Someone in my writer's group once wrote a scene about two people at a party who were having a secret love affair. The crowd, the noise, the music, the lights--everything--the party swirled around them and filled the room. But the two of them could think of nothing else but each other. They were hyper-aware of each other, but they couldn't let anyone else know. The man ran a fingertip down the length of the woman's arm. That's all. They didn't otherwise touch, and they didn't even speak.
It was so erotic, that I still remember it, years later.
So what made it erotic? The tension, the longing, the wanting but not having. I want to remember this the next time I write a scene.
23 November 2009
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Well said. Well done.
ReplyDeleteIt's the touching, and the secretness of the touching-the thought that you know, and your partner knows, but NOBODY else knows the hidden content, the multiple meanings of the touch.