There are some unwritten rules in erotic romance that I’m okay with following. The heroes are always well-hung, for example. TOTALLY okay with that rule.
But there are other “rules” that don’t sit so well with me. Hair, for example. Real men have hair. They have it on their faces, backs, chests, and bellies. I don’t go out of my way to describe a hairy back, mind you, although I personally like it (there, I said it) but all of my heroes have chest hair – crisp, curly chest hair that holds the scent of soap and warm skin – and that hair gives my heroines tactile pleasure.
I was just reading a study where women’s preferences can be correlated to local health. In areas where the overall community health is bad, women dig men with lots of hair, thicker bones, visible musculature. In areas where community health is good, women go for thinner bodies, more delicate features, and less to no hair. The conclusion is that the heavily apparent secondary sexual characteristics are survival markers – denoting men whose genetic health gives them an advantage in an environment without a lot of available interventions.
I wouldn’t want any man who couldn’t defend me during the zombie apocalypse. Some of my heroes are gentle, kind of nerdy men, but they’re still men capable of kicking ass, taking names, and lifting heavy things. My guys don’t just act like alpha men – they look like alpha men. That means hair. Down with waxing! Up with surviving the apocalypse!
Today’s entry in the neverending sweepstakes of shame: Even when I’m talking to other erotica authors, I find myself apologizing.
I’m serious. I need help. To acquaintances, I don’t talk about my writing at all. To friends, I minimize it as porn. To close friends, I both minimize it as porn AND downplay the erotic elements. And to potential colleagues, I apologize for it being too vanilla and not edgy enough.
I write what I myself would enjoy reading, for crying out loud. My entire life has been spent learning that I am not a special snowflake. For every thing I enjoy, there are thousands of other people with the same exact preferences. Millions, even.
I like reading M/F, M/F/F, and F/F. I like reading mild kink and threesomes. But I do not like double penetration, Sam I Am, I do not like it in the can. I do not like the whips and chains, and I do not like the golden rain.
For crying out loud, my entire goal is to write mainstream erotica. I should be thrilled that my preferences are so much in the middle of the stream that I can’t even see the shorelines. Today’s exercise is going to be working on telling other writers what I write, and doing it without caveats or apologies.