What I like to read is one thing. What I like to write is
something else entirely. What happens when a story character
is made to choose between them?

rom (mf)

Copyright 2003. All rights reserved by the author (that's
me, Mark Reed). Posted here with permission.

Read at your own risk. If smut offends you, don't read this.
If you're younger than 18, don't read this. 

An Enviable Position
By Mark Reed

------
Author's note: I have two distinct different tastes in
stories. As a reader, I enjoy a wide range of things
kink-wise, but mostly enjoy the longer, drawn out tales. As
a writer, I've given up on ever writing anything that isn't
a connected series of sex scenes. What would happen if a
person were forced to choose which types of eroticism they
would read and write? What if there were a hierarchy of sex
story characters?
------


I opened my eyes a fraction and watched the jiggle of her
sweaty chest as her breathing evened. I glanced at her face
and we smirked at each other with large, satisfied smiles. I
closed my eyes and allowed a deep, dreamless sleep to
overtake me.

The story ended, and my bedpartner and I faded off to a
place where we could easily be retrieved by our author if he
ever had need of us again. Think of it as an individual
reality intermixed with the dreamed individual reality of
others. That's pretty much what it's like to be a story
character in between jobs. 

I like to keep my world simple. I appeared in a large open
space of fluffy white clouds. A warm breeze swept invitingly
across my face from the direction of my favorite hot spring.
I scanned the area with my eyes, observing the clumps of
other story characters and looking for some of my friends.

I recognized some and walked up to that particular group. I
had known some of these guys for a long time. We had done
different parts in various stories. Every one of them had
fucked and sucked their way to exhaustion an untold number
of times. Over the course of my 'career' I developped
friendships with quite a few of them. The group I walked up
to consisted entirely of guys. They were surrounding a kid I
didn't recognize, listening to him talk. I tapped my buddy
Elyinja (hey, if you lead a life where your name changes
everytime you find a new gig, you'd develop a pretty strange
name too) on the shoulder to get his attention. "Who's the
kid?" I asked.

He shushed me and turned back around to listen. I glanced at
a few faces and realized everyone was pretty much listening
to the kid with rapt attention, so I started paying
attention too.

"I knew she loved lilacs, so I had scented candles spread
across my room. Twenty five of them. While she was in the
bathroom, I raced up the stairs and started lighting them
all. I got done just as I heard her open the bathroom door.
I had been hoping to meet her at the base of the stairs, but
since she was already out I called down to her and invited
her up to my room instead. She came up, opened the door to
my room, and gasped at the effect I had created. I recited
the poetry I had prepared, which made her smile. She looked
around the room and saw the painting of her I had hanging on
one of my walls. I love that painting, and I think she likes
it, too. I discreetly grabbed the remote to my boombox and
pressed the play button for my CD player. The CD I told you
guys about came on, and *our song* was the first track. I
asked her to dance, and we spent the next half hour circling
my room in our arms, staring into each others' eyes. It
seemed my whole world dimmed in comparison to her eyes."

"Wow," one of the bystandars whispered. I blinked and
focussed my eyes from the mental picture I had been
following. I looked around in confusion at the smiles of
delight everyone was giving the kid. He was maybe 14, and
everyone was staring at him with what I can only call hero
worship. I didn't understand what the big deal was, since it
was only a dance. I went out dancing all the time. "What
happened then?" Someone asked.

The kid's grinned widened and he resumed his storytelling
stance. "The last song of the CD was coming to a close, so I
serruptiously guided her close to the bed. We held each
other through the final strands of violin, then I gave her a
gentle kiss. Our lips met and brushed against one another,
and she moaned softly. I shifted my hips to keep my raging
hardon from touching her and ruining the mood. After a bit
she opened her eyes and we lost each other in a mutual stare
again. I came to myself eventually, which brought her out of
it, too. I slowly sank to a sitting position on the edge of
the bed, and she joined me. I fixed my face into a serious
and ernest expression and told her that I had loved her
since the day we had first met, and that I would love her
until the day I died. Her face lit up in a teary smile and
she told me that she loved me as well. I closed the distance
between our heads and gave her another soft kiss. My mouth
opened for the first time and hers followed. Our tongues
touched tentetively, then with more assurance. I put my
hands around her sides and held her as our world shrank once
again. I don't know how long we just sat there, kissing each
other slowly. Time seemed to stand still, or at least
disappear from the realm of importance. Eventually I decided
that I wanted to push the envelope a little more."

