Write about sex.
That’s the core of erotica.
It seems simple.
It should be simple. After all, it is natural and everybody does it, right? Sure, everyone has their own preferences of legs here and hands there, but cut to the quick and it’s nature in its most raw form. Everyone is familiar with it in their own unique way. Alone. With someone. On television. In their dreams. Some people think of it very little, some people think of it a lot. All in all, we’re all familiar with it. This familiarity should equate to knowledge. Add in a keyboard or a notebook and everyone should be able to write it.
Only, it’s not that simple. How many people actually pay attention to the act during the act? Do you? Do you know why you enjoy it? How would you explain the psychological and physical sensations to someone? Sometimes, that can be a challenge. One question that comes up in various erotica communities is, “What does an orgasm feel like?”
Well other than ‘good’ or ‘unfuckingbelievable’ – answer the question, in detail. Tell someone what an orgasm feels like so they can understand. The understanding is the key. It’s harder than you think to describe these things, even if you have multiples in one sex session, or masturbate ten times a day, describing it can give you a migraine.
Beyond that: how many people actually pay enough attention to the act during the act . . . and then are able to imagine, in that much detail, another scenario they have never engaged in, if they were someone else?
That’s what writing erotica is. In depth awareness transferred to fictional people.
So, the nitty gritty of the sex scene. This takes a tremendous amount of focus for me to accomplish. I have to really know my characters, they have to feel real, or else a sex scene between them is going to be flat and thin, like watered paint. I don’t want flat and thin, I was thick and heavy. Palpable and tangible. Reality on paper. Something that will stick.
Once I commit myself to the concept of the scene – how it will begin, the tone of the scene, all these elements – I have to picture it in detail. This usually means closing my eyes and tuning out everything around me, and writing beginning to end without stopping.
But then, just as soft fingers touch sensitive flesh, or a zipper chatters as it comes undone, the phone rings. Now, while in the act, in real life, what do you do when the phone rings? Do you stop what you’re doing and answer it? No – at least not for me, maybe some of you do with your cell phone addictions. But that’s not me. So I don’t stop writing my scene to answer the phone, either.
Clearly, this sends the signal to the caller that, instead of leaving a message, they need to dial back.
Concentration, and the scene, ruined. Whatever I would have written will never be written. Sure, I’ll still have the idea in mind, but the next time I sit to put my mind to it, the words will be different. There will be a different way to describe the tingle down the spine when wet lips meet warm skin, a different way to whisper sweet somethings in the other’s ear. Who knows, maybe that shift altered the course of the world via some sex related butterfly effect.
I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’d like to think my writing is just that powerful. I’m egotistical that way.
Worse things could happen, I suppose. For instance, just the other day I was working through a scene and my husband asked me question. About the weather.
How does that pan out? “All for the weather, the orgasm was lost?” Indeed, for this one poor scene, my two fictional lovers were suspended mid-sex for two days. If they sprang to life, they’d slaughter me for it. It was a cruel thing. That might be okay for those involved in bondage and patience, but my two characters had all of ten minutes on the clock. They were not thrilled.
But that’s how it really goes when writing erotica. Coitus Interruptus is part of the deal. You commit yourself to writing erotica in any measure, and that comes with the package.
The only way to circumvent this situation is to spread the word: Quiet please . . . I’m thinking about sex.