Breast in, Breast Out

Let me make this clear: I do not enjoy writing about sex.

I do not include salacious slobbery sex scenes in my books because I’m trying to be whats-her-name James. I’m not writing erotica. I’m writing real life. In my real life there’s sex - just not in dungeons or sex clubs or tied up in a hayloft or whatever. It usually happens in my bed. Sometimes with candles if I’m lucky.

Once in the back of a car at a forest preserve because I’m soooooo experimental and thrive on risk-taking.

It would be much easier if I had some experience in this area. Well… clearly I have some experience, but not anything that doesn’t fall into the realm of the extremely ordinary. Writing about sex wouldn’t be so difficult if I cared for porn at all. Or if I wasn’t so backwards. 

So, I’m at the point in the sequel to Up the Hill where I have to write another sex scene. I’ve already written several of these passages with various supporting characters and I’ve run out of descriptors. I have reasonable experience to draw upon for this particular episode, but I do not have a large enough appropriate vocabulary.

Okay, that’s not altogether accurate. I do have the vocabulary. I just want to be tasteful. Not boring, you understand - I want the reader to get as much out of the scene as the ‘fictional’ couple ‘doing it,’ but I don’t want to be gross.

Why are all the words describing sex so gross? Sex isn’t gross. Sex is fun. Particularly with someone who knows what he (or she) is doing…  but the words used to describe body parts, certain.. um… activities…  it’s hard to - I mean it’s difficult to not sound like I’m writing a letter to the Penthouse forum.

I’m watching my son at Tae Kwon Do while I write this. The Korean master just said, “Breast In. Breast out.” Maybe I could use that.

I think he meant breath. Ooops.

Still….  I could maybe use that.

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