Erotic and EroticabyBOSTONFICTIONWRITER©
What is erotic to me may not be erotic to you.
I am a heterosexual man who has had his share of women. Probably because I was, the key word was, good looking in my youth; I have had my share of beautiful women. They always came looking for me. I have yet to ask a woman out for a date. They were always the ones asking me and I was always surprised, flattered, and agreeable to a fun time. In high school, I was invited to four proms and I attended them all as my date's escort. The girls were all prim and proper until when we were leaving in my car and they suddenly turned into sexually depraved women with six hands.
"Get off me. No, I am not that type of guy. Please...be gentle."
At least, that is how I remember it (lol).
Like most men, I am a voyeur. It is the visual things that arouse me. That is my erotica. We men go by looks and appearances whereas, if I may speak in generalities about women, women are deeper than that and are not as shallow as men. Women are emotional. Sure, women go by looks, too, but, more often; it is what we say and how we say it that will turn their heads, which is why we see so many average looking men with so many beautiful women, such as Woody Allen and Mia Farrell or Billy Joel and Christy Brinkley or Rod Stewart with anyone of his ex-wives.
I always fell harder for the women who I could not obtain. Those are the ones that I find myself thinking about and writing about now and, somehow, they are more beautiful, taller, thinner, and sexier in my imagining of them now than they were then. I wonder where she is. I wonder if she thinks of me. I wonder what she looks like, now, after all these years.
"Oh, I can't believe it! Audrey! I haven't seen you since high school. Has it been 30 years?" (And you have gained 10 pounds every year for all of those 30 years.) Sometimes, we are better off not knowing and preserving the image of how she looked before opposed to how she looks now.
Just as what is erotic to me now is different to what was erotic to me in my youth, and what is erotic to me may not be erotic to someone else. When I was a teenager, a bra strap was erotic. Now, it is a look, a smile, something that I imagine or read into when seeing a woman and thinking about her and thinking about her with me.
Sure, the core eroticisms are still there. Panties are a huge turn on for me, of course, not granny panties but bikini panties. I am not a thong guy. Some guys go crazy over thongs. Not me. My favorite is white and pastel colored cotton panties, especially when I am recipient of a sudden and unexpected flash of them with an uplifted skirt in a spring wind or a leg crossed a little too slowly and a little too deliberately.
I remember one warm, summer day being in a parking lot. A woman in a BMW caught my attention. She did not see me, I was parked a couple cars away from her car but had an unobstructed view of her getting out of her car. Actually, it was the car that I noticed. I am a huge car buff. Then, when she opened her door, spread her legs to get out, paused, and leaned back in to retrieve something from her glove box, I was rewarded with a perfect shot of her bright, white panty clad, camel toed pussy. Now, in hindsight, she probably spotted me looking and did it on purpose. I was young, then, around 28 and handsome. She was 40, maybe, and a very attractive slim, blonde. Unfortunately, women must hit guys over the heads with baseball bats for them to take notice and for them to respond.
To me, that was erotic, suddenly seeing her panty unexpectedly and maybe, by accident. I know that women would not feel that was erotic but for a guy, that was erotic. To me, it is more erotic to see something that you are not supposed to see, the forbidden. It is more of a turn on to see a woman in her underwear than it is to see a woman naked.
I guess, that is why men like the up skirt and down blouse views so much. There are entire web sites dedicated to those two fetishes, as well as to others. Fredericks of Hollywood and Victoria's Secrets knows that men are visual and that men love lingerie. Their entire business depends upon it.
Bras and panties are erotic, but not padded bras. There is nothing like the sensation of feeling a woman's tit through her clothes. It is intoxicatingly exciting. Sometimes, feeling her tits through her bra is more exciting than feeling her naked tits.
"Oh, so, that is what your tits look like."
"What's wrong? You don't like my tits?"
"Well, it's just that I thought that they would look exactly like what your bra advertises that they would look like."
Bra manufacturers need to label bras with a disclaimer tag otherwise face false advertising lawsuits, "Warning: Not all tits may look as high, as round, and as firm once the brassiere is removed."
"Your honor, when I proposed marriage and gave her that ring, it was before I saw her without her Victoria's Secrets Wonder Bra. And there was not a disclaimer tag on that bra warning me. I think she should give me back my engagement ring."
Memories and imaginations are erotic. The way we remember something or imagine something when thinking sexually is always erotic to us. It is amazing the things that I remember that happened so long ago, things that have made an indelible impression in my mind's eye. I love my memories and cannot imagine living life without them, as so many people who have Alzheimer's disease must do.
