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Censorship

Eat, Drink and Be Discreet

by | December 26, 2013 | | 5 Comments

by Jean Roberta

During the winter holiday season, when occasions for partying abound, I feel a rant coming on. Lest I sound like a perpetual complainer, I will put my discontent in perspective.

I’m sure I’m more privileged than most people in the world, and probably more than most readers of this blog. Looking over the events of 2013, I’m grateful for my blessings, and relieved that my misfortunes were no worse.

In the summer, I moved years worth of books and papers into my new office in the university English Department where I teach first-year classes. My new home-away-from-home has an incredible amount of shelf space for my books, plus a window to the outside world so I can see the weather before I step out in it.

In September, I taught my first credit course in creative writing. This favour was granted by the head of the English Department, even though it is a second-year class usually taught by scholars with Ph.D.s (something I never managed to get, for various reasons). Teaching a small class of eager young writers was an adventure that helped refuel my enthusiasm for my job. My usual first-year classes are mandatory for most students, and therefore I get many recruits who would rather avoid writing essays about literature.

In 2013, I also saw more of my words in print than in any previous year. On the scholarly front, I co-edited OutSpoken, a collection of articles and creative work based on a series of presentations on queer (lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender) topics by faculty members. The co-ordinator of the series (also head of the Theatre Department) had been invited by the university press to put a book together, he graciously invited me to co-edit, and I accepted. I also had an article accepted for a book about teaching vampire literature which was edited by Dr. Lisa Nevarez of the English Department of Siena College in New York state. I’ve been told that Teaching the Vampire will be released by McFarland Press at any moment.

My historical erotic novella, The Flight of the Black Swan, appeared early in 2013 from Lethe Press. (The cover art is by Ben Baldwin, who was nominated as best fantasy artist of Britain.) A few months later, my collection of erotic stories, The Princess and the Outlaw: Tales of the Torrid Past, also appeared from Lethe Press. Both books got a few glowing reviews.

However, during two family gatherings in the cozy house I share with my spouse (Christmas Eve for immediate family, Christmas Day for two old and dear friends, their grown children, their spouses, children and their friends), I didn’t mention my publications. It was understood that the non-fiction was too academic to interest anyone I know outside the Ivory Tower, while my fiction is too raunchy to be mentioned in the presence of children. I wonder how many writers, particularly erotic writers, are in this predicament. (In all fairness, I had already shown my new books to those closest to me. They don’t read my books or stories, but they accept my writing hobby as less harmful than most other addictions.)

On both occasions, I was encouraged to show off – guess what? – my new surgical scar. On November 4, the first snowy day in the town where I live, I slipped on the ice and broke my left wrist in several places. Thanks to the Canadian health-care system, I was rushed into surgery within 24 hours, and had my wrist repaired and reinforced with a long metal plate that shows up clearly in X-rays. (I will set off metal detectors in airports for the rest of my life.) During my short stay in the hospital and my longer convalescence, my two stepsons and my spouse were an impressive source of support. Later, when my cast was removed and I was shown X-rays of my damaged and repaired wrist, Spouse took photos of these images her cell-phone, and circulated them among the assembled crowd during our holiday suppers. Everyone commented that my incision has healed well.

On Christmas Day, before the second flock of guests were due to arrive, our furnace stopped working after keeping us toasty-warm during a week of very cold temperatures. Although the outside temperature had risen, we couldn’t welcome our guests into an unheated house, so we had to pay a repairman for his labour and a new furnace motor. He was honest enough to tell us that if we could have waited another two days, the bill would have been $100 less. But such is life. Luckily, we didn’t have to choose between warmth and food.

Medical and home-maintenance issues were not the only topics of conversation, but they seemed to be of general interest. Well, of course. Everyone lives in a body, and most folks (especially in Canada in the winter) have a dwelling-place.

I couldn’t help wondering how many other writers can only discuss their writing with other writers, or with any readers who can be found. And how many erotic writers must go far out of their way to prevent relatives, “friends”, coworkers and bosses from finding out that they write about sex, the stuff of life. (Note my previous comment about the universal human condition of living in a body.) News items about the inconsistent and fluctuating policies of booksellers regarding “obscene” material show that there is not (and never has been) any real consensus about what this is. In the current cultural climate, I’m well aware that I’m probably luckier than most.

