Who knows why these things happen. One day you’re viewing one of those sexy, metaphysical French New Wave films. The next, you’re boarding a plane to Paris in search of the self that you have yet to identify. You slam your foot into a gargantuan pillar in The Panthéon; then the gods curse you by placing you in a public garden to be fondled by a septuagenarian predator as if you’re starring in Last Tango in Paris Redux. You feel a stirring in your belly — but not from the dozens of crêpes avec jambon et Gruyère consumed in five days — and you realize that it’s time to return Stateside … and to write.
Well, that’s sort of what happened to me, but my journey as a creative writer has been anything but a linear one. I leave it to you, readers of my Negrotica blog, to figure out how the Romance languages — except for Romanian (don’t ask me why) — and the various cultures in which those languages are spoken influenced my development as a writer of erotica.
Through linguistics, food, drink and The Caress, I’ve rejoiced in the cerebral, culinary and tactile dimensions of pleasure. Let’s see: French kissing (and, yes, crêpes), Italian whispers, tango’s tearful embrace, masturbatory mastication of Portuguese sweet rolls from “Ironbound.” Oh yes, and endless erotic etiquette lessons in Latin (coitus, fellatio, cunnilingus — have your randy minds grasped the idea?).
I’m all for comfort food, but I desire to make you, too, hungry for life. Living life in the present is a climax like no other. Foreplay exists in dreams and in memories of yesterdays. So ride with me, discover with me, laugh with me, cry with me, vibe with me, moan with me, dance with me, float with me. Lose track of time and release tension within my erotic dream songs.
Oh, if I may be allowed only one more desire, it would be for you to swallow my words and exclaim my name whilst writhing in ecstasy.