On Sex (A blog for Hump Day)

There was a strange moment in my life when I realized I like sex more than I should. Now, now, don’t get ahead of me, I meant sex in the media. And when I say that, I don’t mean nudity on the big screen, or the small screen, but sex in general. The taboo. The whispered words from adults.

Sex is always better. So why is it so profane, so vulgar, sinful, dirty? Many reasons comes from the mindset of a Christian America who wish to eradicate it from our society. The married couple must only have sex to procreate, otherwise it’s a sad sin. Don’t use condoms. Don’t take the pill. Don’t pull out. No masturbation, no anal, no oral, no hand jobs. Monogamous. Waiting til marriage. No extramarital. Nothing outside of wedlock.

But when the lights are out, good lord becomes “OH GOD!”

There’s only one problem I’ve encountered with sex: I’m not good at it. Sex writing, of course. The other thing is up to the opinion of others, but erotica is not my gift. Oh, how I dream of describing the cascading landscapes that are women’s bodies. These precious gems that are nipples, erected on a blanket of silky skin. The prickly pubic hairs, curling upwards, opening the slick of wetness beneath. If Erato would only kiss my mind and bless with me with the elaborate, non pornographic, scenes of two lovers which the reader’s breath will be taken like the first time she had sex. Or describe an awkward scene where two inexperienced hands tug on the straps of a red bra, the lacy matching panties rolling down smooth skin and the uncertainty of not knowing whether to spank her or not–perhaps this brings to memory the first time a man got laid.

I’ve done some poorly written porn in the past. I say porn because I thought erotica was the more intelligent word for pornography, rather than a more artistically piece work. My teenage mind was tainted by girl on girl action, women who loved spunk on their face, anal, getting rammed, dp, etc. Let’s face it, porn killed my imagination. (Let’s not get confused here–I was never under the impression that real women like this sort of thing; I only thought that in order to write good erotica, you must imitate porn movies. I was very aware that the women in the videos were just paid actresses who only allowed such acts of humiliation–which I only consider them such acts outside of porn–because, fuck, that’s an obvious.)

So I did what any writer would do. I read more on the subject. I read about sex as if it were religion. And in a sense, it did become religion. I studied books on the subject on my free time, writing an essay on it whenever I got the chance. I realized the my love for erotic arts and lifestyles was a better subject to write than the sex scene itself.

But lo how I wish I could just get the sex down right for a short story/poem. I suppose, as most people say, practice makes best. I seriously doubt it in this case.