3 tips for writing a good sex scene

3 tips for writing a good sex scene

Wotcher!

Here I am, back in writer mode with a writing-themed post for you guys. As the title probably suggests, there is going to be mature talk going on around here, so there. Ye be warned.

As an asexual writer, I get asked – okay, so I don’t get asked personally, but I see a lot of asexual writers getting asked and I’m right there reading the conversation and feeling way involved and all – how one approaches sex scenes when one doesn’t have that instinctive pull towards sexual activity in the first place.
So I thought I’d try to clarify some stuff for you guys and give you a glimpse into my own relationship to sex scenes in the media, as an asexual person and as a fiction writer.

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I think there is an assumption out there that sex scenes exist solely for sexual people to get off on them. Surely asexual people are excluded from the intended audience. We must be repulsed, or at the very least bored, the second clothes start flying off. That’s just not true. There is no universal taste, in anything, for any group of people. Really. Just like not all gay men are obsessed with Judy Garland, not all asexual people crinkle up their noses at sexual content. I know I don’t.

I write sex scenes. In fact I’ve written quite a few of them. It’s not a chore and it doesn’t make me cringe or blush or want the earth to open up and swallow me.

There are many reasons why I might enjoy a particular sex scene.

It’s well-written.
It fits the story.
It makes me feel close to the characters involved.
It’s exciting.

Oh don’t give me that look.
Sexual content can be exciting even for asexual readers/viewers. Here’s how I like to explain that one to bewildered, shocked friends. The reason erotic content can turn me on is because I’m able to tap into the characters’ feelings and sensations. It doesn’t mean I’m attracted to either/any of them. In the same way, I have never wanted to go bungee jumping. But if a character in a movie or book has always wanted to go bungee jumping and finally gets to experience it, I will feel their joy and elation as they jump and I will be very enthusiastic about this whole bungee jumping experience.

You know.

Bungee jumping.

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On the flip side, it is also quite frequent for me to roll my eyes loudly – that’s right – at sex scenes. That is because sometimes, and by sometimes I mean often, it ends up being tasteless, boring, useless or all three.
So I thought I’d conjure up a little list for you, because who doesn’t like a little list?

These are my top three tips for writing sex scenes.

1. It’s not a sex scene. It’s a scene.

If one lazy Sunday afternoon, you find yourself writing a sex scene into your story because well you have to have a sex scene in there somewhere, right, then please… pretty please… can you not?

It is perfectly okay to fast forward to the next day, or the next morning, or the next shower. Not in a “it’s icky and taboo and we shouldn’t show it” way. I trust you know that’s not what I’m saying at all. No, just in the same way that you wouldn’t show your character going to the restroom unless something important or relevant was going to happen in the bathroom stall.

When you’re writing a sex scene, you’re not just writing about the sex. You’re writing a scene that adds something to your book. Maybe your character is going to call out the wrong name and it’s going to trigger a whole lot of awkwardness. Maybe it’s your hero’s first time and that’s what the story is all about. It doesn’t even need to be that big – hahaha, shut up. Maybe your character is a little bit lost in life right now and they’re trying to find something reassuring to cling to. Maybe your couple is in love and you want to express their connection through sex, among other things.

The point is, unlike in real life, sex in a story is always about more than just sex. You want to make sure it is, and you want to know what’s really going on there. Being in control of that will also allow you to figure out the tone and conflict of the scene. Because yes, even a sex scene deserves tone and conflict and all that good stuff that makes stories great.

In conclusion: there is nothing more annoying than two or more characters having sex just because the writer wants them to have sex.

2. Leave euphemisms in the trash where they belong.

Repeat after me, class.
Vaginas are for sex. Dark caves are for speleology.
Penises are for sex. And peeing. Love sticks are for… hell I don’t know.

You get my drift. Euphemisms belong in crappy romance novels and I’m not even going to put an “unless” here. Oh wait! Unless your goal is to make the reader laugh out loud in the middle of the train station. Then go right ahead. Knock yourself out.

Otherwise, please use your words. You actual words. If your characters are fucking, why not say fuck? It’s a good word. It’s short and to the point. And it’s rude, which is always fun. Go on then, don’t be scared. Fuck.

