Don’t put that there! Writing Believable Sex in Fiction.

Sex. The ultimate taboo subject. Unless you’re strolling through the Red Light District or down the streets of ancient Rome, just talking about it openly is bound to get you a few gasps or awkward stares. It’s the one thing that everyone does, but no one wants to talk about. Sex in fiction writing is something that has taken many authors years to perfect yet it’s something that can be mastered in seconds. All you need to do is kick your inhibitions, relax and just let yourself be creative. Once you begin to understand the basics, like with any other form of writing, it’s stuck with you for life. It’s like riding a bike, with the exception that, even the clumsiest people can write it. Some think of sex writing as seasoning, that final ingredient added to make your works of fiction pop. To others it’s the main course. But no matter who you are or what type of fiction you write, whether its innocent, harlequin romances, steamy paranormal encounters or flat out smut; there should always be a method to your madness. I’m not an expert by any means on writing anything, but just like my previous post on Point of View, I want to share what I know and what I’ve learned throughout the years about writing believable sex in fiction. And enjoying it too.

This is not a comprehensive guide on writing the BEST sex scenes in the world. This blog post is geared for those of you out there who are having trouble getting started writing sex at all. Blog post after the sexiness.

Taecyeon get out from in front of Junho or I will rape you both.

 

But I’m a virgin! I’m afraid my inexperience will reflect on my characters!

Well, unless you’re so virginal you’ve never had a wet dream I’m pretty sure the presence of a hymen has absolutely nothing to do with writing about sex. Just like reading about sex, it’s all about fantasy. And I’m sure anyone remotely old enough to be reading this blog post has had some sort of fantasy at some point in life. Just think about it, whether it involves gentle caresses and teasing butterfly kisses, or hardcore, gagged, bound and covered in candle wax fucking; It’s fantasy! Your imagination is what fuels your writing and without it your writing would be as dull as that phone manual you ditched the moment you bought your new cellphone. Don’t pretend you read the manual! And if you don’t believe me, just think about it. There was once a time where sex was even more taboo than it is now. The first women to write romance novels were more than likely virginal. I’m as untouched as they come but I’ve been known to write panty dropping, seat wetting sex. When it comes down to it, it’s all about how comfortable you are with not only yourself, but writing about something most of the world is uncomfortable with.

But I AM uncomfortable! All those bad words! I just can’t imagine myself saying the word di—

Then DON’T SAY IT! I can’t say the ‘D’ word either and it doesn’t make my sex scenes any less pleasing. One of the biggest parts of sex writing is finding your comfort zone and sticking with it. Not everyone can lay down the colorful, porno-esque language and make it believable. If you don’t know your comfort zone here’s an easy way to find it; Go to your bookshelf or wherever you hide your romance novels from the rest of your family, and pull out that erotica your cousin gave you as a gag gift last year. Open it up and read it. Do you cringe at the word cock? When the author uses the word jizz do you want to vomit? Well I do, so put that book back and find something that doesn’t scream 80’s pornography okay? Look at that Harlequin romance. Does his pulsating member make you laugh instead of turn you on? You wouldn’t be alone dear. When the author talks about heaving bosoms do you giggle uncontrollably? Me too! It’s not in your comfort zone, and be it too hard or too soft for your liking you’re not going to pull off a believable sex scene if you’re laughing at your lead male or gagging every other word. So find a comfortable medium. Pick up a thesaurus and practice writing down or typing out those naughty words. Find the ones that you can bare reading and keep hold of them, you’ll need them later.

I don’t know HOW to write sex okay? I’ve had fantasies…wet dreams and what not, but I just can’t seem to get that secret formula down pact!

There IS no secret formula. Writing sex is just like writing any other scene in your story. It has to fit in order to be believable. Some authors liken it to writing fight scenes, and if you think about it, they are very similar. You can’t just throw in a random sex scene, or fight scene, and have it work itself out.

  • Ricky sat across from Adelaide, watching as she nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs. She was waiting patiently for him to make the first move and he’d gladly oblige her if it wasn’t for her bastard mate sitting beside her. He could smell her arousal from where he sat, and there wasn’t any doubt he could smell it too. His nostrils flared and he was about to growl in frustration when a large muscular man in a diaper burst through the window wielding a sword.
  • “Get up Ricky! It’s time to do battle.”

