He raised his right eyebrow provocatively
He raised his left eyebrow suggestively
Raising both of his eyebrows, one provocatively, the other suggestively, he pulled her gently in the rough direction of the bed
Perhaps this section was also best dispensed with. I could imagine exactly what Patrick’s criticism would be: I was dithering over these preliminary niceties so as to avoid getting down to the action.
She was wearing a
What was she wearing?
She was wearing a blouse
Yes?
She was wearing a thin muslin blouse
She was wearing a thin muslin blouse, through which her
Go on, write it.
through which her nipples stood out like
Like?
like two cherries
like two maraschino cherries
like two glace cherries
like two Fox’s Glacier Mints
like two peas in a pod
like three coins in a fountain
like Victoria plums
like Victoria Falls
like a sore thumb
Anyway, she had these nipples. That was fairly obvious. What about him, though? I didn’t want to be accused of sexism: I was obliged, as far as I could see, to present the male as a sexual object too. And so, for instance:
His tight black trousers could barely conceal
Or better still –
The bulge in his tight black trousers left her in no doubt as to
his excitement
his intentions
bis endowment
his policy
the nature of his endowment
the extent of his manhood
the length of his extension
the extent of his full, throbbing manhood
the full extent of his hot, throbbing member
I had to admit it, this wasn’t getting me anywhere. Besides, I could always come back later if I wanted to fine-tune these points of descriptive detail. If I didn’t get to the heart of the matter soon, the momentum would be gone.
He tore off her blouse
No, too aggressive.
He unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it off like a
like
like the skin on an overripe banana
I threw down my pen and sat back in disgust. What was the matter with me tonight? Maybe it was the wine, or just the fact that I was thoroughly out of practice at this sort of thing, but nothing seemed to be working. I was making all the wrong moves, falling at every fence, fumbling and groping and communicating nothing but my own inexperience.
He laid a tentative, questioning hand on her
soft, milky
warm, silky
yielding, heaving
rising, falling
swelling, bulging
big, bouncy
fleshy, bumpy, heavy, chunky, strapping, whopping, vast, enormous, massive, monstrous, prodigious, colossal, gigantic, mountainous, Gargantuan, Titanic, Herculean
her small, pert breasts
her perfectly proportioned breasts
her averagely proportioned yet somehow surprising breasts
her deformed breasts
All right. Forget that. More wine. Now think carefully. Imagine these two young, attractive people, alone in a room with only their own bodies for amusement. Picture them in your mind.
Now choose your words with confidence, and precision. Be fearless.
as he buried his face in her bountiful breasts, she pulled the shirt from his shapely shoulders
he sank to his knees and nuzzled her navel with his nose they fell on to the bed and he lay on top of her, their lips boring greedily into each other in a long, moist kiss
they fell on to the bed and she lay on top of him, their moist lips meeting hungrily in a long, boring kiss
Oh, to hell with it.
she was panting with desire
he was bursting from his pants
she was wet between the thighs
he was wet behind the ears
she was just about to come
he didn’t know whether he was coming or going
And it was at this climactic juncture, just as I had managed to work myself into a state of rather desperate excitement, that the telephone rang. I sat up in surprise and looked at the clock. It was two-thirty in the morning. Irrationally, I felt obliged to tidy up my desk and make sure that the sheets of paper were positioned face down before I went to answer. Then, when I picked up the receiver, I heard an unfamiliar voice.
‘Mr Owen?’ it said.
‘Speaking.’
‘I’m sorry to be disturbing you at this time of night. I hope I didn’t get you out of bed. Hanrahan’s the name. I’m ringing on behalf of one of my clients, a Mr Findlay Onyx, who claims to be an acquaintance of yours.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘I’m his lawyer, you see. Findlay sends his apologies for not being able to speak to you directly, but he’s being held at Hornsey police station, and isn’t allowed to make any more phone calls. He is, however, very anxious to meet with you personally at the earliest opportunity. He asked me to say that you should come round to the station first thing tomorrow morning, if it’s at all possible.’
‘Well, it’s … difficult,’ I said, thinking of Fiona and her outpatients’ appointment. ‘I suppose if it’s absolutely necessary … I mean, what’s going on? Is he in trouble?’
‘I’m afraid so. I really think it would be best if you could make the effort.’
I gave him a tentative assurance and he said, ‘Good. Findlay can count on you, then,’ and hung up. The whole conversation had taken place so quickly that I scarcely knew what had happened. For a start I hadn’t even managed to ask him why Findlay was being held by the police – unless, of course (and suddenly this seemed the obvious, the only solution), he was the one who had broken into Mr McGanny’s house and stolen the documents relating to my book. I went into the bedroom, lay down on the bed and pondered the likelihood of this. Could they have caught up with him already, if the burglary had only taken place last night? It was possible. He was old and infirm, and might well have left a trail of careless evidence. But if that was the case, why the sudden urgency? Surely he would be let out on bail, and our meeting could have been deferred until he was back in the privacy of his flat. There was no way of knowing, anyway, and I spent the rest of the night mulling over this new development in an uneasy half-sleep which was broken after only a few hours by the first shafts of wintry sunlight.