Yearning For More TWILIGHT-Inspired Erotica? Drop 'Dem Drawers For BEAUTIFUL BASTARD!
Much like FIFTY SHADES OF GREY, BEAUTIFUL BASTARD is whacking material inspired by Stephenie Meyer's TWILIGHT saga. For years, this stuff was relegated to message boards and blogs, where fans with a taste for erotic interaction between their favorite characters in any random movie/novel/TV show could indulge their deepest, darkest fantasies. And it's not limited to pop cultural phenomena like TWILIGHT. For instance, did you ever wonder what would happen if Michael Paré and Tom Berenger fucked each other's brains out in EDDIE AND THE CRUISERS? Voila.
But the runaway success of FIFTY SHADES OF GREY means there's now a thriving market for this kind of tawdry nonsense, and, judging from this excerpt, it doesn't have to be anywhere close to well-written. This makes it prime material for Constantine Film producer Jeremy Bolt, whose career thus far has been inextricably linked to world-class hack Paul WS Anderson. Bolt and Anderson make strangely sanitized exploitation movies - Roger Corman flicks without the excess violence and nudity. For some reason, people like this shit, so why not let Bolt soften up the kink of BEAUTIFUL BASTARD - which basically rips off the dom/sub workplace shenanigans of Steven Shainberg's SECRETARY? This is a victimless crime.
Not that you give a fuck, but "Christina Lauren" is a pen name shared by Christina Hobbs and Lauren Billings. Invest wisely, ladies.
And because I know most of you won't bother to click on the link to the excerpt from BEAUTIFUL BASTARD, here are the first five paragraphs:
My father always said the way to learn the job you want
is to spend every second watching someone do it.
“To get the job at the top, you’ve got to start at the bottom,” he told me.
“Become the person the CEO can’t live without. Be their right-hand man.
Learn their world, and they’ll snatch you up the second you finish your degree.”
I had become irreplaceable. And I’d definitely become
the Right Hand. It just so happened that in this
case, I was the right hand that most days wanted to slap
the damn face.
My boss, Mr. Bennett Ryan. Beautiful Bastard.
My stomach clenched tightly at the thought of him:
tall, gorgeous, and entirely evil. He was the most self-righteous,
pompous prick I’d ever met. I’d hear all of
the other women in the office gossip about his escapades
and wonder if a nice face was all it took. But my
father also said, “You realize early in life that beauty
is only skin-deep, and ugly goes straight to the bone.”
I’d had my fair share of unpleasant men in the past few
years, dated a few in high school and college. But this
one took the cake.
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