What is wrong with
me? Sex sells. I didn't set out to write erotica nor use it as a selling point, but believable sex scenes in so many of my works are an important part of the stories. Here are some
excerpts:
From The 41st Sermon
She put her hands
on his shoulders to give herself leverage, slowly raised her hips, and he felt
her glide over him, raise the lips of her vagina to his tip, and move her hips
in a circle. A gurgle left his throat. As she slowly descended her vagina down
and around his penis, submerging it, he felt his drool drip down the side of
his slack mouth.
Not even God, he
knew, could save him from this delicious hell. Nor, Father Talley also knew,
did he have a shred of desire to be saved. He searched again for some feeling
of guilt, but there was none and that, he knew, was the final sign that he was
lost.
From the dark
thriller Blow Up the Roses
Mr. Brown closed
the door on the whimpers and walked up the stairs to take a shower. He stood
under the stream of water and leaned his head against the wall of the shower
stall. "Mommy loves me. Mommy loveth me. Mommy loveth me," he
whispered to himself as his heart slowed. Those pictures should really be
something, he thought to himself. As good as these stills would be, though, he
knew there was no way they would show the wriggling.
From Crazy About You
There was no
resistance from her when I let my hands know those hooters were real; there was
just her gasp. She gasped more air when I bit her neck, stuck my tongue in her
ear. Pheromones were exuded to beat the band. I went ahead and wolfed down
gulps of air. I undid the top buttons of her starched blue blouse. I hadn’t
been this close to breasts since I was a baby. I dove right back in. Got a
mouthful of bra. I undid another button of her blouse and that gave me enough
room to reach around to the back of her bra. It took awhile for my
inexperienced fingers to undo the five hooks. But what a reward. My God, I
realized, a five-hooker! I had heard Jake LaRue brag about such trophies and
complain that other girls were “only a two-hooker.” My flat-chested sister,
whose bra I checked out in the laundry room, was only a two-hooker. Here I had
just undone a five-hooker. It was too dark to see as clearly as I would have
like to see, but my hand and then my mouth told me what they were encountering
was the mother-lode. She was gulping down air now, too. The intense air intake
into her lungs produced unbelievable consequences to her chest. My Very
Important Thing was so hard you would have had to use a hacksaw to cut it off.
From One More Victim
I rose up on my
arms and tiptoes, like doing pushups, pinned her pelvis by impaling her, and
stopped my hips, which stopped her hips. I made my whole body stop time by
turning every muscle rigid. She opened her eyes to see me looking down at her.
Sweat droplets were on her forehead and temples, wetting her blonde hair and
turning that kissable area brunette.
I had stopped the
world and she knew it.
"What?"
she muttered, sweat beads having formed on her upper lip.
"Everything."
"What?"
"Everything.
This is everything. Right now. Right here. This is the grown-up first kiss. I
don't care if you've had other lovers before. I don't care if I have. We are
each other's first lovers because we make it so right now. When you first
kissed me, you exploded life within me. Now life is exploding within me again.
I want to hold this moment for as long as I can."
Her eyes were
wide, the pupils dilated so you could drive a truck through them. I continued
to babble. I was practiced at babbling when high. Words just flowed.
From Then and Now
"And when did
you fall in love with me?" she leaned back in my arms after the kiss and
asked.
"I woke up
with it the morning after I met you," I said and sat on the divan, pulling
her towards me, laying backward and putting her light body on top of my own.
The script was now obvious. Trite in its lines but sincere it its spontaneity:
"And you, have you always been so beautiful?"
First she laughed.
She was above me, both her elbows on either side of my head, looking down at
me, into my eyes. The laugh abruptly stopped.
"What's
wrong?" she asked.
"What?"
I felt the moment being broken again.
"Why are you
crying?" she asked.
"I didn't
know I was." It was true. I hadn't felt the tears on my temples until she
told me.
Then the smell of
the sweetness of her breath mingled with the smell of her hair and skin and
made me cry more.
"I guess
because I've never been so happy," I told her, trying to explain the
tears. She collapsed against me, pushing her lips against my ear:
