Congrats to the ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS “Special Contest” AWARD WINNERS

[Guest]

[SIZE=+2]ScouriesWorld[/SIZE]

proud sponsor of the

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

nude day 1921


[size=+2]We’re open for business!!!!![/size]


[size=+2]

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest

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[size=+2]

Erotica's #1 Writing Contest

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[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida

 

[Dixon Carter Lee]

 

[Guest]

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

[size=+3]WOW!!! Even Double WOW!!![/size]

We’re just four days in and we’ve already received over three hundred (300) entries!!!!

And look at some of the names: MissBoobies, JebBush, Krome, the boxman, Geronimo, liquidmatthew, the jzzcullen man, LAWick, …

And that was just the start. Look who else has submitted a story this week: ManyFeathers (the chief), Slickman, Dr Heat, SamuelX, the Baron de Sade and DanielQSteele!

It’s like a who’s who of LITEROTICA writing greats.

Thanks guys!

nude day 1921

[size=+2]

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest

[/size]

[size=+2]

Erotica's #1 Writing Contest

[/size]​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida

 

[TxRad]

No one "enters" scouries fake contests. He just steals the stories from the REALNude Day contest and says people entered his fake one.

So:

DON'T BE FOOLED.

All his "Contests" are Fake.

 

[SuperHeroRalph]

Just in case you missed it, Scouries, just in case you want to reread it again and again, here is the story that you and Dark knew about before it was submitted and rejected.

Laurel instructed me to post this story on the forum board, so where better place than to post it on your threads and on the attacking thread that Dark posted to attack me.

So much for free speech, huh? So much for having a fair contest, huh? So much for this being a story board for writers writing stories, huh?

This is a Nude Day contest story. Please vote.

Nude Day Story, I'm An Asshole

It took Nude Day for me to see who I truly am. I'm an asshole.

Nude Day is when I had my epiphany. It took Nude Day for me to see who I truly am. Standing naked on Nude Day and looking at myself in the mirror without the rose colored glasses coloring and skewing my perception of myself, for the first time in my life, I see my real self and I'm not happy with what I see. I'm saddened to write that I'm an asshole. I am. I truly am. I'm a asshole.

I've met a lot of assholes in my life and I never thought I'd be one, an asshole, but I am. Most of the people I had to work for, bosses, were assholes, real assholes. Going way back, before I even started working, a lot of my professors and teachers were assholes, too. I could tell an asshole, as soon as they opened their mouths that they were assholes or were going to be assholes. Even before that, I had friends, acquaintances, and even family members who were real assholes. Now, including myself, I'm surrounded by assholes.

Before we continue, allow me to describe my definition of an asshole. An asshole to me is someone with two assholes. One hole in the ass, of course, for shitting excrement and a second hole in their mouth for talking shit. That's my definition of an asshole, a person shitting shit and talking shit, sometimes at the same time. Eww, gross. Yeah, that's me, alright. Unfortunately, I fit my own definition of an asshole.

All politicians are assholes. Most lawyers are assholes, especially divorce lawyers. Ex anything, ex-boyfriend, ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, ex-husband, or ex-significant other is always an asshole.

To be honest, I never thought of myself as being an asshole, but I am. Why, as a writer of erotic literature and dirty stories, a writer who writes for Literotica, am I such an asshole? There are a lot of reasons how I could be an asshole, but the main reason is because I write too many contest stories. As the most prolific author on Literotica, bar none, writing too many contest stories makes me an asshole.

Now that I think about it, I've been an asshole since 2007, when I joined Literotica as BOSTONFICTIONWRITER and wrote nearly 200 stories for the Survivor contest. Just the fact that I made a mistake and wrote my name capital letters made me an asshole, before I even wrote my first story. The next year, 2008, as BOSTONFICTIONWRITER, I wrote more than 300 stories for the Survivor contest.

What an asshole I am for writing so many stories on a story board, huh? How dare I write so many stories on a story board? What the Hell is wrong with me for writing so many stories on a story board? What an asshole I am for writing all those stories.

Truth be told, I only write contest stories. Literotica has twelve monthly contests and six themed contest stories each year, Valentine's Day, Earth Day, Nude Day, Summer Lovin', Halloween, and Winter. In addition to those 18 contests, they have their yearlong contest, the Survivor contest, the writer who writes the most stories in the most categories wins. I've competed in the Survivor contest every year, since I joined, which makes me a real asshole by dumping all those Survivor stories on the board.

As BOSTONFICTIONWRITER, I won 2nd place in the Survivor contest in 2007 and 2008. I finished in 6th place in the Survivor contest as PositiveThinker in 2009, and in 2010, I won 2nd place again in the Survivor contest as AndTheEnd. I'm leading the 2011 Survivor contest, as SuperHeroRalph. Since the most stories written in the most categories wins, the Survivor contest is the only contest held by Literotica that I have any chance of winning, as it is independent of scores and votes.

As are the themed contests, the monthly contest winners are those with the highest scores. Even though many of my stories are wicked good, I don't score very high. Why? Well, no doubt, because I'm an asshole.

Recently, the last couple years, I've only been writing stories in the themed writing contests. When other writers write one or two submissions, I write a dozen to two dozen stories each contest. What an asshole? I can't help myself. Writing is my passion. I love writing stories. Oh, yeah, without doubt, I am an asshole. I dunno, but if there's a delineation between a good asshole and a bad asshole, just to save face, I'd like to think of myself as a good asshole.

Yet, with all the contest stories that I've written, except for coming in 2nd place three times in the Survivor contest, I'm saddened to write that I've never won a contest, haven't even so much as finished in third place. One would think with all the hundreds of contest stories that I write and have written, that one story would have been a homerun with the readers. Why is it that I've never won a contest here? Is it solely because I'm an asshole?

I've been told by hundreds of readers that I'm a good writer, one of the best writers on the site. I've been told by hundreds of readers that they loved my stories so much that they favored them and favored me as a writer. Still, I don't win any contests. I don't even come close to winning a contest. Matter of fact, some of the poorest writers on the site writing the worst stories on the site score higher than me. Why is that? I don't get it. Yet, judging which story is better over another story is as arbitrary as thinking which person is more of an asshole than another. The fact remains is that I'm still an asshole.

So far, in just 2011, with still three contests to go, the Summer Lovin, Halloween, and Winter contests, I've written 68 contest stories in the Valentine's Day, Earth Day, and Nude Day contests, as SuperHeroRalph. What an asshole? With more than 50,000 writers on the site, no other writer writes as many contest stories as I do.

In 2010, I wrote 89 contest stories under AndTheEnd. Then, between PositiveThinker in 2009 and BOSTONFICTIONWRITER in 2007 and 2008, I dare say, I've, no doubt, written more than 300 contest stories. I lost count. I'm embarrassed to admit that with all my alternate identities, AndTheEnd, BOSTONFICTIONWRITER, CarBuffStuff, PositiveThinker, WmForrester, and now SuperHeroRalph, that I've written nearly (gulp) 500 themed contest stories and nearly 1,000 monthly contest stories. Oh, my God! I'm such an asshole.

