Suck It and See
Just checking you’re still with me?
Had to deal with some serious bleeding from the rectum, if you really want to know. It’s a hard water area. Normal cervix will resume shortly. Please accept this concrete poem as some sort of palate cleanser.
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Violet Malice has been sucked inside another work of erotica this week. Like walking into a wardrobe for a fresh vest and finding yourself in a dark room in Berghain with a sex wolf sniffing at your privates. Keen to find a bedtime read that cuts the mustard and dabs it lovingly around the perineum. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that insatiable question: can a good book ever be as tactile as a good fuck?
Book title: Bondage Trash
Author: Jon Horn
First published: 1968
Quick synopsis: The book presents a collection of supposedly factual documentation on a dystopian sex crazed society where nothing is off limits. There are no real plot lines, just disconnected chapters of content detailing all manner of sexual deviancy. In Part Two of the book it switches from ‘The Material’ to ‘The Dossier’ where certain extreme cases/patients are analysed and pulled apart by anonymous state-backed medical professionals. The book is dominated (pun intended) by sadomasochism, power and cruelty, almost as if this sick society is so full of hate fucks that absolutely no other feelings exist anymore.
Front cover: Some nice chains. Like it. Words like restraint, cold, hard, metal and capitalism come to mind.
Title: Probably one of the best book titles ever. Two words that twist and writhe against each other. Both things I like: bondage and trash. Certainly, the title and cover image made me want to read the book on a busy train on the underground. Holding the book proudly just below my lips to slightly obscure my lime boobtube from all the Financial Times reading professionals squeezed into their mohair business suits.
Best two-word phrase in the book: In all honesty way too many to choose from. Here are a few gems: semen crystals, goats’ rectums, unmarried gynaecologists, cornflake face, swallow girls, dream cunt, aphrodisiac cocktails, champagne fellatio, pink traffic, ambulating climax, wild scrotum, musky aphrodizzy, gonadal goo, gastric surroundings.
Best hyphens: Pudenda-bender [the perfect precursor to my poem Tinder Bender!! which you can purchase for cold hard currency here], peeping-Tomism, fuck-and-suck, genitourinary-world-view, sex-police.
Best sentence/s in the book: Brace yourself please:
He finally confessed that he collects slices of sausage, preserves them, each slice in a glass jar, and indulges in onanistic and instructive fantasies.
He saw a girl in a white dress spattered with mud from a passing car one day and had an erection.
Kisses and caresses, a state of rapport; the old rich fart sans pajamas jacks off in a hat and his clique follows suit, their jackulations join like merging streams of milk of magnesia, disturbing transports showering applause on the two girls revealed now in successful and aesthetic union, auras of cunnilingual crescendo shimmering through the rainbow of the semen spray, wriggling gold limbs rippling with orgasmic spasms of fury from French aristocrats, old dowagers, hommes des lettres, and danseuses… arms and fingers grasping flesh.
Clara appeared with her hubby on a golden leash; hubby wore falsies, was obviously crotch-bound under a flimsy and soiled bikini bottom, had a maniacal queen expression and smelled of pancake makeup and scum.
I came all over the corset-torture brochure and checked the time.
The removal of the clitoris was ordered for all torture girls working the street by legislation proposed by the once notorious CUNT (cartel of the uninhibited nymph-tormentresses).
The wife stared at us with haughty flashy glazed eyes, like a queen watching two monkeys doing it.
Best paragraph in the book: On our wedding night he forced a coconut custard pie into my hands without any expression of endearment and told me to throw it at his face. I complied, though puzzled, and watched him have an immediate orgasm. We were nude. I had expected thrills. But this! And then he brought out a second pie – I had wondered why he had brought two pies into our bridal suite – and, when he had wiped the pie off his face and the come off his prick, he told me to throw the second pie at his ass, and turned around. Naturally I was indignant. He slapped me, hard. So I obeyed him, and watched him come again. Then he was nice to me for a while. Later I realised he was only buttering me up for the main event: I had to lather up his chest with shaving cream, straddling and sitting on him to do it, and then I had to shave his chest slowly, while he got an erection. Then – can you believe it? – he wanted me to shit on his chest! Luckily I hadn’t taken a shit since after the wedding rehearsal the day before, so I could provide him with the biggest kick; otherwise he would have been mean, like he was on nights when I just didn’t have it for him, later on. He was always nice to me just before and just after. But what about me? I asked him. I wasn’t having any fun. This he always ignored. He never wanted to enter my body in any way, and though I disported myself quite lewdly for a while in the beginning, hoping to arouse his interest in my cunt or at least my armpit (for such were my desires), he only got itchy for pies and the chest-shit again.
