I couldn’t help but wonder—if we are what we eat, what about what we write? Could the act of putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) be as intimate, as revealing, as downright orgasmic as the acts we dream up? Enter erotica. A genre long dismissed as the guilty pleasure of lonely hearts and overactive imaginations, but which, in truth, may be one of the most powerful tools of sexual and mental liberation we have. Because, as modern sexologist Esther Perel would argue, eroticism isn’t just about sex—it’s about imagination, desire, and reclaiming our own narratives of pleasure.
Writing erotica is not just an act of indulgence; it’s an act of self-discovery. Imagine sitting down, letting the words flow, allowing your fantasies—wild, raw, tender, forbidden—to take shape. With every sensual description, every lingering touch, you’re not just telling a story, you’re giving yourself permission. Permission to explore what arouses you, what excites you, what turns you on in ways you may never have fully acknowledged. And this…is exactly what I did over 2 years ago when I broke the last of the chains that was holding me captive as a woman to release the goddess within, but also all of her creative powers!
For so many of us, sexuality has been shaped by external forces—what society tells us is appropriate (this is especially true for women), what past lovers have expected, what our own inhibitions have kept locked away. But when you write erotica, there is no shame, no judgment, no need for explanation. There is only desire, unleashed and unfiltered. And in that space, we begin to understand our own needs in ways we never have before.
Sexual wellness experts have long spoken of the connection between the mind and the body. Emily Nagoski, author of Come As You Are, reminds us that arousal isn’t just about physical touch—it’s about context, imagination, and psychological stimulation. Writing erotica taps into that very principle. It allows us to create a world where we call the shots, where we explore pleasure without inhibition, and where we feel safe enough to say, Yes, this is what I want.
And the benefits? They go far beyond the bedroom. Erotica writing helps us break free from sexual shame, fostering confidence and self-acceptance. It strengthens our ability to communicate desires, both to ourselves and to our partners. And on a purely scientific level, engaging in erotic storytelling stimulates dopamine and oxytocin—those deliciously intoxicating hormones linked to pleasure, bonding, and stress relief. Who knew a little wordplay could be so orgasmic?
More than that, writing erotica allows us to reclaim the narrative. So much of mainstream erotica and pornography has been written through the lens of the male gaze. But when women, queer writers, and marginalised voices take up the pen, we shift the power. We create sensuality on our own terms. We become not just objects of desire, but architects of it. Or, better still “magicians” like the first card in the Major Arcana of the Waite-Smith Tarot deck, which is symbolic of power, potential, and the unification of the physical and spiritual worlds but also reveals that truly, we are not at the complete mercy of fate and we can co-create with life our own destiny.
So, maybe the next time you find yourself staring at a blank page, feeling the hum of untapped desire just beneath the surface, you should let yourself go there. Write the kiss. Write the touch. Write the slow, deliberate unraveling of control. Because in doing so, you just might find something even hotter than sex itself—your own untamed, uninhibited voice.
– Sophia Unveiled
With love always, your very own “Carrie Bradshaw”, Sophia Unveiled x
P.S. You all didn’t really think I was just gonna leave it there…or did you? 😉 I practice what I preach. Always. And this blog, in many ways, is a journal of my own life—though also part of my mission to bring back the ancient ways and forgotten wisdom that can make our lives better. So with all this said, of course, I had to explore erotica.
BLACK LACE…
In fact, my last published book—on some overlooked aspects of history, occultism, Freemasonry, and the paranormal—was laced with an atmosphere that was as rich as it was seductive. While I won’t be offering an excerpt from that work, I’ll give you something even more personal: a short story that encapsulates a moment from my own life. A moment so electric, so saturated with desire and raw inevitability, that I could think of no better way to preserve it than through the art of erotica.
As I sit here during the witching hour, fingers tracing the keys of my laptop, a thought lingers in the air, like a soft whisper begging to be explored. The kind of thought that rises with heat, swirling and weaving into something much more intoxicating.
It’s funny how the simplest words can unravel a world, how one sentence can send a shiver of longing down your spine. Sometimes, it’s not about the things said, but the tone, the electricity hanging in the air, that makes your skin tingle and your breath quicken. You know, the kind of energy that moves through you, like fire, igniting something deep within. That’s exactly what I feel every time I replay his voice in my mind.
His voice and words… God… his words—they’re not just words, they’re promises wrapped in desire, spun into fantasies, and spoken with a touch of dominance that makes me ache in all the right places. There’s something about him that drives me mad with need. Something sensual, effortless… powerful.
So, I’m taking you back. Back to a moment—a deliciously erotic moment. A moment that, once touched, could never be forgotten. It started with a simple sentence in a voice message following a missed call, a statement that could make the most composed woman blush like a schoolgirl. And from there, after a few more messages, everything… everything changed.
