(Dagbladet.no): Prisen for dårligste sexskildring i engelske romaner deles ut onsdag kveld, og disse avsnittene er innstilt:
Black Swan Green by David Mitchell (Sceptre)
If Dawn Maddens breasts were a pair of Danishes, Debby Crombies got two Space Hoppers. Each armed with a gribbly nipple. Tom Yew kissed them in turn and his saliva glistened in the April sun. I know watching was wrong but I couldnt not. Tom Yew slipped off her red panties and stroked the cressy hair there.
If you want me to stop, Madam Crombie, you have to say now.
Oooh, Master Yew, she croodled, dont you dare.
Tom Yew got on her and sort of jiggled there and she gasped like he was giving her a Chinese burn and wrapped her legs round him, froggily. Now he moved up and down, Man-from Atlantisly. His silver chain jiggled on his neck.
Now her grubby soles met like they were praying.
Now his skin was glazed in roast pork sweat.
Now she made a noise like a tortured Moomintroll.
Now Tom Yews body jerkjerked judderily jackknifed and a noise like a ripping cable tore out of him. Once more, like hed been booted in the balls.
Her fingernailsd sunk salmony welts into his arse.
Debby Crombies mouth made a perfect O.
A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon (Jonathan Cape)
She put her hand around his penis and moved it back and forth and it no longer seemed strange, not even a part of his body, more a part of hers, the sensations flowing in one unbroken circle. And she could hear herself panting now, like a dog, but she didnt care. ...
And she realised that it was going to happen and she heard herself saying, Yes, yes, yes, and even hearing the sound of her own voice didnt break the spell. And it swept over her like surf sweeping over sand then falling back and sweeping up over the sand again and falling back.
Images went off in her head like little fireworks. The smell of coconut. Brass firedogs. The starched bolster in her parents bed. A hot cone of grass-clippings. She was breaking up into a thousand tiny pieces, like snow, or bonfire sparks, tumbling high in the air, then starting to fall, so slowly it hardly seemed like falling at all. ...
He waited for a couple of minutes. And now, he said, I think its my turn.
The Whole World Over by Julia Glass (Hutchinson)
Youre a sexy lady, know that? Stan whispered as he unzipped her pants.
She had no answer; she kept her eyes closed and sank into the music. His naked penis, when she felt it against her bare skin, was a shock, mostly for the desire it beckoned from Sagas marrow.
So touch me, Story Girl, he said.
Still she said nothing and kept her eyes closed. She felt Stans pubic hair, like a prickly sea creature, move in circles on her thigh. Then, another shock, she felt his fingers. ...
When he raised himself slightly away from her again, she opened her eyes only long enough to see that he was taking a condom out of a drawer in the table that held the books and the phone. She closed her eyes again and let herself sink further down, or come more fully to the surface, she wasnt sure which. ...
And then before her inner eye, a tide of words leaped high and free, a chaotic joy like frothing rapids: truncate, adjudicate, fornicate, frivolous, rivulet, violet, oriole, orifice, conifer, aquifer, allegiance, alacrity ... all the words this time not a crowding but a heavenly chain, an ostrich fan, a vision as much as an orgasm, a release of something deep in the core of her altered brain, words she thought shed lost for good. It nearly deafened her (but not quite) to the other, more alarming wave the groaning and happy cursing that came from Stan.
Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs by Irvine Welsh (Cape)
Things are getting weirder with Shannon. Last night was more like a square-go than a shag ... I fucked her as hard and relentlessly as I could and clamped her nipple in a callous vice-like pinch between forefinger and thumb. Then she dragged her nails down my back and the side of my body and violently pushed me away as she twisted out from under me. She ordered me to roll over as she gets on top, shouting IM ON TOP, IM ON FUCKING TOP OF YOU, SKINNER, YOU CUNT, and she fucks me, but shes really just fucking herself into a bitter orgasm. When shes done, she tears away from me like we were two strips of Velcro, leaving me to jerk off so as to come; my spunk shoots all over the couch and some on to her thigh, which she brushes off with scorn, rubbing it on to the cushion.
It was uncomfortably hot in Marys flat, but Skinner took a seat opposite the fat old woman. Can you help me? He said earnestly.
Whats your problem?
He told her that he believed that he had put a spell on somebody. He wanted to know if this was possible, how he could have done this, and how it could be reversed.
- Oh aye, its possible. Mary regarded him cannily. I can help you, but I need payin first, son. Moneys nae use tae me at ma age. Her eyes wrinkled. Youre a fine-lookin laddie, she said harshly. A good cock, son, thats the payment I need!
