In Byron Bay in August we dared each other to write four sex scene during NaNo (because we were talking about how we all shy away from writing such things) and we had to write one on the first day. I’d already been dared earlier on in the year to just write a nice, straight sex scene between two people who dug each other. I have a reputation for writing dark, disturbing and occasionally deadly sex.
I’m really not that into writing about sex, despite the fact the last three stories accepted for submission involve sex scenes of some description (and “Cocaine, My Sweetheart” would have given a longer word count!) and I’ve written a plethora of non-fiction articles about sex. In fiction I find it excrucitating to side step cliches and setting myself up to open NaNo with a sex scene was pushing the comfort zone way out there, where the comfort zone has been lost sight of.
I didn’t want to just write a sex scene either. I wanted to find a way to use the scene to actually open the book. This is what I came up with – all raw first draft goodness! Now please excuse me while I go hide under a rock…
She leaned down, her lips caressing his earlobe, each short breath hot, moist and urgent, like a late Spring thunderstorm, full of raw energy, building, waiting to be unleashed.
“I. Love. You.” Her wisps of words punctuated by teasing attention to his earlobes, not bites or nibbles, just the slight pressure of her teeth, driving him crazy with the lack of follow through. God he needed her to do something. Not this purgatory of almost something.
Her tongue traced the gristle outline of his ear and he tried to turn his head away from her, and the exquisite torture she lavished on him. Failing to avoid her insistent teasing he grabbed hold of her hips and tried to force her body downward.
“Patience, Robert,” she said, pushing herself up on one arm, the head of his cock losing contact with her, a lazy smile pulling at her plump lips.
He groaned. Sex was the only time she let him touch her and he wanted to devour her with his hands and his mouth, to possess her, to lose himself in the closeness of their bodies, in the intimacy. He didn’t want to be pinned to the bed at her mercy.
“Slow this time,” she said and flashes of their fucking in the club toilet came to him: the two of them squeezed into the filthy cubicle, her short skirt shoved over her hips, g-string shoved into the pocket of his jeans crumpled around his ankles, soaking up the damp filth on the floor. Her fingers digging into this bare arse dragging him into her, faster and deeper, setting her hips moving in tiny circles, creating a counter rhythm… he had to stop thinking of it.
She moved slightly and he felt her fingers around his cock, pulling it up straighter and then the rapture of her sliding slowly down the length of it. He looked up at her and smiled, pushing the hair out of his eyes.
“You’re just as impatient as me,” he said.
He pushed himself up with one elbow and pulled her down with his free arm, until her breasts hung at his face. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, watching it grow erect. Moving slowly, she rocked of her pelvis back and forth, the minute grinding of her hips, taking him deeper inside her. He traced circles around the right nipple, then the left, finally clamping around the nipple and sucking gentle on it. She stiffened, her breath faster and shallower, her muscles tightened around is cock, compelling his to suck harder. She worked her hips in circles and it was like watching her dancing – just as he felt her moving on him when he stood on the side of the dancefloor, her body gyrating and pounding in time with the music.
Knowing he had her captured, she wouldn’t move away while he gave her breasts undivided attention, he let go of her back and rolled one nipple between her fingers while he sucked on the other. She moaned, swung her head side to side, wanting to be released to fuck him like there was no tomorrow, but drowning in the honey melt of mouth around her nipple.
She pushed him away, her eyes liquid and unfocused with ecstasy. “Sit up,”she said.
He pulled himself upright, redistributed his weight on the mattress and pulled her legs around his hips, feeling her heels dig into his arse. This was the way he liked it best. His cock lost inside, her breasts sliding up and down his slick chest, her mouth on his… every part of her close to him. He moved his hand down her back, feeling every bump of her vertabra, the the building of the tremors he knew foreshadowed an epic orgasm. He pushed his hands into her lower back and she moaned, moved faster and all that existed between them was heat, sweat, the primal language of grunts and moaning and the heaving freight train movement on their bodies, hurtling toward the destination where they’d both get off.
“I love you. I love you,” she wailed, her body rigid and then lost in a series of convulsions, as he came, clutching her to him, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his eyes closed feeling nothing but her and the emptying pull of her moving away from him.
Image found at Spilled Ink.
Pursuing Parallels 