In May, 1997, I announced a contest in Issue #25 of Laurie’s News & Views for a Purple Prose Parody and threw down the gauntlet to other romance novel lovers by entering my own snippet of purple prose. During the summer months, I accepted entries from several romance lovers, including one by romance author Marsha Canham. In August, I put the snippets up for a reader vote. The winner was. . .Marsha Canham. You can read all the snippets below, and to read some of the comments received during the voting process, click here.
The contest itself generated controversy because my publisher at the time, The Romance Reader’s Dede Anderson, refused to let me post my snippet in my actual column, necessitating my setting up this page. She felt the contents were inappropriate for The Romance Reader and I strongly disagreed. The contest and its contents were very popular and, even after its conclusion, I have left this page open for additional parodies of purple prose by lovers of romance.
If you’d like to try your hand at this, please e-mail me here. It’s a lot of fun, and easier than you think.
Laurie Likes Books Writes Purple Prose:
“No, no!” she exclaimed, breathless, as his mouth slanted down over hers. He tugged gently at her chin to allow him better access to her beautiful, pouty lips. He kissed her soft mouth gently at first, only deepening his kiss when she returned his passion. Soon they were caught up in each other – their souls seemed as one.
She broke their embrace, her mouth swollen with their passion. He looked at her, his gray eyes darkened to slate. He reached down and nibbled on her neck, slowly working his way down to where her thin muslin shift met her enticing flesh above her bountiful breasts. He noted with satisfaction that her nipples were already hard as pebbles and he mouthed her through her shift.
She began to shake her head wantonly as he grasped her tightly to him. The earth no longer seemed a constant beneath her feet. Had he not been supporting her with his strength, her limbs surely would not hold!
While one hand held her beautifully rounded bottom tight against his swollen loins, his other strong, calloused hand closed over one of her throbbing globes. He kissed her again, this time insinuating his tongue in her mouth in an imitation of what was to come. He could feel his manhood throbbing painfully. She could feel his hardness against her the core of her femininity, and an odd sensation travelled from her breasts to her secret place below, which felt warm and wet.
She had been raised in the country and knew what the hardness was, but when she heard him groaning and gasping, she was sure his war wound must still be painful. She gently kissed his scar, hoping to convey that she did not find his damaged flesh ugly. He was touched by her thoughtfulness, wondering how he could ever have thought her cold and uncaring.
He lowered her on the bed and began his assault anew. When she began to groan from the back of her throat, he could no longer hold back. He had never felt like this with a woman before. At the sound of her excitement, he nearly lost control and rasped out, “I must plant my manroot in your fertile flesh, my darling.”
She stiffened with fear, and he began to lave her turgid, rosy peaks once more, while reaching under her shift to find her warm petals yielding to his touch. Her readiness nearly undid him and he forgot his promise to himself to go slowly. He eased into her, her tightness closing around him, and stopped as he reached the entrance to her secret citadel. He continued to stroke her nubbin of desire, and, with one quick thrust, breached her maidenhead.
He stopped to give her time to adjust to his size, but she wouldn’t let him, wrapping her legs tightly around him and urging him on. They began the dance as old as time. . .
Reader Cheryl Jeffries Writes Purple Prose:
It began as a simple kiss exchanged quickly in the darkness.
But the sensual pull of Adams mouth was impossible to resist.
Eve moaned and held Adam closer, reveling in the smooth flesh pressed against her heaving bosom. There was a queer ache spreading through her body, pebbling her nipples into hard little berries, and making her burn with need.
They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, each craving the taste of the other.
“Can you feel how much I want you, Eve?” Adam rasped.
Oh, yes. Yes, she could. His velvety blade pulsated gently against her thigh, and that painfully sweet ache inside her blossomed into something more. She couldnt get close enough to the hard, sinewy body of her lover, and she moved restlessly beneath him. Her womans place grew wet and warm.
His control snapped from its tenuous thread.
“I need to be inside your sweet, clinging warmth. Eve,” he groaned, nudging apart her sensitized thighs. “Lets soar to the heavens, my love.”
