Five things that can make erotica tick

Not the obvious things. I mean, sex is pretty much a prerequisite. But I've been thinking about the little things that make me want to read more from any particular author, and the things I try to create in my own work.

1. Characters who are about more than sex
I like characters who have quirky likes or dislikes, eccentric hobbies, unusual areas of expertise. I wanted to know more about the antiques dealer in Janine Ashbless's Named and Shamed because he has that interest, that area of imagery, a unique lexicon. Although it's factual rather than fiction, I love the way Sophie Morgan in Diary of a Submissive loves cake. It makes characters seem real, rather than just being plastic fuck dolls. And if their eccentricities carry over into the sex, all the better. I've just been set an Erotic Tea Cosy challenge on Twitter, having stated in my profile that I am a knitter of tea cosies. My filthy imagination has already come up with several unusual uses for knitting needles.

2. Kink within meaningful relationships
I'm not a fan of chance meetings with strangers in any kind of erotica (I think this may say something about my own lack of experience of one-night-stands!). I think it becomes more acceptable the further away from contemporary normality you get - so historical or fantasy settings can get away with more. But when it comes to BDSM stuff, however escapist the setting, I get very twitchy when someone lets a complete stranger tie them up. I guess it's hard to identify with a stupid character; and letting a complete stranger tie you up is pretty damn stupid. What I do like is the exploration of kink within committed relationships, although this could be the tentative beginnings of what will probably become a meaningful relationship. Not a passer-by in a dark alley.

3. Pure filth
Go on, push the boat out. Really go for it. I don't want to read about the stuff you might get up to with your lover this weekend. I want to read about the stuff you might get up to if you knew the world would end on Monday. Claudia Varrin, in her excellent book The Art of Sensual Female Dominance, talks about four levels of erotic fantasy. The first is stuff you've done, the second stuff you want to try and the third comprises things you might like to do if you were really pushing the boat out. Well, I like to read and write about level four, what Varrin calls bathtub fantasies. These are things you are not likely to try and might not ever want to try in the real world, but you can still get a thrill from imagining them while you're in the bath. In fiction, you can try anything. 

4. Space for my imagination
I tend not to go overboard on physical description unless it's part of a theme for a particular call for submissions. I want any reader to be able to imagine themselves in the action, which isn't going to happen if I make my characters into Barbie dolls and muscle-bound commandos. And what is it with red-headed, green-eyed women? (I once got quite indignant in an English lit lecture in which the prof said that no-one outside of Mills & Boon actually has green eyes. I have green eyes, for fuck's sake. But not red hair.) I have vowed never, ever, ever to write about a heroine with red hair. I have absolutely nothing against women with red hair. I have everything against romantic stereotypes. I like quirky details, like a mole on someone's left ass cheek, but perfection leaves little room for the reader's input.

5. A sense of shabbiness
Following on from the Barbie doll thing, I don't like worlds in which the women are all size zero (that's a four in English) and the men all have six-packs. Swanky bars, plush offices, slinky evening wear, glitzy nightclubs, obsequious waiters, penthouse apartments, five-star hotels, 4x4s (trans: SUVs) with heated leather seats... these things don't do it for me. This may be a British thing. I like understatement. I like tawdry. I like the irony when you go to tie someone up and the rope snaps. (Or you go to tie a boat up and the rope snaps. This actually happened to me. On the Shannon in Ireland. A bloody big boat.) Some might say that these rich, perfect worlds are the stuff of dreams and people want to imagine living there in their escapist fantasies. But I can't. If I imagined some perfect life, full of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth, something would be sure to go wrong. The champagne would be corked. The 4x4's engine would blow up. I like to see how characters cope when things go wrong.