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Tea: Purveyor of Bad Post-Apocalyptic Smut
cap, captain miss america
Today, I found more unsent love letters, these ones to someone else entirely. I apparently used to fall in love way too easily. Although it's not really that. They're not to ten people or anything.

And one of them is in secret code.

I also found something that was such a relief to find. You see, in high school, I literally wrote a three notebook long postapocalyptic porno. There was a 'clean' version of it, too, that I wrote in college, that had a lot more relevance to the real world and less badly written sex.

Now, the second two books full of bad postapocalyptic porn have never been a problem. I know where they are, and they're rather laughable now-- they involve a girl who is chosen to be the sex slave to the son of a textile manufacturing plant. The boy apparently doesn't really want a sex slave but is told to choose one by his father, who thinks that he needs to be 'prepared' so he won't disappoint the ladies. But pretty much everyone else wants to sleep with his sex slave, including the adoptive father of the sex slave's twin half-brothers.

Yeah, so it's bad. Anyway, the problem is that the first book vanished while I was still in high school. I was mortified. Mortified because all the male characters were totally named for boys I had crushes on.

Yes, I am kind of ashamed to admit this.

I couldn't figure out where I'd lost it, and there were two possibilities, one worse than the other:

1) At school, where anyone could find it. ANYONE.
2) At my godmother's house, where my godmother would find it.

So I went several months being terrified that I was going to get arrested or someone was going to read it out loud at Meeting for Sharing (the non-denominational Quaker-Meeting style meetings my high school did every Wednesday), and several years wondering if one of my friends had it, and finally stopped worrying about it at all.

And then, today, I FOUND IT.


I haven't read it yet; I'm a little worried, because I started writing this when I was 14 and my most involved sexual experiences involved learning how to give a blowjob to a popsicle and kissing the shortest boy in school. And it will be funny, but I must read it. And it will be hilarity. True hilarity.

In other news, I wanted to share some of my bad non-smut writing with you all. This is from the same era-- it looks like ninth or tenth grade.

Liam traced the images onto the ground with his index finger, making paths in the dust in hope that such action would expel the pictures from his mind: two hands reaching out to him, two hands that seemed to cry for his help. But how could a pair of hands cry? he asked himself: hands can't cry without the rest of the person, without the mouth to cry for them. He wished that he could reach them, yet they were simply a picture emblazoned on his memory, eternally hopeless. To touch these hands, thought Liam, would mean hope, hope that has eluded me since they imprisoned me here. This is the home I feared to leave, and now I am its prisoner, and now I would with nothing more than to breathe the air that waits beyond these walls.

He glanced sullenly at the boards that had been placed before his window, and the hands flashed like a phosphorescent afterimage against the wooden surface. He reached, his fingers outstretched, and placed his palms upon the imaged of the hands. A piercing warmth shot up through him arms, a warmth that both shocked and comforted. He could feel these hands, pressing against his own; he could hear the cry he had imagined only a few moments before.

Thank you! I'll be here all week.

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Yay! for finding embarrassing pr0n after all these years. Though i suppose if you were gonna be embarrassed by it, you would've been by now.

I love that you write. And have been writing. Your young sample is not at all bad. I actually like those last coupla sentences quite a bit...


I'm totally not embarrassed the way I would have been if I'd been, oh, seventeen. Now I'm like OMG I WAS SUCH A DORK. Then I would have been completely and utterly mortified and humiliatated.

I have 'storybooks' that I started writing when I was, oh god, not old enough to make letters. There is one about a pencil and a person who are next-door neighbors feuding over their lawns. I only know what it's about because my mother wrote down what it's about in the margins.

omg - i want to read the pencil/person lawn feud.

sounds priceless!

so does your mom.

You wrote better as a kid than I do now!

Glad you found your smut!

Ahaha thanks. That's lovely of you.

Oh, gosh; obviously I don't write notebooks of smut because this is the digital age, but I know the feeling. I lost a diary when I was in junior school, and had it found by people I disliked... eh, bad memories. I'm glad you found it!

And your younger!writing isn't half bad. It's earnest, but not doing that copiously adjectived over-similed melodramatic bad fantasy thing that many PUBLISHED BOOKS get away with... which is pretty good going if you ask me.

Thus spake Liz, immune to all perils of teenage fiction. Heh. You know what I mean, though.

A popsicle blowjob? How did I miss out on that essential part of sex ed.? *chuckle*

Oh, god,I actually have this one story I wrote with these two siblings who are both child prodigies of sorts. Only one of them is completely glossed over and people think he's completely normal while the other one uses huge, verbose words and sounds like purple prose. The point of the story is that the first sibling is actually the smarter one because he's realized that sometimes simple is better. The second one gets beat up at school every day for sounding like a pretentious git.

And the pitfall of popsicle blowjobs is that unlike the real thing, the popsicle gets smaller the more you suck.

Oh, Tea, you make me laugh. Did the second one try to improve other people's vocabularies in the process, too? I used to do that until I was about ten, when I learned that it, along with sticking up my hand to correct the teacher's spelling, wasn't actually very bright. Ah, social savvy.

To take a detour down that bright and sparkling path, it's true stuff: I know I lean towards the overly technical/obscure (rather than the prose-purpling side of things, I should hope!), so upon starting out at university - as something of an experiment, I suppose - I cut my daily syllable count and my pride in half. And while I'm sounding atrociously colloquial at present, people don't immediately think I'm intimidatingly academic/snobbish/pretentious git-ly, either. Small price to pay, really - I guess it's about appropriate context? That's what I tell myself, anyway.

(Of course, I do still deliberately stick in 'big words' for educational effect, because I'm horrified at how much I do have to tone things down - I think I posted once about my 'writing implement' horrors - but that's another story entirely, since I also declare things to be 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' at random intervals, proceed to inform bystanders that "You can also say it backwards, which is docious-ali-expi-istic-fragi-cali-repus, but I think that's going a bit far, don't you?" and don't think it's going too far at all.)

And I won't make dreadfully-phrased enquiries as to which tastes better. Really, I won't. Mostly because this is turning into an essay, and not one on The Role of Social Support in the Treatment of HIV/AIDS! *laughs*

LOL! So glad you found the smut! I think you should post some of the more hilarious excerpts here for our reading.. erm.. pleasure... :P

... there weren't any boobies.
Still, it's pretty great stuff! You had those vocabularies working for you and all.

I didn't write much smut. I drew it all. Having never actually in-person seen naked people, I usually drew lesbians.

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