 That ending was painful to write. Just as painful as it was to read no doubt. The point I’m trying to make is, don’t treat your sex scenes like sex scenes. Treat them like any other scene in your book. They need to have a reason to be there. They need to have the basic structure that all works of fiction have; a beginning, a middle and a climax. Pun very much intended. Your characters shouldn’t be two strangers standing in the middle of a field in one scene and in the very next be falling into bed together. We need to know why they care about each other enough to sleep with each other, or why they don’t care at all and just want to fuck each other senseless. There needs to be build up!

Okay so I get it, writing sex shouldn’t be some big whoopdiedoo! It’s just sex, just write it as comfortably as you can. Sure, but what does a good sex scene look like?

 Aish. What a question. A good sex scene, like anything else that can be based on opinion, is really up to you and your readers. There are many different types of sex scenes, find which kind you like to write about, and write about them. For me, I’m a mixture of romantic sex scenes and flat out smut bordering on the pornographic. Yet, there are certain words I can and can’t use. For example, when describing the male genitalia, I use the word cock. I hate the ‘D’ word, and penis is entirely too technical for me. When describing the female genitalia…I DON’T describe the female genitalia. I make references to it, but I rely on your imagination to fill in all the really dirty facts, but I try to make it believable enough that you won’t have to substitute the entire scene with something else. Writing sex also depends on who you’re writing it for. I write mostly for people my age and older. I write for housewives and anyone else who reads paranormal romantic fiction.

Example:

  • Excerpt from Taming the Leviathan due out later this year.
  • “Stop teasing me.” She breathed, gasping again as he tugged at the pink fabric with his teeth. Leviathan wasted no time in ridding her of the hideous khaki’s, rubbing his whiskered cheek against her thigh as he breathed her in. She smelled like honey, deliciously sweet, her scent going straight to his brain until he was drunk with it. Her mouth dropped open in a silent pant as he tugged at her panties, pulling them over her thighs and down her legs, leaving her completely bare to him. She shuddered as he teased her with the tips of his fingers, and when he took her into his mouth she thought she’d die from the sheer amount of pleasure it brought her.
  • Leviathan licked, played and teased, tugging gently on her tender folds until she couldn’t keep still beneath him, her back arching as she slipped her fingers into his hair and tugged. She was vocal, just as he’d imagined her to be, her puffs and pants and moans growing in volume by the second. He loved the sound of her pleasure, each groan making him harder and harder until he was straining against his zipper. He had to have her yet at the same time he was terrified of hurting her. The power it took to love her slowly caused him to shake, his muscles straining as he held himself back. “Oh god Leviathan.” She moaned his name and coupled with the sweet taste of her it was nearly his undoing. He slid up her body and she wrapped her arms around his torso, accepting him, craving him, as she almost demanded he satisfy her. And he had no problem complying.
  • “You’re going to be the death of me.” He growled against her lips and she chuckled, a deep throaty sound that had him gripping her throat, squeezing gently as he nipped at her ear. “Something funny?” He reached between them to free himself, guiding his swollen cock to her entrance. Kailani couldn’t control herself as she arched her hips towards him, trying to force him inside of her. She needed him. She didn’t want to wait any longer.
  • “No, nothing’s funny.” She panted and it was his turn to laugh. Leviathan eased himself inside of her and her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, her eyes clenching shut as she dug her nails into his ribs. Kailani suddenly couldn’t breathe as he stretched her to the limit. She felt as if she would shatter beneath him at any second. Leviathan buried his face against her throat as he ground himself against her, a gentle rocking motion that was meant to tease and not satisfy. She whimpered, her nails scoring his sides and leaving welts behind but he didn’t care, he was far too intent on torturing her. “You are an asshole!” She exclaimed as she rocked her hips in an attempt to take him deeper but he wasn’t having that, his powerful hands holding her as still as possible.
  • “I told you you’d be sick of me.” He chuckled, rolling onto his back and once again pulling her on top of him. “Ride.” He growled at her and she wasted no time in guiding him back inside of her.  

 Some of you may be cringing in disgust but for me, that’s the perfect mixture of quasi virginal sex and kink. Here’s another example.

