So.
I finished (well, as much as I ever finish) the story I was pontificating about yesterday.
The problem with talking about things is that I leave the conversation wondering why I make such a big deal out of…whatever. Now I feel this story has an impossible burden placed upon it.
At this point I don’t even think I can tell you what the story is actually about.
Why did this story even occur to me? Hey, where do these ideas come from anyway?
Oh well. I’ve got lots of other stories to work on.
Phttht.
Marta Pelrine-Bacon 
I can’t remember who it was yesterday who said that the authorial-nervous-making scenes get easier with practice. Among other things, this means that the “burden” the story had to bear may not have been the scene itself (the needs of the story) but the fact that you got through Round 1 (or 2, or whatever) of writing such a scene (the needs of the writer). Which wasn’t such a silly burden!
Another writer over at Writer Unboxed on facebook made this observation (and I paraphrase a wee bit)—-that if we leave sex scenes to pornographers, we’ll be left with very lopsided fantasies. I find this idea rather freeing.
Anyway, I usually feel angst, then feel silly about the angst. Angst over the angst over the angst!