
The above quote, spoken by a man appreciating his lover's breasts, is from a sex scene in Simon Montefiore's debut novel Sashenka. The book is nominated for a Bad Sex Award, an annual prize given to the worst sex scene published in that year.
Here is an amazing passage, from what I think might wind up being the winner, Ann Allestree's
Triptych of a Young Wolf:
"He raised himself to his knees and bent to roll his tongue around her weeping orifice. He was bringing her to a pitch of ecstasy when she heard Madame Veuve, on the landing, put down the supper tray. Whiffs of onion soup strayed over them as he engulfed her. 'Don't stop,' she clamoured; she was nearly there, it was in the bag."
Other nominees, including John Fucking Updike, are listed here.
My personal vote for worst sex writing ever is from Cold Mountain. I can't recite the whole passage by heart, but I do know that Charles Frazier refers to a woman's vagina as her "bewhiskered notch."
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