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Last month, we presented you with five nominees for Hooksexup's new monthly Henry Miller Award. You were asked to rate each passage on three equally weighted criteria: literary value, hotness and originality. The results are in and although it was a close competition, Darcey Steinke's Milk won in all three categories.
This month the competition for best literary sex scene is equally fierce. Which one paints the most complete picture? Which one incites the most visceral response? You decide. Each month's highest-ranked entry will proceed to the year-end competition. Two winners of that contest will be announced: grand prize (as chosen by a panel of a celebrity judges) and readers' choice. The judges' pick will receive $1,934, commemorating the publication date of Tropic of Cancer. — Tobin Levy n°
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From: Towelhead
by Alicia Erian
(Simon & Schuster ) |
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OVERALL RATING: 5.3
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To buy Towelhead,
click here
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When all my clothes were off, he told me to get on all fours on the bed. "Why?" I asked again.
"Because that's how I want to do it."
"But I can't see you," I said.
"You'll feel me."
I did what he told me, even though it made me feel kind of embarrassed. I worried that by being that way, he could see inside my butt. I tried to turn around a little to look at him, but he told me not to. He said to just keep looking forward and not worry about it. I heard his zipper, then I felt him poking me with his penis. He tried to push it into a place where there wasn't a hole. "It's not there," I said.
"Hang on," he said.
After another try, he found the right spot. I was already excited from his kissing me in the kitchen, so it went in pretty easily. "Oh, man," I heard him say. Then he asked, "Does that feel good?"
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To buy Towelhead,
click here
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When all my clothes were off, he told me to get on all fours on the bed. "Why?" I asked again.
"Because that's how I want to do it."
"But I can't see you," I said.
"You'll feel me."
I did what he told me, even though it made me feel kind of embarrassed. I worried that by being that way, he could see inside my butt. I tried to turn around a little to look at him, but he told me not to. He said to just keep looking forward and not worry about it. I heard his zipper, then I felt him poking me with his penis. He tried to push it into a place where there wasn't a hole. "It's not there," I said.
"Hang on," he said.
After another try, he found the right spot. I was already excited from his kissing me in the kitchen, so it went in pretty easily. "Oh, man," I heard him say. Then he asked, "Does that feel good?"
"Yes," I said, even though I wasn't sure if it did. It didn't feel bad. It just felt like exactly what it was: Thomas holding my hips and sliding in and out of me.
"Are you going to come?" he asked a minute later.
"I don't think so."
"The girl has to come first," he said.
"I don't think I'm going to."
"Why not?"
"I don't know," I said. "I don't know how to if I'm not by myself."
Just then, Thomas reached around the front of me and put his hand between my legs. I made a noise then that I didn't mean to make, like a long ooh.
"Can you come like this?" Thomas asked me.
"Yes," I said, and then very quickly after he started rubbing me, I did. I made another noise, like my voice was shuddering. It seemed so much better like this, to have an orgasm with someone else. It was incredible to think that I wasn't the only person who knew how to make myself feel good.
"Okay, now I'm going to come," Thomas said.
"Okay."
I felt him pull out of me. "Roll over," he said.
I rolled over. Instead of putting himself back inside me, though, he knelt in front of me, staring between my legs and touching himself. When it was time for him to come, he pointed his penis at my stomach and that was where the stuff came out. Some of it went in my belly button.
When he was finished, he lay down next to me on the bed. "Can I have a tissue?" I said.
"Hold on a second."
"I need a tissue," I said, feeling the tickle of liquid on my skin. "It's going to spill on the bed."
"Okay," he said, and he stood and went in the bathroom. When he came back with the tissue, he cleaned me up himself. "Did you like that?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. I wasn't actually sure if I'd liked it or not, but when Thomas's voice made it sound like he thought that I had, it made me want to agree.
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From: Kafka on the Shore
by Haruki Murakami
(Knopf) |
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OVERALL RATING: 6.5
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To buy Kafka on the Shore,
click here
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Piece by piece her clothing falls to the floor, the soft fabric hardly making a sound. She's asleep, I realize. Her eyes are open but it's like she's sleepwalking.
Once she's naked she crawls into the narrow bed and wraps her pale arms around me. Her warm breath grazes my neck, her pubic hair pushing up against my thigh. She must think I'm her dead boyfriend from long ago, and that she's doing what they used to do here in this very room. Fast asleep, dreaming, she goes through the motions from long ago.
I figure I'd better wake her up. She's making a big mistake, and I have to let her know. This isn't a dream — it's real life. But everything's happening so fast, and I don't have the strength to resist. Thrown totally off balance, I feel like I'm being sucked into a time warp.
