Showing posts with label Bachelor Machine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bachelor Machine. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Technorotica: Stories Shattering the Ultimate Taboo - In Dead Trees!

Here's a bit of extra-extra-extra-special news! Remember those two ebooks that the great folks at Renaissance/Sizzler recently published? The ones with techno/science fiction focuses - Better Than The Real Thing: Technorotica and Rude Mechanicals: Technorotica?

Well, Renaissance/Eros Editions have just published a very special - print edition only - edition of both ... plus extra-added content: Technorotica: Stories Shattering the Ultimate Taboo

“Love with robots will be as normal as love with other humans, while the number of sexual acts and lovemaking positions commonly practiced between humans will be extended, as robots teach more than is in all of the world’s published sex manuals combined.” -computer pioneer David Levy, in Love and Sex With Robots
Bondage, science fiction, fetishism, real realities and virtual realities collide in this unique collection by one of the most popular authors of erotica … ever!  
In the enigmatic M. Christian’s kinky new collection, two great things – technology and sex – go even better together! 
Welcome to Technorotica: a giant-sized collection of human-machine erotica. You’ll find everything from sexy robots to virtual reality lovers, from shameless science fiction to contemporary explorations of technology’s impact on our sex lives and our sexuality. Headlining this stellar collection are two unforgettable novellas: In “Hot Definition,” the story of a future just around our corner, Neko experiences the ultimate domination in a way she never expected; in “Speaking Parts,” two lovers, one with a camera-shutter eye, come together in a scorching, obsessive relationship that takes them both to the limits of sexuality – and beyond. Plus ten more provocative stories of sex and technosex. 
“Blow Up” alone makes it “worth buying I highly recommend this book.” -Fire Pages. 
“M. Christian is one hell of a writer. A no-holds-barred storyteller, he embraces his reader at the start and doesn’t let go until long after the end.” -Mari Adkins. 
“M. Christian’s stories squat at the intersection of Primal Urges Avenue and Hi-Tech Parkway … feral-eyed, half-naked … Truly an author for our post-everything 21st century.” -Paul Di Filippo, author The Steampunk Trilogy 
Cover art: Jade
Book design: Frankie Hill
Publication date: 4/03/2012
Pages: 170
List price: $15.99

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

"Technophile" From The Bachelor Machine

Continuing my excerpt-fest, here's a juicy little queer cyberpunk number from my collection, The Bachelor Machine (out now in a new edition by Circlet Books).


