Random Thoughts: Superficial Women

I tell stories. To be more accurate I write and share stories here. I share stories with the purpose of entertaining you dear reader. I do not write sci-fi or fantastical stories (although I have written one or two with fantasy elements on occasions). In general, I write stories that can, have, and do take place in a world most of us inhabit; in a seemingly ordinary world full of exceptional circumstances that occur to everyday people. The characters I write about tend to have lives and backgrounds and emotions. Well a least hinted at if nothing more, is my aim…

“Enzo, what are you rambling on about?” you may be asking.

Well, I will get to the point.

On social media I came across this thread about female characters written by males. More precisely, male authors failing to write adequately about female characters and ultimately creating superficial female characters lacking depth.

You can read more about the thread in this article here:
https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/women-describing-themselves-the-way-a-male-author-writer-would-twitter_us_5ac524cae4b09ef3b243163f

I used to peruse a lot of stories on erotic forums. I say peruse because I could never get past a lot of the bad writing. Mind you I am not saying I am a good writer. What I am saying is that a lot of bad “writers” seem to congregate on these story forums.

I would more often than not click away the moment the main female character was introduced – described immediately by her bra size. I kid you not. If you are familiar with the stories I am referring to, I am sure this comes as no surprise.

So it is not so much that I am bad at judging women’s bra sizes [which, unfortunately, has often led to my demise when giving gifts] and therefore unable to form the correct visual, but that reading that description in the first sentence automatically gives me a pretty clear indication of the tone of the overall story to come. Because of these types of stories, I have always been mindful of how I write my stories.

When I came across this social media thread, I began to wonder; am I just as guilty? Do I describe the female characters in my stories just as poorly as those referenced?

"I don't know; Enzo always focuses on my eyes.
I mean where else would he be looking?"

Do I spend more attention and time describing the character’s physical attributes rather than the action taking place in the story? Are my female characters lacking any depth?
I like to believe they are not, but who am I to judge? Therefore, I ask you Dear Readers, in particular the Ladies, do my stories fail just as bad as the other writers being criticized?

Or does it even matter to you? Are my stories excused because of the overall erotic themes and the expectations of these types of themed stories?

Would love to hear your thoughts.

Hump Day: Morning Stretch

Intended to publish this on Monday after Easter which would have made more sense with the time frame of the story, but unfortunately was unable to. Offline life doesn't want to wait. However, since this is Hump Day anyways, I thought you might find this story enjoyable. That is if you are still reading here.
Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you do.
............

She scrunched her toes into the cold sheets and released them slowly and waited. 

And waited. 



And waited.



He was taking longer than she expected, but she was not known for her patience.





She could hear his heavy steps on the deck just outside the bedroom. The open door was giving the morning breeze a free pass, adding to the chill of the cotton sheets. She listened to the pattern of his steps; they were not of a pacing manner, but rather of a watchful scout. Ever since she had known him, he would perform this morning ritual. She stretched and strained to hear an inaudible conversation with himself, aching to hear his thoughts. 



The bright morning sun streaking across the room did little to warm up the otherwise comfortable bed. Half-heartedly wanting his return, but dreading it just the same, she made the minutes pass squirming amongst the sheets wishing she had woken before him, made coffee for them and or possibly prepared breakfast. She drifted in and out of daydreams, scenes of unfulfilled wishes of what she should have, would have, could have done. Instead, without the gift of clairvoyance and further rendered restless by her impatient nature, left her to this familiar frustrating moment.



Yet, this was different. Of course circumstances and words are always different, but this time she felt…Correction, she knew it was different. 



Other times she had been slow to pick up on his subtle cues, to pick up on his warning gestures. This time his words, however short, had been clear, direct and firm. So much so that she had frozen and shuddered upon hearing him. Both out of knowledge that this was indeed the final warning and more so, out of a sense of shame that anyone else, if not all of them had read between the lines and understood his intentions.




The bedroom, along with the entire home, seemed strangely quiet, even quieter than a typical Sunday at dawn. This post-holiday Monday morning was tensely quiet in its own right. The still was to be expected as prior days festivities had burnt most out. The soft layer of tension was brought on by those chores and tasks which had been left undone, put aside for another day, all in preparation for the return to the week.



She lay in the palm of that tense quiet trying to settle herself while she stared at the silhouette behind the gently blowing curtain. She followed the contours of his bare arms, stretching and flexing into the morning as if signaling for guidance or requesting strength from some higher power; from God, the Great Spirit or Mother Nature, from anyone. She would soon find out if he had been acknowledged as he turned to look back towards the bed; for the first time since she opened her eyes, he focused on her direction. 



She couldn’t help but notice that even in similar states of undress they were a stark contrast. He dressed in nothing more than jeans, bare chested and bare footed, all seemed to only serve the purpose of accentuating his strength. She, on the other hand, wearing nothing more than a thin, white sheath nightgown, gave off the appearance of pure vulnerability. As is, the mini, eyelet gown normally would only have extended to mid-thigh leaving plenty of exposure all around. 



However, in her waiting distress, her tossing and turning caused fabric to knot and tangle and ultimately bind her. She yanked, kicked and tossed the sheets away in angst. With her covers now gone left her laying there stretched out, the hem of her nightgown riding well above her waist. The length of her legs were clear paths of soft flesh leading forward and further until culminating at her silky, bare bottom. A bottom covered with nothing more than goosebumps. A direct result of her stubborn ways; a secondary result of her day long attitude which had lead to an argument. She had been ordered to change her panties for bed. She had protested; I'd sooner go without. She now regretted the choice that left her modesty entirely exposed.



She heard him walk in towards their nest and felt him standing above her. Without a word from him, she heard her fears realized. His belt buckle unhooked, the leather of his belt began a rapid acceleration as it swooshed out and was released from behind the confines of denim belt-loops. 



She immediately abandoned the idea of a cheery, however disingenuous, greeting and instead closed her eyes tighter mumbling softly to herself. Instantly yet briefly she faded off into another daydream when she was jolted back by the unexpected crack of leather upon itself. 

She stole a quick glance at the instrument of her contrition while drifting out of the dreamy comfort of her own touch, her thin fingers sinking in and out her mouth. She whispered to herself once more, a small prayer for a short penance for their was no one to save her now from her own doing.

She scrunched her toes into the cold sheets and released them slowly and waited. And waited. 

And waited. 

"Get your tight, ungratefull ass up in the air.

Now!"
 
She closed her eyes once more before retreating into the fetal position and scooting onto all fours just as she heard the swing of the leather cut through the air.









............

Hope you enjoyed that.

Added information: I wrote this story with a specific character in mind and then realized it could be the story for a couple of different characters of mine. If you intensely follow my blog (which I doubt there is anyone that does), you will be familiar with the Rebecca and Molly characters. If so I wonder which of these ladies you picture in this story above.