The stroke of a pen on flesh

I write stories. I write stories on commission,
custom-written and designed for a single end. My tales
are meant to provoke a visceral response, a sexual
response, and having done that, I assume that the
reader touches him or herself until orgasm has been
achieved. I sell orgasms, and I do it without laying a
hand upon you.

My pen is a sexual organ. I use it to stroke your
imagination, to swell your most sensitive parts with
blood, to make you slick with desire, elevate your
heartbeat, escalate the rhythm of an ancient drum
under your skin. You read my stories and I fill you
with a desire to fuck and suck, to penetrate and be
pierced, to tickle, and lick, and slap, and thrust.

You’re curious, aren’t you? You’re hoping that I
will soon show you a sample of my work. It’s okay.
Nothing to be ashamed of. I would imagine that your
curiosity is driven by a couple of different
motivations. One one hand, you wonder if reading my
stories will arouse you. Let’s face it. Most of the
porn out there is garbage—poorly written, told as if
one is eavesdropping on a teenage boy’s bravado, full
of dirty words and clinical detail and no sense of the
feelings provoked by the contact of flesh on flesh.

But I don’t write pornography. Pornography comes to
us from Greek; it means to watch prostitutes. Commerce
and sex, it seems to me, is a conundrum. The basics of
life, food, shelter, come at a cost. Or at least they
do in a capitalist system in which everything is for
sale. But sex. Well sex is like breathing, and so far,
we haven’t slapped a price on air. And, there’s not
getting around that I’m part of the system in which
desire costs money. I could give my words away for
free. Many writers do, enamored of the activity
itself, but I decided a long time ago that I came into
this world with a few specific talents, and if I’m
going to survive as a single woman, then selling what
I’m good at is how I take care of myself.

I write erotica.

Erotica is another Greek word. Erotica refers to eros,
to love, to the emotions surrounding sex. But don’t
worry. I write about the acts in enough detail.

Maybe your second motivation is to read to see if you
identify with the expressions of desire. We all worry,
I think, whether our desires, our fantasies, fall
within the rubric of normal. Tender stuff, that,
worrying that what we want, what brings us closer to
our primordial self, is something perverted, abnormal,
sick. I don't believe in those words, of course,
although I know that many do.

If you would like to contact me regarding my services, I'm at
enyabouche@yahoo.com