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The Raunch Review: Book 26

Missed me? Yeah, right. I’ve been waiting for you to notice my absence, that’s why I’ve not been about for a while. Thought I’d toy with your feelings. Watch you. Partake in a little voyeurism. See whether, you know, one day, you might miss me. Feel a hole somewhere between your legs. I caved in the end. Couldn’t be bothered to wait any longer. It’s obvious that you couldn’t care less and that’s understandable. I completely understand. You have a lot going on. Who’s going to eat all that pasta and polish all those horse brasses. Both my legs went dead at week two in hiding, but I’ll spare you the details. 

The world doesn’t seem to have got any sexier in my absence. I think maybe it might have become smaller and more tense. More fucKING shaped – the stamps anyway. (I’m still looking for a 50p with his majesty’s boat face on it so I can shove it up my bear’s arse.) Summer is almost on top of us. We all remember what that feels like: thighs and lollypops. Fingering food. Squinting. Water sports. Thrush. 

So, here she blows! Violet’s weekly adult book review is back and it’s a pretty rough pile of horse shit that went down like cold treacle. A hard slap of voyeurism. The aim, as always, is to attempt to answer that succulent question: can a good book ever be as raw-chicken-like as a good fuck?

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Book title: The Voyeur’s Motel
Author: Gay Talese
Publisher of this edition: Grove Press UK
Copyright: © Gay Talese 2016
First published: 2016
Cover photo: Brooklyn Underground Films

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: Supposedly a true story, journalist Gay Talese was contacted by self-proclaimed voyeur and motel owner Gerald Foos about his experiences as a rogue sex researcher. Foos claimed to have bought the Manor House Motel just outside Denver and installed viewing platforms in order to observe the motel’s guests having it off (sex and all that). He kept detailed records of what he observed, a pen in one hand and his engorged penis in the other.

Title: A voyeur who owns a motel. What could possibly go wrong? The question is if they don’t know they’re being watched, and nothing ever comes of it (like no one posts footage on the internet or uses the information to extort money from anyone), does that make it alright? Are privacy and perversion at odds or can they be fully satisfied bedfellows? Most people in hotels end up masturbating to the sex soundtrack accompanying what’s going on in the hotel room next door anyway, right? Then, eyeballing the perpetrators over the croissants in the restaurant the next morning. They never look how you imagined them from their grunting sounds. 

Cover image: A photo of the classic US looking motel where the action supposedly took place. Humble and unassuming, exactly the sort of place for sordid activities and voyeurism. Hot sheets for hot pockets – you know – look sheepish, pay, just fuck, don’t even stay the night. Janet Leigh wrapped in a shower curtain. 

Best sentence/s in the book:

Finally after kissing and fondling her, he quickly gained an erection and entered her in the male superior position, with little or no foreplay, and orgasmed in approximately 5 minutes.

The next morning at 9 a.m., I observed her giving him oral sex to completion, with the sperm running down her cheek.

For a while they all three laid quiet on the bed and relaxed, discussing vacuum cleaner sales.

Unfortunately, the majority of men I’ve observed are concerned with their own pleasure rather than the women’s.

The wife proceeded to unhook his catheter and masturbate him to erection.

The male subject then withdrew his mouth and fingers and said, “I’m having difficulty making my car payment.”

Immediately he grabs her drink and takes his penis out of his pants and urinates in her drink.

Her hair is messed up and she has been releasing gas at random and without shame.

After observing many subjects, my survey concludes that women have a tendency to masturbate more out of depression than anything else.

The voyeur observed one man, a married rather of two, having sex with one of the many teddy bears he had brought into his room.

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Overall sexual content: The book is supposed to be an actual account of what this peeping tom saw his hotel guests doing, so it reads very dry. Sometimes they pick their nose and wipe it on the sheets. Sometimes they piss in the sink. All in a days gawping for the voyeurism expert. He also makes lots of conclusion about what he’s seen over the years, which is pretty fucking repulsive. 

