Description of intimate scenes in prose. The best erotic scenes in world literature

Beautiful, sensual, exciting, temperamental: we have collected for you the best erotic scenes from world literature. Let's not be verbose! Read and enjoy!

"North".

“There is a green wreath in the red hair, drops roll down from the breasts, from the tender, pink, like cloudberry, ends - it must be cold. There are geese in the hands, blood is oozing from the geese, flowing around the chiseled legs.

I don't have the strength to endure it. And right there, on the warm red stones, Marey warms the cool, pale pink cloudberries with her lips.

No, they haven’t warmed up yet, you see, they’re still cold.

Somewhere forests are burning. On a red stone near a quiet lake a fire of fragrant pine needles smokes. Pelka roasts a fat goose over the fire; fire plays on green, red; lips and hands are bloody. He smiles barely audibly with his eyes at Marey: there is no need to speak out loud.

There was a crunching noise in the distance: a bear was rushing through the slum. He calmed down - and only the white husky grumbled angrily through his sleep.

The fire goes out. Sister pine trees are moving closer from the darkness - everything is darker, everything is already peace - and now there are only two in the whole world.”

"Hello, sadness." Francoise Sagan

“At six o’clock, returning from a voyage to the islands, Cyril pulled the boat onto the sandy shore. We walked to the house through a pine grove and, in order to warm ourselves, started a merry fuss and ran in races. He always caught up with me not far from home, rushed at me with a cry of victory, threw me onto the ground strewn with pine needles, twisted my hands and kissed me. Even now I still remember the taste of those breathless, fruitless kisses and how Cyril’s heart beat near my heart in unison with the wave splashing on the sand... One, two, three, four - the heart beat, and the sea quietly splashed on the sand, once, two, three... One - he began to breathe more evenly, the kisses became more confident, more insistent, I no longer heard the splash of the sea, and only the quick, continuous tremors of my own blood echoed in my ears.”

Julio Cortazar

“We were not in love with each other, we simply indulged in love with a detached and critical sophistication and then fell into a terrible silence, and the foam from the beer hardened in the glasses of oakum and became warm while we looked at each other and felt: this and there is time. Eventually Maga would get up and start wandering around the room. More than once I saw how she looked at her body with admiration in the mirror, lifting her breasts with her palms, as in Syrian figurines, and with a slow gaze, as if stroking her skin. And I could not resist the desire to call her and feel how she was with me again after just a whole moment she had been so lonely and so in love, believing in the eternity of her body.”

John Williams

“Sometimes, lazy and sleepy after love, he would lie, washed by some slow, gentle stream of sensations and unhurried thoughts; being inside this stream, he did not know for sure whether he was speaking out loud or simply accepting into his consciousness the words generated by these sensations and thoughts.

He dreamed of something ideal, of worlds where they could always be together, and he half believed in the feasibility of what he dreamed of. “But if you and I...” he said and continued to talk, constructing an opportunity that was hardly much more attractive than their current situation. They both knew, without saying it out loud, that the possibilities they were inventing and contemplating were ritual gestures of sorts in honor of their love and the life they had now.

And this life was such as neither he nor she could have imagined before. Their attraction to each other grew into passion, and that into deep sensuality, renewed day by day.

Love and books, Katherine once said. - What else is needed?

And Stoner thought that this was exactly the case, that this was one of the truths that he now knew.

For their life that summer was not limited to love intimacy and conversations.”

"The Magus." John Fowles

“I remembered Alison, our love games. If she were there, naked, we would make love on a bed of pine needles, take a dip and make love again. I was filled with bitter sadness, a mixture of memory and knowledge; memory of the past and what should be, the knowledge that nothing can be returned; and at the same time a vague guess that it’s not worth returning everything - for example, my empty ambitions or syphilis, which has not yet manifested itself. I felt great. God knows what will happen next; Yes, it doesn’t matter when you’re lying on the seashore in such wonderful weather. It is enough that you exist. I hesitated, waiting without fear for something to push me towards the future. He turned over on his stomach and made love with the ghost of Alison, like an animal, without shame or reproach, like a lustful machine sprawled on the stones. And, burning his soles, he threw himself into the water.”

