Tag Archives: chick lit

Five Overused Romantic Sub-Plots (And How To Fix Them)

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Being a self-professed romance fan, I know more about the intricacies of romantic sub-plots than most men would ever dare admit. I’ve consumed an absurd amount of romantic media over the years and I’ve noticed more than a few common themes, some more endearing than others.

However, by consuming so much romantic content, I’ve also seen certain themes get overused and badly mishandled. I could list countless instances promising romantic sub-plots collapsing because it fell into a narrative trap. Sometimes, it’s because of poor writing. Sometimes, it’s because the story has too many constraints. I’ve even cited a few famous cases that exhibit both.

Whatever the case, it’s not hard to screw up a romantic sub-plot. I’ve done that more than a few times with the stories I’ve written. Lately, though, there are certain types of sub-plots that have lost their luster. They’ve either been done too many times or haven’t innovated in way too long.

Overused or not, I believe there are elements of these sub-plots that are worth saving. They just need some refinement and polish. What follows is a list of five overdone romantic sub-plots, why they’ve become so bland, and how to fix them. I’ve covered some of these elements before. This is just the romance lover in me offering some tips for future romance stories.


Romantic Sub-Plot #1: Best Friends Turned Lovers

Why It’s Overdone

I think you can thank sitcoms like “Friends” and movies like “Clueless” for this sub-plot to fall out of favor. Personally, I blame Ross and Rachel for giving this theme a bad name. They took the whole friends-falling-in-love plot way too far. Towards the end, it was more annoying than compelling.

These days, this sub-plot isn’t as common as it used to be. I think a lot of romance fans were burned out on it in the 1990s and early 2000s. There’s only so many times a character can say in so many words “I didn’t realize that what I was looking for was right here in front of me” and sound genuine.

How To Fix It

Simply put, this sub-plot needs to shake up the setting. Too many times, a story about friends becoming lovers is built around one friend having had feelings for the other over many years. That can be sweet when done right, but it’s way too easy to be done wrong. These days, it almost comes off as a long con or stalking.

To fix it, the emphasis needs to shift towards two characters undergoing major upheavals. Perhaps they go through a tragedy or trauma that changes the way they feel about other people. It can’t just be restricted to their friend/lover, either. This upheaval should affect their entire world and from there, they come together in a new way.

It has the potential to show two characters go through major growth as individuals, which eventually turns into growth as a couple. That kind of growth can work wonders for any romance and could offer something more meaningful than old friends hiding their feelings.


Romantic Sub-Plot #2: Love Triangles

Why It’s Overdone

I’ve already made my hatred of love triangles very clear. I’ve gone so far as to cite one from the X-men as the worst of all time. Beyond the comics, though, it’s not hard to see cases of this sub-plot done horribly wrong. Even contemporary romance like “Twilight” and “The Hunger Games” have made this troubled trope more insufferable.

Simply put, love triangles reduce everyone involved to prizes or plot devices. It’s next to impossible to make every character in a love triangle feel like a real character. It turns romantic development into a competition and in the long run, nobody wins and certain characters lose badly.

How To Fix It

I’m tempted to say that love triangles should be abandoned and killed with a 12-gauge shotgun, but I’m not a fan of throwing away romantic themes, no matter how much I despise them. For this particular theme, I think it needs more than just a fix. It needs a complete overhaul.

By that, it can’t just involve two people competing for someone else’s affection. That gets old fast. If there is going to be a love triangle, then it should actually take the time to show why someone is torn in the first place. It needs to be clear that someone genuinely loves more than one person and there’s a reason for that love.

This is also a sub-plot that may benefit from shifting taboos. Non-monogamy is becoming more mainstream and there aren’t many real romance stories about that idea that aren’t bad pornos. A love triangle has to stop being an either/or plot and become a why/how plot. There needs to be a concerted effort to ensure everyone involved gets some sort of emotional resolution that doesn’t involve someone getting screwed over.


Romantic Sub-Plot #3: Destined Lovers

Why It’s Overdone

If you’ve gone through any high school English class or are just familiar with certain literary traditions, you’ve probably seen this in all kinds of media. “Romeo and Juliet” is probably the most famous, but it still shows up frequently throughout romantic media. It’s prevalent in movies like “Titanic” and comics like “Superman.”

Don’t get me wrong. I have a soft spot for star-crossed lovers who are destined to fall in love, but it’s a very bland sub-plot. There’s no real sense of conflict. You know two characters are going to end up together and where’s the intrigue there?

How To Fix It

For this sub-plot, I think a simple shift in context would help. Most romance featuring destined lovers emphasis how they come together, despite the obstacles in front of them. I think it might be more compelling to explore why these characters are star-crossed to begin with. Is it just destiny or are there other forces at work?

There are a lot of factors that go into romance, even those of the non-destined variety. Why not explore the concept of destiny, as it relates to love? Why not dig a little deeper into the intricacies of how it unites people so completely? That wouldn’t just offer a meta-perspective of love, as a plot device. It would give us all an opportunity to reconsider what it means to be in love.


Romantic Sub-Plot #4: Love At First Sight

Why It’s Overdone

This sub-plot is very similar to the destined lovers trope. It’s often a pre-cursor to two people finding out they’re destined to be together. For many of the same reasons, it’s pretty bland and basic. One character sees another, some sappy music starts playing, and the love story is effectively laid out.

We see it happen very overtly in “Romeo and Juliet” and “Titanic.” We see it manifest in some form in most romantic comedies. A character just sees someone they find attractive and that becomes the catalyst for their love. It’s sweet, but not very deep and it has just become too predictable at this point. When two people fall in love at first sight, what other story is there to tell?

How To Fix It

This one can’t be fixed with the same methods as the destined lovers sub-plot. This is one of those plots that doesn’t have to be radically altered, but definitely needs fresh nuance. Finding that nuance means injecting more than just love into the mix when two characters first meet.

The first encounter between two characters is always pivotal. It helps set the tone for their relationship, romantic and otherwise. To make this sub-plot work in new ways, characters need to intrigue each other in new ways. It can’t be enough that they’re attractive. There has to be something else about them.

Maybe the character has a skill that someone has never seen before. Maybe the character causes someone to re-think a past assumption. Maybe it sends them on a new journey that their love interest can join. There are many opportunities here. There doesn’t have to just be one.


Romantic Sub-Plot #5: Sex Complicating Love

Why It’s Overdone

This one is probably the most overtly sexual romantic sub-plot that also happens to be the most predictable. Ironically, it’s “Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me” that summed it up best. Things go from “Don’t worry, it won’t get weird” to “It got weird, didn’t it?” That’s every sex-complicating-love story in a nutshell.

This one also has the burden of being weighed down by long-standing sexual taboos. While it may seem like those taboos have faded in the 21st century, it’s still the slutty women and stud men who die first in slasher movies. Sex, even in a romance story, still comes off as something dirty that somehow undermines a romance.

Even though sexual attitudes have evolved a great deal, the idea that sex complicates/ruins a relationship hasn’t moved very far. It’s why sex tends to be an afterthought in modern romances. Sometimes, it’s ignored or assumed and that’s just a waste of quality sexual chemistry.

How To Fix It

As an aspiring erotica/romance writer, I’ve been working on that for years. While I can’t claim to have a definitive answer, I have surmised a few ideas turn sex from a complication to a catalyst. It doesn’t have to be overly titillating or pornographic, although that can work. It just has to supplement the romance rather than subvert it.

Sex in romance is often treated like an endgame. It’s marks the culmination rather than the progression of a relationship. I believe that’s a missed opportunity. In any romance, sex should function as a progression, of sorts. It takes the relationship to a new stage, one where new opportunities for emotional and personal growth emerge.

When two characters have sex, it can be more than just a chance to depict genitals and female breasts. It can be an exercise of intimacy where two characters strengthen their bond, rather than sully it. That gives greater meaning to the sexiness and nothing makes romance hotter than genuinely meaningful sex.

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Filed under Marriage and Relationships, media issues, polyamory, romance, sex in media, sexuality

Sexy Short Story: Maximum Effort (Inspired By Deadpool)

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The following is a sexy short story I wrote entitled, “Maximum Effort.” Like “Avenging Desire” before it, this was inspired by a superhero movie, specifically “Deadpool 2.” As such, expect an appropriately crude, but inherently sexy tale. Enjoy!

“One more, Stan!” said Wendy Maxwell from across the bar.

“Just one more?” the middle-aged man asked with a crooked grin.

“You heard me right. I’m saving my appetite tonight,” she said proudly. “Deadpool 2 is one movie I want to stay hungry for!”

“You sure you want to say that out loud?” he joked.

“I know what I said. I’m not taking it back.”

Wendy spoke with a certainty that left no room for argument, even from her Uncle Stan. He owned one of the best sports bars in town, which happened to be right across the street from the High-Max Cinema movie theater. She could see the oversized complex out the window and couldn’t wait to make her way inside in a few hours. She planned to be among the first in line to see Deadpool 2.

She’d cleared her schedule for the day, taking off work and taking care of any errands that might create a distraction. She’d also made it a point to pre-order her ticket and reserve the best possible seats in the biggest IMAX theater within a 25-mile radius of her house. She could’ve just gone to the one at the mall that was closer, but in the spirit of Deadpool himself, Wendy approached seeing this movie with maximum effort.

