“My prick was a plank stuck to her stomach. With a swerve of her hips, she turned me over and I was on top of her. She opened her legs, pulled up her dress and, holding my hips over her, pushed my prick against her opening. I was her plaything, which she moved around. Our sexes were ready, poised in expectation, barely touching each other: ballet dancers hovering en pointe.”
The Literary Review's annual Bad Sex in Writing Award has been announced. Imagine The Bulwer-Lytton Contest for Porn, and you're there. This year's winner is Italian. Perhaps he can blame the translator.
No comments:
Post a Comment
We enjoy hearing from visitors! Please leave your questions, thoughts, wish lists, or whatever else is on your mind.