This is the kind of physicality I wish I could get across...

[Cruel2BKind]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=14p7tkbZ1Sw

I found that today (solo dance for a TV show)

I WISH I could describe this kind of raw physicality in my stories, but what would I do if I tried to describe a dance scene like this?

Phrases like 'gravity defying' and 'lithe suppleness' are a dime a dozen, and I don't think about this video when I write them, but they seem to be the only kind of words that fit.

Any ideas? I have a very physically imposing (Bigger than this guy, but just as flexible and strong) character in one of my upcoming stories and I'm getting frustrated trying to describe this guy.

 

[Stella_Omega]

Hair-raising. Ferocious.

I think you might have to describe the emotions of the watchers, more than the actions of the dancers-- like the advice we keep giving people who want to enumerate a character's features.

I had goosebumps watching that.

 

[slyc_willie]

Uncanny. Incomparable. Feral. Penultimate to perfection.

That's just describing the video. That Michael kid's got some moves. Not only that, but also a precise sense of timing. He's obviously been working on that routine to the point where it was second nature to him, but still. I am always impressed when a dance routine's moves are not only matched to the music, but they transcend and become part of the score.

 

[Aynmair]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=14p7tkbZ1Sw

I found that today (solo dance for a TV show)

I WISH I could describe this kind of raw physicality in my stories, but what would I do if I tried to describe a dance scene like this?

Phrases like 'gravity defying' and 'lithe suppleness' are a dime a dozen, and I don't think about this video when I write them, but they seem to be the only kind of words that fit.

Any ideas? I have a very physically imposing (Bigger than this guy, but just as flexible and strong) character in one of my upcoming stories and I'm getting frustrated trying to describe this guy.

Heart-stopping, breathtaking, bringing you to the edge of your seat, soaring...

The guy has amazing talent.

 

[Cruel2BKind]

Thanks guys

Also watching this clip over and over... It's hard for my panties to resist gravity...

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Jesus! Acrobatic and gymnastic.

 

[Hypoxia]

Jesus! Acrobatic and gymnastic.

But is it dancing?

 

[Handley_Page]

But is it dancing?

There could be an argument for putting it on a gymnastic mat, I guess, but there's no denying that he is bloody good at it. Such a pity that the broadcasters saw fit to feature so much audience screaming, though.

 

[sr71plt]

But is it dancing?

I don't think so. Don't find it particularly sensual either. Just great gymnastics. Can't really visualize why it would be captured in erotica. The guy isn't particuarly hunky either. Maybe as a scene setting up a flexible and inventive-position bottom in GM?

 

[slyc_willie]

I don't think so. Don't find it particularly sensual either. Just great gymnastics. Can't really visualize why it would be captured in erotica. The guy isn't particuarly hunky either. Maybe as a scene setting up a flexible and inventive-position bottom in GM?

I consider it dancing. We see just as much leaping about during a performance of The Nutcracker, after all. Like any kind of performance art, it's validity is left to the audience.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

But is it dancing?

Acrobatic ballet.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXSE0NGVfPA

THIS IS TOO GODDAMNED COOL FOR SCHOOL. CHINESE ACROBATIC BALLET

THANK YOU JESUS WE GOT MILEY AND TWERKING!

 

[Acktion]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=14p7tkbZ1Sw

I found that today (solo dance for a TV show)

I WISH I could describe this kind of raw physicality in my stories, but what would I do if I tried to describe a dance scene like this?

Phrases like 'gravity defying' and 'lithe suppleness' are a dime a dozen, and I don't think about this video when I write them, but they seem to be the only kind of words that fit.

Any ideas? I have a very physically imposing (Bigger than this guy, but just as flexible and strong) character in one of my upcoming stories and I'm getting frustrated trying to describe this guy.

All right, for what it's worth, here are my two cents.

A long, long time ago in a land not so very far from here I did some weight training. <glances down for a moment> Ok, a long, long, LONG time ago...

Anyway, one of the things that I sort of picked up is that there are two sorts of weight training. One is for strength and the other for, for lack of a better term, bulk.

