Fade to Black - Sometimes Less is More in Sex Scenes

By Kerry Schafer

When I was a teenager, I used to go to the bookstore to read sexy scenes in books.

We're not talking B&N or some such place, where you are invited to grab a book, sit in a comfy chair, and stay awhile. This was a small town, and the "book store" was part of the drug store. But I would find a racy novel, skip directly to the sex scenes, and stand there and read. Curiosity drove me, really - I very much wanted to know how people went about the act of sex. (Pre-cable and HBO and all that, remember, young whippersnappers. There was kissing on TV and that was about it.)

These were not romances, mind you: even then I had a taste for grittier novels, and like the books Allison wrote about on Thursday, there was not a lot of love or romance going on.

The romances I could get my hands on were all old school Harelequins. I don't think there was ever any explicit sex in any of them - just a lot of kissing and caressing, burning lips and throbbing veins and wildly over the top language to describe it all. I was forbidden these novels (although I know my mother read them) and kept them under my mattress. Don't hate me, romance lovers, but I didn't keep them there because I loved them so. I read them because they amused me.

Those romance scenes just totally cracked me up. In fact, my friend and I would read them aloud to each other, rolling on the floor with laughter. To this day, I have a hard time appreciating novels in the "pure romance" category. Nothing against them, or those of you who write them - I do recognize the work and the art that goes into the writing of a good romance - they just don't do it for me.

When it comes to sex in books, I'm usually much more fascinated by scenes that leave something to the imagination. Set up the scene for me, give me some kissing and caressing in which nothing is throbbingly overstated, just a few words to let me know that pleasure is happening, and you know what? I create an entire sex scene in my head without being aware that I'm doing it. And chances are, the one that my brain is writing for me out of my own imagination is more enjoyable for me than anything you could have written in carefully explicit detail.

Does anybody else do this? There were books I wouldn't let my boys read until they were "old enough" because I remembered explicit sex scenes. After they read these books they pronounced me semi-insane, informing me that "there's nothing there." So I went back to look, and they were right! Just a few carefully crafted lines that let you know clothes were removed and consummation happened. But in my head - a perfectly detailed sexual experience still remains.

I'm not a prude. I have an appreciation for well written erotica (our own Jeffe Kennedy is a pro at this) and I do like reading sex scenes. I need them to be realistic though. I can't buy the scenarios where our lovers have been sleep deprived for three days, have not had showers or proper meals, are in "Oh My God, we're going to die mode" for brutal lengths of time, and then climb straight into bed (or onto the floor or the desk or whatever) the moment they are safe and spend the next 24 hours having the best sex of their lives.

Also? I disagree a little with KAK's post about TMI and why it's best to keep some things out of the writing. I love realistic sex scenes in books: those rare scenes where our characters love each other deeply and have sex while aware of body hair or garlic breath or yes, even farts - I think this is brilliant. Maybe the woman doesn't get off, and keeps it a secret from her partner because of kindness. Maybe it's comfort sex, or a functional morning quickie, or the heroine really does turn to her beloved and say, "you know I love you, but I am just so tired, and I really do have a headache." And because he loves her, he gives her a hug and a kiss and goes off to the bathroom to tend to his own needs.

Dancing Between the Sheets

Ah, sex scenes. You've read the why's. One assumes that if we tried to explain the how's this would be a different kind of blog...but riffing off of KAK's excellent observation that in novels no one farts during sex, can we agree that sex scenes in romance novels have remarkably little resemblence to reality?

When was the last time you read a BDSM where the hero is subjecting the luscious heroine to all sorts of sexual games until she's begging to be taken only to have him say, "You'll take what I give you and like it because I'm the master here! And also, the Viagra hasn't kicked in yet."

Have you ever read a romance sex scene wherein the heroine *wasn't* capable of achieving orgasm? I'd had no idea that some women's bodies simply don't work that way. Women's health information sources suggest that 10% of women are unable to reach orgasm, yet we don't see that in our idealized sex scenes.

I'm not suggesting that fictionalized sex scenes should depict the sometimes messy, amusing and occassionaly mortifiying realities of sex. It is fiction we're all writing, after all, and these idealized, intimate scenes serve purposes specific to each story.

For most romance stories, the physical acts aren't as interesting (to me) as the emotional components driving them. In fact, my favorite part of a sex scene isn't the sex, it's all the lead up to the point where the characters involved decide the reward of giving in is greater than the risk. Done well, there's a great psychological dance between partners, replete with all kinds of discovery and give and take - as much as in the actual sex scene itself - because the psychological dance leading up to intercourse is a kind of test bed.

