The Author Becomes the Story - Again

The Author Is the Story...Again

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction. Also, if you don't enjoy a story featuring humiliation and domination, this one might not be for you.

It's been a year since that weekend that almost changed my life. Four cute college guys, who were self-described superfans of my stories, were uninvited visitors in my home and gave me the wild ride of my lifetime.

I am a failed author. I have written six books that no one will ever read because of the "failed" part. I have failed to entice a literary agent. I have failed to find a publisher who believes in me. I have failed to get my work out there for others to consume and appreciate. I have come to accept my failures.

I compensate by publishing Gay Male stories on an erotic literature online site. Here, in this venue, I am a success. I have too many loyal followers to count. I get "hot" ratings story after story. People love my work and tell me so in both publicly posted comments as well as private direct messages. And despite leading a modestly successful life with work and family, most of the joy and satisfaction in my life comes from the positive feedback I get from my readers. It fuels me. I thrive on it. I live for it. It keeps me going.

Some of my stories have developed characters and meaningful storylines that deliver messages of strength, love, inclusion... Other stories are just fun little escapes from the grind of daily life. Either way, people generally like what I write and that thrills me.

I love the site. I was a reader on it long before I wrote and published any of my own stories. Not that I never watch any porn ever - I would be lying to imply that I don't. Occasional visual inspiration is just fine. But I much prefer reading erotic stories and this site is the perfect home for my reading pleasure. The time and detail put into the descriptions of acts and objects is artful and arousing. I love being inside of the character's head and knowing not only what they are seeing and feeling, but what they are thinking as well. I am a fan of many writers on the site and almost jealous of the quality of their work. I have read many stories that I wished I had written.

Some of the feedback I get goes beyond expressions of appreciation for a job well done. I have been propositioned in private feedback. Asked to hook up and play around. So far, I have been far too chicken shit to respond to any such requests. But I'm flattered. I have also been asked about my writing. Like where I get my ideas and how I go about my process. Some people place requests. They'll ask me to write something specific, like a story involving twins or a kidnapping for example. I used to respond to these requests. I used to email back all of the time. I used to thank fans for being readers. I used to encourage them to write their own stories. I used to answer their questions. But a year ago, I stopped responding. I experienced an incident and I have not replied to anyone since.

What appeared to be an innocent question from an eager young fan wanting to know something specific about a particular story I had published turned into a group of four smart college kids using my emailed reply to track down my real name and location. I still do not know how they did it, and I never will - I am far from tech savvy myself - but they did it nonetheless. And they came and visited me. Unannounced. They were uninvited overnight guests who barged into my life and stayed for the weekend.

Turned out that they were harmless. They were four honest, well-intentioned twenty year old boys, two couples, who really liked my work and wanted to get to know me. In truth, they came in already knowing me pretty well. They saw the real me through some of my stories. Though young, they were intuitive enough to see which of my stories featured more of my personal truth and less just fantasy in my head. When they surprised me by showing up at my doorstep, they had two objectives - to interview me about my writing process and to give me my first real-life experience. More on that in a moment.

So these four very cute young men were fans of my work, having read every one of my stories. As self-described "superfans", they were taking the additional step of acting out my stories. This blew my mind. They were literally alternating roles and bringing my stories to actual life. They said their names were the names of the four characters on my

Road Trip

series. I never did learn their real names, but they knew (and still know) mine. And they know where I live. They can always come find me again, but I can never find them. There is something part scary and part thrilling knowing that there could be another knock on my door any time. But so far, they haven't come back.

The site is anonymous. What happened is not the site's fault. My identity is protected. I am identified on the site with a username that I made up. When I published my first story, it hadn't occurred to me that I would need a username. I didn't give it enough thought. I used the name in the title of my first story, not realizing that it would be my identity for years to come. The world of online erotic literature knows me as Str8SensitiveGuy. That was a character in a story. I may be sensitive, but I'm not so straight. I used to think I was bisexual, but I was just fooling myself. I am plain and simply a gay man. But back to my online identity - I should have come up with something better. And now it's too late.

