Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Bad Sex

The Bad Sex award is given annually to the author of the most risible sex scene in mainstream literature for that year. The 2005 longlist has been announced, the nominees including such heavyweights as John Updike, Paul Theroux and Salman Rushdie. Theroux's "offending passage", which purports to describe a male character's orgasm, is as follows:
"...not juice at all but a demon eel thrashing in his loins and swimming swiftly up his cock, one whole creature of live slime fighting the stiffness as it rose and bulged at the tip and darted into her mouth."
Classy.

Although it is tough to compete with such bad, bad writing, I'm still a little shocked that this scene from my yet-to-be-published novel failed to make the cut. (You can see where this is going, so if you insist on a mature attitude regarding sex, or object to the word "knobcrackle", please stop reading now):
As Butch cunnilingered in her loins, Maria felt her woman-juices stir, and abandoned herself to his skilled exertions. He lapped her like Michael Schumaker overtaking a particularly sluggish backmarker, coming up occasionally to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, as though, Maria thought with a thrill, he was auditioning for the role of "satisfied drinker" in a VB commercial. When finally she came, Maria squeezed Butch's head between her thighs, as the pleasure-demon coarsed through her veins, its tiny demon-penis releasing inside her what felt like a cocktail of sulphuric acid, tabasco sauce and love that set her every nerve ending on fire.

With her bosom still a-quivering, Maria sat up and smiled at her flushed lover before reaching down for a handful of knobcrackle. Butch groaned and closed his eyes as she took him to paradise, as though she were some kind of ocean-going catamaran and he the eager tourist looking to travel to some moist, tropical destination where sensual delight was all but guaranteed. When it seemed that Butch could take little more, Maria allowed him entry to her anxious tunnel, and after a minute or so Butch cried out with joy, his manly fluid bolting from him like puréed oysters fired from a shotgun. Satisfied, they lay in one another's arms and counted sheep, until Maria asked Butch to shoo them away, saying that she'd prefer it if it were just the two of them next time.

5 comments:

MrLefty said...

That's Bulwer-Lytton worthy.

Lucy Tartan said...

I feel a meme coming on.

My word-verification is fuhlc, which seems apposite.

Rex said...

If I cover my eyes when I get to the rude bits I find that it reads very much like a recipe for Oysters Kilkpatrik.

JPW said...

It's amazing how when Theroux is writing about spunking in a woman's mouth, you almost feel like you're right there.

Oh, and yours was pretty good too.

Anonymous said...

Oh, please please, submit that last sentence (the one with the sheep) to the Bulwer-Lytton. It's a shoo-in. (?!)



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