Pushing Smut Uphill
Sisyphus, thy name is Wellington

Dear Erotica,
My love for you was a fluke wrapped in a sexy red bow, but delivered in 50 Shades. Although I never read that tome, when someone suggested I give you a try, you felt like home. I did my research on you and brainstormed ideas; the next thing I knew, I had erotic scenes projecting through my corneas.
Eight years later, I grapple with my love because although you bring me joy, the dollars are few. I’m sure things would be different if I just listened to the conventions of you. Sometimes I wonder if I can conform, since almost everything I’ve done so far has been outside the norm. I know you have tropes, I know you have rules, but they feel so stifling, I really don’t think I have those tools.
You know how I was when you found me; I was doing more literary. I brought that tendency to my relationship with you, but not to be contrary. I mean, that’s who I am, look at this missive, it’s a complete mess. Is it a letter? A horrible poem? A ransom note written under duress?
I’m sorry I called you smut, that’s probably a bit harsh, perhaps even a slur. Although you have all the one-handed reading qualities of smut, to me you are so much more. Maybe my vision of you is wrong, maybe it’ll never work. But as long as you’re willing to work with me, I’ll continue delivering my sex with a side of quirk.
Love From Your Scribing Slave,
Kiki Wellington
More from Kiki Wellington:
