My Sex Writing is Too Sexy
Shame on me
As a long-time lover of the literary arts, it only makes sense that my passion for the written word eventually melded with my fascination with love, relationships, and sex.
I love to learn about human sexuality — in all of its glorious and gory detail. I like to get deep into the nitty-gritty of what motivates us psychologically when it comes to our sexual desires and hang-ups.
But I’d be lying if I said my penchant for sexually explicit writing was all about learning. Detailed, passionate, erotic stories turn me on more than watching porn. Reading just a few explicit sentences or lines of sexy dialogue can be powerful enough to make me wet. That’s because I put myself right there in the story. A talented writer can paint a sex scene with words that engage all the senses.
And if the story is true? All the better for incorporating that human connection. Humans are imperfect creatures, and being honest about our sexual endeavors — the good, the bad, and the ugly—keeps the sexual dialogue open. No, I don’t expect everyone to want to write about sex with brutal honestly, but to those who do it, for whatever reason, thank you!
On a platform where words matter, I didn’t expect to come across commentary suggesting writers shouldn’t express themselves too openly regarding sex, and that doing so is an insult that cheapens the sexual experience.
I also didn’t expect to find implications that our readers are little more than perverts who easily take the “click bate” of our sexplorations.
There are still those who would tell us to be proper ladies, that there’s such thing as letting too much hang out. Write less, smile more — yadda yadda yadda.
Tell me — what should writing about sex look like?
Yes, there’s a time and place for free, graphic, gritty sexual expression. I wouldn’t come into work and say to my boss: “Yeah, it was a busy weekend. I sucked off my boyfriend and then he came all over my face. I wasn’t a huge fan of the idea, but he’s always wanted to try it, so we went for it. It was rather quite nice, actually…”
That wouldn’t fly at the Monday meeting, but here, where I let my creative sexual expression run rampant and wild, I’m going to share what I’ve experienced, what I’ve learned, and what I’m still questioning.
Everyone’s voice matters. Even mine. And writing on sex and sexuality doesn’t have to look a certain way. It can be as teasing as an unexpected, passionate kiss—or it can be a graphic, detailed, arousing display of honesty, chock-full of come shots, climaxes, cocks, and — gasp — even cunts! Or lovebuttons? Whatever language you like to use.
A while back, I discovered an incredible story in Human Parts about a guy who found euphoria in drinking another man’s piss. I’m not sure what drew me to the story titled Piss Date, but when Micah Enloe described the experience as something that made him feel “united with all men, all humiliation, all exaltation,” I was hooked. I’ve never wanted to drink a man’s piss, but the author’s whip-smart observations made reading about it an eye-opening experience. The responses were varied, most applauding his brazen testimonial, while others un-followed the publication for daring to publish such “disturbing” writing.
We all like what we like. If we’re not doing harm, I’d like to think we can throw the judgments away. Of course, some of us can’t.
So here’s a few of the judgments about sex writers I’ve recently stumbled upon online that I’d like to debunk.
We’re basically coming on to our audience with our detailed, graphic writing
Yes, every time I write about what turns me on, I’m basically inviting anyone who reads it to come fuck me. Right?
I can’t believe I’m still coming across views like this. I guess at the same time, I’m not all that surprised. There will always be people who put the blame on the woman. If we’re being frank when we write about our sexual desires, that means we’d like to have anyone and everyone over for a hot date and some kinky fuckery.
My insatiable curiosity is probably the definitive underlying motivation for why I write. I will always reflect on my own experiences and ask questions. And — I will always be of the opinion that a woman can walk buck naked down the street, but that doesn’t automatically give anyone the right to come fuck her.
Same with erotic writing. I can talk about coming and thrusting and sex positions all day and all night, but consent is still the only green light for sex. Others are certainly free to join my conversation — I welcome conversation. But no, I’m not hitting on everyone who happens upon my sexual essays.
If we’re writing about sex, we’re not having any sex
Um, then who was I pegging last night with my strap-on? The ghost of sexcapades past? No — there was indeed a real live man at the other end of that dildo. The cleanup was quite an involved process, as he came so hard and…so much. So I know for a fact it was real.
It’s safe to say that my partner and I definitely don’t get that wild that often. It’s also safe to say that, after living together for ten years, we’re not getting it on every night. We can go a week or two (or three) when we’re dealing with a lot of stress from work, after-school activities, and other energy-sucking adult tasks.