I almost lost my virginity at fifteen, but his batteries ran low.
He'd showed me the unit, zipped open tight jeans and flashed out the Long Thrust. State, top-of-the-line, implant augmentation. He'd had himself castrated for the best science had to offer. I wanted it. The instant I saw it, the polished, burnishing, gleam of it. I wanted it bad. Now. Hard. Fast.
My squat was old-wired 220 so its juice-pack couldn't take the flow. In playback, wet-memory, I see him – planes of his face dead in the cheap florescents, as he hunts in his bag for the adapter he didn't bring.
In the end, we lit expensive candles and he put his mouth on my cock.
His mouth was shocking wet, not like my dry hand or the spit sometimes to make it easier. It was too slippery, and too hot. I was blazing with shame and self pity, eyes fake closed and instead watching his head dip down. First a quick spray of over-the-counter anti-viral fog, then  it was a wet test embrace on my cock, gentle kisses, then a wet socket over my cock. 
Brent, friend of my dealer. I'd been taking longer to slip the black market yen, and taking the tiny plastic bags, just to watch him stand and pose: first time spotting was like that first time there in my squat. Thick leathers hiding old cop impact vest, skin-jeans slit to show off log legs, too-tight tee ("YANKEE IMPERIALIST VICTIM") paint on a stone-mason chest, face cragged and street-scarred but with museum planes. Eyes then on the street as they were in my recall of the squat – hidden and refrigerator cool behind convex mirrors of mandatory shades. He may have been handsome, might have made girls wet, boys hard – but I'd heard, and then he'd heard that I'd heard and there in that alley he zipped and flipped it out. Fuck, I wanted it in me right there.
I was smiling when he lifted from my hardening cock. Smiling back at his smiling face, at my smiling face reflected in his shades. We smiled at each other reflected over and over as he gently stroked my cock, kissing it, and sucking a mouthful of the ridged head (Momma thought cutting sanitary).
The squat was cold and my futon too fucking hard on my back. My jeans were bunched around my legs and my back was crooked funny against my pack. So I put my hand on his head and pushed myself down. So mature for that first time, so controlled from the burning pity and disappointment of that unit, dead and powerless between his legs.
Sloped down onto the futon, I let him suck my cock. The kisses got harder, his tongue began to play with the tip, that little hot hold in the end that sometimes felt like prickles and sometimes like warm steel. I was hard from his mouth there, from his hand gently holding and stroking, from his breath stirring the cool skin from my shaved balls and belly. I was deep inside, eyes really closed, letting his hands and mouth work me up and higher and harder.
My balls begin to swell and heat. Something in me wanted, and because, I guess, I let myself put a hand on the crotch of his hot jeans. He closed them on my fingers, trapping them in a denim vice as he made negative moans around my hard cock.
I let him suck more, letting myself burn deep and pissed and disappointed. I felt his teeth slide every inch across the skin of my shaft. I couldn't decide if it was on purpose or accident. And when I thought about it, anticipating it, or trying to block the hardness of his teeth it just added something to it. I was harder and harder.
I wanted something again, I could have what I really wanted but this would do – and from the heat of him on my cock I pushed a sweet little virginal "please" out. I opened my eyes and saw that I had slid myself down to his jeans. I could smell it, that sweet sting-smell of brand-new plastic and his sweat through the thin denim of his jeans. No negative this time. No refusal for the poor virgin boy. The sucking never stopped the teeth didn't glide (so I guessed he must be pretty fucking good at this), but the hands came out and slipped the jeans down.
Made in the best labs in Shadow Tokyo. Fucking pure lines – a curving, shining downward turning tusk of high-impact plastic nested into a shield of gleaming black chrome. I traced the inert row of decorative indicators that ran along the side of the shaft (as he sucked the head of my cock, just the head, stoking me wet and thumbing like a metronome beating against my balls and stomach), feeling their dimples, and wanting them to light. I kissed the dead head of his unit, tasting a lingering of lube from the last time he'd fucked with it (boy, girl, fist, unknown).
He was sucking so hard now – the coolness was gone, and all I could feel was his hot mouth sucking and licking and sometimes (there, there) the hard glide of those special teeth in that trained mouth. His fist was still pumping, and my stomach ached the good hurt of a rough jerk-off.
The head of his unit was a different plastic, something so close to skin I could see with half an eye the unit just a steep pole, an extension of his cock. The head was anatomically correct and lifelike.
I stoked it, wishing so hard that it was juiced up and likewise. I wanted it so bad. Wanted it in my own mouth, wanted to really taste that old lube down deep in my throat. Didn't know how to do it, natch – but knew I could I wanted it so bad. Laying there on the hard futon, smelling of years of mildew, I wanted my virgin ass to take this sweet machine.  I wanted it. I could feel it – so hard and buzzing softly with all those marvelous features. Closing my eyes, I could feel it, a great background to his sucking sucking of me. Yeah, I felt it, laying there. Could imagine so perfect, crisp and clear as I raised my ass up to meet it. I closed my eyes and dreamed it – that first great touch of it against my asshole as I opened for it, swallowed it and felt the spasmic vibrators, the asymmetric rhythms, the neural stims all start to work on the inside of my asshole. I imagined him taking me deep and hard, only letting the Long Thrust (the Extension Delux Model with the Dynamic Action Features, coupled with the hottest Joy Buzzer software) do some of the fucking. My ass, I thought, would go all jelly, my cock would be, and was, steel. I could feel him slide it into me and out and in and something powerful would start in my ass and it would travel up my spine and out through my cock via my brain – just like they said in their ads on the net –
Fuck, fuck, fuck ... I wanted it in my ass and I wanted it in my mouth – but the shaft stayed down, the head stayed slightly cold – like a hot-dog from a broken and cold vending machine.
Too late for the reality, I was lost in my fondling, his sucking, the beautiful cockness of the Long Thrust. I felt myself start, felt the rocket start to climb from balls to tip. I could feel the come start to shake and close my eyes. But I kept them open and stared: a Long Thrust Delux there, in the crotch of his hairy thighs. This was one – right in front of me. This was one.
Come jetted from the head of my cock, into his sprayed, disinfected mouth. The come was as hard and hurt as much as my fucking cock. My legs danced. He put his hand on my cold chest as he pumped, sucked and jumped his fist along my shaft. I came and coated his mouth with my stickiness.
I came, all wet and sticky, and all I could think of was Long Thrust between his legs – dead, cold and inert.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Dr. Faustus Likes The Bachelor Machine

The cool news keeps coming!  Check out this very touching review of my science fiction erotica collection, The Bachelor Machine, from Dr. Faustus of!

It is with great pleasure that I can report that Circlet Press has now made available a new e-book version of M. Christian‘s short story collection, The Bachelor Machine. For thaumatophiles, it is a do-not-miss.

The new edition consists of nineteen stories and two appendicies from the 2003 on-dead-tree edition plus a new foreword.

Many — though not all — of the stories are set in a gritty cyberpunk world, one which at times makes even the imagination of William Gibson look somewhat tender by comparison.  Radical forms of body modification, virtual realities, biohacking, and so on are explored in all sorts of permutations of gender and practice, or beyond gnder and practice.  Some are just exquisite.  The backer’s tale “Heartbraker” plays like X-rated version of Ghost in the Shell.  I hope M. Christian will forgive me for offering a taste:
Their cunt was on fire—molten, their lips and their clit steamed in a thumping beat as both their bodies moved over each other. Nipples stroked across soft breasts, bellies glided on a sheen of fine synthetic sweat.Their cunt was rapidly melting in a pool of vibrating wine, a tub of jiggling butter.They weren’t just hot or steaming—they were
burning in their roaring lust, combining in a echoing, reverberating bonfire. Linked, each hardwired into the other’s genitals, mixed and matched, they surged and merged.
(And if, after reading that, you don’t want to run out and buy this book right now, I should wonder what you’re doing on this blog.)

It’s not all cyberpunk.  “The New Motor” has a superficially steampunk feel, but what it actually seems to do is take a cyberpunk erotic sensibility and project it backwards into a real nineteenth-century America that was full of eccentric and goofy spiritual movements, with rather delightful results.  And there is dark political satire here as well, in a story like “Guernica,” in which closeted BDSM enthusiasts derive pleasure in parodying the grim, oppressive police state in which they live.

