Professor Lupin, You Devil!
Books, Rants, Raves and Reviews — By Adele on 29 November, 2007 11:08 pmBrowsing through the shortlist of this year’s Bad Sex Award, I was highly traumatised entertained by some seriously bad BDSM in a novel by David Thewlis (yes, that Thewlis, Remus Lupin in the Harry Potter films), called “The Late Hector Kipling”.
This is not pleasurable. How could anyone find having burning hot candle wax dripped onto the flesh of their belly pleasurable? But I don’t want to tell her to stop cos the last time I told her to stop I got belted in the mouth. She wears an average of three rings on each finger. God, Mum was right, this lousy settee does stink. No wonder Dad’s in hospital. I might well be joining him by the end of the night.
I think I’m still inside her but, quite honestly, it’s difficult to tell …
Avanti!
“You fucker!” she drawls, and brings the flame up close to my left nipple. “You pathetic little fucker,” and tries to light it like a wick.
“Ooowwww!” Oh shit, my nipple’s on fire. She’s poured lighter fluid onto my chest and my tit’s gone up in flames like some dessert in a posh restaurant.
“Fuck, Rosa! Aggghhhh! For fuck’s sake! Blow it out! Blow it out!”
“OK, baby,” she whispers, suddenly gentle, “OK, my angel,” and with this she reaches down and pours half a can of Stella over my scorched chest. I’m beginning to regret that I ever invited her in. “How’s that?” she says, lowering her head and lapping up the ale. “That nice? That nice, baby?”
“No!” I scream.
“No?”
“No, Rosa, no that is not fucking nice! It bloody kills!”
She cracks me across the face with the back of her hand, grips my throat, spits in my eye and scrapes her nails across my scalded flesh. And that’s when I come. Oh yes. That’s when the core of my soul spasms and snaps, spilling out its filthy pips.
Bad sex this may be, but it’s bloody good comedy as far as I’m concerned.
I leafed through the novel when it first came out, and wasn’t too taken with the writing, so I’m quite glad the Guardian printed the sex bit. Otherwise I would never have had the image of somebody’s nipple on fire imprinted onto my brain.
Or the image of somebody shooting apple pips out of their willy.
That would have been quite a loss, right?
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5 Comments
Ye gods, the first paragraph of Chrsitopher Rush’s Free Will (on the shortlist you linked) almost reads like Vogon poetry…
I think the last line is pretty inspired, actually. What a fantastic image! The rest is rather… um, clueless… but hey, it certainly ain’t boring.
Vogon poetry – LOL That or it’s from alt.sex.cthulhu. O glorious tentacles! Thy non-Euclidian geometry traps me between thy tusks…
Not really enough pustules to be Vogon, but tentacles? Hubba-hubba!
My favorite scene, both for bad sex, bad writing, and comedy, is from Sades’s “Julliette.” (Julliette, almost as much as Clairwil, are heroines of mine). Early on in the book, a young Julliette, her female parts totally wrapped as if she were a mummy is anally deflowered by an archbishop while a stern black clad woman looks on as a housekeeper “flogs the apostolic posterior.” Unfortunately, this has never left my mind.