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Kinky Scribbles: First Kiss

I have had the good luck to end up with a writing coach for the month of January, and she’s helping me figure out ways to lower the stakes of writing more often, both for erotica and for my mainstream projects.

Step one is to attempt what I’m calling “writing scribbles” that will be quick, short, relatively unplanned, and can have only one round of edits before sharing with the world.

This is basically what I achieved many times over with Tumblr’s format, and what I’ve been avoiding with my shiny personal website for the last year. As if I went from a commuter train full of conversations with friends and acquaintances I see regularly, to a personal vehicle where I make all the decisions of where to go, and I do it alone, and have to roll down the window or deliberately invite people inside to talk to them. It’s clunky, lonely, and it feels like the stakes are higher (silly ideas about identity, success, connection) if I decide to go in the wrong direction or say the wrong thing.

Fuck the wrong thing. Nothing is wrong–it’s either unethical, painful, uncomfortable, or various shades of awkward. I might regret a thing, but who cares? It’s on my website, and I’m in control of whether or not it continues to see the light of day. I’m going to take the steps to make sure it’s as ethical as I can make it, by offering tags and informed consent and giving credit to other writers and artists. As for pain, that can heal. Discomfort and awkwardness are also hallmarks of change and growth. Nobody ever made progress or created something wonderful by staying 100% comfortable.

Scribbles can be drawing, writing, any kind of creative art. The point is that it has to be quick, simple, and low-stakes.

At this point in my process, I’m not allowed to turn it into a big thing or make extra work for myself with extra ideas. I’m not adding it to my mainstream works. I’m sticking to kinky content only, because it’s the one kind of writing that brings me the most joy and escapism right now. And also because it’s a way to keep my scope small.

Ironically for someone with size dysmorphia, I have no idea how to keep my ideas and goals small.

I know how to “go big or go home” in other parts of my life, but over the years I’ve let it become too overwhelming with writing because I get cloudy with assumptions of what it means to be a writer and what it means to be “enough.” (Fuck you very much, Impostor Syndrome.) Even discussing the scribbles concept with the coach and how to fit 10 minutes into my schedule a week, I quickly morphed the discussion into how I could carve out 30 minutes a day, every day. When she pointed that out and reminded me that I am already enough regardless of how many minutes I can or can’t put into my schedule right now, I burst into tears.

Fuck going big all the time, fuck that overachiever mindset that’s burned me out so many times. Fuck the toxic productivity culture of never believing I’m enough.

I want to learn how to go small. I’m a sizeshifter, damnit. This is a skill I can develop, just like any other. I just need to find a way to show up and do the work without self-sabotaging all my efforts with last-minute deadline scrambles and other misguided attempts at staying comfortably far away from risk and failure.

My usual state of affairs:

My strategy for working around that:

I received half a dozen ideas from my community. Naturally, just as soon as I settled on one (“A first kiss,” from @Undersquid), a thing happened at home that required my full attention. The mental and emotional fall-out from it that evening, plus my self-care routines the next day at the gym, plus discussion and reconnecting on Friday during a massive Texas-wide storm, took up all my remaining energy.

My next coaching session is in 20 minutes and I’ve not actually made any scribbles happen. I’ve been overthinking things instead, making it more elaborate (and less attainable) with big ideas, and just generally sabotaging myself and talking myself out of it.

Fuck this. It’s a scribble, for fuck’s sake. Just. Do. The. Thing.

Take eight of the 10 minutes left and just write something, anything. Now.


A First Kiss

(Short scene featuring: a male Giant, a female tiny, a kiss, some shrinking, and feels)

 

“Like I said before, I’ve never actually met someone with your…”

“Condition?” she asked, watching her date from the edge of the table, where she’d chosen to perch after nervousness forced her to shrink to an embarrassing three inches of height. “You can say it.”

“Your condition,” he said, looking simultaneously relieved and uncertain. “Anyway. I don’t know if you enjoyed this as much as I have, but I’d really like to give you a kiss. It’s just that…” He trailed off again and looked down–or further down, all things considered–and she smiled at the blush spreading from his trim beard up to his cheeks.

“But you don’t know how?”

He nodded with the barest movement.

She held out her small hand and hoped he’d see it. He extended his own massive hand to her, but ended up only touching his index finger to hers. Charmed, she felt warmth spreading through her chest and down below her stomach, but her nerves lit up her whole body with such excitement that she worried she’d shrink again before they could try this.

She tugged on his fingertip the way she might have pulled on his collar at a different size. “Come down here,” she said, with urgency.

His beard was as tickly as she’d thought it would be, but he’d softened it with some kind of rosemary-scented beard oil. The curls of hair tickled her shins and thighs and arms and she shivered. She leaned in and pressed her small lips into the softness of his own upper lip. He held still, but she could feel the blood pulsing under his skin. She leaned in closer with a small whimper, until her whole body pressed against his lips and beard. He sighed almost imperceptibly, the warm breath from his nose curling around her in a breeze of his scent, combined with the herbal oils in his beard.

She pulled away with surprise to feel her body grow slightly. Just an inch, but enough that she ducked away from his nose and smiled nervously up at him. It was her turn to be relieved, and his turn to be charmed. This time, she was the one to blush.


Done. That’s 365 words, with only 1.5 rounds of edits before sharing with the world. Less than half an hour of work, but work nonetheless.

And as my coach pointed out–whether I checked this off my list with a small scribble or a large one, the check mark is the same size. And that’s enough.

 

Published inEroticaKinky ScribbleShort FictionWriting

2 Comments

  1. Olo Olo

    What a delight. You established both the size difference and the mutual tentativeness very efficiently.

    Rosemary. I’ve got to give that a try. (I like this element because it also imports how his whiskers must feel to her.)

  2. This is a lovely read. Innocent, pure, clean, and ripe with the right emotions. I enjoyed it very much, and wish those two a happily ever after, even if they only live in scribble world.

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