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"Tattoo of a Naked Lady"

by Randy Everhard
(as told to B.D. Kwiatek)

    A Review by Java

    In order to get the right perspective of "Tattoo of a Naked Lady," you have to think of it this way: itís John Waters meets Russ Meyer meet Jim Thompsonís "The Grifters" meets "Debby Does Dallas." "Tattoo of a Naked Lady" hearkens back to a time when sleaze was the king of paperback fiction where if you didnít deliver dirty, dirty sex every dozen pages your readers got downright pissed. Itís one of those books that makes you feel as dirty and sweaty as if you just ran a marathon in a peep show booth.
    The hero of the book (if you consider the hero as the one who gets laid the most) is a character by the name of Randy Everhard. Heís an allegorical Everyman with a perpetual hard-on. Heís a carnie grifter looking for the next big score and/or the next set of double-D breasts. He efforts, as well as that of the book, are a subtle as a double-wide in the middle of Buckingham Palace.
    Hereís an example of the sleaze-o-matic style of the book. In this scene, Randy has tried to go "legit" by running a wet T-shirt version of the classic dunk tank. We hear his play-by-play of this event.

"High and dry," she drawled into the microphone as pitch after pitch missed the target. "You bozos couldnít hit the broad side of a barn, much less the side of a broad! Letís get a real man up here!"
This little skinny guy finally nailed her, dead-on. Owoooo-ga! squealed the horn as the hinged bench swung away, dropping poor Cutie ass-first into the Plexiglas tank.
The crowd exploded into hooting cheers of eyeballing ecstasy. They finally got what theyíd paid for. She really knew how to deliver, too.
She went under in slo-mo. The impact drove her T-shirt up baring her bounty of boobs. They were milky white orbs that floated up like big balloons.
You could almost feel them in your hands. The soft flesh against your fingers, the rosy nipples between your lips. There was more wood than a lumberyard inside the joint.
A million white bubbles swirled around her kicking limbs. As her ass hit the bottom of the tank, her legs spread apart in a shameless spectacle of sex. The fluorescent pink crotch of her string bikini was no bigger than a postage stamp.
Waves of long blonde hair drifted off her head. Her eyes were wide open. You could almost hear her shocked squeal. She jumped back up and resurfaced, gasping for breath.
"That waterís ice-cold!" she squeaked.
Her T-shirt was still pushed up over her tits. Those pink nipples went in soft but came out hard as 24-carats. Goose-pimples rose on the naked flesh.
She scooped them up in her hands, displaying them to the crowd like loving cups on a trophy shelf. And then, just as quickly, she tugged her shirt back down. If they wanted to see them again, theyíd have to pay.
Cutie was no dummy. She knew she was working on percentage. Half of the take from the balls went into her pocket. She worked that crowd for all she was worth.
    Compared to the rest of the book, this passage is G-Rated. Itís a hot and fast read that lets you know that there is at least one over-sexed writer who doesnít mind that you have to use all your fingers and toes to keep count of all the bookís sex scenes.
    What sets this book apart from you run-of-the-mill Penthouse letter is the inclusion of a "Double Indemnity" murder plot. But instead of the sophisticated patter of a noir classic, you get the "do me" panting of every bad 70ís shag carpeting and wha-wha guitar porn flick. The violence is a literary tip-of-the-hat to all the tough-guy stories that make pulp paperbacks such an enduring read.
    And we canít forger the femme fatale of the story, one Bunny LaFever--the hot-to-trot unhappy wife of carnival owner O.B. Krass. When she meets Randy, she sees him as her ticket out of carnival life and out of her hapless marriage. And in the tradition of all great sleaze novels, once Randy and Bunny get it on, each subsequent conquest for Randy is a pale imitation of the fireworks he shared with Bunny. Once the two are finally together, this truck stop Bonnie and Clyde find themselves on the run from drug dealers, angry carnies, and (thrown in for good measure) an unstoppable nymphomaniac.
    Although the language of the book sometime gives away the real author of the book, it is none the less a great homage to all the sleaze that went before and, hopefully, all the sleaze that is left to come.

   To find out more about "Tattoo of a Naked Lady," check out their website.

Go here to read a special interview with the author!

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