Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Hell's Angels

Mary Alice sauntered slowly to her heavy wood desk, enjoying the sound of her lemon corduroy pants. She dropped into the overstuffed office chair and braced herself, slightly spinning left. She would soon lose her virginity.

Having sex for the first time would be her idea, but she hadn't yet put that idea together. Right now, it was just the beginning of a notion that had been brewing for a while. Sister Mary Alice opened a drawer, and then closed it. She should be working, but there was nothing to do, as it was one of those brief moments when everything in the convent was in absolute order.

Loosening her scarf, Sister Mary Alice shifted in her chair. Today would be the day, and she didn't even know it yet. But she was already prepared. At 68 years of age, she was prepared for anything.

That was an excerpt from my latest piece of erotica, a sweet romance entitled, “Nun Too Soon.”

But once I wrote several erotica stories, I realized it was too easy to get published. After the “50 Shades” phenomenon, where an amateur writer wrote a best-selling erotic novel based on her love of the Twilight series, which was, itself, soft-core adolescent romance pivoting around a mundane, two-dimensional female protagonist and her asshole boyfriend, publishers expanded exponentially to publish any and everything erotica to get a piece of the action.

There were now so many new imprints and small presses publishing electronic forms of erotica online, with absolutely any word count, that there's little assurance any one story would be actually sold. All but gone are the ways of conventional marketing and promotions. Volume is key, and you publish as many stories as you can, hoping someone will make the connection via social media, word-of-digital-mouth.

I needed to do more research to gain a journalistic advantage. Portland, Oregon, was the stripper capitol of the nation, and little has been written about this social phenomenon. This brings to mind Hunter S. Thompson's first book, “Hell's Angels,” the true story written in classic journalistic style about biker gangs. Like the celebrated hunter of Kumaon penning details of his dangerous excursions among the man-eating tigers of India, Hunter Thompson studied biker outlaws. He was never fully accepted as one of them, but he gained enough of their confidence to be able to live among them, interacting on a personal level, and at times getting into dodgy situations with the law.

This is the sort of thing I had in mind. With rare insight into the time-honored career of exotic dancing, my stories would thrive. Hell's Angels, indeed.

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