Anyway, it was my decision (and my mistake) to reply to private feedback with my personal email. And a smart kid figured out how to turn that limited information into a vehicle to find me. They caused me no harm. In fact, they caused me extreme pleasure. Extreme pleasure that I had never before (or since) experienced. They did it by bringing me into one of my own stories. They allowed me to pick. They made one of my fantasies come true. Then they implored me to get out there in the real world. Not to stop writing, but to live in real life too. To meet someone. To stop hiding.

I thought about taking their advice, I really did. I almost went out to a bar. I almost downloaded an app on my phone. I considered telling my sons and maybe even a few people at work (I have no real life friends) that I'm gay. But I didn't. I chickened out. And then I wrote and published a story about the whole experience and waited for the ratings, comments and praise to flow in.

But just because those four adorable guys meant me no harm didn't mean that the next person wouldn't. I needed to be more careful. Lesson learned. I have not replied directly to anyone since.

It's Saturday afternoon and I am just back in my apartment after a five-mile run. I run four times a week. It keeps me young. It's also a great time to let my mind roam freely. I've come up with many story ideas while running. It's good for the body and the mind.

I'm about to head to my bathroom for a shower when there is a knock on my door. I am not friends with my neighbors and nobody rang the bell for entry. This is eerily similar to what happened that day a year ago - an unexplained and unexpected knock on the door... I can see that the chain is safely in place. I cross back over to the door and look through the peephole. I see no one, but there is a box on the floor. Was I expecting a delivery? I order so many things online these days that it's hard to keep track. No doubt I've paid for things that have never come.

I watch for a solid minute, but there is no movement or activity of any kind. No one is there. So I remove the chain and open the door. That's when three guys round the corner and charge in my direction. There's nothing I can do. They are instantly on me and pushing me backwards into my apartment.

The door closes behind them and the chain slides back into place. One of them emerges as the apparent leader. The first thing he says to me is just one word. The word is, "Thief!" And he points an accusatory finger in my direction.

Does he think I was stealing his package? I hadn't been expecting a delivery, but I had no ill intentions. I hold up my hands in surrender and say, "I was just going to check the address. I didn't mean--"

He kicks the box to the side. "That's not what you stole." He shakes his head and scoffs, "The box is a prop. It was my ticket in. Someone walking out sees an approaching person carrying a box and it's natural instinct to stop and hold the door. I smiled politely and she let me in, no questions asked. And after she drove away, I let my two friends here in as well."

I really should file an official complaint with the building.

"I don't understand. What do you think I stole?"

"My story idea. I wrote you to tell you how much I love your stories. I also shared an idea I had been mulling over. You wrote back and encouraged me to write my story and put it out there. To my shock and surprise, you wrote and published my idea the next month. You stole it!"

"But I don't email people anymore. Not after what happened last year."

"Right," he says. "Those four college kids. Sean, Seb, Jay and Quinn. I read that story. They found you just like I did. But there's a big difference. They were nice. They were fans. They let you pick which story you wanted to act out with them. I, on the other hand, will not be so nice."

"But how did you find me?"

"I told you. You emailed me. It was over a year ago. Before your previous experience. Before you stopped."

I am racking my brain trying to figure out what idea of someone else's I loved so much that I had to steal it. I don't steal. I ask, "So what story do you think I stole?"

"It was

Humiliating the Security Guard.

"

I remember writing that story. I remember reading a lot of dominant male stories at the time. Male on male SPH is one of my favorite topics that I revisit from time to time. But this is not something I stole. I created the characters, the setting... Everything. I ask, "What did you say to me in your email? What was your idea?"

"I told you that I am a reader on the site but that I had never written anything. I was toying with an idea that explored humiliation. You wrote back and encouraged me to write what I was feeling. Before I could even gather my thoughts, a week later your Security Guard story published."

