Bad Sex Awards 2007

I first became aware of this illustrious title while thumbing through Schott's Almanac 2005 however the award dates back to 1993- people say nothing good came from the nineties!

Apparently there is a correlation between good fiction and bad sex with some authors having won both the Bad Sex award and the Booker prize- nobody has won both for the same book.

Below is my favourite:

Why am I embarrassed about taking off my clothes in front of a robot? I pull the dress over my head like a schoolgirl, untie my hair, and sit down. She is smiling, just a little bit, as though she knows her effect.

To calm myself down and appear in control I reverse the problem. ‘Spike, you’re a robot, but why are you such a drop-dead gorgeous robot? I mean, is it necessary to be the most sophisticated machine ever built and to look like a movie star?’

She answers simply: ‘They thought I would be good for the boys on the mission.’

…

‘So you had sex with spacemen for three years?’

‘Yes. I used up three silicon-lined vaginas.’

How can a lesbian sex scene between man and machine be artless?

Update, 01:24: I tracked down my copy of Schotts and found some more quotes

A flock of crows, six or eight, raucously rasping at one another, thrashed into the top of an oak on the edge of the square of sky

The context is not important here.

Slither slither slither slither went the tongue, but the hand that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns - oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest - no, the hand was cupping her entire right - Now! She must say 'No, Hoyt' and talk to him like a dog...

Beautiful alliteration

She reached the staircase and climbed the first step but the cold was numbing her mind. She fainted, upright and motionless with seawater up to her belly. Lobster swam to her purple feet. Cut off the bloodless hand with his pincers, and climbed up the inside of the leg as far as the clenched knees. He was amazed at the pleasure he felt from being held in this way. His pincers slipped between the thighs, prising them gently apart.

Lobster by Guillaume Lecasble