Ending something as long and arduous to write as this three-part novel makes one think about beginnings. This story came into being when I saw a video online of a young girl who was entering the adult film industry talking about her mother, who had also been in the business.
This, of course, led to some rather wild imaginings on my part. What would it have been like to be raised by a woman with obviously liberal attitudes about sex, and what if those attitudes were extreme when it came to raising her daughter? I certainly had no idea. My own upbringing was so closed-minded, I’m surprised I am who I am today. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t commit suicide in my teen years. (Yes, I indeed thought about it, quite seriously in fact.)
However, this speculation and the fantasies that resulted from it led to my deciding to write a story about such a relationship between a sexually precocious daughter and her extremely open-minded mother. Following publication of chapter one on the Lesbian Lolita site on July 8, 2012, the comments I received were overwhelmingly positive. Overwhelmingly as in 100%.
This led to other chapters until I grew bored with the project after sixteen installments, the last of them published at LL on July 21, 2013. That was shortly after I was more or less attacked because I had included some minor bestiality in the story, in which a very young girl has discovered that when her little dog licks her in certain places it felt really good. Such comments, especially from someone who had been enjoying the story, can sour someone on a project, and that’s what happened with me. Not that I’d ever really finished a story before, but that’s how this one ended.
After being invited to join Naughty Mommy and JetBoy to start this wonderful site, I decided at a point that I should finish the stories I had started. Actually, my partners prodded me and prodded me to finish what I’d started. Many readers had asked me when I was going to continue them as well, so continue — and finish them — I did.
This was the last one to need completion. I finished writing the first draft of the last chapter yesterday, March 8, 2017, nearly a year after posting the first “new” chapter, #17, on March 28, 2016. This means that the entire work took two years to write, with a very long break in between. Back when I renewed my writing of this book, I looked forward to it. I had always liked the premise, and I felt that many wonderful adventures could be a part of it. Now that it’s finished, I know I will miss working on it. After all, one doesn’t separate from two years of one’s life easily.
Many of the adventures I included were based either loosely or strongly on real events and situations in my life. My other stories had included such things, such as the rocking horse I really had that I named Shadow (probably with help from my parents), which provided me my first small but pleasurable orgasms, and this tale was no different. The fact that it is so lengthy, however, means that there are even more things that are based on my life. I’m not suggesting, however, that this mirrors my life, and that is what this post is all about. How does a writer incorporate real events without making it an autobiography? First, my autobiography would be rather boring 98% of the time, but second, and most importantly, I did have that 2% that could be turned into something that resembled an interesting tale.
I had chosen to name the title character after myself, since ultimately this began as a fantasy about a fictional mother I never had, a mother who resembled my own about as much as Donald Trump resembles Pope Francis. This led to being able to freely intertwine the two lives of the fictional me with an even more fictional mother in my mind. As I wrote the first sixteen chapters, I wanted to make sure there was hot sex in every chapter. I have to tell you, that is very difficult to do and keep the sex fresh. As I think I’ve said before, just how many ways can one write about a woman having an orgasm? Yes, there are many, as our stories here will prove, but when you get right down to it, an orgasm is basically the same feeling each time we have one. Only the intensity and duration change. (I have also often wondered how different an orgasm feels to a man since his “equipment” is all external. Do they feel them in their toes the way I do?) Ultimately, though, it’s all the same.
This, of course, leads to the idea of multiple partners. When age, personality, likes and dislikes come into play, the dynamic is different. The fact that I’ve had (wait a sec, I’m counting…) eight partners in my life does not qualify me for super-sexual woman of the decade. (Bet you all thought it was more.) But my imagination can think of countless ones, and sometimes I can even include pieces of people I’ve known, in an intimate manner and otherwise, to populate my story.
Deanna has the name of a girl I knew online for several years (she’s disappeared in the past year and I worry), but her personality in many ways is based on a girl I fooled around with when I was fourteen. We were best friends and would often spend the night with each other. We had many wonderful and youthful orgasms together. She had an older sister I had a big crush on, and Deanna’s sister in the story is based on her, though my friend’s sister and I never did anything together. In this way, including the sister became a sort of wish-fulfillment. (A quick note about characters’ names: NONE of the last names are the same as the person on whom they may have been based, including me, with one exception, noted below.)
The character of Marie is based on one of my students from last school year. I suspected she was dealing with questions of her sexuality, though I have no proof that she was. I thought that she had a crush on a girl in class based on her interactions with her and the fact that while this other girl was not a close friend, Marie (her real first name) would always try to be around her. For example, when I announced a project that would be done in pairs, Marie approached this girl immediately. Of course, by then I was watching for the signs, partly because I was anxious to see if after a random weekend the two seemed closer. As far as I know, Marie and her friend never “got together” like that, but it was fun to consider. And it broke my heart that the friend did the project with someone else.
