Obviously, I spend a lot of my day thinking about or reading about sex. And as much as I love erotica, sometimes it makes me angry. Even my own.

Here’s why:

Fiction:

“The angle of his thrusts suddenly changed, the head of him slamming deliciously against the top of her channel. One, two, three thrusts and she was over the edge.”

Real life:

That’s the perfect angle, don’t stop that….when suddenly over the baby monitor “daddy?” and instant sobbing. And then you have to stop and one of you has to run into the bedroom naked to get the toddler back to sleep. Uninterrupted sex is a myth.

Fiction:

“She rolled the cock ring down his shaft, securing it in place and watched as his shaft engorged with desire, aching for her.”

Real life:

“Does that feel okay?” “No, it pinches.” “But if I loosen it then it’ll fall off so what’s the point?”

Fiction:

“She gripped the headboard with both hands, her head thrown back as she rode his face with abandon. His tongue licks and swirled, his teeth nibbled and he sucked as she took her pleasure.”

Real life:

“Are you sure you can breath down there?” He usually assures me that he can or he’s mostly okay but it often takes me out of the moment worrying if I’m going to suffocate him while I orgasm.

Fiction:

“She glowed in the aftermath of their lovemaking, her heart bursting with love, her body sated.”

Real life:

Me: bursts into tears and hyperventilating, “That was great but I’m so fucking sad and I hate it.”

Fiction:

“Every touch of his fingertips was electric, her body was on fire as he grazed her sides and hips.”

Real life:

If only. Not every part of our bodies is a feel good spot and if you are like me and have a few extra pounds or stretch marks, “side grazing” isn’t necessarily sexy.

Fiction:

“They slid their clothes off, their bodies relevad to their thristy eyes within moments as they connected once more.”

Real life:

I can’t think of a single time I’ve had sex and haven’t gotten stuck in 1 article of clothing or another while trying to get it off. Or you have to sit up awkwardly to pull of a shirt or you leave on your socks because your house is fucking freezing. Whatever.

Fiction:

“Their eyes locked as he thrust into her, their gazes held.”

Real life:

I don’t think I’ve ever stared in my husbands eyes for more than a few seconds without bursting into laughter.

Fiction:

“His hard shaft rubbed along her clit with every thrust.”

Real life:

Whose anatomy IS that?

Fiction:

“He commanded her body with ease, flicking and twisting and licking in every right spot to put her over the edge.”

Real life:

Sometimes but really ladies, who doesn’t have to help their man out either verbally or physically pretty often? (if you’re easily orgasmic, I don’t want to hear from you)

Fiction:

“He slid from her form and pulled her tight against the side of his body as their beating hearts slowed. With a smile on her face, she drifted to sleep in his arms.”

Real Life:

If you’re not getting up to pee and clean up after sex, you’re in for a lot of hurt later, ladies.

So why do we write this way? It’s unrealistic and in some ways harmful. I’m an erotica author and a woman who knows for a fact that we write this way to titillate, to entice, to arouse. Not because it’s real.

And yet, I walk away and want every touch and interaction with my husband to be book perfect and that’s not a thing. Sex is great but book sex isn’t (usually) real sex.

But we do it for escape and for fun, which is why we watch porn too. Someday, I’ll write a sex story that is 100% realistic just for laughs.

In the comments, share your own reasons why erotica is unrealistic.

(image in header credit: Kamila Gornia via Compfight cc)