Dirty Little Fuck Doll – Eleanor Black
Young lady…you have my attention! Let us set the record straight – subtle isn’t one of Eleanor’s strong points.
The title says it all, and the air hostess on my flight to Brisbane confirmed others may be curious, spending more time than required at my shoulder.
So, as a lover of trains and transit systems in general I was hooked. Public places and the subtle sway of a carriage often leads to thoughts salacious (or is it just me?)
Meet Chloe Sykes, a very sexually talented 24 yr old part time glamour model (yes Eleanor isn’t afraid to tell you that her characters are pure perfectionism including size eights, silicon chests and massive appendages – the fantastical allure), “her light grey iris’, jerked listlessly around: at the attire of other women, at the branded bags they were carrying, yet mostly at men.” Chloe isn’t the deepest of thinkers but she definitely knows what she wants and lots of it.
You may think this book is pure porn. Well – bottom line – this is better than your boyfriends under the bed best reads. But what many may miss is the pleasure of real time encounters, (when Eleanor describes she takes it slow) a masterful erotica writers restraint, sexual cadence & in between lines intelligence. Though, just a little heads up – some antics are eye watering and for me beyond belief – but when a writer confronts as Dirty Little Fuck Doll did, (it’s good to say it out loud) I can’t help but applaud.
Brie: Submissive Series – by Red Phoenix
Having read almost all of the Brie Submissive series, I feel ready to lie back in my corset, quill poised to ponder the tomes of this entertaining writer. Red’s chapters, in my eyes, deserve a thesis in the art of fantasy, bondage and challenging her readers.
We all crave a thrill, escape from life’s entrapment at times – there’s nothing more delicious. We are creatures of pleasure and I’m not one to deny myself certain gratification. So I was very pleased to have found an erotica author who delves into this phenomenon with fun, respect, empathy and lust.
Submissive student Brie Bennett’s (Pride & Prejudice perhaps?) self deprecating humour, self doubt and shyness are traits that the series follows. Through each book we see a woman serious about her craft, inquisitive, honing her skills, horny… waiting for the teacher to take a bite of her apple.
- She develops a passion for sex, for pleasing, for assuming the position – practising on loads of men in all it’s dark, dark, dark. This school could break mere mortals and many fail, but motivating Brie is a love story of sacrifice and moving forward. That is why the Brie Series is best studied complete.
There is so much fun and awkwardness in the pages, a hair brush scene in a subsequent book was drawn so minutely I became Brie, felt all her fear, embarrassment, excitement and jubilation of a difficult task completed.
There are beautiful friendships formed and cleverness in introducing characters that you just want to see more of. I found myself yelling at pages, ‘pick Blue Eyes, pick Blue Eyes’. But I have a particular favourite. Tono the Japanese Shibari artist. Red Phoenix’s breath really comes to the fore as one becomes suspended in nature. Gliding descriptions as intriguing and succinct as Haiku while The Master turns his Toriko (his pet name for Brie) into a living work of art. You’ll often find him either binding Brie in ropes, drawing on her or another core melting scene when he covers her entire torso in wax. “Lie still and let the sensations carry you”
I adored the friends and foes in her class, exposing rivalries and jealousies as bitchy as any ‘mean girls’ high school, or ladder climbing workplace. The teachers have their hands full at times. Their exasperation when a student is particularly naughty, rebelling – the core nature of being a submissive – is quite lascivious, but isn’t punishment a sweet reward.
Of course you can’t have submissive students without Dom wannabes and this school has some of the greatest thought out Masters, returning each series to bid for students and join in the action.
They aren’t gods with size 12 shoes, they are real, flawed and… well I lied, they have big cocks.
Bries fantasy journal is another highlight. Her beautifully vivid imagination just waiting to be fulfilled reads like a lust filled fairytale. Her thoroughness to detail constantly chastised by her teachers for being too thorough and descriptive. I feel a switch in the making, control, control, control of how a scene will play out. Brie has her goal in sight – to be the best, and I will continue to follow her quest. You know what they say, practice makes perfect;)
MONSTER SKIN by Melancton Hawks
I found a mind, through a book that trapped me in it’s time slip. Monster Skin and I are like old friends. The book that never gets filed onto a dusty shelf because it needs to be seen, to be close, upon fingertips reach until something else comes close to its magick. A book that fills the pleasure void.
I’ve caressed her pages twice. I say her – and I know I am anthropomorphising – but this book is alive and a whole lotta woman! – the author, Melancton Hawks, is all man. Hawks has created a magnificent feminine force named Spooky Bonsai. She’s ‘half gefilte fish, half maki roll”, hormone ravaged, acutely aware and hell bent on revenge. For Spooky, fashion is god and couture is an expensive temple to worship at. Like any sixteen year old kleptomaniac, she is good at acquiring the latest threads to feed her faith and match her luscious green lips. This is a character that needs to keep coming back into our lives just to make sure we are getting it right.
Monster Skin is a difficult novel to categorize or well, just to explain by quick synopsis – the earth could compress a diamond faster. Big characters burst with fun and menace, descriptive phrases flow out like tied magician scarves from its throat and you are left gobsmacked at its endless silken flow. Truly surreal feels all too real, like a nature documentary – the good the bad and the ugly.
