Sharing One’s Gifts

It was Thanksgiving Day, and, as always, my efforts to ensure that I had everything I needed to prepare my contribution to the meal didn’t quite succeed. I had the pumpkin, the sugar, the flour . . . but when I opened the drawer to get wax paper for rolling out the pie dough, there was an empty space.

I went to the local dollar store, and made a point of thanking the man behind the counter for working on a holiday. He said he was happy to be working for time and a half. A young woman checked out before me, buying two boxes of macaroni and cheese mix. The cashier gently teased her. I said, “Looks like somebody needs an invitation.” She just smiled and looked down. Obviously this would have been the moment to extend such an invitation, but I found myself unable to speak. What would I say? My family really would welcome a new friend, but she wouldn’t know that. How would I word an invitation to sound welcoming, casual, and fun?  I always botch these things. I talk to strangers frequently, but often as not I inadvertently insult them. And it wouldn’t be, “Come to my house,” but “Come to my in-laws’ house 30 miles away.” Would I offer her a ride? The car isn’t big enough for three adults and two children. Give her directions? It was too complicated, and I couldn’t get the words out before she was out the door.

I chided myself on the way home. Why am I so bad at these things? My mother-in-law wouldn’t have hesitated to invite someone to Thanksgiving dinner. She’s much better than I am at things like that, and she reaches out a lot. That was one of her great strengths as a preacher. But it’s never been mine. It occurred to me that maybe I’m just not meant to do this particular action. I guess if the Goddess had intended me to bring people spontaneously into my home, She might have made me better at it.

Do our abilities point the way to action? May I be forgiven for failing to invite a person alone on a holiday to come to my home, if I commit myself to what I’m good at? And what would that be? Writing formula-defying, unsalable, perverse erotica.

So that will be my promise to you, dear readers, in the next year. I’ve taken a year off, but in 2018 there will be new monster erotica. It’s my Divine calling.

Monster Erotica and the Dissolution of Boundaries

My research indicates that monster erotica readers have wide interests, and the sexually-oriented media they consume crosses genders and orientations without a second thought. We already know they read stories about sex between sentient species. Surely monster erotica readers do not agree with the sexually intolerant, repressive rhetoric that the extreme right is so fond of spewing. So, while I usually avoid politics here on my blog, I’m going out on a limb today.

The US presidential election really threw me for a few days. I wasn’t entirely happy with the choices, but as an erotica writer, I’m particularly appalled that we’re going to have that man as our President. And that other man as our Vice President.

Hateful, intolerant rhetoric is more than ugly words. It instills fear, and encourages people to close up, hole up, shut down. As the election illustrated brilliantly, vilifying groups of people goes hand in hand with building walls.

In contrast, my highest goal is the dissolution of boundaries. Let the imagination flower across all lines, and traverse every verge. Let there be mingling of every disparate desire and thought. Let love seep through every blockade. Let whatever divisions the mind seeks to hold be revealed to be illusion.

How can this happen in a time of blatant demagoguery? Of unabashed dehumanization of the other? Of unprecedented polarization?

It occurs to me that now, more than ever, the world needs monster erotica.

And so, for the greater good, all my Amazon titles will be free over the next few days. Check my author page to see which ones are free from day to day. Please help yourself to any story you haven’t read yet, and let the boundaries within your own consciousness be dissolved.

shaman-santas-giftAlso, look for my new title, Santa Shifter, on Black Friday. It’s still under review at Amazon, but will probably be available for pre-order tomorrow or Wednesday.

Thank you all for being with me in these challenging times.

Shapeshifting Reindeer Shaman Santa

It’s too long to be the title of my upcoming Christmas monster erotica story, but you get the point. I’ll tell you here when I arrive at a better title. Till then, enjoy this excerpt.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing? You don’t belong in here,” she said. Of course she didn’t really think that animals could understand human language, but how else should a person talk to an animal? “Outside, that’s where you belong, out in nature,” she said, gesturing toward the door behind the creature. He peered at her with black eyes. How unusual, she thought, for an animal to look a person in the eye. The deer held her gaze. She almost thought he might be trying to tell her something.

His nose twitched. It was black and shiny, moist. He stepped a bit closer. Jane was afraid to move. The animal’s head was close to her face now, sniffing intently. He was examining her, she thought. She wondered if she measured up to the deer’s expectations for a human.

He had white fur at his upper chest, and Jane was strangely reminded of the soft hair on the chest of the man in her dream.

Wind was blowing in through the door. She needed to do something. The deer was already fully in the living room, stamping snow off his legs onto the ratty carpet. Could she call someone, the sheriff, maybe? Her phone was in the kitchen next to the garage door. She edged backwards to the door, then turned around to grab her purse. In three seconds she had the phone in her hand, back in the door between the kitchen and living room. And there was no deer. Where in this little house could such an enormous creature go in three seconds?

