Category Archives: Paul Taylor

Switch: Reaction and Research

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Image by Freezeboy Tim

Image by Freezeboy Tim

You’ve been eagerly awaiting another episode in the erotic adventures of Olivia and Nicholas, haven’t you? Well, darlings, I know it has been a while, but here you go.

Fresh from her first scene with Nicholas, Olivia is confused by her own reaction to it, so she does what any reasonable person does these days — ask the Internet! Of course, when you set out to research kinky topics in public cafes, you always run the risk of being discovered, sometimes by an ex-boyfriend you’d really rather not see.

Check out the latest episode of Switch in Reaction and Research.

Olivia and the Handcuff Key

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woman-506120_640Continuing our selected unfinished tale, our heroine Olivia, after breaking up with Paul (you did read that bit already, right?), invites him back for a second chance.

Only, this time, she intends to spice things up a little bit. Paul gets quite a shock when he shows up for their date and Olivia brandishes a shiny new pair of handcuffs.

But, how will he react to this brazen wantonness? And just what did happen to the key to the cuffs?

Find out, and follow along as more scenes appear regularly, in Switch!

Unfinished Tales

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Some projects never quite get off the ground, while others get quite far along before something happens and they just don’t… quite… finish. Every writer has folders full of such unfinished material. Sometimes we call it “research,” or maybe “experimental,” or perhaps simply “abandoned.”

Usually it never sees the light of day, but later we may come back and re-read some of these old stories, and, if we’ve grown as writers, perhaps cringe at the terrible prose. Alternatively, sometimes some of the writing holds up quite well, but only in bits and pieces, and the plot as a whole just doesn’t pan out. We tell ourselves, “I’ll use that in something else later,” and maybe it will happen, but usually it doesn’t. If it does, it only feels forced, quite obviously something we just couldn’t let go of and had to cram in somewhere, and unless we’re very clever readers will spot it easily.

So, instead, for your reading displeasure I will post selected scenes from unfinished and abandoned works. These are raw, unedited, and definitely incomplete. If it feels like something is missing, that’s because it is; entire scenes are left out, meant to be worked on later, but later never came.

Of course, the abandoned work-in-progress that immediately comes to mind is Switch, the story of a young woman on a journey of self-discovery, unsure of what she is looking for, only knowing she hasn’t been finding it.

Here, in the opening scene where we first meet Olivia, she is breaking up with her most recent boyfriend, as things lack a certain oomph. It won’t take long before she wonders if perhaps everything has just been a little too vanilla in her relationships, and what she needs is something spicier. Her search for spice, however, won’t always go according to plan…

Switch: “It’s Not You, It’s Me”

Switch: Second Chances (continued)

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[This is the third excerpt from Switch. If you haven’t been following along, I recommend reading the earlier segments: In Which We Meet Olivia and Say Goodbye to Paul and Second Chances.]

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Paul still looked a little uncertain, but he didn’t think about it too long. He started pulling off his shirt, perhaps a little too eagerly, as he got himself stuck with his arms bound up in it behind his back. For a moment I thought of keeping him there, like that, and I had a brief frisson of excitement race through me, from a point between my breasts right down between my legs. The moment passed, however, and I just giggled a bit, turning away and climbing up onto the bed. I reached over to the nightstand and pulled out the handcuffs.

Paul’s eyes fairly goggled when he saw them, and he stopped in his tracks.

“Um, what’s up with those?”

I grinned over my shoulder at him as I threaded them through the slats in the headboard.

“An idea I had. Come on.”

He seemed really uncertain about it all, as I put first one wrist in a cuff, snapping it closed, and then my other. When that second one clicked into place, it passed quickly through my mind, What the hell am I doing? I didn’t let that stop me, however. Facing him again over my shoulder, my upturned ass in the air as I kneeled on the bed, resting my elbows on the pillows, I smiled, not at all as sure of myself as I tried to sound.

“I want you to spank me.”

Poor Paul. Now he really had that deer in headlights look, his shirt hanging from one wrist, his fly unzipped, standing there in shock.