Get the steps of *that* dance right and you might get to dance between the sheets...too many psychological missteps, though, and neither partner will need a cold shower.

Old School SmexyTimes

by Allison Pang

I didn't really read romance books growing up. I'm sure I stumbled across a few of my mother's books here and there, but for the most part the stories I read (mostly of the epic fantasy variety) either had very little by way of sex or it was glossed over.

Of course, the majority of the books I was reading were also by men, so maybe that had something to do with it. Come to think of it, there wasn't much by way of romance in most of those books either. Not that people didn't have relationships, but it certainly wasn't the focus in the all-consuming war/defeating the dragon/rescuing the princess/trope trope trope.

In short, sex was mostly an afterthought.

At least until I turned 12 (1986 time frame for those of you keeping track) and stumbled over a certain Piers Anthony anthology, which had a story that dealt with a planet who kept supermodel-looking women as...cows. Milkcows. Bred them. Kept them in barns. Didn't feed them enough protein as babies so their brains were sorta stupid and didn't develop right. Cut out their tongues so they couldn't talk.

And had tits the size of watermelons. Which they milked. With big machines.

Also? They were naked. All the time.

To be honest, I can't even remember what the premise was for the main character, except he was looking for someone and ended up in one of these barns, pretending to be a stableman.

At which point he  fucked the hell out of one of the "maiden" cows. And then took her to one of the "bulls" and let *him* fuck the hell out of her. (And by fuck, I mean punch her in the stomach until she doubled over and he then assaulted her.  Also? The cow *really* enjoyed it. Of course she did.)

As a first sex story experience it definitely blew my mind a bit. I look back on it now and I know it was really nothing more than a misogynistic rape fantasy. (And a horrifying one, at that. Although rape and odd sex did seem to happen more often in these old school sorts of books than romance - a la White Gold Wielder  or the Cenotaph Road series which I think had some chick rubbing up against a giant spider to get off. And hump a sword pommel. And watch a big robot orgy. And sit on a bucking unicorn animal. The horn part. Oh Christ, *this* is where Phin came from, maybe? Sad thing was this *wasn't* a porn book - it was an honest-to-god sci-fi/fantasy series.)

I also find it ironic that my mother wouldn't let me read those "trashy" romance novels - the ones that actually had characters that cared about each other - but bought me the anthology, because I was reading the Xanth novels at the time and oh, hey, I'll bet she'll like this one too.

And of course, I never told her.

I don't know if things were written that way simply due to an issue of story/plot priority  (NO TIME FOR SEX, MUST SLAY DRAGON) or specific to the genre (eww, we don't want VAGINAS IN OUR SCI-FI) or just the whole male vs female gaze issue. (BEWBS)

What I *do* know is that I enjoy writing sex scenes, but if the above story hammered anything home in my pre-teen state, it was that the sex has to mean something. I cannot write sex for sex's sake. (And I've tried. I can't really read it either.) If I don't have an emotional connection to the characters...if the characters don't have at least something that makes me care about their relationship, then I just can't get into it. Even when I try to write something short and smutty for fun...I end up adding pages of setup, just so I can get into the characters' heads. Just can't do it any other way.

For writing purposes, I know that if I'm not emotionally invested in the scene, the writing comes out flat. Which is probably true for just about any type of scene, honestly - action, dialogue, whatever. But sex is one of those things that really needs to be done right.  Word choice and "camera" angles, dialogue and tension - it can be a fine line between sizzle...and ridiculous.

I know plenty of readers who skip the sex scenes completely when they come across them. They find them boring, or unnecessary and that's their prerogative. But I think that does the story a disservice sometimes, because how characters react to each other in bed often can give the reader greater insight to who they are as a whole.

I've been known to take completely random characters that I don't know all that well (from a new story, for example) and throw them into bed together and write out a scene. Even if it's never used, from my own perspective it definitely opens up a new window in how I view them, and also sometimes helps me determine their own motivation. People blurt out and think the oddest things sometimes when they're feeling vulnerable, and characters aren't much different.

Rambling On About Writing Sex

Rambling On About Writing Sex

by Linda Robertson

There is no sex in my first book.

Why?

Was I embarrassed or ashamed? Was I concerned that people I knew like my parents, my friends, co-workers, or teen-age children might read it?

Nope.

There’s no sex in VICIOUS CIRCLE because it takes place over one week and that just isn’t enough time for my main character Persephone to decide that she’s ready to be intimate with Johnny.

There ARE sex scenes in every book after that.

Why?