And without much further ado, Adams throbbing manroot plunged into the slick, welcoming folds of her steamy love tunnel, bringing not only the sun, but the moon and the stars, to Eves churning orbit.
Reader Blythe P. Writes Purple Prose:
“You will never see Wrothington again, Lucretia.” Sebastian’s stare was hard and authoritative.
But Lucretia’s eyes flashed emerald fire. “How dare you, sir! What reason can you give for this ridiculous, high-handed edict?”
“This”, he spat, as his mouth slanted brutally over hers. Outraged, Lucretia fought his punishing, sensual advance. But her struggle only brought her ripe, lush figure into intimate contact with his rigid masculinity. This kiss wasn’t like the few chaste packs she had received from those other foppish dandies! Against her will she could feel her traitorious body responding to his insistant advances. She began to yield to his kiss.
Sensing victory, Sebastian deepened the kiss. His tongue parted her passion-swollen lips and sought the prize within. She tasted of wine, strawberies, and another elusive feminine taste that was uniquely her own. His self control snapped and he thrust his hand into her bodice, caressing the ripe fruit below.
Lucretia stiffened as his rough hand touched her turgid nipple, which had pebbled with desire. No longer could she fight this sensual assault from the man she had secretly loved for months. She sought more intimate contact and freed his muscled chest to her view, marveling at how different his hard masculine body was from her soft feminine one.
“Sweet temptress”, he groaned as his freed her glorious breasts to his view. He laved each honey colored globe thoroughly with his tongue, and the moistened orbs glowed gloriously in the moonlight.
Lucretia could feel his surging tumesence against her most feminine core. “Please, Sebastian,” she breathed. She yearned for something that only he could provide.
Sebastian’s legendary self-control snapped at her plea. No longer could he pretend this was just another conquest. His resolve to go slowly was completely forgotten as he tore open his breeches, exposing his insistent, pulsing shaft to her view.
Timidly, she touched his manhood, amazed at the silky feel of something so rigid and demanding.
He thrust her hand aside, fearing her feminine advance would unman him before he could give her pleasure. In a tangle of limbs they fell to the ground, and he boldly planted his rigid manroot between her thighs. Then he thrust into her moist, feminine love chamber, and they began the dance of joy together. . . .
Reader Constance Fairbreast Writes Purple Prose:
Meredith’s glistening azure eyes fell to the growing spear of hard flesh at his groin, but he lifted them up again, his strong hands cradling her chin, his own emerald orbs blazing with a ravenous hunger that should have frightened her, but for some strangely wanton reason, did not.
“Trust me,” Lance de Groove snarled low in his throat. He reinforced the erotic command by insinuating a rough but sensuously furred thigh between her pale, trembling limbs and rubbing his kneecap against her. “I will not hurt you.” “But. . . you’re so big,” she squeaked in breathless awe.
“And you’re so small,” he heaved. “Small and wet and tight. And you will soon see you have little to fear from me, my denizen of beauty, my paragon of pulchritude, my honey-laden vixen of voluptousness.”
“Yes. Oh yes,” she groaned, and reached down to grasp hold of his marble hard shaft. With a primal need she had never felt before, she rubbed the blood-engorged velvet tip of his manhood eagerly along her damply pouting nether lips, her shivered cries begging him to impale himself within the glistening petals without further delay.
Lance, already feverish with desire, needed no further urging. The flames of passion were raging through him, searing his senses with a hunger he had never known before, not in all his twenty-seven and a half years of jaded debauchery. And yet, he had never met a woman like Meredith, never known such a chaste goddess who could, with a butterfly touch of her tentative by greedy fingertips, bring him throbbingly to the brink of mindless ossification. He prided himself on his longevity! He was a renowned rake! A blade! A rare swordsman with a reputation for ravishing women to the point of blissful exhaustion while he himself remained in absolute control, totally unhampered by emotion, untainted by anything so debasing as lust.
