Sex story with no names.

[sweetnpetite]

I'm working on a story where for the longest time, the characters had no names, but then I came to a point were it was easier to just give them names in order to keep everybody straight. (even though they are descriptively very different) I like the feel of the story without names, it seemed so anonymous and in a way, dirtier/gritier. But I also thought that somebody would probably say something like. "I liked your story, but I only gave it a five because your characters had no names." I realize that anytime you do something 'different' there are going to be some who just don't get it or think it's plain wrong, but I'm just wondering- what do you here think about a story without names- intrieging or irritating?

 

[Guest]

Sweet, it can work but you've got to be very good in order not to be obvious or plainly gimmicky about it. In Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca the main character is never named, and the title character is only recalled in memory.

best, Perdita

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I would guess that you can do a scene without using names pretty easily, especially if they use pet names for each other. It would take some doing to pull off an entire story without names, but it could be done. Just be careful that it doesn't come off seeming as contrived as it is.

I may be wrong, but I don't think the characters in 9 1/2 Weeks had names, and that was a book, albeit a small one with only two people in it.

---dr.M.

 

[Colleen Thomas]

I would say writing a short story without names shouldn't be to teribly hard on the witer or reader. AS long as the characters are prety well defined you hsould be fine. Much easier with a he and a she then with two he's or two she's of course

-Colly

 

[sweetnpetite]

I don't think that it would come off as contrived because I didnt really mean to do it, I just wrote and realized after about 5 pages that the characters had no names. So now, I've given them names (as they've all introduced themselves to each other) and I'm actually hoping that suddenly *adding* names doesn't seem artificial.

I guess I'll just have to see how it turns out. But I'm still interested in everyone's thoughts on the topic.

Ps. I'm going to try to finish this story and slip it in before the Valentines Deadline, although it seems hopeless- I might as well do the best I can to get it up- it's a valentines story after all.

 

[A7inchPhildo]

I prefer nameless as to stupid names. If you are going to use Kermit, Manx, Pina, Renk,... That is OK, but just put it in the description so I do not have to open the story.

I have read a couple of nameless stories. One of which was dealing with two lesbians who refered to one another as papa and moma. Way too confuckting to the mind to figure out who was who or what, for that matter.

The author was pissed when I said the story was awful because I did not understand the lingo or which character was talking.

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

what do you here think about a story without names- intrieging or irritating?

S&P,

IMHO, it'd be a real chore in a third person novel but very manageable in a first person short story. Keep us posted.

Rumple Foreskin

 

[Guest]

Way too confuckting to the mind...

Cool, Phil.

Perdita

 

[Weird Harold]

I don't think that it would come off as contrived because I didnt really mean to do it, I just wrote and realized after about 5 pages that the characters had no names. So now, I've given them names (as they've all introduced themselves to each other) and I'm actually hoping that suddenly *adding* names doesn't seem artificial.

Some scenarios almost demand that all or some of the the characters remain nameless -- at least as far as the readers are a concerned; the author always should have "names" for the characters.

The names won't always be "Proper Names" and may be as simple as "The Guy" and "The Girl" or as complex as a complete geneological narritive, but the author will have some sort of "name' for the characters to keep them straight.

The question then becomes, whether the Story demands that the author reveal the characters' names to the reader -- if you're worried about the belated introduction seeming "artificial," then it probably IS artificial.

 

[gauchecritic]

I was going to say what Harold said. I'm still going to say it but in different way.

I'd say it's probably impossible to write a story without names. I suppose I'm being technical here but a noun is a naming word.

I, me, he, she, him, her are pronouns (some personal).

So a story which sticks with whole people can't avoid the use of naming words.

'She looked at him askance.'
'Together they were blissfully in love'
'The guy fucked her ass.'

Anonymous people do one of two things to a reader, make you want to know or make you indifferent to them.

Interestingly (to me) my supposed Valentine day story, which won't be finished in time, has a character re-naming another character. The only time that name is used is by or in reference to the person who thought it up.

Gauche

 

[Boota]

In my story on here, The Man In The Woods, I intentionally didn't name the characters. But it is only one scene and they are the only two involved. A longer piece with more characters might be considerably more difficult.

I never got any negative feedback over not using names, but I did get a couple over not telling anyone how big the guy's dick was or how big her boobs were. I just replied with, "How big do you want it/them to be?"

 

[Quint]

But I also thought that somebody would probably say something like. "I liked your story, but I only gave it a five because your characters had no names."

Only give it a five? Geez, I wish my readers were so hard on me--or did they invent a new rating system behind my back?

