I think the reason may be:
Life is fast here, speeded up a thousand-fold. Relationships blossom and die in days. Others get involved, take sides; people are shunned, leave in a huff. New lovers come and go as virtual relationships can soon lose their fire. People quickly get bored, need new stimuli. It's the way of the modern world: why work at what you've got when something new is around the corner? Especially something titillating and off-limits. It's immature, childish, and promotes a shallow, superficial existence that perfectly suits the free market economy. Sex, consumerism and the internet were simply made for each other.
And then, of course, real-life partners suspect the worst, check histories, confront and threaten. We never evolved for this. It happened too fast. The choices are too great; the temptations too vast; and the flesh is very, very weak...
This baited 'best line' thread has hooked some beauties; to it may I add my uncontroversial wriggling minnow:
So, Old Nick nicks our knickers, steals the kinky drawers of vicars, while the fallen angels frolic - a black mass of diabolic lycra, leather, latex lingerie for his Satanic Majesty.
You are the demon of the seamen! Classic Jack Tar with a couple of fingers from Captain Birdseye... Irresistible!
Why this obsession with odd ordinal numbers? What's wrong with second and fourth? And will fractions and decimals ever get their say?
I think for erotic short stories, first person is generally more effective, more intimate and arousing, allows a more personal perspective on what is generally a very personal interaction and thus makes the whole more believable. I've written erotic stories in third person and have later changed them to first and found them more effective, but I suppose it depends what your aims are, what you are trying to say and why.
However, if you are simply choosing between 'I fucked him,' or 'she fucked him,' I can't imagine it will make much difference.
You are quite safe! There isn't a Hell, so you won't be going there. This life, fortunately, is all there is. No Paradise for the self-satisfied though often well-meaning-but-deluded. No hell for the nasty evil buggers or for the generally nice folk who sometimes fancy a quick wank. And thank god (small g) for that. Be excellent to each other, be sensible and safe and have a long happy life, for beyond it - or so all the evidence suggests - there is nothing.
And even if there is a God, a kind forgiving soul somewhat like the Jesus who lived here for a short while, surely he would not be so mean, petty, small-minded and vindictive to condemn to an eternity of torment his beloved, often inherently weak and stupid creations for sins committed in what must be to him the blink of an eye? Surely?
You just couldn't make it up, could you?
In around and hour last night, I got around 50 scores - all fours which are good for me! - on all my profile page stories and a few beyond. And there was I, thinking I was suddenly 'almost popular', or 'famously average'. Oh, well. It brought a little excitement to my Earl Grey existence.
I thought it already did that! Oh... great idea anyway!
?
Isn't piss, cum, sweat, saliva, gin, baby oil, pussy juice and Canestan enough fluid for one dry-land activity? What's wrong with you people?
Just me, a box of chocs, some Roy Orbison and a nice cup of Earl Grey. Perfect x
Neither.
Rich people - and perhaps especially their kids - are rarely happy.
Re immortality: look around you - even God is fed up of living forever. Why would you get out of bed or do anything at all when you have all eternity to do it in?
I don't drink. But surely one would not poison one's body just for the sake of it? There must be some immense benefit, something beyond the teenage need to flaunt authority, to break rules and experiment with grown-up things that clings on into adulthood...
Everyone is different when drunk. It's a mind altering drug, that alcohol stuff. It can be harmless fun, I'm sure, but some people get violent; others drive their car, or they say things their sober selves would never dream of saying. Hence, they hurt people in lots of ways. And many get addicted. A friend of mine is alcoholic. He lost his job, his wife and kids. He lost his health and his self-respect. Yet he cannot stop drinking alcohol, cannot break the addiction. It will kill him soon. He is certainly different when drunk. I can vouch for that.
I don't like the taste, the numbness, and don't enjoy the feeling of 'out of control', however slight. And, to be honest, I just don't get it. I like being me, don't need to oil the wheels, to loosen up. I am often surrounded by tipsy, even drunk people and find myself feeling sorry for them. Sorry for their impending hangovers; sorry for the sad lives I imagine they must lead in order to find pleasurable escape in their present pathetic condition.
Drinking to excess is somehow seen to be clever, but it isn't. Chimps eat fermenting fruit and fall out of trees, probably tell their chimpy banana-breathed mates how they got 'hammered', 'went on a right bender', 'got pissed as a sloth'. Come on, Humanity, surely it's time to evolve?
That was a light-hearted question that received a heavy-handed response. But I offer no apology. Drinking alcohol is potentially as serious as snorting cocaine. We need to be responsible, take it seriously and stop talking like thirteen year-olds.
In the real world, I would always thank someone for doing something for me, especially something as selfless as reading my moronic 5000 words and deeming them acceptable and fit for public scrutiny. However, the Internet is a funny thing. Sometimes - perhaps in the manner of all addictive substances - it magnifies my personal traits and sometimes it diminishes them. Hence, sometimes I say thank you and sometimes I simply forget. For all those apparently unappreciative moments (when I was actually too dazed by euphoria to respond respectfully) may I simply say:
Thank you xxxxxxx
And I love the 'Nobokov'! It slipped by me on first reading. I like your style!
Mr Milik, your measured response, as usual, does you great justice.
