Praise for M.Christian's Very Bloody Marys

(via M. Christian's Queer Imaginings)

Here's a very nice round-up of some of the very flattering praise my queer horror/humor vampire novel, The Very Bloody Marys, has gotten - out now in a new edition from Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Sizzler Editions.

Kit O'Connell:

It’s no secret that M. Christian and I are friends. I’ve introduced one of his books and we’ve guest blogged for each other too. So even if I’m not the most unbiased critic, I still like to highlight interesting books I read from time to time even if they are by friends of mine.
One of Chris’ many recurring themes are alternate visions of the police. One of the characters in his wonderfully weird novel near-future novel Finger’s Breadth is a freelance officer who receives his orders and files reports via a distributed police ap on his smartphone. “Bluebelle” in The Bachelor Machine explores a future cop’s intimate relationship with his police vehicle, and Christian even co-edited the anthology Future Cops. 

The most recent book I read by him is The Very Bloody Marys. Like Finger’s Breadth, it takes place in an alternate San Francisco but creatures of the night. Our hero is Valentino, a young gay vampire so uncertain of his place in the world that he can’t even decide how to start telling his story at the beginning of the book, so he begins again 2 or 3 times. Somehow, despite his Lestat-like confidence or prowess, he’s been selected to join an undead police force charged with maintaining the secrecy of the undead and the weird. 

Here, Valentino laments his own impending doom after his superior officer disappears: 

Two hundred years. It’d been a good run. Lots of … well, there’d been blood of course. Moons. Stars. Rain. Fog. Hiding, too: all-night movie theaters, bars, discos, stables, warehouses, churches, a few synagogues (even a mosque or two) [...] Lots of … I was going to say friends but, to be honest, the nightlife might be advantageous to boogying but doesn’t make for long-term relationships. Some back-alley assignations, sticky stuff in my mouth or pants; not blood, or at least not up until a few years ago. 

Two hundred sure sounds like a lot, but … the time just seemed to have hopped, skipped and jumped by. Never skied, never sailed, never surfed, never had two guys at once [...] What surprised me the most, though, was what I wanted more: orchids, bow ties, potato salad, string, oil or watercolor, hooks and line, two of everything. 

The book has a breezy, playful noir style which would make it perfect summer reading. Though it doesn’t have the usual romance (though it has a handful of interesting unrequited ones), I found it especially interesting as a queer take on the torrid vampires-and-werewolves subgenre of urban fantasy.

Dru Pagliassotti, The Harrow:

Zombie taxi drivers, golems of Abraham Lincoln, a four-star restaurant in the city morgue, vampires, warlocks, fairies, ghouls, and angelic apparitions: they're all denizens of The Castro's other night-life, and Valentino must bluster his way through them as he hunts for a murderous faery, his missing dickwad of a commanding officer, and — of course — the pretty and ruthless Very Bloody Marys. 

M. Christian has created a character with an unforgettable, if unceasing, narrative voice, an amusing and cliche-busting antidote to the overpopulated literary ranks of hardboiled vampire detectives. The world of Le Conseil Carmin, where vampires literally work for Blood Money and protect humanity from creatures much worse than themselves, is well-wrought; the plot twists, although initially baffling, all get satisfactorily straightened out; and Valentino, a less-than-enthusiastic member of Le Corps Policier Contre, has a self-conscious charm that will appeal to a broad spectrum of readers. 

Fresh, quirky, and irreverent, The Very Blood Marys is a vampire novel for readers who've become bored with vampires.

Mari Adkins, Apex Science Fiction:

The Very Bloody Marys isn't so much a vampire novel--the vampires are far and away from Bram Stoker, and I'm glad for that--as it is a good, old-fashioned mystery. I hate be cliché and say "This book is a classic page-turner," but it is! The plot is quick-paced, and Valentino is as sexy as he is funny. The story is packed with a full, colorful cast of characters ranging from vampires, ghouls, and faeries. Oh, and a zombie or two. If you're hungry for a different kind of vampire book, don't miss this one!

