Describing actions is relatively
straightforward — who touches whom, how and where. Actions,
however, are not enough to create a moving and arousing sex scene.
Somehow you have to put your readers inside the heads of your
characters. Sex scenes just don’t work unless your readers share
your characters’ experience.
What does it feel like, to be aroused?
Warm,wet, full, throbbing, aching — we’ve all used these words a
thousand times. Yet they’re only the roughest approximation to the
way it really feels. Concrete terms only get you part of the
way to the goal. Even if you succeed in precisely describing
sensations (a difficult task), that’s not sufficient. In fact, the
purely physical parts of sex can seem ludicrous, even gross, if
that’s your sole focus.
To effectively describe sexual
encounters, I find that I need to emphasize emotion, while suggesting
sensation. To do this, I tend to use a lot of metaphor, that is,
implicit comparisons, often to phenomena in nature. Hurricanes.
Earthquakes. Fire. Clouds. Rivers and oceans. These familiar
phenomena evoke emotional responses. By using them to describe sex,
those emotions get transferred to the characters and the scene. At
the same time, because they do relate to physical experience,
metaphors can also convey ideas about how things feel, from a
physical perspective.
Romance has gotten a bad rap for
“purple prose”, overblown, exaggerated language that sounds
ridiculous. An orgasm like a hurricane? Come on now! I read a blog
post not too long ago where the author ridiculed the many outrageous
descriptions of orgasms that she had encountered in her reading. I
cringed at some of her extreme examples.
There are dangers here, I admit, not
only overwriting, but also falling into clichés. Nevertheless, I
don’t think I could write sex scenes without using metaphor. The
human mind operates by recognizing familiar patterns and then filling
in the blanks. That’s how metaphors work. They’re a kind of
emotional shorthand. When I write that a climax is a hurricane (if I
do it skillfully), my readers think: ferocious wind, drenching rain,
overwhelming power, uncontrolled fury, terror, excitement,
helplessness. All these connotations overlay the literal meaning of
the text, giving it depth and intensity.
At least, that’s my objective!
Here’s a brief excerpt from my paranormal romance Serpent’s Kiss.
It demonstrates my point, I think. I use lots of metaphors, but I
never actually come out and say, her climax was like a volcano. I
hope that it works, that it conveys the intense pleasure my character
is experiencing.
“You don’t understand what you ask.
If we couple, you and I, we will open the gates of chaos.” He
hovered close, leaning over her, gazing into her eyes. His scent
made her dizzy.
“I don’t care. So be it.”
His strong arms snaked around her body
and pulled her to his chest. “So be it,” he whispered. “As
the gods will.”
His mouth captured hers. He sucked away
her breath, drained her of her strength. Then he swept his tongue
across hers and everything flowed back: strength, breath, awareness,
pleasure. She felt his tongue everywhere, on her aching nipples and
in the liquid gap between her thighs, tickling the tender lobe of her
ear, dancing in the hollow at the base of her throat. Yet she knew,
with the tiny kernel of rationality that remained, that his lips had
not left hers. This exquisite ballet of sensation was nothing more
than an illusion.
Real or imagined, the fluttering
tongues quickly carried her to the edge of release. “Please,”
she begged, sliding her mouth away from his. “I can’t wait. Make
love to me.” He clutched her to him. His erection pressed into her
belly like a lump of stone. “You want me, Jorge. Take me.”
“Your clothes…” he murmured. In
ten seconds she had them off, her jeans still hanging off one ankle,
her blouse a torn heap on the ground. He pulled his shirt over his
head and folded it into a pillow for her comfort. Then he bore down
on her, taking them both the floor of the porch.
She untied his drawstring pants and
pushed them down around his lean hips. His swollen cock sprang out,
an invincible spear of flesh aimed at the sky. She stroked her hand
down his length, marvelling at the satiny texture of the skin, the
way it sheathed a core of granite. She was suddenly reminded of the
feather, simultaneously stiff and soft.
Jorge swept his fingers once through
her cleft, as if to assure himself that she was ready. She jumped at
his shocking touch, teetering on the precipice. A river of sweet
moisture flowed from her, coating his hand. He did not make her wait
any longer.
With one jerk of his hips, he sank his
rod into her juicy depths. Elena felt the silk-encased stone of his
cock, sliding over her slick flesh, filling her, claiming her. The
delicious invasion finally pushed her over the edge. Her climax
erupted, starting at her molten core and overflowing, sweeping away
everything in its path. She wailed, her voice shocking the birds and
other night creatures into silence.
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