The Autumn Diaries Read online

  Contents

  - Copyright

  - Author's Note

  - January 1

  - January 3

  - January 4

  - January 6

  - January 12

  - The One About the Guy With the Dolls

  - January 26

  - January 26, later in the day

  - January 27

  - February 2

  - February 8

  - Story ideas

  - February 28

  - March 1

  - March 3

  - The One with the Hoarding

  - March 12

  - March 19

  - Partials

  - March 25

  - March 30

  - April 4

  - The One with the Guy Who Wanted Tons of Stuff Up His Ass

  - April 8

  - April 10

  - April 15

  - April 27

  - Fucking in the Post Office

  - May 14

  - May 23

  - May 29

  - June 1

  - June 21

  - June 28

  - July 1

  - July 4

  - July 12

  - July 30

  - August 5

  - Idea dump

  - The One with the Cop While I Was Locked Up

  - August 25

  - August 26

  - September 1

  - September 3

  - September 7

  - September 20

  - September 29

  - The One with the Guy Who Wanted to Act Out All of the Animated GIFs

  - October 10

  - October 21

  - October 25

  - October 28

  - October 29

  - November 8

  - November 15

  - November 20

  - November 28

  - December 2

  - The One with the 18 Marshmallows

  - December 12

  - December 15

  - December 26

  - December 28

  - More Smut!

  - Free Books!

  - About Lexi Maxxwell

  COPYRIGHT

  LEXI MAXWELL’S

  THE AUTUMN DIARIES

  ***WARNING***

  This is a work of erotic fiction and contains GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SEX, WHICH MAY OFFEND SOME AUDIENCES. This book is meant for MATURE AUDIENCES AGED 18 OR OLDER (or whatever the local laws are in your area). All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  First published by Lexi Maxxwell, 2013

  All rights reserved under the international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, without written permission from the publisher. Excerpts may be used for the purposes of review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Lexi Maxxwell 2013

  Visit me at www.LexiMaxxwell.com

  The Autumn Diaries

  Naughty USA’s favorite character, self-professed cumslut, writer, and stand-in for Ms. Maxwell herself, Autumn Cole, kept a diary all last year. This diary is a mix of short entries and longer anecdotes that detailed the year she spent being Lexi Maxxwell and publishing to Amazon. With this crude and fun collection of snippets and stories, Lexi will get you laughing as hard as she you usually makes you tingle.

  XXX

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  I LOVE WRITING AS LEXI Maxxwell.

  There's a certain freedom in writing outside the lines, and Lexi gives me that freedom — to write with abandon, telling those stories I would want to read most, thick with the sort of characters that hold my interest and keep me turning the pages.

  I've spent a lot of years as a paid writer, but only started writing fiction as Lexi early last year. Because I love reading erotica, I figured that was the best place to start my storytelling adventures.

  I wrote just two stories before I created Autumn. She has since become my favorite character. While I love many if not all of the people I create, Autumn has a special place in my heart because she, more than any other Lexi character, allows me to speak through her.

  Autumn is a self-described "cum bucket." A slut without apology. However, like many antiheroes, Autumn Cole also has a code with which she lives by. She loves her boyfriend Sam and would never do anything to hurt him. Autumn is good and loyal and smart — she just happens to prefer cock in her holes as often as she can get it!

  Autumn evolved throughout last year. Her very first appearance was in Swallowing Secrets, the first chapter in the Naughty USA series. She quickly earned her own series with Talking Dirty, stories which were written in first person, detailing some of Autumn's bedroom (and bathroom and kitchen, and pretty much everywhere out in public) adventures from those years before she met Sam.

  After writing a second project (not yet titled) starring Autumn, back to writing in third person, I wanted a third piece of work that tied it and Talking Dirty together. This new project had to blend the third and first person voices from the other two "Autumn projects" together, but more than that, this project had to be funny.

  I'm very proud of The Autumn Diaries, and while I don't think it's necessarily the sexiest thing Lexi has written, I do believe it's the funniest thing I’ve done so far. While I try to sprinkle humor into each of my stories, it’s the focus for The Autumn Diaries.

  With each of my books I want you to feel something else, beyond the current I hope will crackle between your legs. With Anticipation I wanted you to feel Caitlin's desperation to finally let herself go. In Bitten I wanted you to feel Henry and Emma's longing. In Naughty USA, I want you to fall in love with all the slutty inhabitants of inferno.

  With the Autumn Diaries, I want you to laugh.

  I truly hope you do. There is some fact in this fiction, and an extra heaping of funny.

  I hope you enjoy it!

  Kisses and cumshots!

  Lexi

  JANUARY 1

  MET THIS BARTENDER DOWNTOWN TONIGHT at Pulse. He said he thought I was cute, so I suggested we head into the nightclub’s stockroom. He said he was the only bartender on for the night because the other guy called in sick and ditched his shift. He couldn’t leave the bar. So I went around, crawled behind the bar, and let him tickle my tonsils with his tool while he kept pouring drinks. I don’t think anyone even knew I was there, at least not until he started to cum, bucking hard enough to make me bang my head into the soda hose, which then turned on and started spraying all over the place. At first I didn’t notice, figuring he was just blowing the world’s biggest load.

