The random slice critique thread

. I mostly have to wing-it too when writing in the first person about how a woman would describe herself. If it sounds believable, then I go with it.

In context of the story, that self description is her attempt to entice male patrons to subscribe to her OF content.

I've seen many OF content creators use variations on those types of explicit descriptions to describe themselves and / or their content.

While they'd probably never say things like that about themselves in normal circumstances, as Adult Content creators, part of it is sexualizing themselves to attract an audience.
 
In context of the story, that self description is her attempt to entice male patrons to subscribe to her OF content.

I've seen many OF content creators use variations on those types of explicit descriptions to describe themselves and / or their content.

While they'd probably never say things like that about themselves in normal circumstances, as Adult Content creators, part of it is sexualizing themselves to attract an audience.
Okay, OnlyFans, that is different. (These damn abbreviations!) I have had some experience reading dating profiles in the era between the Internet and the start of smartphones/dating apps (about 2001, 2002; Lavalife, Love at AOL, if anybody remembers those). Some women did brag about themselves and post "provocative" (nude or semi-nude) photos of themselves.

So I don't know what they write on apps now.

It varied a lot by site, but a common attribute women stated about themselves "back in the day" was something like, "I enjoy fine dining," "I like long walks from my beach house." Those became so hackneyed that I'd write parody profiles about myself, but I don't want to digress here.
 
Instead of the huge description dump I've written to describe the young lady Michelle and her content, I can instead scatter little pieces of that throughout the story as it progresses.

That way I can describe her while keeping the story moving at the same time.

Conceptually, I think that's a better idea.

I was thinking recently about the whole problem of descriptive "dumps." There's probably nothing inherently wrong with them if they're done well. Heck, my highest-rated story starts with a fairly detailed description of the main female character--to the point that readers commented on her appearance.

Someone I was reading pointed out that Hemingway was popular partly because of his incredibly well-done descriptions. This is the opening of "A Clean, Well Lighted Place."

It was very late and everyone had left the café except an old man who sat in
the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time
the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked
to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the
difference. The two waiters inside the café knew that the old man was a little
drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he
would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.

In this case, he hasn't said a word about the old man's appearance, but I can see him. I might be able to smell the alcohol on his breath. If you can capture that, then you can describe all you want.
 
OK, this is timely. I could do with some help slimming down a couple clunky paragraphs.

It's a nearly-done Geek Pride story for Humor & Satire, so I'm trying to edit down excess narrative so we can get to both the sexual content and the bad puns.

[Cat is speaking. She and Jake are going to help get our topless narrator stripped and lying across her partner Duncan's lap:
"But if you sit on the sofa and lay her across you, Jake and I can shift her legs."

In a trice, that was what happened. Cat held my ankles still so I couldn't kick; Jake safely removed my leggings and socks, squeezing my toes for fun. Duncan ran his hands possessively over my body, my bare back, my breasts, before grabbing me under my arms and dragging me onto the sofa. I had to comply, to avoid hurting myself on the coffee table. Duncan twisted his hand into my long straight hair to ensure I stayed down over his lap; the other two hefted my legs. In a trice, I was on my knees over his thighs.


Help rephrasing to get rid of more passive voice? Just noticed duplicate 'in a trice' - at least one of those has to go!

My rule of thumb is to try to have the pacing of the writing support the pacing of the action. I'd be tempted to eliminate the "in a trice, that was what happened" because it kind of works against itself, drawing out the very thing that's happening immediately. It's hard to judge on a snippet, so this may not be the voice you want, but here's an example of how I might do it if I was looking to prune it and make it feel faster.

"But if you sit on the sofa and lay her across you, Jake and I can shift her legs."

Cat pinning my ankles—Jake stripping me of leggings and socks, squeezing my toes—Duncan's possessive touch all over me, my back, my breasts. Dragged onto the sofa, the table's hard edges forcing my compliance. Duncan gripped my hair to keep me down over his lap. The other two hefted me onto my knees over his thighs.

Dropped out a few bits that might not be important to the action. If the "long straight" information about her hair is important, I'd look to establish that somewhere earlier in the story, so it's not slowing down this passage. Sentence fragments to make it feel more abrupt; those em-dashes could be swapped out for full stops if one were a philistine who doesn't appreciate the beauty and power of the em-dash. Rewording the bit about the table to make it a bit more sensory, though I'm not sure whether that would work in the broader context.
 
