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Sunday, June 26, 2011

Dear Author, too much sex for this dented ego

Dear Author,

I’m a healthy all American-Italian Jersey girl, who isn’t exactly a virgin. Although, my life sort-of took a left turn when my boyfriend declared, rather dramatically, that he was gay, or going gay, or wanted to be gay, or he has a man crush gone wild. However way he put it, he dumped me for a man. Still not sure which is worse, the dumped for a blazing blonde swim suit model, or blazing blonde man. Admittedly, I’ve experienced both, from two separate relationships. Both, really bangs up the ego. Which by this time, my ego looks like it’s been hit by golf ball size hail, because here I am months later still talking about it! Which brings me to sex in books.

So there's the left turn, and my sudden arrival in singlehood, absent of any sex life. The ex’s sudden departure into waving a rainbow flag, does not have me running for the convent, something my Great-Aunt Giovanna said I was destine for as a child, (her name means ‘God is gracious’ in Italian) it didn’t rub off on her. No grace in her old mean soul.

Oh, but I digress, so here I am still a healthy twenty something, that is alive and well, who reads a lot of books with a lot of sex. I’ve read some books that have soooooooooooo much sex, that they could make a porn star blush. For the love of Pete! It’s everywhere, with everyone, looking for more someone’s, and it continues on the desk, in the kitchen, on the counter tops, (yuck!) in the shower, (okay that’s kind a cool or hot) the tub, the couch, the stairs, and in the car, if they are short enough to have great sex there, or maybe the door is open, and they’ve got body parts hanging out. Its sex, and hot sex, and description of body parts, (now that I could really live without), and sex again. I’m out of breath, and it’s not making me horny. The left turn sort of killed my libido, a little. Okay, maybe just a pinch, alright a handful. Not anymore than that, just that, really, just that much. Per l'amore di Dio farà qualcuno mi risparmia da tutto questo o ancora ha meglio il sesso con me.

For my reviews I’ve read a few sexy books that keep me company. It’s nice to read about how people fall in love, and lust, have loving passionate sex, and have the HEA. Those books really do give me hope for love, when the dented ego is raging in the back of my mind. But they don’t make me want to go out and grab Firemen Frank by the hose, (wow, what a image) haul him off to bed. Let me rephrase that, or can I, not sure. Firemen Frank is the hunk of the month-I’m way digressing over here! I need to get off the subject of Firemen Frank and get back to sex in books. Now that’s a contrast of terms!

Okay, back to the subject matter. My question. If you remove the sex, is there still a story? One can only hope. I’ve read books, that honestly, if the sex was gone, probably ¾ of words would be gone. The book would only be few measly pages, with the body part descriptions. Which I could live without, I already said that. So to all you authors out there, sex is good. I believe in sex, hot sex, Firemen Frank, and few others that are attractive, but keep the story. If I remove the sex, let me believe it’s still a story about two people in love, or falling in love, or something just as nice. 

Vederla sul retro!

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Trace of Fever, by Lori Foster