And you're sucked into a time warp.
Before you know it, her dream has rapped itself around your mind. Gently, warmly, like amniotic fluid. Miss Saeki will take off your T-shirt, pull off your boxers. She'll kiss your neck over and over, then reach out and hold your penis, which is already porcelain-hard. Gently she wraps her hand around your balls, and wordlessly guides your fingers to her pubic hair. Her vagina is warm and wet. She kisses your chest, sucking your nipples. Your fingers are slowly sucked inside her.
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To buy Kafka on the Shore,
click here
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Piece by piece her clothing falls to the floor, the soft fabric hardly making a sound. She's asleep, I realize. Her eyes are open but it's like she's sleepwalking.
Once she's naked she crawls into the narrow bed and wraps her pale arms around me. Her warm breath grazes my neck, her pubic hair pushing up against my thigh. She must think I'm her dead boyfriend from long ago, and that she's doing what they used to do here in this very room. Fast asleep, dreaming, she goes through the motions from long ago.
I figure I'd better wake her up. She's making a big mistake, and I have to let her know. This isn't a dream — it's real life. But everything's happening so fast, and I don't have the strength to resist. Thrown totally off balance, I feel like I'm being sucked into a time warp.
And you're sucked into a time warp.
Before you know it, her dream has rapped itself around your mind. Gently, warmly, like amniotic fluid. Miss Saeki will take off your T-shirt, pull off your boxers. She'll kiss your neck over and over, then reach out and hold your penis, which is already porcelain-hard. Gently she wraps her hand around your balls, and wordlessly guides your fingers to her pubic hair. Her vagina is warm and wet. She kisses your chest, sucking your nipples. Your fingers are slowly sucked inside her.
Where does your responsibility begin here? Wiping away the nebula from your sight, you struggle to find where you really are. You're trying to find the direction of the flow, struggling to hold on to the axis of time. But you can't locate the borderline separating dream and reality. Or even the boundary between what's real and what's possible. All you're sure of is that you're in a delicate position. Delicate — and dangerous. You're pulled along, a part of it, unable to pin down the principles of prophecy, or of logic. Like when a river overflows, washing over a town, all road signs have sunk beneath the waves. And all you can see are the anonymous roofs of the sunken houses.
You're faceup, and Miss Saeki gets on top of you. She guides your rock-hard cock inside her. You're helpless — she's the one who's in charge. She bends and twists her waist as if tracing a picture with her body. Her straight hair falls on your shoulders and trembles noiselessly, like the branches of a willow. Little by little you're sucked down into the warm mud. The whole world turns warm, wet, indistinct, and all that exists is your rigid, glistening cock. You close your eyes and your own dream begins. It's hard to tell how much time is passing. The tide comes in, the moon rises. And soon you come. There's nothing you can do to stop it. You come over and over inside her. The warm walls inside her contract, gathering in your semen. All this while she's still asleep with her eyes wide open. She's in a different world, and that's where your seed goes — swallowed down into a place apart.
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From: Lighthousekeeping
by Jeanette Winterson
(Harcourt) |
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OVERALL RATING: 4.3
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To buy Lighthousekeeping,
click here
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She had asked that it should be dark.
'Like a bed trick,' she had said, though this made him feel uneasy…
'Babel?'
'Yes.'
His heart was beating. He was sweating. His groin was tight.
'Put this candle on the chest.'
He did as he was told, and stepped into the dark room, lit only by a few low-burnt coals in the grate. The room was warm. The fire must have been lit for a long time and allowed to burn down.
He could see the bed.
'Molly?'
'Yes.'
'Shall I take off my clothes?'
'Yes.'
His top coat and waistcoat were easy enough. He pulled at his stock and tore it on the pin. His fingers had grown thick and clumsy, and he couldn't undo the flap on his breeches. He didn't curse or speak. He fought in silence with his reluctant outer skin, until he was in his stockings and shirt. Then he went to the bed.
He stood, hesitating, smiling, terrified.
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To buy Lighthousekeeping,
click here
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She had asked that it should be dark.
'Like a bed trick,' she had said, though this made him feel uneasy…
'Babel?'
'Yes.'
His heart was beating. He was sweating. His groin was tight.
'Put this candle on the chest.'
He did as he was told, and stepped into the dark room, lit only by a few low-burnt coals in the grate. The room was warm. The fire must have been lit for a long time and allowed to burn down.
He could see the bed.
'Molly?'
'Yes.'
'Shall I take off my clothes?'
'Yes.'
