Thursday, March 06, 2008

Taboos in Erotica



In ERWA we’ve been having a discussion about the restrictions placed on erotica that don’t apply to main stream writing. If you want to be published (at least in the US) you need to avoid the big four taboos: Incest, Rape, Bestiality and Childsex.(the last being any sexual act involving any person under eighteen).

The restriction arises because erotica is assumed to have arousal as its aim and using these topics for that purpose is seen as obscene.

Take a look around the Internet and you’ll find a lot of porn written around these themes and a lot of it gets the whole kick out of a kind of fetishistic view of the acts involved and which tends both to turn the people in the stories into sub-human fetish sex objects and to avoid any confrontation with the physical and emotional realities of the acts themselves. This, of course, is what makes them porn.

I would hope that erotica would treat the themes differently, exploring the emotional and physical realities of the experiences. Of course that doesn’t mean that they would get published.

The debate on ERWA made me ask myself what I want from writing erotica and what restrictions I would place on myself.

I decided that I want my stories to bite. I want them to stay in the reader’s head. I want them to change the reader by making them confront things, identify with things, reject or accept things. This raised the question of my responsibility as a writer.

My tagline on my email is: “What you read is not what I wrote. I provide the text, you provide the meaning.” My take on my responsibility reflects this view.

I believe I have to take responsiblity for the intentions behind what I write and the integrity and skill with which I realise the intention. I can't take any accountablity for what the reader actually reads or how they are changed by the experience.

Below, I’ve offered a flasher and a short story which take on some of the taboos and which demonstrate what I mean. If you think they are likely to offend you, don’t read any further than this.














































If you do read the stories, I’m interested in your views on the stories and on what you expect from erotica.

The Third Word
© Mike Kimera 2006
. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from mikekimera@yahoo.co.uk



Please, Daddy

That’s what I whisper in his ear when I am spread and he is hard and
sweat is all that is between us.

Please, Daddy

Passes my lips like a promise or a plea, rousing his lust, stirring my
memories, mixing his lust and my guilt

Please, Daddy

A prayer offered to this bar-met stranger, the right age but with the
wrong face, as he pushes into me

Please, Daddy

As always, pleasure and shame race through me, my present and my past
bound together. Perhaps this time I will finally release the third
word.

Please, Daddy. Stop.





Nadica

© Mike Kimera 2003. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from mikekimera@yahoo.co.uk

Nadica had Saul tied to the bed by the time I got there. She was kneeling astride his hips, holding his long thin cock at the base and rolling it against the soft swell of her belly. It left a little trail of silver precum just below her navel. Seeing it against her like that, you wondered how she ever fitted it all inside her.

It wasn’t that Saul was so huge, he was only a little longer than me, though I’m thicker and can stay hard longer, well Saul’s in his fifties now and he does OK for guy with grey hair on his balls, no it was just that Nadica is tiny, three inches shy of five foot and slim with it.

Nadica never fucks naked. The first time I had her she wore a white blouse and striped school tie, with a knot so large that the rest of the tie barely made it between her breasts. She wore the shirt open with the tie around her neck, not around the collar of the shirt

Normally, I’m not an adventurous guy when it comes to sex, I’m just grateful when a woman opens her legs for me and lets me hump until I’m done, but there’s something about Nadica that changes that. The tie was part of it. As she rode Saul’s cock and sucked me off, I couldn’t just stand there and enjoy it; the tie demanded to be pulled. I wrapped it round my fist and used it to drag her head further down my shaft. Nadica loved it. Saul told me later that her cunt had spasmed so hard it hurt. When I came in her mouth, she let the semen dribble down onto the tie, then she stuffed it into her mouth like a gag and lay back on Saul’s chest until he managed to come inside her.

Today she’s wearing a pink angora cardigan that is so tiny it only comes part way down her arms and won’t close across her breasts. With the top button fastened and the soft material falling away on either side, Nadica’s breasts seem even larger than usual. Her breasts are full and conical and sit absurdly high on her narrow little chest. Every time I see them my hands wants to feel their weight and my mouth yearns to suckle. The cardigan is sweet and soft and innocent but Nadica makes it into an incitement to wickedness. I think that Nadica has seen a lot of wickedness in her short life.

Saul doesn’t know how old she is. She had no papers with her when he found her, a week ago. We have decided that she must be at least twenty; it would be hard to live with ourselves if we had decided anything else.

Saul’s not even sure where exactly he picked her up. He’s a careful man. You have to be careful driving a truck that close to the Bosnian border, even if the truck has UN written on the side. The war there is getting nasty. Stories are starting to come out about a massacre in Srebrenica – the UN troops just stepped aside and let the Serbs get on with killing every male and raping every woman. We’re talking thousands of people here. I can’t imagine hating badly enough to sustain that much evil. Of course, it’s not just the Serbs; the whole country is soaked in an acid bath of pain and fear and hate.