Because sex is a natural part of relationships. When there is attraction, sexual tension follows. There can be bonds forged on that attraction, what people will do—and won’t do—because of those bonds reveals their character. When you have characters in scenes that are already tense, if they are attracted to each other it adds a whole new level of subtext to play with in order to make that scene scintillating—so why wouldn’t you?

Movie Examples:

The Matrix. If not for the relationship budding between Neo and Trinity, do you think Neo would have felt there was something worth fighting for?

Star Wars 4-6. So good at looking-out-for-himself Han Solo would never have stuck around hanging out with the political rebels if not for Princess Leia.

The Mummy Returns. Here you have Evie and Rick who, after years of marriage and the birth of a

rambunctious son, have their love still burning brightly. You also have Imhotep who has been brought back from the dead twice, fighting for the love of his life Anck Su Namun. (Can you FEEL the sexual tension in that picture??) In the end, we see both men struggling to keep from falling into the abyss as stalactites fall from the ceiling. Evie braves this danger to save her love. Anck flees to save herself (though she fails at that too and the beetles eat her alive—hey, wouldn’t this be better if the Beatles ate her alive? Har har), leaving Imhotep to hurl himself into the abyss broken without her. Love wins. Yay!

I know what you’re thinking, there’s no sex in those movies! But there was plenty of attraction and sexual tension that propelled them. Okay…here’s a couple WITH sex scenes.

Underworld. I admit, I love the vampire-girl-saves-boy-in-distress twist here. But you KNOW they’re gonna do it. It seals their relationship, committing them to a willingness to fight tooth and claw together. And they do that too.

Terminator. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Yes, sir. *salutes*

Reese was hot. Making love in a cheap hotel while running for their lives may seem like they were taking a terrible risk (In spite of the large windows, I’m sure they kept one eye on the well secured door…) but they were sooo stressed they needed a release. You knew he was in love with her, and you knew he was going to give his life for her because he had risked so much for her and he wasn't in her "future." No one else would have fought that hard, taken those risks, and given her the inspiration she needed to stop being a "normal girl" and become a soldier. The fact that he was the father of her son who did all the remarkable things…ah…this time travel sexual twist literally made the story. Without the sex, there was no story.

Why? (I hope you heard that one in your head in a whiny three-year-olds voice.)

Why does that spark of attraction between couples add something appealing to the story?

There are more reasons than these, but here's a few:

1.) Because everyone wants and needs to be loved. (If they say otherwise they are lying to themselves as much as they are to you.)

2.) Because sex is fun. Duh.

3.) Because there is a sense that life will go on when the happy couple wins the day. i.e. Han and Leia/Michael and Selene/Rick and Evie.

A-HA!, you say. But that's not so much the case with Neo and Trinity/Imhotep and Anck/Reese and Sarah.

Why?

Why does the happy couple sometimes get torn apart by death?

Another partial list...(Can you say Titanic?)

1.) Because the reality is that happy endings don't always happen.

2.) Because there is great, great power in a character giving their life for another--it is the ultimate expression of love, isn't it?

Don't you feel there is a difference in Reese being struck down and dying as he fought to save Sarah and the self-sacrifice of Jack staying in the water so Rose could stay warm in Titanic? (And those of you who would have preferred he put her whiny ass in the water and save himself, just hush.) There's a HUGE difference between both of those and the young couples slain shortly after having sex in Friday the 13th flicks, right? Some characters have done something to build love and it resonates with us. Some characters are just horny so they can be 'punished' by the evil 'scary movie' slayer.

So, are you sensing a theme, here? That writing about sex boils down to (forgive me for using the word boils right after the word sex...cracking myself up again...) the reason we as readers/viewers are shown the sex.

What is your intention as the author? What kind of impact are you trying to have? Titillation or character development? Is the smut scene a plot point, or the whole point? Either of the answers have value when placed properly, but when you can combine just the right amount of both, balancing the need of the scene, the story, and the characters...there you have gold. For me, finding THAT balance is what writing sex is all about.

Nobody Farts During Sex

by KAK 

Hilarious Cards from The Oatmeal

Certain natural bodily functions are universally omitted from fiction. 90% of them are things we do behind the closed door of a bathroom.

When was the last time a romantic hero disappeared into the loo with a newspaper? 

Ever been grateful certain bodily truths never appear in sex scenes? Ever notice you willingly -- nay, happily -- suspend disbelief because you don't want to know that much about the sex? No matter how graphic and detailed the sex scene may seem, writers could make it more detailed.

Believe it or not, bedroom TMI is something of which writers are aware.

