“The post office just got a lot more interesting,” said the hot guy with the blue eyes in his sexy accent. He looked at the remains of his package, shrugged to indicate that he wouldn’t be mailing it now, grabbed my ass briefly, and left with a nod.
I retrieved my package and approached the male clerk. He seemed kind of cute, but I get beer goggles after I cum. He might have been cute, and he might have looked like a goblin. Either way, my pussy was throbbing, exposed to the room air, and still dripping with a stranger’s cum.
The maybe-cute postal clerk looked around the room as if he were about to whisper a secret. He said, “I can mail that package for free if you’d like” as his eyes moved from the package to me, then to a door that led behind the counter.
I hadn’t managed to cum that second time.
“Sounds hot,” I said, approaching the door.
M
A
Y
14
WRITING THE STUFF I DO has started to serve a dual purpose, and the timing is great.
I hooked up with Sam, exclusively, at the beginning of this year. At first, while I love Sam, I’d been nervous that my intense, bottomless appetite for fresh dick and my desire to have tons of cum all over me, and inside of all of my holes would now go forever unsatisfied. Sam is super hot and amazing with his dick, and I LOVE that dick, and still want it in me all the time. But what of all the dicks I’d be missing? What of all the cum I wouldn’t catch on my face or in my mouth? What of all the guys I met who would have to go home and jerk off rather than of having the real thing and fucking Autumn Cole instead?
That had bothered me for a while, but now I realize I can have my cake and eat it too — with “having the cake” being Sam and “eating it too” referring to dream-eating all of that dick I’ve been missing.
Writing smut — and, if I could be so immodest, writing it
well
— is kind of like having a magical power that allows you to fuck all of the people you’ve ever wanted to. When I’m writing this stuff, it’s like I’m actually fucking these guys in real life. And hell, it’s even better. In the scenes I write, the guys always have great cocks that totally satisfy me. They’re never freaky enough to turn me off (not that THAT’S easy), they never have diseases I have to worry about, they’re only in relationships or married if I want them to be (and maybe those wives and girlfriends join us in threesomes), they never smell bad or have nasty back hair or anything else.
I only fuck Sam for real, but I can fuck anyone I want inside my own head, and I get to say exactly how it unfolds, and I can do it so real and so well that it’s really pretty close to being there. I’ve cum before while writing without even touching myself, and quite often I do stop to touch myself and make myself cum. That often happens several times throughout a story.
So is Autumn suffering from lack of cock now that she’s in a monogamous relationship?
Oh, far from it. I’m suddenly getting laid more, and better than ever.
M
A
Y
23
I’VE DISCOVERED THAT USING THE shower massager plus the bristly end of a toothbrush together will give me bone-crushing orgasms. Sam discovered it quite by accident while we were showering together today, but for reference, it was the pulsing setting. And the red toothbrush in the drawer, though Sam said I could also use his regular toothbrush, which for some reason I found sweet and romantic.
M
A
Y
29
TESTED THAT THING THAT PEOPLE sometimes say about cum being good for the skin. I ran across it again online and decided to find out for myself. I’m pretty scientific that way.
I didn’t have any cum handy, so I walked into the bedroom and found Sam asleep and started to milk him like a cow. He must have been having a pleasant dream because he didn’t wake up until after he actually came. He sat up, looked at me walking toward the bedroom mirror with a palmful of his jizz, then acted annoyed as if he’d been robbed. Then I stood in front of the mirror and began using my fingers to apply a facial. Literally this time.
He was all, “What the hell is going on?”
And I was like, “I just jerked you off and am going to rub your spunk onto my face to see if it makes my skin glow.”
I woke up the next morning and washed my face. No noticeable difference.
I told Sam. Sam got out his cock and suggested I try again.
J
U
N
E
1
I JUST FOUND THIS NEW podcast that I think could change my game. It’s about self publishing… exactly the stuff I’m trying to make happen with my Lexi writing. I found it on iTunes.
The episode that’s up today is about drafting and the writing process, but the one before that was all about figuring out how to use the algorithms Amazon uses to rank books. They had a guest on who’d more or less figured out how Amazon works. It’s crazy insider-type stuff, and the kinds of things I really need to be paying attention to. This writing thing, today, isn’t just about writing. I can get my jollies off by writing these fuck stories, but if I want to sell shit, I need to understand the nuts and bolts as well.
I’ll be studying it closely. These guys really seem to know what they’re doing.
J
U
N
E
21
LOL. THE NEW EPISODE OF that podcast I’ve been listening to today includes a fake call by DEAN FUCKIN’ KOONTZ. Someone called in and pretended to be a creepy Dean Koontz and said something about cutting the hosts’ nuts off with a hedge clipper.
I’m fighting through the annoying donkey laugh from one of the show’s hosts because I keep getting these great ideas. Today’s show, for instance, was about this DIY audiobook site called Podiobooks. You record your book as audio and release it for free, and that drives sales somehow. I’m skeptical, but the hosts were excited. One is recording a podiobook. The others seem to be working on one of their own.
Lots of ideas, and I’m thinking now that for me, with my smut and my sexy voice, I could really get some seri
okay later sam is eating me out sljkjdfauiituaqewuihi jdfk
J
U
N
E
28
IT’S ONLY TAKEN A FEW weeks and I’m now completely obsessed with this podcast. I’m like a groupie. I’ve gone back and listened to all of their shows already (there are only 10 as of now) and have then RE-listened to them while driving and walking around. I play them out loud in my apartment, even if Sam is her.
