Days Filled with Sex

Illustration to the text 'A Lifetime of Dreams' by Liz BlackX

Photo by Valeriy Andrushko on Unsplash
Walking through a forest like this is what writing fiction can feel like
Photo by Valeriy Andrushko on Unsplash

Something that has always boggled me is that I never dream of sex. I mean, I’m a sex blogger, erotica writer, I test sex toys, but the times I have dreamt of having intercourse during sleep is less than five. And even then, I often got close, but the deed very rarely happened. The male partner I have in these occurrences is never my significant other. That is not to say there never are any men in my dreams. There’s usually one figure that appears regularly, though who that is changed over time.
So is this going to be a blog piece entirely around the fact that I do not dream about sex? No, that would be rather silly. During my waking hours, I do dream about it. Quite a lot actually. Most of my fiction writing is based on this principle. So what is there to do when life is as good as perfect?

Early Discoveries

I’ve started to develop my imagination at an early age. I know, this is the same for everyone, but I had ample time to do so. I would often be sent to my room, or I had to stay in bed until my mother said I could get up. During many of these hours, if I wasn’t reading, I was drifting off into my own world. I remember coming up with scenarios that would send tingles to special places, even if I had no notion at all of what sex was. I’m convinced that these times spent in solitude, together with the first stories I wrote, have laid the foundation for my current occupation.

Naughty Nineties

When I was a teenager, I had access to the internet. This was halfway through the nineties, so the internet was still very young. We only had one computer that could go online, and it was in the living room. My father worked irregular shifts, so now and then I got the chance to browse around. I found, and it became my favourite website. I loved the tales I found there. They turned me on immensely. I had two problems: I couldn’t read them in the privacy of my bedroom, and I didn’t know how to masturbate. I printed out some stories and hid them in my room, but it wasn’t perfect. Part of what I enjoyed was getting to read a different piece of writing every time. And the printed pieces were quite literally a paper trail that was way too easy to follow for inquisitive younger brothers of which I had one.
So, I chose a different option. I started to write my own stories. Stories that could well have been featured on this website. While doing this, I developed a sense for my fetishes and kinks, and I had an outlet for my hormone-driven dreams.

Escape from Reality

All throughout my life, I have continued to do so. Sometimes real life became too busy to write, and my focus was elsewhere. Usually, during times when I couldn’t express myself sexually, I would write. When living with my vanilla ex, I wrote a lot. The stories weren’t even that outlandish but contained rather close to home fantasies. While working in the supermarket, I wrote stories that brought me to the renaissance fair that I loved so much. I did this on purpose so that I could spend more time there, even if it was just in my own mind.

First World Problem

Which brings me to my current issue. I am too happy. I live together with my husband, who’s also my Dominant. We don’t play our BDSM scenes that often, but just enough to satisfy us both. For either of us counts, we can get some rope or a whip and ask the other for a session.
This has diminished my need to write stories tremendously, which is not good if you want to make a living of said writing. I mean, I can write. If I set my mind to it, something will come out, and often it’s not even half bad. I mean, I finished NaNoWriMo with flying colours last November, so I can even write 50,000 words with little effort.
Because my needs are satisfied, both physically and mentally, the stories don’t just come to me. I need to look for inspiration, and that’s hard. I’ve wanted to join the memes of Masturbation Monday and Wicked Wednesday for so long, but at the same time, I feel blocked.

I Am a Writer

I want to be a writer. I am a writer, but I struggle to find the right way to make this one dream come true. I love writing my blog posts, but it’s still non-fiction. I love losing myself in my fictional world where the characters come alive, where they talk to me throughout my day. But with my daily life already so fulfilling, I have little need to escape it. Yes, I realise how arrogant that sounds, but for now, it’s the truth. I’m joining the Smut Marathon in January, so maybe that’ll shed some light on this issue. I will continue writing, for the rest of my life in one way or another. And one day I’ll find a shape that suits my work.

This post was written in honour of F4TFriday #88 – In Your Dreams



  1. I look forward to seeing what you come up with for Smut Marathon! I felt a similar challenge when I did it. When life is going super well, I struggle, and when it’s terrible, I struggle to write. I need just the right dash of “shit” to bring on the muse. Or just the right dash of relaxation and mania.

    1. Yes, this exactly! When there’s too much going on, I can’t write. When life is too relaxed, I can’t write. And I’ve tried the ‘write every day’- thing, but that also doesn’t work. So now I use my inspiration when it hits. And hopefully with the Smut Marathon too ☺️

  2. Ooooh so pleased to see you’ve entered the Smut Marathon! I am so excited for it to begin and so many familiar names seem to be joining in this year which is amazing. I hope it is ust the catalyst you need to get some fiction writing on the go 🙂 x

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