Chapter 1
Note: the first of the 3 chapters was posted some time ago. Two additional chapters have been added to make up this complete 3 chapter novella.
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"I am skinny, no tits, none, shy, no self-confidence/esteem, never really had a date, work in a meaningless job in large corp, unhappy, no prospects, no hobbies, sexually ignorant, maybe even sexless."
Peachpit356 had sent me an email a few weeks ago questioning a character in a story I had written for Literotica. I like feedback, it's the only reason I post my stories: to find out what in my story works for readers and what doesn't. I want to become a better writer.
Alas, I don't get much meaningful feedback. Usually readers comment that my stuff either sucks or is good, both equally unhelpful when what I really want to know is why something works or doesn't work.
And that's what I had written back to Peachpit356: don't tell me you didn't like my character, tell me why you didn't like him, why you didn't find him credible. And she did: 'a lonely and lost guy would never approach a stranger,' she had written, and she added that she ought to know because she 'is a female version of my character.'
A few days later she sent me a much long email, taking the time to give me a really thorough critique of my story. Clearly, Peachpit356 is intelligent, thoughtful, literate and observant — all her comments were helpful. And she was very complimentary. She said she liked my stuff because my storylines were always about sexual discovery and character growth. She said my stories helped her learn a little about herself, but mostly, my stories offered her hope that her life could be transformed, just like the lives of my characters were transformed.
There was a sadness in her writing that affected me and I wrote her back, trying to be positive, optimistic. That's when I got the return message sited above: "I am skinny, no tits, none, shy, no self-confidence/esteem, never really had a date, work in a meaningless job in large corp, unhappy, no prospects, no hobbies, sexually ignorant, maybe even sexless."
"But you go to Literotica," I wrote back. "I don't know about the rest of your description but you couldn't be sexless: we all go to Literotica to be sexually stimulated."
"Not me," she responded. "I go to learn; to find out about what I'm missing."
"So you're never stimulated by the stories? You don't find my stories erotic?"
It took her two days to write back, it was as if she needed time to organize her thoughts. "My imagination isn't strong enough to put myself in your characters' arms, and anyway, I wouldn't know what to do if I ever got there."
I wrote back immediately, wondering if she was, indeed, sexually dead. "Would you like to know what to do?"
I had her answer within a minute. "Some things are beyond my imagination."
I was going to argue with her, challenge her, encourage her, but I could feel the hopelessness in all her emails and I knew my words would sound empty, banal so I didn't write her back, not immediately, instead I mulled over an idea I had been toying with since early on in our email exchange.
Why not write a story about her? But more than that, why not get her to actively participate in the story, a story about my favourite subject, sexual awakening. In the story she would play herself and would pick her own love interest, the kind of man who appealed to her. I would use my imagination together with her own ideas to write a story that would prove to her that she is as sexual as the rest of us, at least in the world of fantasy. And that's what I wrote.
"ARE YOU NUTS?"
I wrote back immediately. "Look Peachpit356, you go to Literotica, I think you want to be sexually awakened but you can't quite seem to pull that off yourself: why don't I put you in one of my stories! Together, we can create a realistic fiction based specifically on you, your personality, your likes and dislikes — and we can try to make you come alive? Think about it, Pits! I'd be doing most of the work, you would just be feeding me your ideas. It could work! But if the story is going to help you with a sexual awakening it obviously must be based on you and your ideas. What have you got to lose? You'd be entirely anonymous and with a little collaboration you might discover something about yourself.
"I can hear you asking, Pits: 'What's in it for you?' Well, I've never collaborated with anyone before; I've always been forced to speculated about what's running through a woman's mind. This would be a great chance for me to learn, first hand, how a woman thinks, how she reacts to specific situations. I'd love to try this. But really, if it's going to have any real value to you, you must be the main character in the story and it must be YOU, not someone you wish you were, and I mean you, with your clothes off, with your warts and blemishes showing, psychological as well as physical. And you have to give me a detailed outline of the man in the story, too, and he also must be real, not some Hollywood cut-out; he has to be as flawed as you but someone you could realistically care for."
