Friday, September 27, 2019

Apocalyptic Dreams

Sacchi Green

I’ve been procrastinating. It’s hard for me to write casually about a theme of apocalypse. The concept of an ecological climate apocalypse is all too real, too threatening. Societal or political apocalypse is certainly threatening, too, but doesn’t come close to inspiring the same dread.

However, I’ve come across some political/societal information interesting enough to divert me, for a while, from climate change paranoia. A paper by researchers from Denmark's Aarhus University and Temple University has the intriguing title of “A 'Need for Chaos and the Sharing of Hostile Political Rumors in Advanced Democracies.” They acknowledged the influence of the power of the internet, but went further, conducting six surveys with a 6000-person sample, four in the US and two in Denmark. Among many other true-or-false questions, they asked things like “Do you agree or disagree” with statements along these lines:

“I fantasize about a natural disaster wiping out most of humanity such that a small group of people can start all over”
“I think society should be burned to the ground”
“Sometimes I just feel like destroying beautiful things”
“There is no right and wrong in the world”
“We cannot fix the problems in our social institutions, we need to tear them down and start over.”

 24% agreed with the fantasizing about a natural disaster, and 40% agreed with letting all political and social institutions “burn to the ground.” This reminds me of how some people (such as actress Susan Sarandon) were advocating letting Trump win so that things would get so bad that society would revolt, tear everything down, and start over, presumably in some way that they would approve of.

The article I read, from the NY Times, didn’t elaborate on how those 6000 responders were chosen, but it’s stated that the researchers’ interest was mainly in exploring what they termed “A Need for Chaos” as it related to spreading false political rumors on the internet, and they mention such groups as “4-Chan” and "Q-Anon" generally perceived to appeal mostly to young, angry white men.

The researchers say that “this study provides insights into the kinds of thoughts and behaviors that people are motivated to entertain when they sit alone (and lonely) in front of the computer, answering surveys or surfing social media platforms.” They add that they don’t think, from their research, that these people have any real intention of acting on those fantasies beyond stirring whatever pot of chaos they can find or create online. My own take is that a need for chaos is closely related to a need for recognition, for doing something, anything, that makes a difference, and provides entry into a community of like-minded disaffected people who have no other way to feel that they have any power over anything. A need for power is even more widespread than the need for chaos, but online chaos is more easily obtainable. Part of the fantasy is that in a post-apocalyptic world someone might have the power and status and libertarian freedom that they have none of now, without much thought as to how they would be able to merely survive. Or, as with so many YA books centered in dystopic futures, that they could be like the heroic resisters in, say, The Hunger Games. Full disclosure: I loved both the books and the movies.    

The way our world looks now, it’s not hard to have a certain amount of sympathy with the urge to “tear everything down and start over.” As someone far from young, though, I can’t help envisioning the results of all the upheaval, conflict, suffering, and, well, chaos that would result, with very little likelihood that even if some degree of order was eventually achieved, it would be any better than what was destroyed. A “burned down” society would be unlikely to be able to maintain infrastructure or the kinds of technology we take for granted, at least not for many years, if ever. Where did the guys in the Mad Max movies get the fuel to be careening around in toggled-together vehicles, and what would they do when those relics of another time finally gave out for good? Yes, science fiction novels and movies find fictional work-arounds for these problems, but non-fictional solutions would be slow at best, and by no means sure. Then there’s the matter of communication. And food transported for any distance. And widespread electricity in general. No TV, no Internet, no power for video games. And really, is there any great chance that the hot babes who currently shun the self-identified Incels would turn to them, unless these men have skills in hunting, farming, and other survival necessities?

Face it, guys, in a burned-down world, skills for creating chaos, via the online spreading of nasty political memes and conspiracy theories and far-fetched “facts” you know to be false, are not going to be in high demand. And an apocalypse is not going to be a YouTube flick with you for a star.

Okay. Rant over. I did warn you that I have trouble with an apocalyptic theme.

