Confessions of a One-Track Mind

13 is a weird age. Or at least, it was weird for me. After several trips to Florida to house-hunt (spring break, a few days tacked on to a long weekend, etc.), my folks closed on our house in December of '73. Their plans allowed me to finish 8th grade so I could graduate from St. Jerk's with the kids I'd been with since kindergarten.

There was no real sense of the clock ticking down; we'd been in the same place my whole life, we'd visited Florida, but I had no frame of reference for relocating.

I did the stuff I'd always done. Hung with Doris on weekends (mostly), although I had a few slumber parties with my BF from school, Lorie. She was the only girl in her house (2 brothers and her dad, her mom had died several years earlier), nowhere near as spoiled as I was, and she loved my mom's cooking. She was also the source of my first porn book, a sleazy little volume called "Hot Slot"---I think she acquired it from one of her brothers---which was eye-opening in every sense of the word.

Also that December, about a week and a half before Christmas, I decided that our Christmas tree *really* needed to go up---so I went down to the garage and dragged it up the driveway, the front stairs, through the vestibule, up a full flight to our apartment, and set the darned thing up. Afterward, I went into the bathroom for the usual reason, and discovered blood.

Now, Mom had been saying for a while that she would have supplies ready for me when the time came. Well, guess what---she didn't. I suppose it would have been too much to expect---this was, after all, the woman who told me time and again, "No matter how old you are, you'll always be my little girl"---of course she wasn't going to believe that day would come if she could stick her head in the sand and avoid it! And since she'd hit menopause not long after I was born, according to her, she didn't miss them.

I can understand, with her background, why she'd want me to feel secure and protected and loved---although my experience was somewhat different, as you can tell by now---but she really was the product of a different age. Between being older whan I came along---40-something mothers of grade-schoolers were NOT the norm in those days---and having been raised by her maiden aunts, she had a rather prim outlook on sexuality.

Aftr reading "Hot Slot", I asked her what an orgasm was, and OMG, that was awkward---for her. To this day, I wonder if her reaction was because she didn't know or just didn't know how to deal with an enlightened and precocious 13-year old.

I remember that spring as a welter of hormones and insomnia. "Hot Slot" disappeared from beneath my mattress, which Mother staunchly denied, but its work was already done. I also became enamored with the Steve McQueen movie "Papillion". Doris and I formed a clubhouse in an old barn a few blocks away and I was finally allowed to do things like take buses to the new Staten Island Mall. Not much compared to how Peter had gone gallivanting all over New York for as long as I could remember, but it was the most freedom I'd ever had.

A few days after my 8th grade graduation, we left Staten Island, and spent three days migrating to Florida: me, my parents and Lady in a 1968 Plymouth Fury II.

I thought of it as an adventure---it was Florida, a tropical paradise where they launched rocket ships!---but I had no idea how different it was from everything I knew.

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Next: Florida, high school, and fandom....


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Writers and readers of pr0n!

The summer is about to get even hotter! (I know, just what we need, right?)

First, there's Day of Porn, which is actually Weekend of Porn, since it runs from today through Sunday evening.

That makes a good warm-up, no pun intended, for Porn Battle X, which starts on Sunday and runs for 8 days.

I will TRY to coax my muse out from under the bed and join in the fun, although I think we all know Fluffy tends more toward gen.

Have fun!

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It's only a matter of time before this turns up in a slashfic somewhere. Or at mmom.

And I'm looking forward to it.


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Scratching the Itch:
Author: vanillafluffy
Watchmen and Dark Angel:
Pairings: Max/Eddie, Max/Laurie
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3131
Spoilers: Somewhat AU to both canons
Warnings: Smoking can be hazardous to your health.
Disclaimer: The Watchmen and Dark Angel belong to their respective creators.
A/N: The Watchmen characters have been transplanted to the post-Pulse Seattle of Dark Angel canon. For purposes of plot, Eddie Blake is in his late 40s, Laurie in her mid-20s, Max in early 20s. Great big thanks to betas karaokegal and jdsgirlbev (Two fandoms needed two betas!) Originally posted at xover_exchange.
Summary: The feline DNA in Max's genetic cocktail has her in heat and wailing her desire to the skies. Her roommate isn't happy about who she's chosen to solve the problem with, but Max plays by her own rules.

( Scratching the Itch )

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After all my blathering and writing my guts out, my xover_exchange has finally been posted! Y'all are gonna come read it, right?

It's Dark Angel! Watchmen! NC-17! (According to my beta. Let's see what you think.)