Steve Williams, Muse Review:

Deftly, M. Christian has created a novel that is, in fact, a coming of age story in a sugary horror coating. Valentino goes through trials, such as confronting three Marys on Vespors, getting attacked by a pissed off Irish Faery called Liam - I kid you not - and having to contend with a chauffer called Mariah - please, God, let Mariah Carey play him in the movie, a zombie in drag, and she could warble all she'd like off camera just as long as, for those few seconds, she shuts the hell up (like her songs though!) - who is less than forthcoming when it comes to information or help of any kind. And so, time after time, Valentino must battle forces he has... well... to say he has no comprehension of wouldn't be quite fair. It's rather like giving an infant a blow torch and not expecting him to roast his little apple cheeks off (I'm suddenly quite hungy. Mutilation, even joking, shouldn't do that to a man). 

Needless to say, there's a fair amount of swearing, some getting spanked with chains and a dollop of hard ass domineering, but you'll have to wait and see if Valintino, our underdog (who, incase anybody does want to make a film of this, I think I look quite like; hollywood, call me) makes it through this ... well, not alive... but... as dead as he was before... I guess. 

M. Christian's writing really sparkles here, and his wit is obvious, and never labored. There's a lot to love, amongst characters like a talking cat addicted to cat nip, and a statue of Lincoln that is a wizard's personal butler. There were a few moments of perplexity on my part as I was reading through, but M. Christian does well in keeping you turning the page, and, whilst everything is tied up in the end rather niceley, this isn't forced and feels much better for it. In fact, I felt this one book would make an excellent start to a series, and I know I for one would be reading cover to cover. 

There was one issue I had. Oh God, what an issue. I mean, really, Valantino fancying Nicholas Cage... well, I suppose, if you're a walking corpse your taste would change somewhat... but I'll let M. Christian off on that score, because Very Bloody Marys is one of the most entertaining little novels I've read in a good long while, and it does, as they say, exactly what it says on the tin.

4 Muses Out of 5! ***This Weeks Recommended Read.

Out & About Magazine:

Don’t lock your doors – the thing that goes bump in the night is back—and he’s hot! 

M. Christian, the best-selling author of Running Dry, has set out to curl your toes and your eyelashes. The Very Bloody Marys is a rollicking noir that sets the hero, a slick gay vampire cop named Valentino, against a wandering gang of vamp twinks, a killer Tinkerbell, and a world wide council of vampires that would make the Vatican seem laid-back and jovial. 

Quick paced and full of eye-popping visuals, The Very Bloody Marys whisks down the plot-line at breakneck speeds, daring the reader to keep up. Back-story is held up to make way for the full throttle action that begins almost immediately, and once you’ve started the book, it may prove difficult to put down. 

Christian was written the quintessential noir mystery, using sex, the night and a barrage of interesting undead characters to tell a fun and captivating story. There are several references to Humphrey Bogart, and indeed, our gay Bogie is the perfect protagonist, even if he himself doesn’t buy it. 

Using all the right details, Christian has created a world that’s one part L.A. Confidential and two parts Tales of The City. The result is a sometimes hilarious, sometimes terrifying experience that will leave you thirsty for more.

Thomas Roche, ErosZine:

With The Very Bloody Marys, prolific writer and editor M. Christian, best known for his vast contribution to the erotica genre, turns his hand to the melding of the classic San Francisco crime-noir thriller (think The Maltese Falcon) and the steamy, sexy vampire-occult tale (think TV shows Angel or The Dresden Files, or Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series of novels). That it is also an irreverent entry into the San Francisco canon of queer coming of age novels might be unexpected, given that its protagonist is a centuries-old vampire, but that aspect of The Very Bloody Marys is no less satisfying for the main character's age. 

Christian is known primarily as an erotica writer, or, more accurately, one of the most widely-published authors ever to assault carnal matters. With Marys, however, that fact is evident only in the briskness of his prose and the frankness with which he treats the dark, sleazy side of the city. Far from being an entry in Christian's mind-boggling output of boldly innovative, irreverently nasty erotica, The Very Bloody Marys is a tight genre thriller with a taste for the absurd and a dry wit. But it's also about coming of age; Valentino, as a centuries-old vamp, still has a lot to learn about being a cop, and when confronted with matters of the heart he's as arrested in his development, as vulnerable and at-risk, as any teenager lost in the byways of human relationships. 

Equal parts action and introspection, the 171-page thriller cooks along rapidly, following the formulas of the tried-and-true detective novel while at the same time slyly lampooning it. San Franciscans will recognize the details of their city, the smells and sounds of Fogtown after sunset. If you've walked those streets at midnight, you'll recognize them. If you never have, you'll want to book the next flight and maybe bring a cross and some holy water. 

