I’d followed your for weeks. Leanrd your patterns. So that night in the parking garage, when I slipped a flouride soaked rag over your mouth, was a long time coming. One you’re out, I toss your over my shoulder. As I jam my cock into your mouth, you regret your uppittty mouth. You weeps as you realize your my cumslave now…
This missive struck a nostalgic chord with me which I couldn’t quite place. It took me a minute before I put it together but finally, I got it. Your writing is reminiscent of the non-con rape fantasy erotica of the mid 80’s Harlequin Presents series, written far before Christian Grey was a twinkle in his sphinxlike, whore of a mother’s eye.
My point is, dear writer, that you’ve mistaken try-hard edginess for shock value. You’re like the Mormon who drinks a Mountain Dew in a crack house and thinks he’s bad.
You aren’t bad. You aren’t bad until you’ve written everything from gang rape tentacle porn to “Christian values” spank fiction to make a buck. You have no idea the things I’ve written and the values I’ve compromised. You cannot shock me. This shit you’ve sent? It’s amateur hour.
Let’s discuss why.
“So that night in the parking garage, when I slipped a fluoride-soaked rag over your mouth…”
You know what scares people? Situations they can relate to. There’s a reason hooker murderers get away with it more than anyone else. It’s because the general public can say, “I’m not a hooker, so that would never happen to me.” They don’t get scared because they can’t relate to the situation.
Parking garages don’t scare me. I haven’t been in one since April 23, 1996 – aka the debut episode of “Forensic Files.” Also, you drugged me with Fluoride? What was your end game? To get me an “A+ Flosser” sticker at my dentist’s office?
“One(sic) you’re out, I toss your(sic) over my shoulder.”
I am 5’9 inches tall and 175 pounds. You (according to the handle from your email, which sent me to your Twitter, which sent me to your Facebook page, which I used to look up your real name and location and find your court records from your 2016 DUI) are 5’6” and weigh 130. You aren’t “tossing” anything unless you’re talking about tossing up the cookies you had at lunch because you have manorexia. If you want to carry me, ladyboy, you’re going to need a crane.
“You regret your uppittty(sic) mouth…”
Don’t God-mod my character. Also, how’d we get to cock jamming again? Wasn’t I over your shoulder a minute ago? Or more likely, on the OSHA-approved crane you rented with your mom’s credit card? It’s like you don’t even know how to continuity.
I didn’t make it all the way through your story and that’s not on me. That’s on you. As the author, it’s your job to “hook” me and get me to read on, whether you’re writing a children’s book or an anonymous threatening email. That didn’t happen. Your story inspired the same reaction I feel when I’m deleting discount Louie Boutin comments from my spam folder. Mostly boredom mixed with mild annoyance that you exist at all. If you were trying to get my attention, you succeeded, but not in a good way. More in the way a mosquito does when it buzzes in your ear until you squish it and forget about it.
If the goal was to scare me, maybe don’t leave your comment under a verified Gmail address. That actually does the opposite of scaring me. It gives me all the power. I could forward this message verbatim to your mom, your boss, your girlfriend, your kindergarten teacher, or everyone in your Warhammer group. The only thing keeping me from going full-on scorched earth is laziness and the fact that I have no idea what “Warhammer” is.
My point is, I’ve read some poorly written non-con erotica in my time, but yours is the worst. Not the “worst” in a way where it’s disturbing. “Worst” in a way where it’s poorly executed and was clearly written by a child – which is weird because you’re in your thirties. So tell the middle schooler who ghost-wrote your erotica to work on their craft. You, on the other hand, should fling yourself face first off an overpass at your earliest convenience – if you can get a friend to drive you there.