Story of my life!
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Sexual content: Great writer obviously. Very very very funny. The book is a barrage of extreme sex. Disassociated, unrelenting and frenzied. A society that seems bereft of all generosity. No one seems to have fulfilling sex, and even though they climax, they are left wanting something more, something worse. However much they come together, they seem to get further and further apart. Desperation leads to an insatiable appetite to fight loneliness through the abuse of others. So sadly the book is in no way titillating and I am sure Jon Horn didn’t intend it to be.
It goes without saying that if you want to present a sick sex fuelled society, alienating and shocking the reader are probably a good way to blow.
Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10.
Glorious full-on assault of trash and dirty dirty filth. Superb book for anyone that loves literature and great funny writing. Less so if you are in it for those lovely warm feelings or want to see S&M presented in a creamier less offensive sauce.
Titillation station: Two hander. No need for sitting on any limbs here.
Food for thought: It makes me think of a sexy Bladerunner with Harrison Ford impounding Rutger’s athletic body in some sort of medical facility to try and understand why no one has any feelings any more aside from the fleeting obliteration of orgasm. Perfect ending!
shit fuck cunt (dies)
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Violet Malice has devoured yet another work of hot hot hot erotica this week. Carefully turning the pages on, every evening as June winds its way up and down, repeatedly, again and again, without fail. On the hunt for a bedtime read that feels like silk and sunshine and sucks like quicksand. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that gurning question: can a good book ever be as smoking HOT as a good fuck?
Book title: Darling
Author: Harriet Daimler (Iris Owens)
First published: 1956
Quick synopsis: Gloria, a self-proclaimed ‘refrigerated cunt’ living in New York, is raped by a man with a bad leather jacket. This event turns her into a raging nymphomaniac. Obviously, it goes without saying that a total nympho is unable to satisfy her sexual desire. Ahem. The story tracks Gloria’s lust fueled journey of middling sex and frustration as well as her desperate hunt to find her rapist whom she wants to fuck and kill.
Front cover: A jolly front cover, which is wholly inappropriate. Like putting a cartoon horse on a book about hand, foot and mouth disease. The book is in no way jolly or throwaway. It is hardcore. Both in terms of the storyline and the frequent unquenchable sex that takes place between the covers. If I was designing the front cover I would go for a close-up of a bear trap in some woods with a pair of frilly knickers inside and the severed leg of some leather clad sex offender who has badly misjudged his prey.
Title: Again, wholly inappropriate. Darling suggests some flimsy book about nice sexy sex and nice sexy wives having nice sex and nice biscuits. Most of the men that Gloria fucks call her ‘darling’ during intercourse, which is probably the reason for the pathetic title.
Best two-word phrase in the book: Sanitary fucking and/or indestructible erection.
Best over use of a hyphen: Sea-and-sperm-drenched.
Best sentence/s in the book: Lots and lots of appalling erotic writing. Below are a few favourites –
His hopeful immense erection had wilted like a sick plant on his leg.
I’m gonna dig so deep into your ass, you’ll taste my come on your tongue.
You think this horse opera we carry on is love?
He used her as he would a life-sized sponge with a few openings.
His eyes were like milky white sperm. Probably his whole body filled with sperm up to the top of his head, and his prick his only exit.
Sexual content: Legend has it that the founder of Olympia Press – the one and only – Maurice Girodias asked Daimler to “tone it down a bit love”. Apparently, he said that it wasn’t necessary for every page to be sexual. I’d like to read the original. In my book, there’s no such thing as too much hot sauce on one’s furry breakfast cereal.
The sex is well drawn and vivid. Hot and hungry. Funny and frenzied. It does tip over slightly into the world of fantasy, which is more often the case with sex books, because ultimately the aim is to turn up the gas on the sex cooker rather than tell a coherent and believable story. (Some bores might say that all good sex is fantasy. Or at least that fantasy makes better sex.)
