Fluffer

The first erotic story I ever wrote published was in 1995. I called it “Private Investigation” and had Fox Mulder and Dana Scully in mind when I wrote it. They fucked on a mattress at a crime scene. Playgirl Magazine published it. My stepmom bought a copy from a bookstore on Main Street. I told my grandmother. Somebody probably told my father.

The first erotic story I wrote was in 1985. I wrote it as gift for my best friend.

In high school, I started reading Harold Robbins novels. The bisexuals turned me on, especially that guy in Dreams Die First.

My father never censored my books.

I had a lover once who told me he’d suck dick but then told me never to tell anyone.

Ambiguity is cool. The world remains so black-and-white.

I sold six stories to Playgirl Magazine.

My goal was to sell a story to Penthouse Magazine because Penthouse used to buy fiction by women like Carol Queen, Jolie Graham, Greta Christina, and Kim Addonizio and paid like $1,000.00 a story. By the time I got in contact with the fiction editor though, she informed me Penthouse no longer bought fiction. Men didn’t read the stories.

No shit, Sherlock. I did.

I was working on my B.A. in English when a male professor told me I should either stop publishing erotica or use a pen name. He said, “Nobody in academia will take you seriously if you publish erotica.”  I used a pen name about a year. Lana Gail Taylor. I regret it. First of all, I’m not ashamed of my stories. Second of all, that particular professor was fired for sexual harassment.

Let’s speculate a minute.

This particular professor read one of my stories and got turned on. As a result, he no longer respected me.

I don’t know.

If you’re a woman and write anything sexually provocative people feel entitled to either fuck or judge you. That’s why so many women who write erotica use pen names. It can turn into a fucking nightmare, other people’s sexual dysfunctions.

Not  to mention the hypocrisies of the world.

A female professor once told me academics wouldn’t take me seriously if I stayed a blond. She also told me to wear my glasses often as possible. At least she didn’t tell me to strap down my tits.

*Note to self: academics aren’t sexy.

This brings me to that whole erotica isn’t literature bullshit. Erotica is fluff. Literature is a long term relationship.

Fuck that divide.

It’s as tired and lazy as the Madonna/Whore divide.

How lazy and unimaginative.

Also, you’re not very well read.

The first story I sent through the MFA workshop was later published in Best Gay Erotica 2004.  Then Susie Bright selected it for Best American Erotica 2005.  What does this all mean? Something ironic.

One day the editor at Playgirl Magazine sent me a handwritten note.  “Less narrative. More sex.”  I write about people. Why is more important than how.  Does that make sense?  I have an agenda.

Sexuality is human. Erotica is literature. Madonna is a whore.

I’ll kill myself proving it.