By: Sasha Muradali, guest reviewer
Jamaica Layne’s “A Capitol Affair” is a underdeveloped, ghastly excuse for erotic literature that glamorizes sloppy, whorish women as independent, strong and calculated.
As a person who rarely reads romance, let alone erotica-romance, I was unimpressed and, at times, disgusted.
I initially thought this would be the story to bring me over to the juicy-side: a PR-girl, a Washington scandal, romance and drama.
From the frigid sex that overtly describe bodily fluids, to plot holes, to random characters pulled out of a magician’s hat (like Dexter, the hero’s estranged relative), “A Capitol Affair” is lacking in more ways than one.
Not to mention the fact that I highly doubt most public relations professionals (and Ms. Layne get it right, in politics, it’s called public affairs) would stoop as low as to sleep with a magazine editor for their kinky, slob of a boss.
It’s a very possible, just not probable story.
The plot holes and lack of continuity start at the very beginning when the heroine, Jasmine, a frumpy, overweight public affairs director not only says she is under-sexed, but she implies she’s not the most outgoing of women in that department.
She proceeds to relieve herself in the bathroom thinking of a man, Rodney Doyle, our hero, that she’s never met.
Said man, and subject of her infatuation, agrees to have a meeting with Jasmine to discuss her boss, Sen. Grayle’s, indiscretions.
Jasmine proposes sex to Mr. Doyle – a little out of the ordinary and out of character for a woman sex deprived and seemingly shy, I would think.
During this same meeting, Doyle offers Jasmine a drink, of which she refuses claiming she doesn’t enjoy the stuff.
Yet, we see a few pages down the line, and a date with Doyle later, Jasmine chugging two cosmos like a first-week freshman, boozed-sorority girl, fainting, feeling light-headed and ready to spread eagle for a stranger.
And since when was eating meat off someone’s body, like a dog to its bowl, sexy?
Just as I started relishing the feeling of the meat on my skin, however, Rodney leaned over and began to nibble tiny bites of the fillet. The meat moved slightly with each bite he took, creating damp feathery sensations that sent warm prickles all over my belly. He ate slowly and deliberately to maximize the pleasure the food gave us. When it was finally gone, Rodney lapped up the ginger sauce that had adhered to my skin; making sure to spread it around with his tongue so I could get the most of the tingling sensations from the raw ginger root. A wonderful melty feeling headed straight for my pussy.
Needless to say, I laughed, then cringed and Ms. Layne, ‘melty’ isn’t a real word.
As the novel progressed, I began to wonder if Jasmine had any self-respect at all or if Ms. Layne was simply trying to appeal her novel of sloshing juices to men, rather than women.
I won’t touch the ginger sauce sending electric shots through her body theme. But I will say, better she just screwed a ginger root and called it a night. I was waiting for our heroine to roll over like a dog in heat and howl.
The novel speaks for itself, and if erotica tickles your fancy, perhaps check out Lora Leigh or something published by LitErotica.
I don’t think even the wickedly adventurous Miss_Figg (and all you fan fiction junkies out there know who I’m talking about) would approve of this capitol mess.
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