Admittedly, I’m absolutely terrible at writing in the style of sexy, mushy, dirty or even the classic “love note.”
One time, I dipped my pen into the well of writing children's short stories which, as I recall, was referred to as "sociopathic" by a prospective publishing house.
One time, I dipped my pen into the well of writing children's short stories which, as I recall, was referred to as "sociopathic" by a prospective publishing house.
I shyly glossed over love scenes in a book that I wrote a few years ago by simply writing in a manner which plunged head first, getting directly to the point. On a side note, this style pretty much sums up my sex life when I was in my mid 20's.
No wonder I never got too many second dates.
I feel that a succinct, yet clever, literary style makes me a time efficient writer. My editor, on the other hand, describes it as juvenile.
No wonder I never got too many second dates.
I feel that a succinct, yet clever, literary style makes me a time efficient writer. My editor, on the other hand, describes it as juvenile.
For the record, my editor, Mike, describes himself as unlucky in the dating world. He attributes this to his being misunderstood. I attribute it to the fact that he still watches VHS tapes and wears khaki pants. The highlight of his day is watching Jeopardy and eating Totino's Pizza Rolls. But, he IS an above average speller.**
**Note: Making him a ripe dating candidate for an 80-year old woman
Actually, I liken Mike's lady friend skills to that of the sh**ty tasting chocolate candy piece in those Russel Stover heart shaped boxes. You know the one...the lone morsel that people bite into and immediately spit out, frantically grasping for anything within arm's length (water, beer, mouthwash, gasoline) to erase the putrid and unexpected aftertaste in one's mouth.
Russel Stover even includes a diagram of the candy landscape in those boxes these days. You know why? So no one accidentally puts that piece of doo doo in their mouth! Why not just do away with the actual piece of candy?
I suppose this is also why I'm not a Russel Stover executive...or, for that matter, gainfully employed.
**Note: Making him a ripe dating candidate for an 80-year old woman
Actually, I liken Mike's lady friend skills to that of the sh**ty tasting chocolate candy piece in those Russel Stover heart shaped boxes. You know the one...the lone morsel that people bite into and immediately spit out, frantically grasping for anything within arm's length (water, beer, mouthwash, gasoline) to erase the putrid and unexpected aftertaste in one's mouth.
Russel Stover even includes a diagram of the candy landscape in those boxes these days. You know why? So no one accidentally puts that piece of doo doo in their mouth! Why not just do away with the actual piece of candy?
I suppose this is also why I'm not a Russel Stover executive...or, for that matter, gainfully employed.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m comfortable and confident in the sex department...ESPECIALLY when I know that I’m not going to see the woman EVER again. I simply don’t like to chronicle every detail of a love scene; I'm just not comfortable with writing it.
By the way, I recently read one such dirty submission from my friend Todd...WHAT IS a love button anyway????
Here's how I write love scenes:
By the way, I recently read one such dirty submission from my friend Todd...WHAT IS a love button anyway????
Here's how I write love scenes:
“Marie and Chris locked eyes; he gently kissed her cheek, moving slowly to her soft lips. Her beautiful, porcelain face stared back to him as she lay, poised on all fours, in the middle of the area rug; her face was illuminated in the romantic glow of a paused Wii bowling video game.**
**Chris was dangerously close to beating his room mate's high score
**Chris was dangerously close to beating his room mate's high score
They writhed beneath the sheets on a bed littered with empty beer cans, dog hair, dirty clothes and Nacho Cheese Dorito's crumbs.
It was at this very moment, a moment of sexual tension which had been building for about 2 and a half minutes, that Marie wondered if she'd remembered to turn off the stove at her apartment as Chris fumbled with her bra.
Finally, their romantic encounter reached fever pitch.
(Insert R. Kelly music here)
It was at this very moment, a moment of sexual tension which had been building for about 2 and a half minutes, that Marie wondered if she'd remembered to turn off the stove at her apartment as Chris fumbled with her bra.
Finally, their romantic encounter reached fever pitch.
(Insert R. Kelly music here)
Afterward, Chris resumed the Wii bowling game, assuring Marie that she probably turned off the stove.
His mind drifted to a distant place...wondering if there was leftover pizza in the fridge as Marie lay in bed, full of deep and dark regret, wondering why she did that 4th shot of whiskey earlier in the evening rather than go home and utilize a sex toy.”
His mind drifted to a distant place...wondering if there was leftover pizza in the fridge as Marie lay in bed, full of deep and dark regret, wondering why she did that 4th shot of whiskey earlier in the evening rather than go home and utilize a sex toy.”
I dated a woman who loved the “dirty” cell phone text chats. From time to time I’d receive a random text beckoning:
“Tell me something dirty.”
Me: Hmmm…something dirty?
