The Devourers by Indra Das ★☆☆☆☆

This was the most disgusting book I've ever read and I recently finished Dreamcatcher, King's ode to farts, diarrhea, and shit weasels. 

This was worse. 

I wanted to say nice things, like this is an interesting story somewhere between Interview with the Vampire and an LGBT Donna Boyd tale. Now all that's true, but this is a male author and he's decided to literally PISS all over that story. Hot, asparagus, UTI level piss. Oh yes, he brought the stink.

This story was brought to you by the letter P and the color yellow. 

"I feel its heat, smell its pungent musk of blood-spiced piss and shit and mud-caked hair..."

"taking his hardening penis in his hands and pissing a steaming circle around his clothes. The rising smell of his waters fills my nostrils, pungent, clinging to the winter air as the ground melts to frothing mud."

"The smell of it was overpowering. It smelled like birth, the birth of god or demon, raw and animal and steaming in the morning air. Sweet and musk, like frankincense and myrrh; heavy and pungent, like the juice of living things, blood and piss, sweat and spit; rancid and fecund, like waste, shit, and earth. It stank of both life and death, both so intoxicating I found myself flushed with my own blood, my heart aching."

"He sits on his haunches and runs his fingers through the [piss] wet ground, sniffs them...The stranger takes his fingers and puts them to his mouth, sucking them clean loudly."

I could go on and on. Kindle said the word came up 32 times but it smelled like more. The author even felt the need to stink up the sex.

"I become accustomed to his pungent carnality—the raw sea-smell lingering in his armpits and hair, the ammonia-and-cinnamon scent of his sweat and saliva, his hunger"

Even writing this review is turning my stomach. Ugh.