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Book Review: Be a Dear and Give My Tight, Virgin Hole a Hard, Sloppy Pounding

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Author: The Honourable Sir Edmund Quimlove
Genre: Erotica
Published: 2015

“Dare he bury his musket betwixt the nether lips of such an innocent girl…”

You know, I like it when people (and books) are upfront with me: if you’re gonna be a trashy piece of filth, just tell me that. I’ll respect you all the more for it. So when I happened upon Be a Dear and Give My Tight, Virgin Hole a Hard, Sloppy Pounding I imagined I’d come across just that: a little toilet tissue that was open about wanting to get down and nasty for 20 pages or so.

But alas, it wasn’t to be. Who would’ve thought that someone as honourable as Sir Edmund Quimlove would have dared to lead his audience astray? There I was, reluctantly anticipating tight virgins and sloppy poundings, but what did I get instead? Some very odd and poorly thought out roleplay. For shame Sir Quimlove, for shame.

The Plot

Jonathan and Tabitha Pemberton are an ever so loving couple living an ever so delightful life and who speak in an ever so confusing old-timey rural British accent. While peacefully reclining after a delightful supper but finding the larder entirely devoid of cherry pie for dessert the two decide that this would be a most opportune time to make the beast with two backs.

But what to do? Having recently attempted anal and faced with the reality that Tabitha only has so many orifices in which to stuff things the two need to decide on some other way of spicing up their after dinner carnal treat. Thankfully Tabitha is as smart as she is whorish and she comes up with a most titillating idea (that she probably read about in Ye Olde Cosmo): roleplay. She’ll play the virgin recently come of age whose body pulses with the need for sexual release whenever her father pops off to market, and Jonathan will be a door-to-door lion tamer.

With such a hungry and ferocious kitty as Tabitha’s, will Jonathan’s expert (and somewhat unorthodox) lion taming skills quell the fire in the savage beast? Carry on dear reader, and be left completely unshocked and unaroused!

The Writing Style

You would think that the idea of a door-to-door lion tamer would be the most bizarre thing you’d come across in a work such as this, but Sir Quimlove has a few more tricks up his sleeve.

To start with the positives, from a technical point of view there isn’t anything wrong with the way Be a Dear… (I’m not writing that title out over and over) is written, with impeccable grammar and a varied vocabulary throughout. The issue for me was in the way that the characters’ copious dialogue was written.

Jonathan and Tabitha, when not in an aroused state, speak in a very prim and proper Victorian manner becoming of a young couple from decent backgrounds who take picnics by the river bank. When aroused, however, Tabitha’s regular speech pattern becomes interspersed with a vocabulary more becoming of an aging Eastern bloc porn star with tattooed-on makeup who isn’t afraid to finger herself while wearing false nails. For example:

“It hardly seems proper to have relations with a girl whose name I don’t even know.’
“Call me your fucking slut, or perhaps your filthy whore, or even your pretty, little cocksucker.

Not convinced? How about this one:

“Will you coat my limber, young body in gallons of your sloppy cum until my sweet, innocent face is dripping with the liquid remnants of our torrid relations?”

Perhaps this would all make a bit more sense if I’d known that this was the second book in a series before I read it, but I stand by the fact that trying to be a posh Victorian and a 40-something prostitute named Olga just doesn’t work. Either go all out and be filthy right the way through, or (especially for comedic effect) have really rough sex being described by really polite country folk. Just don’t try and do both – it’s more jarring than what was happening to Tabitha’s poor kitty.

The Feelings

Confused, briefly laughing, and then bored.

For all the big promises in this book’s title and the rather bizarre approach it takes to character portrayal, ultimately it’s completely lacking in anything vaguely erotic. Maybe I’m just boring in bed, but my understanding of roleplay is that it’s meant to allow you to play out some kind of fantasy with your significant other. If this is the case, if someone came to me saying that they were a door-to-door lion tamer while trying to be all sensual and whatnot I think I’d collapse on the floor laughing and sexy time would be over well before it ever started. Of course we at A World of Weird don’t advocate judging anyone based on their sexual proclivities, so if you wanna get it on with a door-to-door lion tamer then you let your freak flag fly high!

