Thus far, this is what a sex scene looks like in my story:
Blah, blah, blah blah
Blah, blah, blah blah
I have not yet mastered the fine art of writing the sex scene. I’m not a prude by any means, but for some reason writing about the act disturbs me. Is it because my mom and dad might someday read it? Ugh. Actually, I haven’t even really tried to sort it out on paper. I’ve been close, but stopped just short of any details, such as this moment in a story I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year:
“Glass of wine?” Rémy asked as he pulled the crimson bottle out of a brown paper sack. He didn’t wait for her response. He decanted the wine in a fluid movement and launched his perfunctory swirl and sniff. “It smells divine,” he said. He closed his eyes and let the wine rush into his mouth. Sarah watched this ritual unfold, as she had for the past seventeen years.
On one of their first dates, she asked him why he closed his eyes as he first tasted the wine. He seemed so mysterious to her, this striking French man, and she wanted to unravel every secret he dangled. He told her that to him, the same wine tastes different if you allow your other senses to come into play. If a woman with the looks and personality of a muskrat cornered him, the wine, no matter how exquisite it might truly be, would taste flabby. Void of character or slightly bitter. On the other hand, should he meet an extraordinary woman, a woman of beauty and wit, a woman he wanted to seduce, the wine would exhibit an exaggerated heat and spiciness. A simple wine could remind him of the taste of a woman, at which point he would be powerless. No, he preferred to close his eyes and allow the taste of the wine to enchant him before a woman, a woman such as herself, could captivate him. However, it was too late for that, wasn’t it? He was already under her spell.
She found herself naked in his arms a few hours later.
See? No details. Just nakedness.
Although in writing, like in music, details aren’t always necessary for people to grasp your intended destination. Take for instance the lyrics in this song by Lucinda Williams:
She talks about how she can’t stop thinking about this person (her lover/ex-lover/a lover she longs for), and then…
I take off my watch and my earrings
My bracelets and everything
Lie on my back and moan at the ceiling
Oh my baby
Think about you and that long ride
I bite my nails, I get weak inside
Reach over and turn off the light
Oh my baby
No dirty details. Very simple, very hot.
However, if you’re the reader and you’ve invested your time to get to know this character, and suddenly you are the character, you want to fall into those details. You want to be right in the middle of all the messy action. So, how do I write that? How deep into the action do I really want to go? How can I even loosen up enough to type the words I need to create the moment?
three four easy steps to get me all hot and bothered so that I can write away.
1) Pour myself a generous amount of wine.
Play some come-hither music. Drink some of the wine and refill the glass.
3) Play some come-hither music.
4) Let go of my inhibitions.
Quite honestly, when the following song plays, I don’t even need the wine. All I have to do is close my eyes and I melt into a daydream. This song itself is hot breath tracing my neck, fingers weaving through hair, a firm hand pressing against the small of my back, pushing me closer, closing any gap between myself and…
Of course, what’s hot for some is not so hot for others.
Do you have problems “getting in the mood” to write sex scenes or do the words flow effortlessly? How do you prep yourself, so to speak?