A Dark and Lusty Knight – Being a Clara Brooks Procrastination

Author’s Note As a writer occasionally you just want to write something, edit it lightly and share it with people.  It’s good for productivity.  I woke up this morning and realised that, whilst I have many Clara adventures in the works involving classic literature, it would also be awesome to be able to write the modern pop culture stuff.  It would be awesome if Clara met Batman.  I can’t possibly write and sell that without getting my ass sued and I don’t have that much time to spend in all these fabulous ideas.  So, I wrote this in a few hours of fun, and will write part two when I next have a rampant lusting after a few hours of fun.  Enjoy, in all its first – and possibly, but hopefully not the only – drafted glory.

A Dark and Lusty Knight – 
Being a Clara Brooks Procrastination

Part One

“This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.””
– Polonius, Hamlet.

Clara lay on her back, on her boyfriend’s bed, uniquely dissatisfied.

“No girl was ever less satisfied than I,” she lamented.

As Clara lay demurely on her back, her boyfriend pounded into her with all the grace of a troop of horny monkeys.  Clara was reminded of the monkeys who had been set the task to write the complete works of Shakespeare.  If one randomly pushes Clara Brooks’ buttons in whatever manner one chooses enough times and for an infinite length of time, perhaps one day you will be lucky enough to create an orgasm.  The monkeys hardly cared at all whether they accidentally stumbled across the First Folio edition of Hamlet any more than her boyfriend seemed to care about the script for Clara Brooks sensual pleasure.  In both cases fun was being had pushing buttons regardless of the outcome, so long as – she supposed – there was some kind of innate physical response happening.

She closed her eyes and attempted to imagine an orgasm into existence.  It was awfully difficult to do as much whilst a man is gnawing at your breasts as if they were an overdone piece of  steak, ramming into you so hard and inelegantly, in a seemingly desperate attempt to find the back wall of your vagina, perhaps hoping that by doing so the seemingly elusive g-spot will make its first time appearance.

“Oh me, oh my!” She internalised.  “My dashing Romeo has turned out to have all the grace and passion of a Jeremy Clarkson.  Although I’m sure he, at least, could work through my gears a little more smoothly.  Externally, she breathed with a heavier, steady rhythm and began to moan, “yes darling, yes, just like that baby.  Oh, fuck yeah don’t stop, don’t ever stop!”

Please, for God’s sake let it be over with.  Just fucking cum already,”  her inner demon scowled..

“That’s a bit harsh,” the daintier Clara replied, a little shocked by her other self’s attitude.

Why, he’s a monkey, you said as much yourself not one – orgasm free – minute ago.

“True, but just in bed.  Otherwise he’s sweet, isn’t he?  He bought me an ice-cream earlier while we walked around Hyde Park and then laughed as we watched the squirrels.  That was nice and I simply love ice-cream.   Earlier, while we were getting naked, he said that my nipples were like juicy little cherries.  He simply loves cherries”

Is that really it?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Clara felt glum.

He’s got nothing else going for him than buying you an ice-cream?”

“He’s absolutely atrocious in bed, Clara.  It’s terrible.  I can have more orgasms when I flick through the Next Directory.”

That’s not good Clara.  Not good at all.  Although, some of those catalogue models are pretty hot.”

“I’m glad we agree on something.”  She nodded to herself.

Clara realised that she’d been discussing things too intimately with her other half, and that she’d forgotten to continue the play.  “Oh, shove that huge dick in harder loverboy,” she screamed.  “Was loverboy too much?” She wondered.  Maybe it was the wrong word, perhaps it sounded fake.  Could the guy tell if she was faking?  Would he even care?  Her concern was wholly misplaced since her pert little fruit pastilles were currently being chewed out of existence by what could only be described as a rabid chihuahua, who yapped annoyingly as he did so. “Oh Clara baby, you’re so hot, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cuuuuuuum.  UHHHHHHH!”

