I Write About Sex For A Living

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I Write About Sex For A Living
What it's really like to spend all day spinning sexy stories.

 

Writing about sex has always been an honorable tradition. Just like good sex, good sex writing is in the details, the images, the scenario, the melding of reality and fantasy. We read erotica for inspiration, sometimes to lose ourselves, though we often find parts of ourselves within the story. Good sex writing paints a picture; it shows as well as tells, and it connects your mind to your body.

I wake the next morning, sore and satisfied, my muscles aching from all night of lovemaking. I lay naked and sprawled out, the sheets a mess. A smile bright as the morning is on my face as I feel the weight of his body pressing down on mine.

I look longingly into his eyes before dropping my gaze to his firmly muscled chest, narrow waist and the sexy triangle of hair leading down to his…"

Sounds good right, the life of an erotica writer? Can't you see me in my sexy lingerie, sitting at my laptop, popping bonbons from a heart shaped dish into my mouth, porno playing as I sample sex toys for research? Unfortunately the reality is very, very different.

Don't get me wrong, writing about sex for a living is great, if you're having sex. If you're getting it on the regular, writing about sex can be fun, fulfilling, informative, and inspiring. But if you're single and not getting laid any where near close to regular, then researching, talking about, writing about and thinking about sex—particularly the sex you're not getting—is torture.

Come with me down memory lane: I'd just sold a book of erotic fiction to a major publisher. I've got a sexy boyfriend, with a great body and an even greater sex drive. I was set. Then he dumped me. Why? Oh the irony: He started to feel insecure about me writing about sex, and talking to writers (read male writers) about sex.

So there I was, two months post-break up, single, horny and immersed in all things sex, and sadly not getting any. If this isn't a dilemma, I don't know what is. The real picture is of me sitting at my laptop in my sweat pants and favorite t-shirt, eating take out and feeling fat and ugly. And did I mention horny? Luckily a delivery of sex toys arriving at my door gave me temporary solace.

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