Bad Erotica All Over The Damn Place, Plus a Contest!

Still love him.

Today's story on weird-ass erotica was killed by an editor's editor who found it "too weird." Which to me is not a thing. Sort of like the sentence, "That's ok--I've had enough."  I'm running my reject here for you, even though it actually doesn't seem quite weird enough by the rather high standards of weirdness we've developed over the years. 

So to sweeten the deal, I'm adding a contest. Send in a link to the very worst erotica you can find. You can comment below or use ye olde email (jillhamilton001@gmail.com). Deadline is January 22, so you have plenty of time to look around, then set fire to your search history.  Winner will be the entry I deem the best worst erotica, as determined by a ridiculously unfair and unfathomable system based on funniness, personal taste and the ancient Mayan calendar. 

The lucky winner will, one day in the very near future, walk out to their mailbox and be shocked to find a discreetly packaged Cadet Dildo courtesy of Good Vibrations lurking within. It might be a vibrating version of the Cadet or not. We still haven't worked out the details on that part, but it will for sure look like a dick (in one of three colors!) and I think that is an important feature of a pretend penis. That's $42-80 of penis-shaped silicone that's pretty damn perfect for all your pegging needs!

Yes, we ARE happy to see you

In the meantime, I'm also pleased to inform you that dear sullen Morrissey was the recipient (winner, perhaps is too strong a word here) of this year's Literary Review's Bad Sex in Fiction Award. The judges were particularly swayed by this passage from Morrissey's List of the Lost which certainly lends credence to his assertion that he's asexual. 

"At this, Eliza and Ezra rolled together into the one giggling snowball of full-figured copulation, screaming and shouting as they playfully bit and pulled at each other in a dangerous and clamorous rollercoaster coil of sexually violent rotation with Eliza’s breasts barrel-rolled across Ezra’s howling mouth and the pained frenzy of his bulbous salutation extenuating his excitement as it whacked and smacked its way into every muscle of Eliza’s body except for the otherwise central zone"

Anyway, here's the too weird/not weird enough article. And don't forget to enter the contest. That dildo could soon inside you or inside an orifice of someone you love! Or at least someone you like well enough to feel comfortable sticking a fake penis (in one of three colors) in one of their holes.

Fuck, I've missed you.

 xoxoxxo

 jill 

******

 7 Least Appealing Objects of Desire in Erotica

We are truly in a golden age of erotica. Maybe not quality-wise, necessarily, but in quantity—we've got it covered. Anyone or anything that is even vaguely fuckable has fanfic or a cheapo Amazon book featuring their heaving bosom and/or throbbing manhood and/or whatever spiky thing they have in their loins. Within seconds you can access smut featuring Santa Claus, Dobby the House Elf or a pterodactyl “who might have carnal pleasures in mind.” (Sure, some of it's meant to be funny/parody stuff, but, well....there's sure a lot of it. There's clearly something else going on here*--like how vehemently anti-gay politicians seem to spend a whole lot of time talking about gay dudes.)

Here then are erotica's 7 Least Appealing Objects of Desire.

--Not Obviously Sexy Celebrities!

Celebrities who rarely make anyone's freebie list finally get to throb with desire in stories like The Audition in which a hopeful contestant walks into Pat Sajak's (!) office and “is shocked to see Pat Sajak with his pants on the ground and one hell of a hard-on.” As one would be. Other erotic fodder includes the “Happy Days” cast, Ray Romano, Beavis and Butthead, and Mowgli and the Village Girl from “Jungle Book” (who, apparently, also have balloon fetishes. Because Mowgli/Village Girl erotica wasn't quite specific enough.)

Best/worst sentence (from The Audition): “Pat uses each hole well, like the proverbial gopher popping in and out of Vanna and Lila’s boxes.”

Bad Sex Week, Day 4: Bad Literary Sex

Anyone who thinks that America is no longer #1 needs look no further than True American Hero, David Guterson (Snow Falling on Cedars) who just won the 2011 Literary Review's Bad Sex in Fiction Award. USA! US...er, oh bad sex. Right then. That's not good.

Guterson said he "couldn't attend" the award ceremony at London's In & Out Club (those Brits, so cheeky!), and I can't say I blame him. Would any of us be all that eager to attend a large, media-filled ceremony held for the sole purpose of mocking your sexual writing? It surely didn't help that it was announced with coy headlines like "David Guterson Comes First in..." and "'Ed King' Beats Off Competition to Win..."

On his win for his fifth novel, Ed King, Guterson said: "Oedipus practically invented bad sex, so I'm not in the least bit surprised." He sounds all crisp and British--"I'm not in the least bit surprised"--but is clearly trying to pretend that he, like, wanted to win. Later, however, I suspect he dissolved into a pile of tears and spent the rest of the day masturbating joylessly to his unappreciated sex scenes. Which, it is my duty to inform you, included some icky mother-son gettin' it on, aka "mother fucking," in such passages as:

"She took him by the wrist and moved the base of his hand into her pubic hair until his middle fingertip settled on the no-man's-land between her 'front parlour' and 'back door' (those were the quaint, prudish terms of her girlhood)".

and this:

"In the shower, Ed stood with his hands at the back of his head, like someone just arrested, while she abused him with a bar of soap. After a while he shut his eyes, and Diane, wielding her fingernails now and staring at his face, helped him out with two practiced hands, one squeezing the family jewels, the other vigorous with the soap-and-warm-water treatment. It didn't take long for the beautiful and perfect Ed King to ejaculate for the fifth time in twelve hours, while looking like Roman public-bath statuary. Then they rinsed, dried, dressed, and went to an expensive restaurant for lunch."

