Let me share a little history. When I began writing erotica as a hobby in the late 90s, I posted stories at Literotica.com. "Viewer" was originally written as my one and only entry for the Non-consent/Reluctance category, similar to what many erotica authors refer to as DubCon (dubious consent) today. The scne in question fit the category. I remember the bodice rippers, tales of women taken against their will by pirates, barbarians, warriors and the like. These books made up a big part of the romance market of the 70s and 80s.As long as the man and woman involved eventually fell in love, it was all good and not only in written form. If you're old enough to remember the Luke and Laura love story on General Hospital, you may also recall he raped her in the early stages of their storyline.
We've become more sensitive, even with regard to romance novels, since then. Our alpha males are now billionaires, cowboys, firefighters, and they are polite and protective of women. If the actions turns a bit hardcore, it's in the throes of consensual passion or part of a D/s scene. What pushes our arousal buttons has evolved. It is interesting to note, though, that rape appears in other genres with little fuss. Anyone who's read the highly popular Song of Ice and Fire series can attest to that, not to mention the incest and sexual abuse of children. (I love those books so don't send me hate mail. It's just an observation!)
So, I had a decision to make Leave the scene as is, or rewrite it. I gave a lot of thought to the emotions I wanted to provoke in the reader. Horror and disgust were not among them. I wanted readers to see that Sara and Brad ware both flawed people. Sara embodies all the negative stereotypical qualities you'd expect to find in an overly ambitious actress - egotistical, self-absorbed, and pretentious. Brad, a former pro quarterback, hates to lose and will do whatever it takes to win. In this case, what he wants to win is Sara. I rewrote the scene and feel it still accomplishes what I want. I've sent the revision to my editor for her thoughts, and we'll talk about it next week.It is ultimately my choice, but I greatly respect her opinion and experience.
Do I feel like changing the scene is a compromise of my principles or a sell out? No, not in this instance. If my intention had been for Brad to be a black-hearted villain or for Sara to be a sweet, vulnerable victim, I would have been a different story (literally). This isn't The Perils of Pauline; these characters are human and far from perfect. Just the way I like them.
A quick note of thanks to my editor, Ekatarina Sayanova of Red Quill Editing. I love a woman who tells it like it is.
Excerpt from "Viewer Discretion Advised" from 4Play, coming in September
Eventually Sara accepted
a dinner invitation after her agent reminded her of what the publicity could do
for her. “Everybody will love the idea that two sexy co-stars are falling for
each other,” Nathan told her, and she begrudgingly agreed. It would have been
easier to swallow if he had refrained from pointing out Brad was being booked
for all the late-night talk shows to promote their series, and no one was as
yet beating down her door. Nothing like your own agent bruising your ego to
boost your self-confidence.
On the night of
their date, she dressed for the paparazzi in a version of the “little black
dress” never envisioned by Coco Chanel. With a plunging neckline and tightly
fitted, it showed off every curve of her body. In a pair of designer stiletto
heels and with her trademark tousled “just fucked” blonde mane of hair, she
would not pass unnoticed or go unphotographed. That she would be on the arm of a
popular and handsome guy was gravy. She checked her reflection in the mirror as
she put on a pair of long, dangling silver earrings. Her face, which she had
long ago accepted as not conventionally pretty, was attractive, and her wide,
pouty smile gave her a provocative look most red-blooded, American men found
sexy. Turning to check the view from behind, she decided she cleaned up pretty
good.
Brad wouldn’t
hear of meeting her at the restaurant and insisted on picking her up at her
apartment. When she opened her door, he gave a loud wolf-whistle. He seemed to
think she was all dolled up for his benefit alone, which she found naïve, but
sweet. Surely professional athletes knew about TMZ, Entertainment Tonight and the Hollywood Insider, to mention a few of the shows on which their
date would most likely be mentioned.
“Thank you, sir.