Here are my top five sex-scene omissions: 


1. Halitosis -- No protagonist pairing has any kind of bad breath, morning breath, coffee breath, garlic breath, beer breath, blood breath (for you vamp-lovers out there), etc. Our hero and heroine are a perpetual Scope commercial.

2. Smelly Pits or Naughty Bits -- Beat up a bad guy, race ten thousand miles, dash through a wall of flames, slay a goblin, and nobody, nobody, has B.O. Anywhere. 

3. Hair That Ought Not Be There -- Even were-heroes don't have hairy backs. Heroines never have leg stubble or pit fur. Everybody is always baby-smooth no matter how long they've been separated from their toiletries. 

4. The Wet Spot -- Wherever the sex happens, there is no jizz left on the sheet, the car seat, her skirt or his pants. It's like salty disappearing ink.

5. Gas/Air -- Nobody farts. No girl queefs. There is nothing but the dulcet tones of their mutual cries and passion-slicked bodies. No body ever expels anything save for the sweet culmination of their love. Not before, not during, not after. No matter how much lube may have been involved.

The next time you read a sex scene, remember how much the author loves you.

Are there moments in a sex scene that you've wished you could un-read? A bit of TMI that no brain-bleach will purge from your imagination? Do tell.

PUTTING THE OOH IN THE OOH-LA-LA

I know this isn't a writing blog, it's a blog by writers and I think more than a few of y'all are writers yourselves.

So while this may be a bit short it will be an actual writing technique post.

Writing sex scenes.

Now, I'm not going to go into the specific tips and tricks such as pay attention to all the senses in the act of instead of focusing on just the sights and the sounds. Or using clever fresh words to describe things. (Slick being one of my faves) Or how using a lot of soft sounding words such as slick will make the scene flow. S sounds, C sounds, Z sounds roll off the tongue like....well, that's about enough of that. lol

I'm not even going to talk to you about varying the tempo of your sentence structure so that longer sentences build the tension, making it climb, building pressure as the sensations are spilled out onto the page for the eye to watch until you switch. Using shorter and shorter sentences. Quickening the pace. Moving faster. Doing. The. Deed.

Nope. Today I am going to speak, really quickly, on making the sex scene matter.

You should never write a gratuitous sex scene. Not even in erotica. If you do then you have failed. I know that sounds harsh but it's the truth. Sex is important and it means a lot of things. It can be a sign that your character is moving into a new phase of emotional growth. It can be a sign of healing. It can signify how damaged your character is. (Which is what George Pellacanos is doing in DRAMA CITY which I am reading now) But it should matter. It matters in real life and it should matter to your character and to your reader. It's not enough to write a hot scene, you have to make it serve a purpose in your character's emotional story.

There is a great book that I recommend if you need help writing that pesky lovemaking scene. It's by Stacia Kane and it's called: BE A SEX-WRITING STRUMPET.

See, here it is. Click HERE to go read more about it and where to get it. It's cheap.



She will put it all in perspective for you. LOL.

And that's all for me. Sum up, buy Stacia's book and make your sex scenes matter.

I had a great time at Con Nooga this year. Thank you to all the fans who came out to see me.

Til next monday Loyals and True Believers.

We'll Always Have Paris

by Jennifer Paris

My first published fiction effort was an erotic story. Petals and Thorns is a BDSM take on Beauty and the Beast. I felt a need to create a division between the fantasy work I hoped to publish (Shameless plug: Rogue's Pawn coming out July 16!) and this more explicit erotica. So I created the Jennifer Paris pen name.

Since then, I've discovered a few things:

1. It's a pain to have a pen name.
2. Because Petals & Thorns continues to do well and be recommended, I really wish there was a better connection to my Jeffe Kennedy books.
3. Writing sex is writing sex and there just isn't the divide that I thought there was.

I spent most of January on developmental and line edits on Rogue's Pawn, revisiting that novel in great depth. I found many of the same themes as in my more erotic works. Certainly, sex is a strong theme in Rogue's Pawn, but it's far from being an erotic story like Petals and Thorns.

For the record, I think the difference between an erotic story and one with erotic elements is that an erotic story is about the sexual journey as the main plot arc.

Still, regardless of plot arc, sex scenes all serve a similar purpose. An idea that emerged during our week-long discussion of writing action scenes. An effective sex scene should be no more a blow by blow than an action scene should. It's not all "insert tab A into slot B" as some literary writers have snarkily pronounced. (That kind of talk always makes me want to take the person aside and gently inquire as to whether maybe they're missing the point.)