Skinner looked at her, and shook his head ...
- Take oaf yir clathes then, let me see the goods, Mary rasped in lecherous cheer.
As Skinner undressed, the old woman removed her coat and began to struggle out of a series of cardigans, pinafores and vests. Lying on the bed, she looked smaller but still monstrous, wrinkled rolls of flab spilling over the mattress. Foul aromas rose from the putrefying pools of sweat and dead skin trapped within the folds of her flesh. Thoat yed be bigger, Mary pouted as Skinner removed his Calvin Klein briefs.
Fuckin cheeky auld clart...
- Next time ahll bring a strap on, he said bitterly.
Ignoring him, Mary lay back on the bed and pulled away at the sagging corrugations of her body until she was able to locate her sex. Ahve nae cream tae lubricate this. Yell huv tae use spit. Howk it up, she commanded. ...
Work it in, Mary urged, as Skinner took his thick green slime and spread it like a chef might glaze some pastry, at the same time slowly breaching and exploring. A ludicrously distended clitoris popped out from nowhere like a jack-in-the-box, the size of a small boys penis, and disconcertingly strangulated groans coming from the bed told Skinner that he was hitting the spot. After a while she gasped, - Pit it in now ... pit it in ...
The Religion by Tim Willocks (Jonathan Cape)
He took his lips from hers and looked at her again. She was immaculate. She was, in all things, true. He slid his hands on to her breasts, moisture lingering in the creases beneath them, and his memory of their magnificence was shamed by the beauty they embodied now. Love and desire became one, each as overmastering as the other, and he pulled the red surcoat over her head and sucked her nipples and stroked her swollen vulva until she trembled and clung on to him and mewled with pleasure in his ear. He turned her about, her eyes bedazed and rolling with transport, and he bent her across the cold steel face of the anvil. He unfastened his flies and unlimbered himself and she rose up on tiptoe to receive him. He bent his knees to get beneath her and entered her from behind and her feet left the floor and she called out to God and convulsed with each slow stroke, her head thrown back and her eyelids aflutter, and her cries filled the forge until she squeezed him from inside and he exploded to a prayer of his own within her body. They fell to the surcoat on the ground and Tannhauser held her in his arms and he stroked her hair while her body was racked by sobs.
She kissed him and he surrendered his virtue without further ado. He discovered afresh her nimble, flickering tongue. Her black hair had grown longer and fell about her neck in uncultivated curls. He slid a hand beneath her arse and guided the tip of his organ between the folds of her matrix. The first half-inch was cold, and moist only with brine, and he encountered stiff resistance which, while not without appeal, made him fear for a moment that he might do her an injury if he pressed on with excess zeal. Amparo grabbed the edge of the tub behind him and anchored her heels around his thighs and launched herself down. She cried out with a passion that stoked his own as he gained another crucial inch of entry and paused. She hovered suspended, her limbs as taut as bow-strings, catching her breath. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He took her weight in his hands and straightened his legs, the barrel rim chafing the skin on his back as he stood upright and invaded her to her core. She cried out again, but from somewhere much deeper within, and her eyes rolled back under fluttering lids. He kissed her throat, the salt tart on his tongue, and realised he had more to give, and that it would not be unwelcome, and he grabbed her by the nape of the neck and held her tight as he shunted the last inch home. Her bones banged into his hips and he kissed her full on the mouth and he heard her yowling echo through his skull as he pierced her, long and slow, with lubricious strokes. In the pit of his stomach a cauldron boiled and some seething and nameless brew rose up through his spine and filled his brain with the Devils Fire. He was deaf to the rage of the siege guns and the frenzied tintamarre of the alarum horns. He was oblivious, for once, to the foaming spate of rancour from the circle of barbarity beyond. He was aware only of Amparo clinging to his bulk, her nails clenched deep into his loins, her body at once frail and indestructible, her teeth bared in a rapture that looked like pain, his drenched hair plastered to her skin as he sucked her teats.
The ground beneath the hogshead trembled and lurched, as if some subterranean beast of mythical proportion had rammed it from below. This hardly seemed fantastic in the circumstance, nor did the stupendous percussive blast whose force drew the air from their lungs. She let go of him and lay back and gripped the iron-shod rim, half-floating, splayed and convulsing, and whimpering Yes, over and over and again, as if her only fear was that hed stop. He suppressed his own explosive wave, gentleman that he was, and she felt this and it incited her to spasms more frantic yet. He stood stalwart and immobile while she helped herself to her fill, or at least until she arched her back and shuddered and began to slide back down into the water. It was a spectacle to behold, and fortunate he considered himself to witness it. He withdrew and she squirmed. He turned her about to face the parched garden and he entered her from behind and below. Her ardour was far from exhausted. With a sigh he felt the welcome gust of his second wind and, the proprieties duly observed, no obligation to hold back further.
