Alright folks, buckle up because today I’m gonna walk you through my messy notebook on trying to write those… uh, let’s call ’em ‘intimate adult stories’. Specifically, the anal kind. Yeah, it got awkward fast, but stick with me.
First step was straight-up panic. How do you even start? I didn’t wanna just mimic stuff I’d read. Found myself staring at a blank page like an idiot. So I slammed the laptop shut, grabbed a beer, and decided honesty might work better.
Instead of diving into the act, I got real about characters. I scratched out two people on a crumpled napkin: Leo, this stubborn artist dude scarred by a messy divorce, and Maya, a nurse with control issues masking major vulnerability. Figured their baggage should drive the intimacy, not the other way around.
Next came the ‘why’. Why anal now for these two? Leo was terrified of emotional intimacy after his ex cheated; anal felt like a safer physical distance to him initially. Maya saw it as absolute surrender, trusting someone completely – scary and thrilling. That tension? That’s gold right there. My notes suddenly had arrows scribbled everywhere connecting their fears to the act.
Then I tackled the practical crap. How do you write this without sounding like a medical pamphlet or worse? I practiced describing non-explicit stuff first. Wrote about the weight of a hand on a lower back, the sound of a zipper in a quiet room, the hesitant shuffle towards a bed. Focused on sensations you ignore daily, like the rough texture of jeans versus smooth skin.
The actual ‘scene’ attempt was garbage. Total crap. Draft one sounded wooden: “He touched her there. She felt nervous.” Ugh. Took a walk, came back angry. Scrapped it. Tried again from Maya’s viewpoint only. Made it about her internal monologue – the racing heart, the stupid worry about being judged, the relief when Leo paused to check in without words. Suddenly it felt human.
Dialogue nearly killed me. “Is this okay?” felt cliché. Dug deeper into their personalities. Leo wouldn’t ask directly; he’d murmur, “Tell me to stop.” Maya, needing control, gasped, “Slower… your hand, stay right there.” Realized silence and breaths were stronger tools than cheesy talk.
Pacing was another mess. Rushed it first go. Learned: the build-up is everything. Wrote pages about the heavy silence after dinner, the unspoken agreement when they moved to the couch, the way her pulse jumped when his thumb brushed her hip bone way before clothes came off. The actual moment became shorter, sharper, hitting harder.
Finally, editing felt like surgery. Chopped out over-explaining mechanics. Axed flowery metaphors that distracted. Focused ruthlessly on those raw sensations – the startling coolness of gel, the shaky breath against a neck, the imperfect, fumbling adjustments that felt more real than any porn scene.
Result? Still imperfect, but way more honest than draft one. Key takeaways: Characters first. Fear drives action. Small details trump grand descriptions. Silence speaks volumes. Gotta run – new character idea brewing about a chef with burnt fingers and trust issues…