Sex at its most brilliant, in both fiction and reality, is about the coming together of human beings. It's one of the few ways we can reach out of these fleshy shells that encase us and actually merge with other human beings. Sex scenes show how where the characters hold their emotional boundaries - and when they relinquish them. Through sex, the characters reach into each other, intertwine, deepen intimacy and understanding. Characters can express things to each other through sex that they can't articulate.

I think those things hold true, regardless of how detailed the sex is, or the overall arc of the story.

Tab A in slot B, indeed.

Action? Sex? What's the Difference?

Right up front, let me say, I've long preferred writing action scenes to sex scenes. Partly, this was due to me having absorbed some remnant of Puritan social conditioning - you know the one: Nice girls don't know anything about sex, much less talk about it? I have no clue where I picked up this nonsense. But the fact remains that to this day, writing gun fights, hand to hand combat, sword fights, explosions and assorted spaceship battle scenes is easier than writing a sex scene.

But it doesn't make sense for one scene to be easier to write than the other because a sex scene IS an action scene.

No. Not that kind of action - well - okay, yes it is *that* kind of action, but you know what I mean. Look. A fight scene arises out of the external conflict of a story, it may be fueled by a character's internal conflict as well, but usually a fight comes when our heroes have been backed into a corner by the bad guy. The action of the scene will either reveal something about the hero(es), the villian or the core external conflict of the story. The fight will probably propel the hero(es) closer to some kind of doomsday confrontation - not just with the bad guy, but also with themselves - this proves they've completed their character arc, learned their lessons and now have the wherewithal to triumph.

A sex scene arises from the internal conflict of a story. The external conflict may provide a sense of urgency, or heighten whatever is driving these two people together, but the sex scene serves the same purpose a fight scene does - driving story arc, character arc and plot. It's another case of proving that the characters have learned enough about themselves that they can risk trusting someone else. It's also likely that these people will emerge from the encounter either shattered or strengthened - which is usually how a fight ends, too.

A good fight scene can utterly disarm your character, leave him or her stripped, defenseless. So can a sex scene. A fight scene can empower a character, girding him or her for the final battle. So can a sex scene. From a staging standpoint, there's no difference at all between how a fight scene and sex scene must be directed - only the anatomical language changes subtly - unless the sex scene is a fight scene. Combat is a contest for physical supremacy. A sex scene (not talking rape here - which is 100% violence, not sex scene) can be as well, and while a story wouldn't likely be a romance at that point, there can be an element of competition to a sex scene - who makes who climax first. 

Regardless, knowing what limb is doing what, where, when, and knowing that all parties have an appropriate number of limbs is the same whether you're writing combat or sex. The differences in emotional content can be huge or subtle - depends entirely on your characters and on the story. But ultimately, there's no much difference between the scene types. They both require the same set of skills.

Gasp! What Do You Mean My Mother Will Read That?

By Kerry Schafer 

 The topic for this week - how do you feel about your parents reading your sexy scenes - was purely theoretical when the week began. I read Jeffe's post on Sunday, comfortably contemplating the fact that since I have no books published, nobody is reading anything unless I hand it over. Since I had no intention of handing over drafts of sexy scenes to my mother, the problem was distant, classed with thoughts like "someday I'm going to die." Yep. Sooner or later. Not today. Nothing to be done about it, no need to worry. On Wednesday, things changed dramatically. I accepted representation by the fabulous Deidre Knight of the Knight Agency, and that changed my perspective dramatically. (You can read the story here, if you wish.) All at once, the idea of a published book is something within reach. I have an agent who believes in the book, and that we can get it published. This once theoretical idea of my mother reading my sex scenes is real and in my face like a hungry cat on Saturday morning. If the book is published, people will read it. Maybe (hopefully) lots of people. My mother. And all of her church friends. My own teenage children. My co-workers, potentially my clients, and maybe my old high school friends. Cue panic. Let me be clear that I am not prudish, just private. I love to read a book with good sex scenes, and writing sex is easy enough for me, but the idea that somebody, particularly my mother, is going to read it? Alarming. All I can say is, I'd better get over it. I'll warn my mom, and I honestly think she'll handle it fine. The kids? That one is a little worse. Kids don't like to know that their parents even think about sex, let alone read what they've written about it. Again, I'll warn them, and then they are on their own. Old enough to make their own decisions. I guess when it comes to writing sex scenes it's like writing anything else. Get it on the page, make sure it belongs there. What happens after that is between the words and the reader.

