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Do you want me to suck your lance, baby?

24 Feb

Over at Erotica for All, Tiffany Reisz has made a passionate plea for writers to take the euphemism out of fuck talk, or ‘erotica’ as we like to circumlocutarily denominate it.

As she says:

In my writing, I tend to err on the side of the standard–it’s a cock, it’s a penis, or it’s implied. When I write, “he pushed inside her,” readers are pretty sure I’m not talking about a man penetrating a women with a matchbox car, a tube of chapstick, or a cell phone. I’ve seen other writers use flowery euphemisms for the penis during sex scenes– “lance,” “sword,” “manhood.” Manhood is a particularly odd one for me. I’ve never had a penis in my womanhood so why would I have a manhood in my vagina. And the sword metaphors freak me out a little. Sword? Lance? Really?

And that’s the truth of it. The only synonym for cock that I can swallow is dick, and cock just has that percussive sound to it that makes my stomach tingle. Dick has its place, but for me it’s second best to cock. Weapon is too aggressive. I mean, even with rough sex it’s not a weapon. And lance… I mean, have those people ever seen a lance? Or, if they’ve seen a lance, have they ever seen a penis? Or a cock for that matter.

More rude thoughts through here


Fed up with bad erotica? Me too.

13 Feb

I’ll be frank: there is a lot of bad erotica out there. More throbbing than a stubbed toe, more globes than a newspaper stand, more tentpoles than the roster of a Hollywood studio and more panting than an episode of Lassie.

Why publishers believe women (and men) want to read overly idealised scenes which feature an impossible hero ‘ministering’ to the needs of a breathless virgin, I have no idea. It’s not just the ridiculous clichés like throbbing, globes, tentpoles and panting, but the fact that they signify authorial laziness, an unwillingness to write about things that people actually do.


Stuck zippers and waxing strips... some of the things I suddenly have an urge to write about

Sex should be written about honestly, with regard to its messiness, its unpredictability and its sheer fun. Sex goes wrong sometimes–something doesn’t work, or it doesn’t fit, or it’s in need of some repair. Surely, there must be an appetite for portrayals of erotic romances which feature people that we stand a chance of recognising, and in situations that we have actually been in. I want to read a story that excites me because I feel I know the people in it, because I can recognise them and sneak a look at them in bed. Or wherever they happen to be.

The fact is that people are sexy and what makes them sexy is not their perfectly rounded bottoms or their rippling pectoral muscles. They are sexy because of what they do for each other. I aspire to making real people sexy, and I hope you enjoy it.