Sam is even a little jealous of my increasingly fanatical obsession on the hosts. It’s cute. He was like, “I suppose you want to fuck these three guys?” and I’m like, “I’m going to make them record a new intro: ‘And now here are your hosts — three guys who are currently filling all three of Autumn Cole’s holes — Johnny, Sean, and Dave!’” And when I said that, Sam, who’d just gotten out of the shower, stuck his dick in my mouth as if he were claiming it for his own.
Two of these guys (Sean and Dave, who write together) are making a full-time living writing right now. The third, Johnny (not the Johnny I know, LOL), is just really getting into fiction-writing but makes money writing on his blog. All three are pro entrepreneurs, and that’s the key — you can’t think of yourself as artist. If you want to publish and make money, you have to think of yourself as an entrepreneur and a marketer too. And that’s what I love about this show… the guys are good writers (I’ve bought and started reading their books like a good little stalker), but they don’t just talk all the time about the art. They talk about HOW TO ACTUALLY BE SUCCESSFUL AS A PUBLISHER.
Today’s show, for instance, was about how a writer needs a platform, which is a place that’s their online “home” and from where they can communicate with fans and readers. I must be a natural at this, because I’ve already got my website, and I’m already building a list of people who like what I write.
Super jazzed. Can’t obsess hard enough.
Especially on Dave. He sounds cute despite his constant self-deprecation.
J
U
L
Y
1
I’M GETTING THE HANG OF these holiday titles. They’re so stupidly awesome. I decided to publish one called “Fourth of July Sausage Swallower.”
Does it make sense? Does it need to? The point of all of this is fun, and sexy, and the intersection of fun and sexy.
The holiday titles so far have done quite well. It doesn’t matter what the holiday is. For some reason, people really do look for holiday smut titles. It’s like, “Hey, it’s St. Patrick’s Day… why don’t we paint each other green and pretend we’re horny leprechauns!” And then they seek out some sort of literature that supports that. I don’t know. Hell, I had good luck with my “Mother’s Day Fucking” title, and I thought that one might be too far out there, at least at first blush. Not that it’s about someone fucking his mom, but it’s not like people think of Mother’s Day as this big erotica holiday.
Trying to come up with an Arbor Day title. It kind of writes itself: “Got Wood on Arbor Day.” Shit like that.
Anyway, I want to do this 4
th
title, and maybe more patriotic titles, and see how they do. So far, so good. I’ve been making them free for a few days and then telling my list about them, and then they climb the charts and more people find them.
I blame Johnny, Sean, and Dave from the podcast. They’ve got me thinking like a marketer.
J
U
L
Y
4
SAM BET ME THAT I wouldn’t suck him off him right in the middle of a fireworks display. I seriously can’t believe he made that bet, because it’s such a clear loss.
So here’s what happened:
The fireworks celebration by my apartment is actually pretty big. You wouldn’t think it would be, necessarily, but everyone loves fireworks, and Veteran’s Park is like two miles from my place and puts on a helluva show. The park itself is actually pretty small, so it seems more crowded than it really is.
Anyway, there’s this open grassy area at the park where most people go to watch the display, and it turns into sitting-upright room only. Everyone brings blankets, and the blankets all pretty much touch because it’s so packed. There’s a slight hill that offers the best seats, because the hill sort of points toward the area of sky where they shoot off the fireworks. Once everyone has staked out a spot, you kind of feel like you’re sitting in bleachers, with most people upright because there’s just not enough room.
So we’re in there like fans at a baseball game, and I’m saying that fireworks make me horny and Sam is saying that EVERYTHING makes me horny, and then I make some crack about how later that night, I’ll have his firework exploding. In my mouth. And that’s when he says it.
He’s like, “Well, then hopefully this will end soon, because you’re sure not doing it in this crowd.”
I thought he might be objecting from his standpoint. So I said, “You don’t want me to blow you in front of all of these people.”
And he laughs.
“Or do you think I wouldn’t do it?”
Then he laughs again, but this time he’s also sort of of blushing. Sam has this look that essentially says that he knows I’m about to do something that will embarrass him, and he’s hoping against hope that it won’t happen.
“Autumn…”
“Because I’d totally do it,” I said.
“Autumn, don’t…”
“Sorry,” I corrected. “I mean, I
will
do it.”
It was already kind of dark, but not nearly dark enough to get away with a public hummer. We were n the middle of this packed area, too, with no aisles. The fireworks were like minutes from starting. It was perfect. It meant that it was too late for Sam to run away from me, and no way for him to do it without stepping on and pissing off like a hundred rednecks.
I put my hand on his pants and he squirmed away, looking around. It was cute how bothered he was. But I didn’t have a choice. He’d challenged my slut abilities. I’m not just some garden variety sex maniac. I’m a world-class cocksucking cum slut, dammit, and Sam had dared to doubt it. I had a reputation to uphold, even if only to myself.
He looked at me all serious and said, “Don’t. Please don’t.”
My hand went inside his pants. All of the rednecks were looking at the sky waiting for more test rockets. Sam was totally hard. That’s what’s cutest about this. He always protests from the waist up, but his dick is a total rebel. I could feel it talking to me by throbbing in Morse code. It was telling me that it had something it wanted to say, but that it didn’t want to yell it over the noise. It wanted to whisper it in my mouth.
Sam pulled my hand out and looked at the people on either side of us. They were literally within arm’s reach. The couple below and above us couldn’t see anything because they were either looking forward or at our backs, but it would literally have taken an eighth of a turn for this dude in a Dale Earnhardt “8” hat or the woman with the Ted Nugent shirt to see exactly what I was up to. Fortunately, I didn’t care. This was probably how half of the people at the fireworks display had been conceived: in a crowd with rednecks milling about.