Rewriting The Paper Orgasm

Literotica? Really? Aren’t you supposed to be writing thrillers Michael?

Yes and yes. I write tease. Tease is transient. Sex, life, death — all can be written with tease. Tease is entertaining. It’s titillating. The trick is blending them the right way and making it work.

Murder narratives often contain sex. Kissing is part of sex. Hugs are in there too. Leg-twitching, shudder-shaking bedroom action raises the tension. I include all of them… with rising-tension murder too. They go together well.

Lori Beeton (a huge Dean Koontz fan) said my literotica was unusually feminine. She says I take my time and don’t rush the sex.

I guess she’s right. I favour growing the tension between lovers. I let it build and swirl as though I’m writing an erotic-specific piece.

Eyes that shift, breathing that falters, secret desires which are revealed one touch at a time, makes for a better read.

Good sex is all about negotiating those ‘unspoken words’. I like the anticipation, the doubt, the uncertain outcome of what may take place after the first kiss happens. How we communicate desire and make contact is what it’s all about baby!

Savour that feeling!

Read about it in my books!

Michael

“Forman’s writing style is artful, with the protagonist Mitchell’s warped thought processes masterfully exposed. The author has a powerful and vivid command of language and his word pictures are stark and disturbingly real.”

– Linda J Bettenay, author of ‘Secrets Mothers Keep’ and ‘Wishes For Starlight’.

Intimate Murder: Villain and Victim Development

When writing dark fiction, it’s important to create the perfect villain. Without one, a hero can’t rise above and give the reader what they need — hard justice. A hero’s strength depends on the power of the villain to get them there. Justice aside, there’s one other thing to consider.

The victim.

Simply using random individuals as victims certainly quickens part of the writing process. It can give our bad-guy instant badness and we don’t need to know about a victim’s life, learn their name, or visit a funeral. We can spend more time with the villains and heroes in the story. But using a nameless nobody to die at the hands of the best-crafted bad-guy, can ruin a good dark fiction story.

Why not include some intrigue by selecting the perfect victim for our villain? If the so-called randoms don’t turn out to be that random at all, we could give deeper purpose to each kill — discoverable later in the story.

And what about the manner in which they die?

Murder is highly personal — at least, I believe it is. Nothing is more intimate than making one of my character’s life snuff out. It’d be easy to under-value a good murder by failing to honour murder’s intimacy. For instance: A shooting. There’s a crack of a gun, a fall to the knees, and a body hits the ground — all done, nice and quick. If the villain is a sniper, it’s even less intimate, because it’s done from a distance. He doesn’t even have to see the eyes of his victim fade. Where’s the intimacy in a sniper-kill?

My murder is not the kind that comes by way of a gun, or a knife, or poison. I’m talking about something deeply intimate — like the electricity that crackles between two new lovers.

Theirs is all about erotic anticipation, hot kisses, fingers and hands seeking bare flesh. Only eyes, moans, and heavy breathing, is used to guide their way into the bedroom. A murder can be written into this space instead. It can be just as sensual, building towards a steamy homicide, creating a whole new level of creep for the dark narrative.

I’m a writer who yearns to bring intimacy and murder together. I want a reader to want to witness the development of such a relationship and then rise as their union climaxes. And then I want them shocked by what I do next.

Avoid clichés at all costs.

Clichés take us where we expect to go. There’s nothing left to do but to wrap a story up with a justice bow and let the reader off with a feel-good outcome. The only challenge for a writer, is to become creative in hiding the cliché, while writing it. For instance: Bad guy goes to jail, dies, banished forever, turned into stone, becomes a horrible monster, etc. The result is always the same — the evil never stays. It goes away, always. Predictable. Not in my stories.

Should justice be as predictable?

