I wrote a Valentine’s Day themed illustrated story today.
It’s here: Valentine’s Day.
Even though it’s erotic fiction, it’s really just a traditional romantic story. There’s flowers, declarations of love, outpourings of emotion. And, of course, intimate, vanilla sex.
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And you know, I felt almost guilty writing this story. I felt as if it wasn’t raunchy enough; that it was somehow less sexy because our heroine and hero don’t push their sexual boundaries, or have multiple orgasms in strange places. It’s very straightforward, and probably cliched, in a way. It doesn’t take the reader anywhere that they probably haven’t been before.
And yet I really like it. What’s wrong with a little romance? Or, as John Cleese would say: “What’s wrong with a kiss boy? No need to go stampeding towards the clitoris…” I found myself really enjoying the simplicity of it all. The sheer pleasure of a romantic, loving fantasy.
I mean, how many of us don’t just LOVE the idea of being given flowers? Even if we’re thinking they’re a waste of money, or unnecessary, somehwere deep down inside there’s a part of us that wants to be Julia Roberts in the final scene in Pretty Woman. And that’s the part that just melts at the idea of flowers, be they roses or a handful of daisies picked in a field.
Yes, I know. I’m a closet romantic. Don’t tell anyone.
I based the story on one of my favourite photo sets. You can see more of these lovely pics on this free site: Roses, Romance and Rumpy Pumpy.
I love the term “Rumpy Pumpy”, don’t you?