Writing Erotica Made Me a Better Fuck

After years of routine sex, writing smut made it exciting again

I started writing erotica even though my libido was really low.

On the screen, I was creating characters with the sex drives of hormonal teenagers. Characters who got horny with little provocation. Characters who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Every scene had an atmosphere thick with desire.

Meanwhile, sex was only a tiny little sliver of my life.

I was married to a guy I find attractive, but you could barely tell. My lady boner was basically non-existant.

On rare occasions, I’d get slightly aroused and fuck my husband. But I never got super horny. The sex was enjoyable, it gave me a bit of physical release, but it wasn’t something I craved or felt the urge to pursue.

It showed in the way I had sex, too. I didn’t starfish my way through a fuck or anything like that, but I just kind of went through the motions. No enthusiasm. No gusto. I didn’t even suck his cock because I never got turned on enough to want to.

And yet, I decided that I would write dirty smut.

It made perfect sense to me. I wasn’t sexually inspired or horny, but I was at a place in my life where I wanted to see if I could write and earn a bit of money from it. Sex just happens to be the subject I was most passionate about - even though I wasn’t having much of it.

Plus, I had seen terrible writers make a living peddling erotica. If the bar for quality was that low, then maybe I had a chance.

I did my research, figured out how the business works, learned how to self-publish on Kindle, and started typing up my first story.

The entire time, a little worry kept nagging at me. What if this wasn’t going to work? What if letting myself go when it comes to sex meant I wouldn’t be able to actually write an entire draft? What if there’s no way to write vivid and arousing sex scenes if I’m not, you know, feeling it?

What I didn’t realize, though, is that writing erotica was going to fix those very same problems.

.

Smut Gave Me Back My Mojo

If I was going to write erotica that was actually hot, titillating, and worth masturbating to, it would have to do something other than mirror my sex life. The formulaic, routine sex I was having wasn’t going to captivate readers.

And I didn’t just want to throw sex acts on the page. I don’t like reading a series of actions - that’s a script, not a story. I want the experience to be immersive, to draw me in emotionally, and to make me feel what it’s like to be in the scene.

To write something like that, I’d have to figure out how to describe the mechanics of sex in a way that didn’t make them feel mechanical.

So, I tried to write sex scenes that emphasized the characters’ thoughts and emotional reactions, not just the physical stuff they were experience. And I threw in plenty of dirty talk because nothing makes me feel like I’m right there, taking part in the action, like hearing that kind of language bouncing around in my head.

I had no idea how successful I was. But I do know that my writing had its desired effect on at least one person because I was getting lost in my own stories. I was fully submerged in my writing, typing out sentences at lightning speed and feeling the emotions and some of the sensations I was putting down in my draft.

I would type out thousands of works every morning and into the early afternoon. By the time I was ready to hit the save button and look up from my screen, I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in years.

I was extremely fucking horny.

Not just horny enough to have sex. Not just being open to doing something dirty. I wanted to fuck and I wanted it bad.

But I didn’t want the boring sex I’d been having. Writing about women who are so filled with anticipation they practically can’t breathe, men who fuck like they’ve been put on this earth to do nothing but pleasure women, and scenes that were soaked with enthusiasm made me want more than what I had come to expect.

I wanted the kind of sex I had before my sex drive slowed down. I wanted the kind of sex I dreamed about when I was a lusty teenager. I wanted it sweet, filthy, and I didn’t care if I could get up and walk after.

I hadn’t felt desire like this in a long time, and it only happened because writing erotica put me in the right mindset.

It Made Me More Attentive

The best part of a good erotic story is the details. You can set up a scene, you can describe the action in broad strokes, you can make the characters do things to each other until they come - but it’s the details that make you feel like you’re practically in the scene.

The problem was, I forgot a lot of the details. It had been ages since I experienced them first-hand and my memory was getting kind of fuzzy.

I kept running into spots that I struggled to fill in.

How does a good look when he’s getting an incredible blowjob?

What’s the best way to describe a woman’s body when she’s riding on top?

What are the little tell-tale signs that someone’s about to come?

I wouldn’t really know unless I did some research. So, I turned to porn.

Even though my sex drive was low, I was still watching porn once in a while. I used it when I got myself off or to give my libido a fighting chance once in a while.

But this time, I was watching it differently. I paid really close attention to the way the performers moved and behaved. I picked up on the way their flesh rippled, the subtle expressions on their faces, how they communicated with each other wordlessly - and of course, the way they fucked.

For a girl who normally fucked with her eyes closed and the lights off, studying all of this was illuminating.

