Well you read the header and although I’m going to do my best to restrain my twisted sense of humour for the sake of sending a serious message, one or two quips might inevitably slip out. So my apologies in advance. But I am serious.
Where did the true writers go? Not the hobbyists who have just watched too much porn and think telling me how “hard id slide my cock in your wet wet puzzy” is somehow literature? Not the amateurs who have gotten a few hits on literotica, whose grammar and formatting is so putrid it looks like dyslexia threw up on their page. No, I don’t want the pretenders anymore: I want Tyson. I want a damn CONTENDER.
I’m talking erotica with worlds so fully realized with a bevy of detail so rich, I could walk it blind and still find my way back to bed…. wording and vocabulary so eloquent and refined that it’s as if an Oxford professor was texting me. I want an expert of the written arts that knows their way around passion, around storytelling…. around the beauty of the naked body.