Writing Erotica Made Me Better at Sex

After years of routine sex, writing smut made it exciting again

I started writing erotica even though my libido was really low.

On my laptop, I was creating characters with the sex drives of hormonal teenagers. They got horny with little provocation. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

The atmosphere in every single scene was thick with desire.

Meanwhile, sex was only a tiny little sliver of my life.

I was married to a guy I found attractive, but it didn’t make much of a difference. My lady boner was basically non-existent.

On rare occasions, I’d manage to get slightly aroused and fuck my husband. But I never got super horny. The sex was enjoyable, it gave me a bit of physical release, but it wasn’t something I craved or felt the urge to pursue.

That lack of interest showed itself in the way I had sex, too. I didn’t starfish my way through a fuck or anything like that, even though I’m kind of a pillow princes by nature. But I just kind of went through the motions. No enthusiasm. No gusto. I didn’t even suck his cock because I never got turned on enough to want to.

And yet, I decided that I would write dirty smut.

Sex drive or no sex drive, it made perfect sense to me. I wasn’t sexually inspired or horny, but I was at a place in my life where I was ready to try my hand at writing in a serious way and maybe try to earn a bit of money doing it. Sex just happens to be the subject I’ve always been most passionate about — even when I’m not having much of it.

Plus, I had seen terrible writers make a living peddling erotica. If the bar for quality was that low, then maybe I had a chance.

I did my research, figured out how the business works, learned how to self-publish on Kindle, and started typing up my first story.

The entire time, something kept nagging at me. What if this wasn’t going to work? What if letting myself go sexually meant I wouldn’t be able to actually write an entire draft? What if there’s no way to write vivid and arousing sex scenes if I’m not, you know, feeling it?

What I didn’t realize is that writing erotica was going to fix those very same problems.

Smut Gave Me Back My Mojo

If I was going to write erotica that was actually hot, titillating, and worth masturbating to, it would have to do something other than mirror my sex life.

The formulaic, routine sex I was having wasn’t going to captivate any readers.

And I didn’t just want to throw a bunch of sex acts on the page. I don’t like reading a book that’s just a series of actions — that’s a script, not a story. I want the experience to be immersive. I want it to draw me in emotionally and make me feel what it’s like to be in the scene.

To write something like that, I’d have to figure out how to describe the mechanics of sex in a way that didn’t make them feel mechanical.

So, I tried to write sex scenes that emphasized the characters’ thoughts and emotional reactions, not just the physical stuff they were experiencing.

And I threw in plenty of dirty talk because nothing makes me feel like I’m taking part in the action like hearing that kind of language bouncing around in my head.

I had no idea how successful I was. But I do know that my writing had its desired effect on at least one person because I was getting lost in my own stories. I was fully submerged in my writing, typing out sentences at lightning speed and feeling the emotions and sensations I was putting down in my draft.

I would write thousands of words every morning and into the early afternoon. By the time I was ready to hit the save button and look up from my screen, I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in years.

I was extremely fucking horny.

Not just horny enough to have sex. Not just open to doing something dirty. I wanted to fuck and I wanted it bad.

But I wanted something better than the boring sex I’d been having.

Writing about women who are so filled with anticipation they practically can’t breathe, men who fuck like they’ve been put on this earth to do nothing but pleasure women, and scenes that were soaked with enthusiasm made me crave more than the routine fuck I’d come to expect.

I wanted the kind of sex I had before my libido slowed down. I wanted the kind of sex I dreamed about when I was a lusty teenager. I wanted it sweet, filthy, and I didn’t care if I could get up and walk after.

I hadn’t felt that kind of desire in a long time, and it only happened because writing erotica put me in the perfect mindset for it.

It Made Me More Attentive

The thing that really sells an erotic story are the details. You can set up a scene, you can describe the action in broad strokes, you can make the characters do things to each other until they come — but it’s the scene setting, the twinges of emotions, and the subtle body language that makes it immersive.

The problem was, I forgot a lot of those details. It had been ages since I experienced them first-hand and my memory was getting kind of fuzzy.

I kept running into spots that I struggled to fill in.

How does a guy look when he’s getting an incredible blowjob?

What’s the best way to describe the way a woman’s body moves when she’s riding on top?

What are the little tell-tale signs that someone’s about to come?

I honestly couldn’t remember. So, I did my favorite kind of research. I started binge-watching porn.

Even though my sex drive was low, I was still using porn once in a while. It helped me get myself off and it was sometimes the only thing that gave my libido a fighting chance.

But this time, I was watching it differently. I paid really close attention to the way the performers moved and behaved. I picked up on the way their flesh rippled, the subtle expressions on their faces, how they communicated with each other wordlessly — and of course, the way they fucked.

