Re: Bad Sex in Fiction Award Won by Huston Novel ‘Infrared’

[jochen stremmel]

Tom Wolfe, for my money, from the erect tips down to the jockey in the
saddle, the riding and the swallowing - trite and corny bullshit at
its best.

Compared with him, Huston seems original. And Mills is trying too hard
to top Joyce.

2012/12/5  <kelber at mindspring.com>:
> Wubbering?  Personally, I think Mills and Masters, with all their fulcrating
> and digging, should have tied for first place.
>
> LK
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Johnny Marr
> Sent: Dec 5, 2012 9:22 AM
> To: Charles Albert
> Cc: Pynchon Liste
> Subject: Re: Bad Sex in Fiction Award Won by Huston Novel ‘Infrared’
>
> And the runners up (there can be no losers in this awards ceremony)
>
> The Quiddity of Will Self - Sam Mills
>
> oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, Will, oh, yes, oh, semen-bedizened blood-pusillanimous
> bed onanistic quiddity fulcrating pelvic thrusts smoke thick typewriter’s
> click-clack-click Will Our Cock is Spent screaming loving Will is pleased
> Will is Saved I have done it I have done I am the Chosen One I am his Chosen
> One oh Will for ever I am yours for ever I am yours for ever I am
>
> Noughties - Ben Masters
>
> We got up from the chair and she led me to her elfin grot, getting amongst
> the pillows and cool sheets. We trawled each other’s bodies for every inch
> of history. I dug after what I had always imagined and came up with even
> more
>
> Back to Blood - Tom Wolfe
>
> But then the tips of her breasts became erect on their own, and the flood in
> her loins washed morals, despair, and all other abstract assessments away in
> a cloud of some sort of divine cologne of his. Now his big generative jockey
> was inside her pelvic saddle, riding, riding, riding, and she was eagerly
> swallowing it swallowing it swallowing it with the saddle’s own lips and maw
>
> Rare Earth - Paul Mason
>
> He switched to some ancient steppe language as he ejaculated, blubbering and
> incoherent. Chun-li faked an orgasm, keeping her mind focused on an
> eighth-century lyric of sadness, and her face still as a lake in winter.
> Khünbish collapsed below the neck of the horse, where he clung now, like a
> forlorn circus rider, as the steppe cacophony segued seamlessly into the
> kind of trickling-stream-plus-birdsong music they play in mental hospitals
> to calm things down
>
> The Yips - Nicola Barker
>
> He knows her body now, even tightly sheathed and slippery as it is; a ripe,
> red plum, its yellow flesh pressing out against the smooth arc of its cool,
> fragrant skin. He understands the basic groundwork, has visited the orchard
> like a hungry finch, has gorged on the fruit and rejected the pips, has
> explored the geography
>
> The Adventuress: The Irresistible Rise of Miss Cath Fox - Nicholas Coleridge
>
> In seconds, the duke had lowered his trousers and boxers and positioned
> himself across a leather steamer trunk, emblazoned with the royal arms of
> Hohenzollern Castle. ‘Give me no quarter,’ he commanded. ‘Lay it on with all
> your might.’ Cath did as she was told, swishing the twigs hard onto the
> royal bottom
>
> The Divine Comedy - Craig Raine
>
> And he came. Like a wubbering springboard. His ejaculate jumped the length
> of her arm. Eight diminishing gouts. The first too high for her to lick.
> Right on the shoulder.
>
>
>
>
> Kudos to Masters for inserting a Keats reference.