You’d think it’d be black and white. Once the badness is identified, it’s removed by good, old fashioned justice. But justice is subjective. Depending on your age, race, upbringing, beliefs, sex, sexual preference, intellect, wisdom, experience, even weight and height, you’ll have a unique view on what’s just. There’s another human flaw to factor into the justice mix — psychological stability. There are moments when we’re not ourselves and make bad decisions on things like justice. All of these varying elements in the justice process make it somewhat fluidic. This fluidity is something I like to explore in my stories. All I need to do is get my reader to jump in and get wet with me, to find appropriate justice in the sloppy liquid. It’s not conventional but it works for the thriller-styled novels I write.

Self awareness, identity and acceptance is important to everyone, including psychopaths. We all have an inner-something that drives us and makes us do the things we do. Even well-balanced people can get things horribly wrong on matters of love, lust, family, money, and much more. Any of these items can be motivators for us to think and act inappropriately, and then look to cover our tracks when we see things in the light of a new day.

My books include this strange shift in behaviour. They are dark fiction and not meant for children. They’re not for simple souls either. They contain complex, adult issues, and challenge a reader’s moral standing throughout their narratives. They are written for a perfect villain who commits an intimate murder, and then ask readers to accept a different type of justice that makes perfect sense, only at the time of the crime.

Read SEETHINGS now. It’s the first novel in a series, and it’s free on *SMASHWORDS. (*limited time)

Michael Forman (Author)

“Forman’s writing style is artful, with the protagonist Mitchell’s warped thought processes masterfully exposed. The author has a powerful and vivid command of language and his word pictures are stark and disturbingly real.”

– Linda J Bettenay, author of ‘Secrets Mothers Keep’ and ‘Wishes For Starlight’.

Sex And An Intimate Choke On A Stormy Evening

Sexual attraction is primeval. So are the emotions felt when a thunderstorm brews and unleashes hell. Both activate something deep within — at least it does for me. When the two of them meet, it’s more than I can stand. That’s why I love doing it in a storm. That’s my true kink. There’s something powerful and aggressive about nature’s wild side uniting with my wild thing. It stirs my inner-animal and makes the sex that much better.

Don’t misunderstand me, storms have an aggressive element, but I’m not an aggressive lover. That’s not me. I know aggression is used to lift some lovers to new heights of euphoria, but it’s still not my thing. Euphoria can be obtained without it.

Similarly, I don’t reach out and choke my lovers during sex. I’m more a meat and potatoes kind of lover. Biting, slapping, whipping and choking aren’t part of my sexual appetites… but making love under a tropical thunderstorm is. I like how it makes me feel. It activates something inside. HE comes from another place of my psyche. HE feels things in ways I can’t. This is another layer of my sexuality hidden beyond the civilised one I usually present to most lovers.

That first crack of lightning is enough to activate it. First, it makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and then the rest of it follows. The sensation penetrates deep beyond my upper sensibilities and finds that mysterious level of sexual subconsciousness I need to cross over. I’m like a wild beast with a veracious new energy when the storm rages around me!

But I’m not a choker! Definitely not! Remember that when I tell you the next part of my story. It’s important to keep it in mind. I don’t choke. Here I go. Now take a deep breath, Mitchell. Make sure you get this right.

Last night, I held Nina down. That part is in no way extraordinary. Our sexual synergy took us outdoors. It was actually her idea. “Let’s try something different,” she said.

I was on top, so of course I held her body in place. It was missionary. Simple. Meat and potato love in the privacy of the backyard. Her knees were pointed towards the night sky, and I was facing her, enjoying the moment. No one was being hurt. It was perfect. Nice. Things were orderly.

And then that small storm cell presented itself and covered the stars. It came out of nowhere and it moved fast.

There was a flash of light, a crack, and then a deep rumble which shook the ground. None of it was forecast. I know this because I made damn sure of it before setting up our date. It wasn’t meant to happen. I save that for others.

