I made it through another round in the Smut Marathon!! Our last assignment tasked us to use the words “fortune cookie” in our work. I liked the idea that a slip of paper could be catalyst for a sexy time romp. I definitely didn’t want to do anything involving a restaurant, and I tried to brainstorm other places you might find a cookie.
My first thought was baking them. I made fortune cookies for my boyfriend in college out of a Martha Stewart magazine and I put slips of paper in that were naughty. The cookies ended up tasting horrible and we ate ice cream instead. It was a fun night but when I wrote the scene it seemed rather vanilla. I wanted to write something wicked.
I then toyed with the idea of a fortune cookie costume and a little FemDom. I wrote this scene:
The glow of a single candle illuminated my usual table tucked in the corner. The three empty chairs act as a barricade around me so idle chit chat with surface friends won’t distract me. I detachedly watch the audience file into the theater with excited energy. Couples cling to each other and whisper predictions about what the night may bring. Large groups undulate jovially as they tell bawdy jokes over pitchers of beer. Newcomers blush. Regulars shuffle to their seats so they can let their eyes rove over the program to look for their favorite performers. Names like Cin Sation, Mistress Dizzy Lane, Venus Devine and Lily Fate headline this club and their names alone promise a provocative evening.
Finally, rustling is heard behind the curtain and the announcer’s voice shushes the crowd as the house lights dim. I can see shadows of high heeled shoes rushing as the girls take their places. Suddenly, the curtain parts and the crowd is dazzled by beauty wrapped in sequins and lace. My love isn’t on stage yet, but it’s hard not to admire the spectacle. The girls shimmy and seductively make eyes at the crowd as they slowly slip off their gloves and garments in time to the music. Each hip wiggle leads the viewer down the path of carnal delight. The crowd roars with approval as the girls peel down their bra straps and finally reveal their pastie covered boobs. I clap when appropriate, but these girls have no power over me. I wait for her.
When act one finishes, The stage goes dark and there is a shuffle of scenery. The spotlight shines an apron clad Miss Cupcake Sunshine rolling out dough. Each pass across the dough has the audience holding their breath that one of her ample tits may spill out of her tiny costume. She slaps flour on her hands and a white cloud encircles her head like a halo. Her task complete, she pops a tray into the large stage oven by bending over and showing her ass to the wolf whistlers.
Bernie, the choreographer, thought it would be a hoot to parody The Gingerbread Man with a saucy fortune cookie I know what is coming next but her appearance always feels like lightning splitting my soul.
The baker retrieves her tray when the oven dings. A dancer emerges from the oven dressed in folds of brown cloth to resemble a fortune cookie and my eyes fix on the stage. The air leaves my lungs, but oxygen no longer matters. The visceral reaction of wanting to sweep her in my arms so that our bodies are once again united is only quelled by her binds on my my ankles to the chair. I see her quickly glance my way and wink. I swoon and lose myself in her graceful dance around the stage. A few tendrils of her auburn hair have escaped from the bun perched on her head. Her ruby lips are parted in a smile. The audience roars as the baker attempts to stuff the cookie with a fortune. It reads “Eat Me.”
I watch my love begin to lose garments in the chase. First, her long brown gloves flitter to the floor exposing her strong tanned arms. She leaps across the stage as her cookie shell is pulled off by the baker. She’s exposed. My breath slows as my heartbeat races. I’m drunk on her curvaceous lushness. Her body glitters under the spotlight and she pantomimes coyness. My love is anything but a demure little thing anywhere else. I have the marks to prove it.
The baker slaps her tits with a towel making her pasties swing merrily to the audience’s amusement. My cock swells in the steel prison that binds it tight. She dances close to me and I catch a whiff of jasmine. The key to my cage glints in the spotlight, nestled between her breasts. She makes sure that I see it as our eyes lock. I know she has plans for me. I wait for her.
LAME! I decided that this story was too long and lacked sexy. I ditched it and started brainstorming. I wrote the words “sexy fortune cookie” hundreds of times and had Chinese take-out at least once a day. I looked at fortune cookie history and laughed when I found out that they aren’t even from China. They were a novelty and the idea of novelty stuck with me. I thought about sex clubs and random chance. The idea of a a club where your evening was decided by a slip of paper was very enticing. I would go to that club in real life. I stuck with the idea and wrote my entry, Club Sweet Fortune. Read it on the Smut Marathon website:
I let my brain go and soon had over 1,000 words. I knew I had to whittle it way down. I think that’s where I messed up. I was excited that we actually got to write a sex scene this time around and I wanted something yeeeowza dirty. So I wrote a six-some. I have a dream of being spit roasted and I thought it would be awesome to share that with someone.
I had the Club’s backstory in my original version but I got caught up in the sex and neglected the story. It showed in my jury scores. I was last on everyone’s list across the board. I know exactly why. The other stories were a little more fluffy vanilla romantic love or their protagonist was a dude. People love a man as a lead character and love to be lulled by emotion.
I should have been more aware. It’s funny how after I send in an entry, I begin to loathe my work. It’s as if once it is in the spotlight, I can see all the cracks. I wanted to pull my story from the competition once I saw how good the other entries were this time. I was totally outclassed.
I did get a bunch of public votes and that was a happy surprise. My story was good for a wank session and I think that’s what drew readers. (Thank you for the votes! Yay!).
I am excited about the next round, and the writers moving forward are amazing. I’m surrounded by talented real writers who know far more about erotica than this silly kitten. I’m learning. That is the whole reason I entered the Smut Marathon in the first place.