"How to write a SEX scene"

Let's talk about sex bayyyyyyyyybee ...  don't let your kids read... 

So I'm working on my book (Dark Woods) and I am faced with  that point where I'm thinking about there being the first love scene ...

Well - I am always uncomfortable writing scenes of this caliber of intimacy .... I am a prude in a way that ....  well ... TMI ... I don't even talk dirty during IRL sex.   I was one of those girls who always went to the bathroom to change in school because I didn't want anyone looking at me.  I like the room 100% dark when I get naked.  I don't want to look at my body, why would anyone else?

So if that's how I feel about myself.... how can I write something like that?

Now I have the attitude of ....  I don't really care anymore.   I don't have the confidence of some larger women do who literally scream the "no body shame" message (which I love) ...  but I don't have the whole "I need it to be so dark I don't know where your face is to kiss" kind of dark....

Maybe that's why this love scene wasn't as difficult to write as ones in the past....

BUT before I did, my sister Sammy and I were cracking up laughing about a couple of  "How to Write A Sex Scene" lists .....

I was telling her how I'm a prude and she 100% doesn't believe me ....  "jokingly" looked up "How to write a sex scene" ....

These are, funny and great lists.  Both of them are.  There are jabs of amusement in what these authors felt are legitimate "rules" to live by ....

Before I go on, I would like to re-tell a little story I recently shared for another reason.

When I was a teenager (mid-to-late teen) .... I was dead set against READING those SMUT books that my friends were.  I mean, I felt like I was being a "peeping tom" reading sex scenes in books.  (I still feel like a voyeur and end up skimming the scenes) ... when I say SMUT books, I'm talking those sex packed books with guys like Fabio on the cover with the long hair and oiled bare chests exposing their "happy time trial" and the snap and zipper of their jeans undone/unzipped to seductively suggest that you could be with a man like the one on the cover .... just .... by .... reading .... the ..... book.....

Plus, I had four boys by immaculate conception and I'm still a virgin .....  Sammy is too, same thing happened to her....  had a baby by immaculate conception ... cuz ....  we're good girls.

Yeah, no....  I don't write smut..... I never have, never will.....

Not that there is anything wrong with writing it, or reading it ..  it's just not my cup of tea...  lol

SO .... with that said.....   **** <--- appears before my comments  (ALSO anything with a white background is not written by me, LOL)

HOW TO WRITE A SEX SCENE  <---- was the first link I clicked on.  LOL...  it read as follows....

Step 1: Never compare a woman’s nipples to:
a) Cherries
b) Cherry pits
c) Pencil erasers
d) Frankenstein’s bolts

Nipples are tricky. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and shades. They do not, as a rule, look like much of anything, aside from nipples. So resist making dumbshit comparisons.

Note: I am guilty of the last.

**** UM .....  pencil erasers ...... OMG that turns me on.   "My nipples were so hard like a pencil eraser as he ran his thumb around it teasing me" .... that totally works.  I mean you get the idea ... ALSO .....  the writer (a he) .... he's guilty of making dumbshit comparisons ... or calling nipples Frankenstein's bolts?  Cuz...... nope, not gonna....  

Step 2: Never, ever use the words penis or vagina.
There is no surer way to kill the erotic buzz than to use these terms, which call to mind—my mind, at least—health classes (in the best instance) and (in the worst instance) venereal disease.

As a rule, in fact, there is often no reason at all to name the genitals. Consider the following sentence:

“She wet her palm with her tongue and reached for my penis.”

Now consider this alternative:

“She wet her palm with her tongue and reached for me.”

Is there any real doubt as to where this particular horndoggle is reaching?

**** I am forever use the term "horndoggle" ...  instead of "horndoggie" ....  ALSO ... when I hear the word vagina and/or penis - I don't think health class OR venereal disease ...  of course the word penis is tossed around like a ball in my house  (ha ha ha I said ball, but not THOSE balls, geez) ...   And "SHE" may wet her palm and bi-pass the penis and go straight for the foot, cuz she has a foot fetish people....  we don't know though cuz it's not specified!!  Just sayin' 

Step 2a: Resist the temptation to use genital euphemisms, unless you are trying to be funny.
No: Tunnel of Love, Candy Shop, Secret Garden, Pleasure Gate

Equally No: Flesh Kabob, Magic Wand, Manmeat

Especially No: Bearded Clam, Tube Steak, Sperm Puppet

I could go on, but only for my own amusement.

**** WAIT ..... COME ON ...... that's half my fun right there!!!  

Step 3: Then again, sometimes sex is funny.
And if you ever saw a videotape of yourself in action, you’d agree. Don’t be afraid to portray comic aspects. If one of your characters, in a dire moment of passion, hits a note that sounds eerily like Celine Dion, duly note this. If another can’t stay hard, allow him to use a ponytail holder for an improvised cock ring. And later on, if his daughter comes home and demands to know where her ponytail holder is, well, so be it.

****  "Draw me like one of your French girls Jack..." .... and if you don't know what movie that line is from, we can't be friends...... 

WAIT!?!?!   A ponytail holder as an improvised cock ring ......  really?  I don't know if I could laugh or cry at the thought ....  I'll just shake my head and move on ....  

BUT before I go ........ then you make the daughters pony tail holder.......  WTF ..... 

Step 4: Real people do not talk in porn clichés.
They do not say: “Give it to me, big boy.”

They do not say: “Suck it, baby. That’s right, all the way down.”

They do not say: “Yes, deeper, harder, deeper! Oh baby, oh Christ, yes!”

At least, they do not say these things to me.

Most of the time, real people say all kinds of weird, funny things during sex, such as, “I think I’m losing circulation” and “I’ve got a cramp in my foot” and “Oh, sorry!” and “Did you come already? Goddamn it!”

**** SPEAK FOR YOURSELF!  Bawahahahahahhahaha 

..... on that note, while I was reading Step 4 to Dennis out loud ....  he is playing this game on his phone called HOLE.io and he says something to the effect of "Goddammit, this asshole won't stop eating me" ........  I stopped dead, looked at him, and go "that's what she said"  Then he is all "GET IN MY HOLE" ..... and I'm sitting there .... thinking...  he's sugar coating this and giving it to me on a silver platter!  "That is DEFINITELY what she said" 

You go around and being a sink hole and as you "eat" people, cars, lights, trees, you get bigger and can eat buildings and yeah.... you do as much damage as you can in two minutes.... 

Step 5: Use all the senses.
The cool thing about sex—aside from its being, uh, sex—is that it engages all five of our human senses. So don’t ignore the more subtle cues. Give us the scents and the tastes and the sounds of the act. And stay away from the obvious ones. By which I mean that I’d take a sweet, embarrassed pussyfart over a shuddering moan any day.

You may quote me on that.

****  I just did ... quote you on that at least.  

But ah ....  "pussyfart" has a name ya know.... 

......  there should be NO speaking of quefing...... OR any kind of farting during sex.  

Cuz you don't want to smell any fart when you are trying to be sexy .... 

Step 6: Don’t obsess over the rude parts.
Sex is inherently over the top. Just telling the reader that two (or more) people are balling will automatically direct us toward the genitals. It is your job, as an author, to direct us elsewhere, to the more inimitable secrets of the naked body. Give us the indentations on the small of a woman’s back, or the minute trembling of a man’s underlip.

****balling?  I mean I thought early on this was a guy writing this but using the term "balling" ... yeah it's a guy.  (And it is a guy who wrote this) ....  and I can't argue with this tip....  

Step 7: Don’t forget the foreplay.
It took me a few years (okay, 20) to realize this, but desire is, in the end, a lot sexier than the actual humping part. So don’t make the traditional porno mistake. Don’t cut from the flirtatious discussion to the gag-defying fellatio. Tease the reader a little bit. Let the drama of the seduction prime us for the action.

**** that should be a rule for life .... LOLOLOLOLOL

Step 8: Fluid is fun.
Sex is sticky. There is no way around this. If you want to represent the truth of the acts, pay homage to the resultant wetnesses. And I’m not just talking about semen or vaginal fluid. I’m also talking sweat and saliva, which I consider to be the perfume of lovers, as well as whatever one chooses as a lubricant. (Sesame oil is my current fave, but it changes from week to week.)

**** "which I consider to be the perfume of lovers..."   That's right dude, YOU CONSIDER ...   fluid is not always fun, I mean - it's there ... it happens ...  but ah.... going straight to the word fun?  Nah, I'll pass.... 

Step 9: It takes a long time to make a woman come.
I speak here from experience. So please, don’t try to sell us on the notion that a man can enter a woman, elicit a moan or two, and bring her off. No sale. In fact, I’d steer clear of announcing orgasms at all. Rarely, in my experience, do men or women announce their orgasms. They simply have them. Their bodies are taken up by sensation and tossed about in various ways. Describe the tossing.

**** ....... he picked her up and tossed her in a bowl with some carrots and cabbage julienned into long thin pieces...  once he had her there, naked and moaning while he massaged her with a sweet smelling vinaigrette....

Every book should have a sex scene started like that....  

Step 10: It is okay to get aroused by your own sex scenes.
In fact, it’s pretty much required. Remember, part of the intent of a good sex scene is to arouse the reader. And you’re not likely to do that unless you, yourself, are feeling the same delicious tremors. You should be envisioning what you’re writing and—whether with one hand or two—transcribing these visions in detail.