"Kill Bill" comes to mind when I think of nameless characters; Tarantino managed well enough with the Bride, although he did blank out her name a couple of times (which I suspect was more emphasis than accident). So I believe it's possible to do well, even were the medium changed to literature--giving the character an epithet like the Bride makes the task ever so much easier.

 

[Guest]

E.g.,

Clint Eastwood's "man with no name" trilogy:

A Fistful of Dollars
For a Few Dollars More
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

 

[raphy]

A long time ago, I wrote (my first) piece of erotica for a gloveslap challenge by our very own The Earl... It was a story about 3 or 4 of the AH authors writing an erotic story, and it didn't use any names.

Well, the story that was written inside the story didn't use names - I did, of course, use the AH authors' names.. I'll try and dig it up again if anyone's at all interested.

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

A long time ago, I wrote (my first) piece of erotica for a gloveslap challenge by our very own The Earl... It was a story about 3 or 4 of the AH authors writing an erotic story, and it didn't use any names.

Well, the story that was written inside the story didn't use names - I did, of course, use the AH authors' names.. I'll try and dig it up again if anyone's at all interested.

Lay it on us, r-man.

RF

 

[raphy]

Lay it on us, r-man.

RF

Okay.. Here you go. This was Earl's original challenge:

Right Raphy, I'm going to give you a nice easy one because you're new. You have to write an erotic story involving at least two members of the Lit forums. You are allowed to use any details that you know, but you can't make anything up, eg. You can't include me and talk about my 15 inch penis. Everything has to be true.

Fun exercise - This was the result. You'll see that I use the AH authors' names, but in the snippets of story that they're writing, I don't use any names - This was because although they're supposed to be writing different stories, I also wanted to illustrate how you could take sections from 4 ostensibly separate erotic stories and slot them together and it would still make some sort of sense as a story..

I figured it might be relevant, because if you can do that, then you *definitely* don't need names in a story... (or maybe I'm just talking out of my ass)

Anyway, this is how it came out.

=============================================
Synergie
-----------

"Sure thing, Paul. I'll be right over. Let me just finish up what I'm doing and I'll see ya in a moment, mate."

Gauche put the telephone down. It slid into its cradle with a satisfied 'beep'. He pondered, momentarily, the merits of writing an erotic story based on the freudian image of a cordless telephone sliding neatly and easily into its slot, but decided against the idea. Besides, it would be a helluva a challenge to fit it into his latest story.

He glanced at the PC before throwing his coat on. He had to be down the pub in 15 minutes. He'd promised Paul. Still, there was time to write down at least a line or 3, wasn't there? This had been running around in his head (and other parts of his anatomy) all day and this evening had been the first peaceful moment, the first chance he'd had to exorcise it and get it out of his groin and into the computer.

Yeah... He could write the first piece, at least.

He first saw her on a Friday. He knew it was Friday, because it was always Friday that he bought the Zigalo's, the special Russian cigarettes that he used to treat himself for the weekend. He'd walked out of the tobaconnists and she was standing there on the other side of the road, the wind whipping her hair around her head and her dress around her legs. She had very shapely legs. Long and tapered, with the right hint of muscularity.

He watched her, hiding behind his sunglasses, watching as she crossed the road. Watched the sway of her hips, the tilt of her head, her quick little steps as she hurried up onto the busy Bond Street pavement out of the way of the oncoming traffic. She was tall, and blonde, and confident. He liked that. He watched her until she climbed into a taxi, and then he went home and masturbated about her, hot fantasies chasing each other around in his head.

It was three weeks before he saw her again. Three weeks where all he could think about in his fantasies were the shape of her legs under that dress, the way her hair had moved as she'd shaken her head, the way her breasts had shifted as she'd hopped up onto the kerb and the way her lips had pursed when she whistled for a taxi. He'd had so many fantasies about those lips, almost feeling them around his rock-hard cock as his hand pumped back and forth in the shower.

He was in the office. In a meeting. There was a contract. An important contract. His boss wanted him to deal with it personally. He'd even stayed behind because the client couldn't make it until late. Long after everyone else had gone home. And then out of nowhere, there she was. Standing in front of him, tall and beautiful and so very sexy. Her hair, her skin, her legs and her lips. Those lips.

He almost spilt his coffee.

Not too bad, as a starting piece. Actually, that was about as far as Gauche had got in his head when thinking about it earlier, but he figured that once you get started everything else flows easily. He'd finish it up when he got back. Grabbing his wallet and watch, he headed for the door. He was late. Paul was gonna make him buy the next 3 rounds if he didn't hurry up.

