I like the title of this book. “Saddle Optional”. That’s a double entendre, yes? ‘Cause “bareback” means “no condom”? Eww. If I had to have sex with this dude, I would insist he wore a condom… maybe even three at the same time. I don’t want his nasty bits touching my delicate girl insides. On second thought, if I had to have sex with this dude ’cause my life depended on it, I would gladly take the shotgun like they’re holding on me and point it at my forehead, like in Jeff Goldblum in the Fly (spoiler!). He just looks dirty and not in a good way. I bet dude emits funk that would peel the paint off the walls. He also looks homeless. I bet the other homeless people, even the guy who eats poop, would stay away from him ’cause he smells. Also, this guy’s shorts are so… tiny that I can’t believe his junk isn’t sticking out of both sides. Ewww. How can anybody work strenuously if they’re having to pick an atomic wedgie out of their asses like every four steps? And why is he wearing a belt, but not through the belt loops? Who does he think he is, Keira Knightley? At least he knows how to accessorize, though. Check out the nasty little red kerchief he’s got tied around his neck. Is he trying out to be a member of a Village People tribute band? God, I can’t look at this thing anymore. It makes me queasy. I’m just happy that I can’t see his face, too, ’cause I’d probably be poking out my own eyes right about now.

Thanks for the cover, Laura!

I’ve always enjoyed reading anthologies that are centered on one theme, because it’s always interesting how different authors deal with the topic given to them. Depending on the talent of the author, sometimes it works out really well, but other times you can see that the author saw the motif as an intrusion and was forced to work around it. The theme that bridges these three stories together is “second chances”, which is brought to our heroines by a magic painting called Midnight Magic. Supposedly, a tortured artist who had a shitty life created the thing with magic paint—where did he get this magic paint?—as a bridge to a place where he could be happy. Basically, the painting is composed of a bunch of dots—pointillism—and different people see different things in it, most specifically their destinies. I guess it’s one of those paintings you see at the mall that you stare at idiotically for a while until you see an image. Once my sister and I saw one of those things and I stared at it for fifteen minutes, but didn’t see anything. My sister stared at it for like… five seconds and saw a sailboat. What a liar. She so didn’t see anything. Anyway, Rebecca York is the only one who took the “second chance” thing literally and brought her heroine back to a time when she could have saved her beloved. Susan Kearney’s heroine goes hundreds of years into the future and does a cute little Green Acres thing. Both of those stories actually weren’t that bad. I was all set to give this anthology at least a B, but then I got to Jeannie London’s story. Not only does it feature a twitty, swooning child-heroine, but London totally pussies out on the threesome aspect of it. I didn’t even really read the thing. I just skimmed through it. If it weren’t for London’s contribution, this anthology would have been a keeper, but now it has to go back to the used bookstore where I found it. Way to drop the ball, Jeanie.
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I don’t know about you guys, but I think this cover looks a little gayer than the cover below it and that’s gotta be a feat of some sort because that cover features two hairless naked men who look like they’re about to suck each other off. This gunslinger guy is not even the kind of non-threatening, network-friendly, straight girl’s best friend kind of gay, but the scary assless chaps-wearing stereotype who wears leather newsboy caps (not featured) and suede vests with no shirt underneath. He looks like Nelson Carbonell’s evil gay brother, the one who wears too much eye make up and uses shortening to slick back his hair. If he were a villain in a romance novel, he’d be the one having skanky gay sex with the gardener or something because in Romancelandia, sometimes gay = evil. I can’t get over the completely vapid look on this dude’s face. It’s like the photographer told him to pose and he used all his brain power to do it, but since he exhausted all of his brain power, he is unable to get himself to freeze. I’m also not a big fan of the font that the author’s name is written it. I had to actually squint my eyes to figure out what it said, or would have if I didn’t already know that it says Connie Mason. But maybe you wouldn’t have figured that out if I didn’t tell you. Oh, and I really thought that it was a flower that dots the “i” in Gunslinger; upon closer inspection, I realized it was a spur. Huh.

Thanks for the cover, Christine!

A lot of folks will say that this contribution to the series is where Laurell K. Hamilton jumped the shark on Anita Blake. If you’ve never read any of the Anita Blake books, Anita initially was only dating two monsters, instead of fifteen. Those two monsters are Richard, a werewolf, and Jean-Claude, a vampire who is Master of the City (this means he rules all of the vampires in St. Louis). In this book, Jean-Claude gives Anita the “third mark” which binds the three of them into a TRIUMVIRATE OF POWER and is the first step to Anita becoming the super-duper wicked powerful gurl that we all know and loathe today. A lot of the hard-core sci-fi/fantasy nerds who got sucked into the series with the first four books hated this one because this is right about the time that Ms. Hamilton starts using sex as a way for her creatures to “increase their power base”. That’s right, that’s what she calls it. A lot of shit happens in this book and if you’ve never read any the other books in the series, you’d probably get pretty lost, but this one has something for everyone. There’s some gore for the gore hounds, a little threesome action for the pervs, some screen time for Edward for the cool-as-ice-sociopath-killer lovers out there, and a real, actual plot. I know, right? By the way, you know that phrase “accept your beast” that Anita is just quite fond of saying to Richard and every time she said it, you just felt like jamming an ice pick into your eye? Yeah, that one gets a lot of play in this one, too. In fact, this is the book where that shit gets old.
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Avert your eyes, children, lest your parents blame me for you going blind. Hell, I can barely look at this thing, it’s so ridiculous. In fact, I can actually feel the bile rising up my throat as I type up this piece. If you’re a regular reader of this site, you’ll know that I’m a fan of all things gay. I love the gay. I thank the Goddess every morning that I live in a city that celebrates and embraces the gay. But this… wow, it’s something else. There are a lot of straight women out there who enjoy male on male sex and will devour every m-2-m erotica out there in the market. I am one of those women. What I’m saying is there’s a difference between appreciating the love between two good-looking, muscled men and exploiting them like dancing monkeys. This cover actually makes me feel dirty, kids, and there’s not a lot in this world that can do that, trust me. I guess what I’m trying to say is what if there was an f-2-f erotica out there that had a cover with two hard-edged lesbian bitches brandishing dildos at each other like swords, with their titties flopping around and their vaginas exposed like they’re airing them out or something? Wouldn’t you call that straight-out porn and lambast the publisher for exploiting women? Shoot, there would be bitches up in arms about it already, if that were the case.

This is just… low-class, kids. It’s just porny. I mean, I’m actually offended by this thing. I don’t care if they’re men and I don’t care that they’re poser people. Those are not just man boobies I’m not looking at. THOSE ARE TITTIES! They’re girl-titties! Titties ARE titties, people! Even Penthouse doesn’t put bare titties on their covers. And if I’m not mistaken, I’d say the dark-haired one has his penis poking out and touching the knee of the blonde, wouldn’t you? But kids, if that is his penis, he gotta get that shit checked. I think it has skin cancer on it or something. Hey, buddy, you know how you could have avoided skin cancer on your penis? If you wore pants once in a while! Asshole.

Thanks for making me lose my will to live, Barbara B. I hope you’re happy.