One of my favorite parts in curating anthologies is offering up a few #SexySnippets so that readers can get a sense of what to expect from a book. This time around, I’d also like to share a few #WriterlyWisdoms along the way. I find that getting extra sneak-peeks inside erotic author’s brains is like getting a little extra candy. And, perhaps, one could argue, that it fulfills my own voyeuristic side…
of Tension & Desire
by Jade A. Waters
I love palpable desire. I want to read it coming through the page at such extreme levels that I can picture moments I’ve had in real life where the desire was oh so insane it almost hurt, if that makes sense. That’s exactly what I want to bring out in my stories—when I imagine a character (or at least, when I put myself in the mind of a character), I try to wrap myself up in a similar mental cocoon of moments I’ve experienced that have felt that intense. I want my characters’ lust and/or lusty love to burn so brightly it’s virtually all-consuming. Of course, there will be a plot to whatever they’re working through, but I envision them having ached for this for so very long, that the joining of their two (or three, or whatever) bodies is the inherent need for everyone involved.
To be clear, it can’t just be that they’re out for any old sex, either. I don’t
care what people say; sex is not like pizza—not all sex is good. So, in my head, my characters are after the supreme, blow-your-mind-because-nothing-else-compares kind of sex. They are so in need of it that when they appear on the page, they’re caught up in that specific moment of connectivity because they instinctually know it will lead to phenomenal sex with one another. Sometimes, it’s because of the level of feelings between them; other times, it’s simply the heat of the moment/heat of the situation (like in “73A”). We as writers tend to work in conflict and consequence—the character is trapped in this overwhelming consequence, and if they don’t overcome it, there will be consequences. I guess in that simplistic way, I imagine it as “If the character doesn’t have this amazing sex, the character will die!” They can’t just have a bad day, or stub her toe, or be mopey over missing out on the imagined sex; it’s got to be life or death. I want my readers to be just as on edge in the matter, rooting for these characters to have their primal urges satisfied.
Finally, it doesn’t hurt that I often write situations that are either turn-on’s
for me, that have been past turn-ons for me, or that are tangents/revisits/twists/extensions of moments I’ve experienced in real life. This isn’t all the time, but it certainly helps. When it isn’t the case, I go the “method writing” route and pretend it is. Hopefully, in doing so, I’m able to layer the intensity I’m after over whatever is happening between my characters on the page.
by Jade A. Waters
You’re working on my fence right now, and all I can think about is sucking your cock. It’s a startling urge, seeing as how I’ve known you as long as you’ve been working on my patio fence—two days. Plus the last three hours you’ve been squatting and bending, rolling that brush over the slats as deliberately as I want you to spread your hands over my body—but once you turn and smile at me through the glass door, it’s settled.
I check out your buddies, confirming both of them are hard at work, huffing and grunting at the far end of the enclosure. You gave one of them grief yesterday for not making enough love to his wife. Your logic was sound, and exactly the reason I called in sick today.
Well, it’s only half the reason. The rest is that I’ve realized watching you and thinking all these aching thoughts has left a wet spot on my couch.
I get up to change, and you notice. You pause midway through your roller stroke, a coat of white over the top of the slat but a dejected shade of primer on the bottom. You peer through the glass like you’re probably not supposed to do while on the job, but I don’t mind. Your eyebrows weave together, curious, so I dip my shoulder and wave with only my fingers. Once out of view I strip off my clothes, swapping my bra for one with little coverage and extra lace, then I cover it with a half-buttoned blouse. My damp yoga pants are replaced with a short skirt, and I decide panties are useless before heading back to my seat on the couch.
The wet spot there is somehow exhilarating, and I add to it a pussy already drenched in longing for what you might do if I invite you in.
You’ve gotten distracted by the other two men in my absence, but I’m ready now. I slide my legs apart a few inches, providing you a clear view should you turn around and pay attention again. I lower my hand, caressing the short fuzz that covers my outer folds before circling my clit with my fingertips.
You laugh at your partners, then check on me. The smile you had when you turned falters—not in any sort of frown, but in a particular state of confusion. This makes me excited, and I nudge my legs farther apart so you can watch.
You’re caught; you look back at them to check if they can see this, but the boys are preoccupied. Immediately, your eyes are on me. I sink into the couch, guiding my fingers over the pool of wetness between my thighs. I’m breathing heavy already, exhaling ragged sighs that I want you to amplify with your touch, but you can’t hear me with the door closed. You can only watch as I flick my index finger over my clit a few times, ratcheting the quivering of my pussy up to a tremendous ache. With my other hand, I slip inside, fucking myself with one finger as I imagine what you’d feel like plunging into me.
You’ve frozen, roller in hand. The only movement you make is a coy and upward tilt of your lips, and a slight nod of your head. I’ve begun to moan, shoving my fingers deep to ease the rising pleasure within me. You use your other hand to adjust your canvas pants, and though I can’t tell what you’re hiding inside them, I know the thought of that secret pounding me, fucking me until I scream, is making the slickness between my legs difficult to keep under control.
They say people see stars when they come—I’m beyond them, comets, asteroids, and planets rushing through my vision and colliding in a black expanse of universe-shattering ecstasy. I jam my fingers as high as I can, my legs wide for you as I give my swollen clit a few more hard swipes and grit my teeth at the intensity pouring over me, drowning me in a gush of overwhelming lust. When it passes, it leaves a wake of hunger throughout my limbs.
I may be finished, but now I need you inside me.
#ICYMI: Last week’s #SexySnippet was of Allen Dusk’s, Wayward Drift and his #WriterlyWisdom regarding World Building.
“FOR THE MEN AND THE WOMEN WHO LOVE THEM”
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