When Infidelity Works

Warning: I’ll be riding my segue throughout this blog.

Sometimes the rules of capital-R Romance give me pause. One of said rules is the one about infidelity, and the verboten nature of it. I understand the reasoning behind the rule, but I also feel it can be a strong tethering force to a writer's creativity.

In the real world, for example, it’s quite possible for an infidelity to happen and for it to make a relationship stronger. It becomes, essentially, the relationship’s beauty spot–the dark blot which brings into stark relief all the good, great and wonderful aspects of the rest of the relationship. (I don't make any claim to this result being common, nor am I making a recommendation to test the theory!)

Granted, it depends on the nature and strength of the relationship before the infidelity as to whether healing can occur. Also, a whole lot rides on the nature of the infidelity itself. Was it a casual, no-strings thing that “just happened”? Did it result from a period of unrest within the core relationship? Or was it one of those situations where if you’d met that new person first, you’d have been with them instead?

Another factor is the people within the core relationship, and what their triggers are. Of the three examples I described above, each one would have a different meaning to different people. The no-strings situation might be a sharp blow that could be easily fixed because it really did mean nothing beyond a quick fuck. But perhaps the fact a partner could so easily trip and land in or on someone else’s sex organs would give their partner pause.

Either way, though, what bugs me to a certain degree is that removal of a valuable source of tension and character growth. Even in religion, sinners are granted a chance at redemption. Why not in Romance? (I do know the answer to this question, by the way. I just like to ask it once in a while.)

I think these strict rules are part of why I have such a healthy love of well-written literary erotica as well as erotic romance. The scope is wider, I suppose. The options more varied.

In my last blog I mentioned my older story, “The Three-Day Hump”. There were many reasons this story never really took off, and I’m told one of those reasons is the infidelity. In my story, the second example held true–my male lead was married to a famous model, whose obsession with physical perfection had led to her becoming cold to anything but her own reflection. He had motivation which, to me, was understandable but still morally wrong; and I see nothing wrong with using that in fiction. My female lead was a little more innocent, given her on-again-off-again boyfriend was off the scene at the time.

I firmly believe that story is hella romantic. It just isn’t a Romance story.

But the whole question of these rules brings me around to another bugbear I’ve visited in the past, on one or the other of my blogs. The warnings system on distributor websites.

Now granted, in self-publishing we’re not bound in any way to provide warnings about what kind of nookie and triggers go on in our stories. There is, however, a strong expectation that we’ll do so. When working through a publisher, in my experience it’s absolutely expected that warnings will be quite transparent.

Why does this bug me? Well, to draw another tired comparison… horror stories. I did a little searching on Amazon, choosing Steven King and Clive Barker as my guinea pig authors (because I don’t read much horror so I only know the big names!). Nary a warning to be seen. No mention that characters might be eviscerated. No warning that blood will be forcibly removed from its vessels. Nuttin’. Yet you slip one random cock into a pre-lubed ass without telegraphing it to the reader and there can be a whole lot of trouble.

Bear in mind that it’s a fictional schlong and an equally fictional rosebud. And that, though I’ve not discussed it until now, I’m talking consensual acts here between the fictional folk.

None of which quite answers the question as to why it bugs me. Again, I do understand the viewpoint of those who say it’s necessary. I just think the expectation that we should lay it all out like that removes some of the writer’s power to surprise. Imagine applying the same expectations to “The Crying Game”.

Warning: main female character is actually a dude.

I Cut My Teeth on Adultery (Erotica)

by Giselle Renarde

When I started writing erotica almost 10 years ago, I was in an adulterous relationship. You know this. I wrote about it two weeks ago. That's probably why so much of my early work focused on the emotions (and actions) around infidelity.

I wonder how many erotica writers are readers who went pro? I can think of at least two other erotica authors who, like me, started their careers on a dare. I didn't read erotica (much less romance), so I never knew what was expected of me. I wrote my experience and I wrote what appealed to me. A lot of that fiction involved cheating.

Didn't take long to realize I wasn't producing the kind of work publishers wanted. I submitted my early books all around town. I got rejected. Not surprising, considering I have no fucking CLUE what I was doing.

