How To Be 'Chunks'bychunks©
The fact that you're seeing these words means that I can count you as one of my readers, so let me take this opportunity to say, "Thank You." We writers write because we have to, because the story ideas bounce around in our heads until they begin to coalesce and the characters start talking to each other and finally we've got to get them out of our heads and onto paper. Well, virtual paper. You know what I mean. In any case, we write because we have to but our pay is your readership, your comments, and your feedback emails. So thanks for reading.
Because you're one of my readers, I wanted to talk with you very briefly and let you know a little about me and where my ideas come from. Or rather, where my characters have come from. You see, there's a little bit of me spread amongst all of them. I don't know whether all writers do characterization this way, but I do. I'll have to be a little careful not to give away so much that people who've known me will be able to read this and figure out that Chunks is me. Except for my ex-wife, of course, who already knows. (If you're reading this, give me a call, Sweetie. It's been a while.) Anyway, some of my characters' backgrounds and preferences are made up out of thin air, but part of it is pure Chunks, just for flavor.
Speaking of which, you may wonder why in the hell I picked "Chunks" as my penname. I wonder that myself. Years ago I was addicted to a multi-person shooter game called "Descent" in which you piloted a little one-person spaceship through mines on distant planets. When you played by yourself you had to kill robots (or they would kill you) but the real fun was when you played against other players and killed each other. I worked in an IT group and occasionally after work we would buy beer and pizza and play Descent and kill each other for hours, and I would be lost in that virtual world until we decided it was time to quit and I'd snap out of the spell, return to my cubicle in the real world, and suddenly realize that I had to pee really badly. (If you're a gamer, you may be familiar with this phenomenon.) When I left that company I started playing against strangers who came together with the help of a multi-player Web site, and I needed an online player ID. Every word I could think of had already been taken. Frustrated, I decided to pick something stupid and "Chunks" was my first try that worked. Years later when I needed a Literotica ID, I typed "Chunks" without really thinking about it. In retrospect I should have chosen something sexier, or at least sexual, but for better or worse I'm Chunks.
You might also be wondering why I write about incest. If you're guessing that it's because I experienced it, "Ding ding ding!" You're right. I grew up an only child. When I was first experiencing hormones and erections I did what every boy probably does at that stage: I masturbated as much as I could. I woke up hard most mornings and masturbated. At that time my dad had a job that he had to leave the house at 5:30 AM for, so it was up to my mother to make sure I was awake and got to my bus stop on time. The first time she caught me masturbating in the morning was so many years ago, but it's still clear as a bell in my mind: my hand froze on my cock and I wasn't sure whether I was going to be in trouble or not. She was pretty nonchalant about it. She sat on the bed and said something like, "Keep going and finish up, you can't be late for the bus." So I started stroking again and she sat there and watched me until I came and spurted all over my tummy. She went and got Kleenex and put the box next to me and said, "Next time get these first." And the rest of the morning went as usual: I showered and dressed, she made me breakfast, we didn't talk about what had happened, and I walked to the bus stop.
But from that point on, she seemed to make it a point to catch me masturbating. More often than not if I started stroking, she would walk into my room. It was like she had jerk-off radar. For a long time all she would do is sit and watch. She seemed fascinated to have a second sexual man in the house. One morning, though, she came in with a bottle of lotion and introduced me to the concept of lube by coating my cock with it and then stroking me to completion. Between the lube and having someone else touching me, the orgasm felt fantastic. From that point forward I stopped masturbating myself in the mornings. Instead, mom would come in with the lotion, wake me up if she had to, and give me a hand job. If I was soft, she would play with me until I was hard, then she'd make me cum. She was always clothed when this happened. We never had actual sex, and I never tried to touch her. We didn't even kiss. She just seemed to see it as her job to make me cum every morning for, I think, over two years. I had the sense that what she was doing was wrong, but I sure wasn't going to push back on it.
Anyway, this is what fuels my obsession with incest. The scenario formed the basis of "Making Out With Mom" although, as I've told you, in real life it didn't go anywhere near that far.
