Erin O’Brien has a short list which keeps getting longer all the time:
“If Rally Caparas comes here and wants to have sex, it’s pretty much a done deal,” I say to the television, from whence the Weather Channel is broadcasting the Travel Update.
“Ol’ Rally made it to the short list, did he?” says my husband from behind the newspaper. “What if there’s a logistical miscalculation and he comes here when I’m home?”
“You can go for a nice walk,” I say.
One of my older patients likes to call me Dr. Phil just to irritate me. Thus, I get to be Dr. Phil on occasion. (Don’t see the logic in that? Tough noogies, as my sis would say.) When I read Erin’s short list, I thought, “This is a healthy relationship. We should all have short lists. Spouses having lots of imaginary sex with celebrities is good for a marriage.”
With that in mind, here’s my short list.
I wish I could remember where I first read about Vincent Gallo’s one-man opus, The Brown Bunny. The reviewer had much to say about a film produced, written, edited, and starred in by Gallo, which seemed to have as its whole point the receipt of a real, honest-to-God, nothing-held-back, lip-smackin’ hummer by Gallo. But the reviewer said nothing, not a damned thing about the mind-numbing boredom.
I suspect there’s a theme here, but for the life of me, I don’t see it.
1. Frottage Here and below, definitions are from Wikipedia:
Frottage is normal sexual activity without penetration that can include any form of sexual rubbing, whether naked or clothed, for arousal or orgasm.
This includes such activities as frot, tribadism, and axillary intercourse (“putting the penis in the other person’s armpit”). See link above for details. See also The Princeton Rub (those madcap Ivy Leaguers, what will they get up to next?)
Example: We had to get rid of our Chihuahua, Max, as he greeted strangers with entirely too much frottage.
RWA attendees, did you miss me? Here’s a Smart Bitches Day post for y’all, to welcome you back.
Aside from our third trip to the beach for kite-flying (yay! Success this time!) (and the woman sunbathing in the nude — she’s worth a yay, too. Yay!) I spent the weekend writing 8000-and-something words, half of which comprised a chapter-long sex scene.
Beta readers, never fear, you’ll be getting it soon enough. But I have a question for the general audience. Being a guy, I like my sex scenes nasty and graphic. Are there any boundaries Which Shall Not Be Crossed? Writing this scene, I didn’t give much thought to the question. I merely tried to write a scene which worked for me. And, oh boy, did it ever.
What are the rules?
D.
Oops! Edited to add (so as to fit Beth’s theme, ‘What kinda romance will you NOT read’):
What kinda sex scene will you NOT read?
My answer: any sex scene in which, at the moment of orgasm, the universe is mentioned.
D. For real this time.
We all know Republicans hate sex*, particularly if they suspect everyone else but them is having it. Well, a crafty bunch of liberals has devised a way of using this weakness — call it an Achilles’ Scrotum — against them:
A new website tells sexy liberals how they can help beat Bush by promising to fuck a conservative in exchange for his or her guarantee not to support Bush.
Fuck the Vote is part satire and part activism, taking cues from both MTV’s Rock the Vote campaign and from the porn industry; the website shows pictures of the growing number of liberal male and female models ready to knock boots to knock out Bush.
It chokes me up, thinking of all those brave young men and women willing to take one from a Republican in exchange for a single vote. Now that’s selfless sacrifice.
In other news: Mel Gibson preempts the tabloids by posting a photo from his recent bust for driving under the influence. Yes, Mel, your arrest facilitates the International Jewish Conspiracy‘s plan for world domination. We’re still pissed over The Passion.
D.
*There must be a name for the rhetorical trick of assuming a fact without providing any proof. On the other hand, there’s a Latin legal phrase for situations in which the facts are so plainly obvious no one would dare disagree: res ipsa loquitur, the thing speaks for itself.
A random memory of an odd little woman made me realize something about my work in progress: I’ve never once asked myself what my heroine wants from a relationship. Guess I’d better think about that, eh?
I’ll return to Lori (my heroine) in a moment. Here’s the odd little woman:
She was in the College of Chemistry with us at Berkeley. Hong Kong Chinese, upper class British accent, tinier even than my wife, and skinnier, too. If you’d passed her on the street, you would assume she was a sixth- or seventh-grader. Not that any of that is relevant, but it did make her a memorable character. But what really stuck in my mind was a conversation I had with her during one of our chem labs.
I’ve decided the only way to ensure a windless day at the beach is to bring a kite.
Yes, we had another warm, clear weekend, so I convinced the boy that he needed to get some sunshine. Off with the shoes and socks, off with the tee shirts (we don’t get to do that very often around here), and into the water — knee-deep, anyway.
Here’s my flickr image for the week. The magic number is 4416:
Did you ever get the feeling your priorities were all wrong?
Girl swallows three-foot balloon.
If any of my current readers thought that feeding tube scene was over the top, check out this video.
On a completely different note, if you’re in the mood for something wholly different, rather depressing, and surprisingly good, listen to George W. Bush sing Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
D.
I’m all written out, folks. I reread the last 4000 words of my WiP, edited that part, and then wrote another 5100+ words. Even on my best days of the Brakan Correspondent trilogy (Nest, etc.), I don’t think I ever managed more than 4000 in one day, and I’m sure my average (on a day when I was able to write at all) was closer to 2000.
What does it mean? Does my muse live for writing humorous romance? And please don’t call it “lad lit” or “gick lit” or whatever. *Shiver* what godawful terms.
Anyway.
Just reread the sex scene. I had doubts about it, and I guess I still do, since I’ve never tried to write a sex scene from a female pov. Also, I can well remember how certain writers completely muck up that opposite-sex-pov thing. Guess I’ll have to wait until my gal readers give me feedback on this scene.
I laughed more rereading it than I did writing it. Surely that has to be a good sign. No . . . while I writing it, I was too distracted by the fact I was turning myself on. I do that quite well, but then, I’ve had years of experience.
D.
That last one was so much fun, I just had to buy the August issue of Cosmo. Particularly given their headliner:
SHOCKING!
THE SEX HE CRAVES
Thousands of Men Finally Admit What They’re Secretly Aching For
Guess what: thousands of men get it all wrong. More below the cut.