Why do I write so many stories, specifically contest stories? The only reason that I could think of is that I'm an asshole. I never thought that I was an asshole, I thought I was just another passionate writer, but I must be an asshole, not only to write so many contest stories but also not to win a writing contest with any of my stories.

Even though my passion is writing and, even though so many readers continue to tell me how good I am and how good my stories are, I'm still an asshole. To somehow make myself feel better about not winning a writing contest at Literotica is for me to think that Literotica doesn't allow an asshole to win a contest. Somehow that makes me feel better being an asshole, I think, not really, well, not at all. Yet, it's always better to not only blame someone else for being an asshole but also to call someone else an asshole, don't you think?

To be honest and in my defense, my justification for not winning a themed contest, even though I write dozens and dozens of contest stories a year, is because the theme and monthly contests that Literotica hosts has nothing to do with the best story wins and has nothing to do with the best writers winning. Ah, now there's a thought that makes me feel better. Maybe I'm not an asshole after all. Based on writing here since 2007 and 2008, as BOSTONFICTIONWRITER, as CarBuffStuff, PositiveThinker, and WmForrester in 2009, as AndTheEnd in 2010, and as SuperHeroRalph in 2011, I've discovered that it's not the best story or the most talented writer that wins a contest here, it's the most popular writer. Period.

An aside note for those who wonder why I change my name every year, there's two reasons. If I wrote under one name, my Literotica page would be as cumbersome to navigate as my BOSTONFICTIONWRITER page is now with 663 submissions. Secondly, I've had mentally disturbed bashers who e-mail me mean things, even death threats, just for writing a story that they didn't like. I even had one person find my Facebook page and post personal information about me on the site. Unfortunately, I had to cancel my Facebook page. Fortunately, Literotica is good about that and removed the posts.

Wow! Praise the Lord. Now that's a revelation and, perhaps, my salvation that it's not the best story that wins the contest, but the most popular writer. Further, being that I write so many frigging contest stories, I've noticed something about my scores that many of the other writers who only write one or two contest stories in a contest may not notice. Come closer to the screen so that everyone doesn't see what I'm about to write. Ready?

After only a few days, even though I received hundreds of votes for stories during the contest and after my initial scores, with some stories receiving as many as 1,200 votes, my scores remain the same. Yep, it's true. My scores don't change very much. They all pretty much remain the same. Further, many of my stories have the same exact scores with most of my stories having scores within one or two hundreds of a point from one another. Isn't that weird? Scientifically, after having written so very many stories, I don't think it's a coincidence that my scores don't change very much and that I have so many scores that are the same. I think it may be something else.

I've deduced that for every 5 vote I receive, I receive a 3 vote from those who want to make sure that I don't win a contest here. All my scores, no matter if it's for my worst stories or my best stories, hang around the 4.0 mark. Truly, the scoring at Literotica makes no sense to me and is, by no means, a quantifier that the story a reader reads is good or bad.

Being the accountant and numbers person that I am, mathematically and logically, I could understand the phenomena of scores not changing and scores that are the same and scores that remain the same, even after receiving hundreds of votes, after the original, first score. I could even understand that happening to one or two of my stories, even a dozen of my stories, since I write so many contest stories, but how does that happen to nearly every contest story that I write in every contest? If receiving the exact same scores and scores that don't change wasn't so very strange, I'd be upset, but I'm not upset. I'm beginning to think that contest scores are manipulated by someone else, perhaps by a computer program. For sure, someone doesn't want me to win a contest. Weird, isn't it?

Now, I don't have proof that something underhanded is happening at Literotica, when it comes to contest scores and determining the winner of a contest. Pointing no fingers and not crying foul, I'm just reporting my personal and unproven observation with my contest story scores. My thinking is that, perhaps, my scores are being limited to not go any higher than a certain level, mainly no higher than a 4.43, well, because I'm an asshole.

There are always exceptions to the rule and I do have a few stories, very few, in comparison to all the stories that I write and to all the stories that others have written, that have scores that are higher than 4.5, along with the accompanying red H, but when I read other writers' stories, writers that have pages filled with red H's, to be honest, their stories aren't as good as my stories. Definitely, most of their stories aren't good enough to earn a red H for every story they write. Maybe they just have a lot of friends and family who vote for them. Maybe they work somewhere that they have access to lots of computers with different IP addresses and they can vote and vote and vote for their stories over and again. Now, that may explain why I never won a contest and that may or may not explain why I'm an asshole or not an asshole. I dunno, I'm not computer savvy enough to delve into that part of Literotica's scoring method.

Now, in my defense, I would have had a lot more red H's, but every time I receive a red H, bashers come along and erase my red H's by giving me low scores, without so much as reading my stories. That sucks, so when I do receive a red H, I've been turning off the voting. Definitely, for sure, they must think that I'm an asshole, too, and, as an asshole, I shouldn't have any red H's for them to erase my red H's.

Yet, to be honest, I've read some of the winning contest stories and, as biased as I may be, most of my stories are better. Most of my stories deserved at least a 3rd place prize, if not a 2nd place prize, or even a 1st place win in whichever contest they were entered. Even though my stories are widely read and excitedly enjoyed, I still cannot manage to win a contest. Go figure. Ergo, I must be an asshole.

In 2007, as BOSTONFICTIONWRITER, I wrote a story Sex with my Mother-in-law. Within the first month, it had received more than 800,000 views, an unprecedented number of views in the history of Literotica, even for an incest story, along with more than 800 votes. The following month, I wrote Sex with my Sister-in-law Samantha and, after only a few weeks, that received more than 650,000 views and more than 600 votes. Yet, neither of those stories scored high enough to win or place in the themed contest that they were entered. Then, I wrote Never Too Old for Love So Young in the Mature category and that story went through the roof. The readers loved that story so much that a publisher stopped me from finishing the last view chapters, so that he could publish it as an E-book.

Unfortunately, I pulled those stories to post them as E-books and had I not pulled them, 5 years later, no doubt, they would have earned a place in the top ten, all-time, most read stories. Sadly, I ended up pulling the E-book from the publisher because he couldn't accurately account for the sales commissions that I should be receiving. For him to think that he could cheat me out of sales, he must have thought that I was an asshole, too.

My story, I Love You Mommy, that I wrote under WmForrester, was the most read "new" story for all of 2010. Presently, that story is the 163rd all-time, most read story on the site and still climbing on the all-time, most read story list with nearly 800,000 reads and more than 1,200 votes. Not bad considering that there are more than 50,000 writers who write here and that there are more than 3 million stories posted on the site. Yet, still, that story didn't win the themed contest or even place in the themed contest in which it was entered. What does that tell you about contest winners and what does that tell you about me? I know, it tells you that I'm still an asshole.

