Speccie Sexed Up
 

OK, Lubricious people. This should be a breeze. Middlemarch less the starch.

No. 2762: Sexed up
This summer Pan Macmillan is publishing Jane Eyre Laid Bare, an erotic reimagining of the Charlotte Brontë classic. You are invited to submit an extract from your own racy retelling of a classic work of literature (150 words maximum). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 29 August.

well, maybe not
 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways.
She never had much luck,
A girl whom there were none to praise
But multitudes to fuck.

... maybe not, either. On the other hand ...


She dwelt among the shale and mud
Beside the springs of Dove,
Still searching for the perfect stud
Who'd fit her like a glove.

A wholesome life, no greasy chips
Or burgers - she was manic
That nothing pass between her lips
Unless it was organic.

Her charms were famed throughout the town;
Available and willing,
She never let the fellows down,
And only charged one shilling.

She screwed without a moment's pause,
And did each passing chap -
A maid who rarely won applause,
Though many came to clap.

(The “Lubricity” poems, after William Wordsworth)

lol
 

Send it in, Brian, & you've room for another stanza.

Maybe I will, Basil. But I'd probably better not remind her that these are the "LUCY" poems ...

Another stanza? You got it.

Wordsworth is an obvious banker. Perhaps Tennyson may be another.


I am Sir Galahad, a knight
Renowned in song and story.
I do a thing and do it right.
I do it con amore.

God is my shield and I possess
Astounding magic powers.
I succour maidens in distress
For hours and hours and hours.

How sweet the looks these ladies bend
On me. They melt like butter.
I fight the battle to the end.
I never shrink or splutter.

I parry, thrust and come again,
Insatiate as Niagara.
My strength is as the strength of ten.
I don't need no Viagra.

Well, that's fucked his chances for the Holy Grail.

He's obviously more interested in the Holey Frail.

A Bard
 

Echoing Emily (328, 359)

A Bard came down the Walk—
He did not know I heard—
He sang without the briefest pause
Just like moonstruck bird.

And then he sipped a Brew
That gave his sounds some sass,
And sauntered to a gathering group
Hankering for a Lass.

He blinked his restless eyes
And tried to find the best—
Eyes like raging Rings of fire
That surveyed all the rest

And seemed to be Amused.
I asked how he was paid.
With that he smiled, invoked his Muse—
Who always got him laid.

Ralph

I got the impression this was supposed to be fiction (like the Jane Eyre book), and she does ask for an 'extract'. Maybe it could be either-- What do you think?

I think she expects fiction, explicit sex in Henry James say. But she could possibly be persuaded to see things my way. Sir Galahad is of course and extract from the Sexy Idylls of the King.

double entendre
 

That suggests a potential new meaning for James' reported response to his heart attack: 'So here it is at last, the distinguished thing!' You could, erm, put it into the mouth of Isobel Archer.

Now I must get back to reading my Bible.

Well, the competition is "to submit an extract from your own racy retelling of a classic work of literature". Lucy may be expecting prose, but it is not specified, and I don't think (judging from past experience) that she would disqualify verse.

Basil, put that Bible down at once - you're only reading the smutty bits.

Let us behave decently, as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy.
(Romans 13:13)

"You think me a queer fellow already. It's not easy to tell you how I feel, not easy for so queer a fellow as I to tell you in how many ways he's queer." (Henry James, Passionate Pilgrim)

Blimey, is that how we're supposed to behave in the daytime? No one ever told me. Mind you, I don't usually go in for much in the way of dissension.

It's prose for me this time, I'm afraid: anyone for gay Barchester? Incidentally, since it is more difficult to judge prose against poetry, I wonder that Lucy doesn't preclude one or the other.

And while you're doing the appropriately-named Trollope, what about "The Whoreden"?

‘Behold!’ cried the Spirit.
Ebenezer Scrooge stared amazedly, for before him was the stout and respectable Mrs Fezziwig, removing her delicately embroidered night-dress, and before her Mr Fezziwig himself, quite as utterly naked as the plumpest and pinkest turkey in the butcher’s window.
Mr Fezziwig’s enthusiasm was manifest and soon the two of them were most energetically engaged. Such fondlings! Such gropings! Such teasing! Such pleasing! Such smacking of round pink buttocks and such waving of pretty plump legs in the air!
After a while they paused, Mr Fezziwig remarking thoughtfully: ‘My dear, at his season of all seasons, should we not consider those less fortunate than ourselves?’
‘Indeed we should, Mr Fezziwig!’ she replied, and called softly for Martha, their crippled orphan servant girl, who before long was in the bedroom too, and bonking away as wildly and as merrily as her delicate frame would allow.

George, a jolly enjoyable wheeze, but I was brought up short by 'bonking' which seems out of register with the rest, as well as anachronistically modern.

Looks like a case for Henry James meets Sid James. I'm not a fan of either, so I'll leave it in your more capable hands.

Originally Posted by Jerome Betts
George, a jolly enjoyable wheeze, but I was brought up short by 'bonking' which seems out of register with the rest, as well as anachronistically modern.


How about 'swiving'? An under-used verb, I feel.

Oh swive, my error.

Thanks. I had doubts about 'bonking', myself.
'Swiving' I always associate with Chaucer, so is somewhat early. Maybe I'll take a look in Walter's 'My Secret Life' and find a Victorian synonym. He has some very expressive sexual words. 'Gamahuching', for example, though that would probably not fit this particular case.

Well, the competition does say "your own racy retelling". It's not clear whether they're looking for strict parody, in which case "bonking" would be out, or a sexed-up style as well as storyline.

Probably safer, though, to assume the former.

How about something like "disporting herself as wildly and as merrily as her delicate frame would allow"?

'indulging her festive proclivities' ?

This could turn into a competition in its own right.

Little Dorrit contains the following:

Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished.

I suppose that in this instance, "and thus the fucking portion of her destiny was accomplished" might be considered a good Dickensian phrase ... or perhaps not.

I wonder what they would think of Steerforth seducing David Copperfield.

But I thought he did. It wasn't as if the Victorians (male) didn't know about al this. Read Disraeli 'Contarini Fleming'. It was just that ladies were beautifully ignorant of sex. Ah...

A new establishment had opened, curiously named “The Highbury Nookery”, which purported to be a club for discerning gentlemen. Mr Knightley, believing himself to be such a person, decided to visit it; whereupon, to his great astonishment, he was presented to a delectable young lady with an abundance of long flaxen ringlets, whose name was Emma, and who was to be his companion for the evening. They were shewn into a private sitting-room. Uncertain as to what was expected of him, Mr Knightley enquired: “Pray tell me, Miss Emma, are you a good girl?” Emma smiled shyly and replied: “Oh sir, indeed I am not!” Before his incredulous eyes, she began to disrobe, and as the last undergarment was shed, Mr Knightley’s gaze could not but be drawn to that which was revealed. “I am delighted to observe”, he stammered at last, “that you are truly of the fair sex.”

(“Emmancipated”, after Jane Austen)

On the QT, methinks you're a bit of a genius, Brian. ;)

Brian's reminds me of a saucy seaside postcard I saw many moons ago, of a couple standing apparently unclad waist-deep in a field of corn. Caption: 'Why, Mabel, I thought you were a natural blonde.' (Though of course collar & cuffs don't always match.)

Well, thank you, Jayne! But, locked still in futile combat with the 'Patchwork' competition, the particular bit of a genius that I feel like is his fucking ingrowing toenail.