“I got to say, Wendy,” her Uncle Stan said from behind the bar, “I didn’t peg you for the superhero fan. A few years ago, I don’t think you knew the difference between Spider-Man and Batman.”

“What can I say?” she said. “A lot can change in the span of a few years.”

“I’ll say!” her uncle said. “One day, you’re agonizing over which generic action flick you can tolerate with your friends. The next, you’re prepared to drop kick someone who tries to buy the last Deadpool-themed bra.”

“You sound so proud,” Wendy teased. “My mom is convinced I’m just overcompensating after my ex-boyfriend ditched me for his roommate’s sister.”

“Eh, what does she know? You’re more self-aware than she ever was.”

“Kind of like Deadpool himself!” she pointed out.

“No argument here.”

Wendy laughed as her uncle poured her one last cup of coffee before. She’d just about finished her dinner, which consisted of a small sandwich and some soup. It was light, but for good reason. She didn’t just want to save room for popcorn. She wanted to make sure she didn’t miss a second of the movie. That meant minimizing the risk of bathroom breaks, drowsiness, and an upset stomach.

She had never taken such elaborate precautions for a movie before. Then again, she’d never been so enthusiastic about a movie, either. That was before she saw the first Deadpool movie two years ago. She actually hadn’t intended to see it. Her now ex-boyfriend had bought them tickets to see it. Then, the day before the premier, he dumped her, but left her the ticket.

Never one to turn down a free movie, she just went and saw it. From the very beginning, with that hilariously vulgar opening credits scene, Wendy was hooked. She had no idea who Deadpool was or why the movie was such a big deal. By the time it ended, though. She was hooked. She needed to laugh. She needed to see something crude, funny, and vulgar after her breakup. Deadpool was the perfect medicine.

After that day, she became a full-fledged Deadpool fan. She started buying Deadpool comics, following Deadpool-related forms, and even found herself getting into the larger world of superhero comics. It helped that her brother loved comics. He helped catch her up and even got her into cos-playing at a comic book convention last year. It had been so much fun and it all started with Deadpool.

For Wendy, seeing Deadpool 2 was like completing a process. She’d been such a workaholic after graduating college, pulling long hours at the software company she worked at. Her former boyfriend got her to lighten up somewhat, but it was Deadpool who helped her achieve a greater epiphany.

“Maximum effort…for the right reasons,” Wendy said to herself with a smile before finishing the last of her sandwich.

It had been one of the many memorable lines from the first movie. She was good at giving lots of effort, but never with much passion. Deadpool, both the character in the comics and the one Ryan Reynolds brought to life in the movie, channeled his passion and wit into everything he did. Whether it was shooting up Ajax’s crew or trying to hook up with Death herself in the comics, he did everything with personality.

That helped Wendy so much, both in her professional life and her personal life. She’d made more friends, done better at work, and even embraced a more distinct dress style. For the Deadpool 2 premier, she’d dyed parts of her hair red, wore a Deadpool-themed halter top, and even wore Deadpool-themed underwear.

It might have been quirky for most, but it helped that she was far from the only one in her Uncle’s bar. Looking around, she saw a lot of fellow Deadpool fans showing off their attire. Some were dressed in costumes. Some were showing off their Deadpool-themed tattoos. Everyone seemed to share in the excitement, but Wendy doubted that excitement was as intimate or personal.

As she wiped her hands on her napkin, her Uncle Stan arrived with the coffee. Once served, she took a quick sip and held it up proudly.

“To Deadpool,” she said to her Uncle, “the man who got me through some tough times and helped me put maximum effort into being awesome.”

“Cheers to that, Wendy,” her Uncle Stan said, rolling her eyes. “You talk about the guy like he’s your crush instead of a comic book character.”

“What can I say? He made me laugh at a time when I was crying over my ex. He inspired me to laugh at the overall absurdities of life. He even got me to dye my hair for the first time since high school. And nobody needed to dare me!”

“I’m glad he’s been such a positive influence. Just don’t start measuring all the men in your life to the same standards as comic book characters or Ryan Reynolds.”

“Relax, Uncle Stan!” Wendy said as she took another sip of her coffee. “I intend to maintain the positivity. I mean, it’s not like I’ll just up and fuck the first guy who dresses like Deadpool and talks like Ryan Reynolds or something.”

The older man laughed and shook his head before going back to serving other customers. Wendy went back to finishing her coffee, occasionally checking her phone to see how much longer she would have to wait. She still had a solid two hours before the movie. It promised to be an agonizing wait, but with each passing second she grew more excited.

“It’s almost here!” she said to herself. “Deadpool 2 is almost here! God, I wish there was a way to make the wait go faster.”

Moments after saying those words, I figure walked up to the bar next to her. He seemed to come out of nowhere. He was tall, well-built, and wearing a full-bodied Deadpool costume the likes of which she hadn’t seen since that comic book convention she went to with her brother. It looked like a perfect duplicate of the costume Ryan Reynolds wore in the first Deadpool movie.

“Hey bartender!” the man in the costume called out. “Whose balls do you have to fondle to pay the check? And for the record…yes, I moisturize!”

Wendy’s heart skipped a beat and her panties got a little warmer. She swore that voice sounded just like Ryan Reynolds, but it couldn’t be him. For one, the man in the costume looked taller than Ryan and there was no way big Hollywood star would be at her Uncle’s small-time bar, especially one married to Blake Lively.

At the same time, however, she found herself staring at him intently. Someone who put that much effort into a costume must have at least half her appreciation of all things Deadpool. Even after one of her uncle’s other bartenders came buy and processed his check, he still carried himself like the Merc with a Mouth himself.

“Hey,” Wendy called out. “How many times have you asked about ball-fondling today?”

The man in the suit turned towards her and seemed immediately intrigued. Even through that mask, Wendy sensed him smiling.

“That depends,” he replied jokingly. “Do you consider yourself for or against? How important is it to you that balls be fondled?”

“Well, it wasn’t that important to me until a few years ago,” Wendy said, mirroring his tone.

“A few years ago? You mean the same time that saint of a man, Ryan Reynolds, cracked a joke about it in the first Deadpool movie?”

“Oh, it was no joke to me. If making that move required fondling Wolverine’s balls, be they Hugh Jackman’s or anyone who looks like him, then I say ball fondling has proved its worth!”

They both laughed. The man barely even noticed when the bartender gave him his check back. Now leaning on the side of the bar, he leaned in a little closer. Again, she sensed a unique look through his mask. He was still smiling at her and in a very flirtatious way. The fact he smelled like fresh chimichangas – which had become her favorite snack food, by default – certainly helped.

“I take it from the dyed hair, the Hot Topic shirt, and the appreciation of ball-fondling jokes that you’re as excited about Deadpool 2 as me,” the man said.

“Well, I’d certainly say I’m excited, but you being as excited?” Wendy questioned. “I find that hard to believe.”

“What makes you say that?”

“For one, I don’t’ see a boner in your pants. Trust me, if I was a man. I’d be so hard right now I’d have to wear a dress.”

“You don’t say?” he said with a laugh. “So you’ve been glancing at my man parts?”

“Are you going to tell me that you’re not looking down my shirt right now, hoping your mask will hide it?”

Wendy, showing more playfulness that would’ve made Deadpool proud, leaned in closer so that her breasts were plainly visible through her halter top. She didn’t even need to gaze through his mask. She knew he liked what he saw. He didn’t even try to avoid it.

“I’ll plead the fifth on that,” he said. “I’ll also plead that you’re not here with someone…like, for instance, a jealous boyfriend who has the muscle mass of Colossus.”

“I’m alone,” she told him with a flirty look. “In fact, I’ve been single since I saw the first Deadpool movie.”

“Really? A pretty girl like you, one who’s willing to wear Deadpool-themed clothes that blatantly show off your breasts, is single? I find that hard to believe. And I know someone who paid to see the Green Lantern movie.”

“Believe it!” Wendy said confidently. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say that Deadpool has been the most important man in my life since my last breakup. You could say he’s become a passion of mine.”

“A passion?” he said with more intrigue. “Are we talking stamp collecting here or the kind that requires a spare pair of panties?”

“I own a vibrator that I’ve covered in no fewer than 16 Deadpool stickers. What do you think?”

Wendy hadn’t intended to sound that dirty, but she couldn’t help herself. Between her excitement surrounding Deadpool 2 and the man looking and sounding so much like Deadpool, her passion for the character was mixing with other passions. It also wasn’t lost on her that she hadn’t had sex since she broke up with her ex-boyfriend. On the night of a new Deadpool movie, it seemed more relevant.

She felt the gaze of the man in the costume narrow. She even swore she saw a slight bulge in his pants. She wasn’t exactly being subtle, but neither was he. Maybe that was just a byproduct of dressing like Deadpool, but it still did the trick. It still got her hotter than Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively in a sauna.

“I think,” the man said in a deeper tone, “that we might be able to help each other.”

“Are you saying you have more stickers?” she quipped in a flirty tone.

“I’m saying I’m here by myself as well. I had a girlfriend, but she didn’t care for Deadpool movies. She even tried to make me throw this costume away.”

“Sounds like a total bitch. You were right to dump her.”

