Pervert’s Library

by M.R. Strict
Published in 2004 by Greenery Press

Klysmaphilia or enema play is one of those topics that embarrasses most people to talk about, much less express an interest in. Given that, Greenery Press’ book devoted to the topic would seem a very worthwhile effort towards expanding everyone’s comfort and familiarity with the topic. Or at least, that’s what I thought prior to reading the book. Simply put, this book is shitty. It pains me to have to say that (for one thing I bristle at the bad pun) but that description is both succinct and apt.

One consistently annoying thing about BDSM books in general, and Greenery Press titles in particular, is a writing style that uses fantasy scenes interspersed in between matter of fact discussion. Having endured more of these books than anyone really ought, I have come to the conclusion that most BDSM books would not find a publisher if they were written about any other topic. Books about even such potentially mundane topics as gardening, cooking, and sewing are generally written better than even the best BDSM book. It is so bad that I own any number of books that I would be embarrassed to have the coroner find on my bookshelf not because they are dirty but simply because they are poorly written.

But I digress. The most astonishing part about Intimate Invasions is that even though it clocks in at about 140 pages, there are perhaps 20 that contain useful information. Without the awful fantasy sequences this book might have been a good fit for Greenery Press’ “Toybag Guide” series. But even that might be a stretch since even those 20 pages are not reliable because M.R. Strict’s knowledge and advice seems suspect. As bad as the factual sections are, the fantasy sequences are even worse.

Just how bad is this book? It is so bad that I would put more faith in the advice from any number of 1970s enema guides marketed by the same companies that specialized enema themed pornography. Even though they often recommend such potentially dangerous practices as giving wine enemas, they tend to demonstrate a greater passion and knowledge of their subject.

I hope that another BDSM publisher and/or author will devote a book to this worthwhile topic. They certainly will have no trouble writing something better than this

by Cliff Barrett, Ph.D.
Published in 1972 by Impact Library

Though the attention grabbing cover blurbs promise insight into a world of women who either “live and love by whip and pain and twisted torture” and “…females who attain amazing summit fulfillment by painful agony aberrations,” Whip Worship reads more like a series of random stories thrown together willy-nilly instead of a cohesive narrative of any form.

The first scene of the book is a rather standard case history of two teenage sisters. (Well, the tale they tell of turning tricks while hitchhiking isn’t exactly standard but the “case study” format of the concerned psychologist is.)

Next, we are then treated to a first person account of a group of soldiers enjoying the spoils of war. Even though the gangbang triple penetration described therein is arousing, the abrupt shift in writing styles is abrupt so much so that it proves distracting.

There’s little need to describe the rest of the scenes – they vacillate from tired third person narratives of sadistic prostitution rings to the confession of a depraved bisexual masochist – the sort of girl that fantasies are made of – to an upper class masochistic man who enjoys the charms of street urchins of both sexes. It’s the last vignette I mentioned that serves both as a crescendo of depravity and the books’ highlight. Despite the fact that it wasn’t at all arousing to me sexually, the vivid descriptions of enjoying cunnilingus with a VD sufferer and the glass table show made me feel a little morally superior. No matter how twisted or demented my fantasies might become, I can take solace in the fact that I haven’t sunk quite as low as Mr. Upper Crust.

In sum, this is a mess of a book. Readers who enjoy their smut straight, predictable, and internally consistent should stay away. However, sick fucks like me will find themselves happy.

by Sean Greene
Published in 1968 by Ram Classics

I’m at a loss to describe this book – this may well be the most disturbing thing I’ve ever read. It isn’t without its merits I suppose, but frankly I would hope that no one would seek out this book.

While “The Gang Bangers” promises an expose of devotees of “multiple sex,” instead it delivers a sickening stream of rape, incest, and pedophilia. Like so many other books of this ilk, “The Gang Bangers” recounts the therapy sessions of our narrator as he counsels a family of deviates. Usually the label “deviate” seems more comical than anything else. That’s not the case here.

This tale begins with an introduction to Barbara, the daughter. One by one we meet the son, the mother, and the father. While the descriptions of their early sexual experiences are designed to titillate, the non-stop stream of what we now know as child molestation is anything but erotic. This lurid tale reaches its apex when Mary, one of the family’s counselors, lets go of her professionalism and succumbs to her own carnal desires.

One of the few interesting moments in this book is when we meet the father. We read about his earliest sexual experiences which consist of incest and rape. Just as we think we’ve reached the sickening depth of human perversion, we learn the father has an even more shocking sexual secret – brace yourself for it – the father has had homosexual relations.

The only positive thing (and this is a stretch not remotely worth the price of admission) about this book is how vividly it represents is the changing societal views of sexual abuse since the 60s. Still, I found it difficult to reconcile how descriptions of child sexual abuse are treated in a matter of fact tone, while it was the revelation of the father’s homosexual experience that draws the author’s most scornful words: “The faggot father – the deviated daddy…” It was enough to make me cringe with nervous laughter.

Tacked onto the end of this book is a trip to Alabama to meet with Lorenzo’s three lovers. The only thing this tale adds is a bit of gender balance to the sickening proceedings; unlike the other encounters of gang banging, this scene features several women and one man.

Were we simply presented with the three meat market women and their encounter with the butcher, this scene might have had erotic possibility. However, our author found it necessary to give case histories to the three aggressive women and we’re “treated” to more descriptions of rape and abuse. (Let me just add if you’re going to do that with a sausage, for the love of God, have enough sense to use a condom.)