I like this one. It flows very naturally. I would suggest that since this seems like a first sighting of a main character, and I sense an obvious enamoring on the part of the narrator, there should be a full description of Betsy, not just for the reader but as that would be what our narrator is likely focusing on or at least could not ignore. The phrase 'watched her every move' leaves me wondering what some of those moves might be (even though a couple of moves were already described in her first couple of laps).

Well, it is sort of a first sighting. Kitty (the narrator) has seen Betsy on TV, but not in person.

For context, Kitty (the narrator) is the star player on a semi-pro roller derby team from Detroit. Because they won the championship in their Midwest industrial league they are scheduled to play against the world champion team from New York. Betsy is the star of that team, she is the LeBron James of roller derby.

Kitty is studying her as a competitor, and is both in awe of, and terrified, by her. That readers are picking up on an erotic interest as well is an added bonus. Thanks for your insights.
 
He quickly scanned her profile intro:

"Hey guys! I'm Michelle! I'm a 21 year old college student of Filipino descent. I've got long, dark hair, big, full, natural breasts, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.
I'd lose the 'of'.
I think you've got too many commas - I've got long dark hair, big full natural breats and an ass...
I probably add in an 'and' to make it read better - I've got long dark hair and big full natural breasts - not to mention an ass...

"I absolutely LOVE sex, and I'm not shy about it! So go ahead, tell me all your kinkiest desires. I'll make them cum true. 😉 🍆💦
Missing closing " but I might be tempted to do this whole section as italics rather than quoting each paragraph.

"Check my menu for prices on custom requests and remember: take good care of me, and I'll take good care of you."
Surely the prices would be for standard requests - customs requests would need thought as per them being custom

Beneath her intro was a picture; Michelle, posed in front of what appeared to be the windows of a building, a cityscape he couldn't identify reflected in the glass behind her.
Is the city reflected in the glass (of a mirror) or is it just visable through the window?
Surprisingly, she was fully clothed. Her hair flowed past her shoulders, blown slightly by a breeze.

Her pink belly shirt conformed to the luscious curves of her breasts, while her tight black yoga pants hugged every inch of her wide hips and long, toned legs.

Scrolling down, he next found a series of still photos. Tom recognized the pink lingerie outfit as the same one Michelle had worn the night of Jenna's birthday party.

Unlike that evening, though, he was now privy to much more than a few, tantalizing glimpses of her more intimate areas.

The pictures became more revealing with each one; Michelle, leaning forward, her ample cleavage on display. The cups of the top pulled down, her hands over her breasts.

Her naturally tanned breasts freed, round and firm, her dark nipples popping out from the tips.

Michelle, on her hands and knees, her panty clad ass thrust at the camera as she looked back with a sexy smile, her hair flowing down her bare back, her oval face lit up by her tantalizing smile.
Okay, you're using the structre (her [body part] [verb]) a lot - many of these aren't sentences/are comma splices which doesn't matter too much in prose, except maybe we're hitting criticial mass here.
The panties, pulled down, just below her round, firm buttocks.

And finally, the panties removed, plump vulva fully exposed, her labia peeking out from between.

"Jesus." His cock already swelling in his sweatpants, he freed it with a quick tug. It sprung free gratefully and within moments expanded to its full length.
 
Okay, you're using the structre (her [body part] [verb]) a lot - many of these aren't sentences/are comma splices which doesn't matter too much in prose, except maybe we're hitting criticial mass here.

Yeah, that was my main issue with this whole chunk, honestly.

The idea was to describe the pictures he's looking at.

Unfortunately as you point out, it winds up being way over done.

I'm planning on reworking the whole thing entirely.
 
Well, it is sort of a first sighting. Kitty (the narrator) has seen Betsy on TV, but not in person.

For context, Kitty (the narrator) is the star player on a semi-pro roller derby team from Detroit. Because they won the championship in their Midwest industrial league they are scheduled to play against the world champion team from New York. Betsy is the star of that team, she is the LeBron James of roller derby.

Kitty is studying her as a competitor, and is both in awe of, and terrified, by her. That readers are picking up on an erotic interest as well is an added bonus. Thanks for your insights.

So in the 50s I suppose that the TV would have been black and white. Maybe emphasize the colors, the uniforms, al that. It could symbolically mark that vivid change.
 
This might be a bit long, and it's unedited as I just finished writing the last sentence you read here, but I'd love some feedback on this.

