mrmgp
Romantic Pervert
- Joined
- Jun 2, 2005
- Posts
- 1,347
JamesSD said:Haha, that really made me laugh. I think you need to turn this into a short humor story
I've actually come across quite a few stories with premises almost as outlandish as that. And I hit the "back" button.
On other issues: I don't expect nor want perfect realism from my erotica. Unless they have reason not to be my characters are generally more sexually confident and more physically attractive than "normal" people. I suppose I tend to base the women on actual women I've been with, and describe them as how I might to a friend, accentuating the positives, glossing over the flaws. Spending a sentence talking about how I could see the faint outline of cellulite on her thigh doesn't add much to a story in my mind, nor would say "her legs obviously hadn't been shaved in a couple days and I could feel her stubble shredding my skin like dozens of tiny needles." My point is, that realism can be just as annoying and distracting as ridiculous perfection.
Of course, you don't want to go into great detail on every little physical imperfection the person has unless it is a fetish story. But it's also just as ridiculous for authors to describe how perfect the characters in the story are. The man has a ten-inch cock as thick as a beer can, he's perfectly muscled, he has a chin and jawline straight out of a Renaissance sculpture, he's tall. Makes me wish the author would give him a flaw like breath that could corrode steel or he farts too much because of a digestive problem just so the bastard seems a little more human. The same goes for women. The women are usually perfect in every aspect. They have beautifully styled hair and DD or larger natural breasts and a flat or washboard stomach and long, shapely legs and perfect toes. Makes me wish the author would give her buck teeth or a big mole on one of her eyelids just so that she comes off as a real human being.
I say the less detail about the characters the better. Let the reader decide if the man in the story looks more like Tom Selleck or Fred Flintstone. Let the reader decide if he has a dick so long that drags on the floor or he's just an average 6 inches. Let the reader decide if the woman in the story is a blonde or brunette. Let the reader decide if she weighs 110 pounds or 200. The less said about physical descriptions, the better.
Here's how I would describe a woman if I was writing a story about a man meeting a woman at, say the bar of a nice hotel:
When he first laid eyes upon her, he almost didn't see her. She was, after all, just another face in the crowd. But for some reason, he found his eyes falling back to her, and for some reason he couldn't explain, he found himself starting to become attracted to her, and this surprised him.
She wasn't a knockout by any means. She definitely wouldn't make the glamor magazine covers. But she was still very pretty in an average, "plain-Jane" sort of way. She seemed to smile easily when she talked to those around her, and appeared to have a good sense of humor based upon the number of times he watched as she laughed heartily in a way that made her breasts quiver beneath the blouse she wore. She seemed to have an easy-going, approachable manner about her, and after so many times of being shot down by the "beauty queens" who frequented this place, maybe his subconscious was telling him that it was time to stop being so unrealistic about his expectations and find himself a "real" woman. A woman like the one he was looking at on the other side of the bar.
Maybe it was time for a change in tastes, he decided. After all, he didn't see himself as someone who had a whole lot to offer the "beauty queens" when they had their pick of men who were far wealthier, more intelligent, more charming and witty, and, damn it, far more handsome and in much better physical shape than he was.
Maybe, he thought to himself, he should approach the woman he found his gaze fixed upon. The worst that could happen was that he got shot down once more, and have to go home again to spend another intimate night with a bottle of lotion and his own right hand. But on the other hand, maybe this woman was the one he was looking for all his life. She might not be the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon, but if things did go well, it wouldn't be like living out the Willie Nelson song with the line "Last night I came in at two with a ten but at ten I woke up with a two."
He swallowed the rest of his drink, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then started walking across the bar toward her.
She wasn't a knockout by any means. She definitely wouldn't make the glamor magazine covers. But she was still very pretty in an average, "plain-Jane" sort of way. She seemed to smile easily when she talked to those around her, and appeared to have a good sense of humor based upon the number of times he watched as she laughed heartily in a way that made her breasts quiver beneath the blouse she wore. She seemed to have an easy-going, approachable manner about her, and after so many times of being shot down by the "beauty queens" who frequented this place, maybe his subconscious was telling him that it was time to stop being so unrealistic about his expectations and find himself a "real" woman. A woman like the one he was looking at on the other side of the bar.
Maybe it was time for a change in tastes, he decided. After all, he didn't see himself as someone who had a whole lot to offer the "beauty queens" when they had their pick of men who were far wealthier, more intelligent, more charming and witty, and, damn it, far more handsome and in much better physical shape than he was.
Maybe, he thought to himself, he should approach the woman he found his gaze fixed upon. The worst that could happen was that he got shot down once more, and have to go home again to spend another intimate night with a bottle of lotion and his own right hand. But on the other hand, maybe this woman was the one he was looking for all his life. She might not be the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon, but if things did go well, it wouldn't be like living out the Willie Nelson song with the line "Last night I came in at two with a ten but at ten I woke up with a two."
He swallowed the rest of his drink, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then started walking across the bar toward her.
I find this to be much better. No ages given, no body shapes, no breast sizes, no cock sizes, and the reader can fill in the rest of the details about how the people look all by themselves. The only thing we know about these characters is that they aren't hunks or babes by the "conventional" standards. But everything else is open to personal interpretation. Is the man a twentysomething or is he near 50? Is the woman barely of legal age to drink or is has she already seen 40 years go by in the rearview mirror of her life? Is the man in fair shape, or does he have a few extra pounds on him? Is the woman thin or larger in size? Is the man balding, or does he have a full, thick head of hair? Is the woman a blonde, a brunette, or a redhead, and is her hair long or short, straight or permed? Does the man have a 10-inch cock stirring in his pants (jeans or dress slacks?) or is he of average endowment? Does the woman have DD breasts or is she a B-cup?
Most readers aren't so lazy that they can't fill in their own blanks about how the people look. My own preference is to fill in my own blanks myself.
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