“YES – go on baby, DO IT.  FUCKING DO IT MY DARLING!!”.  For the first time since they’d arrived back at her boyfriend’s apartment she’d spoken with an ounce of sincerety.  “C’mon my amazing Superman, give it to me good and hard.”  The mistake was made, the agony was about to be prolonged.

He stopped abruptly, completely destroying  the rhythm of the thing….

(Interjection) – “there was no rhythm Clara, no rhythm at all.  If you’re going to describe this gruesome ordeal in minute detail, then at least get it right.  I’ve had better rhythms listening to 5 hours worth of Dubstep.  And you know what dubstep does to your neural pathways.  It’s not an experience I’m anxious to repeat”

… he stopped abruptly.  Breaking the condom as he pulled out.

(Interjection) – “Please, I don’t intend to get pregnant, not from this bad sexual experience anyway.  I need something better to remember the baby by.  If there’s going to be any condom breaking accidents, let it be during an orgasmic epiphany, OK?”

…he stopped abruptly.  This did at least stall the pain that had slowly devoured her increasingly sore breasts for a few seconds.

“Don’t be stupid honey.  I’m totally not Superman.  Superman is a douche and a pansy.”

“Errrr what? ( did he really just say that?)  Never mind, carry on pet, carry on” (did I just say, pet?)

The boyfriend mercilessly continued. “There’s no internal drama going on with Superman.  It’s all boy scout save the world stuff, and Apple Pie Americana.”

“Ok, sure, now fuck me baby.  I am so fucking horny for you,” came out slightly more monotone than Clara’s intention.  Her pleas for sexual attention were, however, wasted.

“I’d even prefer Captain America to Superman.  At least Captain America can’t just do anything he wants.  Fly, shoot lasers from his eyes, superhuman strength.  No one can beat Superman ever.  That’s just not awesome.”

“Riiiight, Ok.  So anyway I was just thinking he probably had a huge superpowered dick that can give me a good time like you do.  I bet no-one fucks like Superman.  So show me a good time, big boy.”  She was scraping the barrel of her sexual vocabulary, but admittedly she was also truly beyond caring at this point.

“Don’t be an idiot.  Superman would be a terrible person to have sex with.  He’s too strong and too powerful.  Not human.  He’d just break anyone he tried to enter into, in two.  You don’t want Superman to fuck you, honestly.”

“OK.” Clara screamed, sorely running out of patience.  “Forget I said anything.  Can we PLEASE just get back to having sex like a normal couple and stop talking about Fucking Superman – you moron.

“If anything, I’m Batman.”  Was she even there, Clara wondered?  “Batman has deep emotions.  Batman is badass.  Batman understands the shit that goes down.”


Clara lay back, ready to embrace yet more missionary position torture.  She was demure.  The warmth she felt as he held her before re-entry was a moment of calm and pleasure before the onslaught continued.  She reached out her arm sideways to grab some lube from the dresser in an attempt to stop her being sore in the morning, but instead her hands found one of the many Batman graphic novels that were strewn around the room.  She sighed, winced in pain, opened the book and looked at something that seemed to resemble Batman kicking Superman on the jaw.

“C’mon baby, she muttered with a good deal less enthusiasm than before.  The difference it made was untraceable  “Fire that me that great big load inside of me.  Mmmm wow you turn me on so much, honey.”


“Oh wow.  This is the best sex I’ve ever had.  Truly”

Clara Brooks, you’re a filthy, dirty lying whore.  Why tell stories?  Why don’t you tell him the truth?  He’s a fucking terrible lover.

“I don’t know.  It’s easier.  It’s just easier.  Better.  I like stories.  He won’t get hurt this way.  Nobody will get hurt.  Stories are good.”

You’re going to hell Clara Brooks.  

No, shut the fuck up.  That’s a lie.  There’s no hell.  It makes no difference.

Lie back and dream Clara.  Take it like a woman.  Lie back and take it.  Be the girl you were born to be.