~*~

Perdita stared defiantly at the computer screen. The computer screen stared back, just as defiantly. Writer's block? Never. Well, maybe. What had Gauche said about writer's block? Damned if she could remember. The blank screen mocked her, and her poised fingers hovered over the keyboard like an olympic diver afraid of the water. When the plunge was finally taken, the result would be skilled, poised, artistic and slick, but right now she was staring down the lapping blue waves and thinking, 'Damn, but that's a long way down.'

Slick. Yes. That's a good start. After all, it *is* supposed to be erotica, right? She thought for a second, then her fingers started moving of their own accord. She'd start wherever she started. Anything that needed filling in could be written later. Right now, she had to listen to her muse.

She was slick. She was dripping. She was sodden. She could feel her pussy juices soaking the gusset of her panties as she stared at the man in front of her. How could he do this to her? His masculine scent, musky and powerful. The way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, proudly displaying his forearms, taut with corded muscle.

They circled each other like predators, the conversation intelligent, dry, subversively seductive without being openly flirtatious. He bent his head to murmur something in her ear and the feeling of him so close, his .. maleness .. almost made her dizzy. Was she reading him wrong? She couldn't tell. He was unreadable. Maddeningly, torturously and erotically unreadable.

He took her hand, lifted it to point something out, and the touch of his fingers on her skin burned like a fire, adding to the warm wet sensation between her thighs, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her nipples. She was sure he could see them standing up straight and proud, erect under her thin cotton blouse. She tried to sneak a look at the front of his slacks, but she couldn't see. Was that luck, or was he deliberately hiding something from her? She had no way of knowing and the thought excited her yet further.

And suddenly, it was time to leave. The conversation was over. She almost wept with frustration, searched desperately for a reason to stay. An excuse. Any excuse. As she left, she turned and looked in his eyes and for a split second, she saw it. She knew. He wanted her, too.

They fell upon each other like starving animals.

Good stuff. Perdita felt a definite dampness between her thighs as she re-read what she'd just written. Certainly good enough to suffice as the first draft of the middle section of a new story. She could flesh it out later, put all the details in. Either way, she'd taken the dive once again. The computer screen was no longer blank.

~*~

Earl grinned. Halfway through and he was doing okay - He hadn't really slowed down any, and now it was just about to get to the good stuff. Get their clothes off and have him bang her hard up against the wall. He took another sip of his coffee, drew in a deep breath and began to type again.

This was the bit he liked. Well, hell, wasn't this the bit that everyone liked? After all, that's why people wrote sex stories, right? For the sex. Well, as they say in the industry - Time for the sex scene.

Their clothes had been forgotten in an instant- Her blouse, his shirt. Her skirt, his slacks. Her hands were all over his body, feeling the muscles in his back, the texture of his skin, but he was more demanding than that. His strong hands turned her round, facing the wall and he stepped up close behind her. She could feel his cock nestling in the crack of her ass and she moaned, grinding her ass against him slightly. He said only two words.

"Bend over."

She complied immediately and without warning or preamble, he was inside her; quick, hard and deep, filling her almost instantly. She gasped and arched her back, pushing herself back towards him. His low, gutteral chuckle from behind her made her realize that he knew she'd be ready for him. He knew she'd be hot, and wet and willing. Oh so willing.

He held himself still for a moment, allowing her to adjust to his cock. Then, without a sound, he started to move, driving himself deeper into her. His hands were on her breasts, pulling and pinching and squeezing and the sound of his balls slapping against her clit became part of the rhythm, part of her pleasure.

She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, the hair on his stomach scratching against the soft flesh of her butt. The synergie of energy between them fanning the flames in her pussy, making her wetter, hotter, tighter, closer to cumming. And far away, as if a stranger's voice, she could hear herself moaning, louder and louder, begging him not to stop, to make her cum.

She felt the familiar feeling building up in her pussy, in her nipples, in her clit. Her moans got louder, more urgent, more demanding, and he removed one hand from her breasts and slid it between her legs. He slammed his cock into her, held it there for a long timeless moment and then, with unerring accuracy, pinched her clit. Hard.

She thought she was going to die. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She felt herself contract around him, cumming and cumming and cumming. Her legs buckled, became weak and she would have fallen but for his arm around her waist, the pressure on her clit perpetuating the orgasm. Instinctively, he knew when to start pounding into her again, driving her to climax yet again, her juices freely running down the inside of her thighs now, soaking and staining the tops of her stockings.

Until eventually, she couldn't stand. He let her slide to the floor, gently.

Oh yes. That would definitely do. Earl's hand dropped to his lap, subsconciously adjusting his own hardening cock in his jeans. Well. That meant it worked, at least. If you can't turn yourself on by your own writing, what hope do you have at turning anyone else on?

