Erotica. Yes, it’s a good album, but that’s not what this post is about.

I have been working on what I hope will eventually be a series of posts about Serious Business.  Specifically, a series of posts about trauma, what it means to me, and how I deal with it.  I may finish up a draft or two, strap some shoes on it, and send it out into the world soon, but no promises.  Serious Business is hard to write about.  Hell, even less serious posts get lost in draft limbo all the damn time.

I meant to come home this evening and get down to the serious writing, but I got sidetracked by answering messages, chatting with the flatmate, feeding the cats, reading other people’s sexy/intelligent writing, and just generally doing the things I do on weekends.

In addition to all my usual weekend activities, I was a bit wobbly from the lunch date I’d had earlier.  I had arranged to meet someone I had first met at The Sexy Weekend.  Yeah, the one I unpacked recently.  I already knew that he fit the Tall, Dark, and Handsome criteria (which reminds me – I should really write a post about Why Girls Should Not Read Wuthering Heights At An Impressionable Age.  Seriously, it’s like Twilight for anglophile girls with high IQ scores.  Remind me to go into my feelings on this book later)  This man caught my attention in the first place by being hot.  He was at the event with a woman who I  . . . um . . . got to know a bit but want to get to know better.  The dynamic between them seemed interesting, but I was too busy to ask any questions.  He found me on facebook, so I had the opportunity to check out his posts.  It seemed that his political and social beliefs matched mine pretty well.  Hot and intelligent, AND with more in common than I’d realised?  Yes, sign me up, I am there.

The hours we spent together were more than enjoyable to me.  I suspect that this is one of the men I will be talking about in the future.  Toward the end of our time together, we ended up in a tea room he suggested. Good choice.  We settled into a dimly-lit corner furnished with cushions and low tables.  We had been having the kind of meandering conversation I love so much all afternoon, flowing from personal revelations to media and culture to silliness to flirtation and back again in no particular order.  He also kissed me.  Because of the place we met, he had already done more than that, but a kiss that comes in the middle of a private conversation can be much more intense than one that happens at a sexy party.  In our corner of the tea room, more kisses were offered to me, and I took them and wanted more so badly.  He slipped his hand under my ass, and stroked my back, and still the conversation went on.  I knew I was wet under the pretty underwear I’d put on before leaving the house.  I hope he knew as well – I’m sure he did.

I tried to stay within the bounds of “not getting arrested for indecent exposure”, but my mind is not under any kind of legal censure so I was thinking of how perfect a place this would be for him to find out how much I needed him and what it would be like if he did.

Real-life interruption:  Yeah, in real life, as much as it sucks, I would never do any such thing.  However, I do enjoy the fantasies that these encounters bring about.

As I said, when I got home today I was not in the mood to delve into the hard stuff – the nightmare things that keep me awake at night for years on end.  My mind was full of what would have happened that afternoon if I were a fictional woman living in a fictional world.

I have been meaning to, wanting to, trying to write erotica (or porn, if you’re Alan Moore) for a while now.  I burned all my early attempts, saved some later ones but saw the flaws in them, and now am ready to give it another go.  I want to write about my fantasy tea room, but haven’t gotten to it tonight.

The person responsible is . . . Joe.  I’ve mentioned him before, and now that things are pretty well worked out I can admit that he is the one who inspired the broken heart post recently.  Yeah, big misunderstanding, and it was at least half my fault (as it always is with him.  We go back about a decade and have run into this before.  I should have known.).  Part of the trouble with him is that I have been in love with him for a long time, but only recently admitted it.  To him.  I’ve known for most of my adult life.  Well, he visited me recently and I was dead set on telling him how I felt while he was here.  I didn’t, wires got crossed (again!), and I cried myself to sleep for a couple of weeks. But we’ve discussed it since then!

Since Joe and I had the Very Important Talk, I’ve felt much better.  There is still a part of me that is afraid of love, but most of me is ready for it.  I have been imagining what his visit would have been like if I had gone ahead and abandoned my fear and told him (as I intended to but was still too afraid to do so) how I felt.  Tonight I’ve been working on writing about what that might have been like.  I want to write this for him, and also for myself.  I’m mid-draft, so it may take some time to get it done.  After that, I want to write about what might have happened in that tea room if we didn’t live in this bullshit patriarchal “Christian” society.  It’s all fantasies of mine, and I have enjoyed exploring them in my mind since I was a little girl.  I’m ready to write about them, but what do I do with them once I’m done?  Literotica?

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