Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

The H/H in romances have simultaneous orgasms b/c it’s what everyone else does.  It’s like if you don’t do it, you’d better have a damn good reason for it. 

As a writer, I’ve resigned myself to it.  But I set the limit strictly against virgins orgasming on their first experience of vaginal sex.  :-)

Sherry

One of my favorite descriptions is from An Exchange of Hostages by Susan R. Matthews, a SF novel most definitely not a romance and not for the squeamish.  Its hero, Andrej, is a Ship’s Inquisitor—he tortures and executes people as part of his duties when he’s not being a world class military surgeon.  Anyway, in Andrej’s culture his penis is his “fish”, which goes diving in the “ocean”.  So in this encounter, Andrej is having sex with multiple female partners:

“Their charitable forbearance of his fish’s impertinence, which puffed itself up proudly to be so stroked and petted; and their generous permission to let his fish dive deep where it was certain it belonged, granting the greedy thing such new and delightful seas in which to disport itself that, in the end, it wilted of an excess of exercise and had to be returned with gentle hands to where fish were generally to be found.”

At least some writers are allowing the heroine to orgasm through oral sex first, before continuing toward the big vaginal event (at which point orgasm may not occur that first time, which is at least plausible).  I would laugh at more realistic descriptions now, being as used to the genre as I am, because realism would simply induce flashbacks to my own silly-ass first experience(s).  WTF was I/he doing??  No bursting melons, thank the gods, but certainly no simultaneous colors exploding like stars behind our eyes either.

Oddly enough, like our discussion of marriage proposals earlier, the orgasm is the least interesting part of the sex scene, to me.  It’s assumed and can only be described so many ways before veering into ridiculous metaphors.  In standard M/F missionary scenes, the HOT factor has little to do with how they magically cum at the same time, but more to do with that thing that sometimes lacks in reality: foreplay.

And Darlene, that’s truly awful.  Thanks for sharing.

Ewww.  Just.  Eww.  (Goes to check her own love scene to remove all fruit references.)

Eww, ewwww, ick! No fish metaphors or similes in love scenes, EVER!!! Don’t even allude to anything from the realm of ichthyology. *SHUDDER* Did we learn nothing from the salmon debacle?

Agree with lovelysalome. It’s definitely the foreplay.

lovelysalome—I always thought that scene worked, given that we were in Andrej’s POV and he thinks in his own cultural frame of reference.  In his society sex is spoken of metaphorically and he’s an aristocrat who is very precise in his speech, so when he’s describing his encounter with these ladies he’s going to use his language.
He would never use the exploding melon metaphor.

Matthews’ SF series about Andrej is fascinating, but definitely not for the faint of heart. Her latest book, Warring States just came out this summer.

My favorite/horrible sex scene moment was in a Cherry Adair book, Hide and Seek.  They’re going at it hot and heavy and suddenly her vajayjay is referred to as a “hoo-hoo.”  I’m sorry but you remind a four year old to wipe her hoo-hoo after she goes to the bathroom; it simply isn’t a mood inducing term.  I flat out laughed out loud.

And now I realise that’s not exactly about orgasm, but I missed the bad sex discussion previously.  Sorry

I get that the Matthews book you referred to, Darlene, isn’t a romance and shouldn’t be held to the same genre expectations, but I am in the middle of reading a Regency at the moment (who isn’t, really - can we say GLUT?).  I just imagined this Darcy wannabe referring to his member with fish metaphors and I giggled.

Well, lord knows I could go on about this all day, but I will try to use restraint. Suffice it to say, I am utterly tired of reading about weeping, clenching, spasming (and lets face it, utterly histrionic) pussies. This image of a desperately clingy, hysterical vagina, is always conflated with a bursting, erupting, exploding penis. The volcano of luuurve, baby!

The various cracked-out metaphors I have seen for orgasm are really all blurred together now, but the best ones are often flat out insane. A lot of vagina dentitis stuff—one of the best I ever read compared the heroine’s va-jay-jay to a ravenous lion’s mouth, hungrily chewing a steak. It. Was. Heaven.

Oh.My.God.

Ick. (Although perhaps my reaction is motivated in part by the fact that I am violently allergic to melons? If anyone’s melon bursts anywhere near me, I’m liable to go into anaphylactic shock!)

On the simultaneous orgasm thing? I don’t exactly object to it, but I think it’s very much a cliche. The reason I think it’s so common, however, is that it IS fairly rare in real life, which means that it demonstrates just how SPE-SHUL the hero and heroine’s relationship is.

I don’t find the exploding melon nearly as long on ick factor as the ways in which I’ve heard people describe their hemorrhoids (which, for some reason, invariably involves fruits and vegetables).  Hell, I was guilt-ridden well into adulthood by my mother’s claim that my fetal self gave her piles the size of apples.  And then there are the cauliflower comparisons, and the bunches-of-grapes comparisons, and the….  Okay, enough.

