Writing Sex

I can't resist an intriguing prompt. The prompt was write a sex scene that takes place in a given local. I wrote a sex scene -- no love, romance, or emotional bondage intended.

Jo, a no-fear femme fatale, barred no holes in her pursuit of the object of her desire.

Mick, the tasty morsel she shared an office with, played hard to get by throwing out the morality roadblock. Mick lusted after Jo, maybe even more than Jo lusted after him. He obstructed her path with arguments about office dating, and the prerequisite rules that society demands.

That didn't hinder Jo, since she wasn't after romance, a relationship, or even morning coffee. Jo knew the backlash Mick feared would only come into play if they tried to sustain their tryst in the real world. Jo wasn't about to sweat the petty stuff. She itched to get naked and pet Mick's sweaty stuff.

She thumbed through her list of feminine wiles, and chose the tricks that would demolish his blockades. She used her brain and her charms to end up sandwiched between his solid heat and the icy bite of a metal railing. No promises, no excuses, no consequences. Hot, horny sex with her chosen stud muffin... She wanted it; she got it; she was gone.

It was a fun piece to write. Jo was no wimpy, whiny, abused damsel in distress. She could navigate her way in the world without help. It was liberating to play in her head awhile. Unfortunately, some of my readers didn't share my sense of adventure.

There were comments like "not romantic". Good, I say. I wasn't writing the great American love story. I was writing a sex scene.

Another didn't like the way Jo dallied to her point. An old fashioned tease-and-tempt was, in Jo's mind, the best route to her destination. It was her buildup to the big moment; foreplay, if you will. She was careful to choose the psychological warfare most likely to topple Mick's defenses. His body was willing. Only his psychology kept them apart.

I took the opportunity to flex narration muscles I don't normally use.

My scene was written in first person, to see if I could make a sympathetic character narrate her own story. First person makes it tough for the reader to identify with a character. In order to help the reader establish a connection with my leading lady and gent, I avoided any identifying physical traits. I was happy with the feedback I got concerning the characters. I think I pulled that off.

I wondered if I could make it go real time and be believable. I used present tense. This, it seems, I didn't accomplished so well. With words like dallying, and a comment about forgetting they were even in a stairwell… well, I think I fell flat there. It was still fun to do something different.

The last part of my experiment was to make it sizzle without using any harsh words, while escaping the purple prose trap. I think I managed to check those two items off.

Even though I missed my mark with my audience, the experience was enlightening. The best part is the responses got me thinking about rules for writing sex. I've read them before, but they really sink in when you have something personal to relate them to. We all struggle with our sex scenes a bit, so I thought I'd share my thoughts.

Number one on my list: Know your audience. If your readers expect the raging inferno of raunchy sex in exotic locals – that is what you must give them. Dish up a helping of that course to an audience hungry for a sweet shaky first kiss to plant the seed of forever love; you'll spoil their appetite.

Number two isn't very far from number one. Understand what the sex is about. People have sex for all varieties of reasons: Because it feels good. Maybe they are looking for love, starved for a human connection, or they can't help themselves – as in addiction. For some, it's a way to get what they want, distract a lover from their true purpose, ease some emotional pain, or even because they are bored. And once again - it's my favorite - because it feels good. There's a whole host of sexual motivations I haven't touched on, but that isn't my point. You have to understand why your characters are about to lose their laundry. And, refer back to rule one, and decide if your audience can connect with your reason.

List item number three: Avoid the ick factor, but don't slip into the so-so everyday boring rut of tameness. Be open-minded, but know when to slam the gate before that train of thought derails. I'm not able to elaborate on this one much. I hope that we'll know it when we see it as writers and critters.

Number four: Last, but absolutely not least… switch it up and have fun. Live vicariously through your characters. Put on the Goddess Gown and play with attitudes that may be out of your reach, but so within the grasp of your fiction-vixen. Explore, dream, and give your reader something more than they get in the confines of their reality. Fiction is fantasy.

Thanks for visiting us here at Tabby's!

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 4 - Voice

Wicked Wednesday, fellow followers of TNN.

Today's game consists of trying to say a lot with as few words as possible. Dreamer? Inspiration? In tribute to yesterday's fun exchange, I think I will call it…

Voice

On you go, sharing your latest scheme. I love your schemes. The way your mind works is captivating. To me, anyway.

You're a dreamer. Not the typical, lost in a fantasy world dreamer, you have focus. You aim it at real goals. You plan, and scheme, and detail your world so well.

I can see it. Vividly.

Your voice snagged my attention. It draws pictures that are infinitely irresistible, even inspiring.

I can see your world, the beings that exist there, the way you fit it all together.

I just know you will accomplish volumes.

