Author: Max

Max @ Cherish Desire

When the stories you need to tell can only be told by you.

The first time Max shares one of his books with a friend, there's a series of uneasy caveats. "Don't take this too literally" is for people he knows well enough to anticipate their anxiety. "You've met Heather... in London... right?" he says to someone who has stayed out late at Torture Garden with his small entourage of ladies. "Best tuck this away so your wife doesn't find it," he'll suggest to a married buddy he knows from Faderhead shows. It's a studied social clumsiness because being proud of unleashing your demons on paper is fine until the audience realizes it will challenge their notions of sexuality and how they perceive the world Max lives in. It is never easy, but it's the things that come back to him that push him to keep writing out the strange dramas and pleasures of women like Angel, Natalya, Rachel, and Daphne.


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Because in his mind they are always talking to him. They remind him of little secrets and whisper about naughty things that they went off and did on their own. They confess dark days and nights when they conferred with Satan himself despite their Luciferian beliefs. They express emotions that he can't wrap his head around because he will never feel the things they do - so he has to translate it into motion and dialogue and narratives that lead to scenes of unfiltered sexual events. Max has always believed pain is the only way we know we are alive, and sexuality and intimacy must therefore strip away everything so we can truly explore every bruise, bite, and pinprick. Only Grey managed to temper that with romance, and their collaboration reflects both her grace and his intensity.

I was there when a lovely professional woman in a shiny black latex dress told Max, "That was really good writing." He played down her comments because he wasn't sure if she was teasing him. I could see the distrust in his shoulders even though his eyes were smiling. Then she added that she couldn't remember the stories well because the man licking her under the table had kept her cumming for half an hour. She smiled, winked, and patted his hand. "It must have been good because I couldn't even see his face, so all I could do was keep reading. And cumming, of course." Max's eyes followed her latex clad bottom while she led her latest boy toy off to a corner and then shook his head. Five minutes later he was dancing on the floor, and I realized that was the sort of compliment he has grown to expect.

I've also watched Max, or rather not seen him, vanish for hours into a dark, silent room with just his netbook. He'll write for hours, feverishly trying to capture the story already unfolding in his head, and only take brief breaks to exclaim how wonderful something is going or how tangled things have gotten. After publishing over 250 stories, I thought he'd be burned out. Maybe he'd come to bed earlier or maybe he'd just walk away from this side project. But instead it's become part of our lives, and even though I don't remember many of the stories he reads to me while I cuddle up close to him and drift off to sleep, I know all about some of the ladies and characters in the stories. I have my own favorites, but I was admittedly glad the image for Angel shows what a bitch she is. It's a footnote worth making: Almost all the women in Max's stories are based on someone. Even the women mentioned in the Object Confessions series. It's something I don't even want to worry about because some of that stuff is beyond insanity.

Ok. So now I've said my bit, and I can go back to watching my evening shows and knitting. Just remember something I've learned. Max does all of this ultimately for himself. Or to conquer the world. Or maybe it's both. He's a unicorn - and a capricorn, too - and I don't know anyone else quite like him. That could mean bad things for some people, and it definitely means he doesn't play by any rules I've ever understood. I'm sure he'd like to hear that people like his story daughters, Sable and Sara. I'm sure he'd like to know that people empathize with Erik. But he wouldn't trust the praise or compliments. Because we're humans, and Max - with his scars that run deep and his trust tempered by paranoia - is something else. ~Moon~

PS: Max will take everything I've written and rewrite it to suit his purposes. Which is fine by me.


Max on Max

Anyone who knows me... but who am I kidding...

Let me share a dream with you. Once upon a time, I wanted to tell people that it was ok to be different, to open up about what really got them aroused, and to embrace their desires because someone, somewhere, was most likely thinking the same thing. Of course, for me the game is rigged. I sift through the collective consciousness without intending to, and the shiny bits people think they are hiding are whispers that I hear constantly. So I started writing. I started telling stories because if I told you about the craziest thing that ever happened then you'd know someone was a bit more out of control than you are. I started telling stories because I knew people who had blown past the limits of everything anyone had told them about and were transformed by the experience. I started telling cautionary tales because sometimes those people never healed. I started telling coming of age tales because there is an epiphany waiting around every corner no matter what your age is. I started writing about what people desire, what they do about it, and how that makes them something more. Because I care about that and no one else seemed to be writing it.


Cherish Desire: Max, Author Profile, erotica

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My dream evolved over time. I wrote in colours that only I could see. I wrote with metaphors that only made sense to me. I realized that I had to translate my rich meta laden world into black and white print. So I practiced for decades. It's worth pointing out I started writing when I was in my early teens. How I exist today is a twisted road that involves my own epiphanies, awakenings, and experiences that often times I was ill equppied to handle at the time. How I exist right now is a careful balance to observe the minimal effort required to co-exist surrounded by loud, howling, hungry primates without reacting. I often tell people my characters are named in a manner that reflects their level of evil. More syllables equals greater evil. It's a neat translation, but under the covers there is something more. More syllables really maps to greater levels of aberration and thus more potential to deliberately deviate into extreme behaviours and emotions. My definition of evil is abnormal deviation from projected patterns. I suspect most people believe someone consistently acting in a particular way is evil, but for me that consistency would just be natural and thus neutral. I've been Max for a long time. Embracing my natural state includes admitting that I have always been both creator and destroyer throughout my life. Who would want to be anything else?

And so the hardest story to tell is my own. The first author bio I wrote was a placeholder. The second one stuck for a while longer. Yes, it mentioned a friend of mine currently living in Glasgow who enjoys wearing a unicorn costume. Don't judge him. When he takes that white and pink costume off, he's forced to wear a human costume that has never fit him well and makes him uncomfortable. Am I, in fact, the go to guy for crazy sex questions people won't ask their close friends? Yes. I have a reputation. Which is pretty funny because I spend a lot of time around other people who have reputations for a variety of reasons. But even they look at me sideways when I get bored and accidentally start talking without filtering my thoughts. Even at a BDSM Munch referring to breeding play will get you a few stares.

I put a very long monologue about myself in my free ebook "Very Dirty Stories: Free Orgasms, Volume 1" so I don't want to repeat it here. Go download it for free and enjoy the read. It had several juicy tidbits to provide the usual gossips with something to whine, moan, and complain about for a while. For everyone else, I'm sure we all understand that once you go down the road less traveled by, your life is no longer subject to the whims and discourse of most people. Trailblazing means dealing with things without knowing what can happen. We do the best we can, or maybe do the least harm we can, and then move on.

Writing has been the same way for me. Marketing as well. I've read and studied thousands of pages of ideas, experiences, and suggestions only to conclude that no one really knows how to really get out there or what has truly made them successful. My lack of graphics talent is probably the biggest thing holding my campaigns back now. The writing happens whenever it can, and I put a lot of work in post-publishing to try and take advantage of new formats and techniques to boost the reader experience. Sometimes I even rethink entire storylines. Oops. I also struggle a bit with names. I tend to cluster around particular sounds, and it's taken a lot of work to force myself to adopt more variety despite the sound of names no longer matching the women the way I had intended.

So let's see... here's s couple of the odd questions I do get asked. "Where am I from?" is a super popular one, but unfortunately it's a very complicated answer. I've lived and worked and traveled extensively within North America and England and to a lesser extent Germany and Austria. But it's not unheard of for me to run into people I knew from Western New York in the airport in Amsterdam. I usually log between sixty to seventy thousand air miles a year though that varies a lot depending on the economy and where I need to be for my other businesses. I base out of the East Coast of the USA, but it's not unusual for me to travel back and forth to the West Coast or London for an entire summer.

"Do I have any pets?" is another one that comes up. Unfortunately, right now I travel far too much to feel comfortable leaving a kitty to fend for himself. Moon usually travels with me if she is interested in the destination city, so no one's home to cuddle and curl up with the poor things. In the past I've had horses, dogs, cats, and rabbits. I've even had fiancée and wives - though they were not as enjoyable as cats. I suspect I'll have a new cat or two sometime soon.

I thankfully rarely get asked "Where do your story ideas come from?" It's worth mentioning that I'm pretty attuned to people who are more than one standard deviation separated from the norm. Unfortunately most people like that in public are both dysfunctional and potentially mentally broken. But like anything, a sense that was probably supposed to warn me off instead means I'm instantly attracted to the lost souls that pop up. It's been an interesting life. You never want to bandage someone up after they smash a mirror over you and while they are still punching you. Situations like that cause resentment. Frequent situations like that are why Moon thinks everyone woman I've ever known was insane. Which is very unfair because some of them are definitely much better now.

I did rewrite Moon's nice intro a bit. She's lovely but hates putting words together. If you have questions, you can always message me on Twitter, Facebook, or Email. And you can enjoy plenty of lovely visions on Tumblr, too. ~Max~



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