Romance, as many writers know, is by far the number one bestselling genre in the business, and always has been. Readers, predominantly women, enjoy the intimacy depicted in novels, and as a female friend recently told me, it doesn’t matter if the woman is having sex in real life or not—if they read “smut,” they’re going to read it all the time. Total transparency: I neither write “smut” nor read it. But we all know that if you read fiction, and depending on your definition of smut (as we’re learning more and more with every “banned book” in this country), smut is in the eye of the beholder. Apparently, there are a lot of beholders coming out of the woodwork, so I thought I’d look at some of the sex scenes out there to compare them—not to make judgments, but only to compare them. I don’t care what people read—that’s their decision. I just know what I prefer when it comes to sex scenes in fiction.
So, now that I told you I don’t write “smut” and that smut is in the eye of the beholder, I fibbed a little. I have written sex scenes, some graphic, some not. The “not graphic” ones have been published. The graphic ones I’m still working on, and I’m not sure they’ll ever see the light of day. The sex scenes I tend to write, by and large, are tame. They’re insinuated. Subtle. A comet passing by in the dead of night you may miss if you’re not paying attention.
Danielle Steele has written over 170 books and made somewhere around $420 million. Nicholas Sparks has written 23 novels, including his bestselling The Notebook, in total of which have sold 115 million copies worldwide and made him approximately $40 million. You probably know the rest, especially if you’re into romance—Nora Roberts, 215 novels, Robyn Carr, Lauren Dane, Madison Faye, Lisa Kleypas, Adrian Locke, etc. And who can forget E.L. James’s 50 Shades of Grey? Fan fiction has never been so profitable in James’s case. But I digress. I wanted to analyze a little bit of how different authors tackle sex in fiction. While Steele apparently likes the line “They lay spent” after a romp between the sheets, other writers are less direct and, perhaps, a little less corny (sorry if I offend! I just . . . that line isn’t for me). Some writers, of course, write scenes that are more along the “smut” line. I’ll try to touch on both ways of doing it.
Now, truth be told, I’m no expert in romance fiction. I read, primarily, literary fiction. I dabble in everything else. But awkward sex scenes do capture my attention. As I said, I’m more subtle. Here’s (I think) the only sex scene in my novel, The Losses:
“That night, when I slip into bed after brushing my teeth, Sammy nestles up against me. At first I think it’s just her showing affection. Passing the peace pipe. But soon it’s clear Sammy’s got other motives. Something has tickled her today, and though I’m sure it’s not me, I am rarely one to shy away from anything ever. I have needs, I know, and she has needs, I know, and sometimes, or most times, they don’t arise at the same time. Now is one of those occasions, but it’s been months since we’ve done anything (I try to recall the last time and can’t), and I know what it’s like to be turned down, what it’s like to have to flip that switch, turn it off when it’s revving at a zillion RPMs. Sammy doesn’t say anything, just follows a pattern we created years and years ago, a step-by-step that gets us both to where we want to be in the least amount of time. There’s none of the giggles, the playful remarks that existed even a few years ago. None of the foreplay. She’s all business, which works on me, and then I’m all business, which works on her, and then she’s sound asleep next to me, sleeping on her side, facing the wall, breathing heavily, deeply. It’s been so long since I have had a one-night stand that I don’t really remember the awkwardness after, but I imagine it’s pretty close to how I’m feeling right then. She tussles a little under the covers, and I’m afraid to move, because I don’t want to wake her, have her look at me, relive the mistake she’s just made.”
Nothing remotely smutty, I don’t think. The sex is there, but there aren’t any breasts or crotches or dry humping, no ear licking or BDSM or whatever is in the romance novels that do so well. My goals at writing sex scenes are usually to complement the plots and stories of my fiction rather than being the point of said fiction. In this case I used the sex scene to show the couple’s relationship (or lack thereof), and how Sammy is extending an olive branch while at the same time making the reader wonder what exactly it was that turned her on that day. It may also be because I know if I try for a sincere sex scene I’ll write the worst sex scene in the history of sex scenes. Maybe it’s because (for me) I think they’ll detract from what I’m trying to do. I’m not sure. So, I was curious. I wanted to know what some good (or respected) sex scenes in fiction were, and what some gratuitous sex scenes in literature were. Here’s what I came up with after a quick search:
This one’s from a Mary Gaitskill story called “Secretary,” which was first published in 1988 and included in her collection bad behavior.
“The last time I made a typing error and the lawyer summoned me to his office, two unusual things occurred. The first was that after he finished spanking me he told me to pull up my skirt. Fear hooked my stomach and pulled it toward my chest. I turned my head and tried to look at him. “You’re not worried that I’m going to rape you, are you?” he said. “Don’t. I’m not interested in that, not in the least. Pull up your skirt.”
I turned my head away from him. I thought, I don’t have to do this. I can stop right now. I can straighten up and walk out. But I didn’t. I pulled up my skirt.
“Pull down your panty hose and underwear.”
A finger of nausea poked my stomach.
“I told you I’m not going to fuck you. Do what I say.”
The skin on my face and throat was hot, but my fingertips were cold on my legs as I pulled down my underwear and panty hose. The letter before me became distorted beyond recognition. I thought I might faint or vomit, but I didn’t. I was held up by a feeling of dizzying suspension, like the one I have in dreams where I can fly, but only if I get into some weird position.
At first he didn’t seem to be doing anything. Then I became aware of a small frenzy of expended energy behind me. I had an impression of a vicious little animal frantically burrowing dirt with its tiny claws and teeth. My hips were sprayed with hot sticky muck.
“Go clean yourself off,” he said. “And do that letter again.”
No intercourse here, right? But plenty of sex. The story is about a teenager working for an attorney that punishes her for her typing errors. To be honest, it makes me a little uncomfortable the way Nabokov’s Lolita makes me uncomfortable. I am completely for freedom of speech, especially in fiction. And maybe that’s what is so intriguing about sex in literature: how it makes you feel. It’s bringing the verboten, the taboo, out into the open without restraint. It’s putting on the page and sharing with others that which we’d normally keep locked up tight within our thoughts, hidden from others who we think may judge us for our hedonistic minds! Secretary is a little dirty, and we’re intrigued by it. Not just the sex, but the power dynamics between the boss and his young secretary. It’s good writing that tugs at our emotions because we know something is wrong, yet, perhaps, a little bit of a turn on.
This next one is from a husband-wife team who call themselves A.M. Kusi and who write romance novels. This is from their A Fallen Star:
“Naked and panting, Remy moaned as Mikel sucked her clit into his mouth. “Harder,” she commanded.
His beard scruff scratched her thighs, the sensation only adding to the building pleasure.
“You’re so bossy in bed. I like it,” he said before he did just as she’d asked.
He was her only. Aching need zapped her body.
“Oh, god. Yes!” she screamed, taking advantage of the fact that they were home alone—their first night officially living together.
He flicked his tongue, circling around the pearl that throbbed for more of his touch, teasing her. She whimpered and wiggled, every nerve ending alive and seeking the raw euphoria his body promised.
“Please,” she begged.
He inserted two fingers inside, curving them upwards to her G-spot while he sucked her clit. Overwhelming ecstasy pierced through her, transporting her to the heavens. Stars filled her vision as she arched her back off the bed.
“Holy fuck!” she cried.
“I wanna make you come all night,” Mikel said, his deep voice against her tender sex sending another wave of pleasure echoing through her body.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest. The hollow ache between her slick thighs begged for Mikel to fill it. “I need to feel you inside me.”
He smirked and pushed his fingers into her. “Like this?”
“No, you. I need you inside me.” She grunted in frustration.
“You need to be more specific. Do you mean my tongue?” He licked and lapped her swollen folds.
“Your cock,” she said, her body heating from lingering shyness. He was pushing her boundaries.
He chuckled. “What my baby wants, she gets.” He spread her thighs, wedging in between them. “I want to feel you so bad.”
“I’m on the pill,” she said.
“You sure?”
“I want to feel you without anything between us.”
Mikel nudged the tip of his cock past her entrance, slowly sinking into her. He groaned, as her eyes fluttered from the blissful sensations. There was nothing like this. He moved with drawn-out, hard thrusts.
Their breathing synced as he rocked her, filling her body with intoxicating euphoria.
“I’m so close,” he warned.
Remy couldn’t bear the thought of him pulling out and missing that connection. She was almost there too. “Come inside me. Come with me,” she said.
He grunted as she squeezed him closer with the heels of her feet.
“You’re so fucking sexy. So beautiful. Are you ready?”
She moaned in response.
“I’m gonna come inside your tight pussy,” he said, thrusting faster and harder. Incapable of forming words, she dug her nails into the flesh of his back.
His thumb tenderly traced her cheekbone as his movements slowed, elongating the pleasured sensations. He gazed at her lovingly, touching a place she hadn’t known existed inside herself—connecting them body and soul as he made love to her. Mikel kissed her, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and raking his teeth over it.
His actions mixed with his dirty words caused her body to combust. She splintered around him, squeezing her thighs against his hips as he growled his own orgasm, tensing and pulsing inside her.
Panting and breathless, he smiled at her. “I love you, Remy.”
“I love you too.””
Obviously, this excerpt is about as graphic as it gets. Again, not my style, but I’m no one to judge. There’s a market for everything out there, and I think this last excerpt is a good example of what some readers want to read when it comes to sex. More power to them.
There are choices as writers that we make when writing. About plot. About setting. About scenes, and how much to give to our readers, and how little, in particular when it comes to violence, to the taboo, to sex. A lot of us never kill dogs (or cats, for that matter) in our writing, because it turns readers off. Obviously, we break rules all the time once we’re comfortable and capable writers. But we’re writers, and as writers, we push boundaries. We express ourselves in ways that perhaps other people (and maybe even other artists) don’t. We intentionally cross lines. We push our writing to places within our readers’ imaginations that make them throw our books across the room out of frustration or disgust or embarrassment or any number of reasons.
When it comes to sex, as we see above, there are innumerable ways to get our point across. To show (or not) the sex our characters have with each other. Genre dictates, in most cases, the level of detail we go to to provide our readers with what they’re seeking. All I have to say about it is this: do it right. Know your audience. Know what works and what doesn’t work in the context of your novel or short story or flash fiction. Including “dirty” words in a sex scene doesn’t make something a good sex scene. You have to work on it as you would any other part of your work. Think of the motivations of the characters, their goals, their desires, but most importantly, how that will translate to the reader. Everything has to have a purpose, at least if you’re interested in telling a good story. Personally, I’ll take subtlety over explicit ten out of ten times. But I’m me, and you’re you. Know what you want to achieve. And just make sure your readers are on the same page.
Cully Perlman is an author, blogger, and Substantive Editor. He can be reached at Cully@novelmasterclass.com
I definitely did not enjoy the explicit excerpt, that’s for sure.