           Excerpt from Werewolves are Diabolical which can be found on Amazon.com

  • “You have no idea what you do to me Clara.” He whispered against my ear and I pushed back against him, begging him with my body to ease the ache he had started. With a chuckle he wasted no time in complying, before I knew it he was pushing inside my body, stretching me to the limit as he filled me completely. I moaned his name as he rocked his hips against me, one of his strong hands on my belly and the other one plucking my nipple until it was once again standing at rapt attention. I wanted to scream again at the sheer amount of pleasure he was giving me. Pushing me forward onto my hands he grasped my hips and pulsated into me, the more his pace increased the more frequently I gasped and shouted his name. Before I knew what was happening he was pounding into me, my face buried in the grass as I held on to the earth for dear life. I tore up patches of grass as ribbons of white heat danced just within reach and I screamed as my orgasm rocked me, shaking me to my soul as the world shattered and exploded around us.

 Quick, sweet, and to the point. This type of writing is probably more common but it’s something I wrote before I’d found my comfort zone so it no longer does it for me. At one time it was the perfect amount of heat to get me going, now it’s just like…Okay so he put what where?

 Okay, I think I’m getting it now. So how do I go about…’getting in the mood’ to write about sex?

 How do you go about getting into the mood to have sex? Light a few candles, take a long bubble bath…hell apply nipple clamps if that’s what gets you in the mood. For me, I just fantasize. I plot out what’s going to happen in the scene in my head and if I have to replace the characters with one…or two Kpop stars to get myself going that’s what I’ll do. In the end, writing sex strictly depends on you. I can’t tell you how to do it, neither can anyone else in the world. You have to find what makes yourself tick. Now, I’ve given you the building blocks, get out there and get your characters laid. They’ll thank you for it.

Korean Popstars as inspiration?

{Oppa’s fashion sense is getting more and more ridiculous. And I’m finding it sexier and sexier.}

I have to admit. Kwon Jiyong has been my source of inspiration for a couple months now. And the sad part is, instead of creating lovely little works of fiction centered around this amazingly talented man, I’ve been too afraid of what other people would think of me to do so. It’s amazing how writers, even ones as confident as I like to pretend to be, easily talk themselves out of being creative all because of outside views that really shouldn’t matter. I’d forgotten that when I write, I’m supposed to write for me first, and then for anyone else who wants to read my work. I forgot that writing about what makes me happy is what keeps me happy and keeps the inspiration/motivation forthcoming. The opinion’s of a certain few aside, I also have to admit that I felt weird about writing fanfiction for living, breathing people. It still makes me feel a little…icky, at times. When I wrote fanfiction in the past it was always about Anime or Manga characters, or someone that was completely fictional and the creation of some depraved writer like myself. But not Jiyong, and not any of the other KPop stars that I will undoubtedly write about in the future. They’re real, living, breathing people and some inane part of me feels that I’m doing them an injustice by writing about them in a certain manner and then publishing it online for other people to read. But I can’t help myself. And I can’t stop it. It’s not that I wish to defame or humiliate them, quite the contrary. I’m pretty sure I would take a bullet for most of them to be honest. But I have fantasies that eat away at me if I keep them bottled up inside. And when I put them on paper, or better yet wordpress to gain feedback from my peers, I feel a sort of release that I can’t begin to explain. The stories are dying to get out, and once I finally unleash them I feel like I’m flying. It’s that high of writing something you just know is good, even if other people don’t like it, it satisfies you. And I’m addicted to that feeling.

In the future, as I write more and more fanfiction based on Mr. Kwon and other stars, I’ll work hard to keep them as out of character as I can, while still remaining close to the real person. And I have a reason for this. While I want my readers to feel like what I’m writing could actually happen, I don’t want to write about these people in a way that would bring them anymore hate than they already have. I’ve read a couple fanfics online that made me really angry at a certain star, and I had to step back and check myself because of it. The people I write about are in fact real people, but in my stories they are highly fictionalized. The things they say and or do inside my stories are fictional as in, to my knowledge, they never have and never will take place. If Jiyong flips out and puts his fist through a wall in one of my stories I don’t want anyone tweeting him and telling him he has rage problems. I think that as fans, we already have a sense of our idols personalities, and I will take care to embellish Jiyong as we see him. If you’re anything like me, you’ll fall even deeper in love with the man. After all, he’s perfect no matter what I do with him.

