The terrific British femdom artist Sardax just finished a new illustration, inspired by the character of the beautiful and cunning Miss Meirong in my top-selling ebook Learning to be Cruel. He imagines something that Meirong might do if I write a sequel. Usually I don’t write sequels to my stories, I tend to “shoot my wad” on the tale and move onto the next. But I might make an exception to this by doing a new installment of Learning to be Cruel as soon as I can make the time. I know that phrase “as soon as I can make the time” might sound lazy, but in order to pay my rent, health insurance, and so forth, as a freelance porn writer, I already do thousands upon thousands of words for adult websites and magazines each week, and lately I just want to relax afterward, watch old movies, and shoot the breeze with my pals!
Sometimes I wonder if working on a laptop, as I have for the last two years, makes my eyes more tired than when I wrote on a desktop, which I did for almost fourteen years. I find myself more swallowed up in the writing on the laptop, but it could come at the cost of more energy and more weary orbs. Well, I’m just thinking out loud…
Anyway, here’s the small version of Sardax’s new illo, with Meirong dazzlingly potent in a blood-red dress and hemoglobin-red femme fatale heels! You can see the full size version on his site here.
She is tearing up a book belonging to Lester, the guy kneeling in front of her. Lester, who is dominated by Meirong in the first story with humiliating food play in a crowded diner, is an inveterate reader…not unlike myself.
I have some ideas for a sequel, and I hope I’ll do the story. It’s funny, the idea I have will go into even more intense realms of erotic emotional cruelty, and I’m almost scared to travel there. When I write a story, I feel like I’m living it in the hours that I spend in front of my laptop. And sometimes I feel I should spend more time living life in the real world rather than in my fictional one.
Meaning…maybe I should find a beautiful Asian woman to worship in real life.
This emotion is unpleasant because it makes me feel that writing fiction is somehow a “second-rate” version of existence. It comes from something that my father unfortunately said to me when I was in high school, just an offhand comment no doubt, while making my first attempts at fiction writing. It took place in 1968. I’d left my desk to go to the kitchen, and when I came back I saw that my father had wandered into my room and seen some pages of the story I was working on. It was, like the stories I write today, about a guy getting involved with a gal, and my father said to me, “Instead of writing a story about getting a girlfriend, why don’t you get one in real life?” From that moment on I have felt in a ridiculously immature yet resilient way that writing fiction is a second-rate way to live. Intellectually, I know it’s isn’t; to write well is one of the things I aspire to, and admire in others. Yet the wound from my father’s words has never healed.
It was particularly galling because unlike a lot of somewhat shy, bookish adolescents, I actually did date girls in high school–a lot of them. I might not have had a steady girl until I was senior, but my father was unfair in his implication that I wasn’t trying! I started dating when I was a sophomore, and I was always in there pitching.
His casual comment has haunted me ever since, even though I tried to expunge its power through therapy and introspection.
A feeling of guilt–of unworthiness–haunts the characters in my stories too. Especially Lester in Learning To Be Cruel.
If you’re interested in checking out the original story, you can find it on Amazon here.