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It's as simple as this: I tried to define erotica for someone, and he was offended. Not because it was too graphic, but because it was something different to him. You're just going to offend someone no matter what you do. So, for the purposes of my life, my definition of erotica is - everything. It's the sweet cool wetness of watermelon in your mouth on a warm morning. It's the scent of flowers gently wafting on the air while you're out walking the dog late at night. It's sexual, it's sensual, it's anything that helps you feel and develop your senses, and thereby your sensuality. Erotica is life.  See, I told a couple of friends what I was doing these days. Writing about erotica, writing erotica, writing about erotic things, attending erotic events, etc. Of course I was expecting varying responses, from the religious to the righteous. No, "Oh, congratulations, you're finally using your writing talent." No, "Oh, isn't that a dangerous topic these days?" The questions I did get were more along the line of "Do your parents know - oh, God, they don't know, do they?" Or once, "I never thought even you'd stoop to pornography."I tried once to explain to my dearest friend that it was not porn, as he assumed, but erotica with an edge. It seems that's a distinction no one is ready to understand. Please read my definitions above again. We live in a society where it's fine to use sex in ads to sell anything in the world, from tennis balls to toothpaste, but when we actually go out to sell sex for its own worth and on its own merits, society (at least in the U.S.) chokes on its outrage. Suddenly, I resent the stigma that is being forced on me for what I have chosen to do. Because I am honest about myself, my interests, my fantasies and my passionate life, and because I choose to share the more knowledgeable revelations with others, I am suddenly a social pariah? It comes simply down to this: Your turns-ons are okay. Mine, however, are not. 'Cause you said so. If you travel to the UK, you can see bums and breasts on TV shows and commercials at 8:00am. Imagine my shock when I first saw it. My British friend explained that violence could not be shown in the U.K. until after 9:00pm, and then somehow it made absolute sense to me.  We as North Americans are more immune to death, blood, maiming and violence than we are comfortable with our own bodies. Watch a cartoon shown at 6:00am or even 7:00am and tell me that isn't violent. Isn't sex a more natural human trait, one more apt to be embraced than the murderous seven-million round semi-automatics that take out the crowd at Times Square in movies we show in the U.S. during the day?Our bodies are beautiful, so why have they become taboo? Aren't our tendencies toward murderous inclinations more deserving of our suppression than a teeny-tiny little T-and-A? Our bodies give life, they give passion, they express love, they're humorous, they do things we absolutely wish they did not, but we North Americans have no humor about our own bodies. Unless it's the obligatory fart-joke… and a word to the wise here? That's so over.  Now I even hear that the Motion Picture Rating Association wants an "R" rating on movies where characters smoke. Well, last I heard, it was still legal to smoke, in your own house, under the sheets with a flashlight (Sorry to Denis Leary for stealing parts of that line. It has always stuck). So, we're just as nervous about kids seeing smoking as we are them seeing the act of love - or even perhaps lust, which is just as human? Or acts of violence? What's wrong with this picture (if you so desire, pun intended). I'm just confused about what is the most offensive part here? Smoking, violence or sex?Superbowl, anyone? Did you actually see anything? All I saw was a lovely nipple covered by an ornate jeweled piece. Did it really seem so shocking? Does anyone remember J-Lo's dress that she glued together strategically to some award ceremony a few years ago? Did she or the network get fined? Did she have to apologize innumerous times because I saw more of her flesh than Janet's? How about the Diana Ross incident, when she joined L'il Kim on stage at another award ceremony? Diana proceeded to lift and bounce L'il Kim's exposed breast save for a strategically covered pasty. Is the FCC a L'il oversensitive? Or has it just grown in the wake of the furor over sex recently? It took me 30-something years to admit who I really was inside. Okay, at that point, I was ready to admit it to me, but not to anyone else. But that was my struggle. Some come to their conclusions sooner, later or - sadly - never. I finally recognized who I was when I looked in the mirror. It took me a little longer to write about it, and share something so personal with, well, what felt like the world. I refuse any longer to be ashamed of my sexuality or where it leads me. I am on a life journey, and sex and sexuality are part if it. Life, as I said earlier, is erotic. Of course, this leads to the inevitable family discussion. The other night, my dad sent me an MP3 of him singing at an impromptu concert. This brought me back to growing up in a devoutly Catholic family (who sang as a family at the "folk" mass each Saturday), living in a gorgeous but dilapidated 100-year old Victorian. My sister and I loved the hidey-holes and secret cupboards where we could listen for hours to Dad playing his guitar. It's not that he was a professional, and he still is not. It was his passion of playing for his own enjoyment. The love. The enthusiasm. They all shone through vividly in the beautiful music he made and the fantastic creations he fashioned. I admired him for following his zeal with such dedication. It was a form of erotica - the passion.  