Once you put the odd choice of situation to the side all you’re left with is the usual slopping orifices, raging erections, vicious poundings and unnatural quantities of semen. Sir Quimlove, while I commend you for managing to write something that is both peculiar and mundane it simply isn’t enough to earn a recommendation from my side.

My Final Rating: 3 / 10
Buy Be a Dear and Give My Tight, Virgin Hole a Hard, Sloppy Pounding at Amazon.com

 
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Posted by on August 26, 2016 in Book Review

 

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Book Review: The Bagel Sandwich Bang

The Bagel Sandwich Bang

Author: Oliver Clozov
Genre: Erotica
Published: 2015

“…he never imagined that an everyday snack could turn into an everyday fuck.”

As much as I do enjoy seeing Tropical Mary go through agony at the sheer assault on the senses that is the Amazon erotica section, I felt that our joint escapade with Lord Metalcock was perhaps one step too far and that it would be unfair for her to suffer an ordeal like reviewing Oliver Clozov on her own. To atone for this I dutifully went off to find the author’s page so I could subject myself to some of his literary offal as well. Enter (literally and figuratively) The Bagel Sandwich Bang.

I had a lot of questions. For example: Why? What is going on with this cover? Am I really going to spend $1.13 on this? Is it a sentient bagel? The Stygian Mole also asked aloud what I had only dared to ponder internally: was it a cream cheese bagel? I was fairly certain that whatever happened it was going to end up being one, but perhaps the bagel’s origin story deserved to be told.

Such is the story of how I don’t feel like eating lunch today.

The Plot

“Plot” is too generous a word for what’s going on here. Prior experience should have taught me not to expect anything so tremendously outlandish as a sentient bagel from this fool, but dare to dream I did.

This story really is nothing other than a guy named Randy fucking a sandwich. He kicked his girlfriend out of the house and to get over his instantaneous loneliness he makes a sandwich and, on the spur of the moment, decides to fuck it. I take that back – “fuck it” isn’t the right term for what happens here. Randy makes love to the sandwich. That sandwich knew a type of affection that most of us can only dream of. For 20 minutes that sandwich knew love and the tender touch of a man.

But then the sandwich got chucked out because nobody wants to eat their own mayonnaise. And in the end, despite all the loving words and his gentle caresses, Randy isn’t any better than any other guy – his needs satiated by its wholegrain crust he turns his eye to the ripe and fruity cantaloupe just sitting there in his kitchen.

Ladies (and gents), don’t feel bad if your man has a bit of a wandering eye. It’s not you – if this sandwich couldn’t keep a man, then us lesser beings really shouldn’t be down on ourselves if we can’t either.

The Writing Style

Unlike with the misadventures of Lord Metalcock, Oliver (who I’m still convinced is 13-years-old) didn’t turn himself on halfway through the story, so instead of starting out badly and getting horribly worse it just started out as miserably below par and stayed there, so if not for style it at least scores points for consistency.

And say what you want about this piece of trash but you could use it in high schools to teach kids the concept of personification. That sandwich wasn’t doing a damn thing except being the unknowing recipient of unnatural lust for the course of this toilet tissue’s 23 pages, but Randy loved that thing more than any man has ever loved another human being. And I say good for the sandwich, everything deserves to feel loved.

The Feelings

So very confused.

Lord Metalcock taught me that little Oliver doesn’t have the slightest understanding of how sex works. The Bagel Sandwich Bang taught me that he doesn’t have the slightest understanding of how sandwich making or bagels work either. Granted I come from South Africa, so maybe it’s a cultural difference, but down here our bagels already have a hole in the centre – it’s kind of what makes them bagels. So I’m really not sure why Randy had to cut a hole into his bagel before he could have sex with it.

