Can This Be Real?

By Morticia Knight

As several of my fellow authors noted regarding this month’s topic, writing erotica and erotic romance can leave you as an author feeling vulnerable. How much is real? How much is an extremely vivid imagination? In my case, the clear answer is both. Perhaps I declare that with more emphasis than others because as a bisexual woman writing M/M romance, there’s no choice but to use a lot of imagination!

But what about other, non-sexual scenarios and circumstances? You know what they say, don’t piss off an author or they’ll kill you off in one of their books—and usually only after they’ve thoroughly vilified you. I’ve done very little of that (notice I didn’t say I’ve never done it!). Most of my truths mixed in with the fiction have been more in the way of vignettes from my personal life. Some have a lot of emotion behind them and are even very revealing of the inner, private me.

When I wrote the angsty and very sexual, Rocked Hard, about an aging gay rock star making a comeback and the questioning, young music journalist who has always idolized him—I took pieces from my own life as a musician. I even included some of my own lyrics for Aubrey’s songs. Since I’ve also written bios, articles and press releases for rock musicians, there were some aspects of me in Bryan as well. This story ended up being much more charged for me emotionally than many of my other stories. Here’s a short passage from Rocked Hard:

Aubrey picked up the progression of Bryan’s song, the one he’d originally written when he’d first fallen in love. He’d be starting the amended tour in less than a month, and he wanted Bryan to hear it before then, wanted him to hear it when they were alone.

“This is for you, Bry. I began it after our first night together and I finished it over the first few weeks of falling in love with you.” He glanced over at Bryan, catching his eye. “After you left, I never thought I’d sing it again. This’ll be my first time since you’ve come back.”

Bryan straightened, an anxious expression crossing his features that Aubrey couldn’t quite interpret.

“It’s called Carry.”

Aubrey fell into the intro, leading him into the strains of the first verse.

“I didn’t know, couldn’t plan. Still don’t know, what will be.

Just to see your face, to know the answers, hear them from your lips.

Are you believing, the way, I’m believing?”

Not ready to see Bryan’s reaction yet, he continued into the second verse.

“I didn’t know that I am, made for you and not for solitude.

I hear a song, repeat a phrase and it’s so damn clear, why I’m here.

Are you believing, the way, I’m believing?”

The song flowed, Aubrey more sure of himself, pouring his soul into the music as he ramped up to the chorus.

“And I join with you. You carry me, I carry you too.

And I love with you. You carry me, I carry you too.”

He brought it down for the final verse.

“I didn’t know, that’s all fine. ’Cause now I know, what is mine.

Anointed in your arms, I know no harm. You surround me, I’ll never be alone.

Are you believing, the way, I’m believing?”

He continued through another chorus then trailed the melody off until he let his hands rest on the keys. Aubrey hazarded a peek.

“Oh shit, Bry. What is it?”

Aubrey shot from the bench then dropped to his knees at Bryan’s feet. He’d never seen him cry before and it ripped him up. He laid a palm on his thigh and Bryan clutched his fingers in a way that broke his heart. Bryan’s eyes had scrunched closed, and he used his other hand to rub his forehead. Aubrey didn’t know what to do with a man who’d never shed tears in his presence, who was always the island of calm in the room.

“Jesus, Aubrey.” Bryan sniffed, rubbing the back of one hand under his nose, his eyes red and watery, the top lashes still sticking to the bottom ones as he blinked away more tears. “We almost lost that.”

~ ~ ~

Gut punch to the feels, right? Then, on the other end of the spectrum, I’ve used moments from my life that were pure ridiculousness, too crazy to be true. In my much younger years, I worked as a cocktail waitress at a strip club in the infamous Valley of Los Angeles—porn capital of the world. I had a good friend who was one of the dancers, but she could be…volatile. This following snippet from Strip Search (Sin City Uniforms 7), recreates a scene I witnessed between her and another dancer—only I set it in a gay strip club in Vegas:

After leaving the dressing room with promises between him and Sean to get a drink some time, Dakota ambled to the bar. Appreciative glances landed on him, but as he’d learned to do, he didn’t make eye contact. He always fixed his gaze on a spot slightly behind or to the side of whoever stared. It occurred to him that he didn’t really want to relax with his drink and trail mix in the changing area anymore—at least not while it was still occupied with a hostile stripper.

A loud commotion broke out near said changing area. Dakota’s eyes widened at the sight of Jon running through the middle of the club, his hand held high over his head, strips of glittery cloth clutched between his fingers.

“That bitch stole my underwear!”

The display was all the more highlighted by the fact that the club was between sets and that Jon’s package jiggled and joggled inside the one G-string not imprisoned by his fist. All heads turned to watch Jon’s unintentionally riveting performance. Charlie, the club owner, hurriedly lifted the hinged counter at the end of the bar then rushed toward him. It was clear the moment Jon spotted the owner because he launched into a screechy tirade.

“Do you see these?” Jon shoved the bunched-up G-strings in Charlie’s face so hard they practically went up his nose. “These are mine, you know they are!” Jon yanked out a red, rhinestone-studded thong, shaking it at Charlie. “You gave me this one after I let you fuck me the first time, remember? Remember?”

Oh dear.

Sean bolted toward the commotion, his anger clear in the way he charged at Jon. He grabbed Jon’s shoulder, but Jon jerked it away.

“Don’t touch me, you thieving whore!”

“Boys, boys, please!” The short, round Charlie held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s take this to the office. I’m sure we can straighten everything out there.”

Sean held up a crumpled receipt. “I fucking bought those last week at Dark Fantasy’s lingerie store and here’s the proof.” Sean glared at Jon. “This little bastard dumped all my clothes out on the floor then grabbed my best pieces before he ran out.”

“My best pieces, those are my best pieces.” Jon narrowed his eyes at Sean. “Bitch.”

“In my office boys, now. Unless you both want to pack up whoever’s underwear this is then get the hell out of my club for good!”

~ ~ ~

I waited for literal decades to have the opportunity to use the line “that bitch stole my underwear” in something I wrote!

These examples are completely different in tone and content, but no less real. Yet, I sometimes find readers insisting a scenario in one of my stories is implausible, completely outlandish. What’s that other thing they say? Ah, yes. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. 😉