TrulyFictitious
Virgin
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2020
- Posts
- 15
This is a long setup for a question (1624 words AFTER this paragraph). So some may just want to scroll down to the last two paragraphs. They ask which -- if any -- of 10 story subjects offered readers might be interested in. Scores mean nothing to me, the number of readers who don’t regret the time they spent reading my words do. This is exactly the same question posted in "Story Ideas" because I didn't know if both columns have the same readership.
I grew up on a small island in the Caribbean, a part of a small country that didn't understand it was a small country. It tried to emulate the United States, Great Britain, France, Spain, and the Soviet Union. How small? Well, when I was growing up the entire country had eight primary (elementary) schools, four secondary (combination junior high and senior high) schools. They were single-gender institutions. Girls such as I attended one, and boys another. There were an open-enrollment college and a technical school that they called a “trades college”.
How old am I? Well, my children are old enough to log on here without breaking the site's rules, and I have a couple of small grandkids, but I'm not old enough to retire quite yet. Even when I am old enough I probably won’t.
My parents sought a better life for me and sent me to a “real” university in Canada. There I met a much older woman who taught me a commercially viable, and quite adaptable trade that I have loved every moment of working for more than 20 years. She was very straightforward and honest with her offer to me. She found me to be physically attractive and the trade-off for this education was sex. It turned out to be much more than that, it was a second equally usable graduate-level education in love and relationships.
She was a pale almost porcelain white woman of Irish extraction. My heritage is much like that of the island I come from. The first people to settle here were Arawak Indians who were sighted by Christopher Columbus. But he didn't drop anchor, and it took another 80 years for a Frenchman to explore the island. Then, making up for lost time, the French, British, and Spanish fought over the island for the next 200 years. Each administered it for a time before the British ended up coming out on top. But the culture on the island is not primarily English.
The original European settlers brought with them slaves from Senegal. They planted tobacco and cotton but soon found sugar to be more economically viable. Because of the constant wars, the black population of the island was recruited as a militia and were armed. Then they were treated more like medieval serfs, peasants belonging to the plantation, as opposed to slaves on say on Guadeloupe or Martinique. The vast majority of the people on the island are of mixed South American Indian, African and European heritage although to outsiders we appear mostly black.
I have published stories in the past. My "new" nom de plume comes from the fact my original story was rejected for being “true”, but I can’t write about being a Klingon who grew on Starbase 12 and frequently visited Risa. I always seem to trip over some sort of unwritten rule. I find the stories I write to be erotic and suitable for publication here since they are based in the kind of human sexuality that is normal to me. Meaning that it's a normal human emotion, something to be shared freely between adults. I see absolutely no shame in sex.
Growing up on a small island everybody is pretty much related in some way to everybody else. The societal rules I grew up with said that nudity was no big deal, everybody was available as a sexual partner other than full-blooded siblings by one’s mother, your own children, and your parents. So, I trip over the definition of what is taboo. Most of my childhood friends who have remained on the island have entered into sexual relationships with their cousins.
I say relationships because rather perversely the record-keeping requirements of various churches that never really got a decent foothold there prevented the institution of marriage from ever being universally adopted. Historically there was a cultural duality, the house, and the garden was the realm of women. The boats and fishing was the realm of men. The two came together for big festivals and had fun with one another. Resultant offspring remained with their mothers until puberty, at which time the boys became fishermen like their fathers.
The European masters of the island brought people from Senegal and later the Gambia to work the plantations, originally as slaves. But the first French governor who faced a British warship armed and trained the men as a militia and retained the small fishing boats as pickets. This together with the fact that most of the French were adherents to or familiar with Catharism, being from the area around Béziers and Carcassonne, led to a melding of traditions.
The Europeans were few in number and maintained control by allowing the South American Indians and Africans varying degrees of authority and autonomy in return for fealty and service. In time nature took its course and the larger African population assimilated first the Indian population as the plantations grew and then the Europeans. Persistent changes in administration and rivalries between religious orders resulting in a fractured message being disseminated. One that never really was adopted. (Yeah, my stories get dinked for this interpretation of religion too.)
Politics is another significant place where my stories get hung up. It's hard to separate my life and my stories from the politics of the place I grew up in, the post-colonial Caribbean, the global tension, ostpolitik and the west, part of which took place there. I love all of the people of the island I grew up on. But in some ways, they are just such ignorant children. They think the country can survive economically with half of its population between 20 and 40 employed by the government. Note I said employed, I didn't say working.
Because working implies that they are doing something somewhat useful. It’s a tiny Caribbean island and there are government offices that are in charge of Antarctic exploration, Lunar exploration; making sure that languages in Wales, Mongolia, the Andes, Alaska, and Micronesia don't become extinct; there are no nuclear reactors, but there is an office in charge of them. Jobs that were created for cronies with the purpose of providing employment opportunities while the people who actually perform useful services are taxed heavily to pay for such an enlightened society.
