Marie Ekorre's Assets

40 years ago I found an issue of Penthouse in my father's drawer and there was a Swedish actress on the cover - and inside, uncovered. Named Marie Ekorre, she was smallish, almost boylike hips.

And as was happening at the time, the magazine was showing pubic hair more and more at that time. Certainly more than I had been used to in the Playboys I'd seen previously.

Her bush - and those of the women in the magazine, were dark, photographed straight on but with enough shadow and airbrushing to keep the mystery of the area tantalizing and a source of bottomless fascination to such a young male such as myself. I poured (figuratively and literally) over the photographs of Marie. I wonder if my dad every missed that issue. If he dared to ask - are you jerking off to my jerk-off material?

Marie Ekore had tan lines. The top of her thighs were flat soft expanses that only framed the pleasure she would offer you if you were to get close enough. She never smiled in the photos. And it was that ass that obsessed me.

She was the second woman I fell in love with in a magazine (see my write-up on Cheryl Rixon here (redhead, a little heavy and matronly, got it)). Marie Ekorre had that exotic look, pearls draped around her shoulders as her ass rested on that plush white-fur rug. I learned how to jerk off while looking at her pictures and came to her a dozen times.

I have been looking for an ass that perfect since.

Hot Words

I've been writing erotica for the last couple years.

No, not this stuff. This blog is more autobiographical. A diary. Perhaps it has made me more comfortable writing about sex, in a more fictionalized form.

I've always been a writer. The essay assignments and long-form answers never bothered me. I have written screenplays (with very little traction), short stories (a little more traction there), and a handful of novels. I may tell you what name you can find them under some time.

I also know that the word can be more powerful than the image. In part because the word hides its transgressive power in mere black and white. It must be received and processed to make clear how sharp they are.

Photos and videos are simple. They're out there for everyone, to be seen and don't need the actual processing to make people offended. Shocked. Or excited.

My main topic (my main topic?) is sex. How we negotiate it among each other and among ourselves. I like to introduce sexual situations into dramatic situations. When we become vulnerable, when we become naked, we reveal the most about ourselves.

That's good writing.

I've never written actual pornography - you know the kind. In which impossible housewives fuck impossible pizza guys. That kind of writing is not about people. It's about types. It's choreography rather than insightful.

In my humble opinion.

But when I add sex. When I have a guy suck off his best friend while "trading" his wife, I introduce not only a troublesome, possibly revealing plot twist. I also use rude pornographic imagery that prevents it from being seen in the best magazines.

I could write the wank material. I could be less literary and try to write erotic romances (a big field right now) and happily-ever-after fantasies.

But I'd rather have my characters, as complicated and not quite perfect as I like them to be, to find themselves fucking each other. For the right reasons, and more often for the wrong ones.

I love to jerk off to those porn-star naked women but I much more often love to jerk off to real people who have decided to make themselves vulnerable, naked and are showing me their truest, most complicated selves online. I get so hot knowing they have a backstory. Secrets.  A reason, maybe even they don't know.

When I write I get more excited when I figure out how real people are acting, in their otherwise boring course of the day.