“…At Least, That is What I am Told by my Advisors….”

…at least, That is What I am Told By My Advisors….

Speculation is a fine thing, and there are some among us who are blessed with the ability to carry that gift to the level of Prophesy. As a rule, however, writers are more commonly blessed by experience.

A writer should have knowledge of the subject on which she writes. This sometimes finds the author placing herself in jeopardy in order to fully understand her subject. Whether it be cock-fighting, motorcycle riding, smuggling, anal sex, bank robbery, prostitution, religion, or any other number of dangerous, illegal or unsavory practices, as a culture we crave the excitement of experience of the heretofore unknown.

Part of that jeopardy arises out of Public Opinion. Once a writer becomes associated with outlaws, whenever she writes, her readers are at least inclined to perceive her words as being those of an outlaw. If she writes about drugs and drug use and experimentation, or alcohol abuse, she runs the risk of being forever cast as an addict of some sort.

Writers have the potential to become the daredevils of a passive, consuming citizen society. If a writer really does her job properly, her readers can safely and legally come to know certain experiences normally beyond the purview or ken of responsible, respectable, law-abiding citizens who ascribe to the social mores and customs of their respective tribes.

Our readers live vicariously through us, which has the potential to encourage us to live dangerously….

Kink, of course can forever remain the ultimate brand that a writer can choose to allow to be burned into her hide. It may be a beautiful, artfully rendered scar left by an even more beautifully ornate iron heated to just the right temperature…it can be surrounded by a tattoo so divinely inspired it could make Da Vinci weep, but the mark in the readers’ minds is far more indelible.

It may not be fair, but it is certainly the way of the world, and writers should be at the very least very, VERY worldly….

I believe that a writer needs to keep an air of mystery about herself at all times…and this requires some scrupulous isolation to some extent. In general, the public does not want to separate where the Art ends and the Artist begins. It can be argued that…they became what they beheld…and that all of us are forever changed by the experiences we share either as writers or as readers, participants or viewers. Some writers need more protection from typecasting than others.

You can ride with an outlaw motorcycle gang, or a rock band, or work as a non-participating employee in the Sex Entertainment industry or find other ways to associate with real expert-participants from any genre or walk/way of life to gain knowledge and experience without having to join the Club or the Union…of course, if that is your desire, or you can almost always choose selectively in which experiences to participate, but still secret yourself behind the guise of “counsel from your Advisors”.

I have numerous friends who are bikers, addicts, prostitutes, actors and actresses (of every ilk), doctors, nurses, medics, policemen and women, (detectives and “Dickless Tracies” alike), religious zealots, rouge scientists, rainmakers, impostors, perverts, persuaders, telemarketers, and carnival clowns of every stripe…(many of whom do not get along well with each other, by the way…) but it sure does keep life interesting…and I love the tattoos. I have been given the gift of safe passage among all of them, and they allow me to do the occasional “walk-through” if I am only willing to pay the temporary dues, that permit me to know the Life without having to Live the Life as if it was my only life.

If I should decide to do a striptease for you, at least at first, I should prefer the luxury of a dressing screen, a few fans, some feathers, a balloon or two, a mink stole, some scarfs, a string of pearls and other distractions and barricades behind which I can move and operate freely and with impunity until…(I make you think I’ve shown you what you think you came to see). The more mystery, subterfuge, and foreplay, the better, n’est-ce pas?

“My Advisors” allow me the luxury of that kind of costuming or props to give the Dance the mystery it craves, as well as the protection I need to write with impunity.

I hope you enjoy the Enigma.

“…And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming….”

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