Strong Foundations

I sometimes think that I like the idea of writing guest posts for people more than I enjoy the reality. On the one hand, it’s lovely and flattering to be asked; on the other, my writing is rarely structured or disciplined, and committing to sending someone a story or op-ed piece at a specific time invariably leaves me anxious and guilty about the prospect of letting them down.

Both of those demons have struck over the last week or so, as I’ve battled to put together a guest post for the lovely Malin James. “It’s not finished yet,” I’ve muttered time and again, and with saintly patience she’s told me not to worry, not to force it. “It’ll come when it’s ready,” she said, and in the end she was right.

Last night it came.

When I write short stories, the scenario generally comes before the plot or the action. I don’t set out to write about blowjobs, or threesomes, or femdom. Instead, I start with the back room of a bookie’s, or an aeroplane on a night-time flight, or even just a title. That’s simply how my brain works, and for the most part I trust it to find the right combination of people and events to suit the setting.

With this story, Strong Foundations, I really struggled. I had workmen in for three days last week to re-tile my bathroom, and while I knew immediately that I wanted to write something about them, I just couldn’t decide which angle to take. It felt like a canvas on which I could paint all manner of different things.

The occasional Dom in me wanted to watch as my female character was forced to suck them off, kneeling naked on the living room floor and letting them use her mouth. Letting them bend her over the arm of the sofa.

The part of me that gets glassy-eyed and weak at the knees whenever it thinks about guys with nice big dicks wanted to put the male character at the centre of the action. To have him go down to lend a hand, only to find his cheek pressed against the freshly-laid tiles as the workmen take it in turns to fill his arse from behind with their thick cocks.

My inner exhibitionist thought about having them walk upstairs to find the two characters going at it right there on the kitchen table. Maybe they’d just watch from a distance, or maybe they’d move closer, dicks clutched firmly in their hands. Maybe when they came, she would turn her head to catch their spunk on her lips and chin, and let it drip down into the hollow at the base of her throat.

I started writing all of those stories, and none of them quite worked. It was only when I started thinking more about my audience that the pieces started to fall into place. Today is Malin’s birthday, and birthday girls deserve stories that push all of their buttons. Malin may be lovely, but she also has a wicked streak a mile long, and that’s what I ultimately aimed to tap into.

Hopefully it’s a case of better late than never.