As expected, my neck reacted to the sound in an instant. Just like before, I couldn’t stop the sensations once they started. This time, an intense pain struck me right between the eyes. After it subsided and the fog it created had lifted, I saw a stranger’s hands appear from nowhere and slide around Nina’s neck. I felt my hips move much faster — and my sex reached a new level of hardness. Those hands clamped down tight, her eyes popped open, she gurgled and then struggled to get herself free of their grip. These are the last few things I remember as the rain began to fall. The rest of it fades into a blur.

A gentle hum of rubber on a dry road coaxed me back to reality. The bristles on my neck had subsided. Nina and the storm cell was gone. At some point, I must’ve dressed, left her place and got myself behind the wheel of my car. I should’ve been confused by this strange shift in memory, but I wasn’t. I was profoundly satisfied instead. Never before have I experienced such a sense of inner peace as I did last night.

That’s not the end of it. There’s a little more.

As I slipped into bed, Samantha woke, rolled over and whispered, ‘How was it, dear? Did you get everything done that you needed to?’

“Yes. All of it.”

“Oh, that’s good. Well, g’night. See you in the morning.”

She gave me a peck on the cheek, rolled the other way and went back to sleep. Can you believe it?

Yep, that’s her way. She’s too nice a person to probe any further. My wife performs every obligatory nicety with trust and grace — even through disturbed drowsiness. Like I said, it’s her way.

Sam has many sides of that nice order of hers. She goes to bed early, so she can wake early. There’s much to be done and little time to waste. I won’t see her until dinner, and I won’t feel her again until we go to bed tomorrow night. That’s when she’ll kiss my cheek, roll away and sleep. It’s been like that for years. It’s why we don’t have children. She’s obsessed with every duty outside the bedroom — and sleeping whenever she’s inside it. This makes her happy. It makes me sad and frustrated.

Yes, you guessed it. Nina’s a more willing partner in that respect, but she’s a—

Nina? Oh, you want to know about what happened to her during the storm?

Oh, I don’t know. I’m too afraid to call her and find out if she’s still alive. Those two hands weren’t mine. I’m telling you, they didn’t belong to me. My orderly upper consciousness tells me that I couldn’t have hurt her. It’s not within me to choke — but I’m also aware that there’s another something hidden deep beneath layers of civility. I don’t know where that finishes.

It’s also why I’m afraid to watch today’s news.

-Mitchell

Another Lonely Christmas?

We’re a married couple but live without intimacy. In our thirties, our family and friends think we’ve chosen not to have children, but that’s far from the truth. It’s too cold and lonely a place for them. Last Christmas came and went without so much as a kiss, and I’m expecting the same to happen this Christmas. I nurtured the holiday season as good as I could, with optimistic energy but, like the year before it, it was all for nothing. New Year’s Day was just as lonely — and so were all the days that followed it. Sex, if it’s to happen before this year is out, will be nothing short of a miracle.

My expectations are low but, unfortunately, I live with a tiny piece of hope inside me. It’s a horrible thing. Hope is like having a knife pointed at my chest but being told everything is fine. It’s a tormenting, torturous threat. In spite of our long history not having sex, a part of me still wishes for it. It kills me. What’s going to happen? Will this year finish the same way as last? Will that knife be plunged deep into my heart again?

Sexless Marriage Podcast

That’s why I’m dreading these upcoming holidays.

Birthdays, holidays, trips away, weekends — no time is a good time. My heart keeps breaking. I want to know what went wrong to deserve this sexless marriage. Did I say or do something wrong? I’d heard about married couples who went through inexplicable dry spells, but I thought that was a myth or fodder for comedians to use on stage.

Single people have a good reason to be alone. Married couples have no excuse. They can have sex anytime and anywhere. At least, that’s what I thought they could do. But we don’t, not ever.

Am I wrong to want? Do I expect too much?

How can we lay in the same bed and not want something more than just sleep? What are we supposed to be, only good friends?

It wasn’t always like this.

We used to have sex almost all the time. We couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. That doesn’t happen now. A whole year can pass by before one comes to touch me again. And, when it does, it pulls back far too soon.