Get attuned to the ear and rhythm of the book in the first two pages and then it takes off. Extremes of fantasy, descriptions fester and sweat and you smell it all between the lines. Streams of consciousness join seamlessly and become a truly poetic story. Hawks moon is “interminable cloud stained nicotine by a million lightglobes” Skyscrapers, “fleshy towers quivering in post orgasmic droop” When I read some paragraphs I see the world on the back of elephants, on the back of a turtle. Occasionally white specks explode with words to reflect and adore. It’s futuristic but set in the past, a sci-fi bizarro world that feels all too familiar.
It’s pace is a syncopated psychedelic word-fest. Chapters move fast, an arrhythmia of suspense. Images get trapped in your minds eye and you levitate cross legged zapped at times into alternate universes within universes and you never leave the city – such brilliant intelligent imaginings of sex, horror, love and violence.
This book is froop de loop erotic with plenty of stuff to heighten your senses with lust and humour – warning, you will salivate. Dip in and out, in and out, in and out until batteries die and I don’t mean just on your e-reader.
Monster Skin for me was an elixer, a mind medicine that celebrated storytelling, philosophy and ancient specters that are so crucial to ones psyche. Like all good art, this book will evoke many different reactions. Take a look into Melancton’s head, and make your own conclusions.
by Hunter S Jones
The dream of writers lounging around in cafes all day, filling journals with the spills of language is a seductive and cerebral fantasy of mine. Their inky black stained lips sipping dark stuff, is an extremely alluring vision. My passion lies with the poets, but in reality poets tend to make a living, well…not writing poetry.
Liz Snow is a seductive creature with a tormented past. A business savvy with a lust for literature, discussion and analysis. She connects with lawyer Pete Hendrix, her eyes win him “fifty floors up in a tower of glass. The full catastrophe”. Their online liaison soon becomes addictive. They question their sanity, themselves and their new addiction.
Fantasy,tragedy and poetry fill the pages of September Ends. This romance is wrapped in a very modern scenario. Neurons rule instead of pheromones and with that comes the vicissitudes of time, space and madness. So when you fall in love with a mind, do you fall in love with your own imaginings, or is that what we do, even if we fall in love with flesh and blood – no difference?
Liz and Pete’s affection grows as they stare into the white light, each tapped line from a dusty keyboard sends them deeper and deeper in love. A mutual affection for words has them following and discussing English poet Jack O Savage. Jack is a poet with a punk heart. A sort of John Cooper Clarke with eyes dipped in Keats. He feels “as if this life of mine is not mine, that someone else is living through me, that I have no say in any of this, whatever this is” Well, Indie is dead, and ‘The Poet’ is pained with metaphor. Enter wings of a cyber butterfly and you will see lives unravel with all the hurt, beauty and pain of existence.
The story moves like an internal play. It’s all in the mind or inside something else. A circuitry of lyrical wires crossing and sparking at breakneck speed. Chat rooms thump with sexual tension, words are a powerful aphrodisiac. Pictures flick by, an innocent peep show, thoughts are raw and a natural awkward dialogue begins to be revealed.
Diary entries fatten thoughts, anxieties, doubts and storyline. When they inevitably meet, that’s when reality hits hard. The story now instead of being told in a vacuum now has a landscape, not just solitary figures looking for substance in their words, they have the sustenance of flesh, the hurt of lies… a bookend of tears.
Savages’ poetic blog entries are pure joy. He bursts into chapters, his words reflect a train of thought for the lovers to share – a delicious saucy ride – “Unfurl your butterflying tongue” “It’s raining peaches in my tent.”
September Ends introduces it’s characters lives and motives well. It’s a sweet romantic drama, dripping with tears. September Again, the second book in the September series is not far away and I look forward to the continuing saga of sin, love and words.
The Nightlife: Las Vegas
by Travis Luedke
Characters like these need alpha cities to backdrop their mayhem. The seedier the underbelly, the better these characters grow. In the crime chic world of Las Vegas, Michelle and Aaron hit the highrollers and cause the most beautiful gore, with a rip it to shreds story of addiction. In the second book in Luedke’s Nightlife (The Nightlife: New York being a hard act to follow) we hang in the shadows, with two of the most delicious creatures of the night, ever to grace the pages of erotica. Michelle and Aaron have a new toy. A beautiful abused soul locked in bloodlust – a thrilling, oozing menage a trois that leaves all players with nasty hangovers.
Travis continues with a metaphor of addiction, most can emphathise with the morning after hell, and no one feels it more than venom needing Ana. How quickly we forget the drawn out pain of it all, once recognised, ready to do it all again. Moderation people. This duo is so hard to resist and we are told this often throughout the book. Author Travis Luedke could tighten the strap a little here and decrease some repetitive ideas and repeated turns of phrase, but that is only a small distraction on the page, because when writer Leudke is in the zone his imagery gets stuck right behind your retinas.
The psychic connections between Ana and the delectable master and servant dynamic duo I adore. The interspersed French and their irreverent repartee, oh so frenchy, so chic. So onto the next instalment The Nightlife: Paris. My coeur noir is ready for it.