My employer is exceptionally tolerant of everything I write, and for that I am truly grateful. My holiday wish is for peace on earth and good will toward all the writers who are brave enough to write about something that really (let’s be honest) interests everyone. The impulse to write anything seems to be a certain kind of craziness, and a desire to write about subjects formerly considered “unspeakable” still requires courage. I’m glad I live in a world where so many have felt the bite of that bug.

May the Deity of our choice bless us, every one.
———

Censorship – A Tsunami Of Filth

by | October 28, 2013 | | 8 Comments

Elizabeth Black lives on the Massachusetts coast with her husband, son, and four cats. You may find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/elizabethablack and on her web site at http://elizabethablack.blogspot.com.

—–

Censorship of erotic
fiction is rearing its ugly head again. Early in October, 2013, Kobo removed some
(but not all) erotic titles from its catalogue. The books targeted were either
self-published or published by small, indie presses.

How did this latest
firestorm start? A tech site called The Kernel discovered “daddy porn”
as if it were something new. The Kernel uncovered these books by searching for
terms like “Daddy” on the book distributor’s web sites, and it
discovered what it called a “tsunami of filth”. Titles like “Raped
By Daddy” and “Taking My Drunk Daughter” were being published
and sold by many distributors such as Kobo, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

Erotic author
Cassandre Dayne has been directly affected by this latest censorship as has
many writers. She has plenty to say about it. “There
was an issue recently involving a complaint made in the UK about some highly
questionable books that were supposedly on a site. The genres include books
that we call in the industry ‘daddy porn’.” She said. “This includes
levels of incest, bestiality and others, which are strictly prohibited by the
majority of publishers. The bulk of these were supposedly written by
independent authors who self-published. This directly affected KOBO, a
relatively new distribution site and all books by self published authors, small
publishing houses and the middle man type companies like Draft 2 Digital, a
firm designed to help small pubs and self publishers distribute with one click
to several leading distributers, to do a knee jerk reaction. They yanked every
single title without regard to whether or not they were even in the erotic
category.”

So, the theory goes
if a child searched for the term “Daddy” on Kobo, that child would
find daddy porn books. When the BBC and The Kernel pointed out these keyword
search problems and the books those searches uncovered, most notably WHSmith in
the UK and Kobo took immediate action. They removed every single erotic book
from their catalogues – even books that did not violate the terms of service
agreement and were clearly meant for adults.

Erotic content isn’t
only under fire. So are book covers, according to Dayne. “Amazon did much the same thing using self published and
what they considered risque covers to yanks books without question, forethought
or in my opinion common sense. Amazon is using a keyword computer generated
random search. Really? Are we truly turning into the moral majority?”
Dayne said. “Of course all of my books provided by Draft 2 Digital as well
as the small publisher Bitten Press were removed. Trust me, I have no
questionable material. Am I furious? You bet. While these big box folks
certainly can sell what they would like, they need to understand this is a
clear form of censorship.”

Curious, I ran a
search and discovered what I suspected to be true was true after all, and my
discovery reinforced Dayne’s statements. Not all erotic books are created equal
in the eyes of censors. The following books remain available for purchase at
Kobo and WHSmith:

50 Shades of Grey
(the entire series)

Boccaccio’s
Decameron

The Story Of O

The Autobiography Of
A Flea

Fanny Hill

Emmanuelle

Why are these works
of erotica available yet best-selling modern books outside 50 Shades of Grey have been given the scorched earth treatment? I
believe there are several reasons. One, books like 50 Shades of Grey are cash cows. It would be foolish to eliminate
them from the catalogues. However, that doesn’t make much sense since erotic
fiction (esp. erotic romance) is a top moneymaker in the book world. These
censored books make lots of money for their authors and the distributors. Two,
these books may be considered classics that are in no way allegedly sullied by
the likes of bondage and ménage stories written by more modern and independent
authors. Three, those books are published by the likes of Pocketbook and Simon
and Schuster – behemoths who can’t be bullied or ignored like indie publishers
and self-published writers. These major publishers have armies of lawyers small
press pubs and indie writers can only dream of having. It may be matter of
picking on the smaller kids who have less ability to defend themselves.