Like all the best noir thrillers, Marys is about being apart, alone, isolated; it's about finding a way to bring evil to justice, even if that justice is uglier than the crime; and first and foremost it's about redemption, as Valentino struggles to find his place in the city's nightside and make things right, while keeping his skin. 

The Very Bloody Marys is a divine confection with a steaming load of pulpy goodness. It's also got its boots planted firmly in the noir tradition that crosses every sexual boundary in its search for right and wrong. And perhaps most importantly, or most immediately important, it's a deliciously enjoyable addition to three different, and too, too empty, bookshelves: queer vampires, queer noir, and late-night San Francisco adventure.

... and some short reviews:

M. Christian creates a variety of quirky characters from wizards to zombies to fairies, and the tone captures the feeling of a fast-paced horror movie, alternately funny and creepy.
- HorrorWorld 

Atmospherically potent and stylishly polished, Christian marries suspense, terror, black humour and romance intelligently and wittily making The Very Bloody Marys a smart and fun addition to the bloodsuckingly camp vampire genre.
- GayDar Nation

The Very Bloody Marys
Sizzler Editions
$7.99 (ebook edition, all formats)
ISBN: 9781615087792

Confessions Of A Literary Streetwalker: "Oh, how beautiful."

Check this out: I just wrote a brand new "Confessions Of A Literary Streetwalker" piece for the always-great Erotica Readers and Writers site - all my previous columns, of course, have been collected in How To Write And Sell Erotica by Renaissance Books.

Here's a tease:

Funny that these columns are called Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker because ... well, I have a confession to make. 

I'm very much on the fence about the whole thing, and am still dealing with doubts about whether or not I've made the right decision but - in the end - I think it will end up being a good thing.

I've joined Facebook.

I know, I know: I've been a rather vocal - if not strident - opponent of that particular corner of the social media universe, but a very good friend of mine pointed out that, to call down The Bard, I "doth protest too much."

It hasn't been easy: I tell ya, nothing like having a nearly (gasp) twenty year writing career resulting in only 433 'friends' and 68'likes' on my author page to really make the dreaded depression demon really flare up. 

But I'm sticking with it - not because I think that I have to, or that Facebook is the end-all, be-all solution to all my publicity needs - but because it was something I really, honestly, didn't want to do.

Obviously, explanations are in order.  See, I'm a firm believer in pushing yourself in all kinds of ways: as a person and, particularly, as a writer.  Sure, you have to like what you are doing - both in how you live your life as well as the words you put down on 'paper' - but growth comes not from comfort but from adversity, from challenge. 

I didn't set out to be an pornographer, but then an opportunity presented itself and (surprise!) I was actually pretty good at it.  I didn’t plan on being a 'gay' writer - because, no duh - I'm not, but (surprise!) I not just did it but came to really enjoy it.  I didn’t think I could be a teacher, but (surprise!) I've found that I really get a kick out of it.

I may have hated Facebook - hell, I still hate Facebook - but I had to at least try it.  Maybe it will work out, maybe it won't, but at least I'll have stretched myself.

For creative people of any ilk, that’s extremely important.  For one thing, it can keep your creativity rip-and-roaring, key to avoiding deathly boredom and staleness.  Professionally, it's essential: writing just what you want, what you’re comfortable with, can really limit where you can sell your work.  That you love to write, say, erotic romances is fine and dandy but if you do then there will only so many places to show off, or publish, your work. 

You want examples?  Fine: I'm now on Facebook – we’ve already discussed that uncomfortable fact - but since I've written quite a few queer novels I've decided that my next one is going to be (you ready for this?) straight - and not just straight but with a 'happy' ending.  My short story work, too, has a tendency to be, let's be honest here, bittersweet at best - so my next collection is going to be much more uplifting.  I've never written a play, so I'm planning on writing one sometime this year.  I've never written for comics - well, I wrote one - so I'm going to work on more.  Will these projects be tough?  Sure they will: but who knows what I may discover about myself and what I'm capable of?

Who knows, maybe even Facebook and I will become fast and good friends and will walk down the social media aisle together, skipping merrily and holding hands.

And if not ... well, I tried.  There is nothing wrong with giving something a shot but then deciding it's not for you.  Rejection, both internal as well as external, is part of a writer's life.  There's nothing wrong with it.  Trial and error is how we learn, how we grow. 