The Turn: A short Vampire Soliloquy

Fatigued, I couldn’t even lift my head. In the weeks, or maybe even months, that I’d been trapped here I’d grown accustomed to thirst and the constant gnawing pain of hunger. I’d come to enjoy the company of rats and other vermin and cling to the last rays of sunlight that filtered through the cracks in the stone, brightening my otherwise barren cell. As for my fate, I had surely accepted it. I’d come to terms with my passing and even welcomed the death mortality promised me. For there would never be an escape from this hell. No blinding white light at the end of a long tunnel, and no choir of cherubs singing pleasantly as old grim carried me home. There was no salvation for the soulless, for the heretics that questioned god and his church. For I was a sinner, so would I suffer an end befitting those who worshiped my heathen Lord. From the day the Catholic’s beat down my door and drug me kicking and screaming from the arms of my wife and children I’d been aware of my plight. The beatings, and the hopeless nights I’d spent resting my tired bones after days on the rack. I knew, as the priests knew; my time on earth was nearing an uneventful end.

“I remember being human.” The words sounded absurd to my ears, but after days of isolation they were beautiful still. Through the foggy haze of my mind I watched a man draw near the bars that stood firmly between myself and freedom. He was beautiful, there never had been, nor ever would be another man or woman who could match the boastful radiance of this creature. Could he be an illustrious angel? The being who would take me to the god I’d never bothered myself with learning? If only I believed, peace would be much simpler to obtain. “Every thought that came across my mind was filled with nothing but darkness. Self-loathing. Pain.” He continued to speak and I tried my hardest to focus on the lips that spoke softly to me. The man drew even closer, stuffing his hand through the bars as he reached for my broken form. The ruffled cuffs of his shirt were tattered and dirty. Had he been in this hell as long as I have? “Come. I can help you. Be not afraid of what I can offer you, child.” He beckoned me closer and like a lamb sent to slaughter I went, crawling across the filthy, earthen floor on my belly in my attempt to reach the creature of light. His eyes seemed to glow as I neared him, a nefarious color that should have given me pause. I was starving. Tired and suffering. What could he do to me that the children of god hadn’t? “That’s it…” He took my hand and exposed my wrist, pushing away the steel cuffs that held me shackled and revealing a pulsing vein that still held strong, even as it contradicted my fading heart beat. His lips parted, his eyes wild as I was sucked into a painful miasma of darkness and fear. My heart stilled, beating no longer. But it seemed my unnatural death didn’t put an end to my hunger…

The wall was damp with perspiration as I lay against it. I hadn’t moved in days, not even when poked, prodded, or even threatened by the guards. I hadn’t eaten. For the hunger that gnawed in my belly was no longer human. No longer did I crave bread and water, but instead something much more sinister that in all honesty, frightened me half to death. What was there left for me to do here? The kind stranger in the cell next to me had taken my flesh betwixt his teeth, biting me like an animal and feasting on my blood! It was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed. I’d heard tales of creatures who feasted on flesh and blood, but who would believe the ramblings of gossiping women or raving madmen wandering the streets of London late at night? Vampire, they were called. Had I come into contact with one of these creatures who only fools believed existed? Where the myths true? I didn’t want to believe it! My thoughts swirled with terror and disbelief inside a mind that had been fractured for so long. I wept, shedding tears that evaporated against my fevered skin before they reached my cheeks. What was I to do when part of me welcomed the change that had come? There was a deep, much darker side of me that wanted me to embrace the vampirism I’d suddenly contracted. The beatings and torture I’d received from the guards felt like gentle kisses upon my flesh. And no longer did I bleed, no longer did I bruise and no bone had been broken since this dark change; why shouldn’t I enjoy this beautiful gift I’d been given?! But no!! I could not afford to think this way! I was a monster! What would my wife think of me should I ever return to her? My beautiful daughters would look into my eyes and know instantly that I was the very creature their mother used to frighten them into good behavior. I, a walking corpse, was everything my family feared. How could I possibly hope to return to all that I love like…this?! My body, stiff from sitting still for so long, moved forward as I crawled towards his cell. His cell. The man who turned me into this monstrosity! I lifted my head to stare into his dark brown eyes, so obscure they appeared black, befitting the devil I knew he would.

