Foreplay

 The first time I wrote a sex scene, I went to a coffee shop.  If I stayed home, my teenage daughter would discover I knew as much about sex as she did.  My face flamed and my panicky fingers shook on my pen.  Coffee sloshed.  I wrote "he said," "she said," and "she felt his rigid..."  It wasn't fiction, it was reportage and it was dull.  

That was a very long time and many steamy sessions ago.  If the above were written today, this author would have fun doing it.  For example, as I approached the first sex scene in My More Than Sister, (available in October for Kindles) I didn't need coffee or solitude.  My participants were good looking, that time was now, the setting was beautiful, and you can guess the rest.  Here's a snippet:

"As soon as I unlocked the apartment door he swept me up, kicked the door shut behind us and took me.  I said took me.  Grabbed a hip in each hand, socketed me, and began our dance.  Well, first he undid the zippers..."  

That scene may not work you up - it's not supposed to - but it's a far cry from my maiden effort (if you'll forgive the play on words) at evoking sex.  

Novelist Janet Evonovich is the mistress of fictional steam.  When her Stephanie Blum character is in a room with Ranger the bounty hunter, the reader is already titillated because Evonovich has laid the groundwork in a dozen ways.  Ranger is hot.  Stephanie is bespoke but tempted.  They have done it before with spectacular results.  Now they get really, really close to one another, close enough to feel each other's body heat.  Stephanie stammers or drops her towel.  Ranger doesn't move but he almost smiles.  He says, "...Steph"  

God, I love Ranger.  

So the lesson I've taken from Janet Evanovich is, foreshadow the sex.  Think of it as foreplay.  

Here's Chapter Twenty-one of Dead on Dutcher's Mountain.  

TWENTY-ONE 

Brad was a callous weekend drunkard of Gunderson’s age, height and weight; a type of small-time journalist Hillary knew and handled well.  He surprised her, though, at the hospital.  He entered the emergency lounge with her, found her a chair, and spoke to the receptionist himself.  He solicitously told her that the ambulance carrying Brian was still on its way.  He brought her more coffee from the machine and stood patiently, though uneasily, as she drank.  His eyes never left her breasts.
 
“Brad, I’m all right.  Don’t stay.”
 
“No, we just got here.  I’ll hang around for a little.”
 
“You have to put the paper to bed.  You’ll be running late anyway, and without those photos from the party.”
 
“Well, then--I mean, if you’re going to be okay...”  He stopped at the glass door.  His eyes still focused only at the level of her breasts.  “You’re sure that film got down the mountain?”
 
“Karl Voerst said he put it in the slot of the door.”  She coughed.  There were voices in her head and scenes from ancient crimes. 
 
“I’ll look in the drop box again.  It’s not all that important, but it would fill space.”
 
“I know.  I wish I could help.  Maybe you can blow up the cave shot I got, and the one establishing.  I don’t know what to do about the tabloid, but Earl I mean the sheriff has a shot of Karl Voerst.  He’s the production supervisor.  Mrs. Bailey took pictures too.”
 
“Do you have any copy on him?”
 
“Voerst?  His press release.  It’s in that blue folder of mine by the phone.  Sorry.”
 
“Where are your notes?”
 
“In the same folder.”  She coughed once, twice.
 
Brad hesitated, then asked anyhow.  “Do you have a statement?  Personally?  As part of this story?”  Hillary gave him a look.  “I guess that wasn’t the thing to ask.  And I guess you don’t want me to take a picture.”  He waited hopefully for a denial.  It didn’t come.  “I’ll be going, then.”
 
“You do that, Brad.”
 
Hillary rose, set down her cardboard cup and wandered to the door as he crossed the parking lot.  Her lungs hurt.  Her head hammered.  Still no ambulance.  Earl was with it.  He could make them hurry.  If Bri were in pain, Earl would give him a shot.  He would reassure Bri about Karen, and take care of him so nothing worse happened on the way to the hospital.  He would know what to do.  He was doing it.  He was.
 
At last the siren came, faint, then loud, then off.  She was at the rear doors of the vehicle before the orderlies, and they had to move her aside to position the gurney.  Brian was white and as still as death.  Hillary was not prepared for the awfulness, the smooth, expressionless face.  Brian looked at her, through her, without sign and was carried away while she tried to understand.
 
McCoy took her hand to lead her inside.  She stood statue-still as he answered questions for the admissions clerk, then she sat and stared into her cup of cold coffee.
 
McCoy came to her chair.  “I’d stay if I could, Hillary, but I’ve got to get back.”  She nodded and sipped.  “Your car is in the lot.  I had it brought up for you.”
 
“How did you do that without my keys?  Oh.  I suppose you hot-wired it.”
 
“Yes.  Do you have the keys with you?”
 
“They’re in my purse.”
 
“I’ll keep in touch.  Rosalie will pick up Karen.  She’ll take her up to the mine.”
 
Hillary coughed.  “Did you say paralyzed, Earl?”
 
A series of emotions crossed McCoy’s face, all frustrated.  He sat beside her on the bench.  “We’ll learn why, Hill.  Soon.”  She was silent.  “Did you hear me, earlier, about Karen?”
 
“Yes, Earl.  You brought my car, and Rosalie’s going to pick up Karen tonight and take her home.  Thank you.  You’re very good.”
 
McCoy walked to the nurse’s station, spoke quietly, and after a minute returned.  “Take this, Hill.  It’ll make you feel better without knocking you out.”  She complied.  “Now, relax.  Stay here in town tonight.  I’ll talk with you soon.”
 
“Yes, Earl.  Thanks.”
 
He walked away; looked back, silhouetted by the door.  She smiled at him and took the rest of the pills. 
It seemed much later that a doctor emerged from a silver, double swinging door beside the reception window.  She said something and the receptionist pointed to Hillary.  The doctor came over.
 
“Your brother is resting, Ms. Webster, and we’ve taken him upstairs,” she said.  She was tall and heavy, with graying chestnut hair and a square face, reassuring.  “We have removed the bullet.  I’m afraid there is still no movement, although we can’t tell whether that’s permanent.  We’ll know more by tomorrow.”
 
“Tomorrow?”
 
“I don’t expect anything before then, Ms. Webster.  He’s heavily sedated.  The bullet nicked a nerve from the spinal cord, one that controls his muscles and makes motion possible.  Before that, it went through his left lung.  It’s impossible even to tell whether there’s much pain.  I’m sorry.”
 
“I see.”
 
“Can I give you something for yourself?  A sedative?  Do you have anyone with you here?”
 
The receptionist broke in.  “The other doctor sedated her.”
 
“I’ll be all right,” Hillary said.  “Shall I stay here, then?”
 
“Honestly, you’ll do more good if you rest and come back tomorrow.  When he wakes, your brother will want to see you healthy.”  The doctor reached into her gown and pulled out an assortment of gold objects.  

“These look valuable; you’ll want to care for them yourself.  They’re your brother’s things.”
 
Hillary found herself sitting with Brian’s jewelry in her lap with the doctor and receptionist watching from across the room.  Bri’s things; the turquoise cuff links she sent from Phoenix, his Masonic key ring, a diamond pendant on a broken chain, his money clip, the paraphernalia and small totems.  She sifted through them with a forefinger, weak and resentful of her sentimental pain.  Might as well wear the pendant; it looked too valuable to throw in her purse.  She began to string the stone onto the chain she already wore. 
 
As she clasped it around her neck a silver flicker caught her eye from the parking lot; the Accordo.  Karl rose from the unfolding top like a savior god.  She flew through the door.
 
He insisted on food before she drove the long miles home.  No, she wouldn’t stay overnight, she insisted; Karen needed her.  She followed the Accordo in her Thunderbird.  At a Denny’s restaurant he ordered for her, failed at conversation as she played with a sprig of kale, then reached across the table to hold her hand.
“I am desolate at your unhappiness, Divina.  I find myself helpless before your capacity for pain.  How may I help?”
 
Her fuzziness was being replaced by fatigued clarity.  “Thank you for coming up, Karl.  You’ve done enough.”
 
“Not at all.  And truly, it is better for you to speak about this.  How is Brian?  Is he hurting?  What has he told you?  How do you feel?  Although the last question is unnecessary, of course.”
 
“He’s paralyzed, Karl.”
 
“Terrible.”
 
Suddenly she felt angry and words jerked from her mouth.  “He can’t speak.  He’s white.  He’s expressionless.  He looks dead.  He possibly hurts.”  She bit at the kale and discarded it.  “I feel rotten.  I’m scared.  I’m unhappy.  I’m worried for Karen.  I’m tranked by something Earl gave me.  I don’t want to talk about it.”
 
“Divina, I won’t press.”
 
“And please don’t call me that.”
 
“Very well.”
 
Voerst seemed fascinated by the pendant; he fell to watching its brilliant reflections dance from her shirt and onto her throat.  When he spoke, though, it wasn’t about the stone.
 
“I couldn’t help noticing a noise from your car on the way here,” he said.  “If it’s what I believe it to be, it might cause steering trouble on the drive home.”
 
“Really?  I didn’t notice.”
 
“You are distracted.  I know automobiles very well; may I look under your hood?”
 
“Of course.”  She handed him her keys.  He excused himself and paid before he left.  Hillary idly watched him start her engine, try the steering, then open the hood.  She finished her coffee and decided to call McCoy.  He was not in, but his secretary asked her to come by to sign a statement.  There was just time, if she hurried.  She agreed.
 
Karl was finished, wiping his hands on a rag at his own exotic car.
 
“All done?” she asked when she emerged.
 
“Yes.  I was wrong abut the steering, but your distributor wires are charred so I replaced them.  I do not understand it.  Of course, I am not an expert on the Thunderbird.”
 
“Is it likely to be any trouble now?”
 
“None.  You will want to have it checked once you’re home, of course, but  it’s perfectly safe.”
 
Hillary led Karl to the edge of town, but her sudden turn into a full-service gas station caught him unaware.  
He overran the entry and parked to wait.
 
“Fill ‘er up and check the oil?”
 
“Yes, please, and check the transmission fluid.  This beast tends to leak it, and I’m headed for the coast.”
 
For a quiet few moments the gas pump hummed.  Hillary studied Karl’s profile.  He was absolutely unwavering, frozen in a trance.  His eyes did not blink.
 
“Your fluid’s okay, ma’am, but there’s a quick fix you need.  Only be a minute.”  The attendant disappeared under the hood. 
 
Curious, Hillary got out and joined him.  “What’s wrong? She asked.  “Anything serious?”
 
“Not now, but it’s a good thing you didn’t get out of town.  One of these hoses was on wrong.”  He cocked an eye up at her and registered Karl’s huge presence at the same time.  The big man’s hand was wrapped across the back of her neck and shoulder.
 
“Really?”  Hillary looked questioningly up to Karl.
 
“Perhaps I missed it,” Karl guessed.  “Which is it, please?”
 
“This one here.  Drove the transmission fluid right into the carburetor.  Wouldn’t do you any good in there, driving those mountain roads.”  He cackled at the thought of the monstrous consequences.
 
Karl nodded.  “I didn’t see it.  It’s good that you did.”  He hugged Hillary quickly to his side, fairly beaming with pride and love.  He said, “You seem to always do the right thing, Divina.”