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From: jordan shelbourne <j_shelbourne@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Bulwer-Lytton erotica contest
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Date: Wed, 14 Jan 2004 17:10:04 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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These are the results of a contest I ran more than a
year ago. I never posted them because I figured they
were safe enough on my website, but now--having had
crashes on the website that lost all data and having
my personal computer die as well--I think differently.

Congratulations again to those winners, by the way.

The Bulwer-Lytton Erotica Contest

Our esteemed judge, Felix Lance Falkon, has returned
his verdict.  Forthwith, herewith, herein and
hereunder are the results of our little contest.  Quoth 
the judge, "all were excellent.  It was hard to pick the
best."

My thanks to everyone who entered (which is everyone
listed here) and to our judge.

(Oddly enough, no one entered and then withdrew and
then re-entered slowly, and then entered again and
again until with a spasmodic heaving and a Vesuvian
eruption of words they spewed an opening sentence out
across the creamy whiteness of the page--but perhaps
that would be a "Worst Orgasmic Sentence," and I'll
let someone else run that contest.)

The worst sentence in this contest, and therefore the
winner:

    In accordance with the courtship traditions of his
    people, Mazoul went out and purchased the finest
    timepiece he could afford (to represent his wish
    that he and his intended would grow old together);
    he took it home and wrapped it in fresh green corn
    husks (to represent the wish for fertility and
    abundance for all their days), and, with trembling
    hands, he presented the parcel to Lydia, of the
    secretarial pool, whom he had admired from afar for
    lo these many months (if she unwrapped the bundle,
    then by ancient tradition, she would be accepting
    him as a suitor); but his nervousness turned to
    surprise at her reaction when he shyly asked her if
    she would shuck his clock.  [Vinnie Tesla]

Honourable (or dishonourable) mentions for these:

    He stood at an angle to her; his cock, upthrust and
    backlit by the smog-tinged ochre sun whose dying
    rays reflected off the cool Pacific shore, tickled
    her fancy; a little drop of saliva bubbled at the
    corner of her mouth as she thought about the
    pungent gift locked up in the swollen balls,
    dangling so jouncily in the fleshy sack between his
    legs; the tingle in her quim wouldn't stop, she
    should have brought a towel to sit on, getting some
    sand trapped in the crotch of her string bikini
    kept rubbing her the wrong way, his cock and even
    the fluid now oozing forth couldn't stop the gritty
    irritation, there was only one solution - yes she
    thought, I shall disturb the universe and leave
    this guy hanging and go take a bath.  [Allison
    George]

    "My God" she screamed, or possibly creamed, as her
    back arched in a shape reminiscent of the Arc de
    Triumph and her fingernails penetrated my skin with
    the irresistible force of a locomotive at full
    throttle driven by an engineer with a belly full of
    cheap scotch while her body shook with quakes that
    would have registered a nine on any Richter scale;
    all because I had accidently set her vibrator to
    "Frappe".  [Mr Slot]

    Agog at the exquisite instrument that was her
    prostrate body, with all the curvaceousness and
    sultry Mediterranean hue of a Stradivarius, he
    could not resist but a momentary snicker when,
    through diligence and, true, some bit of God-given
    dexterity (didn't his first piano teacher, Mrs.
    Baumgarten, intimate as much about his chopsticks
    even before their duets, while he was yet only
    polishing her keys), he coaxed from it a reedy
    leuteslied of a bedroom sigh that waxed under his
    attentive ministrations to a traipsingly delightful
    sonata, and then to nothing less than a capable
    scherzo, until alas it mushroomed to a Beethovien
    crescendo, and not anything as clumsy as the
    Master's Allegro assai in the hands of a savage
    Toscanini where it becomes a ring-eyed
    cigar-smoking whore, or an overexuberant
    Bernstein's American floozy hiccuping her cheap New
    Years bubbly through her nostrils, no, but with the
    precision and musculature of the Molto vivace by
    the Four Horsemen of the Chicago marshaled beneath
    the dictatorial beauty, the scientific agony!  of
    the Hungarian Solti as stern helmsman, such was the
    Svengali-dance of his fingers upon this wanton
    pagan clitoris, one might fairly say. 
    [PleaseCain]

    Henry was a piano tuner by trade, the kind of man
    with nimble fingers and a sensitive ear, and damn
    if my baby grand wasn't way out of tune.  [Virago
    Blue]

    Kissed, licked, and petted until her reluctance
    over the next step had long disappeared to be
    replaced first by acquiescence and then by all the
    stages of desire up to burning impatience, she had
    herself removed the panties which were not only the
    last vestige of her clothing but also the last
    symbol of the denial which had become her self
    denial more than her denial of his desire of the
    entrance for which he continued to prepare her with
    his teasing tongue and gently stretching fingers
    until -- now more afraid of further delay to the
    stroke which she had so long resisted than of
    either the pain or the scandal that she might be
    risking by this act -- she, after pulling him
    forward over her torso and between her thighs as he
    kissed everywhere he could reach -- belly, breasts,
    throat, chin -- until finally their mouths could
    meet, was parting her nether lips with her fingers
    as eagerly as she parted her upper ones to his
    tongue, inviting the rupture of that membrane which
    she had so long protected in return for its
    protection of her innocence, and anticipating the
    invasion that -- when it did come -- tore from her
    tears as well as blood, while never imagining that
    the kisses with which he removed each tear from her
    face was but a sign of triumph to him nor that the
    pain that she suffered was more his goal than the
    tight friction which he enjoyed until, with a
    shouted curse, he erupted the evidence of his
    pleasure into her body.  [Uther Pendragon]



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