Research

It's a rule: all writers on the www must include a story about writing. Here's mine.

Research

"'When your lover is licking the inside of your right ear do not spill a gin slicked ice cube onto her pudenda,' I was deaf for three days after that one."

"I couldn't help it. It was your own fault, anyway I don't need hints and tips," Sarah shifted her weight and the notebook slid off the pillow. "Damn," she grabbed at it and missed, then her left breast squashed into Jeremy's face as she groped over the side of the bed.

"Mmmm mmmf."

"You're not supposed to complain about that sort of thing," she hauled herself back onto the bed and reopened the book. "These notes are useless."

"After all that 'Oh Yes! Oh Yes! No! Stop while I write it down.' rigmarole? I'm sure it's bad for me, you'll warp my psyche or something."

"Well you didn't stop did you. Look it's all squiggly, I can't read what I wrote."

She thrust the notebook in his face and he read 'Cuddle, chocolate nice. Slowly then scsscssscmmlmlmlymm' it trailed off into a series of loops. "I don't think much of your grammar," he said.

"Where's the tape recorder?" Sarah ignored his comment, sat up, swung her legs across him and over the side of the bed. Her thighs slid stickily over his as she surged to her feet.

"In the car. remember? We took it to the beach."

"Oh," Sarah paused, trying to work out how much she wanted the recorder and how many clothes she would need to fetch it. Jeremy watched as she absently scraped her fingers through the smear of chocolate on her abdomen and then licked them. Sarah's trim athletic body and fine figure was not the sort Jeremy associated with a lady novelist. In fact Jeremy had never met any other lady novelists but his mental picture showed a square tweedy figure of indeterminate age with, presumably, more tweed under the outer layer.

Sarah noticed his inspection, snatched up the notebook and pounced. "You're undressing me with your eyes aren't you? Tell me what you're feeling."

"You're already undressed. Slightly sticky, otherwise comfortable thank you."

"You're useless. What about the pocket dictaphone you had for Christmas?"

"On my desk." She was gone with a flash of limbs and bright hair. Jeremy took the chance to refill their glasses from the rapidly warming bottle on the bedside table and quaffed a restorative. He had the feeling he was going to need it. He just put the glass down in time. Sarah bounced back onto the bed and brandished the recorder.

"Make it go," she said.

He turned the tape over, rewound and started it recording. "There," he said. "But it's a bit soon for," he gasped. "second..." Sarah was doing things with her fingers, mouth and hair that made a liar out of him even as he trailed off into a sigh.

Fifteen minutes later Sarah replayed the tape.

"You've never done that before," he said lazily as faint squelching noises started. "What made you think of it?"

"Research," she had her pen poised ready to transcribe her impressions.

"Research?"

"Yes, I bought some men's magazines this afternoon, the writing's very formulaic."

"I don't think they sell on literary merit," a curious whimper came from the tape which, after a moment, Jeremy realised was himself. "Goodness," he said but Sarah shushed him and cocked her head as the first words came from the tape.

'Salty,' It was Sarah's voice. Then again, somewhat indistinctly. 'Tickles my nose.'

"Hummph," Sarah was scribbling furiously as the noises turned to giggles and a gentle slapping sound began.

'Horrible toes,' said Sarah's voice on tape.

"Why horrible toes?" he asked.

"I never did like your feet," she said.

Then they both fell silent as the taped encounter grew louder and wilder.

And wilder.

And louder.

And stopped.

They looked at each other and then, very carefully, eased apart some tender flesh where it had stuck together.

"I'd no idea we sounded like that," Jeremy said.

"Nor me," she replied. "What about the neighbours?"

"Old Mrs. Wilson's deaf."

"I'm not surprised!" then, with anguish in her voice. "But it's none of it any use."

"I rather enjoyed it thank you."

"So did I but that's not the point."

"Aw c'mon, it wasn't entirely wasted," he reproached her. "Just because you didn't get it all on paper at the time doesn't mean you can't recreate it."

"But that is the point. I can't. Goodness knows I've tried but all that wonderful surge of passion and emotion sort of blots out the actual sensations that make it. I don't know what I'm going to say to Helen," Helen is Sarah's editor. "She wants me to rewrite the shower scene in chapter twelve as well as this new bedroom scene for chapter eight."

"Oh no hang on, I nearly drowned when you researched that one."

"Don't worry, it's just the first bit."

"Oh that's all right then. Let's not use vintage Champagne this time though, I reckon it was a bit of a waste. I'll buy some cheap Cava or something."

"What am I going to do?" the frustration was back in her voice. "Helen wants me to write some really good sex she says and I just can't do it."

"You did it very well."

"Thank you but you know that's not what I meant."

"What about second hand research, how do other authors manage?" he asked.

"Pretty much like those Men's magazines. As far as I can tell it's all about athletics and indistinct emotions mixed with sweaty physical description."

"Sweaty is about right," he agreed. "Can't you just paraphrase a couple of these descriptions and see what she thinks?"

"I might have to but it's not what I wanted. I wanted to write about really good sex, not the second rate exercises everyone else writes."

"It sells."

"True enough. I suppose I'll have to try it anyway, see if I can ginger it up."

Jeremy eased a huge fold of crumpled sheet from beneath his back and discovered the rest of the chocolate in the process. The bed was a wreck. "So have we finished researching for tonight then? Can I turn out the light?"

"Yes," she said. "That'll do for now."

He flipped the switch and wriggled a little to get comfortable again. Sarah snuggled up to him and he put an arm round her. A few moments later she moved.

"Did you really like it when I did this?" Sarah whispered. Her fingers busy and her breath hot on his skin.

"Yes," he said, suppressing a gasp. "But I though we'd finished researching."

She paused a moment and lifted her lips. "We have. "

"So?"

"Research is work," She nibbled delicately. "This is pleasure."

Derek Moody 2000