The author beat off some stiff competition.
Every year, one author is crowned the winner (“winner?”) of the Bad Sex In Fiction Award.
Which also means that every year a number of people have to endure some of the most badly written, aggressively unerotic words in the language, and then decide which of these very bad things is the very worst thing.
Here are just some the EXTREMELY NSFW nominees from this year’s competition:
Scoundrels: The Hunt for Hansclapp by Major Victor Cornwall and Major Arthur St. John Trevelyan
“‘Empty my tanks,’ I’d begged breathlessly, as once more she began drawing me deep inside her pleasure cave. Her vaginal ratchet moved in concertina-like waves, slowly chugging my organ as a boa constrictor swallows its prey. Soon I was locked in, balls deep, ready to be ground down by the enamelled pepper mill within her.”
Killing Commendatore by Haruki Murakami
“My ejaculation was violent, and repeated. Again and again, semen poured from me, overflowing her vagina, turning the sheets sticky. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. If it continued, I worried, I would be completely emptied out. Yuzu slept deeply through it all without making a sound, her breathing even. Her sex, though, had contracted around mine, and would not let go. As if it had an unshakeable will of its own and was determined to wring every last drop from my body.”
Kismet by Luke Tredget
“She shuffles her head closer to his cock, close enough to smell her own residue, and then takes it in her mouth, with the vague idea of cleaning it. Geoff mirrors this gesture by burying his head between her legs, and gradually she can feel his cock pumping up with blood, one pulse at a time, until it is long and hard and filling her wide-open mouth. They stay in this position for a long time, Anna sucking and slurping with the same lazy persistence you’d use on a gobstopper or a stick of rock. Eventually she loses her sense of the context — of what she is doing or who she is with or where they are — and becomes an empty vessel for what feels like disembodied consciousness. She looks at the window and wonders how the glass feels encased within its wooden frame, what the shaggy clouds feel like being blown across the sky, what the walls felt like being splattered and smeared with wet paint…”
But the winner was James Frey for this, eh, scintillating passage from his latest novel, Katerina:
“Blinding breathless shaking overwhelming exploding white God I cum inside her my cock throbbing we’re both moaning eyes hearts souls bodies one… One. White. God. Cum. Cum. Cum. I close my eyes let out my breath. Cum. I lean against her both breathing hard I’m still inside her smiling…”
Good lord.
On the upside, Frey seemed to be a good sport about it, telling The Guardian the following when he heard he had won the title:
“[I am] deeply humbled and honoured and humbled to receive this prestigious award. Kudos to all my distinguished fellow finalists – you have all provided me with many hours of enjoyable reading over the last year.”
LISTEN: You Must Be Jokin’ with Aideen McQueen – Faith healers, Coolock craic and Gigging as Gaeilge
