I have been practicing writing smut since before flirty texts existed, though in the early days I felt enormously guilty about exploring sex this way. I felt shame about typing up filthy stories in my bedroom, even though I kept them private. Probably something about coming to terms with my identity as a queer man in a very religious and conservative part of the American South, I dunno.
Then texting became the hottest new mode of communication, and I learned how to flirt there. Dirty talk, scenarios, long and detailed descriptions of what I would like to do… this all provided ample practice and helped build a sexual vocabulary. What sounds sexy versus ridiculous, what word conveys the exact sentiment or sensation I want to evoke?
I discussed with a friend the idea of writing a series of stories and poems and collecting them together to make a bedroom book, and I was getting ready to launch into the idea with all of my energy, when I had a conversation with Christina la Catastrophe, local zine queen and my zine mommy/daddy (if you haven’t read What It’s Like To Be A Female Brown Artist, get on that!). I bought her zines, I especially appreciated the unfiltered voice she displays in each one, and suddenly the bedroom book idea was replaced by dreams of seasonal smut, starting with “pumpkin smut latte” to celebrate autumn.
Of course, I then became broke as shit, and it can be next to impossible to create under the stress that comes with that. I got a job, I got back on track, and once I started to feel more or less comfortable in a new rhythm, the world was introduced to coronavirus. I decided to quit the job for personal health and safety reasons (not to mention the massive amount of emotional labour my employer expected me to do while only paying minimum wage), casting my financial future into doubt once more. Things are better now, so surprise, I can create again!
pumpkin smut latte, October 2019
untouched, coming soon!