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marsnevada · 23 hours ago

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Some of you on this site are so scared of writing fairly conventional anatomy-based sex porn because of the cringe-words and general discomfort with sex. It helps to have had sex, but that's not necessary. After the break, as it is somewhat explicit, here is all you need to do, and it is not a list of euphemisms for penis or vagina or xenoapparatus:

Choreograph it in the same respect that you would any scene. If you can do this, you can have some confidence that your porn is exactly as good as your fights, your key gambling maneuvers, your political oneupsmanship, whatever. The key to writing any scene is to know where everyone is and what they are doing and impart this from the lens of the point of view character. If something feels "off" or weird, check in with yourself: what is the point of view character doing? Say it. She has her nails digging into her lover's shoulders. Was that, what she's doing, the last sentence? Let her react to it instead: the thrill of hot blood against her fingertips is intoxicating.

Many of the "porn mistakes" are just writing mistakes, and writing is an unending dialogue between the material (what is physically happening) and the ideal (how a perspective processes the material, with human and personal limitations but also human and personal additions). When you've firmly established the material, you move back to the ideal, the thought-space, the recollection-space, the processing. Then back to the material. Each action spins out and away from the earth, into the ether, where it is reintegrated, leveraged, subverted, and then returns, changed, to collide with the earth again, changing it in turn.

You do not have to say words for penis over and over any more than you need to keep clarifying proper names in a dialogue, and in fact, even less than this. Remember, unless your character is specifically having sex with the penis, she is in fact having sex with a woman, and her feelings and reactions and ideal likely center that woman more than her penis. Put her in dialogue with the woman rather than the penis and you have your answer: you only need to say cock as many times as you would say "rapier" in a swordfight. Once you know what sword it is, you move to sensation, movement, "large scale choreography", and processing.

The unique thing when talking about genitals is that most people don't think much about genitals when they are having sex. They think about sensations: what feels good, unexpected, painful, pleasant, intimate, jarring, etc. Saying "her cock" over and over is not just a little offputting because it's excessively repetitive; it's like putting "gauntlet" in five subsequent paragraphs. We get that there's a gauntlet and a penis. It feels wrong because the gauntlet is an extension of the striking-appendage and the penis is an extension of a character.

To avoid saying gauntlet over and over, as in any writing, you either get vaguer or get specificer. You describe the interaction with the wrist-plate, where the rapier rebounds from the shape of the steel, or the fingertip sliced-through by the superior blade, just barely shallow enough to spare the digit beneath (specific). Alternately, you get vaguer and describe the strike itself - the reader knows there's a gauntlet there! - a fist thrown in desperation after losing hold of a dagger, the weight both pulling down the blow and putting momentum behind it until it meets the enemy's helmet with more of a thud than a clang as the cheap steel crumples into the leather padding beneath, dented skull-deep.

Neither of those used "gauntlet". Both used the concept of the gauntlet. This can be done with anything that you establish - once it's on the stage, it's not off until you take it off.

Of course it helps, to an extent, to have had the kind of sex you are describing. It helps more to have been thoughtful about your own sensation and reaction and action during sex in general; few people really do this, but doing it is extremely useful for writing, the same way riding a horse and not thinking about it will lead you to over-describe the tack you're familiar with vs. riding a horse and thinking about it will help you develop a coherent material dialogue with the content of your own narrative. To an extent, to write about sex, you need to have some level of comfort thinking and reading about sex. Anyone can do those two things, and allow themself to think: at the moment of being penetrated, is her shaft sliding into my fragrant blossom? Or is the sensation more like pressure, more like pain, more like an insistent heat, more like an awareness of her and her shape or an awareness of myself and my limits or my pleasure?

As in sword fights, it helps to imagine yourself in the scene rather than only observing it, when it comes to blocking out a scene like something other than stage directions or a video game novelization.

The last thread this leads me to is pussy. No one wants to write pussy, unless they do. So they write entrance, which you can only really write once before it sounds goofy. Or cunt, which not every character would say. There is not really a cock of pussy, at least in my literary opinion. So how do you say this stuff? How do you say "into her pussy" if it causes you physical pain to write pussy?

You may not need to specify at all. When penetrating someone, you are penetrating a person, not just an organ. Depending on the nature of the sex, you may want to get into more or less detail, but I'm not talking to the people who are already writing about the color of the labia and the specific tactile sensation of a blood-flushed clit, okay? I'm speaking to you if you have stopped and made a terrible face at the thought of "pussy" and then deleted it and written "cunt" and cringed again.