Writers far too often think that the 'names', the celebrities, the legends sat down and created wonders of the written word, masterpieces of story, with no trials and tribulations.  But - as I've said before - writers are liars and very few will admit that they might have been an overnight success ... after failing for decades. 

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Yet More Philosophy

Be courageous

Recycling

Polyamory: How To Love Many And Well

Here's a chance to attend my (ahem) 'infamous' class on polyamory - at least if you live in the Bay Area...

But don't worry, I'll be teaching the same class in New York towards the end of September. Stay tuned for more info on that.

Polyamory: How To Love Many And Well

Thursday, August 16, 2012 · 8:00 PM –10:00 PM
SF Citadel Community Center
Cost: $20 at door

Sure, you've heard of it – and maybe have been intrigued by it – but what is polyamory and how do you love more than one person and make it work? How can you deal with jealousy, time-management, emotional rough patches, and more to enter into multiple sexual relationships? In this class, participants will learn to separate the myths from the realities of polyamory, how to make tentative steps towards having more than one partner, and how to approach and deal with the problems of sharing yourself with others, and being involved with someone who, in turn, is involved with someone else. Included in this class will be simple emotional exercises, true life experiences, unique techniques and innovative approaches to understanding the joys – and the risks – of beginning, or entering into, a polyamorous relationship.

#

M. Christian has been an active participant in the San Francisco BDSM scene since 1988, and has been a featured presenter at the Northwest Leather Celebration, smOdyssey, the Center For Sex and Culture, The National Sexuality Symposium, QSM, San Francisco Sex Information, The Citadel, The Looking Glass, The Society of Janus, The Floating World, Winter Solstice, and lots of other venues. He has taught classes on everything from impact play, tit torture, bondage, how to write and sell erotica, polyamory, cupping, caning, and basic SM safety.

M. Christian is also a recognized master of BDSM erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many other anthologies, magazines, and other sites; editor of 2t anthologies such as the Best S/M Erotica series, Pirate Booty, My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, and more; the collections Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and more; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Finger's Breadth, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is www.mchristian.com

Welcome to Weirdsville: Upside Down & Other Weird Houses

(from Meine Kleine Fabrik)

This is very, very cool: the wonderful Dark Roasted Blend just published a brand new piece of mine, about Upside Down and Other Weird Houses, and gave me a very nice plug for my book of od and unusual stuff - many previously published on Dark Roasted Blend!

M. Christian is also the author of "Welcome to Weirdsville": a wonderful compendium of interesting subjects and fascinating topics. This is a highly recommended book for all lovers of weird & wonderful this side of the Universe; order the Kindle edition here.

Here's a taste - for the rest just click over to Dark Roasted Blend

Upside Down and Other Weird Houses

"- And He Built a Crooked House -"

Emily Dickinson said it perfectly: "Where thou art, that is home." But some very creative people, have taken that idea to wonderful extremes by building homes that aren't just places to hang their hats but instead are wildly whimsical, fantastically fanciful, amazingly awesome, and occasionally brilliantly bizarre.



Tilted and Flipped!

As any artist knows, inspiration can come from anywhere and a few these unique builders and architects have been inspired by some very... tilted ideas. Take, for example, Daniel Czapiewski's home in the Polish town of Szymbark. No, you don’t need to turn your monitor upside down: Daniel's home is, indeed, topsy-turvy:



(images via 1, 2)

But Daniel is not the only builder with a unique perspective. In the German town of Trassenheide there's another home with a stand-on-your-head view:



This furniture does not seem to be very functional -


(images via 1)

Are we detecting a theme here? Billed as an "Amusement Park For The Mind," WonderWorks have flipped models of the White House, adding a new dimension to the currently weird political landscape, at various locations around the country:

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What did it take to be the most scandalous...

(from Frequently Felt)



(via blessedblackbeast)

What did it take to be the most scandalous performer in Weimar Berlin? ANITA BERBER (1899-1928) had a penchant for going out in public naked under her sable wrap, affairs with married women and judges, an enduring relationship with a mother-daughter team, and she flaunted her cocaine addiction. But none of these would have been remarkable in ’20s Berlin. Nor was it her dance titled “The Depraved Woman and the Hanged Man,” at the climax of which she was on her back lapping at the sperm of the executed man. It wasn’t even the pet monkey. I think the scandal was Berber’s unashamed glee at embodying every vice and dark kink in that city and era. She was not ashamed to be Berlin. Performance art, The Living Theater, Punk, club kids: New York’s downtown history plays out like one of Berber’s idle hash dreams.