The Book of Dave by Will Self (Viking)
Dave licked between Phylliss shoulder blades and drove his tongue down her grooved back. She shuddered and, grabbing his thigh, pulled it up and over her own so that he half straddled her. In the confusion of their bodies - his hairy shanks, her sweaty thighs, his bow-taut cock, her engorged basketry of cowl and lip there was clear intent; so that when he penetrated her, they moved into and out of one another with fluid ease, revving and squealing, before arriving quite suddenly.
Dave and Phyl were having sex in her cottage outside Chipping Ongar.
Their sex was conducted right there on the living-room floor, assisted by cushions grabbed from chairs and the sofa. Through her haze Michelle was pleased that Dave wasnt repellent, although since it wasnt him who she was fucking, but the other she was fucking over, it hardly mattered. With him there was no need to worry about any uncalled-for embryo hes had the snip-snip and so for vital moments, as she gagged on the cabbies shoulder, Michelle forgot who it was who was bearing down on her. As for Dave, he muttered, You on the pill, luv?, took her silence for acquiescence, then approached Michelle as he would call over a run: leave on left tit, comply throat, comply mouth, left shoulder, right hip, forward cunt ... The junctions of her body were well signed, and his Knowledge was sufficient to hold her.
Yet in the friction of their final lunge there was an anticipation of more than arrival. Their jerking bodies prefigured the bondage of shackled partners. They both sensed this and struggled to avoid it backpeddalling into the present. Dave came in desperation ... While the mere cessation of bucking was Michelles end.
Twentysomething by Iain Hollingshead (Duckworth)
She\'s wearing a short, floaty skirt that\'s more suited to July than February. She leans forward to peck me on the cheek, which feels weird, as she\'s never kissed me on the cheek before. We\'d kissed properly the first time we met. And that was over three years ago.
But the peck on the cheek turns into a quick peck on the lips. She hugs me tight. I can feel her breasts against her chest. I cup my hands round her face and start to kiss her properly, She slides one of her slender legs in between mine. Oh Jack, she was moaning now, her curves pushed up against me, her crotch taut against my bulging trousers, her hands gripping fistfuls of my hair. She reaches for my belt. I groan too, in expectation. And then I\'m inside her, and everything is pure white as we\'re lost in a commotion of grunts and squeaks, flashing unconnected images and explosions of a million little particles.
Lachlans War by Michael Cannon (Viking)
She is surprised at not being presented with the automatic erection she is usually confronted with when sliding her hand down his trousers. She coaxes the blood easily in rhythmic clenches. It was well practised before she came to Rassaig. She laughed at the ease with which she milked her first cow. ...
She undresses and kneels in front of the fire. The room is cold. Glowing coals warm her nearest side. There is a narrow strip of rug. One knee rests on the flattened pile. She can feel the grit of coal dust beneath the other knee on the linoleum. Obediently he kneels behind her. [...] He remains erect, rhythmically pumping. His explosive climax deferred, she feels herself float. Her hanging breasts bob slackly, rocking with expanding waves that radiate out from between her legs. She climaxes before he does, the snort from her nostrils dispersing grit. He continues. With surprise she climaxes again, and moments later feels herself rising once more on the upward slope. Young men are better, this one better still. His pubes and thighs are slick with her juice, she, his marvellous ripe, ripe fruit. She pants, exhaling words between thrusts, Dont ... stop ... lets go ... for the ... hat-trick, ... As he squeezes she spasms, pushing back to force him in, and contracts. Moistly socketed, he comes in a surge that clouds his vision and prompts a scream from her. She rests her forehead on the dirty rug till her breathing subsides.
Angus. What a talent. What a waste till I got here. Arent I lucky?
Tourism by Nirpal Singh Dhaliwal (Canongate)
Youre always so hard, she grinned. Let me suck you.
No. I rose onto my knees and placed myself between her legs; lifting her hips, I pushed a pillow beneath her back. Arms splayed, she watched me. I held her calf, raised her leg and looked at her pussy; I licked my thumb and rubbed her clit. I pressed the tip of my erection against it, then slid it along the seam. She giggled.
You want me to stop?
