The Bad Sex Award is given each year by the Literary Review for the funniest, most embarrasing sex scene in a novel.
Enjoyment
Poor Tom Wolfe, I thought until I read the scene from I Am Charlotte ... and then I was in stitches:
"Slither slither slither slither went the tongue. But the hand that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns - oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest - no, the hand was cupping her entire right - Now!"
Was an award ever so well-deserved?
André Brink (a runner-up) doesn't even come near: "[Her vulva was] like a large exotic mushroom in the fork of a tree, a little pleasure dome if ever I've seen one, where Alph the sacred river ran down to a tideless sea. No, not tideless. Her tides were convulsive, an ebb and flow that could take you very far, far back, before hurling you out, wildly and triumphantly, on a ribbed and windswept beach without end."
I'm off now to see if I can slip "otorhinolaryngological" into a conversation with someone.
(Later ...)
Have to spend some time practising it first. It's damned hard to get your tongue round. Which of course is a pun. Perhaps Wolfe was being tongue in cheek when he used the word? (Or tongue up nose, tongue down throat ...)
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