Added: Chantae Sapienza - Date: 10.01.2022 16:40 - Views: 30813 - Clicks: 2036
One of the most difficult scenes to write is a kissing scene, or really any scene when when things get hot and heavy. Writers worry about being too obscene will my mother read this? Humans are private creatures when it comes to lust, and illustrating an intimate scene can still make the most seasoned writer nervous.
The perfect kissing scene is found smack dab between these two adjectives in the title — steamy and sophisticated — as it is the balance of coy and crude that can develop into a beautiful scene. In order to craft the perfect kissing scene, it is important to look back on the work of others in order to see what works. In this scene the young writer, affectionally named Stingo, is observing a painting beside a young jewish girl named Leslie.
In all truth I had not invited this prodigy of a tongue; turning, I had merely wished to look at her face, expecting only that the expression of aesthetic delight I might find there would correspond to what I knew was my own. But I did not even catch a glimpse of her face, so instantaneous and urgent was that tongue. Dolphin-slippery, less wet than rather deliciously mucilaginous and tasting of Amontillado, it had the power in itself to force me, or somehow get me back, against a doorjamb, where I lolled helpless with my eyes clenched shut, in a trance of tongue.
Styron uses the element of surprise to initiate this kissing scene. The main character is still in the process of describing the odor of Ms. Leslie when she startles him with a kiss. By abruptly launching into the kiss mid-sentence, Styron is able to catch his readers off-guard. This helps allow the reader to experience the shock of an unexpected peck.
Yet these depictions are such colorfully unconventional ways to describe the act of kissing, that they actually work despite their less-than-arousing sound. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star.
Then he kissed her. What makes this scene so compelling is the distinct and bizarre analogy Fitzgerald employs in order to describe the moment. A tuning fork struck upon a star? But remember that the majority of this kissing scene is the anticipation before the kiss.
This is what writers most often forget. They go straight to the physical action and forget that the literary foreplay is the majority of the pleasure. His figurative language in the second sentence makes the process of leaning in for this kiss almost metaphysical, as the speaker explains how this kiss will act as an act of therapy to cure all of the anxieties that plagued his mind.
It can Steamy passionate kissing a cure, an epiphany, a disaster, a transformation. So what have we learned by analyzing these two scenes side by side? Before she could withdraw her mind from its far places, his arms were around her, as sure and hard as on the dark road to Tara, so long ago. She felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of warmth that left her limp. And the quiet face of Ashley Wilkes was blurred and drowned to nothingness.
He bent back her head across his arm and kissed her, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made her cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world. His insistent mouth was parting her shaking lips, sending wild tremors along her nerves, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling.
And before a swimming giddiness spun her round and round, she knew that she was kissing him back. She drew him toward her with her eyes, he inclined his face toward hers and lay his mouth on her mouth, which was like a freshly split-open fig. For a long time he kissed Kamala, and Siddhartha was filled with deep astonishment as she taught him how wise she was, how she ruled him, put him off, lured him back… each one different from the other, still awaiting him. Breathing deeply, he remained standing and at this moment he was like astonished by the abundance of knowledge and things worth learning opening up before his eyes.
She yawned. She rubbed her nose with the heel of her hand. Was there something more to learn? But while these questions were going through my head, Clementine was going ahead with the lesson. She came around to face me. With a grave expression she put her arms around my neck.
Not a thump exactly. Not even a leap. But a kind of swish, like a frog kicking off from a muddy bank. My heart, that amphibian, moving that moment between two elements: one, excitement; the other, fear. I tried to pay attention. I tried to hold up my end of things.
But Clementine was way ahead of me. She swiveled her head back and forth the way actresses did in the movies. I stood stiffly with arms at my sides. Finally Clementine broke off the kiss. Hardly had the car come to a standstill than Lolita positively flowed into my arms. Not daring, not daring let myself go — not even Steamy passionate kissing let myself realize that this sweet wetness and trembling fire was the beginning of the ineffable life which, ably assisted by fate, I had finally willed into being — not daring really kiss her, I touched her hot, opening lips with the utmost piety, tiny sips, nothing salacious; but she, with an impatient wriggle, pressed her mouth to mine so hard that I felt her big front teeth and shared in the peppermint taste of her saliva.
I knew, of course, it was but an innocent game on her part, a bit of backfisch foolery in imitation of some simulacrum of fake romance, and since as the psychotherapist, as well as the rapist, will tell you the limits and rules of such girlish games are fluid, or at least too childishly subtle for the senior partner to grasp — I was dreadfully afraid I might go too far and cause her to start back in revulsion and terror. The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds, and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass the threshold.
He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the water out of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from her room. I did not observe her at first, nor did Mr. The lamp was lit. The clock was on the stroke of twelve. He kissed me repeatedly. Steamy passionate kissing I looked up, on leaving his arms, there stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed.
I only smiled at her, and ran upstairs. Still, when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea she should even temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. Rochester came thrice to my door in the course of it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil: and that was comfort, that was strength for anything. Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running in to tell me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been struck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away.
Its like opening up your soul, tasting feeling and seeing every colour of the rainbow in their own sensual way, almost like catching a smile in a bottle, its softness, its sweetness… Like breathing in the person like a cool inhalation of oxygen to warm the soul. Like nothing in the world exist but u and the person… This feeling like ur levitating off the ground floating in the air… What ur feeling cannot be put into words, nor has there get been any part of speech or figure of speech invented to describe it. Its like an aphrodisiac, mixed with a Pandoras box effectfireworks glowing inside u from the touch of the persons lips on u.
Kissing feels like pressing your lips against slightly slimy cardboard and waiting to get on with the reasoning behind the kiss. It feels as if your whole world has been waiting Steamy passionate kissing this moment. As if all the love inside your soul, as well as your body with the right person combine into lust and passion. The feeling of a good kiss is when your person your kissing wraps their arms around you, you feel as if you were safe but are complete aware of how you look, and wanting to impress them.
That, Sadie, is what I consider to be a good kiss. I think how it feels, is when they lean in and look you in the eyes, before their lips fall on yours. The feeling of love and passion fills your soul. As if that kiss was meant to be yours. As if the person and you were meant to kiss. When that person grabs you and holds you close and kisses you so passionately, it makes you feel safe and completely venerable to that person. You feel as if your body will explode with the feeling of happiness, the feeling of being rarely safe in the persons hold.
As if this pacific person was meant for you. No kiss will ever compare. That is a real kiss. To me at least, Sadie.
She le me to a small clearing. I see the starlight, those beautiful pinpricks of light in the infinite dark expanse of the universe. She hugs me around the waist, and I cringe instinctively away from the unexpected contact. I turn around, and all I see is her, her vibrant, fiery hair glowing with the silver cascade of the moonlight, the glow of the stars in her amber eyes, her delicate smile and the deep blushing on her face. Her lips touch mine gently and affectionately.
My mind immediately crowds with a million thoughts, but I push them away for the moment, desiring nothing more than to enjoy this moment. Almost immediately, she recoils shyly and blushes uncontrollably.
I stand in shock, the swarm of thoughts flowing into my mind.Steamy passionate kissing
email: [email protected] - phone:(744) 735-1310 x 8999
Steamy yet Sophisticated: How to Write the Perfect Kissing Scene