You’re looking quite nice yourself!” He certainly did look good in a white
button down shirt open at the neck, black pants and a faded denim jacket. She
looked down at his feet; yes, he was wearing cowboy boots, but on him, they
worked. She locked her door and they walked out to the apartment complex parking
lot, his arm on her elbow. “Where’s your car? I don’t know what you drive.”
He pressed a
button on his keychain, and the engine of the big black Chevy pickup truck in
front of them roared to life. “A truck, you drive a truck in LA.?”
“Yes, ma’am. I
was born and raised on a cattle ranch, and cars are less than useless there. I’m
used to a truck, and besides, I like my truck.”
“I’m sure it’s
great, but what I’m not sure of at all is how I’m going to climb up in it
wearing this dress.” She eyed the side of the truck with doubt.
He opened the
passenger door and reassured her. “Not a problem. Face me, put your hands on my
shoulders and duck your head.” She obeyed; he placed his strong hands on either
side of her waist and lifted her into the seat as if she weighed no more than a
child. “Buckle up,” he ordered.
She watched him
as he drove, navigating the infamous LA. traffic with ease. “You had to cut
your hair for this part?” she asked.
He brushed a
large hand across the sandy blonde buzz cut. “Yup. It hasn’t been this short
since I was a kid. My mom used to cut my hair exactly like this with clippers
in our kitchen. She didn’t charge a hundred fifty bucks for it either.” If his
down-home boy attitude wasn’t legit, he was a better actor than she knew.
Upon arrival at
the restaurant, the valet was amused by Brad’s vehicle, but he recovered
quickly and caught the keys one-handed as Brad moved to help Sara down from her
perch. They walked the media gauntlet, smiling, posing and answering questions.
Once inside and seated, he gave her his undivided attention, even making sure
his cell phone was turned off. Everything he said seemed open and honest. She
wasn’t sure what to make of a man who said what he meant and meant what he
said, a rare thing in Hollywood.
“Sara, I hope
you know how much I appreciate your patience with me. Without your help, I’d be
screwed, probably canned already,” he confided.
“How did you get
this gig anyway, Brad?”
“Well, I was at
the end of my career according to my knees and my orthopedist. I didn’t want to
go into broadcasting like every other ex-jock, but I had no idea what I was
going to do. My agent is the one who got me the audition, although we both knew
it was a long shot. I guess I’m a lucky guy, especially tonight, sitting here
with you.”
If anyone else
had said it, she would have known it was a line, but she was warming up to him
and actually enjoying this date. He was sweet, obviously came from a close
family, and based on his manners, his parents had raised him well. Maybe there
was more to him than a photo op.
They had finished
eating, and conversation was flowing freely when another diner approached their
table, something in her hand. “Excuse me,” she said, fidgeting nervously. “Aren’t
you Brad Watson?”
“Yes, ma’am, I
am. What can I do for you?”
“Could I please
have your autograph? My friends will go crazy when I tell them I met the
Sexiest Man in America!” The woman made air quotes with one hand as she said
the title.
Brad looked
confused. “The what?”
“You haven’t
seen it yet? It just came out today!” She placed a magazine and a pen on their
table. On the cover was his smiling face with a caption reading “Gridiron
legend, now leading his team on the set of True
Blue.”
Looking
extremely uncomfortable, Brad signed the issue for the woman, and thankfully, she
quickly went on her way. She had shown no sign of recognizing Sara, but then
she had never glanced in her direction.
Sara couldn’t
get out of there fast enough. Being upstaged by this rookie made her inner
little green monster fume. “Excuse me a moment, would you?” she muttered in his
direction. On her way to the ladies room, she asked the maître d’ to check the
entrance. As soon as she was assured the coast was clear, no more photographers
outside, she requested a cab and returned to their table.
“I’m sorry, but
something has come up. Thanks for dinner.” With a peck on the cheek and a “see
ya, babe”, she strode away, leaving him looking puzzled and wounded. The taxi
ride home was long enough to allow her time to cool off, but she didn’t. Rationally,
she knew the resentment and jealousy she was feeling wasn’t Brad’s fault, but
it was easier to focus the blame on him than acknowledge her own childishness.
