manca pochissimo per sapere quale sarà il grande autore vincitore di una delle mia competizioni preferite: il Bad sex in fiction award, il premio che da oltre vent’anni la Literary Review inglese attribuisce alla peggior scena di sesso contenuta in un’opera letteraria originale. giusto ieri sera discutevo del perché scrivo di erotismo (di porcherie, come mi dice qualcuno), del perché lo faccio, del perché a mio parere ce n’è un estremo bisogno e della difficoltà di affrontare la scrittura di una dimensione tanto universale quanto controversa come quella legata all’eros, alla coppia, alla seduzione, all’intimità, al sesso.
i Bad sex in fiction award mi rimettono sempre in pace col mondo. perché anche i grandi scrittori (come i grandi poeti, o i grandi registi) qualche volta non sanno scrivere bene di erotismo. e se questi sono i peggiori, esiste tutta una terra di mezzo di mediocri. ai quali vanno sottratti quelli che, prima di dare il visto si stampi, preferiscono sottrarre ai loro personaggi la sfera dell’intimità.
è un po’ come nella vita, che quando incontri qualcuno e ti fai un’idea su di lui, poi a letto non puoi mai davvero sapere prima come sarà. e qualche volta, comunque, anche se è bravissimo, in qualche modo non funziona.

tra i nomi di quest’anno ci sono anche degli insospettabili, come la Jong.
e se siete curiosi, ecco le peggiori scene di sesso da romanzo del 2015:


List of the Lost by Morrissey
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.

The Making of Zombie Wars by Aleksandar Hemon
Then he slid up her body and his cock was inside her, and he was kissing her, the same whetted tongue now inside her mouth. Far in the back of whatever was left of his mind, the light of reason was struggling against being finally extinguished and he was aware that wearing a condom would’ve been a good idea, but there was no way that he was getting out of her, because she took him in and he was with her in every move, in every gasp, kiss, and lick – she let him in so deep he didn’t have to think about her, and therefore he didn’t have to think about himself, but of course he was thinking about not thinking about himself …

Before, During, After by Richard Bausch
She reached up and brought him to her, then rolled over on top of him and began softly to move down. When she took him, still a little flaccid, into her mouth, he moaned, ‘Oh, lover.’ She felt him harden, and she tightened her lips and pulled, and then ran her tongue slow along the shaft, and then straightened and straddled him, guiding him into her, sinking and rising on him, head back, hands gripping his shoulders. It went on. It was very good.

Book of Numbers by Joshua Cohen
Her mouth was intensely ovoid, an almond mouth, of citrus crescents. And under that sling, her breasts were like young fawns, sheep frolicking in hyssop – Psalms were about to pour out of me.
“Josh,” I said.
“Vous habillé.”
“Je vais me undressed, clothes off, unhabillé, déshab.”

Fear of Dying by Erica Jong
I slip into bed, amazed that Asher is making the first move – which is unusual for him.
While I lie next to him, astounded by his presence still, he opens my silk robe and touches my cunt as if he were Adam just discovering Eve’s pussy.
‘Beautiful,’ he says.
And then he begins to run his tongue slowly along my labia, gently inserting one finger to feel for my G-spot on the front wall of wet pussy.

Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff
The party was loud. She pushed him back on the sandy tar paper, and he was looking up at her face in the glow, and she lifted her skirt and moved the crotch of her underwear aside, and Lotto, who was always ready, who was ready at the most abstract imaginings of a girl – footprints of a sandpiper like a crotch, gallons of milk evoking boobs – was not ready at this oh-so-abrupt beginning. It didn’t matter. Gwennie shoved him in though she was dry. He shut his eyes and thought of mangoes, split papayas, fruits tart and sweet and dripping with juice, and then it was off, and he groaned and his whole body turned sweet …

The Martini Shot by George Pelecanos
We kissed some more and had a few laughs. While we talked, I slid my hand beneath her sweats, pushed the crotch of her damp lace panties aside, slipped my longest finger inside her, and stroked her clit. It got warm in the room. She lay back on the couch and arched her back, and I peeled off her pants and thong. Now she was nude. I stripped down to my boxer briefs and crouched over her. I let her pull me free because I knew she liked to. She stroked my pole and took off my briefs, and I got between her and spread her muscular thighs with my knees and rubbed myself against her until she was wet as a waterslide, and then I split her.

Against Nature by Tomas Espedal
Héloïse has lost all sense of how she ought to behave, she practically throws herself at Abélard, pulls him to the floor and straddles him as if they’re two boys fighting. She presses him to the ground, pins his hands to the floor. She kisses his face and licks it. She bites his lip. She bites his cheek. She pants in his ear, shouts his name in his ear, she whips his face with her hair. She stops his mouth hard with her hand and takes his breath away. She rides above him the way she’d imagined that one day she’d ride a boy, a man, a beast…