The Search for the Perfect [Penis?]

*Demetrius’ lips collided with Chloe’s before she had the chance to speak again. He kissed her as if he hoped to eat her alive, his lips and teeth forcing her to open her mouth for him or she would be bruised. The sensation of his tongue snaking against hers, exploring her, was almost too much to bear. A muffled moan escaped her and she found herself fighting to match the intensity of the kiss, flinging her hands around his neck. Demetrius uttered a low growl and tangled his fingers in her hair. He yanked her head back almost brutally, sending shockwaves through Chloe’s scalp that bordered on pain. She gasped as his mouth tore at her neck, his teeth just shy of breaking her skin. Chloe’s pulse roared in her ears, but her fear of this man had simmered into something hotter, something urgent. Her lips found their way to his collarbone, and she shivered at the salty taste of his skin. She melted against him, flesh melding to flesh, and beneath the shield of his jeans she felt the unmistakable bulge of his…

…uh…

Fuck. What’s the right word…penis? Nah, too anatomical.

Cock? Ugh, that sounds like a bad porn.

Manhood? Yeah, right, and Chloe has a silky flower.

Dammit!

            As some of you may know, I’ve recently forced myself into the unfamiliar territory of erotica in my writing adventures.  The novel I’m writing, which has the simple working title of Demetrius and Chloe, has been a bit of a challenge. I forced myself into this little venture for two reasons: One, because the story idea called for it, and two, because in the past I’ve been squeamish about writing sex scenes. What better way to overcome that than dabble in erotica?

            I’m about 50 pages into Demetrius and Chloe, and I’ve hit a snag that I probably should have foreseen, one that many erotica writers struggle with; terminology.

            You’d think it’d be simple. We’ve all heard it since kindergarten. A man has a penis, a woman has a vagina. It’s not exactly a secret. And I, a woman particularly fond of breaking balls and cracking sex jokes with my male friends (read: bros), am not one to shy away from terminology. But in erotica, it’s a lot trickier than you think. Should Demetrius have a penis? A cock? Or, as it says on my fridge scattered with erotic magnetic poetry, a “pendulous pleasure apparatus?”

            Like a good little nerdgirl, when I get stuck on something, I research it. I found that I’m not really alone in hesitating to slap a title on genitalia in my novel. It’s a conundrum with which writers of the erotic prose have been struggling since the genre was born. I learned that there are categories for the endless pet names we have for our private parts, which I’ll share a bit of here.

1. Anatomical: Penis, testicles, vagina, labia, etc. The terms we all learned in sex ed. Erotica authors tend to shy away from the literal terminology, as they’re the literary equivalent to a cold shower. Think of Richard in Van Wilder-“Your labia feels so good against my swollen phallus!”  Hot.



It looks so...frightening.



2. Pornographic: Cock, dick, pussy. The dirty talk that you see in most porn and shitty fanfiction (I’m talking to you, Harry Potter nerds. Don’t pretend you haven’t read it.) It works for some—Anne Rice actually uses cock in her Sleeping Beauty series—but for me, cock and pussy makes me think of 70s ‘staches and comically huge boob jobs. Not right for Demetrius and Chloe.

Ugh...no woman should ever look like that.

3. Harlequin Romance: Here are the creative ones. Pillar of manhood, feminine flower, quivering member, center of being. They’re flowery, overly-romantic, and laughable descriptions of the nether regions. This might work for some people…okay, teenaged girls and lonely housewives…but I’m not sure I could write about Chloe’s soft petals of womanhood without laughing my ass off. I don’t think of my clitoris as a little kernel of desire. And I don’t know about anyone else, but if I was with a man and he pulled his pants down and flashed me a quivering member, I wouldn’t be turned on. I’d be scared.

Yeah...not really Demetrius and Chloe.

4. Abstract: This is basically when a writer completely avoids slapping a label on genitals and simply says things like him and her. Example: She took him inside of her. I find this to be a total cheat, and sometimes really confusing. Is she stroking all of him or just the penis? In a way, it’s also kind of insulting. I don’t consider my vagina to be all that I am, and I doubt men feel that way about their penises. At least most of them.

 

So, fifty pages into Demetrius and Chloe, I have yet to name Little Demetrius as well as other key anatomical parts. The sex scenes in this first draft are fettered with lines that look like: His fingers circled her [name this later] with practiced skill.

After much debate, I’ve settled on calling the vagina her sex. A cop out, I know, but it’s an easy word that doesn’t really catch the eye or look out of place. I’ve also decided to go with the term breasts, because tits and boobs are just too flip for the serious tone of this particular story.

I guess you really have to go with whatever terminology suits the mood of your story. If you’re writing about a naughty schoolgirl and a sadistic principal with a ruler, then a cock is the appropriate tool for him to use.  Or if you’re writing about a noble, well-endowed knight seducing a milky-skinned maiden, he should probably penetrate her sacred garden with his gleaming lance.  As for Demetrius, he’s got something down there, and he’s certainly using it, so it really needs a good name.

The thesaurial search continues!

*My fragile ego dictates that I must say the opening paragraph of this blog is not an accurate representation of my skill as a writer. Hooray for egomaniacal disclaimers.