It’s not sexy. Just like a book on the anatomy of a big bellend is not sexy. There’s lots of descriptions of sexual activities and how they have changed over the years, but I’m not sure how much we should value the opinion of some festering hotelier who wanks through an air vent whilst writing down an account of what he’s seeing. He gets so desperate one time when a hot couple start having it off and then turn the lights out that he gets into his car and parks it by their window and turns the headlights to full beam so that he can see them doing the old in-and-out. Voyeurism at full throttle. He’s an unreliable perv without any redeeming features or self-awareness that’s what I’m getting at. 

Overall conclusion: 3 out of 10.

Titillation station: Although it’s supposed to be based on true events, I really think it might be a sack of shit. Some guy’s fantasy or at least some guy’s need for attention. Owning a motel and watching people. It’s a cold fish. Detached and gobbling for less of what’s in its mouth. Maybe that’s how the voyeur feels – lonely and isolated. Both part and apart from the actual action. Something that becomes an obsession. He can’t live without watching, without the thrill that voyeurism invokes. He sees a murder and keeps wanking off – lots of it just doesn’t ring true. 

Food for thought: His conclusion that women only masturbate when they are depressed is a pretty fucking big generalisation. It made me momentarily throw the book into a quarry and set it on fire. This guy is not the Office for National Statistics even though he thinks he is. He thinks that he can explain why and what is happening. That he understands desire. What a fucking idiot. It would be great for him if women only masturbated when they’re depressed. If the sexual desire of women is based on lack and loneliness. That they only do it because they are desperate, a man isn’t around, after they’ve cried themselves to sleep. How fucking boring. 

Needless to say I’m glad he didn’t get to watch me wank all over his curtains. 

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The Raunch Review: Book 25

Spring is in the air, my dear! Or that’s what I hear from all those party people that like to blow on about the state of the clouds and the moisture levels and all that, where has the sun gone etc etc. Why is it so chuffing cold? Well, at bloody cock-fucking last, that’s what I say.  

My Valentine’s date went pretty badly, thanks for asking. I’d prefer not to go into the ins and outs, but I will because I can see that you’re pleading with me. The long and short of it is (and he was pretty short, in that department) that I caught norovirus from this guy’s arse. I was getting down to it and I suddenly felt very sick indeed. As sick as a projectile vomiting dog with a chronic shitting disease. Subsequently, I experienced the full force of my failure to consider the general rules on hygiene and respectability. Needless to say, he got out of there sharpish and left me swanning around in my own effluent.

Anyway, I’ve pressure washed the carpets and incinerated the duvet covers, so I’m good to blow on. Violet’s weekly adult book review is back and it’s a eye ball squeezer of a dystopian Sci Fi banger set in little England. The aim, as always, is to attempt to answer that scalding question: can a good book ever be as greasy as a good fuck?

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Book title: The Gas
Author: Charles Platt
Publisher of this edition: Savoy Books Ltd
Copyright: © Charles Platt 1970
First published: 1970
Cover illustration: Harry Douthwaite

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis:  An accident in a factory releases a gas, which settles over southern England, and makes everyone go sex mad and/or outrageously violent. In essence, it strips humans and animals of all their inhibitions and pent-up urges. The book follows Vincent, who in part is responsible for the release of the gas, as he tries to get back to his wife and kids in order to take them to Scotland (where the gas can’t reach). 

Title: It does what it says on the tin really. Pretty much sums up what we’re dealing with. The gas happens and nothing will ever be the same again in little England, where everyone is so totally repressed. 

Cover image: The cover is extraordinary and screams FUCK ME I’M A SCI FI CLASSIC. A great example of the crass grisly cover art of that period. The illustration is pretty bestial, aggressive and intimidating, which is an accurate reflection of the shit between the covers. Some strange Medusa like person is dribbling over her own tits, nice. Circles, lots of circles, circles are sexy. 

Best sentence/s in the book:

The aura of sex she was radiating was like sitting next to an electric fire. 

The waves of swelling pleasure emanating from his prick seemed to be coming from the car itself. 

Vincent watched helplessly as the policeman started massaging the dog’s penis, first as if to dispel the pain, but then faster. 

She smelled of sweat and old condoms. 

A party of suburban wives had tied their husbands down naked on the floor in a long line, and were playing a sexual variation of musical chairs on them. 

