A couple of weeks ago Geraldine O’Hara wrote a warm, personal article about what life was like for her as an erotica author. Initially I leapt with delight at someone being so open about their writing, but my delight quickly turned to frustration and disappointment when I read on – it seems that even as she works hard to cater to her reader’s passions, she’s squeamish and pretty judgmental about them.

In the Telegraph article, Geraldine takes pains to explain to us that she doesn’t do ‘the things in [her] books’, and that she’s not a ‘sex maniac’ – the unspoken implication being, of course, that her readers are. Her worry is understandable: despite the explosion of erotic writing, many of us are still either giggling in a corner about sex or condemning it as something corrupting and vile. But how depressing when even those who produce porn feel compelled to protest: “Oh, I write it, of course. But I’d never think about doing it.”

It’s good to talk

I write filth, and the thing I enjoy most about writing is that I know I’m describing things that people actually do, and thoroughly enjoy. They email me their stories, and comment to say “oh God I did this once and it was spectacular.” I know it can be spectacular because I’ve done it too.

But as much as I’d like to think everyone’s becoming more open about their sexual needs, I still get a surprising number of emails from people saying ‘thank God it’s not just me’ or ‘I like [insert deliciously hot sex act here] too – I was worried that there was something wrong with me.’ These emails usually come from women, and they always make me sad. Men are equally likely to email, but their “oh yeah I love throatfucking” is more likely to come with a “lol” than a lament about how they’re probably sick and dirty.

You’re probably normal and it’s fine

Few of the acts I talk about here are particularly unusual. Even if the majority of people don’t enjoy these things, they’re relatively common fantasies: being spanked, enjoying giving head, having sex with groups of men instead of just one at a time, that sort of thing. And yet while we’re happy to accept male sexuality as a storming force of nature (often to the detriment of men), women’s heartfelt and lust-inducing fantasies are often treated as either faintly embarrassing or downright obscene: things we can write books about but never actually admit to ourselves.

I write mostly non-fiction. That is to say that almost everything I describe actually happened. I slept with that hot stranger. I had that threesome. I went to that bondage club. I didn’t do it because I was ‘curious’ about how other people got off: I did it because I, along with thousands of other women, enjoy it. I’m not ashamed of any of the sexual things I’ve done – I’m far more ashamed of times I’ve lied to people, ignored important phone calls from friends, or said cruel things to loved ones in the heat of the moment. The sex I’ve had isn’t just a collection of sordid fumbles which I’ve later come to regret: it’s sociable, heartfelt fun with adults who I like and respect.

Evil shameful deliciously hot sex

In her article, Geraldine explains that “I don’t write erotic fiction to satisfy any urges. I write it because readers want it.” I’m sorry to have to break it to Geraldine, but urges are definitely being satisfied – those of the readers. And alienating those readers by discussing their sexual fantasies as if they’re the deviant lusts of a sex maniac shows a stunning lack of understanding about sexuality, not to mention a lack of respect for the audience.

I’m not arguing that Geraldine should have to experience all the kinds of sex she writes about – far from it. I’d no more tell her what to do in the bedroom than what not to do, and if her imagination’s good enough to float people’s boats then I wish her the best of luck. But when she explains that

“asking an erotic romance author if they do everything in their books is like asking Stephen King if he’s murdered anyone lately”

it makes me want to laugh, then cry, then cry some more, then fight a rabid dog like they do in Cujo.

Sex is not murder. Not even if it involves whips, chains and squealing. An unusual type of sex might not appeal to you personally, but to compare consensual sex between adults to murder frames people’s fantasies as devious and evil, and makes me think that the author has fundamentally misunderstood that sex is a good thing. A more accurate comparison, surely, would be:

“asking an erotic romance author if they do everything in their books is like asking a romance author if they’ve ever been in love.”

Look: we’re all adults. We know that across the spectrum of adult humanity there is a veritable rainbow of sexual tastes and desires. There are those who would frown upon BDSM, pornography, threesomes, or anything that came with even a whiff of the sexually unusual, and they are well within their rights to do so. But for someone who creates porn – who actually makes money from the people whose fantasies she portrays – to compare those fantasies to an act of calculated evil? That’s just perverted.

Telling us we’re unhealthy is unhealthy

This sex shame is damaging and unnecessary: it leads to people (and women in particular) feeling like they should suppress their genuine desires for fear of looking deviant or freakish. In turn, the fact that there are few women publicly willing to admit to ‘this sort of thing’ means that younger women are more likely to feel guilty about their own (perfectly healthy) fantasies and desires.

It leads to the double-standards we apply to women and men (when was the last time you heard a male pornographer declare that of course he wouldn’t watch his own material?). And, of course, it creates an odd dilemma for people like me: unashamed to write about sex but preferring to write under a pseudonym lest future employers are horrified to find I’m not a sexless work-robot. It leads to those awful articles in magazines in which self-appointed ‘experts’ explain to strangers exactly how to please your lover in bed, because you’re scared to ask for what you actually want in case you’re branded a pervert. Above all, it leads to a hell of a lot of bad sex.

