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Girls Without Men
154 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 1964
5 people want to read
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
March 13, 2026
I picked this book out not because anything about it in particular. I fell down a rabbit hole of 1960s pulp fiction smut on reddit, and just had to read one. I found this one on ebay at a steal because the cover was missing. I am extremely pleased I didn't pay the 50-200 bucks that an intact copy runs.
This book is a strange, confused mess. I truly don't know what all to blame it on. Some has to be the constant churn that these pulp publishers/writers were on, where quantity was king over quality. Some of it is the fog of time---I am so far removed from 1960s culture and day-to-day life that some things are inexplicable to me. Some things are weird because I'm not convinced the author had ever seen, let alone interacted, with a naked woman before in his life.
This is the least sexy piece of smut I've ever read. I've read fanfic of kinks I don't agree with morally or sexually that were more arousing than this straight-down-the-middle cheating wives book. The way it described women: "nipples like mulberries" or "The erogenous zones of the women - nipples and loins - were heavy and swollen and mucid." or "...dragged her into the bedroom where she danced round like a crazy leprechaun." were gross, confusing, and arresting. I often had to stop to text a friend or two because being along with the knowledge of this book was too much for me.
The story itself was (somehow) the greatest quality. A couple of con artist grifters open up a yoga and wellness studio in a suburban town in Somewhere, USA. The book never specified, but I eventually assumed Florida, because it was always 80 degrees, coastal, and one character wanted to go "up to Virginia". Shrug. Anyway, all the suburban wives are free all day because they don't have jobs, so they attend these classes, and one by one the grifters seduce and sleep with them. The only real character arc, if you can even call it that, is Jill's. Jill is the most sympathetic character, and is in a marriage with a dying bedroom. Her husband is too tired most nights to sleep with her (plus their separate beds make intimacy difficult) and she's growing restless and repressed. But, she doesn't want to communicate these problems to her husband because she feels like initiating sex is the husband's role. Anyway, by the end she nearly begs him to sleep with her, and that's the big development she goes through.
All the characters beyond Jill feel flat and samey. At first the female grifter felt unique by speaking in an elevated tone and calling everyone darling and whatnot. But, by the end other women have those qualities and strip her of her remaining novelty.
One thing I'll say is that there was much much too much spousal abuse. Both ways. Women beating men, men beating women. Threatening, berating, belittling. Everyone felt miserable all the time. This is just one part of the 1960s of it all. The author is also very mean towards the one woman who wasn't slim and fit, and includes only one non white character who is a very flat stereotype. I'm just happy it's only a little racist/misogynistic. The fat-phobia isn't even that much more than modern standards.
It's not sexy enough to be simple spicy fun. It's not well written enough to be constantly engaging. It is just words on paper.
I will say, the front and back cover are just... disconnected from the story? Like, it depicts the blonde Geraldine with black hair, and says the black haired Jill had "honey hair"?? It doesn't really matter, but dang is it strange and confusing.
This book is a strange, confused mess. I truly don't know what all to blame it on. Some has to be the constant churn that these pulp publishers/writers were on, where quantity was king over quality. Some of it is the fog of time---I am so far removed from 1960s culture and day-to-day life that some things are inexplicable to me. Some things are weird because I'm not convinced the author had ever seen, let alone interacted, with a naked woman before in his life.
This is the least sexy piece of smut I've ever read. I've read fanfic of kinks I don't agree with morally or sexually that were more arousing than this straight-down-the-middle cheating wives book. The way it described women: "nipples like mulberries" or "The erogenous zones of the women - nipples and loins - were heavy and swollen and mucid." or "...dragged her into the bedroom where she danced round like a crazy leprechaun." were gross, confusing, and arresting. I often had to stop to text a friend or two because being along with the knowledge of this book was too much for me.
The story itself was (somehow) the greatest quality. A couple of con artist grifters open up a yoga and wellness studio in a suburban town in Somewhere, USA. The book never specified, but I eventually assumed Florida, because it was always 80 degrees, coastal, and one character wanted to go "up to Virginia". Shrug. Anyway, all the suburban wives are free all day because they don't have jobs, so they attend these classes, and one by one the grifters seduce and sleep with them. The only real character arc, if you can even call it that, is Jill's. Jill is the most sympathetic character, and is in a marriage with a dying bedroom. Her husband is too tired most nights to sleep with her (plus their separate beds make intimacy difficult) and she's growing restless and repressed. But, she doesn't want to communicate these problems to her husband because she feels like initiating sex is the husband's role. Anyway, by the end she nearly begs him to sleep with her, and that's the big development she goes through.
All the characters beyond Jill feel flat and samey. At first the female grifter felt unique by speaking in an elevated tone and calling everyone darling and whatnot. But, by the end other women have those qualities and strip her of her remaining novelty.
One thing I'll say is that there was much much too much spousal abuse. Both ways. Women beating men, men beating women. Threatening, berating, belittling. Everyone felt miserable all the time. This is just one part of the 1960s of it all. The author is also very mean towards the one woman who wasn't slim and fit, and includes only one non white character who is a very flat stereotype. I'm just happy it's only a little racist/misogynistic. The fat-phobia isn't even that much more than modern standards.
It's not sexy enough to be simple spicy fun. It's not well written enough to be constantly engaging. It is just words on paper.
I will say, the front and back cover are just... disconnected from the story? Like, it depicts the blonde Geraldine with black hair, and says the black haired Jill had "honey hair"?? It doesn't really matter, but dang is it strange and confusing.
Displaying 1 of 1 review