These are often edgy stories:  I am full of admiration for M. Christian’s willingness to “go there,” wherever “there” is.  Consider “Everything But the Smell of Lilies,” a story of a sex worker who has been modified so that she can be killed by clients who get off on that sort of thing has to be one of the squickiest things I’ve ever read…and read, and read, and read again.  So fair warning, these are not stories for the squeamish or the easily offended.   And they’re challenging in other ways as well, full of twists and non-conventional narrative structures and devices.  This is erotica for advanced readers.

And yet for all the edginess, for the cyberpunk grit and the sense of a brutal world, there are touching moments, bits of tenderness in the oddest of places.  The final story, “The Bachelor Machine,” about an encounter with a deteriorating, way-past-her-prime sexbot contains a twist that left me with a catch in my throat.  As usual, I won’t give it away.  But I shall urge you to read it yourself.  You can order a copy from Circlet here.

Wednesday, June 01, 2011

Ernest Hogan On The Bachelor Machine

I will not say cool ... I will not say cool ... I will not say cool ... okay, screw it: this is the very definition of cool.  Normally I resist reaching out to writers I admire (bad experiences and all that) but I am such a fan of Ernest Hogan I just had to write him - and was wonderfully pleased to discover that the author of two of my all-time favorite books - High Aztech and Cortez On Jupiter - is a as nice as he is brilliant.

How brilliant?  Well, read this books and find out.  How nice?  Just check out this blurb he just sent me for my erotic science fiction collection, The Bachelor Machine:

These stories report in from the outrageous frontier of the possibilities of technology plugged into sexuality. The world may not be ready for this. I hope M. Christian isn't "eliminated" by fundamentalist terrorists, or taken prisoner by a porn cartel that will mine his twisted brain for ideas.
- Ernest Hogan

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Circlet Likes The Bachelor Machine

This is very sweet!  Okay, Circlet may have published the new version of my erotic science fiction collection, The Bachelor Machine, but that still doesn't mean this rave review of the book by Gayle C. Straun isn't a real treat!

Readers of such erotic “classics” as The Life and Amours of the Beautiful, Gay and Dashing Kate Percival, the Belle of Delaware can perhaps be forgiven for imagining every representative of the genre to be a trite bildungsroman in which the narrator awakens to sexual maturity through a successive series of literally incredible erotic encounters featuring highest rate of simultaneous orgasm known to mankind. However, there has long existed another strain within the genre, perhaps best exemplified by the great Renaissance satirist and pornographer Pietro Aretino, whose Dialogues exhibit an awareness that sex is not so separate from social class and power, while at the same time expressing a deep and abiding sympathy for those who lack both.

M. Christian comes from the latter tradition of erotic storytelling, and his collection of short stories, The Bachelor Machine, marries action both hot and steamy with what the Japanese call aware, or “beautiful sadness,” all set in future worlds where the lines between man and machine, reality and illusion, necessity and desire have become blurred, forcing people to stake out their own identities. Unlike the characters in a Philip K. Dick novel, who regularly fret over what to take as “real,” M. Christian’s creations are much more at home with this ambiguity, be it the courtesan Fields in “State,” a human who dolls herself up as a robot for men who believe they are fucking something mechanical, or the eponymous “Bachelor Machine,” an old robot whore who pays human clients to come in, just so that she can feel needed once more. The author even skirts the boundaries of the consensual—but without ever indulging in tired rape fantasy—in such stories as “Bluebelle,” “Butterflie$,” and “Everything But the Smell of Lillies,” the last most notable for featuring a hooker wired so that clients can kill her and have their way with her, while she experiences everything, only to revive later and start it all over.

Imagine the stories of Anїas Nin dosed heavily with William Gibson, and you might approximate this collection by M. Christian. Sex, futurism, and narrative mix seamlessly rather than taking turns (now a bit of story, now a bit of tech, and now the sex you’ve been waiting for) as in so many erotic tales, underlying the truth that we never stop being sexual creatures, and we never stop being people of our time and place. Add to that the reality that we simply aren’t always successful, for these are the stories of both hackers and hacks, and the machinery with which they interact erases none of their humanity: the man who sells off his memories, one by one, to buy a few minutes with a favored woman, or the technophile who has his penis replaced with a state-of-the-art mechanical model but forgets to charge it before a hot date. Oh, the sex in The Bachelor Machine is amazing, to be sure, but the characters will haunt the reader’s thoughts long after they’ve passed out from orgasmic bliss.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Guest Posting: Even Better Than The Real Thing!

This is fun, fun, fun!  My sweet pal, Kit O'Connell (wrote wrote the kick-ass forward to the new edition of my science fiction erotica collection, The Bachelor Machine) and who is one of the best folks on the planet, just posted a guest thingie from myself on his site, approximately 8,000 words: a two-part essay on the future of sex called "Even Better Than The Real Thing" in two parts.

Here's a teaser.  For the rest just click here for part one and here for part two.

Sure, the technology’s kinda crude right now (bored executrix, sitting behind her desk, pager set to BUZZ between panty-hose painted thighs, waiting for a lover to call), but just let those horny ol’ geeks and dweebs down in Silicone Valley work on it for a few more years and — ZAM!
The hoary old cliche with a new twist tells of how fast things are moving: “When I was young, son, when we fucked we actually touched each other.” Right now (aside from the executrix) things are at the “asking her out” stage — we’ve got quite a while to go before first, second, third base, and SCORE! (clickity, clack on a keyboard: “” he types. “” a guy somewhere responds).