The “licking dog” episode was based on me. Yes, I allowed my dog to lick my pussy when I was thirteen. I remember being thirteen in eighth grade and thinking what would people think if they knew I had allowed my dog to lick me to an orgasm the night before. That didn’t last long, but it did happen. I finally started feeling weird about it, not to mention she would want to lick me no matter where we were, like in the den watching TV. It took a while to break her of trying, but she finally got the idea I didn’t want her doing that anymore. Plus, I started making her sleep outside my bedroom to avoid having her start in on me when I was asleep or something. She never did that, but I imagined she might. When my ultra-suspicious mother asked why I didn’t let the dog sleep with me anymore (not that she was necessarily thinking it was for a sexual reason, but who knows?), I had to make up a lie that she kept waking me up scratching herself. And no, I didn’t count the dog among my eight partners.
The episode with Erin, the girl Cheryl is a “companion” for, is nearly all true, except we never got caught because the mother did indeed call every day before coming home. When I was fifteen a woman down the street who knew my mom asked me if I would be a companion over the summer break for her daughter who had indeed gotten into some trouble shoplifting the previous summer. Emily (Erin’s real name) was one wild girl. She’d been left to her own devices for a long time, being a “latch-key kid” since age seven. Looking back, she was probably looking for attention from her mom. Her dad was not in the picture at all. One thing that was different was I was not happy about this, no matter that I was making good money for a girl my age. I saw this as tying me to a job all summer, one that would last all day, and I had my own social life to work on, but my mother would not let me decline the offer. It also took a little longer to get things rolling as far as sex went. I plied her with internet porn, which she’d not discovered. That made everything else easier. I’m not exactly proud that I seduced an eleven-year-old when I was fifteen, but it was a lot of fun at times, and Emily never once suggested she resented anything we ever did, which was everything two girls could do together.
Chandra, the large African-American woman who does hair and makeup for the production company Kayleigh works for, is entirely based on an African-American woman I knew growing up. Her last name in both the story and real life was Jackson, which appears only in the “Who’s Who” section of the story. She lived not too far from where my house was when I was still living with my parents, and she would listen to my problems in a way my mother never could or would. Chandra, her real name, was also a hairstylist. What is called in writer’s circles her “voice” is exactly as I remember it. No nonsense and wise, a good listener with even better advice. In fact it was Chandra I turned to when I hated myself so much I was considering suicide. I didn’t mention my desire for young girls to her, just my lesbianism, but she understood me and loved me (no, not like that), and I loved her like the mother I never had once I came out to my parents. She may be the reason I am alive now. I miss her terribly. (She died when I was eighteen.) Including her in my story helped me bring her back to life for a while. She doesn’t appear often because memory can be painful at times, but the tribute, even in a story like this one, is sincere.
As far as the situation in the story involving Cindy, it is 100% fabrication. I had decided to try to make the book more than just a sex-act-of-the-week episode. What’s interesting is that while I was intensely interested in that part of the book while I was writing it, the process of writing it was much more difficult. I had to make everything up, no relying on characters based on people I knew once. The plot had to be plausible, and I spent a great deal of time and effort making sure that it was. I didn’t want anyone coming on to tell me I had something wrong. I even checked things like where small airports were near Bogota and picked out an area on a map to choose the location of the compound. I researched things like how far a Learjet could fly on one tank of fuel and how long a runway had to be for take-offs and landings. (I never knew the fuel was stored in the wings!) I was actually very surprised at how long the flight was from Los Angeles, the home of the porn industry in the U.S., to the Santiago Vila airport near Girardot, Colombia, near Bogota. It made me wish I’d made the compound in Mexico instead, but I figured the Mexican people had suffered enough bad press from Trump.
Finally, Lisa is, of course, based on my wife. We married two years ago this June. Our story is involved and there are some real heartbreaks in our relationship. After all, we are a real couple, and real couples often deal with pain that the other one causes, though in reality when a relationship goes through trouble, usually both partners share the fault, and that is true for us.
Lisa and I did meet in college, though not how it’s portrayed in the book. We met at a party that was much like the one where the two get together finally in the book. It was at Halloween, and she was dressed as a prisoner, complete with the stripes. To be honest I had forgotten what costume I was wearing. Lisa reminded me that I was a witch. Very original, I know. I changed it in the chapter about the party because I consider a witch a rather boring choice. I kept Lisa in the prison garb.
We hit it off at this party and ended up spending the night together in my apartment. We exchanged digits, as they say, and we ended up dating for a while before moving in together that January when the new semester started. Lisa was a freshman, and I was a junior. Yes, I am two years older than she is. She was eighteen when we met, and I had just turned twenty a month earlier.
Lisa gave me permission to share the rest of our story with you as well.
Now, things weren’t always “the perfect couple” between us. Lisa was working for Hooters Restaurant as a waitress and later became the manager of a new location. She met another girl while working there who managed to talk her into leaving me a few years after I graduated and was working as a teacher. Yes, Lisa cheated on me. She admits it and regrets it. I debated whether or not to include that in my book. I finally decided to make it where the evil Clare decides to break up the fictional counterparts of Lisa and me for no apparent reason, only that she can. Clare became my Iago.
