
Despite egregious false advertising and plenty of awkward sex scenes, Swap Safari ends up being a decent tale of erotic espionage.
Scott Newton is a government agent with international assignments of the deadliest nature. As he describes himself, “I’m a guy who hangs around unlikely corners of the world clearing up messes.” Currently he fronts as a vacation coordinator for luxury resorts in Nairobi. Secretly he works for the CIA—or maybe FBI? This is never explained clearly—and awaits the arrival of wealthy American swap couples.
After meeting Scott, the ladies admire his impressive physique and urge him to be included in their name-drawing ceremony. This is where they decide which man is paired with which woman for the day. They don’t have to twist his arm. After all, his work requires him to get close with these people. How much closer can you get?
Two in the group, one guy and one girl, are suspected kidnappers back in the States. It’s up to Scott to figure out who’s in disguise and arrest the wanted criminals. To do this, he must sleep with all the women and occasionally sleuth through their hotel suites when least expected.
The spicy bedroom scenes are numerous, even by 1970s pulp fiction standards. Many include a bizarre fetish for painting nipples with red lipstick and then having the thick paint licked off. Maybe I don’t read enough erotica, because I didn’t know that was a thing. The more you know, I guess.
The novel’s greatest sin, however, is never taking advantage of the “safari” location. Here they are in glorious Kenya, but they never venture out of their hotel suites. Setting and plot have none of the danger or atmosphere promised in the brilliant cover art by Robert Bonfils. There are literally no elephants in sight. The only mentioned animal is, in fact, an aquatic stonefish.

Despite this severe disappointment, there are also pleasant surprises. Flirty dialogue is often rich with clever innuendo and women are empowered individuals fully in control of their sexuality. Scott grows from being closed-minded to a more liberated man by the end. He learns to appreciate a friendly finger up the bum, for example, and begins thinking more about his partner’s experience during intercourse.
“Subconsciously you’re envious of the woman’s role in the mating act,” observes one of his female companions. “Lots of men are. That means you’re sensitive.”
Meanwhile, the puns are sexy and plentiful. For example, Scott declares: “Anybody who isn’t having a good time around here must be hard to please.”
To which his wife-for-a-day responds, “You be hard and I’ll be pleased.”
At last, a satisfactory climax occurs. Scott identifies the kidnappers and narrowly escapes death. Others aren’t so lucky. Most of the concluding details are confusing and probably full of plot holes if one were to really sit down and think about it. But it has the impression of being clever, which will probably exceed most reader expectations.
Generally speaking, if you forgive being duped by the cover, the story is pretty good. And I will credit the author for avoiding important details during sex scenes. This makes them easy to skim over without fear of missing an important bit of dialogue or development in the mystery. Thank you, John Dexter. We readers appreciate you.
Sadly, we may never know who to actually thank since the author’s identity remains unknown. “John Dexter” was a publisher’s house pseudonym used by countless writers. Some of the big names who fessed up to writing as John Dexter include Lawrence Block, Marion Zimmer Bradley and Donald Westlake. No one has yet admitted to penning Swap Safari. Whoever they are, lipstick on nipples seems the best way to root them out.
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