Granted, daddy porn
and similar books have some serious problems. The acts described are illegal
and should not be encouraged. The problem is that in removing these books, erotica
that does not violate any guidelines has been caught up in the frenzy. Even the
search terms have resulted in problems like books found with the search term
“breast” that were removed for being titillating also removed books
about breast cancer, something that is not titillating in the least. The same
happened when searching for the term “rape” – books about surviving
rape were yanked along with the books glorifying the act. In its zeal to clean
up the bookshelves, these distributors threw the baby out with the bathwater.
Another problem lies in the nature of the removal itself. Just because a book
is deemed offensive to some is no reason to yank it. If you do, you’re getting
into slippery slope territory. Who decides what’s offensive and what isn’t? Who
decides what books are worthy of being read and others aren’t? It’s not a good
idea to make Fahrenheit 451 a true,
modern horror story.

The Kernel also
acted as if this is an entirely new phenomenon when nothing could be further
from the truth. The last time online book sellers and indie writers were
censored was back in February, 2012. According to Selena Kitt in an article she
wrote at the time, “First, Amazon started banning books from their site.
They backed down on their anti-censorship stance and removed the Ped0phile
Guide. Then they went after books that contained incest, bestiality and rape.
After the dust settled, it was clear that, while biological incest was a no-no,
Amazon would, however, allow sex between of-age adults who were related to one
another in a non-biological manner–step-relations or adopted relations.
Suddenly the top 100 in the Erotica category on Amazon exploded with
“pseudo-incest” titles. And the covers were far more revealing than anything
the category had previously carried.” Those explicit titles like
“Daddy Licks My Pussy” become commonplace. As Kitt said, the fine
line between the erotic and porn had blurred even further.

At first, the
distributors were targeting books depicting illegal acts but that later
devolved to books depicting acts that were merely “morally
objectionable”. Pseudo-incest (relations between stepparent – stepchild,
unrelated adopted siblings, look-alikes who could be mistaken for twins, etc.),
while morally objectionable, was not illegal. Kitt pointed out Woody Allen as a
case in point. She also wondered why books about serial killers had not been
targeted. No, it was only erotic books, not books depicting gory and vividly
described torture murders.

I was one of the
writers caught up in that mess. So was Cassandre Dayne. At the time, Paypal had
complained about the daddy porn books that permeated the distributors.
Bookstrand and AllRomanceEbooks removed these books as well as numerous other
erotic books that didn’t meet that criteria. One of my publishers, New Dawning
Bookfair, saw its entire catalogue eliminated overnight. One of my short
stories, an erotic short version of Puss In Boots entitled Purr, had been eliminated at Bookstrand and AllRomance. While my
publisher dealt with the problem I took advantage of it by loudly stating my
book had been banned, but it was still available at Amazon for those who wanted
to read it. My book sales soared. Sadly, I lost money from sales I would have
made from Bookstrand and AllRomance that I will never get back. Purr is now available at Bookstrand and
AllRomance as it should have always been. Once the uproar settled down, erotic
books were once again published on all these sites and eventually the daddy
porn books found their way back into circulation on them. Today, however, you
will still find no small press or self-published erotic books on WHSmith.

Dayne
also saw books reinstated, but she will never recoup the lost revenues. “The
piece entitled Enslaved, written by
my pseudo DH Black, was subsequently reinstated but it took a couple of
months.” Dayne said. “I’m a little extra sensitive to the concept of
censorship. In addition, When will this procedure stop? Who is to say that
horror books depicting extreme violence or even inspirational books won’t be
next? How do they determine the monies lost to authors who scrape by at best?
There must be some intelligence behind this process. Put your thinking cap on
big boys cause this isn’t working.”

It’s very
hypocritical of distributors such as Amazon and Kobo to criticize the
publication and creation of erotic books when it has clearly benefited greatly
from their sales. Amazon, Kobo, Smashwords, Barnes and Noble, Bookstrand,
AllRomance, and other distributors make scads of money from these books.
Amazon, for instance, makes huge revenues from
these books that are often written by self-published authors. To single
them out once or twice per year to get a great big spanking is the height of
hypocrisy.