His top coat and waistcoat were easy enough. He pulled at his stock and tore it on the pin. His fingers had grown thick and clumsy, and he couldn't undo the flap on his breeches. He didn't curse or speak. He fought in silence with his reluctant outer skin, until he was in his stockings and shirt. Then he went to the bed.
He stood, hesitating, smiling, terrified. Molly sat up, her hair round her shoulders, and falling onto her breasts. Suddenly he was glad it was dark.
She took his shirt and helped him pull it over his head, and then she stared, frankly, at where he stood, raised, ready, unable to hide himself now.
She touched his sides with both hands, running her hands down over his buttocks and thighs, liking his firmness, and kissing his abdomen with her lips. She was confident and certain, while he sweated with desire and fear. Why was she so sure? He wondered, just for a second, if he was the first man who had come to her like this. Then he pushed the thought away and held her close to him.
They made love.
Stomach to stomach, mouth on mouth, his feet across her shins and wrapped under her feet. Her hands on his back. His hands stroking her ears, his forearms on either side of her shoulders, like the forepaws of a hound. He could smell her excitement, and he bent his head to kiss the bolts of her collarbone. He was in her, fused to her spine, so that the tip of him felt every vertebra, it seemed. He counted her to himself, traveling upwards, into her mouth, so that she could speak him. She said his name — Babel. Travelling upwards so that he could lie behind her eyes and peep at the world through her. He looked at himself through her eyes — his neck, his chest, his eyes full of love. Was this him — through her eyes? Gentle, ardent, hesitant a little, his skin unwritten but filling up with this new language?
She turned him over. She sat across him. All of him was still. He let her move on him, and he didn't understand when she took his hand and began to use his thumb, just above where he entered her. He let his hand be taught, and later, lying back, she taught him again, with his fingers this time. He was excited, happy, and when she fell asleep, he propped himself on one elbow, uncovering her, stroking her, memorizing what he had learned.
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From: Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
by Jonathan Safran Foer
(Houghton Mifflin) |
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OVERALL RATING: 6.0
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To buy Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close,
click here
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The first time Anna and I made love was behind her father's shed, the previous owner had been a farmer, but Dresden started to overtake the surrounding villages and the farm was divided into nine plots of land, Anna's family owned the largest. The walls of the shed collapsed one autumn afternoon — "a leaf too many," her father joked — and the next day he made new walls of shelves, so that the books themselves would separate inside from outside…"Let's sit down," she said, we lowered ourselves to the ground, our backs against the shelves, we could hear them talking inside and smell the pipe smoke that seeped between the books, Anna started kissing me, "But what if they come out?" I whispered, she touched my ears, which meant their voices would keep us safe. She put her hands all over me, I didn't know what she was doing, I touched every part of her, what was I doing, did we understand something that we couldn't explain?
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To buy Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close,
click here
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The first time Anna and I made love was behind her father's shed, the previous owner had been a farmer, but Dresden started to overtake the surrounding villages and the farm was divided into nine plots of land, Anna's family owned the largest. The walls of the shed collapsed one autumn afternoon — "a leaf too many," her father joked — and the next day he made new walls of shelves, so that the books themselves would separate inside from outside…"Let's sit down," she said, we lowered ourselves to the ground, our backs against the shelves, we could hear them talking inside and smell the pipe smoke that seeped between the books, Anna started kissing me, "But what if they come out?" I whispered, she touched my ears, which meant their voices would keep us safe. She put her hands all over me, I didn't know what she was doing, I touched every part of her, what was I doing, did we understand something that we couldn't explain? Her father said, "You can stay for as long as you need. You can stay forever." She pulled her shirt over her head, I held her breasts in my hands, it was awkward and it was natural, she pulled my shirt over my head, in the moment I couldn't see, Mr. Goldberg laughed and said, "Forever," I heard him pacing in the small room, I put my hand under her skirt, between her legs, everything felt on the verge of bursting into flames, without any experience I knew what to do, it was exactly as it had been in my dreams, as if all the information had been coiled within me like a spring, everything that was happening had happened before and would happen again, "I don't recognize the world anymore," Anna's father said, Anna rolled onto her back, behind the wall of books through which voices and pipe smoke escaped, "I want to make love," Anna whispered, I knew exactly what to do, night was arriving, trains were departing, I lifted her skirt, Mr. Goldberg said, "I've never recognized it more," and I could hear him breathing on the other side of the books, if he had taken one from the shelf he would have seen everything. But the books protected us. I was in her for only a second before I burst into flames, she whimpered, Mr. Goldberg stomped his foot and let out a cry like a wounded animal, I asked her if she was upset, she shook her head no, I fell onto her, resting my cheek against her chest, and I saw your mother's face in the second-floor window, "Then why are you crying?" I asked, exhausted and experienced, "War!" Mr. Goldberg said, angry and defeated, his voice trembling: "We go on killing each other to no purpose! It is war waged by humanity against humanity, and it will only end when there's no one left to fight!" She said, "it hurt."
