Here it is, my first entry in my own September Kinky Scribble Challenge. Only, um… twenty-three days into the month. Skip to the story content section if you want to jump right in.
This scribble took two hours of writing, and received one round of edits. I had to keep this one light-hearted, and while I do consider it erotic, it is not nearly as graphic as most of my stories. Many thanks to my partner pseudo_size for body-doubling with me through several writing sprints to help me get words on the page!
A kinky scribble is a flash fiction exercise I developed to help me level up as a writer, to create stories and let them go. I envy artists who can scribble a sketch and share it unfinished into the wild for people to enjoy. This is my answer to that for writers. Feel free to join in yourself, and share with #KinkyScribble so others can find it. If you want to take the September challenge, use #SeptKinkyScribble.
You launched a challenge & then disappeared. Why?
Yeah, sorry about that, folks. I’ve been asking myself that same question for the last twenty-three days. The short answer is that I’ve been needing some extra care for my mental health. The long answer involves bullet points. (Again, no judgement if you want to skip to the story content section because you’re just here for the big lady tiddies.)
Writing is an experiment. What happens if I use these words in this way? You try it, and no matter what happens, you have some more data than you did before. Data about other peoples’ responses and data about how you responded to that feedback. Will you repeat the experiment exactly or change some variables?
I’ve tried a lot of experiments over the years:
- What happens if I write in a fancy journal? A cheap one? Do I write better on my laptop with fancy software like Scrivener, or with my thumbs on my phone in a Google Doc? (I learn that, at least for myself, I prefer cheap journals and Google Docs.)
- What happens if I compete in NaNoWriMo? (I learn that I can technically write 1667 words a day for 30 days. I don’t like to read anything I write, but it still built my confidence to learn I can write those words!)
- What happens if I try writing random kinky thoughts on Tumblr? (I learn that I am not alone in these kinky thoughts, and I want to write a lot more of them.)
- What happens if I try writing erotica for SizeRiot contests? (I learn that I get really excited, I have a lot of fun, and even sort of enjoy the last-minute panic with the thrill of the deadline. I get good feedback and discover I want to write a lot of erotica. Like. A lot of erotica.)
- What happens if I spend years trying to write a single perfect novel and then give up? What if I do this multiple times? (It’s been hard to look at the data on this one. My therapist is helping me process it.)
- What happens if I decide to practice writing short stories with low stakes? How many of these can I write? (I learn that I can produce a lot of fun and interesting stories this way and start calling them kinky scribbles! It feels like hacking my brain and it’s a big relief and confidence boost.)
- What happens if I invite others to do that, too? What if I make a big community event? (I learn that this raises the stakes. I learn that my brain does not yet have the skills to handle staying creative with high stakes in this way. I learn, for the millionth time, how helpful it is to have a sex-positive therapist.)
When I launched the challenge, it seemed like a great idea. I’d been writing and posting more often, and it felt like the right time to push myself. I didn’t feel up to hosting a writing contest, but this level of community leadership seemed like it was within my wheelhouse. I genuinely thought it would be a breeze and was caught off guard when it brought up a lot of difficult things for me.
The good news is that my therapist is amazing and it turns out EMDR also works on issues like this. (Or, at least, it works on issues like this in my weird-ass neurodivergent brain. YMMV.)
Y’all know I talk a big game about the artist being more important than the art, and how vitally important it is for creatives to take care of ourselves and our health. Especially when capitalism has trained us to believe we need to provide constant, unrelenting top-quality output without complaint or breaks. No matter how much I know we need rest and can’t expect perfection, my body sometimes has a hard time believing that and trusting it. If you’ve felt this way, too, you’re not alone.
Mental health is messy. So is writing. I’m taking in the data and trying to be open to what it’s telling me, with less judgment and more curiosity. I’m making slow headway, I’m giving myself time to rest, and I’m trying to be okay with the idea of setting aside my goal if necessary.
I’m still hoping to write and publish two more scribbles with the help of the looming Sept 30th deadline. What size kinkster doesn’t love some looming?
Artwork
The photo I used in the banner is by Klara Kulikova on Unsplash.
Support the author
Money is tight right now. I have multiple works of fiction in progress, ranging from wholesome to kinky as fuck. I’d like to continue releasing them here for free.
If you enjoy this story and want to see/hear more like it, the best way to do that is to support me financially. The few donations I get usually go right into commissioning art and paying beta readers. (The second best way is to boost the signal on my stories and encourage your friends to support me, too.) Thanks, y’all!
Story synopsis
Two sizeshifters are caught in the rain. It’s too public to use their powers much, right?
Story content
Tagging is the only way I know for people online to be able to opt in or out of a sexual experience with fully informed consent. I welcome help in tagging—please let me know when I have missed anything important.
Tags for this story include:
Content tags: M/f, F/m – growth, flirting, public nudity, gentle
Read the story
TEXT VERSION: Read the text version of the story behind the cut.
AUDIO VERSION: I might record audio for this story. If I get enough requests, I will move it up on my priority list.