The story so far is two couples (Mark&Ella, and Luna&Jeroen), friends through the two guys, go on a camping trip in the wilderness and slowly discover their interest in swinging after they hear each other having sex one night. Earlier the same day, the they swapped partners for a blowjob. Mark just finished giving Ella a thorough massage, which escalated into them fucking in front of their friends. The previous sentence Luna said something inconsequential.
The words drifted around the edge of Ella's consciousness as Mark lay on top of her, taking her with an intensity she hadn't felt in a long time. When her orgasm came, she didn't hold back and screamed her pleasure to the distant stars and their nearby friends. Her fingernails dug into Mark's back as she bucked underneath him, meeting him thrust for thrust. A hint of pain entered his grunts of pleasure.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him close to kiss him, intensifying the connection she felt. Her legs wrapped around him, willing him to fuck her harder, deeper, faster. When he bit her neck like he knew she liked, she lost herself in the moment. The world around her evaporated, and all that existed was the tortuous pleasure in her cunt, and the delicious, glorious pain of his teeth on the soft skin of her neck. Luna and Jeroen faded to the background, acting as an intensifier to her new universe that existed as nothing but pain and ecstasy.

With his hot breath on her throat, she clung to him, fearing she'd lose all sense of reality without his solid presence. She felt as if his teeth were a micro pascal away from drawing blood, and she wished he would bite harder, puncturing her flesh, leaving a permanent mark on her. A distant part of her wondered if this intensity was the result of her blowing Jeroen earlier today, if he was spurred on by the thought of being watched or if it was purely an animalistic need to reclaim her as his own after he'd seen her with someone else.

Whatever it was, this was exactly what she wanted, needed from him right now. It was impossible to tell where she ended and he began as he drove her into the mat again and again and again. His groans and grunts and panting breath from the exertion and pleasure filled her very being.

When she felt his stroke change, his pace grow erratic, and his cock stiffen inside of her, she whispered, "Fill me."

As the last syllable escape her lips, he drove his cock into her as deep as it would go and exploded. His grunt of pleasure was deafening, just like her scream as her pleasure peaked. She squeezed his cock as she came, drawing every last drop of cum from him as her nails dug into his back and his teeth clamped on her neck. The world was nothing but pleasure and pain in perfect balance as warmth flooded her and she clung to her love.
 
This might be a bit long, and it's unedited as I just finished writing the last sentence you read here, but I'd love some feedback on this.

The story so far is two couples (Mark&Ella, and Luna&Jeroen), friends through the two guys, go on a camping trip in the wilderness and slowly discover their interest in swinging after they hear each other having sex one night. Earlier the same day, the they swapped partners for a blowjob. Mark just finished giving Ella a thorough massage, which escalated into them fucking in front of their friends. The previous sentence Luna said something inconsequential.

Only real thing I can offer after reading are a few minor technical notes:

"When her orgasm came, she didn't hold back and screamed her pleasure to the distant stars and their nearby friends."

A little bit run on sentence. Perhaps:

When her orgasm came, she didn't hold back. She screamed her pleasure to the distant stars, and their nearby friends.

"Pascal" - I had to Google it. Not saying not to use the word based solely on my ignorance of it, just to consider it might confuse readers.

"Pleasure" - used several times in that section. Perhaps some synonyms for variety.

Other than that, it reads really solid to me.
 
Only real thing I can offer after reading are a few minor technical notes:

"When her orgasm came, she didn't hold back and screamed her pleasure to the distant stars and their nearby friends."

A little bit run on sentence. Perhaps:

When her orgasm came, she didn't hold back. She screamed her pleasure to the distant stars, and their nearby friends.

"Pascal" - I had to Google it. Not saying not to use the word based solely on my ignorance of it, just to consider it might confuse readers.

"Pleasure" - used several times in that section. Perhaps some synonyms for variety.

Other than that, it reads really solid to me.
Thanks for the tips!
 
Among fish, fantasies about salmon spawning season are a common erotic trope. The raw physicality of it is incredibly hot, as is the willingness to sacrifice one's life in pursuit of sex. I realize spawning has been done to death on Lit, but here's my take on the theme. Would appreciate any feedback or suggestions. I'm particularly interested in authenticity: does the perspective feel like that of an actual salmon, or does it read more like a herring trying to imitate a salmon?

*******

He could not dream. Could not even close his eyes. But his visions did not require sleep.

