Monday, November 6, 2017

Writing Commando (#naked #freedom #genres)

windy skirt
 By Lisabet Sarai

When I was in my mid-twenties – during my sex goddess period – I sometimes went out without panties. Walking around bare beneath my skirt, every current of air caressing my naked flesh, was thrilling to the point of addiction. It's not that I'm an exhibitionist (although perhaps we erotic authors all share a desire to expose ourselves). I wasn't interested in treating strangers to a flash of my pussy. Indeed, I would have been mortified if I'd accidentally revealed my bottomless state.

The appeal had more to do with a sense of freedom and a consciousness of risk, a heady appreciation of my own delightful recklessness. Most of my life I'd hewed close to the rules, an overachiever always trying to please others. I'd been shy and timid, dutiful and diligent, the quintessential good girl. When my hormones took over the helm, that changed. I found that I was far braver and more brazen than I (or anyone else who knew me) would have believed. And I loved that feeling, the notion that I was treading the edge rather than keeping to the straight and narrow.

My panty-less state focused my attention on the sensual. I became acutely aware of temperature and texture. Arousal simmered through me, ready to be sparked into flame by a chance encounter with a kindred spirit. Erotic possibilities waited around every corner, and, bare-bottomed and moist with anticipatory desire, I was ready to take advantage of them.

Writing my first novel felt very similar to “going commando”, though it came more than a decade later. I didn't worry about markets or reader sensibilities. I wrote what turned me on: wild, kinky, transgressive scenes, every assortment of genders, twosomes, threesomes and foursomes, floggers and spankings, nipple clamps and butt plugs, public sex, pony sex, anal sex, even golden showers. I pushed the limits of acceptability to the point that my editor actually made me tone down a couple of scenes (and this was back when Black Lace was billed as “erotica”, not “erotic romance”). My personal fantasies provided the energy to move the book forward. Craft issues were secondary. The book had already been accepted on spec, and I wasn't really thinking about what happened after it was published. The writing process itself was arousing.

I didn't know anything about genres back then., though reading Raw Silk now, I realize that it follows many of the conventions of modern erotic romance – except, of course, for its omnisexuality. The inclusion of F/F and M/M in a book that is mostly M/F will evoke criticism from many romance readers, who seem to want a sort of genre purity. They'd probably judge my heroine as promiscuous too, for having simultaneous sexual relationships with three different men, although in the end, in typical romance fashion, she chooses to commit to just one.

None of this concerned me back then. I wasn't so swept away that I lost sight of the story. Indeed, even now the novel's plot strikes me as quite tight and well-paced. I guess that was instinct, though, because my focus was squarely on the sex. Like those days when I eschewed undergarments and opened myself to adventure, I wasn't concerned with what others thought. I was free, writing for the pure joy of vicarious experience. I was in my heroine's mind and body, living my dreams through her. If others disapproved, so be it.

If you think catch a hint of wistfulness in my description of those times, you're not wrong. I don't go commando anymore. The notion embarrasses me – a sexagenarian exposing her graying pubic hair to the world? But I remember that intoxicating feeling of lightness and power. I miss it.

And my writing? I've had eighteen years of education on the tyranny of genres, what sells and what doesn't, what you can and cannot include in a book aimed at a particular market niche. I'm constantly tempted, for instance, to let my straight heroines indulge their occasional Sapphic inclinations, but I know that will be the kiss of death for any book aimed at the erotic romance market. Meanwhile, I have a difficult time keeping my erotica from becoming to “mushy”. Although I've had my share of zipless fucks, I've never found sex without some emotional connection – love, tenderness, loneliness, shared kink, whatever – to be at all arousing.

I yearn for the freedom – the innocence – of my first years writing erotica. I've started to realize I'll never be a best seller (and I'm not even sure I want to be). So why should I care about pleasing a mass of readers? I know there are some people who'll appreciate my particular approach, my personal blend of romanticism and filth. I should strip off my official author's uniform and just write to please myself, and them.

I can already feel the breeze.

10 comments:

  1. I've gone commando most of my life. On a spur-of-the-moment excursion with two other guys to Florida as a teen, I only had the clothes on my back and arrived in Florida with 27 cents. New underwear wasn't high on the priority list. Turned out I didn't miss 'em. Like you implied, it made me more... ahem... aware of myself. ;>) I am still bugged by the constraints of underwear. Men have lots more to deal with down there and things tend to tangle and get bound up. (And not in a good way). That's not even when we see something we'd like to cuddle up with (or bounce around on) and get a spontaneous boner! (What we poor men have to deal with. Sheesh!) I only wear them to go to the doctor's or the gym where I have to dress in a locker room with a bunch of other guys. Don't want to be known as a commando geriatric, after all.

    But it did make things easier when opportunities turned up at a party. Closet fucks, basement fucks, out on the deck fucks, behind a tree fucks. One girl called me quick-draw. Pecker tracks on khakis were my nemesis. So I quit buying khakis.

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    1. It's easier for guys to go without undies. You don't have so much risk of exposure. Though I guess you might get chafed.

      (And yeah, now that you've mentioned it, I know exactly what you're going to post next week!)

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  2. Hmm. I must be an outlier. i've always preferred wearing absorbent cotton underpants. I don't leak, I swear, but especially in summer I do sweat, which can lead to chafing. Maybe if wore skirts it would be different, airier, but I haven't done that since my son's wedding, and I hadn't done it for years before that. Also...nope, better save something to write when it's my turn.

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    1. I've never worn silk panties...they foster the growth of bacteria, or so I'm told. And now, in the tropical climate, it's 100% cotton for me too.

      I've always preferred wearing skirts, though. Much more accessible. New England winters were a drag in that regard!

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  3. Here in Canada, there aren’t many days in a year that lend themselves to going commando. And I always worried about sudden, irregular periods. So I can count the number of times I went pantiless on one hand.

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    1. Isn't it warm in the summer, Jean?

      However, if one feels anxious, in any way, that kind of spoils the fun.

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  4. I still go commando or just wear thong underwear. Although today as I was getting gas, I readjusted my thong and a guy was staring straight at me!!! I haven't seen a post from you in a while and so loved reading this!!!

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    1. Hi, Mary!

      I've been here.... Great to see you popping up.

      I hate thongs. Always have. Find them incredibly uncomfortable.

      You're a Californian, aren't you? I was in California for much of my "sex goddess" period.

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  5. I only just saw this because I've not been on the net for a few months.

    Well, being a novice in matters erotica, I'm still learning. Yes, I've gone around the home and park without knickers, but I don't think I'd be able to do that in public.

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