|- "Oh, the things I'm going to do to you, woman!|
-"Things? I know nothing of said 'things.' What kind of girl do you think I am?"
I have a confession. When it comes to writing sex scenes, I'm a huge chicken.
It's not that I have a problem reading them, as long as they're realistic and not terribly raunchy. It's not even that I feel my characters are too young, because they're in college and let's face it - there are 14-year olds these days who could teach us all a thing or two where sex is concerned.
So what's my first thought when I debate whether or not to put sex into one of my own stories? My mother will die if she reads this!
My lovely crit partner Leigh Ann was the third person to read my completed MS, but the first to hold me to the fire for taking the implied route when it came to "the deed." She'd invested a lot of time and emotion in these characters, damn it, and she wanted the payoff (see why I totally heart her?).
I sent Leigh Ann a scene I'd had a ton of fun writing, but had no intention of putting in the novel. I'd toyed with the idea, but in the end, it just didn't fit. Not to mention I kept thinking, What if this book really does manage to get published one day? What would my mother say to the fact that his hands are not only on her boobs, but she's the one who put them there?
Don't get me wrong. My mother has obviously had sex, or I wouldn't be here. And with my 5 year wedding anniversary coming up, it's pretty obvious I'm no virgin either. But my mother is SUPER OLD SCHOOL MODEST. We never had "the talk." She never got dressed or went to the bathroom with the door ulocked, let alone wide open like I've heard some mothers do. And she's insisted, ad nauseum, that I'm to put her in a nursing home when the time comes, because she'd rather die than have her daughters bathe her, or worse, change adult diapers.
And she kept me in Catholic school for eight years. Does that tell you anything?
So how am I supposed to imagine this woman - the same woman who refused to relieve my bewilderment every time a pad or tampon commericial came on, until I was almost old enough to need them - reading a scene that I wrote, describing such an intimate act, and not blush?
Maybe in future novels, it won't bother me if my mother has proof that I think about sex. But for now, I'll take the copout fade-to-black (sorry Leigh Ann!) Do any of you get sex scene stage fright, or am I crazy?