Some things are just too good not to share – especially for writers – especially for those writing about women. These examples from the Times make me feel much better.
1) Her breasts stuck out straight and true; her little flanks looked delicious.
2) I even became somewhat suspicious and critical of her serene, womanly beauty. Or rather, of the regard in which she seems to hold her eyes, her nose, her throat, her breasts, her hips, her legs. (Mercifully he stops there.)
3) Her breasts were large enough to inspire thoughts of lust, but had the comforting appeal of a beloved nanny or nurse. (She should have stopped there). Her hips and bum told a different story – wild nights in dance halls; swing in callipygian glory. (No, me neither)
4) Standing there trying to get the waist of her skirt suit to link at her side, the tops of her breasts, swollen with untaken milk pushing above her bra, she does have a plumpness, a fullness that calls to him.
5) Despite her round face, the only thing sitting higher than her breasts were her cheekbones.
6) Tall and lissom, Dr Brooks moved with the assertive gait of an athlete.
At this point I stopped, there being only six examples on offer, and thought with some longing of an earlier, more down to earth age. I talk of the interwar Poet Laureate Peter Cheyney:
‘I think you’re a mysterious woman. Your breasts are a little flat, but beyond that you’re dynamite. And that’s what I think.’ The Dark Street.
Does anyone else have any favourites?
For those curious about the authors above, the answers can be found after three ‘cleansing’ paintings. Yes, Newport was beautiful once, before the darkness set in. The magic was always there.
1) Jack Kerouac ‘On the Road’
2) Philip Roth, ‘The Professor of Desire’
3) YourFavouriteBlackAuntie, on Twitter
4) John Updike ‘Rabbit Run’
5) Vanessa Salkova on Twitter
6) Dan Brown ‘Inferno’