For a girl who normally fucked with her eyes closed and the lights off, studying these videos was illuminating.

I used everything I learned to write better sex scenes, but then I noticed it was helping me have much better sex, too.

I noticed all the little ways my husband reacted when I touched him. I gave his cock different types of strokes, varied my speed, and paid attention to the way his breathing and facial expression changed in response.

I paid attention to the way his fingers touched my pussy, how his tongue licked my clit, and where his hands gripped me while he fucked me.

I started being more experimental out of sheer curiosity. I tried to see how far back my legs could go without it becoming uncomfortable. I laid on my stomach to see what it would be like for him to fuck me in that position, taking note of the way his body pressed on top of mine and the angle of his cock as it slid into me. I noticed how much more intense he got whenever I bent over for him.

Learning to pay attention to those things was transformative. Noticing them made me realize that there’s so much more to sex than just clit stimulation and orgasms. That’s what makes it feel good, but it’s all the other little details that make it hot.

It’s the way he looks at you when your shirt comes off. The way his breathing changes when you really turn him on. It’s the way some positions make you feel exposed (and how great that can feel). It’s the way he holds you when fucking you, as if he wants you even closer than you already are. It’s the look of blissed out satisfaction on his face after he comes all over your tits.

Writing erotica helped me notice those moments, and it encouraged me to put in more effort so I could earn them. Because I wasn’t just in it for the orgasms anymore — I was in it so I could feel sexier.

It Taught Me to Fuck Enthusiastically

More than anything, writing erotica made sex seem fun again.

Sex was still pleasurable, enjoyable, and intimate. It had just lost its thrill.

That was especially true for blowjobs.

When I was younger, there was something really enticing about giving head. It made me feel like a good girlfriend. I loved that I was doing something dirty. And I gave them as a show of gratitude for all the times my boyfriend made me come with his mouth.

But I wouldn’t say I enjoyed them.

So, when my sex drive settled down, blowjobs were the first thing to go.

I went years without sucking cock because I had simply lost interest in doing it.

But there was no way I was going to make my erotica a blowjob-free zone. My protagonists sucked dick — and they fucking loved it.

That flipped a switch in me. Watching blowjob porn for research and writing blowjob scenes showed me that giving head could actually be fun and exciting. It didn’t have to be a thing I did just to give pleasure — it could turn me on, too.

For the first time in years, I put my mouth on my husband’s cock. And for the first time in my entire life, I did it because I really fucking wanted to.

Introducing blowjobs into my life again was a major change, but writing smut also affected the things I was already doing.

I hadn’t stopped giving handjobs, but I stopped giving them for pleasure.

I gave them so my husband would be motivated to give me some action in return. I gave them to make sure he’d stay hard throughout the foreplay. And I did it out of guilt, because I felt bad getting eaten out if I wasn’t at least going to give him a few strokes.

But that’s not the way it went down in my stories. I wanted to make the handjobs I wrote about really appealing. I wanted to write them in a way that made you wish you were giving one. That wasn’t going to happen if I typed in “I stroked his dick because I felt like I owed it to him.”

I had to convey the joy of rubbing your spit-covered palm against a hard shaft. I had to make you feel how turned on you’d get by hearing him moan when you run your fingers along the head of his cock. I had to inject that little bit of that tension you feel when you really want his cock inside you but you don’t want to stop playing with it yet.

Having to describe the pleasure of giving taught me how to feel it, too.

Once I started writing sex scenes, I gave up on the half-hearted stroking and started giving proper handjobs. Handjobs that were about exploring every texture on the surface of his cock. Handjobs that are about seeing what kinds of moans I could coax out of him. Handjobs that would make him call me a good girl.

I was doing everything with enthusiasm — not just the things that made me come. And for the first time in almost a decade, I remembered just how fucking fun sex could be.

Erotica Gave Me Back My Sex Life

I’ve stopped writing erotica — for now, anyway. But it was an incredibly important stepping stone for me.

It never made much money, but it was the start of my writing career. I’m endlessly grateful to it because of that.

Writing and publishing gave me purpose at a time when my life was aimless. I was letting the days unfold in front of me instead of moving ahead.

And it taught me how to be a better fuck. It revived my libido, helped me pay attention to the things that make sex so fucking special and incredible, and taught me to fuck enthusiastically again.

That wasn’t the end of the journey. I still had a lot more exploring to do. I had to become better about communicating my desires. And to this day I have massive struggles with my sex drive.

But none of it would’ve happened if I had never opened up that document and started typing out my first draft.

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