“Spank you?”

“Yes, that’s right, I want you to spank me. I told you I wanted to try something different. Come on, it’ll be fun. Anyway, it’s an experiment.”

“I don’t know, Olivia. I mean, what if I hurt you? Are you sure about this?”

I heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Paul, get your ass up here on this bed, and spank me!”

His eyes grew even wider, if that were possible, but he finally got himself fully untangled from his shirt, kicked off his shoes and, still wearing his half-unzipped pants, climbed up onto the bed behind me. I wiggled my bare derriere at him and giggled again, although inside my heart was pounding something fierce and I could feel the heat of a blush spreading across my face and chest. I tugged on the cuffs experimentally, and yes, they held, very securely.

He put a hand on one of my butt-cheeks, and I liked that, so I wiggled again to encourage him.

“What are the handcuffs for? And when did you get those? Did you have those before?”

“I just got them, and I don’t know, it’s just an idea I had. I thought it’d be fun. Now come on, get busy!”

He lifted his hand, hovered over me with it for a moment, then sort of softly whacked me.

“Harder!”

He smacked me again, very slightly harder this time, but still very tentative.

“Did that hurt? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Paul, I’m not a baby, and you barely tapped me. It’s supposed to sting a little, isn’t it? It’s a spanking. Come on, spank me harder.”

“Can’t we just make love like normal?”

I sighed. So far, this experiment was a bust.

“Paul, please, can we just try it?”

He hit me one more time, no harder than before. Nothing. I was not aroused. I wasn’t turned on. This wasn’t working for me.

“I’m sorry, Olivia, I just don’t know. I don’t think this is right.”

He climbed off the bed and stood there, looking at me. Obviously it wasn’t working for him, either. He zipped up his fly, stepped into his shoes, and picked up his shirt.

“I don’t think I can do this, Olivia. I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.”

I stared open-mouthed at him in shock.

“Go? Now?”

“Yeah. Maybe you were right the other night at dinner. I mean about us not being right for each other. Anyway, see you around, perhaps, ok?”

And with that, he walked out of the room.

“Paul!”

I heard the front door shut behind him as he left the apartment.

“Paul, dammit!”

I rattled the cuffs. I looked over at the nightstand, at the closed top drawer. The drawer I’d gotten them from. The drawer where the key sat.

Now what the hell was I going to do?

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Second Chances

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That evening, Paul arrived, flowers in hand, scrubbed and clean. Clearly he was going the extra mile. I told you he was a nice guy.

I met him at the door to my apartment, and as we stood there in the doorway awkwardly, I had a serious moment of doubt. What was he going to think of me? Oh well, he was here now, so I had better at least let him in. Maybe I could just pour some wine and drop the whole idea, just spend a relaxing evening, watching a movie or something.

No, that wasn’t going to work. The basic problem still existed, still needed to be solved, and besides, I had dumped this guy once already. Either we tried something different or the whole exercise was pointless. Going on as we did before was not an option for me.

Well, the wine was still a good idea. I was pretty nervous.

“Hi.”

He smiled broadly. “Hi. I, um, brought you these.” He handed me the flowers. I smiled and opened the door wider, ushering him into the living room of my tiny Queen Anne apartment. I nodded over at the bottle on the dining table.

“Pour us each a glass while I get these into some water.”

I pulled a vase out of a kitchen cabinet, filled it with water, cut the ends of the stems, and put the flowers into the vase. When I turned around, Paul had gotten the cork out of the pinot noir and was just pouring the second glass.

“We should let these breathe a little first,” he said.

I picked up one of the glasses and took a healthy swig. Paul just looked at me.

“What? The rest of it will breathe. I needed that now.”

“Are you ok, Olivia?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, you just seem a little edgy.”

I took a second drink from my glass and looked him in the eye. How the hell was I supposed to do this? Well, only one way to find out if it was going to work.

“Come with me,” I said, then pointed at the bottle. “And bring that.”

Paul picked up the bottle and followed me into the bedroom. Now he was drinking from his glass, too.