I’m equally unclear about how this could be as pleasurable as described, for two reasons. Firstly, this is a wholegrain bagel. Wholegrain usually has bits of grain in it, and given the circumstances those bits are going to land up in places you really don’t want them. Given that I prefer to eat my food in a more traditional manner I may be missing something here, but I imagine that a white bagel would be a smoother ride. I leave this point to those who are more familiar with the practices described in this book to point out if I am wrong. Secondly, and again maybe things are different overseas, my experience of bagels is that they aren’t a tremendously robust bread product. For this reason I’m not convinced that a single bagel, particularly one that has already been piled full of condiments, could withstand a 20 minute pounding. Perhaps there are especially durable bagels that one can purchase for alternative uses such as this, but if so I must again defer to the wisdom of those more familiar with sitophilia than myself.

My Final Rating: 1 / 10
Buy The Bagel Sandwich Bang at Amazon.com

 
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Posted by on August 8, 2016 in Book Review

 

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Book Review: Horny Zombies Crave Tacos #2

Horny Zombies Crave Tacos 2

Author: Kacey Zen
Genre: Erotica / Horror
Published: 2015

So a little while ago this popped up in my Twitter notifications:

Kacey Zen Tweet

I felt bad, especially considering that I had been a little harsh in my review (I may or may not have implied that Ms Zen’s brain was riddled with tapeworm). I’m man enough to admit when I’ve made a mistake, and I thought that perhaps I had been too rash in my assessment of Horny Zombies Crave Tacos #1. Maybe I’d had a rough day, maybe I wasn’t in the right head space, there are a myriad reasons you can misjudge a literary work.

With all that in mind I decided that the only fair way to judge whether I was wrong about Kacey Zen was to read Horny Zombies Crave Tacos #2: Rug Munchers VS. Dick Heads, and I’m happy to report that it all turned out just as I had suspected: I’m never wrong.

The Plot

Kacey Zen’s trying to get all literary up in this gig, let me tell you.

Horny Zombies Crave Tacos #2 tells the story of two women, Vanessa and Rita, and how they came to find themselves as members of the Rug Munchers, an all-lesbian survival gang trying to make it in a post-apocalyptic zombie wasteland.

Vanessa was a young girl from a good home in a small town who moved to the big city with a simple dream: to become a porn star and ride the biggest fucking dicks you’ve ever seen from dawn until dusk. Fate cut this dream short when, just as she was about to do her first scene, her coworker overdosed on cocaine and became a zombie, forcing the military to evacuate her from her room.

Rita’s story is a bit darker. Some good old-fashioned parenting has left her crippled by her mother’s anxiety when it comes to “real” men, and she has gone through life dating androgynous guys and butch girls. But there’s a void deep within her begging to be filled. Cue donkey-dicked Frank, an Adonis Rita met when he was taking a shower in the parking lot behind her vegan café. Frank technically raped Rita in the café but she liked it and managed to record it, and she uses that recording to blackmail him into fucking her in every orifice whenever she wants, sometimes as many as twenty times a day.

An untold number of years later Frank’s dead and Vanessa and Rita are now members of the Rug Munchers, but Rita wants revenge. Revenge on Vanessa for fucking Frank, and revenge on her girlfriend Betty for killing him right before she herself was going to stab him with a butcher’s knife. But this revenge plot gets complicated when the Rug Munchers come up against the Dick Heads, a group of men on the prowl for women to fuck and then eat, and our lovely ladies in flannel will need to think on their backs if they’re gonna make it out of this alive.

The Writing Style

This was the issue with my review of the first pamphlet in (what some might loosely call) this series, so let’s start off with the good before we get into the bad.

Horny Zombies Crave Tacos #2 is just over twice the length of its predecessor, coming in at a whopping 42 pages. With all these extra pages Ms Zen has managed to get her pronouns right and flesh out her characters a bit more, so instead of the rather two-dimensional Ava from the first pamphlet you now have wholly unlikable characters like Vanessa and Rita.

What these extra pages have not fixed is the fact that Ms Zen struggles to put together a coherent sentence. God knows that before I publish a review I need to take out at least a dozen commas that shouldn’t be there (and maybe pop one or two in where I wasn’t paying attention), but at least I take the time to do it. I can also be accused of using the same word repetitively because, at that time, I was quite fond of it, but during the proof reading stage I will change it up a bit and even consult a thesaurus if need be. My point here, Ms Zen, is that there are other ways to refer to a woman’s vagina than constantly repeating the word “pussy” ad nauseam, with nothing to differentiate these various pussies other than their degree of wetness.

