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Sex and Scaffolding

I am not a prude, but I generally don’t like sex scenes in novels. I find them boring, and they very rarely do anything to move the story along. Don’t get me wrong, sex is great in its place, but when I read a thriller, I want thrills, not titillation. If I wanted to be titillated, I could go and watch porn on the internet.

Now, having said all that, I have to confess to having sex scenes in my novel, but they all “fade to black” before the squishy bits happen . . . well, all except one. The one sex scene that is played out in semi-lurid detail, is crucial to the plot, so that is why it’s there.

The scene is below. You won’t be able to tell why it’s crucial to the plot, unless you’ve read the book, but at least you can get it out of the way now, and then buy the novel (links in side bar) and skip it when you read it . . . I do like to look after my readers.

 ***
 We managed to get out of the main offices and across the car park without anyone seeing us. I unlocked the padlock on the barn door, pushed it open, and ushered Bonnie inside. I followed her in and switched on the lights.

“Awesome, I’ve never done it in a construction site before.”

“This is going to be our new office space.” I linked my arm through hers. “Come on, down here.” We made our way to the far end of the building, where there was a ladder secured to one of the towers of scaffolding. “Up you go.”

Bonnie looked at me and laughed. “You want me to climb this ladder?”

“Yes, we can’t do it down here, someone might come in, but up there no one will be able to see us. Why, you’re not scared, are you?”

Bonnie’s eyes widened and she playfully pushed my shoulder. “Hey! This is one girl who is scared of nothing. Here, hold these for me.” She took off her high-heeled shoes and handed them to me. “No peeking,” she said, and ascended the ladder.

I put the shoes into my jacket’s pockets and waited until she was almost at the top, then I followed her up. The structure swayed slightly as I climbed the ladder, and it didn’t feel as stable as it looked. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Bonnie was making her way to where some crates were stacked and partially covered by a tarpaulin. I stepped from the ladder onto the boards and started to follow her. Then I stopped as the boards bent slightly beneath my feet.

“Come on, Ben, what’s keeping you?”

“Be right with you. Don’t start without me.” I took another tentative step. The boards gave under my weight again, and I instinctively put my arms out to the sides and transferred my weight onto tiptoes, as if that would make me any lighter.

Bonnie laughed. “What are you doing? You’re not walking a tightrope, you know.”

I ignored her and continued my daring high-wire act until I’d covered the distance between us, by which time she was crying with laughter. “And what’s so funny?”

She wiped tears from her eyes. “You are.” She took my hand and pulled me to her. Our lips met, and Bonnie fumbled with my belt buckle. After almost a minute, and with my belt still securely fastened, Bonnie broke away from the kiss, giggling. “I’m sorry, Ben, you’re gonna have to do it.”

I deftly displayed my expertise with belts and unbuckled it with a flourish, then I unbuttoned the waistband of my trousers, leaving the zipper for Bonnie to undo. Her arm snaked around my neck, and we were kissing again as our hands explored each other’s bodies. I stroked the warm, smooth skin of her legs, and gradually eased her skirt up. Bonnie positioned herself so I could enter her.

We moved in time with each other, rhythmically rocking our bodies, slowly building up the pace of our lovemaking. Bonnie’s breath came in ragged gasps in my ear, spurring me on to increase the force of my movements. She moaned and whimpered as her hands pulled on my hips. It felt incredible, like the whole world was moving in time with us.

I opened my eyes and discovered the world was moving. The scaffolding was swaying backwards and forwards in time with our movement.

“Aarrgghhhhh!” I yelped as the wall approached us, then receded back to come at us again.

“Oooohhhhh!” moaned Bonnie in response, with her eyes tightly shut.

The tower swung forward and almost hit the wall. “Oh dear God! It’s getting closer…”

“I know…I can feel it too…”

Visions of us found dead in each other’s arms among a pile of collapsed scaffolding filled my head. The doctor shaking his head as he proclaimed the cause of death to be acrobatic shagging, while television news cameras broadcast our fate to the nation as an example of the dangers of unsafe sex.

The tower lurched forward with a sound of metal scraping on metal, setting my teeth on edge. Then it groaned loudly as it swayed back. “It won’t hold out much longer.”

“Don’t hold out.” She pulled hard on my hips, and I went past the point of no return.

I closed my eyes, and all thoughts of impending doom and collapsing scaffolding left my mind as Bonnie bucked beneath me. Completely spent, I shuddered to a halt and opened my eyes again. The scaffolding was still swaying, but not as much now.

Bonnie was staring at the ceiling. “Oh, wow, Ben,” she said with laughter in her voice. “You really rocked my world this time.”

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We Will Ask The Questions, Mr Fox . . .

I was recently interviewed for AuthorsAnon (link in side bar) by the awesome B LLoyd. It was my first interview as an author, but not the first time I’ve ever been interviewed. Over the years, as a games industry professional, I’ve given interviews to such august publications as The Independent, The Coventry Evening Telegraph, and various computer related magazines.

The first time I was interviewed was in 1992. My then partner (that’s business partner) Scott Williams and I had created a video game called Krusty’s Super Fun House, and it was starting to gain attention. A fairly new magazine at the time, N-Force, ran a feature on the game and said nice things about it, so I decided to phone their offices and thank them. They were pretty enthusiastic and asked if they could interview us, so I said yes, after checking with Scott.

On the day of the interview, two journalists arrived at my house. One was from N-Force, and one was from its sister magazine Sega Force. The interview went smoothly. Sensible questions about game development, level design, programming, graphics and animation etc., were asked and answered, photos were taken, and the two journalists went back to Ludlow to write, what we thought were going to be insightful articles about game development for the edification of their readers.

Here is a taste of what the resulting articles were like:

Scott is the sensible chap on the right. I’m the long-haired one on the left, wearing a black leather jacket and cowboy boots. I’ve always been a fashion icon.

“Pat disembowels Scott and feeds his steaming entrails to a passing lion. ‘Listen to other people’s views and be prepared to take criticism!’

Scott disintegrates Pat’s head with a thermonuclear device and shouts to me, ‘And remember, the rewards for coming up with a great game can include interviews with such prestigious magazines as SEGA FORCE!’

What a creep! I leave their dungeon lair with the sounds of the tormented still in my ears and the blood of hapless Nintendo owners on my boots . . .”

Any hopes we had of becoming the go-to-guys for comments on the games industry pretty much died with those two articles. And my dream of Michael Parkinson seeing one of the interviews and immediately booking us for his chat show, died on the day the magazines popped through my letterbox.

The pictures littered around this post were taken from the two magazine articles, and there’s one thing that bothers me about them — I can’t ever remember having a blonde moustache!

Here I am in 1992 aged 36, complete with a mysteriously blonde moustache. Scott was about 10 or 12 at the time. It looks like Aviator shades were the must have fashion accessory of the day.