If you’d like to
protest this latest round of censorship, go to change.org and sign this
petition: Amazon,
Barnes and Noble, KOBO: Drop the clause of removing Erotica and self-published
Indie authors. Writers need to protect themselves any way they can, be it
by signing petitions, banding together to form censorship protesting networks
before books are censored (again), and writing to local and national media.

Why Aren’t We Sexually Liberated Yet?

by | April 18, 2013 | | 7 Comments

By Donna George Storey

Hard as this might be to believe, in the 1960’s and 1970’s “liberal” was not a dirty word. Today you must be brave even to use the euphemism “progressive,” but there was a time, or so it seemed to my youthful, idealistic self, when many believed that if we recognized the evils of racism, poverty and sexism, our society could quickly come up with solutions and move forward to a just world for all. Of particular relevance to this blog is the Sexual Revolution, which once promised liberation from the rigid morals of the past—which, let’s face it, were chiefly about controlling sexuality with fear and shame to assure a man of his paternal rights.

When I came of age in the late 1970’s, remnants of the bad old ways still lingered—I was often called a slut for the sin of being comfortable discussing and joking about sex, for example–but I was confident my children wouldn’t be troubled by the virgin/whore complex or face obstacles to reproductive self-determination.

As we all know, I was wrong.

Fortunately, I can point to one area of “progress.” Erotica, once discreetly swathed in brown paper wrappers, is now burning up the bestseller charts. It’s even possible for an author to use her own name without being socially ruined (discretion is still advised depending on your job and community standards). Yet Lisabet Sarai has correctly pointed out that the genre’s commercial success has led to homogenization. There are exceptions, but for the most part publishers and readers bring certain expectations to their erotica reading experience—to the detriment of originality, surprise and depth. In that sense, the more the genre has “succeeded,” the more freedom of expression has suffered.

More disturbing is Jean Roberta’s recent discussion of our society’s efforts to silence honest discussion of the sexuality of anyone under eighteen. Public discourse on the topic tends to hysteria, allowing for no nuance or complexity. Suggest a lesbian seventeen-year-old should have access to intelligent, thoughtful information about her sexual orientation and to some minds you’re no different from the founders of the North American Man Boy Love Association. Be but under suspicion for downloading child pornography (which could actually mean a 17-year-old consensually sending a topless photograph she took of herself for her lover’s eyes, although we all immediately imagine the very worst kinds of brutal victimization), and you’re condemned without a trial. It’s an effective way to silence us all with fear just like the old days.

The sexual abuse of a child is a heinous crime, and even speaking of it pains me. I am also horrified by the physical and emotional abuse of helpless children as well as the suffering caused by the refusal to provide medical care and food to impoverished children, although that far more common misuse of adult power seems to elicit little concern among lawmakers. I’m also deeply saddened by an environment where a natural human instinct cannot be discussed in any way that would suggest enjoyment or any positive outcome other than pregnancy. Far too many people feel shame about their sexualty because of ignorance, and thus are vulnerable throughout their lives in a childlike way to those who would exploit that shame (to the profit of capitalism mainly).

Jean’s column reminded me of a book I read recently by Judith Levine, Harmful to Minors: The Perils of Protecting Children from Sex. The first section is all about why the author had such trouble publishing the book. And this is 2002 when the tolerance and enlightenment that first blossomed in the 1960’s ideally should have been fully incorporated into our national consciousness. Alas, the Big Five publishers might cautiously publish a book by a Ph.D. on sexual dysfunction or the dangers of the hook-up scene, but a suggestion that sex education for those under 18 should mention pleasure was too incendiary for the printed page. It was eventually published by a university press.

Such is progress in our time.

Erotica writers explore the pleasures of sex in their writing—that is in fact why and how our work is categorized as erotica. Characters must bizarrely exist without a sexual thought or feeling until their eighteenth birthday, but I have personally found enough to fascinate me in the erotic lives of happily married middle-aged couples, a relatively new territory of outrageous sexual expression that has yet to be made illegal. Yet Jean’s column got me thinking that in writing (the world of imagination) as well as law (the world of real actions), the rules designed to protect the innocent are arbitrarily applied.

