Before I answer that, let me tell you something you might find interesting: I wrote my first romance at the age of fourteen.
In school, our English test paper followed a set pattern. It began with the essay or composition, with five topics to choose from, and the fifth choice was always a short story based on the given outline. The fifteen-hundred-word story I wrote for that term was a dark, passionate, tragic romance peppered with brazen moments of love and implicit sex. Not what you would expect from a ninth-grader but it was so impeccable that I ended up scoring full points.
The flutter it caused throughout school was thrilling. I suddenly went from the quiet, reclusive, invisible bookworm to the most talked-about student. Whenever I walked by, it wasn’t unusual to overhear, “Psst… she’s the one.” My teachers were quite impressed with my talent but at the same time concerned about the kind of influences I had in life. The imp that I was (still am), I continued writing short stories for every term for the next three years, taking the given cues (regardless of what they were) and turning them into a romance. The priceless reactions were food for my soul!
Women are expected to be proper, right? They are expected to mince words and behave in public. Since ancient times, the woman has always been objectified and blamed for lascivious deviances⎼ whore, adulteress, the insubordinate wife who must be punished for not submitting to her husband. When I craft sex scenes, it is liberating to break free of age-old stereotypes and portray carnal acts just the way they should be – primal, hedonistic, intoxicating – both for men and women. Sex is both fundamental to our existence and one of the most pleasurable human urges, the expression of physical attraction between two people. That’s how nature intended it to be.
There’s no shame in being human and embracing what’s real and natural. Life is too short for prudish nonsense.