The Autumn Diaries Page 8

  I gripped Sam harder and started stroking his cock. He half protested and half groaned. I could feel pre-cum under my fingers.

  “Ooo-kay,” Sam sort of grunted, his eyes closing. “I guess you can keep going.”

  I leaned over and whispered that a handjob wasn’t what he’d challenged me to.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Autumn, no.”

  Fortunately, with men, no seldom actually means no. It’s one place where the double standard works in my favor. If had a nickel for every time Sam has told me no and successfully made me stop doing something sexual, I’d probably have a nickel, but only if I started with one.

  I took my hand out of his pants and laid down on my stomach, my arms propped on his legs. This annoyed the woman behind us because my up-kicked legs were suddenly in her face, but she moved with a grunt, then settled back in to watching the sky. I was totally innocent. I’d just gotten comfortable, my head resting on my arms and my arms resting on my guy’s legs. Lots of people were doing something similar.

  My face was literally three inches from Sam’s hard cock. The only problem was that his pants were between my lips and its veiny grandeur.

  Would anyone really notice if his cock were suddenly out? I decided not. If you’re in a crowd, do you keep looking around at everyone’s laps? Would you really notice a dick? I kind of doubt it, especially at dusk.

  I took stock.

  One: My lips were already where they needed to be, and nobody thought it was strange.

  Two: Nobody would notice if Sam’s dick were out right now.

  The thing that alerts people to a blowjob or a handjob in progress is the motion. If I could eliminate the motion, I’d be golden. Now, for most girls, that’s a tough obstacle to surmount, but I’m not most girls. I am a world class cum slut.

  Slyly, slowly, I unzipped Sam’s fly without unbuttoning his pants. Slyly, slowly, I fished inside and freed his hot rod through the hole in his boxers. He was totally clothed save those few inches of pink pole. He was dick-in-a-box guy without the box. It was right there in front of me, rocking with his pulse.

  I licked it, moving only my tongue. Sam moaned.

  He didn’t like this. His face was tight and red as if I were subjecting him to torture. But he couldn’t protest, because people were just feet away. If he moved too much, they’d glance over. He had to stay perfectly still.

  I licked it again. It twitched. I tasted the salty pre-cum.

  He gave me an intense look but didn’t say anything for fear of attracting attention. His look said, Knock it off.

  I gave him a look that said, Not on your life.

  He gave me a pleading look that suggested, and maybe even begged that we could do this later, back at his place.

  I extended my neck by a single inch and took the head of his little admiral between my lips. It was barely any motion. I felt like I was in one of those wildlife shows where they say some predator’s vision is based on movement, and that if the prey doesn’t move, the predator can’t see it.

  With just the tip of his dick in my mouth, I began to suck slowly, like a gobstopper, rolling my tongue back and forth across the bottom.

  The beauty at this point is that if anyone looked at us, we would seem totally and completely innocent — so long as the person looking missed the four visible inches of pink skin between Sam’s jeans and my mouth. And in the dark, as long as I didn’t move much, it was easy to miss.

  I rolled it around more, using my lips to squeeze just the head of his cock, and my tongue to rub around the bottom of the head. I didn’t dare go deeper, use my hands, move my head or lap him with my tongue. This was like sexual isometrics.

  I rolled my tongue across the little nub on the underside of his cock. I sucked the head hard, then light, then hard, then light. Like a stroke job without any stroking.

  Beneath my totally casual arms, I could feel Sam’s legs start to tighten.

  A few more fireworks started to shoot into the air, still just the small testers. Everyone seemed to be looking toward the skies, but without the rapt attention that would seize them once the real show started, any second. But it was still enough distraction, and just enough noise, for me to start squeezing and sucking harder. I timed my thickest licks and most powerful sucks with the explosions, hoping to mask Sam’s grunting. I got pretty good, ridiculously fast. I would wait for the rocket’s scream, then suck hard and roll my tongue on the tip of his mushroom as it pulsed harder and harder in my mouth.