My story, Spending My Summer Stripping My Mom Naked, that I wrote under AndTheEnd, with nearly 250,000 reads and nearly 350 votes, is the 6th most read story on the 12 month list. Unfortunately, that story didn't win or even place in the themed contest that it was entered either. I must be an asshole for that story not to have won something.

My story, Siblings Get Naked for Nude Day, that I wrote under SuperHeroRalph with nearly 100,000 reads and more than 1,100 votes, is the most read story in 30 days. Unfortunately, that story has a snowball's chance in Hell of winning or even placing in the current Nude Day contest. Why? Because I'm an asshole. I'm an asshole. I'm an asshole. I'm an asshole. Gawd, I'm such an asshole.

Even though I'm one of the few writers who writes in every category, after having written more than 1,000 stories, 100 poems, and more than 6 million words that have amassed more than 60 million hits or reads, under the names of AndTheEnd, BOSTONFICTIONWRITER, CarBuffStuff, PositiveThinker, WmForrester, and now SuperHeroRalph, you'd think that I could win one lousy contest at Literotica, but I can't. Why? You know it and I know it. I'm an asshole.

Maybe, one day, Literotica will have a contest where the best story wins. Maybe, one day, Literotica will have a contest where it doesn't matter who writes the story. Maybe, one day, even an asshole like me can win a contest here at Literotica.

Yet, now that I have your attention, before I end this essay, please allow me address the voting and comment situation for a minute. We writers all write here for free. Other than hoping to win a few dollars by winning a contest, we're not paid for our hard work and we're not compensated for our time. We write because we must. We write because we love to write. We write for your votes and for your feedback. Yet, what is more disturbing to me than not winning a contest here is the lack of appreciation that so many readers show for the writers who write stories for you, dear reader.

For every 1,000 reads, we're lucky to receive one vote and for every 10,000 reads, we're lucky to receive 1 comment and most of the comments we receive are not constructive comments but bashing comments. If you enjoyed the story you read, please support your favorite writer and favorite story by voting and/or commenting for the story. Please support your favorite writer and favorite story by adding that writer and/or story to your favorite list.

Trust me, there's no electronic hand that will swoop down from a satellite in the sky to tell your wife, husband, significant other, or mother that you've been reading porn, I mean, dirty stories, sorry, I meant to write, erotic literature. Your viewing pleasure is safe from Big Brother monitoring you here. We writers appreciate every vote of support and every comment you make to our stories. You reading our stories means so very much to all of us and even more so when you vote and comment.

Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading and voting for my story.

 

[Guest]

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

we’re about quality, not about quantity, and so, due to popular demand

BANNED FROM ALL A.I.R. CONTESTS

superheroralphie a.k.a. little ralphie a.k.a. bettyboob a.k.a. Mr. BOSTON

"The only reason why I submit stories to the contest is because they are seen longer by more people"​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida

 

[TxRad]

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

we’re about quality, not about quantity, and so, due to popular demand

BANNED FROM ALL A.I.R. CONTESTS

superheroralphie a.k.a. little ralphie a.k.a. bettyboob a.k.a. Mr. BOSTON

"The only reason why I submit stories to the contest is because they are seen longer by more people"​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida

scouries, you are about stealing stories from the real Lit contest to use in your fake one.

Everyone knows it so give it a rest. Anyway, you wouldn't know quality if it bit you in the ass.

 

[Guest]

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]


[size=+2]

LITEROTICA’S LIFETIME ACHIEVMENT AWARD

[/size]

The Board of Directors of the ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.) have decided that it would be appropriate to honor one of the giants of LITEROTICA fiction at the end of each of the Special Contests.

We have decided to call this new prize, one we believe will soon become emblematic of erotic fiction excellence and the most respected author’s award in the genre, the MANU. This name of course honors the first PRINCE of erotic fiction, a man who’s become a giant in the field of erotic publishing.

the [size=+2] MANU [/size] award

These prizes will be awarded based on the author’s complete body of work. This week the sixth MANU will be awarded.

And he or she will join rgjohn, sarahhh, ManyFeathers, SamuelX, Slickman and TryAnything as the only holders of the MANU!

[size=+2]

the MANU

LITEROTICA’S LIFETIME ACHIEVMENT AWARD

[/size]

Many Feathers (post #171)
rgjohn (post #330)
SamuelX (post #228)
Sarahhh (post #87)
Slickman (post #290)
TryAnything (post #359)

​

Who will it be? Stay tuned...

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
Miami Beach, Florida

 

[michchick98]

Just to give TX a break.

Don't be fooled by the dancing monkey.

This has been a public service announcement.

 

[Guest]

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

Its not too late ... come on over to A.I.R.…


[size=+2]

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest

[/size]

[size=+2]

Erotica's #1 Writing Contest

[/size]​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida

 

[TxRad]

[SIZE=+4]Welcome to another of the many parts of ScouriesFantasyWorld[/SIZE]

Where Scouries ego is the one and only thing that counts.

Grand_High_Poobah aka Gabby aka Gabrielle L. is one of scouries many alt.

Since there is no such thing as the ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.) associated with or from Lit, except in scouries head, it can't sanction anything but Scouries usual hot air.

scouries makes up his own list of winners using stories he steals from the REAL Literotica contests. Scouries just copies the list from THE REAL CONTEST, minus the people he doesn't like. He uses his fudge factor, known only to him, and drops the categories he doesn't like. Instant winners. They don't really win anything since it's a fake contest held only in scouries mind. There are no real reader involved.

Just more of Scouries bullshit.

 

[Guest]

what wonderful news...

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]


[size=+2]

LITEROTICA’S LIFETIME ACHIEVMENT AWARD

[/size]

The Board of Directors of the ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.) decided last year that it would be appropriate to honor one of the giants of LITEROTICA fiction at the end of each of the Special Themed A.I.R. Contests.

They decided to call this new prize, one they believe will soon become emblematic of erotic fiction excellence and the most respected author’s award in the genre, the MANU. This name of course honors the first PRINCE of erotic fiction, a man who’s become a giant in the field of erotic publishing.

the [size=+2] MANU [/size] award

These prizes will be awarded based on the author’s complete body of work. This is the seventh MANU to be awarded.

He’s the author of some of LITEROTICA’S greatest stories (“Ohhh Mommy”, I Groaned, “Daddy”, I Whispered, Allison’s Ankle, A Nun Falls, Swimming With the Dolphins, etc., etc.) while also THREADMASTERING some of LITEROTICA’S most famous threads AND he’s a member of the 100+ COMMENT club, the 1000+ VOTE club as well as being one of LITEROTICA’S “FAVORITEST” authors AND a multiple A.I.R. AWARD winner. LITEROTICA’S renaissance man, he’s the one and only:

[size=+4]

james r scouries

[/size]

Joining ManyFeathers, rgjohn, SamuelX, sarahhh, Slickman and Try Anything as the only holders of the coveted MANU!​

Well done boss.