We Interrupt Our Programming

I'd had a faintly humorous (I'd hoped) and whiny post planned about euphemisms. Then I got up this morning to devastation in Japan and a Tsunami Advisory posted for our area. DH and I debated the wisdom of rushing down to the boat to double check lines and disconnect shore power. But really. How wise would it have been to rush down to the water as if either of us could prevent whatever wave surge Ma Nature sent our way? So we'll wait. 12 hours. We'll go to the boat tomorrow and deal with whatever clean up is necessary. If we're lucky, it'll be a complete non-event. I'd like that. I'd have liked that for the people of Japan. If you have the means, consider donating a few dollars to the relief charity of your choice.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming:

So here it is. The actual topic. Euphemisms. . . Yeah. I got nothing. Every single euphemism listed this week has been an education. I'm in my forties. This can't be right. Where the hell have I been all my life? It's not like I was reared in a convent or anything. Heck. Maybe I'd know some of this stuff if I had been. Sure, I know a few common things: Kibbles and Bits, Silk Purse, Pocket Snake - you know. The silly, junior high stuff. Apparently, collecting and reading comic books throughout one's youth and young adulthood doesn't adequately charge one's vocabulary.

I'd wanted to say I don't use euphemisms when I write a sex scene, but in fact, I do. But here's the interesting piece - at least to me - I equate the anatomy with the person. "She tested the silky texture of his skin." You know exactly what skin and where. Don't know why I do this. Maybe it was a Dr. Ruth lecture where it was made clear that especially for men, sexual anatomy is equated with the individual. Guys really do equate their penises with themselves. (The point of that lecture was a woman who did not want to perform oral sex, much less swallow, was told that when she rejected that part of her man, she was rejecting him in total as far as he was concerned. No. Don't recall how that whole thing turned out - it was about the psychology for me.)

Maybe that's the problem. Sex is sex. Given the limited number of natural orifices in the human body, there are only so many permutations of how things happen. Yeah, yeah. Kink, freak and furry - window dressing. Ya still gotta insert tab A into one of three slots if female, or one of two lots if male in order for the possessor of tab A to make it to Happy Land. Fun? Possibly. Interesting? No. Not really.  The interesting part is the psychology surrounding the approach to sex (and then the psychology after sex) that's fascinating.

And let's be frank. You don't have to come up with a whole slew of euphemisms for Clown Shoe Crazy. Still. UrbanDictionary.com Maybe I'll spend a little more time reading...

What Will People Think?

Oddly enough, although I am blessed with a psyche that can feel guilty about something as harmless as taking a hot bath, I've got relatively few hang ups about sex. I enjoy the practice of it, the watching of it (yes, I've seen a porn flick or two), and certainly the reading of a good book with great sex scenes. I loved Jeffe's Petals and Thorns - I think this qualifies me to declare myself as Not a Prude.

I even like writing sex scenes, until somewhere in a passionate moment the thought comes to me: somebody is going to read this. Then Oh Dear God, the universe turns upside down.

What, oh what, will people say?

Seriously.

I see them all, huddled in a little clump, whispering and pointing at me. My elementary school teachers, every pastor of every church I've ever attended, my mother, my old friends, my co-workers, my children.

Some of them condemn me as a loose and evil woman - the whole Scarlet Letter scenario. How dare I write about sex at all, and if I am going to write about sex, how dare I write about sex between unmarried people and if I am going to write about sex even between married people it had better be 'normal', healthy sex, preferably in the missionary position and in the dark, without anybody getting overly excited.

There's another group with a different point of view entirely. These are the scoffers. They mock my characters' sexual prowess, their moves, their sexual creativity. "Really?" they say. "That's the best you can come up with?" They shake pitying heads and suggest that I've obviously missed out on everything worth experiencing and maybe I should take vows and become a nun or something.

And last but not least there are my children, with looks of appalled shock on their faces. These are the teenagers who are embarrassed if I dare to dance to music in the confines of my own home. The very idea that their mother even knows such things would be such a surprise (even though, logically, we all know that if I didn't know such things, said children would not exist) that perhaps they will be emotionally damaged for the rest of their lives.

This group of detractors complicates matters, about as much as they would if they were actually standing in the bedroom and commenting on my own technique during sex. So what I have to do is usher them out of the bedroom, or whatever room my characters are choosing in which to cavort, lock the door, and suggest that they do something else they would enjoy.

"These people need a little privacy," I tell them. "Why don't you all go out for pie? Or play a video game or something."

Usually they'll comply, long enough to get a scene written. And then all is well until I start thinking about those already written scenes being read. But that is a different problem all together, and one to which I still don't have an answer.