Anyway, we might as well resign ourselves to hyperbole in romance fiction.  The Penis Maximus, the Cosmic Fuck, the Perfectly Orchestrated O—everybody expects them, so that’s what they gets. 

I doubt readers would react well to this kind of description: “Bugsy laid on top of Agnes.  He stuck it in her.  He moved up and down.  Then his weenie wilted.  He pulled it out.  Agnes was pissed but strove to be compassionate.  She made a mental note to upgrade her toys.”  I mean, really, would you ever again buy that writer’s books?

Believe me, an author can get seriously stressed out trying to dream up evocative, without being silly, new modes of expression for what is often (maybe usually) a pretty freakin’ mechanical act involving stuff EVERY BODY has.  Sometimes I wish we could just say, “They had a good time fucking” and have done with it!

I’ve read so much bad sex.

Pleasure exploded through her like fountains of light.

Slipping her hand to her mound, she felt the moisture pooling and flowing to her hungry flesh. As one who enjoyed a healthful daily orgasm…

“Yeah, I swear, I only wank because it’s good for me…”

Shelby Reed writes some of the hottest, most sensual love scenes it’s ever been my pleasure to read. I highly recommend The Fifth Favor and A Fine Work of Art.

And, as an aside, how come all the romance heroes and heroines have to orgasm simultaneously?

Mine don’t. In the book my agent is currently shopping around, The Average Girl’s Guide to Getting Laid, the hero always makes sure he gets the heroine off first in some fashion. I’m not sure if I’ve ever done that simultaneous thing in real life, but the best lover I’ve had always sees to the woman, sometimes five or six times, before settling down to get his.

I’d like to interject one more thought for folks to dwell on, and I’m saying this from a writer’s perspective:  If the writer does her job well, you will go with the flow of words without stopping to think about it, and you’ll enjoy the scene. 

However, almost any sex scene read out of context sounds silly, especially if you only take a line or two.  You haven’t gotten caught up in the moment, the story and the characters.

OK, I’m stepping off the soapbox now.[g]

Don’t worry, Darlene, apart from one sugar syrup kiss, you haven’t rung any alarm bells. In fact, I’m reading about Rand and Julia now. Just before bed last night I got to the scene where they do it for the first time and she pukes. That was awesome!

Okay this isn’t so much about the orgasm, but I am sick of the word “creamy” in reference to the heroine.

1st, it makes me think of Twinkies and Hostess cupcakes.  Then it makes me think of discharges related to stds and I want to tell the hero to run the other way.

>>That was awesome!<

<

Haha! Thank you so much for sharing that with me. I'm glad you're enjoying

Smuggler’s Bride and I certainly thought it would be a natural reaction under the circumstances.[g]

Whew! I read Megan’s post and then went immediately to my current novel to use Find to see how many times I used the word “creamy”. I don’t usually do the stars behind the eyes or the exploding fountains of light, crashing oceans against the shore, but I thought I might’ve been guilty of creaminess.

(Wow, that sounds wrong, doesn’t it?)

I was quite relieved to discover I only used it in reference to her skin and just once.

The melon thing is ick to me not so much because of the bursting part (though that is nasty) but because I just can’t fit a melon up there.  Ouch.

Some things should never burst.  I’m amused that you are reading _Desire in Disguise_, because I am waiting for it to come in at the library even as we speak. 

I think the oddest metaphor I’ve ever read was odd because it SOUNDED like it should be a metaphor for orgasm, but in context was actually used as a euphemism for penis: “the pinnacle of his manly desire.”

my biggest peeve is when the hero stops oral or manual stimulation just before she is about to come.

Some of these heros should be told about multiple orgasms.
In real life she most likely wont get one.

I know!  Let the girl have her fun when she can.  Sometime a dick just doesn’t do it, no matter how unimaginably grand the fictional phallus.

Melon bursting. Oh jeez, that’s gross.

Besides the One With The Cosmos moments where they fly with the stars before settling gently back to Earth, the sound descriptions get to me. Shrieking, crying, screaming…well, maybe, but EVERY SINGLE TIME? And why does the hero always end his orgasm with a triumphant ROAR?

>>Shrieking, crying, screaming…well, maybe, but EVERY SINGLE TIME?<<

You mean…it’s not like that for you?

Oh.  Sorry ‘bout that.

Right now the books I’m reading seem to have the heroine hissing a lot.  Sort of like sex with a Cobra.

I can’t believe the number of heroines who are “dripping wet” even before the hero goes near her.  Seems like everyone has dewy moisture, rivers that flow & the like—a veritable fountain of love so to speak. 

Obviously KY in all it’s various forms has no product placement agreement with romance novel writers. :-)

The only time I ever read about anything resembling a lubricant being used was in a really old western romance where the hero used bear grease because he wanted to, the heroine didn’t & there was no forplay whatsoever & he needed to “ease his way”.  Blech!

