25 Humpalicious Steps for Writing Your First Sex Scene, By Delilah S. Dawson (Author Of Wicked As She Wants)

Some folks are allowed to post guest blogs here. Even fewer of those folks are allowed to take over the coveted Tuesday “25 Things” spot, but here’s Delilah Dawson anyway, with a post I couldn’t refuse if only because of the word “humpalicious” (AND ALSO SHE HAS A GUN HELP PLEASE HELP SEND HELP CALL SOMEBODY CALL ANYBODY). Delilah has a new book out today: Wicked As She Wants. You can find her at her blog or on The Twitters, and you can check out her book at Amazon or B&N or Indiebound. So without further adieu (CALL 911):

I never set out to be a romance writer. When I was asked to turn a black-out scene into steamy hot sex, at first I panicked. Then I followed these 25 easy steps and panicked some more. And then I got a three-book deal for a paranormal romance series with Simon & Schuster, despite being a somewhat prudish Southern girl who’s been married to her college sweetheart since 2002 and has never actually seen a pair of assless chaps. And you can, too! Here’s how.

1. First of all, get drunk.

See? It starts out with something easy. Pick your favorite liquor—the one that makes you loose and happy, not upchucking into a clothes dryer. Get comfortable. Light a candle. Have two drinks. Slide down in your chair. And then gently place your fingertips on the hot, slick… buttons of your keyboard. If you’ve never written a sex scene before, you’re probably going to be either terrified or embarrassed, and both of those emotions are a lot easier to swallow when mixed with vodka.

2. Pop your cherry in private.

So let’s assume you’re drunk and about to start writing words like “pert nipples”. Trust me on this one: you’re going to want to do it alone, not at Starbucks with some little old granny staring over your shoulder as some baby screeches to Jason Mraz in the background. You also don’t want some well-meaning and curious spouse or roommate butting in to ask if you could take out the trash or, even worse, to see how the pornifying is going.

3. Prepare to have hairy palms, but in your brain.

Writing sex is a lot like masturbating. It’s all in your head— what you like, what you think would be hot, what two ideal people would hypothetically do with a hypothetical saddle. And if you can translate that well enough into words, other people will be titillated and foam at the mouth for your books and stick greasy one-spots in your literary g-string. So really put your back into it.

And that’s another reason to do this alone: it can… affect you. In physical ways that can be embarrassing. Your hands might roam as you contemplate the prose, your mouth might fall open, a small moan of “Ooh, Thorin Oakenshield!” might escape you. Did you masturbate for the first time in a public place? If so… wow. Congratulations on not getting arrested, or at least on having a good lawyer. Do this alone.

4. Do not stop. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred paddles with a riding crop.

Sometimes, as a writer, it can benefit the story to leave a scene half-written, take a break, and come back to it. Not so with sex. What if someone stood up in the middle of your sweat-laced tomfoolery and went away to reblog gender-reversed Batman comics on tumblr? No, if you want it to read like one smooth, seamless experience, just write the damn thing in one heaving burst. You’ll make changes later, but don’t stop writing until the walls would look horrible under a blacklight.

5. Self editing while writing a sex scene is like apologizing during bad sex.

Just as all first drafts are vomit, and just as you need to get this scene hurled out, don’t go back and reread bits and rethink your word choices and how many times you’ve used the word “wet”. You’re going to use it a lot, if the sex is decent. Do not look back while you’re writing it or think about how wretched it is. Of course it’s wretched. It’s the literary equivalent of virgin sex. Just be glad no one’s mom is going to walk down to the basement and catch you on the pool table with your Hammer pants around your ankles.

6. Do not be a body snatcher. Unless it’s some kind of alien porn.

Some books switch back and forth between points of view, but in general, writing sex is far more fluid– HA HA FLUID– if you limit yourself to one character’s thoughts, feelings, and sensations. Not only does this help the reader keep track of pronouns and hands, but can you imagine having sex if you had to hear every single thought the other person was having? DEAR GOD, THE GROCERY LISTS. And that should go without saying– no grocery lists, even if you’re out of butter. Like Marlon Brando.

