Why am I ashamed that I inspire readers to masturbate?
Image from canstockphoto.com/logan5I don’t know why I haven’t written a post about this subject before. I’ve certainly vocalized it a great deal with those of my friends aware of my erotic alter-ego. I’ve typed similar thoughts in various chats and comment strings. Why I haven’t made a mini-treatise on it is beyond me. I think it’s an obvious and important issue when it comes to erotica, and I think I even owe you all an apology for never addressing it before.
Shame.
That’s it.
Shame.
I know it seems kind of weird to read that word on my blog given that I regularly string words together like, “When the mushroom head of that damned monster of a cock pressed against my lips I got a sudden vision of all the porn videos of fresh-outta-high-school girls gagging and drooling as impossibly endowed men forced way too much dick into throats accustomed to breathing regularly and not choking.”  Still, I think shame drives a great deal of the discussion and the culture of erotica.
Just think about how many authors try desperately to be accepted as “real” authors.  It’s silly when you think about it.  Stephen King, one of the most accomplished authors of the last forty years, won an award for literary achievement and a great many literary people freaked out about it.  He showed class and in a masterful speechtold everyone in the audience who felt that way to go to hell but told them that in a way that had them packing their bags and anticipating the trip.  Do you think King has ever felt shame because he writes horror? (That’s not all he writes but he’s definitely known primarily as a horror writer.) 
Why is it that we feel ashamed of our subject matter when others don’t?  I feel it sometimes. I won’t lie about that.  When I do, though, I smack myself for my egotistical and elitist attitude. There’s nothing wrong with sex.  If I pour my heart into a story (like I did with Robbie’s Starlets) and a reader doesn’t catch on to the main character’s conflicted inner struggles but instead masturbates furiously to the sexual elements, why in the hell should I feel bad about that?  I just helped someone achieve orgasm, and orgasms are good! 
Would a horror writer feel ashamed that he gave a reader chills?
Would a thriller writer feel ashamed that she got someone’s heart racing?
Would a mystery writer feel ashamed that he made someone curious of the guilty party?
Would a teen-fiction writer feel ashamed that she strummed adolescent strings for the expected response?
Would a woman’s fiction writer feel ashamed that he omitted to make the book appeal to men?
But we do.
We do feel shame.
Sometimes that shame is exemplified in almost violently abrasive arguments about the nature of erotica.  I’ve lost erotica writing friends because I believe porn and erotica are the same exact thing, just tailored to different audiences.  Why is that so taboo?  Simple. Even people who like porn think it’s dirty and without literary merit. How dare I compare something so much better than that to something that has no merit?
How the hell can we award Stephen King an award for his contribution to American Letters?
I’ll tell you something. We don’t need legitimacy.  We already have it. We need to stop fighting for it. It only reveals our shame.  Something in us refuses to let go of a simple idea. 
Maybe everybody’s right.
Maybe everybody’s right—maybe what I write has no value. Maybe I couldn’t make it in another (better) genre. Maybe I’m not really a writer.
I don’t believe any of that but I still feel it sometimes.  I feel it on a regular basis. Its part and parcel of writing in a genre that is gaining acceptance but isn’t there yet.  I’m in good company, too.  How many times did Shakespeare face demons inside of him telling him everyone was right and that his plays had no literary merit but were only appropriate for the most vulgar audiences?  How many times did Picasso wonder if everyone was right and he invented cubism because he couldn’t make it otherwise? How many times?

The shame still creeps into my mind despite the fact that I’ve received communications from dozens of readers who attribute positive changes in their marriages to my writing.  One woman said she and her husband fought regularly about sex (or a lack thereof) and my writing increased the frequency and the quality so their relationship was no longer at risk but far stronger.
But I still feel the shame.  What the hell?
Can I say that I’m proud of every fuck, cock, cunt, snatch, pussy, dick, cum, and little virgin asshole appearing in something I’ve written?  I feel that way but even typing that sentence gave me a horrible and uneasy twinge of phantom shame.
Get over it, Molly!
Get over it, everyone.