A Whos Who Of Erotica Stereotypes

I've been writing for a while, but erotica is a new genre for me. I'd read some, of course, but I had my doubts about how to make it both realistic and racy. Thoughts about my new venture invaded my dreams. One night I found myself standing at the top of the steps outside a huge house, next to Mark Twain.

"Mr. Clemens!" I exclaimed in surprise, "What an honor to meet you! And where in the world are we?"

He was wearing the white suit he is so often depicted in. I don't know if he ever wore one in real life, but it fit his image.

"We're here to meet the erotic story stereotypes," he said genially. "As one of your favorite authors, it's my honor to be your guide."

He opened the heavy front door without hesitation, and we went in, finding ourselves in a large hall, with more doors in every direction.

He headed right away to the door labeled "Naughty Schoolgirls."

"Let's go here first," he said with a wink. "It's always been a favorite of mine."

"Mr. Clemens!" I said for the second time that night.

Inside were dozens and dozens of women in plaid skirts and white knee high socks. Most of their uniforms didn't fit properly on top - their bounty was spilling over, as it were.

"They look like the cast of Beverly Hill 90210!" I said.

"How's that?" asked my guide, "I'm not familiar with that."

"People in their 20s pretending to be teenagers," I answered, marveling a the number of them, and how many were busy massaging each other or adjusting the seams on their white knee-highs. Some were in penny loafers, but a surprising number seemed to be in absurdly high heels for high school

"Ah, that's because you can't be younger than 18 to be in an erotica story," he explained. Most of these girls were held back in second and third grade, to ensure large breasts by their freshman year - though the hormones in today's milk helps that too - and legal age by the time they're sophomores."

"I see," I said, and I did. Two of these "girls" came in through a side door, each with teary eyes and rubbing their bottoms, while others came around to try to soothe them. A dozen ponytails in all colors bobbed in sympathy.

"Do they always wear these plaid skirts and white socks?"

"Always," he said confidently. "Notice how easily they flip up to reveal their youthful dewiness?" I can't believe he said that with a straight face.

"Even when they, like, go jogging?"

"Oh, yes, even then. Physical fitness is important for them to keep their perpetual slim hips and flat stomachs. Oh, wait, most of them have long flannel nighties for bed time too. I forgot about that."

"Thanks, I think I've seen enough of this room."

"As you wish," said my guide, and with a wistful sigh, he closed the door, but opened the one right next to it labeled "Stern School Marms and Governesses."

"Now the ladies next door never mix with these," said Mr. Clemmons. "These are reserved for naughty school boys." There were wooden-backed hair brushes lying scattered about, and blackboards with dozens of lines written on them, and even - did my eyes deceive me? - an enema bag. But the ladies themselves were not present.

"It's poker night," he said. "They're behind that door." He indicated a back door. "With all the layers they wear, strip poker lasts all night." Just then, a delivery boy emerged from the door, shutting it hastily behind him. He was astonishingly well muscled and his shirt was opened in front, but he was pale and had the look of someone who had recently escaped from a life-or-death experience. Nodding curtly at us, he brushed past us and on out the main door.

I laughed softly and we moved on to the next door, which had a shelf outside with some garlic cloves and silver crosses on chains. My guide put a cross around his neck and then one around mine, followed by a necklace of garlic cloves, one for each of us. He leaned back to look out the window.

"Good, only a tiny sliver of a moon. Well, we're protected against the vampires now and the werewolves aren't changed tonight, so let's go in to the next room."

"Oh, this is the one where 'fantasy lover' takes on a whole new meaning?"

He opened the door. There were ladies, some with black lipstick, offering their wrists to extremely sexy men with extremely long teeth. The werewolves looked pretty normal, given the state of the moon. There were some glowing creatures casting a soft light around the room. There was movement everywhere. It was something to see. But it wasn't my particular interest, so I thought I'd leave this to the experts and closed the door. Besides, I was going to sneeze if I wore that garlic much longer.

Next up came the door marked "Monogamous Housewives." Inside everything was very white. Four ladies were the only occupants. They seemed to be dressed for tennis but were playing bridge. On the shelf were pictures of smiling, well-dressed children and balding men. They had bowls of vanilla ice cream next to them. It was very, very quiet, the only sounds being the cards slapping down on the table. "Gladys, you trumped my ace!" one of them said. "So sorry, Mildred. I don't know what I was thinking." Play resumed. I closed the door as silently as possible and we moved on.

"The next room - I'm not sure how you'll feel about this," said Mr. Clemmons. The door said "BDSM - All Varieties." I eagerly opened the door myself, agog with curiosity. We found ourselves in small hallway with a bunch of doors.

Though one door I could see four men sitting in straight-backed chairs, with squirming women sporting red rumps over their laps.

"Far left, wives who ran up the credit card bills. Next, wives or girlfriends who got speeding tickets or otherwise didn't take proper care of themselves. Next, wives who keep a messy house." (At this, I shifted uncomfortably. I'd be a permanent fixture in that line.)

"And the far right?"

"Oh, general miscellaneous offenses that can be addressed only with a bare-assed spanking over the boyfriend's or husband's lap."

The room had walls at all angles to create dozens of corners. In each, a woman stood with her skirt tucked up on her waistband, her glowing cheeks on display. The women in line behind the chairs all looked anxious, shifting from one foot to the other, often twisting the hems of their shirts in their hands. The sound of hands rhythmically slapping upturned bottoms and the accompanying moans and cries filled the air. One of the couples had finished and she was sitting in his lap now, kissing him passionately, thanking him for helping her see the error of her ways and promising to never, ever do it again.

I stepped away and went to the next door. This room was full of mostly women, but a few men too. All of them were completely naked except for collars and chains. Some of them seemed to have piercings in places I didn't want to think about.

"This is all they wear, all the time," he said.

"Doesn't it make it a bit of challenge when they need to, you know, go to WalMart for toilet paper or whatever?"

"One would think," came the dry answer. "Now, this door leads down to the dungeon... would you like...?"

"No thanks," I interrupted. "I'm confident it's heavily populated." There were a few other doors in this suite we had not explored, but there were happy noises coming from behind them, and I didn't want to intrude.

Next came the door labeled "Conniving Bosses and Reluctant Employees." All of the men were in suits, and most had glasses with dark rims. They seemed to be practicing whipping off the glasses to reveal their sexy eyes. The women had extraordinarily short straight skirts on, some short enough to show that they were wearing stockings and garters. Many of them looked anxious, but were wearing expensive jewelry. I noticed they had absurdly high heels too, and a good number of them had on spike-heeled boots.

"So, the guys in the gray suits - they hired the sexy women and paid them an absurdly high salary for the first few months, so they grew accustomed to a new lifestyle and ran up high debts, then threatened to fire them if they didn't agree to add a new item to their job description."

"Ah, the old 'other duties as assigned' bit." I nodded. "And the guys in the dark blue suits?"

"The all-round jerks who exploit in any other way. The guys in gray? The stories are usually from the woman's perspective so we can get their sense of desperation and also their incredible sense of release as their inner sexual goddess is finally released." He snorted. "The blue-suited pricks tell the story from their perspective because it would be impossible to tell it in a way that shows the women coming around to actually liking them."

I was getting a complex looking at how hot these women looked in their short skirts and long legs, so I was happy to shut the door and move on.

"There's only one more door on this level," said Mr. Clemmons, and it's just about time for me to be going. So just a quick look, and then we're off, okay?"

The door was labeled "Women Who Say No." I opened it.

The room was entirely empty.