PG Sex Scene Blogfest

This morning I found, via SaraJayne Smythe's blog, the MG/PG Love Scene Blogfest. I decided to participate because the whole issue of sex in fiction is one that I am very, er, passionate, about.  There are so many gratuitous sex scenes out there that really don't add anything to the stories they tell.  Sex has become a form of cursing, something shocking but meaningless, intended to get the reader's attention but, more often than not, just plain boring.

First of all, let me say that I will not write a MG (middle grade) sex scene.  I don't believe that sexual intercourse has any place in fiction for children in grades 4-6. I wish that sex wasn't a part of fiction for young people under the age of 16, but the fact is that it is a huge part, unfortunately.  I'm turned off by graphic scenes even in adult fiction; I just don't think it needs to be there 99% of the time.  Why?  Because the physical act is meaningless by itself.  The emotions of the characters are what's important, and you can convey those many ways without actually describing the moment of intercourse, or what leads up to it. 

So, anyway, here is my entry for the Blogfest.  One of the rules was you can't 'fade to black.'  The rest of the rules are here. To clarify, I am not writing a scene with teenagers in it, but a scene that I feel is acceptable for teenagers to read.

Sam leaned her head against Pete’s shoulder as the light from the Coleman lantern grew dimmer.  He put his arm around her. She was shivering.

“We’re going to die here,” Sam said. “A hundred – no, a thousand – years from now, some archeologist will find our bones and think we were trapped by accident.”

“We’re not going to die.” He squeezed her shoulder encouragingly.  “Bradley will find us.” 

“C’mon, don’t pretend.  This is serious.”

“I know, but I'm not ready to give up yet.”  The lantern dimmed again, the battery so low that he could just barely see the sheen of moisture on the tunnel walls.

“I’m so glad you’re here.  I don’t want to die alone in the dark.”  Her voice cracked.  “But I don’t want you to die, either.  God, I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry for everything.”  She began to cry softly.

“Shhh.  It’s not your fault.”  Without thinking about what he was doing, he kissed her wet cheeks.  Then his lips moved to her mouth, and his hands began to caress her.  He felt he should say something, ask permission, but it was like his body had a will of its own.  He expected her to pull away but to his great surprise she melted into him and began to kiss and caress him back.

The lantern went out.

They clung to each other in the darkness, kissing passionately, desperately, as if to prove they were still alive and kicking.  Despite the chill, they unbuttoned and unzipped their shirts and jeans, shivering as their skin touched, immersing themselves in the joy of physical discovery. The darkness no longer mattered, and their fear was swallowed up in the intensity of this moment, now, together.

At last they relaxed, still twined around each other, sweating and content.  Sam said, her voice curving with a smile, “What would the archeologists think if they found us like this?”

“Damn the archeologists!”

Then a faint voice echoed through the passage behind them.  Not in front where the rockpile was, but in the deep recesses of the mountain.  “Sam! Pete! Are you there?”

It was Bradley.

“Here we are!” cried Pete.  He began to laugh – a deep, resounding laugh that echoed off the rocks.  Sam squealed and began to wriggle back into her clothes.  Bradley always did have terrible timing.