A Snatch by Any Other Name

by Colette Moody

Many might argue that what makes lesfic decidedly lesbian is the sex— that without it, the stories would be in the same category as books about girls who share a magical pair of communal pants, or a gaggle of middle aged “ya-yas.” For the sake of this argument, let’s give that viewpoint some credence.

As someone who’s written a few lesfic sex scenes, I can assert with some confidence that they do have some particularly tricky aspects. Besides the standard concerns of crafting any garden-variety scene (e.g. don’t let the language obscure the action, don’t overuse words, etc.) you have additional things to worry about.

One thing is the simple choreography of it. Little can detract from the sexiness of something faster than noticing that what the characters are doing defies the laws of physics or anatomy.

Think back for a moment. I’ll wait.

Have you ever suddenly stopped reading something and thought something like any of the following?

• How does she bend that way?
• Are they both double-jointed?
• But that means her knees bend backwards like a flamingo!
• Wait… if she puts her hand there, she’ll fall off the trapeze.

Style and blocking aside, a more sensitive issue when crafting any scene that involves provocative caressing, saucy dialogue, and mouths on various lady parts is semantics. In other words, how do you refer to the characters’ goodies?

Let’s face it, when it comes to matters related to sexuality, we absolutely love to euphemize. And for whatever myriad of reasons, many of us not only have our own personal sexual hang-ups, but we have very strong feelings about what words, names, and phrases we find arousing, and which ones make us recoil.

So let’s go back to our exercise from earlier. When was the last time you were reading something that was supposed to be steeped in eroticism, only to be suddenly jarred out of your steamy interlude by an unfortunate turn of phrase that horrified you? Here are a few examples of what I’m talking about:

• Andrea moaned as the sensations spread through her body like a ghastly devastating plague.
• “Do it,” Lisa begged wantonly. “Stuff that up in me like cranberry dressing!”
• “Pound me like a piñata, baby,” Beth said. Lee winked at her confidently. “I won’t stop until candy spills out of your ass.”

Even more critical than the use of upsetting dialogue and disturbing metaphors is the thorny business of referring to the body parts themselves. While it’s almost always safe to use the standard clinical names (e.g. vagina, areola, uvula… hey, don’t judge that last one until you’ve tried it), there is a need to use some synonyms if the scene is longer than a paragraph or two. One class of these terms could probably be labeled as vulgar, even though they’re used by most of us on a fairly regular basis (snatch, crotch, cunt, etc.). But despite the prevalence of these words in our filthy 21st century vernacular, there are a lot of readers who simply like their sex cleaner than that (just as there are oodles of you who want it a hell of a lot dirtier— and more power to you).

So frequently what authors do to get around this is to use euphemisms. When I was younger and worked at a bookstore (back before they were endangered), we had a perverse competition that involved scouring mainstream romance novels for the most ridiculous sexual symbolism ever committed to paper. Some of my favorite synonyms for penis include:

• Granite monolith
• Turgid love rod
• Throbbing, thirsty manhood
• Slick, mammoth man-barb

Before you ask, yes there was terminology for women’s genitalia that was equally as unsettling:

• Moist lady-tunnel
• Misty love cave
• Hot, heaving sheath
• Briny carnival

Now, as much as “cavorting in her briny carnival” sounds vaguely entertaining, there is still the persistent connotation of evasiveness, and honestly it sounds kind of creepily childish. And except for a pocket of fetishists out there, childishness is rarely what an author is trying to evoke in a love scene. I mean, you might as well have a “hootenanny of the flesh,” “go spelunking in her love grotto,” or “glaze her sticky bun.” All three appeal to my inner fourth grader.

Why not create something really obscure? Do you think that most readers would play along, pretending to understand?

• Jane slid her fingers below Ally’s waistband as she started flinging her dingo.

And has anyone truly captured the dialogue of the utterly repressed?

• “Please,” Tania implored. “Do that thing… down there. Put your tee-tee on my hoo-hoo.”
• Diane’s tongue darted over her lips hungrily. “That’s it. Come to Hoozie Hollow, baby.”

Granted, I’m not sure how many people out there would genuinely find that sexy— though there are undoubtedly a few. After all, there’s always someone else out there who likes what you like, is just as sappy, and is into the same freaky stuff that you’re into.

So I invite you to comment. How do you prefer your sexy parlance? Do you like it anatomical or raunchy? Do you find symbolism and metaphors arousing or distracting? Do you know the way to Hoozie Hollow?

© COLETTE MOODY