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"Stanley Brack had a one-track mind... his particular goal was building better guided missiles.... fantastic machines for destruction and counter-destruction...."
A gorgeous, bosomy brunette hanging on his arm, and all he can think about is how better to obliterate whole populations of innocent civilians thousands of miles away. Stan's manly, firm-jawed focus on his long, gleaming shaft as it blasts off is all the proof you need that the dorks running the arms race are, shall we say, overcompensating here!
Sadly, it's all downhill from the cover. One is hard pressed to find sexytime prose in these poorly written, censor-phobic PG-13 productions from the early 1960s. "Starway to Lust" makes not a whit of sense, though the title page attempts to clarify things by proclaiming "Stairway to Lust." The imprint on the spine casts its vote for "Starway," so who knows. On the other hand, "hot bodied volupto-starlets!"
Page 129: "He opened the door and stepped into the room. She was sitting before a dressing table with a hairbrush in her raised hand and she wore a heavy quilted robe and fluffy slippers. She looked at his reflection in her mirror and smiled."
Not bad if you happen to be a quilted robe and fluffy slippers fetishist.
Now this is something that happens all the time, I'm quite certain. The first thing on my mind whenever I'm in the hospital recovering from surgery or a major illness is whether or not a hot nurse will want to jump my bones.
Old Cary Grant fine. How you?
Well, it looks like Cary Grant. Anyway, could William Powell really hoist a sodden blond over his shoulder and carry her upstairs? Nah.
A fine and rare combination of our preferred themes.