To the best of my knowledge, the sub-sub-genre of fanfic known as "slash" began with graphic romantic pairings of Kirk and Spock, as in "Kirk/Spock" or just "K/S", pronounced "Kirk-slash-Spock". Pretty much gay porn, largely (but not entirely) written and consumed by straight women. It always struck me as a bit odd, but it never really got into my face, so I just shook my head in bewilderment and went on my way.
And now I have a friend whose writing I admire who writes next to nothing but, and I have to deal with the stuff or find excuses to avoid discussion of the craft we share. Being me, I chose to dive into my sub-conscious and try to figure out what the problem is.
First check: I don't write, and have never written, explicit sex. I can; I have had fairly involved scenes nearly completely written in my head, waiting only to be extruded through my fingers, but have never followed through. Another symptom of the same heretofore unexamined phenomenom.
So what's the deal? Well... I asked myself how I would feel, in this journal happy world, if I were to run across a journal containing explicit sexual fantasies about me and the writer, or me and anyone, really. I would be angry and disgusted (as well as seriously concerned about the sanity of the writer, but that is another matter).
Next extension: How would I, as an actor, feel about reading explicit sex scenes involving my character? About the same disgust, less anger; being an actor, complaining about invasion of privacy at that level is kind of pointless. But I wouldn't like it, and I would prefer that no one do it.
Another extension: How would I feel, as a writer, about someone taking one of my characters, and doing something with him or her that was entirely outside the character conception? I wouldn't like it, and I would likely ask the writer to cease and desist.
So finally, why don't I even do explicit sex with my own characters? Quite frankly, because if I like them I don't really want to infringe on their privacy (I kick them around more than enough within the bounds of the plot) and if I don't like them, well, why should I care? (Ok, I could conceivably develop a couple of characters who were shallow and stupid and mean but gorgeous and had great sex regularly, but...)
End of rant. Or whatever this is.
Gods, I'm a basket case. A thousand odd ghosts looking over my shoulder, and I worry about the dignity and privacy of ficticious characters.