No, be the dream you were born to be, Clara.  The monkeys didn’t write Hamlet just by pressing buttons.  The monkeys will never write Hamlet.  You really can’t write a great play that way.  You don’t just press the buttons, you have to press them in the right order.

“To sleep, perchance to dream”

I’m Batman, I’m Batman, I’m Batman.  

“Why does he always get to be Batman?”


The ordeal was finally over.  Thick night had long since descended across North London, a dark squalid haze of pollution depressing the spirits of all but the night-owls, the lifeblood of the City;  aspirational bourgeois socialites who had partied hard, played hard and would soon go home to fuck hard; the petit bourgeois who deplored the stale heat of the working day and their calculated little lives run on schedule, preferring the fetid stink of manufactured fun, the ambiguous cocktail of sweat, stale vomit and casual sex.  The witching hour was about to come, the last tube home would be leaving imminently and woe betide any who should miss it, left out on the streets with the sneering homeless, the murderously insane, the troubled whores, and the hopelessly lost.   Clara, a conventionally pretty 20 year old medical student at UCL, wondered if she, too, was destined to be hopelessly lost, shrouded in bourgeois darkness with no escape save the Asylum.  Would anyone rescue her from this darkness?

 She had better leave her partner now and get the last tube back home to Claraland; if she missed it, how long before the next one?

 “If you’re Batman then who am I?” She asked as she quickly dressed.

“What do you mean?  You’re Clara.”

“I mean, If you’re Batman I could be your Catwoman, or Poison Ivy or something like that.  Catwoman is pretty hot, right.  Surely you want a Catwoman?”

He laughed sourly.  “Don’t be silly Clara.  Matilda is more of a Catwoman.  She has this sexy, sultry slutty, purry thing going on”

“My best friend Matilda.  You think she’s a purry slut?”

“No, not at all.  I just mean she’s probably a lot wilder in bed.  Into kinky shit.  You’re a little demure, and proper.”

“I am? Demure?”


“I want to be Catwoman.  I want to be sexy.  I could be kinky.” Clara protested, but wondered why she bothered.

“Well, you’re not Catwoman.  I just don’t see you that way.”

“Who am I then?  Dark Phoenix, Wonder Woman, Black Widow?”

“Nobody, you’re none of those, you’re just Clara OK?”

“Is that who you want me to be?  Just Clara.”

“Sure. Just Clara.”

“Demure and proper Clara?”

“You can’t very well have a relationship with a slut, can you?  Good for one night stands, I bet Matilda is amazing in bed, but just not dependable.  Not like you are.  You’re lovely, Clara.  I know you’ll always be there for me.  You put up with my shit.”  He laughed and Clara was unsure whether it was at himself or her.

Dependable Clara.
Demure Clara.
Proper Clara.
Lovely Clara.

Just Clara.

Are you not wild, Clara?
Can you never be a slut, Clara?
Do you not fake your orgasms well enough for him, Clara?

Do you not fake life well enough Clara?

“Hey, there’s an RSC production of Hamlet on next week,” the thought just occurred to her.  “You wanna go?  I really love Hamlet.”  Why did she bother to ask, she wondered.

“No, I can’t, I’ve got an exam and I’ve already promised Vicky I’d go round hers and help her with Ophthalmology”

“Sight – that’s King Lear.”


“Oh Nothing.  Vicky huh?  OK, whatever, it doesn’t matter” she sighed. “Look, can I borrow this Batman comic?”

She didn’t want to know any more about Vicky.  Vicky was a leggy blonde who had been receiving a lot of help on medical topics recently.  She pulled on her thick cloak and flew out into the night, ready to stalk the streets of London.

Bisexuality vs Pansexuality vs The World! Or why I Identify as Bisexual.

