Giving Time, Money, and Thanks

Tis the season, as the saying goes. For the amazing erotic altruists who contribute to Coming Together, however, the season of giving is year 'round. Decade 'round, even. That's right, Coming Together turned 10 this year! Hard to believe that I've been steering this sexy ship for that long. 

I mean, wasn't it just yesterday that the Rainy Day Story Challenge took place in the Literotica Authors' Hangout?  In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, those stories became the Hurricane Relief Edition.  That collection contains the first real story I ever wrote.

By real, I mean it was more than simply a detailed sex scene prefaced by a few paragraphs (if that!) of literary foreplay. It had an actual plot. And, while sex was certainly integral to the story line, the tale involved several characters that did not participate in any sexual activity and a conflict that did not involve sex. Clocking in at 12,000 words, it was triple the length of anything I'd written to that point. Until that story ("Wetter Has Never Been Better"), I'd never aspired to do anything other than commit my fantasies to words in the hope they'd stop haunting my every waking moment.

Here's a snippet:

It was in Starbucks that she first noticed him: tall with curly salt-n-pepper hair; clean shaven; business suit with cowboy boots. He had an air about him. Supremely self-confident, but not arrogant.

Choosing an adjacent table, if those Frisbee-sized things could accurately be called tables, Stormy caught a whiff of his cologne. Mmm! One of her favorite scents. He pecked away at a fancy-looking laptop, thoroughly absorbed in the activity.

Stormy studied him obliquely. The suit looked expensive. The boots were polished. Square jaw. Amazing hands. Long fingers, rugged but not calloused. No wedding ring. Impeccably groomed. Broad shoulders with not a trace of pudge around the waistline. Seriously fuckable, was Stormy's final assessment as she tossed her empty cup in the can and strolled to her boarding gate.

Looking forward to a full three hours' rest during the non-stop service from Charlotte to San Jose, the capitol of Costa Rica, Stormy found her seat and grabbed three tiny airline pillows. The flight was far from full, and with any luck, she'd have a whole row of seats to herself. Next year at this time, she vowed to herself, this same flight would be booked to capacity thanks to her winning campaign.

She buckled up to avoid being pestered to do so at take-off, rested her head against the window, and closed her eyes—putting on her best "Do Not Disturb" persona in the hopes that the adjacent seats would remain vacant so she could stretch out later.

Waking with a start, Stormy realized that the plane was in the air and that she did indeed have the row to herself. She turned sideways to put up her legs and noticed HIM—the Starbucks guy—across the aisle. He looked at her intently, with a rather cryptic expression on his face, and his gaze was unnerving. Stormy felt her body respond.

"Business or pleasure?" he suddenly asked.

"What? Oh, um—business, actually. Maybe some pleasure. You?"

"Same," he said, extending his hand across the aisle. "I'm Charlie."

Unbuckling, Stormy scooted over to the aisle seat, "Stormy. Nice to meet you."

She would have gladly continued the conversation, but Charlie turned back to his newspaper. So, Stormy put up her feet and tried again to sleep. Images of this enigmatic man danced through her mind, making her fidget a bit. She realized that perhaps she should have packed her vibrator. After all, the last thing she needed was the distraction of perpetual horniness. On such a short trip with such an important objective, she simply did not have time for such diversions.

The next thing she knew, Charlie's hands gripped her ass. His lips met hers in an exquisitely languorous kiss—their bodies one, sweat shimmering on skin. Intense. Grinding.

Stormy's own groan woke her. Disoriented, she looked about, with realization slowly dawning. A dream. Just a dream. But, wow, what a dream! Maybe, she thought, if she could get right back to sleep, it'd pick up where it left off.

As she shifted to a more comfortable position, she noticed Charlie studying her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Blushing, Stormy again closed her eyes. Hours later, she was awakened by the flight attendant instructing her to buckle up. Alas the dream had not returned, but perhaps that was for the best, she mused. Stormy stretched and retrieved her carry-on, fully rested and ready to experience whatever Costa Rica had to offer.

There are moments in life -- critical junctures -- that we seldom recognize when they occur but that become obvious in hindsight. Writing this story was one of them. It sparked my interest in all aspects of publishing and led to the acquisition of the skills required to keep Coming Together afloat. And, in the synergistic manner of passion, Coming Together is one of the endeavors that keeps me afloat. It's immensely satisfying to give of oneself. In fact, I'd say it's one of two things at the very peak of my emotional "hierarchy of needs." The other is a creative outlet.

Thanks for sticking with me as a ramble through this post! Please let me know in the comments if any part of it resonated with you.  (One random commenter will win an ebook copy of "Erotique," the first tale in the ArtiFactual series.)

Happiest of holidays to you & yours!

peace & passion,

~ Alessia / Imp