I love cock, but I hate dick.
It’s a personal thing, for sure, but when I’m fantasizing about being bent over a bed, or pressed up against a wall, or spread out in the back seat of a 1956 Chevy, the last thing I want is a man’s dick inside me.
Or his penis. Penis. I mean, Ew.
I’m all for rods and shafts, I can get into a good hard-on, I’ll live with an erection. But some words simply work better for me than others. The worst description ever in my opinion? An author submitted a story about a guy with a 57-year-old salami. Now, I’ll admit I’ve got thing for older men, but that sort of meat just isn’t going to make it on my table.
Of course, every writer has both favorites and pet peeves. I prefer pussy, but will use cunt in the right occasion (a term which horrifies many a writer). I avoid vulva, vagina, and cervix, which all have a medical-sound to me. (What is it about “battering against a cervix,” a phrase I read a lot in erotica, that makes me flinch?) I admire Anne Rice’s use of “sex” for both male and female organs, but can rarely pull that word off myself. I had a roommate once who described her nether regions as her “coochie” or her “kitty lips,” in such a delightfully uninhibited way I’ve attempted to steal both every so often, to what success, I don’t know.
What terms do I love? Most descriptions of lingerie are just delicious, from bikinis to panties to knickers—oh, yes, knickers. The word alone makes me want to take mine down.
And what words are on my personal hit list? I’m not a fan of drool. Conjures images of people in asylums. I don’t like to read the word “pucker” too often. I came upon the term “ass lips” fairly recently, and just could not deal with that one. Sometimes, I think, less is more.
But, unfortunately, it’s not only in the world of words that I am persnickety. I went on a date once with a handsome Australian architect who squired me back to his office after drinks and told me he wanted to “see my little titties.” The vixen in me wanted to lift her shirt. His accent was so damn hot. The editor in me wanted to jump out a fucking window. Titties? Please, no. But are breasts any better? Bosoms? Knockers? Melons? You’ve got me. Still, “titties” made me shudder. Made me say no to date number two.
My favorite story on this subject is “Coming and Cumming” by Susan St. Aubin. I had the opportunity to read the story on the Herotica IV CD, and it’s a gorgeous piece about the power of words.
And speaking of “cumming,” I believe this is one of the most difficult actions to describe in erotica. Some go for lots of moans and “ohhhs” and “ahhhs.” Others attempt to explain each action, the “contractions” and “spasms” (more common in US) or “clenching” (which I’ve read more in British erotica). But I think the best is still James Joyce:
“...I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”
Oh, god. I need to go now. Yes. To find someone to take down my knickers. Yes. And to let me feel how hard he is. Yes.
As long as he doesn’t show me his dick.
PS What are your favorite words?
Have you returned to specific terms over and over, or are you a trend-setter, hopping from one word or phrase to the next? Any horror stories you care to share?
Pet peeves that make you squirm?
Or will I sit alone with my 57-year-old salami?
PPS And if you do love words, please check out this brand-new blog!