On a completely off-topic note, for several weeks now Blogger has not been letting me post comments on any of your posts. It does let me do new posts, though. No idea why. Maybe I should be kinder to some of those chaos-promoters who know their was around computers and the internet than I do. I have no hot babe credentials, though, Do you think my butterscotch chocolate pinwheel cookies might do? (Just a joke--my professional computer expert son may be able to advise me when we get together over the Columbus Day weekend. I'll bring him my pumpkin bread, his favorite.)        


Tuesday, September 24, 2019

They're Coming to Get You!

By Tim Smith

Writing for this blog has been very informative. Every couple of months we get a topic I’m not familiar with. This necessitates research on my part, and I learn something new. Take this month’s topic. I wasn’t fully certain what dystopia meant, although I know what an apocalypse is. I also didn’t know that a couple of my favorite movies centered on that theme.
Dystopia is translated from the Greek as "bad place" and is an antonym of utopia, an ideal society with minimal crime, violence and poverty. Dystopias are often characterized by dehumanization, tyrannical governments, environmental disaster, or a cataclysmic decline in society. Does any of this sound like what you viewed on the news today?

Dystopian societies have appeared in many fictional works, particularly in stories set in the future. Some of the most famous examples are 1984, Brave New World, The Time Machine and Fahrenheit 451. More recently, the theme has found a younger audience with The Hunger Games and Divergent. It has also been a central theme in such films as Metropolis, Soylent Green, Logan's Run, and Blade Runner.

“Soylent Green” (1973) has been a guilty pleasure since I first saw it. It’s based on the sci-fi novel “Make Room! Make Room!” by Harry Harrison. In the year 2022, as a consequence of the Industrial Revolution, 40 million people live in New York City, and there is a shortage of water, food, housing, and jobs. Only the city's elite can afford clean water and natural food, at horrendously high prices. Others not so fortunate sleep in crowded stairways and abandoned cars. They survive on a government-rationed food called Soylent, made of soy and lentils. Water is also rationed, and the climate is hot and dry year-round.
At the heart of the story is a murder mystery that has to be solved by Charlton Heston, playing an overworked NYPD detective. He is aided by an aged police researcher who lives with him in a squalid tenement apartment, played by Edward G. Robinson. The victim is one of the rich elitists who resides in a secure high-rise apartment building. The investigation uncovers a government conspiracy and cover-up that favors the wealthy. There’s also a shocker of an ending that has since taken on cult status.     

The subtleties of the dystopian elements were lost on me the first few times I saw it. When I got older and more educated, I looked at it in a different light. Many of the things that were laughed off in 1973 have since come to fruition. The “best” is still reserved for the wealthy, while many people go hungry and homeless. Safe drinking water has become an issue in many parts of the world. Lately we’ve seen an increase in beef substitutes made from plants. The script used the term “greenhouse effect,” which most people didn’t understand at the time. Not many years later, everyone knew what it meant and how serious a problem it had become. 
During his investigation, Heston manages to purloin some beef from the home of the dead man, along with fresh fruit, vegetables, and whiskey. When he takes the food home, Robinson looks at it with astonishment, then breaks down into tears, lamenting over what the world has come to. 

Another fave film with dystopian characteristics is “The Manchurian Candidate” (1962), based on a novel by Richard Condon. Laurence Harvey plays an Army Sergeant in the Korean war. He and his platoon are kidnapped during a night operation and whisked away to Manchuria. They are all brainwashed by operatives of the Chinese and Russian governments. Harvey is turned into a killing machine, susceptible to a trigger phrase. Frank Sinatra plays his commanding officer who begins to suspect that something isn’t right once the war is over, and starts asking questions.
The film wasn’t labeled dystopic when released, but looking at it now, the plot is very dystopian. These elements are brought in under the guise of Communism. Harvey’s step-father is a U. S. Senator jockeying for a spot on the Presidential ticket. He’s being backed by the Russian and Chinese governments, both of which are seeking to control the outcome of the election. Those who get in the way of their plan are silenced, either by coercion or death. The real power behind the man, though, is Angela Lansbury as Harvey’s manipulative mother. I won’t spoil the plot, but let’s just say she’s more than a backstage political prop.

