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v u l v a l i c i o u s lesbian erotica 102 I used to write erotica for funsies. Sometimes I guess I still do it here. Not really, though. It's been. Well. A long time since I've had sex. I could count the years I'm sure, but it feels longer than the first time I went without it. Not in a bad way, just in a distance sort of way. It's hazy and funny, something I still think about (that first time, when I slapped their back so hard when I came that I left a perfect red hand print on them that didn't fade for a couple of days) but not something I linger on. I've hit my greysexual phase. I say phase because I've come to believe that identity, for me at least, is a shifting thing, never staying still for too long. Not hard to pin down, really, but hard to keep in one place forever. I'd say I'm demisexual now (only experiencing sexual attraction after I've known someone and developed a relationship with them) and grey asexual (Experiencing sexual attraction infrequently and not having a particular desire for sex). If you'd told me any of this ten years ago, I'd've laughed in your face. Anyway, here I am, not really interested in sex so much anymore but wanting to write lesbian smut for the fan fiction that I create. (I don't talk about it here for good reason; that world and self are entirely separate from here, my private corner of the internet where I've managed to remain mostly anonymous). I've realized the only way I can do it is to let myself be freeform, shifting perspectives if/as I need to, and using the first person (Mostly I and some You). I'm about to try to translate it into the fic scene, to boil down my purple erotic prose into something tighter and more nuanced, still hot but not so personal. People don't need to know that I miss the taste of cunts, that though the thought of having sex with anyone leaves me ambivalent at best, the thought of having my chin and mouth and cheeks covered in cum or my face buried between someone's thighs sounds like fucking heaven. They don't need to know how much I miss fisting, how I think about how warm it is when you're wrist-deep inside of someone, the curl of your fingers gathering up the wetness inside of them and moving it around til it leaks out around you with so much mess and noise and filth that you feel absolutely covered in, might even be covered in it if you're lucky, wiping off your hand across your chest or rubbing off against their thigh after they've come. Anyway, the only way I can write smut is to make it personal. And it leaves me feeling a bit bare, I guess. Funny that I'd care. |