This was not the case now as he felt himself straining into Meredith’s suddenly expert manipulations, groaning with the unbearable pressure of her sliding, squeezing fingers. His seed was boiling, threatening to spill unbidden, like the inept efforts of a callous youthling, before he had even breached the pearly folds that guarded her portal of pleasure.
“Now,” she shouted. “Now, before my brutal, overbearing brother — Malcolm, who has vowed to kill you the next time he sees your dirty hands pawing me — arrives home unexpectedly and intrudes upon our privacy!”
“I would surely kill him first!” Lance cried in rapturous glee, thrusting past her now shock-dazed fingers to avail himself of the mysteries of her silken sheath. Her head thrashed to and fro on the cushions, her gloriously shimmering eyes, with their fringe of raven-black lashes, bulged so wide he could see the tiny flecks of obsidian blue sparkling in their depths. With her hands clawing frantically at his tightly clenched buttocks, and her spun-gold hair fanned out beneath them like a peacock’s tail, he conquered the last flimsy barrier to her womanhood and plunged so incredibly deeply inside her, she could feel him slam against the wall of her womb. She arched up to meet this delicious new sensation and he bowed his head down to capture a frisky nipple, his tongue chafing the quivering, berry-hard peak, his lips suckling the ripe fruit to the back of his throat with such unbridled verve, her torso came screaming up off the bed. Held in the vise-like grip of the spasms that began to ripple the length of her tunnel of love, he abandoned all hope of control and gave himself blindly to the pumping, heaving tumult of rapture. Together they soared to the heavens and beyond, on molten wings of galvanic rampancy, where fireworks exploded and the sound of the waves on the beach swept them to paradise where they drowned in an oblivion of ecstasy, their senses shattering under the impact of a thousand years of primitive mating instincts.
Reader Rhonda Drummond Writes Purple Prose:
“Shh. . .” Theseus came closer, and wrapped his arms around her to untie the laces. Her gown fell free, leaving her clothed only in the breeze coming off the Aegean Sea. “I need more proof. You do not fear your own action? I would think differently.” His lips were nanometers from her own.
“No,” she whispered into his mouth before in closed on hers. His kiss tasted of sweet wine, then of pure sweetness when his tongue probed into her mouth, exploring, mating within her. His hands slid over her smooth, bronzed back, then to her sides. The fingers brushed against the fine hair of her body. The illusion of touch was there, but the hiss of silken air that pass over her was more sensual, if not more so. His touch moved around to her breasts, cupping them. His thumbs rubbed away the cosmetic paint from her nipples, revealing dark, rose-brown peaks.
“No fear?” he asked softly.
“None,” was Ariadne’s answer. She awaited the new sensations he would bring upon her firm body. Theseus trailed kisses down her neck and around to the nape. His lips and tongue lingered there. A chill covered Ariadne, yet she wanted him to continue this sweet assault.
He moved down along her collarbone to swell of her chest and the rosy crests which had stiffened with his touch. Theseus lavished one with simple kisses, then the other. He went back and took the whole of the tip into his hot mouth, playing around it with flickerings of his tongue. Ariadne sighed as his attentions caused a tightness at the core of her, and her breasts felt full, wanting more of his touch.
He gave the other tips the same attentions as he moved his hand down along her belly, then around the forbidden zone to her thighs. She would open this barrier when she was ready. He could tell by the sighs and light moans that this would be soon. “Would you give into the dance of Eros, sweet Ariadne?” asked Theseus.
“I might, but I have not started to move as of yet,” she answered.
“You have more than you know.” He lead her to the couch near the vanity, and set her down upon it. “The dance of Eros has no steps, unless you want to add new ones of your own.”
Ariadne could clearly see the outline of his male shaft through the linen, and added a step into this dance. She ran her hand up under his kilt, around his hard thighs, and in between, over the silk skin there to the even silkier, harder part of him. “No fear of Eros exists in me.” She untied his kilt and let it drop.
“I see, and none in me, as well.” Ariadne moved her fingers lightly over the shaft, then clasped her hand around him, and moved it rapidly, but not sharply. She was not ready for him to spill seed on the marble floor of her chamber. “Shall I ease our passage?” asked Theseus.