Building a Fire

Writing a sex scene is like lighting a fire in the wood stove. Some days, you get a rush of blazing goodness. Some days you really have to work for it - to the point of wondering whether it's worth the bother.

We know what ruins a good fire. Wet firewood. Insufficient oxygen. What smothers a good sex scene? The ultimate wet blanket: the internal critic. Isn't it interesting that I can risk life and limb learning to scuba dive, rappeling down rock faces or taking bicycle trips hundreds of miles down the coast and my internal "gasp! You can't do that!" voice is silent. But try to write a scene between two people who've arrived at a point in their relationship where intimacy and trust are necessary and an entire army of horrified commentators gathers in my head, wringing their hands, wailing and rending garments over the fact that I'm attempting to write a sex scene between two people committed to one another. It concerns me that this post of writing sex scenes has turned into the perfect segue to next week's topic. "My Favorite Neuroses". O_o

Return with me to the fire metaphor. A good fire is hypnotic. Mesmerizing. But you can't sit and stare into a roaring blaze unless you went to the trouble of laying a solid foundation. Kindling set to assure a good coal bed, dry wood arranged to maximize airflow. If you put the work in, you get a roaring blaze to stare into while you char your marshmallows.  Sex scenes require the same initial work and that's where my real interest lies. I mean, once the tab and slot joining has occurred, there are only so many ways to describe the - er - ins and outs of the act without. . .let's say 'gliding' into porn movie territory. No, for me, the interesting part is what leads up to tab to slot insertion.

I love the mental, emotional and physical manuevering that lures two people from conflict into tentative alliance, then into attraction, hope, and eventual trust. The actual culminating event then has to live up to all that initial dancing around. But no pressure, right? Sex scenes in my stories serve to break down walls in my characters - walls that need shattering if these characters are to become whole. If the hero and heroine refuse to step over the trust line, if either refuses to take the risk sex represents - entrusting body and heart to another, then there's no way that hero or heroine can achieve any lasting victory at the end of the book. Which makes me wonder whether I expect too much.

Oh, look. Back to the fire metaphor. You know how else you kill a fire? Overload it. It hadn't occurred to me until just now that maybe I'm asking too much of my love scenes - crushing them beneath the weight of all my 'burn hotter!' expectations.

Any fire experts care to weigh in? ;)

Writing Sex as Therapy

I give fair warning that some of this post may delve into the TMI label - not for titillation's sake, but only as a precursor to things that may be a bit uncomfortable.

When it comes to writing sex scenes I have very little difficulty with it. I enjoy it, in fact - in some ways, they are the easiest scenes for me to write. For a few brief pages, my characters don't have to focus on anything except each other and what is (hopefully) a pleasant experience...and one that will add to the story, or help drive things forward.

I fall in the middle, I think, as far as explicitness goes. I can go either way without any real discomfort, but I choose not to most of the time. I like describing the mechanics of the act, but I don't need a camera up on the woman's cervix, if that makes any sense. If I write the scene in first person, I tend to focus on the sensations of the moment and less about the details - i.e. the hardness of the man's cock, for example, or how wet she might be. I'm sort of the opinion that if the sex is good, the average person probably isn't concentrating on those details so much as getting on with the business at hand.

At any rate, I don't generally write the harder stuff  - BDSM, for example.  Not because I can't, (and it does intrigue me at times) but because for the most part I don't enjoy the concept of associating pain with sex. And yes, I realize that's a rather sweeping statement and there's so much more to it than that, but here's the general explanation as to why (and here's the TMI):

Since I was 19, I've suffered from something called Vulvar Vestibulitis. It has other names - atrophic vestibulodynia seems to be the latest variation, but it's all the same. You can click on the link if you want the medical explanation, but the best way I can describe it is to imagine having sex with someone who is wearing a condom made of sandpaper. And then go sit on a blowtorch immediately afterwards. For at least a day. There is no cure and I have tried everything short of surgery with little success. I also suffer from Interstitial Cystitis. In short, the plumbing downstairs is a mess.

In twenty years, I've pretty much never had sex without some form of pain. I suspect I always will.  Now, there are times when it's better than others and certainly I'm not going to get into more detail than that about my personal life, but I cope with it as best I can. Even though it's an awkward thing to talk about or admit to having, I do so freely because it often takes women years before getting a diagnosis, since many doctors don't know that it exists or try to convince the woman it's all in her head. I tend to spread the word when I can, in the off chance that someone stumbles across it and maybe has a chance at finding some sort of treatment.