“What have you done?” I asked, my voice breaking, hoarse from thirst. I watched his lips quirk into a grin that sent fear rushing through my foreign body. I knew then, at the sight of the monster’s smile that I would either embrace his gift or die. And there would be no beautiful stranger to bring me back from the final death.

Sonneillon

Again she’d crept out of their bed, nothing but a cloak covering her heavy Victorian dressing gown, the red fabric swirling around the little slippers on her feet as she shuffled through the snow and into the oppressive darkness that covered Poland. Keyon, the largest of her Tibetan Mastiff, ran unleashed at her side, their bodies moving throughout the dark, twisted forestry as it unfurled in their path. It was as if it was warning them. That this time they would not come back out alive. Lachesis was willing to take that risk. She had to know. She had to know what she’d done, what she’d unleashed on the world.

Sonneillon Daemonum didn’t need to come and get her. He had no need of compulsion or spells or even simple commands. Even she could feel the sadness that hung over her forest like a cloud of black sulfur. It called out to the tenderest part of her heart, it made her weep even while she lay sleeping at her husbands side. What could be causing such pain? She’d wondered, curling into a ball, trying her best to block out the emotions that were not her own. The emotions that threatened to consume her. It wasn’t until she’d pin pointed where it was coming from, the little beacon shining from it’s own dark little world; Crying out for help though his lips had not uttered a sound, that she’d even realized it was Sonneillon. The demon of hatred. His heart was breaking.

She hurried, pushing herself faster and faster, tripping over raised roots as the very forest itself beckoned her to stay away, to not come any closer. Entire trees seemed to fall in her path, acting as a barrier. The snow fell faster, harder, pelting her flesh like stones. It stuck to her lashes and blinded her, all of it screaming KEEP OUT! But she wouldn’t listen. She would heed no warning tonight. She just had to know. Her curiosity and constant quest for knowledge would be her ultimate downfall, but she’d survived this far. She’d lived twelve thousand years, surely she could have one more night? Once more she called upon her luck to pull her through.

“Sonneillon.” His name was on her frozen lips as she burst into the clearing, Keyon sliding to a stop at her side. The demon was where he’d been two days ago. In the center, his body once again solid, fed by the anger and hatred that had soaked the ground like blood. Phanuel’s vengeance lived on, only in another form. The demon knelt in the snow, his nearly translucent white hair hanging like a curtain of silk around his solemn features. His skin held a gray cast, spotted by snow flakes that rained upon his face and melted against his feverish flesh. Though it wasn’t his appearance that gave her pause. It was the skeleton he cradled in his arms like a child. It was small, couldn’t have belonged to a person more than fifteen years in age, and yellow with decay. The bones could have been over five hundred years old.

“She was…” He began speaking, his deep voice as normal as she’d ever heard it. The sadness that lay hidden beneath it wrung her heart. The deep monotonous sound of heartbreak and unshed tears nearly made her forget all he’d done to her. “She was everything to me. To us.” he muttered and she almost asked him who he was talking about. That’s when she remembered. A hand lifted to stroke the moist ends of her now red hair. He was talking about Scarlet. Of that she was sure.

“Tell me about her. About…Scarlet.” She said softly and he lifted his head to growl at her, his jaw unhinging as he bared his sharp, pointed teeth. A roar of utter anguish left him, sending fear skittering through her. Keyon growled, barked and snapped at her side, waiting for the command to attack. But she would not send her pet to his death. “Quiet.” She commanded and the Mastiff slipped into silence. Even after all these years she still wasn’t used to seeing it; The ugly side of the Daemonum. The side that both thrilled and frightened her. “I won’t leave you. Just tell me. Tell me who you’re turning me into!” She shouted at him and he turned away from her, his jaw popping back into place with a sickening crack. She watched the bones in his arms glow, an apparition of a flaming haired young girl appearing over it. She had been beautiful from what Lachesis could see. Petite like the goddess herself, but with a mass of red curls, and even though her eyes were firmly shut in death she somehow knew they’d been green.

“Scarlet.” He began, his eyes tracing her form sadly, “Scarlet was everything. After we’d been imprisoned in the tower she was our only connection to the outside world. And we, Richard and I, were in love with her.” He rolled his blue eyes up to catch hers. The unbelievable anguish there stole her breath.