Right now, the science of what has been labeled teledildonics is still in its masturbating under the sheets stage — the subject of geek dreams, Adobe Photoshop pictorials, and a few hot zines. The electronic LSD wonderland of Virtual Reality is barely up and walking, let alone getting it on. Don’t worry though, like the camera, the telephone, the VCR, and the PC, sex will be right there when the breakthrough is made — there’s something in human nature that right after instant the light bulb lights, a new invention is born, the next immediate thought is always “Can I fuck with it?”

Getting from peg A to slot B is not that far off. Right now the big push is getting the operator’s hand into the VRverse, but you can bet other body parts won’t be far behind. For those who’ve been living in caves, and who seem to have missed the hoop and holler about VR, the idea’s simple: an operator wears a helmet equiped with teeny-tiny televisions over his eyes, a microphone so people can hear him, speakers over his ears, (and in the next few years) a jumpsuit with feelie and touchie capabilities, (and when the designers get horny) a “love machine” over his cock and balls–and then our intrepid explorer enters a computer-generated environment where he (okay, I’m being sexist — but do you really think a woman would come up with this kinda stuff?) can “interact” with other similarly-wired folks, and entertainment programs — in short “anything that moves.”

Saturday, April 02, 2011

Thursday, March 17, 2011

"The Show" Becomes Reality

It's always wonderful - and kinda weird - when fiction becomes fact.  A while ago I wrote a little story about the hacking of the Times Square Jumbotron, called "The Show" (that's also in The Bachelor Machine), and, guess what, someone has done exactly that:

[Thanks to Cecilia Tan for the head's up]

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Bibrary Bookslut Likes The Bachelor Machine

This is VERY cool: the Bibrary Bookslut - who, you may remember, interviewed me awhile back - just posted a wonderful review of the new edition of my erotic science fiction collection, The Bachelor Machine:

In trying to share my enthusiasm with some friends over the weekend, I found it really difficult to accurately convey the experience of reading The Bachelor Machine. It’s like watching the literary equivalent of a colossal train wreck, except it’s far more erotic and enjoyable . . . even if it does leave you burdened with the same feelings of voyeuristic guilt after the carnage clears.

Most erotic science fiction imagines a civilization on the rise, one where the latest gadgets and technologies are things of wonder and awe. The future is usually bright and shiny, full of sparkling chrome and unblemished porcelain, and surrounded by the blinking lights and electric hum of technological perfection. With The Bachelor Machine, M. Christian looks past that technological honeymoon, imagining instead a civilization on the decline. In his future, the gadgets are tarnished and broken, exposing the ugly legacy of humanity’s twisted desires through their own malfunctioning machinations.

Yet, for all that, they are truly incredible toys to behold . . . the kind of gadgets that make you wonder just how much of yourself you’d be willing to sacrifice for a taste of the temporary pleasures they can provide.

Having said all that, the experience of reading The Bachelor Machine is not just one of technological wonder or erotic arousal. It’s also one of confusion and uncertainty, of equal measures dread and desire. These are stories that lead you on, draw you in, and take rude liberties with your expectations. Yes, reading them is like watching an erotic train wreck, but it’s more than that – it’s like enjoying the impending wreckage from inside a luxury sedan that’s stuck on the tracks . . . and being far too enthralled to abandon your seat.

Friday, March 04, 2011

"Do You Know What Your Children Will Be?" Guest Post For Kit O'Connell

There's cool and then there's kick-ass-totally-wonderfully cool: my fun little vision of the future of sex and such has just gone up on the "approximately 8,000 words" blog of my wonderful friend, Kit O'Connell -- who also wrote an extremely touching forward to the new, Circlet Press edition of The Bachelor Machine.  

Look for Kit's guest appearance here, on my own little blog, in the next day or so.  You are a star, Kit!

M. Christian is one of my literary heroes — as evidenced by how I fawned over him in writing my forward to the new edition of The Bachelor Machine. When I met my lover Mz Honey J, it was a sign of how compatible we are that she not only already knew his work, but plans to turn his short story “The New Machine” into a puppet show someday.

I am thrilled to have his writing here on my blog, as Approximately 8,000 Words’ first guest blogger.

Do You Know What Your Children Will Be?
by M. Christian
Not that long ago — not long at all, a few decades at best — you would have caused quite a stir. It wouldn’t have been because of anything as baroque as your facial piercings or that your hair is toxic-waste green. Nah, if you were a woman somehow transported back those few decades you would have been the source of more than a few outraged stares and even some hysterical outbursts. That’ll teach you, after all, for wearing pants.
So who knows what you might face if you were on that same spot in a few more decades in the future? Stoned to death for your fashion sense? Leered at for showing your nose and ears? Or, more than likely, frowned at your being such a prude … wearing clothes in public? How rude!
Things are changing … fast. There’s nothing new in that, but what is brand-spanking is how fast things are changing. It’s easy to forget that — living as we are on the edge of that social and technological wave — that those faces staring at your pants were only your grandparents, only your parents.
It’s a universal constant that while technology might not be used for fun — for sex — first, it certainly will be shortly thereafter. We are a sexy species — smart, but still sexy. Thinking with our minds first, our genitals second.

