S.G. Redling on naughty (and hot!) supernatural sex fantasies

S.G. Redling, author of Ourselves, knows why sex among supernatural characters is just so darn good. Luckily, she's happy to share …

S.G.: Let's get right to it.

Why is the sex so good in fantasy and supernatural fiction?

I can't be the only one who's noticed this, right?

Sure, there are genres with plenty of great passionate scenes. Entire subsets of romance are based on the steaminess of the love scenes; mysteries and thrillers often count on sexual tension to add electricity to a plot. Wouldn't it seem the presence of monsters, demons, vampires and the sort would kill the mood for lovemaking?

Not by a long shot.

Years ago, when I told my mother the concept behind Ourselves and the world of the Nahan, she asked me why I didn't write something more realistic. "A romance," she suggested, worried that I would starve to death by not getting on the path of the most well-known genre on earth. I asked her which seemed more incredible: a hidden race of predatory people who drink blood and live for three hundred years or the existence of a six-foot-three green-eyed unmarried firefighter with a heart of gold and abs you could chip a tooth on who was waiting to sweep me off my feet for a life of ecstasy and sexual fidelity? It seemed a legitimate question to me. Her answer? "This is why you'll never get married."

This got me thinking — is supernatural fiction really that different from romance or mystery/thriller? Aren't they all about a fantasy version of ourselves doing extraordinary things? In romance, we're all a little better looking and a lot better dressed. In mystery/thriller we're braver and smarter and more resourceful. But in supernatural fiction we're … what? Less human?

I think we're more elemental. Demons, shapeshifters, vampires — these are all reflections of aspects of our humanity exaggerated for effect. When we identify with dangerous creatures, we can examine our own hungers and passions and fears without the regular trappings of guilt and expectation. When we identify as predators, we can focus more on the hunger, less on the consequences. And you know what happens then?

Sexy times. Good sexy times. Hot sexy times.

In my Nahan series, we meet these people who are human but not like us. They're stronger; their senses are sharper. They use their sexuality to lure us in to feed from us. How can this not lead to steamy times under the sheets? These people can and do kill without remorse. They slip in and out of identities; they have money and resources we can't even imagine. Do they have to worry about things like fumbling to get an unwieldy piece of clothing off, morning breath, or that momentary terror of wondering if one's legs are shaved?

I'm the author. I say they don't.

In Ourselves, my two main characters, Tomas and Stell, set out on a path of self-discovery. Stell in particular has a whole world to learn. She's lived in isolation, deprived of affection and praise. When she discovers how strong she can be, how gifted and resourceful she really is, she also learns a good bit about her own desire. There's no red-faced fumbling around in back seats of cars for this girl. She takes to lovemaking like she takes to killing — she's a natural. And she's ambitious.

Is it too farfetched to imagine a young man and woman with so little sexual experience being so good at it right off the bat? Maybe but no more farfetched than these two also belonging to an ancient hidden subset of humanity who heal quickly, can kill with their bare hands, and can take a bullet with minimal damage. It's fantasy. Reality follows different rules in these pages and in this reality, sexual confidence sits comfortably side by side with the ability to stay slim while living on a diet of blood, onion rings and root beer.

I still think it's easier to believe than that green-eyed firefighter.

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