My hot tip, as connects to all the rest of this, is that if there is not a word for the place you are stabbing her, you are just stabbing her. You are dragging your fingers over her until she yields. You are lining yourself up with her, pressing in, adjusting cautiously until she wriggles her hips, urging you to get on with it already. You are drawing your hips back against the friction of her trembling body. Could any of these be her asshole? Her neovagina? Her alien hole where she excretes salt waste? Of course! If it's important to specify, specify! If what's hot about fucking someone is the logistics of the hole, then by God, logistics the shit out of that hole without shame. But what makes porn hot is not the hole itself. It's the interaction with the hole, gone warm and molten as her desperate breaths come quicker. It's how the hole makes you feel. Fuck you.

Word choices for describing sex organs are an expression of how the perspective character feels about them. A heavily euphemistic description may either reveal something important about the character and her misgivings or set the narrative itself up for subversion - the girl who winces and thinks of her penis as "her manhood" is going to have something to unpack later or even during sex. The dispassionate "shaft" could either reflect disinvestment, to be dramatized later on, or set up that disinvestment to be subverted, as the humble shaft becomes the instrument of orgasm.

Think of how anime often has internal-monologue turning points to explain where a character's last reserve of energy comes from - the setup, the dead parent, the tragic past, the loss of a friend, it comes from somewhere, and the payoff to winning the duel is catharsis. It's just a more straightforward way of illustrating the point of most building-to-a-climax, which porn often deliberately does: you can only pay off on what you set up. Otherwise you revert to tropes and the underdog-hero wins for no reason and the girl-hero cums and it doesn't even matter because ten thousand she/hers have cum exactly that way in ten thousand prior okay scenes. The difference in payoff is all in a setup that the payoff can reintegrate: a material and an ideal that unite in a moment of pure emotional release.

I can't make you better at writing sex scenes than you are at writing fight scenes, but if you follow this advice you can be just as good.

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marsnevada · 28 days ago

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Better when I can hear you

I wrote a little thing for my beloved @stygiansauce and their Ranchers Hockey AU (Go read it immediately if you haven't)

Pairing: Tango/Jimmy Tags: Sexting, Phone Sex, Age Gap, Mutual Masturbation, Praise Kink, Dom Tango Length: 2.5k

Summary: After their locker room hookup, Jimmy and Tango have been texting a lot. Things escalate when Jimmy decides to show off with a shirtless picture.

Read it on Ao3

NSFW under the cut

Tango has been home again for a few days, his bruises are already healing but still very visible, especially the one around his nose, a dark patch blooming. He'd sent Jimmy a picture of it earlier because they've been texting. Back and forth. Back and forth. Having a call whenever they could. It’s been several hours since Tango sent the image, only checking once or twice for a reply, knowing Jimmy was out for the day.

In the evening, when he’s already in bed, his phone finally chimes, a notification pops up. Fumbling to open it he is greeted with quite the sight.

A shirtless picture of Jimmy, the bruises around his neck - mostly hickeys - still visible. As well as the ones on his shoulder. And his collarbone. And most definitely also lower.

Thinking for a moment, he texts back, "Different type of bruises :P" but he can't stop himself from clicking on the picture again the second after he hits send.

Of course his eyes roam over Jimmy's body, as if he hadn't studied him enough up close when they met. Every bit of slightly tanned skin that is marked in faint purple. Every bit of muscle that's clearly visible.

But once he's had his fill, and Jimmy is still typing, Tango looks at the background. Not a picture taken at a gym or the rink. He has taken it just now. The thought sends a warmth through his body, Jimmy took the photo for him. Just for him, he hopes. It must be Jimmy's bathroom then. A can of deodorant, a razor and a few bottles he can’t make out, are visible on the edge of the screen, a dark, blurred window behind him.

Sure, they’ve been talking. A lot. But this is a different glimpse into Jimmy’s life, albeit a small one. Tango finds himself smiling with a deep found fondness, when the response catches his attention.

“thought youd like the view”

And Tango can’t even deny it. Just looking at Jimmy’s body again makes him think of folding him into that locker, and with his eyes closed he can almost feel Jimmy holding onto him, his hands digging into his shoulders. Remembering the way the pain from his injury twisted into something a lot more pleasurable as he sunk into him again and again.

Heat coils in Tango’s gut before he remembers that he still needs to actually reply to Jimmy. It was easier in person, easier when they were still high strung with the adrenaline from their fight. Or when he was hearing Jimmy’s breathy moans right at his ear, with strong hands holding onto his back.

Tango should respond but his body is already reacting to the images his mind conjures based on his memories. He's had amazing sex before, sure. But everything he had with Jimmy is so much more vivid in his mind and he can’t wait to bury his hands in his hair and feel his skin, his chest below his fingertips.

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging for a little on a blonde strand that is still damp from his earlier shower, before running it down his face, down over his beard with a sigh. Then another message pops up. “got distracted?”

A chuckle escapes him, feeling caught but not in a bad way. Biting his lip he replies, “What if I did?” unable to keep his heartbeat just quite normal. Followed up with an immediate, “Impatient?”

