Ottawa Sun for reminding me that the Liberal Leader vying for Canada’s highest post in a national election going on right now (what, you didn’t know? Canada doesn’t spend 2 billion dollars on a nauseating blitz of attack ads that befog and bemire the airwaves? How bizarre…) was once a young and aspiring author. One with a penchant for describing the heated trysts of his characters. His 1991 novel, Asya, could make a Harlequin author blush. You got my vote, Iggy!
Just a taste:
“Her nipples were puckered and her skin was scoured pink from the beating of the sea. Curls of her wet black hair adhered to the nape of her neck and runnels of water slithered between her shoulder blades. Razumkin was seized by the keenest desire to lick her all over.”
“She lay back on the bed and let him move the folds of her nightgown apart. She let him touch and kiss her. She pulled his head down upon her breasts, and, like a man at last granted his most cherished wish, he buried himself in her body…”
“She hungered for him. Her fingers dug into his back. ‘More,’ she whispered. More and more until he was afraid.”
Good stuff, that. And lots more where those came from. Maybe I should be afraid, as a citizen of that overly polite and demure (hockey players excluded) nation to the north, afraid that Iggy has irrevocably blown our cover.