In the corner, a group of schoolboy plane-spotters had grabbed aircraft models from the check-in counters and were experimentally seeing how far the models’ fuselages would penetrate up each other’s anuses. 

His fingers squelched into her fat, slobbery cunt. 

The priest tried to kneel up, slipped, fell on his side and started shitting uncontrollably. 

He was a red and pink and brown pudding on the floor. 

“I’ve come!” he yelled, jism started rushing up past his face in long, sticky streamers, pulled out of Cathy’s cunt by the roaring wind. 

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Overall sexual content: The book is absolutely crammed with sex and violence. It begins very sexily and then quickly degrades into a sex crazed gore fest. There is a very erotic element to the sex at the beginning of the book, which is urgent and desperate, but not yet totally alienating and hate fuelled. Obviously as the book progresses the sex gets more and more extreme, almost to the point where life no longer matters anymore and sex is used simply as a weapon and orgasm as a means to regaining a small degree of rationality. 

It is very interesting that the sexual anarchy that ensues sees men and women at war with each other. Both men and women seize the opportunity to abuse and violate the opposite sex in a way that implies that that is what they have always wanted but never been brave enough to make happen. 

Overall conclusion: 9 out of 10.

Titillation station: The beginning chapters are right up there on the sexy scales. The sex is hot and titillating, despite the fact that once again men are in the driving seat (metaphorically and literally, lots of sex happens a stolen Rolls Royce) and women are given no choice but to suck it up. However, all the erotic charge of the book dries up instantly as the sex becomes more and more taboo and extreme. 

Food for thought: It is an absolute banger of a book. One of my all time favourites. It’s no wonder that when it was released in the UK in 1980 it was seized by the book police. It is unapologetically rough. In more ways than one. Charles probably wrote it in a week – given the amount of spelling mistakes – and the fact that this writer and journalist in his own right, wrote it for money for the magnificent churner outer of erotic and avant-garde literary fiction Ophelia Press. I’m tempted to read his hands-on non-fiction works on electronics just for kicks. 

There is a big section in the book where Cambridge University students begin kidnapping women to carry out appalling supposedly scientific but totally sexual experiments on them. Most of the descriptions are gratuitous and inherently cruel, with most of the women dying as a result. What is implied here and explicitly stated at one point, is that these men have always felt an inner dislike/threat from female sexuality and take the opportunity in a lawless society to enact horrific acts on women in the name of science, as some sort of fucked up form of revenge for something unsaid/unknown.  

I would have given it the top bollocks (10/10) but the end just deflated my arse before I was satisfied. Sadly, with great ideas sometimes there is no way that the end can live up to the promised climax.

P.S. I wasn’t too keen on the incest stuff even though I get that it’s the big taboo. At least the violence was very obviously horrific, whereas the incest was presented in a loving and sexy way, which was a pretty mouldy dick to swallow. 

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The Raunch Review: Book 24

Greetings from the middle of February.  Are you ready for a thriller?

I have been swelling. Like a jaundice Soufflé aux épinards. I looked in the mirror one rusty morning and was pretty bowled over. I had grown at least two feet and still had the remnants of the night before on my face. I had juiced a man’s prostate. He had a lot in the trap, if you catch my drift. I suspect he hadn’t let the pigeons out in a while. They were all breaking their necks to get into the fresh air. It’s nice to feel close to someone sometimes. Like right up in their mechanism. Anyway, Violet’s weekly adult book review has dropped and it’s a hard-boiled bollock of a thriller. The aim, as always, is to attempt to answer that pregnant question: can a good book ever be as brain-dead as a good fuck?

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Book title: In The Cut
Author: Susanna Moore
Publisher of this edition: Weidenfeld & Nicolson
Copyright: © Susanna Moore 1995
First published: 1995
Cover image: Emilio Brizzi / Millennium Images, UK

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis:  In The Cut is a gut wrenching thriller, which follows the comings and goings, and inner workings, of an English teacher at New York University who becomes sexually involved with a policeman investigating the brutal murders of a number of women in the area. 