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From: Lost in the Forest
by Sue Miller
(Knopf) |
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OVERALL RATING: 7.1
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To buy Lost in the Forest,
click here
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Duncan slid down and Daisy felt his mouth, wet and warm on her breast. He kissed her, he licked her, and then his mouth closed over her nipple and he began to suck, gently at first, and then gradually taking her deeper into his mouth with a steady, rocking pull that Daisy felt in her pelvis, her belly. He lay there a long time sucking her, kissing her. Daisy moved her body slightly to his rhythm, it felt so wonderful, she felt it so deeply inside herself. He turned her — or perhaps she turned herself, she wasn't sure — and took her other breast, her other nipple in his mouth. Daisy closed her eyes.
His thumbs moved back and forth across her nipples. He pulled them both slowly until they were longer than she would have thought possible and she moaned. He kissed her mouth again, and then moved on top of her. Her body answered his weight. She moved urgently against him.
"Daisy," he said in a conversational voice. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "You are so wonderfully good at this." He was smiling, and she smiled back. "Would you like me to give you pleasure the way you give yourself pleasure?"
"Yes," she whispered…
She smiled and reached down, and his hand was there, underneath hers, sliding below her fingers as she worked the buttons at her crotch one by one. When she had finished, she opened her legs a little, and his hand found her where she liked to touch herself and began circling her, slowly at first, and then almost right away, feeling her urgency, harder and quicker.
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To buy Lost in the Forest,
click here
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Duncan slid down and Daisy felt his mouth, wet and warm on her breast. He kissed her, he licked her, and then his mouth closed over her nipple and he began to suck, gently at first, and then gradually taking her deeper into his mouth with a steady, rocking pull that Daisy felt in her pelvis, her belly. He lay there a long time sucking her, kissing her. Daisy moved her body slightly to his rhythm, it felt so wonderful, she felt it so deeply inside herself. He turned her — or perhaps she turned herself, she wasn't sure — and took her other breast, her other nipple in his mouth. Daisy closed her eyes.
His thumbs moved back and forth across her nipples. He pulled them both slowly until they were longer than she would have thought possible and she moaned. He kissed her mouth again, and then moved on top of her. Her body answered his weight. She moved urgently against him.
"Daisy," he said in a conversational voice. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "You are so wonderfully good at this." He was smiling, and she smiled back. "Would you like me to give you pleasure the way you give yourself pleasure?"
"Yes," she whispered…
She smiled and reached down, and his hand was there, underneath hers, sliding below her fingers as she worked the buttons at her crotch one by one. When she had finished, she opened her legs a little, and his hand found her where she liked to touch herself and began circling her, slowly at first, and then almost right away, feeling her urgency, harder and quicker.
Daisy stiffened her body, she held herself focused under his touch, concentrated on it, only on it; and then crying out, arching up, she came, and as he still circled her, she kept coming, pushing against his fingers, panting.
As she stilled, his hand did too. Together they lay there. Daisy's breathing slowly quieted. She opened her eyes and looked at Duncan's face. He was relaxed, smiling. She smiled back. Then he slid his hand, his fingers, slowly down into the wet flesh between her legs and up again — a caress, down and up.
"Do you like this?" he asked. His hand was moving slowly up and down, into her and then back up to her clitoris.
"Yes."
"You're very wet…"
He knelt at the foot of the bed. He was holding her feet…
Now he reached out to her knees and gripped them. He pushed them up, toward her chest. Daisy didn't resist. "Hold your knees, Daisy," he said. "Hold your knees up."
She did what he said, she gripped her knees.
"Apart," he said.
She didn't move.
He looked up at her face and smiled again. "Pretty please." His voice was harsh.
Daisy pulled her legs open slowly, and felt her own flesh open too.
He put his forefinger on her, and she heard the wet noise she made. "Feel how lovely you are," he said.
"Do you?" he asked. "Do you feel lovely?"
His fingers were circling her again now, much more gently and slowly. Daisy held her knees wide and rocked herself slowly from side to side.
"Do you feel lovely?
"Yes!" Daisy whispered.
"Open yourself more," he said. "Daisy!"
Daisy took longer this time, but it felt wonderful. While she came, he held his fingers still, pushing hard on her as she writhed, and he left his hand there when she was done.
She was panting, she'd dropped her knees. She lay there, splayed open and exhausted.
And then his hands pushed her thighs up again and she felt his mouth on her.
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