Erotica Post of the Year! Fucking hell!

When I was 17, I won the Best Speaker Award at a schools public speaking competition. It was a bittersweet moment: as a team, my two friends and I had fallen just short against a field of intimidatingly well-groomed, well-drilled, well-dressed private school kids, and the individual prize felt like a bit of an anticlimax.

For a long time, I was sure that the thing I’d regret most about that day was not winning the whole competition. It gnawed at me for months, through A-Levels and beyond, in a way that I can only look back at with faint embarrassment. I realise now that I should have cherished the experience and the camaraderie, but most of all I should have shown some fucking appreciation for what we – and I – had achieved…and for how elusive that sort of success can be.

As an adult, a lot of the prizes you win tend to be ironic. At my company’s Summer Away Day, I watched colleagues stand up and collect awards for being the worst-dressed person in the office, or the person most likely to be found in the kitchen making tea, or the least punctual member of staff (amazingly, I was nominated for none of those, though could easily have won all three). Recognition more typically comes in the form of a good review at work; a pay rise; the congratulatory posts on your Facebook wall when you buy a house/get married/have a child.

None of those things are bad – at all. They’re usually the reward for hard work, devotion, and integrity. They matter.

Other things matter too. I don’t often get the chance to hug myself with glee, but fuck it, that’s what I did tonight. Back in February, I wrote a story for an anthology. I liked the brief, wanted to get involved, and after a couple of very funny conversations with a brilliant friend, I settled on an idea. I wanted it to be deeply, almost offensively inappropriate, and nothing seemed to say ‘offensively inappropriate’ more than a punishment gangbang over a church altar, especially once I chucked an order of pleasure-giving monks into the mix.

The story was rejected, for what I will readily acknowledge were sound commercial reasons. Still, I was bloody proud of it, and posted it on my blog in April. In June, I had another go at getting it published, and got knocked back for a second time – again, the fit just wasn’t quite right.

Right now, I’m even more bloody proud of that story than I was in April. I can’t quite believe I’m writing this, but tonight it was announced by @SweetRori as the 2014 Erotica Post of the Year, and I am over-the-moon-happy in a way that my guarded, blase teenage self would never have allowed himself to reveal. I’ve read so much fucking amazing erotica this year, so to see that pop up on my phone this evening was a genuinely thrilling (and shocking!) moment – I actually whooped out loud on the bus, which in London is the sort of unpredictable behaviour that causes fellow passengers to give you side-eyes and edge slowly towards the stairs.

The story is called Brother Simeon, and you can find it here. I also strongly recommend checking out the two runners-up, by Molly Moore and Bangs & Whimpers, both of which (and whom) are fantastic. I look forward to going back to Rori’s site this evening, and tomorrow, to find out who’s won Op-Ed of the Year and Educational/Review Piece of the Year.

My 17-year-old self understandably failed to grasp how fleeting and unpredictable success can be. At 33, I’ve been around the block enough to know that nights like this don’t come along very often, so I decided to enjoy it. Thanks again, to everyone who helped with the story (especially Oleander & Malin!), and everyone who took the time to read it – I love you all.

C