Weight training for bulk tends to rip the muscle by pushing through heavy weight low rep, more explosive exercises and when it heals with scar tissue in between the muscle bands, that gives it the bulky, impressive size look. The bands of muscle themselves pick up some strength, obvious, but the size actually comes from the scar tissue in between which doesn't really contribute to the strength of the muscle. (Think "Ahnold" or Dorian Yates or Lou Ferigno)

Strength training tends to use less weight and higher reps and focus on more controlled, slower lifting technique. IF, that is, weights other than body weight are used at all. As a result, they don't have as much scar tissue in between the bands of the muscle, so everything you see bulging at the appropriate points is all muscle.

That's why often we find rather small seeming people such as dancers able to do something that seems like it should require someone much bigger to do. They have the same muscle, but less scar tissue, and so aren't as bulky.

A lot more goes into it, of course, than just the chosen exercise program. Genetics, diet, etc. But, I wasn't trying to submit this to Joe Weider.

All of which, doesn't really say how to describe the person. But, I think Stella hit it on the head when she said don't describe the person themselves.

As an example, in this particular video, did you happen to really catch the movement when he stood from the splits without using his hands at all? The way he didn't explode up from the floor so much as rise smoothly and sinuously?

That particular muscle group running up the inside of the thighs and through the groin is not often really well developed by those other than gymnasts. Or Martial Artists. (Sidenote; It's also a common injury among big, muscular sports types BECAUSE it's not usually focused.)

So, that one movement in and of itself requires 1) Strength, because he had to be able to lift his entire body weight relying almost solely on those muscles, 2) Flexibility, because... well, could you have gotten down there in the first place? Not me! Not on purpose! 3) Control, because if you watch carefully, he wavered neither forward nor back, nor was the movement rushed but flowed with the music and you had the sense that if it had been a slower piece, it wouldn't have mattered at all. He would have just slowed the movement to match the tempo.

Me? I can't get off the floor with both legs, both arms and at least one person helping with something nearby to use as a step. And I try not to get down there on purpose if I can help it.

So, I think the "secret" would be not to describe your character so much as his movements. How does he get up from a chair? Is he moving some piece of furniture? Maybe he lifts the couch or a chair to look under it. (Or the bed? )

Hey, actually, that might work. Have him drop into the splits to look under the bed for something. The bed which his lover is lying in watching him. Some laughing phrase about "... giving me a complex." So, he rises from the floor, without using his hands.

And maybe if you want to make it really impressive, tilts the bed with the person in it, as he stands.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Correct. I spent 3 years fighting people, every day that came along. I operated a psychiatric ER, and many of our admissions were violent, psychotic, and wasted on booze or drugs. When these people attacked nurses collecting their stats I was the first responder cuz they and the nurse were in my office. I pressed the panic button as I leaped into the fray.

But what I discovered was huge people are easiest to restrain, while a small woman or kid will hurt you if you aren't careful, because they apply greater force across a smaller area of contact.

 

[MSTarot]

Any ideas? I have a very physically imposing (Bigger than this guy, but just as flexible and strong) character in one of my upcoming stories and I'm getting frustrated trying to describe this guy.

I would use comparatives, metaphors, and half shaded words (It made sense to me when I wrote it.)


With the slow stalking grace of an alpha predator he arose. His body, moving like water or a ribbon of silk, he turned to the audience.

A graceful strut, all arrogance and power, made his presence known to all before him. Let them look, let them gaze in wonder.

But he wasn't here for them.

Sculpted, as if with the skilled hands of a master, his body gave no resistance to his demands. Like a lover it answered his every whim. The gasps, in awe at what he could do, washed over him. They loved him.

But he wasn't here for them.

This was his moment.

His time under the lights. Their heat already covering him with a sheen of sweat.

This was his moment.

To shine.




My best take on it.

If not the answer you wanted blame my coffee fueled brain for not understanding the question. It's been a long day.