7. Consider the lowly Jimmy hat.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when a romance book neglects to take into account that most women (and men!) have very strong feelings about whether or not they wish to end up preggers after a sexual encounter. A simple throwaway line about a condom, how glad she is she took her pill, how he’s always wanted a son, or why he has a big red V tattooed across his balls should do it. You are, however, forbidden from using the phrase “the telltale rip of foil”, as 50 Shades has copywritten it.

8. When in doubt, carefully study porn. I mean, read romance. And porn.

If you need inspiration, go read the sex scenes from your favorite romances– or check out Chuck’s post about it, including oodles of recommendations. See what works for you and what doesn’t. Notice how the author builds to it, what the characters say and don’t say, the words and euphemisms and cliches used. Or– best homework ever– have sex. Or watch porn. It’s not great for emotional value, but it can remind you of the very many bizarre ways bodies can meet. As a serious writer, it’s all too easy to get caught up in word count and plot and no adverbing and OMG, is spanking in this week? But at the base of it, we’re talking about a very primal act, and practice makes perfect for doing it *and* writing it.

9. Remember setting, because no one wants splinters in their pudendum.

Another pet peeve: a virgin’s first experience takes place in Earl Humperdink’s hayloft. Sounds sexy, but have you ever been in a hayloft? Dust, dirt, cobwebs, maggots, scorpions, stray cats, tetanus-laced nails, the scent of dysenteric cows, and possibly an entire barn full of zombies. Not sexy. So if you’re putting your characters in a weird place, trespass on someone else’s property and literally roll in the hay to see how very much it pricks your prick. Try having sex on a counter, or kitchen table, or a hammock. At the very least, simulate some moves in the setting and see if you can stay upright/undiseased/free of porcupine quills. If it’s not realistic, your readers will lose trust in you. And your ability to sex.

10. Let shit get cray.

I have no idea what this means. I wrote this list at 2am while on NyQuil. LET SHIT GET CRAY sounded pretty good at the time.

11. Words to avoid, even if they’re true.

Turgid, swollen, purple, wrinkled, tumescent, pert. Those are on my list. You probably have different ones, although I suggest you add “turgid” to it right now. While some words may accurately describe sex or a sex organ, they are not, themselves, sexy. Like moist. Or penis. I mean, it’s just an awful word, and all of you men should be ashamed of having one. Read several romance books and angrily circle the no-no words to refresh your mammary. I mean, memory.

12. How cray does it get?

Oh, wait! Now I remember why I wrote #10. Your first instinct will probably be to keep things very conservative and not let your freak flag fly at all, lest people see what a truly twisted nympho you are. But “John laid Mary gently on the bed and they did it missionary style and it was nice” does not sell 1/1,000,000th as many copies as “Mr. Gray beat a clumsy teenage girl with a garden hose and then stuck it in her armpit with a scoop of pizza sauce to lubricate.” Just as you have to let things get a little out of hand, you have to know when to rein it in. How far it goes will depend on your audience, and only erotica writers can really get freaky with pizza sauce.

13. Double rainbow? Unrealistic as hell, but almost expected.

Count the number of times you and your partner have had simultaneous orgasms. Unless you’re Sting, I won’t have to wait for the tally. It happens 4000 times more in books than it does in real life. But most readers will feel better if everyone gets their happy ending, even if someone has to be finished off in some other way, or one person uses their lack of confetti cannons as character development or a sign of why this relationship with the undead wereunicorn baron… dum dum duuuuuuum! CANNOT BE.

14. Have a cigarette. But a bubblegum one, so you won’t die of the cancer.

So you’ve just written The Best Sex Scene Ever. Time to end the chapter and move on to the real action, right? Wrong. Your story needs a lull, an afterglow, a reaction to the sex just as honest as people have in real life. It doesn’t have to be all cupcakes and rainbows—maybe he storms off, maybe she runs for the shower, maybe they tell Muppet jokes while he offers her a Clorox wipe. But what happens immediately following the sex can be just as important as the sex. It may seem like a small thing, but falling asleep in a lover’s arms (or not) for the first time can be a big deal. Especially if he’s the kind of guy who has a hook for a hand.

15. Just like in real life, avoid eye contact.

Ever notice how sex often makes things even more awkward? It may scratch one itch, but then it works you over like a hungry ferret and leaves you with hundreds of new trouble spots. After sex, the characters will glance away, avoid eye contact, doubt themselves, doubt each other, maybe rethink their involvement. Chances are, one of them feels more secure than the other. At the very least, even if they’re both happy, something in your story must push them apart, or they would just spend three months in bed, humping like rabbits.