Also, and this is some free advice, when more than two people are engaged in dialogue (and even if it’s just two people for an extended period of time) YOU NEED TO INDICATE TO THE READER WHO IT IS THAT’S SPEAKING! For fuck’s sake…

The Feelings

Sweet Zombie Jesus, where do I even begin?

You know what, I’m not even going to focus on the all the things that can be considered wrong with having zombies with what may well be 34 inch penises double penetrating a woman, you can let your imagination run wild with you on that front. Equally, if your mother didn’t teach you that it’s wrong to keep women captive while flooding their systems with heroin and raping them repeatedly then I don’t imagine that there’s much that I can say to set you right.

What I am going to focus on is just how every idea in this soiled one-ply piece of toilet tissue is just so wrong. You want toxic ideas of what constitutes a “real” man? It’s all here! Want to see how a woman being a crazy, possessive stalker is really just how women show that they care? You better believe that’s in here! Fancy seeing the notion that lesbians aren’t cheating on one another if one of them sleeps with a man? I’m not sure if it was intentional, but it’s here! Forgotten that all a lesbian really wants out of life is a really big dick to fuck her endlessly? Let this pamphlet remind you of what may have slipped your mind!

While the first pamphlet really did nothing for me, this one made me angry. I lifted my head up to the heavens many times in the 20 minutes it took me to read this, praying that some higher power would give me answers, but none were forthcoming. Lacking divine guidance I’m not sure whether I should direct my anger at Ms Zen for perpetuating the ideas sprinkled so liberally throughout this pamphlet, or at the audience who will find nothing amiss about it.

My Final Rating: 1 / 10
Buy Horny Zombies Crave Tacos #2 at Amazon.com

 
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Posted by on July 17, 2016 in Book Review

 

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Book Review: Forced Gay By The Swamp Monster

Forced Gay by the Swamp Monster

Author: Clara Bright
Genre: Erotica
Published: 2015

Those of you kind enough to read this blog will have noticed that I’ve been quite quiet of late, but for a while I’ve really wanted to get back into my blogging. My brain’s too addled to focus on a movie and I’m a bit off from finishing the book I’m actually quite enjoying, so I decided to kick start myself with a little light smut. After browsing through my collection of unread filthy tissues that would put my mother in an early grave I settled on Forced Gay by the Swamp Monster because it combined the two things I really needed at that stage: outlandish, bizarre sex and a very small page count.

The Plot

Oh Matt, poor Matt.

Matt’s a researcher in an undisclosed field working with Dr Hall, a distinguished researcher in a distinguished undisclosed field. The two of them are busy trekking through an unnamed marsh in an unspecified region of what may be America in search of an unnamed flower that was a very important component in a fertility rite of an unrevealed native people. Nice move Ms Bright, let your audience imagine their own setting.

When Matt goes off on his own to try and cover more ground he comes across the electric-blue flower that the two researchers are looking for, but the flower is only the tip of the iceberg here. You see, the flower’s attached to a very extensive (and, as will become apparent, very horny) plant, which quickly entwines Matt and drags him off to what admittedly sounds like a fairly serene little area. I mean, if I was going to be physically invaded by a flower I’d at least appreciate it if it did it to me somewhere with a nice atmosphere.

The world of Amazon erotica has taught me that there are many types of plants that want to have their way with you, but I’ll give props to this one for being different – it has the beauty of a rose but the skills of a well-seasoned whore.

Oh Matt, poor Matt.

The Writing Style

This was actually quite surprising because Clara Bright writes with a level of skill well above her subject matter. There were a few errors here and there but those I felt were more from a lack of a thorough proofread than anything else. I also quite enjoyed Ms Bright’s rather extensive vocabulary, rather than being subjected to the usual barrage of synonyms for “rock hard” and “cock”. As this was a gay piece of erotica I was also spared the usual litany of slopping snatches and gushing juices.

