Writing erotica is a funny thing.
Women tend to like it as it creates a mental fantasy as the knight rides in on his steed and gives up his armor to be with her…
Men, however…well we are more visual. We, as a gender, would rather have it shown than have to imagine it.
I know I grew up hiding peeks into some of my mother’s romance novels…and you have no idea how disappointed I was when she went from erotic romance to historical romance around 1984. I am certain there are some stories that crossed those sub-genres, but not the ones she was reading.
I know I had the birds and bees talk with my folks around New Years in 1981…I recall my little brain having issues wrapping around how the boy parts would go in the girl parts. This mostly came as a result of thinking the vagina was a girl’s penis. Of course, in the 30 years since then, I have learned it is not that way at all.
I suspect most guys, given the opportunity would have also read the way I did. Truth be told, though…even now, that is better for me than porn. It allows my mind to set the scene instead of simply handing me the condom wrapper.
The problem is that erotica…good knock ’em down and leave them in a pool of their own drool erotica…is not manly. You will not likely find a copy of any Anne Rampling novels in an NHL locker room. You will never hear a pro wrestler commenting on the heat provided by Lt. Dallas in J. D. Robb’s (aka Nora Roberts) “In Death” series.
The concept of erotica proves that women are definitely the braver of the two genders…and perhaps the more intelligent on a general level. The fact that I can write this and mention how the well muscled pirate held her in his arms and laid her on the candle lit sheets…
All the women can picture this and have it in their mind’s eye in full technicolor…all the men are throwing up their arms and asking to skip to seeing the blow job.
There was no point to this entry…just an observation.