Stacia Kane

Yes, I know I’m not supposed to be blogging today, because I’m a loser and nobody could think of any questions to ask me. But I just got the cover art for my My Fair Lady vampire spoof Accustomed to his Fangs, which will be released October 1st from Ellora’s Cave!

When image consultant Rebecca Fowler meets Sebastian Blodenska, a vampire from a small Eastern European country, her first thought is how much better he’d look without that mullet. Her second thought is that no matter how silly his hairdo is, he’s incredibly hot—the perfect one-night stand.
And he is perfect, in more ways than one. Not only is it the most amazing sex she’s ever had, Sebastian is rich and needs some serious help with his lame, old-fashioned image. It’s the perfect job for Becky, and she’s so confident she can make Sebastian cool she bets her ex-husband a weekend of hot sex that Sebastian will charm the snootiest social lions at the next charity ball.
But Sebastian wants to be more than just a client. He wants Becky to be his, forever, and he’ll do anything to win her.
Getting into her bed was easy. Getting into her heart is the biggest challenge he’s ever faced.

And here’s a little excerpt:

“Take off your dress.”

Becky obeyed, a shiver of excitement running through her. Once you got Sebastian’s mind on the right track, he didn’t disappoint.

She stood before him now in her bra, panties, and garter belt with stockings. She reached down to take off her shoes but he stopped her. “Leave them on.”

Kinky too. That was good. The arousal that had simmered in her body all night came to a boil. Her panties were already wet, but when she looked up and saw Sebastian watching her, saw the obvious and thankfully large bulge in his pants, she got even hotter. Dampness trickled between her legs as the space between them swelled and opened. She was aware of every inch of that most intimate part of her, desperate to be touched.

Sebastian took a step toward her, and suddenly Becky did not see the slightly goofy, ridiculous man she’d seen earlier. The look in his eyes was pure predator, and the force of his kiss came back to her in a rush that turned her insides as liquid as the evidence of her arousal.

Their eyes met. His were dark and inscrutable. Something had changed between them, but Becky was not sure what it was. She only knew that it was different, that she no longer had the upper hand, and for some reason that knowledge turned her on even more.

He reached out for her. She stayed perfectly still, goose bumps breaking out on her flesh in what seemed like the interminable time between the beginning of his movement and the moment when he touched her, his hot flesh against hers sending shock waves through her entire body. Her eyes closed involuntarily.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Surprised, Becky did. He placed one hand under her chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to look in his eyes. “I want to see in your eyes how you feel as I touch you,” he said. “Do not close them again.”

Part of her wanted to argue, the part of her that had fought back all of her life. The rest of her found his dominance of her strangely, incredibly arousing. She trusted him, even though she knew she shouldn’t. He was a virtual stranger, but as she looked into his blue eyes she knew he would not hurt her.

Unless she asked him to. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

He moved his hands slowly over her shoulders, as if memorizing the feel of them. His palms were a little rough and very warm. She shivered and forced her eyes to stay open, because he was still looking into them, looking into her, with a concentration that made her head spin.

The light stroke of his palms over her erect nipples made her gasp. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Open,” he said lightly. She did, heat rushing to her face. His was blank, expressionless. Only the intensity in his eyes gave away what he was thinking, what he was feeling, as he slipped one warm hand into her left bra cup to caress her, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger and forcing a sigh from her lips.

All night her body had been waiting for this. Excitement ran through her veins, all the way down to the tips of her toes. She was alight with desire, a silvery flame in the middle of her cool, peaceful bedroom.

Somehow her bra came off. She wasn’t really aware of him removing it, only that it was removed. His hands covered her breasts and slid down her ribcage to her waist and the soft swell of her hips, then inward to touch her belly. His fingertips trailed along the top of her garter belt, slipping just under it. Becky thought he might continue moving downwards to dip between her legs, but he did not, and she groaned in frustration. How she had gone from thinking she might get some pleasure from Sebastian’s body for the night, to being desperate for his simplest touch, she was not sure. This had gone so far beyond her normal sexual experiences she wasn’t even sure she would know what to do when the time came.

She had never been ordered around in bed before. She’d never been ordered around outside of it, either, and if someone had told her she would be standing here like a living statue while some man had his way with her and forced her to watch, she would never have believed it. She probably would have been a little scared too…just as she was now. The fear added an extra frisson of excitement to her already fevered mind and body.

