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Welcome to Six Sentence Sunday. So many writers participate in this weekly event. Please visit "the list" and find some more Six Sentences to break up your day!

From my random and ongoing series of short stories (not yet published of course) known as the Neurotica collection: Erotica for the insecure and self-loathing.

This follows from another few excerpts found here and here. In this episode, the female protagonist and her more confident friend Jill are at a Swingers Party. They have found Mr Right Now and are getting into it.


I sit on the bed and slide back to the headboard so I can support my back which always bothers me because although I mean to get to my Pilates class I never do because I just hate myself in yoga pants. I just know if I got there and worked a bit more on my core muscles my back would feel so much better and come to think of it I probably would look pretty good in my yoga pants even if they are a synthetic fibre. I spread my legs to show you what I have and for a moment I worry that what I might have is a stray piece of toilet paper stuck on my hoo-hoo. Then I remember I checked first, before we got here and I was sort of doing that last minute diagnostic to see if the panties and bra matched because one time I went on this date and they totally didn't match and I could tell it kind of killed the moment. Phew. I take the vibrator and turn it on so I can pleasure myself or at least look like I'm doing that because it seems to be what all the guys want these days while Jill nibbles your enormous wiener.

_

 
 
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From At the Swingers Party, Neurotica (erotica for the insecure) Version, in which the female protagonist muses on her first trip to a swingers party, post-divorce.
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I secretly always wanted my ex to let us have a threesome but it was too wild for him and I never got the nerve up to ask anyway because I was afraid he’d think I were a lesbian which is not to say anything against lesbians although my mother would die if I were one which I’m totally not. Once she said she would be ok if one of us kids were gay but since we were all safely married with opposite-sex partners it was kind of a throwaway line. I don’t know why she even bothered really. I’m glad I am wearing a sports bra kinda of thing though in case we do get naked so you can’t see the strap marks I always get. I get a bit back-boobish so the sports bra is good for hiding all kinds of faults even if it’s not sexy, it really will serve its purpose. I kinda hope we do it in the dark anyway because my husband and I always did which was fine by me because I think soft and squishy feels better than it looks.
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There are so many wonderful authors who post excerpts of published works, as well as works-in-progress, for Six Sentence Sunday. Please find them here!


 
 
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From my Neurotica Story: Going to the Swingers Party.

My friend Jill said it was time for a change. The problem is I have no idea what non-vanilla sex really is. I mean, I’m kind of open to new experiences intellectually but to actually go and do something about it is so beyond my cognition. I am sure it would be fun to get off my back for a change but then what? Do I really want some guy I hardly know looking at my gelatinous bum or seeing my face sag over him as I ride him, assuming my trick knee doesn't give out first? Kinda makes sense, really, to stay on your back because gravity is just so much gentler although it does drop my boobs under my armpits which is totally preventable as long as I remember to keep my arms to my sides to hold my cleavage together.

Welcome to Six Sentence Sunday. You can find links to nearly 200 writers who will be posting six sentences from their work here.  


 
 
The fantasy author (and future guest on this blog) Karen de Lange has tagged me to do the Next Best Thing Challenge. The idea is simple:

1) Answer the 10 questions below.

2) Spread the fun and tag 5 more people to participate.
(NOTE: I have only four just now as I found out my fifth is unable to participate, drat).

So, thank you Karen!

1. What is the title of your book / WIP?

Neurotica: Erotica for the Insecure

2. Where did the idea of this book come from?

Frankly, I was just having some fun one day after I had run out of ideas for a short story I was working on. I was thinking how so many of us are just so terribly self loathing and insecure, particularly when we are naked. The rest just flowed, as they say.

3. What genre would your book fall under?

Erotic comedy, if that exists. If not, it does now. Maybe instead of neurotica I should call it cumedy. Ok, pretend I didn't say that. Besides, people would think that was just a typo.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

There is nothing I would love to see more than a film of my neurotic stories. When I think of my stories, I always think of their being a British film. I love the films of Richard Curtis so much. I don't know if he appreciates that endorsement, but there you go. I don't have anyone in particular in mind, but I do know they would have to be comedians, British, and terribly good-looking without knowing it.

5. What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

I think the title says it all: erotica for the insecure.

6. Is your book published or represented?

Highly doubtful. Having said that though, don't you think it's about time someone published this genre? I mean, let's face it, most of us are neurotic to some degree. And most of us have sex, to some degree. Very few of us are comfortable in our skin. I think this insecurity is something virtually everyone can relate to at some point. Perhaps not exclusively, but we all have our moments.

7. How long did it take you to write it?
 
Still in-progress. I began several of these stories will I was massively pregnant back in 2010-11. Everything has been on hiatus for at least a year. I have a babysitter for approximately 4 hours a week so I would say that the last 10% will take as long as the first 90%. 

8. What other books in your genre would you compare it to?

I cannot think of any other books in this genre. I have read many delightfully neurotic comedies though. But none like this in particular. I'm not sure if there is a reason for that, meaning there is no market for it, or if I am about to go as large as 50 Shades. Let's hope for the latter. Babysitters are expensive, even if it's only for four hours a week.

9. Which authors inspired you to write this book?

Woody Allen, for one. Many people do not realize he is an author as well as a filmmaker. Erma Bombeck for another. Of course, neither wrote erotic stories. Woody Allen is terribly neurotic and Erma Bombeck, aside from being my idol, has a wonderful way of expressing the ordinary most extraordinarily. I like to think of his neuroses combined with Erma's lovely sense of humor. The erotica? Well I guess that's just my scribbling down my friends' anecdotes from their dating days.

