Tuesday, July 19, 2005
What's so wrong with sex, anyway?Sex is such a funny thing.
Most of us do it.
Most of us like to do it.
I happen to like to write about it. I happen to like to write about it enfolded in the setting of a relationship that society views as "committed" and "loving."
But, shhhhh, lads and lassies, here is the secret...sometimes, I like to write about FUCKING.
Not making love. Not passionate, emotional, hugs and kisses and sweet nothings sexual intercourse, but flat-out, rug-burn, up against a wall in an alley, what was your name again, stranger? fucking.
Why? I guess if you stretched me out on the analyst's couch you might delve into my psyche and discover the untroughed paths of my weird and wonderful mind. You might. Or you could just find out I have a vivid imagination and I like to use it.
I don't write to chronicle the day to day life of an "average" American housewife (as if there is such a creature.) Umm....why? 'Cuz...that's...kinda sorta...dull. I mean, really, if I could look out my window and see it, why would I devote hours and hours of my time to crafting a piece of fiction about it.
Writing is all about the fantasy. At least it is for me. It's about getting lost, swept away, teased, tantalized, frightened and exhilerated. It's about living a life I do not live.
I get plenty of real life. I get the kids, the husband, the house, the pets, the car payments. I get the sex, too, thanks very much, enfolded in the embrace of a traditional, monogamous and happy marriage. It satisfies me on many, many levels to be a wife and a mother, to be the woman in the grocery store pushing a cart full of cereal and milk and toilet paper. Sure. That's my life.
It's not my WRITING.
So, while I do enjoy writing about sex and love and passion and adventure and excitement and sex robots and aliens and FBI agents and pirates, I don't feel the need to put myself in a little box and tell myself "this is the only way to write about those things."
Because when it comes right down to it, my idea of the perfect relationship is not yours. My idea of strong and healthy sexuality is very likely not yours. My morals and values and personal comfort level regarding sex and love and passion is most definitely not the same as yours, because we are all individuals, and we should embrace that.
So sometimes, instead of writing about a man and a woman who've found love and show it through physical intimacy, I might care to write about a man and a woman, or two men, or two women, or a whole bunch of 'em, all tangled up in a pretzel of pleasure, using their bodies to bring each other to heights of glory unecumbered by the word love.
Why? Because sometimes that's the way the world works.
You know something else, my dear ones? Sometimes I write about men and women who were once in love but no longer are, or people who want desperately to find love but haven't yet. Then again, I also write about sex robots and pirates and space ships and post apocalyptic science fiction sagas that harken directly back to childhood days of watching Planet of the Apes on television.
I just write. Sometimes there's sex. Sometimes there's love. Sometimes they come together (pun intended) and sometimes, they don't.
I guess I just like to write about sex and all sorts of other things, too, and it always surprises me that the sex is the part that gets the raised eyebrow and not, say, the destruction of the earth.
'Cuz if you'd like to know the truth, me lovelies, I'd rather see the world blowing each other than blowing each other up. And I don't happen to think that sex between mutual, consenting adults can ever be dirty....
...unless you like it that way. :)
~M
