You know my initial idea was that I'd just be fishing for attention without actually changing anything but what if I made myself hornier for both... What if I became a creature of uncontrollable lusts instead of vague desires....
The less jokey version of this is that I still don't have a good idea of how to relate to people, men or women, sexually in person rather than online. Most of my horniness is very conceptual rather than physical. Probably there's stuff I would like a lot if I had a chance to try it. But that would rely on finding compatible and understanding partners, which uh I already knew was a thing I need to somehow do
my novella will be seven chapters. it will NOT go out of its way to load up characterization onto the protagonists other than what naturally falls on them via the details of the story, which will be expressly composed to allow key character aspects to spring into definition where they’re needed (a typical sex scene needs very little! but a coming-of-age novella needs some).
there may be a bit that's similar to 1 over X chapter 2 (with all the xeets) but it'll be near the end rather than near the beginning.
it sucks that all I want to do is put every waking minute into making dolls and nothing into being a doll, but you actually have to do both in order to survive.
and that means you sometimes have to trust things that aren't your own mind which is SO SO SO aversive for me, but letting things in—either to colonize you or just to give you a back-cracking—is the only way you actually grow. I got fooled into thinking that learning through analysis was the major type of learning there is, but you're really just shuffling shit around until you see the pattern which is so superficial, and that was all I knew how to do.
learning from experience is completely different than learning from analysis; one is playing with dolls, the other is being a doll.
phenomena are aspects we impart to the world to change its nature through our own instrumentalization. they're also secretly living things in themselves and have their own interiority.
So LLMs definitely make programmers way more potent. So it seems to me we must have had a doubling (at least!) of like..."Effective programmer manpower" in the last year. But like...this doesn't seem to have caused very much to...happen? I mean I see a lot of cool little projects (I've made cool little projects!) but it seems like this should be having noticeable effects on yknow commercial software. It should be better, or there should be more of it. Maybe I'm just not paying attention...?
overwhelmingly the things that have prevented me from shipping more small helpful tools have all come from outside of the engineering team, because we don't actually make the call on what products get greenlit. managers and marketing heads will favor the bombastic pitch 9 times out of 10, and the guy who gives the most ambitious pitch inevitably is able to do so because he is overpromising and can't actually follow through. so even if productivity goes up across the board, the winning pitch is still just out of scope of what's actually feasible, and we all get bogged down in trying to salvage it, same as it ever was
also for every gain I've made in my personal productivity I've lost just as much time trying to bail out my coworkers from the bullshit they've gotten up to with copilot emboldening them. which I mean with no malice in my heart, it all happened quickly enough that we don't have the policy/educational tools/social technology/etc to keep non-technical people informed yet. but skill with using AI responsibly is not equally distributed and the people who have it are spending a lot of time playing clean up, at least in my local circles
she's wearing her choker today, the one that always brings to mind her lack of underthings in more than the neutral light she's come accustomed to, the one she's not allowed to take off by herself. the one seen hanging from her lover's belt more and more often, to be jangled at her when she talks back, or draped agonizingly against her face for as long a moment as its uncertain destination can be milked for.
she woke up in it today, which should've been a source of immense energy and peace. but today there was no somnolently erect androgyne in her bed to suck awake so both she and the niggling garment could be put away properly. eep. the workday wouldn't be easy.
dizzying thoughts seethe in and out of her leaving macerations in their wake. she's allowed to make herself come, but it must always be reported. more constrainingly, she has to do it without touching her cunt—not always easy to do on her own. this is one of those days when the rule functions more as a mercy than a torment, to spare her merely making herself hungrier ad nauseam. controlling herself is even starting to feel good. the familiar setting braces her, pangs of overpowering warmth mingle with discipline as they phase in and out and notch into a balance, which descends to the tingle of a microdose as she packages it up tightly. she can do this.
carefully titrated little breaks are a crucial part of that strategy. an imperceptible brush of the hands on the nipple here, a tight leg crossing there, a brief fiddling of the beautiful strip of leather around her neck. it's a game and each success in timing her little excursions and gracefully touching down to the next productive thing renews her spirits. she grows aware of a customary lull in office traffic at this time of day, and something derails her.