For example, although the TV adaption underplays the ages of the protagonists as written in the books, the wildly popular Game of Thrones is bursting with sexually active teenagers and incestuous relationships of various kinds. Why do they get away with it without any of their millions of viewers protesting or engaging in copycat behavior? Is it only because the sinners suffer imprisonment, death, thoroughly evil spawn or miserable, miserly lives so that “pleasure” is clearly married with punishment? Or think back to Risky Business, Tom Cruise’s breakthrough movie, about a highschooler who earns money by running a brothel in his house while his parents are away. Skinny boys obviously in their early teens are shown cashing in savings bonds to take advantage of the new local business. Shouldn’t this horrible and dangerous endorsement of perverted entrepreneurship be pulled from the market as harmful to our morals? Yet somehow it has eluded the eyes of the censors.

Sometimes I fear we’re moving backwards or at best sideways.

Yet perhaps I am being too impatient. The pace of modern life accelerates, but revolutions always take time to root and flower. The rise of the middle class took centuries—let’s hope its reported fall is equally leisurely. Why shouldn’t a more enlighted view of sexuality be allowed a lifetime or two to stick? There are some promising signs that the progressive spirit need not despair. An African-American is president. Gay marriage is gaining mainstream approval, most promisingly among the young. A respectable married woman like E.L. James uses a pseudonym, but nonetheless appears in public to be celebrated for her provocative story. The forces of profound change provoke reaction, but democracy is slowly gaining ground throughout the world and in new, more subtle ways like self-publishing.

Okay, I’m feeling a wee bit better now.

Twenty-first century society is not as liberal as I imagined it would be 40 years ago, but I have to admit, we’re better off now in important ways. So I’ll do what I’ve always done–keep writing erotica, calling myself a progressive and doing whatever I can to make liberation a reality.

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman (recently released as an ebook) and a new collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

Writhing Monsters

by | April 21, 2012 | | 15 Comments

By Lisabet Sarai

I consider myself an equal-opportunity pornographer. I’m convinced that almost anything can be erotic, in the right context. During my decade as a published author, I’ve written stories from almost every gender perspective and sexual orientation. Obviously, there are certain stimuli and situations that push my personal buttons, but in my lifelong quest to comprehend and capture the essence of desire, I’m willing to consider the strangest of fetishes as possible inspirations. In my commissioned work for Custom Erotica Source, in particular (which I discussed a few months ago), I’ve been asked to eroticize scenarios that would not have originally struck me as sexually-charged. My own reactions as well as those of my clients suggest that I succeeded, at least to some extent.

In the last few days, though, I’ve stepped into new sexual territory, for me at least. I just penned my first tentacle porn story, in response to Nobilis Reed’s call for his charitable anthology Coming Together: Arm in Arm in Arm.

What’s tentacle porn? Just ask Wikipedia. Tentacle erotica originated in Japan, more than two centuries ago. The genre imagines the experiences of a human (usually a woman) sexually penetrated by a tentacled creature such as an octopus, squid, worm or extraterrestrial. Sometimes, though not always, tentacle porn stories include a non-consensual or horror element. Tentacle-sex was imported from Japan into American B-grade monster movies. In these lurid films, the victim often died, not from being rent asunder by the invading appendages of the horrific creature perpetrating the tentacle-fuck, but from the violence of her orgasm in response to the obscene pleasure. 

My tentacle story, Fleshpot, has a male protagonist and takes place in modern times, though there are suggestions that his tentacled partner is of ancient and mysterious origin. True to the genre, the main character is both aroused and horrified by the tentacles that ensnare him and insinuate themselves into his various orifices. A jaded sex addict, he’s seeking new experiences in the exotic Orient. He gets more than he bargained for.

Why am I sharing all this with you? Well, for one thing, I’m pretty happy with my story. It’s atmospheric, dark and sexy, a little bit shocking (maybe more than a little, for some readers), and very perverse. I don’t know if Nobilis will accept it, but I love the notion of dedicating my dirtiest dreams to charity. 