Does any of this sound familiar?
This film was one of President Kennedy’s favorites, but it was pulled from circulation shortly after his death. The plot dealt with the assassination of a Presidential candidate, and it hit too close to home. A rumor circulated for years that Sinatra had the film sidelined because of his friendship with JFK, but it turned out to be false. Basically, people didn’t want to see a dramatization of a political assassination after watching the real thing on TV.      

Monday, September 23, 2019

Five Things I Love About Vegas

I never thought I’d like Vegas. I expected to hate the place, and I totally fell in love. The March before I wrote Fulfilling the Contract, I left rainy, grey England for five glorious days in the desert sunshine and Vegas lights specifically to dream and scheme and get inspired for what would become the second novel in The Mount series, which The Initiation of Ms Hollyinadvertently inspired a few years before. During that time, I fell even more in love with the city and the desert that surrounds it. So what I’d like to do is share with you five things that totally intrigue me about Las Vegas.

Las Vegas juts up out of the Mojave Desert like so many gigantic glass and concrete erections. It's just so brazen, sky scrapers and lights and swimming pools in the most desolate place one can imagine all surrounded by high mountains and desert. It has OTT written all over it. Bright lights and decadence are all thrust up right smack dab in the middle of exquisite emptiness.  

Vegas and the surrounding area is a visual feast second to none. From my hotel room on the 22ndfloor of the Elara, I could see mountains and desert beyond the compact city. I never knew there were so many shades of kaki and gold and beige all hemmed in by the blue of the mountains. And then there were the Vegas lights. All night long, there’s always a riot of colour and sparkle, glass and steel, neon and fountains. A simple walk on the Strip – even in daylight is a people-watcher’s paradise. I never wanted to blink, never wanted to look away, and often found myself wishing my vision was 360 degrees. 

As an introvert, you’d think Vegas would be the last place I’d want to hang out, but the thing about Vegas is that it’s a place where everyone is friendly and yet everyone is anonymous. One of the things I loved most was walking the streets amid the crowd and feeling exactly like one of the voyeurs I planned to write about in FTC. Because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, it was easy to be anonymous in a crowd of people who were all anonymous, which leads me to my next observation. 

When I say recreation, I don’t mean gambling, swimming, hooking up. Yes all of those things are happening. It’s all happening in Vegas. What I mean is more RE-creation, because in Vegas there’s a sense that anyone can be whoever they want to be for the time they’re playing tourist, and no one, no matter how bizarre, seems out of place. There’s something almost magical about being able to go somewhere and be someone else for a few days. For a writer, being able to go someplace and watch everyone being someone else and wonder who they are when they’re not in Vegas is like a gift from the Muse.

The Feeling of Permission Granted
Strangely, though prostitution is legal in the state of Nevada, it’s not in the city of Vegas, and yet Vegas feels, at its very core, like a city waiting to give permission for almost anything. I suppose to some degree any time one goes on holiday and does the touristy-thing, one is set apart, out of one’s own context, able to act differently, feel differently, breathe differently. But Vegas has with it that extra adrenaline boost of permission. Go ahead, be naughty, gamble, drink, have sex with strangers, dance naked in the fountains, and in the morning, no one will be the wiser. At the core of the city, the Strip, the casinos, the hotels, there’s a libertine feeling, and yet one only has to walk a few blocks in any direction to discover ordinary Las Vegans simply going on with their lives. 

All of those feelings, those observations, those experiences helped to inspire and shape Fulfilling the Contractand made the voyeuristic and BDSM play feel somehow a little more set a part to me, a little more secretive and naughty, and of course, outrageously fun.

