Thank fuck we are out the other side. Twinkling lights and turkeys have never been my thing. Much too big a cavity to fill. All texture, no bite. Too much about how big your sack is, than real wholesome feelings like hope and love. Maybe it’s because winter is so bleak and cold, even with that big red beardy guy in it. Is there Santa-related fan fiction? I’ve always preferred being naughty anyway, which is something Father Christmas has always tried to beat out of me. Anyway, let’s get that big bucket of shit that is January out of the way. Then, we can start wearing a few less layers.
For the first instalment of 2024, Violet’s monthly adult book review looks at a big cock tease of a dirty book. The aim, as always, is to attempt to answer that cracking question: can a good book ever be as thrilling as a good fuck?
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Book title: The Best American Erotica 1999
Editor: Susie Bright
Publisher of this edition: TOUCHSTONE
Copyright: © Susie Bright 1999
First published: 1999
Cover design: Barbara M. Bachman
THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict
Quick synopsis: This is a compilation of dirty short stories from the 90s and it goes without saying that most of them are total dog shit (which is not necessarily a bad thing). There’s something about anthologies that fills me with terror. But amongst the dank dingleberries, there’s a dirty great melon hanging off a low branch in the form of some stonking fan fiction. Kelly McQuain has written a piece called Je t’aime, Batman, je t’adore, which is worth a butchers hook. Basically, Robin wants to fuck Bruce Wayne AKA bat-bollocks himself.
Title: I’m not going to pretend to know why the author chose to use French in the title. I couldn’t really give a rat’s arse. Maybe it’s because they think its more romantic or something, or maybe it’s because they are creatively limited. One can only speculate to ejaculate. Tu me comprends?
Cover image: It looks like an anthology (basically, as though someone produced it using a broken fax machine). It tastes like an anthology. So, it must be a fucking anthology: full of shit by people that pay to be published.
Best sentences in the story:
Only drawback is the difficulty in concealing the Bat-boners that pop up with increasing frequency.
I began to rise, but froze when I noticed my Bat-chubber had created an embarrassing pup tent in my shorts.
My costume ripped as his fingers gripped my ass and his Bat-cock pierced my Bat-hole.
He pressed a chalky finger against my ass.
His fingers floundered inside of me like a trout caught in a net.
“Don’t swear, Robin. It reflects poorly on our image.”
My thighs tensed as yet another Bat-boner popped up, my shorts stretched so tight I could make out each engorged vein.
“Eat my fat worm, little bird!” he grunted.
I shot a huge wad beneath the dashboard.
He was hard on crime.
Alfred’s old, has only five hairs on his head, but still I got a chubber simply from being desired by a man.
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Overall sexual content: A total laugh, as goes with the fan fiction territory, but surprisingly horn inducing.
All that crass lusting after Batman is like a death slide, adrenalin fuelled and reminiscent of our own slippery internal erotic monologue when we let our lust moose loose aboot the hoose. It’s joyous to fantasise and be absorbed in the idea of someone. The storyline is very obviously pathetic (the Joker sends Batman a birthday card and the force for good have to work out what the bastard is planning, which in reality is not much). What the half-baked story tells us is that everyone in this game has some erotic shit of their own going on, which is why they are all there, playing their roles (the Joker wants to fuck Batman too, which is why he is trying to be bad, so that Batman will chase him down and hang off his Joker’s cock like Mount Sinai).
Overall conclusion: 6 out of 10.
Titillation station: Nothing actually happens. It’s all in Robin’s imagination and he seems very happy with that. He steals Batman’s cape and wears it whilst he wanks himself off in the wardrobe mirror. He rubs himself up against Bruce in the last paragraph as they both straddle his Harley. The realm of fantasy is powerful and vital. It doesn’t need to end with them actually fucking, which would be disappointing indeed. There’s something special about Robin enjoying his own imagination and his own body. And, given that Batman comes across as a boring egotistical prick, it doesn’t feel like a bad thing that it never actually happens.
Food for thought: I used to have an awful boss back in the day and I had a very interesting erotic dream about him that involved the reverse cowgirl during my interview for the position. I have pondered on it many a night as to why my mind went there, particularly as he was unappealing to me viz-a-viz intercourse. I reckon it’s simply because I could take his trousers down without actually taking his trousers down, if you know what I mean.
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