Liquid Silver Books, $5.95, ISBN 978-1-59578-865-8
Contemporary Erotica, 2011
There is comedy, and then there is “comedy”. Just like how there are funny titles and then there are “funny” titles. The quotation marks are necessary, because I’m pretty sure that someone out there – the author’s family members, for example – will find the comedy funny. To give you an idea of how I find Male Order a “comedy”, let me just lay down the plot. It’s… “funny”.
Maggie “Meg” Riley and Sam Stephens are flatmates. Sam likes to masturbate very loudly in his room, with the door unlocked. No, maybe “masturbate” is too mild a word. The words used in this story are:
…laid back in a reclining chair, wearing only a cowboy hat and white socks, with his hand wrapped around his dick, jacking off like it was an Olympic sport.
Naturally, our heroine is all hot and bothered in a “Ooh, I need an excuse to have sex so that this story is considered erotic” way.
The thought of that monster in his hand still made her panties dampen and her insides throb. The head red and engorged, the shaft decorated with bulging veins, heavy balls bunched up tight between his widespread thighs. She’d been unable to move until he groaned and shot his wad all over his stomach. The memory of his warm spunk spilling from his cock made her squirm in her seat.
Oh, and Sam is also a slob, leaving uneaten pizza and what not all over the place. Maybe I’m just being crazy, but if he’s a slob, I can only wonder what else he is leaving all over the place. I mean, does he even wash his hands afterwards? Maybe it’s time to stock up on disinfectants. Everything Sam says is also heavy with sexual innuendo. But because he has tight abs, Meg pants after this creepy exhibitionist slob, and oh, she whines that she’s too fat to be in his league. Also, she’s had sex four times and all of them are terrible, thus she’s desperate to get laid, so of course Sam will do. At least it’s better than keeping sixteen cats and then letting them all die because she’s too busy channeling her sexual frustrations into pathetic fanfiction featuring Jeff and Jordan from Big Brother.
So yes, eventually Meg the Neurotic No-life Fat Arse and Sam the Creepy Exhibitionist Red-Headed Tool have sex and Meg is delirious with pleasure because look! No pain! And it’s so BIG! That reminds me: Meg is an obsessed size queen. Nearly every other page has a reference to Sam’s huge penis and “pendulous” big testicles. The fact that he manages to penetrate Meg’s barely-used tunnel of love without causing any discomfort has me wondering how that is even possible. It’s not like Meg practices with baseball bats or something. Anyway, old habits die hard: Meg freaks out the morning after. That’s her standard behavior: she keeps worrying and fretting over her orgasms to the point that her sex scenes are as enjoyable to read as it is to endure a prolonged Pap smear test.
How about the rest of the story? Well, Sam and Meg have sex early, so this leaves the author plenty of room to have Meg moan and whine about her insecurities when it comes to her weight, her lovability, and her sex drive. The problem here is that she is not a likable heroine. She is neurotic and she tends to overreact to everything. Her friend is bitchy and insulting, but Meg isn’t any better as she thinks of her friend as an easy slut who doesn’t deserve Sam. Sam is an oversexed creep with no personality – he is just written into this story to be always randy and pumping Meg non-stop even as she wails that she is fatter than every mother who has ever starred in a “Yo Momma” joke.
After a while, this story seems more like the self-absorbed whining of a pathetic wretch put to paper. Since I’m not paid to be her shrink, and she is so annoying in her insecurities, I won’t be too heartbroken if this joyless story ends with Meg and her creepy blow-up doll of a boyfriend getting killed by a falling Krispy Kreme sign.
Come to think of it, this book would have been so much more fabulous if it did end that way.