But I always read publishers' guidelines with an eagle eye, and I started realizing I COULDN'T submit my books to a number of imprints. "All the usual no-nos" seemed to include not only incest, underage sex and bestiality, but INFIDELITY too.

Good thing Selena Kitt created eXcessica fairly early in my career. Selena gave eager consideration to the kinds of manuscripts that were often rejected by other houses, not on the basis of quality or style, but content. I'm so glad I came across eXcessica's call for submissions in 2008. It's one of the only publishers I still work with after all this time (and, trust me, I have worked with A LOT of houses).

I don't know who else would have published my Audrey and Lawrence collection, for instance, which is ALL ADULTERY ALL THE TIME.

Well, that's a bit of a lie, because many of my short stories involving adultery WERE published... but not by erotic romance imprints. They were published in anthologies of literary erotica. They were published on websites like Oysters and Chocolate, Ruthie's Club, and others whose names I've forgotten because they fell out of existence long ago.

Readers enjoyed my adultery. Comment sections teemed with accolades. I don't say that to brag. Trust me: glowing reviews are not the norm, in my writing life. But maybe that's why I found it so perplexing that all these indie erotica publishers that were popping up in the days before self-publishing was the respectable profession it is today (?) wouldn't look at manuscripts involving infidelity.

I guess they knew what they were doing.

Except for all the ones that crashed and burned...

Anyway, as I mentioned two weeks ago, my newest novel is also about an extramarital affair. I just can't get enough adultery, I guess. Those illicit affair feelings still fascinate me, and I'm sure they always will, since I was involved with a married man during my formative years.

Nowadays, I appreciate adultery more through the lens of fiction. In real life, my story sounds a bit like Lisabet's: Sweet and I are technically in an open relationship, but we've been together more than 7 years and I haven't wanted anyone else. Neither as she, as far as I'm aware. Even when we talk about other people we might be attracted to, it all feels very pie-in-the-sky.

The other day, I came across my short story Secret Mercy. It's about a young woman hooking up with a married ex:

At nineteen, Mercedes thought she was the only woman of her kind, unparalleled in the civilized world, leading a life of opulent vulgarity. By twenty-three, she’d realized she wasn’t the only woman in the world to sleep with a married man.

For Mercedes, hooking up with her ex is out of the question (at first) not because he's still married, but because now she's engaged to another guy. What makes Simon exciting? Why does she decide to go for it?

Because he offers cash. That's new.

Secret Mercy begins:

It happens when we fear there’s nothing special about us: we allow our secrets to make us special. With our secrets, we set ourselves apart from the crowd. And when the secrets we’re hiding are known by all, or when we realize our misdeeds are so commonplace our secrets aren’t even all that remarkable, we set out to make new secrets. They make us feel important, unique. And the more insidious our secrets, the more distinctive we feel.

You can read this story in my free ebook 6 Erotic Shorts, if you haven't already.

"Fidelis" A One Act play

("Fidelis" was performed at the Le Chat Noir Playhouse Augusta GA for two weeks in April of 2015)

"Fidelis”

by

C. Sanchez-Garcia

CHARACTERS

FIONA                  Wife of Jim.  She is a student in a writing course. Her governing characteristic is her sensual love for her husband and her anger at his fate and hers as well.  She is trying in a practical way to cope with the event's impact on their marriage. 

JIM                    Husband of Fiona.  His medical prognosis is the inciting event of the story.  He hides his fear better than Fiona.

SETTING

The only setting is the marital bed in their bedroom where the action takes place.

TIME

At night, the night before he will go into surgery in the morning

ACT I

Scene 1        Bedroom.

(Fiona and Jim, a married couple are in their nightclothes sitting up in bed with the lights on, with the blanket over their knees.  Fiona is holding a prop, a paper bucket similar to a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket with garish letters and pictures advertising a "Clone a Willy" kit, a home kit for making a silicone casting of a man's erect phallus.  Fiona is grimly studying the instructions in her hand as Jim begins.)

JIM

Take good notes, Fiona, you may want to use this in your writing class someday.

FIONA

                                    (emphatically, upset, trying to be cheerful)

I'll never want to use this -

             

JIM

You might.  It's something that just happens to lots of people. You never know.  I can't believe you got that on Amazon.  It's amazing.

