The Clit That Time Forgot.

I’ve done a very foolish thing and now I must pay the price.

I wrote a historical but before my editor digs in with a pitchfork to remove my unintentionally humorous errors I must first fumigate the manuscript for anachronistic words.

Please don’t think I’m completely naïve. I did a lot of research and I was very careful about terrain, clothing items, personal titles and “internal dialogue” but I completely forgot about clits! I didn’t even think to look for them. I assumed clits had always quietly worked behind the scenes bringing people together. Frankly, I couldn’t imagine a fictional world in any time or place without clits and cocks. I allowed clits and cocks to slip under my radar because I wrote an erotic adventure and I didn’t want to force contemporary readers to wade through swampy purple prose right in the middle of the hot stuff.

I thought perhaps we could just let it go… Sadly we can’t. Shame on me. I was wrong clits didn’t exist in ancient Gaul and they can’t exist in my manuscript. The actual word “clit” is getting the boot. Pardon me, I didn’t mean to say, “boot” I meant to say heavy-soled caligae with leather ankle straps and brass embellishments…Now what about that other matter?

I’m banned from using “cocks” and “clits.” Now what do I do? I love those words and I use them a lot. The ancient terms sound stilted and odd. I’m just going to make up body parts and hope they don’t sound foolish.

Some people are great at this kind of thing and are completely capable of creating descriptive euphemisms. I’m not convinced I’m one of them.

The British naval hero Lord Horatio Nelson wrote his mistress Lady Emma Hamilton requesting she prepare “The dear thatched cottage” for his return. Can you imagine having to write that phrase again and again and yet again in a love scene? Neither can I.

I love U2 and the 1991 classic rock album “Achtung Baby” has at least nine references to oral sex that I can think of. The best of which comes from the fifth track “Who’s gonna ride your wild horses.” Bono’s line “Who’s going to taste your saltwater kisses…” Is my favorite cunnilingus reference in all of rock ’n roll. I can’t do better than that.

The worst is also from someone I love. He’s a wonderful artist, performer and humanitarian but Peter Gabriel’s reference to a woman’s vagina as being a “Fruit cage” is as heavy handed as a “Sledgehammer.”

So I ask you as writers, readers and interested citizens of the world, if you were stranded in ancient Rome and had a scorching hot Roman lover thrust on you, what would you call it and it?

Help me please! I’ve lost my clit… lol

(That’s Steve Reeves in his prime bending wrought-iron yard furniture with his bare hands. Dig that crazy pompadour!)

XXOO Kat