The last passage crams so much badness into such a small space that it's masterly in its own way. Not only does it lack sexiness, but it's littered with phrases that seem actively sex-repellent. I mean "abused him with a bar of soap," "wielding her fingernails," "family jewels"? Then that last sentence, about the drying and lunch eating, WTF is that? 

Award-winning American writing is what the fuck it is. And don't let anyone tell you any different.

In the meantime, anyone who utters the phrase "family jewels" to me is So Not Getting Any, so don't even try.

(photo source)

Bad Sex, Gratitude, and a Contest to Win a Pair of Vibrating Panties. (And don't worry your pretty little head, I'll tie it all together)

Wouldn't you like to know?

Okay, I lied. I am actually not sure how I'm going to tie this all together but let's give it a go, shall we?

Item #1: Gratitude. After my little rant about Google pulling their ads from In Bed With Married Women due to my supposedly "pornographic" ways (see also: Yes, There's Adult Content. That Would Be Because I'm An ADULT), several gentle readers came through to Fight the Power by springing for a Kindle subscription (only 99¢ a month!), going through the blog links to buy something from Amazon or Good Vibrations, or flat out donating money. I don't even know how to say thank you without sounding like an ass, but please know that I am beyond thrilled and humbled. So. Much. So.

Item #2: A Contest to Win Vibrating Panties. Because I am so hideously inept at expressing my gratitude in words, I'm going to Plan B: giving away a pair vibrating panties! Here's the Good Vibes description of said panties (insert game show music here and read the following passage aloud using an announcer voice. Unless you're at work, in which case don't. And get the fuck back to work.):

Frisky fun is just a click away with the Remote Pleasure Panty! These flirty black lace briefs feature a hidden pocket sewn into the inner lining specially designed to hold the curvy-shaped bullet vibe close to the body for a superior external stimulation experience. Plus, the included wireless remote allows your or your partner to take control of the sensations from up to 20 feet (6m) away, with 10 different functions of vibration, escalation, and pulsation to choose from.These sexy skivvies adjust to a variety of sizes with satin ribbon side ties that lend these lacy lovelies sass and sophistication. Whether part of your intimate play or to add excitement to every day, the Remote Pleasure Panty is a discreet and titillating treat.

Nice, right? I like the whole aspect of someone else being able to control them from up to 20 feet away (or 6 meters if you're sharing the love with a Canadian or Brit* or something). And I like that the volume ranking is only a 2, meaning the vibe is not very loud. It would probably ruin the effect if every time your lover (I'm going to imagine mine being British and thus standing 6 meters away) fires up the panties and they roar to life like an old gas-powered lawnmower. Anyway, they are a $64 value, meaning you will get at least $64 of "superior external stimulation experience." Which sounds good to me, if not a bit space alien-sounding. "Please spread your leg modules to commence external stimulation experience." (If you don't wish to publicly state your sordid desire to win such panties, you can just order them directly.)

Item #3: Bad Sex.The Literary Review has announced this year's Bad Sex in Fiction nominees. The bad sex doesn't seem nearly as delightfully bad as usual but have a look if you'd like. I did, and I probably shouldn't be admitting this in public (The Internet--it's FOREVER!), but this nominee from The Great Night by Chris Adrian didn't sound bad, but, well, kind of hot to me:
"His lady lifted to the stars on his impossibly stiff, impossibly elegant cock"

Impossibly stiff, impossibly elegant cock? What is the bad part, exactly? (Anyway, if you have time/inclination, you might also like this smart funny essay by contest judge Jonathan Beckman. Who, I think, might be, hmmmm...British.)

Item #4: Hey Jill, Quit Dreaming of Remote-Wielding Brits and Get Back to the Damn Contest! Right. In honor of the Bad Sex awards, I am hereby decreeing it to be BAD SEX WEEK here at In Bed With Married Women. Thus, to enter to win those sexy sexy panties, you must provide us with some bad sex. You may either:
1. tell us about some bad sex you experienced (sorry 'bout that, darlin') OR
2. share some literary bad sex.

You can either fork over the bad sex via comment below, or if you're feeling shy, via email. I'll announce the winner Friday, December 9, 2011.

To get you started, here's a sample of real life bad sex sent in by the always delightful Can't keep anything to myself as a comment on the last post 7 Things I Learned At Homemade-Sex-Toys.

Apparently Trojan also thought Ben Gay/Icy Hot + sex = great idea. Fire and Ice condoms anyone? I actually thought these seemed like fun. Especially after the super cheesy commercials. "Burning and freezing sensations in my vagina?! Sign me up!" I was reluctant after reading reviews from people who said they were too fiery and too icy, but my curiosity got the better of me. And faith in the toughness of my vagina. (What can't she do?!)

Lo and behold, my vagina is in fact too tough (and by tough I mean insensitive, NOT tough like beef jerky is tough). I didn't feel a thing. My partner on the other hand had to run to the bathroom to wash his fiery-icy genitals in the sink.

I felt kind of bad. And yet, I'm still kind of jealous I didn't get to feel ANYTHING.

Want a little more bad sex, do you? Don't worry, I'll be providing you with bad sex every single day this week. (Wait a minute, that doesn't sound too good, does it?)

*This is incorrect.  See also: Sandra, a Brit, pointing out my ignorance of global measurement standards in comments below.