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
Miami Beach, Florida

 

[michchick98]

No matter how you look at it:

Have a nice day.

 

[TxRad]

[SIZE=+4]Welcome to ScouriesFantasyWorld[/SIZE]

Home of LITEROTICA’S GREATEST FRAUD

Where Scouries ego is the one and only thing that counts.

 

[Guest]

[SIZE=+2]ScouriesWorld[/SIZE]

proud sponsor of the

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

A.I.R. NUDE DAY CONTEST 2011

On behalf of my boss and all of us associated with the ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS I'd like to offer congrats to the OFFICIAL LITEROTICA winners (except for the cheaters).

I’d also like to post the NUDE DAY CONTEST winners as picked by the ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS. These selections are not official LITEROTICA winners. Instead they were designed and financed with help from ScouriesWorld to reward stories that were the true #1 choices of our readers.

Not surprisingly in a contest that is decided by the votes of our readers, the A.I.R. winners list for the NUDE DAY contest is dominated by some of LITEROTICA’S all-time greats. We also have our first Canadian winner – congrats to the great northern stocking girl.

We at A.I.R. would also like to send out our prayers to the lovely [size=+2]sarahhh [/size]. Get well hon!

We also like to take a second and ask all of you to remember the brilliant [size=+2]BOSTONFICTIONWRITER [/size] who was murdered exactly two years ago today. Rest in Peace big guy.

A.I.R. 2011 NUDE DAY STORY CONTEST AWARD WINNERS

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest
BEST STORY IN THE CONTEST

The Happy Famiily by TryAnything

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest
MOST VIEWS RECEIVED WINNER

Cocksucking College Sister by silkstockinglover

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest
MOST COMMENTS RECEIVED WINNER

Ice Cream by StangStar06

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest
MOST VOTES RECEIVED WINNER

Falling for Jennifer by Hot Sister

A.I.R. 2011 Nude Day Story Contest
HIGHEST RATED STORY WINNER

A Man in Turmoil by Dr Heat

The author ralphie, who continues to believe these special contests are SURVIVOR contests and so floods the contest with stories, was disqualified from consideration. However the readers of A.I.R. did (almost unanimously) agree that the five worst stories submitted to the site over the period of the contest were in fact penned by this moron.

Our pet dumb texan was (along with a few others) disqualified for cheating – trying to enter a chaptered story in direct violation of the rules.

Stories by other authors were disqualified for category problems, failure to follow the theme, or other major infractions.

All Non-Erotic stories were disqualified as well as the eleven stories identified by our association computers as ALT stories.

Congratulations to our winners – well done!​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
Miami Beach, Florida

*Under the ASSOCIATIONS rules a story/author can only win one prize in any contest.
** Minimum numbers of votes are required to qualify in the various categories

 

[SuperHeroRalph]

This is a Nude Day contest story. Please vote.

Nude Day, Every Day Is Nude Day

Locked away in an asylum since Nude Day, a man has a breakthrough.

"Nude Day. Nude Day. Every day is Nude Day. Nude Day. Nude Day. Every day is Nude Day."

"Hi, I'm Doctor--"

"I know who you are," said the patient sitting on the couch in front of the doctor's chair and looking insanely angry. "Just because I'm crazy, I'm not stupid. I've seen you around. I can't help but see you around," he said spitting out the words with a shrug, before blurting out a loud laugh longer than necessary. "I live here," he said laughing again, only this time even more annoyingly louder.

"Tell me, Timmy," said the doctor. "May I call you Timmy?"

"Of course, that's my name, my name is Timothy, but I'd prefer Tim to Timmy, if you don't mind. Timmy sounds too much like the main character in an old Lassie episode."

"I see," said the doctor casting his eyes down to look over his notes. "It says here that you lived in Miami, after coming to the United States from Cuba."

"No."

"No, what?"

"I lived in South Beach, not Miami. You probably think I'm from Miami because I root for the Miami teams, the Heat and the Dolphins."

"Oh, to be honest, I didn't know anyone lived in South Beach. I thought it was, well...just a beach."

"Yeah, well, there is a community called South Beach, but I was homeless. I actually lived on South beach."

"I see," said the doctor. "And it says here that you're problems started on Nude Day over" withholding a laugh, but unable to hide his smile, the doctor had difficulty finishing his sentence "a woman?"

"Yes, it all started over Cinderella. She was my girlfriend and I loved her deeply. And she loved me, too. We were made for one another," said Tim looking at the doctor with a sad smile. "With her long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and perfectly sculpted body, she looked just like a real walking and talking Barbie doll."

"I see," said the doctor making eye contact. "Cinderella? That's an unusual name. Did you give that name to her or did she come here from China with that name?"

"China? How dare you? Cinderella was as American as I am or, well, as you are." Tim looked at the doctor with the look of a madman. "Don't pander me, Doctor. Sarcasm doesn't suit your professionalism nor does it put you in my good graces, especially when you besmirch the name of my woman."

"I'm sorry. I meant no offense," said the doctor hiding another laugh. "Tell me, Timmy, how long have you been here?"

"Tim."

"Pardon?"

"I'd rather you call me Tim than Timmy, if you don't mind."

"Sorry. Of course. How long have you been here, Tim?"

"You know how long I've been here, Doctor; it's in your report or is this just a test of my sanity."

"According to my records, you've been here for thirty years."

"Yes. That's correct."

The doctor looked intently at the man. Easily he was 60-years-old but, with his white hair, dark skin, and having the lean and wrinkled body of an old man, looking so much like how one would imagine Santiago to look in Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea, he looked much older. Not appearing very healthy, the drabness of the hospital environment added to his unhealthy appearance.

"It says here that you write," said the doctor looking down to read from his notes.

"Yes."

"Fascinating," said the doctor looking up and over his glasses. "I would love to read some what you have written. What do you write?"

"Stories. I write stories," said Tim putting his head down, as if he was lost in thought and, perhaps, thinking about a story he had written, was writing, or was going to write.

"What kind of stories?"

"If you don't mind, doctor, I don't want to talk about my stories with you."

"Why not?"

"They're private," said Tim looking up at the doctor with a face full of defiance.

"Private?" The doctor looked around the room. "Tim, need I remind you that you're in a mental institution and nothing here is private, not even your bodily secretions," said the Doctor with smugness. "The only real privacy you have is what you say and do in this room during our session."

"Tell me about it," said Tim. "It's a sad day, when I can't even masturbate without the nurse coming by my room and telling me to stop that. How dare she? It's my body. I'm not a child."

"I see," said the doctor making a note before eying his patient with a long stare. "How often do you masturbate?"

"Every day, multiple times a day."

"What do you think about when masturbating?"

