The conversation on women’s appreciation of sexotica continues: Porn for women: Real people having a real good time (Guardian)
It’s not that women don’t like porn. It’s that they don’t like most of the porn that actually gets made, and they’re doing something about it, according to the U.K. Guardian.
COMMENTARY by counterculture author-publisher Kathleen K.
There is a gender distinction in sexual expression that needs to be blended together for a mixed audience to appreciate. Putting the focus on “women producing porn” grabs the headlines but, in fact, females have been present in the industry as writers and arrangers and directors all along.
What we didn’t have was the old-boy network that got work produced and distributed.
One key to women’s participation in the Sexpression Business is indie freedom, made possible by digital distribution and online communities. The idea that women don’t like porn fails to note the fact that porn is shorthand for male-dominated imagery… it is a brutal close-up of ram-jamming ferocity.
It doesn’t help to flip the presumption and imagine that women want soft-focus kissy-face. Women appreciate preparation, it underlies the truth that it takes females longer to “get ready” whether it’s for a picnic or the prom. Sexually, we’ve got more moving parts and our sex receptors are configured differently within our gender. See this review of Vagina to appreciate the complex design of female response. Women are not single fuse firecrackers content with the same old bang. Men brag they can be turned on and off like a switch and fail to appreciate that women have so many more ineffable elements to their arousal.
It has been my experience that women are just as curious about the workings of sex between imaginary characters as men are, but they prefer more spin on the players before starting the game. Don’t believe it’s that fundamental? Consider the glory hole. That’s a man’s world.
As a writer of erotic-sexotic books, I make the distinction for “sexotica” because some folks just don’t like to get overly-involved in the actual action but are most curious about the factual options. Sexotica is colloquial, direct and specific, it uses the vernacular. The reader stays one step removed.
Erotica engages the reader’s egocentric core, it draws energy to their own desires and incorporates them into the action. Erotica is designated so by the reader(s) response; sexotica qualifies on content alone.
Dark Prince, Heed Thy Queen
(In the Realm of Roles and Reversals) SAMPLE — Coming. Soon. September 2014
I’m not defending Nathan, I’m explaining him. I consorted with this dog and thought he was a man. The sad part is that Nathan was a man in many ways, in basic ways. 95% genetically similar. 5% canine-lupine. (It’s only a couple of percent difference for human to chimp.) I was accustomed to men as house pets but then along came this hound. I was feeling sexually adversarial at that point in my life; I was tired of being nice. Acting sweet didn’t get me over the rainbow. I needed a commanding male|mate against whom I could struggle. The last thing in the world I wondered about was his bank book (since I wasn’t showing mine). I was far too busy sifting impressions of a most searing entanglement.
I didn’t want somebody to love. It was more selfish than that, I wanted somebody to enjoy my body with me. Screw me joyfully, with wit and daring. Seduce me, not entrap me. I wanted to feel the maleness of a man, dagger unsheathed for drawing blood to the pelvis… fluids rush, nerves tingle, the move is on.
Nathan might choose to be erotic spectator, director, participant, reviewer. He reserved the right for each of us to adopt roles in our love life. He was not to be considered a dick, his was not always central to our pleasure (nor was my box). He commandeered my whole body. He needed me for himself. He needed me for his friends. I got off on pleasing him, and his friends. I had dropped my guard, all the gates were down, I accepted my lover, Nathan, as a man. He could have been a frontiersman, an astronaut, a fisherman. External objects didn’t signify to me, it was a time of voluptuous indulgence, outrageous comfort, careless intimacy.
My involvement was pure, I had no thought of paining anybody. I didn’t mind a secret love life because how could I have explained these sexotic games to people I worked with, or to people at my health club? My family said I was looking fit. It was true I’d rather have sex than eat, I’d walk bra-less in short shorts for two miles with Nathan six paces back watching people watch me walk. He’d hump me standing behind a park bench in a secluded thicket then we’d walk home hand in hand, acting innocent but looking smudged.
One Halloween I went full-on French Maid then attended a party with Nathan. I was told to clean a man’s dick and was handed a warm soft cloth; he was wearing leather chaps and not much else… naughty party. This was a sensational moment with a check on emotions. No one presumed to ask me why I was engaged in this particular behavior. Such was Nathan’s power that he would know which man would accept and act on his offer of my tender tending. The costume “hid” me, objectified me, removed me from a sensible realm. Smart. Nathan knew how to work us all.
I didn’t care if the men “liked” me or not as long as Nathan had faith in me. I had given myself utterly and I understood his need for these sexual tableaus. When we were alone and made love, which was the way we did it most of the time, I felt the direct effect of his reliving those scenes. I know it pleased him that I could encompass more than one situation as long as I held true to my desire for him.
“I remembered a video I saw long before I met you, I got a copy for you to watch tonight. I’ll be back around ten. The second lead actress is a lot like you, in attitude, I mean. You have a similar shape, her ass isn’t as fine but you both have insane knockers. Flat on her back, she gets the same dreamy look you get when we ball. Notice what she does, and do that for me when I get back.”
He was not fanciful, he was effective. I was eager enough to supply the requisite smoothness to our affair, I overlooked things that really weren’t important when I compared them to our ardor. I forgot the clock when he was late, I didn’t complain if he wasn’t groomed or if he expected me to feed him first one time and ignored my food the next.
Whatever it took, I did. He was there for a sexual reason and I would work to discover that reason. It might start at the door with a quick deep feel or his move might not come until after we watched TV and ate our take-out food. The few times he put me off sexually (when we were in an otherwise active phase) it was only to build up for the next time. I’d be patted on the rear and told to put on a specific dress at a certain time – then he’d throw me a pair of crotchless panties to wear to his mechanic’s open house. I’d be sent to buy items at the drugstore, bubble bath and K‑Y Jelly. Peach flavored douche and a rectal thermometer. Condoms galore, every texture and color (all being the same basic shape) and dozens of surgical gloves.
I once let a deputy sheriff fondle me in the back seat of his cruiser while Nathan stood look-out on the side of the back country road. Another time I let Nathan disrobe me and rub my entire body, including the cracks, with oil. It so happened we were in an adult motel room with the drapes wide open to the private courtyard. Nathan used those kinds of memories to goad himself into incredible feats of sexual possession when we were alone together. The essential, core energy might have used outside forces as propellants but my man and I were coupled only to each other and only in our private realm.
I suppose we do learn the hard way or we’d all be smarter sooner.