Paranormal erotica with lactation fetish. Yeah, how could I say no, right? It was free after all. Curiosity got the better of me, for better or worse.
Are genres gendered? Truisms like “women don’t read science fiction” or “men hate romance” abound, but to what extent do these sorts of assumptions determine what we see on the shelves? How have certain sub-genres become strongly associated with writers (and readers) of a single gender? What are the difficulties faced by a writer trying to work in a (sub)genre traditionally associated with a gender other than their own? What role(s) can publishers and booksellers play in creating, reinforcing, or challenging such bias?
This is some fucked up shit. Misogynistic and necrophilic fucked up shit. With illustrations. My inner feminist is vibrating with rage and is drawing disturbing comparisons with serial killer Elliot Rodger.
The meathouse is a whorehouse whose ‘whores’ are dead women, most of whom are former criminals and debtors although some have been kidnapped and killed precisely to be commodified by transforming them into brainless undead prostitutes. Outside of the meathouses, corpses are used as workers directed by handlers (read: puppeteers), similar to what The People do with vampires in Ilona Andrews’s Kate Daniels series. The entertainment industry is dominated by corpse fights like the gladiators of old, their handlers manipulating them like 3-D real world video game characters.
Despite He Ain’t Lion‘s rocky and repetitive start, it delivers the funny in spades with inventive swearing and crazy canibalistic thoughts, and dishes up a sexy, but self-conscious, plus-sized main character who upon meeting and bedding the alpha male of a lion shifter pride, transforms from a human female into a fierce and hungry shapeshifting alpha lioness. And there are no premature I Love Yous with the Happy Ever After!
The men here certainly seemed to like a girl with some cushion for the pushin’. At least, that’s what their gazes told her. Hell, even some of the ladies were giving Maya the same lustful glances. But tonight was not the night for lovin’ with the female persuasion, though. Maybe another time…
She had big hips, big thighs, and big breasts, all of which added up to a big woman.
“You want to film me fucking myself.”
Man is lured into participating in a super-secret medical trial. Man is unknowingly cloned, pumped with viagra and anti-anxiety drugs to lower inhibitions, then locked in a room with his clone. What happens next? Bow-chica-wow-wow.
Narcissus, from Greek mythology, ‘saw his reflection and fell in love with it, not realizing it was merely an image.’
So, is this a form of extreme narcissism? An odd kind of masturbation?