Posted by oznl on September 24, 2004 at 22:05 [211.30.21.57]
In Reply to: The Playschool baby posted by Kevin on September 23, 2004 at 22:47
How could you get people to like it (on the presumption that we are talking about altering the text rather than realigning your audience’s literary tastes)?
Punctuation?
Characterisation?
Imagery?
Narrative?
Plot?
Some measure of the above could help. If it's pornographic in intent, you won't need much of it.
Try something like:
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It had been three days since the minor pants-wetting episode that had provoked Andrew to confine her to nappies and like the skin of her inner thighs, red and chafed by her seemingly-constantly wet toweling underwear, Justine had become irritated.
The ostensible eroticism of the threat: a whole week confined in infant’s garb in his private “Playschool” had seemed much desired when with butterflies in her stomach, she’d pouted in front of him, deliberately releasing hot wee into her knickers until it spattered accusingly on the linoleum beneath her chair. She remembered her excitement at his mock-stern remonstrance, the strangely arousing shame as he stripped her wet pants and her lubricity when he re-entered the room with armfuls of fluffy white toweling nappies and crinkling plastic pants.
That was on Monday…
At first it HAD been erotic. Sucking her thumb, playing with the pastel coloured toys and gazing blankly at other infants on toddler’s television with her legs spread wide and her sex gently rubbed by the bulky nappies that were all she could wear below her waist.
After the first day however, the hours on the Playschool clock began to drag…She smelt of pee all the time. Her diet of warm, sweetened milk became unbearably monotonous and her “daddy” annoyingly cooing as he fussed celibately over his “Playschool Baby”. As she sat idly on the floor on her damp bottom rearranging blocks, she yearned for a glass of chardonnay and an adult conversation with her lover.
And now, after three days of trying not to think about it, her bowels would be ignored no longer. Justine didn’t do the “full nappy” thing – something she hadn’t really thought through as she’d careened herself into this pact but now on Thursday, she was thinking about it a lot. She’d been desperately uncomfortable all morning and like a fly to a carcass, Andrew had noticed the stifled farts, muffled as they were beneath “her naps” and was hovering intently as she knelt on the playroom floor.
“"Yucky mucky nappy'yucky nappy on the baby! Yucky mucky nappy on the baby oh!” Sang Andrew in his strange sing-song voice.
Justine stared stubbornly past him, out the window, A postal van trundled past, oblivious to her plight. Urban normality, 15 feet to her left.
“Baby is not happy with a yucky mucky nappy on!"
Now she was just f&*@ing annoyed...
She was wet anyway. She’d been wet for hours. He’d change her when she’d at last shat herself – she was sure of that. It wouldn’t be THAT bad doing it, it was only recycled formula after all.
Yucky mucky nappy on the baby oh!"…”
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You could try finishing that Kafkesque little number... I know it's a bit twisted but then again, so am I. It could also do with a lot of editing. The above is just a stream-of-consciousness text dump and needs refining. Nevertheless, I’m sure you get the picture. It contains some very basic elements of fiction writing.