I just finished reading this insightful book. I heard about it on this podcast. It’s about an extreme sexless marriage… and it’s just like mine. Damn! It could be about us!

It’s pitiful. My soul has all but evaporated.

If I’d read it five years ago, it wouldn’t have made sense, but not now. I totally get it.

Just how long is too long before I give up, scream or go mad?

-Angelwanderer

Breaking Up Could Be The Best Thing I’ll Ever Do

A fairy-tale is coming to an end. I can feel it. I say I love you, but something’s wrong. If I had to describe it accurately, parts of this relationship has become like a horror story. I mean, we’ve worked on fixing the problems — tried so very hard to make things right, but it hurts too much to keep doing it. I ache from aching. Losing you is wrong, but life should be easier to live than this. I’m losing my mind while hanging on to whatever fragments are left of this marriage.

Maybe Breaking Up Is Better

It’s not working. We aren’t working. You feel it too, don’t you? It can’t just be me. There’s something we haven’t tried. Breaking up. I’ve thought about it a few times. We should give it a go. I think we should try it one time. What do you think? Would you like to try it too?

One-sided mirror conversations are brilliant. Every word makes perfect sense. The mirror never argues. It listens and reflects empathy. That kind of support can’t be bought. But what happens when that mirror becomes a flesh and blood person? Those questions will affect someone, and I won’t know the reaction to them. I mean, I’ve never done this before. No one ever says how to break up or divorce now, do they? Sure, some think about it, jokes are sometimes passed between friends, but few of them are ever said or taken seriously. The truth is, once we’ve made a commitment to marry, it’s a one-way direction. We’re supposed to remain together forever.

Should the words, die trying, be included somewhere too?

Reaching the relationship Utopia known as, ’til death do us part, is easier said than done. Making it work every day for a lifetime is a whole different game of hearts. What if it doesn’t go the right way, and the journey has more than a few bumps along the way? What happens when it keeps on happening?

It’s no one’s fault. It’s everyone’s fault. Silence or bickering. Those are the options to those caught in this loop.

Is breaking up allowed?

It’s not romantic. There’s no romance here. It’s tragic. That’s what it is. Sad and disappointing. It’s like death. Something in us will die and it’ll never come back. So, the choice is that or accept ongoing torture. It is a fool who chooses this, but I’ve been foolish. I’ve accepted something I didn’t like and have allowed it each day. This is enabling. I let a bad habit take form in my life, and I don’t want any part of it anymore.

Yes, breaking up is allowed. Death is fine too. Let the relationship die. Kill and bury it. There’s nothing left to see here. It’s dead. Leave. Start walking. We can’t change the past, but we can leave and walk away from it today. Things won’t be the same again. It’s true.

That’s also the goddam point!

Break-ups happen. They really do. They’re a natural part of life. If we’re to believe that existence’s rainbow is made up of a kaleidoscope of colours, we must be prepared to accept the darkest ones too. They’ll visit us from time to time. Break up is one of those horrible colours, but it’s just that, a colour.

So walk away. Lift your head. Prettier colours will return again. We should be allowed to embrace The End without guilt, and then look forward to seeing the golds and yellows when the future finally arrives.

SEETHINGS is about long-term love. It’s about two proud people who have loved well but became love-martyrs to sustain an endless ending. She is an educator. He is a photographer. They are being counselled by radio identity Tony Brindell. He’s trying to unravel their mess, but inadvertently uncovers some darker secrets.

Someone is about to be tortured. Someone will die for all the pain.

Enjoy your SEETHINGS journey. Like love, it has the potential to torment — but it certainly won’t disappoint.

– Michael (Author)

Five Random Victims
Summer Thunderstorms
Charm Bracelet
Author: M.Forman

“Forman’s writing style is artful, with the protagonist Mitchell’s warped thought processes masterfully exposed. The author has a powerful and vivid command of language, and his word pictures are stark and disturbingly real.”

– Linda J Bettenay, author of ‘Secrets Mothers Keep’ and ‘Wishes For Starlight’.

