Today is the day. I could feel it coming (and God, no, I don’t mean any puns at all). After reading Dear Author today and the business about writers blogging their sexual encounters in detail, etc., I got the cumulative willies. I then went to another author’s blog who was asking what kink is, all ready with my answer, and read about things I had formerly not imagined the human psyche could create.
I evidently am not a very sexual being. Or I’ve wandered into very odd territory. Or turning 50 finally caught up with me. I still like a bit of passion in my romances (whether I read or write them). But I feel like some kind of fossil because I’m not into BDSM, don’t really want to have sex with anyone other than my husband (and the occasional fantasy movie star I’ll never meet), don’t really like porn, don’t read erotica, and I don’t want to hear about it.
I have what I consider a very healthy monogamous relationship, a somewhat sound psychological profile (despite some garden variety neurosis), pretty run-of-the-mill tastes in clothes, entertainment. I don’t think that people who are not like me are deviants. I don’t have any issues around someone else’s sexual preferences, as long as it doesn’t run to the imposition of sex on an unwilling partner or someone too young or not of sound mind to make a proper judgment.
Hell, I think prostitution is immoral, but should be legal. I don’t actually know anyone else who feels that way. But then, I’m a libertarian.
I think worlds have collided on the internet. Romance writers and readers who include some sex in their books are swimming in the same pools with erotica writers. I don’t know where this is going to lead us, but it’s pushing me offline a bit more. I’m a prude, as I said. I found out officially today.
What are your boundaries? You sure know when you hit them, don’t you?