**** :::: looks around, terrified ::::

Step 11: Contrary to popular belief, people think during sex.
I know this is going to be hard for some of the men in the crowd to believe, but it’s true. The body may race when it comes to sex, but the mind is also working overtime. And just what do people think about? Laundry. Bioterrorism. Old lovers. That new car ad. Sex isn’t just the physical process. The thoughts that accompany the act are just as significant (more so, actually) as the gymnastics.

****(couple are having sex on a trampoline)  bounce bounce bounce ....  hey .... bounce bounce ... did you see that new special on anthrax?  bounce bounce bounce bounce yeah - everyone died .....   OMG that turns me on .....  BOUNCE HARDER BOUNCE HARDER

I tell everyone I meet to moo during sex and tell me how the other person reacts ... true story.  "Next time you have sex, do me a favor and just randomly MOO ....  tell me what happens" .... LOLOLOL... so if you read this, and do it ....  comment below! LOL .... j/k - not really but kinda

Step 12: If you ain’t prepared to rock, don’t roll.
If you don’t feel comfortable writing about sex, then don’t. By this, I mean writing about sex as it actually exists, in the real world, as an ecstatic, terrifying, and, above all, deeply emotional process. Real sex is compelling to read about because the participants are so utterly vulnerable. We are all, when the time comes to get naked, terribly excited and frightened and hopeful and doubtful, usually at the same time. You mustn’t abandon your lovers in their time of need. You mustn’t make of them naked playthings with rubbery parts. You must love them, wholly and without shame, as they go about their human business. Because we’ve already got a name for sex without the emotional content: It’s called pornography.

**** I feel as if this is directed to the smut authors out there......  (like the woman who wrote the next set of RULES) ....

Bonus Step! Step 13: Read the Song of Songs.
The Song of Songs, for those of you who haven’t read the Bible in a while, is a long erotic poem that somehow got smuggled into the Old Testament. It is the single most instructive document you can read if you want to learn how to write effectively about the nature of physical love.

I am not making this up.

**** The Bible has porn?    Yes, I am waiting for the lightening bolt to shoot me down.... 

25 HUMPALICIOUS STEPS FOR WRITING YOUR FIRST SEX SCENE 

This article is written by this author ....  her book that came out at the time she wrote the article .... (2013) 

****The books I write do not have bare chested long hair wearing "I'm too sexy for my shoes" boy-man-people on the cover .... guys who look like they belong on a pirate ship .... how much oil did they use on his chest?   Just sayin.....  

I never set out to be a romance writer. When I was asked to turn a black-out scene into steamy hot sex, at first I panicked. Then I followed these 25 easy steps and panicked some more. And then I got a three-book deal for a paranormal romance series with Simon & Schuster, despite being a somewhat prudish Southern girl who’s been married to her college sweetheart since 2002 and has never actually seen a pair of assless chaps. And you can, too! Here’s how.

**** Didn't I just say that I was a prudish girl too?  Not Southern, but I have another personality named Lemon who is a southern bell ...  and my family hates me when I start talking with my flawless southern accent calling myself Lemon...  as soon as they hear it it's all "OH SHIT!  LEMON!!" and they run screaming ....  I don't get it ....  LOL.... 

1. FIRST OF ALL, GET DRUNK.

See? It starts out with something easy. Pick your favorite liquor—the one that makes you loose and happy, not upchucking into a clothes dryer. Get comfortable. Light a candle. Have two drinks. Slide down in your chair. And then gently place your fingertips on the hot, slick… buttons of your keyboard. If you’ve never written a sex scene before, you’re probably going to be either terrified or embarrassed, and both of those emotions are a lot easier to swallow when mixed with vodka.

****Um....... this is WONDERFUL advice .... but I don't drink.  No I'm not in AA ... I don't drink by choice, and I don't like the taste of alcohol ... just like I don't like coffee ..... and I live in (Seattle) the mecca of coffee

2. POP YOUR CHERRY IN PRIVATE.

So let’s assume you’re drunk and about to start writing words like “pert nipples”. Trust me on this one: you’re going to want to do it alone, not at Starbucks with some little old granny staring over your shoulder as some baby screeches to Jason Mraz in the background. You also don’t want some well-meaning and curious spouse or roommate butting in to ask if you could take out the trash or, even worse, to see how the pornifying is going.

**** new term ..... pornifying

I might need to write that one down ....

So ....  when I write sex scenes, usually while I'm in bed, next to my snoring husband - not exactly private but .... kinda?  When it's during the day cuz I stopped .... in the middle .... cuz I feel asleep drooling on my laptop...  I usually corner my laptop so the hubby can't look at my screen go "Why don't you ever do that!?!?!"   To which I would reply with ..... wait, never mind... yeah...  TMI, never mind ....  

ANYWAY ....  cornering the laptop so the spouse can't see, not always a wise idea because.... then you get all these accusations tossed at you like.... you have a boyfriend, who you talking to ... ah... that asshole better be a sugar daddy .... stuff like that.  But that's never happened to me.... 

No really, it hasn't.....  

3. PREPARE TO HAVE HAIRY PALMS, BUT IN YOUR BRAIN.

Writing sex is a lot like masturbating. It’s all in your head— what you like, what you think would be hot, what two ideal people would hypothetically do with a hypothetical saddle. And if you can translate that well enough into words, other people will be titillated and foam at the mouth for your books and stick greasy one-spots in your literary g-string. So really put your back into it.

And that’s another reason to do this alone: it can… affect you. In physical ways that can be embarrassing. Your hands might roam as you contemplate the prose, your mouth might fall open, a small moan of “Ooh, Thorin Oakenshield!” might escape you. Did you masturbate for the first time in a public place? If so… wow. Congratulations on not getting arrested, or at least on having a good lawyer. Do this alone.

****

W

T

F

from now on all I am going to think of if I read a sex scene in a book is ..... "oh, I wonder if the author masturbated while writing this"

ROFLMBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Thorin Oakenshield???

like that is totally a porn name....I wonder if she got that from one of those "What's your Porn Name" graphics

Sammy said it was clearly the hobbit porn name generator ....  she's probably right .... 

4. DO NOT STOP. DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT TWO HUNDRED PADDLES WITH A RIDING CROP.

Sometimes, as a writer, it can benefit the story to leave a scene half-written, take a break, and come back to it. Not so with sex. What if someone stood up in the middle of your sweat-laced tomfoolery and went away to reblog gender-reversed Batman comics on tumblr? No, if you want it to read like one smooth, seamless experience, just write the damn thing in one heaving burst. You’ll make changes later, but don’t stop writing until the walls would look horrible under a blacklight.

**** 

.......................

......................

I am never going to a romance writers convention ....

........ without a blacklight

....................................... hopefully we're not sharing rooms.... 

5. SELF EDITING WHILE WRITING A SEX SCENE IS LIKE APOLOGIZING DURING BAD SEX.

Just as all first drafts are vomit, and just as you need to get this scene hurled out, don’t go back and reread bits and rethink your word choices and how many times you’ve used the word “wet”. You’re going to use it a lot, if the sex is decent. Do not look back while you’re writing it or think about how wretched it is. Of course it’s wretched. It’s the literary equivalent of virgin sex. Just be glad no one’s mom is going to walk down to the basement and catch you on the pool table with your Hammer pants around your ankles.

**** (sad face) I had bad sex for ten years, but I didn't know it was bad sex......  

and "wet" is almost as bad as "moist" 

6. DO NOT BE A BODY SNATCHER. UNLESS IT’S SOME KIND OF ALIEN PORN.

Some books switch back and forth between points of view, but in general, writing sex is far more fluid– HA HA FLUID– if you limit yourself to one character’s thoughts, feelings, and sensations. Not only does this help the reader keep track of pronouns and hands, but can you imagine having sex if you had to hear every single thought the other person was having? DEAR GOD, THE GROCERY LISTS. And that should go without saying– no grocery lists, even if you’re out of butter. Like Marlon Brando.

****  OMG THE ANTHRAX!!!  I always think about butter while having sex .. CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER....... spray!   Muahahahhaahhaha....  takes that to a whole new level doesn't it?  That and Fabio ....

7. CONSIDER THE LOWLY JIMMY HAT.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when a romance book neglects to take into account that most women (and men!) have very strong feelings about whether or not they wish to end up preggers after a sexual encounter. A simple throwaway line about a condom, how glad she is she took her pill, how he’s always wanted a son, or why he has a big red V tattooed across his balls should do it. You are, however, forbidden from using the phrase “the telltale rip of foil”, as 50 Shades has copywritten it.

****  Her:  I hope the condom broke, I know I poked ten holes in it but that might not be enough...  Him:  I'm gonna double wrap it because I think I saw some holes in the ::: tell tale rip of the foil ::: 

8. WHEN IN DOUBT, CAREFULLY STUDY PORN. I MEAN, READ ROMANCE. AND PORN.

If you need inspiration, go read the sex scenes from your favorite romances– or check out Chuck’s post about it, including oodles of recommendations. See what works for you and what doesn’t. Notice how the author builds to it, what the characters say and don’t say, the words and euphemisms and cliches used. Or– best homework ever– have sex. Or watch porn. It’s not great for emotional value, but it can remind you of the very many bizarre ways bodies can meet. As a serious writer, it’s all too easy to get caught up in word count and plot and no adverbing and OMG, is spanking in this week? But at the base of it, we’re talking about a very primal act, and practice makes perfect for doing it *and* writing it.

**** who cares about the condom

I mean - let's talk about the real let down of a small penis!!!

there is only one person I know who likes pencil dicks

9. REMEMBER SETTING, BECAUSE NO ONE WANTS SPLINTERS IN THEIR PUDENDUM.

Another pet peeve: a virgin’s first experience takes place in Earl Humperdink’s hayloft. Sounds sexy, but have you ever been in a hayloft? Dust, dirt, cobwebs, maggots, scorpions, stray cats, tetanus-laced nails, the scent of dysenteric cows, and possibly an entire barn full of zombies. Not sexy. So if you’re putting your characters in a weird place, trespass on someone else’s property and literally roll in the hay to see how very much it pricks your prick. Try having sex on a counter, or kitchen table, or a hammock. At the very least, simulate some moves in the setting and see if you can stay upright/undiseased/free of porcupine quills. If it’s not realistic, your readers will lose trust in you. And your ability to sex.

**** Earl Humperdink's ......... omg - dying.....

10. LET SHIT GET CRAY.

I have no idea what this means. I wrote this list at 2am while on NyQuil. LET SHIT GET CRAY sounded pretty good at the time.

**** 2 AM and NyQuil and Cray are my middle names ..... it's when I'm most sane! 

11. WORDS TO AVOID, EVEN IF THEY’RE TRUE.

Turgid, swollen, purple, wrinkled, tumescent, pert. Those are on my list. You probably have different ones, although I suggest you add “turgid” to it right now. While some words may accurately describe sex or a sex organ, they are not, themselves, sexy. Like moist. Or penis. I mean, it’s just an awful word, and all of you men should be ashamed of having one. Read several romance books and angrily circle the no-no words to refresh your mammary. I mean, memory.

**** peeeeeeeeenis

I like peni

can I touch your peni

I want to touch your twig and berries

how about swollen pogo-stick

moving on ....

12. HOW CRAY DOES IT GET?

Oh, wait! Now I remember why I wrote #10. Your first instinct will probably be to keep things very conservative and not let your freak flag fly at all, lest people see what a truly twisted nympho you are. But “John laid Mary gently on the bed and they did it missionary style and it was nice” does not sell 1/1,000,000th as many copies as “Mr. Gray beat a clumsy teenage girl with a garden hose and then stuck it in her armpit with a scoop of pizza sauce to lubricate.” Just as you have to let things get a little out of hand, you have to know when to rein it in. How far it goes will depend on your audience, and only erotica writers can really get freaky with pizza sauce.

**** Mr. Gray needs to get arrested for beating a teenage girl with a hose and using pizza sauce is a crime all on it's own .....

has anyone told Mrs. Gray he's doing this shit? LOLOLOLOL

oh nevermind - they were role playing

13. DOUBLE RAINBOW? UNREALISTIC AS HELL, BUT ALMOST EXPECTED.

Count the number of times you and your partner have had simultaneous orgasms. Unless you’re Sting, I won’t have to wait for the tally. It happens 4000 times more in books than it does in real life. But most readers will feel better if everyone gets their happy ending, even if someone has to be finished off in some other way, or one person uses their lack of confetti cannons as character development or a sign of why this relationship with the undead wereunicorn baron… dum dum duuuuuuum! CANNOT BE.

**** 

undead

wereunicorn

baron .........

what.does.that.even.look.like

14. HAVE A CIGARETTE. BUT A BUBBLEGUM ONE, SO YOU WON’T DIE OF THE CANCER.

So you’ve just written The Best Sex Scene Ever. Time to end the chapter and move on to the real action, right? Wrong. Your story needs a lull, an afterglow, a reaction to the sex just as honest as people have in real life. It doesn’t have to be all cupcakes and rainbows—maybe he storms off, maybe she runs for the shower, maybe they tell Muppet jokes while he offers her a Clorox wipe. But what happens immediately following the sex can be just as important as the sex. It may seem like a small thing, but falling asleep in a lover’s arms (or not) for the first time can be a big deal. Especially if he’s the kind of guy who has a hook for a hand.

**** a Clorox wipe?  Do people actually DO that?  Really?  Who thinks of that?  ...Actually I could believe people think of that cuz I thought it the other night .......   j/k.... or am I? 

15. JUST LIKE IN REAL LIFE, AVOID EYE CONTACT.

Ever notice how sex often makes things even more awkward? It may scratch one itch, but then it works you over like a hungry ferret and leaves you with hundreds of new trouble spots. After sex, the characters will glance away, avoid eye contact, doubt themselves, doubt each other, maybe rethink their involvement. Chances are, one of them feels more secure than the other. At the very least, even if they’re both happy, something in your story must push them apart, or they would just spend three months in bed, humping like rabbits.

**** a w k w a r d  but seriously - that's how I got pregnant with #3 .... the fuck like rabbits marathon sex ..... it's a dangerous thing ...  leads to more births than porn.... 

16. KEEP WRITING, MOTHERFUCKER.

Because the story keeps going. Let the new sexual tension and awkwardness play into the story’s climax, but don’t let the entire point of the book be about sex. Most romance novels have a kissing or make-out scene that surprises both characters early on; one very detailed “first sex” scene somewhere between halfway and three-quarters of the way through; and then at least one other, “Oh, okay, we’re good at this; let’s hump HARDER scene” closer to the end. Your mileage/sexytimes meter may vary. But keep writing until it’s done.

**** YOU CAN STOP RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE AND GET BACK INTO I T...  I know you can, I did it yesterday .. LOL..... I stopped, went to sleep and picked it back up and it was way better then if I had probably kept writing ....  actually I might have stopped because my husband was trying to see who my sugar daddy was but that's beside the point.....  

17. BAD NEWS: HEMINGWWAY SAID YOU HAVE TO EDIT SOBER.

My writing process = vomit up an entire first draft, leave it to marinate slone in the dark, edit. Which works for sex scenes, as I need to get some distance away from them to really see them with new eyes and clean them the hell up. At the very least, don’t write the sex scene on Monday night and expect to perfect it on Tuesday morning. Go away for a while and let the fetid, bleach-like funk dissipate and harden. Then bring a chainsaw instead of a mop.

**** FUCK THIS!

first she says drunk

now she says sober

make up your damn mind

18. DON’T FORGET THE GRANNY.

Remember that granny at Starbucks? You can call this one Delilah’s Rule: The dirtier the scene you’re attempting to edit at Starbucks, the older and sweeter the granny that sits beside you. You can’t avoid it. Just be ready to show your aggressive introversion with headphones and slightly cant your laptop to the side. Because granny’s curious. And she probably misread the word “cant” and already thinks you’re a horrible person.

**** honestly - I think nosy granny is playing the prude but really she gets down to her girdle and slip with Tom, Dick and Henry ....

19. COUNT HANDS. FIND PANTIES. PROVIDE TISSUES.

The little details can make or break a sex scene, for a reader. Have a clear idea what the characters are wearing before they start to get undressed. Make sure everything—or at least the obstructions– get removed in a sexy fashion. Make sure he takes off his socks and shoes if he gets totally nekkid, because… have you seen porn? Ew. Make sure there aren’t six hands touching that chick if there’s only one dude involved. When I wrote my first sex scene, the hero accidentally removed the heroine’s corset three times, which made me sound like an idiot with a corset fetish. AS IF.

Oh, and if you have one of those scenes where the guy “leaves his sperm” in “her vagina”, she can’t just stand up and slip on a short skirt and play tennis. If you don’t know why, ask your sex ed teacher. Give the girl a shower or a tissue or SOMETHING.

**** yes .... you cannot grab boob, grab ass, and pull hair at the same time
unless the dude was born as an octopus ....

20. HELLO, THESAURUS. GOODBYE, THESAURUS.

The first time you edit your sex scene, you’re going to see these words a thousand times: hand, fingers, lick, taste, tongue, thigh, skin, hot, wet. Because… those are very accurate descriptions of the main tools of sex. You’ll want to vary usage so that it reads seamlessly. Be careful of using the thesaurus too much, though, because some words are too accurate and unsexy to work. “He laved her creamy pillows until his penis turned purple” might be true, but dry heaving should not be a reaction to sex scenes. If something stands out to you, rework it. Put your thing down, flip it, and reverse it.

**** He laved (<---what is that word?) her creamy pillows until his penis turned purple

Laved = To Wash  (wtf?) 

Loved maybe?  

He worshiped her velvety cushions until his love monkey turned lilac  <--- thesaurus is fun

21. MAKE IT A JACKHAMMER.

Remember in Mallrats, where they were doing the dating show, and the suitors were asked if their kisses were like a soft breeze, a firm handshake, or a jackhammer? Gil answered, “Definitely a jackhammer, I’m in there with some pressure and when I’m done, you’re not the same as before. You’re changed.” And we laughed, because he was a douche. But your sex scene should be like that: it should move the story forward and somehow affect the characters emotionally. Maybe the hero learns to open up, maybe the heroine decides she wants to be more aggressive in her real life, maybe they’re just having what they think is a last fling before a giant orc battle. But it has to mean something, or else it’s just porn.

**** it's all porn .....  all of it ....  PORN .......  Orc Porn!  It's a thing... look it up.... 

::: looks it up on Google :::: 

no, no don't look it up - don't do it, you can't un-see that shit .... 

22. ASK SOMEONE ELSE TO READ IT AND GIVE YOU THEIR HONEST OPINION, PREFERABLY NOT A CLERGYMAN.

This is possibly the scariest part. With my first sex scene, I blushed and handed it to my husband. His response? “That’s hot.” And then I put down the bottle of wine. What works for you might not work for someone else, and you need an outside source you trust to tell you gently if your menage a trois with a penguin is just too much.

**** Could you imagine?  "Yes, ah, Pastor Fineass, could you read this for me and tell me what you think?"  He reads it, swallowing hard, trying to pull his collar away from his neck... making "ah"... "um" ... "Whhhhhhat the VIRGIN MARY..." and then he stands up and "Is that a banana in your pocket Pastor Fineass?" 

One way ticket straight to HELL .... 

23. EDIT AGAIN. REALLY. DID YOU COUNT THE HANDS?

Polish that rocket with a little extra elbow grease. When your regular book is rejected by agents or editors, it hurts like hell. When they softly and gently critique your sex scene, it’s like being kicked in the ‘nads and being told you’re a horrible lover. Do yourself a favor and really make it gleam, first.

**** Ummm....... or self publish! 

24. BUY YOURSELF SOME PRETTY NEW PANTIES, SPORT.

I’m a big believer in letting shit go, especially things that have served their purpose. If you’ve written the scene, edited it, shared it, cried, accepted the criticism, edited again, and hit the send button? Forget it. Don’t stay up at night, thinking about how there really were four hands and a rogue penguin flipper on her freckled mound. Just put the entire book, story, WHATEVER, right out of your mind and start writing the next thing. Let those raggedy-ass panties with the stretched-out elastic go and buy some frilly ones, possibly in that exciting new “Tonga” style.

**** So every time I write a sex scene..... I get new pretty underwear????  SCORE!!  Smut books here I come....... or is it cum?  Hummmmm

25. IF ANYONE COMPLAINS, DO NOT FLING USED CONDOMS AT THEM.

Truth? For some reason, I can read bad reviews and nod along and think, “Yeah, okay, I guess I can see that; my entire book is Buffy/Pirates of the Caribbean cross-over fanfic.” But when a review says the sex isn’t hot, cites parts of the sex scenes negatively, or otherwise critiques that hot, steamy pile of lovin’ I concocted? I cringe. And it’s going to happen, every time. As a writer, you must understand that this says as much about the reviewer and their sexual issues as it does about you and your writing issues, and that you therefore—even more than usual—cannot say anything in response or defend yourself intelligently. Just shrug, watch some porn, watch some more porn, and write harder.

Because you know what? Writing sex makes you feel powerful. It’s like lingerie for your brain. It doesn’t matter what you look like, how you dress, how you feel about your body, or how you can dance: if you can write a sex scene, you can turn people on with nothing but words.

And that’s pretty turgid.

**** But the first guy says it's not porn?  Now I'm all kinds of confused.   And writing sex makes me feel like a dirty dirty girl.....  or sometimes, depending ..... might be kinda proud I managed to spit that out on paper.......  not SPIT THAT OUT ..... OMG you freak....  


Thank you to Steve Almond and Delilah Dawson for both of these super fun takes on how to pop your cherry at writing sex scenes ....

..... I hope you find my additional comments a little witty, sarcastic and funny ....  cuz... if not, I wasted a whole day on this blog....

A WHOLE DAY I CAN NEVER GET BACK!!!

:::: whew ::::

I'm good now....  eh... I think?  I mean - still weird and nerdy but not longer stabby - well until something else comes along to make me stabby .... like Chapter 9.....   now to look up, "How to write a good morning after...." 

Chapter Two (Dark Woods) *reworked*

Chapter Two

She sat back with an audible sigh.  Followed up immediately with a loud rumble from her stomach.  She looked at her clock, five hours later, she realized.  She had been in her head for five straight hours without so much as to get up for a drink or a bathroom break.  That wasn’t exactly her normal, but she wasn’t surprised either.  In her experience, sometimes when you were so stuck in your characters, it’s hard to pull yourself out, even for your own needs.

Her bladder was screaming, her stomach was growling, and she’d been gnawing on nothing but hard candies she kept in her desk.  She was starving and needed to pee worse than a toddler who drink five juice-boxes.   She got up, stretched, and walked to the bathroom.  After she washed her hands and made her way to the kitchen.

She hadn’t even taken out the braid she had put in her red hair the night before to sleep.  She had thrown on a pair of form fitted leisure wear pants that were so comfortable and soft along with a long comfy white lacey shirt.  She reached back, pulling out the hair band, and combed through her long hair with her hands until the braid broke up.  She gathered her long red locks with her hands, pulling it up, and twisting it into a messy bun, using the same hair tie. 

She grabbed her phone from where she had put it that morning, to charge, on the kitchen counter.  As she opened her refrigerator to make herself something to eat, she was simultaneously checking her Facebook.  She saw that both Gullia and Catrina had responded in the message, and with Gabby, the three of them had continued chatting over the day as she found 75 new messages in the group discussion.  As she skimmed it, it seemed that the majorities of the younger girls and all the male children, except the baby, was going to be invading various grandparent’s houses.  It wasn’t going to be a girl’s night, but rather an adult night, with the four girls having their own night watching a movie, gossiping and wine, while the men all discussed and decided there would be a BBQ and they’d be using her grill.  Then there was talk of dragging along another guy so they could play poker. 

She sighed.  Then there was a debate on if they were going to grill out or order pizza.

Didn’t matter, she thought, about the food.  She’d be happy either way.  The general consensus was that they would all be congregating at her house in about two hours, Emma would be home in a little over an hour.  

She put her phone back down on the counter and walked back to the fridge.  She started pulling stuff out for a good salad; roman hearts greens, cheese, her favorite dressing, some onion and peppers she kept diced up in small round plastic containers that she kept in her fridge.

She was in a good place to stop writing for a few days.  Her main character, Detective Penelope Hennessy, had just come across a very good clue in her homicide investigation, one that would set her on the path to the end of the book.  The love interest was trying to help her, which was only hindering her.  Typical love-hate relationship with a high kick in the pants of sexual frustration.  A few more clues and more leg work that would have otherwise been necessary without the man on the short leash because he wouldn’t stop trying to solve things himself, the book would be done.  Though, they had a brief drunken night of sex about six books ago, they were both fighting the clear lust they felt for one another.  It was about time to just let them take a step into a coming together in a relationship.  The sexual frustration between the two of them had her ready to scream.  Though, like any good series, either written or watched, there was a fine line between the sexual frustration keeping things interesting and once that line was crossed would it lose some audience.  If it did cause some audience to toss up their hands, was it damaging enough that the series would have to be shelved.  Right now that was an inner debate.

There was a knock on the door. 

She looked down at her salad, already half eaten.   How’d that happen?  She thought.   She really was stuck in her head still.   She walked over to her front door and saw her sister on the other side of the glass with a diaper bag slung over her shoulder and an infant car seat hooked on her arm. 

“I didn’t think you were coming until later,” she said opening the door.  She hadn’t even noticed that it was pouring rain out. 

Gabby walked in, soaked just from the walk from her car.  “I didn’t know if you had the alarm on or not.” She said coming in.

“Nope, although the way I just wrote, I probably should have.”

Gabby put the baby, still in his car seat, on the floor and slid out of her jacket.  “I really wish you weren’t so apprehensive after all these years.” 

“Better safe….” She said trailing off.  She kneeled down, throwing off the wet blanket, and quickly made work of the complicated baby buckle and slid her tiny new nephew out of the car seat.  “Hello my sweet Xavier,” she fussed at the baby.  She looked at her sister and stood back up.  “I already pulled out the play pen and swing and stuff.  I put it in the family room by the fire place in case it gets chilly tonight.”

“Wonderful,” Gabby smiled.  “Am I bugging you being early?”

Bella laughed.  “Not at all.  I just didn’t come out of my head until a little bit ago.  I was catching up on the message and all the plans while trying to scarf down some salad.”

“Give me my son so you can eat.”  She said reaching out her hands.

Bella made and evasive move.  “Not on your life!”  She laughed.  The baby was tucked into her arm and sucking on his fist already, giving clear indications he was probably going to start hollering for his dinner soon.  She sighed at her nephew looking at her with those wide blue eyes. 

“What’s going on with the book?”

Bella kissed the baby all over his face as they walked to the family room, he’d turn towards her when she kissed him.  He was most definitely hungry.  “I am going to give him to you, because I know what is about to happen, however I reserve the right to use my Auntie-Never-Put-Him-Down card for the rest of the night.  Plus, you are going to have to pump and dump tonight.”

“Oh I know it,” Gabby snickered.  She took the baby as Bella handed him to her.  She immediately sat down and unbuttoned her top to nurse the baby.  “Now the book.”

“Hang on,” Bella left the room, walked to the kitchen, grabbed her bowl of salad, and walked back.  She sat down on the sectional beside Gabby.  “Okay, so…” she started as she got comfortable.  “Penelope got her first big break on solving the double murder she’s investigating.  Everette is being … well… Everette.”

Gabby couldn’t help but to giggle, which startled the baby making him cry.  She soothed him, humming as she tried to get him to latch onto her breast.  “What is the murder this time?”  She asked when Xavier latched on and started to suckle again. 

Bella looked up.  She forgot she really hadn’t gotten to give Gabby a run down because she’d had Xavier only six weeks prior.  Gabby was always her literary sounding board.   “So it’s a young teenage couple who are doing sacrificial killings to please the god they are trying to gain favor with.”

“Oh that’s a new one,” Gabby said. 

“Yeah, I needed something shocking, and but true.   The two girls they already killed, were virgins, of course.”

“Makes sense,” Gabby said.  “What about Everette.”

“His editor is putting a lot of pressure on him to get the scoop of the story, so of course he’s trying to pick Penelope’s brain while trying to get the scoop and doing his own digging which keeps him bumping into Penelope in places he shouldn’t be. Sometimes being that celebrity news personality gets more greased palms then being a murder cop.”

“Well of course, but what happens if he somehow stumbles on them doing one and doesn’t ever see their faces, but manages to save the girl, because I assume they are only killing femals….” She trailed off. “Wait, what if he got some photos of it with his phone or something, before the two got spooked and ran off – which is what initially ends up saving the girl.”

“I like that,” she said.  She pulled her cell phone out making some notes and sending it to her main computer.  “So who is this dude that’s coming tonight for poker?”

“Oh Jensen,” she said.  “You know Jensen.”  

Bella started blankly at Gabby.  She couldn’t place him.  Then it clicked.   “The Sheriff?”

“Yeah,” Gabby whispered.  “Come on Bella, we’ve been here, what… five years now?  I think we’re good and I know that underlying fear of cops they instilled in you is still active but, I think it’s time to try to work through some of this stuff.”

“I have worked through it,” Bella uttered in that half honest truth tone they both knew well.  “About as worked through as one can work through living a nightmare and not being able to leave it because, well, it’s real.”  She countered.  “And it’s not that I don’t trust cops, Gab, it’s more like I don’t trust anyone.”

“You trust me, right?”  Gabby objected. 

“Gabs, I have always trusted you.  There was a time when you were the only person I trusted, and you know that.  Then it grew with your family,” she muttered.

“Our family….”

“Our family,” Bella corrected.  She reached over and pulled her sister’s reddish-brown hair.  It was funny, at least to her at times, how people didn’t question if they were related or not.  Gabby’s reddish-brown hair and her atomic red hair were really only a few shades away from each other.  Gabby had blue eyes and she had these bluish green eyes that could look either vibrant blue or emerald green depending on the light.  They both had round faces, but Bella’s chiseled nose was a contrast to Gabby’s cute but wider nose.  Gabby’s eyes were a bit smaller, but they had the same general shape, which is something they had both commented on a lot.  How much they did kind of look like sisters. 

“You trust me, I know you trust Callum.”  Gabby started talking as she repositioned the baby.  “You know they like to play poker and it’s better the more people are involved.  Don moved and so they had to find themselves a forth for their regular games.”

“But Sheriff Jensen Gatewood?”  Gabby nodded and snickered at Bella’s questioning.  “His family is so prominent in the town.  His one Granddad is Major, people in his family own half the town, I mean the guys will have to leave town if they don’t let him win.”

“Why Bella as I live and breathe,” Gabby said throwing out her best southern accent.  “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you felt more for our local hunk of a sheriff then butterflies and fireflies.”

Bella rolled her eyes as she stuffed her face with the last of her salad.  “I’m not interested.”

Gabby gave her a sideways glance that said she don’t believe a word out of her face, because she didn’t. “Bella…” she trailed off cocking her head to the side. 

Bella looked at her sister, her best friend, and all she saw was the most beautiful girl.  In school Bella couldn’t imagine what she wanted to do with some rail thin frizzy red head who had on thrift clothes and was perfectly happy melding into whatever chair her ass was parked in.  It wasn’t until Gabby started talking to her that Bella started coming out of her shell and really started working on not being afraid, started finding out who she was, and started finding her own voice. It was Gabby who taught her how to brush her hair, use a tampon, and put on makeup.  If she were a hundred percent honest, if it weren’t for Gabby, she’d be dead.  She might not have run away that night, she would have had no one to trust, and she wouldn’t have had the courage to tell the police. 

“What?”  She got up, quickly taking her empty bowl into the kitchen.  She left it in the sink and walked back into the room where she found Gabby a little more comfortable with a sleeping baby on her chest.  “I don’t know why you seem to be under the impression I have any feelings for him.”

Gabby rolled her eyes.  “Remember when I first moved here?  We were at the diner and he came in.  You watched him, slowly, move from the door as he tipped his hat to people all the way to the far end of the bar, even turning in the booth as he moved past us, and he sat down.  His mom came out, leaned over and kissed his cheek, threw down a slice of pie in front of him.  He scanned the room, you two made eye contact, and I swear on my children, you blushed and you spun around back towards me acting like you hadn’t just exchanged a smoldering glance with a really hot guy in uniform.”  Gabby watched her sister’s eyebrows furrow together and her eyes get squinty.  “And then you tried to make me believe that you hadn’t just got caught like a kid with their hand stuck in the cookie jar, or in that case, the hunky man jar.  Then you spent the last couple of years avoiding the hell out of him.”

Bella shook her head.  “You seriously need to start writing smut books.”

“It’s about time you stop avoiding him.  He’s not a fucking pit bull or something, which I totally think those dogs got a bad rap.  He doesn’t bite.” Gabby smiled in a slow sly way.  “But I bet it would feel so good if he did!” She cracked herself up laughing.  “Especially if it’s the lobe of your ear or your lip after a hot steamy curl your toes kind of kiss.” Gabby stopped snickering, amusing herself.  The baby was fussing with her body shaking from the laughing and she automatically started to pat his back.  “Shoo I need to stop or I’m gonna end up pregnant again.”

This time Bella did laugh.  “Sometimes I hate you.”

“Nah,” Gabby countered.  “You never do.  Oh, by the way, don’t forget to put on something sexy and wear your hair down.”

“So, sweats and a messier messy bun?  Got it!”

Two hours later she found herself in her bathroom.  She had showered, brushed her teeth, and now she was staring at herself in the mirror.  She’d be damned if she was going to go out of her way to pretty up for a night in with the girls, in her own home.  The fact that she was actually fighting the urge to primp was driving her more nuts then the if she just gave into it.  She didn’t have feelings for him.  Though, if she were going to be honest with herself, she had to admit that day in the diner she couldn’t take her eyes off of him, and she did get spooked when he caught her staring at him.  If she had her way, she would have gotten up and left the diner too, but her whole family was there and that would have been a little hard to explain. 

Fact is, she was still very spooked by cops, but less spooked than her sixteen or eighteen-year-old younger self.  She didn’t get that inbred fear and rabbit response to bolt.  Gabby was right, she really needed to get over her fears but at this point in her life, she didn’t see that happening.  It wasn’t like she’d ever see the monsters again.  They were both in prison, with no chance of coming out.  So why was she still on edge?  Why did she still panic and feel like she needed to look over her shoulder?  It had been 16 years since she had left that house that day, running for her life.  She had literally doubled her life, and she still felt like there were monsters lurking in every corner.

Every place she had ever lived, it seemed someone she knew would wind-up dead.  There would always seem to be a serial killer that would happen, and someone she knew – either well or someone she was acquainted with – would end up dead by that serial killer.   Every city!  Odds were not high enough that it would happen every place she ever lived.  So she would outright panic and pack up, leaving that city and bolting.  Normal people just didn’t experience that.  She was sure she was reading something into it.  She had to of, because her monsters were in prison and never getting out. 

She shook off the thoughts, the memories, and walked out of her on-suite and into the bedroom.  She had the best security system, she lived in a small town, had a whole new name, and she knew where the monsters were.  She was safe.  She was absolutely safe and for once, she had been in one place for five years without someone else’s monster knocking on her wall and effecting her life.

She was safe! She was safe. 

She kept repeating it in her head like a mantra.  One she kept saying in her head, no matter how old she’d get, she would always find herself saying it at times.  Luckily it was further and further apart, but it was still there, still needed.   She walked into her closet and stood there for a moment taking it all in.  After a brief moment, she reached out taking a black tank top off the shelf, picked out some blue jean looking form fitting soft leggings, and a light weight button down shirt that she’d just leave open.  She walked a little further in to her dresser, pulling out a clean bra and matching underwear.  She might not be sexually active, or even plan on being such, but it was always a boost to a girl’s self-esteem when pretty underthings made her feel sexy. 

She quickly got dressed and threw her hair up in a messy bun again. 

She refused to look any different then she would any other night for a girls’ night in.  She wasn’t trying to impress anyone.  What was the point?  She did not want or need any kind of relationship other than the ones she already had.  She had family, she had friends, and she had her daughter and her furry lovies.  She would never again seek out a romantic relationship.  She was a boss bitch and she didn’t need a man. 

In reality she just couldn’t trust people, she certainly couldn’t trust men, in general.  When someone climbed that mountain of distrust to get to the side of trust with her, it was a very long haul.    There were a few men she did trust, though, of course.  Her brother Reed.  Her Dad Phillip.  Her brother in law, Callum.  Her friend’s husbands, Aaron and Greggory.  She didn’t get a bad feeling off anyone in town, not one person, and that was a rare thing.  

That was a lie.  There was one person who she crossed the street to avoid.  The town crazy old man who always seemed to be drunk and talking to himself.   The town’s people she was somewhat close to told her he was harmless.  She hadn’t ever seen him do anything weird or strange besides being the town crazy old drunk who talked to himself, so she couldn’t say she had a bad vibe, just a cautious vibe. 

Well, and Sherriff Gatewood. 

There were a few men she dated while on her travels.   She didn’t date anyone in high school.  She had guy friends, but no one she dated.  They’d go out on group nights, but it wasn’t ever a date between her and anyone else.  She was still friends with some of them, from high school, on Facebook.  Which was a security risk.  Though, it was also easy enough to figure out who she was truly based on her being listed as Gabby’s sister on the family section. 

It never really dawned on her until that moment that it was actually a security risk.  That people could figure out who she was and who she was related to.  Though, apparently no one ever made that connection outside of the friends they had back then, and trusted. 

Then there was David, the guy who she dated in college and was Emerson’s Dad.  After David had died, she dated one guy named Hunter for about six months while she was in college. 

Then she didn’t date anyone for a few years.  She had moved to Santa Monica after college.  She had stayed there awhile.  She got itchy almost right away when her friend Leah disappeared after a party, later found murdered. Then her friend Gracie disappeared and was murdered.  Her therapist was telling her she shouldn’t run like she had the need to, that she couldn’t always run away all her life.  She couldn’t stay once her friend Daisy was murdered.  She just couldn’t stay there anymore, it was like someone was hunting girls in her group of friends, so she moved to San Diego. 

While she was in San Diego she dated a guy named Samuel for over a year, while she was there.  Then it seemed the murderer from Santa Monica had migrated south like she had.  The M.O. was exactly the same as the guy who seemed to be picking off her friends, one after another

After not being able to fight the need to bolt there, anymore, she moved all the way over to New York City, she didn’t date anyone there either.  There was crime there, sure, but it seemed to be more expected.  Then murders started happening in New York like it had on the west coast and it was like she was being followed. Later, the guy ended up being the copycat of the guy the media had dubbed the “Playful Strangler” that was killing on the west coast. 

How can someone be plagued with a serial killer being the same place as them?  What were the odds?  They had to be astronomical.  It was like her monsters were following her, but she couldn’t understand how that could happen.

She walked out of her closet, after getting dressed, and went in her room to sit on the edge of her bed.   She laid back and started thinking about her past. 

After Florida, and the trials, the whole family had moved to Oregon.  It wasn’t long before Gabby and Bella headed off to Berkeley College, though, in California where they had both been accepted.    Reed had gone there already, and moved on to Harvard Law School by the time they got there.

She had gotten pregnant, had Emerson.  It was a horrible experience, the birth.  Right at the same time she was having Emma, David died.  The c-section ended up being an emergency.  While she was laboring, Emma’s heartbeat had slowed down.  The stress of labor wasn’t agreeing with her.  She was in grave distress.  Everything happened so quickly, she was rushed to the operating room. They had cut her open and she remembered hearing the doctor gasp.  The scar tissue inside her was extensive.  After she was in recovery, the doctor had come in to talk to her.  She had asked everyone to leave and asked her a bunch of questions.  The doctor concluded that because of all the trauma that happened to her as a child and having had that extensive trauma, both physically and sexually, that it resulted in her body responding extremely.  She was shocked when the doctor told her that not only was her daughter a miracle. Then based on what she saw she was shocked she could even get pregnant and carry a pregnancy. She also determined that the odds were against her ever being able to have any more children.  It was like being abused and assaulted all over again.  The doctor had also said the reason the birth hadn’t progressed was because of the damage inside of her.

She had originally started to write as a suggestion from a therapist during the trial.  She started writing again because it had helped before.  She hadn’t decided on her major at that point and she had Emma. So she decided to take the summer off and just try to figure out what truly interested her and what direction she wanted to take in life.  Gabby and Bella had gotten an apartment a block from campus, and that summer Bella wrote, and wrote, and wrote.  She decided at that point that she wanted to write.  It seemed to come naturally to her.  So she knew at that point what direction she wanted to go and decided on a major accordingly.

After college, she moved to Santa Monica with Emma. She had already published her first two books under a pen name while she was in college and she had a good stream of income coming in as they were selling very well.  After a lot of argument with her publicist, she had been decided that she would hire someone to pretend to be her for publicity things.  That’s the way it had been since. 

She continued to write with the same characters.  Her main character, Penelope Hennessy, had started out as a beat cop in the first book.  She had an accident, shot in the line of duty right in the head, and woke up feeling like a different person.  She ended up, after a medical leave, on the scene of a murder.  It was then that she realized she could travel back in time, to a place where she hadn’t been before, to watch events, and find clues.  She would end up knowing who the murderer was and have to figure out how they tried to get away with it.  She would be able to see where key evidence was.  She would get promoted to a homicide detective.  She would have a weird hot and cold relationship with a reporter named Everette Mason, whom she eventually would start sleeping with and the plan, at some point, would be for them to get married.  The relationship was slow moving though, although they did kiss periodically now and they had slept together.  Penelope wasn’t sure she wanted a relationship with him.  He was the only person she had ever told her secret to, though.  Things did change as she wrote books.  She had fourteen books written so far, the one she was working on was number fifteen. 

When she had moved to Santa Monica after college was done, it was because she felt drawn there.   News reports started flooding in that women were disappearing mysteriously around town.  And it had all started with her friend Leah.  Then their bodies slowly started to be found.  She panicked, packed up so quick she didn’t even have much time to think.  She moved and never looked back.    She lived for a few months in Chicago.  The news had a lot of gang related and non-gang related murders.  She couldn’t deal. She went from Chicago to New Orleans, to San Antonio, then to Las Vegas, then the quieter life of Montana.  She wasn’t long in each place, and always leaving because it seemed that dead bodies were following her.  A friend, a neighbor, a boss … they haunted her.

After New York, she had come to meet her new niece, and stumbled across this town where she felt she wanted to plant her roots.  So she did. 

Every city she was in, women were disappearing, showing up dead.  It wasn’t that men weren’t dying, but it was the deaths of the women that triggered her response to flee.  It made her feel like she could never escape her past.  Like she had to keep looking over her shoulder.  She knew that wasn’t going to change in the Seattle area, but at least she would have Reed.  Gabby had been talking about moving closer to Reed too, and their parents had moved from Oregon to Washington already.  Dad wanted to be close to the military bases, since that’s what he was doing now.  Various government jobs with his military background.   They were already living on the Peninsula. 

Once she stumbled across this town, it was like she stepped back in time.  It was a small town.  Everyone seemed to know everyone.  People didn’t always lock their houses, or their cars.  Occasional domestic disputes broke out, the bar fights were the worst thing that seemed to really happen.  There was a lot of theft of large rare trees in the area.  People would go and chop them down in the middle of the woods, and then sell it.  People would occasionally go missing but were either found or got lost in the woods and perished, it wasn’t a matter of murder.  Oh and there was that one time that Old Man Wayler had shot the dog of his neighbor for barking all night.  The dog didn’t make it, and the neighbor moved.   

It felt safe, though. 

It felt protected. 

It felt right. 

She got up.  Made her way out of her room and into her house.  She passed the stairs that went upstairs to the guest rooms, and additional family room.  She passed Emma’s bedroom door which was open and she heard Emma giggling with her best friends.   There was the first-floor bathroom door, open and unoccupied.  She of course had her own bathroom in her room with a huge deep soaking tub.  The house opened up at that point, after the bedrooms and bathroom.  Her large office was across from the kitchen, but on the other side of the office, to the right, was an opened patio with two sliding glass patio doors, one side lead to the back yard, and the other opened up to the large screened in patio.  Now that they were heading into the summer season, she had pulled all that glass off and the whole thing was open to the cool evening air.  She had a great view of the Olympic mountains on the left side of the house, and a great view of the water from the right, complete with her own private beach, the path going out her back yard, and she even had a dock.  Out the back she had her own nice view of the woods along the edge of her property.  The open kitchen and dining room were to the left.  She saw the guys already putting up the poker table in the large screened in patio area.  They had moved her patio furniture around to make room for the poker table that seated eight people.

It’s funny, she thought, how a simple girls’ night in was turning into a big party with almost all the people she was closest to.  The door opened, startling her and making her jump, when her brother Reed and his wife Natalie yelled “surprise” before shutting the door.  Immediately she saw Gabby get up with the baby.  She hugged Natalie then handed her the baby, while she tossed her arms around Reed for a big hug.  “We heard there was a party going on here tonight and thought we’d come join in the fun!  Dropped the kids off at Mom and Dad’s and drove up here.”

She walked across the room and when Gabby started happily chatting at Natalie talking about labor and babies, Reed spotted her and walked across the room, eating up the distance with his big strides and long legs.  “Hey Sweetie,” he said kissing her forehead, wrapped his arms around her as she wrapped hers around his neck and scooped her up in the air in a twirl-hug. 

“Hey Bro,” she smiled looking up at him after her feet were back on the ground.  “Just happened to go see Mom and Dad?”

“Yeah, I got two weeks of vacation time I had to take, so I took it.  Asked the kids where they wanted to go and of course they wanted to see their Nana and Pop-pop, and Aunties and cousins.  We’re thinking about doing some touristy stuff, but haven’t really decided.  We’re kind of playing it by ear, which we both know is really hard for me.”

“Mister plan down to the minute, yeah, I know,” she laughed. 

“Mom suggested we crash here for the night in one of your guest rooms, is that okay?” He asked her. 

“Of course, you know you are always welcome.  This morning I woke up to silence and tonight I’m having an impromptu party.”

“I know we’re always welcome,” he ruffled her hair a little.  “But it’s always nice to ask.”  He looked at Natalie and Gabby, “She’s been dying to get her hands on that baby.”

“She has baby fever, doesn’t she?” She asked looking at her sister and sister-in-law practically looking like conjoined twins over the baby. 

“Oh yeah, you have no idea how badly.  After they got pregnant with the girls around the same time, and how they had really bonded to the point that they had the girls the same day, I think it spoiled them a bit.”

Gabby and Reed both had four kids.  Reed and Natalie started their family first, they had their son Jacob before she had even gotten pregnant with Emma.  Jacob was 14 now, Sawyer was 10, Katie was 5 and their youngest, Mollie is 3.  Gabby started her family after Emma was born.  Gabby and Callum’s oldest, Caleb, was 10, Zoey was 6, Hollie was 3 and then finally little 6-week Xavier. 

Gabby and Natalie were pregnant at the same time, due a month apart, but Hollie and Mollie were born two hours apart on the same day.   Gabby was 1 weeks late with Hollie, and Natalie was 3 weeks early with Mollie.  Both spontaneously went into labor on their own.  Natalie was laboring longer, at the hospital, Gabby went there to be supportive and ended up going into labor after her water broke while in the room with Natalie. Surprise!  The girls were born the same day to the shock and awe of the whole family who was there for the event. 

“I think it’ll happen real soon, Reed,” she smiled.  “Maybe even on this vacation if you can relax for two seconds,” she laughed nudging him.

“You always had that knack of knowing things before they happened,” he kissed her forehead again and put his arm on her shoulders. 

They watched as her friends and family mingled.   Then there was a knock on the door.   Reed’s arm dropped as she excused herself to answer the door that no one else beside her and Reed seemed to hear. 

She made it across the room and opened the door to find Sheriff Gatewood standing on the other side.  All six foot of his strong muscular stature, his dark hair and green eyes starring a hole right into her.  “Hello Sheriff,” she said opening the door.   “The guys are setting up the poker table.”

He held up a bottle of wine, “Gift for the ladies,” he said.  Then he held up a six pack of beer, “and something for the guys.”  She moved aside to let him in, and took the bottle of chilled wine as he handed it to her. 

“You certainly come prepared,” she smiled at him.  She didn’t understand why she got butterflies around him and every damn time she saw him.  She didn’t like it, didn’t welcome it, and certainly didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Boy Scout for life,” he smiled.  Damn if she couldn’t smell him.  He smelled like a mixture of citrus and musk.

She shut the door cursing the butterflies even more.   She had no idea how she was going to get through this night with the bastard butterflies and the lack of room to escape.  At least when she saw him around town, she could avoid him at all costs, she could cross the street, duck into a business, turn the other way and flee like the scaredy-cat she was.  She’s avoided him for years since their first meeting, but she couldn’t avoid him in her own house. 

This was the only guy who ever gave her butterflies and she had no clue why.  There was just something about him.  “You’ve been in the town for how long now and I’ve barely seen you,” he said to her.  “Mostly I just see your back.”  She looked up at him.  “It’s hard to miss that red hair of yours.”

She automatically reached up and ran her hand over her messy bun.  Always thankful they were tight spirals but that there was some waviness and curls to her hair depending on the day and the humidity.   “Well, good to know that I’m noticed,” I guess, she thought.  Inside she was cussing like a sailor that just stubbed his toe, realizing that he had taken notice of her every time she had avoided him, probably. 

She took the bottle of wine from him and crossed the open front area of her house into the kitchen and dipped her hand in the trough of ice with other bottles of wine and wine coolers of various size, colors and flavors, making room for the new bottle that she ended up shoving in the ice to keep it chilled. 

After she arranged the ice and bottles, she turned around and walked right into his chest.  It was like hitting a brick wall, there was no give.  He was a very solid man.  Her hands landed on his chest, fingers fanned out, bracing herself.  She couldn’t help but notice, and feel, the defined muscles in his chest, under his shirt.  She looked up, slowly, and met his eyes.  She was absolutely captivated with his amazing sage green eyes.  They were practically bewitching.  “Sorry for …” she backed up a few steps removing her hands from his chest before she started to trace the hard lines of his muscles.  She cleared her throat.  “Sorry for bumping into you Sheriff Gatewood.”  She looked around but wasn’t seeing a way to flee or anything to make an excuse of needing her attention.  She looked back at him. 

This wide smile spread slowly across his face.  “Call me Jensen, I’m not on duty.”  He pointed to his left breast area on his shirt, “see, no gold star here.” 

She rolled her eyes, she couldn’t help it.  Nor could she hold back the little hint of a smile.  

She felt more at ease, at least a little bit.  She took the beer from him and walked across the dining room and through the open patio door into her screened off back patio area.  “Jensen brought more beer.” She said as she walked into the room.  The word beer made all of their heads snap up and each one gave a holler.   She slid each bottle into the ice that filled up the long metal tub out there.  There were already a couple dozen bottled beers in the ice and a bunch of different cans.   As she slid the beer in the ice to chill she looked blankly at all the guys, “no one is driving home tonight, there are a bunch of guest rooms upstairs, everyone can crash here tonight if you want. If there isn’t enough, I have plenty of long surfaces that people normally sit on that can also double as a bed.  Including my kitchen island if need be,” She smiled looking at her brothers and all her friends’ husbands, as she considered all of them friends too.  

Her brother-in-law Callum she had grown very close to, Gullia’s husband Aaron he come early while Gillia had been waiting for her parents to come spend the night and watch their kids at her house.  Greggory and Aaron had been best friends since high school.  He had walked over with Aaron and he was setting up the poker chips.  Catrina was hanging out with Gillia until the grandparents showed and then they’d walk over. Reed walked into the room with a beer already open.  “Hey, are we ordering pizza tonight?”

Bella rolled her eyes so hard that she was surprised that they didn’t roll right on out of her head.  “Only if you are paying there Mr. Big Shot Lawyer man.” 

“Hey, I’ll pay Miss New York Best Seller Author woman,” a sly crooked smile crossed his lips.

                She looked at her brother and couldn’t stop the large smile that spread.  “Oh, you saw that, huh?”

                “Damn right I did,” he took a swig of his beer.  “I keep track of my sisters. Proud of you too, what is this, the seventh book now that’s made it on the list?”

                “First one that’s made it that far up.”  It was currently sitting at number four.

                There was a pat on her back as the Sheriff walked into the room.  “Congrats,” he said walking in.  “I didn’t realize you write.”

                “Yeah, I write under a pen name.  I also have a girl that I’ve hired to pretend to be me so I don’t need to do any of the press release stuff.”  She told him as he walked closer to the poker table.

                He turned and looked back at her.  “Why would you do that after working so hard on a book?”

                “Well,” she felt a little panicked, and looked at Reed with probably a caught in the headlights deer kind of look.  “I don’t like attention,” she continued as she looked back at Jensen.  “I want my daughter to have a normal life.”

                “She REALLY doesn’t like attention,” Reed proclaimed.  “Every chance she can get to fade into the background she takes,” he all but snorted a laugh.

                “Meanwhile,” she gave her brother a slanted sisterly look.  “Reed wants all the attention and I gladly let him take it.  That’s why you are a lawyer and I am not.  That and you like hearing yourself talk and you like arguing with anyone and everyone.”  She laughed.

                “And that’s why you hide in your office and sometimes don’t come out until it’s dark out.”

                She nodded, “truth.  The moon is much more calming than the sun.”  She smiled looking at each of them, thinking, she got pretty lucky with her group of guy friends.  Based on what happened to her when she was a child and teenager she wasn’t sure she would have ever trusted another guy in her whole life had it not been for the family that embraced her and showed her what love truly was. 

                “Bella here is the famous writer also known as Alison Gaynes.”

                “Oh wow!” Jensen looked from Reed to Bella a few times.  “My sisters all love those books. They all come in, practically have book club meetings with each other, Amber is always coming in, taking over my desk chair, gushing about these books and the characters.  Dragging Natasha, who works at the police station, and Nicole, who owns the Spa, in for impromptu book club meetings. The cop books, right?  They quiz me on if certain things are possible.”

                “Do I pass?”

                “One hundred percent, at least of what I’ve been asked.” he smiled.  “I have had a few moments of being impressed on how accurate you are.”  He smiled at her.  His hand resting on her shoulder.  Don’t worry, I will keep your secret, but I may have to have you sign some books so I can be the best brother in the world.”

                “I can do that,” she smiled.  “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

                As she turned to leave the room she heard Reed pipe up again.  “Best poker player I’ve ever seen is walking away boys, we should count our lucky stars.”

                Gabby popped out from somewhere, “You know Reed,” she sent him a challenging look.  “We could play a few games before Gullia and Catrina get here, I bet she can still kick your ass.”

                “Nah,” he said waving off both of his sisters.  “She cheats.”

                “I don’t cheat,” Bella laughed.  “I never have, at …. ANYTHING.”  Her hands hit her hips before she could stop them.