And now, I invite you to dive in with me… to experience that moment. Let yourselves get lost in it, as I did. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you… because once you start, there’s no going back.
***
Missed call from A…
Message left at 22:35 pm:
A: “I like making you blush…I think it would suit you. Christ you are…(breathes deeply)…sublime.
You are all woman, not a girl.
Maybe it’s that warmth, that Asian warmth that you experience. Or maybe it’s just our fucking energy….or whatever it is, I wanna be close to you. I want to feel your warmth. Have my arms around you…and my mouth where your neck…(breathes deeply)…Whispering in your ear.
All I want to do, exactly what I want to do to you…”
The next morning, while still in bed, her phone alerted her with yet another message at 5 am:
A: “I’m sitting…ehmmm at my desk… (breathes deeply). I can’t take my eyes from your image….
I can’t help but want…and crave… I can’t help…or get hard at the thought of undoing those ribbons. At the thought of driving my tongue over that fabric…and feel your nipples harden beneath it.
I can’t help but need my mouth on your neck…and on your mouth…on your sex. You…are…exquisite”.
Still intoxicated by his previous message, she lay in a dream-like haze, her skin flushed, her cheeks burning with the same fire he’d ignited deep inside her. She had to be dreaming, but oh, what a delicious dream it was. No, she wouldn’t wake up just yet. She wanted to stay lost in it, to drink in his words, feel the energy of his presence until she was utterly consumed. Her phone, warm from the heat of her body, rested between her breasts, its cool screen a brief but welcome relief against her skin. As she surrendered to the pull of sleep and desire, like a spell woven just for her, the phone buzzed once more—another message, another taste of him:
A: “…You are stunning. I need to feel your nipples harden in my mouth. I need to wet…between your legs. I..need to kiss your sex through that lace. And run my tongue over the contours of it, through that thin fabric, making you wet. Tasting you…as you arch your back and press against me.”
Still in a trance-like state, she finally surrendered to him in dreams under the covers as desire took over her and claimed her in his name. The experience had been so intense, she almost didn’t know where she was when her alarm woke her up. Naked, she hid under the covers, dressed in nothing else but his lustful words. More aroused than ever, she closed her eyes once again to taste the fantasy he was describing. She could almost feel his strong hands resting on her legs with determination but sensually caressing her inner thighs. Remembering his penetrating stare, she was unable to hide the pleasure he gave her as he licked her wetness through the delicate French lace. He always took her breath away, not just with his presence, but with the way he seemed to breathe life into her. His strong body, his sharp mind, and that raw, intensely masculine energy of his wrapped around her like a silken thread, drawing her in deeper with every word, every touch, until she was entirely consumed by him.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her back to reality with its cold reminder of deadlines, emails, and the endless to-do list waiting for her. But underneath it all, there was the sweet, intoxicating truth that he still wanted her—craved her—and that thought wrapped around her like a velvet temptation. She smiled to herself, savoring the power in this moment, resisting the urge to pick up the phone and call him back, letting him linger in the anticipation until he couldn’t take it any longer. She imagined him, on his knees, consumed by desire, just as she was and listened to his last message:
A: “God…I want to be in your bedroom.
I want to be standing in front of the mirror with you. Standing behind you, as you watch…me kiss your shoulders, your neck… Watch my hands run over your beautiful body, tease you, my fingertips running up and down, pressing, pinching… Whispering in your ear how I want you to feed me…
I want you on your chair…in that room, with me on my knees. Teasing you through that thin fabric, that black, beautiful lace…as you lay back. My pleasure running through your body…My mouth pressed against your sex, licking you through that fabric…
Mmmmhh…
But alas you have to run…and do your work. Know you are craved….(deep breath), know you are yearned for. Now you have me hard…just at the thought of you.
(He takes a deep breath) …Kiss lightly…on that beautiful mouth… Now go and do your work, like a good girl…(he laughs)”.
Oooh, that laugh… It was everything. From the lips she ached to kiss, it held a power over her she couldn’t deny. He knew exactly what he was doing with those little messages, stirring something deep inside her with every word. His sensual, elegant voice always had that effect, like a secret only he knew how to unlock. There was something familiar about it, yet it still made her pulse quicken every time. Smooth, seductive, powerful—his words reached straight into her soul, igniting a hunger she’d never known.
She couldn’t help but replay his messages over and over, too embarrassed to admit just how many times she’d done it. Each time, his voice brought waves of pleasure crashing through her, a fire she didn’t know how to put out. She became addicted to the energy he stirred within her. He made her heart race, arousing her in ways no man had before. His words, the vivid images he painted, his very essence—it all made her crave more. More of him. More of this.
