Dirty Girls
Yesterday’s post got me thinking about all the pleasure reading I’ve forbidden myself since starting the MFA program last September. More stifling than the anemic bank account and social anorexia, not having time for that new book, only flashing a panicked smile when someone offers a recommendation, sucks, frankly. It’s hard to explain my visceral reaction: a childish sense of deprivation when I “don’t get to have it” combined with the satisfaction of firm self control.
I can already tell you, the most delicious thing about self control is knowing when it’s time to let go. With my summer starting in a couple weeks the interim is almost over, and the payoff will be better than saving money for something special or eating healthy to lose weight. I’d say the former is to orgasm what the latter is to a shivery sneeze.
Did that make sense or am I just distracted?
School might have prevented me from eating boob cake at the launch party last week, but it won’t stop me from reading Dirty Girls: Erotica for Women, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Aptly labeled “27 sexy stories to make you squirm,” these stories from the best American writers of erotica explore the minds of women as thoroughly, knowingly, and delightfully as their bodies. Take a peak at the (NreallySFW) authors and samples, as I’m currently resisting the desire to transcribe some totally NSFW excerpts because they’re just so hot.
As the New York Times Book Review article “It’s Not You, it’s Your Nightstand” claimed “literary taste has been a good shorthand for gauging compatibility,” so I would venture that a copy of Dirty Girls on your nightstand might flesh out areas of interest, interesting people, and/or people’s interesting areas.
Oh yes (yesohyes), smart is sexy, but when writers are just so smart about sexy the combination is hardcore feminine, unique stories that seem to spring from women’s fantasies, your fantasies, and maybe even your fondest memories.
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