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Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10. A must-read. Far from perfect but without doubt an unappreciated masterbeast. Starts off rocky but finds its feet. Feeds the hungry mouths as well as the mind. Very obviously written extremely quickly and as such would have benefited from more time wanking over it. Despite the difficult plotline, the book has multiple levels: (1) it can just be a good fuck book – some people think it’s a very explicit rape fantasy, (2) however I think there is a really challenging subtext about rape and sexual desire.
Gloria hunts down and kills her rapist – the man with the white eyes – and despite her questions to try and spark his recognition as she seduces and eventually kills him – that he has been to her flat before that he has felt her body before, he does not remember her. He treated her as an object. An orifice. She returns the favour.
Throughout the book there are some very powerful observations that are left there for the reader to steam past or ponder, whatever you desire. There’s a real art in that. You can lick the cream straight off the top or dig deeper into the trifle.
Titillation station: Thumbs up the wank bank!
Food for thought: Female writers of erotica are like hen’s tits. What agro-smut from the seemingly unassuming! I am pleased Iris Owens didn’t use a male pen name. I am pleased that the book is so unapologetic and frayed around the edges. I am pleased that Gloria kills the fucking a-hole in the end. I am pleased that the characters are all flawed and grotesque and thrash about the page. I am very pleased that this book exists.
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Violet Malice takes a second bite of the cherry. On the hunt for a HOT and STIMULATING bedtime read. Violet has consumed another work of erotica this week. As she attempts to answer that yearning question: can a good book ever be as unputdownable as a good fuck?
Book title: Screen
Author: Barry N. Malzberg
First published: 1970
Quick synopsis: An everyday office pawn called Martin, who works for the New York City Welfare Department, goes to the cinema to get off. He steps right through the screen and is transformed into a film star who gets lots and lots of hot sex action. In just one weekend he finds himself married to Sophia Loren, romping with Elizabeth Taylor in a budget hotel after they escape from a half-cut Richard Burton and seduced reluctantly by Brigitte Bardot. He then decides to put it to the test: is real-life sex with an average woman better than his masturbatory escape hatch? The answer obviously (1. the author is a man; 2. who also happens to have worked in the NYC Welfare Department in real-life) is a resounding NO. The book ends with him fucking Doris Day, just so you know.
Front cover: Nice. Arty. Tits. Plus cinema ticket. (I suspect the author might like melons: a large slice of the book is focused on what you can do with a pair of tits and a match-fit tongue.)
Best two-word phrase in the book: Turgid genitals and/or directorial scrotum.
Best sentence in the book: (Please note the book is full of very very very long sentences.) And yet it does not stop there; this is Elizabeth Taylor and for her I carry on the longest sustained orgasm I have ever had in my life; far, far longer than the ten or twenty-second specials which I have managed for Sophia; it is as if the mysterious hidden triggers are blocked inside me on OPEN and I hang at the very crest of it for an incredible, for an almost frightening extension of time, feeling that because this is Elizabeth Taylor herself this time, I may literally never stop coming and my hands reach again for the remote hugeness of her breasts and I subside finally, breaking upon her, all sobs and shouts, mingled in the warm sheltering spaces of the room.
I also very much liked some part sentences including: I tried to listen to the spang of urine in the bowl; and throw my load all the way into her.
Sexual content: Packed with back-to-back fucking. The erotic descriptions are fantastic and funny. However, I do have a boner to pick! Our floored narrator is forever complaining about having to have sex with beautiful actresses. He paints women as horrifying sexual predators. Stunning women hideously jealous of each other. Most of the bonking he has is to placate these monsters. Obviously, this is his fantasy so he must like that sort of thing, but it does continue that worrying trend of men resenting and being threatened by women’s sexuality.
The bitterness/hatred really does jar in the end – our Martin does appear to really detest women. And like wanking. In equal measure. This is brought into sharp relief when he sets up a few out-of-office sessions with a real-life woman that also works at the NYC government department, who he cruelly describes to himself and the reader. He has sex with this 3D woman more out of boredom and because he can rather due to a genuine desire to feel someone else’s breath on his head. It is in this part of the book that the narrator betrays himself as wholegrain mustard misogynist outside the possible kink of his ruminating on Hollywood’s screen sirens.