Thursday, March 03, 2011

Future Fire Likes The Bachelor Machine

This is very grand: Future Fire ("social political & speculative cyber-fiction") just reviewed the new edition of my science fiction erotica collection, The Bachelor MachineIt really made my day!

This collection of erotic science fiction short stories (first published in 2003 by Green Candy Press), is re-released now in e-book format by Circlet Press, publishers of erotic romance with “a sex-positive outlook” (12). The PDF reviewed here was a little rough around the edges; I understand that another print edition may materialize presently. There is an uncommon variety of material in here, from cyberpunk to space opera, alternative history to dystopia. The science-fictional settings are manifold, as are the sexual positions and inclinations—and, more importantly, the role of the inevitable explicit sex within each story. From the frivolous to the poignant to the socio-politically scathing, there’s something in this book for everyone. (Except, perhaps, titillation, but more on that later.)

The opening story in this collection, always important because it sets the reader’s expectation for the rest of the volume, is the finely crafter ‘State’. A blue-skinned, élite (and expensive) robot-whore with a secret welcomes a discerning john into her room in the bordello and fulfils his fantasies with machine-precision. There is not much plot in this story, just one sexual encounter between a whore and client; apart from the protagonist’s robot nature (and blue silicon skin) this wouldn’t really need to be a science fiction story; nor is it particularly sexy. “Fields” (the whore) technically has a certain amount of initiative and therefore power by virtue of her deceit, but this is still the story of a john using a hooker, and neither character has much to endear them.

The next couple of stories in the collection (‘Bluebelle’ and ‘Winged Memory’) did little to dispel the notion that characters were all going to be shallow and obnoxious, and the sex graphic but unappealing. But then comes perhaps the darkest and most poignant piece in this volume, one much more about the characters than about the sex. ‘Eulogy’ is a very dark tale of a man and woman who get together to remember a flawed genius engineer they both mourn, and they seem about to topple into a pathetic (although at least guiltless) comfort fuck which she thinks of as a eulogy to her dead lover. But their memories and their relationships with the dead man (and his mysterious disease) are obviously more complicated and more problematic than the reader at first realizes, and what starts as a depressing but harmless seduction scene becomes deadly serious. The lightly but convincingly sketched characters reveal surprising depths of complexity. From the sci-fi perspective, there is some beautiful description of water-parting wave technology in the backstory.

One of the short pieces, ‘Fully Accessorized, Baby’ is more or less a vignette, recounting a kinky, gender-twisted single scene of paid-for-sex with cyberpunk toys and countless role-reversals (both physical and behavioural). The cyberdildo technology didn’t strike me as terribly creative, but the erotic tension of domination play with what was effectively two tops made this one of the most impressively original pieces in this collection. (And, yes okay, pretty hot.)

Perhaps the best crafted piece in the volume is ‘Guernica’, which recounts a hard core S&M sex party in a futuristic dystopian state where all such pleasure is strictly banned and penalties for abuse are brutal. Although in outline this story is little more than an extravagant litany of transgressive and sadomasochistic sexual scenarios, it somehow builds to a whole greater than its parts. The dystopian message is a powerful one, and the piece ends up casting light both on the intolerance of society and on the mentality behind sexually motivated threat/fear play. Here is a great example of graphic erotica that serves the purpose not of titillation, but of social commentary and satire. After reading the end of this story, I had to put the book down for a while and get my head around what I thought, which is an excellent sign for any piece of writing.

In a more traditional cyberpunk story, the heroine of ‘Heartbreaker’ is an undercover cyborg vice cop, infiltrating the hidden, run-down premises of a ring responsible for “drugs, puppets, illegal stims, stolen memories, and [...] slavery” (107) in a high-stakes sting operation. She has been hunting the notorious kingpin, known only as “Heartbreaker” for years. Inside, she encounters only a naked young girl, almost as modified as she is, who appears (but only appears) to be “barely legal”; there follows a lengthy scene of very hot, very dangerous, almost violent lesbian sex, as the cop keeps the perp occupied while her backup team can trace the operation and mount a raid. But she has more than met her match in this sexed-up cyber-girl, ultimately both sexually oustripped and (of course) outmanoeuvred. There’s not so much of a moral to this story, but it is a well-constructed short thriller.

‘Skin-Effect’ is a much darker, but essentially much simpler tale of a military cyborg—a “brain in a polyarmor combat frame”—who has evaded the obligatory PSTD treatment and misses the rage, violence and distruction of war. On the recommendation of a now-lost comrade, he visits a patchwork whore-bot who is even less human and more fucked-up than he is, but who may have a solution to his problems. Ironically, all of the sex and all of the kink in this story are in the world of flesh, pre-war and pre-cybernetic, so neither the military technology nor the psychotic pathology are invoked.

At once more mundane and more fantastic, ‘Sight’ is the story of the only human artist whose work is popular with the superior alien race who bestow limited technological largesse upon the people of Earth. Our artist is horrified to discover that his priceless works are, to the clients who have made him super-rich, mere pornography. His artistic purity sullied, he is unable to create until he relearns—graphically, of course—the value of “beauty and lust” (156). Despite (or perhaps because of) the present of the aliens, this may be the most human story in the collection.