I also feel a special thrill because tentacle porn is so far beyond the pale of “acceptable” erotica. With elements of both non-consensuality and bestiality, it happily breaks the rules of most publishers. In fact, Nobilis produced an earlier collection of tentacle erotica, entitled Tentacle Dreams. Alas, this book was published by the recently closed Republica Press, one of the few book mongers brave enough (along with Freaky Fountain, also unfortunately closed) to take on erotica that deliberately violates taboos. I hope he finds another publisher, because I’d dearly love to read the anthology. 

So writing this story, although great fun, was also a political act. I refuse to allow anyone else to tell me what I should find arousing. And although I hadn’t previously considered tentacle sex to be among my personal kinks, I’ve decided I wouldn’t necessarily kick an octopus out of bed. 

I love Alessia Brio’s courage in being willing to bring this volume into the world. Not that I’m surprised. She has as little patience with censorship as I do – maybe less. The Coming Together Tabooty series, which was born out of frustration with Amazon’s ill-founded attack on incest and pseudo-incest titles, includes seriously sexy stories nobody else will publish, and – surprise, surprise – sales are brisk. And every time someone gets off on one of our taboo tales, a bit of cash goes to the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom, an organization that fights for the right of consenting adults to have whatever kind of sex they want.

So authors – if you want to strike a blow for sexual freedom while contributing to ocean conservation – if you’re curious as to whether you might find tentacles sexy – if you want to explore just how much you can make your characters squirm – you might consider writing a story for Nobilis’ collection.

I said that this tale was my first tentacle porn attempt, but I realized while reading Wikipedia that my H.P. Lovecraft parody “The Shadow over Desmoines” also features writhing appendages invading unsuspecting orifices. Indeed, Lovecraft is strongly associated with western tentacle erotica, though I doubt he was familiar with the Japanese origins of the genre. If you feel the urge to indulge in some tentacled eroticism, over the top but still, I think, arousing, check the story out.

What’s Love Got To Do With It?

