Like most people, I didn’t crawl out of the womb writing erotica. I was writing sonnets. Really, I tumbled out, covered in placenta, looking for things to compare to a summer’s day–no, I kid.
My voyage into erotica was not something I could’ve foreseen. At first it was less of a voyage and more of a paddle boat ride in a very shallow pond. Maybe I should back up.
I was pleasantly minding my own business when a friend asked me, “Have you ever considered writing erotica?” My first response was something along the lines of, “No. And if I tried it would probably sound like, ‘and then he thrust his you know into her secret garden of love and gross smells.'”
Before I could say this out loud she told me about a little project that she wondered if I would like to try and be a part of. I’d written stuff in the past, and am a big fan of romance in any form. I’d even written sex scenes and make-out scenes, but they were always the type that faded to black. I never had to really get deep into it, so to speak.
So I sat down with one purpose: To write a sex scene. Almost immediately I had these characters, and I was gonna get them to do it. I was gonna get them to do it hard. I wrote, kept writing, continued writing. Before I knew it I had a few thousand words of two people hanging out, going to lunch, bantering, but no hanky panky. I got a little frustrated, it was like dating in real life, my characters had put me in the friend zone.
After a few cocktails and some er…research, I decided to stop freaking and calm down. “You can’t force it, Sadie,” is what I told myself. And I just kept writing. Sounds boring, I know. I kept writing, and when the time was right, you will all be happy to hear, my characters did indeed, do it. Even better, he did not thrust his you know inside her smelly compost…
What did he do? Well, you’ll have to hang around and I’ll tell you how to find out.