Fulfilling the ContractBlurb:
Limo driver, NICK CHASE’s bad night gets worse when he picks up TANYA POVIC at a bar only to discover the explosive sex they share lands her in breach of her very strange contract. Blaming himself that Tanya will lose the large completion bonus earmarked for her mother’s surgery, Nick negotiates with her boss, the tough and mysterious ELSA CRANE, to allow him to fulfill Tanya’s contract and secure her bonus. 
Elsa runs Mount Vegas, which offers voyeuristic pleasures for a price. Nick’s job, with Elsa and her quirky team, is to give clients something worth watching through the plate glass windows of Vegas’s luxury hotels and beyond. The learning curve is steep and kinky. As Nick and Elsa’s relationship sizzles and ignites more than hotel room rendezvouses are exposed. In this sequel to The Initiation of Ms Holly things get positively dangerous as Rita Holly and her team are called in from London to lend a helping hand. Bets are being placed. Will Nick fulfill the contract? Will he and Elsa take the gamble? And will they find a way to win at the high stakes, double or nothing, game of hearts?   

Fulfilling the ContractExcerpt:
‘Surely you can give Tanya one more chance,’ Nick said. ‘And really, it was my fault. I’d had a bad day and I wasn’t on my best behaviour.’

Elsa tossed the headset back onto the dressing table and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Mr Chase, unless you want to fulfil Tanya’s contract for her, this conversation is over. It’s been a long day, and I’ve had enough. Pagan will escort the two of you back downstairs and since Tanya no longer works for me, I don’t care if you fuck her brains out. Now if you’d –’

‘Alright,’ Nick interrupted. ‘I will.’

Suddenly all eyes were on him. ‘Tell me what to do and I’ll fulfil the contract for her.
After all, it’s my fault she’s in breach.’

Tanya gave a little yelp that sounded like a kitten in distress and Elsa laughed out loud. ‘Mr Chase, you don’t even know what Tanya’s contract involves.’

‘I assume it has something to do with what’s going on in room 2031. It’s not prostitution is it?’

‘No! No, is not prostitution,’ Tanya said, the excitement nearly vibration through her voice. ‘Is nothing like that.’

‘Well actually it’s something like that,’ Elsa corrected. ‘My people get paid for sex.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Nick said.’

She nodded him over to one of the scopes set up at the bedroom window. When he balked, she nodded again. ‘Go ahead; check out what’s going on in room 2031.’

Nick nearly knocked the scope out of focus at his first view of the naked ass of a man pistoning his cock into a woman bent over a big bed. Her head was buried between the legs of another woman, who was pinching her own nipples for all she was worth and writhing beneath the serious tongue action.

‘Then they are prostitutes.’ Nick’s voice was suddenly a whisper, as though he feared he might disturb the people he viewed through the scope.

‘No.’ Elsa leaned close to him as though she could see over his shoulder. ‘They all work for me, and they get paid a lot of money to have sex with each other while someone else watches.’
With difficulty, Nick took his eyes off what was going on in the scope. He suddenly felt dizzy. ‘Let me get this straight, these people –’ he nodded around the room ‘– All of these people and those –’ he pointed to the scope ‘—have sex with each other and people pay money to watch.’

Elsa nodded ‘A lot of money.’

‘And that’s what Tanya was doing? That’s what the contract’s about, having sex and letting people watch?’

‘That’s what the contract’s about,’ Elsa said. With a smirk, she pulled Tanya’s red panties out of Nick’s pocket where he’d forgotten he’d stuffed after he’d picked them up from the parking lot at the Mango. She handed them back to Tanya and replaced them with a black business card, briskly patting his pocket as she did so. ‘I know how much you loath your job, Mr Chase, and I can almost guarantee you’d find what Tanya does a lot more satisfying. But –’ she ran a hand down and gave his crotch a quick grope ‘– It takes some serious balls.’

