Deep in my personal archive, at an undisclosed location in the attic room of a suburban house in East Belfast, I found my first, and arguably most successful, foray into the quagmire of literary coitus. The excerpt below was written back in 1999, a time when the ill-prepared despaired for their fate post-Y2K; before the lumpen masses jumped on the Tolkein bandwagon and it was considered “unusual” and “disturbing to the other students” to perform dramatic readings of the Silmarillion during lunch.
It is taken from my ever-advancing manuscript for Grimla'ath: Hero of Men, a brilliant speculative work of Sci-Fantasy, that pits a sentient robot factory and an army of crows against an order of element-manipulating monks. I'm not going to go into it all right now as some bugger might steal the concept, and I've been told in too many letters that "you can't copyright an idea".
All you need to know for now is that our hero, Grimla'ath: Hero of Men, had never even heard a woman's voice before the story began, and only met one for the first time on leaving The Abbey to lead a counterstrike against the robot factory-crow alliance. His unfamiliarity with, and indeed outright disgust at, anything female makes his sexual prowess all the more impressive.
As I was still somewhat lacking in "first hand experience" at the age of 15, this important sex scene involves a female from the hideous subterranean Muckdaa'arg race. Again, it's worth noting that Grimla'ath: Hero of Men is doing this to a minger, so it makes you wonder what he could do if it was a proper attractive human on the receiving end.
Anyway, Grimla'ath: Hero of Men has ventured deep into the caves of his wooden planet and is making a treaty with the Chief of the Muckdaa'args. The Chief makes a very strange request for Grimla'ath: Hero of Men to show commitment to the agreement.....
And so, Grimla’ath: Hero of Men was placed in a rather invidious situation. He must satisfy the lurid sexual urges of the Muckdaa'arg Chief’s wife to cement the alliance, but the vile creature’s anatomy was more alien to him than even that of a surface woman.
These beings, for means of spreading their population and their environmental devastation at a hardy pace, see fit to afford their females no fewer than 6 wombs, and an attendant number of uterine vents and occasional cloacae. These spew out mewling cubs at an alarming rate, all born capable of self-propulsion and speech to the extent that within minutes they are dextrous enough to pick a pocket and replace the purse unheeded; sufficiently verbally skilled to charm their way into the homes and savings trunks of the elderly and more naïve surface surface dwellers; and cunning enough to lodge fraudulent claims for a share of the tithes for the poor.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men would have to navigate this ridiculous vaginal minefield to pleasure the fecund chieftainess, attending to clitorises, vulvi and most likely labia both minora and majora. Unfamiliar until recently with even the screet of a woman’s voice, this would be a mighty challenge to Grimla’ath: Hero of Men, but Grimla’ath: Hero of Men was no Man to surrender before the petulant demands of this thing.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men strode up to the already disrobed wench and gave her foreplay. He kissed her on and around the mouth, at the top of her shoulders and behind the ear, all whilst rubbing her numerous distended mammary glands. This was exactly what she liked, and she moaned and whispered horrible subterranean curses in response to the pleasure Grimla’ath: Hero of Men had brought upon her.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men retched at the sound of her native tongue and realised that he would have to get down to the truly unsavoury parts. Grimla’ath: Hero of Men manipulated one of her clitorises and the surrounding area using a special flick of the wrist. Grimla’ath: Hero of Men’s many hours spent practising close-up magic were really paying off in this sickening context.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men instinctively knew a serviceable erection would be necessary in order to complete the hideous trial ahead. Experiencing no arousing stimulus from the beastly “queen” in front of him, Grimla’ath: Hero of Men, in an act of amazing self-discipline – steadied by thoughts of his Brothers back at The Abbey, for whom Grimla’ath: Hero of Men was, after all, forging this alliance – in very little time, but with not inconsiderable effort, had a member which was truly comparable with the handle of The Bursar’s sturdiest broom.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men held his breath, and with eyes closed and head bowed, Grimla’ath: Hero of Men did sex to her.
At this stage many a lazy writer would leave the mechanics of the sex act to the readers' imaginations. Perhaps they fear that unnecessarily detailed descriptions of penetration and its resultant biological processes would disturb their readers as they wait for a connecting flight to Spitshine, Idaho. Perhaps those writers fear a harsh light being shone upon their own peccadilli. I know not these fears:
Several moments later, as Grimla’ath: Hero of Men was thrusting in and out of the most important vagina of the accursed termagant, the sickening sight of a sireling’s head appeared in the vent just above and to the left of where Grimla’ath: Hero of Men was inserting his manhood. The beast scrabbled out of its mother’s parts with nimble claw-like fingers and fell hard onto the cave floor with a sopping thump.
“Here! Let me at my mother!” cawed the newborn, “I need her blue milk to gain my unsettling strength!” Grimla’ath: Hero of Men could not abide these beings in any form, but the cubs were by far the worst. Here was one, standing naked and still gleaming with birthing mucous, impertinent enough to address Grimla’ath: Hero of Men in such a way.
“Go away you insolent wretch! Can’t you see we are in a delicate situation?” said Grimla’ath: Hero of Men, still penetrating the horrid queen diligently at regular intervals and occasionally giving attention to the relevant outside parts of her genitals.
The mother ignored her spawn, as is their custom, (particularly on busy market days when the calves run free, distracting merchants to nefarious ends and completely disrespecting the clearly ascribed hierarchical queueing system). However, in this instance the disregard was closely linked to her pleasured groaning and spastic gyration as a result of the wonderful job Grimla’ath: Hero of Men was doing in making her orgasm.