“Oh, most certainly!” said Ariadne. She laid back, and awaited another sweet assault, but this came as a total surprise. Theseus had parted her thighs, and was lapping at the most intimate part of her. She wound her fingers into his golden tresses as he feasted in her tender flesh, sending a flood of carnal desire throughout her. “No longer can I wait, Theseus, yet I want to ease this. Let me enjoy you before I lose you to the beast tomorrow.”
“Do as you wish, yet quickly. I feel as Hephaetus’ forge is within me!”
Ariadne came upon him, leaving a trail of kisses and lingering licks that matched the ones he had left on her body before. She heard Theseus groan softly as he wound his hands into her ebony hair and pulled her back. “As much as I would love for you to taste of my seed, my sword longs for a scabbard of another sort. He placed her onto her back, and lifted her lithe legs onto his broad shoulders, then plunged into her warmth. The passage was easy, yet tight. There was struggle, no maidenhead to break. Surely some one had had her before, but it had been very long ago. If there was pain, Ariadne gave no indication. Theseus moved rhythmically in this dance, and Ariadne matched his movements until the flood that gathered within the core of her burst into a river of pure pleasure. She reached out to the sides of the couch to grip them as her mind dealt with the ebbing felicity within her.
Theseus felt this feminine tightening around him, an plunged faster and harder, knowing she had found her peak, and he was ready to attain his own.
In his passion, he took Ariadne to another peak, and they reached this one together. As he spilled into her, she drown in a sea of satisfaction. She looked up at Theseus. “You said you needed help. . . “
“I have a plan to defeat the minotaur,” he said between breaths. “I need your help in this.”
“Of course, all you needed to do was ask, but then I would have missed out on your brand of persuasion.”
Author Marsha Canham Writes Purple Prose:
“No,” Bliss cried, backing into a corner from which she knew there was no escape. “I’ll never let you touch me! I hate you! I loathe you! You can never make me love you!”
“Ahh…” Randy Hawkesnose laughed with a low snarl. “But I can and will make you want me.”
“Never,” Bliss declared defiantly, her heart pounding painfully in her breast.
And such bounteous breasts they were, he thought, regarding the heaving swells with a lascivious eye. Full and ripe and succulent as fresh peaches, voluptuous with the promise of smoldering passion in their trembling peaks.
Randy advanced another menacing step and Bliss threw her hands up to stop him, accidently pushing instead on the marble-hard bulge in his breeches. He groaned aloud as he felt himself swell to a state of turgid tumescence he had never experienced before in all his many years as a libertine and profligate debaucher. But before he could question his response, the buttons on the overstretched seams began to pop one by one, firing into the shadows like small bullets of desire, each ‘ping’ causing Bliss’s pulse to race a beat faster.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned, swooning forward into his waiting embrace, helpless to resist the lure of his animal magnetism. “Don’t touch me…unless you vow to change your philandering ways forever and love only me!”
Laughing again at her virginal innocence, he plunged his wide, sensual lips over hers in an act of fierce possession. There was only one vow he intended to make this night: that was to have her scream his name over and over in breathless ecstasy.
His ravaging, yet somehow gentle hands began to tear her clothes away and, with a shout of triumph, his mouth fell to catch the bountiful orbs of her womanhood as they spilled forth from her bodice. He sank his strong, even, white teeth into her round, soft, creamy flesh, and with eager, suckling, sensitive strokes of his tongue, he brought her shuddering down into the deep, rich, exotically scented Persian rug beneath him. Suddenly Bliss found herself naked in his muscular arms! Her feeble cries of protest were turning into ardent pleas for him to teach her the mysteries of her woman’s body and ease the incessant tremors that now burned and undulated through her loins.
