WOMEN WRITING MALE PORN
This year I found myself reading male erotica written by women. I didn’t know I was reading it until I was well into both books and discovered the identity of the authors. I had been suspicious picking up the first Silver Foxes because the cover had miniature figures with exaggerated square heads in sexual couplings. Initially I thought it had been written perhaps by a European with a childlike delight in pornography. Was this going to be children’s stories? Once I knew the author’s gender I reread two chapters paying attention to how a she handles gay sex.
I tilted my head just a fraction. He bowed his toward me, just a faction more. And then, sweeter than any hashish, sweeter than any booze, my favorite form of oblivion – Ricky’s lips on mine. Soft and strong all at once, velvety smooth lips surrounded by wiry stubble. That tongue, confident and knowing, pushes against mine. The taste of fear and relief and want, all mingled together.
We broke for air, and I smiled, “That’s better than any present.”
”I really wish I had present for you.”
My hand on his face then, feeling the skill still damp from tears, the worry lines that weren’t there when he was dropped into the
Big Green eight months ago, the jaw that was set more often than not.
We shifted against each other, snuggling tight. Is arms were up and around me, my hand sliding up0 the back of his sodden camo jacket. Chest against chest, foreheads touching.
Another kiss then. I closed my eyes, and it all disappeared: this stupid war, the snipes in the bushes, the constant damp, and the omnipresent whine of insects.
Christmas Morning 02H00, C.B.Potts
While the technical details were all there none of the stories reeked of dick hardening passion that I expect nor was there the intensity or passion if not on the surface just bubbling beneath. The selection felt like stories written from the head, not from inside a hot body or an aroused psyche.
As a lesbian friend said of something I wrote, “Gay men having sex doesn’t do anything for me.” I would not think about writing about the feelings women have during and about sex even though I was married to one for five years. So, I decided the first author because she was a woman had trouble sensing what makes men hot and writing the kind of pornography that turns me on. I could be wrong.
The second book was quite the opposite. In If the Spirit Moves You Dale Chase gets down to the Nitty Gritty in no time with ghosts having sex.
I came three times while being fucked over who knows how long a time. Thank goodness I’d put down the towel because my dick kept firing, unaided, I might add. With no hand on it, it seemed pumped from the inside, building to such a level of arousal I thought I’d pass out, then exploding with climaxes that took away my breath and, I thought one time, my heartbeat. Nothing mattered but getting off, nothing existed but fucking but finally realizing finally realizing it would never stop unless I broke free. I did just that. I’d noticed difficulty breathing, like air in the room had run out, and when my heart did resume beating it pounded audibly in my ears.
Later the speaker finds ways of avoiding Wayne with whom he lives. I started realizing I was reading gay erotica where someone is scheming to avoid sex with his partner. I’d never seen that. I’m sure it happens in real life all the time or at least some of the time, but I’ve never seen it in gay erotica. I wondered if because the author was a woman she was more familiar with that situation. I don’t know.
I believe gay men know more about sex than straight men. But do we have a corner on male passion? I’m not sure, but if imitation is the sincerest form of flattery we can take pride in women using our universal language for their purposes. Reading erotica written by women was a completely new experience for me and while my male pride was initially offended thinking a woman would dare tread on sacred ground I appreciate their work as an homage to something that makes my life richer every day.