Prepare To Cringe, The Nominees For 2018's Worst Sex Writing Are Here

The Literary Review has released the nominees for the worst descriptions of sex in fiction -- and we apologise in advance for what you're about to read.

If Fifty Shades Of Grey made you squirm, then please prepare to wince your way through these descriptions of saucy encounters and the ~creative~ ways writers have chosen to describe the human body.

And if you thought these awards are just making fun of the erotic paperback industry, then think again -- esteemed novelists including Haruki Murakami and Julian Gough have been selected as nominees for writing crap sex fiction.

Literary Review has been calling out bad sex writing since 1993 and says the purpose of the prize is to "draw attention to poorly written, perfunctory or redundant passages of sexual description in modern fiction". 

We understand if you don't make it to the end of the list because you've screamed in terror and thrown your phone/tablet/laptop out the window/into a body of water in sheer embarrassment.

Courtesy of the Literary Review, here are some of the 2018 Bad Sex In Fiction Awards Nominees:

Connect by Julian Gough

He drops the bra to the floor, looks up, into her eyes, it’s too much. He kisses her chin, her mouth, and their tongues touch, oh, too much, he slips his lips free with a soft suck. Moves up to kiss her strong nose, on one side, then the other, it’s hard and soft at once. He moves back down, till he is level with her breasts.

‘They’re small,’ she says, surprisingly shy, apologetic.

‘They’re perfect,’ he says.

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Killing Commendatore by Haruki Murakami

My ejaculation was violent, and repeated. Again and again, semen poured from me, overflowing her vagina, turning the sheets sticky. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. If it continued, I worried, I would be completely emptied out. Yuzu slept deeply through it all without making a sound, her breathing even. Her sex, though, had contracted around mine, and would not let go. As if it had an unshakeable will of its own and was determined to wring every last drop from my body.

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Grace’s Day by William Wall

He’s almost weightless. When he enters me it hurts and my pain belongs to the subterranean world, primitive as the clay. His body is slacker than I expected, a small paunch begins at his waist and settles in a downward parabola to his groin. His pubic hair is red. His erect penis is a surprise although I had imagined what they would feel like, read about them, seen them represented on toilet walls and magazines. I didn’t see it before he entered me, but afterwards it is small and sticky and amusing. I want to touch it but I don’t dare. I don’t know the etiquette. He is twenty or more years older than me. This is sex.

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Scoundrels: The Hunt for Hansclapp by Major Victor Cornwall and Major Arthur St John Trevelyan

“Empty my tanks,” I’d begged breathlessly, as once more she began drawing me deep inside her pleasure cave. Her vaginal ratchet moved in concertina-like waves, slowly chugging my organ as a boa constrictor swallows its prey. Soon I was locked in, balls deep, ready to be ground down by the enamelled pepper mill within her.

The Paper Lovers by Gerard Woodward

He was aware that she was making a mewling sound as he put his lips to her tightened nipple and sucked. Her mouth was at his ear, her tongue travelling along its grooves, voice filling it. His mouth tugged at her, extended her, she snapped back, there was a taste of something on his tongue. In his mind he pictured her neck, her long neck, her swan’s neck, her Alice in Wonderland neck coiling like a serpent, like a serpent, coiling down on him. She had found a way through his clothing and her fingers had lightly touched his cock, then slowly began to take a firmer hold. He wanted to cry like a baby. He felt helpless, as though his body had come undone and she was fastening it. He felt as though he was bleeding somewhere. Then he felt powerful, gigantic. He would have kicked a door down.

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Kismet by Luke Tredget

She shuffles her head closer to his cock, close enough to smell her own residue, and then takes it in her mouth, with the vague idea of cleaning it. Geoff mirrors this gesture by burying his head between her legs, and gradually she can feel his cock pumping up with blood, one pulse at a time, until it is long and hard and filling her wide-open mouth. They stay in this position for a long time, Anna sucking and slurping with the same lazy persistence you’d use on a gobstopper or a stick of rock. Eventually she loses her sense of the context altogether – of what she is doing or who she is with or where they are – and becomes an empty vessel for what feels like disembodied consciousness. She looks at the window and wonders how the glass feels encased within its wooden frame, what the shaggy clouds feel like being blown across the sky, what the walls felt like being splattered and smeared with wet paint …

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Congratulations, you made it to the end of the list! We now recommend you take a nice cold shower to scrub away the icky feeling that exquisitely terrible fiction might have left you with.

The winner of this year’s Bad Sex in Fiction Award will be announced on Monday December 3. 

Main Image: Giphy/NBC