Girl: YES…something dirty!
Me: I want to f**k you.
Girl: Uh, you’re a WRITER…I meant write something sexy and suggestively dirty, using your writing skills.
Me: The driving rain casts a hypnotic tympani on the roof as I lay in this bed tonight. Nature’s spectacular show is punctuated by brief streaks of lightening across the midnight sky, illuminating your beautiful face in a soft electric blue glow. Thunder fills the air with a commanding, yet mysterious, percussive rattle on the window panes…reminding me that I really want to f**k you...right now.
Girl: Uh...Never mind. I’ll be over in a few minutes.
Me: Can we have sex???
Me: Can we have sex???
I was quite flattered recently when my friend, Ed, asked if I might craft a Valentine’s Day love note to his wife.
Ed is a confident and handsome man and his wife, Amanda, is strikingly beautiful, talented and sweet. Ed knows how he feels about Amanda, he's just not confident in expressing romantic words on paper to her.
Ed is a confident and handsome man and his wife, Amanda, is strikingly beautiful, talented and sweet. Ed knows how he feels about Amanda, he's just not confident in expressing romantic words on paper to her.
I’ve never thought about “staffing out” the act of writing a love note. I usually just don’t write them in MY personal relationships for fear of getting into trouble. I fully know the sweet nothings that I WANT to convey, they just end up coming out all wrong on paper.
Example:
I enjoyed last night...WHO KNEW that the Muppet Movie could spur an evening of crazy animal sex?? I haven’t had a wild night like that since I was with my ex.
By the way, can I grab that $10-Dollars later today for your half of the Miller Lite case? Or we can just apply the balance for you purchasing dinner at Taco Bell. In which case, you only owe me $2-dollars.
By the way, can I grab that $10-Dollars later today for your half of the Miller Lite case? Or we can just apply the balance for you purchasing dinner at Taco Bell. In which case, you only owe me $2-dollars.
Oh, I’m sorry that my neighbor, Craig, drunkenly stumbled into the bedroom last night…he gets real weird after drinking shots. Now that I think about it, he's weird when he's sober. I don’t think he saw anything because, if he DID, he would have snapped cell pics and posted them on the Internet today...so don’t worry.
Anyway, I want you to know that I have a lot more fun with you than pretty much anyone and I hope that you’re having a great day. By the way, I’m sorry for hurting the kitty.
By kitty, I’m not using a euphemism like lots of writers do, I mean the actual kitty…I didn’t see her laying on the bed. I also hope the other kitty is ok too! LOL!
Anywhoo…I look forward to seeing you after work...ALL of you! Haha! xoxoxoxo
I don’t send Valentine’s flowers either. I’m fortunate in that I:
a) Send flowers for no particular reason on any of the other 364 days in the year because I love my lady and/or there’s been a death in her family
b) Send flowers because I probably said or did something stupid (I’m told that I do this often.) Flowers usually pave the way in this situation so that a truce might be declared, leading to incredibly primal make-up sex
c) Usually date women who love football and baseball and also don’t want flowers on Valentine’s Day*
**Note: Typically, these are women who can beat me up…which is sexy in an erotic, odd sort of way
The all-powerful floral industry executives must sit back and laugh all the way to the bank on Valentine’s Day as they rake in billions of dollars from men who fork out exorbitant amounts of money.
They fork over the money so as not to have their lady witness delivery upon delivery to ALL of the other girls in the office. All the while, their lady stares blankly as though she resides in a trailer park in Jackson Mississippi and just received the crushing news that she's been rejected by the judges of American Idol.
The floral marketplace is SO overwhelmed at Valentine's Day that these flowers look like a wilted, weathered, faded, exhausted heap…sort of like Steven Tyler.
They fork over the money so as not to have their lady witness delivery upon delivery to ALL of the other girls in the office. All the while, their lady stares blankly as though she resides in a trailer park in Jackson Mississippi and just received the crushing news that she's been rejected by the judges of American Idol.
The floral marketplace is SO overwhelmed at Valentine's Day that these flowers look like a wilted, weathered, faded, exhausted heap…sort of like Steven Tyler.
By the way ladies, I don’t care what your man tells you…he DOES NOT want to receive flowers or balloons on Valentine’s Day…period. Your man wants to have SEX on Valentine’s Day. If pizza or Mexican food is involved...even better!
I was the recipient of flowers in the office place one time and the memory still painfully resonates vividly in my mind, over and over again like a bad dream.
I remember receiving the intercom page from the front desk. The page echoed through the radio station as though it were coming directly from God...or Darth Vader.
I ventured downstairs to find a bouquet of assorted, pastel colored flowers resting on the counter. There were frilly little multi-colored ribbons at the base of the arrangement, taunting me, as if to be questioning my sexuality.
