Some say a sexy book is better than a sexy man. With a sexy man, you have to worry about love handles, and messy pubic hair, and smooth legs, and whether or not your natural, not-breast-cancer-causing deodorant works. Not so with a sexy book. All you need is a finger to turn the pages (or swipe if you’re e-reading) and a pillow to lay your head on. You don’t even have to get dressed. A sexy book is a sure thing no matter if you’re wearing Costco underwear or ten-year-old Target sweatpants.
With a sexy book, you get to re-read the good parts: the swollen members, the stolen glances, the longing in the loins, all with a bowl of popcorn next to you or grapes or pretzels dipped in ranch. You can eat and read and wipe your nose all at the same time and never feel self-conscious or miss a minute of the romance.
And you don’t need privacy. You can be swept away while your kids sit on the couch watching Shark Tank or your husband scans CNN or all of the above.
If you read Amazon reviews carefully, you know exactly what you’re getting with a sexy book: chemistry, frustration, foreplay, and ultimately, a big release! You can’t get a guarantee like that with a human man, sexy or not. He doesn’t come with Amazon reviews but if he did and a hundred people gave him five stars, you’d think, Gross! No way! The guy probably has herpes!
But sexy men certainly have their virtues. They can be brilliant or gorgeous or their fingers on your skin make you shiver. Sometimes, people crave body heat and you need a live person for that. In real-life, there are sexy men who even take out the garbage and lock up the house and drive the kids to soccer practice and fill up the car with gas (if you’re really lucky). They don’t care about smooth legs or genital grooming or whether or not you put on mascara. You know them so well, right down to the mole on their left shoulder and the doctor’s appointment they have next Tuesday for their sciatica. These guys tend not to have deep, dark secrets, or old lovers hiding in the attic, or mistresses they keep in London.
Ah, but a sexy book comes with a sexy swashbuckling stranger for whom the sight of your ungloved hand or naked ankle causes a boner the size of a salami. He pops off the page and carries you away from the dog that needs to be walked and the laundry that needs to be folded, right at the moment when the sexy man you live with wants to review the bills or your health insurance or his mom’s invitation to dinner. Sexy books don’t have mothers-in-law. They just sit quietly next to your bed waiting for you—release guaranteed. In real life, that’s hard to come by. No pun intended.
My upcoming novel, Restless in L.A., features a sexy woman, a few sexy men, and, yes, as a sexy book…it delivers!