The top of his head brushed her belly as he knelt in front of her and started sliding her panties down. His hair was incredibly soft. Whatever hair products the man used to keep that mullet in place, they were amazing. Becky hadn’t touched a man’s hair without having her palm sticky from wax or mousse or texturizer in years. She did so now, running her fingers through the thick, dark mass, delighting in the feel of it cool and smooth against her skin. It was the first time she had touched him since they got here. The first time she touched him, and he was still fully clothed while she wore only garter belt, stockings and heels.

“You’re still dressed,” she said, surprised at the huskiness of her voice. She almost didn’t recognize it.

“Yes.” He stood up, running his fingertips up the backs of her legs and over her behind before bringing them to rest in the small of her back.

“Why?”

He looked surprised. “It is no fun to undress myself,” he said.

“It might be fun for me.”

He smiled, showing her those perfect teeth again. “Vadushkia Becky, do not worry. We will both have fun. That I promise.”

I think this is the funniest book I’ve written, well, certainly the funniest erotic romance. So I’m looking forward to getting it out there and seeing how it does!

Oh. And a couple of things.

The other day Faerie made me accompany her to the potty. When she’d finished she looked up at me with this huge grin and said proudly, “I’m a poop machine!”

Nothing feels better than finally solving a problem with a book that’s been bugging you for months. It is the awesome.

We’re having rain and galeforce winds today. Just like every other day this week. And, um, every other day this summer, pretty much. Or every day this year. Or for the last two years. I cannot remember the last time I saw the sun for more than two or three days in a row. And I love rain, but even I am getting a bit sick of it.

I am officially registered for next year’s RT convention.

Ack! *bounce bounce bounce*

I’m going to a convention, whee!

So you sit down to write your sex scene. You’re confident. You’ve been reading my little lessons and thinking about what they mean to you, what you agree with or don’t agree with, how they inspire or don’t inspire you, whatever. (Remember, the point of the series wasn’t to make you write a sex scene the way I do; it was to inspire you to dig into yourself and think about what you want your sex scenes to say, what you think is sexy, how you like to write them and what you like about them.)

So you’ve got Bob and Jane kissing in the bedroom. They’re getting pretty passionate. The time is right; you start taking their clothes off. Woo-hoo! Bob slide his hand over Jane’s bottom; Jane moans; they fall to the bed, and…

The scene dies.

Huh?

Why isn’t it working? You’ve got emotion in there, you’ve got some hot trigger words, you’re all excited, but the words are flat. It’s awkward. Rather than thrusting smoothly into Jane, you keep picturing Bob losing his erection. Or the doorbell ringing and it’s Bob’s long-lost wife with a shotgun. Or Jane suddenly really has to pee. The heat, the urgency, just isn’t there, and Bob and Jane feel like cardboard cut-outs pressing their sexless forms against each other, rather than two fully-fleshed people being intimate with each other.

Calm down. This happens to all of us at one point or another. (Relax, it happens to other guys too.) And it’s absolutely fixable.

First, are you sure you’re in the right mood? I’m not generally an advocate of the “You have to be in the mood/have the right atmosphere to write” shit, not at all. In my mind, if you can’t sit down and put decent words on paper no matter what when you have to, you still have work to do before you can call yourself a writer.

But sex scenes are a bit different, they are. Another erotic writer (unfortunately I can’t recall who) once said that if your panties aren’t wet when you’re writing a sex scene, you’re doing it wrong (substitute the appropriate corresponding metaphor for men). You should be at least somewhat aroused; you should be into the scene. The scene should turn you on. So if you’re mad at everyone in the world and the kids are running around screaming (and kids are the one thing that will distract me while writing a sex scene; it’s difficult to write enthusiastically about cocks when my little princesses are trying to get my attention to sing a Barbie song for me) maybe it’s best to hold off on the sex scene. It’s the one and only time I give myself permission to wait a few hours, or until the next day.

So that’s a possibility, if the scene isn’t working. Try getting yourself more in the mood. Have a glass of wine. Put some sexy music on the iPod. Watch a hot movie, maybe, or read a hot book, or, well, whatever gets you in the mood, up to and including actual physical action.

In my experience, I think a good 75% of the problem is lack of chemistry. Remember, the time to write a sex scene is when your characters cannot wait any longer. If you’re feeling tepid, if they’re feeling tepid, it’s not going to work.

An example: My sex scene in Personal Demons just was not coming off right. Because I’d gotten horribly stuck, for two weeks, I’d skipped the entire aftermath of what happened in the park and gone directly to the ball; the kitchen kiss wasn’t in there. Perhaps I felt a little disconnected from Megan and Greyson, too, but to me they just didn’t feel quite desperate enough yet.

So I went back, and wrote the kitchen kiss. In their first kiss, they stopped themselves; basically ignored that it had happened, and moved on. But the kitchen… I think (hope) it’s fairly clear that had Tera not walked in, that would have gone a lot further. They were completely carried away. They didn’t want to stop (and I didn’t either; I had to make them and myself quit writing, and that’s where you want to be. Again, the time to write a sex scene is when it’s too hard not to write it; the action simply flows, and you have to force yourself to stop it). And it was from that moment that Greyson’s behaviour grew more possessive, or rather, that he started behaving as though sex was a foregone conclusion (“When I’m in your bed,” etc.), and although Megan wasn’t as bold as he was, she sure didn’t argue.

The kitchen kiss did, for me (and again hopefully for the readers) what I needed it to do; it amped the chemistry, it put them in a position where they were actively seeking physical satisfaction from each other. Once that was in place, the sex scene flowed; it remains one of my absolute favorite sex scenes I’ve ever written.

It doesn’t have to be a kissing or foreplay scene, though. I’ve gone back and added more dialogue, a touch, a look, a thought. Anything, to put sex a little more firmly in the characters’s minds and make them spark. A little shared joke, an inadvertent compliment, anything.

So if the scene isn’t working, that’s the second thing to try. Go back and reread all the interaction between those characters. Is it everything it should be? Perhaps it is, but you’ve simply fallen out of the swing of it. Rereading may help you get back into it. Maybe you need to write another kissing scene; maybe it doesn’t need to go into the book (I can’t imagine why, but it’s worth a try, if you really think you have all you can use.)

Okay, so it’s neither of those things. Are you simply uncomfortable with writing sex? This is where some of the exercises we’ve done come in. Remember when you wrote a dialogue scene where the characters expressed their feelings, then translated that to action? Dig that scene you wrote out, or write a new one. That’s your roadmap for this scene; use it!

That “roadmap” will also be helpful if your problem is that the characters aren’t behaving the way those characters would. A hard-boiled cop hero may get mushy, but he probably won’t be entirely comfortable with it; are you giving him dialogue that doesn’t fit him? A woman afraid of being vulnerable isn’t going to react the same way as a woman who’s never been hurt, are you making sure we see her fear?

Try changing the location, too. Nothing says they have to be in bed. Maybe they’re so desperate they do it on the couch. Or in the car. Maybe they’re in bed but instead of him on top, she gets on top. Or they fall on the floor. Don’t be afraid to mix things up; it may unlock the problem and save the scene.

And if all else fails, remember you can always rewrite it. You can always fix it in edits, that’s what they’re for!

A sex scene is a microcosm of the entire relationship. It is the biggest and best opportunity you have to SHOW, not tell the readers what these people feel for each other, how they feel about themselves, and what makes their relationship works. Don’t be afraid of it; embrace it, let yourself go crazy with it. You’ll feel good about it and your readers will love it.

So here’s some final assignments. Go back and reread everything you’ve done so far (if you’ve kept them.) Can you tell which scene was written for which lesson?

Merge all those scenes together, taking a line from one, a line from another, a bit here and there. Reread your new scene. What do you think of it? How does it work for you?

Go to the bookstore and buy a book that interests you, one where you know there will be a sex scene (or grab a book from your TBR pile). Now read the sex scene, and only the sex scene. Make some notes. What does the sex scene show you about the characters, their relationship, the story itself? Who is the dominant one? Are they reckless go-getters, or are they more cautious? Are they in love or do they just really like/want each other? Record every impression you have.

Now read the book. Were you right?

This is our last installment, sort of. Next week we start doing the scene crits; I’d love to see a lot of comments participation for that one!

But what I’d like to do now is open up to questions. Is there anything you think I didn’t cover? Anything you want to know more about? Anything you didn’t quite get? Anything at all. Please ask away. If I get some good questions I’ll post them with answers on Friday. If nobody asks me anything, aside from looking like a big loser, I’ll take Friday off.

***Did you enjoy this series/find it helpful? You can now purchase it in print ($4.99 at Createspace) or ebook ($2.99 in numerous formats)! And if you feel moved to leave a review or something that’s great too, though of course not remotely necessary.***

BE A SEX-WRITING STRUMPET

What I should have done here is asked Mark Henry to do a guest post on this. I didn’t though, so you’re stuck with me, flying by the seat of my pants. I’m warning you in advance; I’m not at all pleased with this one, so I’m sorry.