They often arrived in quiet moments, borne by gentle eddies, the cool water whispering to him.

The images flashed before his lidless eyes in rapid succession: a rushing river, jagged rocks, scales glinting in sunlight.

He was there.

Again and again he hurled himself from the river, bursting upward into the sky, the weightlessness of water giving way to the relentless pull of gravity.

Down he crashed, scales scraping rock, the current dragging him backward, erasing minutes of hard-fought progress in seconds.

Exhaustion permeated every muscle, yet he pressed on, driven by primal need.

He was close.

He did not know how he knew this, but he knew.

Soon the river would widen. The water would slow. And she would be waiting for him.

One jump more.

He leapt, the water cascading from his fins. A blurry shape stood at the edge of the river, brown and impossibly large. Parts of it were sharp and jagged, like the rocks. The shape lunged toward him.

Then it was gone. The river enveloped him once again and the current grew still.

Desire had delivered him. Here a new life awaited, teeming with potential. Here he would find love. Here he would spread his seed.

And after, he would rest.
 
Among fish, fantasies about salmon spawning season are a common erotic trope. The raw physicality of it is incredibly hot, as is the willingness to sacrifice one's life in pursuit of sex. I realize spawning has been done to death on Lit, but here's my take on the theme. Would appreciate any feedback or suggestions. I'm particularly interested in authenticity: does the perspective feel like that of an actual salmon, or does it read more like a herring trying to imitate a salmon?

*******

He could not dream. Could not even close his eyes. But his visions did not require sleep.

They often arrived in quiet moments, borne by gentle eddies, the cool water whispering to him.

The images flashed before his lidless eyes in rapid succession: a rushing river, jagged rocks, scales glinting in sunlight.

He was there.

Again and again he hurled himself from the river, bursting upward into the sky, the weightlessness of water giving way to the relentless pull of gravity.

Down he crashed, scales scraping rock, the current dragging him backward, erasing minutes of hard-fought progress in seconds.

Exhaustion permeated every muscle, yet he pressed on, driven by primal need.

He was close.

He did not know how he knew this, but he knew.

Soon the river would widen. The water would slow. And she would be waiting for him.

One jump more.

He leapt, the water cascading from his fins. A blurry shape stood at the edge of the river, brown and impossibly large. Parts of it were sharp and jagged, like the rocks. The shape lunged toward him.

Then it was gone. The river enveloped him once again and the current grew still.

Desire had delivered him. Here a new life awaited, teeming with potential. Here he would find love. Here he would spread his seed.

And after, he would rest.

I think what you need to do is start a thread on the AH page with the topic 'Salmon sought to collaborate on hot spawning stories'. That seems to be the accepted way of reaching peak authenticity.

For what it's worth, I'm not a fish, but somehow, I found this highly erotic...
 
Among fish, fantasies about salmon spawning season are a common erotic trope. The raw physicality of it is incredibly hot, as is the willingness to sacrifice one's life in pursuit of sex. I realize spawning has been done to death on Lit, but here's my take on the theme. Would appreciate any feedback or suggestions. I'm particularly interested in authenticity: does the perspective feel like that of an actual salmon, or does it read more like a herring trying to imitate a salmon?

*******

He could not dream. Could not even close his eyes. But his visions did not require sleep.

They often arrived in quiet moments, borne by gentle eddies, the cool water whispering to him.

The images flashed before his lidless eyes in rapid succession: a rushing river, jagged rocks, scales glinting in sunlight.

He was there.

Again and again he hurled himself from the river, bursting upward into the sky, the weightlessness of water giving way to the relentless pull of gravity.

Down he crashed, scales scraping rock, the current dragging him backward, erasing minutes of hard-fought progress in seconds.

Exhaustion permeated every muscle, yet he pressed on, driven by primal need.

He was close.

He did not know how he knew this, but he knew.

Soon the river would widen. The water would slow. And she would be waiting for him.

One jump more.

He leapt, the water cascading from his fins. A blurry shape stood at the edge of the river, brown and impossibly large. Parts of it were sharp and jagged, like the rocks. The shape lunged toward him.

Then it was gone. The river enveloped him once again and the current grew still.

Desire had delivered him. Here a new life awaited, teeming with potential. Here he would find love. Here he would spread his seed.

And after, he would rest.

That's strangely poignant, but for some reason my inner seagull is screaming "Barracuda" and flapping its wings.
 
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