Being Catholic, my house was fairly rigid about rules and morals, but absolutely open when it came to information. I got the "abstinence talk," and it was reinforced early and often. When I approached my mother at age 16 to talk about birth control pills, we had "the talk again," but she respected my honesty. And she took me to get a prescription. Hell, the "D" word (D-I-V-O-R-C-E) was more a curse in my home than S-E-X. Later, I moved away from Catholicism, but still incorporate certain aspects into my private spirituality. Some of my questions were quite simple - why would a loving God want me to deny myself a pleasure He created my body for? A few months ago, on a snooping expedition, my mom read some files on my computer. My own fault for not protecting them, but I never suspected I would have to. At first, I was angry - oh, you have no idea. The writings were about my explorations and being drawn toward aspects of BDSM. Circling the family wagons, she got everyone involved (dad, step-mom, sister and fiancé) feeling the need to discuss the "dangers" inherent in this idea of sexuality. It hurt. It hurt to have to defend myself. BDSM is not about degradation for me, it's the pleasure I can create by my actions and with my body, and it's something I am still joyfully exploring. My sexuality, in sum, is not dangerous. My step-mother said sadly to me at one point, "I'm sorry that I know more about your sex life than I am comfortable with." So was I, which is why I never shared that aspect of myself. I didn't consider it hiding, I felt it was tactful. This is also why I write under a pseudonym. My Grandmother would pass out if she really knew what I did. I am respecting her limits. Once again, we fall back to the simplest of thoughts: If you can't remember the last time you laughed, cried, were taken in by a moment of deep intensity, had passion, had anger or had some sort of emotional depth then it's been too damn long. Right or wrong, I feel this way about Ashcroft and his group of porno-vigilantes. I feel like telling him "You feel something first, and then tell me that my feelings are wrong." Yes, I understand that the church-of-old demanded that sex be for procreation only. But many original tenets have been rescinded in the face of modern science or current understanding, and this idea is way past its time for acceptance. Owning your wife? Beating your children? Eye for an eye? I could go on.  I feel like sending Ashcroft the million definitions between porn and erotica. The problem is that the definition changes with each person you talk to. One person's well-defined erotica is another person's topic of a Sunday sermon. If he does not already know himself, perhaps before donning his modern-day Salem hat he should do some homework and self-education. And we all should be working hard to educate those around us.It's like TV; if you don't like the programming, change the damn channel. With 600+ channels to choose from on cable, you can find something you like. Better yet, read the programming guide and educate yourself beforehand. As for pornographic spam, I delete over 500 mails a day regarding Siberian Pain Sluts, Incest, Unsuspecting Voyeur Cams, and close-ups of money-shots. As I said, I delete them. Do you think I want that too, Mr. Ashcroft? Some things are offensive to me, as well. I've been told people are working on better spam measures, but the solution is at the moment to simply delete it, not take the company to court. Change the channel, delete the mail, and go to a different URL. We are all reasonable adults here, are we not? There are differing levels of what people find offensive, but there are some basic, easy solutions. Rather than go after a group as a whole because everyone who is erotic is also a pornographer, we should feel more secure in the internet and our ability to find everything we're looking for, whether or not Ashcroft and crew deem it personally offensive. I use this poor man's name so often because he's the most politically noticeable, but there are a million more who feel the same way as he. Let's fully examine the differences in our definitions and the definitions of others before we jump on a McCarthy-esque bandwagon. Let's use some self education, or some sex education rather than wiping the world clean of something we don't understand. I am a professional writer. I write erotica. I am proud of what I have written. I will not stop. I am 34. I am not ashamed of my life, my body or where my learnings are taking me. , as long as you understand that I can't always respond to your notes. I do have a job, you know.
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