I do hope that Ms Bright finds a way to write actual books in the future, because she is clearly better than this.

The Feelings

Piqued interest and sadness.

The more stuff I read for this blog the more convinced I become that I’m just lazy in the bedroom. While I can honestly say my mind has never pondered nor fantasised about the possibility of being ravished by a taproot, what is oddly impressive here is that because Clara Bright can actually write Forced Gay by the Swamp Monster is the closest thing I’ve come to while reading for this blog that was actually erotic, hence my piqued interest. It waned rapidly when it turned out that the plant (there is no actual swamp monster in this pamphlet) likes to get a little kinky, but not wanting to have sentient twigs shoved down my urethra is purely a personal preference.

What made me sad was that as I read this and glimpsed beyond the sexual advances of a blue-balled weed I saw some real writing potential in Ms Bright. I think it’s quite remarkable that a person, given the subject matter and maybe 20 pages to work with, can actually come up with something halfway erotic.

Ms Bright must desperately need to pay rent.

My Final Rating: 3 / 10

 
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Posted by on May 15, 2016 in Book Review

 

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Book Review: Werepuffer

Werepuffer

Author: Mina Shay
Genre: Erotica
Published: 2014

With the exception of those damn 50s sci-fi movies a brief look at my more recent blog posts has revealed a worrying trend: I’ve been enjoying myself with various books, movies and games that could be considered “normal”. That kind of thing just can’t be allowed to go on without end, so I decided that it was about time I treated/subjected myself to some kind of unnatural literary sex.

When I go on the hunt for these fluid-soaked rags I rarely go in with a plan: I click on ‘erotica’ and wait to see what Amazon thinks is the best way to expedite the erosion of my psyche on that particular day. Today it decided it was time to expose me to the heretofore unheard of realm of shape-shifting pufferfish and their sexual prowess with human females.

The Plot

Dana is a marine biologist working on a top-secret military experiment to create a more voracious species of piranha. I personally don’t think that Dana would have understood any of the words in that sentence (with the possible exception of “Dana”), but apparently busty, stupid marine biologists in their underwear are all the rage these days.

Being the dimwitted marine biologist that she is Dana manages to fall into the tank with all the piranha, only to be saved by a mysterious giant pufferfish who magically appears where a guy named Paul was standing. Safely out of the tank Dana throws herself and her pufferfish in shining armour into the decontamination tank to wash off all the chemicals that are turning the piranhas into what ever the hell they’re meant to be.

To her complete surprise the pufferfish transforms into Paul after a bit of time in the decontamination tank (*insert fake surprised gasp here*) and Dana simply must think of someway to thank him for rescuing her from her own inability to control basic motor functions. Being a remarkably intelligent woman she obviously believes that sex is the best payment plan, and said “intelligence” quickly goes out the window as her apparent natural instinct to open her legs kicks in. On the upside it turns out that being a werepuffer comes with certain abilities, such as the ability to inflate and deflate your penis, thus stretching pussies to levels that pussies could hardly have imagined possible and so on and so forth.

The Writing Style

Mina Shay writes in a way that I imagine the people who do the scripts for porn write: you say “marine biologist”, but I’m seeing a blonde stripper with clear heels. I imagine this was exactly what Ms Shay was going for, so brava on that count.

Other than that it’s all rather generic: there’s pussies a-slopping, cocks a-puffing, clits a-rubbing, nipples a-squeezing; you get the picture. The werepuffer aspect is also actually only thrown in so that the Paul can screw Dana in what is likely a very chlorinated tank without the benefit of lube – this will eliminate unsightly chafing, but does very little to make the sex actually exciting.

The Feelings

Bored.

Despite it’s ridiculous concept Werepuffer contains some of the blandest sex I’ve ever read. If you run the risk of dying from eating pufferfish that hasn’t been prepared correctly then surely there should be some element of risk involved if you don’t fuck them properly either. By this book’s standards you could have sex with a well-muscled balloon and it would have the same earth-shattering climax of an effect.

