For days I've been wanting to write this piece. In the back of my mind little phrases and ideas have been tumbling around, going pop pop pop while I walk through my days, like one of those toddler push toys. God, I loved the sound of those. Bought one for my first nephew when he was little - I'm sure my sister appreciated that. They're not the same now though, all plastic and "safe." (you can actually buy this vintage one on etsy.com) Pop pop pop.
Last week in the comments on Beginner's Ball #4, there seemed to be a preponderance of not sharing going on when it came to having spouses reading our erotica. (That's probably a poorly written sentence, but fuck it, I'm just trying to get this damn thing written.) And I've been thinking about that. Pop pop pop. We want to. Share that is. I know I do. But something is holding me back. Others too it seems.
What is it? Do I think he'll be shocked? Actually, knowing how well he knows me, the answer is no. He knows I have a dirty mind, always have. Miss one-track here. So what is it? One comment (and I'm too lazy to go back and see who made it or to quote exactly, so I'll say this now - I probably got it wrong) said something like this - he might think I actually want to do this. Hmmmmmm.
Pop pop pop. Okay. So, is that the case with me? Am I afraid my husband will actually think I want to do some of the stuff I write about? Do I? If I say oh, this is just a story, I'd never do this, am I being dishonest to some degree if what I'm writing about seriously turns me on? If something turns me on, doesn't that mean that deep down I maybe just sorta kinda wanna try it? Pop pop pop.
Yes and no. My favorite answer. In a perfect world, none of this would matter, would it? But it's not a perfect world, hence the yes and hence the no. Yes, because, damn, I've fantasized for years and it would be so fucking hot! But no, because, in the real world people have feelings and all sorts of past issues and it takes almost superhuman enlightenment to get beyond all that. So we invent it in our heads and write it with pen or pencil and paper, or digital fonts of our choosing.
Pop pop pop. So, why then am I still afraid to share? Is it because that would be turning loose a side of myself that has rarely seen the light of day?
I worry that people, specifically my husband (because I live with him and sleep with him), will think that somehow, this new me, this Erobintica person, isn't the real me. The me that people have known for years. And that me certainly didn't read filthy stories, much less write them. That me never told dirty jokes (though laughed at them). That me could never have those kind of thoughts. Pop pop pop.
But that is the real me. Some of these stories I've written/am writing are based on thoughts that have been in my head for literally decades, sometimes most of my life. I've just been afraid of them. Of admitting to them. Of having to defend them. Ah, maybe that's it! Maybe I'm afraid that someone, someone who knows me, knows my past issues, will point that out to me and say "this, what you're doing, is not good, not moral, not healthy." And if someone says that to me, what do I say in response? I don't have an answer for that ... yet. I think some of this long-winded blog writing is a way to work that out. Because I do believe that this new me is the real me, the healthy me.
And damn! I could keep writing and writing and turn this into a War & Peace of a blog post. But I won't. Gotta stop typing sometime and have some breakfast, take a walk before the thunderstorms arrive and get ready to spend a day away from the computer tomorrow, working with my hands helping friends with their "bale-raising."
It will be interesting. We haven't seen these folks for years since they moved away (not that far, but far enough) and we got back in touch thanks to the internet. And I'm wondering if I'll tell them what I'm up to - the writing of erotica and blogging. Yup, should be interesting.
15 comments:
"pop pop pop"
This post is sending bubbles through my head today. Like when you let a big bubble out under water, lying on the bottom of the pool, and swipe your fingers through it, scattering it into tiny little spheres that swirl around.
I might have been the one who said that ;)
Yes and no. That is so correct. So perfect an answer. If I could experience the things in my head in a perfect, no strings attached, atmosphere, one that would leave only the vague memory of a wonderful dream behind, yes. Yes yesyesyesyes.
but no. Not in this world. Not in this life.
As always, you make me think, Robin...so I'm off to blog.
you have started the War and Peace of blog posts...it's just one with chapters all over the blogscape.
Have fun at the bale raising, and let me know how it goes!!
Yep, food for thought, my favorite kind of breakfast. I just rediscovered one of my earlier pubs which is a "fake" sexual fantasy I wrote for a Maxim anthology. So it wasn't the "real" me. I "made up" the fantasy, but can you ever write something that isn't of you, part of your mind?
Fantasy is a language all its own, whether sexual or otherwise, and we don't really need a professional to analyze it. We're just creating--and responding--in this way we're not familiar with and so when you share with a non-writer spouse, he doesn't know the language yet sometimes. He takes it literally when the message is something else (pushing limits, the sexiness of trust or total abandonment to pleasure, etc).
Yes, you've gotten me thinking, pop, pop, too! Thanks for yet another fertile offering!
I, too, tend to think of some of the things I fantasize/write about as scenarios that I'm attracted to in the abstract but which might not be compatible with my real world.
For example, I might notice a stranger and fantasize about doing sexual things with her. In the abstract, I can assume I would enjoy it—that is, the experience of doing sexual thing A with person X would give me great pleasure, I believe, as an experience in itself.