“Congratulations, it’s a boy” or “Congrats, it’s a girl” are probably the first words you’ll ever hear and as such they will come to define the very essence of your being. From the moment of their utterance your mother and father will be making plans and assumptions about your life and how you will live it based on the information they give. How you look and behave, what you like to do, your emotions, behaviours, career, educational ability and … your sexuality. Even the conscientious parent who determines not to bring up their child with gender bias will not be able to escape many of these assumptions and certainly, even if they could, the rest of whatever culture you live in, from school to media and advertising and friends will fill in those gaps.

Blue for boys, pink for girls...yeah, you know the drill.  Do girls innately like pink?

Blue for boys, pink for girls…yeah, you know the drill. Do girls innately like pink?

The boy/girl binary creates us and consumes us . One can easily imagine an alternate world in which the first words uttered are “Congratulations, it’s a blonde” or “Congratulations, a brunette” an how different would the world look? Instead of whether you have a penis or vagina, babies would be divided up on the basis of their hair colour, told what they like and how to behave and what they find attractive. Simply blonde’s fancy brunettes and brunettes are crazy about blondes. It doesn’t matter what’s down below (or out front) it’s their hair colour that’s important to attraction and who their best friends at school are. I can equally imagine someone telling me that this thought experiment is absolute garbage because the difference between boys and girls is innately obvious, whereas there’s no obvious difference in the way people behave according to hair colour (despite the fact that for so many years redheads were considered to be “temperamental, of course) but that just goes to show how much stock we place on the identification of our personalties with gender. “I was born like it – this is me, I can be no other way

What’s this got to do with why I like to use the term bisexual rather than pansexual, and with what I find attractive after dark? Well, these things have everything to do with binaries and gender and how we perform our gender roles, and if you look at my thought experiment, it’s also about how damn easy it could be to subvert gender norms should we, as a society wish to. How ridiculously arbitrary societies notions of gender are when you put it in black and white terms and how one can slip in and out of gender roles if one understands the simple (yet so complex) nature of their construction.

My understanding of gender and my sexual identity are staggeringly important to me. I’m no Academic expert but I didn’t just make them up overnight, I’ve actually been considering the issue for many years. Just recently, however I’ve come face to face with this issue of Bisexual vs Pansexual on internet forums and through articles and I’ve been repeatedly asked – or should I say, told – to challenge my assumptions. As someone who always thought of herself as bisexual I was suddenly faced with discussions with a tight knit group of people who very strongly believed that if I didn’t actually call myself Pansexual then I wasn’t appreciating that there are more than 2 genders (as if a gender is a real thing?) and that I would therefore be erasing transgendered people and I’d be a bit of a nasty person. As discussions evolved I also began to repeatedly bump into this “cisgender” word and I was also told to use that as an identity. I am no longer a woman, I am a “cis-woman” and talking about myself in any other way suddenly got some very disapproving responses. Not one to run away from a new ideology I considered the issue and ultimately decided that I didn’t agree with using the term cisgender and I politely (but assertively) told a transgendered person why.

“According to the way I understand gender,” I argued “You cannot actually be a different gender from the sex you are born,. I don’t need to state that I was born a woman and I also live my life as a woman. I just am a woman and society dictates to me what that means. It’s not such much as being a gender that exists “man or woman” but gender is a term one uses to explain how one’s identity is constructed from a group of assumptions that are made about a person based on their biological sex (phew!)” I was greeted with angry – and in my opinion ill-considered – responses to the likes of “obviously not because I am a different gender to what I was born and you are trying to erase trans-gendered identities.” And so on. I don’t think that I’m trying to erase anybody. I think of myself as someone that is quite sensitive to the fact that minority groups have a difficult time in terms of both understanding of their situation, and regarding the negative effects of violence and discrimination. (that is, they suck) I’ve always thought of myself as someone who would stand up and fight for the right for transsexuals to live the life that they wish to and not be discriminated against because they choose to change their body to suit their own sense of identity. I don’t claim, however, to understand everything, or even much, about their lives and the way they live them and the pain that they go through.

