Why we need erotic literature

 A few years back when Fifty Shades of Grey was hitting the headlines on a daily basis and when Educating Anna  was first in print , Diva Magazine (mostly aimed at lesbian women) asked me to do an article for  them. With a couple of token amendments (and  rather more graphic pics) here it is:-

The runaway success of Fifty Shades of Grey tells us so much about where women are today with themselves and their bodies and their independence of thought, much of which is all too obvious but much of which that is not. Yes we unashamedly enjoy sex, arguably more than men do, but why in a modern western world where it has never been easier for the female of the species to mingle fluids with A N Other, why are so many of them choosing to read about sex, instead, so it is being suggested, of actually getting down and dirty themselves ?

So much to say on this I scarcely know where to start. For most of us reading a book is to escape into the world of the imagination, to experience things in the mind that we are unable to do under the glaring lights of the real world.

Given that these days it is all too easy to engage in real sex with a real partner whether that person pays half the mortgage or is simply someone who passes in the night, what is it then we are we seeking in the pages of a book? I think that part of the answer lies in the very fact that sex on demand is now all too easy, a ready meal we can heat and eat and just as easily forget. Facebooking and speed dating may well have leached all elements of darkness and mystery from our daily lives, but that is where romantic and erotic fiction comes in to its own. Snuggled under the duvet with a book we would rather our mother doesn’t see, 

we are able to live out fantasies that we are sometimes reluctant to admit to ourselves let alone other people.

At one extreme they can be dark and dangerous,

and at the other surreal and sublime.

We can be tied naked to a tree while our brooding captor explores our most intimate places, or we can inflict some delicious and devious punishment on some naughty little minx who we have cajoled into our world of personal arousal, there is no limit to the swooning joys available to our erotic imaginations in the pages of a book.

Why should we deny, to ourselves at least, what is all too obvious. Whatever our sexual orientation we all have our dark and secret sides, and making an occasional escape from the daily round of domestic banality to visit the secret ivory tower of our erotic subconscious has to be releasing and therapeutic. It may be terrifying to find ourselves struggling helplessly as a dark and imposing stranger strips the last remaining shreds from our lush bodies and tells us in graphic detail what plans he has for us, but it still has to be better than running the vacuum cleaner.

As a writer with an all too vibrant erotic imagination I found I had no difficulty in producing a book, Educating Anna, about the misadventures of a young girl keen to explore and experiment with her sexual needs, and after this was published, I still had so much unsaid I wrote another, Sins of the Flesh. (Currently out of print)

Educating Anna tells of the erotic experiences of a girl who after experiencing the exciting humiliation of being spanked by her all too attractive tutor sets out on a journey of sexual discovery.

Beautiful and sensual, whatever Anna  experiences or submits too, unlike the protagonist in Fifty Shades, ultimately she is always very much in charge of her destiny as her primary motivation is for her to experience and learn. 

“ …. It’s sex I have in mind, sex in all its glory sex in every variation I can contrive; penetration and pleasure, pain and perversity…..and I should not take a Cyclopean view …..so what about girls…?” 

Sharing, dominating , mingling and submitting, eventually her journey brings her round full circle to an ambiguous ending I have no intention of giving away. I would love to be Anna in her ancient lime washed house with its bees waxed floors and aromatic log fires, spending my evenings practicing kissing with her sublimely pretty companion, Mouse,

but regrettably I am not and nor are you.

But we can still dream, and that’s the whole point of erotic literature.