What makes writing erotica so irresistibly appealing to me? So fun?
I love knowing that I have created a deliciously kinky story that keeps my readers turning pages until late at night. I love checking my Kindle Unlimited page reads for the month and knowing that my readers are devouring my stories, and perhaps doing something a little more private.
Perhaps it’s the freedom I have to strip away pretense, leaving characters vulnerable in ways other genres rarely dare. There’s something profoundly intimate about creating desire, passion, and sexual tension in its rawest form—the quickened breath, the flutter of anticipation low in the belly, the electric moment when fingertips first brush skin. The orgasms.
Writing sex is fun, arousing to me, but it’s not just that. It’s not just about the actual sex act that makes writing erotica my favorite pastime, but the scenarios I’m allowed to put my characters in.
Like Forced Feminization, one topic I have numerous books on. What guy with effeminate tendencies, with that urge that has rumbled inside for years, crushed by society, wouldn’t want to be forced into overcoming the chains society has put on him? Between the pages of my books, I can explore fantasies without judgment or consequence. I can be anyone, desire anyone, experience anything. The only limits are my imagination and consent.
I remember the first erotic story I published. The terror of exposure, what if my neighbors find out what kind of writer I am? Will anyone read it? What if people think, wow, that’s too much? But when I started selling books and saw how many people shared similar fantasies to mine, my fear gave way to exhilaration. There’s a particular pleasure in crafting scenes that make readers’ pulses quicken and cheeks flush. I smile as I type nasty, taboo words.
What makes writing erotica fun?
The playfulness of it all. The teasing. Building sexual tension, letting them play and dance in power and submission, as many of my stories have a BDSM element to them. Like a BDSM roleplay, it’s fun to create a power exchange between characters and between writer and reader. I craft each scene knowing exactly what effect I want it to have, placing each word like a breadcrumb leading deeper into the forest of submission or dominance. That is the ultimate intimacy in writing erotica, to guide a stranger’s imagination toward pleasure.
I love shattering limits, the intoxicating freedom to revel in unrestrained pleasure. When I write erotica, I explore the darkest corners of desire that most people pretend don’t exist. My fingers tremble on the keyboard sometimes, wondering if I want to write this. When that feeling hits me, that delicious, forbidden thrill of putting into words what “polite society” only whispers about behind closed doors or bans, I seem to have the most fun.
I dig out those thoughts that would have my neighbors up in arms with shovels and pitchforks, demanding I pack up my two cats and leave. I can almost see the neighbors across the street, their faces pinched with righteous indignation, clutching their hearts as they read a passage where my characters do things that would make even the most liberal-minded blush.
“You’re crossing a line,” my inner critic sometimes whispers as I type out particularly naughty scenes. I smile and keep typing. That’s precisely the point. Writing about desire, kink, and unfiltered sex is akin to capturing lightning in a very naughty bottle. The power of a perfectly crafted sentence turns up the heat inside me, gets my heart racing, and creates a swelling that must be satiated, but not till I’m done, till I have hit my word count. Writing erotica is my porn, and it always seems to crank up my horny meter to full. It’s intoxicating writing erotica; it’s like I’m a filthy wizard casting naughty spells from my keyboard.
I love and have a great deal of fun writing stories where pleasure isn’t just accepted—it’s celebrated. The characters breathe heavily through my sentences, their skin slick with sweat, their inhibitions abandoned like discarded clothing on a bedroom floor.
And isn’t that what we all secretly crave? Not just the physical acts themselves, but the freedom to want them without judgment? To explore the wilderness of desire without a compass or a map, just instinct and hunger guiding the way?
And isn’t that what we’re all seeking, really? That moment of recognition, of being understood? That’s the real thrill and fun in writing erotica—knowing that the heat building between my thighs as I write might someday kindle an answering warmth in someone else, someone who needed those exact words to feel complete.
Ready for some fun? Check out my Books, Phoebe Pearl Erotica.