Tuesday, September 16, 2008


Alison Tyler, erotica's "literary siren," has been running ultra-fun and inspirational story contests over at her Blogspot site. She posts a chosen sexy image (or two) taken from Naked Chicks on Post-It Notes, which is exactly what it sounds like, and asks us to write a short piece about what we see.

On September 7th she put up two Naked Chicks drawings and I wrote about both. Then she ran a poll and my first story won. The picture urging me on is reproduced above. My interpretation is below. It's a very grown-up take on one of my favorite books, HAROLD and the PURPLE CRAYON, by Crockett Johnson, a children's classic. (It's one of the items in my "Inspiration" sidebar on the right).

You can read all the entries on Alison's blog here in the original post (in the comment area), or here, where you can also see the actual poll results.

Thank you, Alison and Mr. Naked Chicks on Post-It Notes! And thank you, Mr. Crockett Johnson, wherever you are. Please say Hi to Harold for me.

© 2008 by EllaRegina

Harold grew up and left his purple crayon behind, learning how to wield his cock instead, or a shiny black fountain pen, but not at the same time. Harold could have any girl he wanted; all he had to do was draw her. She could be naked, she could be clothed, or anything in between. And she would do whatever he wished, as long as he was able to illustrate those desires. Harold drew a very white girl, nicely shaped and held in by a spare arrangement of thin black lines.

While drawing he felt her kissing him, even though she only existed, so far, from above the kneecaps to just under the breasts -- he was getting to her other parts. The yet-undrawn mouth was planted exactly on his own, as if he were kissing a mirror. A tongue found his. He kissed the faceless girl until his cock became hard. Harold drew a couch -- a simple one as time was of the essence -- so they would have a decent place to kiss, something more dimensional. He drew her knees, which immediately buckled, making the paper twitch. Even though Harold and the very white girl were grounded -- now horizontal on the couch -- their stomachs, both drawn and real, were dropping in a bottomless free-fall from the kissing.

The girl was holding on to her underpants -- whatever Harold had drawn. She rolled them off, slowly, as she kissed him, her mouth never leaving his. He drew her hand so that it reached for his cock. Then his pen slipped, the right side of her thong string not yet drawn. He took his hard cock and brought it to the girl's hand so she could grasp him. He wanted so much to dip into her bubbling inkwell -- once drawn, of course -- but felt it only proper to wait until the rest of her was there, too. After all, she was more than just a collection of lines. He retrieved his fountain pen from the floor and continued, filling in the missing areas -- he drew her asshole and stuck his finger in it -- all the time kissing, and being kissed, with a very white black-outlined hand wrapped around his flesh and blood purple cock, both he and the girl reeling, flying. They would never hit ground because it was not yet inked, so they could float and kiss forever, and so they did.

Harold loved the smell of paper, especially a bleached bond.


Copyright 2008 EllaRegina. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.