“Let me at a breast or I shall not be happy!” insisted the impudent waif. “You shall feel the blade of my tremendous mind-wrought sword if you do not leave us be at once, you nauseating infant!" responded Grimla’ath: Hero of Men, short-temperedly but still in a very intelligent manner, "I must continue with this horrible business, but there is no reason why I should have it compounded by your whines!”.
“Fine!” said the wench’s issue, trying not to betray the quiver which it felt in its heart at being confronted by such a spectacular specimen as Grimla’ath: Hero of Men, (even from the rear Grimla’ath: Hero of Men’s awesome physicality was obvious from his astounding lats and beautifully-defined gluteal dimples), “I shall sate my thirst by other means. Perhaps there is a spinster on the surface whom I can confound with my wily tongue and deceptively diminutive frame.”
As the spurned suckling scrambled from the cave toward the distant light of the planet proper, Grimla’ath: Hero of Men regretted not having sliced it in twain on first sight, but Grimla’ath: Hero of Men would no doubt encounter many more of that kind against whom he could slate his wrath.
Again, not enough authors are willing to tackle head-on the issue of the dependency culture inculcated in children from "certain backgrounds" which encourages them to expect a free ride, literally from the second they are born. I knew, even years ago, that major issues like this can be cleverly concealed in Sci-Fantasy narratives, affording me the opportunity to comment on our own society allegorically. Luckily, it hasn't dated as these things have probably got worse since I wrote the sequence - foresight is an amazing thing. Once I'd subtly raised the issue of scroungers, I knew it was time to move on to the really intense/instructional stuff.
The sex act was becoming more and more tiresome for Grimla’ath: Hero of Men even though he was yet to break a sweat. Surely, Grimla’ath: Hero of Men thought, this horrid strumpet must nearly have slaked her sickening urges? But Grimla’ath: Hero of Men had to carry on for fully two minutes before the culmination of his efforts was seen.
The harlot’s breathing had quickened to a worrying pace and Grimla’ath: Hero of Men took this as a suggestion he increase the frequency of his thrusts. This had the desired effect. She began to writhe and throw her head back screaming and moaning and banging her back up and down off the rock. Undoubtedly she was orgasming.
Once she had finished with this practice, Grimla’ath: Hero of Men quickly withdrew from the wench’s messy void. Grimla’ath: Hero of Men rubbed his instantly flaccid member on some nearby moss to remove the remnants of the sickening cavern it had diligently conquered and returned it to its welcoming home within his vestments.
You doubtless think that is the conclusion of the scene, but that is because you barely have the attention span to read this passage without me breaking it up with interjections. The hideous succubus would of course not let a hero of men such as Grimla'ath: Hero of Men escape her clutches so easily.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men strode away from the prone chieftainess towards her cuckolded husband, who had observed the whole act. Noticing Grimla’ath: Hero of Men’s retreat she scrabbled to her feet, unashamed of her obvious and disgusting nudity. She reached both of her horrible gnarly paws into Grimla’ath: Hero of Men’s vestments grasping for the dormant, but still impressively proportioned, phallus therein. “That was amazing,” cooed the hysterical troglodyte, “better than any of my kind could ever offer. Let me finish you off now, my sweet surface man,” she pleaded.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men pushed the coitus-maddened slattern aside and said in no uncertain terms, “You have taken from me more than your worth in nutrients, wench. Be gone!”
On impact with the cave floor, another really ugly cub emerged from her capacious multi-womb. The child, seeing its mother prone, instinctively jumped on her nearmost teat and began to suckle greedily. The chieftainess attempted to force the child off her still-tingling dug in order to continue her lusty pursuit of Grimla’ath: Hero of Men, but the nursling was too wily for this.
Never unclamping its jaws from around the lactating nipple, the newborn groped around on the ground and found an appropriately-sized sharp stone, then held it to its mother’s throat in a menacing manner. Once the queen had heeded this threat, the malevolent whelp brandished its makeshift weapon outwards to warn off any potential interlopers.
Grimla’ath: Hero of Men left this loathsome tableau behind and strode off to finalise the terms of his compact with the Muckdaa'arg Chief.
So there it is. I would not normally publish so extensive an excerpt of my work free of charge, but I feel it is necessary in light of the truly terrible attempts I read on Literary Review's amateurish website.
Take heart, pretenders! Heed the lessons above and some day you may reach the heights I have scaled since August 1999.
And also only.
 He killed his mother in childbirth, and this was prodigious achievement afforded him immediate entry into The Order. Sheltered behind the walls of The Abbey, he never had to bother himself with the mundane prattlings of womankind.
 Obviously all this changed, and I was quite the swordsmith before my recent period of (elective) celibacy. However, to be honest, I never quite figured out what was going on "down there", no matter how many diagrams I pored over - would that Stephen Biesty produced a cross-section of the female erogenous zone to rival his Man of War.
|There's a hypnotic echo of "it" in this image.|
 You can't be too didactic with these things, but the eventual published version of Grimla'ath: Hero of Men will include an interactive survey at the end with questions like "Did you think it was fair that the Muckdaa'arg children stole food from the deserving and expected something for nothing?" and "Did this make you think of any sorts of people in your town, or at least in London if you live in small town?". It would only appear in the first editions, but I imagine the word of mouth would be such that fans would set up their own online version of the survey for those who were too tight to shell out for the hardback. Obviously the lion's share of the advertising revenue from the online survey would be directed to me.