How to Tell a Naked Man What to Do Book discontinued

- Focused on women finding and fulfilling their own fantasies - Addresses a wide variety of women

 I am torn over what I think about the book How to Tell a Naked Man What to Do by Candida Royalle. There are aspects of the book I really enjoyed, yet there are also parts that honestly irritated me. I find myself in contradicting opinions. First, the bad. I had issue with the title of the book versus the content. I cracked open the cover expecting very different advice. The “naked man” doesn’t appear until the last quarter of the book. The first 150 pages are all prep and pre-sexual contact. It’s not until “Phase Three,” and the last 50 pages, that there is any direct advice on sex and sexual communication. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it was very different than the expectations the title gave me. The first two phases of the book cover research and preproduction of your sexual masterpieces. Candida’s advice begins with opening your mind and exploring your sexual desires (something I am all for), but then it descends into the granularity of how to treat your hair, what to do with your nails, how to bathe yourself. By the time I got to “The Boudoir Ritual” chapter, I was beginning to feel like I was reading an extended article of Cosmopolitan. And ultimately, this level of detailed advice would convince you to be none other than Candida Royalle herself. It gets too specific and begins to erase personalization options. And the self-promotion. I swear if she mentioned her Femme movies or her line of Natural Contours sex toys one more time, I was liable to chuck the book across the room. She was very judgmental of most of the porn that wasn’t hers or styled like hers, some of which is warranted. I just think her splices of self-promotion throughout the book broke up the good information and advice she did provide. However, as I read the book, I liked Candida. Her voice was strong, honest, and easy to read. She incorporated tidbits of sexual memoir throughout the book, especially in the “Introduction” section, and these personal glimpses made both her and her advice more credible. My interest peaked every time she launched into a brief story from her past; I admired her for sharing that she was attacked as an adolescent and analyzing how that experience reverberated into her adult sexuality. I honestly wished I was reading her memoir rather than her sex advice book. This book is definitely for beginners. For me, it was mostly just confirmation that I was doing some of the right things. Yet this book was much less cliché than other beginner material I have read. It was real and honest; it could actually be used. The movie production parallel made the progression and advice easy to follow and contextualize. I respected Candida’s motives for her work; sex advice, porn production, and so on. I also agreed with many things she said and suggested. It just, eventually, became too much for me. Too much advice in getting to the level of how to dress myself. Too much self-promotion breaking up the flow of good advice. Too much prep and foreplay before getting to the sex. Honestly, who has the time to meticulously prep themselves every time before sex? Candida Royalle apparently.