Will Do

Will Do

My Cocktober19 entry.  Author Notes at bottom.


Lacey was almost home when she got the text from her boyfriend, Will.  Got a package from Grandma, he texted.  He meant Lacey had received a parcel from her grandmother; Will hardly got any mail.  Leave it in the kitchen for me, she replied.  Will do!  She hadn’t quite gotten tired of that response yet.

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How We Porn

How We Porn

This thread on Aborigen‘s Twitter conflates a number of issues that have been concerning me off and on ever since I started writing size smut for publication.  I’m going to lay out my current thinking on these and related topics, and as always, I am speaking only for myself, and I invite comments, questions, rebuttals, and other opinions in the replies.

The most immediate concern is that of objectification, which is not of course restricted to size smut (although there is a size-related pitfall, more on this later).  The reason why objectification is, well, objectionable is that it treats the object of desire as just that, an object rather than a whole person with a history, desires, and agency of their own.  This does not mean—as I believed in my misspent youth—that attraction to someone’s appearance is inherently objectifying or degrading.

A related phenomenon is fetishization, an intense attraction to or obsession with a specific characteristic or activity that assumes a greater importance than respecting the person possessing that characteristic or engaging in that activity.  Indulging a fetish is to constantly risk losing sight of everything and everyone else.  Being on the receiving end of fetishistic attention is a hollow experience at best.

These are examples of harmful conduct between real people in real life.  Is art that invokes such conduct involving fictional people also harmful?  Does porn have a greater or lesser responsibility than art to minimize harm?

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Columbia

So I finally cracked and wrote a political size-fantasy story. This one has death, destruction, hard vore, scat, and more catharsis than we’re ever likely to see from our actual political system. Felt good to write it, though.


 

It was a Sunday morning, just like Pearl Harbor.  I was having a smoke before the start of my shift at the Washington Monument.  I had that job since they finally reopened after the renovations.  Of course it’s closed again like all the rest.  I suppose I should be looking for another job, but I just don’t see the point.

I was on the observation floor when it first hit.  It wasn’t very long, less than two seconds.  A sharp jolt shook the Monument, and I felt it worst on top.  I didn’t have time to worry about the Monument falling down, and afterward I spent several minutes just holding a railing and convincing myself that it was over and that I would be okay.  I was mistaken on both points.

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