Recently, I found an article on The Frisky asking people what the first book that they masturbated to was. It got me in a bit of a thinky-backy kind of mood, and even as I’m typing this, I’m scanning my brainbox for books I used to read to get aroused.
That’s what I did for a long while. Just read books, look for the dirty bits and read them over and over again until I got aroused. Nothing really came of it, other than a, quite frankly, very frustrating hunt for more dirty bits in other books. Seriously, once I figured out the books which tended to have a bit of fumbling in it, I was at the book store more frequently than anyone I knew.
Which is a sad thing, really. People should read more.
But anyway. The main problem with my modus operandi was that it felt like I’d bought up the entire store’s stock of romance novels after a while. We’d usually only get translations of books, and the lust does tend to get lost when taken out of the language it is originally set in. Or so I think.
The first book that got me properly hot under the collar (but, amazingly, didn’t yet prompt me to masturbate) was Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl by Belle De Jour. I bought the book on my first ever holiday to London, in despair of it being our last night there. I lay on my bed in the hotel room, opened it up, and started reading.
And then there was that opening line. “The first thing you should know is that I’m a whore.”
That first line drew me in so quickly that I kept reading for a very long time indeed.
The first book that I masturbated to… I think it was a collection of erotic stories written by famous female writers. It was edited by Imogen Edwards-Jones and called In Bed With. You had people like Adele Parks and Esther Freud contributing, but under assumed, “x-rated” guises (a combo of their first pet and first street they lived on, I think, which made for names like Pom Pom Paradise and Tutty Monmouth….).
It was a total eye opener. Well, it was at the time. It wasn’t a very good book, I think. But it did make me broaden my horizon… because one of the stories (“Twice Shy”) addressed two subjects that I didn’t even know I would find arousing. I’d always been squeamish about anything to do with anal sex (thank you very much for that, Sex and the bloody City) and even more so about spanking. So, I was more than a little hesitant to even read this story at first.
Again, in hindsight, it wasn’t particularly an erotic masterpiece, but in the end, I got off on it. More than a few times, in fact.
So, those were the two instrumental ones. I’ve since had a lovely string of stories lead to an even lovelier string of orgasms (KD Grace’s Vegging in Best Women’s Erotica 2010 comes to mind…). And, of course, I’ve taken up writing erotica myself.
But you can bet your sweet behind on this: I don’t think that me writing erotica would have even happened if it wasn’t for those (and many other) books.
The fucking awesome orgasms that happened from reading them? Bloody lovely bonus.