Return to Erotica

27 May

I started writing erotica in the seventh grade.  Fancying myself a writer, I spent hours crafting emo vampire stories on the family computer.  I wrote whatever made me happy.  Writing fiction gives you a feeling of ultimate power.  You control the plot, the characters, the feelings.  The world is basically at your fingertips.

After a few hours of ruling my fictional world, the story would inevitably turn to sex.  Power always goes to my pants.  Anyhow, once things git racey I would shut down the computer and traipse up to my bedroom with pen and paper.  Propped up in bed (door open and lights on, as per the rules) my characters would carry out the darkest sexual fantasies that a thirteen-year-old virgin can come up with.

These clandestine writing sessions always ended in me rubbing myself to orgasm through my jeans.  I didn’t know what a clitoris or an orgasm were at that point (I didn’t learn those things until well after my eighteenth birthday), but I knew that if I wrote about sex for long enough, I could experience something more powerful than anything I had ever felt, even if I was overwhelmed by a vague sense of guilt afterwards.

After each conclusion, the little notebook with my fantasies would be tucked into the back of my closet behind the Barbies.  It seemed like a great hiding place until my mom uncovered it while she was cleaning.  Thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed, I shredded each and every page and flushed them down the toilet.  That remains one of the most prominent memories in my life and that feeling of shame still shapes my life.

Despite being found out by my mom, I tried my hand at erotica a few times after that; Sometimes my parents found it and sometimes they didn’t.  But after a while I realized that no matter how much my writing improved, I’d never be able to publish any of it without shaming my family.  So I stopped.

Years later (a couple of days ago), I sat down to type up a fantasy that had been bouncing around my head.  Keeping this blog must have lowered my inhibitions, because out it came. Juicy page after juicy page poured out until I had to stop and find my vibrator.

I’m not trying to blame my family for a lack of support for my erotica.  I grew up with amazing parents who gave me a very happy childhood.  But now I’ve grown up (who am I kidding?  I am the worst adult ever…) and I’m rediscovering my fantasies.  Sure, I’m still kind of a crummy fiction writer, but I am having a ball!  I’m still trying to decide if I want to post my fiction here on this blog or submit it to literotica, but I’m sure I’ll fill you all in as soon as I decide.

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