"What do I think about?" Giving the doctor a look, as if wanting to say, none of your business, the patient eyed the doctor, as if he were the madman. "I think about fucking your mother. Yeah, I think about stripping your mother naked, removing her bra and panties, and touching her in all the places you fantasize of touching her to make your Mommy groan."

"I see," said the doctor scribbling a note. "What else do you fantasize about, when masturbating?"

"With a hand to the back of her head, I think about your hot, blonde wife on her knees in front of me and in between my legs sucking my cock, while I hump her mouth and fuck her face. Then, just as I'm about to shoot my load, I think about cumming in your wife's mouth and her swallowing me."

"I see," said the doctor scribbling another note. "Is that all you think about when masturbating, my mother and my wife?"

"No, that's not all. I think about bending your daughter over, lifting up her skirt, pulling down her panties, and sticking my big, hard cock up her round, soft ass and fucking her, while squeezing her big tits and fingering her nipples."

"I see," said the doctor. "So, is that it? You write what you masturbate over? And you only write fiction?" The doctor smiled victoriously.

"Why do you say that?" Tim looked at the doctor with annoyance.

"Why did I say what, Tim?"

"Why did you say that I only write what I masturbate over and that I only write fiction."

"Because we've all seen your penis, Tim. You don't have a big, hard cock. As if your penis is a sudden comma, an abbreviation, and an afterthought, after a pause, it's barely there and hardly noticeable," said the doctor smiling his indifference.

"Asshole."

"Let's start over, shall we?"

"Okay. I'm sorry that I called you an asshole, asshole."

"Help me to understand," said the doctor ignoring Tim's hostility. "Tell me then--"

"Understand what? Tim looked agitatedly impatient. "Tell you what?"

"If your stories are so private, then why do you ask the nurse's permission to use the computer, so that you can post them on Literotica for so many people to read?"

"I like receiving feedback," suddenly acting defensive. "The feedback to my stories is the only contact that I have with the outside world. Besides, it gives me something to do the rest of the week."

"What do you mean, it gives you something to do?"

"I have a program that I can vote for myself, leave comments and unduly raise the number of my hits by hundreds of thousands," said Tim with a wild eye crazy smile on his face, while incessantly pounding his index finger on the arm of the chair, as if he was voting for his story over and again.

"Contact? Did you seriously say contact?" Peering over his glasses, the doctor gave him another long stare. "You call causing trouble and calling everyone names on the forum boards contact?"

"I'm bored," said Tim with a defensive shrug. "I only do that for fun. I don't mean anything by it. They all know that I'm just kidding."

"I've read some of your posts. Actually, in your favor, most of what you write are tongue-in-cheek funny but, some are mean spirited and not so well received," said the doctor eying his patient with another long stare, while waiting for Tim to defend his posts. "You seem focused on one poor woman, Susan, the one with the adorable sheep dog, named Ralph."

"Woman? Ha! You mean, Freddie? Bostonfictionwriter? The most prolific writer on the site? He's not a she. He's a man, albeit a handsome and talented man, but he's a man just the same."

"I see," said the doctor. "How long have you had these delusions?"

"Delusions? I don't have any delusions."

"I've seen a picture of SuperHeroRalph, I mean, Susan, of course, and she's a very beautiful woman."

"Yeah, well, everyone on the board thinks that I'm a millionaire yachtsman from Miami. If they only knew I was a homeless mental case, wouldn't they be surprised?" Both men were quiet, until Tim spoke again. "We all hide behind our avatars, you behind your Doctor of Psychiatry shingle and I hide behind a photo of a naked woman."

"Well, you're right about that, Tim. Not everyone is who they presume to be, which is why I need to know more about you," said the doctor.

"Yeah, well, just the same, too many of the people on that site are idiots. They don't get my humor," said Tim with closed fists.

"And where do you find all of those wonderful graphics? Many of them are so cleverly funny."

"Graphics? Oh, those. On the Internet, of course. They're all out there to use. What else am I to do here? I can't talk to anyone here. Everyone here is crazy, and I'm bored out of my mind."

"This isn't the Hotel California, Tim. You're here voluntarily. You can leave at any time," said the doctor silently staring at his patient, before speaking again. "If you're so bored, why do you stay?"

"Why do I stay?" Tim had a look upon his face, as if he was pondering the question for the first time. "Just as many of those voluntary residents in that movie, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, stayed, I feel safe here," said Tim, suddenly lost within himself and looking so small. "Surrounded by so many really crazy people makes me somehow feel sane."

"I see," said the doctor with another long stare. "So you write dirty stories, is that it?" When Tim didn't respond the doctor continued. "There's nothing to be-ashamed about--"

"I don't write dirty stories," said Tim standing and nearly shouting. "I write erotica. Much in the way of Flaubert's Madam Bovary, D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover, Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer, and the Marquis de Sade's Justine and Misfortune's of Virtue, I write erotic literature. I'm not ashamed of what I write."

"I see," said the doctor. "Please get down from the couch, before you fall and hurt yourself."

"Matter of fact," said Tim sitting. "I'm proud of everything that I've written. Good, bad, or indifferent, I want credit for all that I write. Besides, they're all just stories to me. That's all they are. They're all just stories," said Tim suddenly acting agitatedly paranoid.

"I see--" said the doctor looking at his patient, while waiting for him to speak again and then when Tim fell silent, he paused. "Why don't we take a moment and take a relaxing and cleansing breath before continuing. Relax and breath in and--"

"I don't need to take a fucking relaxing and cleansing breath," said Tim looking at the doctor with hatred. "I'm just not going to discuss my stories with you...doctor," he said spitting out the word doctor.

"That's fine. That's not a problem at all. We don't have to discuss your stories, if you're rather not. What do you want to talk about then?"

"Nothing. I'm tired of talking. I don't want to talk to you anymore. I'm done talking to you. May I return to my room, now?"

"We've only just begun, Tim. After we finished our therapy session, you may return to your room. Okay?"

"Are you going to stop me from posting my stories?" Tim suddenly looked as crazy as he professed himself to be.

"That depends," said the doctor.

"Depends? Depends on what?"

"If the stories you write and the things you post are detrimental to your mental health then--"

"You can't stop me from posting my stories," said Tim talking to the doctor, as if he were a child talking to his father.

"Actually, I can, Tim, that is, unless you cooperate with me and are more receptive to my mental health therapy," said the doctor looking at his patient longer. "Why are you so afraid of losing the privilege of using the computer?"

"I'll die if you don't allow me to use the computer and post my stories. I'll just wither and die, if I can no longer post to the forum boards," said the patient staring off at a blank wall.

"I don't understand. Help me to understand you, Tim. I need for you to answer all of my why questions first?"

"What questions? Why what?"

"Why are you here voluntarily? Why are you sitting before me naked and wearing nothing but empty Kleenix boxes for shoes? Why must you constantly masturbate? Why do you write dirty stories?" The doctor stopped short, when Tim shot him an angry look. "Pardon, I mean, of course, why must you write erotic literature? And why from everything that you can write about, do you chose to write about incest, only incest?"

"Nude Day."

"What about Nude Day?"

"Every day is Nude Day."

"Actually, it's not," said the doctor with arrogant smugness. "Every day is not Nude Day, Tim. Take today, for instance. Today is not Nude Day and correct me if I'm wrong, but Nude Day is but one day in the year and not Nude Day until July 14th."

"For me, Nude Day is every day," said Tim with sadness. "Every day is Nude Day."

"And why is that?"

"Nude Day is the day that Cindy died."

"Cindy? Who's Cindy? Oh, do you mean, Cinderella? Yes, of course, you call her Cindy? Is that what you call her? I see," said the doctor looking down at his notes, while waiting for Tim to continue.

"It was my fault. I killed her," said Tim looking up at the doctor and making eye contact.

"You must remove that guilt from your shoulders. It was an accident, Tim."

"As far as I'm concerned," said Tim staring off in space, "I'm the one who drown her."

"She didn't drown, Tim. As if the air was sucked out of her, lying there so still with a big hole in her side, the police report said, from the teeth marks and the size of the bite, that she was bitten by a shark, a Great White."

"She's dead. Cindy's dead. I killed her. It's all my fault she died."

"Further," persevered the doctor, "the toxicology report said that you were drunk with a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit. How could you possibly remember anything you did or didn't do on that fateful day? You were passed out naked on the beach, when the police found you. You were lucky to be alive. How you didn't drown that day was a miracle."

"I miss my Cinderella," said Tim returning the doctor's long stare. "I miss her. She was the love of my life. She was my best friend. Now that she's gone, other than writing stories, I don't care about anything or anyone. If I could take back that one day, if Cindy could still be alive and be with me by my side, I'd do anything just to see her again.

"Is that why you're naked and are always naked in public, because you perceive Nude Day as an endless holiday, the day that stopped your internal clock? Except for those times when we force you wear a straightjacket to restrain you for your own safety and for the protection of our staff, is that why you refuse to wear clothes?"

"Nude Day, every day is Nude Day."

"Tell me what happened Nude Day thirty years ago, Tim. Tell me, so that I can better understand to help you. Tell me, so that I can help you to feel better."

"It was Nude Day and everyone was busy celebrating the holiday. It was the perfect time for us to flee Havana and Castro's regime. Cindy was so bashfully modest and I pushed Cindy to strip naked. I pushed her to swim from Cuba to Miami. I didn't think it was that far, but it was."

"You didn't think it was that far? You must have been crazy, sorry, pardon me for saying that, to think that you could swim that far. It was more than 225 miles. No one can swim that far."

"Yeah, well, I was drunk and she told me that she was a good floater," said Tim.

"I see," said the doctor.

"She told me not to worry. She told me to hang onto her, as if she was my personal raft. She told me to kick, while she floated. Only, I made it, but she didn't.

"I see," said the doctor.

"If it wasn't for that shark, she'd be alive today. With her in floating in front of me, she saved me from being bitten by that shark, no doubt, too."

"Tell me, Tim, all that you remember," said the doctor with his pen poised to write his notes.

"I remember it, as if it was yesterday, and I think about her every day. For me, time stopped when she died and now, because I was the reason for the death of her, every day is Nude Day. Nude Day. Nude Day. Every day is Nude Day. Much like groundhog day, that one day replays over in my mind, the one day that I had the power to change, is Nude Day, but didn't. Every day that I awaken, I see her, hear her, feel her, and my heart is heavy knowing that in a few hours time, she'll be dead again and again and again."

"I see," said the doctor. "You realize, of course, that Cinderella was a blowup doll. Right?"

Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading and voting for my story.

 

[michchick98]

If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck....

Have a nice day.

 

[YoursSINSerely]

This is a Nude Day contest story. Please vote.

Nude Day, Every Day Is Nude Day

Locked away in an asylum since Nude Day, a man has a breakthrough.

"Nude Day. Nude Day. Every day is Nude Day. Nude Day. Nude Day. Every day is Nude Day."

"Hi, I'm Doctor--"

"I know who you are," said the patient sitting on the couch in front of the doctor's chair and looking insanely angry. "Just because I'm crazy, I'm not stupid. I've seen you around. I can't help but see you around," he said spitting out the words with a shrug, before blurting out a loud laugh longer than necessary. "I live here," he said laughing again, only this time even more annoyingly louder.

"Tell me, Timmy," said the doctor. "May I call you Timmy?"

"Of course, that's my name, my name is Timothy, but I'd prefer Tim to Timmy, if you don't mind. Timmy sounds too much like the main character in an old Lassie episode."

"I see," said the doctor casting his eyes down to look over his notes. "It says here that you lived in Miami, after coming to the United States from Cuba."

"No."

"No, what?"

"I lived in South Beach, not Miami. You probably think I'm from Miami because I root for the Miami teams, the Heat and the Dolphins."

"Oh, to be honest, I didn't know anyone lived in South Beach. I thought it was, well...just a beach."

"Yeah, well, there is a community called South Beach, but I was homeless. I actually lived on South beach."

"I see," said the doctor. "And it says here that you're problems started on Nude Day over" withholding a laugh, but unable to hide his smile, the doctor had difficulty finishing his sentence "a woman?"

"Yes, it all started over Cinderella. She was my girlfriend and I loved her deeply. And she loved me, too. We were made for one another," said Tim looking at the doctor with a sad smile. "With her long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and perfectly sculpted body, she looked just like a real walking and talking Barbie doll."

"I see," said the doctor making eye contact. "Cinderella? That's an unusual name. Did you give that name to her or did she come here from China with that name?"

"China? How dare you? Cinderella was as American as I am or, well, as you are." Tim looked at the doctor with the look of a madman. "Don't pander me, Doctor. Sarcasm doesn't suit your professionalism nor does it put you in my good graces, especially when you besmirch the name of my woman."

"I'm sorry. I meant no offense," said the doctor hiding another laugh. "Tell me, Timmy, how long have you been here?"

"Tim."

"Pardon?"

"I'd rather you call me Tim than Timmy, if you don't mind."

"Sorry. Of course. How long have you been here, Tim?"

"You know how long I've been here, Doctor; it's in your report or is this just a test of my sanity."

"According to my records, you've been here for thirty years."

"Yes. That's correct."

The doctor looked intently at the man. Easily he was 60-years-old but, with his white hair, dark skin, and having the lean and wrinkled body of an old man, looking so much like how one would imagine Santiago to look in Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea, he looked much older. Not appearing very healthy, the drabness of the hospital environment added to his unhealthy appearance.

"It says here that you write," said the doctor looking down to read from his notes.

"Yes."

"Fascinating," said the doctor looking up and over his glasses. "I would love to read some what you have written. What do you write?"

