This is an excerpt from a novel I'm publishing here at Literotica. Some people may not be interested in a long read so I thought I'd select a few of the fun sex scenes and put them out there just to see what would happen.
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Every writer attending the Maui writer's conference had to have at least one short story or the first chapter of a novel to present. Two days before the conference, I had nothing. Out of desperation I wrote a short story based on my first sexual group encounter with Gwen and Hawk, changing names and settings of course and seriously toning things down to a gentle soft R rating.
The writing conference was a kind of workshop. They broke us up in groups of ten with one professional writer or instructor as mediator. The mediator would read all the pieces in the morning and then give verbal and written critiques in the evening. A selected few in each group would be asked to read his or her piece aloud. Because of the erotic content of my story, I was pretty confidant that I wouldn't be picked to read.
I was so wrong.
My mediator was a beautiful, curvy woman named C.J Elliott. She wrote erotic fiction for an e-book publishing company and of course all the stories she picked for oral presentation were the erotic ones.
An old Hawaiian guy in his eighties named Hubert, read first. His story was a tale of a wounded soldier who fell in love with a beautiful, blond Red Cross volunteer at a time when interracial relationships were frowned on. The pair made desperate love in a hospital bed near a battlefield as Japanese ships and airplanes dropped bombs all around them. The story turned out to be autobiographical. The Red Cross volunteer was named Dena and Hubert married her on December 30th, 1945.
Years later, Hubert lay with his dying wife in a Navy hospital. There wasn't a dry eye in the group when Hubert read the last line from his story.
"Holding my hand, just before she died my wife said, 'Last time we lay together in a hospital bed was much more fun ... but I don't miss the bombs.'"
An Asian girl named Stephanie read next. She looked about my age at twenty or so. She couldn't have been more than sixty inches tall with a pale delicate complexion and unexpected, light green eyes. Her brown hair was so light in color that it could be mistaken for blonde. Her Asian features, the light hair, the weird green eyes, and pale skin gave her a elfin quality. She nervously cleared her throat then stated the title of her story.
"Death By Aluminum, by Stephanie Santos."
Her voice was coarse and raspy, totally opposite of her delicate appearance.
Hubert, who sat next to me in our little circle, leaned in and said, "Portuguese and Japanese, dangerous combination."
I looked at his to see if he was joking, but I couldn't really tell. Back in Ohio, a blatantly racial comment like that would get him a dirty look. Here in the Hawaii? People racially profiled each other all the time and got away with it.
Stephanie's tale started out steamy enough with a couple making love in the heat of a Hawaiian summer night on a yacht at the Maalaea boat harbor here on the island of Maui. Then suddenly, the story took a violent turn when the angry wife of the man appeared on the scene. Little elven Stephanie Santos, in her grating, guttural voice, described in graphic detail the damage a baseball bat will do to human flesh and bone. Her description of the sounds the bat made with each whack on different body parts were just as graphic: head shots made a high pinging sound followed by a hollow thonk, and a whack at a man's crotch made a dull meaty thud with a distinct mellow crunch to describe just a few. It was a total gore fest to the end.
I stole a peek at my reader's list to see if the story was listed as fiction or nonfiction. It said fiction but that meant nothing. The story ended with our murderess doing twenty-five to life at the Oahu State Pen for the beating death of her cheating husband and his mistress.
We took a short break and a group of women surrounded Stephanie, congratulating her on her powerful little tale. Because of the seemingly gleeful way she had described the guy in the story getting his crotch pounded to hamburger, none of us males ventured near.
Hubert said to me, "I Pity the fool who piss that girl off."
After the break it was my turn. No fan of public reading, a lump formed in my throat and stayed there all the way through. As I read, it worried me at how much graphic detail I had left in the piece. I thought I had tamed it down in the final rewrite, but reading it aloud seem to put everything under a microscope and little details became huge. I had wrote the story with an existential leaning thinking that the surreal weirdness would blunt the erotic edge, but to my dismay, it heightened it. The part in the story of how the woman trapped in the mirror on the back of the door looking out at the real people making love turned out great—and just a tiny bit creepy.
Copies of all the stories of the people who had read were handed to everyone in the group to be critiqued and reviewed overnight. They would be handed back at the final meeting the next day. The group broke up and we headed for the exit.
At the door, Hubert, the old Hawaiian guy, slapped me on the back and said, "You one strange haole."
I knew that haole meant stranger or outsider, but the current modern use of the word usually meant white person or more specifically, according to Gwen my kind of local girlfriend ... whitey, honky, cracker. Plus I wasn't sure if Hubert was complimenting me or just making an observation.
I felt Stephanie Santos' eye on me as we waited for the elevator. Her look seemed neutral but I sensed something else too. Did something in my story irk her? Hubert's comment of pitying the fool that pissed her off made me swallow hard.
People piled into the elevator and called out floor numbers. I was on three. I got off on my floor with a few others, Stephanie among us. I stopped at my room and dug out my room card. I eyed Stephanie walking pass and stole a glance at her perfect heart shaped ass in her jeans. She suddenly turned and looked at me. I quickly slid my card through the card slot, opened my door and slipped out of sight.
I shared the hotel room with a fellow university student named Jared. His group must have broken early for he was already laying on his bed scribbling notes in the margins of a story. Without looking at me, he held out his hand. I dug a twenty dollar bill from my jeans and handed it to him. Jared took the money with a smug smile. The night before, he had read my story and bet me that I would be asked to read it aloud in my group. Like a fool I took the bet.
"So sexy and tense," he said, "A rare thing for a straight guy."
I got down to writing notes for Hubert and Stephanie. At around ten, there was a knock at the door and members of Jared's group came to kidnap him for drinks and dancing.
"I have a twenty burning a hole in my pocket right now," Jared said with a smile. "Since it's your money, I'll buy you a drink," he said to me. Not in the mood for a noisy bar, I politely refused and went back to work.
A half hour later, in the middle of reading Stephanie Santos' sorted tail for the second time, a knock came at the door. Probably more of Jared's group looking for the party, I figured. I threw opened the door and standing in the hall was Stephanie from my group. She had on a simple pink clinging top tucked into faded jeans, her slim figure pleasing. It was impossible not to notice the way the nipples of her petite breasts poked at the material of her shirt ... but I did my beat not to. Her pale Asian face appeared unadorned except for glossy pink lipstick. Her silky almost blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the hallway light. Since coming to Hawaii, my appreciation for Asian women has grown and Stephanie looked angelic. But unfortunately, she spoke.
"You one big liar," she said in her jarring local accent a couple of decibels too loud, and in an octave that was just plain unnatural for a human being.
I blinked at the odd accusation. "About what?" I asked confused. "If it's about my story, it was listed as fiction."