MST

 

[SecondCircle]

I would use comparatives, metaphors, and half shaded words (It made sense to me when I wrote it.)


With the slow stalking grace of a alpha predator he arose. His body, moving like water or a ribbon of silk, he turned to the audience.

A graceful strut, all arrogance and power, made his presence known to all before him. Let them look, let them gaze in wonder.

But he wasn't here for them.

Sculpted, as if with the skilled hands of a master, his body gave no resistance to his demands. Like a lover it answered his every whim. The gasps, in awe at what he could do, washed over him. They loved him.

But he wasn't here for them.

This was his moment.

His time under the lights. Their heat already covering him with a sheen of sweat.

This was his moment.

To shine.




My best take on it.

If not the answer you wanted blame my coffee fueled brain for not understanding the question. It's been a long day.

MST

This.

 

[Acktion]

Sorry. That was really well done, MSTarot.

But, all I could hear was my wife talking about "panther-like grace" when describing me in my younger years.

Which was several years ago.

Just this past year, my son gave me a T-Shirt that reads, "I'm not clumsy. It's just that the floor hates me, the table and chairs are bullies, and the walls get in the way." (And yes, it's a wall of neck to waist text)

Don't mistake my grin however as it was aimed at a personal memory and not your example which was very well done.

 

[Cruel2BKind]

Thanks for everybody's responses. I wasn't about to sit through an entire chinese ballet, but I skimmed through and JEEZ those people are talented. It's more like cirque de soleil than ballet...

All right, for what it's worth, here are my two cents.
*snip*

So, I think the "secret" would be not to describe your character so much as his movements. How does he get up from a chair? Is he moving some piece of furniture? Maybe he lifts the couch or a chair to look under it. (Or the bed? )

Hey, actually, that might work. Have him drop into the splits to look under the bed for something. The bed which his lover is lying in watching him. Some laughing phrase about "... giving me a complex." So, he rises from the floor, without using his hands.

And maybe if you want to make it really impressive, tilts the bed with the person in it, as he stands.

Sounds good. And a good story, too. I was in marching band, so I remember seeing thirty-something teenage girls struggle to do acrobatics in formation. After spending four years with a colorguard and observing other colorguards, I can tell when a dancer is fucking strong and when they are just trying to do flashy moves that don't actually involve much skill.

I would use comparatives, metaphors, and half shaded words (It made sense to me when I wrote it.)


With the slow stalking grace of an alpha predator he arose. His body, moving like water or a ribbon of silk, he turned to the audience.

A graceful strut, all arrogance and power, made his presence known to all before him. Let them look, let them gaze in wonder.

But he wasn't here for them.

Sculpted, as if with the skilled hands of a master, his body gave no resistance to his demands. Like a lover it answered his every whim. The gasps, in awe at what he could do, washed over him. They loved him.

But he wasn't here for them.

This was his moment.

His time under the lights. Their heat already covering him with a sheen of sweat.

This was his moment.

To shine.


My best take on it.

If not the answer you wanted blame my coffee fueled brain for not understanding the question. It's been a long day.

MST

We didn’t talk. But I was filling my senses with him anyway. I could sense his quick aggressive pace. Somehow, the cunt still seemed relaxed. Walking next to him was like walking next to a tight-wound panther. Or a shark.

I could smell the soot on him. When we passed a puddle of dirty slush, he dipped his sooty hands and started to wring, but the soot came off reluctant. His hands was grey and dead-like.

I could smell the burnt sugar sweet-musk of him, whenever he crossed in front of me, or we turned a corner, or when we were close together.

When I brushed my fingertips across the frayed sleeve of the sweatshirt. It had been burnt down to the elbow. His torso was naked under it. The neck of it had been ripped halfway down his chest and safety-pinned back together. I could see one of his nipples.

He wasn’t shivering. Even when we walked through black puddles of snowmelt. His skin was translucent.

When we were back in my cube, it was like some strange night-creature had disguised himself as hume. His hair was darker in the flat glow of my lamp. His skin looked pinker. He relaxed. He was grinning.