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Overall conclusion: 7 out of 10. Fucking fantastic book. Brilliant writer of erotica. Despite the massive issues: the misogyny and the lazy fall back to weak man being hunted down by a pack of insatiable women, who just want to lie back and be fucked. Please note not all women want this. Not all women are greedy and selfish. It is not comfortable to be presented with the views of a narrator however flawed who vehemently dislikes and resents women, particularly women he finds attractive. The rules say that if you like someone, you should be nice to them.
Titillation station: Four fingered sausage roll (lubricated)
Food for thought: Finally, an interesting book given the rise in porn addiction and society’s obsession with the motion picture. Our collective loneliness and frustration. Maybe we should all give up on real-life sex. It’s much less stressful, less effort, less unpredictable and less risky to turn inwards and let the person that knows us most intimately give us exactly what we want. Ourselves. The question is how much of our sexual fantasies are within our control? Or how much cum does it take to satisfy a tractor?
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Violet Malice has decided to review erotica. Not dirty books. Erotic literature. There is a difference. Erotic literature is supposed to have some literary merit. Violet is going in search of a HOT and STIMULATING bedtime read. And will also, obviously, be assessing the level of titillation achieved, in order to answer that yearning question: can a good book ever be as exciting as a good fuck?
Book title: The Girl Beneath The Lion
Author: Andre Pieyre de Mandiargues
Translator: Richard Howard
First published: 1959
Back cover blurb that caught Violet’s attention: Few novelists have been able to catch the essence of a woman’s erotic impulses with quite such truth and poetic feeling, nor in a prose of such distinction. Violet’s response to this was, “yeh fucking right, we’ll just see about that.”
Quick synopsis: A young virgin called Vanina (nice, one letter off vagina) gets all horned up on holiday in Sardinia and tells this dude who she sees staring at her on the beach to do a few things in order to eventually have it off with her in some woods one evening. She never allows him to speak, which is actually quite a good strategy to not get disappointed by someone’s personality.
Front cover: WTF? A badly photoshopped pic of some random dude. The book is about a young girl’s sexual awakening! Who in their right mind chose to represent this by putting some haughty looking middle-class looking male slapped up the front in a turtleneck. On the plus side, a shite front cover makes me more interested to know what’s under the covers. Wink. Wink. Stink. Stink.
Best two-word phrase in the book: Couldn’t decide between musky melons and faecal zone. But I do like to have my erotica caked and eaten.
Comments on the title: Our Vanina fantasizes about having sex with a lion and the general vibe is that she’s into S&M and being dominated by a violent animal/man.
Best sentence in the book: It is not absolutely necessary that he love me; it is not even indispensable that he have a soul, that he be inhabited by a kind of seagull.
Sexual content: Bit sparse. But refreshingly strange. On page 80/1 there is an interesting passage about a man in a cheese shed that rubs cream cheese up Vanina’s thighs as some sort of skincare routine. She is 8 years old at this point so it’s unsavoury to say the least. The main sex bit on page 104 onwards is pretty boring – metaphors such as burning rod of iron and grand statements after the fact such as the limits of her self-hood dropped away are pretty rubbish and sentimental. But I suppose it’s an accurate depiction of a man imagining what a woman’s fantasies might be.
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Overall conclusion: 3 out of 10. None of this rings true. Very reductive. Boring erotica. No sexy describing words or hot lust action. Just overly sentimental horse shit – too much detail about nature and the sea which is obviously a metaphor for stupidity – with no actual pay off. Overuse of the word love – which is a total burn off – because love obviously is all a young girl cares about.
Titillation station: Two fingers down (dissatisfied)
Food for thought: He does end it in a very surprising way. After they’ve had it off, you learn very abruptly that her parents were killed by a violent bunch of young men and that she witnessed all of this as well as her mother been raped by these men. She then runs away from her so-called ‘lover’ and leaves Italy without ever wanting to know his name.
Finally, I have a problem with erotica that paints kinks as always linked to damage. I think this book should have been about the guy on the cover having it off with a fridge. I would have enjoyed that more. Stick to what you blow.
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