A Few Laughs and a #WIPWednesday

Really should be writing right now.

I will, I tell myself . . . for the past few hours now.

So, when all else fails, I blog.

Let's start with today's People Magazine award, shall we?

People Magazine selects David Beckham as Sexiest Man Alive for 2015.

It bugs me more to keep thinking that this dude already won the award, like, ten years ago or more, only to do an online search that comes up with zilch in the fact-checking category of needless things.

My vote? Ross Poldark's Aidan Turner

If I knew how to make the Eartha Kitt purr, I would.

Up next, a post that includes excerpts from a list of the 2015 Nominees for Worst Sex Scenes in Fiction.

And, this isn't even Romantic Fiction! It's just sex scenes inside a fictional novel, which is funny enough as is.

What they've chosen as nominee material, however, is a lot more funny and even more unbelievable. A lot of 'what the hell were they thinking?'  as I read each excerpt.

Here's my favorite:

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.

And, I could be wrong in my thinking, but, how does a guy destroy a sex scene in his own novel? Is it me, or does this seem like eight-ways of just wrong?

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.

Not to mention that these awards go to famous authors -- well, I would prefer the word popular to famous, and even if that doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

Famous conjures up images of Cary Grant, Emily Dickenson, Tom Hanks, and Queen Elizabeth.

Popular -- like the Beckham dude -- would satisfy a whole ton of PoP BS making the rounds each and every trend-setting few months.

Anyway, the excerpts are hilarious and you should read all of them, if not for the giggle factor, then as a wake-up call and warning siren for any and all of the sex scenes currently being devised in our latest W'sIP.

And, speaking of WIP, here's a teaser from mine:

Inigo Returns

“I don’t recall receiving news of your visit.”
“Yeah, well,” Inigo grinned, exhaling a puff of laughter. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“How’d you get in?”
Inigo glanced at the front entrance without thinking before he frowned at his oldest brother. In the blink of an eye, he had been reduced to the same cowardly sap he had been as a boy. Outraged, Inigo shot to his feet and didn’t bother to zip up as he bared down on Iliya with all of the bravado and pent-up rage he could muster on such short notice.
He shoved his t-shirt over his head and tugged hard, covering his washboard abs as he glared at his brother. “It’s great seeing you again, too, braw.”
“I asked how you got in.”
Startled, Inigo held the hem of his shirt and blinked twice before shaking off olden-days mode and remembering who he was now. Iliya not only looked the same, he also behaved the same way as far as Inigo could tell. Iliya remained accusatory in both expression and voice tone, and Inigo had to remind himself that he wasn’t eighteen anymore and hadn’t cared about shit like this for twelve years. He laughed again before turning aside his head and shaking it. After setting his hands on his hips, he shot Iliya dagger eyes.
“I used a foot to shove a planter aside on the porch, reached down to find the key, put it in the knob, and turned the key til I heard a click. What.”
He jumped back in time to avoid the hammer fist directed at his jaw. The split-second move caused a much-needed adrenaline rush and made him smile. Inigo exhaled more quiet laughter. Just as quickly, though, his anger returned and he stepped forward, ready to do battle.
“Damn me for not checking into a hotel instead.”
“Damn you is right,” Iliya growled. “And, as usual, your piss-poor timing proves little has changed. You can’t stay here, and ―.”
“Oh?” Inigo cried. “Is it still your place, your rules?”
“As a matter of fact,” Iliya began when Inigo made a sour face and turned aside his big body, giving Iliya a reason to pause. He was pissed and didn't care that it showed; not as tired and sore as he felt just then. He could see the way that Iliya scanned him head to toe and back again, and the nerve endings along his spine started to bristle. He knew that warning scan like the back of his hand, and as he watched Iliya's set jaw muscle start to twitch, he took a deep breath and clenched his fingers tightly, knowing that round two was about to begin.
“I’m tired, Iliya,” he complained. Too tired to argue or try to defend his own actions. Sure, he should have let his brother know that he was coming over, and maybe Iliya had a right to be upset about it,   but, this could wait until he at least received a few more hours' sleep, right? “I’ve been on the road for two days and rolled in here around three, I think. What time is it now, anyway? It feels like I only got about an hour of real sleep.”
“Tough,” Iliya shot back. “I said you can’t stay here, and I mean it.”
Inigo opened his mouth to protest. To shout, really. It pissed him off to know that his older brother was just as stubborn as he remembered, and that he still refused to listen or take pity on him. Frustration and anger rose up to make him want to argue now, but then Iliya's cell phone rang, distracting them both.

Word Count: 21,924
Surname: Brézlyn
Chapters: 7 completed
Status: Rough Draft