Wry Hag wrote: 

I doubt readers would react well to this kind of description: “Bugsy laid on top of Agnes.  He stuck it in her.  He moved up and down.  Then his weenie wilted.  He pulled it out.  Agnes was pissed but strove to be compassionate.  She made a mental note to upgrade her toys.” I mean, really, would you ever again buy that writer’s books?

I haven’t laughed so much reading comments in a single thread in ages. 

I have to ditto the comments on “creamy” it’s every where.  And I can’t tell you why it bugs me, but it does. 

As for simultaneous O…in my early days of reading I wondered if sex was like that for “other” people.

I have a very serious dislike of any melon not watermelon. That aside, the visual of bursting penises and vjays full of cantaloupe seeds is definitely gag inducing. Gack!

The ones that kind of annoy me are the ones where one or both parties seem actually to pass out during the orgasm ... it’s that good. I’ve had some good experiences in my time, I’ve been incoherent and incapable of movement now and then, but my man has yet to have a need to bust out the smelling salts. Oh, no! What are we doing wrong?!

I’ve read a few, can’t remember the names right now, where the heroine didn’t get hers during intercourse, but in most of those the hero took care of her first. I kind of appreciate the touch of realism in those. My man and I have pulled off a few simultaneous Os, but most romances would have you believe it happens every time. o_0

It’s kind of funny, though, when you read those and, like Rosie said, wonder if it’s like that for other people. Honestly, it wasn’t until a long while after my first experience that I got to talking to other women that I started seeing the differences between what you read and what is. I think that if you start reading some of these romances before you have much experience, it could give you false expectations.

Madd et al:
Yeah the whole ‘simultaneous-every-time-shows-what-a-great-lover-he-is’ thing pisses me off no end. never managed it, still trying, but don’t feel like I’m a c**t-stunted ball of sexual frustration because of it.
Also - you get the feeling in a lot of novels that nothing but vaginal sex is ‘real’ - that everything else is just leading up to it or a pale imitation. There are other things just as enjoyable (if not more so, for some of us).
But absolute worst description? From a paperback I picked up many years ago - a squicky secretary/international tycoon deal: (semi-remembered adaptation)

“Mmm”
“Oh! Oh!”
“Gggrrrrhah!”
They lay wrapped in each other’s arms, the cool night air chilling their skin against the sopping bedclothes.

:ohh:

I went out shopping and to the movies this afternoon, but as I was driving back home, a great idea occurred to me. It’d be awesome if everyone contributed to a list of works that bugs them in sex scenes.

1)creamy
2) hoo-hoo
3) any euphemism like “velvet manhood” or “pulsing honeypot”

I forget what Stephanie Plum calls her pussy; it’s not hoo-hoo, but it’s something like that, which annoys the shit out of me. Bet we could make a comprehensive list and then I’d do a search on every novel after I finish it. Sweet!

Doo-dah

I think she calls it her doo-dah. It makes me wanna hurl the book, every time.

Madd: I’ve yet to read a strictly romance novel (although my ‘first’ strictly romance novel, “Bet Me” by Jennifer Crusie” is now waiting expectantly on my to-be-read pile), but I did read of a sex scene where the guy passes out afterwards.

Of course, it was Neal Stephenson’s “Snow Crash”, and it wasn’t because doing the little lady was so darn good, it was because she forgot to take out her rape-deterring “dentata” - a hidden needle filled with super sleepy drugs. Knocked him out cold. BUT - for a few seconds, SHE thought it was because the sex was so good. *giggle*

reading a Regency at the moment (who isn’t, really - can we say GLUT?).  I just imagined this Darcy wannabe referring to his member with fish metaphors

In England, you could have eels… You could have all of them, including my share!

Bursting melons…?  What kind of thrust velocity are we talking about?

My all-time least favorite metaphor-erotic expression, male?  The infamous “weeping cock.”  (There, there, it may be dark and scary in that tunnel, but you’re perfectly safe, little guy.)  Team it with the “burning pussy” and you have a couple who really need a visit to an STD clinic.

Doo-dah

As in, “Camptown ladies sing this song”?  Oy vey.

Also not a fan of weeping genitalia—any body part other than an eye weeping, and I assume icky infection.

Yep.

I’m quoting from memory here:

“He kissed me, and it shot straight to my doodah.”

An interesting way to say that his kisses turn her on, I guess. I know it’s supposed to be funny and a lot of stuff about the Stephanie Plum books are hilarious, but that doesn’t quite work for me. She’s supposed to be 30 years old, for Christ’s sake. She should be calling her cunt something besides doodah by now. It’s cute when Grandma Mazur says it, not so much for the granddaughter.

