(About a two minute read)
Here are two more excruciating passages from the world’s most abominable (unpublished) romance novels:
From Kitchen of Lusts:
Robert could not sleep. Outside, the violent thunderstorm broke the hour into moments, and the moments into seconds. Each second held an eternity in itself. And each eternity seemed to chide him with his own ultimate meaninglessness. Robert stirred once again in his sheets.
“I am nothing to Vanessa. Beautiful, kind Vanessa”, he thought despairingly for perhaps the hundredth time that night, for perhaps the thousandth time that entire day. “And there seems not a thing I can do about it.”
But he knew, or he sensed, that down that lane lay only the emotional oblivion of hopelessness. “I must not allow myself to feel hopeless. There must be something to give me hope. If only I could discover it!”
Yet, all that came to mind was the careless joy he’d felt earlier that sunlit afternoon when seeing Vanessa’s breasts bouncing in her white, lightly woven, cotton blouse as she ran across the flower strewn meadow to be first to ravage and engorge the delicious foods spread out on the park table at the church picnic they’d attended.
Suddenly, an idea came to him, an idea perhaps midwifed by the violence of the thunder outside, “She loves food! Adores food! Why have I not seen it before! She’s a pig for food,and will do anything to have her way with it. It’s her religion! So I shall…I shall resolve to become a master chef. She must notice me then!”
“And to seal matters”, he further reflected, “I shall appeal to her religious nature, and become a Minister of the Deity, too.” With that, Robert resolutely set his feet upon the awful path that would eventually bring the future lovers to their terrifying fates. And yet, not before the two had learned to hump like rabbits…
From Ravaged is the Night:
Zounds!”, Danielle said. She liked very much to say, “zounds”. She felt using an archaic word now and then might signal to men that she had a few functional brain cells, for men tended strongly to merely focus on her breasts.
“Zounds!”, she repeated, just to make sure Clemence had noticed the word. But poor Clemence’s face and ears were deeply buried in her cleavage, and Danielle wasn’t sure he could hear much of anything.
She herself could certainly hear something! She could hear his sobs; sobs that had started just moments after he had suddenly, and without any warning at all, plunged his head into her cleavage. That was about a quarter hour ago, Danielle figured, and it might be getting time for her to ask him what was the matter.
Still, she hesitated. The two had been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and Danielle had come to recognize Clemence’s gentle, but troubled soul. In fact, it was his tender, sensitive nature that had first attracted her to him. “Maybe he just needs a bit more time alone in my cleavage”, she thought compassionately, “We all need to retreat from the world, now and then.”
It disturbed her, though, that he had plunged in without any explanation at all. She wished she could do more to help him, but she had no idea what the problem might be.
To make matters more difficult, both she and Clemence were only sixteen and both of them frequently struggled when trying to express their newly discovered, but extremely powerful — and almost entirely unchecked — feelings. “He might not be able to tell me, even if he wanted to.”, she thought.
She bit her lower lip. She felt like crying herself now. Crying simply because Clemence was crying. “He suffers! My love, he suffers!” Tears began to well in her tender eyes.
But at that moment Clemence raised his head. At last! She felt relief wash over her. “What’s wrong, my love?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”, Clemence said in a voice that was still strung out by powerful emotions. “It was your socks. Your socks. I just then noticed them, and I’ve never been so happy in my life! Dearest, you must love me! You’ve chosen to wear my favorite color!”