So overnight my popularity from this chapter has excelled all my expectations, particularly in Norway. A few of my devoted fans have asked me questions so I thought that I'd hold a Q&A to answer some curiosity for you guys.
Of all the fiction that you could write, such as children's books and murder mysteries, why did you choose to pick erotica?
This is a very good question and one that my trusted circle of colleagues asked a lot when I revealed to them that I had decided to start writing erotica. A lot of the reason is the recent success of erotica in society today, I've found that it sells well especially amongst middle class housewives. Why sit on the train with A Christmas Carol when you could be reading about Harry Art? Also I haven't ruled out merging the two topics of children's books and erotica together and writing some children's erotica.
Where do you plan on going from here in telling the story of Harry Art?
I don't want to reveal a lot of my future plans but one of my main aims is to breach a lot of the untapped space between genres. For example, I might wish to work my way into a dramatic erotica which merges with some dark comedy. The story of Harry Art after all is a great tragedy. I aim to make my stories as close to real life as possible in making them unsettling to the reader.
Who inspired the character of Harry Art?
The character of Harry Art is based on the man that my ex partner ran away with. There are many similarities between the two such as the lack of personal hygiene and the tragic life circumstances. Though I like to think that Harry Art represents the religiously repressed man of today, those who have become the subjects of terror and the fear of god. The character of Harry Art is largely a metaphor for the tragic East/West divide in America.
Do you yourself have a sexual paraphilia?
In the sense that I had sex before marriage I guess that I do. I let my demons take a hold of me and possess me. I bred with my partner and created a son. Then she left me. I learnt then the merits of abstinence. My son does not love me because I let my demons take ahold. I guess in a sense Harry Art is a little like us all in that way. The way we're all becoming possessed by sexual desire from time to time and let our frustrations take ahold of us. Next time you read his story, question how much alike to him that you are.
Thank you very much for your questions! I will do another Q&A when there are more questions. Thank you for reading!
Saturday 3 August 2013
Friday 2 August 2013
Harry Art - Chapter 1
Harry Art was a tall man standing at around six foot two with a wafer thin pencil moustache. His tanned skin made him look Mexican but he was not Mexican, he was English. He looked on over London's famous Thames river sipping a cup of coffee. He pictured a black and white scene, a little like a French Existential Film, others in the cafe turned and looked at him for a second every now and again. His dorky hair cut flustered in the wind. He had never been laid, he was forty two years old. The sexual frustration was beginning to boil over and he was in himself becoming much more aggressive. He smashed down the cup abruptly before setting his eyes on a young lady of the busty variety. He wiped his paper thin moustache.
"You!" He bellowed so loudly that the entire riverside could hear him.
"W-What?" She questioned with fear in her voice.
"Would you like to join me for dinner later on today?" He asked, his face red and veins bulging.
"I'm fourteen," She replied. "This is my mum." Harry looked on for a moment before nodding his head in defeat. He walked past them. The ever so careful smell of their skin greeted his nose. He lurched down in a quick and aggressive motion.
"That is the most unmistakable scent of perfume I have ever had the pleasure of smelling." His tone had switched from aggressive to sincere in a matter of seconds. The females looked on and Harry after ten seconds of looming walked off into the distance. The clouds covered the sun like a parent covers pornography from their child. The air became cooler and Harry felt more comfortable for it. The sun always made him slightly gassy as it is. He carried on his way home, his trench coat flapping in the wind as his tie swayed side to side dancing with the Angels that delivered such a chorus.
He finally reached his house. He walked past his mum who was busy making some kind of plate of food. She was Mexican, he had never met his Dad but he was believed to be of a more Puerto Rican decent. Harry was happy with his heritage, he felt rather cultured. He closed his bedroom door and sat in his torn and decaying computer chair. His room was only small and the only other items were a bed, a wardrobe and a drawer. Everything was so crunched together. He loaded his favourite pornography up and started violently masturbating. He played a selection of death metal tracks in the background. After a long session he breathed tightly, licked his hands clean and pulled up his trousers. It was time for dinner. All Harry could think about was sex, he was plagued by images of sex time and time again. He closed his eyes, sex, he opened his eyes and for a moment the dull reality of life would feature followed swiftly by delusions of sex. It was clear what had happened. Harry had become possessed by a demon.
He lightly picked a taco up and devoured it. Conversation with his mother had dried up about five years ago.
"Harry when are you going to move out?" His mother asked. She'd been waiting all day to ask this question. "You're forty three years old."
"This is delicious," Harry answered blatantly ignoring his mothers question. She looked down at her food in disappointment. It was a sunday, Harry finished his dinner, pushed the dishes off of the table onto the floor for no reason and then went to his bedroom and masturbated once more. He went and got a drink of coke and then decided to fall asleep. The alarm blared awakening him at 5:30 in the morning, Harry had a job as a man who printed newspapers. He was in charge of the machines that made them go out in the morning. His paper was 'The Independent'. He liked his job, he spent most of it on sex lines, he didn't have to pay for his phone calls here. He was a talented newspaper printer so it would be hard for him to get sacked.
