Gen X Journey

I’ve been writing a novel this year. By the way…any literary agents out there, email me. We’ll talk. Anyway it’s all deep and meaningful and so far, and it’s nearly finished, devoid of any sex scenes. Scary thing writing a sex scene and I haven’t really had the need to include one. I take my hat off to all those porno Mills and Boons writers who talk about throbbing members and her sacred centre and their joyful union and so on.

Funny how people tend to sneer at Mills and Boons authors when they write about sex so inoffensively. Unlike the very literary people who were up for the Bad Sex in Fiction Award. It went to Rowan Somerville for his novel The Shape of Her. Good name for a book that, don’t think I’ll read it though after reading the winning sex scene.

 Not sure I like a man who writes about screwing a woman down like an insect and comparing her to a nocturnal animal. I’ve got some of the text for you to read. Persevere…it’s really funny, unintentionally so. Maybe not so much funny ha ha, more wow you have a very weird way with words funny.

He caught her rhythm, pulling and releasing, cradling and crushing; pushing up through his fingers with each swing, mining up, like an otter through wet sand. Her sounds shifted from moans to grunts, insistent, almost desperate cries from the throat … He unbuttoned the front of her shirt and pulled it to the side so that her breast was uncovered, her nipple poking out, upturned like the nose of the loveliest nocturnal animal, sniffing in the night. He took it between his lips and sucked the salt from her. He hooked his fingers into her waistband, caught the elastic of her underwear and began pulling down. The knot on her light cotton trousers held fast as the fabric reached the curve of her backside. She twisted from him and stepped back.
‘I want to suck you,’ she said, descending … She loosed his trousers, pulled away his underwear and gripped him with fingers tender enough to hold a tiny bird.
As he felt her mouth’s engulfment, he acquiesced, disappointment melting like ice in hot cream.
***
Naked from waist to toe, a faint wedge of paleness from a few hours of sun, streaked with shadows in the candlelight; the triangle of pubic hair, blond, a thin line bunched darkly, like desert vegetation following an underground stream. He placed his hand on the concave stretch that was her belly, letting two fingers rest in the yawn of her navel. He slipped downwards, grazing the tight skin of her waist with his fingertips. He reached her hair line and the muscles of her belly hardened as she raised herself up onto her elbows. She stayed his hand and drew him, yanked him, into a smothering kiss. She released his hair from her fingers and twisted onto her belly like a fish flipping itself, her movement so brusque his chin bounced off her head.
He grasped the side of her hips, pushed her away and pulled her to him with a slap. Again and again with more force and velocity. Tine pressed her face deeper into the cushion grunting into the foam at each thrust.
The wet friction of her, tight around him, the sight of her open, stretched around him, the cleft of her body, it tore a climax out of him with a final lunge. Like a lepidopterist mounting a tough-skinned insect with a too blunt pin he screwed himself into her.

Other contenders for the awards were:

• Freedom by Jonathan Franzen
• The Slap, by Christos Tsiolkas
• The Golden Mean, by Annabel Lyon
• Maya, by Alastair Campbell
• A Life Apart, by Neel Mukherjee
• Heartbreak, by Craig Raine
• The Shape of Her, by Rowan Somerville
• Mr Peanut, by Adam Ross Image