“I haven’t regretted it for a second,” he said, “although I can’t say the same for my penis. It’s been lonely, to say the least, and there’s only so much I can do with hand lotion and re-watching Van Wilder on cable.”

“That’s so sad.”

“It is,” he said, “but if you know a place nearby that’s private and good at screening awkward noises, I think we can help each other.”

The man leaned in even closer, so much so that she could smell his breath and the manly scent emanating within the costume. It smelled like a mix of tacos, hot sauce, and pure manliness. It proved plenty potent, sending Wendy’s heart and hormones into overdrive.

She’d yet to see the man’s face. She’d yet to even get his name. However, he was dressed as Deadpool, had a clear appreciation of all things Deadpool, and appreciated his mannerisms. On a night when Wendy was determined to celebrate all things Deadpool, the idea of fucking a guy dressed like him just seemed too fitting.

It was reckless, crude, and something Deadpool would totally do. Wendy, feeling adventurous in a way that only Deapdool could inspire, decided to take a chance. After all, she still had plenty of time between now and the movie premier. Why not try to pass the time with a little Deadpool-themed kink?

“As it just so happens,” Wendy said with a seductive glance, “there’s an isolated little nook out back…one only I know about because my uncle trusts me way too damn much.”

“Hmm…that could work,” the man said with growing excitement.

“I’ll take you there under one condition.”

“Name it! And I promise that’s not just my penis talking.”

“You keep that costume on. That includes the mask,” she told him. “Also, I don’t want you to give me your real name or anything. Just let me call you Wade.”

“Keep the costume on, keep my name secret, and let you call me Wade,” he said, pretending to think about it, “all in exchange for some kinky sex. Normally, I would take a moment to pray to the gods of Stan Lee and Rob Liefield for guidance, but I think I’ve got their blessing with this!”

“Good!” she said intently. “Because on a night like this, I intend and expect maximum effort!”

Casting aside all restraint and reservation, Wendy just left a couple twenty-dollar bills under her half-finished coffee before grabbing the man by the arm. Then, with an energy and intent that surprised her more than him, led him out of the bar through the rear entrance. Most customers weren’t allowed back there, but since her Uncle owned the place, she gave her a pass.

The man she now called Wade eagerly followed, staying close by and slipping his gloved hand into her back pocket, giving her butt a firm squeeze. It got her to move a little faster, making her inner thighs feel hotter in the process. Between excitement for a movie and a lengthy sexual drought, her body seemed extra receptive to a little stimulation.

“You’ve got a nice ass,” Wade whispered into her ear as he followed her, “not quite as nice as Ryan Reynolds, but still close.”

“Stay close,” Wendy replied in a lurid tone. “I can use my ass as well as Deadpool uses his guns!”

“A bold claim,” he said. “I’d like to see you prove it!”

“Oh I will!”

Still completely confident, she led Wade down a narrow hall, passing one of the cooks along the way. She ignored the strange look she gave him. She didn’t care if the whole bar saw her slip out. She was going to have sex this man. Then, she was going to see Deadpool 2. By every objective measure, it looked to be a damn good night.

Upon reaching the door, they burst out into the hot mid-May evening. They emerged in a back alley where nobody who wasn’t driving a delivery truck ventured, especially this late in the evening. As soon as the door closed, Wendy turned around and jumped Wade with the same fervor as Vanessa did in the first Deadpool movie.

Wade responded just as favorably, catching her in his arms and leading her back to the wall next to the door. Along the way, she kissed his mask, playfully licking around the mouth area while grinding her body up against his. She could already feel the bulge in his pants growing. She also felt him feel up her curves, squeezing her ass and tracing up along her waist. It got her so hot that her clothes became unbearably itchy.

“Wade…help me get this off,” she said, already breathless as she unzipped her pants.

“Gladly,” he replied.

Kicking off her sandals, not minding the dirty pavement on her feet, Wendy slid her pants down her legs with Wade’s help. In the process, she revealed the Deadpool-themed panties she’d been wearing, complete with an image of Deadpool’s face right over her pussy. She swore she heard Wade giggle.

“Ooh! Those are so cute,” he said to her, his hands already on the side.

“Help me get them off and I’ll let you smell them,” Wendy told him.

“Deal!”

She laughed again, but never lost focus. She slipped out of her panties quickly, leaving her naked from the waist down. As soon as they were off, she let Wade take them, who eagerly put them up to his mask. She watched as he took in a deep whiff, not unlike the one Deadpool did when he smelled his guns.

“Ooh yeah!” he said. “I’m touching myself later.”

“Better make it much later!” said Wendy. “Remember what we discussed about ball-fondling? I’m for it.”

As if to prove her point, she dropped to her knees and grabbed the side of Wade’s pants. By now, the bulge in his pants was pretty big. Getting it off was a bit of a challenge, but after doing the Deadpool-themed belt-buckle, she managed to pull the tight-fitting red pants down to his ankles, along with his boxers.

Much to Wendy’s surprise, the man wearing the suit was very well-endowed. He had the kind of manhood that Deadpool would’ve joked about to no end. At the moment, though, it was no laughing matter. Wendy was horny, excited, and daring. True to her word from earlier, she went to work fondling Wade’s balls and playfully stroking his cock.

“I fully approve…of your position on ball-fondling,” Wade teased.

“That’s not all I’m in favor of,” Wendy said in a lurid tone.

With one hand still cradling his balls, she shot the masked man a kinky glance before taking his dick into her mouth. From there, she began giving him oral sex, channeling her inner Vanessa from the first Deadpool movie. Wendy had given her ex-boyfriend oral sex on multiple occasions, but never with such effort and fervor.

“Holy fuck-knuckles, that’s good!” Wade moaned, still holding her panties to his masked face.

Encouraged, Wendy kept up her oral teasing, using her lips and tongue to full effect. It didn’t take long before Wade was leaning back on the wall for support, running his fingers through her hair with one hand while holding onto her panties with the other.

As she sucked him, Wendy felt her own arousal escalate. At one point, she slipped a free hand between her legs and fingered her vagina to get all the right juices flowing. Before long, she was ready for a new effort.

“Mmm…ready to fuck me, Wade?” she asked seductively after giving his cock one last lick.

“With maximum effort!” Wade replied.

With instinct and reflexes as powerful as Deadpool himself, Wendy shot up from the ground. Wade, seizing the initiative, took her in his arms briefly and turned her around so that she was up against the brick wall, facing away with her heart-shaped ass pointing at him.

His pants still around his ankles and his mask still on, the man she instead on calling Wade grabbed her by the waist and guided his dick into her with a single thrust. He was so hard and she was so wet. Like Deadpool and a young Bea Arthur, their flesh embraced one another.

“Ohhh fuck!” Wendy exclaimed into the humid evening air.

“Fuck…yeah!” Wade grunted.

Wendy’s world began rocking. Wade put in the same effort into fucking her as she had when she gave him oral sex. He was so energetic and thorough, pumping his manly flesh inside her and stimulating her womanly depths with every motion. Wendy bucked her hips with every thrust, leaning harder against the brick wall. It didn’t matter that it was dirty and reckless. They were just that excited about Deadpool 2.

He fucked her nice and hard in that position, his pelvis rhythmically smacking against her putt with each thrust. At one point, he grasped her but with one hand and reached up her shirt with the other, pulling down her bra and feeling one of her breasts. That added an extra bit of sensation to their sex. Wendy loved it and craved more.

“Harder, Wade! Fuck me harder!” she cried out.

“Nice boobs…hot pussy…super penis…I fucking love it!” Wade said.

They kept going at it, moaning and grunting in the dirty nook behind her Uncle’s bar. Somewhere along the way, he pulled out and turned her around so that she could jump him again, throwing her legs around her waist so he could fuck her just like Wade fucked Venassa in the first movie. Wendy eagerly embraced the opportunity.

Her back now against the wall, her breasts hanging out of her top, Wade held her legs up as he guided his dick back into her and resumed their sex. She held onto his shoulders as their bodies rocked to the rhythm. Wendy found herself gazing intensely into the masked face before her. Whether by fluke or kink, looking at it just made her hotter and pushed her faster towards her peak.

The sex was so intense and driven. In that moment, she wasn’t just fucking some random guy in a Deadpool costume. She was actually fucking Deadpool. He was Ryan Reyonld and she was Morena Baccarin. He was Wade Wilson and she was Vanessa. That thought, along with the steady onslaught of sexual sensations, brought her to the brink of orgasm.

“Ohhh I’m coming, Wade! I’m coming!” she cried out.

“Ooh yeah! Me too,” he grunted. “Fuck, I’m going to pop my fucking load in you!”

“Do it, Wade! I want to feel your Deadpool-loving cum inside me!”

That was probably the most vulgar thing she’d ever said during sex, even while drunk. Wendy didn’t care. She was loving it too damn much. It was just too damn fun.

After a few more powerful thrusts that tested her flexibility, and other various aspects of female anatomy, Wendy came hard. She came so hard that she scratched her nails down over the seams of the mask, tearing through parts of the fabric in the process. Her toes curled, her lower back arched, and her core was set ablaze with a fiery surge of pleasure.

As that feeling engulfed her, Wade let out a labored grunt of his own, tightening his hold on her butt as he steadied his hips in anticipation of his release. She then felt his dick throb inside her pussy, his manly juices mixing with hers.