Another major trait of mine that works its way into my stories is that I'm a household nudist. Nudity is a good tool to use when you're trying to make sex happen between your characters, and I have a lot of experience with how that can happen. When I was a kid in the 70's my family lived in a housing tract in suburbia. On the other side of our backyard cinderblock wall was the backyard of a family of Swedish descent, including two girls that I went to middle school with (although it was called junior high school in those days). Those girls would sunbathe nude and I spied on them through holes in the single row of decorative bricks embedded in the wall. (My dad spied on them, too, which pissed my mother off no small amount.) One day I got up the courage to ask the younger one why she did it and she said because it felt good, because it meant no tan lines, and because it was good for the soul -- very freeing. She told me that I should try it. So I did. And she was right. I became a closet backyard nudist, tanning when my parents weren't home. After my mother and I became intimate, I felt free to tan naked when she was home and my dad was gone. And when I was 15, nude sunbathing led to me losing my virginity (which I'll talk about later). Forty some years later, when I'm home I'm likely wandering around in the nude. I'm naked now as I'm writing this. My girlfriend doesn't have a problem with it, at least when her daughter isn't visiting. I still tan naked by the pool and occasionally at a local nude beach. Luckily, I've got good skin for it and have never had problems with skin cancer. Some of my best story ideas have come as I lay on a lounger, sweating in the sun. Note: if you're going to try this, make sure you first check with any neighbors who can see into your backyard. Years ago at a different house I had made certain that my neighbors either couldn't see or wouldn't care, but after a while one of the houses changed ownership without my knowledge. The new owners were not amused by a nude man in the next yard and called the police, who were actually very cool and just suggested a couple of ways for me not to be seen from that particular house.
So now you know about two big parts of my life that fuel my stories. With that basic understanding, let me now tell you about how some of my own experiences and characteristics become those of my characters. Let's start with the first story I ever wrote, "Mary." The story begins on Interstate 80 in Wyoming which is part of a drive that I've made several times to visit family. My characters stay overnight in Rock Springs, which is where I usually spent the night as well. The protagonist and the young girl must stay in the same hotel room, which happened to me, my ex-wife, and her twin sister. The next morning the man wakes up dreaming of being naked on a secluded beach in Mexico with his daughter, who usually kept her suit on but in the dream was also nude. That comes from my several family vacations to the Mayan Riviera in Mexico, where every reasonably secluded beach can become a nude beach. My daughter was willing to go to the beach with me knowing I would be naked, but was never quite willing to take off her own suit. I think that's it for that story.
Let's do "Beth's Mom." Brad is a teenager who's working in the oilfields in Southern California. That was me, back in the day: an 18-year-old "roustabout" which is a code word meaning "He who has to do the shittiest, most backbreaking jobs that more senior workers wish to avoid." Brad is living with his girlfriend's mother Mrs. Arnold while his girlfriend is away at college, and gets caught sunbathing nude when Mrs. Arnold comes home from the gym. This never happened in real life, but was inspired by what happened one night after a summer Santa Maria barbeque at the oilfields. Driving home I realized I was too drunk to be on the road, so I stopped at the house of an ex-girlfriend to get sober before continuing home. The house actually belonged to my ex's older sister and brother-in-law and only the sister was home that evening. She was very accommodating, making coffee and chatting with me. At a certain point I asked her if I could go swimming and she said of course, and said she'd try to find me a suit of her husband's that would fit. I asked her if I could just go skinny-dipping and once again she said, "Of course." I went outside and got naked and she turned on all the backyard lights, which my ego told me was because she wanted to see me naked for the first time. Later, she told me that that was just a side benefit, and that she had turned on the lights because I was drunk and she wanted to watch to make sure that I didn't drown. In any case, I splashed around for a while and got out and she brought me a towel and I dried off and put the towel on a lounger and laid down and immediately passed out. When I woke up my ex-girlfriend, her sister, and her sister's young daughter were all sitting in patio chairs looking at me. My ex-girlfriend and I had only begun the process of being intimate when we broke up, and she had never seen me nude. Certainly her sister and her young niece hadn't. I covered up quickly and they started laughing at me. It was perhaps the most (and maybe the only) embarrassing time I've had being caught naked. But I was able to laugh it off with them and life went on, and eventually the memory of that one little incident became the basis for an entire short story.
Knowing what you now know about me, "I Won't Look" is a no-brainer. Everywhere I've lived I've had to ask my neighbors (and at one point when I lived in a studio beach apartment, my landlord's wife) if it was okay for me to tan in the nude. It's amazing how many people are okay with this, including the woman in the only house with a view of the backyard where I'm living now. In fact, her second-story master bedroom has a sliding glass door and a balcony, and she's been out there having conversations with me a couple of times while I tanned. When I first asked her I told her that I was worried about her kids seeing me, but she said they never go out on that balcony. Of course, it wasn't long before her teenaged daughter wandered out and caught me. They've never said anything about that, and I've never mentioned it either.
The one think I will say about "I Won't Look" is that part of the conversation Bobby has with Cindy is almost verbatim from the conversation I had with the new woman who had moved into the house with the best view of the backyard of my last house. She said, "Sure, and don't worry, I won't look," and I said, "I don't care if you look; I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't call the police." I just took a look at my submission page, thinking that the story was probably written shortly after that conversation, but it turns out that it was written maybe four years later. Funny that the conversation stuck with me that long.