I’ve never really written a sex scene that wasn’t supposed to be sexy. I have thought about it though. And I admit, there have been times where the evil little imp in me takes over and, in the middle of hot foreplay, I’ve been tempted to write some premature ejaculation in there, or a woman’s frustration at not being able to reach orgasm, or a dog bite, or whatever. I’ve resisted the urges, but it is tempting.

The way I see it, there are two type of funny or unsexy sex scenes. There’s the always-funny kind, meaning the whole thing is a joke from start to finish; and the gotcha kind, with a surprise humorous ending.

I believe there’s a trick with Gotchas, and I believe the info in the rest of the series will help you. (Actually I believe the info in the rest of the series will help you write both.) The trick with a Gotcha is, the hotter the foreplay, the stronger the chemistry, the funnier the gotcha will be.

Here’s a snippet from a sex scene in As the Lady Wishes. I’ve rewritten it a tad to include a Gotcha:

“I do. I am. I can barely keep from pushing you back on that bed and driving my cock between your legs, regardless of what you have to say about it,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes wandering to her slightly spread legs with a need that shook her to her core.
“Then don’t keep yourself.” Lila spread her legs just a little wider, a thrill of desire pounding through her bloodstream as she revealed her slick center to his hungry gaze. “That’s what I have to say about it.”
With a sound of surrender, Arthur was suddenly on top of her, his hot, powerful body pressing her into the bed. His mouth found her lips hungrily, this kiss different than any they’d shared so far. His movements were more demanding, forcing her to abandon herself to the strokes of his tongue, the bruising caress of his lips. Lila squirmed beneath him, her legs dangling off the edge of the bed, knowing she should be intimidated by the force of his need. His control was obviously slipping away, but the increasing rawness of his possession thrilled her. She found herself reveling in the sensation, intoxicated by the knowledge that she was driving him into this frenzy of desire.
“We have to slow down.” He pulled back from her lips with obvious effort.
“I don’t want to slow down, I want you inside me.” Lila lifted her hips into his, snuggling his cock against her clit and moaning at how wild the feeling made her.
“No, we have to—aaaah!”
His body shuddered above hers, great violent jerks that shook the bed. Hot, sticky liquid spilled over her stomach, her thighs.
She looked up. His face was red, his eyes downcast. “Arthur?”
“Oh, damn…shit, Lila, I’m sorry, I—I was hoping that wouldn’t happen again, I thought the medication would help, I—I’ll get you a towel.”
“It’s—” she started to say, but he was gone, scampering out of the room before she had a chance to get the word out.
Lila fell back on the bed, waiting for her breath to return. Great. She hadn’t been with a man in so long, and now she’d found a heart-pounding stud who couldn’t keep it up long enough to finish the job.
She really was in hell.

Now, I know it’s not uproariously funny—and you men are probably sniffing right about now that there’s nothing funny about premature ejaculation, ever—but you see the point. The bigger the build-up, the harder the fall (that snippet is actually from about the third page of foreplay between these two.)

And it might not be premature ejaculation, either. Perhaps it could be something like this:

“Do you want me to take everything off, Cecelia?” His voice was still low, teasing her, enticing her with the promise of what he would do to her when he removed his pants.
She nodded, unable to look him in the eye. She knew that if he looked in her eyes he would see how desperately she wanted him, and how vulnerable that would make her.
“I didn’t hear you, Cecelia,” he said. “I asked if you want me to take off all of my clothing. Do you want me to do that?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak a little louder,” he said. His hands moved to his belt and removed it, then undid the top button of his pants.
“Yes,” she said, a little louder. God, he was making her beg…and she loved it. It was turning her on in a way she’d never expected, never experienced before in her life.
He didn’t reply, but tugged down his zipper and slipped out of his pants. He wore nothing underneath, she saw the top of a thick patch of dark hair, surrounding… She lifted her upper body from the bed, propped herself up on her elbows. His cock—was that even a cock?
This had to be a joke. She could barely see it. As big around as her pinky finger, not quite as long. She looked up to see him grinning wickedly at her.
“Here I come, Cecelia,” he said. “Are you ready for me?”

Now, either of those would have still been amusing, made their points, without the big build-up. But I think the build-up adds to it, makes it more of a surprise.

Now the other type is harder, at least for me. But again, what you’re aiming for is turning the tropes on their head. It may be funny or just unsexy; how far you want to go is up to you.

