Chapter 7

Writing Sizzling Sex Scenes

A s I gazed out over the crowd packing Chinoiserie A, a nervous sweat formed in the palms of my hands. Almost every seat had been filled and we weren't due to start for five more minutes. It figures both R.B. Taylor and Selina Fowlerton were there, looking fabulous. It's not like either of them needed to learn an iota about writing sensational sex. I tried to keep my eyes on my cadre of friends, who all beamed at me like overeager Cheshire cats.

We had taken turns grabbing lunch while Beth watched over our booths. I was astounded by the turnout and thrilled with my sales, bringing in a bigger haul than I ever had at a live event before (not that there had been many of those). If I got nothing else out of this weekend, next month's rent would get paid.

After packing up our remaining inventory, we all returned to our rooms for a little breather, and I made a quick change into the outfit Alice had picked for me. The sleek fabric, subdued hues, and bold cut cried, "Come find me after the seminar." I hoped it wouldn't be too provocative. But it was tasteful—not hookerish at all.

I met back up with Tammy, Beth, Elaine, and Winter in the twenty-third-floor foyer to hang out at three-thirty. The space between event rooms was bursting with people chattering softly. By the stairs resided the Literary Laurels booth, selling conference swag like T-shirts, towels, book bags, and coffee mugs, all with the logo of a ruffled rainbow flag emblazoned with a golden laurel in its center. Along another wall, the industry professionals—editors, artists, proofreaders, publicists, and publishers—had displays advertising their services and touting their credentials.

The opening gathering in the two presentation rooms had started at three—an official meeting of the Literary Laurels Society Board Members in this room and a live author reading for fans in the larger room. Authors who had written in wishing to take part but weren't picked for a panel or to give a presentation were invited to perform live, ten-minute readings from the book of their choice in reading hours on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoons in Chin B. I appreciated Catherine and the organizers' dedication to involving as many authors as they could in the events. Despite a few critical voices roaming the halls, I was proud to be a part of it.

It's just like teaching a class of students, only they're older. No biggie, I coached myself. Aspen Wolfe does everything with confidence and ease. She would never be rattled by …

It was one minute till four and none other than the elite society president Catherine Beech walked in with Valery Preston and Cary whatshername, taking the only empty seats which remained—on the front row.

Does Catherine know that fossil was badmouthing her decisions? I couldn't think about that. Here I was, barely five years into the writing business, an indie author of erotica romances at that, and two lesbian literature legends sat on my front row. I swallowed and glanced anxiously at my friends. Winter must have been watching me because she met my gaze with a tremendous grin and gave me two thumbs up. Her comical expression was just what I needed to relieve the tension I felt at that moment. I returned a much more subtle smile, rose, and walked to the podium.

"Good afternoon." Stand up straight, put your shoulders back, speak with authority. Passing a glance over the audience, I intentionally made eye contact with as many individuals as possible. I had developed presenting skills; I just needed to be calm enough to implement them.

Lifting a small leaflet of stapled papers, I asked, "Did everyone get a copy of the handout at the door?" I had prepared an outline similar to what I used to give my students. It consisted of presentation notes with blanks left in key places for the students to write in the most important points. I hoped these professionals didn't find it too elementary.

People nodded or held up their sheets—all except for Valery and Cary, who just sat there looking bored, with hostility, I suspected, not far below their practiced veneer.

"Great! If you follow along and fill in the blanks as we go, I'll share with you what I've put into practice to create hot and steamy romantic liaisons for my characters. Take what you want and leave the rest. The most important thing to remember about writing a sensual scene is that different approaches work for different people, and, if what you write turns you on, it will probably do the same for your readers."

I pressed the button to turn on the PowerPoint displayed on the big screen behind me. "We'll be covering the topics of Language, Foreplay, Building Tension, and Release, and, at the end, there should be time for a Q and A." I flicked to the next slide, a cartoon woman's image with a speech bubble sporting character substitutions for expletives over her head.

"One of the biggest questions I get asked is, ‘What words do you use? What do you call body parts and stuff?'" A few giggles arose from the group, but others peered at me with interest, as if that's exactly what they wanted to ask.

"Important considerations in the language department are your audience and your characters. If your primary audience falls into the fifty-and-over crowd, you may not use the same word choices as if you're writing for twenty-two-year-olds." In an aside, I added, "And if you write Young Adult, please consider closing the door on those sex scenes. The designation, ‘Young Adult,' has become far too polluted these days with authors desperate to sell their books to as many readers as possible or to try to snag a number one in a smaller category, and it does a great disservice to the genre. The last thing we want to do is give some right-wing talking head evidence to accuse us of being predatory. You can write a fabulous scene conveying passionate emotions without explicit language."

"Now," I continued on topic, "I don't use much profanity in my books at all. I'm from the South, grew up in a church-going family, and many popular expletives were simply never heard in my house. What one reader finds offensive, another deems realistic. Therefore, a good rule of thumb is, long before you get to the sex scene, when you are first sketching out your characters, decide what words she would use and which ones she wouldn't. If it's a gritty, hard-hitting scene with down-and-dirty characters, they might naturally use words and phrases that would shock the small-town girl next door. But just because I avoid using the ‘F' word or the ‘C' word doesn't mean you have to. You know your audience."

