Estella always wanted me to write her smut, but I couldn't. I loved her, and of course I loved fucking her, but it felt one hundred percent wrong to try and put what I felt on to paper, let alone put it in story form. The mixing of art and life is dangerous at best, cringe at worst. DH Lawrence is probably the only one who could write a "good" sex scene, and that's because he recognized that life is about more than sex. I don't believe there's any woman who shares that belief. They know that sex is all, and that sexual fitness is the most important quality in man, superseding all others. That's why they've never written a good male character, and are only interesting in describing the intricacies of their orgasms and good cock game. And only interesting for brief moments, all romance novels are pretty much disposable and disposed of. But because I am one to like a challenge, and because I am endlessly obsessed with Estella and wishing I can and could've made her truly happy, I think I'll undertake the challenge. Maybe she'll see this, and miss what we had like I do. More likely, she'll cringe or get the "ick" as she did reading the descriptions of love, desire, and overwhelming infatuation from my last novel. I think she only appreciated the dark parts, which is weird because she didn't appreciate the dark parts of me. But no woman should, I believe. They appreciate joy, and in fact they need it in a metaphysical sense much more than man. The joyous is the upright, the proud, the cock. And that is what the best romance novel should implicitly be centered around. I'll continue writing I guess when I can learn to love my cock more than Estella.