Think of those trigger words, all those evocative verbs and nouns. Now substitute things like “bony” for “broad” or “soft” for “hard”. Think of silly things, unsexy things. So instead of this:

Her words were stopped by the warm pressure of his lips on hers.
There was nothing tentative about Daemon or his kiss. He obviously took for granted that she wanted this, despite what she’d said, and she realized he was right as she found herself returning the kiss with equal passion.
Her lips parted and his tongue found hers, teasing her with light strokes, diving in and out of her mouth. She followed it back into the warmth of his mouth, and gasped when he caught it with his teeth, biting just hard enough to send a shiver through her.
He freed her hair from the clasp that contained it at the back of her neck, running his fingers through it, tugging gently. The sensation made shivers down her spine.
She leaned into him, pressing herself against him. Her breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples so hard and tight she was certain he could feel them through the layers of clothing that separated their skin.
As if confirming this, he removed one hand from her hair and brought it down to cup her breast through her shirt, the thick pad of his thumb rubbing across the peak. She gasped against his mouth and shifted position a little to give him better access.
In response he pulled away completely. She started to protest, to reach for him, when he let go of her. His eyes gleamed.
“Tell me again,” he said, his normally cool tones rough with need. “Tell me how you don’t want me.”

We have this:

Her words were stopped by the warm pressure of his lips on hers.
Too much pressure. Her head bent back; she tried to shift her mouth, get a better angle, but his hand in her hair held her fast. Her teeth cut into the delicate skin inside her lips. It hurt, but he wouldn’t let her pull away, his unschooled mouth forcing itself onto hers, his fingers like iron bars digging into her neck. His pelvis moved against hers, fast, like a dog humping her leg, while he pressed what he obviously thought was an impressive erection into her stomach. It felt more like a mini gherkin. She grabbed at his shirt to keep from falling over. That was a mistake. He seemed to take it as encouragement, and pressed even harder, faster, his head unmoving, little throaty growling sounds coming from deep in his throat.
She opened her mouth, desperate for air, but instead of the breath she needed his tongue invaded her, probing like a dentist’s drill. Something wet ran down her chin and trickled down her neck. Was that…spit? Was he slobbering on her?
She tried to push back with her own tongue, only to have his teeth clamp down on it. Tears stung her eyes. That hurt, fuck, what was he doing? Was this some kind of joke?
“Elizabeth,” he moaned. At least he had to release her tongue to do it, but before she could pull away he tugged at the clasp holding her hair. His watchband, heavy silver links, caught; pain shot through her skull as he pulled both the clasp and at least a dozen strands of her long blonde hair off her head. The clasp fell to the glass-topped table behind her with a clank. She cried out, raised her hand to the bald spot.
He dove in for another kiss, licking her chin like it was a fucking ice-cream cone, up over her mouth to her nostrils.
She put her hands on his shoulders, meaning to push him away, but he was too fast for her. His palm covered her right breast and squeezed like it was a bag of sand he needed to test for weight.
The final straw came when he reached around, grabbed her ass, and yanked her toward him. Her forehead smashed into his chin, so hard she saw stars. She heard what she thought was a strangled moan of pain, but when she looked up, his eyes were shining.
“If you think this is good, wait until I get you in bed,” he said.
She sighed. This was going to be a long night.

I know these aren’t the world’s best examples. Like I said, this really isn’t my forte; humor isn’t something that can be taught the way basics can be. But hopefully this gives a basic idea, something else to think about when you’re trying to write an unconventional sex scene.

So here’s the exercises. Go back to one of the published sex scenes you picked for an earlier exercise. Now imagine what would happen if:

1. Premature ejaculation
2. Bed breaks.
3. Someone walks in on them
4. A priest walks in on them
5. One of their mothers walks in on them
6. Dog bite
7. Insect on someone’s chest
8. Unfortunate bodily functions
9. Vaginal dryness
10. Can’t get it up
11. Stuffed bra
12. Stuffed trousers
13. Sneezing fit
14. Small rodent in the bed
15. Pipe bursts in ceiling

Or whatever you like. Rewrite the scene yourself (it’s not plagiarism or copyright infringement, it’s an exercise you’re doing for yourself and not showing it to anyone and all that stuff; use one of your own scenes if you prefer), using that list or anything else you can come up with.

Write your own scene, as silly as you can make it. Don’t worry about realism. Just be funny. Make aliens land. Give the hero a rash. Whatever you want.

Ugh, guys. I’m not at all happy with this particular segment. I’m sorry. Am I allowed one clunker? Maybe one day I’ll come back and redo it.

***Did you enjoy this series/find it helpful? You can now purchase it in print ($4.99 at Createspace) or ebook ($2.99 in numerous formats)! And if you feel moved to leave a review or something that’s great too, though of course not remotely necessary.***

BE A SEX-WRITING STRUMPET