Stacia in Progress

Adult review for explicit content. Proceed at your own risk.So...Monsieur. I wanted to read this book from the moment I viewed the summary. What I was expecting : Gorgeously written Erotic Literary Fiction with a reverse Lolita-esque twist.What I was smacked down with : Tucker Max-style sex which made me want to throw up a little in my mouth. I wish I were kidding. Talk about false advertising. It says in the summary : Often shocking but never gratuitous. I call LIE.Now, I'm not a fan of Tucker Max, but one of the only scenes I've ever read of his was the infamous sex to poop scene. DID WE NEED TO HAVE IT RECREATED HERE? You tell me if this is gratuitous or not : Two huge smears of shit which, as she noted herself one hour later, were the precise shape of fingers hurriedly wiped across the sheets. "I've come to the almost suicidal conclusion he must have touched his cock by mistake, seeing as I must have smeared it all over with..."I was so intrigued by the idea of a young lady chasing after an older man in a Lolita style role reversal. After reading this book, I almost feel the need to want to award Lolita with an extra star. Nabokov, this was not. Love him or hate him, at least Nabokov brought something intriguing with his delivery of a story about a man and his nymphette. First off, a 20 year old grown woman (who's a self-admitted whore, flappy vagina and all) chasing a 45 year old man is not even close to being the same thing as Lolita and Humbert. At all. Secondly, just because a woman chooses to stalk someone on Facebook for all of a few days does not even come close to the torture of what Humbert dealt with inside of his head. The comparison is so off, it's ridiculous.What really frustrates me is that I was so excited about this book within the first few chapters and I honestly thought we had a winner here. The language started off as absolutely beautiful : Even the fingers lingering on the back of my neck felt clothed, elegant, and relaxed. For a few minutes they fluttered all the way down to my spine, caresses I had never experienced before, disturbingly reaching for the depths of my soul.Paris held its breath.The detailed descriptions of how the events were set in motion (as well as the reflections of the past) were beautiful. This book could have been spectacular.The earliest character conversations over the computer and phone about books and sexual pleasures were captivating. The initial meeting in the hotel room was thrilling - they didn't even turn to face each other when he crawled into bed...I loved the mystery of it all. Then the story just deteriorated into a book made up of nothing but lust, raunchy sex and "should we or shouldn't we?" By the time I reached the halfway point in the book, I was wondering when it was all going to end. Erotic literary fiction - no. I didn't find this book to be sexy or arousing in any way. True to life fiction - maybe? I noticed the main character was named Ellie Becker. The author of this book is named Emma Becker. The main character in the book is writing a book about her Monsieur, the man she was having an affair with. Perhaps, there's a chance that the author wrote a true-to-life account of a sordid affair? Who knows? It could be a wild guess, but it appears that the author might match up in age to her female protag...Sadly, this book turned out to be nothing but a tale of a man with an asshole fetish. If anything could go there, it went there, hah. Use your imagination.Please don't misunderstand me. If this had been a "fetish" book, I might not have felt the need to continue this review with the notes I added under comment number 2 below, as well as the inappropriate pic in comment number 3. But this book is being marketed as some sort of spin on Lolita and I expected more than a year in the life of a girl obsessed with a man who liked dirty sex.This book was provided from the publisher through Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.