"You dawg!" Someone gasped. Everyone else in the circle
glanced up and stared daggers at him for breaking the
narrative. He looked sheepish and politely asked the kid to
continue. The kid nodded and thought a moment, then picked
the story up again.

"I slowly brought my hand from her side to the front of her
stomach, caressing the skin there through her shirt. She
didn't seem to mind, so I brought my hand up further until
it was cupping one of her breasts through her bra and shirt.
She moaned softly into my mouth, and her kisses gained
vigor. I brought my other hand up to cup her other breast,
and spent several minutes sitting there fondling her through
her clothes. I memorized every bit of her breast that I
could with my hands. Once I even tweaked a nipple, and she
moaned appreciatively. Eventually I slowly slid a hand back
down her belly and even more slowly slipped it under her
shirt. My fingertips passed lightly over the skin of her
belly. I could feel the goosebumps forming over her flesh as
my fingers slowly crawled up towards her treasures. Our
tongues danced in our mouths, declaring our lust for each
other. My eyes were closed, allowing me to fix my attention
on all my other senses. I savered the smell of her hair and
perfume. I memorized every soft moan she let escape from her
throat. I recorded every soft touch of skin, every gentle
stroke, fully intending to relive that moment again and
again over the next few weeks. Finally my hand reached the
bottom of her bra, and then..."

The kid was interrupted by a soft chime and a change of air
around the group. In my private dream reality, that was the
signal for one of the characters to prepare for a new role
in an upcoming story. The crowd made a loud groan of
dissapointment as each of the members recognized the signals
ringing through their own private realities. The kid looked
apologeticly at the group. "I'll pick this up when I get
back. See you later, guys." He checked to make sure nobody
was touching him, then faded out of the dream existance into
something a little more substantial. 

The crowd muttered and dispersed. I looked around, still
confused, and trailed after Elyinja until I caught up with
him. "I don't get it," I said. "What's the big deal? So he
fondled some tit. I fucked three different chicks and got
one up the ass in my last story. You do better than that kid
even on your minor gigs."

He rolled his eyes at me and spoke in a patient tone. "Don't
you ever get tired of the same shit, different story? Yeah,
we get laid all the time. It's great and all, but after a
while it gets old, doesn't it? I mean, how many times can
you take a girl up the ass before you're wishing for some
new conquest? Dude, there's more to sex than excersize." He
paused and his eyes lost focus at some private memory. "I
know there is," he ended softly.

I blinked at that. "You envy the kid? Are you telling me
you'd give up the 20 pussies a month, the being tied to a
bed and teased for hours, the spanking cute little teenaged
vixens in microskirts, the constant stream of blowjobs, the
threesomes and orgies, all to fondle some highschooler's
itty bitty titties?"

He looked at me like I was a moron. "Well, yeah I would, but
you're thinking in the wrong context. Think of it like this.
Sex is a wonderful thing, right? Well, so is a chocolate
sundae. You have a chocolate sundae about what, once or
twice a month?" I nodded and waited for him to get to a
point. "Okay. Which way do you think you'd enjoy a chocolate
sundae more? Eating one four or five times a day, or waiting
a month, then slowly building a really really big one with
your hands. Putting the scoops of ice cream on the plate
yourself. Spreading the whipped cream, dripping the syrup,
dropping the nuts one by one, placing the cherry perfectly
in the center, then slowly eating it. Which one would make
you enjoy the act of eating the most?"

I stared at him owlishly as I slowly thought that through.
"The long, slow way. I'd enjoy it more if I worked up to
being able to eat it." 

He beemed at me. "There you go," he said simply. "That's why
that kid is one of the luckiest guys I know." He clapped me
on the back with a hand, then turned and walked away while I
continued staring in the spot he had just vacated.

A soft chime interrupted me from my musings and the air
around me shimmered. I reflexively checked my clothing and
thought it into oblivian, readying myself for the next set
of clothes I would wear. I briefly wondered what the new
story was going to be like. "God, I hope it's a romance," I
muttered as my reality shifted and turned to something just
a little bit more substantial.

~fin~