Charlie J Forrest

Writing gives people choices. It gives people the option to edit their writing and, to some extent, the version of themselves that they present to the world. Rough edges can be smoothed, unflattering moments repainted in a sympathetic light.

Which makes the honesty and vulnerability people express all the more remarkable.

One thing that struck me after Eroticon was the number of tweets and blog posts where attendees described moments of tension, awkwardness, even fear of some of the social situations they encountered or feared they’d encounter.

Personally I only had one real moment of feeling out of place, disconnected and generally bad; which compared to some previous emotional rollercoasters was pretty good. But at the time I felt like I was a melodramatic teen all over again; it didn’t occur to me that lots of the other people around me were wrestling with their own brain weasels.

I guess what I’m saying is stupid-brain is stupid; and you’re likely never as alone as you might feel.

Intellectual heavyweight Remittance Girl gave a session on writing long-form fiction at this year’s Eroticon. One of the techniques she discussed was the snowflake method, where one begins by writing the short story, and builds out from there to create a longer piece. With that in mind, here’s a little ice-crystal I’m working on:

“What are we to think about witches who shut up penises in what are sometimes prolific numbers, 20 or 30 at a single time, in a bird’s nest or some kind of box, where they move about in order to eat oats and fodder, as though they were alive?”

Malleus Maleficarum (1487)

The wind blew dark and loud through the trees, scraping at window panes and chasing foolish wanderers home.

She stood at the threshold, sucking in the cool night air and wondered, would he be alone in his chambers yet? A grin twitched her cheek at the thought he might not.

She unfastened her hair, letting it fall about her shoulders and shrugged off her shirt, stepping out into the garden clad for the sky. The earth was hard beneath her feet but her skin didn’t dimple, nor her muscles tremble, except with excitement.

It was only a short walk to the hutch, at the end of the garden, behind the chicken coop and half hidden by an unruly hazel. She sang as she came near, half-words and coos. The hutch was small, the hinges stiff and wood buckling from too many winters, but she kept it well filled with fresh strawberries.

“Come now sleepy one,” she whispered, drawing back the bolt and opening letting the little door fall open. Something rustled, the straw shifting like a slumbering breast. She reached in with a hand, gently probing the straw until something warm and soft brushed her fingertips.

“Come now little one,” she said. Her fingers slid around the cock, gently pulling it out into the moonlight. It was already stiffening at the touch of her hand, or perhaps at the chill night breeze.

“It’s ok,” she said, stroking her palms over its skin, alternately basking each inch of flesh with the warmth of her hands. It responded in kind, swelling, growing hot in her grasp.

She closed her eyes, imagining the look on his face, perhaps reaching futilely between his legs, perhaps laying back in quiet obedience and hope, fists clenching as she continued stroking her pet.

Eventually, she felt the quivers drawing close, the cock trembling, pulsing and finally filling her palm with fresh hot seed.

She carefully gathered the liquid in a glass phial, then lay the shrinking cock back among the straw. It squirmed a little, but she tossed a handful of oats in too and soon it was contentedly rumaging about in the depths of the hut.

She closed the door and turned to go, pausing only to blow a kiss in the direction of the hall across the valley.

“The weight of memory bears me down,
I’d swap it for a woodland crown,
and live in an eternal now”

They lie to us you know, the standard narratives. The myriad of stories that urge us to never look back, that say that the past is complicated and difficult and doomed to confusion and bitterness.

They don’t tell you of the joy it can bring, of the simplicity and connection hindsight and experience can offer. That doesn’t make for conflict, that doesn’t make for good story telling. So this is one of those stories you won’t hear, the kind where people realise that what united the was always stronger than what divided them. That sometimes reconnecting just flows, and people are every bit as wonderful as you remember; and you can get lost in the now.

Because fuck their stories; this is ours.

Thanks to the wonderful Wriggly Kitty; you are more amazing than you realise! Their take on this scene can be found here.

Thank you also to Monika, We both felt so incredibly safe sharing this space with you and your photos have just lit me up inside, thank you 🙂

So, instead of ten things I’m taking away from Eroticon 2018 I thought I’d share the three most important things I’ve learned, as a person, between my first Eroticon back in 2014 and now.

1) It’s a microcosm, not a utopia

Ok this refers more to the kink (and other) communities, but is still pretty important. Communities aren’t perfect. There will be lots of amazing supportive inspirational lovely people. There will also be arseholes and occasional abusers. Bearing this in mind it also means that the community doesn’t crumble into nothing just because of one arsehole.

2) If “no” isn’t an ok answer to hear, then you shouldn’t be asking the question.

I find that this is a really good acid test for whether a question I want to ask is coming from a healthy head-space. There’s a fuck-tonne of social conditioning that basically says saying no to a man comes with potentially violent consequences. This doesn’t solve that, but hopefully it can at least not exacerbate it.