  Anyway, after ringing in the new year with Tyrone’s (Tyrese’s?) cock down the back of my throat, dipping down into my stomach like a dipstick, I can barely talk, so I figured I’d write in here:

  Dear diary, I’m sorry I’ve neglected you.

  But now a giant sausage has robbed me of

  my ability to speak, so I’ll be writing instead.

  Anyway, I’m both excited and really nervous about the filthy little stories I’ve been banging out on the keyboard. I mean, they’re great while I’m writing them. Truly, the gift that keeps on giving. The other day I downloaded a vibrator app to my phone, wrapped my phone in a baggie, and spent the rest of the day working at my computer with a $400 device in my pussy. I ironically had the phone set on vibrate, so I found out later that my mom had been trying to call for like the entire fucking day and was super pissed I didn’t answer. But even if I’d known she was calling, I don’t think I cou
ld have answered. How can you talk to your mom after she’s been in your pussy, contributing to the subtle rocking that got you all worked up?

  “Hi mom, thanks for the seven orgasms.” It’s like Thanksgiving dinner all over.

  Gross.

  I love my stories, and love writing them. They have (if possible) made me hornier than ever. I keep cruising for more cock to fill more holes. But I’m starting to get nervous about what’s going to happen after I publish them. They’re all about my family, after all. Celeste won’t give a shit, but what about everyone else… even if they’re not actually in the sex scenes?

  I’m pretty torn. I love all of these stories — the ones I make up and the ones that really happened — but I really don’t want to piss everyone off. Not that it’s a huge secret or taboo or anything, but not everyone is as accepting and slutty and dick-hungry as me.

  Ouch, my throat really hurts. I think he shot cum into my sinuses.

  JANUARY 3

  LOL, I ALREADY FORGOT ABOUT how I couldn’t talk when I did that last entry. I ran into that bartender again this morning — this time at Greens. We were in the condiment aisle. When I saw him, I took a jar of mayo and tossed this to him and said, “I think you left a bunch of this on New Years’, so here’s a replacement.” It was a joke with too many layers, maybe, for a morning supermarket run, seeing as the “mayo” referred to a major jizz explosion and “my place” was actually my throat and face, but he got it and laughed. He was awkward about it, which was sorta cute.

  I managed to find out his name is actually Tyrese, like Tyrese Gibson. I should remember that shit since the dude sorta looks like Tyrese Gibson.

  He said I was so drunk the other night that he didn’t think I’d remember him, then he looked RIGHT AT my tits, like not even trying to hide it. So I told him I wasn’t sure, and I said, “Let me see,” then backed him up into that little corner where the pharmacy has that blood pressure machine thing and pulled out his dick. He protested, trying to stop me. Like the awkward shit with the mayo, it was sorta cute.

  Once his dong was hanging in front of me, I shook my head and told him that it didn’t help much since I’m a white girl and all black guys look alike to me. He laughed at that, but still kept trying to tuck his beautiful monster away. I used his dick like a handle to pull him over to the blood pressure machine, then put his prick in it and press the button, but unfortunately the cuff only squeezes down so far. It’s a shame, considering how cool it would be for him to say he fucked a blood pressure machine.

  But then some lady came in to buy socks for varicose veins and it kind of killed the mood, so I gave Tyrese’s dick a quick last glance then went on my way.

  JANUARY 4

  SWALLOWING SECRETS COMES OUT TODAY. I’m pretty fucking nervous. Oh, and by the way, I figured out at least part of the way I’ll deal with the shit publicly. Specifically, I won’t deal with it at all. A few days ago (maybe New Year’s Day after that guy came to the door asking for directions and I ended up sitting on his dick while his wife waited in the car), it dawned on me that I could use a pen name. Duh. So now, in print, I’m “Lexi Maxxwell.” It’s on my book cover and everything… or at least, it will be when the book publishes. I just did the thing on Amazon, publishing it as an ebook, and right now it’s in the guts of their system waiting for approval. It sucks. You have to wait and wait, and it says, “Under review” in the little KDP dashboard, like they’re judging you. It’s been that way forever. I actually pressed publish yesterday afternoon, so it’s been over 24 hours. Everything I’ve read online says it’s not supposed to take that long, but everything I’ve read online also says that Amazon is like super careful about smut. I guess they don’t want people talking about fucking kids or dogs or whatever, and that’s smart, I suppose, but everyone in my stories is over 18 and are all just major cum sluts. And cum dealers. No dogs.

  Okay, that’s funny. I just made a note in my writing program about doing a story called “Cum Dealer” that’s all about a guy with jizz that’s like super addictive, like crack, and girls keep coming (no pun intended) to him and begging for more, and so he starts a Breaking Bad style business selling creampies and hot beef injections.

  I guess that’d be fiction. The stories in Swallowing Secrets are kinda sorta mostly true, but I could totally make shit up. Obviously. That’d be hilarious.