16. Keep writing, motherfucker.

Because the story keeps going. Let the new sexual tension and awkwardness play into the story’s climax, but don’t let the entire point of the book be about sex. Most romance novels have a kissing or make-out scene that surprises both characters early on; one very detailed “first sex” scene somewhere between halfway and three-quarters of the way through; and then at least one other, “Oh, okay, we’re good at this; let’s hump HARDER scene” closer to the end. Your mileage/sexytimes meter may vary. But keep writing until it’s done.

17. Bad news: Hemingwway said you have to edit sober.

My writing process = vomit up an entire first draft, leave it to marinate slone in the dark, edit. Which works for sex scenes, as I need to get some distance away from them to really see them with new eyes and clean them the hell up. At the very least, don’t write the sex scene on Monday night and expect to perfect it on Tuesday morning. Go away for a while and let the fetid, bleach-like funk dissipate and harden. Then bring a chainsaw instead of a mop.

18. Don’t forget the granny.

Remember that granny at Starbucks? You can call this one Delilah’s Rule: The dirtier the scene you’re attempting to edit at Starbucks, the older and sweeter the granny that sits beside you. You can’t avoid it. Just be ready to show your aggressive introversion with headphones and slightly cant your laptop to the side. Because granny’s curious. And she probably misread the word “cant” and already thinks you’re a horrible person.

19. Count hands. Find panties. Provide tissues.

The little details can make or break a sex scene, for a reader. Have a clear idea what the characters are wearing before they start to get undressed. Make sure everything—or at least the obstructions– get removed in a sexy fashion. Make sure he takes off his socks and shoes if he gets totally nekkid, because… have you seen porn? Ew. Make sure there aren’t six hands touching that chick if there’s only one dude involved. When I wrote my first sex scene, the hero accidentally removed the heroine’s corset three times, which made me sound like an idiot with a corset fetish. AS IF.

Oh, and if you have one of those scenes where the guy “leaves his sperm” in “her vagina”, she can’t just stand up and slip on a short skirt and play tennis. If you don’t know why, ask your sex ed teacher. Give the girl a shower or a tissue or SOMETHING.

20. Hello, thesaurus. Goodbye, thesaurus.

The first time you edit your sex scene, you’re going to see these words a thousand times: hand, fingers, lick, taste, tongue, thigh, skin, hot, wet. Because… those are very accurate descriptions of the main tools of sex. You’ll want to vary usage so that it reads seamlessly. Be careful of using the thesaurus too much, though, because some words are too accurate and unsexy to work. “He laved her creamy pillows until his penis turned purple” might be true, but dry heaving should not be a reaction to sex scenes. If something stands out to you, rework it. Put your thing down, flip it, and reverse it.

21. Make it a jackhammer.

Remember in Mallrats, where they were doing the dating show, and the suitors were asked if their kisses were like a soft breeze, a firm handshake, or a jackhammer? Gil answered, “Definitely a jackhammer, I’m in there with some pressure and when I’m done, you’re not the same as before. You’re changed.” And we laughed, because he was a douche. But your sex scene should be like that: it should move the story forward and somehow affect the characters emotionally. Maybe the hero learns to open up, maybe the heroine decides she wants to be more aggressive in her real life, maybe they’re just having what they think is a last fling before a giant orc battle. But it has to mean something, or else it’s just porn.

22. Ask someone else to read it and give you their honest opinion, preferably not a clergyman.

This is possibly the scariest part. With my first sex scene, I blushed and handed it to my husband. His response? “That’s hot.” And then I put down the bottle of wine. What works for you might not work for someone else, and you need an outside source you trust to tell you gently if your menage a trois with a penguin is just too much.

23. Edit again. Really. Did you count the hands?

Polish that rocket with a little extra elbow grease. When your regular book is rejected by agents or editors, it hurts like hell. When they softly and gently critique your sex scene, it’s like being kicked in the ‘nads and being told you’re a horrible lover. Do yourself a favor and really make it gleam, first.