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3. Don’t slip out of character.

If you are telling a story, you have most likely spent a lot of time figuring out the perfect point of view to tell it from. If you haven’t, then you possibly have more urgent stuff to deal with than how to write a sex scene.

Don’t throw all that hard work away as soon as the clothes come off. If, say, Tania is your main character, let her tell the story. She’s in there, she’s living it. She probably has very personal, funny, sad, interesting stuff to say about it. It feels a certain way because it’s her and, say, Chloe.

Sex is between specific people and it’s different every time. Make it special. Make it specific. Make it personal.

 


 
Those are my top three tips to you, and myself, for writing interesting, well-rounded, useful sex scenes. Of course I’m always interested to know what you think, so please leave a comment if you have any thoughts. How about sharing your favourite sex scene? Or giving me some of your top tips?

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A Boy Named Me

A Boy Named Me

Wotcher!

Yup, definitely like this “wotcher” thing. I think I’ll keep it for now. For anyone interested, this is a British colloquial greeting, originating from the South of England – London, mainly – and derived from the phrase “What are you up to?”.
What are you up to?
What ya up to?
Watcha up to?
Wotcher up to?
Wotcher!
And since I am genuinely interested in hearing from you and wotcher up to, it’s quite fitting.
Another reason I now officially love this is that when you type “wotcher” into Google, this blog comes up fourth in line! Ain’t that great, guv’?

Anyhoo – quite like “anyhoo” as well, but we are not getting into that right now or we’ll be here all day.
Today, class, we are going to talk about gender identity. Mine. Yeah, I know, narcissistic much. Hopefully, though, some of my experiences might resonate with some of yours, and that’s just how we create bonds and validation and awareness and all that good stuff.

Now it is not as easy for me to confidently speak up about gender as it is to speak up about, say asexuality. That’s because to some extent, I am still a bit confused about my own gender identity. And I do not wish to convey the misconception that genderqueer people are confused. Just as I don’t want to convey the misconception that asexual people are depressed. It just so happens that I am a mildly confused genderqueer person and an asexual on antidepressants. Coincidental.

Actually, you know what? Scratch that. It’s probably not that coincidental. After all it can be pretty confusing to be genderqueer in a boys v girls, blue v pink, penis v vagina world. After all it can be pretty depressing to be asexual in a half-naked-models-on-every-poster, sex-is-what-makes-us-human world.
Notice how people can flip it around on you? “You’re depressed because of this asexuality nonsense.” “You’re confused because of this genderqueer nonsense.” Well no, actually I’m confused and depressed because of you. You, person who dismisses my experiences as nonsense.

All this raises barriers, both internal and external, that make it harder, but also more important, to talk about these things. I have wanted to discuss gender identity for a long time, so… deep breath… here we go.

I’m a gamer.
This means I go online and play with other people who don’t know my gender or my sex or my hair colour. But while people online would never think of asking “hey, by the way, what’s your hair colour”, the other day, my questing partner – a real nice dude, don’t get me wrong – said this:
“So hey, not to be rude or anything… You’re playing a girl, but are you a girl in real life?”
“There it is,” I said, turning to my partner.
And there it was. Your sex/gender is, for many people, a very important part of how they will think about you. They feel like they need to know this in order to comprehend you as a person. Never would my questing dude have asked me “so you play a Khajiit, but are you a big-ass talking cat in real life?”

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Unlikely.

Here’s another example. Discussing Pink Floyd with a family member, I happen to mention my friend Sam, who loves the Floyd. Sam has an ambivalent name by design. They are agender. Sample dialogue:
“My friend Sam is a huge Pink Floyd fan.”
“Who’s Sam?”
“An online friend, from the forums.”
“Is it Sam-boy or Sam-girl?”
“Uhh,” I say. “Neither. Both. They’re somewhat transgender.”
They’re not transgender, though, that’s not the word Sam would use. But I decide to use it because there is no way in all hell that my interlocutor will have any kind of clue what agender means.
“But do they look like a boy or a girl?”

