eroticism that never leaves because we desire, never is wiped away because we want to be wanted, attempts to get rid off any sexual reference is useless, an itch, a curse, a need, a part to play

There are erotic things we recognize erotic immediately, blond hair, showing full breasts and full lips (hah), accessories like black high heels, black underwear, anything black and tight clothing around toned bodies is a sign, a message and we look at such sights if they are there, because we enjoy them. We enjoy with our eyes. All kinds of reactions come about, thoughts. The more detailed, decorated the more burlesque, luring, luxurious, tempting and naughty, denied, banned, pushed away like horror that would reveal us what we really want. Erotics is an art of detail. We may think of those things if they are not present, dream of such things to wear or to look at. We look at the muscles, limbs, body parts, shapes, what is shown and what is not. Where does eroticism begin, come from is that we don’t have to look for it. It appears effortlessly, or seemingly with little effort. There are common sexually interesting features and materials which arouse savor, they are the clichés we are accustomed to, we are fed with, banalities of what sexuality is in mainstream. What is it?. Erotics is overused, capitalized. Porn is grotesque and obscene. I find it a necessary vent even the clichés: pvc-outfits, higher heels that are impossible to walk on, make-up, posing, fantasizing. Ultimately naked bodies in twisted positions. Something full dripping over, leaking over like liquid. Something that is erotic is never boring. It is still a task to put it in writing what is erotic. Human body is erotic to put it simple.

Erotica is a language that we should be able to speak, but often fail to for whatever reasons, mostly denial, fear and disgust. It is effortless but contradictory conflicting and difficult to approach. We can be naive or cynical about it. It is easy and impossible, but it is there not going away. Maybe it just is tacky, smelly and unpleasant remainder of our bestial self to put it in stereotypically normative frame. Something we like to forget. Sexuality is interesting since it does not fit in frames we so much like. It is something we like to reject, reject as a possibility, positive and joyful part of everyday. Because erotics for us is not an everyday mode, not for many women at least, not for us reasonable people who hide that side of ours, it is difficult and religion has something to do with this. It is intolerable and too enjoyable, too pushy, disgustingly everywhere, because it is not coded as the good positive thing to have but sinful, dirty and wrong that needs to be pushed distant but is force-fed, we are in constant difficulty with our sexuality.

To feel ashamed by eroticism, to hide behind a bashful little laughter. We are grown into feeling ashamed when we watch something erotic. Something that belongs to bedrooms and dark places, something, again, shameful a part of us so much that without erotic thoughts, images, desires, deeds we feel we are missing something essential, but we have to miss it to like it. Eroticism cannot be an everyday object. Objects are dead. We may be too practical for it to live with us as fully accepted part, maybe it is pragmatism to deny horny feelings. Erotica is never fully accepted, therefore we are damned. We are cursed by our desire, because of the inescapable nature of our existence. We cannot escape ourselves. Maybe sexuality would lose its edge if it was fully accepted as whatever forms it takes. What do you think? Would we be too liberated and get bored with the whole thing? To reject eroticism we become less human trying to achieve a perfect senselessness, obedient order of things without distractions or temptations.

Eroticism is cheap, it is sold and bought, true. That is much of eroticism today, a consumed item, a consumed feeling, body, intercourse, image, song, movie, advertising. Or is it so expensive we rarely can afford it? We cannot tolerate to be seen as sexual, as wanting sex.“The weirdness of the image of Hefner in his PJs talking domesticity is doubled as we imagine this meeting of him and a similarly attired Preciado through the TV screen in the middle of the night. Just as Preciado’s curiosity stops him sleeping, so we are reeled in with a desire to see an organisation which is rarely regarded as representing anything more than the most superficial and exploitative entertainment from a totally unimagined angle.”