Quick heads-up before we start. I can’t share explicit sexual content or write out pornographic scenes. But I can talk about what I read, how it felt, and which titles are worth your time if you’re curious about history and culture. (If you’d like the blow-by-blow of my whole literary rabbit hole, I put together a longer PG-safe account over here.)
Why I picked this up
I’m Kayla, and I review things I actually use or read. I went through a stack of 1700s erotica—books and prints. I did it out of book-nerd curiosity. Also, I like banned books. They tell you what people cared about. They show what folks tried to hide.
And you know what? It’s stranger, funnier, and wordier than I expected.
Wait, what counts as “1700s pornography”?
Think of racy novels, saucy prints, and cheeky satire from the 18th century. It wasn’t like modern stuff. No streaming. No gloss. Just paper, ink, and a lot of wink-wink words. Censors chased it; printers hid it; readers passed it around in secret.
Here are some well-known titles I read (no explicit bits here, promise):
- Fanny Hill (Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure), by John Cleland, England, 1748–49 — a scandal book with fancy prose and lots of coy talk.
- Thérèse Philosophe, anonymous, France, 1748 — half philosophy, half saucy mischief, with church satire.
- Histoire de Dom Bougre, Portier des Chartreux, anonymous, France, 1741 — bawdy and blunt, but also a weird mirror to class and faith.
- The Indiscreet Jewels, by Denis Diderot, France, 1748 — more satire than smut, but cheeky in a big way.
- Edo-period shunga prints, Japan, mid-to-late 1700s — woodblock prints by artists like Suzuki Harunobu, Isoda Koryūsai, and Kitagawa Utamaro. They’re artful, playful, and full of coded humor.
- Thomas Rowlandson’s saucy prints, England, late 1700s — a mix of jokes, flirting, and social digs.
I’m keeping this PG, so I won’t detail scenes. But I can explain the feel, the style, and the odd charm.
How it reads (and why it’s a trip)
The language is flowery. Sentences can run long, then stop hard. There’s a lot of euphemism. Think “warm blush,” “soft delight,” and “tender commerce.” You get the idea. If you like period drama talk, you’ll smile. If you need plain speech, it may test you.
Print quirks pop up too. Old type. Foxed pages. Spelling that wanders. In one cheap edition I tried, the margins were tight, like the printer was hiding the page count. It felt like holding a secret.
The shock factor (and what surprised me)
- It’s bawdy, but also moral. Many stories pretend to teach a lesson. But the lesson is a wink.
- It’s about power. Class, money, and who gets to make rules. That’s the drumbeat.
- It’s not “modern sexy.” It’s theater. It teases. It stalls. Then it tells you how shocked it is by its own boldness. That back-and-forth can be funny.
- Want to see how strange themes collide with modern life? I spent a whole week testing out a horror-tinged streaming catalog and wrote about it in Demons and Pornography: My Hands-On Review.
I’ll be honest: some parts are gross now. Some punch down. Some use women as props. Some mock faith. Some mock everyone. You can feel the 1700s in the bones.
The art side
Shunga prints? They’re balanced like good design: soft lines, textured robes, gentle faces. There’s humor in the poses and props. You see domestic life—screens, tea things, patterned fabric. The intimacy sits right in the everyday. It’s art and a wink at the same time.
British prints play it broader. Think taverns and bathhouses, jokes in the corners, and faces that look like they know a secret.
How I handled the slang
I kept a small note list. Old slang can be wild. If you want help, find an annotated edition of Fanny Hill or a glossary of 18th-century slang. It turns “Huh?” into “Ah, okay.” And if a page dragged, I read aloud. The rhythm made more sense that way. Like a stage play.
Who should read this stuff?
- Curious readers who like social history
- Folks who collect banned books
- People who enjoy satire and sly jokes
- Art lovers who want context for shunga or Rowlandson
If you want straight-up romance or tender modern scenes, this may not land. If you want cultural clues and a peek at what people snuck under coats, it’s rich.
A few standouts (PG reactions only)
- Fanny Hill: The sentences are ornate. The narrator “confesses,” but she also performs. It’s bold, yes, but also careful. Think lace over a window.
- Thérèse Philosophe: The philosophy parts float between clever and smug. The church satire bites hard. It’s messy, but it moves.
- Shunga (Utamaro, Harunobu, Koryūsai): The craft is the star. Pattern, pose, and mood. There’s warmth, a small smile, and a lot of care in the line work.
Reading tips from my couch
- Go slow. Let the euphemisms click.
- Try an edition with notes. It helps with old slang.
- Take breaks. These texts weren’t meant to binge.
- For prints, look at the faces and hands. They carry the story.
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Pros and cons
Pros:
- Wild glimpse into 18th-century life and taste
- Clever satire and social gossip in book form
- Gorgeous craft in shunga prints
- Fun if you enjoy decoding old slang
Cons:
- Some parts feel mean or dated
- Pacing can slog; sentences wander
- Not sexy in a modern way
- Cheap editions can be hard to read
My verdict
As a reading experience, I’m glad I did it. It’s like opening a trunk in an attic and finding what your great-great-uncle hid from the vicar. There’s wit, there’s game, and there’s a whole lot of culture stuffed between coy phrases. It’s not cozy. It’s not clean. But it’s honest about its time.
Would I recommend it? Yes—if you want history with a smirk. No—if you need gentle romance or clear, modern language.
One last note
If you’re hunting copies, look for museum catalogs, university presses, or edited collections with context. While you're at it, consider visiting Pay for Your Porn for practical tips on sourcing adult material ethically and ensuring the creators get paid. And if the business side intrigues you, see what happened when I dipped into the market in I Bought Adult Industry Stocks—Here’s What Actually Happened. And remember, I can’t share explicit content. But I’m happy to help with PG summaries, themes, and which editions read best.
I closed the last page feeling a little amused, a little uneasy, and very awake to how people are people—across centuries, across styles, across all those layers of lace and ink.