We Badly Illustrated The Bad Sex Awards Entrants
The last few months of the year are, hands down, the absolute best.
First up, Halloween: when thousands of sex-starved millennials don culturally insensitive face paint and neck bottle after bottle of Vodkat in an increasingly futile attempt to get that bang. Then, it's on to Bonfire Night, AKA the only excuse you'll ever need to indulge your inner pyromaniac, and do your best to forget you're literally committing a religious hate crime.
But, before the first of Santa's sleigh bells begin to ring, it's time for the greatest event of the year... The Bad Sex Awards.
Given enough talent, training, and time, everyone can be a writer. Hell, if you squint a bit when looking at the dictionary definition, you could even call us writers! But if there's one thing that never gets any easier, it's writing about sex.
How many thrusts do you note? Which fluids should you describe? Do you add in some onomatopoeic adjectives, or should you just let the reader insert the squelching themselves? So many questions. So many potential pitfalls.
Which is why the Bad Sex Awards are so damn important. Every year, Literary Review scour the latest bestsellers to identify writers who, for the life of them, just can't write fucking right.
So we decided to get Comedy Central's resident awful illustrator (me) to give life to this year's entrants, in the hope of bringing their vexing visions to life.
WARNING: THESE IMAGES ARE NOT SAFE FOR WORK, HOME, LIFE, OR THIS PLANE OF EXISTENCE
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.
Josh Pappenheim - @papsby
Related: 16 Horrible Sex Tips
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