For me, writing sex scenes is often therapeutic. It allows me to escape my own physical limitations, as it were. I realize this is probably a downer of a post, but I'll admit to a certain amount of frustration at my own setbacks.  Whereas I realize that much of the BDSM concept is often mental - i.e. the dominant vs the submissive, for example, much of it does include acts of physical pain - which is great if you like that sort of thing. But the main difference for me is that such pain is sought out and when it's over, so is the pain part (short of few bruises, perhaps.)

In my case, there is absolutely no real choice in the matter, short of not having sex at all. So, if my characters tend to fall into bed with each other a little faster than they should, it's probably more of a reflection on my own desire to experience that level of intimacy without any of the negatives.

Sex on the Brain = Sex on the Page

by KAK

Jeffe says it’s easy. Laura says it’s hard. I wiggle in the middle and call it:

Harsy

Did you blink a few times before your brain figured out what I did, or are you still wondering what the hell a Harsy is? If you’re brain isn’t willing to go there, then you’re not going to get it. You sure as shit won’t find it funny.

That’s how writing sex scenes is for me. If my brain isn’t there, if it’s not in the moment, if it’s busy wondering if the knot in my nose is a crusty booger or a clump of snorted dog hair, no sex is going to happen.

Just like real life.

Any lover worth rug-burn knows that the brain has to be seduced first. Any writer worth reading knows it’s his/her job to make sure the reader is seduced before characters ever swap or smear spit. So, if the writer isn’t in the heady moment with the characters, then he/she needs to get there before the first squeezed breast; otherwise, it’s a dry hump. 

Nobody wants to be a part of that.

Now, contrary to what all our lusty blog readers may be thinking, the Word Whores don’t walk around in a perpetual state of sexual arousal. Nay, nay. Some of us may rise (or tumble) to the occasion with greater ease than others, but someone or something has to lure our brains out of the realm of propriety and decorum. 

Go ahead. Let the snort fly.

“Decorum” might not be the first word that leaps to mind when thinking of me, but I do have to function in the real world. How do I get my brain to shift gears? How do I, as a writer, seduce myself? 

Cue Cyndi Lauper’s “She Bop”

I’m only half kidding. A good seduction engages the senses. The sort of smexy I’m afixin’ to write defines how I seduce myself. Is it a contest of wills, a physical game of control? There’s a shelf or three of fetish-focused fiction and non-fiction. The iPod has the BDSM playlist ready and waiting. The left-most side-table has the collection of clove and bergamot scented candles.  The closet awaits with a choice of costumes. 

Yeah. I go all the way there.

Wherever the minds of the characters are at that moment in the story defines the sort of sex they’re about to have. After all, a protagonist in need of succor after a tragedy might not respond well to an up-against-the-wall pawing fest. He/she might crave something slow, calm, yet very deliberate. Characters celebrating a victory might indulge in a playful bout of bumpin’ fuzzies or they might dare each other to push boundaries. Protagonists narrowly escaping death might be high on survival and ready for a buck-wild ride.

In short, writing good sex for a book is a lot like having good sex in real life.  

Both begin in the mind.

Image: from http://picture-book.com/content/book-worm Artist: Jim Caputo

Easy Peasy

by Jeffe Kennedy

Just barely safe for work there... Fortunately, today is Sunday. This was a photo that one of the book reviewer gals who read and loved Petals and Thorns sent to me for my birthday. A special little gift she knew I'd like. And yes, that's my erotic novella. Of all the Word Whores, I'm probably the most out there (so far) on the writing of the sexiness. I'm not the one who suggested the topic of whether it's *ahem* hard or easy to write them. For me? Easy peasy. It's kind of ironic to me. I've spent years on the art of essay-writing. I've written short stories and two novels. The erotic novella gets all the attention. It was easy to write and easy to sell. The novels I've bled for and slaved over? Still waiting to be loved. If I sound like I mind, I really don't. It's just funny because I have the idea that the thing I work the hardest on is inherently more valuable. This is not always true. Sometimes the simple idea and the fast write gain more attention. This is the way of the world. Writing sex is easy for me because it's fun. Both the having of it and the writing. While I'm a circumspect person, I'm quite free-spirited. I remember the quote from Anne Rice's Exit to Eden (which she originally wrote under her Anne Rampling psuedonym), where the main character says that she never thought that anything sexual was bad or ugly, as long as the people involved wanted it. I know I'm lucky that way. I was raised by an open-minded mother and so I escaped the burdens laid on other people about the dirty and the nasty and the guilty. I'm for the private and the intimate. But it's all beautiful to me. Easy, even.