Good morrow mes estudas.
It is one, Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV, author, raconteur, bon vivant, and lover. You may know me for my classic work of science-fantasy ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’ but I am not defined by any one genre or style. For me, the entire plethora which fills the vast panoply of literature is my veritable playground.
Ah yes, play! From the innocent games of children, to the mature games we adults play, the make-believe and imagination we hold within can be ejaculated upon the page by the skilled and talented writer, such as one is and you, dear reader who writes, aspire to be.
Which brings us to the topic of my next eloquent endeavour in education.
Lesson 35: The Write Way to Write Erotica
Today we shall tackle the ticklish topic of erotica. A topic more top-full of dilemmas than almost any other.
Firstly we ask ourselves if we should indeed commit to metaphorical paper the most lustful and libidinous and licentious workings of our brains?
Should we decide in the affirmative we must ask ourselves how detailed are our explorations to be. How explicit shall our histories become? How much do we tell and how much leave to the fevered imaginations of our readers?
Having set ourselves such boundaries as seem good, our next quandary is how far we delve into our own personal experiences and fantasies. Should we tell all? Or are we morally obliged to invent and to speak only of our inventions?
Our last question is the delicate matter of gender specification. Can a man write as a woman, or a woman as a man? Is one’s genius able to carry such opposition?
Having settled each question in your mind and to your own complete satisfaction there leaves only to put pen to paper or finger to keyboard and create for your reader that hotbed of chaos and unthinking sensation that is the experience truly erotic. That world of touch, and smell, and stinging slaps, and kisses, and the caress of the flogger, and the forgiving benison of The Act itself. Bring your reader each subtlety, and each affront to previously held notions of decency. Teach him the fear and the ecstasy.
Make him want as your protagonist wants, or you shall have failed.
I offer a small snippet of words to conjure such feelings in the virgin breast as were unknown before.
Conceive if you will, gentle reader, of a holiday cottage somewhere in the depths of rural nowhere. It is as sparsely furnished as such places tend to be, and of creature comforts there are none. Also imagine, if your poor enfeebled brain allows, that the one brought to this place is virginal in all but the very basest sense of that word. That this child comes with untouched sensuality, with eyes wide in both need and fear, with trembling hand, with heaviness in the pit of the stomach, and with a need neither understood nor yet assuaged. Imagine the joy this simple child feels at the hand of that person who sets the self up to be both lover and teacher. Feel with our protagonist the soft caresses that turn the knees to water and the lions to fire. Hear the arousing sound of a hard hand meeting and pinkening the fairest of skin. Feel the kiss of the cat and the bite of the binding rope. Hear the cries of joy as orgasm follows orgasm. Experience the texture of skin on your tongue. The taste of the ultimate gift as your hero drinks of his lover’s joy. Rejoice. And feel envy…
Next week, my students. Ah, next week. Next week, what? That is a mystery in itself. Await my words with baited breath and painful loins and a heart that feels too big for your chest. Await me thus, and you shall see.