Writing the senses
As you are reading this, are you drinking a cup of coffee or tea?
If you aren’t, just go with me here and imagine you’re drinking a warm beverage of your choice.
Take a moment to look at the cup where it sits. What does it look like? Does your latte have art? Is it a brightly coloured pottery mug or a fine bone china? Is there a little tea tag hanging off the rim?
Wrap your hands around the cup. Is it hot, or just warm? How does it feel seeping into your skin?
Lift the mug to your nose and inhale. Smell the earthiness of the coffee, or the spiciness of the tea. Is it a good smell? Does it evoke a memory for you?
Take a sip. Bliss! What does it taste like? Bitter? Fruity? Sweet? Tart?
Listen to the breath you sigh after that first, well-earned swallow.
Now… think about how you might use those details to lift your character off the page and show your reader how much they’re enjoying that drink.
Science says (trust me…) that including sensory detail makes your writing a more immersive experience for your reader – and, what’s more, often those little details will help you to build characterisation.
It’s even more important to think about those sensory details when you’re writing intimacy (whether that’s open- or closed-door intimacy). Those details will help you avoid The Ikea Conundrum (i.e. a mechanical, insert tab A into slot B scene) by taking your readers deep into the point of view of your characters and letting them experience whatever it is that the characters are experiencing in that moment.
Well, maybe ALMOST everything that the characters are experiencing in that moment 😉
So, what does writing the senses look like in sex and intimacy? Let’s look at some examples.
SIGHT
Sight is often the first of our senses to be engaged – for example, a character sees their person across a crowded room or walking into an office.
But you don’t want to describe EVERYTHING about what your character sees, you want to describe the right details, the ones that tell your reader the most about the character. It might be about the cut or quality of the clothes, or the way the character moves in a room. And it may not even be about the character, instead focusing on their space. The billionaire’s office, or the tradie’s truck. The dust on a windowsill, or the unfilled bookshelves.
When you’re in the bedroom (any by bedroom I mean anywhere we’re doing the deed), sight might focus on the light and the shadows, how they fall over the place, or the bodies. It might focus on the movement of the characters together, or the way they remove clothes.
Sight also isn’t just about what our characters see in respect of description and place. It is also about how they see each other, which is why I love this example from Chesapeake Blue by Nora Roberts.
In this story, our male MC is a painter… and he’s been absolutely dying to paint our female MC’s portrait… covered in rose petals, of course. Read along:
But for the rest, for her mouth, for the look in her eyes, he needed something more.
From chapter fourteen, Chesapeake Blue, Nora Roberts
“Don’t move,” he ordered as he came back to the bed. “I want you to think about how much I want you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Think about how powerful you are, the way you look. As if you’re just waking up and you see me looking at you. Craving you. You’ve got all the power here.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m desperate for you.” He leaned down, his lips a whisper from hers. “You know it. All you have to do is crook a finger. All you have to do is smile.” He laid his lips on hers, took the kiss slow and deep, gave her a taste of his yearning. “And I’m a slave.”
He backed up, his eyes on hers as he eased around the canvas. “It’s you, Drusilla. You.”
Her lips curved, a kind of knowing. In her eyes an invitation shimmered that was both luminous and languid.
He saw everything he wanted in that one moment, the awareness, the confidence, the desire and the promise.
SMELL
Our sense of smell is also often quite quickly engaged – and can be a key trigger of memories and emotions. Many of us have quite emotional reactions to scents we connect with lost parents or grandparents. And who doesn’t love that smell of cut grass, or the smell that follows rain after a warm day.
When it comes to contemporary romance, smell can be one of the trickier things to get right (I mean, check out check out @RomanceSmells on Twitter if you want a little giggle… or some examples!) Smell is, however, often particularly well used in paranormal romance – particularly when we’re talking shifter-type stories, like the Delwyn Jenkins excerpt below:
Retreat was the only sensible option. He pressed his hands to the floor and was about to roll upright when Jaz stirred.
From chapter eight, Tempting Flame, Delwyn Jenkins
It was enough to halt his movement. When he was sure she’d continue to sleep, he took a deep breath of relief. He didn’t want her to catch him while he was trying to escape. But the breath was a mistake. He took her scent into his lungs, and the essence of her seemed to spread out to permeate his whole body. Everything in him leaned towards her and his cat howled in need.
Silently he listed all the reasons he should walk away. He was Jendari, she was human. His first duty would always be to the clans. Her first duty was to her kids. He didn’t want a relationship and Jaz wasn’t designed for casual sex. He had secrets to protect, secrets that ensured the safety of his people. And she posed a threat to those confidences.
SOUND
Sound, like sight and smell, is the other sense that is engaged almost involuntarily, depending on the environment. For example, I still have the clearest memory of a night on the dance floor (at Schoolies, on the Gold Coast – so you can tell both how old I am, and how classy this night was) dancing to Closer by Nine Inch Nails (both an incredibly sexy, and incredibly dark song, IMHO).