Good Point

 

Yet More Philosophy

"Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."
— Albert Einstein

Think

Beware of Artists

Beware of Artists (Actual poster from the mid-50’s.)

Issued by Senator Joseph McCarthy at the height of the Red Scare and anti communist witch hunt in Washington. All artists were suspect.

Technorotica and Speaking Parts On Sexy Briefs

(re-posted from M.Christian's Technorotica)

This is very cool: the wonderful Tessie L'Amour of the Google Feed Sexy Briefs just posted not one, not two, but three (count 'em if you wanna) pieces about me, my work, my appearance in her great anthology project Sexy Briefs: Tasty Little Tails, and my cybersexy print book Technorotica: Stories Shattering the Ultimate Taboo and my cybersexy novel, Painted Doll.

Here's a tease of what she wrote - and you can read part one, part two, and part three of the posts as well.

M. Christian - Nighthawks - Post 1 of 3 

Our second author, +M. Christian, is an acknowledged master of erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many, many other anthologies, magazines, and Web sites. 

He is the editor of 25 anthologies including the Best S/M Erotica series, The Burning Pen, Guilty Pleasures, The Mammoth Book of Future Cops and The Mammoth Book of Tales of the Road (with Maxim Jakubowksi) and Confessions, Garden of Perverse, and Amazons (with Sage Vivant) as well as many others. 

For Sexy Briefs: Tasty Little Tails offers up a tantalizing story of two lonely souls in a late night coffee shop making their matching moves in a delicate dance of desire in Nighthwaks. You can download your own copy ofSexy Briefs: Tasty Little Tails free on Smashwords at http://bit.ly/TastySMSH, or for a low price on Amazon US http://amzn.to/TastyUS, Amazon UKhttp://amzn.to/TastyUK or Barnes & Noble http://bit.ly/TastyBN.

What's up -

- check out meine kleine fabrik for a piece from from my new book, Welcome to Weirdsville, on the crazy stuff that happened during an age when adding atomic energy to everything seemed like a good idea...

Over at M.Christian's Queer Imaginings there's a great review of Filthy (re-released by the great Sizzler as Filthy Boys) by Emily Veinglory.

And at M.Christian's Technorotica there's a sweet review of my collections The Bachelor Machine and Rude Mechanicals by Zee.

Sizzler's Fifty Shades Trailer

I'll never stop saying it: the folks at Sizzler Editions/Renaissance E Books are not just wonderful but wonderfully smart (and great to work for).  Just check out this video they just released:

Yet More Philosophy

So Bright The Vision?

(from M.Christian's Technorotica)

In Clifford D. Simak's short story, "So Bright The Vision," fiction writing has been replaced by machines called yarners - that chug out stories or books on demand. Well, someone's taken that idea into erotica with The Fifty Shades Generator - a site that will create pornographic passages in the style of ... well, you guessed it:

"The feeling of his man fat seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly neverending streams of penis pudding eminating from his throbbing quim dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my gashtray was leaching like a broken fridge freezer. Inserting a squash into my hot pocket got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit."

Welcome to the world of tomorrow....

More Philosophy

Will Eisner And I?

As a long-time comics fan - and, if you remember, I even wrote one - this is extra-special: the great Renaissance E Books (who I'm an Associate Publisher for) has just stepped into graphic novels ... beginning by releasing classics like The Phantom Lady.

Well, one of the titles they also just released is a little-known treasure by the comic legend Will Eisner called The Flame - and guess who was asked to write the introduction?

Here's a tease of my intro - and here's where you can get this the fantastic new edition.

EISNER'S FLAME OF INSPIRATION

If you were to create a Mount Rushmore for comic creators they'd certainly be a lot of controversy on who to immortalize.  Alan Moore?  Winsor McCay?  Art Spiegelman?  Osamu Tezuka?  Robert Crumb?  But the one that everyone – and I mean everyone -- would agree should have his face etched in stone is Will Eisner.

To say that Will Eisner, famed for his groundbreaking noir creation The Spirit, made comics what they are today is like saying the sun is just that warm thing in the sky.  Born in Brooklyn in 1917, Eisner made his first tentative steps onto the comic book stage at 16 by sending his artwork, with prodding from Batman creator Bob Kane, to Wow, What A Magazine!