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This is how important gender is to people. So when you don’t fit into one of these two categories, or when people keep putting you in the wrong one, it can hurt. And when you’re not sure where you fit in all of this, or if indeed you fit at all, it can be confusing.

There are a few things you might want to consider if you’re wondering whether or not you are transgender, genderqueer, or otherwise not cis. Some of which, tested by yours truly…

1. If you’re even asking the question, the answer is probably yes.

It is rather uncommon for cis people to obsess about their gender identity. It happens. Anything can happen. But I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that if your instinct is all like “dude, what’s up with my gender?” then there’s likely to be something up with your gender, dude.

2. Gender dysphoria.

There are two major kinds of dysphoria – that I know of – and I’d like to share my personal experiences with both of them, if you have time to kill before the next train or are looking for a procrastinating opportunity.

Body dysphoria is the negative feeling that comes from a dissonance between your outwardly appearance and your inner self.
As a teenager, I was dysphoric about my breasts, which developed annoyingly early and were annoyingly prominent. And so I would stand in front of my bedroom mirror, with my back half turned to it and my breasts tucked away, hidden. I would wear baggy t-shirts and thick sweaters over flattening bras. I would walk with my shoulders in and my back slightly bent. I did this to forget for a few minutes that these things were there, making me a girl, categorizing me.

Social dysphoria is the negative feeling that comes from a dissonance between how the world perceives you and your inner self.
It’s the little double-take I have every time a vendor calls me. “Ma’am, can I help you with anything?” Who, me?
It’s the boiling anger when a family member refers to me as a “female Keith Richards” or “Keith Richardette”. Why female? Why can’t I just be Keith Richards, damn it! No, I’m not dressed as a girl version of Oliver Twist. I’m dressed as Oliver Twist!

It might seem trivial, but some people will feel like shit for a month after one of these things happens to them. Thankfully, for me, those are only little things. I can brush them off fairly easily.
On the flip side, my lack of severe dysphoria has made me question the validity of my genderqueerness. It has caused me to ask myself the stupid question that plagues a whole lot of queer people out there: am I queer enough?
After all, any strong dysphoric feelings I had as a teen have receded. Maybe it was just a phase. After all, I don’t really feel like a man either. Maybe I’m just a woman by default. After all, I don’t want to transition. Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel special. After all, after all, after all, maybe not, maybe not, maybe not.

3. Gender euphoria.

dscn1228Then there is the less known, less talked about opposite of gender dysphoria. Which is a shame, because it’s so much nicer. It is a feeling of rightness in the relation between your mind, your body and the way the world perceives you.
I get it when my friend Anna calls me “dude!”
I get it when my clothes reflect the way I feel inside particularly well.
I get it when my brother tells me that he never really thinks of me as a girl. I’m just “Gwen”.
I get it when my partner looks at me and says “Huh. You look kinda androgynous with your hair like that.”
You get it.

These are small things but each of them is a tiny hint, a fuzzy, heart-warming little reminder that yes, this is who I am, this is what I’m comfortable with.

4. There is no wrong age to know.

Even as a kid I knew something was amiss. It started early on and became noticeable in junior high, when a girl becomes a miss and a guy becomes a mister. Then one sunny Spring weekend, my thirteen-year-old self tentatively voiced it.
“Ugh, I wish my breasts would just go away,” I said, or something in French to that effect.
And the grownup, the authority figure in the room, replied:
“Well that’s because you’re still thinking you could have been a boy. It’ll pass.”
I remember being deeply upset by that response. Even then. Even when I didn’t understand exactly why I was upset. All I knew was that I felt angry and offended, sad and dismissed, and for some reason I still can’t quite put my finger on, ashamed.

There is no shame to be had. This is who you are and it’s not a joke unless you want it to be. It’s not unimportant unless you want it to be.

This is who I am.

I am gender ambivalent. Genderfluid. Androgynous. My body is a girl but my mind is kind of a dude. And a girl. And both. You can call me “he” or “she”, and if you enjoy a bit of grammatical fun, why not try a mixture of both?

I am genderqueer. Hear me roar.

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In keeping with the great Internet tradition of offering starchy vegetables in compensation for reading through a very long post, here.

Have a potato.