Love Gone Wrong Podcast

Secret Affair Confession: ‘The Kisses Taste Way Better.’

I must confess, the touches are tinglier too. I wish I’d done this sooner. The amount of nights I spent awake, thinking about cheating, was endless. Last night, l finally crossed over and did it. And I’m not sorry, either. It’s naughty, and I don’t mind sharing my secret with you here. To hell with you if you’re a hater! Haters don’t know what I’ve been through. I had no choice but to go outside my marriage. I needed this so much!

How to kiss properly

Cheating keeps me sane. Without it, I’d be climbing walls. My spouse has no time for intimacy. It’s always work, work, work. I’m done with being second best and low-priority. Being taken for granted isn’t what I signed up for. The second chances I kept giving my partner ran out, so I made a choice. I’ve done more with my secret FWB in three months than I did in the last decade. We do everything we don’t experience at home. That’s why our meetings are so precious. There’s so much more freedom. The bizarre marital restrictions at home don’t matter.

Yes, we did marriage counselling. Better communication techniques were applied through couple’s therapy. We tried date nights too, romantic weekends away, but nothing worked. Married life became awkward. It wasn’t the way I expected to live. Monogamy was the dream. It’s just it didn’t work out like I planned.

If it weren’t for this new arrangement, Nina’s life would be as sexless as mine. We crave touch, but our spouses are absent. They live with us, but they’re not with us. It’s complicated to an outsider, but it’s not to us.

Secret Affair kisses

Before this affair, I had to embrace defeat or make some radical changes to my way of thinking. Something had to break, so I broke. Now I’m happy. So is my wife. I don’t look to Samantha for sex anymore, and she likes that. She stays busy, doing the things that make her happy. Sex isn’t one of them.

Nina’s marriage is almost the same as mine. If her husband isn’t too busy for sex, he’s too tired to play.

She and I love our spouses, we just didn’t like the icy lifestyles. We wanted fire! It’s delicious to burn. We know how to cook. Eating leaves smiles on our faces.

Are we too demanding for our spouses? Perhaps. If quick vanilla twice a year is demanding, then yes, we’re guilty. There are no strange kinks with us. Most of what we want is to feel human again. We like to kiss. Hugging is high on our list too. Sex completes us. Our problems are solved with this arrangement, and two marriages are improved for it.

Should I stay in this secret affair

Would I tolerate this behaviour if it were my wife doing it and not me?

Ten years ago, I’d have said no in an instant. Now, if taking a lover made her happy, then I’d have to think a second time before saying anything. Happiness for me required a behavioural change to take place deep inside me. I needed to accept a new kind of normal. Sure, if Sam wanted it, I’d consider accepting a new kind of normal. Change is good. Why can’t we embrace change? Change can help us all if we expanded our minds and put our trust in love, not sex.

Who am I kidding? She wouldn’t think like that. She doesn’t need sex. Books do it for her. Reading is her pleasure. We’ve a growing library on her side of the bed, and I’m not worth placing a bookmark into any of their pages for a moment of romance.

She’s asexual. That’s all there’s to say. Don’t over-think it. No sex is best sex.

I know what you’re wondering. Kids? No. We have no children. That’s why we have three healthy teenage-sized piles of books along her side of the bed instead. I allow my wife to read without distraction, and I get laid.

And then six women died in mysterious circumstances. It was all over the news. Maybe you know one of the victims.

Angelwanderer.

Five Random Victims
Summer Thunderstorms
Charm Bracelet
Author: M.Forman
Avail: Kindle, Kobo, Kindle Unlimited, Etc.

“Forman’s writing style is artful, with the protagonist Mitchell’s warped thought processes masterfully exposed. The author has a powerful and vivid command of language and his word pictures are stark and disturbingly real.”

– Linda J Bettenay, author of ‘Secrets Mothers Keep’ and ‘Wishes For Starlight’.
sexy kissing