I stumbled upon erotica in my teenage years, initially when I unearthed my mom’s stash of romance novels in the basement. Why she thought leaving them lying around was a good idea, I’ll never know. But there I was, flipping through pages filled with steamy encounters and “throbbing manhoods.” Even back then, it was clear that these novels were essentially elaborate setups for the characters to get it on.
As I moved into college, what I had once called “those books with the naughty bits” became known as “erotica.” It was trendy to read, provided you could define what made it “good.” Most of us were intrigued by Anne Rice’s Beauty trilogy, which pushed boundaries we had never explored before. Lady Chatterley’s Lover made the cut, not for its explicitness but for its candid discussions about physical intimacy.
Anaïs Nin stood out as our literary icon. Her works spanned voyeurism, same-sex encounters, and S&M, which was a far cry from the Fabio-like protagonists I had previously encountered. With such a rich tapestry of experiences to draw from, we were hooked.
Fast forward a decade, and I was married with children. The thrill I once found in reading erotica had faded, overshadowed by the responsibilities of parenthood and the effects of SSRIs I had begun taking for depression. Unfortunately, these medications are notorious for dampening libido, leaving my sex life dwindling to a dismal once-every-three-weeks frequency. Something had to shift.
That’s when it hit me: I needed to revisit erotica. However, I felt a little embarrassed about diving into the same material from my youth. So, I embarked on a secret search online. I felt a bit silly, yet I was determined, knowing this could help reignite some spark. While I had previously avoided fan fiction, I decided to explore it, and wow, did I discover a treasure trove!
As a self-proclaimed nerd, my exploration led me to some wild stories—like Mulder and Scully from The X-Files in heated moments or Agent Cooper and Harry Truman from Twin Peaks sharing a passionate encounter. The Fringe fandom was particularly appealing, showcasing polyamorous storylines that I found surprisingly captivating. Even the Hamilton fan fiction took things to uncharted territories.
Surprisingly, this newfound reading habit turned me on in ways I hadn’t anticipated. So, what did I do? I made my move on my husband, and just like that, our sex life experienced a revival. In fact, it became even better than before. Inspired by what I read, I shed my inhibitions and began exploring new ideas in the bedroom. My husband noticed the change and, while he teased me about it, he was more than happy to join in on the fun.
Now, I didn’t ask him to role-play as Mulder or Hamilton; that’s just not our style. Instead, the erotica served as a catalyst to help me navigate the challenges of parenthood, medication, and life’s daily stresses. With those happy thoughts, I was able to fly again—thanks to the anonymous writers out there crafting creative tales that sparked my interest. My marriage has greatly benefited from their efforts, and I appreciate all those who contribute to the world of erotic literature, especially those spinning tales of gay romance like Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens.
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In summary, rediscovering my passion for reading erotica not only rekindled my libido but also rejuvenated my marriage. It serves as a reminder that sometimes, all it takes is a little inspiration to spark excitement back into our lives.
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