The Muse Revisited!

Thanks again, gang, for the unending downloads of my free eBook titles over at Smashwords!

Once again, hundreds of people are primarily downloading The Muse Revisited Volumes 1 -3, with an occasional download of Freak Parade, and maybe one lowly download of Twilight of the Immortal (!).

But, hey. I’m not judging… Porn addicts are people, too.

I’m just kidding!

The free downloads continue throughout the entire month of July, as part of Smashwords annual site-wide Summer Sale. Direct links to the eBooks can be found in the drop down menu above, under About Marilyn Jaye Lewis. You have to choose the Smashwords link, as the titles are not free on Amazon.

Below is an excerpt from The Muse Revisited Volume 1.

“I Like Boys” (c-1997) was one of my most popular stories ever. It was written specifically as a spoken-word performance piece, and then was published numerous times in anthologies published in the US and UK.

In 1998, I launched the website Marilyn’s Room.com.

Marilyn’s Room.com was a multi-media international erotic arts site, the first of its kind. It was free, with no advertisements on the site at all.  We featured erotic paintings and photographs from all over the world. We had downloadable readings of erotic poetry, fiction, and memoirs. We also had recorded audio interviews with writers, photographers, artists, and filmmakers. We had downloadable erotic films from all over the world, as well. (Mostly extremely unusual fetish films, produced by indie lesbian-owned film companies, but not always).

In those days, porn had barely made any inroads on the World Wide Web because everyone was still learning how to make movies affordable to download on dial-up, since movie files back then were huge files and took forever to download.  Because of that, though, there was a huge audience for erotica and short erotic films online (erotica being the bastard – though perhaps slightly more elegant- stepchild of porn).

Marilyn’s Room.com was very popular internationally but oddly enough, not as popular as my first site, OtherRooms.com, was – and OtherRooms had no images whatsoever; it was strictly literary erotic fiction. Meaning you really had to know how to read. And in those days, when most people could only get online at work or at school, we were nevertheless getting between 5-10K readers a day, and eventually made it into Playboy‘s Online Hall of Fame.

But when I launched Marilyn’s Room.com in NYC in 1998, we had the first ever live coast-to-coast Internet broadcast of erotica readings. It went over extremely well. I wrote “I Like Boys” specifically to read for that broadcast. It was a press event, well attended by journalists from the NY Times, the Wall Street Journal, Village Voice, Daily News, etc., (open bar with top shelf booze works wonders, gang!), and oddly enough, all the journalists back then were men.  The only women in attendance that night were either connected somehow to Marilyn’s Room.com, or were reading on the broadcast.

But because there were all these men in attendance, “I Like Boys” went over incredibly great.  More so than I could have ever anticipated.

Anyway. It is included in The Muse Revisited Volume 1. It was intended to be a spoken word piece, so it’s not truly a short story. It’s indeed short, though – 1400 words, approx. 2 pages.

It is sexually graphic and likely to offend the average reader, so please be forewarned, gang!  Okay! Enjoy. Thanks for visiting!

*********************************************************

“I Like Boys”

I like boys who are decidedly youthful-looking, who don’t have a lot of body hair. Preferably boys who’ve maybe just dropped out of college. Boys who wish they knew a lot but who know they haven’t got a clue yet. And who – regardless of the variety of their sexual experiences – still feel overwhelmed by me because they know I’m so much older.

I like boys who consider themselves to be straight, but who, after spending a long time talking with me in my bed in the dark, eventually admit that they might be bisexual. That sometimes they’ve even worried that they’re actually gay.

I love to hear those stories that a boy has never told another living soul yet. Like the one about the stretch of yard behind his parents’ house back home where the boy may have gone with a buddy, an overly attentive school pal. A stretch of yard that was hidden from the world. The place where the boy had finally given in, where he’d lowered his jeans down his thighs and let his buddy get between his legs and suck his dick. The story usually involves the boy’s surprise over having gotten “so hard so fast.” His emotional mixture of desire and loathing as he’d watched his own dick growing stiffer as it moved in and out of his buddy’s mouth. Usually there’s a part about the buddy having seemed “too eager”-a thing that unnerves the boy still in his telling of the secret tryst. An eagerness that had compelled the boy to grab onto his buddy’s head and pump into his mouth hard. Until the jism had shot out hot and with such uncontrollable force that his buddy had had to hold tight to the boy’s bare thighs in an effort to keep his balance while the jism had spurted down his throat.

You can’t beat hearing a story like that-it’s a sign that a boy trusts you.

I like it when a boy trusts me; it means we’re likely to go places together. I don’t mean to cafés or bars or nightclubs. I’m talking about those less tangible places, which usually involve taking all our clothes off and not being in any hurry to leave the apartment for a few days. Where take-out food deliveries are our only meals and even the wine is ordered in.

