Some
of us write for love. Some of us write for money. Either way, we
authors are hungry for reader approval. Perhaps there are some out
there who toil away for the pure sake of their art and who honestly
don't care whether anyone reads their books or not, but nobody I know
personally falls into that category.
As
for me, I want to be loved far more than I want to be rich. I want
the people who pick up my books to be swept away into the worlds I
create – to live, breathe, suffer and lust right along with my
characters and to feel satisfaction, even joy, when my story winds to
its close. Positive reviews send me to the stars, not because they'll
increase my sales (they probably won't), but because they suggest
that I've succeeded in seducing at least one reader.
If
you worry about your readers' opinions, though, then you can't help
but think about market sentiment, which after all aggregates their
views. Then you find yourself making choices based not on what you
want to write, not on instinct or on passion, but on your perceptions
of what is likely to sell. And that truly is a slippery slope.
There's a thin line between adapting to the market and
self-censorship.
Much
of what I write these days gets labeled as erotic romance. I
constantly have to sit on my characters so that they'll behave
according the expectations of this genre. In particular, no matter
how tempted I am to introduce F/F interaction into my stories, I have
to resist. I frequently find my heroines wanting each other, but I
don't dare let them consummate their desire because it will alienate
my audience. Both my readers and my publishers have told me in no
uncertain terms: the majority of people who buy and read romance
actively dislike any depiction of Sapphic sexuality.
For
example, I remember the experience of writing The Ingredients ofBliss, which includes some fairly wild BDSM ménage scenes
(M/F/M). Halfway through the book I came up with a kick-ass secondary
character, a female police detective named Toni. It soon became clear
that Toni had her eyes on my heroine Emily. In love with Toni
myself, I desperately wanted to see what would happen if I allowed
her to express her interest in a physical way. Emily could easily
have been open-minded enough to go along. Instead, I ended up
including only the faintest hints of mutual attraction – and then
my editor wanted me to scrub those as well. (She objected to some of
the other extracurricular sex, too.)
Why
is there such a bias against F/F relationships in the erotic romance
world? Especially when the majority of readers are female? I took a
poll once, in the guise of a contest, to find out how my small
coterie of fans felt about F/F fiction. The responses ranged from “It
just doesn't interest me” to “It's icky.” (I'll admit that one
or two replies indicated an enthusiasm for lesbian stories that
equals mine. The population for this impromptu survey was after all a
self-selected set of people who already like my work!)
I
can live with the “doesn't interest me”. After all, my husband
has zero inclination toward BDSM, even in fiction, in vivid contrast
to my own fascination with power exchange. The “ickiness” factor
really bugs me, though.
This
isn't sexual conservatism or general homophobia. A big slice of my
readership adores gay male erotic romance, especially when the heroes
are tall, handsome and intensely masculine. These readers fantasize
about such men themselves. It seems only natural they'd expect such
men to be drawn to one another.
In
contrast, I have the creepy feeling that many women don't find their
own bodies attractive enough to be erotically appealing.
That's
an ugly, scary thought. I hope it's not true. Given how mercilessly
the media beat us over the head with images of impossible beauty,
though, I can't rule it out. Most of us don't measure up to the
artificial ideal, no matter how much money we spend on cosmetics,
clothing and gym memberships. Meanwhile, we're told that anything
outside that ideal is unacceptable. Our hairy pussies are disgusting;
we'd better go get them waxed. A tummy that's not flat as a board,
breasts that are too big or too small, flat feet like mine that can't
handle the high heels required to be truly gorgeous – we're
conditioned to dislike our physical selves.
How
many women do you know who truly love their bodies? And how can you
love another, naturally imperfect woman, when your perceptions are
colored by these constant messages of female inadequacy?
Of
course, there is a market – possibly growing – for F/F erotica
and erotic romance among lesbians and bisexuals. In those books,
though, market wisdom suggests you should avoid any straight sexual
interaction. This literary segregation really annoys me. My
characters tend to reflect my own omni-sexuality. I want to write
about women with men, women with women, men with men, multiples and
chains, in the same book (as I did in my first novel fourteen years
ago, when I was still a marketing innocent).
Anyway,
there's nothing I can do about market pressures, except to resist the
urge to self-censor and try to remain honest. When I'm tempted to let
my female characters explore one another, I should yield. I'll never
be a best seller, so what have I got to lose?
Just
for the fun of it, I thought I'd include an excerpt from the very
first F/F scene I ever published, in my debut novel Raw Silk (which is going to be re-released, newly edited and expanded, soon!)
My heroine Kate is in the process of learning about submission from
Gregory, who owns a sex bar in the Bangkok red light district. He
brings her to the bar, disguises her as Asian, and “forces” her
to participate in a live sex show.
****
Gregory
handed her a silk kimono. ‘Put this on, and wait behind the
curtains until you hear the music. After that - you'll know what to
do.’
‘I
know that you won't disappoint me, Kate,’ he added. Then he was
gone.
Standing
in the dim hallway, Kate fought the urge to run. She fantasized about
sex in public places, she acknowledged; she had enjoyed the risk of
discovery in her recent, outrageous experiences with Somtow. This was
different. How could she fuck a stranger, surrounded by strangers,
who were watching purely for their own entertainment? Being
discovered in the midst of passion was one thing; deliberately
exposing the most private of acts to public view was something else
altogether.