Standing where the deer had been was a man.

Angel 6.0: Concubine, Travis Luedke

I follow Travis Luedke on Twitter, and I’ve been meaning to read something of his for a while. I chose this one because of the space cats, which I think ended up being my favorite part of this book.

Angel (short for Angelina, her genetic donor who was a famous actress in the 20th century) is a secret experiment. She’s exceptionally strong, a natural fighter, super smart, and heals minor wounds in hours. She also has a convenient trait in which pain triggers euphoria, so she doesn’t mind it a bit. She lives in a space lab, which is only supposed to be producing worker clones to supply the brutal, technologically advanced alien cats who would otherwise take over Earth. This is erotica, so of course Angel is pretty sexually uninhibited. Naturally, the cats accidentally see Angel, and they want her. And what the space cats want, they expect to get . . .

That’s the premise. It’s pretty simple, and the plot is about what you’d expect. The book is very much like the campy softcore porn that used to play on cable late at night. (Do they still do that? I haven’t had cable in years.) Not terrifically imaginative or groundbreaking, except for the cats. I’m a huge cat person, so I had to wonder why I never thought of putting sentient cats in my erotica. I’ll put it on my to-do list . . .

In any case, it’s entertaining and fun. Amazon calls it 96 pages, so it’s a good buy at $2.99.

 

Centaur’s Toy, Lia Avanna

The set-up for this story is that protagonist Karina is kidnapped (from a brothel? what?) by a group of centaurs. They drug her and, on orders of the boss centaur, do lots of sexy things with her. But we only get that from flashbacks from the day after, when she awakes in a clearing in a forest too dense to escape. It turns out that the centaurs are keeping her as a spoil of war (another what?).

I don’t usually read or write non-consensual sex, but this story walks the fine line between consent and non-consent. Karina, strangely, loves the rough treatment she gets from the centaurs. She wonders if the drug she was given somehow reprogrammed her to like fucking centaurs. But not for very long, because more centaurs.

The foreplay consists primarily of a marathon of blowjobs. This was a disappointment to me. I guess I’m not that into blowjobs. I could be, though, I’m not against them. One of the elements of monster erotica that I love is the potential to, shall we say, broaden the horizons of the reader. As a writer, I challenge myself to write erotica so compelling that it makes people hot for things they never would have thought to get hot for. But the key is the writing. If it’s written well, it works. If the writing is mediocre, I just might fall asleep repeatedly in the middle of the action (which I did—I had to finish reading the story the next day). So, this series of huge centaur cocks flooding Karina’s mouth with come just doesn’t do it for me. For someone who fantasizes about giving endless fellatio, it might well.

Eventually the boss centaur comes back to finish things up, and the action gets a little more interesting.

One thing that puzzled me was that the centaurs, all of them with cocks, are often referred to with a feminine pronoun. I’m guessing Avanna isn’t trying to make a statement about gender fluidity, so I have no idea why, for example, she says of the boss centaur, “She grinned wickedly, showing her straight white teeth, oddly dashing in her proud princely face.”

Conclusion, not my favorite monster erotica, but it has its moments. Definitely not the worst I’ve read.

Meeting the Mermaid, excerpt

eye of fish2Here’s a second excerpt from the mermaid story. I hope to release the full story by the end of the week. 

I sit up and look around. It’s then that I see her: a face, a human face, swaying in the waves and watching me. It must have been she who placed me on this rock, who saved me. Her wet hair is swept off her forehead, her brow bones and chin delicate. Her eyes are very large and round, with black irises so deep you could fall into them, surrounded by a ring of pupil in silvery gray with speckles of pink and teal. Her skin has a faint sheen in the same colors. Though finely proportioned, her head is oddly large.

She’s the most heartbreakingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Instantly I’m taken by the most intense desire to be near her, to touch her, to be touched by her in every way. If I were standing, I’d be weak in the knees.

Our eyes meet. I’m captivated. I’m not wondering how she got out here in the ocean, or where I am for that matter, I just want to fall into those lovely alien eyes, to drink them like a rare liqueur distilled by monks in a remote castle on a crag overlooking the sea. Those eyes could cure me of every malady, could bolster me to superhuman strength. I don’t even realize that I’m in the water now, moving toward her as fast as I can without losing contact with those luscious eyes.

And then she smiles, just a little one, lips curling up slightly at the ends. Luscious lips I want to touch, to taste, to be one with. Is that possible? I don’t care. But she’s not to be caught, and she suddenly dips down below the surface, and in her place the tail comes up, that same unfamiliar fish I saw earlier. It breaches and before I can react, arms encircle me from behind, pinning my own arms to my sides. And my legs are held too, wrapped around by something big and thick. I look down and between the glints of sun reflecting on the surface, I can see scales. It’s that tail. Somehow the tail and the arms work as one.

Mermaid.

***

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