Of course, my favourite ‘ick-WEIRD’ male orgasm scene is ALSO from a Neal Stephenson novel - “Quicksilver”. Very, very weird - the procedure, that is. Lots of weird metaphors (“resevoirs”?), spots of light, all that, although to be fair, there’s no simultaneous orgasm between Jack and Eliza. The description is quite funny:

“Suspended between Eliza’s two hands, like a scale in a market-place, Jack could feel his balance-point shifting as quantities of fluids were pumped between internal reservoirs, all in preparation for some Event. Finally, the crisis - Jack’s legs thrashed in the hot water as if his body were trying to flee, but he was staked, impaled. A bubble of numenous light, as if the sun were mistakenly attempting to rise inside his head. Some kind of Hindoo apocalypse played out. He died, went to Hell, ascended into Heaven, was reincarnated as various braying, screeching, and howling beasts, and repeated this cycle many times over. In the end he was reincarnated, just barely, as a Man.”

Funniest thing about this set-up? Jack is a vagabond in the 17th century known as Jack Half-Cocked, for the very reason that a hot poker fell on his during a failed attempt to cure the pox. So, he cannot ‘get happy’ in the usual way. Eliza, with her ‘secret knowledge of Indian sexual arts’ etc. etc., is relying on his prostate.

I read one a couple of weeks ago where she was “leaking cream”. Seriously. “Leaking Cream”.

Darlin’, you need to have that looked at.

And by the way, cream is for my coffee and honey is for my tea. Neither should refer to any around the coochie.

Hell, I’d rather they call it coochie-juice.

I think Neal Stephenson has some Sex Issues. I love the man’s writing, but… holy crap! That’s one of the worst (and most horrifying!) descriptions of an orgasm I’ve ever read.

SB Sarah - I’ve had that cantaloupe analogy in my brain ALL FREAKING DAY.  It is teh e-ville!

I’m starting to get a little worried it’s going to pop into my brain at just the wrong time and ruin an otherwise blissful moment.

Just before bed last night I got to the scene where they do it for the first time and she pukes. That was awesome!

Okay, I am officially intrigued now.  Adding to the TBB list!

And also LMMFAO at the histronic vaginas!  Oh man, you had me crying with that one.  Evil Auntie Peril, I think I love you.  Can I have your babies?

And I’m just about tired of heroes shooting great jets of red-hot spunk deep into her welcoming lurve chunnel.  First off… hot?  Ow?  Third degree inner burns probably aren’t much fun.  Second, any analogy of the male orgasm that makes me picture Old Faithful?  Is WRONG.  Sometimes the descriptions seem like the dude could ice a cake with the amount of creamy, delicious (yeah right), hot cum pouring forth from his lurve-snausage.

Ew.

Second, any analogy of the male orgasm that makes me picture Old Faithful?  Is WRONG.

One more word to add to that: spew.  Now that is a word that I hate to read in sex scenes.  I just looked it up in the dictionary, and guess what the first definition of “spew” is, according to Merriam-Webster?  Vomit.  Yeah, that’s right, and I really don’t want to read about a guy spewing anything near me.

I shouldn’t. I should have more restraint. But the urge to add to this list…

1)creamy
2) hoo-hoo
3) any euphemism like “velvet manhood” or “pulsing honeypot”

is too strong for my meager will.

mossy grotto
purple-helmeted warrior
winking nipples
boiling love juice (serious ouch)
And any reference to dripping

I SERIOUSLY should have more restraint, however, this particular passage made the rounds many years ago—out of a thankfully unpublished ms.

“His pendulous orbs ejaculated hallelujas to a primeval god.”

It doesn’t get any better.

“And Heroine fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.”

Why? Why do so many H/Hs - in both contemporary and historical - fall asleep *right* after orgasm? It’s a more palatable cousin to the ‘blackout’ but gives me uneasy narcolepsy images.

Okay, if we’re going to talk about what we’ve read in unpubbed manuscripts…

I judged a contest several years ago and read this line. I had to immediately write it down because it was so utterly bad, it was awesome.

And like a dormant volcano whose time has come, so did he.

Credit for the vaginal histrionics must go to E.D’Trix, not me, Amy E, although I’ll second her on them. Sobbing, whether vocal or *koff* otherwise is something that annoys me in these scenes. I’m reading old-skool romance at the moment, and the heroine’s vocalisations as she “peaks” are really getting on my nerves. Mewling, sobbing, wailing, crying. And nothing should weep at these moments. Wet velvet is not nice. Heavy and it sags.

Then there’s those “gut-wrenching” male orgasms that explode with such force they ought to leave the poor hero with a ruptured spleen. And as for the poor heroine… Have I mentioned that book where the hero actually kills an evil vampiress at the moment of ecstasy with a turbo-charged jet of long-suppressed manly juice? His spasm propels her across a dungeon and into a sideboard. Messy. Very messy.

Okay- I can’t remember what book it was, but there was discussion of her coming and the “tiny muscle spasms” “milking” the hero.

