I'm writing again
So, I've been trying to learn how to write sex scenes, because they're really hard. While this venture has only produced one full draft of a story, I do have a couple other homeless bits that I thought I'd share. They're based on fact, but, of course, fictionalized.
This love story, like any good love story begins with a bold declaration. “Women were created for our demise and are responsible for all men’s miseries.” I didn’t say that. Aramis said that in The Three Musketeers. Well, I have also said it, but not until long after Aramis said it. Though, frankly, the fact that Aramis said it has no bearing on this love story at all. The point is, actually that I said it.
I was a fool. Well, I still am a fool, I guess; sometimes I do foolish things. Not that I plan on doing any more foolish things, so all I can really say for sure is that I’ve been a fool in the past. If I’ve somehow managed to cease my foolishness, I could not tell you how or when this took place, but based on everything written on this page thus far, all evidence indicates that I remain a fool. I said it and I was a fool.
Her fingers wrapped gently around my ankle. I’m sure a woman had touched my ankle before, though I’ve never bothered to commit an instance to memory. I’d never noticed. There on the couch, however, every nerve, every blood cell was positively vibrating. She had my body giving off sparks, and she wasn’t even awake. With her mind elsewhere, her fingers explored on their own, like a curious child at an art gallery while no one is looking. Her hand moved slowly and gently, like a vine pushing itself around a lattice, and surrendering to it like the fig leaf to Eve.
She was a lifelong seductress. That kind of touch had been programmed into her fingertips after a hundred other nights and a dozen other ankles. Every sound her breath made was composed for the sole purpose of pulling me closer to her, to smell her body lotion, and taste her skin. She was carnality. I was a frozen sapling, trembling and exposed to the cold wind. My very soul was crawling out my pores to get closer to her touch.
Mind you, I don't write as often as I once did, but I have been reading more, so that helps. Also, these are rough and largely unrevised. I sacraficed grace in order to press onward. I just thought I'd share...
This love story, like any good love story begins with a bold declaration. “Women were created for our demise and are responsible for all men’s miseries.” I didn’t say that. Aramis said that in The Three Musketeers. Well, I have also said it, but not until long after Aramis said it. Though, frankly, the fact that Aramis said it has no bearing on this love story at all. The point is, actually that I said it.
I was a fool. Well, I still am a fool, I guess; sometimes I do foolish things. Not that I plan on doing any more foolish things, so all I can really say for sure is that I’ve been a fool in the past. If I’ve somehow managed to cease my foolishness, I could not tell you how or when this took place, but based on everything written on this page thus far, all evidence indicates that I remain a fool. I said it and I was a fool.
Her fingers wrapped gently around my ankle. I’m sure a woman had touched my ankle before, though I’ve never bothered to commit an instance to memory. I’d never noticed. There on the couch, however, every nerve, every blood cell was positively vibrating. She had my body giving off sparks, and she wasn’t even awake. With her mind elsewhere, her fingers explored on their own, like a curious child at an art gallery while no one is looking. Her hand moved slowly and gently, like a vine pushing itself around a lattice, and surrendering to it like the fig leaf to Eve.
She was a lifelong seductress. That kind of touch had been programmed into her fingertips after a hundred other nights and a dozen other ankles. Every sound her breath made was composed for the sole purpose of pulling me closer to her, to smell her body lotion, and taste her skin. She was carnality. I was a frozen sapling, trembling and exposed to the cold wind. My very soul was crawling out my pores to get closer to her touch.
Mind you, I don't write as often as I once did, but I have been reading more, so that helps. Also, these are rough and largely unrevised. I sacraficed grace in order to press onward. I just thought I'd share...