Title: This one has multiple levels of meaning. The murders all involve women being butchered with blades. Our narrator, Frannie, is also studying New York street slang, which unsurprisingly is very derogatory in nature.  Being ‘in the cut’ is used by several characters to mean ‘in the vagina’.  

Cover image: A close-up of a side profile looking backwards. It is a loaded look, make-up laden and sexual, vulnerable and yet defiant. Certainly, women in this book are being hunted and brutalised. They are the target of hatred even though they don’t necessarily realise it yet. 

Best sentence/s in the book:

“My dick’s so sweet, it’ll give you cavities.”

The cunt was fucking everything that walked. 

I, who refused for years to let my husband in Paris realize his life’s ambition of photographing a scorpion in my vagina. 

“You know, all you really need is two tits, a hole and a heartbeat.”

He doesn’t talk about sex the way some men do, wanting to go over it, wanting to hear the woman describe what it was like, how she hadn’t been able to wipe herself for a week. 

“I loved her so much I used to eat her every night.”

She had a meaty, fat pussy. 

He turned me around and bent me over the desk, yanking my skirt around my waist, and pulled aside my underpants and pushed his fingers, fingers, all his fingers inside me. 

“The only way I could tell he’d come was that he’d look at his watch.”

I was suddenly ashamed, ashamed that there would be an odor, or that his cock would have shit on it, and I could not look. 

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Overall sexual content: The book is full of sex. It is a thriller in more ways than one. Raw, stinking and writhing about the page on the knife edge between lust and hate. It is not an erotic book for me – in the sense that the brutality and general malice that accompanies all the sexual scenarios dribbles through and makes the sex repulsive. Sex is made into something dangerous and frightening, something violent and isolating. It is clap cold, like a body on a slab. 

Aside from the undercurrent of violence that permeates this thriller and annihilates the majority of the titillating aspects, the sex is fantastically well drawn. It feels authentic and desperate and real. Who said that erotica has to encourage positive sexual feelings? Maybe it can make us shrivel up and dry.  

Overall conclusion: 10 out of 10!!!!

Titillation station: It is titillating to a very small degree. The sexual passages are detailed and arousing. That is part of its power. Sex has got a lot to do with the power dynamic, whichever way you position it. And the feelings we have about sex are complex and hard to comprehend. 

Food for thought: It is one of the best books ever written, in my puffed up opinion. It captures something important, something that exists and walks around with us. The female characters are also flawed. The narrator suspects that the policeman she is fucking is a bad man, but she keeps having it off with him anyway. It paints female sexual desire on the page in a brash and real way, as present and obvious. Over the top of that is daubed the aggressive and predatory sexual desire of the male characters, who hold powerful positions in society that are supposed to protect us. The policeman’s hat and the policeman’s badge. His hand cuffs and his arrest warrants. Particularly, it illustrates the use of sex as a weapon and the culture amongst men that can dehumanise the object of their desires. Maybe because they have become too responsible for their own lives. 

Nobody can ignore when reading this book – and probably why it was reissued in 2021 – the parallels with the real culture of misogyny in the police force. The devastating atrocities that have happened in recent memory in full view. The way women are described and the way sex is achieved in this book is pumped full of disgust and one-upMANship. 

I won’t ruin the end. Or tell you how it turns out. Except that it is devastating and close to the nerve to acknowledge that a policeman cutting women’s nipples off and eventually using them as chum, and that person being very confident that he will get away with it, is not shocking and it should be. 

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The Raunch Review: Book 23

You’ll never guess what…

I went to the snooker final. I am a big fan of ball sports that involve dickie bows and waistcoats. It really gives me the horn, all that bending over the table. All that chalking the tip. All that synthetic resin dropping like batter into hot oil. It was pretty mouth-watering. I didn’t want it to end. But, alas, as the saying goes, everything must come at the end. Otherwise no one’s allowed to finish. Violet’s weekly adult book review is streaking into 2023. A whole new year of reading. All bouncy, pink and vulnerable. As we attempt to answer that inflatable question: can a good book ever be as buoyant as a good fuck?