FIONA

      - not in a million years would I ever want to use this.

JIM

Isn't that what they say?  Normal people get a headache, they take aspirin.  When a writer gets a headache she takes notes?

FIONA

I don't even understand these instructions, do you understand them?  Some guy in China wrote these instructions.  Here.

(Hands him the instructions,  Looks away, frustrated)

JIM

They didn't teach you this stuff in Girl Scouts?

FIONA

They do but they don't give you a badge for it.

JIM

You're right about these instructions.  I don't get this either.  It seems like its mostly about timing, getting it in there and keeping it going until the silicone goo around it hardens.  They did this to Jimi Hendrix, did you know that?

FIONA

What?

JIM

There were these special groupies.  They went around making plaster casts of famous rock star's dicks.  I wonder if any of those castings are still around.  Maybe they're in the rock n roll hall of fame.

FIONA

You act like this is a big joke.  I feel like I'm making a death mask out of your dick.

JIM

I think it's pretty funny.  I'm not even a rock star.  I think this is great.

FIONA

Let's see how funny you think it is tomorrow when they wheel you out of surgery.

JIM

You make it sound like you're the one going under the knife.

FIONA

I am!

JIM

No, you're not.  You are definitely not.  Its just me and little Jim here.

FIONA

It's us!  WE are going under the knife.

JIM

You're not the one who's sick, Fiona.  I'm not scared.  You don't need to be scared if I'm not scared.

FIONA

You're scared.  And you don't talk to me.  You don't want to talk to me about this.

JIM

Fiona.

(Continues reading the instructions)

FIONA

You don't talk to me like you used to.  We don't have conversations. 

JIM

We're having a conversation.  This is a conversation.

FIONA

You don't listen.  You explain.  You explain and give advice.  I don't always need advice.

JIM

Well, what is it you need?

FIONA

Oh goddamn!

JIM

Well, I don't know.  I'm listening.  I'm listening now.  So talk.

FIONA

Oh! 

       Okay.  So, tell me something.

JIM

What?

FIONA

How you feel maybe.

JIM

Cool.  Like an ice cube.  Anyway.  Some things you just have to do.  Prostate cancer's not the end of the world.  They do an operation, you have things you can attach to get it up after. 

FIONA

Don't tell me that doesn't scare you.

JIM

I don't know what scares me anymore.  I don't think dying scares me as much as getting stiffed by the insurance.  And this isn't even dying. 

(Puts on his reading glasses.  Turns back to reading the instructions)

FIONA

      (breaking down)

This is so fucked up. 

JIM

Who buys those kits?  Do they still have groupies?

FIONA

Wives.  Soldiers wives.  Their husbands are going off to war and they miss them.  They miss their bodies.  They miss their dicks.  So they buy these kits so they can sleep with something like the real thing.

JIM

Can I ask you?

FIONA

What?

JIM

Does it like, I don't know, if it were dark, would you know it was me?  Could you feel the difference?  Does it matter?

FIONA

What?  That's just weird.  Does it matter?

            (After a pensive pause) 

Do you remember the first time you ever saw me?

JIM

It was in the coffee shop.  Around the corner from the office.

FIONA

Was that the first time?

JIM

Yeah.

(Distracted.  Rattling the instructions, trying to concentrate)

FIONA

I always thought it was at that little jazz thing at the library.

JIM

No.  Coffee shop. 

FIONA

What did you think?

JIM

What did I think? 

           (distracted.  Reading.)

Oh.  Hell.  I noticed you right away.

FIONA

Why?

JIM

(putting the instructions down.  Resigned to talk)

I don't know exactly.  Sometimes a person goes by, and they just catch your eye.  You just look.  They look a certain way and you're curious.  What's that person like?  I wondered what you were like.

FIONA

And now you think you know?

JIM

No.  I know better than that now.  I barely know.

FIONA

What did you think the first time you saw my breasts?

JIM

Oh my god. 

FIONA

What did you think?

JIM

I'm not sure.  I think my brain was clouded with lust.  No - I remember - they were bigger than I thought.  Your clothes make them look smaller than they are.  It was a nice surprise.  Really.

