Showing posts with label Jasinda Wilder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jasinda Wilder. Show all posts

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Big Girls Do It Better by Jasinda Wilder


Title: Big Girls Do It Better
Author: Jasinda Wilder
Publisher: Seth Clarke (no website found)
Rating: WARTY!

This author is supposed to have (according to her website) "...a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women" but none of that was evident in this novel, which was sad for me because I originally liked this idea: of a novel written for younger adults, but with a realistic female main character - i.e. instead of one who looks like a runway model and gets no boyfriends and thinks she's plain-looking, we get a realistic one who is plus-sized and thinks she's okay, and does get boyfriends. The problem for me began very early on when after her stint DJ-ing at a bar, main character Anna stops in a coffee bar and runs into (literally) a hot guy who asks if he can sit with her. This is Chase.

You;re right, of course! I should have known from the cover that this didn't have a hope in hell of actually offering any kind of a story, but I was so surprised by the appearance of a real woman on the cover as opposed to some anorexic teen-wannabe that I guess I just let my hopes trip up my reality again! Besides, this was part of a four-book (read: novella) set on sale at Amazon, and it looked like it might be a disaster or it might be really good reading, but the price made it worth taking a chance. The chance blew.

The story is about Anna and Chase - a curiously appropriate name for a stalker-ish guy. The book was part of a four-book set, but I didn't even finish the first and I'm certainly not going to read the others. The two talk for only a minute, and feeling shy, Anna quickly bolts for the door, but then it falls quickly apart and its true colors show.

As she's about to drive out of the parking lot, Chase wrenches open her car door, all but demands her phone number, and then kisses her without any pre-amble. I know this is meant to be dramatic and romantic, but in reality, it was really creepy and stalker-ish. It speaks badly of the integrity and decency of the guy - who is inevitably tall and muscular, of course - who would do a scary thing like this. It's something which, it seems to me, would freak-out any self-respecting woman, and it speaks badly of the mentality of a woman who would react to this behavior only in positive ways. I sincerely hoped at that point that this event wasn't going to set the tone for the whole story, but that hope was quickly dashed; it only went further downhill.

The guy shows up at the bar where Anna DJs, and he's dressed in leather pants and a T-shirt with no sleeves, showing off his heavily clichéd muscles and tats. He sings beautifully, of course. Indeed, there isn't a single thing wrong with this guy - except that he ogles her like she's meat, makes inappropriate remarks, and then he stalks her in back of the bar where she goes to take a quiet break between sets. She rewards this by going down on him.

What does it say about either of these people that they're having unprotected sex when they've "known" each other for a grand total of about ten minutes? It's not a love story. It's not a romance. It's adolescent lust! It's dumb-ass, unprotected sex, and not even in a place of comfort, warmth, and safety, but in the alley behind a bar next to the garbage skip! It's the least erotic erotica I've ever read.

And she's dumb enough that she's constantly unbelieving: "He can't want me! He can't find me attractive! He can't be drawn to me! O woe is me, maiden that I am!" How can she not be aware that there is a heck of a lot of guys will willingly have sex with pretty much any girl who's dumb enough to put out at the drop of a zipper? Dress size is immaterial because all they want is to get her out of the dress.

I'm sorry but that's the end of this story as far as I'm concerned. I not only cannot recommend it, but I actively dis-recommend it unless you enjoy print versions of porn movies under the absurd pretence that there's even so much as a story here, much less a romance.