But, when my partner reads what I write about us, he gets incredibly turned on. He likes that other people out there are reading and responding. He likes being privy to the most detailed thoughts running through my mind when we’re intimate. When he reads my work, it’s a powerful aphrodisiac.
And writing about our sexual goings-on has much the same effect on me. My libido is better, and my depression and anxiety is lighter. Since I’ve started blogging about sex, the health benefits have been numerous and ongoing.
Detailed sexual narratives sell like hotcakes, and we make a shit-ton of money with very little effort
Well, maybe if we’re good at what we do. But not without working really hard, with constant dedication and consistency.
There’s that quote about writing that’s sometimes mistakenly credited to Ernest Hemingway but was found to be connected to sportswriters Red Smith and Paul Gallico: “You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed.”
I’ve always clung to this expression, because it rings so true to me. Just having the mental stamina to sit there and write on any topic is the metaphoric equivalent of bleeding all over my laptop. Whether I’m writing a $1,000,000 proposal for my day job or trying to depict a particularly memorable sexual encounter in an accurate, educational, and enticing way, any kind of writing presents its own unique challenges. As Hemingway did say in a 1935 letter, “Writing is something that you can never do as well as it can be done. It is a perpetual challenge…And it makes me happy when I do it well.”
We’re all so filthy rich that we’re laughing all the way to the bank — but we’re paying for it by giving up privacy
First things first — can you imagine someone laughing all the way to the bank and arriving there safely? Whether we drive or bicycle or walk there, we at least have to stop throwing our heads back and laughing long enough to pay attention to traffic.
Plus, there’s rarely even a need to deposit checks anymore. Especially when we’re paid over the internet. Maybe I’m laughing part of the way to my mobile banking app to see if maybe, just maybe, I can pay some on my student loan this month, but that’s about it.
And this privacy thing. It’s a very real, very serious consideration. But this is true for any kind of online presence. We have to teach out children how to protect their privacy, and we have to know how to protect our own. Not publishing your photo, writing under a pen name, not writing identifying information about the people involved — it’s extremely important that you go into this knowing the intricate ins and outs, no matter the topic.
And that’s not for just writing about sex. If we open up about our mental health, we take a risk. If we write our political opinions, we take a risk. If we write our views on parenting, we are taking a risk. Will I be arrested because everyone knows I love a little light bondage with my sex? Not at all. Will my life be ruined if people know I can come three times in under ten minutes if I’m in the right head space? Probably not, once the awkwardness dies down.
Do your research and know what you’re getting into. Hopefully you aren’t shamed for the kind of openness and vulnerability that might just help a reader who needs to hear it.
Writing graphic, titillating stories does little to educate others on human sexuality
Debatable. While I like to depict my real sex experiences in an erotic style, I also like to balance personal anecdote with factual information backed by research.
Some readers relate to my work. Some don’t. And some sit in the middle, just enjoying a good story.
It’s the same with any personal writing — reading other viewpoints can be an enlightening process. That’s why reading is so fucking cool. We learn about all different aspects of humanity and realize we aren’t all the same.
When I write about sex, I also reiterate why communicating with your partner is crucial when it comes to good sex — because every body and personality is different.
Despite the very real sexual shame I felt in my upbringing, including guilt about reading dirty books, masturbation, and sex before marriage, I eventually did a complete one-eighty. I learned to get over my shame and love my sexuality.
And I’m not alone in this endeavor.
Yael Wolfe is someone I look up to as a strong sexual voice of positivity for women. And, if Emma Austin wants to share her amazing dream of being a “double dick clutcher,” I’m totally there for it — with a glass of wine in my hand and a smile on my face. If Anne Shark wants to take me on her journey to accepting her lover is a swinger, I’ll gladly go, reveling in her ability to give me, the reader. that raw human connection. Both Meaghan Ward and traceybyfire write sex in a way that scintillates and educates, and I love that they aren’t afraid to raise their voices.
My fellow sex bloggers and I have all dealt with accusations and shame for writing the things we write. But if telling my sex stories is wrong — however detailed, hot, or flawed— then baby, I don’t wanna be right.
So what if people write about their sex life just for attention? Or maybe money? What if they do it to turn people on? Or because exhibitionism is their fetish, and I’m in the audience because voyeurism is mine?
We’re all here to share our stories — no need to judge others just because the thing that’s works for them doesn’t work for you.