In that moment of shared, Deadpool-driven ecstasy, she kissed the masked men with passion, knowing that she’d achieved something once deemed impossible. She found a way to make Deadpool even more awesome.

“Fuck yeah,” Wendy said in her orgasmic daze. “Now that’s what I call maximum effort!”

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Filed under Sexy Short Story

“The Gardener” A Sexy Sort Story

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The following is a sexy short story entitled “The Gardener.” Now that it’s spring and people are starting to do yard work again, I felt inspired to put a sexy spin on it. Personally, I’m not big on gardening, but I can easily see it having a certain kind of sex appeal. That’s what this story celebrates. Enjoy!

“Don’t forget to clean the upstairs bathroom!” yelled an impatient voice from downstairs. “Just because you’re home for the week doesn’t mean I’m cleaning your soap scum!”

“Yes, mother,” replied an annoyed Heather Ryan.

“And be sure to vacuum your bedroom while you’re at it!” she added. “You father and I worked hard to keep your old room organized. Don’t make us do it again!”

Heather felt like banging her head on the nearest brick wall. It was her first day home from college – the first day of spring break, no less – and already she longed for another mid-term. It was hard enough with most of her friends were taking trips to the beach or camping upstate. Being stuck at home made it feel less like a vacation and more like a chore.

“Chores,” Heather groaned, “they never end because things always get dirty.”

Slumping down in her chair at the desk next to her bed, she was already dreading the rest of her week. She’d arrived home from college late last night, carrying two large suitcases of dirty clothes, one of which got soaked because it had been raining. Her parents were glad to see her for about five minutes before they started giving her crap for tracking mud into the foyer.

She should’ve been used to it, by now. Since she was a kid, her parents had been neat freaks. She and her two younger siblings, Kevin and Joan, learned from an early age that cleanliness was a priority in their house. That didn’t just mean cleaning up after themselves. That meant doing the necessary chores and doing them on time. Failure to do so would result in more chores of increasing drudgery.

It never seemed to end. She almost envied her two younger siblings, who were still in high school and got to spend a chunk of their day out of the house and away from all the chores. With her dad working late at his law firm, her mother expected her to share the workload. It promised to turn Spring Break into an extended chore.

As Heather dreaded the work her mother had in store, her gaze drifted towards the window overlooking the back yard of her parents’ two-story home. After the rain last night, the sun had come out and the warm spring air had rolled in. She wished she could appreciate it, but all it did was remind her that her friends were probably laying on the beach, working on a tan.

“I miss winter already,” Heather said to herself. “At that way, my mom wouldn’t try to stick me with yard work. I’m almost afraid to go outside.”

She sighed to herself and got up to close the blinds, if only to help her fight the temptation. Then, just over the fence and into her neighbor’s yard, something caught her eye that tempted her in a very different way.

“Oh my sweet Lord,” she gasped. “I’m officially unafraid.”

Suddenly, Heather was grateful for the warm spring weather. Out in the backyard of her neighbors, she saw a very handsome, very shirtless young man working in a garden. He was tall, tanned, and well-muscled. He definitely worked outside often and, if the way he handled that shovel were any indication, he was very comfortable working on a hot spring day. However, his muscles and his stature were not his most attractive features.

The man was so unkempt and disheveled. He had messy, mid-length hair that no barber had touched in at least a year. He had a grizzled, unshaven face that hadn’t felt a razor blade in at least a month. Heather swore she could smell the sweat and the dirt on his flesh through her window. It was enough to trigger a little spring-time heat-wave between her legs.

“It’s half-past-ten and he’s already hard at work,” Heather mused, “hard, dirty work.”

She said that in the tone of a woman who hadn’t had sex since she broke up with her boyfriend eight months ago. In that time, she’d been on a handful of dates that ended uneventfully or in disaster. It made for a lot of lonely nights, especially during the winter and whenever her roommate snuck over to her boyfriend’s dorm.

However, the memory of those nights quickly faded as she watched the man work. He was shoveling a large pile of mulch into a sizable garden in the corner of the back yard. There were already several large plants in place so he must have already done the dirtiest work, getting on his knees and really sifting through the mud. Just picturing him doing that made her panties feel moist.

It was at that moment when Heather remembered that the neighbors she had in the fall had moved out shortly before she left for college. She also recalled that the house next door had been for sale when she came home for the holidays. That meant the handsome young man had come with her new neighbors and she hadn’t been around to introduce herself.

Suddenly, she had an excuse to go outside and risk her mother sticking her with more chores. The more she watched the handsome man work, the more willing she felt to take that chance.

“A handsome, hard-working new neighbor,” Heather said, not even trying to hide the sexual undertones in her voice. “I might as well go introduce myself.”

With a mischievous grin, she got up from her desk, put on a pair of sandals, and rushed downstairs, avoiding her mother, who was busy in the basement. She didn’t bother changing out of the denim shorts and tank top she’d worn yesterday. For once, she wasn’t going to worry about being clean and presentable, like her parents always told her. For a stranger, who happened to be a handsome man, Heather sought to present herself in a different way.

As soon as she stepped outside, the hot, muggy spring air hit her on all sides. Heather could already hear her parents yelling at her to take off her sandals, keep the doors closed, and shower before dinner. She shut all that out, focusing only on the handsome, disheveled man next door.

The heat and humidity must have already gotten to her because she didn’t bother just peaking over the fence, admiring the handsome man from afar. She was a young, single college woman who had to endure a week at home with her uptight parents. She was not going to waste an opportunity like this.

“Someone’s getting an early start this morning,” Heather greeted as she casually walked along the short wooden fence. “Is this how you start every Monday morning, stranger?”

The man, apparently caught off guard by her presence, almost dropped the shovel as he turned around. Up close, she could already see dirt and mud stains on his jeans. That only made him hotter in your eyes.

“Uh…good morning to you too, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

“You’re right. We haven’t and that’s just rude of me,” Heather said playfully. “I’m Heather, the rowdy college girl that my parents probably didn’t mention when they introduced themselves.”

“You’re part of the Ryan family?” he said, sounding intrigued. “Funny, they did mention having an older daughter in college. I don’t remember them saying much about her…or about how rowdy she was.”

“Trust me, that part was implied.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

The handsome man smiled at her and she smiled back. He seemed intrigued. That was a promising sign. Most girls her age didn’t admit to being rowdy. That usually evoked too many dirty thoughts in young, straight men. Heather dared to be unusual. It helped that she actually wanted him to think those thoughts.

Setting aside the shovel, he walked up to her and leaned on the fence. As he got closer, Heather sweat on his body made him glow under the morning sun. His messy hair, his messy beard, and even the hair on his chest radiated a thick, sweaty musk. Her parents would’ve been aghast at such a smell. Heather found it utterly intoxicating.

“The name’s Mark,” he said to her, “the youngest, but most experience member of the Truman family clan.”

“Experienced, huh?” Heather said, leaning over the fence with a flirtatious glance. “That how you describe your gardening skill?”

“I like to think I’ve got more skills than that, but I guess this is counts as one of them.”

“I’m sure you’ve got plenty, but this one really shows. The last set of neighbors let most of their backyard turn into a mud pit.”

“Yeah, my folks and I noticed that too. We knew this place needed a lot of work when we moved in. Lucky for us, we ain’t afraid to work. My dad’s a mechanic and my mom is a vet. We know the value of getting our hands dirty.”

“Dirty indeed,” said Heather.

She might have been too flirtatious with that remark. Mark almost seemed amused, but didn’t mind when she got a little closer, giving her another whiff of the distinct odor that could only come from a hard-working man. It was dirty, but so strong. If she hadn’t been leaning on the fence, she doubted her legs would’ve supported her.

“Well, it’s good to finally meet you,” said Mark before the silence got too awkward. “You home for the week or something?”

“Yep!” Heather affirmed. “I’m on Spring Break. Most of my friends are off on vacation or at the beach. I’m stuck at home the entire time.”

“Funny, you don’t sound too upset about that.”

“Believe me, I was…until a few minutes ago when I saw you.”

“You don’t say?” he said with even more intrigue. “Well, I’m glad I could make your break a little better. I’m also glad I finally met someone my own age in this neighborhood. Seems like the only people in this neighborhood are young kids or grumpy adults.”

“Guess we’re somewhat even,” said Heather. “You’ll find plenty of people our age around here, but in a neighborhood like this, you won’t find many who will get their hands dirty…not if they have the money to pay other people to do it.”

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I work in my dad’s garage and clean up after my mom’s dogs. I’m dirty 90 percent of the time. Think that’s gonna cause problems?”

“With some people, it may. With others…well, they might prefer you stay as dirty as you damn well please.”

Hoping her flirtatious undertone had gotten her point across, Heather decided to take another risk. She reached over and lightly trailed her fingers up his arms, feeling the sweat and grime from all the dirt along the way. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the smile on his face widened. It was as though no one had ever appreciated his willingness to get dirty.

Now standing so close, able to feel the heat from his body over that of the morning son, she leaned in a little closer. Mark leaned in as well, his gaze on her become more focused. All the effort and toil must have really got his blood flowing because she could feel him undressing her with his eyes. In the muggy spring heat, she didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Ms. Ryan,” said Mark, again avoiding too awkward a silence.

