Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Words for sexually-minded people

As a writer I'm supposed to be creative, but there are times I'm stumped. I'm typing away, "He gently laid her upon the silken sheets as her fingers found his hard--" !?!?!? Oh brother...my brain encounters a hurdle. It's not that I can't come up with a name for a man's male part. In fact, I have a few select words I could choose to fill in the blank. Sometimes I just wonder what readers would do if I called his member a cucumber or sausage? Or maybe a stick or club? Would they stop and hit delete, moving on to the next writer's book who uses penis as a description? No, I don't plan on ever using "sausage" to describe a man. Or "cucumber." Readers are safe.

There are some words that can never be considered sexy. For instance, if I wrote, "Jack slipped her panties over her ankles, tossed them over his shoulder then positioned himself for the sexual seesaw." This is an actual sexual position. It consists of 360-degree turns, like a helicopter's propeller would spin, over your body. Or, how about this line, "Bend over and brace yourself, sweetheart. I'm going to wanton wheelbarrow you like no other." Here's my thought, and just a thought that is, why would anyone want to have their ass stuck up in the air, one leg lifted at an odd angle and the other on the floor, while your head is braced on the bed with your man behind you. Umm--okay, I don't get the fun in that. Maybe the "funny," but not the "fun."

Making love is beautiful, yet the slang terms for a man's "parts" are downright nasty. Wiener, pecker, thing, tool, package...these are some of the more elegant names. Oh, oh!! Here's a good one. Shaft. I've used that a few times. Here are some funnier ones: cack, schlong, pud and chub. Did you know you can buy a book on the penis for your coffee table? It could be a great conversation starter.

Interested in reading one of my books. Stop over and take your pick.



Dreaming Ivy by Rhonda Lee Carver

Can a past love become their future?
The Thorntons’ mansion is full of timeless secrets waiting to be unraveled. When small-town journalist Ivy and ghost hunter Max are stuck in the forgotten, dilapidated house, they find more than just a haunting. Ivy finds herself dreaming of the former owners, Marcus Thornton and his lovely wife, Elizabeth. Their profound love was once the talk of the town, and the cause their mysterious, untimely deaths never found. When Ivy’s dreams begin to become reality, the mystery starts to unravel and sheds truth on more than just the past.
WARNING: Graphic language, naughty ghosts, a non-committal male, and a love that endures beyond time and death.
A Lyrical Press Paranormal Romance

Copyright 2012, Rhonda Lee Carver
All rights reserved, Lyrical Press, Inc.
EIvy stepped into the corridor. She stopped and listened. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow sweep across the wall. She turned as it disappeared. “Hello?” No answer. She stomped down the hall and burst into the room. “Hello–”
The room was empty.Ivy swallowed the taste of fright. A shiver raced across her skin. She had seen someone, or had she? She rubbed her eyes. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on her.
A loud crack in the floor behind her sent Ivy twisting. The sun from the window blinded her. She acted on impulse. She drew her fist back and punched–landing on something solid. The force behind her connection with skin and bone sent her off balance, flailing backward. A hand on her wrist pulled her hard against a steely frame.
She met a dark stare, just as she felt wobbling. The impact of her body had sent him a step back. He lost his balance. Together they fell. The air whooshed from his chest as Ivy landed on top of the stranger.
She closed her eyes and remained still. She wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow her. Several long seconds floated by. Neither of them said a word. She finally opened her eyes.
Embarrassed and confused, Ivy laid her palms against his shoulders, pushing herself up. She looked directly into his not-so-pleased expression and gulped. Enchanting green eyes, prominent cheekbones, midnight hair…and a pissed-off set to his jaw. She’d made a mistake–a huge one. “Max Shepard.” It wasn’t a question.
He narrowed his eyes. “Ivy Kennedy, journalist and amateur boxer?”
The deep, rich tone of his voice did funny things to the pit of her stomach. His voice wasn’t the only toned part of him. Pressed together gave her an up close and personal testimonial of his physical assets. Broad chest, tight abs to long legs, she could feel tight muscles and a curious bulge. She scooted her hip around the swelling in his jeans. Heat and realization spread through her body.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “It’s my cell.” Could he see straight through her?
He reached into his pocket and held up his phone. Ivy was certain her skin changed into the perfect color of mortification. She wondered just how bad this could get. Pasting a smile on her face, she said, “Nice to meet you.” The temperature rose between them into the triple digits. Their bodies seemed to melt together. He didn’t look like the pictures she’d seen on the internet. He looked more distinguished in person. “You’re older than I thought,” she blurted.
“Older, in a good way.” She licked her bottom lip and nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. “My mother said I have a bad habit of saying the most awkward things and rambling–” She swallowed. “–like I am now.” She moved slightly.
His zipper started to swell again. Was that another cell phone in his pocket, or… Before her mind could complete the thought, he wrapped his large hands around her waist and lifted her off him. He set her on her feet as he came to stand in front of her. “That’s better,” he said as he backed up. “Damn.” He kicked rug that must have been the reason behind their fall.
He stood there, silent. This was a complete disaster. She’d managed to give him a black eye to match the dark scowl on his face. She needed to start searching for a new job. Marshall would have her head for this.

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