By Daddy X
Who’s happy? We’re happy! Everybody’s happy. Aren’t we?
Doesn’t really work out that way, does it? We all seem to be riding this non-stop roller coaster, stumbling from crisis to crisis just to get along in our lives. Where’s the reward?
Of course, the rewards lie in life itself. That primal zen experience extraordinaire we should all be happy to engage. Such a gift. But happiness can be difficult to attain, especially in the present. Many of us may not even identify with what it is to be happy and content in the moment. It often takes the passage of time (and maybe some true misery) to glean happiness from our lives, or, indeed, to even know it’s available. Happiness can be elusive, something we just get a breath of between crises. Things will be better later. Happiness often lies in memories … or somewhere in the future.
Right now? Hmm … kinda busy.
Do our writerly efforts allow readers to escape the trials of their lives, or give them something more like the real thing? Less? Do we dare give them Happily Ever After? Does anybody get that in real life? It’s up to the professional writer to determine the reader he or she wants to court.
With so many endings possible, surely we have more choices than HEA, HFN, or whatever the acronym is for Misery To Come (MTC? HNA?). In fact, most choices lie somewhere in between. We don’t have to give readers a Garden of Eden at the end, not any more than we have to kill off the protagonist. Some authors prefer to leave us hanging, tying up loose but substantial ends after a fashion, others prefer to allow for the readers’ imagination.
It all depends on how we leave the reader. That long-anticipated vacation that’s been planned so well and comes off so well, in that exotic land we’ve been dreaming of all our lives. We finally go. It’s as wonderful as we’d planned, but when we return, we arrive at the kennel and find that our dog has died. How would that color the trip? In what ways would the memory stick with us?
I think most times, the story dictates the end for us. In reproducing life on the page, we should stay mindful of a balanced approach--some humor, some sweet romance, lots of out-and-out freaky sexy heat, some darkness, and anything else in the form of characters, plots, or situations our active minds come up with.
But it all comes down to how we leave them. That’s what’s going to stick with the reader.
And then some endings don't make any such distinctions.
With apologies to MP, I offer you…
Remembrance of Things Assed © 2012 Daddy X
“Oh. You want me like … that?”
“You have to?”
“Not a matter of having to. Just better this way.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
She knows how it is, in her butt. From the corner of her eye she watches him lube the thing.
As his fingers spread her fleshy cheeks he consoles her, “It’s not so bad.”
Then, a twisting penetration … until he’s satisfied with its depth.
She remembers the photo at the erotic art show. A black and white. A woman’s ass, bending over from behind. A hand in a starched white cuff grabbed the girl in an improvised bowler’s grip, thumb anchored in her asshole. The viewers’ imagination was put into play to suggest the location of the four other digits.
But that was a flesh and bones thumb, not the hard, inanimate object now clenched in her own anus. Such a difference in size.
All this time he says not a word. How humiliating. That thing poking out from between her buns. He seems content just witnessing her mortification. The image of that picture has her pussy sopping. She hopes it won’t give her away. How she wishes he would just slide it in and out a bit.
Suddenly, he pulls it free.
“Temperature’s fine, ma’am. Ninety-eight point six.”
Yeah, it’s a ‘gotcha’. Figgered I’d try and reward y’all with an up-note.
And BTW—stay HEA.