stardust and rust

this animal loves to leisure

a birthday gift for my wife :)

1. 'It's fiction, it doesn't need to make sense!'

Choreograph it in the same respect that you would any scene. If you can do this, you can have some confidence that your porn is exactly as good as your fights, your key gambling maneuvers, your political oneupsmanship, whatever. The key to writing any scene is to know where everyone is and what they are doing and impart this from the lens of the point of view character. If something feels "off" or weird, check in with yourself: what is the point of view character doing? Say it. She has her nails digging into her lover's shoulders. Was that, what she's doing, the last sentence? Let her react to it instead: the thrill of hot blood against her fingertips is intoxicating.

Many of the "porn mistakes" are just writing mistakes, and writing is an unending dialogue between the material (what is physically happening) and the ideal (how a perspective processes the material, with human and personal limitations but also human and personal additions). When you've firmly established the material, you move back to the ideal, the thought-space, the recollection-space, the processing. Then back to the material. Each action spins out and away from the earth, into the ether, where it is reintegrated, leveraged, subverted, and then returns, changed, to collide with the earth again, changing it in turn.

You do not have to say words for penis over and over any more than you need to keep clarifying proper names in a dialogue, and in fact, even less than this. Remember, unless your character is specifically having sex with the penis, she is in fact having sex with a woman, and her feelings and reactions and ideal likely center that woman more than her penis. Put her in dialogue with the woman rather than the penis and you have your answer: you only need to say cock as many times as you would say "rapier" in a swordfight. Once you know what sword it is, you move to sensation, movement, "large scale choreography", and processing.

The unique thing when talking about genitals is that most people don't think much about genitals when they are having sex. They think about sensations: what feels good, unexpected, painful, pleasant, intimate, jarring, etc. Saying "her cock" over and over is not just a little offputting because it's excessively repetitive; it's like putting "gauntlet" in five subsequent paragraphs. We get that there's a gauntlet and a penis. It feels wrong because the gauntlet is an extension of the striking-appendage and the penis is an extension of a character.

To avoid saying gauntlet over and over, as in any writing, you either get vaguer or get specificer. You describe the interaction with the wrist-plate, where the rapier rebounds from the shape of the steel, or the fingertip sliced-through by the superior blade, just barely shallow enough to spare the digit beneath (specific). Alternately, you get vaguer and describe the strike itself - the reader knows there's a gauntlet there! - a fist thrown in desperation after losing hold of a dagger, the weight both pulling down the blow and putting momentum behind it until it meets the enemy's helmet with more of a thud than a clang as the cheap steel crumples into the leather padding beneath, dented skull-deep.

Neither of those used "gauntlet". Both used the concept of the gauntlet. This can be done with anything that you establish - once it's on the stage, it's not off until you take it off.

Of course it helps, to an extent, to have had the kind of sex you are describing. It helps more to have been thoughtful about your own sensation and reaction and action during sex in general; few people really do this, but doing it is extremely useful for writing, the same way riding a horse and not thinking about it will lead you to over-describe the tack you're familiar with vs. riding a horse and thinking about it will help you develop a coherent material dialogue with the content of your own narrative. To an extent, to write about sex, you need to have some level of comfort thinking and reading about sex. Anyone can do those two things, and allow themself to think: at the moment of being penetrated, is her shaft sliding into my fragrant blossom? Or is the sensation more like pressure, more like pain, more like an insistent heat, more like an awareness of her and her shape or an awareness of myself and my limits or my pleasure?

As in sword fights, it helps to imagine yourself in the scene rather than only observing it, when it comes to blocking out a scene like something other than stage directions or a video game novelization.

The last thread this leads me to is pussy. No one wants to write pussy, unless they do. So they write entrance, which you can only really write once before it sounds goofy. Or cunt, which not every character would say. There is not really a cock of pussy, at least in my literary opinion. So how do you say this stuff? How do you say "into her pussy" if it causes you physical pain to write pussy?

You may not need to specify at all. When penetrating someone, you are penetrating a person, not just an organ. Depending on the nature of the sex, you may want to get into more or less detail, but I'm not talking to the people who are already writing about the color of the labia and the specific tactile sensation of a blood-flushed clit, okay? I'm speaking to you if you have stopped and made a terrible face at the thought of "pussy" and then deleted it and written "cunt" and cringed again.

My hot tip, as connects to all the rest of this, is that if there is not a word for the place you are stabbing her, you are just stabbing her. You are dragging your fingers over her until she yields. You are lining yourself up with her, pressing in, adjusting cautiously until she wriggles her hips, urging you to get on with it already. You are drawing your hips back against the friction of her trembling body. Could any of these be her asshole? Her neovagina? Her alien hole where she excretes salt waste? Of course! If it's important to specify, specify! If what's hot about fucking someone is the logistics of the hole, then by God, logistics the shit out of that hole without shame. But what makes porn hot is not the hole itself. It's the interaction with the hole, gone warm and molten as her desperate breaths come quicker. It's how the hole makes you feel. Fuck you.

Word choices for describing sex organs are an expression of how the perspective character feels about them. A heavily euphemistic description may either reveal something important about the character and her misgivings or set the narrative itself up for subversion - the girl who winces and thinks of her penis as "her manhood" is going to have something to unpack later or even during sex. The dispassionate "shaft" could either reflect disinvestment, to be dramatized later on, or set up that disinvestment to be subverted, as the humble shaft becomes the instrument of orgasm.

Think of how anime often has internal-monologue turning points to explain where a character's last reserve of energy comes from - the setup, the dead parent, the tragic past, the loss of a friend, it comes from somewhere, and the payoff to winning the duel is catharsis. It's just a more straightforward way of illustrating the point of most building-to-a-climax, which porn often deliberately does: you can only pay off on what you set up. Otherwise you revert to tropes and the underdog-hero wins for no reason and the girl-hero cums and it doesn't even matter because ten thousand she/hers have cum exactly that way in ten thousand prior okay scenes. The difference in payoff is all in a setup that the payoff can reintegrate: a material and an ideal that unite in a moment of pure emotional release.

"But you, Lena, will always fall into the light."

Except Lena doesn't fall into it this time. Falling would be far too easy, and is a ship long since sailed. This time, she does the harder thing and fights to reach the light again.

“I believe in you.”

Supercorp in 2025?? yes

Finished? no