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Old 12-27-2003, 04:03 PM   #4 (permalink)
cchris
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Location: Sydney
The annual Literary Review Bad Sex prize is awarded to the worst description of sex in a contemporary novel.

I reckon they are a hoot.
.........................................................................................................
From Where Do We Go From Here? by Doris Dörrie (Bloomsbury)

She confiscated the zapper and slid my hand between her thighs. It was wet and warm down there, which was only to be expected, but she might just as well have deposited my hand on a pizza for all the effect it had. I actually found my self wondering if I would be able to tell a pizza and my wife apart by touch alone, and my uncertainty saddened me immeasurably.
She arched her body against mine, and I felt her desire surge over me like a tidal wave.
In a moment it would break on the reef of my incapacity...


From Fourplay by Jane Moore (Orion)

His hand reached through the armhole of her halter-neck top and pulled it to one side to expose her breast. She let out an involuntary gasp as his tongue flicked the aroused nipple and his left hand caressed the other through the flimsy material. The double breast stroke had always been a winner for Jo, and within seconds they were tearing at each other's clothes in a drink-induced frenzy. Anxious not to break the sexual spell, they continued to kiss mercilessly. As Jo made the final tug on Sean's Calvins, his penis sprang out in an admirably erect state.
"Gosh, he does look cross," she giggled, unable to take her eyes off it. "He's bloody furious," murmured Sean, guiding her hand to the base of the shaft.


From Little Green Man by Simon Armitage (Viking)

Bloke was lying on her back with her arms at her side. My eyes strayed from her face, but carefully, vertically, down her throat and her breastbone, and further, to a line of hairs that ran from her belly button to the top of her jeans. I took my time opening the orange and white packet, fumbling on purpose. Tasty Ticklers: peaches and cream flavour. When I tore the foil, a smell like tinned fruit cocktail escaped into the room. Tinned fruit, and Carnation. Sunday tea at my grandmother's. The condom itself smelt worse, like children's medicine mixed with powdered milk. I fiddled with it, pretending I couldn't find the end, holding it up to the light to see if it was inside out. I was shocked, truly shocked, when she took it from me and put it to one side.
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