24. Buy yourself some pretty new panties, sport.

I’m a big believer in letting shit go, especially things that have served their purpose. If you’ve written the scene, edited it, shared it, cried, accepted the criticism, edited again, and hit the send button? Forget it. Don’t stay up at night, thinking about how there really were four hands and a rogue penguin flipper on her freckled mound. Just put the entire book, story, WHATEVER, right out of your mind and start writing the next thing. Let those raggedy-ass panties with the stretched-out elastic go and buy some frilly ones, possibly in that exciting new “Tonga” style.

25. If anyone complains, do not fling used condoms at them.

Truth? For some reason, I can read bad reviews and nod along and think, “Yeah, okay, I guess I can see that; my entire book is Buffy/Pirates of the Caribbean cross-over fanfic.” But when a review says the sex isn’t hot, cites parts of the sex scenes negatively, or otherwise critiques that hot, steamy pile of lovin’ I concocted? I cringe. And it’s going to happen, every time. As a writer, you must understand that this says as much about the reviewer and their sexual issues as it does about you and your writing issues, and that you therefore—even more than usual—cannot say anything in response or defend yourself intelligently. Just shrug, watch some porn, watch some more porn, and write harder.

Because you know what? Writing sex makes you feel powerful. It’s like lingerie for your brain. It doesn’t matter what you look like, how you dress, how you feel about your body, or how you can dance: if you can write a sex scene, you can turn people on with nothing but words.

And that’s pretty turgid.


  • Awesome post, great advice, entirely true. Hopefully more writers take your brilliant advice, because if I read one more sex scene that uses the words “moist” or “poonanny” I will vomit.

  • Awesome post Delilah!! You almost … ALMOST … made me want to try writing sex scenes. Unfortunately, everyone in my books ends up dead before the sex can happen. Might have to do something about that first.

    Seriously, though – great post and awesome tips.

  • Thank you for this post! Makes me want to attempt a sex scene again, though my previous attempts have been pretty awful.

    Also, I love how when I was stupidly reading this in the open at the restaurant on my break, a sweet old man came to ask me about the tablet I was using as SOON as I finished reading number 18. Nothing to see here, just learning the art of titillation…

  • Ageism! How do you think you became a granddaughter? Immaculate conception?! Which reminds me, I know some pretty hot clergymen (and women, actually). Protestant clergy not only marry, they have sex, too. I can’t repeat what the Rector taught me (sounds like my next title, though!). Lastly–critics: I can’t dispense with critics unless I want to become a total boor. Maybe you should take reviews with a grain of salt, but take them anyway, for whatever they may actually be worth.

  • Maybe it’s me but I *love* to write sex scenes in Starbucks. I sit there typing and smiling wickedly. Let them think it’s all the about the latte! (Oh God – have I just invented another squicky description of female emissions?….sorry.)

  • I am seriously LMAO right now. It took me 9 hours…yes 9 to write my 1st sex scene and it sucked. No pun there. Took about a dozen rewrites to get it right. I wish you had written this 10 months ago…sure would’ve helped me. 🙂 Yeah, and what’s with those damn haylofts? Never could figure that out O_O

  • I’ve been writing sex scenes since I was 12 or 13. I distinctly remember writing something about Luke Skywalker and his light saber ;-). I also remember the Barbie doll orgies that played out on the living room floor. I had something like 8 barbies and only 2 kens. The kens were very busy fellows.

    As an adult, I learned that writing graphic sex scenes brought the judgy mcjudgersons out of the woodwork. I also made a very big mistake of marrying an uber-prude. So the last 20 years or so, I’ve repressed my desire to write sex. Now I’m back at it, and it isn’t like riding a bike. I kind of forgot how to do it. This list is pretty useful, and much of the advice I discovered on my own.

    The prude husband is long gone. Now I’m with a man who is as pervy as I am. He looks forward to editing my work.

  • I was going to follow these steps, but I only got as far as get drunk and then I ended up reading smut instead. I’m ashamed of myself.

  • Awesome!! I laughed and I learned, two good things that go good together.

    Do you have thoughts on the use of four-letter words? Specifically, the word “cunt”. Such an ugly word, Ten thousand years of civilization and you’d think there would be a better one… but no. The thing is,what else can I use and not be going into purple prose and sounding all harlequin?

