The Books of Love: Tyler Knoll’s Just For Fun by AB Gayle

Reviewed by Narrelle M Harris

The blurb…

TKJFF_Composite_1000x1595Tyler Knoll was born one wild, stormy night in April 2013.

Of course, Tyler might tell you he was born twenty years earlier, but should we believe anything he says? That’s for you to decide.

In Tyler’s first adventure—like many a gay man before him—he was SNARED by gay porn, wallowing in tales of bigger, stronger, harder….

Then his fickle mind was seduced and SHREDDED by the prospect of BDSM and slavery.

When a Big Misunderstanding SLASHED at Tyler’s sanity, almost costing him his life, he turned to another genre for his salvation. But even this encounter proved potentially hazardous—not from freezing temperatures, but at the hands of irate fans.

Finally, tired and SCREWED by all his trials and tribulations, he discovers—like many storybook heroes before him—that sometimes Mr. Right is closer than we think.

The review…

The four books of Tyler Knoll’s sexy adventures are a vastly entertaining read! Presented as a series of books written by Tyler himself for self-publication, they are full of sly asides, terrible spelling, and discussions with the reader, the editor and with a ‘ universal reader’ beyond the fourth wall. It’s all very meta, but metatextuality with a breezy, cheeky air. If you like the idea of playing games with the form while still having a story and some sexytimes, this could be the book for you.

The series in turns lampoons and embraces all the traditions and tropes of MM erotic romance. There’s sauciness aplenty within the self-aware commentary and general silliness, and some sections lead you along a garden path and then spring a dizzy twist before the raunch makes another appearance.

Tyler Knoll’s Just for Fun is exactly that. It’s a quick, silly, funny read with a likeable protagonist, plenty of magic realism and a sweet ending.

Excerpt

At least he wasn’t mad at me. He kept giggling and shaking his head, muttering, “Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. What am I going to do?”

His broken glasses and the lens were sitting on the desk behind him. I picked them up. “Don’t worry. It’s easy. My screw fits into this little hole perfectly.”

He burst out laughing again.

I handed him his glasses and Dilbert put them back on. I heaved a sigh of relief. Now he wasn’t the sexy stranger who I knew would feature in my dreams for the next few evenings.

“Thanks,” he muttered. His hand shook slightly as he dragged a pack of Marlboro’s out of his pocket.

“Erm….”

Dilbert had only recently started to smoke. Or maybe he’d been doing it forever, but I only just noticed. Since the introduction of the compulsory no smoking policy, employees had been bitching about having to stand on the footpath. Dilbert’s suggestion to management that an unused loading dock could be converted to a secluded landscaped area was surprisingly successful. They must look after their smokers back in Oz.

Personally, I didn’t care either way because I didn’t smoke, but Dilbert took advantage of the maximum permitted breaks and joined me in the courtyard about five times a day. Seeing I had to maintain the garden anyway, he suggested I do those chores while he lit up a fag. His use of the word had offended me at first, but he assured me that’s what they were called back home. Anyway, I noticed he never used the term again in my presence. I’d wondered if I should also persuade him to stop smoking, but then he wouldn’t have an excuse to visit me so often.

I enjoyed those short breaks. For some weird reason, we were never disturbed, although I heard later that there must be some problem with the door into the basement as someone had complained that they couldn’t get it open. It seemed fine when Dilbert and I checked, so they mustn’t have been pushing hard enough.

Dilbert’s hand was still shaking when he tried to flick the lighter. “Fuck!” he said.

“Erm….” Should I remind him that we were still inside? Technically, he was in a superior position in the company, but Mrs. Stringer had reassured me that while I was down here, I was in control. Or in charge. I wasn’t sure which word she used. Both gave me an unusual sensation of security. A space where I belonged. “Shouldn’t we?” I gestured toward the door leading from the underground car park to the outdoor smoking area.

Dilbert chuckled. “Sorry. Force of habit. I always light up after a screw.”

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The Books of Love are romance book reviews of both new releases and old favourites.

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Posted on July 17, 2015, in Adventurous Hearts, erotica, Reviews, The Books of Love and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

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