December 01, 2006

How to write good sex scenes. As counterpoint to Wendell's post, via this thread on Making Light, is this series on good sex scene writing.

I've started one page in, with humour, cos I like it like that.

posted by polychrome 17 years ago
  • The did it till it squeaked. Easy.
  • They! d'oh
  • ooooooh, it's the insert-a-noun game!!!! I vote for.......fish! The fish did it till it squeaked. yes.
  • I only write about robots and interdimensional demi-gods so I never run into this problem.
  • Oh I dunno Chyren... 2001 - A Space Odyssey slash fic "I'm afraid I can't do that Dave" though HAL was a computer not a robot but still...
  • I mean, it's easy to write sex scenes for robots, they just plug into each other[*]. Or for computers. Especially if wifi. But it can never be computers plugging into robots. That would be miscegenation.
  • I have a Mac and a Dell connecting via Wifi *right now*. THAT'S miscegenation. Add the Linux PC and it's miscegenation ORGY TIME!
  • Funky Bitch Sex Machine has encountered an error and must now close.
  • I have a Mac and a Dell connecting via Wifi *right now*. THAT'S miscegenation. Add the Linux PC and it's miscegenation ORGY TIME! Well, that's all well and good, but what will the palmtops turn out to be? Won't somebody PLEASE think of the PALMTOPS!
  • Come on. I saw this FPP, and had to moan. What's the thrust of it? It didn't really have any penetrating insights. Listen, I don't want to cause any friction, but I'm just sayin'. Okay, gotta go find some aspirin -- my head is throbbing. This once, I'll let it slide.
  • Oh sure, come in here and spew your white-hot drivel everywhere, then pull out of this thread and don't even call the next day! That's fucking real nice. G'day's and die!
  • The passage sure comes across as explicit, but why? It surely did. The crashing clock did it for me. *puffs on cigarette* *coughs loudly, as he's not a smoker*
  • Homo Perfectus Immaculately Conceives Himself To keep his blessed armor hard he ate lean meat, cruciferous greens, few grains. He liked his instants parceled out in reps and sets, and he was glad, to dangle like an ape from an iron bar, admiring his bicep bulge (amen): He worked hard the slant board, the oblique twist, and his own form waxed and polished, his house a bleached vault where he lit votive candles to the clear persistence of his little self though no one else showed up. He liked the slammed door, the map’s red line, to stomp a clutch, to clutch the black wheel, to wheel away in steaming rage. He was a preacher fond of Revelation. His truth was slant, his facts oblique. He sought a righteous girl, articulate, whose slang he could steal for his soporific sermons— a girl all clean and bare in her nethers with mouth of Cupid’s bow—someone to dress in white and hold struggling under water, to warp the iron of, till she melted. To her he gave and gave. He gave all the all he had, which wasn’t much. -- Mary Karr