Sometimes, You Gotta Write Sex
By Sara Dobie Bauer
There is a lot of gratuitous sex in the world. Like, a lot. It’s everywhere from film to advertising to magazines to your TV. We are saturated in sex. (Ick, that’s an image.) However, as a romance author, I would like to argue that sometimes, sex is necessary.
Have you ever seen a movie or read a book where the sex scene just … sucked? It’s often not the fault of the writing itself (unless we’re talking the Literary Review’s Bad Sex in Fiction Award; if you don’t know what this is, please check it out and laugh forever). Sure, some authors don’t know the proper word choice for a sex scene. For instance, please God don’t use “moist.” Other times, the sex scene sucks because it feels out of place, unnecessary, or even out of character.
In cases like this, where the sex scene feels forced, the sex scene probably wasn’t necessary but the author threw it in there to titillate. This is wrong. You can’t just drop a sex scene in the middle of a book; you gotta work up to it, and the characters have to be along for the ride.
In a very early draft of my new novel We Still Live, the sex scenes between Isaac and John were fade-to-black. The book deals with very serious issues—school shootings and mental illness—so I felt sort of dirty putting sex scenes in there. Eventually, I realized the sex scenes were not only a good idea but also imperative to developing my two male leads.
I don’t want to spoil anything, but their “first time” isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Isaac is carrying a lot of baggage into the bedroom, including his homophobic family and the years he spent hiding in the closet. John has to teach Isaac how to “make love,” and this bit of character development is huge.
The story just wouldn’t be the same without the sex, because in many cases, we are most vulnerable in the bedroom. There are orgasms and endorphins and the occasional accidental “I love you.” During sex, we not only reveal our physical selves but our emotional selves, as well, which is definitely the case for John and Isaac in We Still Live.
One of my strengths is that I write excellent sex scenes. I’ve even consulted with other authors, trying to teach them how to write excellent sex, and it’s not easy. Arguably, it’s not even something we do as writers. It’s what the characters do. If they are complex and developed enough, they create fireworks between the sheets. We just get to be the creepy Peeping Toms.
I concede that sex is not necessary in every book, but if you think a sex scene will help move the plot or develop character, don’t be afraid to get wild. Or sweet. Or kinky. Create the kind of sex scene your characters deserve—and try not to end up on the Bad Sex in Fiction shortlist.
Book Title: We Still Live
Author: Sara Dobie Bauer
Publisher: NineStar Press
Cover Artist: Natasha Snow
Release Date: December 9, 2019
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance
Tropes: Friends to lovers, hurt/comfort
Themes: Coming out, depression, anxiety, PTSD/post-traumatic stress, mental illness
Length: 62 000 words
It is a standalone book.
To escape the past, accept it.
Blurb
Running from a scandal that ruined his life, Isaac Twain accepts a teaching position at Hambden University where, three months prior, Professor John Conlon stopped a campus nightmare by stepping in front of an active shooter.
When John and Isaac become faculty advisors for the school’s literary magazine, their professional relationship evolves. Despite the strict code of conduct forbidding faculty fraternization, they delve into a secret affair—until Simon arrives.
Isaac’s violent ex threatens not only their careers, but also John’s life. His PTSD triggered, John must come to terms with that bloody day on College Green while Isaac must accept the heartbreak his secrets have wrought.
***WE STILL LIVE is a standalone M/M friends-to-lovers romance featuring detailed adult content, graphic violence, hurt/comfort, and mental illness.***
Buy Links
NineStar Press | Amazon UK | Amazon US | Paperback
Close as they were to the foyer, Isaac was the first to notice the front door opening. A student walked inside. The kid dragged a heavy-looking suitcase behind him. Dressed as he was in a slim-fitting button-down, Isaac immediately assumed preppy, although that assumption altered and changed when taking into account the tight black jeans, Converse sneakers, and shaggy hair the color of caramel and chocolate—a mass of waves and curls that fell down the back of his neck but not quite to his shoulders.
The kid pushed his hair out of the way and looked up, eyes finding Isaac and flashing a moment of panicked nonrecognition before seeing Tommy.
“Um.” Isaac pointed toward the new arrival.
Tommy turned and shouted, “John! My man!”
Not a student, then.
Tommy wrapped John in a hug that actually lifted his feet off the ground. Isaac imagined it wouldn’t be difficult. The new guy might have been average height, but he was gangly, skin and bones.
Tommy ruffled his hair. “Have you lost weight?”
John grumbled and scratched his face with his middle finger. “What are you freeloaders doing in my house?” His voice was surprisingly resonant for someone Isaac considered “pretty.” At John’s pronouncement, crows of approval rang from every direction.
“Come meet Isaac,” Tommy said.
John wiped his palms on his jeans before reaching out to shake, and Isaac’s large hand dwarfed his.
“Isaac Twain is the newest addition to our special corner of Hambden hell. Isaac, this is John Conlon.”
John brushed more hair out of his face. “Nice to—”
“John Conlon?”
John and Tommy froze.
Isaac jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The books on the shelf. Those are yours?”
John’s face, immobile in what looked like dread a moment before, melted into relief, tinged with a bit of blush. “Oh, yeah. You’ve read?”
“No, but I should. You’ve published a lot of books. You must be good.”
John’s nose wrinkled, and he looked away.
Tommy shook him by the shoulders. “John is an amazing writer. He had a story published in The New Yorker when he was, like, five. Are you working on anything right now?”
John glanced at the bookshelf. “Not lately.”
“You need a drink,” Tommy said.
John’s eyes widened on a big breath. “God, yes, I do.”
“Nice to meet you,” Isaac said, but John just nodded quickly, smile thin, before allowing himself to be herded farther into the house toward the sound of quiet laughter and clinking bottles.
Isaac felt it then—an outsider’s emptiness. He became a nervous-looking coat rack in the corner, a terrified tree waiting for the ax. As the party doubled in auditory volume, he bemoaned his spilled wine. Was it okay for him to leave? It wasn’t like he was supposed to make a speech. He was only there because he figured it was the easiest way to meet everyone before the first official faculty meeting, but he’d been standing around too long. He wanted to run.
Out of curiosity, he reopened John’s book from earlier and read the front flap. It was a coming-of-age story about a gay kid in the Midwest. He flipped to the back, and a picture of John stared back at him. He’d assumed the guy was tired when they first met, but no; apparently, John had perpetual bedroom eyes, and his hair was always an artful mess. He skimmed…creative writing professor at Hambden University…gay rights activist…Converse-wearer and “old-people music” enthusiast.
All arrows pointed to John’s probable sexual preference for men. A spark of interest flickered but quickly went out. True, John Conlon was what most people would consider beautiful, but he wasn’t Isaac’s type. John was the kind of man butch guys fought over in gay clubs, but he was too small for Isaac, too fragile-looking, girly. After all he’d been through, the last thing Isaac wanted was someone feminine.
A thin figure ducked into the library and literally hid against the doorframe. He took a long drink of something brown and leaned his head back. “It’s not good when you want to hide in your own house.”
“Library is the best place for it,” Isaac said.
John kicked away from the wall. “Tommy mentioned you just moved here? I’ve been in Lothos forever, so if you need anything…” He examined Isaac from his brown boat shoes to the top of his blond head. John’s large eyes, dark green, seemed bottomless—drowning pools of intellect and soul—only slightly overshadowed by his thick eyebrows.
Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling author, model, and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. She lives with her hottie husband and two precious pups in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film. She is author of the paranormal rom-com Bite Somebody series and Escape Trilogy.
Photo credit: Bill Thornhill
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I loved We Still Live ❤