My sister recently sent me a link to an article about an erotica writer who specializes in stories about Bigfoot. In my reply (after I said “Ew”), I suggested (pun partially intended) that this is the “the next big thing.” One of my husband’s coworkers participated in facilitating the current vogue for zombies by publishing a zombie romance story and we’ve seen plenty of oversexed vampires between Twilight and the new Dracula television show. So, what’s next then? (shudders)
I also pointed out to my sister in the same email reply that erotica is not my strong suit. After an entry in a contest earned me several comments amounting to “we can’t tell what happens next,” I reverted to using the Shelley Winters approach of signifying intimate encounters with “fade to fireworks” (as used in her autobiography Shelley Also Known as Shirley). In my own defense, my story did make my sister blush and she agreed that those who couldn’t fill in the few hazy blanks are too dumb to reproduce. Same goes for anyone who doesn’t know what happens when the fireworks start. Accordingly, I will leave the large mythical animals to more talented, imaginative, and stronger-stomached authors than I. Go for it. I yield.