set aside at 20 percent.this just isn't the right book for me right now, despite being pretty good.i'm angry.***the man adventurous enough to slurp your ass like a plate of clams casino isn't going to subsequently blow you like your dick is a biohazard.that kind of guy isn't going to pull off your cock and turn his head before you come.i had sex ed in grade school—i went to a granola charter school—and i've lived on both sides of the Safety Code. i've been both super-vigilant, and super-risky.i can offer from vast and enthusiastic personal experience the suggestion that if everyone just stopped being so damned publicly PC about sex, we would never have the problem of sex in private—including imaginary book sex—trying to be both PC and hot at the same time.which is so difficult to accomplish in practice as to be more or less effectively impossible.because there's nothing hot whatsoever about a fucking rubber, and nobody buys a cozy, smutromanze murder mystery to read about a life that features things you find next to the feminine hygiene products at the drugstore.***this book is not at all any more a source of this particular irritation than any other.it's not the book's fault.i'm pissed-off at the world.three stars for what i've read so far. Amy Lane writes with her usual verve. she's got a gift for language that i am both continually amazed by and irritably jealous of.four stars, if you take out the parts that reminded me how MM can alienate me as an actual, living, man-fucking homo.because thats what it is. alienation.a pert little reminder of how different i am from these imaginary people i'm supposed to be identifying with.not just in this MM book—in almost all MM books.i've hit some sort of saturation point. this book—better than most MM—still pushed that button in me at precisely the wrong time.***for all the ways this genre can be a kind of safe harbor for lonely boys and girls looking for other people like themselves, there are just as many ways it can be the opposite.it can make me feel like the only person in a crowded room who can see the monster in the corner.it can make me feel alone.it's the way it is—and Amy Lane isn't at fault.if i had to point to any single author who most embodies the other side—the good side of MM, the welcoming and inclusive and generous side—i'd point to Amy Lane.not this time. and not just because of a couple annoyances in one of her books.most MM readers and writers may not have sucked their first cock at 10 years old.they may not have acquired the astonishing intelligence that taking two cocks up your ass at once generally does not require starting off with a single finger.they can't know, right? they're not me.and that's fine.MM books aren't really written for me.***but—forget about that.if you're confused, don't worry—explaining it fully would turn this into something even more painfully inscrutable than it already is.you only need pay attention to a single part of this whole big angrysad rant from a suuuuper-down queer in the Bronx:it's as i said.it's exactly as i've said.this book is not for me right now.