When I saw the premise of this book was a 30-day sex pact, I was like . . .
HA! NOT! It was more like gimmegimmegimmegimmegimme.
Now that I’m finished I’ll be the first to admit I read it wrong. I’ll ‘splain to you where to look for an actual review at this end of this mess, but until then enjoy the picture show.
30 Days started out with a bit of a sad . . .
“Seriously, fuck cancer.”
When Alyssa’s husband died he left her a letter to read whenever she decided she was ready. Fast forward a couple years and Alyssa finally decides it’s time to open the package. What does she find? A letter telling her it’s okay to move on and some “inspirational” cards to help aid in her getting her groove back.
Card 1 is simple enough – do the ditty to the little man in the boat, so Alyssa decides to give it a whirl. Which leads us to the meet/cute with new neighbor Harrison who hears Alyssa’s screams and assumes she’s being murdered. Oh, and he also looks something like this . . .
I would say “sploosh” or “boooiiiing” or something of the ilk here, but I’ll refrain . . . .
At first, Alyssa thinks Harrison is a bit of a douche, but then she smells him a couple of times . . . .
(Although it was more realistic than the usual “spring breezes and angel farts” that is the typical description of someone’s signature scent, that one still made me hardy-har-har). Anywho, Alyssa eventually comes to the conclusion that . . .
And presents Harrison with proposition that he should be the one to share her “thirty days of passion.” Harrison is nothing if not a
But first, they have to make sure they have mass quantities of lube and plenty of . . . .
For his ginormo wang.
Which leads me to really with all the lube? The gals in these stories always seem to have plenty of grease in the gears if you know what I’m sayin’ so it seemed like overkill to me. But what do I know? I’m just a prudish old lady.
What really lost me with this story was the sex. I mean this was supposed to be ALLLLLLLL about sex (30 DIFFERENT WAYS – YIPPPPEEEEEEE!), but here is a Missionary Marge type leading lady all of a sudden having inner dialogue consisting of nothing but talk about . . .
Me no likey. And then they did stuff with a grapefruit that left me all . . .
PASS! (And also deleted from the Kindle before my husband could get any bright ideas.)
But like I said at the beginning, I read this one wrong. It happens. Lucky for all of you my friend Baba read it right and also writes way better reviews than I do. I’ve also come to a conclusion about Baba: Either (1) she IS my porny librarian even though she lives halfway across the world from me, or (2) my porny librarian orders whatever she likes. Either way it keeps me in free smut, so it’s awesome. Baba is one of my favorite users on Goodreads. Mainly because we both kind of have this type of reaction to jerkoffs . . .