Sexy Realism

If it seems like ages ago that I posted the first in my Writer’s Guide to Being Sexy series, you’re right, it has been a while! I’m finally back with the second installation, and just in time for my contest.
Speaking of the contest, here’s a bit of important info: I’ve decided to extend the deadline just a bit. When I first came up with the 8/20 midnight deadline, I was thinking it was a nice round 10 days from when I announced it. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that it’s right in the middle of the weekend, and people might like to have the whole weekend to put finishing touches on their submissions. For that reason – and because I’m working this weekend – the new deadline for the Clothing Not Optional contest is Monday, August 22nd at 9:00AM Eastern.
Now, back to the sexy series!
Last time we talked about the language of a sex scene. Today we’re going to talk about realism. Let me preface this by saying the emotional and psychological dynamic of the scene is always more important than the physical action. Still, the physicality of a sex scene can really ruin it if you’re not careful.
If you’ve ever heard a criticism of pornography (moral objections aside), you’ve likely encountered the assessment that porn films perpetuate unrealistic ideals. After all, how many people actually look like that—naturally? In my rather non-statistically-based opinion, that’s a major reason many women don’t enjoy it. Not because they couldn’t possibly be turned on by a video like that (porn is a whole ‘nother post completely! lol), but simply because they can’t identify with the image of perfection presented to them.
Same goes with erotica. Hell, same goes for ALL WRITING, regardless of genre, category, or subject matter. Are you really going to present a woman (that’s my main audience, and probably yours, too) with a fantastical Barbie-esque main character and ask her not only to identify with the character, but to also care whether said character gets laid, AND to be sensually aroused by those scenarios, when the reader might have four kids, wear a size 16, and be a little self-conscious at times? No. That’s just stupid.
While erotica may be a form of escapism and fantasy, it still has to ring true for your reader to be able to really lose herself in the scene. That doesn’t mean you have to go the other way and riddle your characters with every imperfection you’ve ever observed in yourself or your lover(s). It’s like I say with dialogue: It has to be realistic – not real.
So here’s a reality check for you on a few different aspects of sex to use in your writing:
Anatomy

• The average American woman is somewhere around a size 14. If everyone in your books/stories is a size zero, you may want to reconsider.
• No 12-inch cocks, please. The average length of an erect penis is about five inches (and don’t worry, that link is totally safe for work haha). I’m of the opinion that it’s really not necessary to give measurements – I mean, really? What’s the point?
• Just about every part you’ll encounter in a sex scene comes in a variety of shapes, sizes, and types, so mix it up a little!

The Act

• A majority of women cannot achieve orgasm through penetration alone. They require clitoral stimulation for that. And a leading man who knows how to take care of his leading lady will certainly win over some female readers.
• Foreplay! ‘Nuff said.
• Adventurous positions are fine – variety is encouraged! But if your characters are doing the deed in ways that require the removal of a couple ribs and a double-jointed spine, they’d better be professional contortionists.

Health and Hygiene

• Condoms
• Birth control
• Dental dams and other barriers when necessary
• STI testing

These are a few things to consider. In this day and age, I think STI prevention and pregnancy prevention are issues that are openly discussed enough to potentially pique your readers’ concern. Decide how/if you want to incorporate these into your story, and do your research.
Dialogue

• Keep it minimal
• Keep it relevant

Just like any other dialogue, what your characters say during a sex scene should serve a purpose, whether it’s for characterization, build or resolve tension/conflict, etc..

Despite all this talk of realism, the key thing really is not to overthink it. If you’re thinking too long and hard (heh) about it, so will your reader. As writing buddy R.S. Mellette would encourage, if you’re having trouble making it work, always go back to the core – the basic goal (aside from having sex, obviously).
Maybe it’s just me, but when it comes to sex scenes, I’d rather err on the side of a little too realistic than too ridiculously out there.
Are there any realistic aspects you like to include in your sex scenes, or that you wish more writers would include?

A Writer’s Guide to Being Sexy

…in your writing. Sorry, I can’t help you with the real thing.

Whether you’re writing hardcore erotica, sizzling romance, or just a single scene requiring some Tab A into Slot B action, I’m here to help you bring the sexy back with this series on sexy writing.

Today we’ll talk about the language of the scene.

Let’s face it: it’s very easy to write a bad sex scene. You run the risk of clinically sterile language, or the opposite – coarsely pornographic language. There’s also the potential for unintended comedy. I don’t want that to happen to any of you, so I’ve compiled a few guidelines. Note that I didn’t say rules. It’s up to you to decide if/when to use each of these tips. And fergawdsakes, don’t overdo it with any of them!

More descriptors ≠ more sexy

Breasts are not made any more appealing when described as amazingly perky, round, brown sugar-colored globes of desire. Really? Would you say that to your partner, or want it said to you in a moment of passion? ‘Course not. You/they would likely burst into a fit of laughter. Stick to one, maybe two descriptors, or let the image stand on its own. This also ties into my next point:

Euphemisms are your enemy

If everyone calls it a cock, there’s probably a good reason. Don’t go trudging through the thesaurus looking for other names for human anatomy. Abandon the above mentioned globes and just call them breasts. Or maybe your character would say tits. Titties and boobies are giggle-worthy and should be avoided at all times, in my opinion.

When in doubt, revert to the standard slang, or DON’T NAME BODY PARTS at all. Yeah, you heard me. She let go a breathy moan as he pushed into her. No need to say what pushed where – we already know.

Here are some tried-and-true words to use (try not to blush):

• cock
• tits
• ass
• breasts
• dick
• pussy
• clit

C*nt has become much more mainstream of late, but I’d be careful with it. I won’t even type the actual word here, and I won’t say it. I just don’t like it, and that’s a personal preference. But of course, if it fits the character you’re writing, it may be appropriate. Use it sparingly, at your own risk. I think it even sounds awful. Go ahead, say it out loud (preferably when you’re alone – not on the bus or at work). It’s guttural – all hard consonant sounds. Doesn’t scream sexy to me. Which brings me to my last point for today:

Pay attention to sound

No, not those sounds. Yuck. I’ll leave that for another post. I mean, pay attention to how the words you choose sound to the ear. I don’t know about you, but even when reading silently to myself, I still hear the words in my head, and, to a lesser extent, feel them in my mouth (oh boy, you’re gonna have a field day with that phrase, I’m sure.)

Never underestimate the sexiness of well-placed alliteration. His thumb slid over the sliver of skin peeking out above the waistband of her jeans. That s sound is just sensual, both to hear and to say, isn’t it?

To me, open, round vowel sounds as well as softer consonant sounds like f, h, and l (to name a few) can be the sexiest. The heat of his breath sends a slow shiver from the nape of her neck to her toes. Mmm, sounds yummy, right?

To contrast, clipped vowels and hard consonant sounds often are the least sexy. You’d do well to notice that most of your standard curse words have this characteristic – fuck, shit, bitch, etc. I’m not saying there’ll never be a place for an urgently whispered Fuck me! in your manuscript – there is certainly occasion for something like that. But an entire scene, or even just a few sentences, full of those types of words can really kill the mood.

Especially use this guideline any time you’re thinking of some anatomical euphemism. As I mentioned, c*nt sounds harsh to me. Words like rod and pole don’t sound particularly sexy either, and even invoke painful images at times. Unless you’re writing some sort of BDSM scene, these are not the images you want to paint in your reader’s mind.

Keep these tips in mind the next time you write a sex scene, and I promise you’ll have something that gets the heat level rising. Next time I’ll discuss realism when writing sex, so I hope you’ll stay tuned!

Do you have any favorite words that you find super sexy, or words that make you cringe?