I’m pretty sure she was already pretty “creamy” down there, and then with the “milking”.  Thank you, no.

mossy grotto
purple-helmeted warrior
winking nipples

I just bought some plums for the first time in years, and last night I found myself standing in the kitchen just staring at them. My husband was disturbed. I had to explain that it had just occurred to me that I’d seen the glans described as “like a plum” or even worse “like a purple plum” many times. I was just sort of caught up in the study/comparison.

Also, on mutual orgasms. . . I’m sure I’m guilty of writing it, but I’m not a big fan in real life. If you’ve never had one, do not sweat it! You’re kind of self-focused when coming, you know? You tend to miss out on the other person’s O, and I find that disappointing, myself. Class dismissed.

Wow. Ms. Nora Roberts added to my no-no list. That’s a bit surreal. Hee. I may have to blog about this!
)
1)creamy
2) hoo-hoo
3) any euphemism like “velvet manhood” or “pulsing honeypot”
4) mossy grotto
5) purple-helmeted warrior
6) winking nipples
7 boiling love juice (serious ouch)
8) And any reference to dripping

I’m adding “spunk” as a word for come. Really doesn’t do it for me.

Also, for Amy E, who objects to the word “delicious” in reference to come, if you manage your man’s diet, it makes a huge difference. If he wants you to swallow, he should go heavy on pineapple and mango, and avoid garlic, oninion, curry, cabbage, caulifower, broccoli, tobacco, coffee. He should drink lots of water and go light on red meat. Cinnamon is also good for improving the taste of ejaculate.

If he’s willing to do all that, you’ll find that he tastes a lot better. Then again, I’ve only been with one man who wanted me to like his stuff bad enough to do all that for me. We actually did an experiment to see whether it works, and it sure does. Although it’ll never taste like whipped cream, you’d be surprised at how tasty it can be.

***I SERIOUSLY should have more restraint, however, this particular passage made the rounds many years ago—out of a thankfully unpublished ms.

“His pendulous orbs ejaculated hallelujas to a primeval god.”

It doesn’t get any better.***

Along these same lines, a phrase that has made the rounds among some of us ed’s—and that never fails to bring us to hysterical tears of laughter is (paraphrasing a bit):

“Her legs were long and shapely, going from her ass all the way to the floor.”

The editor’s comment? “Well, yes, legs have a way of doing that.”

I’ve never heard of winking nipples before.  Most of the time they are hard pebbles, right?

Anyway, I am also tired of wet and creamy for him showing up in lots of novels.  Sounds like a yeast infection to me!

“avoid garlic, onion, curry, cabbage, caulifower, broccoli, tobacco”

...and beer, esp. the darker stuff.

But I never knew about the mangoes. Amazing what you learn here.

Pineapple, papaya, cranberry, melons, mangos, apples, and grapes all improve the taste of sperm because they’re high in sugar, which offsets the bitterness. Parsley, wheatgrass and celery are good. So are cinnamon, cardamon, and peppermint.

This dietary information will make a big difference. You should also keep in mind that whatever he eats will be flavoring his ejaculate between 12-24 hours later. He can have the “yucky come” foods if he wants, but it’ll take that long to work its way out again.

Wow, I should run a workshop on this. :D

As a side note, this also applies to women, more or less, if you want a tastier pussy.

I posted the following on my lj a few months back:

1. No references to “burning” nipples, or indeed any sort of flaming female erogenous zones.

2. No references to nipples as pebbles, tiny stones, or similar concretions.

3. The jury is still out on the words “nubbin” and “nodule” (and we ain’t talking nipples anymore), but they are fast approaching the banned list.

4. “Manhood” is banned in reference to penises.

5. The heroine’s orgasm shall no longer be described as “crashing waves of ecstasy.” I don’t care how accurate it is. You’re a writer—find a new phrase.

6. If a heroine doesn’t know what’s happening to her when she has an orgasm, you better have a better explanation for this than “she is eighteen and grew up in a nunnery.” Said explanation should include the phrase “utterly devoid of curiosity or imagination.”

7. Women are not permitted to mewl with happiness during foreplay. “Mewling” is not good. It does not mean happy things. It is the noise made by wee kittens who are in pain and unhappiness because they are hungry. It is something whiny, bratty children do. It means whimper, with all the bad connotations. This throws me out of the scene. So knock that shit off. Think up your own words instead of recycling stock phrases from other romance novels.

8. Reference to the penis as a “muscle.” Exceptions will be granted for its use if the author is writing a satire, where he or she is trying to invoke a mental twig on “love muscle” (said in mock-Barry White kind of voice).

I am *so* going to copy all of this down and forward to my significant other.

>> 2. No references to nipples as pebbles, tiny stones, or similar concretions. <<

I would have a much greater objection to nipples that rate more than a 1 on the Moh hardness scale (and what about your hero’s one-eyed monster), if I hadn’t read a lot of Kathleen E. Woodiwiss books in my youth that always had heroines with SOFT nipples in the middle of intense love scenes—AFTER being lavished with attention, if I remember right.

