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General > The difference between Romantic, Steamy and Erotic scenes in Writing

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message 1: by Esther (new)

Esther Rabbit | 13 comments Hi guys, my name is Esther and I am a content creator for writers and a Paranormal Romance author myself. The reason why I'm here today is to ask you, readers and writers alike about your reading preferences involving:

- romantic scenes
- steamy scenes
- erotic scenes

... in the novels of your choice. I just wrote an article on the matter: https://estherrabbit.com/romantic-ste... with examples of each (be warned, explicit content).

But I'd like to take it a step further and write another article involving the ones who would like to take part in this little survey. I'd like to know where you draw the line between steamy and erotic and if reading such scenes provides an enjoyable reading experience for you.

Naturally, do let me know if I have your permission to quote you in my upcoming article with your Goodreads name or if you wish to remain anonymous. Happy Monday everyone!


message 2: by Harold (new)

Harold Titus (haroldtitus) | 53 comments I believe that the sexual content of your narration must reflect the character of those engaged. In my historical novel Alsoomse and Wanchese Wanchese, visiting a distant Algonquian tribe, has been presented a 16-year-old virgin to occupy his bed. The girl has been chosen against her will to service him. Wanchese hears her complaint, feels frustrated. Here is the end of the scene.

They talked. He asked about her parents. Her father was dead, killed by the Mandoag. He told her about his dead parents and brother and sister. They talked superficially about loss.

Eventually, she stood. She glanced at him. “I have been chosen. I will be questioned. I must obey. I have not done this before. I am afraid. My sisters say it is time.”

He looked at her. He saw the smooth line of her shoulders and thought that despite his pangs of conscience he would do it. “All right,” he said.

He reclined beside her. She pulled a sewed together deerskin over their shoulders. He remained still for half a minute. She was lying on her back. He reached for her, felt her stiffness, reached for the curve above her right hip. She was not drawn to him.

He hesitated. Sitting partially upright, he looked at her eyes. He saw tears.

Dasemunkepeuc and Roanoke women did not cry.

“I cannot do this,” he said.

She blinked, brushed away the moisture. “You must.”

“We will lie together. That is all.” He lay back on the bed. Minutes later, he scoffed. “When they question you tomorrow, use your imagination.”

In the middle of the night, lying on his stomach, he put his left arm across her upper body. Seconds later she placed her right hand gently on his forearm. A minute later she said: “If you lived here, I would be looking at you at every opportunity.”

Had Wanchese been a brute, I would have demonstrated that but not to excess.


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