Vintage Fendi Sunglasses courtesy of The Ex, Clare Vivier clutch courtesy of The Guise Archives
There’s all sorts of talk of erotica these days…as if it’s some new found thing. As if women haven’t been pleasuring themselves to the likes of Anais Nin, Anne Rice, and Jackie Collins since they figured out how great it feels. I know I’m not the only one, even if I probably started reading this type of titillating literature younger than most. The written word enables us to escape into our most elaborate fantasies, for as long as we can handle it, and much better than a movie, and this is nothing new.
The first time we were in bed together he held my hands pinned down above my head. I liked it. I liked him. He was moody in a way that struck me as romantic; he was funny, bright, interesting to talk to; and he gave me pleasure.
The second time he picked my scarf up off the floor where I had dropped it while getting undressed, smiled, and said, “Would you let me blindfold you?” No one had blindfolded me in bed before and I liked it. I liked him even better than the first night and later couldn’t stop smiling while brushing my teeth: I had found an extraordinarily skillful lover.
The third time he repeatedly brought me within a hairs-breadth of coming. When I was beside myself yet again and he stopped once more, I heard my voice, disembodied above the bed, pleading with him to continue. He obliged. I was beginning to fall in love.
The fourth time, when I was aroused enough to be fairly oblivious, he used the same scarf to tie my wrists together. That morning, he had sent thirteen roses to my office. – Nine and a Half Weeks by Elizabeth McNeill
A caveat: this particular book is not so much about the skills of a lover as it is about how dangerous it can be sometimes to find that exact “thing” that turns you on. It is much more emotionally intense than the movie, which now seems like a frivolous romp in comparison. Regardless, what woman has not fantasized about finding that extraordinarily skillful lover…
This June, indulge yourself in finding that thing. But start slowly and carefully. Grab your favorite pair of sunglasses, escape outside for lunch, when the sun is burning, and immerse yourself in an erotic novel. So that you can spend the rest of the day thinking about what it would be like to repeatedly be brought within a hairs-breadth of coming.