One of my lovers grew up in Oriente -- the eastern third of Cuba -- she grew up in a cash-free economic and political system that had everybody living as perpetual undergraduate students. Given dorm assignments and told where they were told where to go when to go there. Given meal cards -- but no choice in what the menu was --. She graduated from the equivalent of high school and was sent to Africa to serve as a nurse in a free clinic. While she was away the Soviet Union collapsed and she came back to the starving times.
My red-haired porcelain skin befreckled Irish lover set me up on an interview with a couple of guys who ran the transportation department of a big Canadian mining operation. I have worked for them my entire adult life. First in Quebec until the mines shut down, and then on Hispaniola, in Cuba, Jamaica, and a couple of places in South America. I've loved each of these places that I've lived in. And I adore the people although I believe them -- and all of us -- to be clinically insane.
I'm not religious, but somebody told me that King David said that we are all dust and will return to dust so in the end it really doesn't matter. I guess that’s much like my interpretation of the French existential philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre. That there is no external meaning to anything, only the meaning that you put into something. I've put a lot of meaning into my education, my career, and my many lovers, and I have found the necessary precautions that we have taken since March of 2020 to be extremely hard on my worldview.
Don't get me wrong I know I’m not bad off. I love my lovers, and I love being quarantined with these people whom I truly care about. But I've also always enjoyed the external stimulation of other people and places, enjoying local foods and customs. Due to the “contactless service” that we are currently providing, that just isn’t possible anymore. So I thought about writing about a few previous experiences. I've had little success so far, my stories have been well-received but always end up being taken down.
I was given some advice in that regard here. That I should write short single-topic stories based upon a single sexual act or theme and take it easy on the travelogue and geopolitics. I figured I’d give it a go if I could write something unique. So, to that end here is an outline of potential topics. I thought I would throw them out and see if anybody had any interest in reading short stories about any of them.
1. The historical sexual practices of my home, a small Caribbean island.
2. Growing up in the post-colonialism Caribbean with referendums being ordered and then ignored and being occupied by heavily armed but very friendly young Englishmen.
3. Surviving the governance of ideologues without practical experience in anything.
4. Life on the island with completely clueless school teachers in charge of the government.
5. College in Canada and my pale Irish lover.
6. Traveling to remote mining camps in Quebec, learning about the historical sexual practices of the Inuit, and legalized kidnapping (aka Arctic Relocation).
7. Living in the Dominican Republic (which might well have become a US State).
8. Jamaica
9. The starving times in Cuba, finding a lover, not that I was looking for one, and the changes she has brought about
10. Guyana and Suriname
I grew up on a small island in the Caribbean, a part of a small country that didn't understand it was a small country. It tried to emulate the United States, Great Britain, France, Spain, and the Soviet Union. How small? Well, when I was growing up the entire country had eight primary (elementary) schools, four secondary (combination junior high and senior high) schools. They were single-gender institutions. Girls such as I attended one, and boys another. There were an open-enrollment college and a technical school that they called a “trades college”.
How old am I? Well, my children are old enough to log on here without breaking the site's rules, and I have a couple of small grandkids, but I'm not old enough to retire quite yet. Even when I am old enough I probably won’t.
My parents sought a better life for me and sent me to a “real” university in Canada. There I met a much older woman who taught me a commercially viable, and quite adaptable trade that I have loved every moment of working for more than 20 years. She was very straightforward and honest with her offer to me. She found me to be physically attractive and the trade-off for this education was sex. It turned out to be much more than that, it was a second equally usable graduate-level education in love and relationships.
She was a pale almost porcelain white woman of Irish extraction. My heritage is much like that of the island I come from. The first people to settle here were Arawak Indians who were sighted by Christopher Columbus. But he didn't drop anchor, and it took another 80 years for a Frenchman to explore the island. Then, making up for lost time, the French, British, and Spanish fought over the island for the next 200 years. Each administered it for a time before the British ended up coming out on top. But the culture on the island is not primarily English.
The original European settlers brought with them slaves from Senegal. They planted tobacco and cotton but soon found sugar to be more economically viable. Because of the constant wars, the black population of the island was recruited as a militia and were armed. Then they were treated more like medieval serfs, peasants belonging to the plantation, as opposed to slaves on say on Guadeloupe or Martinique. The vast majority of the people on the island are of mixed South American Indian, African and European heritage although to outsiders we appear mostly black.
I have published stories in the past. My "new" nom de plume comes from the fact my original story was rejected for being “true”, but I can’t write about being a Klingon who grew on Starbase 12 and frequently visited Risa. I always seem to trip over some sort of unwritten rule. I find the stories I write to be erotic and suitable for publication here since they are based in the kind of human sexuality that is normal to me. Meaning that it's a normal human emotion, something to be shared freely between adults. I see absolutely no shame in sex.
