[John Whitworth]

'Plumply naked', 'Tingling love button' ... our champions George and Bazza are in top form. We watch and wonder.

Competition: Sexed up
Lucy Vickery
08 September 201206:00
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In Competition No. 2762 you were invited to leap on to the latest literary bandwagon and submit an extract from a racy retelling of a classic work of literature. There was a finely calibrated mix of gusto and restraint in the entry and I regretted not having space for Alan Millard’s saucy Great Expectations (‘“Es-Tel-La,” Pip repeated, letting the syllables slip from his tongue like drops of honey.’) Printed below are six of the best, which earn their authors £25 apiece. W.J. Webster takes the extra fiver.

‘Ah, Mrs Corney, ma’am,’ exclaimed Mr Bumble, easing back in his chair, ‘ you know how to make a man feel — (here he paused, glancing slyly down) — unbuttoned. You see the way to my heart.’
Mrs Corney, abashed at the thought of approaching that noble organ, was glad that another — more palpable — lay closer to hand. ‘Just you lean back, Mr Bumble,’ the lady murmured,’ and let me unloose you a little more.’
Although she had been twenty-five years a widow, Mrs Corney retained full knowledge of a man’s underpinnings: the strings to pull, the folds to open, the buttons to free.
‘Be not so reticent, ma’am,’ urged Mr Bumble, panting slightly.
‘Give tongue to your thoughts.’
‘I hold your beadle’s staff in honour, sir,’ replied the lady; ‘and have dreamt of doing it service. Shall I ever succeed?’
‘Succeed you shall!’ cried Mr Bumble, with a moan. ‘Succeed you do!’
From ‘The Story of O with a Twist’ by Charlene Dickins/W.J. Webster

‘Behold!’ cried the Spirit.
Through the curtains Ebenezer Scrooge stared amazedly as the portly and respectable Mrs Fezziwig enthusiastically removed her embroidered night-dress, while before her stood Mr Fezziwig himself, quite as plumply naked as the pinkest turkey in the butcher’s window, and manifestly in the mood for a Christmas celebration. The estimable pair were soon most energetically engaged. Never were such grabbings and such gropings! Such affectionate smacking of rotund posteriors! Such delighted waving of chubby legs in the air!
Pausing a moment, Mr Fezziwig remarked thoughtfully: ‘Yet my dear, at this season of all good 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 assisting their festivities just as enthusiastically and merrily as her delicate frame would allow.
George Simmers

Of man’s first disobedience now hear,
When Adam gazed at Eve, and to his mind
Sprang, all unbidden, words like ‘firm’ and ‘pert’,
Inchoate syllables brake forth, like ‘phwoar’,
And then ‘voluptuous’. The while did Eve
Adam descry, the naked protoplast,
And with her glance his buttocks did appraise
Admiringly. And Adam said: ‘Take this fig-leaf,
Place it like so. It covers, but not to
Excess, leaving a chance to titillate.
And by the way, you know that serpent? Did
Its shape not to you other things suggest?
A pastime suited for the nights outside
Of Eden, where the foliage is thick, and none
Shall see? Besides, there are no other folk,
At least, not yet.’ And they thought it was good.
Brian Murdoch’s ‘Paradise Lust’

‘Is it really ten years,’ Mary Lennox asked Dickon, ‘since we met at Misselthwaite Manor?’ ‘Aye, lass, all o’ that. I tend the gardens now old Ben Weatherstaff’s gone’. A cockerel hopped into his lap. ‘Is that your cock?’ she said playfully. ‘He’s a fine specimen. May I touch him, stroke his comb?’ ‘’Course tha’ can, ’e’s a right one for wenches. Crows ev’ry mornin’ first thing. Reg’lar as cockwork, tha’ might say.’ Mary pursued in her flirtation. ‘My lady garden needs plenty of attention, too. I’m a grown woman, as you’ve noticed. You used to entice birds from the trees. I’ll bet these days you could charm the drawers off a duchess!’ She giggled at her forwardness as she caressed his cockerel more urgently. Its head twitched in rhythm. ‘Take me, Dickon. Now!’ The lad stared hard at her. ‘Tek thee where, lass?’
Mike Morrison/Frances Hodgson-Burnett’s ‘The Lady Garden’

Reflecting upon Miss Brooke’s stated intention to give up riding because it had become pleasurable, Mr Casaubon realised that self-denial was not an area he had investigated for his great work. Further research into self-chastisement and the mortification of their flesh by saints revealed evidence of ascetics, often female ones, gladly suffering pain and mutilation in furtherance of their beliefs. His thought processes suggested the probable value in verifying these benefits for himself. When next Dorothea walked with Monk by the brook, she saw a bony, naked body in the icy water, scourging its back and nether parts with a sapling. Turning away in confusion, she was stayed by a voice, unsteady but recognisable: ‘Stop! Return and share my arousal, dear Miss Brooke.’ Dorothea glimpsed, for the first and perhaps only time in her life, unanticipated aspects of the male body, a body apparently made in God’s own likeness.
Alanna Blake

I stood in tears, twisting my handkerchief like a nervous girl, gazing out at the scarlet banks of rhododendrons, a sad prisoner among all the beauty of Manderley. I had not even a confidant to whom I might confess my loneliness and humiliation.
‘Madam de Winter.’
I turned, startled, only to find Mrs Danvers approaching. What else could make my misery more intense?
Yet her expression was for once sympathetic, appealing.
‘He’s a cold fish, Max,’ she said. ‘And you’ll find no consolation in a limp excuse for a man like Frank Crawley. But it’s not a man you need, my dear.’
The next second, with astonishing gratitude, I found myself in her arms, feeling the pressure of her ample breasts against my own and a warm, thrilling arousal as our lips met and her gently probing fingers found their way beneath my underwear to caress my tingling love button.
Basil Ransome-Davies