The Erotic Arts, Or: Why I Got Fed Up With the Blogosphere

Geez, it’s not like I don’t have other writing projects.

But I had to stop working on them long enough to think about what’s bugging me … the Blogosphere.

Like any relationship that ends for a myriad of reasons, I recently sprinted away from, deleting my blog after an almost 3-year publishing run. I can’t say the experience was bad: I met some serious writers there, some wonderful people. And I now miss them.

So why cut and run? Well, I got tired of the cesspool of male writers who dabble in the “erotic arts.” Fed up with stumbling across their steaming piles of crap. Fed up with 50 Shades of Misogyny, a trend in the Blogosphere that doesn’t seem to be losing its thrust and bump any time soon.

First, two caveats:

1. I’ve read plenty of female writers who likewise write erotically-charged prose and poetry. I have a good friend who can write wonderfully about all things, including eroticism. Her sensual prose and poetry is always artistic and moving. The intent behind her posts, as well as the intent behind many other female erotic writers does not — I repeat, NOT — originate from the same place as it does for most male erotic “authors” (for some reason, men like to refer to themselves as “authors,” which I guess sounds sexier). Women write “sexy” not just for themselves but for their readers, which could be either men or women. Male eroticists, however, write for women (note the feminine gravatars lined up dutifully beneath these guys’ posts). In other words, women who write erotica are pushing a fantasy that is pleasurable for both partners, genuinely reciprocated. Their imagined sex play is give-and-take, 50–50. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Their ideas of kinky fun eschew sexual ego gratification solely for a party of one.

2. I discovered the erotic dudes by happenstance. I didn’t go looking for them, didn’t follow tags like “erotica” or “romance.” I stumbled onto these jerks — and on it’s easy to do. I was never a reader who got caught up in the 50 Shades whirlwind, I’ve never had an interest in that kind of writing (including romance), and I never will. However, that said, I don’t pass judgment on anyone who reads this particular genre. I say, Read whatever you want. I say, Write whatever you want.

But …

I’m tired of male bloggers who think they’re writing “erotica” when what they’re really writing is another kind of fantasy pedaled as pseudo-erotica. They’re misogynists through and through.

Posing as soft, sensual men who simply wish to give pleasure to their readers/subjects, the sexual fantasies of these bloggers are anything but. They’re actually rape fantasies cloaked in leather and lace, dominance and submission. Their sexy posts are high school love letters encoded with deep-throated meaning so they can’t be read (or maybe they can) by anyone but the intended readers, the insiders, so to speak.

These erotic writers speak of their subjects as if they were tools to be used for pleasure — the pleasure of the male. Thus, dominance is hot and hip. They say things like “I will use you,” or “I want my strong hands sliding down your body,” and some have more creatures crawling in and out of women’s orafices than you can find at the local zoo. For some reason, a snake slithering out of a woman’s vagina — fantasized, of course — is fun and creepy and, yes, pleasureable — well, for the man at least. Imagine that same snake crawling out of her vagina and up the sphincter muscles of his hairy ass — now that would be great pleasure!

But I digress.

What these male bloggers really mean when they couch their sensual words between love and lust and something else called “eroticism” is this: I want to control you for my own pleasure, for me. Because yes, it’s all about them, the peddlers of this sophomoric, puerile writing.

Actually, let’s just call it what it really is: a symbolic wet dream, a guy with his cock in his hand shooting words onto the screen. That’s all it is, all it’s ever been. These dudes aren’t really offering anything new under the sun — they’ve just tweaked perversion a tad, given it an old willy-gag, smoothed it over in silk and satin.

Bottom line: they’re still bad boys chasing after the hearts of chaste women. Same old story. Except when it’s your daughter who gets caught up in this shit and doesn’t see what’s underneath the sexual bravado. Not until she comes home devastated, raped by that guy “who seemed so nice” and articulate. You know, the one with a line a mile long? The one at the bar who’s got enough slime to slither himself in the dark without being seen for who he really is until it’s too late. Yeah, that one.

Anyway, I read this erotic shit and I scratch my head wondering whatever happened to feminism. Whatever happened to the idea that it’s not a good thing to treat women as sex objects? That treating any woman like a tool denigrates all women. That blogging this kind of trash trashes all women.

And here’s what really bugs me, what maybe bothers me even more than these guys with throbbing dicks …

Women who flock to these scumbags, who “like” their smarmy words, and even sometimes leave a “comment” of appreciation that can be just as suggestive as the posts themselves.

Look, I’m not advocating censorship. However, I do believe that if intelligent women must read this shit in the Blogosphere (or anywhere for that matter) they don’t publicly “sanction” or “condone” it by giving the writer a thumbs-up “like” or positive comment.

Let these jerk-offs write all the erotic crap they want. Let them get it out of their systems. Let them publish it with abandon.

But … when these asswipes finally stop getting feedback — read: the attention any immature guy with no self-confidence wants — maybe then, and only then, they’ll realize they’re writing in an echo chamber.

Yeah, that’s right. An echo chamber of their own infantile minds. Because that’s what this erotic shit is, a narcissistic cesspool of misplaced and unimaginative desire.