Finally, we are ushered to a climax by the title story, ‘The Bachelor Machine’, saved for last, and perhaps containing the most pathos and poignancy of all. It is also probably the least sexy story in the collection, in as much as the graphic descriptions of flirting, foreplay and fucking are designed to be unattractive rather than titillating. Our hero, a drifting in a post-apocalyptic cityscape, visits a decrepit and barely-functioning robot whore; reminded at every step of her artificiality (both in terms of manufacture and of faked sexual interest), of the countless men she has serviced, and the disrepair this has left all over her ruined chassis. Telegraphed a mile off, it is no surprise to learn that the drifter is actually the whore in this relationship, paid to make the has-been sex-bot feel wanted when no one would pay to have sex with her now; more surprising is how Christian manages to imbue this relationship with a certain tenderness, a sense of sympathy for these decayed characters whose best is behind them. Another case of the erotic motif used to tell a human story, perhaps the most important story of all.

There are technical problems with this book; not really enough to spoil the reader’s pleasure, but more than you would expect even from a small-press publication. A scattering of infelicities and repeated words, clustered more in some stories than others, are little more than typos, although they should have been caught by an editor. More interesting, although a subjective taste, is Christian’s penchant for rich and poetic metaphors, sometimes bordering on the synesthetic, whose beauty he then undercuts by feeling the need to explain them in the adjacent phrase (an example: “pulsing advertisements: product-placement nebulae” [157]; either half of that expression would have been enough). On the whole, the erotic passages are a bit better written than the science fiction.

Perhaps it is not the role of erotic literature to titillate or sexually excite the reader; this is not, after all, mere pornography. Personally, I find most erotica too personal, too geared to the kinks of the writer (or, I should say, of the implied narrator, since the author’s own sexuality is not necessarily revealed in his work), to work for me; I couldn’t even appreciate a classic eroticist like Anaïs Nin, for her brand of mildly kinky sex is not mine. So I would be reluctant to argue that Christian’s erotica fails to titillate, as I hinted above and have been suggesting throughout this review; in fact on the contrary, there is such a wide variety of sexual preference, performance, and function in this collection that there will be something for almost everyone (and something to turn off almost everyone).

More to the point, however, the sexual content in stories such as these serve rather to remind us that we’re human, that our concerns such as love, lust, companionship, rejection, nostalgia, however fleshy or base, are universals. The sex in these stories serves as a microcosm for all of life, for social observation, for political satire, for the promotion of tolerance. In other words, the role of sex in well-written erotica is analogous to the role of technology in science fiction, or magic and beasts in fantasy: yes it’s exciting, yes we take a geeky or prurient interest in them, yes we enjoy them for what they are, but ultimately they’re the tools that tell a bigger story, that paint a more important picture. And on these terms, Christian’s science-fictional erotica is very well-written indeed.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

Amos Lassen Likes The Bachelor Machine

This is very special: my wonderfully sweet friend Amos Lassen just posted this very nice review of my science fiction erotica collection, The Bachelor Machine. Thanks so much, Amos!

Let me start off by saying that I am a huge fan of M. Christian and when he has a new book come out, I am on it immediately. Christian writes good erotica, something that is not easy to do. Anyway can tell a dirty story but not everyone  can put a story into prose and it is here that Christian excels (and that is true of all of his books—if you have not read him, you must). His casts of characters include a little something for everyone and he writes to us and pulls us into his sexual fantasies.

Finally this book is available to all of us and it contains eighteen very hot stories all pulled from the mind of M. Christian, a man who, in my mind, is a master storyteller. When originally published, Cecilia Tan wrote an introduction to the stories and that is reproduced here along with a new forward by Kit O’ Connell and a chat between Tan and Christian on how science fiction and erotica come together.

When I tell you that these stories are hot, I might be giving you an understatement. M. Christian’s erotica comes from the heart and I would love to spend an afternoon at a coffeehouse with him listening to how he comes up with the stories he writes. He manages to give us literary erotica or as I usually call it, literary smut but it is a notch above a lot of what I have read.

In this collection there is a lot of sex but the stories themselves are not about the act of sex but rather what sex means. Christian writes about humanity and being human and the sex is, like we said in Louisiana, lagniappe.  Christian is one of a kind and he again proves that here. By using satire and irony and combining that with science fiction and erotica, it is almost to say that he has created an entire new genre. His literary voice and style are uniquely his and every story here works. We go to places we have never dreamt of and Christian is our able and talented guide.

I have not singled out any of the stories for to do so would be to ruin a unique reading experience and I want all of you to find what I have found in reading M. Christian.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Zee Likes Rude Mechanicals and The Bachelor Machine

Here's a fantastic holiday present: a sweet review of my collections The Bachelor Machine and Rude Mechanicals by Zee, who also hosted a very great contest I am pleased and proud to be part of.

M. Christian is the most phenomenal erotic short story writer - ever! He is wildly diverse. Think heterosexual, gay, lesbian, threesomes, robots, technorata and other interesting objects against crazy settings, like historical, futuristic, present day and virtual reality. And the characters - immortals, robots, prostitutes, pornography photographer, spiritualists, technophiles, androids, police officers, and humans just like us. M. Christian redefines sex, love and bdsm. And the greatest part about M. Christian's work is that he has something for everyone and in perfectly crafted bite size short stories for every appetite. (I have previously reviewed Blow Up and Beep, both of which I found hilarious and on a light, funny side.) Every lover of romance needs to read at least one of M. Christian's books, and I have two fantastic recommendations for you today - The Bachelor Machine and Rude Mechanicals. 