there's a naughty thing she does that she hasn't done in months, having joyously explored its possibilities when she'd first been taught it. a little photograph to amuse Mistress—not her pussy, something even more intimate and hidden to the world than that. first it was to show off how she'd had it bleached like an actress, so she could look as good as she tastes (her partner's words), then she learned to add a finger or a plug if she was really anticipating something. somehow she was never met with any cockiness over text; her lady was cruel only in person, and her most abject sluttiest snapshots were answered only with profusions of love and care. that had been a beautiful time, but not one to draw out past the denouement it came to: they could get each other worked up just by sending mushy words. riskier missives the stuff of memory, suffusing their grand conception of each other, basic good taste obviated any possible wearing out of a given device. but something concrete would feel really good right now, and it's such an easy angle to shoot with no one around… she could do it without even looking…
what she ingenuously captured on her phone wasn't fated to be sent, but it sent her.
a totem bored a hole into her retina in cursive flair, crinkled though its canvas may have been, but you didn't have to spread anything with your fingers to achieve whole-word recognition here. you could close your eyes and know what it said, read it like braille and speak it aloud. context alone was enough.
the tattoo gun was a distant memory now, seen only once and never spoken of hence, her little heart markings now such a part of her that mechanistic details melt away. a toenail clipping snipped from the living breathing memory of the things she'd done that night to earn them. but she didn't do anything to earn this, nothing except be who she was. this one was a gift, impishly hidden from her in plain sight for god knows how long.
she didn't even remember the last time she'd done the kind of drugs that this would take.
it took a while to compose herself, or to even begin to know how to arrange the chain of messages she was frantically turning over in her head. it would be easiest to send nothing, dumbstruck, but this sat very poorly indeed, and the worse it sat the more she played with herself, first from sheer nerves, then an unshackled appetite leaving privacy to fate. she worked it out all over her body (with just one zone off limits per some of the very first rules Mistress had given her, too deeply ingrained to annul even after such violation) but her nipples took the brunt of it, harder and harder, as breaths turned to grunts and anger gave way to impossibly deep feelings of security, then nothingness, then anger again. that was when she wasn't trying to rub the ink off with spit—could it be Sharpie?—desperately revisiting this question again and again but succeeding only in making herself squirm deeper as reality set in anew. she wasn't any closer to forming words, other than the ones still etched inside her head from their antipodal inscription. now she was hearing them in a voice not her own, a voice gentle yet ravenous, growing huskier and more insistent as the need it carried grew more pressing.
it wasn't long before she sealed her fate: a rare indirect solo release, hastened by sudden awareness of the collar on her neck, made communication mandatory. the clarity this added was marginal, and by the time she had caught up to the obligation she was no longer sure of the number of incidents. she folded to the ensuing interrogation instantly, relating instigating events in far more lamblike fashion than she'd anticipated, unable to hide or editorialize what was already known.
an emergency meeting soon convened in a parking lot a few blocks away with reasonable cover, sick time expended as necessary. they were panting and lolling together, her little choker still on but all else peeled away at one point or another between bouts. she could feel lingering kisses on her tongue from seconds or minutes ago.
a hand mirror was drawn from a purse. "I want you to look at it with me."
even absent the convenient auto-flipping of the selfie cam, she could plainly read MOMMY'S WHORE in crisp backwards lettering.
it looked better and better on her the more she wriggled around.
"When was the last time you had your yearly physical?" Madame smirked.
"Last month? Oh god, that's fucking perfect. And how closely did the doctor examine you, you little slut?"
okay I understand how to pivot from writing erotica to general literary fragments now. you've written good erotica when you have something that makes a sub feel subby and a dom feel dommy. the equivalent of making a sub feel subby is to make the reader feel seen. the equivalent of making a dom feel dommy is to make the reader feel insightful.
unfortunately, subs are better literary writers because they write to make themselves feel seen rather than to make themselves feel insightful.
thinking on it more, there are three basic attributes that compelling characters have to have, and those are glamourousness, patheticness, and loathsomeness, and writing them well is all about finding the right balance of those attributes.
it's so disappointing how small one life is. there's so much you'll just never get the chance to do. i ought to have the time, and the raw sexual power, to bed everyone who seems like they'd be interesting with it. i ought to have ten thousand wifes
okay this is being revised again, back to 80% porn 20% psychodrama instead of 50/50 like I was thinking before. much more fluent and works just as well metatextually.