It’s not fair to lay all of this at Geraldine O’Hara’s door – it’s not her fault that we, as a society, are weird about sex. But as someone who writes about sex, and makes money from catering to people’s sexual fantasies, it would be helpful if she remembered that these are actually real desires – these fantasies take place in the heads of real people, who will (quite rightly) be offended when they’re compared to murderers. We aren’t perverts or souls to be pitied: we’re adults who are making informed choices about our sexuality. I’m not a bad girl who needs to be punished: I’m a woman who knows what I want.

Nothing kills my mood quicker than a genital close-up. I have no problem with people’s bodies, and I think that there’s a distinct type of beauty in a nice, solid cock, but I find it pretty difficult to find porn with hot scenarios that isn’t going to cut to a gynaecological close-up just as I’m getting to the juicy bit.

I know some people love it – most gentlemen with whom I’ve watched porn have expressed a strong desire to look not just *at* someone but *up* them, so I can see why these shots are included: they clearly please a proportion of the crowd. But they don’t please me.

To clarify: this isn’t a disgust reaction – I am not horrified by genitals. Nor am I shaming the spectacular men and women who show them off on screen, and fuck like champions for an audience of internet wankers such as myself. I’m just lamenting the fact that so many directors insist on close-cropped shots of trains going into tunnels, disembodied vulvas being rummaged at by strangers’ hands, or those same hands pulling butt-cheeks apart until all you can see is a gaping void. And these things usually happen during the climax of the scene – at just the moment when the sex is getting hottest and most furious, when the actors would be building to a moment of exquisite lust, our director cuts away from their faces and straight to parts of their body that are far less capable of expressing emotion.

What I’m saying is this: I’d like to see something super-hot that doesn’t turn into a medical documentary just as it’s getting to the good bit.

My porn wish list

I’m not saying that people who like this are wrong/evil/stupid, and that everyone should be forced to watch only porn that comes from a set-list I’ve prescribed. I’m just having a general moan about the number of times I’ve had to cut short a wank to find a video that’s got more fucking and less fanny.

Perhaps the kind of porn I like (lots of kinky, rough, angry fucking) leans more towards these gyno shots, because that’s what directors feel the audience will want. Or perhaps I’m just crap at finding good porn. So, in case any awesome pornographers are watching, or you’ve come across any videos that show shagging without an accompanying smear test, here are some things I’d love to see more of in porn:

Lots and lots of long shots of people fucking

I like watching people actually fuck. Although head and handjobs are fun to have, I find them far less fun to watch, because there isn’t nearly as much action. Jiggling tits, pounding arses, hands gripping squidgy flesh, sweat dripping from people who are really getting into it? Yes. Fumbling and rubbing? Meh.

While we’re at it, that thing that porn stars do where they push a cock into the side of their cheek? It reminds me of the standard childish symbol for ‘blow-job’ where you’d make a wanking gesture near your mouth while sticking your tongue sideways. I get why it’s more visual than other suckoff techniques, but I’ve never met a guy who has expressed a desire that I do that to his penis.

Noises

I’ve waffled on before about how noises are hot. Not fake noises – I don’t need scripted, efficient ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. I want genuine noises – the ‘unnggh’s and ‘aaargh’s that people make when they’re fucking like they’ve really let go.

Especially – and I cannot stress this enough – from the men. Men in porn are often strangely silent, as if they’ve expressed opinions on the sex before and have been told to keep their mouths shut. Those that do talk often say things that don’t necessarily correlate to what’s happening on screen, as if the guy is just reeling off a list of accepted phrases like a politician at a press conference spouting ‘hard-working families’ over and over again with no discernible relevance.

Faces

If you’re going to give me any sort of close-up, I would like it to be of someone’s face. Ideally, because I am straight and female and pervy, the dude’s. In fact, if I’m completely honest, I have a deep and abiding preference for porn in which the women look a bit bored – in which they’re either idly or sarcastically pandering to the dude’s insatiable lust while they earn a paycheque/watch themselves in the mirror/wait for the washing machine to finish a spin cycle.

I appreciate this specific kink isn’t for everyone, but I know a hell of a lot of people who’d like to see more face. There are, of course, millions of porn videos that show faces, but my main issue with them is that they are not the faces of hot people reacting to orgasmic delight, but usually faces that are being jizzed on. Pop shots are, of course, a porn staple, so I don’t expect this to disappear any time soon, but we could do with more of the other: if you’re the one jizzing, it’s your face I want to see.

Shameless plug: if you want to read more about dirty fucking, and thoughts on porn, my book is currently ridiculously cheap on Amazon (59p in the UK, 96c in the US). I have no idea how long it’ll be on offer for, so if you want it then now’s a good time to get a copy.

This week I walked in on a boy wanking. Late at night, I woke up to go to the loo, spotted the light on in the living room, and thought I’d pop in to casually grope him before sleepily wandering off to bed. You know how I love watching boys crack one out – there’s a beautiful desperation about the urge to come, and I relish seeing that on his face. But of course, the most beautiful wanks of them all are Schroedinger’s Wanks – the ones I would change just by observing them. The wanks I am destined never to see…

(more…)

Ever wondered what an orgasm feels like for someone other than you? Well, wonder no more! After posting my enthusiastic yet relatively incompetent description of my orgasm on Wednesday, lots of people have had a go at putting one of the most complicated physical sensations into actual real-life words.

