Ever read a book and think, God, this author and I would so be best friends in real life.
I think that a lot.
How David Sedaris and I aren’t sipping coffee and mocking ugly babies in Paris together is beyond me.
Recently, my friend Angie pointed me toward a series of books to add to my smut collection, and I was a touch hesitant, because I’m becoming a bit of a erotic fiction snob. I mean, one tacky word for penis and I am out of there.
And to be honest, I still want to be entertained. I can’t read about just having sex all the time, my clitoris is tired.
Then comes Alice Clayton. Alice bills herself as a comedic erotica novelist. Which is perfect, because basically all the erotica I have in real life is comedic. What am I supposed to do, stare into his eyes and pretend I don’t here that weird suctiony sound coming from my vagina?
First up, The Unidentified Redhead.
Ok, great erotica formula; hot girl, younger hot guy, sex sex sex. But wait, what’s this, I’m also laughing my ass off? Oh crap, I’m also crying? I’m having legitimate emotions in my human parts? I devoured this book in 12 hours, which says something because it’s not short. It’s addicting. I wanted to be Grace, and I damn well could be, because hi, she’s over 30 folks. Who knew women over 30 were pretty, not at all old, and had sex in books.
Pros: Great plot, steamy sex (closet sex, just like me!), tons of snark and humor, the single best set of characters I have come across to date, Team Sweet Nuts
Cons: I really have only one, and it might just be me, but Grace, the lead character sometimes referred to her vagina as her “oonie” and the only reason that weirds me out is because there is this super creepy show on Nick Jr. called Oobi. It’s just a bunch of people using their hands as puppets and talking in super weird voices, so when I read the word oonie, it reminds me of Oobi, and then I’m stuck wiping the imagine of a hairy knuckled hand puppet where my vagina should go. Again, this may be a personal problem.
The Redhead Revealed
This is the second book in the Redhead series, and it’s even better than the first. Their stories pick up right where they left off, and I become even more attached to these two crazy ass people. The sex is still mind blowing, but the best part of this book is Grace. Grace has body issues and insecurities and so many real girl problems that I just want to scoop her up, hug her, and then ask her if gingers have magical powers, because I refuse to believe that’s not true. Now, warning, this is not the last book in the series, the next does not come out until Spring, and I know when I read Bared to You, I was pissed to be left hanging with no relief. However, one thing this book does do is leave you satisfied. Yes, their story will continue, but it doesn’t leave you wondering who the fuck just shot J.R.
Pros: Girl problems I can actually relate to.
Cons: Again, the whole oonie thing.
So, I read those two books in, no joke, 24 hours. I spent so much time fake going to the bathroom, even Andy was starting to doubt my dysentery story. But, this author just got me, and she made me laugh, which is the easiest way to my heart and my pants (call me, Bill Murray). Alice Clayton and I were destined to be best friends. If she had absolutely any idea who I was in real life and also liked So You Think You Can Dance and eating her feelings.
I was determined to make this friendship happen in a mostly organic, not creepy fashion, so after a brief twitter courtship, I stalked her on skype and now I get to talk to her, like, every day about clothes, reality tv smut, songs we bone to, and why Luann is the best-worst Real Housewife ever. This kind of stuff is the basis of all my meaningful relationship, you guys.
Erotic humorist bestie? Check.
You’re next, Sedaris.