There was no turning back. He had uncovered the key she’d hidden deep within herself, buried in the shadows of her desires, and unlocked the door to all her hidden secrets. Whatever magic he wielded, it made her feel like she was more than just a woman—she felt like a goddess, radiant and untouchable. She craved him—craved every touch, every whisper, every inch of him. She yearned to feel his mouth on her neck, the heat of his bare skin pressed against hers.
She sighed, closing her eyes, letting the thought of him wash over her as it often did during the day, pulling her into the world they shared. She longed to feel him again, strong and hard next to her, his presence stirring something ancient and powerful deep within her, as they sank into each other’s kiss, lost in a passion that was all-consuming.
Breathing deeply, lost in the sweet pull of thoughts of him, she made her way to the delicate French bureau and chair, letting the familiar space ground her. She stood there for a moment, eyes closed, letting the silk of her ivory kimono whisper against her skin, slowly revealing her bare shoulders. There was something intoxicating about the softness of the fabric, how it grazed her body, hinting at what was hidden beneath.Slowly, she untied the thin belt around her waist, causing the smooth cool fabric to expose her right breast, caressing her nipple as it brushed over her skin.She’d always adored her antique French chair, its old-world charm a quiet companion to her most private moments. It had witnessed so many of her creations, thoughts, and dreams. As she turned the chair away from the desk and sank into its embrace, a rush of heat flooded her, carrying with it one of his fantasies that had, in secret, become hers. She felt the blush rise, warm and knowing, as his words came rushing back to her:
A: “I want you on your chair…in that room, with me on my knees. Teasing you through that thin fabric, that black, beautiful lace…as you lay back. My pleasure running through your body…My mouth pressed against your sex, licking you through that fabric…”
Breathless, just as she had been when he shared that intimate moment with her, sitting in the chair now felt like déjà vu—a delicious, aching reminder of what had been and what could be. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had truly visited her that night, when she had left the window open just for him, when she had slipped into bed, wearing nothing but the memory of their shared passion and the scent of her favorite perfume, lingering in the air like a secret only they knew.She lay back in her chair inebriated by the memory, opening her kimono to reveal the moisture of her baby-soft smooth sex; She imagined him on his knees, his strong hands gently undressing her as their eyes met. His pleasure became hers, as she felt the heat of his mouth, the hunger in his desire, all through the delicate hand-made lace that separated them—just a whisper of fabric, teasing, between them and the bliss that awaited.
The last time he left her a voice message, work had bound her to the mundane, leaving her unable to respond in the way she wanted, too lost in the moment to find the words—or perhaps, too embarrassed by the intensity of what he stirred in her. Her body ached for him in his absence, a craving that stretched deep into her bones, a longing so powerful it defied reason. She couldn’t express it—not in words, anyway. How could she articulate something so divine, something so sacred and unearthly? Their connection was beyond the boundaries of time, space, and ordinary existence. It was an energy that pulsed through her, timeless and immortal, invisible yet undeniable, connecting their souls in ways that logic could never explain. She wanted him to know—to feel the weight of what he did to her, the unspoken moments, the words that remained between them, heavy with meaning.
THE END – FOR “A”
***
This moment—and those messages—happened a few years ago, with “A” very much playing the role of my Mr. Big, though fate had its own plans. I like to think we both carried our memories with us, like a secret we shared, tucked away in the quiet corners of our hearts. As I sit here nearing the devil’s hour, writing, I realise that perhaps he was more than just a passing figure in my life. Perhaps he was a catalyst—a key moment in my awakening as a woman, a more profound one than I ever realised at the time. But then again, maybe we should ask the chair…
As the night stretches on and I write these words, Mermaid Melusine holds up her mirror of awareness to reveal why my profile cover features a French chair and a silk dress: it’s not just because I’m a writer, and not just because chairs have always carried meaning for me as a writer. No, looking back now, I might admit that maybe—just maybe—”A” brought me back to life in ways I hadn’t even known I needed. Years later, he still manages to make me smile, to feel like a goddess, because he gave me my crown back. He opened the door to something deeper, to a world where my words could be sexy, powerful, and free. To erotica, dreams and fantasies which are part of the realm of the Goddess…
Maybe I need to listen to those messages again—of course, I’ve kept them—every word, every whisper. Or maybe, I need to reach out to “A”, on the other side of the world, even if just for old times’ sake. Regardless of what comes next, we’ll always have those moments. The ones that linger like the last note of a song… timeless, unforgettable. Like Casablanca.
Elayne (Sophia Unveiled) X
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Elayne (Sophia Unveiled)
Channel the Magician and unlock self-expression!
Indeed! 😉 I need to find my Solomon’s Moon Pentacle, which unlocks all doors, bolts and all that is hidden XD