The Lay of Angor

Sex in Lay of Angor!

As Dorothy Davies says in her review, the Lay could be described as an erotic fantasy or a fantasy with erotica! It all grew from a sexy short story I wrote as a Christmas joke for an ex-partner. His reaction, 'This is good - why don't you develop it a bit and try to publish it?' got me thinking...

I'd always longed to write fiction, particularly the sort I love reading: great soaring Gothic sagas like Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast andThe Worm Ouroboros by E.R. Eddison; Terry Pratchett's funny and very clever Discworld series; and of course Tolkien's Middle-earth. I like erotic episodes, too - for instance I'd have loved to see Aragorn and Arwen in the sack, if Lord of the Rings had been that kind of book! - but I find in-yer-face pornography boring. So in my own work I wanted a proper meaty story with characters that readers (gay or straight) could fancy, and where erotic encounters happened naturally for real reasons - not just a string of sex scenes tied together with a threadbare excuse for a plot. I wanted real sex - affectionate, tender, messy and funny - between characters who liked, loved or at least had the major hots for each other... and a believable context for it to happen in. And I hope that's what I've achieved... here's a little taste:

  ...Freya dug her fingers into his hair, biting her lip to keep in the moans as he sipped at her bosom with butterfly kisses, then stooped lower and lower till he was squatting at her feet, tugging at the folds of her shift. When it gave way and dropped to the floor he remained for a moment in boggling, absolute silence. Then to her unutterable mortification he collapsed, sides heaving, both hands clamped over his mouth while sooty tears squeezed from his eyes.
  'O-Orange!' he spluttered. 'Your fleece is bright orange - verily could I dub you Tangerina!' A glimpse of her expression soused his mirth with ice-water. Instantly contrite, he rose to his knees. 'O, Madam, thy pardon - but I was taken by surprise, not knowing such colour could grow upon humans. In fact, I refuse to believe it,' he went on adroitly, 'which confirms my suspicion - for if fox-fur grows not upon mortals, thou art plainly a goddess!'

  ...(she) convulsed, clawing the quilt, chewing her fist to stop herself crying out as she squirmed against the exquisite lap of his tongue. He moved along with her, intuitive, modifying the caress to suit her response, incredibly skilful. Abandoned completely to rapture, an image rose unbidden in her mind, an obscure echo of the sensations thrumming through her: herself floating in a warm blissful sea, breasting over the waves, riding their swell like a seal. She found the vision strangely erotic, and rolling with it in sensuous rhythm, felt herself merging, becoming the ocean itself with Nikos the ship borne upon her; vast, fathomless, a goddess indeed, and gathering like a tsunami...

Gondarlan, Chapter 17, Pg 186 - 87

...the feeling of hard, satin flesh made her stomach somersault. Involuntarily, she clenched her fist, squeezing and tugging, wringing groans from Jehan. Fecund images raced through her mind: may-poles, tree-trunks, turgid buds bursting with life, throbbing and vital. Their panting breath mingled, enveloping them in hot mist and feeding the energies that glowed and swelled between them; and she gazed up at him open-mouthed, wild-eyed with wonder.

Breath of Gaia, Chapter 29, Pg 296

...Else groped inside his blanket. "You are a naughty boy!" Her eyebrows shot up. "Goodness me - a naughty big boy." She flung back the pink wool and exposed something pinker, projecting stiffly through the slit in his braies. "Look what he's got for us, girls."
"Well, well," said Anna. "I don't mind having some of that!" She dragged open her bodice, yanked down the neck of her shift, then knelt to sandwich him in soft white flesh.
Unlacing too, Aggi laughed. "So-ho, there's more to you than meets the eye, Master Maris! Well, get an eye-full of these, lad."
"Argh! Mmph-" Protests muffled by her breasts, Maris flailed weakly for a moment then surrendered, clutching and kneading with both hands and sucking at her like a starving baby.

Wolfsbane, Chapter 11, Pg 107

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