...Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at...

Sliding into Her Heat

So I started reading a sci-fi book called Dhalgren and, while it is admittedly interesting so far, the first chapter of the book has a sex scene in it that completely made me laugh out loud while I was reading it late last night.

I vaguely recollect having read somewhere about the difference between sex scenes that WOMEN write and the difference between sex scenes that MEN write (either that or it was the difference between movie/porn sex scenes written/directed by males and females--I can't recollect; nor can I recollect where the hell I was reading this either, but anyways...), and a huge part of what the writer discussed was the focal point of the narrative or storyline: in standard male-written porn, for example, the focus tends to be on the pleasuring of the woman and the male's success at it--picture the gratuitous moaning, her pure delight in spreading the lovely man-juices all over her mouth and face, etc. etc.

The same is apparent in Dhalgren.

This first sex scene calls up images of romance novels (it totally has that "man standing with hands on hips while hair and billowy shirt blow in the wind" romance novel quality to it, no question), 'cept this time written by some sci-fi geek fantasizer. Instead of the "handsome and hard-bodied" repair man ravishing the housewife on her kitchen table, a random woman in the middle of nowhere (who ends up turning into a tree) is ravished gloriously by the main character.

What's so interesting to me is the focus of the passage. (I've excerpted bits below, though I have left out a good chunk of the passage which you can read more fully HERE.) The focus of most of the description in this first chapter is lavished upon the unexpected female character--little to nothing is said describing the main character except for description of his hands and his state of mind.

And the shagging part is the most interesting--not once is his satisfaction or enjoyment of the event mentioned. The descriptive focus is solely on his apparently amazing capabilities as a man in pleasuring her--an achievement so fantastic that the sex makes her "violent" with pleasure, makes her legs shake, makes her "roar" with it, and results in a "long, surprising come." His satisfaction is never discussed--praise is instead lavished on his own capabilities in making this random woman explode with pleasure.

Ah, male fantasy. How we do love thee.

Hee hee.

For some reason this is way too amusing to me and deserving of some more in-depth analysis which I am failing miserably at right now (but feel free to discuss this more in my comments sections). Either way, here's the passage. Enjoy:

"She stood up, two dozen feet down and away, wearing only shadows the moon dropped from the viney maple; moved, and the shadows moved on her...

She whispered something that was all breath, and the wind came for the words and dusted away the meaning...

She stepped...

She passed another, nearer tree. The moon flung gold coins at her breasts. Her brown aureoles were wide, her nipples small. "You. . . ?" She said that, softly, three feet away, looking down; and he still could not make out her expression for the leaf dappling; but her cheek bones were Orientally high. She was Oriental, he realized and waited for another word, tuned for accent. (He could sort Chinese from Japanese.) "You've come!" It was a musical Midwestern Standard. "I didn't know if you'd come!"...

She reached, two fingers extended, pushed back plaid wool, and touched his chest; ran her fingers down. He could hear his own crisp hair...

He kissed her; she caught his wrists. The joined meat of their mouths came alive. The shape of her breasts, her hand half on his chest and half on wool, was lost with her weight against him.

Their fingers met and meshed at his belt; a gasp bubbled in their kiss (his heart was stuttering loudly), was blown away; then air on his thigh.

They lay down.

With her fingertips she moved his cock head roughly in her rough hair while a muscle in her leg shook under his. Suddenly he slid into her heat. He held her tightly around the shoulders when her movements were violent. One of her fists stayed like a small rock over her breast. And there was a roaring, roaring: at the long, surprising come, leaves hailed his side.

Later, on their sides, they made a warm place with their mingled breath. She whispered, "You're beautiful, I think.""



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