I do not recall this guy's email. I ask, "Did you mention the security guard angle? The college gym after dark? The three wrestlers and the little guy with the fetish?"

He takes in a sharp angry breath, "I hadn't gotten that far yet."

I say, "Humiliation is a common topic. Domination, SPH, nonconsent, gang tickling... These are all known topics. Many authors cover the themes with varying settings and circumstances. I don't even remember your email, but I certainly didn't steal anything. It sounds like there was nothing to steal."

"I might not have had character names or the college setting, but the idea was real. At the very least it inspired you."

Did it though? I sigh, "I'd written stories featuring humiliation before. This one was just a new twist on an old theme. What about

Bowling Alley Bullies

?"

He shakes his head, "I'll give you the gang tickle thing, but it turns out the dude was packing some heat. He got his rocks off, but he wasn't humiliated."

I probably shouldn't bother mentioning my

Little Guy With a Big Surprise

series for the same reason. I tell him, "The very first story I ever wrote - my namesake -

Str8 Sensitive Guy Gets Explored

. I wrote it years ago and it covers it all. Stripping, tickling, M/M SPH..."

"So it's just a big happy coincidence that a week after I write you, you publish a new story with that theme?"

"Yes. Because it's a common theme told in a new way."

He shakes his head, "This stinks and you know it."

"You know," I try, "it's not like I make any money writing these stories. I do it to entertain myself and hopefully others as well. Even if you inspired me, I made no profit."

"So you admit it!"

"No. I'm just saying 'even if'. There was nothing gained so there's nothing owed."

"You owe me a story."

Maybe the fastest way to get these guys out of here is to do just that. If I help him decide on a solid story idea, he can leave and take his friends with him. If he thinks I owe him an idea, then I can pay that debt.

I think about stories I'd been considering. I say, "How about a predatorial and horny TSA agent who has a special back room for those he selects for further inspection. You can go wild with what he finds and what he does."

He shakes his head. "That was one of Mall Cop Tom's fantasies."

"Right. Okay. A group of friends go camping. On the way, one of them gets called back home due to a family emergency. The other four continue on but realize only after they get there that half of their equipment was in their friend's car. Now four guys have to share one tent and two sleeping bags. And it's too cold to not huddle up together. Whatever happens in those sleeping bags is up to you."

"No good."

Really? I kind of like the idea. Okay. Whatever. "There's a men's shoe store and one night just before closing--"

He cuts me off, "You published that one already -

The Customer Is Always Right

."

Shit. I have a bit of a backlog of stories written and ready to go and sometimes I forget which ones have been published.

"The one you stole is your best story by far."

Is it? I do like the Security Guard story, but my best? Back to the present problem I ask, "Why now? I published that story over a year ago. Why are you here today?"

"Because last month you did another humiliation story."

Right.

The Anniversary Gift

. The small closeted gay man can't get it up for his wife so she gets what she needs from the whole rest of the town. He gets humiliated as he learns of his wife's sexcapades in graphic detail. He is a cuckold. Except humiliation is his fetish and he is turned on by the thought that the whole town knows of his shortcomings. And when he is forced to watch a hunk of a man, a bull, fuck his wife senseless, he gets the biggest boner of his life. Then the bull turns to him and fucks him too. It's completely different from the security guard story, but it further explores the same theme.

He goes on, "A second story inspired by me."

No. It wasn't. Am I on trial here? There is no proof of plagiarism. What does this guy want from me. He said I owe him a story but he doesn't like my ideas. I tell him, "I have $100 in my wallet. I'll pay you for your services."

"I'm not looking for payment, I'm looking for reciprocation. You are going to inspire me."

"But you didn't like any of my ideas."

"Sure I did. And when you publish them, I will read them. But they're not for me. I still want to write the ultimate humiliation story. You are going to star in it. But to really solidify the story in my mind, I need to see it played out. I need to see you humiliated."