FIONA

Anything else?

JIM

And I remember thinking your nipples were really beautiful.  Kind of puffy.  Sweet looking. 

FIONA

Sweet looking?  What?

JIM

Yeah.  Like innocent.  Your nipples, they're puffy and sweet looking.  Really.  I can't help it, they still are.  I still sneak looks at you when you dress.

(Jim goes back to the instructions)

JIM

So you still want to do this?  I mean, what difference does it make?  What's there to miss?  Why go to all this trouble?

FIONA

You don't get it.  I can't believe you don't get it.

JIM

What's that supposed to mean?

FIONA

How can I explain this to you.  When you’ve got it up, you know, up – up, it’s not like something that you do on purpose. It's not like making a fist or throwing a ball.  It's something that I did to you. Me.  Like making you laugh.  That thing sticking up is you responding to me, like a cat purring when I pet it.  I made you happen that way. I made you purr. It's like looking at a person's thoughts, it's like looking at feelings you can't fake.  I look at that and I think 'I did that to him', I made him feel like this.  'This is how he feels about me right now, this is what he wants and this is a part of who I am to him right now.  Like heat. What am I going to do when I don't get to see that anymore?

     ---   and I'm really going to miss your good old dick inside me.  I'm used to your good old dick.  I want this. 

(Indicates the bucket)

JIM

You know the real problem here?

FIONA

What?

JIM

I'm not big enough for you.

FIONA

OH - that's so stupid!

JIM

No, what it is, your spirit - I mean goddamn.  You're ravenous. Your soul is just so damn big and hungry.  Your personality, its huge. 

FIONA

Me?  This is about me?

JIM

No – listen.  You want a conversation?  Let’s have a conversation.

                  

                        (Fiona, attentive)

                         JIM

I'm just this kind of dumb guy.  I've never said this, but you make me feel small sometimes, like a small soul.  When we first started out, I figured you'd like me for a while, okay, I'd get to bang you a little while, okay, and you'd get bored and dump my ass and move on and look for somebody good.  I was always waiting for the day when you'd decide you had me figured out and you wanted to move on to somebody interesting.  But you keep drilling down deeper.  Sometimes I don't know why you keep me around. I never thought we'd make it this far. You've got this hungry soul, and I'm not big enough for you.  Your soul is just deep.  I’m not big enough to fill up that soul, and somehow you’re still here.

FIONA

Well, now you know.  I don't just keep you around.

JIM

I don't know anything.  I don't know what you want me to do with your little Kentucky Fried Pecker bucket there.

FIONA

Well, (looking under the cover)

     -right now we can't do much of anything. 

(Pokes at the contents of the bucket) 

This stuff is ready to go.  The paper only gives you a few minutes to get the impression made so let's get Little Jim up to take off speed and get this thing going.

(Reaching under the cover)

Wakey wakey.

(Looking frustrated)

Let's see.

(Ducks under the covers with the bucket.  At first Jim looks under the cover to watch.  Becomes embarrassed)

What's going on with you?  What's wrong?  Are you having some kind of trouble?

JIM

I've never had any kind of trouble.

FIONA

So what do you need?

JIM

It's not something I can do.  It just happens when it happens.  Just like you said.

FIONA

Are you scared?  Say it.

                                            JIM

(getting angry)

What's not to be scared? Huh? That I'll be in diapers all my life because I can't stop pissing myself like a baby? You mean that? What’s wrong with that?  Or how about this thing -

(holds up the "Clone a Willy" kit and puts it down.  Rushes to her and shouts loudly, threateningly, inches from her face))

because I'll never get my BONER up good and hard like a man again in my whole goddamn life  -

- What's not to be scared?  What’s wrong with that?

(As Jim pulls away Fiona explodes)

FIONA

I hate this!  I can't stand this!

(Throws the bucket across the room and screams)

JIM

We can still do this.  If you want. Let's try it again, let's go.

FIONA

I'm not doing it.  I'm done.  Jerk off or something, you do it without me, I'm not doing it.  Oh god!  Why does this shit always happen to us?  What did we do wrong?