  Great. Now I’m all wet. Gotta go rub one out. Or I could call Sam. This is his job, right?

  Thinking it might be time to go exclusive with Sam, BTW. I don’t like the idea of limiting dick diversity, but guys do seem to expect that, and Sam has a helluva tool. I think he’s a keeper.

  JANUARY 6

  GOT MY FIRST SALE ON Swallowing Secrets! I’m going to be rich. Considering buying a small Hill of Beans coffee with the profits.

  Despite the sarcasm, I was super fucking happy to make a dollar-ninety-something from something I made up in my head. I got so worked up that I called Sam and asked him if I could put a finger up his ass. He said no. I asked him if he wanted to put a finger up my ass. He said that we weren’t really at that stage yet. WTF? So I told him to come over, then ripped his pants off at the door and knocked him down trying to get his dick into my mouth. Missed on the cumshot and Sam shot a stringer onto my lamp.

  NOTE: buy a new lampshade.

  JANUARY 12

  FELL OFF THE WAGON A little this week, with “the wagon” being Sam’s dick.

  I don’t think it’s cheating since we haven’t said we’re exclusive yet, but now that I’m thinking about letting Sam’s and ONLY Sam’s helmeted soldier into my glory of glories, I figure that: 1) I can’t deprive the rest of the world of my pussy without issuing one “last call” and 2) I need to get whatever wild oats remain out of my system before closing shop — a final sprint for the finish.

  I’ll write about it later. I’ll have to write it in the third person as someone else, or set it farther back in time so it doesn’t piss Sam off.

  Okay, just made a note to write the one with the 18 marshmallows.

  The list of story prompts I have is ridiculous. I’m actually looking it over now and laughing so hard that my sister Celeste, who is in the other room with three Italians and a Shake Weight, keeps asking me what I’m doing.

  OMFG, this decides it. I’m writing the one about the guy with the dolls tomorrow.

  THE ONE ABOUT THE GUY WITH THE DOLLS

  DECIDED TO CHANGE NAMES BELOW because Lawrence is recognizable and the fact that I hooked up with him could be something he wouldn’t want shared, in his business and stuff. So I’ll be “Carly” and he can be “Rick.” Wrote it third-person to add another layer of anonymity.

  I’m way too nice to creepy dudes.

  +++

  Rick was possibly the sexiest guy Carly had ever met.

  She was still in college, so it’s not like she’d had much experience so far with sexy. She’d experienced plenty of hot, and she’d had hard and rough and young and old and wild and all of that, but “sexy” had a certain and somewhat significant weight. Some girls may find surfer types sexy, but Carly put those kinds of guys more into the “hot” camp.

  To Carly, “sexy” implied a guy who was slightly older, but not too much — maybe in his thirties and with a high-profile, powerful job. “Sexy” guys wore suits, probably imported. They had slicked-back hair. They drank good wine and, unlike Carly, could actually tell the difference between good and bad wine. Their houses or apartments (she thought apartments; sexy guys tended to be city-dwellers) were done in grays and blacks and whites. Their furniture was more attractive than comfortable. Their medicine cabinets were orderly, like store shelves. Bonus points if they used a straight razor and warmed shaving foam that didn’t come from a can with red and white stripes.

  Rick was all of that and more. Carly met him at a Hill of Beans. He asked her for the wi-fi password because he wanted to use a laptop computer, pulled from a gorgeous Italian leather briefcase. He smiled a beautiful smile, not too w
hite. He leaned over, placing a large hand with nicely groomed fingernails (and no wedding ring) palm flat on her table for balance. His hair was dark and perfectly in place save for a single hair, charmingly hanging down like fucking Superman as he leaned down.

  Carly felt herself totally disarmed — not at all her confident, slutty self. She actually blushed as she told him there was no password, that all you had to do was to open a browser window and agree to the automatic prompt. The guy said that he’d tried that but that nothing came up, then gestured to his laptop. Carly stood and went over, leaning across the table from the other side. He was also leaning down, and when she looked up, Carly caught him looking down the front of her blousy shirt. She hadn’t worn a bra. The knowledge that he’d just seen her nipples made them hard. And, of course, her pussy got wet.

  He’d asked if she came here often. It was a total line, but also perfectly in character. Sexy guys used all of the cliche lines because they were sexy enough to get away with it. It was like James Bond. Yeah, he was a cartoon, but he was also JAMES MOTHERFUCKING BOND. Bond could say whatever he wanted and still fuck the classiest broad with all the vacuum cleaner attachments he wanted. (That wasn’t in any of the books or movies, but Carly felt sure Bond got filthy kinky.)

  Carly said she didn’t.

  Rick complemented the art in the Hill of Beans, which doubled as a gallery for the college’s art school.

  Carly said that she loved art, which was totally untrue, then crossed her legs and allowed her skirt to come up too far so he could see what she was keeping inside it.

  Rick told her that he had a lot of fine art at his apartment and asked if she’d like to come over and see it. So Carly went.