Actually, it could be kind of exciting, though. Every day you see your wife naked, even though you have been married 40 years, is like seeing her naked for the first time. I wonder if Alzheimer's is anything like that movie with Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler, "Fifty First Dates." (My apologies to those who have Alzheimer's for my insensitivity about your disease. Ah, what they Hell, they'll forget that I insulted them, as soon as they finish reading this.)
Writing is erotic, good writing. Sometimes it is not what you write but what you do not write that makes it so erotic allowing the reader to imagine the rest. If you are good with words, you can lead the reader down a path of prose allowing him or her to fill in the details of the background and the qualities and characteristics of characters that he or she wants.
For me, breasts are erotic, firm breasts. I am definitely a tit man. Only, I am particular about the tits that I like with the shape of them being more important to me than the size. Definitely, fake boobs are not erotic, sorry to those women who wasted all that money. Real tits are erotic, so long as they are not too saggy, too flat, too soft, and/or too tubular. Of course, all we guys, like Hemingway in the Sun Also Rises, like tits that are high up. Realistically, unless your woman is genetically blessed, tits sag with age.
Nipples are erotic. I prefer bigger nipples than smaller nipples. When nipples make an appearance through the bra and through the blouse or sweater, man, I have tunnel vision and cold sweats. My mouth automatically goes in the shape of the mouth of a goldfish wanting food. Now, that is erotic - not the goldfish, the nipples.
Man, her nipples are really sticking out. I wonder if she is cold or if she is happy to see me, really happy to see me?
"Freddie, I'm freezing," she said with her arms folded around her. "Turn on the heat."
Damn, she's just cold.
Things that are not erotic on women to me are women who smoke, women with tattoos, women who are uncouth, and women who swear. Intelligent women, as well as, strong women, and opinionated woman are erotic. Give me Oprah or Tyra Banks any day to Paris Hilton or Britney Spears.
I prefer a lady who is comfortable at home or at a social function to a broad who has been around the block one too many times. I don't care if she has had lots of sexual experiences with men, so long as she still has retained her softer side and still has manners and class, so long as she has not soured toward men, so long as she is still feminine, and so long as she is as faithful to me as I am to her.
Love is erotic. I love being in love. I love all the firsts, especially the first kiss. The first kiss has to be special, not planned but spontaneous. I remember all of my first kisses. The first time you had sex with one another. The first anniversary, the first movie, the restaurant where you ate your first dinner and what you ate, and the first time you argued. I remember all of those things. Suddenly, I feel like Charles Boyer singing that song, "Ah, yes, I remember it well," when he remembers everything so clearly but so incorrectly.
I do not like women who are too masculine or women who are too feminine. I like a woman somewhere in between. A woman wearing a mink coat with jeans is erotic. As is a woman, who is not afraid to be politically incorrect and, who likes fur is erotic. I love fur.
A woman who likes cars and who likes driving fast is erotic. A woman who enjoys reading my stories is erotic. A woman who appreciates my sense of humor and who can make me laugh is erotic. (Matter of fact, any woman who likes me is...erotic.)
A woman who loves staying home to watch a movie with me is erotic. A woman who enjoys going for long walks and talking about everything and laughing at nothing is erotic. A woman who is my best friend is erotic. A woman who is a romantic is erotic. Holding hands, hugging, cuddling, and spooning are erotic personal and private moments that I cherish.
Lipstick, makeup, and perfume are erotic. I love it when my woman has her hair and fingernails done. A woman who can accept a compliment and give one back is erotic. A confident woman is erotic, just as a woman who knows what she wants is erotic. A strong, thinking, and articulate woman is erotic.
Sometimes, it is just a look. Sometimes, it is the right phrase at the right time that will melt me.
I was in a store at Christmas time. It was crowded. Suddenly, I looked at a woman the same time she looked at me.
"I am so looking forward to a warm summer afternoon by the pool," she said with a smile.
"Yes, lying back on the lounge chair with a tall tropical drink." Instantly, I imagined her in a bikini. Now, that was really erotic.
"Freddie, you are such a man's man, a manly man, a macho man," I imagined her saying as she slowly peeled away her bikini top revealing perfect B cup tits that were so round and so symmetrical and then she untied her bikini bottoms when—"
"Sir, Sir, can I help you? Sir, I have other customers waiting."
"Oh, sorry," I handed her my purchase. The woman of my erotic daydream was no where in sight. Christmas music played in my head, "You better watch out. You better not cry. You better be good. I'll tell you why. Santa Claus is coming to town."
That brief exchange with her, a stranger, was erotic albeit fleeting. Yet, later that night, I took the image of her away with me in my thoughts, erotic thoughts. Okay, I'm going to need a little bit of privacy now.
That is why, no doubt, that there are 35 categories of erotica on Literotica. Whatever floats your boat, so long as you do not hurt anyone, is okay with me.