But things don't exist in isolation. Everything has a context, and part of my context is that having sex with a stranger would probably not be compatible with the parameters of my monogamous (and wonderful!) relationship with my wife. (I'm not speaking for other people's relationships, of course—I'm just talking about our specific relationship.) So the way I answer some of those "Would I really want to do that?" questions to myself is by saying, "Would I enjoy it, in the abstract, as an experience that existed in some kind of impossible isolation from reality? Yes. Do I really want to do it, in the context of my real life? No."
Wonderful post.
Personally, I'm so utterly incompatible with the real world, I don't even live in it. You seem to be navigating it quite adeptly.
Hi JM, I went back and checked - it was you. ;-)
And I read your post today too. (have been pondering my comment there) In your old comment, you mentioned that your guy felt like he couldn't be part of this new world - by which I assume he means this writing/erotica world. And I was thinking about that. My husband says he doesn't venture over here (my blog) all that often, or ask to read my writing, because he wants it to be something that is "mine" and he doesn't want to encroach on it. And that's fine. Though I'd like to think he does benefit from my newfound sense of myself with doing this. I'll comment more over at your place.
Donna, you're up early again! Did you find that while you were mining? (saw your blog post too) It's funny, other than pushing myself for Alison's contests, I have not ventured too much in my own writing - except that I have. Oh, it's hard to put into words (but that's the whole point, right?) - but it's like trying to discover myself all over again as a writer, because for too long I tried hard to squelch the erotic side of my writing (though it always seemed to slither out - I remember a poetry workshop a number of years ago where one of the members, a guy, complained once because I hadn't brought any new erotic poems, hahaha).
And gee, I could get to like this making people think thing.
Jeremy - hi! Ah, thanks for using the word abstract because that is so so so true. It occurred to me that it's like many things we'd like to do. For instance, travel the world seeing all the sights. And while some people may be able to, and do, do that, most of us can't manage it in our "real life" - and we can accept that. There's lots of things I would like to do if I had the time and unlimited resources. I think it's the same way with sexual fantasies. Only we, as writers, can bring it to life, four ourselves and for other people. Since for most of us our adventures tend towards the mundane, it's fun to escape that once and while.
Remittance Girl, welcome! Though I beg to differ, because I believe it's ALL the real world, even those dusty little corners of our brains that are taptaptapping at keyboards. And adeptly? Hahahaha - if I was I wouldn't be writing these tortured, obsessive posts about this, hahaha. Okay, I'm getting punchy on a Friday afternoon. Anyhow, like I said, welcome.
That was a great post.
I haven't got to the point where I actually have any writing to share yet... but I've started trying because I'm trying to unearth the real me, because I feel that it'll be good for me.
hey ste - here's one of my favorite books to recommend for someone just dipping their toes in the writing ocean
Writing Down The Bones
thanks, Erobintica - I'll check it out!
I'm still thinking...and thinking and thinking. ;)
The conversation with my husband is ongoing and evolving. It'll be interesting to look back and see where we started, here in a year or so.
Really interesting post there and you make a lot of wise points. I think Jeremy has the meat of the answer: it's about context. The fantasies we write exist in their own little worlds, not in the context of our real lives. They wouldn't work out the same if we tried to do them for real.
Another answer: I don't think there is such a thing as a single "real me". We have multiple personnas, don't we: some public, some private. A single person might be a dedicated Mom and a wild lover: they're both really her, they just don't surface at the same time. Fantasy is a place to let the buried personnas out to play.
(Plus - too bring the level of debate right down - sometimes I write stuff that I know would just hurt if I tried it for real (like huge cocks up the ass!). I like to imagine they wouldn't hurt. But they would. So they're actually more fun in my head.)
Hi JM. Yeah, it'll be very interesting to see where some of us are in a year.
Janine, hey, that's a great level for this debate. ;-)
Yeah, we do tend to have various personas, and I find that at times one or the other is more important to pay attention to. Hmm. I'm tired so I don't know if that makes sense.
Morning Robin...I'm back again...and still thinking.
the "new world" that my husband was referring to was the blogscape of erotica writers(I think) coupled with the writing. Like you said, my one track mind is far from new to him, so that part isn't a surprise. But my willingness to share my writing is - especially since for the longest time it was something I hardly shared with him.
And the "different me's" is a good point too. I'm different when I'm with my family than when I'm with my inlaws, and again different when I'm with friends. Though I'm not certain it's a matter of difference so much as a matter of how "naked" my soul is.
It's like I have layers of sheer fabric between me, the real me, and the world. How well you know me determines how many of those veils remain. A stranger only sees a suggestion of eyes, nose, lips. An acquaintance a little more, a friend, more still, and so forth.
But, even with my husband, a couple of veils still linger. Or maybe there's just one with strategic coverage. That part of me shows up here, in the blogscape, with people that understand that part of me.
I have no clue if any of that made any sense whatsoever. I'm off to work(yes, on Sunday), and I need more coffee!
Yes JM, that makes sense.
On the topic of 'real me' - I take Janine's point about a single person having different aspects to their personalities that surface at different times, depending on the circumstances. But at least for me, not all of those personas have seen the light of day as often as they perhaps should have... and as a result, they sometimes don't feel entirely real. Or that I don't quite feel whole without them. Or something like that.
Writing erotica and not sharing it is literary masturbation. Cum on paper as you would in your bed with a trusted lover!
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