Writing in New York City in the 1950s and 60s, March Hastings, a pseudonym of Sally Singer, was one of the most prolific authors of the lesbian pulp era. She now lives in Florida.
Yes. I am obsessing over March Hastings and her old timey lesbian exploitation novels. Well, to call this book lesbian is a bit misleading, as our heroine, Sharon, sleeps with all genders.
Oddly plotted, this book describes Sharon fleeing one relationship, another relationship, another relationship... You get the idea. And by relationship I mostly mean she has sex with someone. The plot meanders all over the place, giving the impression the author pounded this book out over a weekend, occasionally thinking, "Oh yeah, plot and characters. Better include that."
And yet, again, it's a readable soap opera with amusingly described sex scenes.
"Sharon felt the plunge and thrust of his need. Her arms lashed out wildly, then folded round him, muttering his name over and over like a dirty word in which she had taken final, forbidden freedom."
That kind of thing. Why do I love it so much? I just do. Cheese, and much of it. Yet somehow simultaneously plucking at the heart strings and making me care.
Not the best March Hastings book I've read, but still fun.