He elbowed her away and shoved past Tanya and Pagan. ‘You people are all crazy if you think I would … if you think I might …’

Elsa offered him a smile that he felt, much to his discomfort, right down between his legs. Then she lifted an eyebrow and gave a shrug that made the dark gloss of her hair shimmer in the subdued lighting. ‘You asked.’

Saturday, September 21, 2019

Apocalypse of the Self, a Post About #Queer #Identity and #Aging by @GiselleRenarde

When I was a teenager, older adults warned me that no matter how old you get, you always look into the mirror expecting to see your eighteen-year-old self.

My eighteen-year-old self isn't all I expect to see.

There are so many layers to the person I think of as ME.

Most salient is my queer identity.

I don't think I'd heard the word QUEER used in an empowering way to describe one's own sexuality until my final year of university. I'd been kicked out of a psycholinguistics course because I didn't have the prerequisites. The university notified me by post, except they sent the letter to my mother's address--and I didn't live there.

By the time I discovered I'd been kicked out of my class, it was too late to pick up another course.

I wouldn't be graduating with my cohort. I needed to take a summer course if I wanted to convocate in the fall.

To complicate matters, I'd already secured a full-time job. I would be working for the same company where I'd worked part-time throughout most of my university years.

So I needed an evening summer class to accommodate my new job.

I'd shied away from taking LGBT courses in university. I felt like taking those courses meant committing to an aspect of myself I wasn't fully ready to embrace at that stage. But when one of the only appealing evening courses during the summer happened to be an LGBT course, it sort of felt like the universe guiding me gently toward my identity.

Gently, but firmly.

During the course of that course (which changed names three times that summer--I have no idea what it ended up being called), I felt like I'd found my people, and found myself. Hearing the lecturers talk about queer identities was both enlightening and empowering.

I still shied away from calling myself queer, because I didn't feel "qualified." Which is stupid, but it's easy to feel that way--and it was even easier to feel that way back when I was in university. There's a ridiculous amount of gatekeeping that goes on in queer culture.

In time, I adopted my queer identities. Not only is my sexual identity QUEER, but my gender is, as well. Even before I'd embraced my genderqueer identity, I pushed back against the gender binary by dressing androgynously. Androgynous attire felt like a safety net, for me. That's how I showed the world I wasn't the person they wanted me to be.

Another aspect of identity I've clung to throughout my adult life has to do with living under the poverty line and setting myself apart from "rich people." I grew up in a "bad neighbourhood," and that's stayed with me even after 15 years of living in a "good neighbourhood."

A couple weeks ago, I was on my way to a volunteer shift. My work takes place in an office space where people dress well, and so I started dressing well when I went in. My co-workers don't need to know that my business attire came to me in a garbage bag from a clothes horse friend of the family, who generously unloads her old clothes on myself and my sisters. Every garbage bag is like Christmas, particularly because this girl's clothes fit us so perfectly.

Anyway, I was on my way to my volunteer shift this one day when I caught a glimpse of myself in a shop window.

My reflection truly shocked me.

Not only was I no longer 18, but I didn't look poor, I didn't look queer (whatever that means), I didn't look androgynous--I didn't look the way I felt.

I looked like a yuppy.

I looked like the kind of person who goes to their office job and comes home to a husband and kids.

How do I know who I am if I look like someone I'm not?

The image I'm used to seeing in the mirror is a greasy-haired androgynous kid in dirty, ripped clothes. I'm used to being mistaken for homeless. Not anymore. I dress better than I used to when I leave the house. And, because my "nice" clothes are femme, that means I'm presenting femme more often than before.

Not just that, but I'm no longer in a relationship with a woman--a relationship that outwardly validated that, yes, I am queer.  Just look at who I'm dating!  She PROVES my queerness!

The partner I have now is a man, so anyone observing us as a couple would make the assumption that I'm straight.

