Authors are often asked, “Where do you get your ideas?”
The answer is, “Everywhere.”
For example, a blind date I had that turned sour.
As an erotic romance author, I write about—and do research on—various aspects of kink and BDSM, so it’s natural that I joined a fetish site to read what people are doing and thinking. My profile was modest, saying only that I was curious about the lifestyle. I’ve had a number of male denizens of this site write to me, trying to strike up a conversation.
Usually I ignored them after the due diligence of checking out their page. Until one correspondent attracted my attention by his articulate and intelligent profile. Cautiously I began a conversation with him by email, which evolved into his agreeing to give me his phone number so I could call him (using the *67 blocking mechanism).
Long story short, all green lights in our phone conversations, so I chose a time and place to meet for a Saturday lunch, with a Safe Call in place. Again, small steps, cautious steps, and still no red flags. We roamed around a mall after lunch and he insisted on buying me some lingerie and a box of chocolates. Although I nixed bringing him home or spending the night at a hotel with him, I figured it was in the cards at some point, since we did some enjoyable teen-age style petting in the dark parking lot of the mall. Even the discomfort of cramped quarters was more fun than I expected.
Note that he was a self-professed Dom, but I had held all the power thus far.
The following Monday morning I opened an email from him in which he called me selfish and controlling and therefore he would be deleting me from his email and phone address lists. Whoa! Because I went too slowly for him? Because I was calling the shots? (As any self-respecting Dom will tell you, it should take several in-person meetings and a lot of discussion and trust before you put yourself in his hands. Plus, the submissive has all the power because s/he can say the Safe Word at any time and call a halt to whatever is going on.)
After I picked my jaw up from the floor, I realized how lucky I was to have learned of his impatience and intemperance so early in our relationship. He’d acted like an adolescent, as though he didn’t like the way the game was going so he grabbed his baseball and went home.
Instead of a scathing rebuttal, I hunkered down at the computer determined to write a story about the atypical way we met and about what could have happened if he had turned out to be my Fantasy Man. I was so provoked that I wrote 22,000 words (yes, that’s twenty-two thousand) in a little over a week, giving myself—er, my character—an erotic roller-coaster ride and a romance-style happy ending.
But the real happy ending is, my editor loved it. And as soon as the contract work is completed, I’ll tell you more.
That’s one helluva pitcher of lemonade.
What’s your lemons-to-lemonade story? Please feel free to share it.
~~ Cris Anson