Anyway, somehow Nadica managed to stowaway in Saul’s cab. He didn’t find her until he climbed into the sleeping area at the back. He said she looked small, tired and very young, wrapped around a scrappy bag of clothes. Stupidly, he assumed she wasn’t dangerous. He was wrong. Her knife was long and sharp, with serrated edges. The kind of knife a soldier carries.

When she pressed it up against his neck he thought he was going to die. Then she fucked him. With the knife against his throat, she straddled him and sucked on his tongue. He tried to touch her but she pricked him with the knife hard enough to draw blood. After that he let her get on with it. She worked his cock with her hand while she licked away the blood from his throat. Then she rode him until he came. When Nadica fucks she goes into her head. She chants. Always the same chant “datata, datata, datata.”

Saul reckons he could have taken the knife then but just when he was thinking of it, she fell forward onto him, wrapped her arms around his neck and started to cry. Saul held her. Nadica brings that out in you. After sex she seems fragile and precious and you want to hold her forever and protect her from harm.

Saul fell asleep with Nadica in his arms. When he woke in the morning she’d tied his hands and feet with belts and taken his wallet. He thought that she’d robbed him and was thankful that she hadn’t cut him before she left. Then she came back, bringing his wallet and a warm baguette.

He tried to talk to her but her only response was to massage his cock and then sit on it while she fed him chunks of bread that she sliced with that serrated knife. Then she brought him off by hand, licking her fingers afterwards like his cum was jam.

When the sex was over she untied him, cuddled up next to him and went to sleep.

Saul drove her home. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her behind. I tell myself that that’s because Saul is a kind man, which is true, but part of me, the part of me I don’t let out in public, knows that it’s because sex with Nadica is addictive. It’s not like anything else you’ve ever experienced. At least not like anything I’ve experienced.

Saul asked me to come and see Nadica because I’m good with languages. I think he was also a little frightened by the effect she was having on him and by what would happen if he stayed on his own with her.

I tried French, German, and Italian with no success. I only learnt her name by pointing at my self and giving mine and then pointing at her. On the third attempt, she smiled, said “Nadica” and then sucked the finger I was pointing at her. I tried for another twenty minutes or so, then Nadica disappeared into the bedroom and came back out dressed in the white blouse and school tie and nothing else. She climbed on Saul’s lap, facing me but rubbing herself against him. Then she beckoned me to come over.

The sex was… compelling. My senses were overloaded. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Nadica works at sex like it’s a form of dressage. Then, when she‘s into it, she starts with the “datata” chant. Over and over.

We’ve fucked her every day for the past week, always as a threesome. She won’t do me if Saul isn’t there. Won’t even look at me.

When I’m with her it’s like the world goes away and there is an overwhelming sense of… well, thrill. Not lust. Certainly not love. It’s that feeling you get when you know that you’re crossing a line; that you’re doing something you will regret but you’re going to do it anyway; when all the normal rules fade and all that’s left is you and your desire and what you’re prepared to do to sate it.

Nadica is playing a new game today. She looks me in the eye as she straddles Saul’s cock and then presses down hard, forcing it up her arse. She leans back, her hands behind her on his chest, her breasts pointing upwards, jutting out from beneath the angora cardigan and she spreads her legs, inviting me to fuck her.

I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t come here today. I’ve been doing some research on the web. Nadica is a Serbian name. It means Hope. That gave me the clue, so I checked an online dictionary for a translation from Serbian to English. Nadica isn’t chanting “datata”; she’s saying “Da, Tata” – “Yes, Daddy”.

When I found that out, I sat in front of my computer and let it sink in: the dressage sex, the chanting, the desire to sleep when not fucking, the refusal to fuck naked, the refusal to fuck at all when Saul isn’t there.

I thought I knew what it meant. I thought I knew what she’d been through in Serbia. I thought I’d never let myself fuck her again.

Then Saul called me and now I’m here.

Nadica is sliding back and forth on Saul’s cock, just a fraction of an inch at a time. Her cunt is wet. Her eyes are closed. She’s waiting for me. Soon she will start to chant.

In the next few seconds I will discover what kind of human being I am.

© Mike Kimera 2003. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from mikekimera@yahoo.co.uk

3 comments:

vontauber said...

Hi Mike,
I haven't visited you in a while but always enjoy coming back. I'm in complete agreement with your tagline (it's fabulous!) and your comments about responsibility and accountability for a reader's interpretation. This isn't the first time you've made me stop and think, "yeah, he's right". I knew that :-).

Parts of your stories were difficult to read but understanding the intent behind it changed the way I interpretted the stories. Unfortunately we can't explain our writer's intents to our readers and the best we can hope for is that the story itself will relay the message we as writers hope to send or provke.

You pointed out some good stuff to think about.

Best to you, Tatiana

liljoanie said...

Yes, this is writing at its best, all angles covered. Food for thought. Thank you.

Joanie

Anonymous said...

This was WOW .. good!