“Heather,” she said. “We’re not a dinner party or a ball. You can call me Heather.”

“Okay, Heather,” he said. “I’m still new in town and I left a lot of stuff behind up state.”

“By chance, was one of those things a girlfriend?”

“As a matter of fact…yeah, that was a big thing,” he said. “In fact, it was bigger than I thought it would be…coming to a new town, starting over, and not having anyone besides my folks to help me adjust. I guess you could say busting my butt in a garage, a garden, or anywhere else I can get my hands dirty is how I’ve been coping.”

“That’s sad, but noble as hell,” Heather said. “There are way worse ways a handsome young guy like you could handle himself in a new town.”

“I like to think I’ve done things the right way so far.”

With every word he said, Mark Truman just kept getting sexier and sexier. Not only did he get his hands dirty, but he was a genuinely good guy who had to deal with the decisions his parents made for him. A man like that didn’t deserve to be alone when adjusting to a new neighborhood.

At the same time, she needed a man like that…one who was good, but still embodied had traits completely unlike her parents or the rest of the neighborhood. He was unlike any of the other men she’d dated or been around. He might not recoil at the idea of sticking his hands in the mud. That made Heather certain of her desires. She was going to hook up with this man.

“Well, Mr. Truman – or Mark, if that’s what you want me to call you,” she said in an outright seductive tone, “if you’re looking for another way to cope, I think I could help.”

“That’s mighty generous of you,” Mark said, his grin widening even more.

“It might be a little more wrong than right, depending on your point of view,” she added, “but if you’re willing to get just a little dirtier with a girl who may or may not have a thing for that…”

She let her words trail off so that Mark could fill in the blanks. Looking to guide him, she playfully trailed her finger up his arms, over the sinews of his biceps, and onto his exposed chest, not minding the sweat or dirt for a second. She must have come off as overly eager, a horny young woman who just needed a good humping. That could either completely dissuade him or seal the deal.

He seemed inclined towards the latter, his gaze narrowing on her as she lightly pawed his chest. From there, it didn’t take long for him to fill in the blanks. Leaning in closer, so much so that she could feel his hot breath on her face, he reached up and caressed her face with his dirty hands. His touch set her inner thighs ablaze, making her even more eager to get dirty with him.

“I never shy away from dirty work,” Mark said to her, “especially when it involves a pretty girl.”

“Then, I’ll skip the part where I ask how comfortable you are around girls like me,” said Heather, “and I’ll just ask where the nearest private space is.”

“Well…depending on how dirty you’re willing to get, the shed is closer than the garage.”

“Oh trust me, I’m that willing!”

To assure him there were no doubts in her mind, Heather kissed him hard on the lips. She didn’t care that his face was unshaven or that his hair was greasy. If anything, that turned her on even more, prompting her to put a little tongue into it. That sent a clear message. She wanted him. She wanted to be taken by a dirty, sweaty man in a dirty, confined shed.

Mark got that message loud and clear. He eagerly kissed back, wrapping his powerful arms around her and pulling her closer to his body. She already could feel he wanted her too, the hard work making him deserving of a fitting reward. Heather wanted to be that reward…the kind that made the dirt, sweat, and toil feel worth it.

“Mark…take me,” she gasped in between the kisses.

Before he could even respond, Heather scaled the waist-high fence, not leaving his arms for a second in the process. Once over, he caught her and pulled her into a deeper embrace. Almost immediately, Heather felt his sweat stain her shirt. That didn’t bother her in the slightest, though. That just gave her all the more incentive to get them off.

“The shed…that way,” Mark said.

“Lead the way!” Heather eagerly replied.

Already drunk on his touch and his sweaty musk, she pounced on him, jumping up into his grasp and throwing her legs around her waist. She even lost her sandals in the process, but she didn’t care. She was in Mark’s arms, eager to follow his desires as well as her own.

With the same strength he’d used to tend his garden, Mark held her up by her butt and carried her over to the shed that was adjacent to the garden. They kissed every step of the way, their tongues aggressively entwined with lust. Upon entering, he closed the door behind them, leaving them in a dirty, confined, poorly lit space. From her point of view, it was the hottest setting they could’ve been in.

“Off! Get it off!” Heather said desperately, already trying to remove her shirt.

Mark set her on a work bench in the corner of the shed, covered in dust and littered with rusty tools. The ambience just kept getting hotter by the second.

Once in place, their lips briefly parted so she could remove her shirt up over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra so she made sure Mark got a good look at her exposed breasts. He clearly liked what he saw and hungrily grasped them with both hands.

“Nice tits,” he said in a lecherous tone.

“Go on. Touch them with your dirty hands,” Heather said, emphasizing the dirty part.

As Mark fondled her breasts, she skillfully undid her denim shorts and took them off, panties and all. Now fully nude, she felt the heat, grime, and humidity on her exposed flesh. By her parents’ rigid standards, she was filthy. Instead of feeling wrong, though, it felt so right…right and sexy.

Mark, showing more excitement in the presence of a naked woman, smothered her with his lustful touch. As he felt over her breasts, hips, and butt, he kissed her again, the raw hunger in his every touch hinting at a growing desire. Heather sought to match that hunger every step of the way, throwing in some intimate touching of her own, which eventually led her to the growing bulge in his pants.

“Pants…off,” she managed to get out in between wrestling tongues.

He couldn’t comply fast enough, undoing his belt buckle and kicking off his boots. Heather did the rest, undoing his jeans and pushing them down, along with his underwear to reveal a semi-erect cock. Like the rest of his body, it looked so strong and rugged, emanating an intensely masculine aura. Heather wanted nothing more than to have it inside her.

She made that desire clear, reaching out and grasping it with both hands as they continued kissing. Mark let out a deep moan, her touch inspiring even more lust. Before long, his dick was fully erect, the air around them ablaze with shared desire. It was already a hot, muggy spring day. Together, they were going to make it hotter.

“Heather…you ready?” he said, already breathless as their lips party.

“Ready to get hot, sweaty, and dirty as hell!” Heather told him.

Grinning at her choice of words, Mark shifted those filthy hands of his down to her hips, pulling her forward so that she sat on the edge of the work bench. As he positioned himself closer, she hooked her legs around his waist and grabbed onto his shoulders. Then, once his manly flesh was aligned with her hot opening, he thrust his hips forward and entered her.

“Ohhh yes!” Heather cried out. “Give it to me, Mark. Give me that dirty cock!”

Mark responded with a determined grunt, not unlike the one she’d heard earlier while he was shoveling mulch. With the same grit that he’d shown with his garden, he fucked her. He did it with raw strength and power, rocking her body with every movement. It forced her to cling harder to his shoulders, gasping every time she his member probed her deepest depths.

With each labored motion, a sharp surge of sensations followed. The heat, the sweat, and the desire morphed into pleasure…raw, unfiltered pleasure. It unleashed in Heather a kind of pent up energy that she didn’t know she had.

“Yes! Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “Mark…so strong…so dirty. Ooh I love it!”

“Ohhh Heather!” Mark moaned.

Their sex took on a distinctly messy rhythm, which felt all too appropriate. They were doing it on a dirty table within a dirty shed on a hot, sticky day in spring. Everything about it defied the conventions of cleanliness that had been instilled in Heather since birth. Somehow, that made for the hottest sex she’d ever had.

Through the intense exertion, she worked up a sweat of her own. Before long, her naked skin glistened with the same dirty glow as Mark. Her sweat soon mixed with his, allowing their bodies to glide and slither together more effortlessly. His hands more wildly roamed all over her body, feeling her up from her thighs to her breasts to her face. She did the same, raking her nails over his back and trailing her fingers over the manly sinews of his upper body.

She fueled his intense desire just as much as he fueled hers. There was nothing careful or reserved about it. She was just as willing to put in the work in pursuit of a greater reward. During that pursuit, their bodies shifted chaotically in the heat of their vigorous sex. At one point, she hitched both legs up over his shoulders so he could fuck her at a different angle. At another, he held her up in his arms and bounced her along his cock.

Eventually, Heather found herself bent over the work bench, her breasts and face pressed up against the dusty wood as Mark fucked her from behind. She was almost at her peak, holding onto the sides of the table for dear life. Mark was close too. She could tell by how each movement got more steady and targeted. If they were going to share in the work, then they might as well share in its fruits.

“Mark…I’m close. I’m so…so close!” Heather moaned.

“Me too, Heather! Just a little…bit longer!” he said in between grunts.

The next few moments were a test of endurance, albeit in the best possible way. Heather closed her eyes, focusing on the heat, scent, and grime around her. It was all associated with one man…the strong, hard-working man having sex with her. Together, they got dirty in the most rewarding way possible.

Finally, after a few more labored thrusts, Mark sent her over the edge. In an instant, the heat around her turned into a seas of ecstasy in which she became fully immersed. Throwing her head back, Heather let out a cry that reverberated throughout the confined shed. Intense, throbbing sensations of pleasure surged through her like an erupting volcano. It effectively completed the hard, dirty work.

Her orgasmic bliss soon became Mark’s. As her pussy throbbed around his rigid cock, he crossed that threshold as well, letting out a deep moan that complemented her blissful cries perfectly. She could actually feel his manhood tensing within her as it released its seminal load inside her. It was so raw and dirty, which made her love it even more.

