Author’s Note: This is the first in what I hope will be a good series. It is my first sex story.

It’s going to start pretty slowly, because I’m focusing more on story than sex. Also, if you’re offended by sex, you should probably not be on a sex site.

Criticism is accepted. Just don’t be an asshole about it.
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CHAPTER I: Inspiration

“She lowered herself onto her lover’s throbbing member, her womanhood aching with warm desire and anticipation. She gazed steadily into his eyes as he entered her, and whispered the words she knew he wanted to hear: ‘Fuck me, baby.'”

“Christ, man,” My roommate said, with a slight chuckle. “This is supposed to be porn, not an Ayn Rand novel. People don’t want all that flowery wording.”

This was the third time he’d said those exact words. I mouthed the next line as he said it. “It’s supposed to be fucking, not love.”

I cringed as he moved the cursor over to the upper left of my screen and clicked the small red “x”, deleting my work forever. “Fuck `you, Chris.” I seethed as I attempted to re-open Word. “Fuck you hard.”

“See, buddy? That’s how `you need to write.”
—
Chris and I had been living together for about three years now. We had almost nothing in common, except for our love of writing. The only reason I hadn’t killed him off months ago is because he pays for half of the rent for our studio apartment.

He went to Rutger’s, and was trying to get a degree in Comparative Lit, while I dumped money into the black hole that was my writing career. Our apartment had become a jungle of unfinished novels and essays. He claimed that the mess was the reason he couldn’t bring any girls to our place. I said that it wasn’t the mess, it was his terribly disfigured face that sent the girls running.

Despite all the grief I gave him, Chris was actually a good looking guy. He was about six feet of tanned muscle, with a tangle of blonde hair that looked as if he had just tumbled from bed. A strong chin and dark blue eyes made him the talk of the town. He had no trouble getting the girls.

I, on the other hand, was more of a chick repellant. It wasn’t my physique that turned them off. I was, at that time, a pale and un-muscled 190 pounds. My height was an inch under my roommate’s, and I had a pretty similar facial structure. What caused me to fail so miserably in the romance department was my inability to talk to people without looking like a complete geek. I guess girls aren’t turned on by in-depth analysis of Bladerunner.
—

“What do YOU think I should say, then?”

He thought for a moment before speaking. “How about this: ‘She positioned herself over his cock and thrust down quickly, impaling herself on it. She was so wet, she could feel her pussy juices running down the side of her leg. “Fuck your slut! Fuck her hard!” She screamed, as the first orgasm rushed over her.'” He looked over his product and was rather pleased.

“It’s shit.” Shaking my head, I put my finger on the backspace button. “‘Pussy juices’? Really? ‘Impaling herself on it’? Every porn writer from here to Beijing is typing those exact words right now.”
—
I suppose I should explain why Chris and I were arguing over the finer details of writing sex scenes. A few weeks ago, I was going through my computer history to find an old research site I had been using, when I came across a strange link. It seemed that, the previous day, someone had accessed a sex site. I opened the page and laughed. It was a sex story. A brief scan told me that it was about a cheerleader getting raped by two large janitors. I could tell from the syntax that it was probably written by a fourteen year old who’d decided to try his hand at the craft. The many misplaced modifiers, incorrect uses of contractions, and other grammatical errors began to grate against my nerves. The story had over ten thousand likes! Ten thousand people had looked at the piece of trash and decided that it was worthy of a positive review.

I went to go down-vote the work, when I noticed a small in-site add. “Calling All Writers! Story Contest: Two-Hundred Dollars to the Best Porn Writer”. I quickly jotted down the site address so I could visit it again. I needed that two-hundred bucks.

That’s when I heard Chris’ irritating laugh fill the room. Apparently he found my interest in the porn story hilarious. When I told him that I was going to enter the contest, he just shook his head. “I’ve seen your writing, bro. You’re gonna need some help.”

—

Chris looked like he was about to defend himself, when he had an idea. “I know what you need. Some inspiration.”

An hour later we were standing outside of some sort of club. Chris shoved me inside, yelling over the noise, “No coming out until you’ve gotten some pussy!”

I made my way to the bar. I knew I did my best when I was a little buzzed. I spent most of my time hitting on the bar-tender, though we both knew it would go no where.