Slowly his free hand travels down his chest, still shirtless, not having bothered putting one on after drying off, down along his navel and the hair below.

It's pure relief when he grabs himself through his shorts, even if it isn’t the same. How would Jimmy’s mouth feel on him? How warm and wet and just right it could be around him. Could he take all of him? Would he use his hands for help? What noises would he make and how would his face look with his lips puffed and drool running down his chin.

Tango’s hold on his phone is loose, as he looks at the shirtless picture Jimmy had sent. The glow of the screen illuminates his face in the darkness of his bedroom and he barely notices the next message, too busy drinking up every bit of visible skin.

It’s been a while since anyone has gotten to him this much.

Tabbing back out of the image may have been the best decision he’s made all night; the sight that greets him is already getting a choked noise out of him.

It’s another picture, a different angle from before, this time in what must be the bedroom, right on top of mussled grey sheets. Jimmy’s smile is just barely in the picture.

Instead the focus is on his body, the muscles along his stomach on full display.

For a moment Tango forgets to breathe, watching the way Jimmy pulls the waistband of his sweatpants just a bit to show off the hairs trailing down, but not any lower. Though the pants themselves do little to hide anything, clearly showing off Jimmy’s shape.

But the most important thing to Tango, the part his eyes immediately zone in on, are the hickeys, the fading purple bruises he left behind on the younger man’s body.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly feeling dry while simultaneously watering at the thought of getting his mouth onto the man again.

Tango wants to press his lips, open mouthed kisses, or maybe his entire face against the clearly visible bulge. He wants to hear the way Jimmy would gasp, wants to hear him moan his name again.

“like what you see?”

A bit more than just kneading himself through the thin fabric of his boxers now, he tries to think of a reply.

Settling for a quick, “wanna see how much I like it?” Tango turns to switch on the lamp on his nightstand, while shimmying out of the taut fabric around his waist.

The room illuminates a little and Tango sits up, swallowing again as he fumbles for his camera app.

Some rational part of him knows that sending this may not be the wisest choice but Jimmy went the first step and he can't leave the kid hanging now.

He's holding his phone away from himself with one hand, the other around his cock, standing firmly at attention, while trying not to get his face in the picture. Just in case.

Finding an angle where it's not just his member is difficult and he keeps shifting, adjusting the way he sits or holds his phone.

When he finally finds a position that works he takes two pictures. The first one ended up too shaky and the second one… Between the lighting and the more than unflattering view of his body, he deletes it before it can see the light of day.

It’s frustrating him, the time passing between Jimmy’s last message and Tango not responding. Not wanting to make Jimmy wait without a reply, he sends another message, “might like it too much.” He hopes it comes across with enough humor.

Giving it another shot, Tango tries a different approach, more sitting, then another one more laying down. With a sigh he even gets up and turns on the ceiling lights but he can’t help but cringe at how pale his skin looks like this, every gray hair on his chest more visible than ever before.

Tango realizes how hard it is to take a good looking picture like this and his patience is more than fraying, glancing back at the picture Jimmy had sent him again and again. There is also a hint of admiration now, at how naturally good Jimmy’s photo looks.

His phone chimes again. “i wanna see” Jimmy responds and Tango can practically hear the needy tone in his voice.

Deciding to change his course of action Tango strokes himself to Jimmy’s picture again for a few moments before pressing the button to start a call.

It rings once before Jimmy picks up and the first thing Tango can hear is how heavy his breath is.

Tango’s own voice struggles to not come across as needy, his tone low, “Not seeing it tonight. Just want you to focus on my voice instead. Can you do that for me?”

It’s easy to picture Jimmy, especially with how clear of a picture the young man paints with just his noises alone. Tango can even hear in his agreeing hum that he’s biting his lip.

So he tries to get more out of him, “Come on, say it. I wanna hear you.” His voice is raspy, making sure Jimmy can hear how affected Tango himself is.

“Yeah, I can, I can do that.” The sound of his voice is accompanied by the rustling of sheets.

“Good. So good for me.” The praise tumbles out of Tango and hopefully directly into Jimmy’s ear. “Come on. You still got those pants on?”

Jimmy’s voice almost sounds pained, if he didn’t know any better. “Yeah, I’m still wearing them.”

“Keep ‘em on till I tell you to.” His voice is low and the hint of a smile must be audible with how the younger man is reacting. Just imagining Jimmy, all needy, hips bucking against his hand while palming himself through his pants, friction but just not enough.

“Okay. Okay." Jimmy’s breathing is already heavier. Tango likes how he immediately gives in, just listening.

“Just over your pants.” Tango repeats while starting to lazily stroke himself, sticking with a slow pace for now. Of course he knows it’s hypocritical of him but is it so bad that he just wants to hear Jimmy whine?