I like going places with a boy that involve changing into different outfits, different shoes, and then leaving them strewn all over the apartment. And wearing down my favorite tube of lipstick because it keeps smudging off on the wineglass, the cigarette filters, the slightly rough unshaved face, and the boy’s thick stiff cock. Or sometimes the lipstick smudges off onto the pillowcases if I happen to have my face buried there. Or if maybe I’m biting on the pillow because I’m getting that thick cock stuffed into me hard from behind.

That’s when the boy seems most like a man, though. That’s when the subtle aroma of the wine, as it’s poured into the wine glasses that are just in reach on the night table when you’re taking a break from fucking-that aroma only serves to remind you of how elusively time passes. It helps if it’s twilight, too, and through the open window you can see the lights coming on through the trees across the Hudson River.

*     *     *     *

I like boys who watch me very intently as I start to tie them up. They’re not in a hurry to protest, but they’re young enough to be unsure of how far I’m likely to go.  I like when a boy feels like he doesn’t have to be in control, though. Like, maybe I’ve tied him down spread-eagled to the bed and he’s watching intently as I kneel between his spread legs. Then I slide his erect cock in and out of my lipsticked mouth. When he feels my finger slip up his ass, he doesn’t complain. Or how a boy surrenders when you slip the blindfold over his beautiful eyes? I like that, blindfolding a boy who’s tied down. I can plant my soaking pussy right on his mouth then and he acts like he’s never wanted a pussy more in all his life. He devours my swollen lips with a lot of passion, as if not having a choice in the matter is what’s really turning him on.

Sometimes it’s fun to turn around then. To keep my pussy planted on his mouth but lean down and let my tongue lick lightly at his piss slit. Let it run up and down his aching shaft, maybe lick determinedly at the spot just under the swollen crown-or maybe down under his balls-but not take his whole dick in my mouth again for a while.

A boy can get really excitable when my mouth is doing stuff like that. He’ll moan distractedly, or go at my clit with such enthusiasm that I start wondering, how can he even breathe? His nose is practically buried in my soaking hole.

But here’s what I really like: A boy who isn’t afraid to show me his asshole, who might even like to lay belly down and spread his legs for me while I admire him. I like it best if he doesn’t want to be tied then because it indicates to me that he’s really wanting it. I like it when a boy is really wanting it-the rimming part. I do that first. I try to be really thorough and patient with a rimjob. Push his cheeks apart and hold them spread while my tongue licks slowly at his hole, or around his hole, or up and down his crack, because it really helps a boy relax. And a boy needs to feel relaxed. He needs to feel he can trust me, because I’m going to strap on a greased-up silicone tool and slide it up his ass and he knows it. He’s agreed to it beforehand. Sometimes he’s even been the one to suggest it-to ask for it.

And if he’s liking it enough, if he’s into it and his hole is opening up easily for me, I’ll probably fuck him hard. Hold onto his arched ass while I fuck him and tell him how beautiful he looks. How incredible his ass is as it takes the tool in deep. Maybe I’ll even have him pull his knees up under himself so he can jerk-off while he’s getting reamed. And then the noises he’ll start to make-god, the grunting. I love to listen to those lusty sounds a boy getting fucked is likely to make.

But it won’t happen at all if a boy’s not willing to turn over for me.

Which doesn’t mean I don’t like boys who won’t turn over.

I even like those boys who like it best when I’m flat on my back, who hike my long legs up over their shoulders. Maybe keep my wrists pinned down to the mattress with their large, substantial hands. Who shove their hard dicks into me deep, over and over-maybe getting in too deep. And maybe seeming to like the fact that I’m grunting like an animal, even while my mouth is being kissed-devoured, almost. His tongue shoving in and filling my mouth while I whimper.

I like a boy who knows enough to keep fucking me even if it sounds like I’m in pain.

*     *     *     *

I like when a boy lights up a cigarette in the dark-after we’ve finished fucking, maybe, and there’s a jism-filled condom lying somewhere on the bed but no one wants to turn on the light yet and find it. So we lie there instead, naked and entwined, and share a cigarette. Pass it back and forth, even though we’ve heard all the stories about how smoking is no good for us.

I like a worn-out boy to lay his head against my bare breasts in the tangle of sheets and pillows, while I hold him in the crook of my arm and we share that cigarette in bed. There’s something about that fiery glow as we drag on the cigarette in the darkness; it makes confessions seem simple. Boys will tell you the oddest things, if the room’s really dark and they’re sure no one but you can hear them. I’m not big on confiding, myself, but I love to listen to a boy’s dreams.

© 1997 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

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