10. Tell us anything else that might pique our interest in your book.

It's funny. What can I say but it's just funny and I hated to waste all those improv classes from Second City. The steam is steamy and appropriately inappropriate as necessary. I think many people can identify, however briefly, with the insecurity. I don't think any of these stories sustain themselves as a novel. But as little snippets, randomly, while you're sitting on the commuter train or waiting for an appointment etc., well, they're just the right size.

I have written these, lengthwise, for the smartphone generation.

If I should ever get the time, and anyone with small children will tell you this will never happen, I intend to make audio versions of these. See the point above, I hate to waste all those improv classes. Although I am massively introverted, I do enjoy doing standup. I also intend to learn Japanese and put my tax receipts in the appropriate envelope before year end. We will see which of these I manage to tackle.

Arigato.

I guess it's Japanese. My accountant will not be surprised.

:)

And the four authors I’m tagging (I'm going for electic today):

Paula Tiberius

Gary Vanucci

Jessica Subject

Alexandria Szeman

 
 
From my upcoming Neurotica (erotica for the self-loathing) short story: At the Office

I’ve been wanting you for months now. At first I thought you were watching me to report to my manager how often I went to the bathroom but I can’t help it, I have this fear I’ll pee myself if I get preoccupied at work and don’t notice the signs so I make a mission to go every 45 minutes. I see how your eyes follow me and it finally occurred to me that I might actually be attractive to you--or maybe you really are just a snitch. I never read people right. I think I’ve got it figured out then next thing I know I’m in a five-year relationship with someone who’s been sleeping with my best friend in his spare time and somehow I missed it even though it was blindingly obviously to anyone else but me. In fact, my friends told me a few times about it but I was in total denial. Even so, I am willing to second-guess you’re watching me.

 
 
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First I must thank a few of my tweeps (I feel strange writing that term but perhaps only because I am over 45) for having this idea pop into my head.

So thank you to ‏@xTHE_BUBSx @tiffw88 @callmemrwayne for cracking me up on Thursday during our excursus on excessius buttocks and junk-in-the-trunk, a discussion springing from my feeling my age as I reached for my bifocals to read my twitter feed.

My comment? That at 40 my bum fell two inches. I cannot swear to it, but if my back would allow me to pivot, turn, bend or creak just a little bit more I could see to tell you with great certainty that yes, my bum is a bit lower, a bit rounder, and bit heavier than the last time I saw it in its entirety some 20 years ago.

I was lean then. All of 118 pounds and boxing. About 5% body fat (actually, I have no clue on the actual percentage, I am making this up) and all muscle (largely true). Certainly no boobs. In fact, I never owned a "real" or "functional" bra until I was 39.

Then motherhood and forty struck. I regret neither. Narratively my life is more rich. When I was a lean mean boxing machine I had little to say or write. I was too busy overworking at a miserable job then hanging out in a gym. I regret the former, not the latter, by the way.

Nothing more exhilarating than hanging out in a real boxing gym and having a fantastic work out. People asked why I boxed and I replied honestly: I like to box. Pure and simple. Sure, the workout felt great. Nice to strike something with all your might. How often do you get to do that in your day-to-day? I can tell you: almost never.

Nothing is more exhilarating than doing the speedbag or padwork with your excellent coach (who shall remain nameless because I don't want to embarrass him).

Nothing. Until I had my critters and realized that having your four-year-old observe that Jabba is an omnivore is pretty fantastic. Then he connects that Jabba, a mollusk apparently, is likely a hermaphrodite and observes "he must be sitting on his testicles but I guess that's alright because he still has a vagina" and I realize that the trade of buns-for-babies worked in my favour.

My junk in the trunk. I never get to the gym much now. I just had my second critter (at 45) so my junk and my trunk have grown astonishingly. Occasionally now I feel self-conscious. Usually when I fold laundry and misrecognize my husband's jeans for my own. As he's 8 inches taller than I am, the mistake rankles just a bit.

But while some talk of standing on the shoulders of giants, I sit on the buns of a forty-something mother. A little taller than I used to be, but only when sitting down. As I told @xTHE_BUBSx, at least now that I have a much larger bum, I can see over the hood of my car.

--Sophie

ps Give my tweeps a follow. They are worth it.



 
 
What on God's Green Earth could that be? Origami for your hoo-hoo? Make it a little crane, perhaps? Something festive to surprise him or her the next time they travel south?

Heck no. But good idea. In fact, now I have something else to do with my hands tonight.

Labial folds, or more accurately, nasal labial folds (also known as Marionette Lines) are those ghastly lines running from your nose to the corners, possibly lower, of your mouth.

If you are under thirty, this may not touch your life. Yet. But if you're on the other side of that equation, you have them. Or not. Perhaps you have rejuvenated somehow. I haven't. I wish I had. But I'm afraid of injecting synthetic collagen, or worse, into my face. Or anywhere else. I eschew sharps.

I mention this only because I had to send my new editor at Evolvedworld.com a head shot. And it wasn't a pretty sight. All I could see were nasal labial folds and a bit of sagging on one side which didn't balance with the other (wisdom teeth extraction gone a bit awry leaving me with some nerve damage).

In short, I am ugly. 

It's too bad, really. Because deep down I am such an uber-babe. I suppose superficially I am one too, because I know that there is something for everyone. Somewhere, in fact, someone is looking for a woman who looks like Jabba the Hutt in PVC. 

I found some photos but decided I had to adjust them. But I don't have a clue what I'm doing so I just let Picasa do it for me. Random buttons later and you can see my "head shot". 

I told Paula at Evolved that I look better in motion (as does she, she says). I observed that in motion my wrinkles could pass for dimples. Deep wide dimples. 

But dimples mean youth right? Right?

Then I must be very very young.

--Sophie.