The Bachelor Machine consists of 18 short stories. Some are light and funny, others are quite sexual, and others are somewhat grim. There are a wide array of characters, guaranteeing that no two stories will be the same. What I love most about The Bachelor Machine is the surprise. You finish a story feeling shocked, in awe, and thinking differently about sex, and when you read the title of the next short story, it gives nothing away as to the contents it holds secret. I feel like it challenges you in a way. "You won't know what this is about until you read me." Yes, that is how it mocked me. So I read the next story, having my world completely thrown into chaos over and over again. The same is true for Rude Mechanicals. This title features four fantastic shorts and two novellas. Just as hot, as provocative, and as daring as his previous work, M. Christian once again stretches your mind to its sexual limits. Perfect for those long, warm winter nights, or shorts spurts of lag time during your hectic day. Priced just right, you can grab both (22 shorts and 2 novellas) for under $12. That's definitely a steal. I promise these titles won't let you imagination down.

In the words of M. Christian, "Imagination is Intelligence with an Erection!"

Monday, November 29, 2010

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Jean Roberta Likes The Bachelor Machine

And, yes, the publicity for the new, Circlet Press, edition of my science fiction erotica collection, The Bachelor Machine continues: this time it's with a kick-ass review of the original edition by the one-and-only, and always-wonderful, Jean Roberta.  

The nineteen stories in this collection of sci-fi erotica by M. Christian are paradoxical: they are set in a future world which is high-tech but shabby, in overcrowded cities where everyone seems to live in claustrophobic isolation. Some of the characters in these stories seem childishly in love with flashy gadgets, but on closer inspection, the technology looks like an extension of already-existing human physical and emotional capabilities. The machines never actually enslave the humans (as in the “Matrix” movies, for instance), but humans and machines are intimately connected. 

In “The New Motor,” the one story which is set in the past, the roots of twenty-first century technology are shown to go back to 1854. An eccentric prophet tells hushed crowds about “The Physical Savior of the Race, the New Messiah . . the New Motor” which was apparently described to him in a dream by spirit messengers. The motor eventually fascinates an innocent young woman, Faith, whose name suggests nineteenth-century optimism about mechanical “progress.”

In the stories set in future time, much has changed besides technology. Prostitution plays a major role in several stories, which is not surprising. Sex for hire looks like a logical replacement for the defunct social systems which used to provide some degree of sexual and emotional satisfaction: marriage, the extended family, a circle of friends, an affair. The first story deals with a kittenish sex worker who poses as a specially-programmed robot, a Mitsui Automaton. The title story (last in the collection) deals with a strangely human sex robot who continues to serve single men despite her “misfiring and stuttering movements” because giving them pleasure is her reason for being. 

Several of these stories feature a “taxi service” which enables the customer to plug directly into the consciousness of the prostitute, or service-provider, for a limited time.

These stories raise questions about intimacy: how much is too much? How much is an immoral violation of necessary boundaries? The pleasure of the exchange is shown to be mutual, at least in some cases. 


Monday, November 22, 2010

Kit O'Connell's Forward To The New Edition of The Bachelor Machine

And the push continues!  Here's something that really makes me blush: my great pal Kit O'Connell's forward to the brand new Circlet Press edition of my science fiction erotica collection, The Bachelor Machine.  Kit also wrote a very flattering review of the first edition for SF Review Site,

M. Christian is a writer who doesn’t let the reader off easy. I don’t mean that his books aren’t easy to read (he has a fine way with words and a unique, recognizable voice). The thing about his stories is that even at their filthiest, they also make you think.

As a reader, there often seem to be two ways to read erotic science fiction (as a writer, I doubt it's so cut-and-dried, but bear with me). Either the fantasy is so completely the focus of the story that the setting is constructed to suit it, or the author presents us with a fully-realized setting and then allows us to peek in on sexy activity happening there. Neither approach is inherently superior, but M. Christian's work is firmly in the latter category.

Take "Everything But the Smell of Lilies," one of his finest and most twisted moments. Our heroine is Justine Moor, a sex worker heavily modified by high-tech medical science so that her johns can kill her, have sex with her corpse, and then pay her when she starts breathing again. In the hands of another writer, our protagonist would be enough - an excuse to spin an edgy tale of erotic death where the victim is smiling at the end. While Justine may wear a satisfied smile at the end of this story, the readers' thoughts are likely to be far more complex because the author shows us not a typical transaction, but the moment when the script goes wrong.

This awareness of the fallibility inherent in life and technology is an undercurrent throughout his work. From the titular "Bachelor Machine" to the incompatible wiring of "Technophile," one almost gets the impression that there is more story to be found, and perhaps more eroticism as well, in moments of failure than in moments of perfection. Then again, doesn't every good pervert have a fond, albeit sometimes wry memory of the time the rope broke or the batteries ran out? I know I do.

Whether delightfully pushing the definitions of gender beyond all meaning (such as in "Fully Accessorized, Baby") or exploring the boundaries of consent (as in "Hackwork," another favorite), M. Christian is tweaking his readers' minds as well as their hormones.The implications of "Guernica" disturb me, and after several reads I still don't know if I agree and that probably means I should read it again.

In the years since I first read The Bachelor Machine, I've shared these thought-provoking tales with many friends. The stories have never failed to provoke both reaction and discussion. Long after arousal is gone, there are stories here that haunt me. I'm glad that now you can share that too.