Now, here’s where life makes its real acquaintance with art. The name of the girl who stole my Lisa from me back then? Clare. Yep, I had a wonderful time making her into the most evil girl I could imagine. I knew when I created the character she would be evil and cause our heroine a lot of grief. Originally, I thought of having Clare steal Lisa from Cheryl, but I realized that would be much too close to reality for my tastes. I was able to make the girl modeled on my nemesis in real life end up paying dearly for her acts of selfishness and hatefulness in the story. It was cathartic.
For those who don’t know about how Lisa and I ended up back together, it goes like this:
A few years back, the autumn before I helped found this site (actually late summer), I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. It was in its earliest stages and was confined only to my cervix. I’d been having some odd periods and my doctor decided to check for any serious problems so she could rule them out. When the pap smear came back positive for cancer cells, I was devastated. I cried for days, thinking this was it. I would die soon from this terrible disease.
My oncologist told me that I should talk to the closest friend I had in an effort to cheer me up. The fact was, though, that I was mostly a loner then. I had people I knew from my job as a teacher, but I tried to keep my private life private because I feared being fired if anyone discovered I am a lesbian. I am not butch by any means, so it isn’t easily apparent from my appearance.
Lisa heard about my situation. She came to see me, and I nearly fainted. I had convinced myself that I was over her. I’d even dated a few women, but nothing serious. The moment I saw her, I knew I’d been kidding myself, and that was a case of kidding myself for several YEARS. I wanted to kiss her the moment I saw her.
We chatted, and the next day she came over again and brought me flowers. She presented me with a bunch of gladioli. I was touched and thanked her. Finally, I started to cry. She held me while I sobbed, and by the time I’d stopped crying, we were making out like a couple of teenagers on a hot date. Then she told me she still loved me and that she’d made a huge mistake by leaving me for Clare. That relationship had ended within a year of moving in with her, but she’d heard I was dating someone else by then and never contacted me until she heard about the cancer and that I was single.
Finally, she asked me if I knew what the gladiolus flower symbolized. I didn’t, and she told me. They symbolize remembrance, infatuation, strength, and faithfulness. Apparently, she had researched flowers to find the perfect one for me at that moment.
It wasn’t long before she moved back in with me, and we’ve been together and happy ever since. She had been a girl of twenty-five when she’d left me. She is turning thirty-three later this year. We are older and more mature. We are now legally married to each other. We are now happy. Please don’t blame her for leaving me. I am no piece of cake to live with. That she continues to live with and love me every day is a blessing and a miracle to me.
I know some may wonder why I skipped over the wedding in the story, choosing not to describe it in any sort of detail. I know my site partners wondered about that. I thought a long time about including details from the wedding and decided against it. Lisa and I did actually get married, though not in Amsterdam (which we did visit on a honeymoon last September), and I realized I didn’t want to write anything about the wedding in this story because our own wedding is such a wonderful memory, and I didn’t want to attempt to fictionalize the actual ceremony. I know, that’s crazy, but I felt I would never be able to do the emotions and everything else justice. I guess it’s just a personal thing. In our real wedding we chose to wear bridesmaids’ dresses we liked instead of wedding gowns because I couldn’t really afford one to match anything Lisa could have afforded. Lisa offered to buy my wedding dress, but I wouldn’t let her. It ended up being something special to us that we were wearing those dresses instead of bridal gowns. I won’t go into that because I’m already tearing up thinking about it, but that’s how I want it to be in the story — that the fictional counterparts get married but the ceremony remains private.
To make clear what everyone knows, I got Lisa’s permission to tell our true story here. I have retold our story in a fictional method in the book, based on our real story at times. I used our shared fantasy life and the attractions we both feel. She discovered my enjoyment of the shared fantasy we all have here when I left my computer open by mistake when we first lived together and she saw a story I was writing. She’d had these fantasies herself, and she admitted it to me as well as the fact that she and her sister, Rachel, had been messing around together since they were little girls, with the form of messing around they did growing more adult as they aged. I told her how jealous of her I am for that.
Now, I use things we have done or talked about to spice up my stories. We have fantasized about going to a nice hotel that caters to their customers by turning their heads from legal but titillating fun and ordering room service, requesting a girl to remain and “serve” us as a waitress while we eat our breakfast in the nude, only to let the girl watch us afterwards. No, we probably will never do that, but our fantasies about it helped me in writing what I consider a very hot scene. We have masturbated in a public place in New Orleans on our honeymoon, and I will include that in a story I began planning just yesterday. The start of her relationship with Rachel is a part of this book, though Lisa’s parents have no clue it has been going on all these years, despite sharing a room (twin beds, though) much of their lives. Paulette was the result of our fantasy about a little girl we saw when out shopping. She didn’t look to be five — she was more like ten — but her beauty was mesmerizing.
So that’s how it works. Take a single little true thing and put it in your stories if you are writing one. Then see what allowing your mind to carry it anywhere brings to your story. Using reality makes writing easier. It’s a lot easier than making up every detail and having to do research on planes, a country, and its airports.
So, to alter a term that was used long before I was born, “WRITE ON!” Even if you write only for yourself, what you write will be yours in a way nothing else can be, like painting a picture. It satisfies a need to create. So try it. You won’t be sorry.