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Book title: Available: A Memoir of Sex and Dating After a Marriage Ends 
Author: Laura Friedman Williams
Publisher of this edition: The Borough Press, HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright: © Laura Friedman Williams 2021
First published: 2021
Cover art: plainpicture/amanaimages/LUSH LIFE/A.collection

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis:  This is a very personal account of a woman’s plunge into sex and dating after her 22-year marriage ends. Laura, a 47-year-old mother of three, dishes the dirt on what it’s like to put an unfamiliar prick in your arse after two decades of nothing fucking. How to pluck your bean up out of the gutter and try to form some sort of identity out of the ruins. 

Title: I am AVAILABLE. A pretty horrifying statement after a lifetime of putting other people’s needs before your own. To be consumed by Mother and Wife. What a pair of cunts. What a horrifying thought, to be available. A pint of single cream sat in the fridge counter waiting to be wanted. 

Cover image: A lovely looking peach with an erotic looking crease. How delicious. Fruit is sexy, we all know that. My only beef is that maybe the crease is too straight. It makes me think that this might be a genetically modified stoned fruit. No one has a perfectly straight furry arse crevice. Not that I’ve cum across anyway (and I’ve had my fair share of A2M, according to the UK government’s National Statistics). 

Best sentence/s in the book:

I have always gagged giving blow jobs. 

More importantly, two men have now independently surveyed the state of my vagina and given it the all-clear. 

There is something that makes a man look so vulnerable when he is handling himself […]. 

I am too shy to do what I really want, which is to tell him this is my first close-up with an uncircumcised penis, and to more closely examine it, so I settle for another round of sex and then agree we can go eat dinner. 

I am scared to say no to this man – he is intense and determined, and I fear that I might have led him to this inevitable conclusion so that saying no now would brand me a tease, a blue-baller, a naïf, someone who doesn’t understand the sexual dynamics between a man and a woman. 

“Can I have you one more time before you go?”

When his finger slides inside me, my eyes dart to the side where a large group of millennials is gathered next to us. 

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Overall sexual content: I mean it’s a bit of a curve ball, it’s actually autobiographical and as such not a balls out dirty book. The writer is navigating her reawakening as a single sexual being, so there is a focus on sex, the ins and outs, and navigating the rough seas of expectation. It’s not exactly titillating, but there is an erotic aspect to the very intimate account of someone tiptoeing into the bedroom after their whole life has been dissolved by lies. Someone that is being very honest about what they see in front of them – genital warts and all – and the internal battles they are fighting. 

There is lots of detail about the sex being served up and this new frontier. I would say that it is hard to be all fired up like a wood burner when someone is being so personal about their hang-ups and surprised at how much dick someone has got.  That’s a bit of a mood killer for the one-handed reader. 

Overall conclusion: 6 out of 10.

Titillation station: It would be unfair of me to say that I thought this was erotica. It’s not. But it is taking on the erotic nevertheless. I think this is a warm load of reading that hopes to empower people and in this instance that is a much more valuable proposition than a masturbatory back-flip. 

Food for thought: It is a page-turner indeed and I did enjoy the ease in which Laura weaves her story. I think these sorts of personal books about sex are important to help people navigate the peaks and troughs of life, and find hope where seemingly there is none. 

The jarring aspect for me was the sharp self-doubt about the aging female body. It is understandable that a woman that has never explored her sexuality outside of her fucking boring marriage would be unsure of how desirable she is in the brave new Tinder filled world. But I didn’t like the fact that Laura had to be constantly reassured about the state of her tits and her fanny by a host of gym-addicted dicks on sticks. I was disappointed that she needed that reassurance even after she has blazed her own sexy path through the low hanging fruits of the forest.

I think that if women internalise a dislike for their own aging bodies because they think that men won’t find them sexy, that’s a massive part of the problem. What is it with women and aging? Surely, it’s something to be celebrated. I think this book made me feel more conscious of my body as a commodity – as something that degrades and decays. Women need to be kind. The alternative is an expensive smile and tits with no give. 

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The Raunch Review: Book 22

We are nearly at the big red door onto virgin territory. Imagine what exciting shit is out there. I’m so insatiable that I actually started my 2023 pocket diary already. What a terrible bitch! Patience doesn’t exist anymore, remember. Everything is binge binge binge until there’s nothing left, but emptiness and wrappers. So we might as well get on with it. Get reading. Those dicks won’t suck themselves, as my mum always says. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that carrot-nosed question: can a good book ever be as naughty/nice as a good fuck?

