““Would you like a written invitation?”
David smiled and pulled her close. “Can you feel my acceptance?”
Julia nodded then led David to the master bedroom. They stood at the foot of the bed and kissed until everything blurred. There was heavy breathing, buttons and zippers opening. It was wet and hot. It was soft. He was hard. They fell onto the bed and grappled, feeding on each other’s flesh. There was moaning and sighing. Julia’s hair swept his face followed by her breasts. She was on top of him, then underneath, then beside him. It was quick, hurried and desperate. She whispered his name. He shuddered and then it was over.”
-Loathe Your Neighbor ch. 17
I was surprised when I re read some of the scenes in Loathe Your Neighbor. I was amazed at how graphic they were. Keep your pants on, I’m not talking 50 Shades here, or anything which would even remotely qualify as erotica, but I do describe sexual activity. In my first novel, I only made allusions to sex. I’ll be honest and say that writing the sex scenes in Loathe Your Neighbor was enjoyable even though I would much rather have sex than write about it, or even watch if for that matter. I have been married for 20 years, and suffice to say, the bedroom action at my place has waned a little over the years, courtesy mainly of my wife’s lack of interest. Don’t get upset. She would readily admit to that. It’s a shame but it happens. I don’t really see why a person’s libido should falter as they age as it seems to, and for women more often, generally speaking, than for men. And with that I conclude my little ramble about me writing sex scenes whilst wishing I was having sex instead. Nothing wrong with that, is there?