by | March 21, 2012 | | 10 Comments

By Lisabet SaraiSally and Harry live on opposite coasts. Although they work in the same field, they’ve never met. At the conclusion of a professional conference both have attended, Sally discovers her plane home has been canceled, so she decides to stay another night in the luxurious conference hotel. Harry resides only an hour’s drive away, but after the intensive socializing of the conference, he’s disinclined to go back to his lonely bachelor apartment.Nursing a beer in the hotel bar, Harry can’t help but notice the unusual woman sitting by herself at a corner table. He introduces himself and offers to buy her a drink. Before long they’re chatting as if they’d been friends for years. Sally is charmed by Harry’s chocolate-brown eyes and infectious laugh. Harry finds his companion’s outspoken intelligence as much a turn-on as her voluptuous figure. Conversation gradually morphs into flirtation and then into outright groping. They adjourn to Sally’s room and have the most incredibly pleasurable, mind-blowing sex in either’s experience. Waking the next morning, entwined in each other’s arms, they make slow, sensuous love. Sally gives Harry her business card before rushing off to catch her plane.Ending A: Harry returns to work, but he can’t get Sally out of his mind. He calls and she tells him that he’s been in her thoughts, too. Harry doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he can’t argue with his heart, which tells him that Sally is as close to a soul mate as he’s ever going to find. He takes a leave of absence from his job, books a flight to her city, and shows up at her door at 2 AM, begging her to let him into her life. Sally’s joy at seeing him overwhelms her irritation at being rudely awakened. She drags him into her bedroom, where they have loud, passionate sex. As Harry is coming, he blurts out a proposal of marriage.Ending B: Harry returns to work. His whole world seems brighter whenever he remembers his time with Sally. He thinks about calling her, but is leery of invading her privacy. As time goes on, his memory of her face fades, but he masturbates to the recollection of her uninhibited screams as she climaxed around his cock. A year later he attends the same conference and notices a note with his name on the message board. It turns out to be an invitation to Sally’s room.Either of these synopses might describe a story I’d written. I believe that I could make either outcome plausible, sexy, and emotionally satisfying. In my view, A and B describe parallel universes. You never know how a chance encounter will play out.In the eyes of many publishers, though – not to mention readers – A and B are far from equivalent. In the first resolution, Harry loves Sally and we presume that his feelings are reciprocated. No matter how often, how enthusiastically, and how explicitly the characters shag, the fact that there’s love involved somehow raises the tale to a higher plane. Story A is not a story about sex – it’s about love.Story B, some might argue, focuses more on appetite. Clearly Harry-B feels affection and concern for Sally-B – more, perhaps, than Harry-A, who barges into her life and drags her out of bed in order to declare his love. Both Harry-B and Sally-B appear to be content allowing their encounter to stand on its own, as one of those incandescent, magical connections that sex sometimes creates – although Sally-B seems inclined to try for a repeat performance. In story B, though, Love doesn’t enter into the equation, at least not overtly. Story B is erotica – or in the eyes of some, just plain smut.The two versions of the tale might feature an equal number of moans, shudders, licks, sucks, cocks and climaxes. Nevertheless, Story A will be viewed as more worthy and more socially acceptable than Story B – just because of the L-word.If you go to All Romance Ebooks/Omni Lit (http://www.allromanceebooks.com), you find a list of categories in the left sidebar. One category is “Erotica”. Click on that link. You’ll find yourself at a page that tells explains you must log in before you can see any books in that category.On the other hand, you’ll also see categories like “GBLT”, “Multiple Partners” and “BDSM”. Out of curiosity, I chose the latter. This time there were lots of books listed, some of which appear to include fairly intense kink. But that’s okay, apparently, because the individuals involved love each other and are in a committed relationship.I’m sorry, but this just doesn’t make sense to me. Does love in some miraculous way sanctify and sanitize the sex? Don’t get me wrong. Love is a wonderful thing. I’ll agree that sexual experiences are frequently both more intense and more satisfying with a partner (or partners) whom you love. However, the division between erotic romance (where sexual partners declare their love) and erotica (where they don’t necessarily mention the L-word) strikes me as artificial. And the difference in status is just plain unfair.My first novel, Raw Silk, was written and originally marketed as erotica, by the late lamented Black Lace. It features a woman exploring her sexuality with three different men – plus a woman or two – trying to understand just what she really wants. The conclusion happens to fit romance conventions – sort of – in that Kate chooses the Master who has recognized and cultivated her desire for submission over her long-time lover from America or the charming, sexually-omnivorous Thai prince who’s been wooing her. However, the sexual variety in the book, not to mention the transgressive nature of many of its scenes, qualifies it as erotica, at least in my perspective.When the book went out of print, I resold it Total-E-Bound, where it has been reborn as erotic romance. Aside from some edits of vocabulary and punctuation, the book didn’t change. (Of course, by that time, Black Lace had re-branded its books as romance as well.)I had the same experience with my second novel Incognito, which presents an even wider range of sexual scenarios. Yes, there’s a burgeoning romance in Incognito, but it’s set against a backdrop of sex with strangers, ménage and swinging, BDSM, age play and pseudo-incest, lesbianism, homosexuality, cross dressing, exhibitionism… well, you get the picture. Yet by some strange quirk, Love makes it all okay.These days I deliberately choose to write erotic romance stories – at least sometimes – and I’ve had reasonable success publishing them (though not necessarily selling them!) I’m something of a romantic at heart anyway. I have to be honest, though, and admit that I prefer the greater freedom that comes with writing stories that will be labeled as erotica. Even though they don’t sell as well. Even though admitting that my characters don’t always fall in love will result in my books being hidden away behind the digital equivalent of a brown paper wrapper.Ironically, my erotica tends to be less physical and more emotionally nuanced that much of the explicit erotic romance I encounter. Even when writing romance, I sometimes find myself struggling to deliver the detailed, explicit sex scenes that seem to be popular with today’s romance readers. Go figure.I entered my user name and password at ARe, just to see what showed up in their erotica category. It’s an incredibly mixed bag. Porn-like titles such as Open Your Legs for My Family and Caught in a Werewolf Gangbang mingle with romancey titles like Keep Me Safe and Trust in Me. I noticed books by erotica authors I know and respect, as well as books where the blurb made it clear that the authors could use some serious editing help.Oh, and there were over 9000 entries. This made it pretty difficult to see whether my books showed up there. Somebody must be reading all these books, though. Certainly there are a good number of people writing them.Erotic romance readers have some pretty weird notions about erotica. They seem to believe that sexually explicit fiction, without love, is basically trash – without plot, character development, style or suspense. I’ve read dismissive, somewhat insulting blog comments evincing the opinion that, if there’s no love involved, it’s “just porn”.Sigh. As if writing porn were something anyone could do – with skill, at least.Sometimes I feel like shaking them. “What’s love got to do with it?” I’d say. “Not every sexual experience ends happily. Not every happy sexual experience results in an ever-after. Don’t you get bored knowing ahead of time how your stories end?”They don’t seem to get bored, any more than the folks who purchased Open Your Legs for My Family will be bored when they get hold of Bend Over for My Family.Maybe, as usual, I’m just asking for too much.

