Since this is the closest I’ll ever come to making love with a porn star, I wanted to take full advantage of the situation, having been introduced to Sasha Grey through the marketing and promotional campaign of The Girlfriend Experience—although full disclosure I never did see the movie. Thank you Steven Soderbergh. And if I can still remember her name years later…well, that probably gives you some indication of why I read so many novels a year. So continuing on in my current erotica experiment, which has grown into something resembling an expedition, and is probably on the brink of turning into a full-blown epidemic, I bring you THE JULIETTE SOCIETY for your whispering pleasure.
This novel blew my mind. Literally. With periods so intense I thought I might blackout, it’s safe to say Ms. Grey writes as well as she fucks. The lucky bastard who marries her might pass out on a nightly basis from sheer ecstasy and pure bliss, find himself in a sex-induced coma, and hooked up to an oxygen tank and sucking pineapple juice through a straw. I’d like to go into explicit detail on the sex scenes, as I convey my state of erotic involvement, but I feel like this might somehow cheapen the whole affair. And this novel wasn’t cheap for me. It was intense and weird and thoroughly entertaining.
The Fuck Factory really doesn’t need much more of an introduction. And the women. Holy. Hell. I need some Crisco. Stat. Anna—round ass, big tits, voluptuous, pale, and curvy in all the right places—was so completely in tune with her sexuality and uninhibited, I could practically feel the pages vibrating whenever she stepped between the white space. And Catherine in many ways the zin to Anna’s zang was considerably more of a minx than she first appeared. And I sucked it all up like a Slurpee.
It was raw and powerful and emotional and disjointed and invigorating and fulfilling and wonderful and sensual. As for me, I was stimulated and lubricated and aroused and satiated and turned on faster than a drilldo. And I devoured all of it greedily and lustfully, finishing it in two days’ time.
I think it’s safe to say Sasha Grey can write (even her less than enthusiastic reviewers have acknowledged as much). She writes with passion and an animalistic intensity, baring her soul with a powerful mindfuck that opened my eyes wider than a chasm. I found myself pondering questions I had never pondered before. Like where did her writing come from? And did she work on her soliloquies and monologues and diction and dialogue as she was getting pounded in the ass?
If Ms. Grey is anything like her debut novel, she’s not the most conventional individual. And that’s why this story spoke to me. With plenty of flashbacks and storytelling within the story, spending a lot of time in Catherine’s head, and more than a few cinematic references, this novel was executed with haphazard precision.
Her name sold me on the first book, but I’ll be coming back for more like some lust-induced bunny, especially if she takes another stab at the erotica genre. A professional fucker who writes about fucking. What more could you possibly ask for?
I received this book for free through NetGalley.