On occasion, I stumble across books where someone complains that the sex in the book was too explicit. Where the writer uses what some would refer to as “purple prose,” and the reader warns others of the “smut” they’re about to partake in. When I read reviews like this, I’m usually like…EXPLICIT? WHERE? Have you even read Devil in her Bed? Or anything by Phoenix Daniels?
I’ll be honest, when I first started writing, even using the word “member” would make my face burn. I grew up in a socially conservative household where good girls just did not use words like that and if they did, they were whores who deserved to be social outcasts. I won’t even get into what toenail painting represented.
But I’ve noticed a shift. I’ve dared, pushed the enveloped a little, and in the meantime I’ve gotten to know my readers. Y’all don’t mind a little dick in your romance (LOL) and I love you for it. Women don’t blanch at this anymore. We’re embracing our ability to be versatile and in the process, I’ve also started learning to appreciate myself. It’s like Jidenna says: “the lady ain’t a tramp, just cause she bounce it up and down like a trampoline.”
Seriously, get his album.
My raunchiest portrayal, I’d say, has been Fated and even that doesn’t compare to something like, “Taste of Lacey.”
I’m proud of you guys. No, really. We can go from reading Americanah to the most elicit smut and still call ourselves sisters, wives, mothers…as we should. We can appreciate the gamut, everything from explicit lit to those a bit more tame, casting judgment aside for a well-written story.
Now, let me get back to Dez. He was saying something to Larke along the lines of: “Come here. Open your towel.”