“I guess you’re lucky that I came to check on you today, Jasper.”

I slipped out of my neutral sweatshirt. Out of the club shirt I had under it, too.

He watched me as I stripped. He watched hungry, ‘spite how smug he was tryin’ to be.

“What’s that?” He had no tone at all when he asked me that. Only simple curio. The smug part of him was gone for now.

He was pointing at my hip. A jagged chickenfoot scar ‘bove my hipbone.

I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down. I had plain black undershorts on under that. Tight ones. I framed the scar with two fingers, pulling it apart slightly.

“Old fight.” I said soft. Which was a slanted kind of true.

He shrugged out of the sweatshirt I had given him. His torso was pale, his pink nipples perked up. I got in close and finally got to taste Seraf again. I had him back in my system, and all chances of fighting to get him out was gone.

He was just as hot as I remember him being. The temperature of his lips, the heat of his body. Like the fire was under his skin.

I wanted him to fill up my mouth, and to brush every square inch of my skin, and to get the taste and smell and feel of him back into every pore of my body. I teased my fingers in his hair. I eased one hand down the back of his jeans, to cup his muscular ass.

He didn’t joke or tease, even though he coulda. He was dead-serious about getting my ass under him. He led me step-by-step, through my new cube. I took a stumble-step backwards every time he moved front-wise. Eventually, my calves hit my cot. A bare mattress I had laid down in one corner.

I noticed that he was clean. He had on clean underwear, and clothes that hadn’t come from me. He had maybe two days of stubble on his cheeks, so he was shaving. He smelled like soap.

He broke his kiss with me for just a nano. He stared at the wall, his blue eyes sudden and flat. I didn’t have to follow his eye-line to see he was lookin’ at my new shooter.

“I hate carryin' it.” I whispered, between kisses. “But I’m gonna hafta start.”

“Talk later.” He whispered. He cupped my buttocks in his hands and used his grip to heft me up a little ways. He was able to toss me ‘round like we was dancers.

With a lively lifting feel in my gut, I flew through the air. He had deftly lifted and flipped me a little. I was on my back. On my mattress, in my undies. He stepped out of his jeans and I looked up at him, breathing hard and having a nano of deja vu.

I had picked him up from the pigs two months past. But he had gained a lot of weight since then. It rested on his body like an athlete. He wasn’t quite at the veiny muscle-bunny stage. But he was within shout distance.

The light of my cube crowned his head for a mo. Made his face dark.

Then his knees stabbed points in my mattress. Those points was equidistant on both sides of my hips. He deftly crushed me to the bed. He twined his fingers and pinned my hands down while he nibbled at my lower lip. He was hungry. I was hungry.


----

There's more to the scene after that, but what do you guys think? I spread it out a little more than MST does, but does he feel dangerous? I had to save the imagery for the second sex scene because during the first, he's kind of beat up so he isn't as strong.

Also, if you're wondering about the writing style... Yes. Yes it is wearing my apostrophe key out. -_-'

 

[Cruel2BKind]

Just an aside...

Am I the only one who absolutely loves that phrase?

Jagged Chickenfoot Scar.

It's like poitry.

 

[Acktion]

Just an aside...

Am I the only one who absolutely loves that phrase?

Jagged Chickenfoot Scar.

It's like poitry.

Barnyard humor in erotica? Oh, you are baa-aa-aad.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Writers over-work their material, often go at it bass-ackwards, and end up writing CLIFF NOTES instead of prose.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Thanks for everybody's responses. I wasn't about to sit through an entire chinese ballet, but I skimmed through and JEEZ those people are talented. It's more like cirque de soleil than ballet...



Sounds good. And a good story, too. I was in marching band, so I remember seeing thirty-something teenage girls struggle to do acrobatics in formation. After spending four years with a colorguard and observing other colorguards, I can tell when a dancer is fucking strong and when they are just trying to do flashy moves that don't actually involve much skill.




