Once upon a time, there was a whine. It was mine. It went something like this…

“Feeling like my little sister is the bright spot of the family while I’m that dingy stain that never quite goes away.”

To my credit, I did add a “lol” at the end, I don’t know, to somehow absolve me of petty bitching, I suppose. Oh, well, it didn’t work. I still felt like crap…

Then suddenly, from stage left, come flying in my cheerleading squad (you guys know who you are; I’ll be getting the uniforms to you next week). Got to tell you it was the first time I’d ever been called “kick-ass” in my life (and I liked it). As for the black sheep thing, well, let’s just say that the tag “mentally ill” comes with its very own ebony ewe outfit. It was nice to slip the wooly thing back on, though; I’d been spending way too much time in the so-called normal world anyhow.

So, now with my black sheep brothers and sisters at my side, it’s time once again to enter the world of blog. So, cover up your white furniture, folks, I think this sheep’s going to shed!

What shall I shed today? Hmmm. How about a few thoughts on sex? Now, before you start contacting your congressman/woman, I am referring to sex merely in words. Although, let’s be honest guys, what is there “merely” anything about writing sex scenes? I always say that if you as the author don’t end up as hot and bothered as your character at the end of the roll in the hay, then you’re doing something wrong. Now, I’m not saying that you can’t punch out a great “getting busy” scene when you’re in a foul mood, or the kids are calling, or your mom is calling. It can be done, and done well. But, my point is, that when you re-read your scene in more conducive settings, your screaming libido should be shoving dollar bills down your panties/briefs by the last word.

Am I calling we erotica writers “strippers”? Hell, yeah!

Chloe may not have a pole, but she’s swinging and swaying and strutting everything she’s got while the readers’ eyes are on her. It’s a rare opportunity to have someone pay to watch you. It’s a thrill out English lit. teachers knew nothing about (or they knew it all too well, and the greedy bastards were keeping it to themselves).

So what is the point to this totally unexpected, unplanned blog. other than to call us g-stringed workers in the sex industry?

Enjoy your inner black sheep-ness.

Whether you’re a reader or a writer or both, don’t be afraid to pull out the old ebony ewe when nobody impressionable is watching. It kinda tickles.

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