And yet I also felt angry because I’d presented a philosophical argument about gender and I was being told that if I thought that way I was being discriminatory. So I thought about it some more and I thought about my idol “Simone de Beauvoir” – “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman. and I still drew the same conclusion. As a woman, or a man, as I grow up I grow into a role; a role that is out there in society waiting for me to happen. Women are this, women are that, women like pink, dresses, literature (not maths!) and babies. They are emoptional and caring where men are brutish but smart) Of course, it not that simple at all, but you get the idea, we are produced as people by the ideas, assumptions, actions and education of the society and culture that we live in, in a way that’s actually grown more and more complicated over time. My womanhood, like other aspects of my person hood (if one can think to separate them – probably not) are created within me as I grow older and I take on and process information about the world My understanding of who I am develops as I grow to understand concepts of masculinity and femininity and sexuality and how they relate to me and the people I identify with.

And yet, this notion of cisgender tells me the opposite. It says two things. As I am born I am innately something, a man or a woman. As a ciswoman I am a woman whose “gender-identity” matches her biology and that says these two separate things are fundamental to my identity as a person. Secondly, it tells me that there are concepts for masculinity and femininity that are somehow fixed and if the two don’t align then they need somehow to be realigned. And this is all a problem for me because fixing – locking down – gender roles is, in my opinion, dangerous to feminism and dangerous to our ability to existentially define ourselves outside of gender roles.

We are prone to think in binaries. At least, we think in this boy/girl binary. If I, as a girl, choose to wear trousers and play football I am called “a tomboy” I’m a girl gone wrong. I’m a girl who has adopted masculine traits. I’m a girl who isn’t a girl. If I choose to have sex with a woman I am a lesbian and not straight (and I take on a whole bunch of other traits, like butch). What if, I often wonder to myself, we erased this binary concept. What if I liked wearing trousers, had boobs, played football and also liked Barbie. Oh, and I’m good at maths and literature? Do I need to put a descriptor on that – can I? What if, in our thought experiment it wasn’t just blondes and brunettes, but also people with red hair, black hair, grey hair (all sorts of anime hair, blue, pink etc). Who would be attracted to whom? Would there be a compulsion to lock it down and say blondes and black hair like brunettes, red and grey and vice versa. Can you imagine a world in which these different traits could be split up and applied so simply and smoothly? You would probably break down and admit that everyone could be attracted to everyone else … then you’d go away and find another binary to make life a whole lot simpler because, as complex as gender binaries can be, saying “I’m like this because I was born like it is beautifully simple”

Where does Rainbow Hair fit in?  I dunno, but I think it looks gorgeous...

Where does Rainbow Hair fit in? I dunno, but I think it looks gorgeous…

I am loathe, ultimately, to define myself in terms of “I might be this, or I might be that” I am me. As far as that goes you’d possibly think that I’d embrace the pansexual label. Only the pansexual label was adopted by a community that has ideas about gender and sexuality that I actually don’t agree with and apparently wants to impose upon me. To reiterate, I support transgendered people with every inch of my body and soul, and I wish them all the best in every way, and I will vocally support their right to live their life as they choose, but I do not personally hold to the ideas that they do. I would not want to see anyone persecuted or harmed or “othered” because of their ideas or creed, whether that’s religious or sexual or otherwise political … but equally I think those people should have the respect to allow me to have my political and philosophical opinions without stating that I can categorically only support them if I agree with them and that my philosophies erase them. OK, I am not a Christian – or religious – and I will philosophically challenge a Christian on any point of doctrine, but I still support them as people. If not being a Christian is an affront, I sincerely cannot help it, and the same is true here since I cannot intellectually call myself a ciswoman.

I carved out my identity as a bisexual when I rejected societies binaries many years ago. For me “bisexual” didn’t ever mean “limited to two”, it referred to the ability to break away from the two options of heterosexuality or homosexuality that I’d been given all of my life (being gay was discussed at school, being bi was not). In a sense it meant “the third way” and it meant embracing everything that fell on the line in-between men and women on the sexual scale. Bisexuality and pan sexuality basically mean the same thing, though bisexuality has always meant ideological freedom to me, whereas pan sexuality has always been represented by people telling me I’m “doing queer/gender/gay wrong”.