While he ripped and tore his own garments into shreds, she watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her lips moist and pouting, her hands tangled in the thick pelt of sable hair that swarmed over his broad chest. He doesn’t know, she thought with wicked vengeance. He doesn’t know the trap will soon be sprung and I will have my revenge for all the terrible years of humiliation my poor, dear, ruined sister Chloe suffered at his hands! He may indeed be a handsome, virile beast with his dark brooding eyes and flaring nostrils, and he may indeed be able to set my blood to singing and dancing in my veins at the mere scent of his raw, outdoorsy skin. But he’ll not get the better of me. Not tonight. Not ever!
Naked at last, Randy knealt above her, his glorius body gleaming like a bronzed pillar of lust, his manly essence poised a taunting inch away from the dew-slicked core of her femininity.
“Yes,” she cried fervently. “Yes! Show me the way to ecstasy!”
His brutish needs were unexpectedly dampened by an unsuspected rush of tenderness, and he paused in his ravishment to lav her ear with honeyed kisses. “You won’t hate me anymore?” he whispered wetly. “You won’t loathe me for turning you into a senseless wanton who can think of nothing other than our bodies twined feverishly together day and night?”
“On the contrary,” she screamed, clamping her vise-like thighs around him and hauling him foward to impale her. “I will hate you more than ever for showing me how weak I am. I have to hate you, you fool, or the rest of the book will have no plot! We have to fight,” she insisted, slamming her hips against him for emphasis. “And then we have to make up, and then we have to fight again, and make up again…and you’re going to have to do this all night long, each and every time there is a lull in the story!”
“A-all night l-long?” Randy stammered.
“All night long,” she reiterated, punctuating each word with a thrust of her Rubenesque hips. Her head began to thrash to and fro in the beginning throes of orgasmic delerium and she dug her nails into his sinewed buttocks, clinging to each forceful thrust for dear life. “Without resting,” she gasped in awe. “Without washing, without pausing to chew so much as a single breath mint!”
“Augh!” he cried.
But his cry was in vain. And whether it was from pain or pleasure, Bliss would never know, for as long as her blossom continued to hold him in an iron grip, her body arched and writhed with rapture beneath him.
Sucked hopelessly into a vortex of treachery, his eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth gaped for air, his body started to shake like a leaf in a storm as he was swept with her to the peaks of heaven and beyond. He spilled his seed in a mindless, blinding fervor that sealed his fate forever and later, much later, when the sweat of their expended passions had dried to tiny white salt flakes on their brows, she was heard to rasp, “Bastard.”
“Witch,” he retorted.
And then she begged for more.
Reader Christine Hess Writes Purple Prose:
“Lucas!”, Cynthia screeched when he came forward looking as if he were a lion hunting his quarry. His eyes were hot and smoldering, his muscle were taut across his chest. He moved liked a predator, and he was one. Cynthia backed against the wall. She had no where to go. He had her cornered. “Stop it, Lucas!” She screamed. “Please, I don’t want this! I don’t want you!”.
“You do, and you know it!”, Lucas shouted deep from with in his heart. “I’ve begged you for forgiveness, Cynthia. You know that I love you more than life itself. Please!“, he implored. He pinned her against the wall, his arms caging her in.
“Lucas, please let me go! I can’t do this anymore. Let me be!”. Cynthia cried, and pleaded. But she could feel herself getting warm and wet just by having him near. His smell, his beautiful body, his arms keeping her here, pinned in this spot. She felt as if she were going to melt before his eyes.
“I know you still want me”, Lucas told her, convinced her. And her nipples grew hard. “You are all that I think about. I know every part of you. How you taste, how you feel, how you respond to my every touch.” Lucas was magical, his words undid her. Cynthia could feel herself beginning to give in. Keeping her eyes cast downward she tried to fight her own body. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t let herself see the passion within his beautiful gray eyes. She knew it would be there, smoldering lust… it would be there.
Lucas leaned into her, bringing his full length up against her. She could feel his hard throbbing shaft against the inside of her burning thighs. “Oh,God Lucas!” It escaped from her throat in a whisper. But, he heard it. “I knew it, Cynthia. I knew you couldn’t push me away.” It was true. She was lost to him. Lucas found her earlobe and began to lick, and caress, sending shivers down her spine. He became hungry and devoured her neck and began to nibble and bite. He found her lips. Cynthia tried to resist. Oh God, she tried! But he drew his tongue across her pouting, full lips. “Open for me, sweetheart. Stop the ache within my loins, let the wetness between your thighs drip onto me. Let me taste you…once more.” He brought his other hand under her chin and lifted her eyes to his. “Look at me,” Lucas pleaded now. “I love you, darling.” He told her from his soul.