"Lolita". Vladimir Nabokov

“But my Lolita was a playful girl, and when she let out that muffled laugh that I loved so much, I realized that she had previously been contemplating me with playful eyes. She rolled onto my side, and her warm brown curls fell on my right collarbone. I faked the awakening rather incompetently. At first we lay quietly. I quietly stroked her hair and we kissed quietly. What brought me into a kind of blissful confusion was that her kiss was distinguished by a somewhat comical subtlety in the sense of the fluttering of an inquisitive sting, from which I concluded that she had been trained at an early age by some little lesbian. No Charlie could teach her such sophistications! As if wanting to see if I had had my fill and learned the lesson I had promised earlier, she leaned back slightly, watching me. Her cheeks were flushed, her plump lower lip was glistening, my disintegration was close. Suddenly, with a flash of hooligan fun (a sign of a nymphet!), she put her mouth to my ear - but for a long time my mind could not break the hot hum of her whisper into words, and she interrupted it with laughter, and brushed the curls from her face, and tried again, and An amazing feeling that I was living in a fantastic, newly created, crazy world, where everything was permitted, slowly came over me as I began to guess what exactly was being offered to me. I replied that I didn’t know what game we were talking about - I didn’t know what she and Charlie were playing. “Are you saying that you never?” she began, looking intently at me with a grimace of disgust and disbelief. “You mean never?” she began again. I took advantage of the respite to poke my face into various tender spots. “Stop it,” she squealed nasally, hastily removing her brown shoulder from under my lips. (In a very curious way, Lolita considered - and continued to count for a long time - all touches, except for a kiss on the lips and simple sexual intercourse, as either “slobbery romance” or “pathology”). “So you never,” she continued to insist (now kneeling above me), “never did this when you were a boy?” “Never,” I answered with complete truthfulness. “Wonderful,” said Lolita, “so look how it’s done.” I, however, will not bore the learned reader with a detailed story about Lolita’s arrogance. Suffice it to say that the warped observer did not see a trace of chastity in this pretty, barely formed girl, who was ultimately corrupted by the skills of modern children, co-education, fraudulent enterprises like Girl Scout bonfires and the like. For her, purely mechanical sexual intercourse was an integral part of the secret world of adolescents, unknown to adults. What adults do to have children did not interest her at all. Lolitochka wielded the rod of my life with unusual energy and efficiency, as if it were an insensitive device that had nothing to do with me.”

"Submission." Michel Houellebecq

“Miriam rang the doorbell at seven o’clock in the evening.

Happy birthday, Francois... - she said from the threshold in a thin voice, and, rushing at me, kissed me on the lips, her kiss was long, sweet, our tongues and lips merged together. As I walked back into the living room with her, I noticed that she was even sexier than last time. She was wearing another black miniskirt, even shorter than the previous one, and also stockings - when she sat down on the sofa, I saw a black buckle on a garter belt, shining on a dazzling white thigh. Her shirt, also black, turned out to be completely transparent, through it you could clearly see how her breasts were agitated - I suddenly realized that my fingers remembered touching the rims of her nipples, she smiled in confusion and for a moment I felt some kind of confusion in her and doom.

Did you bring me a gift? “I tried to say it cheerfully to lighten the mood.”

No,” she answered seriously, “I didn’t find anything that I liked.”

After being silent for a while, she suddenly spread her legs; She wasn’t wearing any panties, and her skirt was so short that her pubic area was immediately exposed, shaved and defenseless.

“I’ll put it in my mouth,” she said, “you’ll like it.” Come to my sofa...

I obeyed and let her undress me. She knelt down in front of me..."

Mi Suri grinned lightly, noticing how the poor teacher's hands were shaking. His desire and irresistibility in time were visible. - Wait. I can't do that. Let's leave everything for later. Please understand me. You can’t. We cannot develop our already fragile relations so quickly. Ki Hong, just understand and don’t interfere.” The girl sadly lowered her gaze and closed her honey eyes. (Well, those are the lenses) She didn’t want to be alone and leave the guy alone, but there was no other way. “Maybe it’s worth staying? Or...” Mi took the psychologist’s hand in hers and brought it to her lips, lightly touching the guy’s gentle fingers. “I love you. Only you. But why can’t I tell you this? Such simple words are so difficult to pronounce. I hope... you understand this from without explanation.” With a noticeable grin, she approached the young man a little, but immediately pulled away . "Stop. Stop me. Ki Hong, please stop." Mi continued to repeat the same phrase to herself, without having an explanation even for herself. Without showing your feelings and without meeting your gaze with the eyes of your loved one. “Heart. How stupid you are now and can’t make a decision.”

