I had begun writing erotica at the request of someone else, several years ago. I did as I had been ordered, not knowing what to expect, but the interesting thing was that I discovered that, over time, it began to free me – from my life, from expectations placed upon me, and most importantly, from myself. And I discovered that I wasn’t too bad at it, and that I enjoyed it! Yet I was beginning to feel displaced. Did I want to write about the sexual as something disparate and standalone with no context and no feeling? Did I want to write about the erotic at all? Why was I doing so?