She
had no choice, she told herself. Marshall had required this of her,
and she was bound to obey him. She knew she was lying to herself,
though. Mixed with her trepidation was a secret, shameful excitement.
The
first wails of the saxophone reached her from beyond the curtain. She
recognised the tune. Kate pulled the kimono tight around her,
swallowed hard, and stepped into the spotlight.
In
the brightness, Kate could see nothing. She moved toward the stage,
feeling light-headed. It seemed that she floated up the stairs.
Her
partner awaited her.
It
was the sweet little vamp who had been Uthai's companion in the
previous performance. A woman! Gregory was diabolical.
The
Thai woman caught her eye. Kate saw kindness in her face, and
amusement. Slowly, she began to untie her robe; Kate did the same.
The silken fabric slid from their bodies at the same moment. A low
murmur rippled through the audience.
The
woman held out her hands to Kate, beckoning, inviting. Kate glided
across the stage, the music reaching her despite her fear. They
clasped hands, standing face to face. We could be sisters, thought
Kate. They were exactly matched in height, and like her, the young
woman was more generously endowed than was typical for a Thai
Still
holding Kate's hands, her partner encircled her and kissed her,
open-mouthed. Kate felt a shock at the woman's soft lips and probing
tongue. For a moment, she struggled against the invasion. However,
her arms were pinned at the small of her back; though seemingly
gentle, her partner was remarkably strong.
Perhaps
Gregory has instructed her, thought Kate, surrendering to the strange
and delicious sensations of the woman's kiss. There was a faint taste
of peppermint. The woman drew back and smiled at Kate.
‘Please,’
Kate whispered. ‘You'll have to help me, tell me what to do. This
is all new for me.’
‘Mai
khaojai,’ the Thai returned in a whisper. ‘Pood pasa Angkrit mai
dai kha.’
Kate
knew little Thai, but she understood the gist. Her lovely companion
spoke no English. They could communicate only with their bodies.
The
woman's hands were on Kate's breasts now, stroking and fondling. Her
touch was unlike anything Kate had known, delicate yet focused,
savoring both the smooth skin and the swelling flesh beneath.
Kate's hands hung at her sides, awkward. Her partner's nipples, pert
and upturned, seemed to wink at her. Come, don't be shy, they seemed
to say. We long for your touch. Hesitant, Kate cupped the twin mounds
in her palms, felt the silkiness under her fingers. So strange it
was, like caressing herself, but with an extra spark. After a moment,
she brushed her thumbs ever so lightly across the woman's nipples.
Electricity ran up Kate's spine, as the Thai stiffened and then
relaxed, throwing her head back and thrusting her breasts forward.
The
music changed, moved into a bridge, and the Thai woman regained
control. She half-danced with Kate over to one of the poles, so that
Kate was leaning back against it. Then she sank to one knee in front
of Kate and used both hands to part the hair hiding Kate's sex.
Panic
rose again in Kate's throat. With the spotlight in her eyes, she
could not see the audience, but she heard their hot breathing. This
passionate dance was too private for their gaze. Yes, she wanted this
woman, but she would not, could not, allow herself to be so taken
under their crude inspection.
Then
thought was erased by sensation, as her partner's tongue swept
through her sex in one long, hard stroke that ended with a flick to
her clit.
(If
you happen to be one of that rare breed of readers who loves F/F
erotic fiction, by the way, I urge you to pick up a copy of HerOwn Devices, my collection of lesbian erotic stories.)
5 comments:
Since most of our readers are females, it's like you said: they find sexy men hot, so it's natural to expect the sexy men to also find each other hot. Especially when the M/M action is written by a straight woman, writing for other straight women. And multiple pairings will have 2 or more men, 1 woman. I prefer M/M romance written by gay men, because the dynamics feel more real. Most men, even gay men, don't talk about their feelings nearly as much as women do, even in romantic relationships.
But ask any straight man, and he'll say that men are "hairy and disgusting," or some variation on that. Most straight men are so afraid of being accused of being gay, that they won't allow themselves to even imagine 2 men together. But since they find women so hot, they naturally assume that other women find women hot too. And they prefer multiple pairings with 1 man, multiple women.
It's all in your perspective. What you find hot, you assume everyone else does also. And alas, we're not all as multi-sexual as you are. I've heard it said that bisexuals fall in love with the person, not their sex. I almost envy that kind of freedom. I'm so hopelessly hetero.
Hi, Fiona,
Don't knock your sexuality! "Hopelessly hetero" is perfectly fine.
I realized yesterday, though, that I have several heroes who are sexual adventurers, ready to try anything. Somtow in Raw Silk is like that, but so is Mark in Incognito. I've actually never met a guy who was confident enough of his sexuality that he could express his attraction to both women and men. But I'd like to!
One of my heroes is that kind of man. He didn't have a HEA in "Undercover Lovers",(currently out-of-print, will be re-released) the book he was introduced to the world in. But I'm in the process of writing him a romance now. I've been told by some readers that they didn't like him much, so they're not sure I'll be able to make him a hero. I intend to try. But then, he's older now, and getting mellower in his old age.
I think it's great that your heroes and heroines break the mold.
I'm enjoying "Only One Man Will Do", btw!
I'm so glad! I feel so "outclassed" when in the company of erotic authors, since I've been told by my own brother that I write "vanilla", by which he means "boring." I responded by telling him if he wants to read any more of my books, he'll have to pay for them, like everyone else. ;-D
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