She shook her head. I pushed it inside her, and she sighed. I laid myself on top of her, fucking her deep and slow, my cheek pressed against hers, my breath whispering in her ear. My body weighed her down; she hugged me close and grasped my hair, wrapping her legs around my waist. Her cunt grew loose and wet; I raised myself up and rammed her hard. I forced the pace, grabbing the bedstead one-handed for purchase, hearing it rattle. She clawed my hips, her eyes screwed shut; teeth gritted, her breath was short and hoarse. The skin was taut across her ribs ... She didnt really have breasts, just nipples, pink and stubby like eraser tips. I closed my eyes and concentrated.
Ow! she cried.
I slowed down. Am I hurting you?
Youre pulling my hair!
Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon (Jonathan Cape)
Mouffette? Shes a papillon ... a sort of French ladies lapdog.
A You say, gears in his mind beginning to crank, lap French ... lap-dog? Somehow gathering that Ruperta had trained her toy spaniel to provide intimate French caresses of the tongue for the pleasure of its mistress.
Well! you two are ... pretty close then, I guess?
I wuv my ickle woofwoof, ess I doo!
His thoughts taking wing. The day alone with a French lap dog! who might be more than happy to do for Reef what she was obviously already doing for old Pert here! who in fact, m-maybe all this times been just droolin for one-them penises for a change, and will turn out to know plenty of tricks! A-and- ...
It took a while for Ruperta to get her toilette perfect and her bustle out the door. Reef found himself pacing and smoking, and whenever he took a look over at Mouffette couldve sworn she was fidgeting too. The dog, it seemed to Reef, was giving him sidewise looks which if theyd come from a woman you would have had to call flirtatious. Finally after an extended farewell notable for its amount of saliva exchange, Mouffette slowly padded over to the divan where Reef was sitting and jumped up to sit next to him. Jumping on the furniture was something Ruperta seldom allowed her to do, and her gaze as Reef clearly assumed that he would not get upset. Far from it, what he actually got was an erection. Mouffette looked it over, looked away, looked back, and suddenly jumped up on his lap.
Oboy, oboy. He stroked the diminutive spaniel for a while until, with no warning, she jumped off the couch and slowly went into the bedroom, looking back now and then over her shoulder. Reef followed, taking out his penis, breathing heavily through his mouth. Here, Mouffie, nice big dog bone for you right here, lookit this, yeah, seen many of these lately? come on, smells good dont it, mmm, yum! and so forth, Mouffette meantime angling her head, edging closer, sniffing with curiosity. Thats right, now, o-o-open up... good girl, good Mouffette now lets just put this yaahhgghh!
Reader, she bit him.
It did not take nearly as long as Cyprian would have wished. He had grown fond over the years of preliminaries but now was able to get in no more than a few trailing tongue-kisses, a quick electrifying blink or two from his long eyelashes to the underside of the heated organ before hearing Yashmeens command, Quickly now. Into his mouth Reef in one stroke, no more, and then you must be perfectly still and allow this wicked little fellatrice to do all the work. And you, Cyprian, when he spends you must not swallow any of it, you must keep it all in your mouth, is that understood? By now she could barely maintain the tone of command, having aroused herself with kid-gloved fingers busy at clitoral bud and parted labia now sleekly framed among the foam of lace around her hips. You are both my ... my... She could not quite pursue her thought, as Reef, having lost all control, came bursting in a great pungent flood, which Cyprian did his best to accommodate as he had been ordered to.
Now come over here, Cyprian, crawl to me, and heaven help you if you try to swallow, or let a drop fall, bring me that impudent little face, put your mouth here, yes just here, as her strong thighs closed pitilessly on his head, his scented wig askew, her own adored hair, and her hands at the back of his neck keeping him where he was. Now use your tongue, your lips, whatever you must, but I want all of it, out of your mouth and inside me, yes for you are nothing here but a little go-between, you see, you shall never, never, enjoy the privilege of having anything but your wicked mouth where it is now, and I do hope Cyprian you are not touching yourself without my permission, because I shall be ever so angry if you ... yes, dear creature ... exactly... . She was wordless for a while, and Cyprian lost track of the time, surrendering altogether to her scent, her taste, Reefs taste, the muscular enclosure of her thighs, until she parted them briefly and he thought he heard footfalls on the carpet behind him, and then large lawbreaking hands were lifting his gown. Without being told he arched his back and felt Reef, ready to roll once again, pull down the exquisite drawers Yashmeens seamstress had stitched together all of Venetian lace from Melville & Ziffer, praying that nothing would tear, and then the hard hands on his bared hindquarters as Reef laughed and slapped him there. Well if this aint just the sweetest thing. In one painful, well, not really painful slow lunge, Reef entered him... But here let us reluctantly leave them, for biomechanics is one thing but intimacy quite another, isnt it...