I write scat stories, usually hetero. There may be non-con, though I'm kind of moving away from it. There might be aspects of BDSM, humiliation, and other transgressive themes. I also cuss, which bothers some people.
I am a good writer. (Stories published here range from 4.3 - 4.7.) But no one's perfect. I'm rusty, having not done much recent writing. My weaknesses include, but are not limited to: spelling (though the spellcheckers help), occasionally using the wrong word (accept/except), dyslexic crap (accidentally omitting word, hitting the wrong letter bit/tit), and sometimes I use the wrong word tiredly/entirely. There's also the occasional tense slip, which I'm particularly prone to if I'm writing in present tense, accidentally slipping into past. That last one kind of drives me crazy, so I mostly stick to past and avoid most of the problems.
Every writer should have an editor. I've never worked with one. I've done ok in the past without one, but not great. Mistakes slip through because I tend to see what I thought I wrote instead of what I actually wrote. You know, like most writers. I'm probably looking for more of a proofreader (I wouldn't mind Beta readers either); normally I wouldn't be all that interested in someone suggesting big changes, structural stuff, etc, though if you notice something, say something (hey, I thought you said that character was dead, back in the first chapter). But with the current story I'm finishing (14,000 words, written in the last 48 hrs), the ending/last couple of pages feel off, so that portion will probably need a total rewrite, and I wouldn't mind suggestions.
Anyhow, let me know if you're interested. Link to my author's page below:
https://www.literotica.com/authors/Dmnoid/works/stories
Oh, and the unedited, first two paragraphs from that story I'm working on:
It was a warm mid-morning, but the heat hadn't set in yet. Alana walked through the greenbelt's wandering path, beneath towering sycamores that were older than her. In the center of the belt, well away from the school and suburban streets, there was a concrete and brick restroom the gardeners unlocked early each morning. She could easily hold it until she gotback to the apartment, but she got some perverse thrill from using this lonely building out away from everyone. She had fantasies about men, mostly about men at least, coming upon her and on using her badly, against her will. It was her secret fetish; everyone who knew her well knew she devoured anything in the true crime genre, but she didn't let on about the second half of it. And she didn't tell people about the websites she frequented where people role-played non-consensual sex. So when the opportunity presented itself, she would often go to use the restrooms in parks, especially lonely parks with hidden restrooms, and let the fantasies overtake her.
As she walked up to the restroom, there was a man standing there, between the entrances, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a black leather jacket, black sunglasses, and he just felt predatory. She hesitated for a moment, and then imagined explaining to the police what her rapist looked like, and her heart started pounding. He was a white male, about 30 years old, with short brown hair. The hair on top was a little long, and was curly, kind of standing straight up, with product in it. He was about six feet tall, wearing those square toed motorcycle boots, blue jeans,and had a big brass belt buckle, she'd say. And what did he make you do? The detective would ask... and she said, Everything.
I am a good writer. (Stories published here range from 4.3 - 4.7.) But no one's perfect. I'm rusty, having not done much recent writing. My weaknesses include, but are not limited to: spelling (though the spellcheckers help), occasionally using the wrong word (accept/except), dyslexic crap (accidentally omitting word, hitting the wrong letter bit/tit), and sometimes I use the wrong word tiredly/entirely. There's also the occasional tense slip, which I'm particularly prone to if I'm writing in present tense, accidentally slipping into past. That last one kind of drives me crazy, so I mostly stick to past and avoid most of the problems.
Every writer should have an editor. I've never worked with one. I've done ok in the past without one, but not great. Mistakes slip through because I tend to see what I thought I wrote instead of what I actually wrote. You know, like most writers. I'm probably looking for more of a proofreader (I wouldn't mind Beta readers either); normally I wouldn't be all that interested in someone suggesting big changes, structural stuff, etc, though if you notice something, say something (hey, I thought you said that character was dead, back in the first chapter). But with the current story I'm finishing (14,000 words, written in the last 48 hrs), the ending/last couple of pages feel off, so that portion will probably need a total rewrite, and I wouldn't mind suggestions.
Anyhow, let me know if you're interested. Link to my author's page below:
https://www.literotica.com/authors/Dmnoid/works/stories
Oh, and the unedited, first two paragraphs from that story I'm working on:
It was a warm mid-morning, but the heat hadn't set in yet. Alana walked through the greenbelt's wandering path, beneath towering sycamores that were older than her. In the center of the belt, well away from the school and suburban streets, there was a concrete and brick restroom the gardeners unlocked early each morning. She could easily hold it until she gotback to the apartment, but she got some perverse thrill from using this lonely building out away from everyone. She had fantasies about men, mostly about men at least, coming upon her and on using her badly, against her will. It was her secret fetish; everyone who knew her well knew she devoured anything in the true crime genre, but she didn't let on about the second half of it. And she didn't tell people about the websites she frequented where people role-played non-consensual sex. So when the opportunity presented itself, she would often go to use the restrooms in parks, especially lonely parks with hidden restrooms, and let the fantasies overtake her.
As she walked up to the restroom, there was a man standing there, between the entrances, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a black leather jacket, black sunglasses, and he just felt predatory. She hesitated for a moment, and then imagined explaining to the police what her rapist looked like, and her heart started pounding. He was a white male, about 30 years old, with short brown hair. The hair on top was a little long, and was curly, kind of standing straight up, with product in it. He was about six feet tall, wearing those square toed motorcycle boots, blue jeans,and had a big brass belt buckle, she'd say. And what did he make you do? The detective would ask... and she said, Everything.
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