Love and the writer:
Sex sells. Every writer knows that. Most writers try to make sure they have some good sex in each book. Readers want to peek inside the bedroom, enjoy vicariously, and perhaps even learn something for their own romantic lives. When it comes time to make movies, the actors, directors, and producers want a certain amount of sex, too. Not only does it help bring in the crowds, but it also gives an opportunity for artistic skills.
Because sex is so primordial, so basic, and so widely experienced, it takes real art to make it something new and something special. The horniness of the characters was once enough to excite and even to make some readers blush. If it was a woman character who was aroused, it was as if the censorious skies were about to fall. But, we’re well passed that level of prudery.
Mutual climax was also once considered prurient. The secret by which the male character got his girlfriend to reach orgasm became a holy grail. Now, of course, we realize that female orgasm was more inhibited by cultural norms than it ever was by female physiology. But, there was a time that the portrayal of mutual orgasm was powerful stuff.
The list goes on and on. Oral sex, anal sex, three-somes, necrophilia, bestiality: we humans are a horny and lascivious species. Art becomes limited by the limitations of our bodies, especially those of us who cannot attain the positions of legendary ancient yoga masters and Hindu gods. We have become a culture that celebrates Rabelais and revels in the god Bacchus. Whether it is the fraternity party or the corporate retreat, we are quick to hold a bacchanalia.
What is the poor writer to do? How do we portray sex in new ways, in ways that will challenge and more importantly interest our readers?
Many writers have given up and turned to aggression as a substitute. Sex becomes more foreplay to rage, destruction, and dehumanization than it is a goal in itself. In other works, sex is merely bait – a means by which characters can be manipulated, particularly men being manipulated by evil women. In that regard it seems as if modern writers have gone back to The Bible; certainly the weakness of men in the face of sexual temptation is a constant theme in that “good” book.
As a writer, I take a different approach to sex. Trying, as I do, to see life as a tapestry, I try to portray sexuality and desire as part of the warp and woof of life. While disturbances of that normality can lead to sexual dysfunction and rage-filled acting out, day to day, sexuality should be and is portrayed as being just as normal and part of life as going to the bathroom or eating or even having a conversation. It is, rather, the emotion of love and the acceptance of desire that is for me the artistic high point. The challenge is not to describe yet another position or another place in which to have sex, it is to help the characters appreciate the experience that is happening to them. To me one challenge in writing is to write romance which is meaningful and not just filled with forced emotionality and claims that of some unearned uniqueness.
Here, for example, is a short excerpt from Widow’s Walk in which I try to achieve my artistic goal. It is the first time that the protagonist and her lover have sex.
They stand hugging one another and saying nothing. Slowly, they stroke each other’s body, feeling the nooks and crannies that have been hidden so long. Finally, with one coordinated movement – almost as if it has been choreographed – they lie on the bed. They lie and hold each other tightly as if terrified of ever being parted.
Neither the cold analytic purposefulness of Arnie’s marriage nor the stolid wholesome, unbending love between Mary and Sean had prepared either of them for the intensity of this night. Their hands ply careful channels along each other’s bodies. From time to time, one of them stops the ceaseless exploration to lean over and kiss the other.
Their kisses caress places that have too long been ignored. For the first time in her life Mary experiences the exciting pleasure of a man kissing her nipples; and she enjoys the strange saltiness of this loving man’s body – not just his face and lips, but his arms, and chest, and buttocks. And Arnie, too, is experiencing the electricity of love. He feels his manhood swell and raise itself to new attention. His penis becomes tumescent and it challenges him with its eagerness. When he is sure that they are both ready, he carefully rolls himself on top of Mary. So very gently, using his hand to guide it lest he cause her pain, he inserts his penis into Mary's vagina.
“Ohhh,” she moans with soft pleasure.
“Ahhhh,” he responds.
More than those, words are not necessary.
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