"Stories. I write stories," said Tim putting his head down, as if he was lost in thought and, perhaps, thinking about a story he had written, was writing, or was going to write.

"What kind of stories?"

"If you don't mind, doctor, I don't want to talk about my stories with you."

"Why not?"

"They're private," said Tim looking up at the doctor with a face full of defiance.

"Private?" The doctor looked around the room. "Tim, need I remind you that you're in a mental institution and nothing here is private, not even your bodily secretions," said the Doctor with smugness. "The only real privacy you have is what you say and do in this room during our session."

"Tell me about it," said Tim. "It's a sad day, when I can't even masturbate without the nurse coming by my room and telling me to stop that. How dare she? It's my body. I'm not a child."

"I see," said the doctor making a note before eying his patient with a long stare. "How often do you masturbate?"

"Every day, multiple times a day."

"What do you think about when masturbating?"

"What do I think about?" Giving the doctor a look, as if wanting to say, none of your business, the patient eyed the doctor, as if he were the madman. "I think about fucking your mother. Yeah, I think about stripping your mother naked, removing her bra and panties, and touching her in all the places you fantasize of touching her to make your Mommy groan."

"I see," said the doctor scribbling a note. "What else do you fantasize about, when masturbating?"

"With a hand to the back of her head, I think about your hot, blonde wife on her knees in front of me and in between my legs sucking my cock, while I hump her mouth and fuck her face. Then, just as I'm about to shoot my load, I think about cumming in your wife's mouth and her swallowing me."

"I see," said the doctor scribbling another note. "Is that all you think about when masturbating, my mother and my wife?"

"No, that's not all. I think about bending your daughter over, lifting up her skirt, pulling down her panties, and sticking my big, hard cock up her round, soft ass and fucking her, while squeezing her big tits and fingering her nipples."

"I see," said the doctor. "So, is that it? You write what you masturbate over? And you only write fiction?" The doctor smiled victoriously.

"Why do you say that?" Tim looked at the doctor with annoyance.

"Why did I say what, Tim?"

"Why did you say that I only write what I masturbate over and that I only write fiction."

"Because we've all seen your penis, Tim. You don't have a big, hard cock. As if your penis is a sudden comma, an abbreviation, and an afterthought, after a pause, it's barely there and hardly noticeable," said the doctor smiling his indifference.

"Asshole."

"Let's start over, shall we?"

"Okay. I'm sorry that I called you an asshole, asshole."

"Help me to understand," said the doctor ignoring Tim's hostility. "Tell me then--"

"Understand what? Tim looked agitatedly impatient. "Tell you what?"

"If your stories are so private, then why do you ask the nurse's permission to use the computer, so that you can post them on Literotica for so many people to read?"

"I like receiving feedback," suddenly acting defensive. "The feedback to my stories is the only contact that I have with the outside world. Besides, it gives me something to do the rest of the week."

"What do you mean, it gives you something to do?"

"I have a program that I can vote for myself, leave comments and unduly raise the number of my hits by hundreds of thousands," said Tim with a wild eye crazy smile on his face, while incessantly pounding his index finger on the arm of the chair, as if he was voting for his story over and again.

"Contact? Did you seriously say contact?" Peering over his glasses, the doctor gave him another long stare. "You call causing trouble and calling everyone names on the forum boards contact?"

"I'm bored," said Tim with a defensive shrug. "I only do that for fun. I don't mean anything by it. They all know that I'm just kidding."

"I've read some of your posts. Actually, in your favor, most of what you write are tongue-in-cheek funny but, some are mean spirited and not so well received," said the doctor eying his patient with another long stare, while waiting for Tim to defend his posts. "You seem focused on one poor woman, Susan, the one with the adorable sheep dog, named Ralph."

"Woman? Ha! You mean, Freddie? Bostonfictionwriter? The most prolific writer on the site? He's not a she. He's a man, albeit a handsome and talented man, but he's a man just the same."

"I see," said the doctor. "How long have you had these delusions?"

"Delusions? I don't have any delusions."

"I've seen a picture of SuperHeroRalph, I mean, Susan, of course, and she's a very beautiful woman."

"Yeah, well, everyone on the board thinks that I'm a millionaire yachtsman from Miami. If they only knew I was a homeless mental case, wouldn't they be surprised?" Both men were quiet, until Tim spoke again. "We all hide behind our avatars, you behind your Doctor of Psychiatry shingle and I hide behind a photo of a naked woman."

"Well, you're right about that, Tim. Not everyone is who they presume to be, which is why I need to know more about you," said the doctor.

"Yeah, well, just the same, too many of the people on that site are idiots. They don't get my humor," said Tim with closed fists.

"And where do you find all of those wonderful graphics? Many of them are so cleverly funny."

"Graphics? Oh, those. On the Internet, of course. They're all out there to use. What else am I to do here? I can't talk to anyone here. Everyone here is crazy, and I'm bored out of my mind."

"This isn't the Hotel California, Tim. You're here voluntarily. You can leave at any time," said the doctor silently staring at his patient, before speaking again. "If you're so bored, why do you stay?"

"Why do I stay?" Tim had a look upon his face, as if he was pondering the question for the first time. "Just as many of those voluntary residents in that movie, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, stayed, I feel safe here," said Tim, suddenly lost within himself and looking so small. "Surrounded by so many really crazy people makes me somehow feel sane."

"I see," said the doctor with another long stare. "So you write dirty stories, is that it?" When Tim didn't respond the doctor continued. "There's nothing to be-ashamed about--"

"I don't write dirty stories," said Tim standing and nearly shouting. "I write erotica. Much in the way of Flaubert's Madam Bovary, D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover, Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer, and the Marquis de Sade's Justine and Misfortune's of Virtue, I write erotic literature. I'm not ashamed of what I write."

"I see," said the doctor. "Please get down from the couch, before you fall and hurt yourself."

"Matter of fact," said Tim sitting. "I'm proud of everything that I've written. Good, bad, or indifferent, I want credit for all that I write. Besides, they're all just stories to me. That's all they are. They're all just stories," said Tim suddenly acting agitatedly paranoid.

"I see--" said the doctor looking at his patient, while waiting for him to speak again and then when Tim fell silent, he paused. "Why don't we take a moment and take a relaxing and cleansing breath before continuing. Relax and breath in and--"

"I don't need to take a fucking relaxing and cleansing breath," said Tim looking at the doctor with hatred. "I'm just not going to discuss my stories with you...doctor," he said spitting out the word doctor.

"That's fine. That's not a problem at all. We don't have to discuss your stories, if you're rather not. What do you want to talk about then?"

"Nothing. I'm tired of talking. I don't want to talk to you anymore. I'm done talking to you. May I return to my room, now?"

"We've only just begun, Tim. After we finished our therapy session, you may return to your room. Okay?"

"Are you going to stop me from posting my stories?" Tim suddenly looked as crazy as he professed himself to be.

"That depends," said the doctor.

