Gothic Fiction's Fornication and Horror

 

A great aphrodisiac is a good "scare." Horror tingles our skin and sifts through our blood with frozen fingers. It necessitates a visceral response. The sensation of horror is enticing—an echo of sensuous pleasure.

In Gothic fiction, in those perilous undercurrents on the edge of light and dark, when we thrill to 'penetration' as the vampire, werewolf, or demonic lover sinks its teeth into our skin, it can be difficult to distinguish between pain and pleasure.
The pursuit of sexuality is associated with risk in the darkly enticing fairy tales of the Gothic canon: be cautious of where you go and who you are with since they might be "monsters" in disguise. Watch out for the fanged beast inside. Things don't always look as they seem.
A great scare does wonders as an aphrodisiac. Our skin becomes pricked by horror, which runs its frigid fingers through our In the meantime, these stories are populated by two types of women: the virgin (seduced, whether voluntarily or otherwise), and the enchantress (playing the role of seducer), who displays her sexuality with such blatant bravado that we know she must be possessed by evil spirits.
In Gothic fiction from the 19th century, ghosts, family curses, vampires, demons, and superstitions were prevalent. It was crucial to create a tense, mysterious environment that would encourage the reader to enter their own "madness." The most well-known example is Bram Stoker's Dracula, who is erotically charged and dreadfully evil. Consider the three vampire women who raped Jonathan Harker without his consent in the castle prison of the Count.
He remembers his desire to give in with guilt and curiosity, saying, "I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white, sharp teeth." Her head sank lower and lower as her lips drew closer to my throat and below my chin and mouth. I was in a state of languid enjoyment as I closed my eyes and patiently awaited.
Stoker also provides us with a sensual depiction of Lucy in her 'undead' state and the slow seduction of Mina by the Count, a forceful, unfathomable stranger. The narrative is overflowing with allusions—whether subtly or overtly—to burning desire, blood, servitude, death, longing, violence, and the devouring of flesh.
Sexual pleasure is feared and criticized rather than welcomed, which is in line with the time period in which the story was written. The risk of eschewing etiquette and embracing an abandoned, unlawful sexual hunger, however, cannot be more seductive. It's hardly surprising that Stoker's "Dracula" and all of its offspring have been so well-liked for so many years. These tales stir more than just dread. They investigate waking. A veil of "propriety" is removed inside the velvet embrace of arousal and enhanced experience, giving us a glimpse of self-knowledge. Jonathan Harker acknowledges, fearful of what the trio of vampire seductresses have in store for him: "I doubt, I fear, and I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul."
We are compelled to give in and accept our contradictory dreams because we are powerless to resist the monsters and supernatural seducers of "horror." Accepting the apple, we bite into its flesh to reveal what we may want to deny: ominous thoughts of promiscuous hedonism, sensuous abandon, and being "taken" against our will. In Gothic literature, there are no restrictions on sexuality; the narrative curtain makes anything "permissible."

The genre of "gothic horror" has a lot of sensual elements to it. To seduce us, it crooks its finger, and all we feel is anticipation. In anticipation of the "forbidden" or the "devoured," we lick our lips. We continue to run, but we know we don't want to be caught.