Saturday, March 23, 2013

In Defense of the Millionaire/Billionaire

I prefer a rich man. I've fucked poor and while there have been orgasms, I was ultimately not satisfied.

I used to go for the big cock, the one I could spot through exercise gear or tight jeans. The fit man from the gym with the blue eyes who seemed quiet but not shy. We would go to my place for sex. Fuck all weekend. Down the road we'd go to his place and that's where it all fell apart.

There was no future with a man who's only ambition was taking care of his own body. Call me a gold digger if you want but I did not go to college and graduate school to end up with a guy with nothing but a big TV and a refrigerator full of beer. You can give them a bit of a makeover. Dress them like they are a human version of a paperdoll, but that would only be a temporary fix and you'd max out your credit cards in the process. A man like that will end up growing a watermelon in his belly and losing all his hair, and maybe getting a bad back from his blue collar job and sex would end up being you sitting on him and...fuck that.

I know many women who took that risk. They won't leave since there are kids now but they need some kind of outlet.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a princess. I'm sure this is common, right? We all thought a prince would come and sweep us off our feet. We were good girls. A students who towed the line and thought, if we do everything right we will get what we want. We stayed virgins in high school and only thought of having sex when the boyfriend we had was supposed to be The One.

We thought we were special. But life has a way of slapping you in the face and you start to believe dreams will never come true so you marry the one who asks you and you relegate your fantasies to any alone time you might still have.

This person that I'm describing might be me or you. It might not be any of the writers on here at all because there are a lot of people who don't understand the phenomenon of the rich guy in erotica.
The millionaire/billionaire fantasy fulfills the dream. Good girl, not model perfect, gets the intensely gorgeous alpha rich business man who looks good in a suit as well as in exercise gear and, well, naked, since he is hiding a well-endowed cock. He's everything and he makes us believe again that our dreams are possible.

I've dated a lot of wealthy men in my time but only one who had the whole package. He married someone else so I guess that makes me the cynical one because I had what I wanted in my grasp but I fucked it up somehow.

Cinderella Club and my other books were like a cathartic way to bring the fantasy back to me in a time when I had to hide within myself to heal. A brown haired girl of average height who finds herself involved in the ultimate capture-bondage fantasy. She's a real life Cinderella and it's not just dumb luck. She's handpicked. Special. Because it's as it always was in her dreams. She's the princess and her real life prince charming is everything she's always wanted - the wealth, the man, his giant cock, his alpha fucking style.... And she can still be herself - an art dealer who loves fashion and has a best friend, and lives her life with the added bonus of having fantasy and reality combined.

Of course, in Cinderella Club the sex is explicit. There's reluctance sex, which is one of those taboos you either get or you don't. Not sure what kind of sex is in 50 Shades or any other erotica because I don't actually read it. I only write what I like and want, but I also know that there are many other women like me so I must be doing something right.

I might actually end up dying alone because I won't give up the fantasy. The rest of you are welcome to it. So let's raise our glasses to the millionaire/billionaire. May he be forever there for when we want to get our rocks off in the privacy of our privateness. Nazdrovia!