As such, pebble-hard nipples get a pass from me, b/c of my relief that at least the writer gets her anatomical reactions right.

Sherry

And why does the hero always end his orgasm with a triumphant ROAR?

That was (still is?) a Catherine Coulter staple. The heroes don’t roar, but they do always orgasm with a shout. Always.

While we’re on the subject of “bad sexual phrases found in romance novels”, I’d like to treat all of you to a passage I wrote for “All About Romance Novel’s” Purple Prose Parody contest (which sadly ended this year). I wrote it under the pseudonym “Lauren Young”, but all that aside, the bad sexual metaphors and purple prose just scream to be mocked:

Love and Domino’s by Lauren Young

Grace lie in bed, dressed in only her bubble-gum colored teddy. The sound of the Food Network played softly as Grace’s eyes blinked and darted, wondering what was happening to her.

“Eat,” her lover, Dan, whispered.

Before Grace can react, a hot tip pushed past her cherry red lips. She resisted at first, but once she recognized the flavor, she began chowing down like a starving junkyard hound. Grace drew her lips out to suck in more of the taste that was driving her mad like the mildly funny magazine she would see at the grocery store-with that dorky, gap-toothed grin and vacant eyes, God, she hated it!

But her mind wasn’t on teenaged literature at this moment. Her tongue was roving over the hot, gooey piece that was invading her mouth. Once Grace hit the distinct taste of sausage, Dan then jerked it away. Grace shrieked as the cheesy goodness oozed onto the valley between her ripened tomatoes.

With a devilish grin and a twinkle in his bell-pepper green eyes, Dan lowered his head to lap up the mess that stained her otherwise doughy-white skin. Grace threw her head up and over, half-laughing and half-groaning.

“That’s it, my sweet pepperoni,” Dan whispered, making Grace squirm and sigh.

“Your taste!” Grace cried urgently, “I want to taste you!”

Dan sucked the goodness through his lips, fully aware that Grace was enjoying this, but knew that she wasn’t done just yet-not until her timers popped through the sheer nightie and she was gooey on the inside.

Dan then peeled off the rest of the cheese from his piece and nestled it in his mouth. Grace could feel her breathing become chopped like garlic, but not as smelly, as Dan leaned forward, pressing the cheese-flesh against her lips and his meat-lovers’ special against her oven of femininity. Grace’s hunger escalated as she partook in more of Dan’s basil-flavored lips. Her eyes widened like dough bubbles in an oven as his meat-lovers’ special roasted inside her, sizzling and growing. It wasn’t long before the passion timer went, “Ding!” and Dan and Grace were shaken like mozzerella over a fresh pizza pie and drawing breaths harder than day-old crusts.

The couple were still fat and happy from their feast thirty minutes later. Dan turned to Grace, still dazed and licking the sauce from her lips. When she became aware of her surroundings, she sat up and stared down at the pizza box. Dan slid an arm around her shoulders.

“Next time, let’s order Chinese.”

Ya’ll went and made me blog about this.

purple-helmeted warrior

Last summer I watched a miniseries on the history of the English language on the History Channel or somesuch, and the Georgian-era section included a woman, properly gowned in demure Regency attire, reciting period euphemisms for the penis.  The two that I still remember are “His Majesty, in purple cap,” and “pleasure pivot.”

I imagine it wouldn’t fix it if bio-chemistry were just diametrically opposed, something in ph balances, maybe. But it certainly helps. I would also posit that what is “pleasing” to one woman isn’t going to thrill someone else. I’d guess there’s a book in this… lots of research to be done. Maybe call it a “Tasty-gasm: a Recipe for Swallowing Success”.

I am now imaginging your man’s reaction to the fact that you intend to experiment with his diet and then swallow his come and share your findings with some Smart Bitches.

*wipes away the giggle-tears*

Well, what worked for me was, “You like blow jobs, right? If we do this and you start tasting better to me, that means I will want to do it more. Like, a lot.”

It was not a hard sell. (PUN INCOMING!)

Of course I wasn’t going to post results of my quest for the perfect sperm-cocktail (PUN INCOMING!) recipe either. :D

This whole thing reminds me of the “funky spunk” tale in Sex and the City.  Samantha tried everything, including wheatgrass and even made him taste his own ejaculate!  He grimaced, and said, it doesn’t taste that bad, and Samantha had to continue going down and swallowing…..

“He grimaced, and said, it doesn’t taste that bad, and Samantha had to continue going down and swallowing…..”

She had to? I think not!

Myself, I never had a problem with it until my first pregnancy, somewhere about the 3rd month his stuff started having this chemical tang/smell to it. And it wasn’t him, I’m sure, because there was no change in diet and he wasn’t on any medication. I also couldn’t stand the smell of beef cooking and picked up a dire craving for pizza. So I’m thinking it was the body changes going on.