  Screeeeeeech… (suck)… BOOM!

  I moved faster. Sam started to pant, still trying to remain still. He was doing a pretty good job considering the amount of twitching his dick was doing — practically a dance — between my lips.

  When three rockets went up at once, I chanced a deeper stroke and sucked Sam hard until my mouth filled with his hot, sticky cum. I tightened my lips and, as Sam fought not to spasm with aftershocks, swallowed every drop.

  When he was fully re-stowed in his pants, I returned to a seated position, and sat beside him smiling. The woman behind us who’d shifted to avoid my legs huffed and readjusted, clearly annoyed.

  Sam looked at me and said, “That was stupid.”

  I looked at his crotch. “Your friend didn’t think so.”

  Unable to disagree, Sam settled for saying, “You still have cum on your chin.”

  A volley of rockets exploded, so I wasn’t sure I heard him. I said, “What?”

  Sam practically screamed, “I said, you still have cum on your chin!”

  The volley had ended. Everyone heard him and turned. I raised a finger to my chin and found that he was right, so I cleaned it with a lick.

  “I mean lemonade,” said Sam, speaking to everyone else more than me.

  When we left, like five dudes applauded.

  JULY 12

  SOMETIMES — OKAY, MOST TIMES — I just can’t help myself.

  I contacted the podcast guys. They have a contact form, so that means they’re just asking for it, right? I asked for some thoughts on word count for stories and what I should price them at, thus marking the first time I have ever not totally trusted myself in a matter concerning length.

  I feel my stories evolving, and told these guys as much. They were nice but I know I can be pushy, so I reigned myself in. I didn’t use the words “cunt” or “cum” in my emails. Not even once. This is tricky for me. It’s amazing how often it comes up.

  My momentum is good, but I suspect something is missing. Their last episode was on characters, and I think I’ve that nailed… creating recurring characters who show up again and again. But in line with my length question, I do wonder if I should be writing longer stuff.

  Trying some experiments with random stuff. Too soon to talk it out — not even here. Don’t want to jinx shit.

  Also, bonus — my obsessions at the podcast have started streaming video. So I can see them. Johnny seems cocky. Sean has this big nose. But Dave is just as cute as I’d suspected.

  Sam remains jealous. Luckily, I know how to make him less so.

  JULY 30

  SAM BET ME THAT I couldn’t write in my diary while he stuck a vibrator in my pussy and a dildo in my ass. So that’s what’s happening right now. I’m bent over my desk and my chair totally naked, my tits are pressed against the edge of my chair, and I’m typing.

  He seems really frustrated that I’m able to keep typing while he keeps giving me the double input.

  This is actually really hot, but I don’t like losing bets.

  Okay, back after a thirty second break. Just came. My asshole tightened so hard when I did, I shot the dildo across the room. Sam chased it down and had to hose it off in the sink because there was weird floor lint stuck to it, gummed to the lube. Sam said he won the bet. I said that I didn’t even stop for a minute, and proved it by staying right where I was and typing more. Then he sai okay now that fucking cheater is using his cock back there. i quit. i win.

  AUGUST 5 />
  GOT AN EMAIL A WEEK or so ago from a woman who said she was quite literally on the verge of divorce when she started reading my stuff. She said that she no longer thinks that she and her husband will split up.

  I couldn’t let that one go. I emailed her back, but instead of just saying how pleased I was, I asked her, in polite terms, just how in the hell my gonzo fucking sex stories helped her with her relationship. Did they read them together? Did I inspire them to go out and play-act and fuck in public?

  The answer was much more mundane, and I’m still trying to totally understand it since it’s sorta foreign to me. I just heard back from her today, and here’s a sentence from her email:

  “It’s subtle. I just see how you refuse to apologize for liking… to be FUCKED… and it kind of made me perk up and refuse to apologize for being who I am too. It’s not even about sex for me. It’s about feeling comfortable in my skin. Our sex life hasn’t changed… yet. But how I feel about myself has.”

  Mind-blowing, it is.

  IDEA DUMP

  I MADE A LIST TODAY of stories I want to remember to tell some day. Maybe I’ll get to them all and maybe I won’t:

  The one with two guys except one wasn't really a guy

  The one with the chunky cum

  The one with the guy who repeated everything I said twice

  The one with the guy who dirty talked in Elmo's voice

  The one with the helium balloon talk.

  The one with the Star Wars theme

  The one with the steroid abuser and his tiny shrinking dick

  The one with the Asian guy who couldn't speak English

  The one with guy who recited movie lines the entire time

  The one with the single dad

  The one with the passed out wife

  The one with the foot fetish

  The one on the roof

  The one with the cop while I was locked up

  The one with the superman sheets who wanted to do it in a phone booth

  The one with the guy who called me “Eunice” no matter how many times I corrected him

  The one with the weather man (and the “big bushy cloud formations”)

  The one with the science freak who told me way too much about my body

  The one with the guy who barked

  The one with the doctor who knew all the right spots to hit and made my body do stuff no one’s made it do since (remember “double clit,” “assgasm,” and “taco cunt”)

  THE ONE WITH THE COP WHILE I WAS LOCKED UP

  CAN’T RESIST OUTLINING THE COP one now.

  NOTE: Totally OK to exaggerate.

  +++

  Autumn is out in the woods, shitfaced-drunk and totally naked except for an elf hat, because she fell into a group of those live-action role-playing LARP dorks on a dare.

  It started because Brooke said she was sad that she’d never get to fuck a knight back in the olden days, since fucking a guy who served the King sounded hot. Autumn said that she’d seen the LARP people doing sword battles and stuff in the park, pretending to stab each other in armor and shit. Brooke says she thinks that’s stupid because she’s being cunty. Autumn says that nerds need pussy too.

  So she finds this one guy, whose name she doesn’t know because he only goes by Lancelot, and he looks kind of hot and has a big codpiece. He’s a virgin, but he’s so into this LARP shit that he says he wants to lose it to an elf. Autumn thinks he’s nuts until she realizes that they’ve got some Eyes Wide Shut shit happening in the woods after hours, and yada yada yada she finds herself naked and up against a cop car and dressed from the neck up as an elf, including the pointy ears. The cops didn’t arrest her or ask her to put her hands on the cop car and spread her legs, but she’s tired of Lancelot and his queerbos and cops were handy. The cops are like, “Um, miss? What are you doing?” and Autumn is like, “Frisk me!” So the cops are down to play and feel her up, doing a cavity search at her insistence, and so on. Then she climbs into the back of the car and declares herself under arrest. At this point, she’s pretty much ready to explode from a major pussy bomb, having gotten girly blue balls from Lancelot and his inability to wield his sword. (She started clothed but eventually remembered that she had some self respect and so stripped naked and ran through the LARPers with one hand in her pussy, screaming, “WHICH KNIGHT AMONGST YOU HAS THE CHARISMA TO PLUNGE THE ELF’S GREAT DEPTHS FOR BOOTY?” but the dorks ran off to whack it to Arthurian porn.)

  The cops repeat that Autumn did nothing wrong. Autumn says she’s naked in public. The cops tell her that local ordinances make that permissible. Eventually they decide she’s crazy but hot and take her back to a very small local police station, where they lock her in a holding cell like Otis the drunk. They lock her up naked. They try to give her clothes, but she’s like a toddler and just keeps ripping them off.

  Once in the cell, Autumn, who is totally fucking shithoused from drinking absinthe or something with the dorks, starts complaining about police brutality. The police at first respond rationally and tell her that she’s not being brutalized, and she’s like, “What about my PUSSY, which doesn’t have any COCKS in it yet?” And then she sticks her ass against the bars with her back furburger sticking out at the officers. One announces the very obvious fact that she’s drunk and goes outside for a cigarette because he’s a total douchebag.