A couple of my male co-workers snickered, trying to mask full blown laughter. They then asked if I needed a feminine napkin to go with my pretty flowers.
A couple of my male co-workers snickered, trying to mask full blown laughter. They then asked if I needed a feminine napkin to go with my pretty flowers.
The receptionist handed the flowers to me and I snatched them from her as if to be disarming an armed bank robber.
Incidentally, she also asked if I needed a feminine napkin as the entire lobby finally erupted with laughter. As an important note, I hate every single one of these people.
As my ardent readers know, I have long had a beef with Hallmark and American Greetings because I feel strongly that there’s a useful place for my talents in the greeting card industry…even though I do not send Valentine’s Day cards, I feel strongly that I can effectively WRITE them.
They don’t seem to share my vision, as evidenced by numerous rejection notices.
Those sappy holiday cards are terrible! For instance, if I received the following from my lady friend on Valentine’s Day, or any other day, I would likely break up with her, burn the card, light myself on fire with the burning card and jump through a window.
“Sweetheart, I don’t want to go to sleep at night because real life with you is better than a dream.”
I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
With that said, here’s my foray into the “love letter” writing assignment on behalf of my friend Ed to his wife. I’ve known them both for a long time; therefore Ed figured I would be able to craft a perfectly fitting letter to her…
My dearest Amanda,
I’m so glad that you’re a part of my life. Even though I didn’t really have a choice because we found out that you were pregnant three months into our relationship, I’m glad that I did the right thing and, after these past 2 years, I finally am convinced that you are truly the woman for me.
I love the way you look at me with your bright blue eyes and the way you touch me. I equally love your extremely large breasts and the way THEY touch me. I also love the fact that you make some of the best meatloaf in the world.
You are truly a loving, caring and absolutely beautiful woman. When I look at you, I’m reminded as to why I’m not interested in having sex with men.
Love always,
Ed
While I was very proud of how accurately I captured the essence of Ed’s love for Amanda, Ed didn’t think too highly of my Valentine’s Day missive so he decided to purchase a card.
Damn! I’ve been beaten by Hallmark AGAIN!
I suppose I don't know the first thing about writing a love note after all. But, I decided to give it a stab this Valentine's day for someone special.
This is a writing exercise that my editor, my mother, my friends and any number of my college professors would have referred to as a "recipe for disaster."
My dearest sweetheart,
I'm fully aware that I would, of course, NEVER speak that way in real life but I figured it to be inappropriate to begin a Valentine's Day love note with "Dear sexy ass ghetto booty."
The primary reason that I opted to craft a personal love note this year revolves around my refusal to purchase a $4-dollar card which was written by a cheesy writer working for a company that continually dispatches rejection letters upon receiving my writing demo packages.
Actually, I usually throw cards away after I read them anyway; or when a woman breaks up with me...whichever comes first.
On that front, I deeply hope that breaking up with me is not in your immediate plans as I'm quite thrilled that you like to watch football and do not force me to cuddle after sex. I also love that thing you do when you bend your upper torso downward from the side of the bed.
What I want to tell you can't be fully conveyed on paper because there are, in fact, so many things that I love about you and our time together.
In addition to your spectacular eggplant Parmesan recipe, I love the way you touch my face when I'm feeling down, the feeling that I get when I wake up in the middle of the night and find that you're holding onto me. I love the fact that I can feel your presence in a crowded room and how people react to your beautiful smile, laugh and independent personality...myself included.
I love the fact that you're not afraid to take a long road trip with me, even though (according to a CNN special report that I recently read) I'm in the primary demographic and socioeconomic profile as that of a serial killer.
By the way, if it makes you feel comfortable, I would never chop you up and bury you under a heap of lyme and sod in a vacant field located miles from a state highway near a rural town in Arkansas.
In all seriousness, I love how you challenge me in little ways to be a better person. I love that you still kiss me like it's the very first time. I feel a sense of complete trust, knowing that you're comfortable with opening up to me about anything. And I count myself fortunate in that you forgive me when I act like a complete idiot...I don't tell you that as much as I should.
Oh, and I also love that you don't judge me after I've done 9 shots of Irish whiskey and think it to be a good idea to sing karaoke. (By the way, thanks for the sober ride home last Thursday. And, I'm sorry for going to the bathroom on your side porch. I hope your room mate isn't still mad at me.)
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that, I love you...
always,
Jim
Since I've officially given up on Hallmark, I'm gonna send some writing samples to that candy company that sells those little hearts which have the consistency of blackboard chalk, with a slight minty taste. Here's my first draft:
Author's Note: This piece is dedicated to a special lady who probably loves me more than I deserve at times. And, I'm eternally thankful. Xoxo xxx