A breathy “Tango,” is all he gets from Jimmy. Hearing his name whispered like this sends more pleasure directly to his groin.

Tango reaches out for the lube on the nightstand and lets it dribble over his hand before resting it on his hard member again, a deep breath when the cold liquid touches his warm skin, letting it warm up like this for a second before moving again.

“I can hear you,” Jimmy points out. Tango had hoped so, and he angles himself so that the phone is just the slightest bit closer, picking up every slick noise.

“I can’t hear you though.” Tango rasps back into the microphone. “Think you can whimper for me again?”

Of course Jimmy obliges, every breathy noise getting a little bit louder and louder until it's just needy enough. “So good,” Tango praises him and the immediate reaction is a held back moan.

More praise falls out of Tango’s mouth and he revels in every noise this draws out of Jimmy. “Don’t hold those pretty moans back, honey.” Meanwhile his own groans are low, but loud enough for Jimmy to hear.

“I can’t.” Another not quieted down noise. “Joel-”, He moans his roommate's name accidentally, “He’d- he’d hear me.”

Tango is caught between a laugh and a frown, his tone sharper now. “You better start moaning my name instead.”

A quick whimpered “Tango” is not enough though. “Moan it, for me. Please, sweetheart.”

For a second he’s not moving, just waiting until, finally Jimmy gives in.

When Tango finally gets what he asked for it is moaned with barely any hesitancy now, which is good enough. “So well done, keep going for me. Louder.”

His own pace picks up as Jimmy begs “Tango. Please-” not even for anything specific. This leaves Tango to drag it out of him with delight. “Hm, what is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“More?” Jimmy says it like it’s a question, then switching to pleading with a shaking voice.

Before Tango gets a chance to tease him, the desperate plea of “More please” is right in his ear.

How is he meant to resist this? “You’ve been doing so well. Go ahead.”

He wants to hear Jimmy fall apart. He wishes he could see how he’s laying on his bed with that pretty cock in his hand, sweats pushed down in one desperate motion just far enough to be practical.

The sight of Jimmy flushed and needy, shoved into the locker showed him how far down the pink-red tint goes when he gets close.

The bruises must contrast nicely with that.

“God, I just want to feel you right now, you know that? Felt so good around me, so tight.” Tango’s mind is busy imagining it is Jimmy’s warm hole, instead of his slicked up hand wrapped around himself. His pace is faster now, not restraint anymore, focused on Jimmy’s noises and the way the pleasure starts to boil.

The words spill out of Tango on their own at this point, full of need. “Want to get into my truck and drive up there and fuck you right now”

“Don’t think you’d last the entire drive.” Jimmy teases back, his own voice breathless, making the words seem more needy than probably intended.

This draws a breathy laugh out of the older man. “I’d make sure I would. For you. Couldn’t leave you hanging.” The promise isn’t too far from the truth. Tango could get into his car now and be there by morning and fuck this man senseless.

“Soon.” Tango vows. “After I take you out for dinner.” Hearing Jimmy’s half moaned laugh is just getting him closer and closer. He’ll fold Jimmy over again soon enough.

“Wanna feel you again,” Jimmy whines

This is what tips Tango over. Pleasure burns through his body and his hips fuck up into his own fist, chasing his release. Praising murmurs of Jimmy’s name spill from his lips, as his member leaks until he shoots his load over his hand and his stomach. Finally the tension in his stomach lets up.

But on the other end of the phone Jimmy’s now high pitched voice sounds, a messy mixture of Tango’s name and more pleas.

“You wanna finish too? Cum for me, Jimmy. Please.” Tango’s voice is gentler now as he’s still catching his breath. The hand around his member is still now, just holding himself as Jimmy is so close himself.

When Jimmy cums he doesn’t seem to care about his roommate anymore, not with how loud he’s moaning. Repeating Tango’s name like a prayer until his voice wavers, a beautiful sound right between a whimper and a moan.

For a moment both are quiet, Tango just basks in the audible breathing that he can hear through his phone, while reaching for a tissue to clean himself up.

Before he can even get any more praise out, tell Jimmy how well he did, the other’s voice sounds soft, more vulnerable on the other end. “Can you stay? On the phone?” The request is simple, and Tango can hear Jimmy shift on the other end, probably tucking himself in.

Unable to keep the slightest teasing smile out of his voice, he asks, “You’re not gonna clean up?”

Practically able to hear Jimmy's whine of complaint at even the thought of getting up, he chuckles. “It's okay, baby, I'll stay on the call till you fall asleep.”

Of course it would be nicer to actually hold Jimmy, to feel his warmth, the slight sweat that’s glistening on his skin. To not just hear his breathing but feel it against his own chest.

But this might just be the next best thing and for tonight, Tango will take it.

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