What follows is nother in a series of escapades as told to this writer about the weekend at the LitCon 2025 Writers Challenge. I mentioned earlier that the stories are not dependant an one another, but they do start to come together in this one, so reading the other two provides points of clarification in this one.
I know this is a "Challenge", and I've taken more than one bite of the apple, but honestly, for me the 'challenge' is to have written something worth your time. I have personal goals and challenges to achieve when I write, so I appreciate the time you've given me to tell you the stories. Without readers, a writer is nothing but spilled ink. My hope is that they get even better as we go along, and I hope you find them worth the few minutes you'll spend reading them.
With that, I hope you enjoy...
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The Confluence:
"Nate?... Sugar?" Ginni jiggled Nates shoulder and then gently caressed his cheek hoping not to startle him.
His eyes flickered open, and Nate's confusion dissipated as he recognized Ginni hovering over him. He lifted his head, gently, so his lips could meet hers, "Good morning beautiful."
"Good morning to you too, hon," she said after returning his gentle kiss, "I'm going to meet my friend Anne down in the lobby for breakfast. Do you want to come?"
"So soon? Sure," he removed to covers to show her he was ready if she was.
"No so fast tiger... I meant... walk down to the lobby with me," she did a double take and fought back the urge to take him up on his offer, "besides, I just took a shower and finished my make-up. I don't want to get it all messed up." Oh yes she did, but pulling the sheet back over him helped steel her resolve. It wasn't titanium steel, it was low carbon steel at best... fuck that, honestly, it was more like aluminum foil.
"What time is it?," Nate stretched and looked around the room, then out the window to see if his neighbor across the atrium was up yet. Sadly, he could see her bed was empty. It looked like it had been made hastily, so she must have rushed off to meet some guy. "Sure, I'll go" he laid his head back in the pillow, a little depressed at the thought of missing her, "gimme a sec and I'll get dressed."
"Ummm, I suggest a hot shower, and brushing your teeth young man. You never know who you might run into here." She stood back up, but couldn't help looking back at the magic she had just covered up. She needed to look more than once. She decided it would be better to walk away; quickly.
"Ginni? Where are we? I know this isn't a writer convention..."
"Grand Ci..." his look made her decide to quit hiding, "Well, it IS a writer convention. I AM a writer, but this is not about travel writing," she finally admitted to him. "This is about what I read, and write, to unwind. Literotica is an erotic website, but don't call it porn. It's not porn. Mostly.... I think. You find what you look for, and I look for erotica. Erotic writing has been around for a long time, and it's what people relied on before photographs, or even paintings... nevermind the internet."
"So, you want me to believe that reading porn, is better than looking at porn?"
"It's NOT porn! And look," she searched for an analogy, "you read erotica with your brain," she held her hands to her head, "you know, engage intellect." She had heard that line in a movie once, and used it as often as she could. She often conquered writers block with it. "You look at porn with your eyes and your brain just follows along. If a person looks at 'porn' it's just, BAM! You see everything that the person capturing the image wants you to see, and some, maybe many, things they didn't want you to see. I'm not going to call them artists... well, not to me anyway. They are capturing a moment, not creating it. There is nothing left to the imagination. Nothing. It's just all there."
"It is what it is..."
"It is what it is..." she nodded and sighed, "god I hate that saying... anyway, there are people who create erotic visuals, but they are very careful about what they depict. To me, they are artists. Erotica has been around for a long time. Think back to the great art in history... How many tits, pussies and cocks do you see?"
"None, well... breasts maybe, yeah, ok, a lot, but no nipples; dicks... hardly any, and they're all small. They didn't think about sex back then."
"What makes you think so?" she tilted her head at him, "Think of the Venus de Milo. Do you think she wasn't sexual?"
"She doesn't have any arms... how can that be sexual?"
"Oh! She had arms when she was created. She was broken into pieces in a brawl between French and Turkish sailors... SAILORS, Nate. The arms were never recovered, but the other pieces were put back together and sent to France." She continued, "Why do you think sailors were fighting over a sculpture of a naked woman if it wasn't sexual? Later, I want you to look at the sculptures by Giovanni Lombardi, Giovanni Benzoni, and Antonio Corradini," he reached for his phone but she slapped it off the night table, "I said later... I'm teaching a fucking lesson here... this is what travel writing does for you..."
"Ow! ok. Sorry."
"These are artists that created sculptures of men and women, in at least one case, of Jesus... out of solid marble... draped in sheer fabric, but you could tell they were naked underneath it because the artists included details of the nipples, muscle tone and structure of the human body. Most works of art had to be approved by the church before being displayed, in public or private, so artists had to be very careful in how people were depicted. Yet, there they are. That was not porn, but it was erotic. They left elements of the human body open to the imagination. Just think Nate, in your mother's lifetime... because shes older than me," she added under her breath, "it was scandalous for women to be seen in a two piece bathing suit! Look at what we go out in now." she paused, "and let that sink in."
"As writers, we are able to direct attention to important aspects of the body as they become important to the story."
"You mean giant dicks and huge tits..."
"Mmmmmmm, y-y-yeaaaa, nnnooo, maybe? It depends on the story." she paused, but went on, "To some writers, those are important aspects, to some readers thats what they want... we call it a single page stroker. Look, all I'm saying is, erotica is not porn, and writers of erotica are not sex-crazed maniacs... for the most part... I stay away from the ones who are, so I shouldn't speak for everyone. I'm not saying they don't exist, but... I'm not a disgusting, vile person because I write erotica..."
"I never thought you were disgusting Aunt Ginni. And... and I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression I thought you were, but... Who are you Ginni?" he asked, "do you use your real name?"
"No, because of our ridiculous society, no one can use their real name." she sighed but could tell he wasn't going to let her get away with just that. "I write as Virgina Cooger. C-O-O-G-E-R" she added and then looked at the floor, ashamed.
"But, your name is Virginia..."
'No one in real life knows that. I let a word slip here and there so it seems like I'm from the South. In school... in school, the boys started calling me Vagina in fifth and sixth grade. After that...."
"Ouch..."
