(And when I say "see," I also mean "hear." You'll see what I mean in a minute.)
I always talk about "erotic realism," and I never really know if people know if readers know what I mean. (I once got a really terrible review on Wicked Cold because the reader thought I meant "100% true-to-life, accurate facts. In the story, I invented an ice hotel and placed it outside of Montreal. She assumed I was talking about a real ice hotel in Quebec. She accused me of not being as realistic as I claim.)
What I mean is that I write from the perspective of literary realism. "Literary realism, in contrast to idealism, attempts to represent familiar things as they are. Realist authors chose to depict everyday and banal activities and experiences, instead of using a romanticized or similarly stylized presentation." I write about things as they are, not as I wish they were. That reality isn't always happy, and sometimes the reader feels kind of rotten at first. You're supposed to feel rotten. Sometimes life is rotten.
Unlike the literary realists of the nineteenth century, I write erotica. I can't leave readers hanging in the depths of despair, right? So once the reader is sufficiently mired in the darkness, I lift them up. Shine some light onto those characters. Perk them up and get them laid. And then we all feel better, right?
The point is, I prefer to write about homeless people falling in love to writing about billionaires. I'd rather write about the depressed janitor or the bullied teenager than the prom queen. Everyday people in everyday situations, who suddenly find themselves in love. They're all around us.
The key is to keep that erotic lens out there so that when opportunity presents itself, you're ready to turn it into something smutty. (And again, I wear my smut lenses on my ears. I'm auditory. Not so visual.)
“Fifteen dollars a person, or twenty-eight dollars a couple. That’s right, folks. Come with a friend and save two dollars.”
When I heard this on our morning announcements at school, I cracked up. And I couldn't believe that the sophomores sitting in front of me weren't laughing too. A minute later, I wasn't laughing anymore. I was writing as fast as I could about a depressed teenager with no friends sitting in class hearing the same announcement. "Come with a friend. That's great if you have friends." Next thing I knew, I had this boy in a prom dress, going to the prom with a childhood buddy to get revenge on a bully. And then my brain had them making out. And then in bed. And then happy.
All because I had my smut lenses on my ears.
Come with a Friend is available in the new collection OUT: Five Erotic Stories of Gay
“I have tasty fingers!”
A junior (boy) came back from lunch talking about eating lemonade drink mix with his fingers. When he said that, I instantly thought of fingers actually being able to taste, which reminded me of another student telling me about synesthesia, a condition in which a person has some sensory confusion. I exaggerated it, of course, and made it smutty. A man who couldn't stand the taste of pussy. (Seriously, what kind of man is he??) When his girlfriend turns down his marriage proposal because she's not being satisfied, he gets help from an unethical pharmaceutical researcher who gives him a solution: fingers that taste.
Read it here on Literotica (for free): https://www.literotica.com/s/the-side-effect
The bottom line is that the erotic is everywhere. Keep an eye and ear out, and you'll find it.