Liaison With My Erotic Muse
- Posted by Essays Blog in Essays Blog |
- November 5th, 2008 |
- Comments
Writing erotic romance is certainly a intersexual liaison with my muse. Anticipation starts the juices flowing, and so imagination takes over. What is hotter than the expectation of tingles and whispers, caresses and sighs, and finally, cutis against cutis. The mind, after all, is the most potent erogenous regulate. Much like disbursal a hot night with a lover, foreplay begins piece walking upstairs, or in this case, movement on the computer!
Before computers, writers stared at a blank page in a typewriter. Now, it is a achromatic check on a monitor inactivity to be filled. My muse helps me find the hot area in my imagination, from which sexy stories appear. Sometimes when I need him, my muse has to be enticed to come out and play. I annoyer him, pursuing him until he can no longer resist.
My muse is certainly masculine, a commanding presence when he emerges. To coax him out of the private holy where he lives, I bait him. He loves music, especially the blues. Oh baby, yes, the blues will lure him out every time. He absolutely cannot resist Etta James.
Once I have his attention, I accept a hot bath and hock. That is when we commune. He whispers to me as I drift, telling me what he wants to do. Often, he shows me what he wants, the erotic pictures vivid in my mind. When finally I sit at the keyboard, the words and images flow from my mind into my fingers.
Holding onto the area of erotic cerebration can be a challenge. It is a delicate altered country of consciousness, a meditative regulate where nothing exists except the account. The characters are on arrange, and I have to be a rapt audience. Thither is no room for laundry inactivity in the basket, the grocery list motion on the table or vacuuming the cat litter tracked onto the rug. Everything, and I do mean everything, has to accept a back seat to the presence of the muse. When his manfulness fills my heart and feeling, I have to pay attention.
To sustain my concentration and encourage my muse to continue his flirtatious whispers, I often look at pictures of beautiful men. I analyze the curves of their muscles with my eyes, allowing their potency to clean tho’ me. The impressions change easily into scenes, where I play voyeur to a gorgeous hunk of man making love. Observance him in my mind’s eye, my own fire burns brighter. The tactile meaning of him, how he smells, the condensation on his cutis, the hard line of his body, the softness of his hair &ndash he overwhelms my senses.
Making love on the written page is as intimate and personal as loving on a bed (or any other aboveground to your liking). The endorphins kick in and identification with the characters is impulsive. Whatsoever is happening on the page is also happening in my mind, an alternate reality for the duration of the conference. My muse strokes me until I am surfeited. So, he allows me to rest until our next liaison. With a tender kiss, he promises the next time will be even better.