As another example, ask most people what their wedding song was, and what memories they recall when they hear it… I’d bet they’ll be able to articulate a clear memory of where they were and what they were feeling at a point in time.
But sound isn’t only music – although music is something particularly evocative. It might also be environmental sound, the tapping of a keyboard or the sound of someone breathing. It can be raw – the sound of slapping skin – or something more polished like the sound of stilettos on marble.
It can also be words and dialogue – which I think are essential in intimacy (and will the subject of a separate, upcoming HT article)
Dialogue also gives us give us dirty talk!
Dirty talk doesn’t work for everyone, and it varies depending on your characters… but this excerpt below, from Mia Hopkins, does it exceptionally well (particularly in respect of the characterisation – and Carmen enjoying breaking the rules).
Are you wet, baby girl?”
From chapter fifteen, Trashed, Mia Hopkins
Carmen likes dirty talk. I know this because she whispers, “Yes.’
…
“You’re too big.”
“Fuck yeah. Say that again.”
“You’re too big, I can’t take all of you.”
“We both know that you can.”
…
“Baby girl, do you like this?” I gasp. “Tell the truth.”
“Yes.”
“You like being bad, don’t you? You like breaking the rules with me. It turns you on.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you like this Carmen? Why do you have to be bad to come so hard?”
As a final note on sound, don’t forget that the absence of sound is also relevant.
TASTE
And then there’s taste.
Regarding intimacy, taste is probably the most limited sense, and it is often food based. A kiss tasting like the whisky a character has just consumed, for example. It is also often used in a simile such as ‘she tasted like the sweetest chocolate’ or ‘he tasted like the ocean.’ And it’s a food-based taste excerpt I’ve lifted from Gabriel’s Inferno below:
He was on his side facing her, resting his head on his upturned arm, his right leg crooked at the knee, pouring champagne. They toasted their love and partook of Gabriel’s favourite vintage of Dom Perignon before he leaned over to capture her lips with his.
From chapter thirty-four, Gabriel’s Inferno, Sylvain Reynard
“I’d like to feed you,” he murmured.
“Yes, please.”
“Close your eyes, ” he said, “Just taste.”
Julia trusted him, so she shut her eyes and felt something nudge against her lower lip; then it was inside her mouth, all chocolate and juicy sweet strawberry and the feel of Gabriel’s thumb brushing across her heated flesh. Opening her eyes, she grabbed him by the wrist, pulling his thumb slowly into her mouth.
TOUCH
Finally, there is touch, which seems a little obvious to call in to a conversation about the five senses in sexy times because it is difficult (albeit almost impossible) to have sex without some form of touch (whether your character’s or someone else’s).
The excerpt below, from Helena Hunting (writing as H Hunting) is a simple scene – but it focuses on
She takes my hand and places it over her heart-which also means I’m palming her breast-and mirrors the action with her own hand. A small smile tips the corner of her mouth and she whispers, “Your need is my need.”
From chapter twenty-nine, Little Lies, Helena Hunting writing as H Hunting
It breaks the heavy tension filling the space around us, but only for a few seconds, because we lean in at the same time, mouths connecting once again. I explore her curves, the dip at her waist, the swell of her breasts, and I reach between her shoulder blades to flick the clasp on her bra.
Part of me wants to rush, to get inside her and seal the connection that’s never dissipated, no matter how hard I tried to build a wall between us. You can’t keep out what makes your heart beat in the first place. But everything about the way she touches me is unhurried, slow and gentle, and I respond in kind, stripping down until we’re bared for each other.
She pulls the cover back, and we stretch out on her sheets, legs tangled together, hands roaming as we sink deeper into our kiss. I smooth my palm down her stomach, and she makes the softest sound when I dip between her thighs. I lift my head, eyes on hers as I circle her clit and go lower, easing a finger inside.
Bonus example below, from the one and only Amy Andrews – just to make the point that your characters don’t have to be touching each other!
With a shaking hand, Donovan breeched the elastic of his shorts and his underwear, sucking in a short, sharp breath, his eyes closing, as his fingers brushed the taut aching flesh of his shaft. A current of hot, white heat shot all the way down to his balls and, for a horrifying moment, he thought he was going to lose his load right there and then, and he had to squeeze his dick hard to interrupt the jolt of sensation before he could pull it free of his clothes.
From chapter five, Playing it Safe, Amy Andrews
When he opened his eyes, they met Beckett’s, and for long moments they just stared at each other, the sound of heavy breathing like jungle drums around them. Until Beckett broke contact again, his eyes dropping to Donovan’s lap, his pupils dilating, his nostrils flaring. His tongue came out, flicking along his bottom lip, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Donovan couldn’t breathe for the wanting.
So, how might you practice writing the senses? Use images as a writing warm up the next time you sit down to write, or as an exercise to brainstorm the things you might see, smell, hear, taste and touch in the images.
Let me know how you go with writing the senses @wordsbykc (Twitter) / @wordsbykristinecharles (FB)
This post was originally published in the Romance Writers of Australia Hearts Talk June 2023
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