Tracy Queen - Sex: 4 Books in 1 (How to Talk Dirty, Kama Sutra, Tantric Sex, Sex Positions)

"You dirty, nasty cumdump. You sultry watery cock lover. You depraved panty-less whore."

And that above is childs play, PG-13 wordplay, compared to the depraved, kinky, smut-filled deviant fandango you are about to step into. This is lewd mire of sensual talk. This is an outer book of licentious degenerate and absolutely filthy phrases. This is a narrative of debauchee behavior, queer actions, and gone-by-the-dogs, positively shameless interplay. You are about to enter a vicious and bawdy telling that would make a porn-star blush and a Catholic preacher say mid-confession:

"Go on child Tell me more about the moped, the two Filipino prostitutes, the slip-and-slide, and shaved ferret. Dont spare the details."

There are two possible reasons why, despite the many many outlets capitalism and vivid merchant economy gifts hankering for your bills, you decided to spend your hard earn bucks on this book. Tow fundamental reason why you were possessed to fork over your wages for this absolutely twisted book. Two possible reasons why youve sullied your library - no doubt stocked with rare volumes of Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Carter - with this wanton volume of depravity.

Reason One: your sex-life is in a rut. Your partner isnt exactly going full mast whenever you waltz into the room. Youve done your level best to energize him, her or it . Youve tossed proverbial logs into that dwindling fire and discovered, to your chagrin, that they are flame resistant. A friend, no doubt that harlot with a rather racy reputation - and a predisposition for one nights stand - has gone and given you the following sagely advice:

"Flora, dear, you have to cut the nun shit out. Well, let me rephrase that, you have to cut the nun shit out Unless John likes nuns, in which case you have to amp it up and replace that weird ass toga for a negligee and possibly a strap-on. Don't look at me like that! What, too far? Sorry, forgot who Im talking to. Well, at the very least talk dirty to him. You have no idea how that gets them all riled up."

You took that Babylonian courtesans floozy words of wisdom to heart. Ran home with a furnace in your happy-place, gave the kids 20 bucks and told them to skedaddle for two hours or more. Put on your best lady-of-the-night gown and waited for your tall glass of hunky sexuality to pour through the door. A car hits the driveway, you crack open your best Basic Instinct impression, wait for the door to slap open. You want to be ravished. You want to be ridden hard and put away wet. You want to grasp once more those golden glories day when he would take you in the back of his car and not even bother slipping your panties off. The man of the house, the breadwinner - if youre a feminist you might want to bite your tongue - mister could do it all night long and not break a sweat stumbles into the living.

In the back of your head, in bizarre remix of voices, the sultry twang of Tracy Lords s love child, words form a cue:

"Come here with your massive cock, suck my wet pussy and, if you do it just right, Ill return the favor," legs part like the Red Sea, breasts perk up in a gravity-defying neckline, eyes lock on, a volcano explodes. You are going to be sore in the morning.

What comes out, reality snapping you back like a rubber-band, after that fantasy is:

"John, ehhh, the kids arent home and I would very much like to have intimate intercourse with you. Please, if at all possible, and if you want to - mind you I dont want to force you or anything - would you please get hard and copulate with me? Charlotte told me to talk dirty to you, so pleaseEhhh, Fuck me" and before the word now can even spring forth, and save you from that embarrassing first half of your lascivious soliloquy, you start to chortle and laugh like a little pig at the absolute absurdity of it. John looks at you like youve had a stroke, puts his briefcase down and says:

"Just let me grab a beer, put my phone in the charger, take a dump, and get my shit together *Sigh*, Flora let me catch my breath first. Its been a shitty day," resignation, not lewd X-rated abandon oozing from his posture. You'll be lucky if his cooked pasta even makes it through your now arid opening; another night of lady blue balls and Netflix.

A day later your at your local digital bookstore browsing the sex section of the self-help aisle searching for that guide, no doubt peened by a nymphomaniac strumpet with a wild sex life, that will serve as a fiery tonic to your forsaken libido. That one book that will toss napalm onto the dwindling flame that is your sex-life. Child, youve picked the right one. What you have in your hands is rocket fuel.

Reason Two, numero dos, why you went and bought this book: you want material for your spank bank. A friend recommended this porn fest of a book and youre willing to take your - "please dont shine any UV light on it" - tablet into the bathroom with you and give it a whirl. If thats the case, I wont tell, as long as you legally downloaded it. If this is a pirated copy, Ill know and Ill tell my coke dealing pimp to hunt down your IP address. You just know Two Tone Tony dont like it when his hoes are short-changed; hes going to go Mexican Narcos on your copyright infringement ass.