“Heather…so hot,” Mark said breathlessly.

“Mark…so dirty,” she replied.

Their ability to form words failed them. That didn’t stop her from rising up from the dirty table and turning her head so he could kiss her again. That told him everything she wanted to say and then some.

For a moment, they just lingered in one another’s naked, sweaty embrace. Eventually, his body parted from hers, but they remained in each other’s arms, still immersed in the muggy ambience of their grasp.

“I’m starting to think I’ll like it here in this neighborhood,” Mark said as he affectionately caressed the side of her back.

“And I’m starting to think my Spring Break won’t suck anymore,” Heather said.

They each laughed and shared another playful kiss, not caring for a second as their sweat, grime, and various bodily fluids continued to mix. There was something liberating about it and it wasn’t just a byproduct of the afterglow either.

Heather had lived much of her life in a world where so many things had to be clean. Hard, gritty work was somehow unappealing and to be avoided at all costs. By getting dirty with Mark – literally and figuratively, no less – she discovered that there was value to that work. It didn’t just turn her on. It inspired real passion…a kind that only a uniquely special men could appreciate.

Whatever else Spring Break had in store for her, she was already convinced that Mark was just that special.

“You know, at some point we’re still going to have to get cleaned up,” Mark reminded her.

“I know,” said Heather curtly while running her hand through his greasy hair. “That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy being dirty a little longer.”

“Well, I guess it helps when you’ve got someone to share it with.”

“Definitely!” she said with a beaming grin. “After all, how can you appreciate being clean if you don’t let yourself get a little dirty once in a while?”

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Filed under Sexy Short Story

“The Greatest Gift” A Short (And Sexy) Christmas Story

The following is a short, but sweet sexy story that I wrote to get everyone in the holiday spirit. With Christmas only a few days away, I thought I’d write a little something to celebrate the season, as only an aspiring erotica/romance writer can.

It’s not as long or elaborate as my last holiday-themed novel, “Holiday Heat.” It’s just a simple little story that mixes love, sex, and the holidays into one sweet little narrative. Enjoy!

It was set to be the loneliest Christmas she’d had since her grandmother died. Jessie should’ve been used to it, having lost her father at a young age and endured many quiet Christmas mornings with few presents and limited festivities. However, she’d come to love bigger, more elaborate moments as she grew older.

After meeting her boyfriend, Robby, she thought those quiet mornings were over. For the past three years, he’d gone out of his way to make Christmas extra special for her. He came from a big family and going over to his house was like entering a holiday paradise, full of elaborate meals, abundant presents, and a buffet of succulent deserts. Thanks to him, she’d grown to love Christmas and being part of Robby’s family.

Then, about a month ago, Jessie got a double dose of bad news that promises to derail her Christmas entirely. Robby’s father got sick with severe bronchitis and had to spend several months in Florida with his brother recovering. Most of the family was going to follow suit and join him for Christmas. Jessie thought she’d be going with him.

That was when the second bit of bad news dropped. Her mother got into a car accident, breaking a leg and injuring her back. She ended up needing surgery, the kind that required a recovery period that extended beyond the holidays. As a result, a plane trip to Florida just wasn’t feasible. She had to stay home and Jessie couldn’t leave her. She needed her help around the house as she recovered.

That meant no elaborate feasts and festivities with Robby’s family. It also meant her mother’s ability to celebrate was severely limited. The most they could do was exchange some gifts, having a light meal, and watch Christmas specials all day. If that weren’t bad enough, a snow storm had rolled in and few relatives would be able to drop by to help.

It made Christmas Eve feel even colder than it already was. After spending most of the day putting up decorations and keeping her mother comfortable, she felt too tired to be festive. It seemed like this year’s Christmas would be the same quiet, uneventful affair that left her so jaded as a kid.

When she curled up in her old bedroom that night, having agreed to sleep over at her mother’s house to make things easier on Christmas morning, Jessie expected this year to be one of the most forgettable holidays of her adult life.

“Guess this year counts as one big setback,” she sighed to herself after turning off the light, “and just when I was starting to really like the holidays again. Maybe I’m just not meant to enjoy Christmas like most people. Maybe I just can’t be part of Robby’s festive world.”

It sounded so sad when she said it out loud. It made her want to cry right then and there. Jessie ended up burying her face in her pillow, muffling her voice and absorbing any tears she’d shed. The best she could do, now, was rest up and brace for another solemn holiday.

She tried not to think about all the elaborate ways Robby’s family were enjoying themselves down in Florida. She swore she could smell the chocolate pie his mother made or his sister’s succulent cookies from 800 miles away. Most of all, Jessie tried not to think of how great it felt when Robby held her in his arms, even when he wore that ugly old Christmas sweater that he’d bought in college and refused to throw away.

It was nothing short of torturous, contemplating what she’d miss. Not being with Robby and his family was like the antithesis of a Christmas miracle, a gut-punch to her holiday spirit. She wanted to make the most of the time she had with her mother, but between her injuries and her tendency to recount sad memories of her father during the holidays, it wasn’t looking good.

Jessie closed her eye, groaned into her pillow, and just wished she could skip the holidays entirely.

“It’s not fair!” she lamented. “Why does Christmas have to suck so much? Just this once, can I get a break?”

Jessie kept her face buried in her pillow, muttering a string of curses in hopes she’d just pass out from frustration. She was so tired that she was ready to just let the rest of the holidays pass her boy completely.

Then, just as she was about to nod off, she heard a loud thump against her window. Considering her room was on the second floor of her mother’s house, that was pretty rare. At first, she thought it was just a large chunk of snow blowing off one of the trees and hitting the side of the house. However, another thump followed, along with a familiar voice.

“Jessie!” it said through the cold December night. “Open the window. It’s me!”

Almost immediately, Jessie’s ears perked up and she shot up from the bed. She’d recognize that voice through a window, a snow storm, and a goddamn hurricane. It was Robby, but that should’ve been impossible. Either she was having one of those vivid Christmas dreams or her boyfriend was actually outside her window somehow. Both seemed unbelievable.

“Hurry up, Jessie!” he said. “It’s colder than penguin’s ass out here. Only your ass can warm me up at this point.”

“Holy shit, it is him!” Jessie gasped.

There was no denying it. Only Robby could’ve said something so crude, yet so cute to her on a cold winter night. That meant he was really there. It wasn’t a dream.

With the energy of a kid on Christmas morning, Jessie shot up from the bed and over towards the window. Sure enough, she saw Robby outside, standing atop a ladder with his hand pressed against the glass.

Where he got the ladder and why he was here instead of Florida were just some of the many burning questions she had. Seeing the heavy snow falling outside, she set them aside and opened the window so he could get in. As soon as the window opened, he crawled into her small, yet cozy room. He was shivering, despite wearing multiple layers, but he still had that goofy, lovable smile on his face. Not questioning whether or not it was a dream, Jessie just took him in her arms and hugged him.

“Robby! Oh my God, it is you!” Jessie exclaimed.

“Yep,” he said, shivering as he hugged her back. “I’m here. Tropical weather, warm beaches, and sunny mornings were nice and all for the holidays…except, it didn’t have you.”

“And you ditched your family to be with me, your hapless girlfriend?” she said curtly.

“I didn’t ditch them. They urged me to come here. Even my dad said this is where I should be on Christmas…with the woman I love, in her time of need, celebrating the holidays with her.”

“That…might just be the most romantic thing any man has ever said to me.”

“You mean fully clothed, right?”

“No, Robby. I don’t,” Jessie said strongly.

Her heart was racing. In an instant, the notion that she would endure a lonely, uneventful Christmas faded completely. Even if she couldn’t spend it in Florida with Robby’s family, just being in his arms and feeling his loving embrace was enough to reinvigorate her holiday spirit…among other things.

In an outburst of passion and holiday spirit, Jessie kissed her thoughtful boyfriend with all the love and heart of a million Christmas specials. He eagerly kissed back, even as he shed the heavy coat he’d been wearing to brave the cold. However, she quickly made it clear that she didn’t want him to stop there.

“Robby…you came all this way to be with me,” she told him. “So be with me.”

“Well, I was going to ask for some hot cocoa to warm up first,” he said playfully, “but if this is how you want to warm me up…”

Jessie didn’t let him finish. She was too excited and impassioned to waste another second of this Christmas miracle. Robby was here now, in her room and in her arms on Christmas Eve. That was proof enough that he loved her just that much. Her only Christmas wish from that point forward was to return that love and that wasn’t something she could do fully clothed.

Not caring how wet and cold his clothes were, Jessie helped him strip out of them bit by bit. By the time he was down to his boxers, his skin still felt so cold, but his lips felt so hot. That was all the reason she needed to jump him where he stood, throwing her arms and legs around him and her body heat mesh with his.

The cold and the long trip must have made him extra impassioned as well. As soon as he caught her in his arms, he carried her over to her bed. Together, they crawled under the covers where they made out like a couple of horny prom dates. Already, she felt his flesh warming up, but hers was already too hot to bear. It led her to remove her sleeping attire, with Robby’s help.

“Off…get it all off,” Jessie urged him.

She quickly slid her tight-fitting cotton shirt off over her head while Robby removed her sweatpants, panties and all. His boxers soon followed, revealing a semi-hard dick that even the December cold couldn’t temper. It showed just how much he wanted her sex and her love.