If you fancy trying it yourself (and why wouldn’t you? It’s a good excuse for both wanking and wordplay) then either describe your orgasm in the comments below, email it to hellogirlonthenet at gmail, or post it on your own blog and link here. There’ll be a prize for the best one (prize TBC but I’m open to suggestions) and in the meantime you get the glory and joy of creating yet another piece of content for vast swathes of the internet to pleasure themselves to.

What does an orgasm feel like? Entries so far…

I’ll let the lovely Cammies on the Floor begin:

“It starts with pressure inside of me, a pressure of fiction, an awareness of movement in and out of me.

“Then I begin to tighten into the pressure. I can do this at whim, but more often than not, it just happens. When I am short on time, know this is a quickie, or am tired, I can tighten, making me come closer to the sensation faster…” If you’re already dribbling a bit – that’s the idea – please do read the rest over on her blog.

Rebecca’s entry is hot – in both the metaphorical and the literal sense:

“It begins with a warm buzzing around my heart. This spreads to my upper arms and my head and grows, just as the nerves pulse downward towards my groin. Then the burning starts. The burning starts low and wide, around my crotch, then it intensfies and localises in my clitoris, burning more intensely as I hold my breath and stretch out my legs…” Hotness continues in the story over  here.

Not to be outdone by the first Rebecca, another Rebecca joins in:

“First, the anticipation. The delicious knowledge of what is waiting. This is what makes me start to breathe a little heavier and start to writhe, ever-so-slightly. Just the mere expectation of the orgasm raises my heart rate, widens my eyes and causes me graze my teeth across my lips…” After an excellent start, her orgasm builds spectacularly.

Ritchie has taken a more methodical approach, breaking orgasms down by type:

“Generally, there is an extremely pleasant warmth that starts around my balls and (and I’m not too sure how to describe this) the ‘root’ of my cock. By root I mean that a cock isn’t blu-tacked onto that bit of your stomach 6 inches or so below the belly button. It goes further in to your body to the pit of the stomach. The warmth spreads, but not too far, and at the point where I am about to come it kind of becomes all encompassing…” If you’re anything like me, you might want to print his comment and keep it under your pillow.

Commenter George has written a charmingly lyrical description:

“I lose control and forget the world; Arms and hands stiffen; My buttocks clench as a mellow pleasure engulfs me; With each contraction, my eyes screw up as ecstasy travels from groin to brain in heartbeat…” And here’s the comment with its poetic conclusion.

Steve dropped me an email with his entry, and it brightened up my evening no end:

“I can vividly remember my first manually induced orgasm. As with many men, this first furtive spanking of the monkey took place in the bath – once that most innocent of pastimes, but from age 12 onwards the location of much fumbling, stroking and general yanking of teenage pork sword. I knew from whispered playground conversations what the mechanics of “having a wank” were. But I’d never actually tried to put these instructions into practice until this occasion.” I’ve posted the full thing in  a comment and it’s as funny and evocative as it is hot.

Ian’s description of a building pressure almost makes me feel the pressure in my stomach:

“It’s like a slowly building, but perfectly pleasant, pressure. Something inside that makes me more sensitive, that makes every movement filled with a little more joy, and in amongst that an urge for something more: to increase the pressure, to keep increasing it, with each increase feeling better and better, until you reach the point where the only thing that would feel better than holding this delicious pleasure is releasing it. In that moment of release it’s like a whole body and mind exhalation.” Read the rest of his entry.

Bubbleburst hits on the trembling, shaking feeling:

“When he makes me cum my hands shake. That’s what he likes to focus on after the withering and growling. After my world has become very big and suddenly very small. My hands shake, like proper tremors you can feel right through me….” And it is completely amazing.

Last (but by no means least) Anon put her finger directly on what I couldn’t – her description of an orgasm which ‘radiates’ struck a chord with me:

“Bringing myself to an orgasm is something that I can do in seconds. A few quick rubs, and a tiny orgasm builds up and suddenly there’s a release of pressure and tension that I didn’t know existed. It’s almost like when you get a really good massage therapist, one who rids you of knots you didn’t realise were there. Except these balls of tension built up in my lower back, in my thighs. I get tense and suddenly – poof! – a release…” In case you can’t tell from that, it’s well worth reading her description in full.

Describe your orgasm

As I wrote in my original post, I love the idea of trying to describe an orgasm – it’s something so personal and intimate and – frankly – bloody difficult, that by writing it down for someone you’re giving them a window into something incredibly unique. I can taste the cake you’re eating, I can hear your favourite music, but I can never fully put myself in your shoes (or your pants) and feel exactly how you come.

If you fancy having a go, the competition’s still open. I’ll find something nice (yet not massively expensive because I’m skint) to give as a prize, and keep your entries coming in via comments, email or on your own blog.