And so I call myself bisexual because it remains liberating to me. If you like pansexual though, go for it. If you want to change your biological, sexual, or gender identity in any way, then go for it.

I’m not sure we really need labels for all of this anyway since I’m for a world of many colours; preferably all attracted to one another for their own unique qualities. If anything, I’m an existentialist.

Robin Thicke’s Clear Cut Lines.

I don’t know what lines Robin Thicke thought that he was blurring. The tragedy of the song is that his lines are so damn clear-cut. What’s more, this thing is so damn sexist that my jaw dropped to the floor a little when I first saw it. Then it dropped through the floor when I realised that this thing had been at no.1 in the pop charts for a decent length long time. Oh, it’s catchy alright, I’ve been humming it away to myself all day, and let’s face it, it’s another genius piece of marketing. You can imagine the “how can we create a little controversy to promote this song?” conversations. “Ok, tits alone aren’t enough to skyrocket sales, let’s make it really sexist and then say that it isn’t; that’ll grab some attention.”

It would have been helpful if rape hadn’t been brought into this. I fully respect that rape culture needs to be discussed as much as possible, but pinning a criticism on the lyric “I know you want it” as being rape-y is taking the focus away from arguments against the song that I believe to be more powerful. I have no doubt that a lot of rapists use this line, but it’s also a staple of the sexist “I know you wanna fuck me” brigade, which translates as “I’m a douche, pleeeeease fuck me”, not everyone of whom goes on to rape their would-be illustrious conquest.

Thicke’s defense of the song is worth quoting:

 Hey, do you think this is degrading to women?’ I’m like, ‘Of course it is. What a pleasure it is to degrade a woman. I’ve never gotten to do that before. I’ve always respected women.’ So we just wanted to turn it over on its head and make people go, ‘Women and their bodies are beautiful. Men are always gonna want to follow them around.”

I’m no sure that anyone would believe for a second that this is either genuine or well argued, but what’s worrying is that it hardly matters, since the catchiness of the song trumps all. That and the fact that there are more than enough guys out there with low IQs who are going to identify with this video and see a popstars credibility as good enough reason to have the attitude that it champions.

So, what is that attitude exactly? The song is hardly saying “Go out and rape a woman,” but it categorically is not a song that liberates women from a repressed sexuality. Some of the songs subtler lyrics

So, hit me up when you pass through,
I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two.

“What do we need steam for,
You the hottest bitch in this place .

The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty,
Go ahead, get at me .“

Did I say subtle? I meant sad and pathetic. Where Thicke would have you believe that there’s something liberating about this song, being about women given the opportunity to unleash their sexy side, notice that it’s the man doing all of the liberating, the man saying what goes and what does not, and most importantly notice that the man is controlling the sexual language and the encounter. “I know you want it.” “You’re a hot bitch” “I’m gonna tear your ass” (seriously?) Where’s the female voice here exactly? Is this the sexual encounter that all women have secretly been dreaming of? There must be some women out there really desperate for Thicke’s big dick, I suppose.

I’m thinking that it’s not down to Thicke’s big Dick to be liberating women in the manner that he chooses, a manner that’s completely controlled by a male’s lyrics and a male’s iconography. What’s doubly insulting is that these blurred lines that are supposed to make women so mysterious and complicated are simply the Madonna/Whore duality that has been used to keep women in their place in art and literature throughout the centuries. Women – as far as men are concerned – are either the meek, virginal, containable domestic goddess (tried to domesticate you, but you’re an animal) or they are the evil, difficult to control, lustful, wild whore. Think Snow white vs her evil Stepmother (and other similar fairytales) or Cordelia vs her Sisters in King Lear.


