Guest Blogger Steve Piacente was a print journalist for 25 years, including 15 years as a Washington, D.C. correspondent for two Southern newspapers, the Tampa Tribune, and the Charleston (SC) Post-Courier. He also holds a Masters in Fiction from Johns Hopkins University and is the author of two novels, Bella and Bootlicker. Steve currently manages the web and social media team at a large federal agency in Washington, D.C., and teaches communications classes at his undergraduate alma mater, American University. 

He loved how her hair lay tangled and wild against the pillow. It smelled like fresh coconut. He wanted terribly to wind his fingers through it right now and whisper something that would make her smile in her sleep. (From Steve Piacente’s Bootlicker)

Navigating the line between sex and sexy can be tricky, and writers should think twice before they cross over.

The fact is that there’s an audience for both. Some readers want front-row seats to every move and counter-move that take place between the sheets. Others are happy to wait downstairs and perhaps smile as telling sounds ring out from the upstairs bedroom.

The act – and the writing of the act – is intensely personal and subject to an interesting truism, that the more you practice, the better you get. That’s a fact and everyone knows it, even if speaking so candidly makes us squirm a little.

So how far should your characters go in the bedroom, and how much should you, the author, show?

I follow two rules. First, don’t indulge in sex scenes simply because you can. There must be a point, and the scene must reveal something you haven’t shown yet about the characters, and carry the story forward.

The second is, don’t lapse into porn, or worse, unintentionally funny porn, full of acrobatic acts and contraptions that are better left to professionals.

Think of all that can be revealed by a well-done sex scene: confidence, creativity, knowledge, skill, consideration, and patience, or – ouch – insecurity, ignorance, clumsiness, and selfishness.

What does the reader take away from a character who wants the lights left on, or who chooses the kitchen over the bedroom, or who gently slides a zipper instead of tearing it open? What are we to make of a woman who throws a man out of her bed before their breathing returns to normal?

All of us are born with powerful instincts to communicate and procreate. Bedroom or barstool, we know when someone’s faking it. To score, authors who venture into the bedroom must understand the difference between sex and sexy and make their choice – and their scenes – compelling, believable and purposeful.

How do you tackle intimacy in your writing?