Unfortunately, for my husband, this caused me to develope an aversion to oral action. Thankfully, we’ve worked our way past that. But the man has never had an issue with experimentation in that department. Anything that’ll get him more head, he’s on it! *lol*

As a side note, this also applies to women, more or less, if you want a tastier pussy.

  :lol: ...still dying , so needed a laugh..ty ladies…

I want you bitches to know that you may have ruined me. Trying to write for real on my WIP (I do romantic comedy, aiming for Crusie with more fucking, dunno how close I come

) and all I can come up with is shit like this:

He stuck his purple-headed ding-dong in her creamy hoo-hoo, and it was a taste explosion.

*lmmfao*

can I read that when you’re done? Cause it sounds hilarious.

“avoid garlic, onion, curry, cabbage, caulifower, broccoli, tobacco”

...and beer, esp. the darker stuff.

Okay, that right there was pretty much his diet.  Smoked, drank, loved garlic and onions, loved spicy food, and oh yeah, worked on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier refueling the jets.  Jet fuel soaked his clothes almost daily.  So needless to say, his spewing torrents of creamy manmilk tasted pretty damn disgusting.

I divorced him.  Not because of the icky manmilk, but it might’ve been a factor…

I’d heard of pineapple juice, never got around to trying it.  Does it work the same way with women, too?  I did have one patient tell me, in a burst of serious TMI, that she loved being married to a diabetic because his juice d’amor was sweet as candy.

As a side note, this also applies to women, more or less, if you want a tastier pussy.

Should’ve read a bit further before posting!

I’m trying very hard not to giggle out loud, for fear it will wake up the household.

This conversation brought this to mind:

Back when I was in college, some guy from somewhere called the pay phone at my sorority house. Apparently, it was a pledge initiation thing for him to have to call and tell a woman about his penis. He referred to it as “Russell the Love Muscle”—- I don’t know any more about that conversation, as I wasn’t the one who answered the phone, and the poor girl who had answered was too embarrassed to speak coherently for a very long time.

Always did wonder what else he’d had to say.

I’ve never read a book where the vajayjay referred to as a ‘honeypot’, and it disturbs me greatly that such a euphemism is used - because it completely reminds me of WHINNY THE POOH. That’s one horny teddy bear - whatever could he be teaching to impressionable, prepubescent Christopher Robin?

ANYHOO, I’m quite grossed out by some of the edible euphemisms, besides, I can’t help thinking:

Creamy vajayjay + burning member = Baked Alaska!

”... spewing torrents of creamy manmilk ... “

*dies*
There’s one for the don’t list! OMG! I might actually be squicked.

I just finished reading Tanith Lee’s “The Heart of The Moon” and the heroine had a flaming center that later became a conflagration. I really liked the story, but every time someone mentions burning or flaming, it really makes me think that someone needs to see the dr. Maybe pick up a cream or some antibiotics.

This little gem is from bertrice Small:

‘He spermed in her hot maw.’

And to think that she started out so brilliantly in her career.  I think she has fallen victim to a bad case of ‘I am a rich and famous author and people will buy my books no matter what sort of horrible crap I write-itis’.

This isn’t graphic, but I had the unfortunate experience of listening to a book on tape where the heroine “shattered” every time she had an orgasm (which was frequently). The phrase, “...and she shattered” said with a posh English accent is burned into my brain.

I also agree about “weeping” anything. Yuck.

Dang. I’m caught between laughing and puking. And Darlene, just cuz I don’t shriek don’t mean I’m not having shattering crashing waves of ectasy.

But I am afraid that the next time hubby and I get in the mood I’ll be thinking of this:

He stuck his purple-headed ding-dong in her creamy hoo-hoo, and it was a taste explosion.

He stuck his purple-headed ding-dong in her creamy hoo-hoo, and it was a taste explosion.

Like this, you mean?:  http://www.slurpee.com/

Throw a couple of pop rocks in that baby and you’re set to go!

Dear god, I almost swallowed my tongue. Maybe I should submit my deathless prose to Slurpee Corporation. They definitely have a purple-headed ding-dong on their website…

And why do I have a feeling that no matter what I go on to achieve, I will always be known as the author who wrote:

He stuck his purple-headed ding-dong in her creamy hoo-hoo, and it was a taste explosion.

”...every time someone mentions burning or flaming, it really makes me think that someone needs to see the dr. Maybe pick up a cream or some antibiotics.

Antibiotics, certainly.  They’ve already got the cream.  Haven’t you been paying attention?  Or were you too busy shattering, your soul scattered upon the glittering heavens to entwine with your lover’s, as your loving caused you both to simultaneously explode with rapturous abandon as he spermed your hot maw?

... damn.  I was doing pretty good there for a moment. 

