I Wrote a Story About Sex
And nobody came.
What’s up with that, gang?
From my two-plus years here on Medium, I’ve come to learn that erotica and porn are hot tickets on this platform. Smokin,’ in fact. And the purveyors are reaping the rewards.
In my never-ending quest to understand what rises to the top of the Medium food chain, I’ve read some titillating stories and several truly disgusting ones. The latter of the kind that “inspire” you to take a “Silkwood shower,” after. You know: Dirty, but not good-dirty.
In other words, shit.
It doesn’t take a ton of acumen to write about a finger in a pussy or up an ass. We all have pussies and dicks and asses. They are what they are.
With that said, if a writer can actually build a story around a finger up a pussy, that’s a piece I can sink my teeth into.
It’s simply not enough to write, “While Mr. Big Cock and I waited for our California Rolls, I spread my legs so he could massage my G-spot.”
Big whoop. I can massage my own. I think.
Now, here’s a story:
“After my bout with PTSD due to a near-fatal dose of food poisoning, I never thought I could enjoy sex and sushi at the same time until I bit into my California Roll while Mr. Big Cock massaged my G-spot.”
Can you see the difference?
Anyway, I digress. So, for the sake of experimentation, and after much thought, I wrote a sex story of my own. As of publishing it yesterday, it’s gotten exactly two reads.
Two reads. In a genre that is wildly popular here.
How can this be? Am I not hot enough? Raunchy enough? Or maybe it’s because I’m not young enough.
Bingo.
I do believe that’s it, ladies and gentlemen. Because, after a certain age, we are no longer looked upon as sexual beings. We’re just stumps waiting for that thing between our legs to shrivel up and fall off. Or, out.
That is the perception of those of us with a few years under our belts. Proof positive that, amongst certain members of society, stupidity reigns supreme.
Those of us who are more “seasoned,” shouldn’t write about sex, have sex, or even think about sex.
God forbid our mind’s eye should have to envision a less-than-perfect body, one with a few wrinkles, sprawled in post-orgasmic bliss, on a bedsheet.
Check out the images accompanying some of the stories centered around sex, here, and you’ll see what I mean.
I just checked the story’s stats, again. Two friggin’ readers. (Thank you, both, by the way.)
Just to see how much traction I’d get, I published my story wide on Medium. My well-thought-out piece that would probably be curated in at least three topics if someone else had written it. Someone who is probably writing about anal orgasms even as we speak.
Talk about bullshit.
This is what I’m going to do: Get my ass out of this seat, go out, take a nice long walk, in the frigid spring air, and when I get back, if my stats haven’t improved, I’m going to delete the story and submit it to ILLUMINATION.
You know — where the adults hang out.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
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