The Real Challenge of Writing Erotica

In the safe and happy world of fiction, things might go up your butt but they don’t get stuck there.

Sex-related injuries are not a thing.  If you want some really hot, steamy action punctuated by someone pulling a hammy or peeing all over themselves–or you–because they drank too much beer with their Chinese food and then got a little too excited, then presumably you’ll just go have sex with your partner.  No, erotica occupies that strange and sacred plane between completely believable and completely impossible.  It has to, on the one hand, be believable.  Otherwise, what’s the point?  Bad sex on the page is like, well, bad sex.  Neither gets your mind off your troubles.  Neither, quite frankly, gets anything off.  And yes, bad sex-related writing includes phrases like “turgid member.”  Too much about his perpetually thrusting engine of love and suddenly you’re writing satire.

So, believable–but not realistic.  That’s the other hand.  Realistic, even when it isn’t “we’re going to the ER now because I read that porn thing by Anne Rice and now there’s a golf ball missing somewhere inside my rectum,” is effort.  Whereas, within the pages of an erotic novel, the woman always orgasms.  Without ever having to help herself out.  Her partner always knows what to do, to make her squeal.  Or sigh, or moan.  Depending on the nature of the scene.  No one ever has to switch positions because their muscles are giving out, and no one ever rolls off the bed.

Surviving these real sex adventures is part of what–in real life–deepens intimacy.  Sex is an act of trust.  Even with a stranger.  That being said, everyone has different fantasies.  I sometimes get asked the question of whether happily partnered people “need” porn.  In any form.  My answer is, it depends.  On the couple, and their tastes and preferences.  Both as a couple and as individuals.  Fantasies aren’t a substitute for real life but they can be a healthy addition to it.  As well as, yes, another means of fostering intimacy.

There’s nothing shameful about trying new things.  Your sex life should, ideally, be an adventure that you share with your partner; one that excites you both and that you’re enjoying more because you are together.  I think it’s important to remember too, though, especially for women that you can’t know what pleases you until you figure it out.  Which means experimentation.  Whether yourself, or with a partner.  Too many women expect their lovers, partners, husbands, etc to drive them wild in bed when the truth is that they have absolutely no idea, themselves.  How can you expect someone to know more about your own body, and mind, than you do?

Fantasies can serve as a safe environment in which to discover what turns you–just you, the individual–on.  Knowledge that, in turn, is only going to enrich your sex life with, and thus your emotional connection with, your partner.  And yes, you have to talk about it with them.

Expecting the other person to magically understand you, simply by virtue of having been born with the right equipment to (theoretically) get you off, is alienating.  So is treating fantasies as replacements for intimacy.  They’re not.  Like the old saying goes, if you can put his cock in your mouth then you can talk to him about your problems.  Healthy sex–whether that includes porn, toys, or whatever–inspires and encourages that depth of trust, and affection, which allows true communication.

Having a healthy sex life doesn’t mean having a sex life free of props, or fantasies; nor does it mean having sex a certain number of times a week.  It means creating, and then consistently nurturing, one more aspect of both your relationship with your partner and, equally or more importantly, your relationship with yourself.  There might be a thousand ways to have healthy, happy-making sex but on some level the emotions behind the acts–whether they involve whips and chains or Barry Manilow–are the same.

Which I think is really the challenge in writing erotica: accessing that universal core of emotion.  Of course, some things just aren’t hot to some people.  My sex scenes, like my romances, tend to be a little alt.  There’s bondage and polyamory and other things that can be polarizing.  But, like the old saw goes, write what you know.

I couldn’t write convincing erotica (or even a sex scene) involving white wine and soft rock.  There’s nothing wrong with those things, they just don’t speak to how I’m wired.  Likewise, I can tell when I’m reading a book, or a story, written by someone with no personal experience–or, sometimes even worse, no interest in–the topic.  An astonishing number of people write about sex, who seem to really hate sex.  Or, at the very least, not understand it.

What do you think?  Are fantasies healthy?  Are fantasy aids like erotica, and other forms of porn, hopelessly evil?

Let me know in the comments.