I used everything I learned to write better sex scenes, but then I noticed it was helping me have much better sex, too.

I noticed all the little ways my husband reacted when I touched him. I gave his cock different types of strokes, varied my speed, and paid attention to the way his breathing and facial expression changed in response.

I took note of the way his fingers touched my pussy, how his tongue licked my clit, and where his hands gripped me while he fucked me.

I started being more experimental out of sheer curiosity. I tried to see how far back my legs could go without it becoming uncomfortable. I laid on my stomach to see what it would be like for him to fuck me in that position, taking note of the way his body pressed on top of mine and the angle of his cock as it slid into me. I noticed how much more intense he got whenever I bent over for him.

Learning to pay attention to those things was transformative. Noticing them made me realize that there’s so much more to sex than just clit stimulation and orgasms. That’s what makes it feel good, but it’s all the other little details that make it hot.

It’s the way he looks at you when your shirt comes off. The way his breathing changes when you really turn him on. It’s the way some positions make you feel exposed (and how great that can feel). It’s the way he holds you when fucking you, as if he wants you even closer than you already are. It’s the look of blissed out satisfaction on his face after he comes all over you.

Writing erotica helped me notice those things, and it encouraged me to put in more effort so I could earn them. Because I wasn’t just in it for the orgasms anymore - I was in it so I could feel sexier.

It Taught Me to Fuck Enthusiastically

More than anything, writing erotica actually made sex seem fun again.

Obviously, sex was still pleasurable, enjoyable, and intimate. It had just lost its thrill.

That was especially true for blowjobs.

When I was younger, there was something really enticing about giving head. It made me like a good girlfriend. I loved that I was doing something dirty. And I gave them as a show of gratitude for all the times my boyfriend made me come with his mouth.

But I didn’t really enjoy them.

So, when my sex drive settled down, blowjobs were the first thing to go.

I went years without sucking cock because I had simply lost interest in doing it.

But there’s no way I was going to make my erotica a blowjob-free zone. My protagonists sucked dick - and they fucking loved it.

That flipped a switch in me. Watching blowjob porn for research and writing blowjob scenes showed me that giving head could actually be fun and exciting. It didn’t have to be a thing I did just to give pleasure - it could turn me on, too.

For the first time in years, I put my mouth on my husband’s cock. And for the first time in my entire life, I really fucking wanted to.

Introducing blowjobs into my life again was a major change, but it also affected the things I was already doing.

I hadn’t stopped giving handjobs, but I stopped giving them for pleasure. I gave them so my husband would be motivated to give me some action in return. I gave them to make sure he’d be stay hard throughout the foreplay. And I did it out of guilt, because I felt bad getting eaten out if I wasn’t at least going to give him a few strokes.

But that’s not the way it went down in my smut. I wanted to make the handjobs I wrote about really appealing. I wanted to write them in a way that made you wish you were giving one. And that wasn’t going to happen if I typed in “I stroked his dick because I felt like I owed it to him.”

I had to convey the joy of rubbing your spit-covered palm against a hard shaft. I had to make you feel how turned on you’d get by hearing him moan when you run your fingers along the head of his cock. I had to inject that little bit of tension when you want his cock inside you but you also don’t want to stop playing with it.

Having to describe the pleasure of giving taught me how to feel it, too.

Once I started writing sex scenes, I stopped with the half-hearted stroking and started giving proper handjobs. Handjobs that were about exploring every texture on the surface of his cock. Handjobs that are about seeing what kinds of moans I could coax out of him. Handjobs that would make him call me a good girl.

I was doing everything with enthusiasm - not just the things that made me come. And for the first time in almost a decade, I remembered just how fucking fun sex could be.

Erotica Gave Me Back My Sex Life

I’ve stopped writing erotica - for now, anyway. But it was an incredibly important stepping stone for me.

It never made me much money, but it was the start of my writing career. I’m endlessly grateful to it because of that.

Writing and publishing gave me purpose after spending a few years being aimless and letting my life unfold instead of taking a more proactive role in it.

And it taught me how to be a better fuck. It revived my libido, it helped me pay attention to the things that make sex so fucking special and incredible, and it taught me to fuck enthusiastically again.

That wasn’t the end of that journey. I still had a lot more exploring to do. I had to become better about communicating my desires. And I still struggle massively with my libido.

But none of it would’ve happened if I never opened up that document and started typing that first draft.

I wrote erotica, but most of my research was done through porn. If you want to do a little research of your own, check out the amazing videos on Adult Time. It’s my favorite porn site and if you use the code LOVEEMMA you can save 20% on your 30-day membership!

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