Growing up on a small island everybody is pretty much related in some way to everybody else. The societal rules I grew up with said that nudity was no big deal, everybody was available as a sexual partner other than full-blooded siblings by one’s mother, your own children, and your parents. So, I trip over the definition of what is taboo. Most of my childhood friends who have remained on the island have entered into sexual relationships with their cousins.
I say relationships because rather perversely the record-keeping requirements of various churches that never really got a decent foothold there prevented the institution of marriage from ever being universally adopted. Historically there was a cultural duality, the house, and the garden was the realm of women. The boats and fishing was the realm of men. The two came together for big festivals and had fun with one another. Resultant offspring remained with their mothers until puberty, at which time the boys became fishermen like their fathers.
The European masters of the island brought people from Senegal and later the Gambia to work the plantations, originally as slaves. But the first French governor who faced a British warship armed and trained the men as a militia and retained the small fishing boats as pickets. This together with the fact that most of the French were adherents to or familiar with Catharism, being from the area around Béziers and Carcassonne, led to a melding of traditions.
The Europeans were few in number and maintained control by allowing the South American Indians and Africans varying degrees of authority and autonomy in return for fealty and service. In time nature took its course and the larger African population assimilated first the Indian population as the plantations grew and then the Europeans. Persistent changes in administration and rivalries between religious orders resulting in a fractured message being disseminated. One that never really was adopted. (Yeah, my stories get dinked for this interpretation of religion too.)
Politics is another significant place where my stories get hung up. It's hard to separate my life and my stories from the politics of the place I grew up in, the post-colonial Caribbean, the global tension, ostpolitik and the west, part of which took place there. I love all of the people of the island I grew up on. But in some ways, they are just such ignorant children. They think the country can survive economically with half of its population between 20 and 40 employed by the government. Note I said employed, I didn't say working.
Because working implies that they are doing something somewhat useful. It’s a tiny Caribbean island and there are government offices that are in charge of Antarctic exploration, Lunar exploration; making sure that languages in Wales, Mongolia, the Andes, Alaska, and Micronesia don't become extinct; there are no nuclear reactors, but there is an office in charge of them. Jobs that were created for cronies with the purpose of providing employment opportunities while the people who actually perform useful services are taxed heavily to pay for such an enlightened society.
One of my lovers grew up in Oriente -- the eastern third of Cuba -- she grew up in a cash-free economic and political system that had everybody living as perpetual undergraduate students. Given dorm assignments and told where they were told where to go when to go there. Given meal cards -- but no choice in what the menu was --. She graduated from the equivalent of high school and was sent to Africa to serve as a nurse in a free clinic. While she was away the Soviet Union collapsed and she came back to the starving times.
My red-haired porcelain skin befreckled Irish lover set me up on an interview with a couple of guys who ran the transportation department of a big Canadian mining operation. I have worked for them my entire adult life. First in Quebec until the mines shut down, and then on Hispaniola, in Cuba, Jamaica, and a couple of places in South America. I've loved each of these places that I've lived in. And I adore the people although I believe them -- and all of us -- to be clinically insane.
I'm not religious, but somebody told me that King David said that we are all dust and will return to dust so in the end it really doesn't matter. I guess that’s much like my interpretation of the French existential philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre. That there is no external meaning to anything, only the meaning that you put into something. I've put a lot of meaning into my education, my career, and my many lovers, and I have found the necessary precautions that we have taken since March of 2020 to be extremely hard on my worldview.
Don't get me wrong I know I’m not bad off. I love my lovers, and I love being quarantined with these people whom I truly care about. But I've also always enjoyed the external stimulation of other people and places, enjoying local foods and customs. Due to the “contactless service” that we are currently providing, that just isn’t possible anymore. So I thought about writing about a few previous experiences. I've had little success so far, my stories have been well-received but always end up being taken down.
I was given some advice in that regard here. That I should write short single-topic stories based upon a single sexual act or theme and take it easy on the travelogue and geopolitics. I figured I’d give it a go if I could write something unique. So, to that end here is an outline of potential topics. I thought I would throw them out and see if anybody had any interest in reading short stories about any of them.
1. The historical sexual practices of my home, a small Caribbean island.
2. Growing up in the post-colonialism Caribbean with referendums being ordered and then ignored and being occupied by heavily armed but very friendly young Englishmen.
3. Surviving the governance of ideologues without practical experience in anything.
4. Life on the island with completely clueless school teachers in charge of the government.
5. College in Canada and my pale Irish lover.
6. Traveling to remote mining camps in Quebec, learning about the historical sexual practices of the Inuit, and legalized kidnapping (aka Arctic Relocation).
7. Living in the Dominican Republic (which might well have become a US State).
8. Jamaica
9. The starving times in Cuba, finding a lover, not that I was looking for one, and the changes she has brought about
10. Guyana and Suriname
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