Book title: Portnoy’s Complaint
Author: Philip Roth
Publisher of this edition: Vintage UK, Random House
Copyright: © Philip Roth 1967, 1968, 1969
First published: 1969
Cover art: Daido Moriyama

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis:  The novel is written in the form of a lengthy sexually explicit monologue by the main character Alexander Portnoy to his psychoanalyst. Portnoy details his ongoing inability to enjoy his sexual conquests, which become more and more extreme. He also likes masturbating or sweating his onions, and I mean loads, like tens of times a day. 

Title: The book centres on exploring the fuck bangs that never end in catharsis. It begins with a clinical definition of “Portnoy’s Complaint,” which is said to be a disorder that wages war between ethical impulses and perverse sexual desire. The definition is provided by Portnoy’s psychoanalyst, who states that he believes the symptoms, supposedly displayed by the main character, are linked to the mother-child relationship. 

Cover image: A naughty look up some fishnet tights. Sexy up-skirting yeah. Like an erotic kaleidoscope of bunched thighs and folds leading you in. The feeling here is that she’s game, whoever the bird is with the legs, given that this type of tights are said to be exclusively worn by sluts.    

Best sentence/s in the book:

Then came adolescence – half my waking life spent locked behind the bathroom door, firing my wad down the toilet bowl, or into soiled clothes in the laundry hamper, or splat, up against the medicine-chest mirror, before which I stood in my dropped drawers so I could see how it looked coming out.

Nonetheless, it would seem that I never forgave her: in the weeks following our false alarm, she came to seem to me boringly predictable in conversation, and about as desirable as blubber in bed. 

“Come, Big Boy, come,” screamed the maddened piece of liver that, in my own insanity, I bought one afternoon at a butcher shop and, believe it or not, violated behind a billboard on the way to a bar mitzvah lesson. 

Did I mention that when I was fifteen I took it out of my pants and whacked off on the 107 bus from New York? 

Once in the morning (in an overgrown field near the lake shore) we had sexual congress, and then that afternoon, on a dirt road somewhere in the mountains of central Vermont, she said “Oh, Alex, pull over, now – I want you to come in my mouth,” and so she blew me, and with the top down!

Her favorite line of English prose is a masterpiece: “Fuck my pussy, Fuckface, till I faint.” 

You put your dick some place and moved it back and forth and stuff came out the front. 

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Overall sexual content: I wouldn’t say it’s a sexy read. Obviously this guy has issues and therefore lots of the dick based detail is centred on him wanking off in unusual and risky situations. He spends a lot of time pretending to his family that he has diarrhoea so that he can masturbate in the toilet, whilst his mum and dad frantically bang on the door begging him not to flush.  

Surprisingly, our main character does manage to have actual sex with lots of women, but most of it is disrespectfully described. He wants to have dirty sex with sluts basically, so that he can fuck them and get them to do whatever his fat controller fancies in that particular moment. Because don’t forget, he is tilting his sword at windmills with no hope of actually being satisfied. 

Overall conclusion: 6 out of 10.

Titillation station: I had high hopes for this well-respected wad of filth, but was sadly frustrated. No bristling or flinching whatsoever. The equivalent of a badly defrosted fish finger sandwich, which tastes like glass on the way down. 

Food for thought: It’s interesting that Roth used the old therapist/patient relationship as the basis for the book. A confession of sorts of a young man’s inner most desires and thoughts, no holes barred. Full frontal honesty or at least his version of how he wants to come across. Mr Roth is making us into smug voyeurs of sorts, like when people watch Embarrassing Bodies on telly with a bucket of popcorn to make themselves feel better about the shit they’ve got creeping about under their clothes. 

The most memorable bit in the book is when Alex masturbates with a piece of raw liver that his family then cooks and eats that evening. He sits there with them and eats it as well I might add. They have no idea why they get a mouth full of crusty wire pubes. Luckily, the book ends with him not being able to get it up anymore. Thank fuck! 

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Violet Malice

Suck It and See