  The guy who remains is like twenty — clearly the rookie. But the joke is on the other motherfuckers, because the prisoner is down to fuck. So Autumn gets all prison movie on him and keeps pushing her pussy up between the bars and grabbing her tits and fingering herself. Eventually she gets the cop to stick his dick between the bars and sucks it for a while, then turns around to take his meat in her snatch. The cop doesn’t give a tiny shit about how drunk or disorderly she is and starts to open the door, but Autumn is like FUCK THAT I WANT JAIL ASS and tells him to fuck her like six different ways, all of which are totally awkward. Then he blows a giant load on her face and in her hair.

  The cop then lets her go. She came, so she’s quieter and more satisfied. She declines a ride and runs right back out into the woods, where the LARP dorks are still playing. She’s still got a face and hairdo full of jizz, so they declare her an “elf whore” and pretend to bludgeon her to death, thus ending her character’s life in the game. The story ends when Autumn recovers a dropped wizard’s staff and fucks it until she cums again, then wakes up sticky with some hobo watching her while eating beans from a can.

  Of course the real story is nowhere near this ridiculous, but it’s also not especially funny. Maybe even sad.

  AUGUST 25

  I GOT CAUGHT UP OVER the last few days and — horror! — failed to listen to the Self Publishing Podcast until two days after it was released. I felt like such a commoner. And of all weeks, too, since it was an episode that got me really excited. No, not like that.

  The bulk of the episode was all about how to go from self-publication to getting an agent. It was interesting, but I don’t really want an agent for my stuff. But it did sort of redefine how the game has changed. Specifically, authors are now the ones in charge, and good authors who can build their own audiences and their own success hold a lot of power. Agents and publishers can now come to US.

  But that’s not why I got excited. At the very end, their guest made a joke about maybe going into erotica, and the three hosts kind of jumped all over that, agreeing that, yeah, erotica was an interesting market, and that they should have an erotica author on. They were pro smut, not at all looking down on it. On the heels of the success of 50 Shades of Grey, the world has sorta started to open up about sex and even S&M, and the erotica market is now hard to ignore.

  It made me proud — and, I’ll be honest, a little wet — to realize these guys I’ve been stalking are so open-minded about the smut market and even maybe interested in it. Johnny sounded like he almost wanted to write it, LOL.

  Their talk about all of the “50 Shades” spinoffs (specifically 50 Shades of Alice in Wo
nderland) also seemed serendipitous since I decided to release 50 Shades of Lexi Maxxwell.

  I should write my thoughts on my 50 Shades before I forget the thoughts behind it, but I’m way too horny. Sam’s out tonight. Might be time to fire up my sex toy collection.

  AUGUST 26

  OKAY, FOR THE RECORD, HERE’S the basics behind my own 50 Shades collection. First, I wrote 50 absolutely filthy stories (holy crap, how did I write 50 already? That’s insane!) and then I bundled them all together into this one massive collection that sells for $9.99. Everyone wins. I win because with Amazon’s 70% commission structure, I make $7 for each one I sell. (And damn well I should; I wrote it and 50 stories is a fuckload of writing time!) My awesome readers win because it’s a crazy amount of content and costs a lot less than the stories, which sell for 99 cents each, would cost if purchased individually.

  Which means that I can put this really great call to action at the end of each story: “Did you like this story? Get 50 more like it for only 20 cents each!”

  Sort of irresistible for someone who likes reading my stuff.

  I feel that this may be a breakthrough move for me in this business, because if the sell, well that really elevates my game. The single stories only get me a 35 cent commission, so although they sell, they’re a drop in the bucket.

  What if I could reliably sell ten of these a day? It’ll happen in time. When it does, maybe I’ll celebrate by bringing a few extra girls to bed for Sam.