Nominacje do Bad Sex Awards 2016

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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