I should pause here to point out that although it happens in my stories, I never do anything sexual when I lay out. That wouldn't be fair to neighbors who have been nice enough to give me permission. I'd probably also wind up losing the privilege to be nude, or worse. That probably sounds boring, but real life is different.
"Italian Quickie" comes from two-week vacation in Italy that included a couple of days in Venice. I was in my hotel room, lying on the bed nude (by now you probably could have guessed that part) and watching television, when I happened to look out the window. Just across a narrow canal, a woman in the next hotel was at her window, looking at me. I gave her a little wave, and she smiled and waved back. Nudity in most parts of Europe is not the big deal it is in the United States, so I didn't feel the need to cover up. Once again, nothing sexual happened but it did fuel a story.
You know, it suddenly occurs to me that some of the best source material for Lit stories has happened to me during several trips to Amsterdam. I have no idea why it hasn't made it into my works. Mixed-gender spas, red light district, live sex shows, legal marijuana, etc. Lots of young people from many different countries. At one hotel I worked out at their gym, and as I was lifting weights a couple of girls came in and sat down on exercise bikes and started pedaling and talking in English, with accents that suggested they were also visiting from the States. There was a wooden sauna on the far wall and a frosted glass shower stall right in the middle of the floor, so when I was done lifting I walked to the stall and peeled off my clothes. The talking behind me stopped. After my shower I dried off but didn't cover up as I opened the stall door and stepped out and they got the full Monty. As I walked to the sauna one of the girls said, "Oh my GOD!" but the other one said, "Shut up, they do that here." There were multiple trips between sauna and shower and I dispensed with the towel and the drying.
Did I forget to tell you that I'm a bit of an exhibitionist? You've probably figured that out by now anyway.
Let's see, what else? Like Matt in "Matt, Suze, and Kerry," I wrestled and played football, but in high school instead of college. I got myself injured in both of those, so like Matt I abandoned sports for the drama club, which turned out to be a pretty wild group. Without re-reading the whole story, I think that's about all of me that's in there. Oh, except that I have had a couple of threesomes involving two women, and almost had a third that would have been sisters. Instead, one sister and I made love while the other watched but didn't participate. I don't know about you but I think threesomes are overrated, and I've never actually sought them out. Doing something to one girl while the other girl does something to you has a novelty, but one that wears off quickly. I prefer sex with a woman I love.
Although the novelty of watching two women go at it is probably never going to wear off.
(Note to my ex-wife: these threesomes were before our time, Sweetie. I had a bit of a wild period before we got together.)
What else? "Little Jessie" was inspired by my daughter catching me peeing. (Nothing sexual has ever happened between my daughter and me, except that over the years she did catch my ex-wife and I having sex and me masturbating, but she very much took that all in stride.) There's a Hedonism reference in the story because one of the best vacations of my life was at Hedonism II. The only downside was that just before we left we discovered that my ex-wife was pregnant, and therefore couldn't drink.
On to the two stories that have occupied me most of late: "Intervention" and "A New Dawn." Obviously, both Thomas Barker and Johnny Rand get their nudism from me, and their harems are mostly nudists now too, and that makes sex happen a lot. They both live in Southern California, like me, because I know the area well enough to be able to put geographical detail into the stories. Barker obviously has my exhibitionist tendency, and Rand is developing that as well. Both like watching women have sex (although that's such a common turn-on for men that I'm not sure I can claim it as a trait of mine that fuels the stories). I think that's about it for "Intervention," except that back in the Dark Ages I went to a massage school and learned a one-hour Swedish routine, which worked its way into Nela's and Thomas' fitness regimen.
Johnny Rand and I both lost our virginity at 15 to the Japanese woman next door. In real life, I had gotten to know her quite well and one Saturday I walked through her gate and into the backyard and caught her sunbathing topless. It was the 70's, and she was quite unashamed. I wound up peeling off my clothes and joining her, and she commented on my body (football muscles), and one thing led to another and... Just like Johnny, I figured out over time that I was enabling her to cheat on her husband, who I liked, so I ended it. But she taught me a hell of a lot before we were done.
Johnny and I both like to cook. I don't know anything about cop stuff; some I had to research and some I know from reading detective/mystery novels, and some stuff I just make up. I have to research the fancy clothes he wears, too, because I don't know shit about that stuff. We both have a taste for champagne and drink Barefoot Bubbly, which is pretty good stuff for the price ($7 a bottle if you buy six at a time at Albertson's). Although in the coming chapter Johnny suddenly gets a lot richer and finally abandons Barefoot Bubbly and trades up.
Honestly, that's all I can remember right now about how much of me is in Barker and Rand. I'd have to read all chapters of both stories to be sure, and I'm not really up for that right now. It's Saturday and the sun is out in SoCal.
Guess what I'm going to do.