My sexual identity isn't reliant upon the gender of my partner. I can be queer with a partner of any gender, or without any partner at all. Queer is who I am. However, when you look like you're cis and you look like you're straight and you look like you're financially secure, the world treats you a hell of a lot better than it does when you look homeless and queer.

So, if the world is suddenly a more hospitable place, why am I complaining?

I don't know. It just doesn't feel like me. It isn't me. I look like something I'm not. And I'm rattled by that.

The mirror doesn't reflect the me I see inside. But the truly troubling thing is that, aesthetically, what I see in the mirror... I actually kind of like it.

Friday, September 20, 2019

Erotic Love and Carnal Sins

by Cameron D. James

I have to admit that I've really struggled with this month's topic. I missed my blog post on the 6th of the month and have struggled to come up with a make-up post. Bad Cameron. :( If I think of a post before the end of the month, I'll put it up on a quiet day when no one else is posting.

For my promo day (today!), I'm similarly struggling. :(

This book has a priest, so it's sorta religious in nature... which could fit the apocalypse theme... right?

Total side note, my church minister read this smut-fest and he loved it! So I think that means this is church-approved gay smut!

~ ~ ~


Father Peter has devoted his life to the Roman Catholic Church — but not entirely because he is a man of God.  For him, a life of chastity and piety is the perfect place for a closeted gay man to hide from himself.

Try as he might to live a pure life, his forbidden desires chip away at him, leading him on a path of carnal sins that starts with a simple, anonymous, and discreet online encounter.  But that supposed anonymous encounter, with a man just as closeted as Peter, takes an uncomfortable turn when that same man shows up in confessional, wanting to talk with Peter in person.

Unable to lie to himself any longer, and suddenly willing to risk his entire career and life, Peter does the one thing he never dreamed he’d be able to do — he reaches out and touches another man.  He can’t take back what he’s done and can’t pretend it didn’t happen, so that leaves Peter with only one option, to move forward and experience the erotic pleasures found only in the act of gay sex.

~ ~ ~


I was about to shut off my computer and forget the whole thing, but then the screen flickered and Mark’s webcam feed showed up. And he was naked. And he was exactly as I’d pictured him. At least, his body was — like me, he wasn’t showing his face.

My fear dissipated when it finally sunk in that I was doing this, that this was real, that Mark was naked and already hard and that he couldn’t possibly be a violent homophobe.

I waved my hand awkwardly. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Mark said, his voice sounding deep and masculine, though slightly tinny through my crappy speakers.

“It’s good to finally, well, see you, I guess,” I said. I was so nervous and at a total loss for what to say.

“Yeah,” Mark said. There was tension straining his voice. I could tell he was just as nervous about this whole thing as I was. He had told me he’d never been with a man before — never even shown himself on webcam, either. This was as much a first for him as it was for me.

I leaned back in my leather office chair, still making sure the webcam feed ended at my neck. I ran my hands down from my chest, over my nipples, across my stomach, and ending at the root of my cock. This seemed to have an effect on Mark — he grabbed his dick and started fondling it, holding his heavy balls in one hand and lightly stroking his shaft with the other.

I mirrored his movements, touching myself in the same manner. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before — being single and in my thirties meant I’d done more than my share of masturbation — but it felt much more ... erotic now than it had ever felt before. The difference this time was that I had an audience — a man who was as turned on by my body as I was by his.

My tumescent cock solidified, growing harder and longer. The head of my cock shone as the skin stretched.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Mark said, his voice sounding deep and husky. He was growing as thick and hard as me. “So much hotter than I imagined.”

“Mmm ... you, too.” I flicked my thumb over the head of my cock, spreading the pearl of precum that had gathered there, making my the crown of my cock wet.

Mark was everything I was drawn to in a man — masculine and thick. His chest had the developed pecs of a man who worked out when he was younger and his chest and torso were broad, but trim. His nipples poked through his thin layer of chest hair, beckoning to me and my mouth. I’d never touched another man, never held one, never kissed one, never licked one. Yet, I had an overwhelming desire to suck those dark nubs and then nibble on them, make them diamond-hard while I stroked his dick — or, even better, as I rode his cock, shoved deep into my ass, my hole stretched to accommodate its girth.

