Sexpot!
Collection of Classic Erotica - Book 30
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Sexpot!
Narrated by:
Virtual Voice
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Narrated by:
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Virtual Voice
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By:
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Lawrence Block
This title uses virtual voice narration
Virtual voice is computer-generated narration for audiobooks.
About this listen
“Sexpot! was my sixth book for Nightstand, my sixth as Andrew Shaw. Aside from admiring Harold W. McCauley’s cover—and isn't it a perfect example of what it is?—I can’t say I ever really looked at the book after I’d gathered the pages of typescript together, hailed a taxi, and hand-delivered them to my agent at 580 Fifth Avenue.
“Or did I put them in the mail? It depends whether I wrote Sexpot! before the spring of 1960, while I was living on Starin Avenue in Buffalo, or later, after I’d married and moved to 110 West 69th Street in New York. There’s no way to tell, and I certainly don’t remember, but what does it matter? I got the pages to my agent, he got them to the publisher in Illinois, and Sexpot! saw the light of day or gloom of night sometime in 1960.
“All those years ago. And now, with the many books tossed off (so to speak) by myself and a small circle of friends getting some unexpected and surprisingly respectful attention under the canopy of Midcentury Erotica, I thought the least I could do was upload the creature to my Kindle and give it a once-over.
“I don’t spend a lot of time reading my early work—or, these days, anybody’s work, early or late. But I hurried through Sexpot! and was surprised to discover this passage in an early chapter:
“She let her thighs slip apart like startled fish, half-full of fire, half-full of ice.”
“Now isn’t that a nice turn of phrase? And while I can’t say I recalled writing it, I recognized it immediately; Federico Garcia Lorca, the marvelous poet murdered by fascists in Spain’s Civil War, wrote almost those very words in La Casada Infiel, although I recall them as ‘Her thighs slipped away from me like startled fish, half-full of fire, half-full of ice.’ (And, duh, he wrote them in Spanish.)
“Never mind. I remember the poem, even if I’ve forgotten having borrowed the poet’s words. Garcia Lorca is not responsible for the rest of Sexpot! I have to shoulder the credit (or the blame, as you prefer) for the story of the titular Cindy Marlin and her life in New York.
“And was the title my own, or the contribution of someone in Illinois? I don’t know, but I’m happy enough with it. And especially with the exclamation point, as indispensable here as in Rogers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma!”
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