We didn’t talk. But I was filling my senses with him anyway. I could sense his quick aggressive pace. Somehow, the cunt still seemed relaxed. Walking next to him was like walking next to a tight-wound panther. Or a shark.

I could smell the soot on him. When we passed a puddle of dirty slush, he dipped his sooty hands and started to wring, but the soot came off reluctant. His hands was grey and dead-like.

I could smell the burnt sugar sweet-musk of him, whenever he crossed in front of me, or we turned a corner, or when we were close together.

When I brushed my fingertips across the frayed sleeve of the sweatshirt. It had been burnt down to the elbow. His torso was naked under it. The neck of it had been ripped halfway down his chest and safety-pinned back together. I could see one of his nipples.

He wasn’t shivering. Even when we walked through black puddles of snowmelt. His skin was translucent.

When we were back in my cube, it was like some strange night-creature had disguised himself as hume. His hair was darker in the flat glow of my lamp. His skin looked pinker. He relaxed. He was grinning.

“I guess you’re lucky that I came to check on you today, Jasper.”

I slipped out of my neutral sweatshirt. Out of the club shirt I had under it, too.

He watched me as I stripped. He watched hungry, ‘spite how smug he was tryin’ to be.

“What’s that?” He had no tone at all when he asked me that. Only simple curio. The smug part of him was gone for now.

He was pointing at my hip. A jagged chickenfoot scar ‘bove my hipbone.

I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down. I had plain black undershorts on under that. Tight ones. I framed the scar with two fingers, pulling it apart slightly.

“Old fight.” I said soft. Which was a slanted kind of true.

He shrugged out of the sweatshirt I had given him. His torso was pale, his pink nipples perked up. I got in close and finally got to taste Seraf again. I had him back in my system, and all chances of fighting to get him out was gone.

He was just as hot as I remember him being. The temperature of his lips, the heat of his body. Like the fire was under his skin.

I wanted him to fill up my mouth, and to brush every square inch of my skin, and to get the taste and smell and feel of him back into every pore of my body. I teased my fingers in his hair. I eased one hand down the back of his jeans, to cup his muscular ass.

He didn’t joke or tease, even though he coulda. He was dead-serious about getting my ass under him. He led me step-by-step, through my new cube. I took a stumble-step backwards every time he moved front-wise. Eventually, my calves hit my cot. A bare mattress I had laid down in one corner.

I noticed that he was clean. He had on clean underwear, and clothes that hadn’t come from me. He had maybe two days of stubble on his cheeks, so he was shaving. He smelled like soap.

He broke his kiss with me for just a nano. He stared at the wall, his blue eyes sudden and flat. I didn’t have to follow his eye-line to see he was lookin’ at my new shooter.

“I hate carryin' it.” I whispered, between kisses. “But I’m gonna hafta start.”

“Talk later.” He whispered. He cupped my buttocks in his hands and used his grip to heft me up a little ways. He was able to toss me ‘round like we was dancers.

With a lively lifting feel in my gut, I flew through the air. He had deftly lifted and flipped me a little. I was on my back. On my mattress, in my undies. He stepped out of his jeans and I looked up at him, breathing hard and having a nano of deja vu.

I had picked him up from the pigs two months past. But he had gained a lot of weight since then. It rested on his body like an athlete. He wasn’t quite at the veiny muscle-bunny stage. But he was within shout distance.

The light of my cube crowned his head for a mo. Made his face dark.

Then his knees stabbed points in my mattress. Those points was equidistant on both sides of my hips. He deftly crushed me to the bed. He twined his fingers and pinned my hands down while he nibbled at my lower lip. He was hungry. I was hungry.


----

There's more to the scene after that, but what do you guys think? I spread it out a little more than MST does, but does he feel dangerous? I had to save the imagery for the second sex scene because during the first, he's kind of beat up so he isn't as strong.

Also, if you're wondering about the writing style... Yes. Yes it is wearing my apostrophe key out. -_-'

You missed the lesson after you showed up for attendance and split class to go see Miley twerk. I filled a whole notebook with magic.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

But is it dancing?

The vid was dance, and more.