                Reed looked pleading at the other three guys.  “Please,” he whispered.  “Don’t fall into her trap …”

                “I’m game, and curious,” Jensen said.

                Reed’s hand hit his face so hard it caused Bella to giggle.  “He’s just scared,” she whispered.  “Last time we had a friendly family game, he lost five hundred dollars to me, but I’d gladly take all of your money if it weren’t for the fact that Reed is paying for the pizza I still need to order and if I play you guys he’ll be broke.  Then my sister-in-law would be horribly mad at me.”

                “Right!” he pointed at Bella.  “Right!  So let’s just go with a guys only game.” He turned toward the guys who were sitting down. 

                “Actually, I’m curious too,” Callum said.  “I had no clue that she even played.”

                Gabby blew out a howling breath of laughter.  “Well that’s because I like us having money.”

                Bella found herself sitting down at the poker table.  “Challenge accepted.  Go ahead, sit down and deal.”  She told Reed. 

                “Well boys,” Reed said, “I am going to order the pizza and not lose my money.  You have fun with this death trap.”  As he passed Gabby he poked her in the chest.  “Remember when Callum loses all the college funds for the kids, you only have yourself to blame.”

                Gabby couldn’t help the giggle as she rubbed the spot he had been poking her.  “Nursing mom here bro,” she griped following him out of the room.   

                Bella laughed.   After agreeing on the game and rules, the cards were dealt.  Bella had put ten dollars out and ended up walking away with 100 dollars twenty minutes later when Gillua and Catrina walked in the door.  She had laughed, joked, laughed some more.  She forgets, sometimes, how fun it is to be around other people.  She’s one that normally would rather lock herself in a room, with her computer, and the voices in her head. 

                She got up from the table, thanked the boys and proceeded with the girls’ movie and wine night in the basement where she had a theater room set up with recliners and a huge screen. 

                At one point, Gabby leaned over and whispered to her.  “You know, it was really nice to see you laughing and smiling.  Plus, you really like him and you know it.”

                Bella leaned over closer to her sister.  “I will deny, deny, and deny some more.”

                “Yes, but, you forget.  I saw you around David and you weren’t this…  scared avoid at all cost girl with him.  What’s different? I’ve never seen you anything but confident with guys…. pretending or whatever, doesn’t matter, you project confidence and you don’t do that with him.”

                “Is it that obvious?” Bella asked looking at her sister. 

                “Blatantly…” Gabby murmured.  “I get the phony confidence, it’s a coping mechanism.  I’m just not sure why you’ve never been able to pull it off around him.”

                “Well shit,” Bella hissed and sunk into the chair even more. 

                “What are we whispering about?”  Gullia asked. 

                Bella just shook her head, reached into her popcorn and threw it at her friend.  This started a mini popcorn fight which had Bella laughing again.  “Okay stop now, I don’t have hired help to come clean this up for me. Nor do I have ushers.”

                “Well you have a housekeeper,” Catrina said. 

                “Yes, but I don’t leave messes hanging around for her to get around to them.”  Then she threw a few more popped kernels at Catrina before turning her attention back to the movie. 

                Several hours later, the Poker game had wound down, the big winner of the night was almost a tie between Reed and Jensen, but Jensen had pulled ahead by about twenty-five dollars.  There were amused threats of kicking him out of the bi-monthly poker games already.  Gabby had gone up to bed, with the baby, so she could feed him and try to settle down for the night.  Gullia and Catrina were sitting at the dining room table with cups of coffee in their hands, waiting for their husbands who were bullshitting with the other guys.  The four of them were going to walk home together, even though it was after one in the morning.  Bella offered for them to crash there but they said they would be fine, they only lived a few blocks away and walked over so they knew they could walk home. Plus, Catrina’s kids were being watched by a babysitter who was expecting them home that night.  

                It didn’t take long for the poker table to be put away along with everything else.  The screened room was cleaned up and she was hugging her girlfriends, and saying goodnight to all four of them. 

                She went out and sat on the front porch swing.  The girls were sleeping, Callum was still chatting with Jensen, then he was heading up to go to bed with Gabby.  Reed and Natalie had gone up to bed together.  It wasn’t often that Natalie got a bit tipsy but she sure did tonight.  She was giggling all the way up the stairs with Reed slapping her ass and making sure she didn’t fall backwards. 

                Eventually Jensen walked out of her house, shutting the door behind him.  He noticed her there, on the swing, swaying slightly but enjoying the cool breeze.  “Thanks for having me over tonight,” he said to her.  He leaned on one of the patio beams. 

                “My pleasure, seemed like you had a good time.”  She was swinging ever so slightly. 

                “It was great.  It’s been a long while since I’ve played poker, or had a good lad’s night with friends.”   He smiled at her.  “Cop’s work is never done.”

                “I supposed it’s not,” she whispered.  “Luckily not a whole heck of a lot goes on because of it being a small town, though, right?” 

                “You’d think,” he said leaning a bit more onto his elbow.  “But I’m sheriff for most of the county.  Since most of the townships around us don’t have cops of their own, I’m a bit on call all the time.  My deputy’s wife just had a baby about six months ago, neither of them have gotten much sleep at night since the baby came, so I’ve been making sure that I’ve covered most overnight calls around here.”

                “I see,” she said. 

                “You’ve been here, what, about five years now?”  He asked her. 

                “Yeah about that, we moved here when Emma was seven, it was when my brother’s daughter, Katie, was born. This place, kinda fell into my lap and I snatched it.  I had a contractor come in, build an addition, make some changed, update stuff, and we moved in about six months after we first saw it.  It’s hard to believe we’ve been here that long,” she said looking up at her house.  “Seems like yesterday we were unpacking.”

                “What brought you to these parts?”

                “Well, I happened to find the town on accident.  We were driving around and just …” she shrugged.  “Got a little lost.  We came across the town and it felt so charming.  I liked the close-knit feel.  Seemed like a great place to raise Emma.”  And to hide from my past, she added in her head.

                “Well,” He smiled.  “It is a nice little town.”  He straightened up and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  “On that note, I’m going to head home.”

                “Are you sure?” she asked.  “I don’t want you getting into an accident.”

                “I only had two beers, been drinking water and coffee since. It’s been what,” he looked down at his watch, “four hours ago.”

                “Oh, okay.  There is another guest room,” she offered. After the words came out of her mouth, she almost wanted to kick herself.  Why was she offering him to spend the night in her house?

                “I don’t live that far away.  I’ll be fine.  Reed is great, I’m glad I got to formally meet him and get to know him.””  He took a few steps towards her and she got up from the swing. 

“Yeah he’s pretty great.  If you ever need any legal advice,” she kinda snickered a bit. 

“Sure thing,” he laughed.  “So I’ll just say goodnight.”

                She thought he was going to hug her, but instead his lips settled on hers, and his arms wrapped around her.  He deepened the kiss and she let him.  She was kissing him back, she realized.  Her brain went to mush but she was enjoying it.  Her stomach started to burn with lust and want she didn’t really crave, or didn’t realize that she wanted.  The kiss was filled with heat that had her smoldering. 

                She pulled away, “Um,” she whispered looking down and at the same time reaching up and touching her lips lightly with her hand.

                “Goodnight,” he smiled, slowly.  “Sweet dreams.”

                She stood there, slightly confused.  “Goodnight,” she muttered look up at him.

                She looked and he wasn’t there anymore.  She looked up, she could see the stars.  Sinking back down onto the swing she sat there, starring up at the stars, wondering what just happened.  Everywhere her head went. trying to make logic out of it, she ended up back at a big gaping hole of confusion. 

Standing on the edge of the property he patiently watched as some people slowly trickled out and leave her residence. He was watching her sit on her porch on her swing.   Her hair was so pretty, he just wanted to touch it, run his fingers through her hair and down her shoulders and arms, reaching up and ever so lightly tracing her breast. The though was almost too much, so he started thinking about something else.  He watched her for a few more moments, imagining that swing falling to the porch with her on it sent a curl across his lips.  He could hear her scream echo through his imagination.  He was longing to hear her scream in terror.  

He could make it happen, he would make it happen.  Maybe he’d even tamper with her swing so that it would crash to the porch. 

She needed to die.  Dying was the ultimate goal, with her.  The last thing that he would do was to kill her and possibly himself, after all, there was really nothing left after the death of Maribel.  There was no purpose, unless he could think of something to keep him happy.  Something he could build to.  They’d never catch him, he knew that.  They never would.  Not for the murders.  All the murders.

He watched the bastard cop come out on her porch.  He ducked into the tree line a little further, but not far enough to no longer see her.  He watched them talk, and her whole demeaner change.  She sat a little straighter, smiled a little more, he could practically hear her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. 

He snarled at the thought. 

Now that she was located again, the fun would once again start.  The little game of how long she would wait before bolting from an area like a scared little jack rabbit.  How many women would he have to kill before she did?  How many friends would he have to make disappear?  There was stuff to do, like case out her house, figure out her security, decide how to kill that brat kid of hers.  He’d have fun with other women while he waited for the right time.

He had waited for years to finally kill her.  For over a decade and a half he had bid his time.  That was coming to an end though.  He knew he needed to end this.  As much as he wanted to do watch her run again and have fun locating her, he was really getting tired of the cat and mouse chase.  It’s time to finally get the mouse and have his way with it.   The only goal he’s had for so many years was finally going to happen.  After that, maybe death or maybe a whole new goal.