Battle of the Sexy?

Last week I interviewed the first male erotica writer to visit my blog, Andrew Harding. I’d been reading an article by Travis Luedke about discrimination against male writers of erotica and I asked Andrew if he’d ever come across anything like that (you can read the interview here if you missed it).

Now this got me thinking. Does it matter to me who writes the erotica I read? Do I mind whether the writer is male or female? I read more female writers than male writers but that’s purely because I tend to come across more books written by women. For me, I don’t think it matters at all as long as the story itself appeals to me. I think the only thing that does bother me about reading erotica written by a man is that I wonder if it will be too graphic for me in terms of body parts and gore if it’s a thriller/murder mystery.

So what about you? Do you pause and think before reading erotica written by a man or dive right in as long as you like the sound of the tale about to be told? What about if it’s f/f fiction? There are plenty of m/m books out there written by women, but do you prefer your f/f to be written by a woman? And for any type of erotica does it really make a difference?

I have a wonderful piece of historical erotica below, written by a very talented author and I wonder if you can tell – is this author male or female and why?

I’m interviewing this author on Friday, so you can have the answer then. In the meantime, I’d love it if you would comment below and answer the poll:

Here’s the excerpt :):

Mary floated from the powder room into the bedroom that held her beloved. Her hair was done up in a perfect set of curls, hands powdered white, body carefully scented in all of the right places. He was right, where there was love, there was luxury, and her love helped her block out the dreary dirtiness of their honeymoon suite.

“You move like a noble lady,” said Edward. “You make this room your palace and I your servant.”

Seductively, he pulled back his shirt and revealed again the full manliness of his chiseled torso. He shook his long black hair out of his eyes and it was with great willpower that she did not give in to this sensuous action and rush to his arms. He enjoyed her reaction to even his slightest of movements, enjoyed the power each part of his body held over her eyes as they remained transfixed.

He unbuttoned his pants, but hesitated. She realized she had been staring, frozen, at the bulge between his legs, and did not look up until he laughed, causing renewed blush at her eagerness to feast her eyes on this grand rooster.

“Do not toy with me, husband. I long to feel you in my arms with abandon, release the emotions you have inspired but I would not set free until you called me wife.”

He let the pants drop, causing a hard intake of breath. She was not sure if he was fully aroused, but he had the equipment to rival any stallion.

He beckoned her to come forth. A side of her would have preferred he had a bath first, to wash away the muck of the road, yet something about the scent of Edward, even when dirty, aroused her immeasurably.

She went to his arms, about to kiss him, when he turned her toward the large mirror over the dresser. With the weight of his body, he nudged her closer to the glass.

His powerful arms crisscrossed her chest as he stood behind her.

“Look at yourself, Mary. You see a noble lady, powdered and puffed in full grandeur. You see yourself such, as Edgar sees himself a nobleman, as all of your family perceives themselves, nearly royal in stature.”

He ripped her nightgown apart with one complete sweep and let it drop to the floor, exposing her full bosom and delicately trimmed private parts.

“But I will peel away all the perceptions that are false, and show that underneath lies the sordidness of the most common scoundrel, and the base feelings of the lowest soul.”

Mary turned to protest, to make effort to break away and confront his words with her own sharp tongue. But he put both her nipples between each thumb and index finger and teased them with a gentle caress, instantly calming her ire.

She moaned her approval.

His slow caress turned to a sudden twist, causing her to cry out in discomfort.

“Please, Edward. More gentle.”

“You will learn to enjoy the pain.”

He delicately cupped her full breasts, sensually kneading them with his strong hands, and she closed her eyes and swooned slightly. He licked along her earlobe, letting his hot breath brush against her neck.

“Yes, my love,” she whispered.

Thumb and finger at the nipples again, hard, turning, and she cried out once more, but this time her exclamations revealed more of the throbbing pleasure that joined intensely with the sting.

“That’s it, Mary. Don’t fight it. Give in to your body and more gratification than you ever dreamed of will be yours.”

The cupping of his hands at her breasts turned rougher, and she could feel her chest swell with desire. Her nipples leaped to his fingers, whether teased or twisted.

From his sensuous licking at her ear, he went to her neck, and she arched her head back and let her weight fall against his. His tongue was like a wand that marked spells along her flesh. He went back to her earlobe, grabbing it with his teeth, caressing lightly, with love it seemed, until he bit a little more sharply.

“Edward!” She struggled again to break free of his arms, but was helpless in his mighty grip.

“Look in the mirror now. Not so noble. I see the coarse desire that existed before you yourself were aware.”

She was about to voice further protest, but then he slid his hand down her stomach and rested it firmly between her thighs. With one finger he began a circular caress at her most vulnerable spot.

Who is this man? she wondered, a tremble forming in her body.

 

NOTE: I have altered the names on this excerpt, purely because if I used the real ones it would be all too easy to guess the story.

Photo Credits: Female boxer courtesy of photostock, male boxer courtesy of stockimages and boxing glove as featured image on home page courtesy of hin255, all at FreeDigitalPhotos.net