A friend of mine suggested today that instead of worrying about the precariousness of making a living as a writer, I should use my experience and write …porn. You should try short pieces, she counselled, you know, just to see how it goes. Snippets. Sexy Snippets. Great idea! Porn having recently become ‘respectable’ because of the fifty shades sales figures, why not. Anais Nin used to write it for a client who got increasingly demanding; he found her stuff too ‘sensitive’ and ‘erotic’. He wanted hardcore porn, and ultimately, she couldn’t write it. Could I write it? Probably, but how to suppress my inborn tendency to satire? Nobody wants porn that satirizes itself, surely. The real question all this raises is this: if there is such an enormous appetite for written versions of sex, especially among women of a certain age, I can only assume that they are not getting the sex they need in their real lives. The more we talk about sex, the lower the satisfaction. Or as Elvis memorably said, a little less talk, a lot more action.
That’s what women want! Just ask them.