~*~

She was almost done. Endings were sometimes the hardest things in the world to write, but Tatelou had a pretty good handle on this one and besides, erotica wasn't tough to end, right? Your characters do the dirty deed, and you wind it all up with some pithy throw-away exit line.

She shifted in her seat a little, feeling dampness between her thighs. Writing always made her hot and horny, and damn, why wasn't her husband home from work yet? Just like him to be late when she was just about to finish up a damn good story and needed a good hard fucking. She slipped a hand between her legs, putting pressure on her clit through her Levis. Damn, but the throbbing felt good. She grimaced and put both hands back on the keyboard. Later. Must write story now.

Maybe he'd be home by the time she finished it. He always did have good timing. She decided she'd better type fast.

He tasted so sweet. Slick with her pussy juices and his own leaking secretions. She stuck her tongue out and licked him all up and down like a lollipop, teasing that sensitive area just underneath the head.

He moaned, a hoarse gutteral sound, male and primitive and she felt a surge of arousal flash through her pussy, making her wetter. She wrapped her lips around just the head of his cock, her tongue dancing over his skin, drawing maddeningly erotic circles. He moaned again, his cock twitching in her mouth, as if it had a life of its own.

Slowly, she slid his entire length into her mouth, nestling her nose against his coarse mat of pubic hair. Up and down she slid, enjoying the feel of him between her lips and the taste of him in her throat.

His hands dropped to her head and she instinctively knew what was coming. The pendulum was swinging the other way. His hips moved more urgently now, sliding his cock in and out of her lips, fucking her face. His hands on her head, wrapping themselves in her hair, moving her back and forth in the rhythm he wanted. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations of his thick cock in her mouth.

He was moaning louder now, closer to cumming. He was in that stage that men reach, that animal moment, where nothing else matters. His head thrown back, his back arched, his cock deep in her throat. And she danced her tongue over it as best she could, trying to please him, wanting to please him.

His hands tightened on her head, his entire body stiffened and then she was swallowing, spurt after spurt of hot salty seed. His cock pulsed and jerked in her mouth every time he spurted and she mercilessly pumped him with her hand, greedily trying to get every last drop of cum out of him, until he could stand it no longer and pulled out of her hungry mouth, his legs shakey.

She grinned up at him, eyes bright and impish.

"How 'bout we try it in bed next?"

Tatelou cocked her head, listening. Yup, that was a car. And that was footsteps. And that was the sound of a key hitting the front door. Oh yes, her hubby definitely had the best timing in the world. She threw herself out of her clothes and went to stand by the door, naked. Time to welcome him home in the best possible way.

~*~

It was done. Finished. Completed, or at least as completed as these things ever get. The computer beeped on command, saving the file. The spellcheck had found some errors; they'd been fixed. It had been proof read a few times. It was ready to go. Cut and paste was such a wonderful invention. Cut from the text editor. Paste into Lit's submission forum. The mouse pointer hovered uncertainly over the submit button. Why was it always like this? Stage fright. Last minute nerves. The omnipresent question - 'Is it good enough?' The button sat there, waiting patiently for the final click.

As the old saying went - If you don't try, you'll never know.

Well, then. Time to try.

Click.
=============================================

 

[Omni]

I think names are important in a story. They make it more personal to the reader than the blank he, she's.

I care more with a name.

I want to get to know them more with a name.

I feel like the writer cared enough about these people to "name" them.

I follow the story easier with names.

And, I think about them later. Not that old "she" in that story I read but That Jill, the funny one, or sexy one ect.....

Just he, she is a click back for me.

Give me a contrived name any day I guess, if you write them well enough, I won't mind at all.

Omni

 

[angela146]

When there are only two characters and one's a man and the other's a woman, I can usually pull it off.

But with multiple people or two of the same gender, it get's awkward pretty quickly.

And... as was mentioned... a name can imply a lot of spice or characterization...

"Olaf and Francesca stared into each other's eyes, neither caring what their families might think."

or they can get in the way of things...

"As he boarded the plane to return to his native Japan, Antonio wept for his beloved..."

 

[whispering_surrender]

Actually, now that I look at them, there is only one name mentioned in any of the four stories I have posted here on Lit.....and that name is just because I used Martina McBride's song, and isn't referring to a character......

I've actually had several feedback letters saying that they liked that I don't use names, because it was easier to fantasize themselves into the story.

I think it can work, or not work either way.

Whisp

 

[Guest]

My highest rated story (A Birthday Kiss) doesn't mention any names, just "he" and "she".

I wrote it that way for many reasons. One being that I thought that particular story called for that method, and another that I wrote it specifically with someone in mind (and for that person). I am the "she", he is the "he". We both know who we are, and that makes it very exciting.

Katie