Sunday, 27 February 2011

One Last Time Again, Part 3

You release me so that we can open the car door. I look at you, unsure what to do now. You cover my head with your hand and duck me backwards into the car. I am distracted by not falling over and my brain realises what is going on, what we might be about to do. For the first time, I wonder what will happen when this is over, if you will be gone again and I will be left with the sorrow that has consumed me since you went, how I will cope if this is the last time again. I break into a sob and you look at me with concern. I scrunch up into a ball against the far door and you climb into the car and shut the door behind you. Sound from the outside world is shut out; no more breeze stirring the trees, no more noise from the cars on the road outside the car park. The sudden stillness is jarring. I am aware of my clothes, rustling as I breathe in and out, the squeak of the seats beneath us as we sit awkwardly, looking at each other. You shuffle towards me and I look away, tears squeezing from between slitted eyes, too afraid to see that you are here when soon you will be gone again. You touch my face gently but I daren't move.

Friday, 25 February 2011

One Last Time Again, Part 2

You say nothing, just take my hands in yours as you look at me. I am too exhausted to say anything. I'm vaguely aware I must look a mess, windswept hair and tear stained face. I cannot feel enough to care. Sorrow envelops me as I gaze at you, and I break down into tears once again. You gather me up into your arms and hold me, rubbing my back in firm circles even though I am still soggy from my run. I cry into your shoulders until my tears run dry and then I sob for a while, too tired to think, not even sure why I am crying. You pull away and I want to cry again because I cannot bear the thought of losing you again, of empty arms and my empty chest. You take my face in your hands and thumb the remainder of my tears away from my eyes. I feel fragile in your presence, as if I am a cub and you are a lion. I am a little afraid.

You pull my face towards you and suddenly you are kissing me, your mouth urgent as it meets mine, so much left unsaid now expressed without words. I am unsure how to respond, except that I don't want you to stop. My body is numb, my mind overwhelmed.

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

One Last Time Again, Part 1

One foot in front of the other. Thump. Thump. The road stretches out before me, on and on into the distance, but it may as well not be there. I am not looking at the road. I am concentrating on the rhythm of my feet, the movement of my legs, my heart pounding so hard I can taste it in my mouth. My mouth is dry, my head a little dizzy, but nothing matters except channelling the anger and the frustration into laying each step on the road, pummelling the ground for some unknown sin which must be punished by feet which need to be as far away from here as possible.

It's over. You said that it's over. It's been over for a few months, and I know the reasons why it needed to be over, but I still don't want to let you go.

I don't know why I run here. Every road leads to you. Every path that I take crosses yours. I cannot escape you. In about two minutes, I will reach the road where you live. About five minutes after that I will reach the road which curves around the place where you work. You always seemed to be in one place or the other. I am no longer aware of what you do in these places; what you do in your spare time, the women that you bring home – if any – or how many hours above and beyond your job description you are working. I will dwell on these things, run past the place where you are, and then I will carry on running until there is no more breath in my body, until my fingers and toes grow numb and cease to a part of me, until my heart pounds itself into oblivion and someone comes to take my lifeless body away. I must run until either you or I no longer exist. It is the only way left to me.

Sunday, 20 February 2011

From "One Last Time Again"

EDIT: I've taken down the excerpt here because I'll be posting the whole story, in block of about 700 words, over the next week or so. Enjoy!

Sunday, 6 February 2011

Turning Up the Heat

Since I began this blog I have been reading as much erotica as I can put my hands on. I wasn't really all that obsessed before, I just liked reading the odd bit and writing the odd scene, but I have been devouring things lately, and now I'm curious about what makes a good sex scene.

I'm not much of an expert, I just like what I like, but I've found a lot of erotic writing to be very bland. Boring almost. Lacking passion and excitement. The characters were excited and passionate, but the scenes were not. The fact that there is a bad sex prize proves that a sex scene must have a certain something to make to it sizzle, or else you will not be turned on, you will just laugh.

For me, a sex scene must leave enough to the imagination. If my character puts her hand down a man's pants, I know what she will find there, you don't have to tell me. Tell me what she thinks of his manhood and my imagination will extrapolate that he is excited. I want to know what a person is thinking and feeling, not just what they are doing. Turning sex into an analytical exercise isn't going to make me want to rush to my lover and get on with it. Teasing me with delightful and pleasurable experiences is much more interesting. I want a sex scene to make me feel like I am the one having sex, not that I am simply observing someone else doing it, as if it were a science experiment.

I'm interested to see if anyone else reading this shares my opinion, or if sex scenes are a more personal thing? Is there a formula for a good sex scene, or will it differ depending on circumstances and characters?

Wednesday, 2 February 2011

Welcome to the Fun House

I like this idea, but the quality of the writing is poor, the idea is sketchy at best and it all just seems... forced. I feel this could be going better.

The Fun House always has five members. Never more, never fewer,” [Natasha] explained. “We are... facilitators... chosen to guide and caress the uninitiated with our charm and our passion.” She looked into her coffee and smiled wickedly. “There are many types of lovers. Members of the Fun House are chosen to be all and none.”


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