What this song is actually doing, under the guise of liberation from domestication, is simply showing Thicke taming both sides of what he believes to be the nature of woman. Women, you can be liberated as long as there’s a reputable member of the patriarchy about to make sure that liberated nature doesn’t get under control.  We can do better than this now, can’t we?

I couldn’t care less about the tits in the video (I can’t stop thinking that girl totally looks like Anne Hathaway) Does that pass as controversial still? I do care that their presence and actions of the women is thoroughly dependant upon Thicke’s sexual gaze. I do care a lot about Thicke’s obnoxious patriarchal messages.  I’m not seeing a lot of feminine empowerment here.

Why Porn is Greater than David Cameron

I was going to put in a picture of David Cameron but I thought that would turn off my readers.  So have a red square instead.

I was going to put in a picture of David Cameron but I thought that would turn off my readers. So I posted a red square instead.

Why Porn is Greater than David Cameron

It’s very obvious that David Cameron’s anti-pornography measures announced today are a prelude to the erosion of civil liberties, allowing the government to set up a firewall which will be easily switched on/off once it’s in place. (Why on earth does the internet need a state owned firewall?) But, lest we forget, this is also about pornography. Not child pornography but pornography. Cameron wants everyone who chooses to watch porn to “opt-in”, which essentially means putting yourself onto a governmental porno watcher’s list.

I don’t want to be on a list. Lists are bad. Lists are something people can go to if they want to know all about you. No, I’m not ashamed that I might sometimes view porn on the internet, but other people NB THE DAILY MAIL AND ITS READERS suffer from rather strong negative reaction overload to people doing this kind of thing. Visions of 1984 or even the holocaust come to mind all too terrifyingly quickly. “Clara Brooks: watches porn, is bisexual – not really a family woman is she? Segregate that one”

But the way that the Government are doing this is amazingly by manipulating a strong anti-pornographic streak in a society that doesn’t understand why we could possiblywant or need  freedom of sexual expression.   Pornography, according to its conservative detractors, either harms our kids or it harms women. A reader of my short story “Proud and Prejudged” recently labelled it as “pornography”, compared to Anais Nin’s “erotica”. I’m not really sure what the difference between us is other than that she is a much better writer than I, but I’m quite content to label my work pornography if that works for you. The story (series) is primarily about a girl who has intence sexual experiences that are caused by and blend with the literature that she reads. That is, she gets horny and has an orgasm; and that’s what pornography is primarily about – getting off. But the point is if my work can be described as pornography by someone – rightly or wrongly – then obviously I am pro-pornography in some capacity.  I’m pro-pornography anyway, because

I believe in the right for consenting adults to make their own decisions – privately – regarding their sex life, their sexual encounters, what turns them on, what gives them orgasms – and with who, when and how they express these things.  Detractors would say that this is harmful because it destorys the sanctity of monogamous married life.  One has to wonder if these are the same people who said the same things about same-sex marriage.

I write ‘eroticaporn’ because I think that sexuality is a fun and a rewarding thing to explore. I believe that our sexuality is one of the most important facets of who and what we are as people, and that to hide it, to disparage it, to make us feel like criminals for wanting to express it is to deny us the ability to express ourselves and to understand ourselves. And that really cannot be good. Is there bad pornography? Absolutely. I’d go so far as to say that the porn industry as it currently stands is absolutely plagued by terrible representations of women and men, and that the majority of porn produced makes me feel ashamed of my species. And I think we really need to talk about this as a race and we need to change it so that people can spend more time allowing people to be who they want to be and not straightjacketing them with pornographic stereotypes.  So, thanks Mr.Cameron, because what better way not to understand our sexuality/desires, what better way not to have conversations about porn and representation, what better way to make people have negative attitudes towards sex than to drive it underground and make people feel bad for wanting to watch it.

Regardless, I shall continue to peddle my own smut and I’ll allow you to buy it, read it and enjoy it anonymously if you like.  I don’t judge, unless of course you don’t think it’s awesome in which case I’ll apss your name to the CIA.

~ Clara