3) The world doesn’t owe you shit!

This one very much aimed at cis-het-male folks like myself. And to clarify I don’t mean this in some libertarian pull yourself up by your bootstraps sense.

But when it comes to interacting with other people, this is pretty much the starting point, the core understanding on which everything else is built. Really internalising that you are not owed anything is, in my view, more or less a pre requisite for seeing others as equally valid human beings.

There’s a whole Buddhist tangent from this about letting go of desire but that’s a bit too big for this post…

Also desire is sexy as fuck…

Pre scene negotiation can be interesting. It can be tricky, emotionally challenging and tedious, but it can also be really really hot. It’s like flirting, only more structured and with a real feeling of, oh my goodness, yes this thing is actually going to happen, yippee!

Figuring things out with three people is, well, even more complicated. I’ll admit I generally sit at the slightly more tedious end of the spectrum when it comes to scene negotiation (yes I have a spreadsheet, what of it?) But I really feel that situations with more than two people really do warrant more than a pure seat of the pants approach. Not least because it can avoid situations like:

• One person not realising that a threesome is afoot and sitting awkwardly in a corner playing with their phone and wondering if they should quietly slip out.
• Unexpected interruptions. Surprise impact play might not be great when you’re in the middle of a technical tie.
• Confusion over who’s giving aftercare to whom. Nobody wants to feel cheated of cuddles, or be pushed into giving or receiving cuddles they don’t want.

Not that any of this need actually take much time. And yes there are countless instances where going with the flow, keeping eyes and ears peeled for nonverbal cues and leaving your ego at the door are all that’s needed to have a great time. But I’d argue that a brutally blunt conversation about limits, wants and expectations greatly improves the odds of avoiding accidental heartache.

I can be my own worst enemy sometimes.

I thought that I’d forgotten. I had gone for maybe a year without regular practice, those few times that I did pull the ropes out the results were… mixed. Maybe it was self recrimination, putting pressure on myself for the rope that I should be doing, making up for all the lost opportunities.

Then, recently, I had a play date and it was different. Someone I knew well enough to be shoddy and out of practice with. Also I guess I’d gone beyond a point of no return in my head, where I’d stopped thinking about other people and where I could be if I was practicing regularly. Instead it was just me, and them, a warm room, an indifferent cat and no pressure.

And it was brilliant. My hands just did things. Ties I thought I’d stumble through just flew from my fingers, made themselves. And what’s even better, I didn’t just remember the full ins and outs of the ties, I remembered the feeling. The ways to move someone, shifting from wrestling to caressing and back again.

I didn’t have a plan but I didn’t need one. The things I thought I’d lost were here all along, and now I’m starting to realise how wrong I was in thinking they would leave so easily

Yawns

Vows to come out of hermit cave

Dusts off blog

Name (and Twitter if you have one)?

Charlie Forrest (@Cjforrestauthor)

What are you most looking forward to about Eroticon 2018?

I feel like saying quiet dread is the wrong answer. I’ve barely written anything in the last year, so I guess the sheer buzz and creative energy that the conference brings. I always leave Eroticon with more ideas and projects than I know what to do with.

We are creating a play list of songs for the Friday Night Meet and Greet. Nominate one song that you would like us to add to the play list and tell us why you picked that song

I want to say basically anything by the Scissor Sisters, but if pressed to narrow it down it’d have to be Take Your Momma Out… It really hits the feeling of all the good times Eroticon has created.

What’s the first career you dreamed of having as a kid?

A vet. Or, more specifically, a Space Vet!

Weirdest place you’ve ever gotten up to mischief (define ‘mischief’ however you like…)

The top of a lighthouse. Ply me with drink and I’ll give the full story (possibly involving piracy)

Tell us two truths and a lie about yourself

That’s not a question, but anyway:

– Have joined multiple cults in my lifetime.

– The worst injury I ever received was from meditating.

– Played the saxophone on Baker Street.

Complete the sentence: I want..

To be able to cry in front of other people more… Because fuck societal norms on men expressing emotion.

Some things are not finite, zero-sum equations. Love, compassion, creativity are all things that can come in abundance. Others, like money, time, physical (and sometimes emotional) energy can be trickier.

Folks close to me probably know I’ve been through a tough month or two ( nothing too major, but a house move, work stuff and a touch of depression) and this has had an impact on my time, energy and money availability. Something had to give and, right now, I think the best option is to skip the Berlin Porn Film Festival.

It sucks to not be going. Last year was my first experience of the festival and I came home buzzing with ideas and creative energy. Hell, it pushed me to start making my own films and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get one ready to submit and feed back into this gorgeous creative melting pot of sexuality.

But I plan to be there next year, and at the London festival before then.

In the meantime, as a sort of apology I’m planning on releasing a trailer for the film I shot with Fauni Cate this summer… Just as soon as I get the darn thing edited.