I clicked to another slide with long lists of passion words. "Regardless of that, words hold power and meaning. Selecting tantalizing, delectable nouns, adjectives, and verbs can arouse your reader in ways simply describing where your couple puts their lips and fingers fall short. I recommend everyone produce a list of lust words in a Word document or spreadsheet to refer to every time you craft a romantic scene. Scour the internet, your thesaurus, and collect them from romance novels you read. I'm always finding a new arousing term or phrase to add to my repertoire. For easy reference, I divide them into their parts of speech and list them in alphabetical order. Then I make a point of not repeating one of them in the chapter. After all, variety is the spice of life," I quipped with what I hoped was a captivating tone and expression. The comment received a combination of snickers and appreciative nods. Some feverishly copied the list from the screen. At least they were paying attention.

Bringing up a seductive, vintage photo of Sophia Loren, I continued the topic. "While men get off on pictures in porn magazines, women are far more likely to be aroused beyond the point of distraction by the written word. It's how our brains are wired. Yes, I see you salivating at Sophia," I smirked. "But what if I said, ‘Her delicate lips appeared swollen from having been crushed mercilessly to mine. Moist beads of sweat formed in the crevasse between succulent breasts so desirable they could derail a freight train. Her eyes, lipid pools of blue, bore their gaze into mine with a fire so intense as to ignite a savage yearning in my core. The moan that escaped those luscious lips beckoned me to throw caution to the wind. I tried to catch my breath, an impossible task with her body so close I could smell her intoxicating scent, taste her kiss that lingered on my tongue, hear her heartbeat, and feel her mesmerizing energy. I coveted her hands on my body like an addict craves a fix, certain I would succumb to an agonizing death if I wasn't inside her this instant.'"

Glancing up from my cheat sheet, I suppressed a satisfied grin at the flushed faces and women fanning themselves with their handouts. "Which brings me to our next topic—Foreplay. I'm not referring to long pages of strokes and kisses before we get to the act—I mean building up the characters' motivation for wanting to have sex in the first place. I've read a few great novels that opened with a riveting sex scene between characters we previously knew nothing about. Applause to you authors out there who can make that work. Typically, readers need to be invested enough in the characters that they want them to get together before they actually do it. Creating anticipation in the reader's mind doubles their satisfaction."

Again, I changed the slide to the movie poster for Silence of the Lambs . "Crafting a winning sex scene is a lot like writing a mystery-thriller—build tension and give them a release, but always keep them guessing."

A fter delivering a forty-minute masterclass and answering ten minutes' worth of questions, my time in the room was over. The audience politely applauded—all except Winter and Elaine, who cheered like I was a rock star. Although it was embarrassing, their support warmed my heart. Mostly, I was relieved to have gotten through it without SapphicLover69 jumping up in the middle to berate me in front of some of the best sapphic authors in the world. Of course, if she had, at least I'd know who she was.

"Nice job." R.B. Taylor flashed a smile and shook my hand, her praise coming as a welcome surprise. With mahogany tresses swirling around her impeccable face, channeling Vivian Leigh's presence in Gone with the Wind, she took my breath away.

I closed my astonished mouth and returned the smile. "Thank you so much. I'm such a huge admirer of your writing." And your eyes, lips, chin, breasts, butt, legs … focus! Aspen Wolfe doesn't drool.

"And I thank you," she replied pleasantly. "You're no slouch yourself, Aspen."

"I think she's been studying my work." Selina Fowlerton shouldered her way next to R.B. with a seductive smirk. "Always have to keep an eye out for plagiarists, you know." The curvaceous goddess of the mystery/thriller genre winked at R.B. and flipped back raven hair from her alluring, earthy face with an intentionally sexy gesture. Could it get any hotter in here?

"Selina, I'm honored you came to hear my talk."

Her laugh was rich and friendly. "I hope you'll be honored when I take the first-place trophy for Romantic Thriller Sunday night. I like you right behind me," she said, tone brimming with temptation. "In second place, that is." She laughed again, and I joined her.

"Say, several of us are headed down to Bourbon Street tonight," R.B. mentioned. "You know, eat at one of these famous restaurants, cruise the clubs, catch some music and drinks. You're welcome to join us if you like."

My heart thrilled at the words coming from her mouth. Two of the hottest, most popular, successful authors in all sapphicdom were inviting me to go out on the town with them. They didn't buy into the hateful rumors and even praised my books and presentation. This is what I'd come here for—to be accepted into the inner sanctum of elite writers. They had to have noticed the glow that warmed my cheeks.

Then I remembered I had agreed to go with Elaine on the Haunted New Orleans tour. I was supposed to be having gumbo with her, Tammy, Beth, and Winter. Tammy was great; I'd be nowhere without her, but she and Beth were twenty years older than me. They'd understand if I wanted to hang out with women my age. Still …

I glanced over Selina's shoulder to the doorway where the four of them waited with joyful expressions. I sighed and shook my head. With an appreciative smile, I answered, "Thank you so much for asking, but I've already made other plans for tonight. Maybe tomorrow?"

"There's a conference function," R.B. said. "Karaoke night. I know it sounds lame, but it'll be hilarious."

"Besides, I have a meeting with my editor right after karaoke, and there's the champagne brunch on Sunday," Selina added in a tone that sounded genuinely regretful.

"But I'm sure we'll be attending many of the same seminars and panels," R.B. quipped brightly. "Save you a seat?"

"Please," I answered. "And thanks so much for your wonderful support. It means the world to me."

R.B. flicked me a devious grin. "Say that when I sweep the romance categories!" The two spun on their pointed heels and strode away, granting me a tantalizing view of their rear assets.