“Ooh Jessie,” Robby gasped as he took in her naked body.

“Robby…make love to me,” she told him.

For a moment, he just gazed at her with his loving eyes. It felt like the gaze of a Christmas angel, one who’d answered her payers for a holiday miracle. There wasn’t just a deep love in his eyes. There was a desire to mend the pain of so many cold and lonely holidays.

Those feelings, and the powerful desires behind them, led him to embrace her naked body as only he could. Jessie eagerly embraced him back with desire of her own, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he got on top of her. Then, in what might have been the greatest Christmas gift anyone had ever given her, Robby made love to her.

It was so raw, yet focused…so intense, yet affectionate. Under the thick covers, the rippling muscles of his manly body glided against the sensual curves of her feminine figure. His flesh melded with hers, sinews entwined like a million pieces coming together to form a single whole. Her body welcomed his, taking him into her depths and feeling his flesh, as well as his love, fill her with every movement.

The sensations that followed were intense and hot, not an easy feat on such a cold, snowy night. It didn’t matter, though. They could’ve been at the North Pole and it wouldn’t have mattered. She and Robby were going to make hot sex and passionate love tonight. There was no way around it.

Jessie had no idea how long they went at it or how many times she’d climaxed in the process. With Robby, it was so easy to lose track. It could’ve been as many as ten, but no fewer than three. All she knew that when all was said and done, they were warmer and more content than any couple could’ve been on Christmas Eve.

“I love you, Jessie,” Robby said to her, breathless from so much spent passion.

“I love you too, Robby,” she told him, “and thank you…for making this the best Christmas ever.”

“You’re welcome, babe.”

They shared one last passionate kiss before settling into a blissful state of post-coital afterglow. Now lying atop his naked body, the thick comforter draped over them, Jessie gazed up at her wonderful lover. He looked so happy, despite not being with his family in a tropical climate. The way he held her in his arms made clear that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

She made sure he knew the feeling was mutual, holding him closely and listening to his heart beating in his chest. She made sure he fell asleep knowing how much she loved him. She could do no less for the lover that had captured her heart and saved her Christmas spirit.

The next morning, Christmas morning, Jessie awoke to find that her lover was still in her bed and they were still as naked as they’d been when they fell asleep. Robby was still fast asleep. Being a deep sleeper, especially after sex, she didn’t expect him to wake up for a good long while.

That was just fine with her, though. Jessie would’ve been perfectly content spending the whole day like this, lying in bed with her lover and creating all sorts of sexy Christmas memories.

However, that plan fell apart the moment her bedroom door opened and her mother entered, leaning hard on her crutches and looking as restless as any adult on Christmas morning.

“Jessie, are you up yet?” her mother greeted, as though she didn’t even noticed Robby.

“Mom?!” Jessie gasped, immediately holding the comforter up to her naked body a little closer.

It was embarrassing, but not as mortifying as it could’ve been. Her mother knew she was a grown woman. She also knew that she and Robby had been intimate before. That still didn’t mean she liked her mother barging in her room when she was naked with her lover.

However, she didn’t seem all that taken aback and Robby barely stirred from his slumber.

“I put the coffee on. If you want to open presents, get up and get dressed already,” her mother told her.

“Mmm…sounds good,” said Robby groggily.

Still holding the blanket up to her body, Jessie was confused, if not mildly amused. She looked over at Robby, who had that goofy smile on his face again. Then, she looked back at her mother, who had a similar smile. She had a lot of questions, but she had a feeling the answers weren’t going to make this Christmas any less memorable.

“Um…mind filling me in on some context here?” Jessie asked awkwardly.

“Jessie, sweetie,” her mother said with a wide grin, “who do you think lent him the ladder?”

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My Ideal Romance Movie (And Why It Will Never Get Made)

When it comes to things men avoid with their lovers, going to a cheesy romance movie ranks right up there with cleaning a clogged toilet. Going with your girlfriend to see a generic love movie is almost a rite of passage for a couple, acting as proof that you’re willing to inconvenience yourself just that much in order to see her naked.

Some men actually do like romance movies, but most won’t ever admit it. I did recently when I highlighted my favorite romance movie of all time, “Crazy/Beautiful.” I might be undermining the status of my man card, but I could care less. I get enough weird looks from other men when I say I find Hugh Jackman sexy. If they think less of me because of that, then that’s their problem.

In talking about my favorite romance movie, though, it occurred to me that there haven’t been a lot of quality romance movies lately. I’m not saying every one of them have been garbage, but I can’t recall too many that really stood out or weren’t the sub-plot of a superhero movie.

At the moment, romance movies are almost like westerns in that they’re out of style. Unlike westerns, though, some romance-heavy movies are making an impact, namely the “50 Shades of Grey” franchise. Say what you will about those movies, and many have, but it did make money. That’s the only excuse Hollywood needs.

There will always be a market for romance, to some extent, because we’re a romantic species. We all seek love in our lives. Romance, despite what the bitter dispassionate cynics may say, resonates with all of us and it should. That’s part of why I write romantic sexy novels.

So rather than spend too much time trying to find another romance movie that appeals to me like “Crazy/Beautiful,” I’m going to try something else. I’m going to create a list, of sorts, to describe my ideal romance movie. Like I’ve done with other movies, I’m going to keep it simple and concise.

I’m not smart or successful enough to write an entire script for the perfect romance movie. I can only offer tips, concepts, and a general framework for such a movie. For the sake of shameless branding, I’m going to call them my “Passion Rules.” Since I emphasize passion so much in my novels, I might as well embrace that brand.

With that in mind, here are Jack Fisher’s unofficial rules for making the perfect romance movie. If any Hollywood producer wants to strike the right chords and soak the maximum amount of panties, then these simple passion rules will help in that effort.


Passion Rule #1: The Romance Must Be (Unapologetically) Sex-Positive

This is the most important element of any powerful romance movie. That’s not to say that it has to rely entirely on sex, sexy scenes, or sex-centered plots. That’s what porn is for. By sex-positive, I mean that in the tradition of superheroes like Deadpool and Starfire.

Sex and physical intimacy can’t be the center of the relationship, but it can’t be an afterthought either. In the real world, people express their love through sex. Priests, mullahs, rabbis, and monks may hate that, but that’s what’ people do. It’s fun, intimate, and enjoyable on so many levels. A good romance movie should not shy away from that.

The romance doesn’t have to exist because of great sex. The great sex needs to exist because of the romance. It shouldn’t be a complication, an issue, or an obstacle. There are enough nerdy coming-of-age stories about horny teenagers trying to get laid. In a sex-positive romance, the sexy parts complement the passion.

That also means those parts aren’t pornographic, but they aren’t heavily censored like a 50s sitcom either. They should be willing to show breasts, butts, and genitals in all their glory. If you want sexy, romantic love, you can’t and shouldn’t censor it. Granted, that may earn this movie an R-rating, but given the box office returns of the “Deadpool” movie, that doesn’t have to be a deal-breaker.


Passion Rule #2: The Romance Must NOT Rely Or Depend On A Love Triangle

This is only a rule because love triangles are so inherently toxic that they might as well be the romantic equivalent of a spastic colon. I’ve gone on record as saying that love triangles are an affront to romance in both the real world, the fictional world, and any other kind of world. As such, they have no place in an ideal romance movie.

It’s not just because love triangles require that one character get screwed while the other two come off as assholes. The very concept devalues the romance itself, creating the impression that these two characters have to be together just because another romance didn’t work.

That’s part of why I deemed the Cyclops/Jean Grey/Wolverine love triangle in X-men the worst love triangle of all time. It makes every character involved look bad. It also creates the impression that these characters have to be in love, rather than actually wanting to. Short of dead animals and poop jokes, I can’t think of anything less romantic.

For any great romance movie to work, it cannot be the product or catalyst for a love triangle. There can be ex-lovers involved. There can even be a few broken hearts along the way. However, the story cannot revolve around two people loving each other despite or because of other romantic entanglements. It’s both counterproductive and frustrating to everyone involved.


Passion Rule #3: There Must Be Time, Energy, And Depth To The Romance

In many other movie genres, from over-the-top action movies to psychological thrillers, there’s usually some sort of romantic sub-plot. From the “Transformers” franchise to “Erin Brockovich,” there’s usually an effort to squeeze a little romance into a larger plot.

There’s nothing wrong with this and I totally support it. However, if you’re trying to make a real romance movie, you can’t use the same approach that Michael Bay uses in movies with giant robots. In those movies, the romance has to be wedged in between the scene where cities are blowing up and aliens are invading in order to keep the plot concise within a two-hour movie.

If the goal of the movie is to craft a compelling romance, it has to replace those invading aliens with the kind of time, energy, and depth that goes into making a romance work. It can’t always work like “Titanic” and unfold in the course of a few days. There has to be a sense of progression and effort for both characters.

It’s not enough to just meet in a bar and find each other attractive. Each character has to have a particular motivation that fully complements the other. That’s how strong romances form in real life. In a movie, those same elements can be pushed even farther by Hollywood magic. If you don’t think that has any appeal, then you haven’t seen “Magic Mike.”