    • I think it depends on the tone of your book and what the characters would realistically say… and what your audience would realistically find hot. I have this problem in my steampunk romances, as “He grabbed my ass” is not something a 19th century vampire princess would say when describing that action. When in doubt, I pick up similar titles and see what other authors did successfully. But I haven’t used the c-word or the p-word to describe the female anatomy in a book–yet–simply because it’s not a good fit.

    • Cunt is very commonly used by the Scots. So how wrong can it be? I rather like it and use it in my work. “Cute, puffy little cunt” sounds about right. I snuck it into a tweet the other day.

  • This. Was. Perfect. I’ve written a few sex scenes, but my readers keep telling me “More detail” “Not enough” and I keep promising them I’ll get more detailed and make things a little “hotter” and get their hopes up just to disappoint them again. I really think this helped me out a lot. It’s four in the morning and I planned on going to bed, but UV Blue and lemonade is calling my name and so is my laptop. Definitely taking this advantage of your advise. I can’t thank you enough! 😀

  • August 13, 2013 at 1:03 PM // Reply

    I was told by a school councilor that one young lady, carefully unnamed, got pregnant in a horse barn on a pile of manure some years back. How’s that for setting a romantic scene?

    • As a horsewoman, I cannot even begin to imagine said romantic interlude. Because things live in piles of manure, and they are not sexy things. I suspect the baby was half fly. *shudder*

  • August 14, 2013 at 4:41 AM // Reply

    I have just written the first draft of a book and my friend (who thinks we need to ramp up the sex scenes) sent me this. I have been wiping the tears away – hilarious! Not easy to explain to my three young boys what mummy was pissing herself about (that could be an Australian euphamism – not sure!)

  • Words to avoid: fisted–it does not mean what you think it means. “His hands fisted in her hair.” ” She fisted the sheets.” Putting dieting in a sex scene is fine, but check the definition. Make very sure that it’s the verb you want.

  • AR: Nalini Singh likes to use the word “fisting” to refer to someone making a fist without any penetration, particularly while it’s tangled in the hair on someone’s head. With a small number of notable exceptions, I think the key is how you use the words, not the words you use.

    Delilah re words: With respect to sex and some other basic functions, we have some vocabulary in English that is attested as early as Chaucer. Some is pretty rough, or has become so. Some of the better dictionaries give good information about early usage that can help pinpoint historical availability of the word. But your strategy to read others’ efforts hits a major point: verisimilitude. If your horses sound like half-coconuts, people will believe it simply because they’ve heard horses that way before. And that’s good because it keeps their minds on your story rather than your vocabulary.

  • I absolutely LOVED this post, it made me LMAO litterally! However, it meight just be me, but I can’t seem to find which of Chucks posts you referred to in nr 8 stating : “or check out Chuck’s post about it, including oodles of recommendations.”

    Could someone please point me in the right direction 🙂

  • Oh, for crying in the beer! This is the best advice any neophyte writer of a sex scene ever had. Not because it is true, but because it makes one think. And ask questions. Of people who will give you honest answers. Like your husband, whom who have adored for the last quarter century.

    For the first ten years of your marriage he would have just told you what you wanted to hear. Now, with a wealth of shared experience and several children he will become your incredibly, deliciously, warmly, openly…well lets leave it there—and realistic (Yep, that one certainly) sex scene writing partner. If only because he loves the research.

    When he says he doesn’t want to go down on you because it smells like turning fish, you better listen. Then take your fingers and verify. Then don’t EVER write anything that incredibly stupid ever again.

  • I found this through a Google search, and nearly fell of the chair laughing. I have shared it with some fellow writer friends and they’ve loved it as well. Funny, frank, and full of good usable advice. I don’t drink so step one might be a problem for me but I can’t wait to see what I come up with the next time I’m working on my draft!

  • Exactly what I was looking for in advice. I’ve written short eroticas off and on for years now and I’m trying to get back into it. I’ve lost a lot of short stories that I wanted to recreate (but better), instead I think I’ll go for writing completely new and exciting short stories. Thanks so much.

  • As was previously mentioned this article had me at “Ooh Thorin Oakenshield!” too – (no need to guess what fanfic I’m writing) and I can say that mentally choreographing a sex scene in a public place, like a train, is NEVER a great idea. Especially when that dwarf is concerned!
    Taking the hilarious Hobbit and other references aside, this arricle was great and very helpful. Thanks!

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