to tie it against your thigh.

He waited until Susie Stoker was asleep then slipped the swimsuit onto her. She would fidget but otherwise stay asleep and he could spend a few hours silently ravishing her clothed body.

When it came to their morning routine he found it impossible to enjoy Susie's bobbing head, her nakedness repulsing him in its visibility when it came to his turn, try as he might to imagine the clothes on her, that he was licking a nice fur-lined pair of underwear, but it just wasn't the same and he was finding it increasingly difficult to fake his enjoyment of mundane nakedness.

The building occupied by the four ladies of infinite pleasures was closed when he went around that morning. He banged against the door until his knuckles began to bleed, was found slumped on the ground as Desi appeared at the door. He stood and begged to be allowed inside. She just shook her head from side to side. She didn't have to say anything more, he knew from her condemning stare, you stole from me.

Charlie felt as if he had been kicked from the gates of heaven itself, even though he was technically living in heaven, it was not the heaven he dreamed of every night with nightwear wearing women pillow fighting in their pyjamas and headbands. He grew reckless and demanded that Susie put on the swimsuit for him to enjoy. When she saw his contraband, she screamed and ran tearfully from the room. When he returned from daily worship he found the door to his house locked, the key he owned no longer working. On the doorstep was the swimsuit and a note: You're sick.

Mr Kline, Patty, and Greg all watched his slow walk away from the house, tutting disgustedly at what he held between his fingers. The bakery was closed for him and him alone, the women who grouped within being satisfied by others now, no longer reacting passionately as he walked by the window. He was shunned from the town, found himself wandering aimlessly.

Days passed. He tossed the swimsuit away once he accepted that it would not be worn, every woman he offered it to either turning a blind eye or physically deriding him. He begged for forgiveness from anyone who would listen but his hands were stained with clothes and those who came near could smell them on his fingers.

All was lost and he had given up hope until one day, as if by deja vu, the woman with the underwear appeared at his side. He had been sleeping and awoke within her shadow. She was smiling down on him. Curiously, everyone was walking by on their normal routines, giving not even the most cursory of glances at this law-breaking woman with the bright white underwear. She turned and began walking slowly away, right through crowds of oblivious people. Charlie followed, crawling up from his knees to hurry at her heels, pushing people aside to keep up and ignoring their angry insults.

They arrived back at that fateful door, the door that led to his darkest of dreams, and they ascended the stairs and went through the runic door-frame, except this time the woman kept walking and Charlie kept following, onwards through a set of sliding doors that led into an office drenched in white: White walls, white desk, white floor, even a white chair. The woman sat herself down into a comfortable oak-white chair and requested he sit opposite her.

She stared out the solitary window. Do you know why it's always cloudy? She asked.

Charlie shook his head.

Because positivity needs there to be the hope of something better. You will never feel happy if you always get what you want and don't have a counterpoint. If you always had clothes, would you get the same reaction from your body seeing them on someone or would you suddenly want everyone to be naked? Happiness is a feeling of betterment. It doesn't exist without sadness. Do you understand?

Charlie still looked perplexed.

The woman sighed. I'm beginning to think that snake had a point, allowing a bit of leg-room for people to experiment. This whole routine business is getting dull, and seeing people like you makes it all the more obvious that I made a mistake along the line. I want some excitement, and as she spoke those words she flicked her arms out and the white walls flashed a most brilliant orange for a few seconds. Listen, Charlie, you've got the right idea. Best to get a bit of a difference every now and then, but you need to centre it around a happy medium. If the glass was always full you'd expect it to be full, which just doesn't work. We can't always have everything, it ruins the moments.

Charlie was beginning to understand.

I've spoken to Desi and she understands that sometimes our desires get the better of us. If you return her outfit she will forgive you. And please, return to your partner. Don't worry, I've had the situation explained to her, all is forgiven. Be a good partner to her, whether you want to or not, and I'll make sure you get a bit of happiness every now and then.

Charlie smiled and nodded.

Good. But before you go. I have a very important meeting planned, lots of changes on the horizon, and I only have a thousand years to prepare. I'll need to try on a lot of clothes to ensure I get that perfect everlasting moment that'll have the people talking about me again. Can you help me pick out a nice outfit?

And Charlie was happy.

Last edited by TheRapingDragon; 12-15-2014 at 12:44 PM..
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 03-20-2015, 05:45 PM   #20
TheRapingDragon
A car crash mind
FFR Veteran
 
Join Date: Aug 2005
Posts: 9,787
Default Re: So, I'm a writer now

So how's everyone been? Still no comments! But hey, from the views I hope at least some of you are enjoying what I'm putting down.

I've been pretty scatter-brained the last few months. I now have four different projects in various stages of progress.

Project 1 - currently 13,000 words - I don't even know what genre this one is, horror? The protagonist is me as an alcoholic racist, taking a holiday that goes awry when a mysterious release from the middle of the earth turns everyone into berserk, homicidal killers. Not sure why I stopped.

Project 2 - currently 10,000 words - I gave a sample of this one a couple of posts above, 'The Rob-Inn'. It started driving me mad when trying to figure out how I wanted to portray the duality of the book. I don't even know how to really explain what I mean by that, either.

Project 3 - currently 27,000 words - An erotic yet depressing mystery thriller about a woman who is telling her true life story to a journalist (think Interview With A Vampire, except not a vampire).

Project 4 - currently 15,000 words - It's a B-Horror story. A former-bouncer with one leg takes on a psychopathic Santa Claus and causes a ripple-effect that's going to end the world.


Story time:
I spent two months talking to a literary agent regarding one of my completed novels. By the time I ended our conversations last week, he ended up reminding me of Jekyll and Hyde.

He kept wanting me to explain the big mystery from the start, even when I told him that the whole point was that there was a big reveal at the end that made you question everything you had read.

He would call me at work and complain when I told him I was at work and was busy, shouted at me for sending him samples in the morning if I couldn't talk until the evening. Then he'd apologise and tell me it was fine and he would speak to me whenever I wanted.

After two revisions where I tried to yield to his demands and it wasn't good enough, I refused to change it more and emailed him an 'It's not you, it's me' email to end it. Suddenly he was telling me I had talent and he wanted to work with me. Which was great. His emails became friendly and it seemed like it would work. I went off on holiday to Disney World for two weeks at the end of February on the agreement that we would talk when I got back.

When I got back, I replied to his emails, telling him we could talk the following day because I was still jet-lagged. He called me thirty minutes after I sent the email, attacking me straight from the start. Told me my emails were unprofessional, my writing sample was horrible, and he was an agent not an editor and I couldn't expect him to edit it all for me (I had never asked him to edit a single thing). I had to cut him off after ten minutes of ranting and tell him I was done speaking with him.

The next morning I had an email from him, telling me I had talent and his door was always open if I wanted to send him any more stories for comments...



And a query for the artistically talented out there:
At the moment, I've designed all my book covers, but I'm not artistic. Would anyone be interested in working with me in designing a book cover for future books? Or even have a stab at improving my previous book covers (which wouldn't be difficult).

I can't offer money, because my books aren't selling until I get an agent and get a publisher to give me a minute of their time, but how about this: If I accept your cover, you can get a physical copy of the book when it's finished, paid for and shipped by me, signed too if you want. You'd also get a written copyright credit in the book as the cover designer.
TheRapingDragon is offline   Reply With Quote
Reply


Currently Active Users Viewing This Thread: 1 (0 members and 1 guests)
 
Thread Tools
Display Modes

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off

Forum Jump



All times are GMT -5. The time now is 07:58 PM.


Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.1
Copyright ©2000 - 2019, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.
Copyright FlashFlashRevolution