Ever Wonder How Writers Of SM Porn Come By Their Ideas? SingleTails Brings You Some Insights Into That!

For real!

I spent six hours tonight sweeping and mopping, working for a nice couple who are trying to put together an income from cleaning up at construction sites. They're good people, but the work is beyond tedious. For the past several weeks, they've been doing their clean-up deal at these new doctors' offices being built down in Newtown. I wince whenever I get a phone call that they have work for me, but I need the money.

Doing manual labor, your mind tends to wander. One of the things I like about it. Robert Frost used to write his poems while working on his farm, my thoughts go more along the lines of stories I read in Drummer at a far too tender age all those years ago.

Lately, I've been doing a lot of sweeping and mopping down in Newtown. We come in as the contractors are heading out, so the place is eerily quiet. Like opening sequence of an episode of The Night Stalker quiet. (Yeah, so my pop cultural references are thirty five years out of date, so what?) The only sound is the slosh of the water in the big yellow bucket.

I have to admit, it's work that I consider beneath me. No opportunities to shine really. Although I do a good job of mopping. I learned to mop in one of my first jobs, as a dishwasher at Mother's Restaurant in New Hope. The guy who taught me--starting out with him saying, "You're doing that all wrong!"--was a Navy man, and he explained to me that the United States Navy had taught him how to mop, and he was going to teach me. First, you soak the head of your mop, which he called your "swab," and get it holding a lot of water. Then you get as much water as you can on the floor. "Let the water do the work." Water is the Universal Solvent. It soaks the grime off the floor and it becomes suspended in the water. Then, you wring out your mop and pick up the water and the grime, which ends up in your mop bucket.

"This is slave work," I thought one night. And that was the genesis of my reveries.

I thought about one of those Shadowy Underground Organizations that turn men into slaves to be sold on the auction block that was the staple of so much of the fiction in Drummer. (I, of course, hold out hope that such entities are not entirely fictitious, but from what I've seen, I'm losing a lot of hope there.) Of course, the big problem with induction into slavery would be the maintenance and upkeep of the slaves. Especially if the slave was unwillingly enslaved, and that's the best kind, right? You've always got to keep your slave under lock and key, or he'll be trotting off to tell the authorities all about what you've got going on and you'd end up doing time in prison and that would suck. So there you are, providing three square a day, emptying the bedpan (!)... And then there's the whole problem of healthcare and visits to the dentist.

I know a little bit about neuro-psychology, and as we know, a little knowledge can be dangerous.

So here's how I solved the Unwilling Slave problem.

First off, pump the slavery candidate full of some psycho-tropic drug that will significantly increase the number of dopamine receptors in his brain. Dopamine is the neurotransmitter involved in pleasure and learning. When you're experiencing that intense feeling of pleasure, your brain is being flooded with dopamine. Smoking and the use of certain drugs such as stimulants like meth and cocaine provide a sudden burst of dopamine, and it's thought that this is part of the reason that they're so addictive. Dopamine is also released in your brain during sex, when you've just eaten a filling meal, and when someone gently strokes you. So increasing your slavery candidates dependency on dopamine will start him on the road to slavery by making him a slave to pleasure.

So far, so good. But there's still his awareness that he's locked up in your cage rather than out doing whatever it was he was doing before you abducted him into slavery, right? If only it were possible to induce some form of amnesia...

But wait! It is! With electroshock therapy! The way the electrodes are positioned these days, memory loss is usually short-lived. But back in the '40s when it was first used, amnesia was a big problem. So using those electrode arrangements of yesteryear, the slavery candidates memories would be a dreamy blur. And coupled with his dopamine receptivity, he'd be fairly easily controlled.

Now we're getting somewhere!

And here's the thing. All those things that you know how to do without thinking about them--like sweeping and mopping and sucking dick and walking and such--are memories unaffected by electroshock. So you'd have the perfect slave!

So with all that as background, the most recent iteration of the Shadowy Underground Organization took shape. Powerful men would be abducted and put through the treatment and then sold as slaves. But during a training period of sorts, the Shadowy Underground Organization would make some money off them by running an office cleaning service. Their cleaning crews would come in after business hours and uncomplainingly vacuum and mop and clean toilets and empty trashcans under the watchful eye of their trainers. Back at the compound, they'd also be trained in sexual service and such.

The plot developed...

The managing editor of a muckraking weekly newspaper hires a cleaning crew to take care of the paper's new offices. Since he does most of the copy editing, often he's working late when they arrive. He finds the cleaners a wee bit bizarre, all these big, built men with shaved heads wearing identical uniforms and with these faraway blissed-out expressions on their faces. With some regularity, the cleaners change, but they all seem to be big, built guys, and always with the shaved heads (for the electrodes). He questions the "supervisor," but gets unsatisfactory answers. He becomes really suspicious when he recognizes a guy he used to play rugby with, but the guy doesn't respond when he calls him by his name, just keeps mopping away with a dreamy smile on his lips. He decides to follow the cleaners van and see if he can learn more.

At a warehouse facility on the outskirts of the city, the TRUE AND TERRIBLE NATURE OF THE CLEANING SERVICE IS DISCOVERED!! But wait! HIS SPYING IS DISCOVERED! The chase! The capture! Bound, he's taken before the majordomo of the Shadowy Underground Organization, who describes in detail all of that background stuff about dopamine and electroshock therapy. And then, with a sinister gleam in his eye, announces that our protagonist will soon join the ranks of the cleaning crew. And our story ends with him cleaning a toilets, being loaded back into the van, and taken back to the warehouse on the outskirts of the city, stowed away in a cage for the night, awaiting--unbeknownst to him--the day when his training will be complete and he'll be sold on the auction block to the highest bidder.

Running through the details of that story in my mind whilst I mop and vacuum and such is enough to keep me semi-tumescent the whole night. And lately at Ho(t)me(n) Depot, when I spot a smokin' hot man, I'll think Perfect Slavery Candidate! And I amuse myself while mopping by clearing my mind of all thought, just focusing on the swoosh of the mop as I put down the water and mop it up again, with a faraway blissed-out smile on my face.