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(Devon's napkin poem, written on a Chinese food take out napkin between the red letter print and the Ribbed fringe).

Every touch is like I wish I didn't know I could ask for,
Reading the secret warmth of my heart before my pulse brought blood to skin, to feel, to know,
that was where I needed to be pressed:

inside, around, pinched.

Can any my man read my mind better than I can masturbate?

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Work! Blech. No thank you, on weekends. Waking up early after barely sleeping his awful. However that has not ceased or interrupted my productivity. Somehow I found the time and effort to struggle out another thousand words in the next installation of Devon and her sex prototype robot. I got through the first shower scene where this version responds to a series of commands, and follows them with variable allowance.

I'm already at 4000 words for this short story. I think I'm going to put the first and second Devon stories together and published them as a book. I'll put them for sale on my website for one .5 SPD, or .5 steem. Although, I don't think I can do that, and will have to use a actual fiat currency. Maybe I'll make a for sale for one dollar. I just want to make it easy for people to access, and I know that longer form stories on this platform are not typically the best way to go. Perhaps I'll chop it up into a few parts. I don't like doing that though, because as a reader I don't like having to click on multiple things to see the whole story. I want everything in one place, and would actually be willing to part with a few tokens for that ease-of-use.

It feels weird not writing about the rec center. Now that I'm done with the different stories there I'm onto other ones. Remember, I have to make progress every day in some book in some form. There is no rest for the wicked, and no rest for a writer intent on making a living out of words.

I can't seem to figure out what I should be focusing on with this platform. If you've been following my post at all you notice that there are sexual poems, erotic short stories, and the Benign lovers poems. I've even flexed my English degree from University to explicate others poetry. Perhaps I should be focusing entirely on the smut Because that is my ultimate intent; make money from writing about porn.

I sometimes think that it is a shameful choice, but realize it is really fun to do. I enjoy writing stories about sexual intimacy much more than the boring interactions about what shoes go with this dress, or how I look in the mirror before I go to the bars. My boyfriend doesn't care, why would my readers?

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