"Why do you call me Pits?"
"Because Peachpit356 is a little too cryptic and Peaches is a little too familiar. Do you want me to stop?"
It took her two days to respond to my proposal. "I've put a lot of thought into your idea. You're right, what have I got to lose? And you're right, I could actually gain something. I'll do it but ONLY on two condition: 1. That we only post the story if I agree to, otherwise we delete it. 2. YOU are the man in the story, YOU will be as naked on the page as I am — the real you, not some hollywood version of you; you with 'all your warts and blemishes, psychological as well as physical.'"
I quickly wrote back because clearly she didn't understand me. "I said you have to care about the guy, Pits, otherwise, the story won't have any real meaning to you. Pick some guy you could realistically see yourself with, a kind of idealized guy."
She responded immediately. "I've read every one of your stories, 18 of the them, all of them many times. I feel I know you. To me, you are sensitive, compassionate and caring. This might sound really pathetic, Bucko329, but it's honest: if I'm going to have a sexual awakening, I want it to be with someone like you, and because you're the only one like you I know, I choose you."
I wrote back in protest, "But you don't really know me. Those are just stories."
"I know how your mind works, Bucko. You are compassionate, interested and I think even loving. You're right, I don't know you, don't have a clue what you look like and your empty Literotica bio is no help. But you're the kind of guy I would want. So, you're all I've got, Bucko. It's you or nothing."
Her response startled me, it was the furthest thing from my mind. Did I want to write about myself? I've never even considered it, quite the contrary, I've hidden behind phony names and phony identities ever since I first entered the cyberworld. Did I want to come out? It was scary. But I knew I didn't want to continue existing in my fictional world, either; I was becoming lost; it was becoming increasingly difficult to know who I am. I log-on at work like a drone; I shop on-line as a number; I write on Literotica with a pseudonym; I pass-word myself into any number of sites; I pay for everything with a plasticized number. I am anonymous. I have no identity. Maybe joining Pits in a fictional/factual story could help me take back my identity, my own reality. By writing a story of fiction maybe I could reacquire the fact of my life. I laughed when I thought about it. Writing about myself would be ridiculous, I'm the most uninteresting person I know. — but it might be liberating. When I started to think seriously about it I realized that if I included myself in the fiction, I might have as much to gain from the story as Pits did, maybe more. "I'm in," I wrote, with more enthusiasm than I felt.
"Great," she responded immediately, "but one more thing before I agree. Honesty. If this story is to be about me coming out of my sexual cocoon it will only help me if I am totally honest about myself and I can only be totally honest about myself IF I think you're being totally honest about yourself. Do you understand? This might mean you have to admit you have a wife and eight kids, I know that, but honesty has to be a part of both sides of the story or it won't work for me. Understand? Deal? And oh, BTW, I have a really well developed bull-shit detector. Lie to me and I'll know it."
Honesty about herself had been my point from the beginning. I was less enamored with the idea of honesty about myself, but she was right. "You're not going to like everything you find out about me."
"Ditto."
"OK," I wrote. "Deal."
"Deal!" She wrote back, "So how do we begin?"
"I've thought about that. Basically, we use all the emails we've already written as the set-up to the story. The storyline is that you like my stories, I like your critiques, we connect, we both see something in each other, we're both a little desperate, I suggest you come and visit me — it will be one of those internet-inspired romances. The real story will begin, essentially, when you step off the plane or bus. What do you think?"
"Why don't you come and visit me?"
"We're supposed to be living a fiction as close to the truth as possible, right? I can't get away, right now; I have to work — long hours, often weekends."
"But you're asking me to get on a bus to visit a man I've never met. You're asking me to show a hell of a lot more nerve than I've got."
"Look Pits, you're lonely, sexless, lacking in self-esteem — all the things you've already pointed out. You come to the conclusion that you have nothing to lose so why not go and visit a man you think of as caring and loving."
"Is he?"