A tremble ran through me as orgasm almost threatened to overtake me. I snapped out of my fantasy and stopped jacking, tensing my core muscles, fighting back against the oncoming eruption. When the sensation abated, I looked back at the screen and at Mark. He was stroking quickly and dripping precum, glistening trails running down his shaft and making his fist wet. The light in his room reflected off his slick cock, illuminating it like some holy relic. My mouth watered again as I thought of getting on my knees between his legs and licking up and down his shaft, lapping up the precum and stimulating his dick with my tongue and mouth. And then I’d open my lips and take him in me, swallowing him down to the root, stimulating and pleasuring his cock until he exploded in my mouth, painting my tongue with his cum and filling me so quick that my only option was to swallow it all down.

“Fuck,” I moaned and threw my head back, still stroking my length and fondling my balls. My imagination alone was enough to get me off — and the fact that I was fantasizing over an actual person that was into me, too, and not some random porn star only shifted my erotic imagination into overdrive.

I looked at the screen again. Mark was pumping his fist furiously, turning into a blur over the low-quality video feed. Fuck, he was long and thick — I wished I could get that in my ass, that I could sit on him and sink down until he was totally and completely buried in me. I’d never taken a cock before, but I somehow knew I would love having that one inside me.

I felt another surge of pleasure in my dick — and this time I knew I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m gonna cum,” I said, my words catching in a gasp as my orgasm mounted.

“Do it,” Mark said. “Fucking blow your cum for me.”

~ ~ ~

Thursday, September 19, 2019

#AsheBarker #DystopianWorlds #The Audition

Oh no, I should have posted this yesterday. Still, better late than never.

Although I do love reading dystopian fiction, I rarely write it. My imagination doesn’t spin that way though the possibilities for romance, especially of the darker variety, are endless. I do have one or two forays into the genre under my belt, though, and as luck would have it, one of those, The Audition, is a novella that I am giving away free with my latest release, The Enforcer. The dynamic duo hits kindles today.

I particularly enjoyed writing this raunchy little shorty because in a sense, anything goes in the dystopian world. The genre leaves us free to depict humanity facing the consequences of our failures. The usual social norms are defunct and characters are freed to play by an entirely new moral compass. There is scope for a HEA – the romance genre expects and demands – but it is hard won.

In The Audition, the heroine tumbles inadvertently into a parallel universe and finds there is no way back. What follows is an erotic ordeal as she tries to find her niche in this new and uncompromising alien world.

Here’s an X-rated excerpt…

The hands that touched her first were cool, and oddly gentle. They caressed her pussy lips before pushing back the delicate folds which concealed her clit. Lucy gasped and tensed as a finger flicked the tip of the sensitive nubbin, then slid along her slit to her entrance. She groaned as it eased inside her.
The digit buried within her cunt remained still as other hands parted her arse cheeks to expose her anus. She concentrated on not wriggling when cool lube dribbled over her tightly puckered hole but couldn't contain the soft whimper as a finger was worked inside. Whichever male it was stopped, waited for a few seconds, then resumed his questing.
Sensation overwhelmed Lucy. None of the men hurt her, their fingers were gentle as they caressed her sensitive folds or stroked her inner spaces. As she lay motionless and biting on her lower lip a second finger slid inside her pussy alongside the first, then both curled to press on a spot, which seemed to be located right behind her clit. The fingertips applied a firm pressure within which caused her sensitive bud to swell against the relentless stroking and tugging from the outside. Lucy's pussy contracted hard, the convulsions rolling through her body as the heady stimulation swept away her senses. Her instincts screamed at her to move, to shy away from the intensity of sensation, but the memory of the sound made by that cane held her in place as surely as if she were bound to the bed.