JIM

Fiona, we didn't do anything.

FIONA

It's not fair.  It's so fucking not fair.  We don't deserve this.

JIM

No we don't.  Nobody does.  It is what it is. 

FIONA

We were so good together.  You were good to me.  I saw a lot of dicks before yours, but yours was the one I wanted to keep.  Now everything's going to shit!  I hate this!

JIM

This is not a done deal.  Shut your shit down. The Universe doesn’t do stuff personal.  Prostate cancer, its not punishment.  It just happens from too much sunlight or eating french fries or some goddamn thing.  Its just our turn in the barrel.  That's all.  We've had it good so far.

FIONA

I hate this.

JIM

You can beat anything if you have faith in yourself.

FIONA

Oh - fuck that!  Where did you hear that?  In a Disney movie?  Don't you dare talk to me like I'm fucking Cinderella, don't you dare fucking talk down to me.

(Crying hard)

I'm not a little kid, Jim, but I'll die without you.

JIM

I'm not going away anywhere.

(Trying to hold her, she shakes him off)

Nobody's dying here.  It's just life, I'm just getting old.  DNA breaks down, things happen.  Doctor Howard, my dick doc says that statistically men over forty -

FIONA

Shut the fuck up!!

(Jim is stunned, backs off frustrated)

Stop explaining shit to me.  You're always explaining shit to me.  Will you please, please, please, please stop explaining shit to me?

(turning away)I think I'm going crazy.

JIM

(Gently, cautiously puts his hands then his arms around her and gentles her to him holding her in his arms as she weeps against him)

You're making way too big a deal out of this.  You try too hard.  You love too much.

(After a pause)

You know there's other ways.

FIONA

(Over time, quieting down.  Then looking to him hopefully)

Like what?  (Leans on him)  Give me something. Help us out here.

JIM

Sometimes when this happens, a woman can take on a lover.  A younger man maybe, just for physical relief.  Just to make love.  If you wanted someone just to take care of that part of your life for you, it would be okay with me, I swear.  I'd give you my blessing, as long as you're happy.  As long as I know you still loved me, I'd be fine.  I want you to have what you need.  I want you to be happy.

(Fiona expressionless, long slow cool burn.  Quiet anger as she looks at him.  Tension builds.  Soon - very suddenly, shockingly, she slaps his face.)

FIONA

Asshole. 

        

JIM

Fiona!

FIONA

How can you even think I'd do that to you? How can you even say that to me?

JIM

Fiona, what the fuck -

FIONA

Where does it stop?  What if it were me instead of you?  What if I had cancer of the pussy and they cut off my pussy?  Hah?  What?  What if they cut off my boobs someday?  Hah?  That happens to people.  It's okay Jim, go find yourself some sweet thing you can bang like a bunny as long as you still love me.

JIM

I'd never do that to you.

FIONA

Then what makes you think I'd do that to you?

JIM

I'm just saying.

FIONA

Well, don't say stupid shit!

(pause)

JIM

I'm sorry.  Okay?  I'm just saying.

FIONA

I'm sick.  I'm sick with love.  I'm sick OF love.  I didn't know anything could hurt this bad.  I should be strong for you and I’m not.  I’m so not.

(pause)

How?  How can you not be scared?

JIM

You reach an age, you have to pick your nightmares.  You can't be scared of everything that's coming down the road at you, because there's just too much stuff.  If it wasn't this, it would be something else.  And when we get to the other end of this, there'll just be something else.  It never stops.

I don't know.  Losing you would scare me.  It would, I'm not just saying that.  Losing you.  Losing this - I don't know.  Losing you would scare me.  You know why?

FIONA

Why?

JIM

Because then there wouldn't be a witness.  There wouldn't be a friend.  You know me.  You've been there, you've been through all my bullshit and you still like me anyway.  Everybody needs a witness to their life.  You want that hand, that steady hand that holds on to you.  Everybody needs a witness who says 'I knew that guy - I was there'. After a while that's what being married is.  You have this person who bears witness to your life, who knows you were there.

We'll go on.  Because that's what we do.  And when one of us is gone, the other will go on.  Because that's what we do too. 

(They embrace and lay together.  Fade to black.)