‘Beauty Story’ by Luke Jennings, p.66. Context: A man and a woman are slow dancing and describing the sex they would like to have with each other.
‘Tell me about her breasts.’
‘Well, they are smallish’, I began, ‘and at last count there were two of them…’ It seemed that his arms had been around me forever. […]
‘And tell me about these nipples’ […]
‘Mediumish’, I said, ‘You could safely cover each one with the top of a hundred-and-seventy-five gram jar of Marmite. And a sort of dark cinnamon brown.’
I can’t bring myself to type up any more of the awfulness. Or to read much more of the book, if I’m honest. That’s the problem with charity shop books: there’s a chance they were given to the charity shop because they’re not very good.