When
I published my first novel, I didn’t realize how profoundly it
would change my existence. After all, I’d submitted to Black Lace
on a whim, intrigued by the fact that someone might be interested in
reading stories inspired by my forbidden fantasies and my real-world
sexual adventures. Since my book took place in the mysterious and
exotic orient, I devised a pen name to match, with a hint of foreign
glamor.
I
even concocted a fake biography for “Lisabet Sarai”. The only
child of a Lebanese belly dancer and a French army officer stationed
in the Middle East, Lisabet split her childhood between the souks of
Marrakesh and the cafés of Montmatre. As a precocious teenager, she
danced for princes and sultans, one of whom financed her higher
education. As much in demand for her exquisite erotic poetry as for
her sensuous danse de ventre, Lisabet has traveled all over
the world, capturing her impressions in her daring stories. Her
dozens of lovers remember her with nostalgia and affection, years
after their brief but incandescent liaisons.
Little
did I realize that Lisabet would take on a life of her own.
There
are some grains of truth in my tall tale. I did perform as a belly
dancer in my youth. I’ve visited every continent except Australia,
and now live in Asia. And I did go through what I like to call my
“sex goddess” period, in the golden age after the invention of
the Pill and before AIDS, when I seemed to be overflowing with sexual
exuberance which I shared pretty broadly. I like to believe that if
my former lovers think of me, they do so fondly.
However,
my public reality is far more prosaic than Lisabet’s. I’m in my
sixties. I’ve been married for more than thirty years. I work in
teaching and tech, occupations which do demand a certain sort of
creativity, but which call on a different set of skills than my
erotic writing. Most people who know me have never heard of Lisabet
(though I occasionally fantasize that some of my friends or family
might actually be Lisabet’s readers, without my knowing).
Although
I’m genuinely proud of my body of work, stretching over nearly two
decades, I can’t brag. I can’t even tell most people. Both my
parents were avid readers—it’s no accident I’m a book worm—but
they went to their graves not knowing about my alter-ego. They
wouldn’t have disowned me or condemned me or anything like that,
but I know my preferred subject matter would have made them
uncomfortable. Once I went so far as to inscribe a print copy of Raw
Silk (second edition) for my father, intending it as a birthday
gift. At the last minute, I returned the book to my hidden stash of
author’s copies, recognizing that my dad’s peace of mind was more
important than my own desire for recognition.
Meanwhile,
the need to keep my alternative existence a secret has become far
more critical since I took up residence in a fairly conservative
foreign country with strict anti-pornography laws. I love my adopted
home and enjoy living here. If I were exposed as the notorious
Lisabet Sarai, I could be kicked out, even put in jail. So I take
precautions. I use a different computer for my Lisabet work and
communications than for other tasks. I encrypt all my files. I don’t
use the same social networks for my two identities. I never do
anything related to Lisabet on my phone. I bite my tongue when
someone starts talking about self-publishing.
I
have friends here who are literary, creative types. I am so
tempted to tell them about my carefully hidden career. I really have
to watch myself. After twenty years of writing and publishing smut, I
want to shout from the rooftops, give away copies to friends and
family, do signings and readings like other authors. I don’t dare.
So
my existence as Lisabet Sarai is pretty much limited to the
cybersphere. I email. I blog. I participate in the Erotica Readers &
Writers Association lists. Very rarely I get the chance to meet some
of my erotica colleagues in person. When I do, it’s a tremendous
high.
I
love connecting with fellow erotic authors. To be honest, I
feel closer to many of my on-line friends in the erotica community
than I do to my meat space acquaintances. I suppose that’s because
with them, I can be honest. I don’t have to hide behind a
veil of respectability. I can be myself—experimental, iconoclastic,
taboo, still chronicling the thrilling variations of desire even
though I’m a senior citizen.
The
thing is, Lisabet Sarai really is me, a hugely important part of me
that I have to keep a secret from most of the world. It’s
difficult, even a bit painful, to conceal my true nature. I’m
grateful that with you readers, at least, I don’t have to hide.
