If you have a kind of morbid curiosity to see for yourself just how low a good writer can go, you may want to pick up this book. Otherwise, don’t bother.

A distasteful exercise in superficiality and casual sex, Blonde Heat tells the story (it’s not really a plot) of three high school friends who return to their lakeside rural Minnesota town for the summer. There they hook up with =­ and, boy, do they ever hook up with – ­three local studs.

Post-divorce Lily, who has left her TV gardening show to teach at a local college for a year, ends up with hockey star Billy. Poet Ceci (although her garbage mouth is anything but lyrical) lands lake guide Zuber. Serena, the socialite, goes slumming with Frankie, the local sheriff.

As for the plot (or what passes for it, anyway) the couples get together. They do it. The women talk about doing it. They all do it again. Couple one fights. They do it. The women talk about the fight. Couple two fights. They do it. The women talk about the fight. Couple three fights. They do it. The women talk about the fight.

And, believe it or not, that’s about it. Let me say that I am not a prude. I like sexy books ­ including many of Susan Johnson’s ­ but there is absolutely nothing real and nothing even remotely erotic about this book. Hey, I’ve been in the trenches. And, not only do women not talk the way they do in this book, we rarely even think the way they do in this book.

As for character development, there is absolutely none and, since the book consists mainly of simplistic declarative dialogue and mechanical descriptions of sex, the quality of the writing is equally nonexistent. And even though Susan Johnson obviously had some intention of creating a nice female-bonding type of thing, I’m not certain that these old high school friends even like each other. How close can you be if all you talk about is who you’re doing it with and how often you’re doing it?

I am sorry to have to write such a review about a book from a writer I’ve often enjoyed. But there is so little resemblance between this book and Brazen, Outlaw, or Silver Flame that it’s rather stunning to consider that they are from the very same author.

But, sadly, as a reviewer I’ve got to call them like I see them. And, as it is, those looking for a book with a little erotic diversion would be well advised to look elsewhere.