Recently, I completed a story, and I asked my beta how she thought I should rate it. To my surprise, she said NC-17. Her stated rule of thumb was, as soon as a cock made an appearance, especially if it was inserted into an orifice, it was automatically NC-17. Which means that I've written a helluva lot more porn than I thought!

It's my understanding that the motion picture has specific criteria for ratings, but fiction is a lot more flexible. For instance, I heard in a director's commentary that saying "fuck" will knock a picture from the PG-13 category up to R...that word is completely absent from the story in question. "Cock" and "prick" both appear as nouns, and there are no roosters present. Fucking happens; penetration occurs...does that automatically upgrade it past R to NC-17?

So I'd like to ask the readers and writers of fan-fic on my f'list, what do you think the cut-offs are? At what point does a story go from suitable for a "young adult/teen" audience, to being off-limits to over 21? Because---and I know this probably makes me sound like a relic of the days when woolly mammoths walked the earth, but kids these days know a helluva lot more than they used to. When I was an adolescent, "Charlie's Angels" was scandalous 'jiggle' TV---today there's "Gossip Girl" teasing us about high-school threesomes and we saw more skin in "Baywatch" than the Angels ever showed. Apples and oranges? Oh hell no: Apples and starfruit.

How about the percentage of sex in a story---say, if the fornication in question is 1,500 words of a 15,000 word saga? Three paragraphs out of three pages? If it's clear they're having sex but none of the major trigger words are being used, IE, if it's soft-focus with two writhing bodies and a keening cry of ecstacy?

Is it descriptiveness of body part and/or actions that disqualifies a story from a friendly rating? Namely, if your hero climaxes, it's PG-13, but if "He blasted hot guysers of foaming man-milk" the story is NC-17 and you're shot at dawn for really bad purple prose.

Maybe it's the vocabulary, and how do we quantify that? Number and severity of cuss words? If your hero says "Shit!", it's PG-13, and he can say hell or damn all he wants---but if he busts out a "Motherfucker!", it's an R and if he says it twice, it's NC-17? (And on a side note, why it is that A&E bleeps words that aired without a problem on network TV?! Lighten up!) Or does fan-fiction adopt George Carlin's seven words you can't say on TV? (As he pointed out, even Disney movies can get away with saying, "I'm gonna snatch that pussy and put it in a box!")

What if it's kink? No cocks come out, but the protagonist winds up in handcuffs and enjoys it. Or admits he enjoyed wearing his girlfriend's satiny panties. There are (IMO) repressed people who consider slash a kink even when the participants aren't doing anything beyond vanilla sucking and fucking. Even soft-focus would be NC-17 for someone like that.

How about the percentage of sex in a story---say, if the fornication in question is 800 words of a 15,000 word saga? Three short paragraphs out of three thousand words?

It's baffling. To me, at least. Over at omni_fiction, they have a much simpler system: "Green, Yellow, and Red. Green covers gen fic, humorous fic, and straight vanilla sexual encounters, whether M/F, M/M, or F/F. Yellow is for edgier stuff:- angst, deathfics, mild BDSM, multiple entities, consent issues. Save "Red" for the heavy stuff - rape, serious BDSM, and anything involving cephalopods." THAT I can understand! It would be nice if more communities would adopt that logic. My gosh, that story that I reluctantly tagged NC-17 would be green and good to go, no worrying about whether it's achieved def-con: FUCK.

Thoughts, y'all?

In the beginning, there was The List. And The List was lengthy and full of kink. And behold, a meme came forth, and it was accorded thusly:

1. Visit the master list, select your favorite 100
2. Post your favorite 100 behind a cut in your LJ (or as many as you can without going over)
3. Your f-list’s job is to write you “comment pr0n” for your favorites.

(If you can't decide, try picking a random number and challenging yourself!)
Bolded for extra-special favorites ♥

And it was good, because Fluffy is good at schmoop and crack and a total h0r for backstory but fails at pr0n except when the seventh house gets mooned.

( My kinks, and YES some of them ARE kinky. May be TMI for people who think I'm all about safe stuff like clothes, cars and home decor. )

*looks hopeful and hurries off to work*

Title: Quiet on the Set
Authored by: vanillafluffy
Pairing: Jack/OCs
Rating/Work-safeness: Highly NC-17 for scenes of torture and non-con. No fluffy bunnies here, folks.
Approximate word count: 1650
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the warped and twisted mind that concocted this. I'm a TW virgin, so I hope it's up to...snuff.
Betaed by: karaokegal saved me from myself and you all from a lot of compound sentences.
Summary: When Jack is kidnapped by a group of murderous sadists to star in a snuff film, his life depends on playing dead.



( London, 1947 )

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