And the Award for the Worst Sex in Literature Goes To…

So galleons, I meant to write this post well over a week ago, but with the insanity of my new work schedule (i.e. I spend more time at work than I do at home), it just hasn’t happened.

Until now.

I recently discovered that Literary Review gives out an award for Bad Sex in Fiction, a tongue-in-cheek ‘award’ highlighting truly atrocious, redundant, and/or god awful sex scenes in the midst of otherwise decent novels.

And boy, are some of these excerpts HILARIOUS:

  • “flesh, that archaic kingdom that brings forth tears and terrors, nightmares, babies and bedazzlements” (Nancy Huston, Infrared)
  • “my sex swimming in joy like a fish in water” (Nancy Huston, Infrared)
  • “These sorts of gyrations and five-sense choreographies, with variations on Ed’s main themes, played out episodically between 10 p.m. and 10 a.m., when Diane said, “Let’s shower.”In the shower, Ed stood with his hands at the back of his head, like someone just arrested, while she abused him with a bar of soap. After a while he shut his eyes, and Diane, wielding her fingernails now and staring at his face, helped him out with two practiced hands, one squeezing the family jewels, the other vigorous with the soap-and-warm-water treatment. It didn’t take long for the beautiful and perfect Ed King to ejaculate for the fifth time in twelve hours, while looking like Roman public-bath statuary. Then they rinsed, dried, dressed, and went to an expensive restaurant for lunch.” (David Guterson, Ed King)
  • “‘A freshly made ear and a freshly made vagina look very much alike,’ Tengo thought” (Haruki Murakami, 1Q84)
  • His mouth lathered with her sap, he turned around and embraced her face with all the passion of his own lips and face, ready at last to grind into her with the Hound, drive it into her piety” (Norman Mailer, The Castle in the Forest)
  • “a commotion of grunts and squeaks, flashing unconnected images and explosions of a million little particles” (Iain Hollingshead, Twenty Something)
  • Descriptions of breasts: “a pair of Danishes” and “two Space Hoppers” (David Mitchell, Black Swan Green)
  • “Images went off in her head like little fireworks. The smell of coconut. Brass firedogs.” (Mark Haddon, A Spot of Bother)
  • She “leaned back on the blanket, arranging her legs in an M of receptivity”, while her partner was “like the most abject and craven supplicant who ever exposed his bare ass to the eagle eyes of a bunch of crows” (John Updike, Villages)
  • “‘Ooh-la-la!’ she breathed as he smelt the clean aroma of her short bobbed hair and the rain-sodden grass around it. ‘Oooh-la-jolly well-la!’

    “And so they made love together in the pouring rain, with Nurse Murray emitting a stream of girlish exclamations which seemed to indicate that she was enjoying herself.” (Ben Elton, The First Casualty)

  • “She closed her eyes, saw his dark-as-treacle-toffee eyes gazing down at her. Weirdly, he was clad in pin-stripes at the same time as being naked. Pin-stripes were erotic, the uniform of fathers, two-dimensional fathers” (Wendy Perriam, Tread Softly)
  • “The jargon he’d used at the consultation had become bewitching love-talk… dorsal subluxation, flexion deformity of the first metatarsal” (Wendy Perriam, Tread Softly)
  • “He can see that the hard globes of River’s breasts are perfect and better than the real thing and he attempts to lift his arm in order to pinch her nipples, which are the size and texture of liquorice Jelly Spogs, or stick his finger in her arsehole or something, but realises with a certain amount of satisfaction that he can’t be fucked and he lets his arm drop to the side.
    River squeezes Bunny’s cock with her muscular vagina.
    ‘Wow,’ says Bunny, from the depths of space.
    ‘Pilates,’ says River.
    ‘Huh?’ grunts Bunny.
    ‘Cunt crunches,’ says River, and contracts her pelvic floor again.” (Nice Cave, The Death of Bunny Monroe)
  • “he dipped his head lower until his mouth grazed the tip of the inverted white triangle that ended between her legs; he brought a hand around and, parting her legs slightly wider, allowed his finger to draw back the pouched silk. It felt to him as if he were tending a delicate weeping wound, and as he probed it with his tongue he heard her moan quietly. Excited by the oysterish intricacy of her he sucked and licked the salty folds until they became sweet, and slowly she arched her back to heighten the angle of provocation.” (Anthony Quinn, The Rescue Man)

And what might be my personal favorite:

  • “Let’s have sex, they think simultaneously, couples having strange mind-reading powers after months and months of trying to figure each other out. Panting, Georgie starts rubbing her hands round Bobby’s biological erogenous zones, turning his trousers into a tent with lots of rude organs camping underneath. Bobby sucks all the freckles and moles off her chest, pulling the GD bib wheeeeeeeeeee over her head and flicking Georgie’s turquoise bra off her shoulders then kissing her tits, and he’s got so much energy – plus he’s very impatient – Bobby tugs off his sweaty sweater himself and gives Georgie a helping hand with his zip. Then comes the enormous anticipation of someone putting their mitts on your cock and balls. Georgie smiles to herself and keeps him hanging on for a bit, which in a way is even better though it makes the Artist want to explode and after one or two tugs he moans ‘whoah’ then screams ‘whoah!’ and Georgie lets go giggling, then suddenly her face is all serious and Bobby pulls her polished pine legs apart and slithers a hand up her skirt where her fanny’s got a bit of five o’clock shadow like a pin cushion but her lips are nice and slippy, and he slides some lubricunt round and round, mixing clockwise with anticlockwise with figure 8 until Georgie’s shagging the air with pleasure bashing her feet about. Then, Bobby starts scrabbling frantically across the carpet for Mr Condom, sending five or six multicolour Durexes flying through the air, and he struggles getting the packet open and Georgie has to roll Mr Condom down Mr Penis for him and she has to help insert him into Mrs Vagina. They shag at double-speed: Inthekitchenthrydospoonsonthebreakfast baramongstallthecutlerytheninthebathroomtheyshowereachotherwithhotkissesandGeorgiekneels onthepisserwhileBobbydoesheruptheshitterthenintheloungtheybounceupanddownonthesofathenin thebedroomtheysqueakthespringsofthemattress. Meanwhile, down in Vaginaland, Mr Condom’s beginning to feel a bit iffy. He’s overheating. For some reason, the shagging seems to be twice as fast this evening, and he grimaces as he gets flung willy-nilly in and out of the pink tunnel. He starts getting friction burns, hanging onto Bobby’s stiff penis for dear life, headbutting Georgie’s cervix at 180 beats per minute. ‘Help me!’ he yells in the darkness, feeling himself melting. The sex only seems to be getting faster though, and Mr Condom squeezes his eyes shut as Bobby groans and the friction starts getting unbearable and Mr Condom thinks he’s going to be sick and the searing pain the searing pain and Bobby groans again and suddenly squirts a gallon of white molten lava from his Jap’s eye, exploding through Mr Condom’s heavy reservoir end and Mr Condom screams and screams and vomits ice cream into Georgie’s vagina. Shivering and spasming, Bobby suddenly feels the endorphins kick in and he falls onto the carpet with a happy bump.” (Richard Milward, Ten Storey Love Song)

Have any of these people even had sex?

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