The Audition is available FREE with The Enforcer, now out on Amazon

Tuesday, September 17, 2019

An erotic tale of a dark world - #NewRelease #Dystopia #erotica

The Last Amanuensis cover

One of the things I love about blogging is that it forces me to do things I’ve been putting off. Nothing like a deadline to get you off your butt, right?

My dystopian erotica piece The Last Amanuensis went out of (digital) print months ago when the publisher closed down. I kept thinking I should re-publish it, but other writing and publishing projects always seemed to take priority.

Then came this month’s theme. I wrote about this story in my post on the 3rd and said I hoped it would soon be back in print. Well... now it is!

This is a pretty literary story. There’s sex, but it doesn’t have the rollicking, anything goes quality of some of my more recent work. Furthermore, the ending is definitely not happy. Still, re-reading it made me happy. The story does what I intended.


Poetry is like bloodyou cant hold it back.

The Emperor has decreed that Reason will rule in his lands. Art and literature are banned in favor of military technology. The fearsome Preceptors prowl the capitol, arresting anyone who dares, even secretly, to engage in forbidden activities.

A former teacher and frustrated writer, Adele is grateful for her job as secretary to the enigmatic Professor. During the day, she transcribes his learned treatises on a vast range of topics. Then he calls her to his room one night, to give her a more difficult and intimate assignment, one that risks both their lives.

Excerpt (Non-erotic)

I saw relatively little of the professor during the week. He spent his days in his basement laboratory, which was strictly forbidden to me, or shut away in his study, presumably filling new notebooks with observations and innovations that I would eventually be required to type. I'd leave my neat stacks of typewritten pages on the table outside his door so as not to disturb him. I worked in the small parlor across the hall and took my meals in the kitchen with the taciturn cook.

On Sundays, however, he and I dined together. After a glass of sherry, his chilly manner thawed a bit. He'd quiz me about the information I'd been transcribing, initially to see if I understood what I'd read, but later to solicit my opinions.

He asked me other questions, too, questions that bordered on improper.

Who is your favorite novelist, Adele?

My heart executed a sudden somersault. Was he trying to entrap me?AhI'm not sure, sir. Of course I haven't read any fiction since His Excellency rose to glory and urged us to abandon such frivolous pursuits.I scanned his face. The deepening creases at the corners of his eyes belied his serious tone.

But you did read, when you were in your teens, did you not? Before the Ascension? A mind as nimble as yours must have devoured everything you encountered.

My fear ebbed, though I remained wary. Meanwhile, his compliment kindled a warm glow in the pit of my stomach.Yes. I did read a lotbefore.His lips twitched and his icy gaze softened, inviting my confidence. I basked in his rare, concerted attention. His interest, the sense that he viewed me as worthy, urged me to recklessness.I used to write, too. Crazy, fantastic stories about impossible quests and eternal love.

The smile I'd heard in his voice finally bloomed.I'm not surprised in the least. Nor am I shocked, Adele. Be reassured of that.To my astonishment, he covered my hand for a moment with his own. His cool, dry palm whispered over the backs of my fingers before withdrawing. Blood heated my cheeks, as if I were still the young girl we were discussing, and a disturbing heaviness grew between my thighs.

Theyahwere silly things,I stammered.Trash. A waste of mental energy, as the Emperor has said.

But you poured yourself into those tales, I'm sure. They were part of you.Those crystal-blue eyes of his gleamed, luminous behind his glasses.

A new wave of panic swept me. What was going on? I pushed my chair back from the table, eager to excuse myself and end this disturbing conversation.If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll retire now. I've something of a headache.

For an instant I thought he'd stop me. Then his smile fled and his body collapsed into itself, his advanced age suddenly obvious.Very well. I'll see you tomorrow. But tell mewhat happened to those fantastic stories of yours?

My throat constricted around an impending sob. I could scarcely get the words out.

I destroyed them, of course.

My employer regarded me gravely.Right. Of course.

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