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 3 - Farewell

Rational talks, insane screamfests, and more sadness than she cared to recount hadn't won her his respect or trust. Five years and over a thousand soul-shaking orgasms later, it's time to pen The End and close the book. Jeff and his bossy, pushy, clingy, controlling attitudes were about to be history.

Grace couldn't force herself to remain committed to a relationship that filled most of her waking hours with misery. At some point, she hadn't had the strength to leave. Back when she was still familiar with the concept of hope.

Now, walking away had become easier than staying. Sure, there'd be tears – but they'd be the last Jeff would ever cost her. Small price to pay for the return of her self-respect, dignity, and confidence he'd held hostage.

Jeff's car pulling into the garage set her knees to trembling. Grace glanced around the room cluttered with boxes of his belongings, and for a microsecond, doubt tickled her resolve. She took a deep breath, and squared herself to the door when she heard the rattling knob announce his entrance.

Their eyes locked as he crossed the kitchen. Jeff eyed the boxes stacked in the living room, and laid the cut flowers on the top of the nearest pile. "You were serious."

"Very."

"I love you."

Grace took his hands in hers. She hated the slump of his shoulders, the pain in his eyes. Flashes of all the times he'd left her dejected flitted through her mind, and bolstered her courage. "Maybe you do. You don't trust me. You don't respect me. You don't encourage or understand me. I love you; I can't live with you."

"I've got nowhere to go."

"You've got the rest of the week to figure it out. I'm going to visit mom. I'll be back Saturday night, you need to be gone."

"I will. I'm sorry."

"Me too. It's not enough."

Jeff pulled her close, and wrapped her in his arms. His breathing stuttered and the tremble in his voice stole her breath. "I know."

Grace closed her eyes, and tried to still the fuzzy brainwaves and boiling blood their bodies always created on contact. If only their emotional bond rocked like their physical connection did. If. She locked with his gaze, and swam away in desire. She couldn't stop the pounding of her pulse or the stiffening of her nipples any more than she could stop breathing.

He covered her lips with his, and the sensations continued to swirl until her knees were weak. He took her hand and led her toward the bedroom; she never considered resisting.

Grace sat on the edge of the bed while Jeff rifled through her vanity. The idea barely occurred to wonder what he was up to before he emerged holding a fluffy blush brush. He wore the sexy grin that captured her heart in the beginning.

He tossed the brush on the bed, and pulled her to her feet. Time ticked in reverse as he peeled her clothing, and tossed each piece aside. He turned her to face the bed, pressed his body to her, and nuzzled her neck.

Mesmerized by his touch, she gave up any attempt at coherent thought, and willed herself to memorize this moment. With every caress, the heat of his lips slipped beneath her skin to awaken all of her senses. Every breath she took ground his spicy scent into her memory. Each place their skin kissed, flames of desire raged.

Jeff's gentle touch urged her down to the mattress, and she did as he bid.

Every feathery touch of the brush up her leg stoked the fire rising inside her. She arched against his caresses, wanting more, needing his skin on hers. He painted desire over her entire backside, with sadistic slowness. Time moved backwards, while she writhed and moaned below him and the ache inside swelled.

Grace sighed at the feel of his hands on her, and bit back disappointment when she discovered they were only there to turn her over. Without hesitation, he moved to her feet and began his delicious torture anew. By the time he painted his way to her breasts, her grip on sanity had lost a lot of ground.

She grabbed his head and brought his mouth to her nipple. The motion brought most of his body in contact with hers, and the need to have him inside of her made her dizzy.

Jeff dropped the brush, and continued exploring with his fingers. Grace wriggled closer to him, and positioned her opening against his erection, but he didn't accept her invitation. She ground her hips toward him, but he had her pinned in a way that limited how much of him she could consume.

Grace put both hands against his chest, pushed, and rolled on top of him. She straddled his thighs, and began a smoldering exploration of her own. The soft curls on his legs yielded to her touch. Her eyes locked on his hard cock. She would miss it, but first, a kiss goodbye was in order.

His closed eyes and rocking hips spurred her on. She teased and licked for an eternity before she brought her mouth all the way to the base, and moaned against him. Unable to resist herself, she climbed up to mount him.

Something snapped in Grace the instant she had him buried to the hilt. Her desperate bid for happiness and independence surfaced. She no longer focused on giving him pleasure. Grace ground into him with a furious appetite to reach her peak. She didn't care if he came along for the ride or not.

She rode his stiff body until the wave hit, every muscle in her body quivered to the beat of her heart, and still she ground against him. Her world got more colorful; the scent of sex that hung in the air invigorated her. Every sound of release and joy they shared pushed her further and harder until she collapsed spent.

When her knees stopped quaking enough that she trusted them to carry her, she climbed off the bed and put her clothes on.

"Where you going, baby?"