Also LMAO @ the proper euphemisms!  “His Majesty, in purple cap” indeed.  Yeah, dudes would’ve gotten off on that one for sure.  I know a lot of men who’d love to have everyone kneel and kiss his rim—er, ring,, I meant ring!

*dies*  OMG! I might actually be squicked.

So you’re saying, what, I should take the spewing creamy manmilk out of my books, Madd?  Or maybe just reflavor it with a bunch of fruit salad?  ... hey, maybe that dude who drank a lot and still managed to have finger-lickin’ good hot-maw-spunk just drank a lot of tropical drinks?  Mai tai, pina colada, here I come baby!  Mama wants to meet a cunning linguist…

Wasn’t the honeypot reference from that book, Taboo?

anything about ‘exploding into eternity’ or ‘crashing on waves of ecstasy’ have always bothered me, it just doesn’t sound like fun being whisked off everytime you get to the good part. I also remember a description that mentioned that she saw ‘sparkly rainbows of pleasure’ which made me suspect that maybe they had ergot poisoning.

Any description of penises being in wombs (‘plunging the inner recesses of her throbing womb’) should be off-limits. Just for complete neglegence of basic anatomy, if nothing else.

Laurell K Hamilton has her “hero” Micah as being so well hung that when he and Anita have sex, he is bumping into and brusing her cervix.  Ick indeed.

Oh, you women crack me up! And it’s very difficult to laugh inside while keeping a straight face outside. Mt co-workers must think I’m either about to vomit or sneeze.
I read most of my romance in Dutch, and I think a lot of the orgasmic horrors get lost in translation by accident or purpose. If I were a translator I’d probably translate something like “He stuck his purple-headed ding-dong in her creamy hoo-hoo, and it was a taste explosion” (great one, by the way) into regular language again.

I did once read a book in which the hero discovered the heroine was a slut because she had an orgasm. I believe he slept with her (best friend of his little sister) while she was underage, and when she climaxed he knew for ever and always she was the biggest whore he’s ever met. I mean, WTF!? Sure, it all worked out in the end, but seriously?

Nanna said, (great one, by the way)

Thanks! You’ll be glad to know I recovered from Purple Prose Fever and went on to write some good stuff this weekend, sans spewing manroots and throbbing love caves.
I’m particularly proud of this bit:

<objects. That would actually give him some hope that there was something left worth fighting for, but instead there was only silence and distance, the cool spread of Egyptian cotton sheets between them, two separate objects that never tried to occupy the same space. 

So I withdraw my charge that you bitches have ruined me. You just crack my shit up.

Hey, has anyone come up with a description they like??  When I started thinking about this, I realized how 1) I am so uninterested in that final moment in Romance, as opposed to all the stuff that leads up to it, and 2) how few examples or bad or good prose I could remember off the top of my head.  And even when I went searching for good examples in some of my favorite books—Black Silk, Untie My Heart, Pure Sin, any Emma Holly book, etc.—that final ‘splosion is often sort of glossed over, passed over, and generally more anti-climactic than the actual event.  So, how about great descriptions—any comers (yeah, I know, groan away)?

I can’t think of any good descriptions offhand, though the simplest are usually the least distracting. But I ran across another humdinger in an excerpt for a recent release:

“Lightning bolts pierced her body and joined her to him, a powerful wave
of desire sweeping over her.  Her body was on fire and the explosive kiss seemed to go on and on until it sucked every bit of breath from her.  She felt as if his lips, ravenous and demanding, were stamping her
with his brand.  Whatever brains she had left liquefied and drained down
to her feet.”

Not only does it short out her nervous system, collapse her lungs, and brand her carcass, it melts her brains out.  And this is the first kiss.  I wouldn’t go near the rest of the book or her boyfriend with a surge suppressor.

But the author may have discovered the cause of human spontaneous combustion: Incendiary ranchers.

Mmmmmmmm…. ranchers.

A teensy bit off topic, but I’m tired of reading about aching nipples. Aching nipples that are painful, they’re so full of lurve for the hero. My nipples ache when I go for a jog and haven’t worn a good bra. That’s an ache. The otha—that’s more of a nice sensation. I mean, come on.

Globes for breasts or backside - they’re not round, they’re hemispheres, or ellipses, or something, but they’re not round.

Cream - Is there a doctor in the house? And once, I read “frothing cream.” Yuk.

Lave - it just means wash. You can lave your hands, your feet or anywhere in between. It’s such a weird word. Old fashioned and it tends to make me stop and go “huh?”

But we all have our pet hates and likes and especially with sex scenes. What’s the poor writer to do?

ROFLMAO!!! SNERT! Damn there goes my diet coke on the keyboard!

My husband, a gamer, just suggested “his war troll sundered her gates and laid waste to her populace.”  With apologies to Tolkien.

Julianna, that begs “she rode his rocket, and he p0wned all her base”

LOL