I
have to apologize. Through most of my life as Lisabet Sarai (which
began in 1999 when I published the first edition of Raw Silk), I’ve
been something of an elitist snob. Despite having written a great
many extremely filthy sex scenes, I’ve always considered myself as
an author of “literary erotica”. If you’d asked me what I meant
by that label, I’d have launched into a spirited explanation of how
my work focused on “the experience of desire” and the “emotional
and spiritual aspects of sexuality”, not just on the physical acts
involved. I would also have talked about how much I hate the
stereotypes of porn, and how hard I’ve tried to use original
premises, perspectives and characters in my erotica. Finally, I’d
mention (maybe a bit shyly) the fact that I view style and craft to
be at least as important in erotica as sexual heat.
All
of this is true. Nevertheless, if you listened closely, you might
have detected a bit of defensiveness in my exposition. My work is not
porn, reads the subtext. It’s not obscene. It has redeeming
artistic value. Sure, Amazon might be ready to throw me into the
adult dungeon along with the authors of Gang-bang at the OK Corral
and Taking Daddy’s Big Cock Up My Ass,
but my stories are different—more
thoughtful, nuanced and complex,
less exploitative and nasty.
Better... or at least more socially acceptable.
Bull
turds.
Nearly
twenty years after coming out as an erotic writer, I’m starting to
realize that as far as the world is concerned, I’m just as guilty
of writing dirty stories as the author of Lezzie Virgins
Violated by Extraterrestrial Octopi or
Stealing My Sister’s Smelly Panties. The
richness of my descriptions, the depth of my characterization, the
vividness with which I evoke
my settings—none
of this changes the fact that, at the end of the day, I write what
most people would call smut. Furthermore, my most dedicated fans read
my stuff at least partly for the arousal, not because of its literary
merit.
In
addition, I’ve come to understand that my fears of being viewed as
nothing more than a stroke author have held me back. There have been
times, especially when I was aiming at a romance market, when I’ve
censored myself, turning down the heat or at least mitigating the
rawness in my tales for fear of alienating my readers. My
fear and my snobbishness combined to make my work less than genuine.
A
few years ago, I started to deliberately write stroke fiction. Now I
have a 600-page plus boxed set of five books (Vegas Babes)
that are basically wall-to-wall, no-holds-barred,
every-combination-and-position sex. While these books do have a plot
and what I hope are appealing characters, my main goals are to
entertain my readers and to get them hot and horny. I have no deeper
message, aside from the general position that sex is tremendous fun
and everyone should get as much as they want.
I’m
working now on the first book of a new stroke series, The
Pornographer’s Apprentice. It’s both easier and harder than
writing so-called literary erotica. On the one hand, I don’t have
to censor myself (much – I’m so tempted to introduce taboo
elements like sister-sister incest into the current book, but I do
want to avoid the dungeon if I can). On the other hand, it’s
sometimes a struggle to turn off my inner critic and just let my
fantasies out onto the page. I really have to stop over-thinking
things like narrative structure, balanced POV and the Aristotelian
unities, because that just slows me down.
Aside
from the volume of the sex and the eager horniness of my characters,
these porn books are actually less transgressive than some of my more
literary work. There’s some mild BDSM, but none of the edgy power
exchange action that shows up in my earlier books. I don’t know
whether that will change as I continue to explore this corner of my
imagination. Having opened this can of worms, I’ll be interested to
see what crawls out.
One
thing I’d like to try is writing some futa fiction. I’m also
personally turned on by some incest scenarios, despite the official
prohibition. There are other forbidden but titillating topics that
call out to me.
I
don’t know if I’m brave enough to respond to those calls. I’m
afraid my existing fans would drop me in disgust. Obviously I could
create a new pen name for the taboo stories, but I already find
managing one pseudonymous identity takes more time and effort than I
have available.
Anyway,
I’ll have to see where my Muse leads me. She has a very dirty mind.
Meanwhile
I’m forced to acknowledge that the boundary between erotica and
porn is sufficiently subjective and fluid that it might not exist at
all.