- Kit O'Connell

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Cecilia Tan's Intro To The Bachelor Machine

And the publicity push for the new, Circlet Press, edition of The Bachelor Machine continues!  Here's an  extra-special, extra-grand, extra-fabulous treat: the one-and-only Cecilia Tan's intro to the original edition of my science fiction erotica collection ... and which, naturally, is also in the new edition as well.
I’m going to tell you a secret. There are only two people in the world I envy. One is the late Roger Zelazny, whose talent for an almost jazz improvisational way of writing I could never match.The other is M. Christian, for writing exactly what I’d write if only I could get off my ass. Which is to say, raunchy hallucinatory sexfuture dreams that never fail to arouse me and kick me in the gut at the same time. Good stuff. 
I’ve always said that if there was someone out there who would write exactly what it was I wanted to read, I wouldn’t have to do it myself. Honestly, when I discovered M. Christian, I had that half-formed thought: gee, maybe I can quit... (of course, I didn’t). 
It was the summer of 1994, if I remember correctly. I had founded Circlet Press three years before, to fill a void in the literary world. At the time, there was nowhere to publish erotic science fiction, or futuristic erotica, or whatever label you want to put on the wild, genre-bending stuff I and Lauren and others were writing. So I became a publisher, starting with chapbooks and slim little volumes of under one hundred pages. As news of the press spread to other speculative sex writers, manuscripts had begun to pour in for our anthologies. I decided I needed help getting through the growing slush pile and cajoled Lauren and some of my other authors to sit in my one-bedroom apartment one afternoon and read, read, read. We ordered Chinese take- out and delved into the manuscripts, pausing from time to time to eat a crab rangoon or read a “clunker” aloud.There were a lot of clunkers that day, and we were a pretty raucous group. 
Then everything got quiet. I looked up from the story I was reading, and two of my readers were looking at each other. They then traded manuscripts: “Here, now you read this one, I want that one!” They’d found not one, but two, really good somethings. Lauren then brought the manuscript in her hand to me and strongly suggested I read it that instant, not later. “Just read the first sentence.” 
I saw the words “I almost lost my virginity at fifteen, but his batteries ran low” and was hooked. 
The manuscript was “Technophile” by M. Christian. Lauren had written on the comment form she handed me with it: YES YES YES. I agreed. It wasn’t just the best story we’d read all day, it was one of the best stories we’d read in the genre, ever. 
The other story we received that day was “State,” a story I liked so much, I’ve published it twice. These two began a slew of stories Circlet published from Chris. At slush-readings in the future, people would go HUNTING for his name on envelopes, hoping to be the first to read something new. I’d like to say I had to break up a fistfight when “Fully Accessorized, Baby” was discovered, but that would be the fiction writer in me trying to sensationalize. (We just took turns.) 
When the story “Heartbreaker” came in, my then assistant Susan Groppi read it without knowing who it was from. “A very very very good story,” she wrote in her comment form. “I often find I can’t describe what it is I like, just that it’s good.” Her editorial instincts were right on when a story just kicks ass, your initial reaction isn’t a critical one, it’s simply “woo hoo!” 
One of the reasons I bought so many stories from Chris over the years is not only that the stories are consistently great, but that he has been able to write for any sexuality, from any point of view, man, woman, alien, third gender, robot, robot-wannabe... and of course sexualities and identities yet to be invented. For me, the whole purpose of combining two often formula-bound genres, erotica and science fiction, was to break out of the expected molds, to create something exciting, arousing, and provocative in all senses of the word. Chris has done that better than most who have tried their hand at it. He has a gift. And through that ability to see the world as it is not, to envision things wholly beyond our real boundaries of gender, technology, and identity, he is able to create characters that grab me. Characters I believe in. I empathize with Kusa, the rebuilt cybernetic woman-cop in “Heartbreaker.” I want to fuck Fields “the perfect love doll” in “State” and see if I can crack her facade. 
Even better, Chris is one of the few writers who has been able to sell me stories where everything is not happy and rosy. I’ve always insisted on a sex-positive outlook for Circlet Press no rape, no dismemberment, no homophobia, you get the idea but the result is a lot of happy stories, where sexy people have good sex and both they and the reader enjoy it. The problem here, from a literary standpoint, is that without conflict, there’s not much of a story. Chris is one of the best at creating the kind of conflict that works best in an erotic story: inner conflict. The kind of conflict that many a writer has shied away from because it is the most difficult kind to portray believably and intriguingly. The kind of conflict that in science fiction is all too often replaced by external action, a fight, a battle, an explosion.This is why an M. Christian story is not just some of the most excellent, cutting-edge erotica around, but also great science fiction. 
This is also why Chris’s stories quickly found homes outside of the specialized niche of Circlet Press. I started seeing his name in anthologies like Best American Erotica and The Mammoth Book of New Erotica. Since then, I find it hard to name an erotica market or anthology that he is NOT in.The secret is out I don’t think Chris’s manuscripts even go to anyone’s slush pile anymore. (These days they don’t even go to my office; I take them directly into the bedroom.) 
There’s one more person I envy, and that’s the reader who is picking up this book for the first time. Prepare yourself to discover the intense pleasure within.

    - Cecilia Tan

    Cecilia Tan is the founder of Circlet Press and author of many works of erotic fiction, including Edge Plays, Royal Treatment, Mind Games, Magic University, The Hot Streak, Black Feathers,White Flames, and Telepaths Don’t Need Safewords.