Ramona is an ugly, albino chambermaid who has an aroma which makes her irresistable to men. She uses this gift lightly thinking it will never go away. Sexy, utterly frivolous and very funny.

They came, not only from the estate, but also from the surrounding hills and sometimes even beyond. From the plains to the northeast and the west, and from the towns of Dragoni, Teano, Carinola and Mondragone. The admirers came from all walks of life, and it is fair to say that as word of her charms spread and her popularity increased, Ramona grew cold towards the field labourers with whom, in the early days, she had been content to satisfy her urges in the hayricks and beneath the hedgerows. 'What, Stiliano Mamiliano, are you here again? Do you think I will do it with you after the last time? Why the acorn that you feed to your pigs is a bigger prize than that which hangs between your legs.' Deflated, Stiliano's head disappeared into the foliage, only to be replaced by that of his younger brother, Ludovico, fresh-faced and blushing. 'Will you do it with me Ramona Drottoveo?' he asked in a hoarse voice. 'My thing is much bigger than Stiliano's.' A thump followed as Stiliano's boot met the seat of Ludovico's trousers behind the hedge. 'I've no time for boys,' replied Ramona. 'I need a man who knows what's what.' 'Then take me Ramona, please, I beg you,' came the voice of Papa Mamiliano, his head framed by lilac blossoms. 'I know what it takes to please a woman. Just give me the chance.'

I found this such a warm and often funny story - but how sad! As Tassie tells the story of Sarah and her devastating losses we also see Tassie's struggle to grow up and come to terms with her own tragedies. It is all told in the most perfect, beautiful prose - I had to slow down to savour each wonderful paragraph - and this made the tale somehow deeper and more poignant.

In the morning sunshine my parents looked cleansed of their reinforcing farm dirt. They looked translucent and a little frailer than they had even in the fall, when the black potato muck beneath their nails and the mud on their shoes and clothing seemed to anchor them to the earth. Now they could - and might - ascend in a shaft of light, for all I knew. I scarcely recognised them, as if they were only slightly animate in their holographic shimmer.

A wickedly irreverent and erotic take on the 1920s' English Country House Murder where no-one is quite what he seems but most are only too happy to be very demonstrably glad to be gay.

'He's ...'
'Yes?'
'Oh, God, he's ...'
What? Queer? About to get his dick sucked? Hung like a horse? Begging for it? 'What, Belinda? He's what?'
'He's'...'
By this time Morgan had rebuttoned his fly, done a decent (but far from perfect) job of concealing his engorgement, and staggered out of our cupboard.
... 'Oh Harry!' She teetered toward him. 'He's ...,dead!'

A sex and shopping novel from the viewpoint of black 'sisters' in California. An unusual and funny take on the genre and a fascinating insight into the lives of black women today - expect a lot of very explicit sex.

'Mom. Lorenzo is suing me for alimony, do you understand? He wants me to pay to get away from him, even though he left me and I supported him while we were married.' My ears are standing up, there's a throaty growl in my voice, and I can feel the beginnings of drool forming in the corners of my mouth, but there's nothing I can do about it. Lorenzo always brings out the dog in me.

Treat yourself to this quirky romantic comedy, guaranteed to lift your spirits with its feel-good factor. It's the familiar 'women from Venus, men from Mars' plot, but told from both points of view, with a down to earth honesty and a refreshing absence of chick-lit smaltz.

What went on between us in the double bed was a little problematic and we tended to blame that on my sensually deprived childhood. Orjan did his best with the foreplay, but I stayed as dry as coarse sandpaper; we positively grated on each other.

Philandering lecturer - supposedly writing the definitive biography of his literary hero, John Donne - hits mid-life crisis. Hilarious and poignant in about equal measure but some sharp insights into the human condition added an unexpected edge.

'You realize you'll have to buy Mrs Thursby's husband a new spirit level?' Alison doesn't look up from the kitchen worktop where she has a couple of onions on the chopping board. She's holding a large Sabatier and picks up one of the onions to peel it.
'Why? There's nothing wrong with the old one.'
Thank God for beta-blockers, I tell myself. My heart scarcely skips a beat. This is the first time Alison has mentioned yesterday's incident.
'Apparently he says he doesn't fancy it after where it's been.'

Join thirty-somethings Barnaby, Barbarella and their London friends on a hedonistic roller-coaster of fun, frolic and pure unadulterated smut. Follow their antics as they both try to find the partner of their dreams. This book is not for the faint-hearted or the easily offended. I thought stories with many endings were just for children. I've now changed my mind.

'Two minutes,' he cries with false astonishment after three minutes thirty-eight have elapsed.
More foot artistry and the blood is draining from other vital organs. Marc stops smiling and starts to concentrate. You remember guiltily that you should be biting your lip and realize that it must be part of this convoluted plan. If only Marc can get to four minutes he will save face and blame the Concorde flight for his under-performance. You can see Marc's concentration, but with gibbon dexterity, Astrid's foot unzips Marc's fly, finds little resistance from tight, thonged briefs and . . . enters the forbidden domain. Marc lets out a whimper of precious air.
The Patek Philipe registers five minutes.
'Three minutes, ladies and gentlemen, three minutes.'
Marc's erection is sucking away his life. Astrid's foot continues to knead, it's everywhere, and teasingly, nowhere. Like a she-panther on heat, she sits and gnaws her lip. And then . . . she stands.
But someone still kneads.