The problem with writing Erotica is that you have to think of a million different ways to say the same thing.
‘He walks in, pushes her up against the wall, they kiss. She wraps her legs around him, moaning softly, groaning a little. He lifts her dress, feeling, finding, wet, he’s hard, so good, she reaches for him, all of him, moans, can’t wait, now, in me, go in, please, now, harder, deeper…’
‘She’s on the bed, wearing only her French underwear. He’s watching. She plays. One finger, one, no, two, in her, on her, oh god, can’t wait, legs, thighs, nipples, he watches, he sips, she comes, he stands, undoes his jeans, she pulls him, he, they, oh god, come in me, can’t wait, oh oh, more, now…’
‘He’s cooking. She creeps up quietly behind him, pushes herself against him, hard, urgent. He stops, turns, grabs her, lifts her, yes, jesus, the kitchen table, garlic, onions, rips off her panties, goes in, quickly, deep, oooh, from behind, oh oh, oil splatters, the chicken burns, but more yes yes jesus more, flour, eggs, the ice cream, dammit, god again, harder, deeper…’
Shattering moans, groans, taut nipples, quivering sex, thumping cocks, whipped cream, one finger, two fingers, jesus and god and yes more oh oh no yes please oh my god, harder, deeper, shit, deep no not my ass, hey, my ass, no not my ass, no oh no…
The problem with writing Erotica is that it can be very bloody predictable.
But it can also turn you on, halfway.
‘Which is why you call him, you ask him to come over, now, yes, I want to feel you, against me, in me, come now, open the door, oh fuck, yes, your fingers, your hand, skin, your oh god yes this is really good, yes yes…’
The problem with writing Erotica is that it is impossible to finish writing the bloody stuff.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
1001 unfinished novels.
Each one with a happy sexy ending.