I’m not really saying men can’t write about sex. I’ve probably read twice as many sex scenes written by men as by women, and very rarely said about them, “well, that sure was a poorly written love scene!” It’s just that, generally speaking, men describe sex in a very different manner than women do, and it’s from a very male perspective. Well, they’re guys, who can blame them?

I typically get the sense from these scenes that for males, sex is a reward unto itself. That is, simply getting to have it is great enough. That makes sense, I guess, in view of the fact that for guys, having sex is pretty much inherently fun, whereas for women, it can fall anywhere in a spectrum from nightmarish to glorious. Consequently, in order to judge the point of the sex in fiction, women need more information as to what went down and how it felt, and even what it meant to the participants.

When a man is writing a book, more often than not he is writing for other guys. His book, if any kind of genre fiction, is probably adventure, science fiction, fantasy, political thriller or horror, and all of those have a predominantly male demographic (fantasy somewhat more gender-balanced). I agree then that there is no great point in his making sure he pleases women in how he writes any love scenes. When I write romances, I certainly don’t give a bit of thought to whether my descriptions of sex will appeal to males.

So it has been without objection that over the years I’ve observed that females authors write sex scenes that work much better for me. Nevertheless, there have been times that I wondered if perhaps the male experience of sex is truly that different from that of females. It occurred to me that the explanation could possibly be more than writing style and psychology...perhaps sex really feels different for guys, beyond the obvious difference that most men experience it aggressively while women lean towards submission. Maybe the reason no guy could write about sex in a way with which I could truly connect, it was because the differences truly were that extreme!

Then I read Neil Gaiman.

Specifically, Chapter 8 of Neil Gaiman’s 2001 best-selling fantasy novel American Gods. This book is my first exposure to the man’s fiction (I’d seen “Princess Mononoke,” for which he wrote the English screenplay, and “Stardust,” based on his book). In the interest of full disclosure, I have been developing a mad crush on Neil over the past weeks (as documented shamelessly on my personal blog, Erotica with Soul.). But I swear to you, this did not bias me in favor of his ability to write about sex. I was perfectly prepared to love his writing regardless, and seeing as he’s a guy, I had no expectation that his sex scenes would send me.

But the Chapter 8 passage was truly remarkable. Maybe Neil felt it had to be, because he was describing a magical and transcendent (using those terms literally) sexual encounter between a man and the Egypt goddess Bast in disguise. But regardless of that, he was able to write this scene in precisely the way I strive to write love scenes. Seriously, I felt it was my own voice with the talent much multiplied, and this coming from a male!

This revelation was of no small consequence, for it indicated to me that at least one man was apparently capable of experiencing the sex act in the same way that I do. At least when he attempted to describe certain erotic events and perceptions, he chose language that I myself would choose.

Afflicted as I am with this little infatuation of mine, you’d think I might well take this amazing event as some indication that I’ve found a soul mate, at least on a literary level. In fact, although I consider Neil Gaiman an inspiration, a muse even, he is in many ways very, very different from me. Sexual sensitivities aside, he is very much a male author, with that sort of classically male realism that is the opposite of my own idealized approach. I couldn’t emulate his style even if I wanted to (although I would certainly wish for his talent level).

I wish I were able, without breach of copyright, to reproduce for you here the beautiful Chapter 8 passage, but all I can do is describe it to you. Neil’s focus--or rather, that of his protagonist Shadow--is less on “organs” than on the specific sensations that stand out during the encounter. Shadow’s reaction is not merely visceral--his hard-on, his ejaculation--as it is emotional and spiritual. He views his partner not as a hot chick, but as a creature of mystery, wonder, and haunting delight. The sex act itself, from arousal to orgasm, is transcendent and moving.

And interestingly, the scene possesses all these characteristics without being the least romantic. The prose is not romance, it’s fantasy in a modern, mainstream setting. Nothing is sugar-coated, there are no promises of eternal bliss; in fact, the passage is strange, a little unnerving, and a bit melancholy. I think the fact that Neil wrote sex like I try to, and yet stayed true to his own genre and style without writing in mine, was what amazed me most of all.

There are very few male authors of this stature who spend very much energy or many words writing literary erotic passages. Maybe if more of them tried, I would have had my question answered before now. At any rate, at last I found Neil Gaiman, and as I roam my way through his other works, I hope to encounter more examples of a man writing gloriously about sex.

Diana Laurence is the author of the Soulful Sex anthologies of erotic romance fiction, and released her newest book Bloodchained in September 2007 (www.bloodchained.com). Diana's works are published by Living Beyond Reality Press (www.livingbeyondreality.com.)
Visit her at www.dianalaurence.com or enjoy her blog at www.eroticawithsoul.blogspot.com.