Cynthia let go, her body gave in. She was wet, and hot, and hungry for this man. She could resist no longer. She leaned into him this time. Wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth. “Please,” she breathed. It was her turn to beg. He gave to her, and gave to her, and gave to her. His mouth came down on hers hard. Lavishing it, lapping it, loving it. He could wait no longer. Lucas reached down and took a hold of Cynthia’s thighs, lifting her until she was wrapped tight around his waist. He backed her against the wall once more. Her skirt fell back exposing her most vulnerable place. The place that screamed for him. Lucas’s hand went straight to her soft petals. Hot, wet…dripping for him. “Cynthia, my sweet, beautiful, passionate wife… you are so ready for me. Thank you!” He ripped open his trousers. His hard shaft burst forth, searching for her. He must take her now or he will expire on the spot if she trys to touch him. Cynthia’s head fell back, she closed her eyes and waited, but not for long. He was there, throbbing, and pushing. “Yes, Lucas. Please.” Cynthia yelled. He pushed into her. One, quick, strong thrust. They were in heaven. He began to move, slow at first, feeling the inside of her… all of her. But Cynthia was ready. She was panting, screaming at this point, “Faster Lucas, please!”
He couldn’t hold back. He wanted to make it last… to savor this moment, but she pleaded, and he obliged. He cold feel her tighten. Her thighs squeezed around him. “Cynthia, tell me, darling. Tell me when you begin to come apart. I can feel you starting. Tell me!”
Cynthia could hold back no longer. “Yes, Lucas, yes, yes!” She shuttered, and shook and splintered into a million pieces. He went with her. Over the top, and back down again. They were exhausted, yet exhilarated. He looked at her…“I will love you this way for a life time, if you will let me.” And she did.
Reader Julia S. Sandlin Writes Purple Prose:
Completely Wonton: A Modern Romance
As he laved the mounds of her delicate chest, Chastity’s nipples twisted themselves into erotic peaks, resembling Chinese pastry. She trembled as Steel’s turgid staff prodded the folds of her womanly shrine like a happy chopstick.
“Dearest! Something is poking me!” she demurely murmured, and tried to twist her virginal body away from the swaggerly onslaught of Steel’s desire.
“Hold still, my little lotus blossum,” he said, “Let me take you and your lovely wanton honey-pot to new heights of feminine passion.”
Steel stopped the mindless suckling of her heaving bosums, and raked his fingers back through his flowing locks of unbridled chestnut hair, so that he might have a better view of his trembling bride. She lay, gasping, her brow creased with an unsightly concern. He could tell that she was thinking… again.
“What is it, my delicate unfurled flower, that causes you such distress? Be not afraid, I am your husband and I will guide you up and down the path of marital delights such as denouement, debauchery, and decadence where you will be flung into orbit around my vigorous maypole. Speak to me, my cherry blossum, and I will brush away your concerns with my undying love and great manly skills.”
He tenderly touched her lips, already swollen by his molten probing tongue, and waited, ever noble and patient. Chastity squirmed, unaware of the provocative effect that undulation had on her tumescent husband.
“Dearest, I just wondered, I have this empty feeling in my tummy… did you eat my fortune cookie?”
Steel groaned, and shoved his manroot up into her love canal, abandoning all thoughts of restraint to the savage, timeless call of lust.
“Ah, my dim sum,” he moaned, “I planned to eat your fortune cookie later.”
For the stupendous comments accompanying the voting for the contestIndex for Laurie’s News & Views (Check the index for “silly sex”/”purple prose”)The 1998 Purple Prose Parody EntriesTo comment on this page Ferri Tales – There’s plenty of purple prose here! (And a return link to this page as well)