My cheeks turn pink. "But I don't fantasize about being humiliated. I just like reading about the humiliation of others. And I'm not that small. I mean I'm average."

"Right," he chuckles. "You wrote about your experience last year after that fateful visit from your four superfans. They measured your throbbing cock and it tallied five and three quarters inches. Not huge, but not tiny. But what if it was the smallest dick in the room? How would you feel?"

"I don't know--"

"When you had your little visit last year, it was all sweet and nice. Those guys were determined to give you an experience that you only wrote about and never had in real life. They let you choose your own adventure. You said you had no interest in being humiliated or tickled. Now, if that were true, then why do you keep writing about it? A lot? Don't they say you write what you know? You must want it pretty badly. At least subconsciously."

"Only as a voyeur. I don't want to play the--"

He keeps cutting me off. "But that's been the point. You've lived your whole life as the 'voyeur'. Those four kids last year saw through your stories and deduced that you were living a sad sheltered life. I see through your stories too. You too have a secret humiliation fetish. I too have come here to bring your secret fetish to life. Today is going to be your second chance at a real life experience, except this time, you don't get to choose the adventure. I do. No simple swapping of blowjobs this time."

My hearts starts to pound in my chest. "What do you have in mind?"

"The character you created, Mall Cop Tom, was so real. He must live inside of you. He told us what he wanted: Degradation, humiliation, domination, and most of all, he wanted everyone to know. He wanted his lack of manhood made public in the school paper, online, word of mouth...he even wanted a skywriter. He craved an audience for his humiliation. He wanted spectators."

I swallow hard.

"Well, the audience for the live show will be limited to the three of us, but after the fact... Not only will I publish the story of my day with Str8SensitivGuy, but I will also post the video on my Pornhub channel. The whole world will know."

"Guys, there has to be another way--"

"The things Mall Cop Tom wants done to him are going to be done to you. You want to be strip searched, trampled, degraded, measured, compared, tickled, mocked and milked. Just like James in

The Anniversary Gift,

your dreams are about to come true."

Are these my dreams? I do enjoy reading such stories. I like writing them even more. Is that a way of living vicariously through my characters? I do sprout an erection while I'm writing out the scenes. I guess that should tell me something. And I am still closeted after all. At least until my new friend here publishes his story and posts his video on Pornhub.

He continues, "Even in your stories that do not feature humiliation, you have a proclivity for feet, belly buttons and measuring. You tell people a lot about yourself in what you write."

I can't argue with his logic but the question is, do I desire to degrade or to be degraded? Or is it a little of both? I say, "Your friends have been quiet so far."

"I'm the one who's read your stories. These guys just work for me. They do what I tell them to do. They may not say much, if anything, before this is all over, but you will get to know each of them on a physical level. Up close and personal."

These guys are not cute like last year's college boys. They are kind of gruff and gnarly. I am surprised that I don't mind. I usually lean toward cute and naïve. Either way, the three of them have me outnumbered and outmuscled. Trying to make an escape would not end well and may lead to further punishment. I guess I just have to trust that they won't hurt me. That was made clear in my security guard story - Mall Cop Tom was never in actual danger. He got exactly what he wanted. But do I want this?

"What are your names?"

He smiles, "Here is the one choice I will give you. We can be Grey Eyes, Brown Eyes and Blue Eyes, like in

Humiliating the Security Guard

or I can be Josh and my friends can be Hunk #1 and Hunk #2 like in

The Anniversary Gift.

"

I never learned the real names of my friends from last year either. I always imagine my characters as real people living real lives, but this is getting ridiculous. In

The Anniversary Gift,

Josh was James' best friend. Even though this guy could in no way ever be my best friend, I haven't had one since I was a kid. My brain unconsciously decides for me that they are Josh, Hunk #1 and Hunk #2.

But I still wonder if there is another way out of this. I tell Josh, "I have about five or so stories written that I haven't published yet. I can let you read them and pick your favorite to publish as your own."