"We're done here. I'm leaving."

Jeff's only response was to meet her eyes.

Grace didn't bother to analyze everything she saw there. They'd gone beyond all that. She took one long last look at his body, remembered how he had brought her so much pleasure, and remembered the pain it had cost. She picked up her bag from the floor, and whispered, "Thanks, sexy." Grace stepped away, and closed the door behind her.

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 2 – Fantasy

Falling doesn't hurt, landing does. No matter how prepared you are, landing impacts you. In flight, you don't register the blows. The euphoria of falling hangs around a while to mask a laundry list of bumps and dings you you collected along the way. Your head was in the clouds. Each collision left a mark. When you land, you'll feel them.

Safer than falling in love, is falling in fantasy. You never land. You keep falling-falling-falling, no landing in sight. Close your eyes; see his face. Lick your lips; taste his kiss. Search your mind; his name is in front.

Slow motion intensity of a first kiss never fades into the boredom of a ten-thousandth peck. It's fantasy. It's all yours. Reality can never take away what's in your head. You decide where you go, how long you stay, and when you will step out of your comfort zones. The boundaries are fuzzy when they aren't real, infinitely easier to hurdle.

Electricity tingles under your skin, ignited by his touch. Desire explodes when his body is near, and he's as close as your imagination. Fantasy doesn't have any use for self-consciousness. Embarrassment won't exist in fantasyland. Kickin' curves pressed against rock hard proportions that flip all of your switches simultaneously. Every caress sizzles. Every glance rocks. Every encounter blazes. Always.

Fly with Mr. Fantasy; kiss him. Embrace him. Lose yourself in sensation. Memorize the paths his caresses engraved on your skin. Savor his essence. Give him your lips, your touch, your body, your mind. Fall, and keep falling. If a landing approaches, raise the sky. Soar back up, and go explore.

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 1 - Kiss

Welcome to the first installment of Wicked Word Wednesday. Today, I'd like to hit you right in the kisser with the wonderful, and wicked word, kiss. Mwah!

If smooching with a number wiz is high on your list of things to do, you might know that osculation is a term for kissing. Osculation happens in mathematics when there is contact between two curves or surfaces at three or more common points. They call this a kiss.

Though the origin is unknown, and at least one respected wordsmith reference has called it archaic, the word buss is interchangeable with the word kiss. Buss equals kiss, as bussed, bussing, and busses align with kissed, kissing, and kisses. I didn't find anything that said a busser would be a kisser – but if you're going to use such an obscure word, I guess the rules are yours to make and break at will.

Does anyone else notice how many food terms creep into the sexy stuff, and vice versa? Food can be sexy-sexy-sexy. Honey licked from a lover's body, whipped cream covered naughty bits, shots from a navel, trading mints during a kiss, all very erotic. It's no small wonder we have cookie kisses, chocolate kisses, meringue kisses, and scotch kisses.

Before all of this kissing, bussing, and osculating gets you all worked up, let's look at the seedier side of the kiss. Kiss ups, or kiss asses are everywhere. Don't you just want to tell them to kiss off? Just be careful if you do, so you don't kiss away something important, like your job. We cautious types like to avoid those kisses of death. Although, you might find that the new job you land in its place is the kiss of life that resuscitates you.

There are kiss similes to consider, like the kiss of perfume on your skin. In contrast to that, might be that little kiss you gave your co-worker's bumper in the overcrowded parking lot last week. Combination kisses are good too. Kisses and hugs at the end of a note, abbreviated with those darling X's and O's always encourage fuzzy warmth. A snog is a kiss that includes cuddles.

Don't forget the band, KISS. Who could? Still, they merit a mention. Also worth mentioning, are all the acronyms that are made from KISS. There are dozens, but since space and attention spans are limited, I'll only share my faves. Keep It Simple Sweetie would be number one on my list. Keep It Super Simple is a great reminder when you're introducing a new concept to someone. Keep It Safe & Sound is hard to argue with, no matter what 'it' may be.

A smack is enthusiastic, like a smooch. Smacks can also be light, like pecks. It depends on the context, and more than likely, on the recipient. These are usually reserved for those people we love, not the people we desire. That doesn't mean we can't plant a peck on the object of our desire - we can, and should. But, that's not the lip-lock we've been holding our collective breath for.

What we want, what our characters want, what our readers want our characters to want … is that deep, slow motion, set the world afire, soul kiss. Otherwise known as the French kiss or deep kiss, it's the Queen of Kisses. This kiss, it steals your breath, vanishes the outside world, erases common sense, makes your knees weak, your pulse race, your body quiver, and it has got to be shared. So, go hit your favorite hottie right in the kisser with one now. Kiss and tell; disguise it as fiction, but do kiss and tell.