June 2, 2014
Survey confirms that writers of erotica do have more interesting sex lives
by Martin Rouse
Early on in the Cheryl Brooks novel Slave, the protagonist travels to a distant planet where the entire female population is enslaved by men. In order to avoid detection, she enlists a naked man-cat to pretend to be her slave master—a ruse entailing many hours of them bound in chains—until he actually becomes her master and they pleasure each other ceaselessly. I read parts of this book years ago at a bookstore, deeply immersed, and remember thinking with great certainty that the author who wrote it must’ve been sexless for years.
In the face of scientific evidence, I’ll admit that I may have been wrong. A recent survey of 103 erotica authors by The Fussy Librarian suggests that they are living what they preach, with exploits of sexual wonder that the rest of us can only hope to read about. Check out how much we’re lagging behind:
Oh, the variety! Erotica authors technically have sex no more frequently than the rest of us, but, as both they and wedding planners know, the venue is important, and it’s a little bit boring if you do it at home. The survey also shows that these authors are raking in their lovers like leaves. They’re three times more likely than us to have experience with eleven or more sexual partners, and 18% of them have had at least twenty.
If that weren’t impressive enough, erotica authors apparently have the coordination of child gymnasts fitted with the thighs of Zeus. Their answers for the “most unusual place where you’ve had sex” include, impossibly: “on a horse,” “in a canoe,” “on a stack of drywall,” and “on the Haunted Mansion ride at Disney World”—probably without even the least bit of chaffing. The Olympic Village may be the hotspot for athletic intercourse, but I guarantee you that not even they are doing it like this.
So, who are these enlightened sexual beings? It might be disappointing to find that 94% of respondents were female, and 89% were straight. This comes as no surprise to anyone who frequents the romance section of a bookstore, where a diversity of sexual scenarios does not reflect a diversity in the authors who write them. Such is life. It’s nowhere near as disappointing as curling up with an erotic novel and some wine, ready to relax, and realizing that the book’s author is probably curling up with a real man somewhere, doing all the things you’ll be reading about when the sequel finally arrives.