The Loony Bin
(
loonies@bloodaxe.demon.co.uk
)
Wed, 8 May 1996 14:04:11 +0100
Hiya Guys & Gals... Here's a word of advice for the many would-be writers out there...fanfic may never be the same again... Wishes & Dreams... - ANDREA xx -- ************<andrea@bloodaxe.demon.co.uk>************ ******************<ajc6@ukc.ac.uk>******************* *** *** *** THE LOONY BIN *** *** loonies@bloodaxe.demon.co.uk *** *** *** ******************Internet Goddess******************* *********************ANDROMEDA*********************** ------- Forwarded message follows ------- Ways to Write about Sex There are two ways to write about sex: literal and metaphorical. Of course, the two should be mixed. Mostly because the technical terms remind people of gynecological and urological examinations rather than dark and stormy knights, and the metaphors get ridiculous after a while. (Some people want to be reminded of gynecological and urological exams, but most writers imagine their audience to be capable of reading the book in a sitting position. Or at least of not staining it to the point of illegibility.) The literal approach, when taken to its (overly) logical extreme, tends to read something like this: Johnathan moved his forefinger in a repeated horizontal motion across the fold of epidermis half an inch above her vaginal opening. Jessica expressed enjoyment in a series of one-syllable words, enunciated forcefully through the one-hundred-percent cotton scarf which was tied in a double half-hitch around her head. As muscular contractions began to occur in her lower body, Johnathan removed his false outer skin. His reptilian features repulsed and fascinated Jessica as her orgasm began. Johnathan breathed in and out regularly. His body temperature was eighty seven point six degrees, normal for a Venusian in Newark, Delaware during the month of July. As terror supplanted pleasure, he sank his pronounced incisors deep into the folds of her neck. Now the kinder, gentler, metaphorical approach: She stood resplendent in white at the center of a beautiful clam-shaped chamber, deep in the heart of her father's mighty, valorous, cloud- poking castle. The knight stood before Lady Spoon, waving the bluebell back and forth, first slowly, then briskly. "My lady," he said in the sweet voice of an angel, "this bluebell brings me great happiness in its beauty, just as you do." Lady Spoon blushed wine, her dress spinning endlessly around her in the soft, whispering wind. "Why, Sir Goldenrod!" "My lady," he said in the sweet voice of a blushing bride, "this bluebell smells of hot August mornings, just as you do." Lady Spoon sighed like the aforementioned wind. Her dress did a little foxtrot. "Why, Sir Goldenrod!" "My lady," he said in the thick brogue of a Glasgow dogcatcher, "this bluebell resembles the fold of epidermis half an inch above your vaginal opening, just as you do." Lady Spoon swooned like an arteriosclerotic golfer. "Why, Sir Goldenrod!" she panted from the safety of the four-poster onto which she had conveniently collapsed. Her dress, tuckered out, decided to pack it in for the day. Sir Goldenrod removed his armor. His reptilian features repulsed and fascinated Lady Spoon. As terror supplanted pleasure, he sank his pronounced incisors deep into the folds of her neck. And there you have it. So kids, when you try this at home, be sure to combine these two approaches! Only then can we have wonderful, original imagery like "her vagina resembled a... flower" or "his penis thundered in her like an enormous... stick."