There is sometimes a tendency to read or write a book and think about sex scenes as if they are something separate from the story that is happening. It’s like the story is a salad, and the steamy scenes are cherry tomatoes thrown on top, something small and sweet to add to the lettuce, croutons, and lumps of blue cheese. You can add as many tomatoes as you like, but you can also pick out the tomatoes without ruining the salad.
I don’t think it should be like this. I think sex in a story should be like an ingredient in a casserole. Squash, maybe. Or cheese. (Because, well, cheese.) It can be added, yes, but once it is cooked it’s hard to extract because it’s part of the story, it is the story—it’s not just an add-on. It absorbs the flavors of the rest of the casserole, the characters’ personalities and dynamics and feelings and development. It is within the story, not just tossed on top.
This is what I try to do in my writing, make sex scenes reflective of what’s happening and always moving the plot forward–like a good character conversation does. Because it is dialogue. Within sex, there are actions and reactions, surprises, suppression, subtext. Game-changers. The bickering co-workers have hot angry sex in their sausage delivery van, reflecting their fiery chemistry. The college student finds herself locked in a tender kiss with the girl she’s competing for an internship with, turning the plot on a dime.
Seeing sex as dialogue helps me craft a better steamy moment. Instead of just keeping in mind the goal of writing a tantalizing kiss, I’m also trying to show the unique chemistry and relationship between the people involved. This lends itself to a one-of-a-kind love scene. Sometimes it’s strange or uncomfortable; sometimes there are stapler incidents. And sometimes there are sweet moments the characters don’t see coming.
Sex should be dialogue. Tasty, tasty dialogue.