Who’d have thought the book that took the fiction world by storm last summer would be an appallingly written escapist sex-fantasy aimed at repressed housewives? For the two people reading this who live under a rock, or think the letters S & M are just Marks and Spencer backwards, Fifty Shades of Grey is the ridiculous best seller concerning Anastasia Steele, a young student whose stupid ‘inner goddess’ is captivated by irredeemable and wealthy tosspot Christian Grey. He proceeds to have sex with her. A lot.
Lucrative garbage and surprising beneficiary of the handcuff industry this may be, but as anybody who has actually read it can attest to, it’s astonishingly unrealistic. Hundreds of untalented hacks have attempted to follow in the footsteps of the rich, untalented hack before them, producing a glut of awful parodies and pitiable imitators to plague the nation’s bookshops. One author, however, has had enough.
G. L. Hames, reclusive literary genius and master sausage-wrangler, has begun his ‘Real Life Erotica’ series, determined to present a more realistic version of love-making than that shown in the Fifty Shades trilogy. Below is an excerpt from his latest saucy masterpiece:
‘The first thing he noticed when he walked into the kitchen was how steamy it was. The atmosphere was hot, and wet, and smelled vaguely of asparagus. My god, it was steamy. He thought he should check the smoke alarm or something, it was way too steamy, but that could wait. Cos right now, lovin’ was on the menu.
He saw her by the sink, bent over and reaching into a cupboard. Her long, red hair cascaded in rivers down her back, and her perfect, toned body was accentuated by the tight-fitting apron she was wearing. He crept up slowly and caressed her rounded buttocks wordlessly. “Ouch”, she breathed seductively as she jumped in surprise and hit her head on the inside of the cupboard.
“Hey honey. I missed you today”, he whispered into her ear.
“Hfhlghgh”, she replied, having hit her head harder than he’d anticipated. He led her to a chair to regain proper consciousness, and began softly kissing her neck while she came out of her daze. The smoke filling the room and the low lighting made her look even more incredible, even with the bit of dribble on her chin from the blow to the head.
“Matt, what are you doing? You’re home early?” she said.
“I wanted to surprise you. I couldn’t bear one more minute at work without feeling your body on mine.”
“Oh, ok”, she replied, and began using her hands, slowly, expertly.
“Errm, babe? I was talking to you, could you stop peeling the carrots for a moment?” he said, a little concerned.
She sighed and looked back up at him. “Alright, you have my attention. I guess I’ve got 15 minutes until the food’s ready, that should be enough for you.”
“Gah, I just can’t keep my hands off you!” he moaned. “The kitchen’s really turning me on, even the smell reminds me of you.”
“…I’m cooking fish pie.”
He kissed her passionately, and pressed her up against the fridge, running his fingers through her hair. The handle was pressing into her back and was a bit uncomfortable, so they moved over to the oven. Their hands explored each other’s bodies, learning desire with every touch. His loins burned with desire. They were also smoking a little; he’d been leaning on the edge of one of the hobs.
He lifted up her cardigan to reveal two huge, glistening melons, bouncing with the fever of their lovemaking. He made a mental note to ask her why she was storing fruit under her shirt and fondled her breasts instead.
“How about a snack?” she purred, squirting whipped cream on to her exposed, erect nipples. He tried to lick it all off, but he wasn’t a huge fan of whipped cream and too much of it was getting a bit sickly. He attempted to brush it off erotically instead.
“How about the table?” he suggested breathlessly.
He swept everything off it in a flourish and stood there panting.
She stared at him in horror. He hoped it was his naked form that had overcome her.
“I’d just set that, arsehole. You broke four plates!”
He stepped towards to take her in his arms and trod on an upturned fork. She took his squeal of pain as one of arousal and flung him on the dining table. She felt hard, long wood pressed up against her stomach, and figured she should probably move away from the table leg and mount her naked lover.
He slid his proud member smoothly inside her. Well, it would have been smoothly, but the angle was kinda difficult and there was some adjusting from both parties until things got comfortable.
“Ah ha!” he exclaimed, in a way that ruined the mood a little bit.
“Can we hurry this up?” she moaned ecstatically, looking back at the hob every so often to check the water wasn’t boiling over.
Two whole minutes of sweaty, passionate thrusting later, and the two lovers held each other in one final throe of ecstasy. At least one, anyway, the other just pretended and shouted a bit.
“That was incredible!” he gasped. “If that was the main course, I can’t wait for dessert, if you know what I mean…”
“There is no dessert. You dipped your balls in the cheesecake while you were getting undressed so I’m throwing it away. Just clean up, Matt, you’ve made a mess.”