Bad Sex in Winnipeg Contest

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Top this example of bad sex writing from a Winnipeg author and win a gift card from Discreet Boutique!

She smiled, Alex recalled, and he saw himself, a small boy banging his fist on the table, making the bread-crumbs dance. Unexpectedly she reached over and while her left hand stroked his hair, her right began to fondle him.

“You want?” she asked in a deep voice. “You want?”

And as he drew away, overturning his chair and fearful that her husband might waken, she suddenly roared at the children to get out. They vanished, all but the youngest, who sat on the floor, gravely rolling a beer bottle to and fro. Her husband slept on.

“Ah, little sonny,” she cried. “Little sonny, I won’t hurt you.”

Alex Hunter started into the swirling vapour about him.

“Little sonny,” he murmured.

She had almost dragged him into that summer kitchen, but it was not until he had seen with greedy and terrified eyes the enormous quivering volume of her that he had tried to run away.

She had simply reached out and enveloped him and, long after wonder and lust had fled, held him to her.

He had proved himself. Now he knew what there was to know. He raised himself and looked out of the window. The stars were in their accustomed places and there was the sound of children playing in the street.

Yes. Now he knew. Then why did he feel like crying….

from Under the Ribs of Death, by John Marlyn, McClelland and Stewart, 1957

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