I wonder if anyone’s written balloon erotica…

My Final Rating: 3 / 10
Buy Werepuffer at Amazon.com

 
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Posted by on March 30, 2016 in Book Review

 

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Book Review: Wet Hot Bears

We Hot Bears

Author: Theo Stone
Genre: Erotica
Published: 2015

OK, to be entirely honest the only reason I read this particular toilet tissue was because I misread the title as “We Hot Bears” and thought this was going to be some kind of spin on the three wise men. I got it kind of right – there were three men, but what was going on had absolutely nothing to do with wisdom.

The Plot

Rarely is the plight of the gym cleaner made more startlingly clear than in Theo Stone’s masterpiece Wet Hot Bears. Dexter’s a struggling student working a cleaning job at a gym where people throw up after they get off the treadmill a lot. Not only is this degrading, but it cuts into his time that would normally be spent attending to a more primal urge: masturbation (or “wanking”, in Dexter’s vernacular). After his boss tells him that he needs to work night shift Dexter silently resigns himself to yet another evening where his glistening love rod must go unwanked.

But that’s not to say that there aren’t perks to working the night shift, since Dexter does get an opportunity to spy on two slightly older, hairier men (or “bears”) who are busy working out late into the night. Dexter himself is an otter (a bear in training), and the sight of these two hairy beasts of men sends all the blood in his body in a southerly direction.

Deciding that it might be a bit odd to stare at two people working out Dexter decides to hit the showers to wash away the dirt and grime of the day. Brett and Andy, the bears, also need a shower (with a happy ending) and are going to take all that post-workout testosterone out on dear little Dexter’s frightened rosebud. Well, frightened at first, screaming shortly afterwards.

The Writing Style

I’m fairly convinced that Theo Stone wrote this while having a series of minor strokes.

For about 80% of the book (or 13.6 of the total 17 pages) everything is written fine and you can follow the story (shaggy though it may be) with little difficulty. It’s the other 20% that’s quite remarkable, where sentence structure, good grammar, and important words and clauses are simply thrown out the window like a screaming child when its mother’s having an off day.

While the missing pieces don’t exactly make Wet Hot Bears difficult to understand (anyone with a passing knowledge of pornographic threesomes will be able to follow this through to its conclusion), it troubles me that the state of the American economy is such that authors need to persevere through their strokes just to make ends meet. Something must be done so that no other erotica writer has to suffer in the same way that Theo Stone has suffered.

The Feelings

Like I have a hairball.

There’s not an awful lot to say about this pamphlet – if you like the idea of hairy men banging you in the shower and you can overlook the inconsistent writing style then you could probably get your rocks off by reading this. If you prefer more cleanly shaven men to bang you in the shower then I would suggest looking elsewhere to fulfill your soapy desires. If it’s the shower that’s the problem, and you don’t really mind what kind of man is banging you, then unfortunately you’re out of luck because the shower really is the fourth man in this story.

My search for a three wise men gay erotic novel continues…

My Final Rating: 4 / 10
Buy Wet Hot Bears at Amazon.com

 
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Posted by on February 25, 2016 in Book Review

 

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Book Review: Drilled by the Doctor

Drilled by the Doctor

Author: Kinsey Grey
Genre: Erotica
Published: 2015

A word to the wise: just because you feel a slight twinge of boredom, don’t ask Tropical Mary to do her worst and pick out something for you to read – it’s a really bad idea. Since we’ve been friends for years and she knows me better than most, and because she often chooses to use that power for evil, she knows exactly the kinds of things that I don’t like, particularly when taken in combination. So here we are, at the rather putrescent outcome of my lapse in judgement: Drilled by the Doctor. Not that much drilling went on (Dilated by the Doctor would’ve been a more apt title), but anyway…

The Plot

Holly Smith has been a bad, bad army recruit apparently. Details aren’t important, because you aren’t going to get any, but it would seem that she mouthed off to her fellow squad mates and now faces a dishonorable discharge. Dr Straker, the camp’s doctor and drill sergeant for this rag-tag group of horny individuals, offers Holly a choice: take the dishonorable discharge, or submit to a punishment deemed suitable for her transgressions by the rest of the squad. Since Holly will do anything, just anything (insert sharp intake of breath and violent breast thrusting here) to stay in the army, she takes the punishment behind door number 2.