"So what are you wearing?" Harry asked rubbing his semi erect pork stick through his tweed trousers.
"A pink laced corset." A moaning female voice answered abruptly.
"And what do you look like?" He breathed.
"Blonde curled hair, blue eyes, plush rose tinted cheeks," She growled, she knew he was getting into it.
"Do you like where thongs and stuff?" He asked.
"Not at the moment I'm not." She said seductively.
"An granny panties," He came down the phone and hung up almost instantly. He got up as if nothing had happened and carried on with his work. His co-workers looked on in disgust.
"You!" He bellowed so loudly that the entire riverside could hear him.
"W-What?" She questioned with fear in her voice.
"Would you like to join me for dinner later on today?" He asked, his face red and veins bulging.
"I'm fourteen," She replied. "This is my mum." Harry looked on for a moment before nodding his head in defeat. He walked past them. The ever so careful smell of their skin greeted his nose. He lurched down in a quick and aggressive motion.
"That is the most unmistakable scent of perfume I have ever had the pleasure of smelling." His tone had switched from aggressive to sincere in a matter of seconds. The females looked on and Harry after ten seconds of looming walked off into the distance. The clouds covered the sun like a parent covers pornography from their child. The air became cooler and Harry felt more comfortable for it. The sun always made him slightly gassy as it is. He carried on his way home, his trench coat flapping in the wind as his tie swayed side to side dancing with the Angels that delivered such a chorus.
He finally reached his house. He walked past his mum who was busy making some kind of plate of food. She was Mexican, he had never met his Dad but he was believed to be of a more Puerto Rican decent. Harry was happy with his heritage, he felt rather cultured. He closed his bedroom door and sat in his torn and decaying computer chair. His room was only small and the only other items were a bed, a wardrobe and a drawer. Everything was so crunched together. He loaded his favourite pornography up and started violently masturbating. He played a selection of death metal tracks in the background. After a long session he breathed tightly, licked his hands clean and pulled up his trousers. It was time for dinner. All Harry could think about was sex, he was plagued by images of sex time and time again. He closed his eyes, sex, he opened his eyes and for a moment the dull reality of life would feature followed swiftly by delusions of sex. It was clear what had happened. Harry had become possessed by a demon.
He lightly picked a taco up and devoured it. Conversation with his mother had dried up about five years ago.
"Harry when are you going to move out?" His mother asked. She'd been waiting all day to ask this question. "You're forty three years old."
"This is delicious," Harry answered blatantly ignoring his mothers question. She looked down at her food in disappointment. It was a sunday, Harry finished his dinner, pushed the dishes off of the table onto the floor for no reason and then went to his bedroom and masturbated once more. He went and got a drink of coke and then decided to fall asleep. The alarm blared awakening him at 5:30 in the morning, Harry had a job as a man who printed newspapers. He was in charge of the machines that made them go out in the morning. His paper was 'The Independent'. He liked his job, he spent most of it on sex lines, he didn't have to pay for his phone calls here. He was a talented newspaper printer so it would be hard for him to get sacked.
"So what are you wearing?" Harry asked rubbing his semi erect pork stick through his tweed trousers.
"A pink laced corset." A moaning female voice answered abruptly.
"And what do you look like?" He breathed.
"Blonde curled hair, blue eyes, plush rose tinted cheeks," She growled, she knew he was getting into it.
"Do you like where thongs and stuff?" He asked.
"Not at the moment I'm not." She said seductively.
"An granny panties," He came down the phone and hung up almost instantly. He got up as if nothing had happened and carried on with his work. His co-workers looked on in disgust.
An Introduction
Hello everyone, I am Peter Hart a 37 year old investments banker from Reading in the United Kingdom. I have recently grown tired of my 9-5 routine of work. Sometimes the overtime is unbearable and I have a lot of trouble following simple tasks. There have been countless times that I have nearly been sacked from my work in banking so I feel that now is a better time than any to pursue my dream of becoming a writer. My stories can be described as a dark and dangerous leap into the human mind. Many have commented on my writing skills being likened to that of Jane Austin's or even Oscar Wilde's. They are strictly adult, but in todays market place I see no reason that my works cannot become a serious part of our identity and culture.
Many ask me what I hope to achieve with my writing. The answer is simple; I wish to bring us altogether as one, to brash out these Western/Eastern tensions and unite us all with the love of language.
"Words are limitless in the ability of binding us together." - Ghandi
For many of these reasons much of my writing can be understood as political and sometimes even religious.
I am currently unmarried, but I have a teenage son called Darren that won't return my calls. He is illegitimate and we don't see eye to eye on many matters. His Liberal mentality severely contrasts greatly with my Neo-Conservative outlook on life. As two strongly minded individuals this causes much friction. He is the product of my only serious relationship to date. I went out with a lady known as Karen. We got serious so I planted my seed in her. Eventually she decided that she preferred a man in her legal firm and they are now married. She never told me if Darren is actually my son but a lot of the time I look into his eyes and I just see it.
Anyway, thank you for reading. i hope to bring you much joy from my works.
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