Apparently, I’m a “damn good” erotica writer. Whoda thunk? When I took a Fiction Writing Workshop at Loyola University Maryland, the professor who read our writings told me this. Of course, it took me a long time to be able to submit my erotic story to him, embarrassed as I was, especially since he was so handsome and sexy himself. He was impressed though, and told me that there is a complete genre of nothing but erotica fiction, and I should Google them to see my options for placing that story.
Erotica can be as simple as two people making long and sultry love, the undressing of the female, his fingers silky as her nightie, or, as heart racing shameless fucking. My submission involved an angry military veteran hiring a call girl to have sex with. Things get hot and steamy, and before he knows it, he’s calling her by his soon to be ex wife’s name, and smacking her around. That’s the simple part of it. The long and involved lead in is how he chooses to present himself for the evening, where they end up, and how paranoid he is after his warped sexual encounter. Anger evokes his very being, entangling itself between his legs, coating his skin, tripping his tongue, paranoia following him home to where two policemen greet him in his own kitchen.
Thus began the search for somewhere to place my story. From reading about online submissions for contests, there are two kinds of erotica. One involves the sort of writing that you find in romance novels: “His loins lusted as he reached for the swollen flesh erupting from her bodice,” versus what I wrote: “Her tits were the all of her, stuffed inside a low cut dress…” But, I ventured too far beyond the realm of normal for erotica by my angry vet slapping the call girl around, thus turning my erotica story into one of sadism and masochistic genre, written by a 60-something year old white woman, horrified by what had flowed from my brain to my keyboard. Needless to say, I stopped exploring the Internet by the horrors that I saw, too vivid for even my imagination.
Sex sells. I learned this when I published my second novel, because if I hadn’t been so stubborn, I’d have put a voluptuous naked woman on the cover, and might have covered my costs of self publishing.