In a plot twist that wouldn’t surprise an amoeba, Holly’s punishment is to submit to the complete sexual depravity of her squad (but mainly to Dr Straker). Holly’s more narcissistic that Narcissus himself, but she has one deep, dark secret: she’s a virgin. This becomes quite apparent to Dr Straker when he uses a speculum to open her up and take a look inside (so deep, in fact, that he needs a torch to see all that there is to see).

What follows is a rather strange combination of a watered down medical fetish, a half-realised attempt at a humiliation fetish, a de-virginising fantasy involving the sluttiest virgin ever, a penis that’s so big even Japanese anime characters wouldn’t have enough blood to power it, and a bukkake-not-bukkake finish.

The Writing Style

Let’s start with the basics. To its minor credit Drilled by the Doctor doesn’t contain any glaringly obvious spelling or grammatical mistakes, and I suppose you have to be grateful for small mercies. What it has in their place, however, are these short stubby sentences that really could’ve been banged together, as well as a general tendency to completely misplace emphasis. For example:

“Sure, it was a monumental bad choice. Like you could stick it right next to the Washington monument and it’d be right at home.”

I’m assuming that, in this instance, it’s the monumentality of the Washington monument that’s important here, and not the unintended statement (which I’m sure would border on heresy over in the States) that the Washington monument itself was a bad decision. It doesn’t ruin the story (because it’s such a classic), but it does take a minute to figure out what dear Kinsey Grey was trying to say sometimes.

And then there’s the half-baked idioms, metaphors and sayings that abound, my personal favourite being:

“…who didn’t know their assholes from a hole in the wall.”

What, Kinsey Grey? Is “asses from their elbows” just not good enough for you? I tell you what: when you understand that a woman doesn’t have a button you can push and an orgasm just pops out, I’ll allow you a little liberty with the English language. But today is not that day, and I’m not having any of it.

The Feelings

Righteous indignation and mild nausea.

I’ve said this many times before on this blog: it’s not for me to judge the kinks of others just because it doesn’t do anything for me. I’m not judging this book based off the fact that I wouldn’t want a speculum anywhere near me during a moment of intimacy. Even if I had a vagina I doubt that I would feel any differently about the matter. From the sex itself to the psychology that’s meant to underpin it, my issue is that Drilled by the Doctor doesn’t get anything right.

Let’s start with the nuts and bolts of it all: the sex. There’s no shame in not knowing how something works, provided that you take the time to slowly educate yourself. I don’t know how Kinsey Grey imagines sex happening, but I’m fairly sure that the clitoris doesn’t act as an orgasm dispenser, and simply pushing down on it repeatedly does not result in 30 back-to-back orgasms. Even if it did work like that, I think the poor woman would die.

Not that the depiction of the men is much better. Dr Staker’s penis is so large and girthy, in fact, that it stretches her “wider than the speculum”. That is not normal. It is equally unnatural for a man’s penis to be so heavy that it causes his biceps to bulge when he lifts it. As an addendum to this, sperm should not have the consistency of brine – if yours does I encourage you to seek medical attention. And I’ll give you this tip for free: no matter what the position, gentlemen, your asshole should not be brushing against her eyebrows – that’s just bad manners.

And then we get to the psychology of it. I can understand a humiliation fetish and a medical fetish; however, simply saying “not like this” and “how humiliating” over and over again does not make this a humiliating scenario. Equally, tying someone up to bed posts using stethoscopes (which seems entirely impractical) does not make for a good medical porno. Half a dozen busty nurses and two suave Latin doctors who don’t speak English might, but this certainly won’t.

All in all this strikes me as a literary version of a cheap porno in that Holly has the mentality and sexual understanding of a 15-year-old boy whose hormones are running rampant, and I would be really surprised to find out that this wasn’t written by a man who thinks he knows what gets women off. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t.

My Final Rating: 2 / 10
Buy Drilled by the Doctor at Amazon.com

 
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Posted by on February 2, 2016 in Book Review

 

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