"Depends? Depends on what?"

"If the stories you write and the things you post are detrimental to your mental health then--"

"You can't stop me from posting my stories," said Tim talking to the doctor, as if he were a child talking to his father.

"Actually, I can, Tim, that is, unless you cooperate with me and are more receptive to my mental health therapy," said the doctor looking at his patient longer. "Why are you so afraid of losing the privilege of using the computer?"

"I'll die if you don't allow me to use the computer and post my stories. I'll just wither and die, if I can no longer post to the forum boards," said the patient staring off at a blank wall.

"I don't understand. Help me to understand you, Tim. I need for you to answer all of my why questions first?"

"What questions? Why what?"

"Why are you here voluntarily? Why are you sitting before me naked and wearing nothing but empty Kleenix boxes for shoes? Why must you constantly masturbate? Why do you write dirty stories?" The doctor stopped short, when Tim shot him an angry look. "Pardon, I mean, of course, why must you write erotic literature? And why from everything that you can write about, do you chose to write about incest, only incest?"

"Nude Day."

"What about Nude Day?"

"Every day is Nude Day."

"Actually, it's not," said the doctor with arrogant smugness. "Every day is not Nude Day, Tim. Take today, for instance. Today is not Nude Day and correct me if I'm wrong, but Nude Day is but one day in the year and not Nude Day until July 14th."

"For me, Nude Day is every day," said Tim with sadness. "Every day is Nude Day."

"And why is that?"

"Nude Day is the day that Cindy died."

"Cindy? Who's Cindy? Oh, do you mean, Cinderella? Yes, of course, you call her Cindy? Is that what you call her? I see," said the doctor looking down at his notes, while waiting for Tim to continue.

"It was my fault. I killed her," said Tim looking up at the doctor and making eye contact.

"You must remove that guilt from your shoulders. It was an accident, Tim."

"As far as I'm concerned," said Tim staring off in space, "I'm the one who drown her."

"She didn't drown, Tim. As if the air was sucked out of her, lying there so still with a big hole in her side, the police report said, from the teeth marks and the size of the bite, that she was bitten by a shark, a Great White."

"She's dead. Cindy's dead. I killed her. It's all my fault she died."

"Further," persevered the doctor, "the toxicology report said that you were drunk with a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit. How could you possibly remember anything you did or didn't do on that fateful day? You were passed out naked on the beach, when the police found you. You were lucky to be alive. How you didn't drown that day was a miracle."

"I miss my Cinderella," said Tim returning the doctor's long stare. "I miss her. She was the love of my life. She was my best friend. Now that she's gone, other than writing stories, I don't care about anything or anyone. If I could take back that one day, if Cindy could still be alive and be with me by my side, I'd do anything just to see her again.

"Is that why you're naked and are always naked in public, because you perceive Nude Day as an endless holiday, the day that stopped your internal clock? Except for those times when we force you wear a straightjacket to restrain you for your own safety and for the protection of our staff, is that why you refuse to wear clothes?"

"Nude Day, every day is Nude Day."

"Tell me what happened Nude Day thirty years ago, Tim. Tell me, so that I can better understand to help you. Tell me, so that I can help you to feel better."

"It was Nude Day and everyone was busy celebrating the holiday. It was the perfect time for us to flee Havana and Castro's regime. Cindy was so bashfully modest and I pushed Cindy to strip naked. I pushed her to swim from Cuba to Miami. I didn't think it was that far, but it was."

"You didn't think it was that far? You must have been crazy, sorry, pardon me for saying that, to think that you could swim that far. It was more than 225 miles. No one can swim that far."

"Yeah, well, I was drunk and she told me that she was a good floater," said Tim.

"I see," said the doctor.

"She told me not to worry. She told me to hang onto her, as if she was my personal raft. She told me to kick, while she floated. Only, I made it, but she didn't.

"I see," said the doctor.

"If it wasn't for that shark, she'd be alive today. With her in floating in front of me, she saved me from being bitten by that shark, no doubt, too."

"Tell me, Tim, all that you remember," said the doctor with his pen poised to write his notes.

"I remember it, as if it was yesterday, and I think about her every day. For me, time stopped when she died and now, because I was the reason for the death of her, every day is Nude Day. Nude Day. Nude Day. Every day is Nude Day. Much like groundhog day, that one day replays over in my mind, the one day that I had the power to change, is Nude Day, but didn't. Every day that I awaken, I see her, hear her, feel her, and my heart is heavy knowing that in a few hours time, she'll be dead again and again and again."

"I see," said the doctor. "You realize, of course, that Cinderella was a blowup doll. Right?"

Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading and voting for my story.

Ralphie? How many contest do you think are here? I say, "Enter all of them, and do it twice!"

 

[TxRad]

No one "enters" scouries fake contests. He just steals the stories from the REALNude Day contest and says people entered his fake one.

So:

DON'T BE FOOLED.

All his "Contests" are Fake.

 

[Guest]

yes again,

[SIZE=+2]ScouriesWorld[/SIZE]

Will be a proud sponsor of the

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

Summer luving – year two on A.I.R.


[size=+2]Get your stories ready – we’re getting close![/size]


[size=+2]

A.I.R. 2011 Summer Luvin Story Contest

[/size]

[size=+2]

Erotica's #1 Writing Contest

[/size]​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida

FYI Jerome will be handling the threads for the next 10 days or so

 

[TxRad]

No one "enters" scouries fake contests. He just steals the stories from the REALNude Day contest and says people entered his fake one.

So:

DON'T BE FOOLED.

All his "Contests" are Fake.

 

[Guest]

aunt gabby and LITS #1 author will be back friday ... until then...

[SIZE=+2]ScouriesWorld[/SIZE]

Will be a proud sponsor of the

[size=+2]ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS (A.I.R.)[/size]

Summer luving – year two on A.I.R.


[size=+2]Are you ready???? – we’re getting close![/size]


[size=+2]

A.I.R. 2011 Summer Luvin Story Contest

[/size]

[size=+2]

Erotica's #1 Writing Contest

[/size]​

[size=+2]Jerome[/size]
teenager … champion of “favorite” writers
dixie’s nemesis
retard regurgitator

 

[TxRad]

No one "enters" scouries fake contests. He just steals the stories from the REAL Contests and says people entered his fake one.

So:

DON'T BE FOOLED.

All his "Contests" are Fake.

 

[Guest]

[Please try to remember - The Story Feedback forum is for honest feedback from readers with IQ's over 80 or for intelligent discussions started by Literotica authors. Please consider this before posting ... Thanks for understanding! – the moderator]​

​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida

 

[Guest]

No we will not be accepting entries from LITEROTICAS biggest problem…​

[size=+2]Gabrielle L.[/size]
President, A.I.R.
Secretery of the MOST COMMENTED on
and the MOST VOTED on story clubs
and 2011 Survivor Contest Director
Miami Beach, Florida