Apparently there is an award for worst sex in a novel. Although this passage didn’t win, it came pretty close (young readers, skip to the next entry unless you like analogies):

“(It was) like a large exotic mushroom in the fork of a tree, a little pleasure dome if ever I’ve seen one, where Alph the sacred river ran down to a tideless sea. No, not tideless. Her tides were convulsive, an ebb and flow that could take you very far, far back, before hurling you out, wildly and triumphantly, on a ribbed and windswept beach without end.”

Huh..huhuhuhuh…he said “ribbed…”

Posted in uncategorized on December 14th, 2004 by mx5 | RSS 2.0 |