Passion Rule #4: The Obstacles The Romance Faces Must Not Be Forced Or Contrived

This rule is related to the previous one in that it it’s a natural byproduct of romance being wedged in between alien invasions. Again, I’ll reference the “Transformers” movie because they do everything right and wrong with respect to these tropes.

The primary romance in the first two movies, Sam Witwicky and Mikaela Banes, is entirely built on a foundation of running from killer robots. That’s how they come together. That’s how their relationship progresses. That’s really the only obstacle we ever see them facing together.

In a sense, their romance is forced by circumstance, namely an invasion of killer transforming robots. That’s not exactly a catalyst for meaningful romance. A romance built around the adrenaline rush that comes with fleeing from killer robots is not a romance that’s built to last.

Every romance faces obstacles. Not all of those obstacles have to involve running from killer robots. They have to be stressful, meaningful, and even a little dangerous. More than anything else, though, they have to be something that both characters seek out together. By making it a shared journey, the romance becomes that much more epic.


Passion Rule #5: The Lovers Must Not Be (Entirely) Dependent On Each Other

This is one of those subtle rules that you don’t really notice until you scrutinize a romance. In some respects, it’s Disney’s fault for making the concept of the fairy tale romances so damn popular. As a result, we don’t always realize when a romance is less a romance than it is a dependence.

It’s something that plays out in cheesy love songs as well, the idea that someone loves another person so much that they need them. It’s not just that they want to be with them. They need to be with them or they’ll die. That may make for a good song by a generic boy band, but in terms of meaningful romance, it’s downright unhealthy.

I’ve talked about the thin line between love and obsession. Some movies do lousy job of walking that line, creating relationships where the characters can’t stand on their own two feet. It’s even more apparent in shows like “The Big Bang Theory” and “True Blood.”

Too many characters depend on others to be interesting. It makes the romance feel less genuine and the characters more bland. For any romance movie that looks to check the right boxes, it has to establish that this is not that kind of relationship. The characters should be individuals seeking to make each other better and sexier. That’s the core value of any great romance.


Passion Rule #6: The Little Things In The Romance Have To Matter

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The most epic romances in movies, TV, and sexy novels like the ones I write all involve some sort of epic journey where two people come together in a powerful, meaningful, and hopefully sexy sort of way. That’s a big part of what makes romances like Romeo and Juliet, Jack and Rose, or Superman and Lois Lane so iconic.

However, that epic journey is just one side of the coin. The other, which many movies ignore, are the little things that make a romance great. Those are the same little things that help some couples stay together for decades. It’s those subtleties between the characters that make their romantic journey feel meaningful.

Now, I’m not saying my ideal romance movie has to dedicate a full half-hour to two characters listing all the quirks they love about each other. Those quirks should reveal themselves throughout the journey that the story takes them on. They can’t just love each other when they’re at their most passionate. They also have to share that love when they’re at their most dispassionate, as well.

This might be the hardest element to incorporate into a movie. Then again, we have movies about stoners losing their car and snakes on a plane. If Hollywood can make movies about that crap, then they have no excuses when it comes to romance.


I hope that got hearts racing and panties moistening to all those who read it. Even for those who claim to not care for romance movies, I hope this offers some intrigue. We all need love in our lives. A good romance movie is like a free piece of cake. It inherently makes our day better.

Now, here’s why a movie like this will never happen. First and foremost, it has never been cool or manly for men to like romance movies. I’m sincerely trying to change that with my novels, but it probably won’t change much within my lifetime. Since the 18 to 35-year-old male demographic is one the most sought-after demographics in the economy, we can’t expect Hollywood to ignore them.

A romance movie like this, which actually emphasizes romance, would have limited appeal, if only because it wouldn’t translate as well to international markets as giant robots. It also couldn’t be watered down to a PG-13 rating, which every movie seeks these days to appeal to the most people possible.

A movie like this would also struggle to find the necessary actors and actresses. As I’ve pointed out before with the flaws in creating quality erotica/romance, most of the Hollywood elites are reluctant to take their clothes off and get too sexy. There’s still a stigma against getting too sexy, even if movies like “Deadpool” and “50 Shades of Grey” are changing that.

At the moment, there are too many forces working against a movie like this. A lot would have to change, both in terms of the movie industry and the attitudes of movie-goers, for something like this to ever happen. Then again, if a movie like “Crazy/Beautiful” can still work, then maybe I’ll live to see the day when a movie this romantic and sexy happens. I may not be able to inspire it with my novels, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

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The Standard Model Of Romance (And Why It Needs Updating)

A big part of being a romance/erotica writer often involves reading about romance/erotica in general. I know that sounds like common sense, right up there with mechanics driving cars to learn more about cars, but it’s not as common as you might think.

Now I confess that when I began writing years ago, I didn’t do much reading. I didn’t enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Trust me, it showed in some of my early work. Some of those pieces (which I hope never see the light of day) made it painfully obvious that didn’t read as much as I should on the subject.

As I’ve gotten older and refined my skill, I’ve done more and more reading. I don’t just read about erotica/romance. I try to read a bit of everything to get a feel for what it means to tell a story. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a 500-page novel or a 22-page comic like X-men. They still have lessons to tell.

At the moment, I’m reading a book called “Sex At Dawn” by Christopher Ryan, Cacilda Jetha, Allyson Johnson, and Jonathan Davis. Now this isn’t a standard romance/erotica story like “Skin Deep” or “Jackpot.” This is a non-fiction book that explores the hidden side of human sexuality, scrutinizing our assumptions about romance, sex, and the social norms guiding these forces.

It’s interesting to me because it gives me some insight into the lesser known aspects of romance/erotica. There are so many stories that try to fit the romance and erotic components into the same framework we, as a society, have always embraced without question. I’ve found it’s more interesting to step outside that framework every now and then.

Now I’ve just started this book so I can’t give my whole assessment just yet. However, the first two chapters do highlight an important component that’s worth bringing up. The authors call it “The Standard Model” of romance. That model goes a little something like this:

  1. Boy meets girl
  2. Boy assesses girl for health, beauty, fidelity, and an ability to sire healthy offspring
  3. Girl assesses boy for wealth, strength, ability to provide, ability to protect offspring, and a capacity to remain faithful and not stray
  4. Boy and girl pass assessment, enter into a series of formal and informal agreements to love, cohabit, and provide for one another
  5. Boy and girl enjoy early passion, begin a family, and grow together
  6. Boy and girl start to lose interest as passion fades, becoming less sexually satisfied even if love remains strong
  7. Boy begins looking elsewhere for other young, fertile women
  8. Girl begins looking elsewhere for young, virile men
  9. Constant struggle endures, straining relationship

I agree that this model is grossly oversimplified and somewhat formulaic. I don’t doubt that there are plenty of romances, real and fictional, that don’t follow this model closely. However, it’s a model that accurately reflects the ideals and principles that modern society has ascribed to romance and sex.

This book, however, dares to question whether these ideals and principles are actually viable. It also dares to question whether these ideals and principles are even natural to the human condition.

This definitely resonates with me because it fits into my frequent discussions regarding caveman logic, a phrase I love throwing around on this blog to explain the peculiarities of the human condition, both in and out of the bedroom. It also resonates with me because it helps nurture some of my ideas for future novels.

In addition to the inspiration, I also think that our assumptions surrounding this model need greater scrutiny, if only to better-prepare ourselves for meaningful romance. At the moment, the model doesn’t exactly have a stellar record.

In most of the industrialized world, divorce rates are over 50 percent. If a model isn’t working more than half the time, then that’s a clear sign that it needs tweaking. If a car broke down more than half the time, why would anyone drive it? Humans are great at building tools, but when it comes to updating the ways in which we love and make love, our ability to adapt is nothing short of glacial.

The Standard Model is outdated. That’s the primary message that “Sex At Dawn” sends during the first few chapters. It wasn’t adapted for modern, secular society. It emerged 10,000 years ago as a direct result of mankind’s transition from hunter/gatherer societies to sedentary/farming societies.

For the fast majority of human history, people lived on farms and toiled in the fields. That kind of work is less and less necessary these days, due in large part to industrialization and better technology. The Standard Model worked perfectly for that system because it meant keeping women focused on child-rearing while men did most of the work to provide food/safety. That system just doesn’t work as well in our current system of cities, cars, and Big Macs.

So if that system doesn’t work as well anymore, what do we do? Which system does work in a modern society where few people toil on farms and fields? That’s not a rhetorical question. That’s a real, honest question that is worth asking. It hasn’t been answered yet and I feel not enough people are daring to ask it.

I get that there are still those in society who wish to cling to the older ways, seeing the Standard Model as something traditional, moral, and ethical. That’s all well and good, but that’s basically the same as an opinion. It’s as valid as random tweet these days. We’re too diverse and erratic as a species. One model is simply never going to be enough to accommodate the needs and passions of every individual.

Every species, be it human or insect, needs to adapt their systems to a changing environment. The environment for humans is changing so rapidly that some refuse to even acknowledge that change, as if they’re worried about what it implies. There aren’t many constants to human systems, but the desire to love and make love is one of them.

For the sake of our future and that of our descendants, we need to adapt a system that will meet those desires. If we don’t, we’re all in for a cold, lonely, unfulfilled tomorrow. I’m not nearly equipped to create such a system, but I can offer some interesting/sexy ideas with my novels.

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