The Worst Love Scenes Ever!

Have you ever watched a love scene on TV or read one in a book and thought it would be romantic but tried it and, well, it didn’t turn out so good?  What about those spicy scenes you knew good and well would not work at all?  I have, with a little help from my fellow Goddesses, a list of the worst love scenes ever. 

Fleeta Cunningham, another Authors By Moonlight contributor and the Redhead Goddess, has decided small elevators, multiple layers of clothes, and a sword are not the best combination for a love scene: 

My offering goes back, way back, and depicts our heroine, dressed for success in a suit with straight skirt, turtleneck sweater, and fitted jacket and underpinned by garter belt, nylons and high heels. She runs into her long, lost love, the man she had been told was killed in a secret military action. They meet in an elegant but small elevator paneled in mirrors. He’s in full Naval formal dress–going to have a photo made with some public dignitary–including dress sword. Hero and heroine fall into each others arms–each having thought the other was dead, of course. They get it on in full heat, clothing flies–in an elevator going to the penthouse (?)–every action repeated by the mirrors lining the walls, and the sword standing in euphemistically for his more personal weapon of choice. Enough to make a true romantic swear off and ask for sanctuary in a steno pool.
That was pretty awful, Fleeta.  I see those doors flying open in front of the public dignitary who takes one look at the situation and faints dead away.
Next, we have Lael Neill, a talented soon-to-be published author and the Blonde Goddess, who has the strange notion bugs should not be a part of anyone’s honeymoon:

The headwaters of the small Bumping River are well up in the Cascade Mountains.  There the water runs snowbank-cold, as clear and pure as an angel’s thoughts.  It tosses back the August sunshine with careless joy.  Through that cold water a newlywed couple came wading, fly-fishing and whiling away the warm afternoon.  Not for them the sissy affectations of waders and the other accoutrements of fly fishing.  She wore a tank top bathing suit and he only cutoffs, letting their sneaker-clad feet and bare legs brave the mercy of the water.  Then, around a bend in the river, they encountered a little gravel bar island, maybe only twenty feet wide and fifty feet long, adorned with head-high buck brush.  They decided to sit down on the sun-warmed gravel for a rest.  But the discovery that the buck brush concealed a little clearing – a clearing in name only because the tops of the bushes formed a leafy roof – set their minds off in a different direction.  They teasingly undressed each other, a garment at a time, interspersed with kisses and caresses.  A little breeze kicked up as they crawled back into their secluded bower.  She lay back against the warm gravel, his arm behind her neck, and ran her hands over his back and hips as his kisses turned up the heat of the August afternoon.  The only sounds were the susurration of the leaves over their heads, the lapping splash of the river, and her soft moans of anticipation.  At first she paid no attention to the sensation of something falling onto her shoulder, until, that is, it started to move.  Prickly, crawly little insect feet marched across her skin.  As she reached up, she dislodged another critter from his hair.  The breeze rattled through the buck brush again, and suddenly they were engulfed in a shower of nameless green beetles with big, red eyes.  Her moans of pleasure became screams of panic that nearly deafened him, especially when she touched his back and came up with a handful of bugs.  She twisted away, scrambled out from beneath the brush, and ran for the water, only a second ahead of him.  Far up the hill a brown bear raised up to see what all the noise was about.  He saw the two naked figures splashing frantically in the river.  But they were too far away to be a threat and not worth bothering with, especially when he had his nice patch of gooseberries.  Calmly he ignored the fuss and went back to his foraging.  And don’t ask me how I know about those little green bugs with red eyes….


Yes, anything creepy-crawly with red eyes would definitely pour a bucket of ice water over any moment of heated passion, I think.


Finally, Tiffany Green, that’s me–the Brunette Goddess, is thoroughly convinced a beach is not the best place for a love scene, no matter how romantic it sounds.  Reality has this nasty little habit of destroying a perfectly good theory:

I was watching a movie the other night and a love scene developed between two characters.  On a beach.  My first thought was to hope they would find some nice cave or at least have a blanket nearby.  No such luck.  As clothes went flying and the kisses turned hot and heavy, they dropped naked to the wet sand.  And started to roll around.  I watched the flashes of bare flesh get thoroughly covered in the grit and literally shuddered with the thought of some of that sand finding places not meant for sand.  Especially when certain movement produces a certain amount of friction, quite compounding the injury.  For both parties.  As the man moved with blissful vigor and the woman moaned her delight, urging him on, I could not help but think of coarse sandpaper, shards of glass, barbed wire, and sticker bushes.  At that point, I’m moaning right along with those poor characters and grateful to be streaming the show via Netflix, where I could fast forward to the end of the scene.  It didn’t show how the characters left the beach, but my wicked imagination had them limping away in opposite directions, expelling a few curse words while making plans to move to Colorado, high up in the Rocky Mountains, far far away from gritty, coarse sand.
These are pretty awful, aren’t they?  Have you ever read or watched a love scene that made you shudder with revulsion?  If so, you must share.  We really need to know what makes the worst love scene ever!
If you enjoyed this post, please let us know by leaving a comment below.  Thank you so much for visiting with us today.  We hope you come back and see us again real soon.
The Rainbow Goddesses:
Tiffany, Fleeta, and Lael
The Romance Reviews The Romance Review


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