Man in wheelchair finds he can still have sex - with his mom.
And it's here to stay. I am turned on by trashy, dirty, stupid smut. The more poorly-written the story, the naughtier it feels.
It's the rush of abandoning my artistic integrity. I act like one of the idiotic "heroines" in these stories just for a few minutes by reading shit that makes Twilight look like the Book of Kells.
I finish reading "Sundae School". Then I read "Slutty Mary, Slutty Mary, Slutty Mary". Then "Pussy 'n' Booty". Then "The Witch Gets Ogrewhelmed". Then "Sucky-Suckybus Summoning". Then-
"Hey, Sandra?" calls my roommate. "Are you in there?"
I go still.
"Uh..." Jenny sounds embarrassed. That's unusual for the girl with no shame. "I kinda left my panties in there last night. I was in a hurry to hide them, 'cause my gran-gran was stopping by and they aren't...um...clean. I should really get them in the laundry, though."
I blink, feeling around. Panties? I didn't see any-oh. Lovely. They're still wet.
I close my laptop case, sighing. "One sec, Jenny."
My momentary mortification has passed quickly, thanks to Jenny's own, and I am eager to get back to my stories. Later, I promise myself. Later.
That night, I have a dream.
I'm sitting on my bed, naked, typing on my computer. I'm writing something, but my typing is too fast for me to make out any of the words.
The laptop starts to feel warm in my lap. I frown. I'm not running Facebook or anything. Is this another virus?
Then it starts to get...really warm.
Comfortably warm. In the background, I vaguely register that the walls have turned into a verdant expanse of bright evergreens. Birds tweet and screech and warble in the treetops above, but on my bed, none of that matters.
I give a soft sigh as I feel the warmth entering my nether regions. My legs spread of their own accord. I keep typing with one hand, my fingers a blur, and the other starts just slightly-not even fully deliberately-rubbing the laptop against my crotch.
I realize that the pleasure is starting to get distracting. I also realize that, as I get distracted, my writing slows down. I can almost make out letters now.
I start deliberately rubbing. I just want to know, I tell myself. I'll stop the second I can see.
Whoever said you can't lie to yourself was full of shit. You totally can. You just need to not pay much attention. And let's just say I'm getting pretty damn distracted right now.
Then, it happens. As I rise to the point just before orgasm, I can read the words!
Aren't you tired of fighting? I hear the words in my head spoken by a husky, sensual voice. Don't you just want to SUBMIT?
And then I hit my climax, and the words become the last thing on my mind.
I wake up. The insides of my thighs feel sticky.
Oh, no. I groan. This makes, what, the fourth time this week?
Ever since I found the site...
The site. I grab my laptop from the side of the bed and sit up. I can blow off a day of classes. I just got the greatest idea for a story.
I close a couple popups, one of which featuring a man and a woman fingering each other. I always keep my laptop muted nowadays. I load Anthrolorgy ("Lose yourself in your own fantasies!") and login.
There it is. In big, bold blue letters.
Up until now, something's held me back. Embarrassment? Self-doubt?
No more, I tell myself. Taking a deep breath, I click the link.
Frowning, I click the link again. Nothing.
"Ugh." I glare at the computer. "Stupid website."
Something flashes on the screen.
I blink. It was too fast to catch-there it was again!
When it flashes a third time, my finger creeps to the "Print Screen" key.
The fourth time, I catch it.
"Oh. Is that all?" I scowl. Must be one of those viruses the site's always giving me. I really should be more careful. I go to open 'Badware Bites', my antivirus program.
The screen flashes. My head tilts. What was I about to do?
The screen flashes again.
I need to submit,