     Okay, have you ever had one of those nights that is truly cursed? Well, I did. It's hotter than hell in Jersey, so my brilliant sisters, Jeanine, Delores, and my cousins Connie and Beverly, decided we needed a night out on the town. It's already sounding like its going to sink like the Titanic.
     My sister Lucinda and her new boyfriend are suppose to meet us at the club. They arrive, and things immediately go bad. Lucinda's new love's ex-girlfriend is there. They go at it like cats trapped in a trashcan.
     The boyfriend fires-up throws a drink in the ex's face, she attacks him. Connie, (not the sharpest pencil in the box) jumps in punching and screaming about family.  Jeanine and Delores try to hold her back, unsuccessfully. I try to walk away, but am cornered by a bouncer, because I'm, with them.
     We're all kicked out of the club. I'm so happy I brought my own car, right at that moment, I don't want anything to do with any of them, EVER AGAIN! Okay they're family so I have to, eventually.
     It's hot, and I'm thrusty from yelling at my stupid sister and dumber cousin, and decide to stop at the corner convenience store. There's no one in the store, but the clerk Omar, blasting some Middle Eastern music, uber loud. I'm at the counter, paying for my water, and some Guido comes running in waving a gun.  This idiot starts yelling at me, to lay on the floor. Yeah, right I'm wearing a dress that cost me a weeks worth of pay. I'm not laying on the scrunchy sticky floor, with gum from the 60's still stuck to it. No way, not in this dress! When I looked into the eyes of the robber, hey, I recognized his hazel eyes, through the black mask. That sucker had to be hot! No one but- HEY, Alphonso Felingerio (besides the females of my family) could be that stupid. I know Alphonso as my, try to forget with everything in my soul, senior prom date!
     In true Russo loudness, blurted out, "Hey is that you Al!? What are you crazy! I'm not laying on the floor! This is the first time I wore this dress! Gees you've really lost all your marbles." Which honestly there wasn't many to loose, but he's managed to loose what he did have.
    With that, Al smartened up and ran for the door, but not before Omar pulled a shot gun and fired off a round. My ears are still ringing. The front window shattered, as Omar screamed something unidentifiable and fired another shot. I dove behind the condom display, (more afraid of Omar then an Alphonso), every time the gun went off , Omar was knocked right into the cigarette case. His shots were going wild. He also took out a Sponge Bob pinata, which rained little yellow and brown pieces of paper down on me. Then who should appear, and apprehended stupid Al outside as he ran out the door, Firemen Frank. It was pretty cool. He tackled Al, who is a little skinny dude. Firemen Frank had him kissing the pavement. Yeah, take that for demanding I lay on the floor, jerk.
     Not sure, what I saw in Al ten years ago, but it wasn't a robber. To be honest, I didn't see much, but I was desperate to go the prom, to make my ex-boyfriend jealous, which didn't work.
     Firemen Frank, held him down with one hand. Essere tuttavia il mio cuore di botte!
    To make a long story short, the cops arrived, took statements, Al the idiot was hauled off to jail, and Firemen Frank followed me home. He walked me to my door, made sure I was inside, and-said good night, and left. I do mean turned his back and walked away. Maybe he's gay, or doesn't like green short dresses. I didn't do all the make-up and big hair like the rest  Russo's. I was stylish, no burnt cannoli look. Men I don't understand them. Why didn't he at least ask for my phone number. Maybe he's married? No, my cousin knows him, says no girlfriend, no wife. Maybe he's gay. Just my luck, another great guy, drifting to the other side of the tracks.
     Oh, but I digress, why did I pick this book to read after the night from hell, the title it was hot and Jersey is hot, and the guy on the front was hot, sort-of and I kid-you-not, hunk-of-the-month, Firemen Frank.
     Apparently, this is the second book in a series. Just my luck, always a dollar short and day late with these books, but I like Trace as a undercover cop and hunky dude. He's out to get justice for women who are sold into modern slavery. My kind of guy. His sister was kidnapped at some point in the first book to be sold. But Trace was a bit possessive of the heroine, Priscilla. Not sure I like that, at all.  Possessive men, give me a rash.
    There was a lot of sexual tension between Trace and Priscilla, (didn't like that name), I understand why 'Priss' went after the man who is her biological father, but she seemed a bit weak. That was consistent with her sheltered up bringing. Her mother had been held captive for sometime, abused and raped, and most definitely was protecting her daughter from anything like that happening to her. Which is true to any mom, they want something better for their children. My half Italian and half Irish mom would have taken the bad guy's family jewels and ground them up to feed to the pigeons.
     One of the best characters in the book was Helen, the evil guy's, girlfriend. She jumped off the page, or Kindle for me. She is really demented, and when she's on the page, it's does really turn into a page turner, to see what "Hel" will do next.
     I won't give the ending away..But there is a lot of sexual tension between Trace and Priss, (really don't like that name).  If you're looking for a hot read, after you spend two minutes with a hot guy, on a hot night from hell. This is the one.

I give it a #7, Bitch'n enough to read in the broom closet at work, which I did on my break to finish it.

Vederla sul retro!

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Dear Author

Dear Author,

    What is up with the name change!? Yeah, you know what I mean, the author name, I’m told its, commonly known as the pseudonym. I’m new to the writing world, since starting my blog, and I do understand that an author might want to protect their life, that of their innocent children, and a embarrassed husband from, in your face sex scenes in print. After all, the co-workers might laugh all the way down the hall as he hides in the cubical, as they call out, "Is that you dude, hung like a elepant?" He might suddenly find himself popular with the food truck chef, both male and female. Okay, a good reason for a pseudonym.
     Me??? I put my name on my blog, and now my family won’t talk to me. Which, at Sunday dinners at Nona’s isn’t such a bad thing. Peace and quiet, I relish it.
     If you love your story, genre and writing so much then why hide behind a pseudonym? That’s my big question. And there are some colorful names out there too. Looking at a book cover with a flowery name that seems to fit the book contents, for me its bada-bing, bada-boom, it’s a fake name. I bitch'a Heather Underthekilt, that ain't your name. Yo this Jersey girl wasn't born yesterday. Although, Nona claims I was, or at least last week.
    Here's some suggestions on names taken from James Bond movies. Miss Moneypenny, she's always a class act. My all time fav, Xinia Onatopp. NOW, there's a excellent erotica author name. How about Fatima Blush. That’s way cool. Oh, the number one pick is, Pussy Galore. Who could resist picking up a book with that name on it! Oops, it all sounds a bit pornographic. But-I've read a few that qualify.
     Another thing, when a author changes genres because their other genre wasn’t working for them anymore or maybe not selling. Me the reading fan, suddenly can’t find a favorite author because now she’s writing something else and has a pseudonym. Where’s my favorite author!? Oh, she dyed her hair black, dawned a outfit fitting for a she-vamp, and is on the back cover of the Blood Suckers Hotel, under the name of Lady Elvira. 
    So what is the reason for this? Why not just change genres and keep writing? I don’t care, I don't think any reader really cares. If you like a author, you'll follow them anywhere through the genre world. Look at Nora Roberts who we all know is J.D Robb. It's advertised on the front cover, for the love of Pete!

Vederla sul retro!