“Um, Olivia? Are we even going to talk about, you know, the other night?”

I couldn’t quite meet his eye, so I just started unbuttoning my blouse. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth but no further words came out. Having sort of thought this through earlier, although whatever plan I’d had was already shot to hell, I wasn’t wearing a bra. When I got the last button undone, I hesitated a moment, though why was beyond me. I mean, it wasn’t like we hadn’t already done it. He had definitely seen me naked before. Why was I so nervous now?

Before I could back out of it, I pulled the blouse open wide and slipped it off my shoulders. Paul’s gaze was firmly on my breasts now, the wine bottle in one hand and glass in the other all but forgotten. I blushed again, the heat spreading across the tops of my breasts, up my neck and onto my face, but I don’t think he even noticed. Moving quickly, nothing especially seductive about it, I shimmied out of my skirt and tugged my panties down. I stepped out of my heels, which frankly I had only put on for greeting him — I don’t usually bother wearing shoes inside the apartment — and stood there before him, naked as the day I was born, blushing even brighter red.

He didn’t say anything. His mouth was still open, and I wasn’t sure if he was shocked or excited. He was definitely surprised. I reached for my glass again and finished it off, then took the bottle from him, refilled my glass, and set the bottle on the nightstand.

“Well?” I said. “Are you just going to stand there?”

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In Which We Meet Olivia and Say Goodbye to Paul

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“I’m sorry.  Really, it’s not you, it’s me.”

And with those classic words, I saw his face crumple into disappointment.  I hated to do it to him, but what choice did I have?

We were sitting in Pasta Bella, talking over linguine and Montepulciano, and I had decided, somewhat impulsively, that now was the time to end it.  Paul was a genuinely nice guy, in fact I rather liked him, which is why we had been dating for two months now.  But the oomph just wasn’t there for me.

“What…  but why?  I thought everything was going so well?”

My heart sank, as I saw him sink into sadness.

“Paul,” I started, marshaling my words, “I don’t mean to hurt you.  Really, I like you quite a lot, and in other circumstances…”

He wasn’t buying it, I could tell.  He sat there, crushed, looking down into his pasta, taking a gulp of his wine.

“I wish it was working better, really I do, but I just need something… different.”

“Different.  I can be different.  Different how?”

Ok, now he was getting desperate, and I don’t know about you, but desperation doesn’t do it for me.  I mean, he wasn’t doing it for me before, but it was only getting worse.

The trouble was, I really couldn’t say exactly what was wrong.  Paul really was a great guy, he was nice, he was romantic, he was attractive and intelligent, really he was everything a girl should want.  Except when we were together, I wanted… more.  Well, maybe not more, but not what he was offering.

Before Paul, it was the same with Steve, and before Steve, there was Mike.  All of them great guys — I don’t date losers, after all — but in the end something was always missing.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but even I could see the common element here.

Me.

So, I meant it when I said it wasn’t him, though clearly he didn’t believe me.  I mean, who would?  It’s such a trite line.  But really, I needed to discover what the hell was wrong with me, that I couldn’t find what I’m looking for in not just one, or two, but any man I dated.  What was I looking for?  Hell if I knew.

A dozen different thoughts flitted through my brain in the brief moment from Paul’s question as I thought of an answer I could give him, an answer I could give myself.  Was I a lesbian and just didn’t know it?  Hmm… well, no, I didn’t think so.  I mean, I find men attractive enough, no question there.  Paul, for instance…  ah, but I’m distracting myself.  Maybe my libido is just suppressed?  I’ve heard there are treatments for that, but really, if my dreams at night are anything to go by, I don’t think it’s a problem with my libido.  I mean, I can get hot.

So, what was it?  What could I tell this man, who so earnestly tried to make me feel good?

That he’s a lousy lover?  I wasn’t even sure that was true.  Yes, it’s true that our lovemaking didn’t satisfy me, but empirically I couldn’t put a finger on anything that Paul did wrong.  He was attentive, he seemed to really be into it, he tried his best to satisfy me, but somehow it just… didn’t.

It kept coming back to me.  I was the problem.