Why I Write Erotica for Black Women

Because desire is power. Because sexuality is part of being whole. Because pleasure is not a luxury, it’s a right.

But here’s the deeper truth: for Black women, claiming that pleasure is a revolutionary act.

Mainstream erotica wasn't made with us in mind. The stories flatten us. We’re side characters, fetishes, tropes. Rarely centered. Rarely loved in full color. Seldom written as complex, sensual beings who want, who feel, who deserve joy just as much as fire.

So why write erotica for Black women?

Because we are worthy of being wanted on our own terms, we are deserving of stories that resonate with our bodies and our spirits. Stories where our skin isn’t a plot twist, and our pleasure isn’t an afterthought. We seek to fulfill our own desires, not the desires of others.

Erotica, when it’s done right, isn’t just titillation. It’s healing. It’s rebellion. It’s permission.

Because these stories deserve space to grow, uncensored and unbothered. Because community matters. Because you shouldn’t have to wait for the publishing industry to catch up before you see yourself reflected with care, depth, and desire.

I’m old enough to know better than to wait around for someone else to love me—fully, imperfectly, and without condition. I’ve waited long enough in a world that doesn’t see me. That refuses to imagine women like me—Black, authentic, adult, complex—as worthy of desire.

So, I stopped waiting.

I started writing.

I write erotica because I don’t see myself, or the women I love, in the genre. Not really. Not in the ways that matter. Not as whole people with messy lives, soft hearts, sharp minds, and rich interior worlds. Definitely not as lovers. Real lovers. Soul-shaking, laugh-out-loud, late-night-talking, edge-of-the-bed-holding lovers.

Mainstream erotica? Let’s just say... it’s gotten strange. I’m not trying to fantasize about my step-sibling or role-play as someone’s barely legal child. I’m not turned on by incest-adjacent scenarios or sex without any emotional safety net. That’s not my lane. No shade to the folks who enjoy it—but that’s not my story.

Where are the authentic, grown-ass, adult stories? The ones where chemistry simmers, trust is built, and love gets as much airtime as lust?

That’s why I write what I write.

I write for Black women who’ve been through it and still choose compassion. Who crave pleasure without danger. Who understand that in today’s world, sex isn’t always safe, but storytelling can be. Erotica can scratch the itch without risking your life. It can be a mirror, a balm, a map.

Especially for us.

Because let’s be real: Black women are more likely to be harmed by the people we’re closest to. That’s not fantasy. That’s a fact. And yet, our capacity for love, for care, for pleasure, still burns bright. That’s not weakness. That’s power.

I write erotica that models growth and healthy relationships. Erotica that celebrates intimacy rooted in love, consent, and joy. Erotica that doesn’t shy away from the complexity of our lives, our trauma, our resilience, and our desire to be seen, held, and touched.

And yes, I write about Black women loving Black women.

Because that kind of love is still considered radical. Taboo. Invisible. Society can tolerate all types of intimacy, white women with anyone, men with everyone, but two Black women in love? Black women touching each other with reverence and heat? That’s still too much for the world.

Too bad.

I’m going to write it anyway.

Because we deserve to see each other on the page. To explore our love and sexuality without shame, regret, or restraint. To imagine worlds where we’re not hidden, harmed, or hypersexualized, but centered, celebrated, and deeply desired.

This is what I’m building here. A space for Black women who love Black women. A space for stories that love us back. A space for the kind of erotica we’ve been waiting for—but don’t need to wait for anymore.

You in?

Zuri