And suddenly he realized that he could lose his happiness if he did anything wrong. One had only to look into her eyes - and everything became clear... No, this time he will strangle his crazy emotions, put his pride on his throat - just not to lose his Mi Suri. That is why he unquestioningly fulfilled all her requests. Gratefully squeezing her fragile fingers, he put the keys in the pocket, having already opened the door, he took a step back. “No, I have to. I have to for her sake... Forget about yourself!”
“Of course, Mi, you can do whatever you want,” he sadly lowered his eyes, “But know that I always think about you and worry.” Always. - Leaning slightly, Lee weightlessly kissed the girl on the top of her head, enthusiastically inhaling the aroma of her hair and perfume.

Thank you. It is very important for me to know that you are nearby.... - “You still don’t understand anything.” The girl grinned lightly. “Ki Hong...kiss me,” she shyly looked away and then continued, “...if-, it’s not difficult for you.” Mi ate noticeably glanced at the guy from under her bangs. She stepped back and leaned her elbows on the wall. "You're not going to refuse my request, are you?" The girl reached out her hand and took the guy by the jacket, gradually pulling him towards her. “No. I know that Ki will not harm me and will never dare to touch me if I don’t want it. But then why am I so afraid to feel him in me again? Yes and I don’t really want to stay at home. I just want to cuddle up to you, just talk, stay up all night, and then meet a new day together....damn....somehow I’ve become completely sentimental.But I can’t now I don't want to leave him and I don't want to be alone."

To be honest, the best sex scenes were, and probably will be, written exclusively by the fairer sex. Who, if not sensual natures, can subtly notice all the facets of the experiences of the main characters? Who can squeeze out of seemingly simple words what makes tears well up, or squeeze out an amazed smile? Exciting, or disgusting to grimace. Well, of course, girls, only you, and no one else. That's probably all I wanted to say...

Kidding. I didn’t say everything... If we are talking about a single sex scene, then in most cases, with a little practice, there cannot be any clues. Each author individually visualizes his picture, and then either finds his reader or not. But what if you are not writing small erotic sketches? This is where everything is much more interesting and complicated...

Men see images and fantasies schematically, sometimes visually, in pictures, imagining different scenes of future creation. It’s like watching a silent movie with subtitles, something like: Ja-ja... Das ist fantastisch. We are driven by the desire to express our imagination more vividly, but quickly getting down to business, we fade away just as quickly, often unable to fully express our writing potential. Girls are much more diligent than us in terms of expressing their erotic thoughts. We should also not forget that the creative process is not a matter of minutes. Of course, more often than not, an original thought or a separate moment comes first, which then becomes overgrown with a storyline. But the vision of the picture itself is female-male, radically different. You, like us, also initially see an individual person, or a certain situation that you want to express in words, and then develop your plot, trying to imagine what was written in its entirety, or at least its ending, with dialogues, perhaps even with voice acting. But your eyes are different, and your picture is also not the same as ours. Women see in images, and the most important thing in them is their internal sensations. What was the weather like? What dress or costume are the characters wearing? How strong is the tan, what color are the eyes, how thick is the stubble??? And not only small details are important, but also the tone of the story. Dear young ladies adore undertones and shades, endearing or diminutive adverbs, as opposed to the more stingy but practical description by us men. All of these are not strengths or weaknesses of our distinct worldviews, but only undeniable differences. We see the world differently, which means we describe it the same way...

Now my advice regarding ideal sex scenes through the eyes of a man. Yes, we are pigs. Ruthless, brutal males who adore themselves and sex. And most often, sex comes first. We love harems, where we are the center of the female universe, although we can also dream of that one and incomparable one. We like to take girls by force, breaking your modesty, forcing you to reveal the nature of a real sex slave, or at least an ordinary wet pervert. So that at the end of the scene, you yourself beg to be thoroughly fried. Although sometimes we fall for hard-to-get people, whom we are ready to conquer with our perseverance and imagination, in the desire to achieve your favor. We are different, and we love to read different things. But most importantly, we can be turned on not by the sexual act itself. Here, as you understand, all the words were invented a long time ago and written down, up and down. Men can, and even need to be turned on with a syllable. Most often, simple hints, reflections of the characters and the plot, are either exciting or not. Therefore, the best advice you can hear to achieve even greater heights in the description of erotica is to be yourself. They are frank to the last drop, improving their style every time. Experiment, and more often surrender to the power of your own fantasies, listening to your second self. Write for the most important critic of your life, for yourself, not forgetting to get high from the process itself...