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Nominacje do Bad Sex Awards 2016

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Pamię­ta­cie, że pisa­li­śmy o powsta­niu nagrody “Good Sex in Fic­tion”?  Zanim uda się zre­ali­zo­wać ten szczytny cel, możemy jed­nak cie­szyć oko nie­po­rad­no­ścią kiep­skich opi­sów. Czyli ni mniej, ni wię­cej, a ogło­szono nomi­na­cje do Bad Sex Awards 2016! Poni­żej znaj­dzie­cie “wyróż­nione” cytaty.

A Doubter’s Alma­nac by Ethan Canin

The act itself was fervent. Like a brisk ten­nis game or a sum­mer track meet, some­thing per­for­med in day­li­ght between com­pe­ti­tors. The cheap mat­tress boun­ced. She liked to do it more than once, and he was usu­ally able to com­ply. Bour­bon was his gaso­line. Between ses­sions, he poured it at the coun­ter while she lay pan­ting on the she­ets. Sweat bur­ni­shed her body. The lean neck. The sur­pri­sin­gly full bre­asts. He would down ano­ther glass and return.

The Tobac­co­nist by Robert Seetha­ler

He clo­sed his eyes and heard him­self make a gur­gling sound. And as his tro­users slip­ped down his legs all the bur­dens of his life to date seemed to fall away from him; he tip­ped back his head and faced up into the dark­ness bene­ath the ceiling, and for one bles­sed moment he felt as if he could under­stand the things of this world in all their imme­asu­ra­ble beauty. How strange they are, he tho­ught, life and all of these things. Then he felt Anezka slide down before him to the floor, felt her hands grab his naked but­tocks and draw him to her. “Come, sonny boy!” he heard her whi­sper, and with a smile he let go.

Men Like Air by Tom Con­nolly

The wal­kway to the ter­mi­nal was all car­pet, no oxy­gen. Dilly bun­dled Finn into the first restroom on offer, loc­ked the cubicle door and pul­led at his leather belt. “You’re beau­ti­ful,” she told him, going down on to her haun­ches and unzip­ping him. He wat­ched her pas­sport rise gra­du­ally out of the back pocket of her jeans in time with the rhy­th­mic bob­bing of her but­tocks as she suc­ked him. He arched over her back and took hold of the pas­sport before it lan­ded on the pim­pled floor. Despite the imme­diate cir­cum­stan­ces, human nature obli­ged him to take a look at her pas­sport photo.

The Butcher’s Hook by Janet Ellis

When his hand goes to my bre­asts, my feet are envious. I slide my hands down his back, all along his spine, rut­ted with bone like mud rid­ges in a dry field, to the auda­cious swell below. His fin­ger is inside me, his thumb circ­ling, and I spill like grain from a buc­ket. He is pan­ting, still run­ning his race. I laugh at the incon­gru­ous size of him, stic­king to his sto­mach and esca­ping from the sprin­ging hair below.

Leave Me by Gayle For­man

Once they were in that room, Jason had slam­med the door and devo­ured her with his mouth, his hands, which were eve­ry­where. As if he were rave­nous.
And she remem­be­red stan­ding in front of him, her dress a pud­dle on the floor, and how she’d star­ted to shake, her knees knoc­king toge­ther, like she was a vir­gin, like this was the first time. Because had she allo­wed her­self to hope, this was what she would’ve hoped for. And now here it was. And that was ter­ri­fy­ing.
Jason had taken her hand and pla­ced it over his bare chest, to his heart, which was poun­ding wil­dly, in tan­dem with hers. She’d tho­ught he was just exci­ted, tur­ned on.
It had not occur­red to her that he might be ter­ri­fied, too.

The Day Before Hap­pi­ness by Erri De Luca

She pushed on my hips, an order that thrust me in. I ente­red her. Not only my prick, but the whole of me ente­red her, into her guts, into her dark­ness, eyes wide open, seeing nothing. My whole body had gone inside her. I went in with her thru­sts and stayed still. While I got used to the quiet and the pul­sing of my blood in my ears and nose, she pushed me out a lit­tle, then in again. She did it again and again, hol­ding me with force and moving me to the rhy­thm of the surf. She wig­gled her bre­asts bene­ath my hands and inten­si­fied the pushing. I went in up to my groin and came out almost enti­rely. My body was her gear­stick.

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