Years ago I took a class about writing sex. It’s not easy to do. It’s embarrassing and inappropriate. I don’t even usually like sex scenes in books or movies. On the other hand I do have pretty strong opinions about what works as sexy and what is simply humiliating. A lot of what is advertised as “erotic” is humiliating stuff done to women. I don’t have any use for that. Maybe when I was a girl, but I’m a woman who has lived, and sex is something private and glorious, not something I’d share.
A few years ago a class had a discussion about what qualifies as “erotic.” I contended that most media got eroticism wrong, that what was erotic wasn’t what I most often found with that label.
The Big Easy is erotic, but so is The Scent of Green Papayas. There’s no nudity in either of those movies and different as they are, both of them are about love. It’s not about what is shown that makes a film sexy, it’s about the sense of sexual closeness. It’s about desire and love and compassion and gentleness. Isn’t that what you wish sex were always all about?
The best sex-writing instructor I ever had was Charlotte Watson Sherman, from The Flight of the Mind. She gave our class a series of creative exercises that culminated in some pretty amazing writing.
I don’t write sex scenes, or at least I haven’t so far outside of classes. But I do think that sex is a natural expression of passion and love. I wouldn’t appreciate any expression of love that separated expression, passion, and love. Just sayin.

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