Making Any (Throbbing) Story (Quiveringly) Erotic
As any writer can tell you, writing erotic stories can be incredibly difficult. You’ve got to balance story with character, dialogue with exposition, and make it steamy and arousing while still keeping it entertaining and true to itself. Erotica is possibly the hardest genre to write convincingly and well, they’ll tell you.
They’re all wrong, of course. See, dirty stories are like feature films. You write the plot, character, and situations first, and then add the filth in post-production, like CGI effects. Just include notes to mark where the sex will need to go later.
Carlos stood over her, furious. “You’ve betrayed me! How can I trust you ever again?”
Maria eased back and loosened her blouse. “Come to me, lover. Let me [INSERT SMUT HERE]
Bone-tired but with a lighter heart, Carlos lay back against the burst fruit. “I love you, Maria. Could you pull that out now, please? I’m starting to chafe.”
See? Get the story out of the way first without obsessing over the juicy scenes. Once you have your story polished and ready, then it’s time to make it hot, hot, hot!
TWEAKING THE LANGUAGE
Even ordinary dialogue becomes sexy when the right adverb is applied.
“I can’t see how investing in such a shaky venture will help your financial situation,” she said lustily.
“Well, time to go,” he said fuckingly.
Or add a simple clause, like “stroking himself.”
“I won’t stand for any more of your bullying,” he said, stroking himself.
“As God is my witness,” she said, stroking herself,” I’ll never be hungry again!”
“Give us Barabbas!” the crowd cried, stroking themselves.
Sometimes all you need is a well-placed adjective.
Samuel stood, mournfully, and picked up his hot, hard, pulsating briefcase.
Burning rivulets of thick, white-hot liquid ran down her sidewalls.
Jameel had never seen such a voluptuous, lust-filled pineapple.
Just look at how easy it is! First, here’s the original text:
Rain beat against the windows and pounded against the door. Lightning blazed through the howling skies to burn demented patterns into my eyes and the thunder was an angry beast, roaring across the night. I warmed my hands over the fireplace.
Behind me, Lucille frowned her disapproval. “I wish you’d reconsider.”
I turned to face her. “That’s my final word.”
Without another word she spun on her heel and stormed out, a worthy addition to the maelstrom outside.
And here’s the same story, after a bit of tweaking:
Rain beat against the yielding windows and pounded sensually against the reddening door. Lightning blazed through the howling, moaning skies to burn demented patterns into my thighs and the thunder was an angry, aroused beast, roaring across the gasp-filled night. I warmed my hands over the fireplace, reveling in the heat against the taut skin of my throbbing, two-foot cock.
Behind me, Lucille, resplendent in lace and burlap, frowned her disapproval. “I wish you’d reconsider, you golden-skinned stallion without whom I could never find climactic release.”
She walked up behind me and pressed her massive breasts against my back, her diamond-hard nipples scratching a message into my kidneys. I turned to face her and, within seconds, was thrusting my enraged dick past her botoxed lips while I closed my eyes and thought furiously about the Indian woman on the margarine box. After a few more seconds I was zipping up and Lucille was gargling with brandy. I limped to a chair and collapsed, spent.
“That’s my final word,” I gasped.
Without another word she spun on her heel and stormed out, a worthy addition to the maelstrom outside.
Go ahead, tell me that didn’t turn you on.
Writing erotica can be as simple as taking a well-loved story and cramming sex scenes in it. Just change the names and who’d know? If you steal children’s stories, make sure you up the ages so the cops don’t come calling. I’m still doing public service for my thrilling novel “Sherri Futter and the Order of the Penis.”
A visit to your local library can offer thousands of stories that just need some grease to be good. “Wuthering Heights” can be improved immeasurably with a double-penetration scene, and how much more poignant is Carton’s sacrifice in “A Tale of Two Cities” if he had shared a baby oil threeway with Lucie and Charles beforehand. Then there’s the Dr. Seuss stuff…
Write your stories first. The rest will come. And come. And come.