At some point in most relationships, you start to think about spicing up your sex life. And so, wearing dark glasses, I sneak off to the erotica section of my local bookshop and scan the shelves — only to find no reflection of myself, a black woman, on or between the book covers. In desperation, I grab a title at random and hurry home, excited.
Picture the scene later that evening: something chilled and fizzy, romantic lighting and India Arie crooning Brown Skin on the stereo.
My partner, in his deepest, sultriest tones, attempts to seduce me with a passage from the aforesaid erotic blockbuster. The hero’s tall, dark, muscular … I can get into that! I imagine Samuel L Jackson, Colin Salmon or Laurence Fishburne doing anything he likes with my body. The steam’s beginning to rise and my lover and I are in tune. So far, so good.
But hold on. Who’s this blue-eyed blonde with pert buttocks and a pulsating, lily-white bosom invading the scene? It’s certainly not me.
Strangely, although black men and women are the clichéd stars of porn movies and X-rated Internet sites, when it comes to films or literature, the words “black” and “erotic” are poles apart, separated by a history of fear, suspicion and ignorance.
Try thinking of sexy movies that, as a black woman, you’d be happy to watch with your partner. Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It comes to mind (but it is 17 years old). Monster’s Ball? (Does the thought of doing it with your husband’s executioner turn you on?)
How Stella Got Her Groove Back? (Being seduced by Taye Diggs? OK, I’m with you on that one!) But they’re rare, very rare.
Until there’s a more healthy, adult — as in “grown-up”, not “movie” — portrayal of my sexuality, I’ll always wonder which version of me my partner’s watching or reading: porn-star, slut, whore or completely invisible?
Is he seeing images of me taken by a camera that doesn’t lie or photographs distorted by special effects, filters and digital trickery?
Tired of being a sexual taboo, and realising that good erotica, like good sex, is about trust and intimacy, I don’t want stories written by writers who couldn’t possibly understand my history, culture, values and dreams.
Because of this I decided to publish erotic fiction written by British, African, Caribbean, Asian and European women of colour.
And guess what? There are countless women out there writing powerful, intimate and raunchy, narratives about what it’s like to be black, female and gloriously sexual in the 21st century. Some are even writing with their partners looking over their shoulders and thoroughly enjoying the process.
I’m not suggesting that the lack of erotica portraying black women will irreversibly damage our psyche or threaten the survival of our species, but let’s just return to the scene described above.
My lover and I are still in tune. There I am, a dynamite mix of Halle Berry, Vivica A Fox, Sophie Okonedo and Jaye Griffiths … Imagine where we’d go from there, and how much fun we’d have. — Â