Madness, Shame and the Reason We Write on the Edge

by | March 13, 2012 | | 6 Comments

Today I ran across an artifact. It’s a letter written in 1985, by Charles Bukowski to the journalist Hans van den Broek, responding to the news that his book, ‘Tales of Ordinary Madness’ had been banned from a public library.

He wrote: “Censorship is the tool of those who have the need to hide actualities from themselves and from others. Their fear is only their inability to face what is real, and I can’t vent any anger against them. I only feel this appalling sadness. Somewhere, in their upbringing, they were shielded against the total facts of our existence. They were only taught to look one way when many ways exist.”

I’m surprised that no one, as yet, has written on the ERWA blog about PayPal’s pressure on eBook sellers to remove erotica containing taboo subjects such as incest, pseudo incest, bestiality, underaged sex and rape.

Finding this letter in the middle of what is happening today was strangely poignant. We are still in a world where people hide actualities from themselves. We don’t really like the fact that some people find fiction that disgusts us erotic.

It is very easy to look at those taboo labels and wonder who in their right might would ever find any of it erotic? Aren’t they sick, deviant, in need of psychological care? It turns out that over 40% of women have rape fantasies.  The average age of first sexual intercourse is 17.  One of the primary reasons why we find tales of werewolves so appealing is the eroticism of their beast-like nature.

When writers write on transgressive topics, especially when they look at them through an erotic lens, they are digging deep into the darker recesses of our subconscious.  They bring things into the light that may scare and fascinate us in equal measure.

I remember watching a film called ‘The Collector’ when I was young.  Based on the novel by John Fowles, it’s the story of an obsessive butterfly collector who decides to kidnap and keep a girl. I found it both incredibly frightening and inexplicably erotic. I was very ashamed by the fact that it turned me on. I was equally ashamed that I got so wet watching late night reruns of Fay Wray screaming and struggling in King Kong.

I admit it. I really did wonder how he was going to fit that enormous ape cock into little itty bitty Fay. Turned me on no end just thinking about it.

It wasn’t until I was a middle-aged woman that I decided to bring that shame into the light of day, or rather onto the page, and examine it.  I realized that I wasn’t equating my fantasies with the real world.  Having experienced real rape, I can assure you, it’s horrific.  And yet, although the words I used for the fantasies I had pertained to real acts in the real world, their fantasy counterparts were entirely different. Unrealistic, and yet full of semiotic meaning.

What I have concluded was that I had taken realities in the world around me and re-encoded them, appropriated them, retold the stories they way I wanted. And isn’t that, in a way, what a lot of fiction is about?

Murder mysteries aren’t celebrations of the act of murder. Intergalactic wars aren’t celebrations of holocausts.  Historical romances don’t revel in the awful realities of women’s lack of agency and power in the 18th Century. Fiction allows us to retell the things that fascinate and terrify us in ways we can absorb, be thrilled by, enjoy.

I can’t claim to really understand why fiction with edgier taboos turns some people on. I just know it does. As I writer, I am interested in examining why it does. How we take those horrors into ourselves and somehow reprocess them into other things. Words give me the freedom and the safety to get inside the phenomena and dissect it. I think we can learn very important things about ourselves when we write or read those dissections.

I think fiction is a good place to recognize our inexplicable strangeness, to acknowledge that we have unaccountable feelings and ideas.  And history has taught me that we are at our worst when we decide there are things we shouldn’t talk about.

Hot Chilli Erotica

Hot Chilli Erotica

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