“It wasn’t like what you’re thinking. We we’re merely children, there was no lust involved. But we loved her. We loved everything about her. From the way she moved, to the way she sang and danced. Even the way she lied. We worshiped her like the goddess she was. Scarlet was the daughter of an Englishman who took care of the Tower of London. The man who was supposed to oversee our imprisonment. While she was supposed to be cleaning she’d sneak into our bedroom, bribing the guards so she could bring us trinkets and toys. And when the bastards gave us to little to eat she’d bring us bread and fruit. And water when our throats were so parched we could barely speak. So even you can see why we cherished her so. She was our salvation. Our only light in a bleak existence that we knew would only end in death.” He turned those sad eyes of his out into the distance, tracing the dark night sky as it blended with the heavy snow. “She was with us every night, except for those nights when my uncle Richard came. I’d begged her to stay away. She was so innocent, so pure. She didn’t need to witness what he did to us. Even though she had no carnal knowledge I wanted to protect her from the sight of our own flesh and blood molesting us in our beds.” His teeth clenched and Lachesis wept. She wept for Sonneillon and his baby brother. For Scarlet. Even though the tears she shed would not erase the tarnished memories that haunted him they fell still, unceasingly.

“The last night my uncle was to come for us, he announced it. He told everyone in the tower and made sure they knew he would be there, that he was going to take us away and give us a better life back in Ludlow castle. Only a fool wouldn’t have realized what fate he truly had in store for us. That night Scarlet came, even against my wishes. Smiling as she’d told us to keep our voices low and to hide in the armoire. She swore that she would keep us hidden from our uncle, that she would distract him and make him leave, and then we could escape. Of course we believed her. She was our Scarlet. She could have admitted the sky was falling and we would have taken her words as law.

We could hear his thunderous footsteps as he and his guard climbed the stairs and we hurried into the bottom of the large cabinet as she’d requested, our hopes high that we would finally be free of the bastard we called an uncle. The door opened and through a crack in the heavy mahogany doors I could see her standing there, smiling up at my uncle Richard who so greatly resembled my father I would have sworn his ghost had returned to bid us farewell. When we thought she’d tell them that we’d escaped, or had been kidnapped, some stupid lie that would make them leave, she only stood there. Smiling. ‘Where are they?’ He’d demanded and her grin only grew more twisted, more grotesque. The words that left her lips next will stay with me for all of eternity. ‘What will you give me sire if I tell you where they are?’”

“Oh gods.” Lachesis sobbed, a hand covering her mouth as she tried to quiet herself. She could only imagine what happened next.

“My uncle was not one to be tricked or bribed. He drew his sword and he grabbed her and he told her ‘If you don’t tell me where they are right now I’ll strike you dead!’ And she…” The pain on his face and in his voice was too much to bare as he lifted his hand and pointed towards himself. “And she…She lifted her hand and she pointed right at us.” Tears fell from his eyes, the crystalline blue nearly clear as he bit back sobs. “Oh he killed her anyway, there could be no witnesses to his crime. They pulled us screaming from the armoire. My uncle threw Richard on the bed first. He made me watch. He made. Me. Watch. As he murdered my baby brother in front of me…”

“Edward stop! Please no more.” She sobbed. She knew him. She knew this poor child and the fate she and her sisters had specifically handed him. When she spoke his name his eyes snapped fire. He was furious. And he had every right to be. The corpse in his hands disappeared as if it had never been there and in the milliseconds it would take someone to blink he was behind her. She heard Keyon snapping as he spun on the demon but she couldn’t move to save him, nor herself. His hands flashed as he pulled her head back and drug something sharp across her throat, spilling blood all over them both. He threw her forward into the snow, kneeling over her and gripping a fist full of her hair. Sonneillon lifted the knife to press against her bottom lip, her throat still furiously spewing blood, melting the snow until only deep red craters remained.

“You get me what I want. You kill your bastard husband and hand deliver his throne to me or I will destroy everything you’ve ever loved.” He swore, tossing her limp body backwards into the snow. Her eyes dimmed as the blood loss over came her. The last sound she remembered hearing was that of Keyon, her beloved dog screaming for a savior and the sound of the demons bare feet in the snow as he left her there to bleed to death.