Self-expression sounds like social media, profile pictures, looking in the mirror. But psychologically, it is much older and much more physical: every time a person shows themselves, they unconsciously decide whether to protect or assert themselves. Shame and pride are not opposites like “good” and “bad.” They are a field of tension that is particularly evident in erotic literature, because bodies are not only described here, but also become meaningful.
Shame asks: Am I too much? Am I wrong? Pride asks: Am I allowed to be here? Am I allowed to be seen? In practice, both feelings often occur simultaneously. This is precisely what makes them so valuable in terms of drama. A person can blush and still not look away. They can suck in their stomach and lift their chin in the next breath. These micro-movements are your material.
Working definitions for authors
Shame is a social alarm. It says: Watch out, you could be judged, devalued, excluded. Shame sticks to the gaze of others, even when no one is looking. It wants to hide, cover up, defuse. Pride is a signal of status and self-worth. It says: I stand by myself, I hold my own, I take up space. Pride straightens you up, slows you down, makes you clearer, more stable. Important: Pride is not automatically superiority. And shame is not automatically humility. Both can be healthy or destructive, depending on whether the person has the power to act. In erotic literature, this is the decisive factor: Is nudity an accident, a compulsion, a currency, a stage, a choice?
How the body shows shame
Shame is a feeling that immediately manifests itself in physical reactions. The person makes themselves smaller without meaning to. Shoulders forward, chest closed, head slightly lowered, gaze breaks off or flickers. Breathing becomes shallow. Hands search for fabric, pull at the hem, smooth, tug, cover. Many people react with their stomachs: they pull them in, as if less volume could mean less surface area for attack. This is particularly visible with nudity, as there is no fabric armor. Breasts suddenly seem heavier because they are no longer held up by fabric. Nipples become noticeable because air and attention charge them. Labia are perceived as “too visible,” even if objectively no one says anything. This becomes narratively powerful when you write it not as a comment, but as action: not “she was ashamed,” but “she held her arm across her breasts as if it were the only sensible gesture.”
How the body shows pride
Pride is not loud—it is clear. The person straightens up, often only minimally, but unmistakably: chin higher, shoulders back, gaze remains. Breathing becomes deeper, slower. Hands stop fiddling with fabric. In nudity, pride is often a shift from “I am being looked at” to “I am present.” The protagonist lets her body have its weight: belly, hips, breasts, thighs. Nothing is organized away. Pride also manifests itself as tempo. Shame is hectic. Pride takes its time. If you want to write pride, write the decision into the movement: “She lowered her hand” is often stronger than any explanation.
The tension: Why shame and pride sharpen each other
In self-expression, shame is the resistance and pride is the answer. Without shame, pride would have no friction, no fall height. Without pride, shame would become pure avoidance. Erotic tension often arises precisely where the protagonist feels both: the impulse to cover herself and the desire to remain visible. This is not only “sexy,” it is psychologically true, because people rarely have only one emotion at a time. Literarily, you can tell this as a pendulum: one step back, one step forward. A glance away, a glance back. A nervous laugh, then silence. A hem is pulled down, then pushed back up later. That is dramatic music.
Example scene 1: Changing room, locker, wet hair
She stands in the changing room of the swimming pool, neon light, hard edges, and everywhere this echo of voices and footsteps. The floor is cool under her soles. Her coat hangs on the locker door, but her towel is heavy and damp, and her hair is still dripping. She is naked except for her panties, her swimsuit is already in her bag.
The skin on her thighs is still warm from the water, and her stomach is covered in fine goose bumps because the air is drier here. Her breasts seem heavier now that there is no fabric holding them up; her nipples are firm, not “showing off,” but reacting to the cold, the light, and the attention. Warmth lingers between her labia like an afterglow, even though the rest of her body is already cooling down. As voices approach, her body is quicker than her mind. She pulls in her stomach, as if less surface area could mean less attention. Her fingers reflexively clamp onto the waistband of her panties, pushing them up a millimeter, as if they were a last little piece of armor. She grabs the towel, presses it against her breasts, notices that her hips remain exposed, pulls it down lower—nothing fits.
Shame here is not a silly blush, but alarm: someone is about to look, something is about to be judged. Then she stops. Not because the changing room is suddenly empty, but because she realizes how obedient she is being. She spreads her feet wider to stand more steadily. She exhales, longer than necessary, and her stomach softens again. She lowers the towel, not completely, but enough that it is no longer panicked. When the door next door swings open and a shadow briefly falls into the gap, her gaze remains calm. She gets dressed, slowly. Every movement says: I was naked, and that was not automatically an offer. It was a state. I decide what it means.
Example scene 2: The hem of the sweater as a stage for both
On the sofa, a blanket, tea, the room smells of heating and orange. She is wearing a large sweater without a bra. When she leans forward, the shape of her breasts shows through the fabric, and she feels her nipples rubbing against the inside. He sits next to her, not pressing, but attentive. When his hand touches the hem of her sweater, she flinches slightly. Her shame says: Too much. Too visible. She laughs briefly, pulls the fabric down as if it were an automatic correction. He withdraws his hand. That creates space. And in that space, pride grows. She exhales, realizing how hard she has just been trying to be “right.” Then she pushes the hem back up herself, just a little, so that her stomach is exposed, her belly button visible. Skin meets air. “That’s better,” she says, and it’s not a question, not an offer—it’s a statement. The shame was there, but pride has the last word. And the eroticism arises from the transition.
Example scene 3: Public, gaze, decision
A small reading, workshop atmosphere, adults in the room. She is wearing a dress that shows more thigh than planned when she is sitting down. When she stands up, she notices how the fabric rides up. A brief moment in which she has the impulse to pull the dress down, as if she had revealed something. Shame is hot, fast, aggressive. The gaze of others becomes fantasy, even if no one looks angry. Then she does something unusual: she doesn’t fix her dress right away. She pauses for a second, lets her legs just be there, feels the firmness of her knees, the tension in her calves. Her face becomes calm. She continues speaking without justifying herself. It is not a statement. It’s simply her space.Later, when she sits down, she adjusts the fabric as normal. The pride lay not in showing, but in not collapsing.
Typical mistakes when writing about shame and pride
A common mistake is to describe shame only as embarrassment. Shame is often more existential: fear of devaluation, of loss of control, of being reduced to body parts. If you take this seriously, your scene will automatically become deeper. The second mistake is to write pride as a victory pose. Pride is more powerful when it remains unspectacular: clear breathing, clear language, clear boundaries. The third mistake is to redeem the protagonist immediately. Shame rarely disappears completely. What is more interesting is that shame remains as a residue, but it no longer determines behavior.
Writing tools: How to bring the tension to the page
Work with micro-decisions. A hand covers the breasts—and then sinks. A glance averts—and then returns. An “excuse me” is swallowed and replaced by a neutral sentence. Let shame be quick and pride be slow. Let shame cling to fabric and pride to posture. And always give your character a concrete form of agency: a request, a stop, a pace, a frame, a sentence of their own.
Writing Prompt
Write a scene in 250–400 words in which your character reveals themselves without sex happening. Just self-expression. Write down exactly three markers of shame (e.g., sucking in your stomach, tugging at your clothes, darting your eyes) and exactly three markers of pride (e.g., lifting your chin, breathing more deeply, holding your gaze). Then write the same scene again, but swap the order: first pride, then shame, then pride. You will notice how much rhythm changes the emotional field.