Back in the late-1930s comic books were still deciding what they were and where they were going – it was a real wild west for writers and artists, with publishers, editors, writers, artists, and characters coming and going almost daily.

It was during these crazy times that The Flame was created by Eisner and Lou Fine – another illustrious member of those Golden Years.  Their brainchild, first appeared in Wonderworld Comic #3, July 1939. The Flame was so popular the character soon graduated to his own comic – but, alas, it was snuffed out after only eight issues, going dark on January 1942, a victim not of a vividly costumed menace or even the Nazis, but of the publisher's bankruptcy.

While The Flame's run in the superhero game was a short one the comic still – excuse me – burns quite bright for its originality.  In fact, you could easily trace a lot of The Flame forward to many now legendary comic characters.

Just look at his origin story: poor little Gary Preston was the only survivor of a flood that killed his father, Charteris Preston – a missionary in China.  Little Preston was saved by a benevolent order of Tibetan monks who taught him the mysterious power of heat and fire.  Gary knew that power must be used for good and The Flame was born.

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Yet More Philosophy

Amen!

Circlet Likes Technorotica

Very cool! If you head over to M.Christian's Technorotica you can see a very nice review of Technorotica: Stories Shattering the Ultimate Taboo by by Gayle C. Straun at the Circlet Press site

The Shout

One of my all-time favorite films...

Wiki:

The Shout is a 1978 British horror film directed by Jerzy Skolimowski, based on a short story by Robert Graves that was adapted for the screen by Michael Austin. The film was the first to be produced by Jeremy Thomas under his Recorded Picture Company banner.

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Updates and Fun Stuff

Lots of fun stuff going on, blog-wise:

Over at M.Christian's Queer Imaginings there's a review of my queer/horror/ humor vampire novel, The Very Bloody Marys, by Apex Science Fiction

At M.Christian's Technorotica there's In celebration of the release a teasing taste of "Everything But The Smell Of Lilies" from Betty Came: The Best Of M.Christian ... which also appears in my collection of cybersexy fiction, The Bachelor Machine

On meine kleine fabrik there's an article from my new book, Welcome To Weirdsville - about the wonderful (and often creepy) world of mushrooms

In the meantime, here's a pic of a new terrarium - which I had a real blast making in a class at Paxton's Gate over the weekend

Had a Blast!

Here's a heartfelt, hearty thanks to Carol Queen for her fantastic birthday bash.  It was a real treat to read and Carol - as always - was wonderful!

The Sex Scene

(youclevergirl)

Bravo!

Miyazaki

 

I am in SO Much Trouble

Christian pamphlet lists LSD, cyperpunk culture, vegetarianism, Burning Man, heavy metal, and dozens more as ‘doorways to demonic possession’ (Found at Stuff Fundies Like)

Justice - New Lands

Here's a very cool technophilic ad (cross-posted to M.Christian's Technorotica):

Be Yourself -

The Censor By Jean-Jacques Grandville

(oldbookillustrations)


The censor
Jean-Jacques Grandville, from Gravures (Engravings), 1880.
(Source: archive.org)

Out Now: The Very Bloody Marys by M. Christian

Sizzler Editions/Renaissance E Books is extremely pleased and proud to announce the re-release lof M. Christian's fantastic queer vampire horror/thriller/humor novel The Very Bloody Marys - you'll shiver, you'll laugh, and you certainly won't forget this book!

M. Christian's celebrated queer vampire adventure/thriller is back in a special new edition! Can San Francisco survive a marauding gang of Vespa-riding vampires? Before it's sucked dry, the city's only hope may be Valentino, who's only a trainee for the supernatural law enforcement agency, Le Counseil Carmin. Swept up in the whole blood-sucking business when his mentor goes missing, Valentino is called upon to deal with the menace of these "Bloody Marys." But Valentino soon realizes that, in order to dispose of the gang, he must go into areas he never dreamed of, deal with some very strange characters and learn the truth about the dark side of town.

"The Very Bloody Marys is a comic horror novel about vampires, ghouls, faeries, and the undead that move around after dark. Part chase, part gallows humor, and all shivery excitement, this new story from the wildly imaginative M. Christian is funny, frightening, and very entertaining.

"Valentino is a 200-year old rookie vampire cop who is fated to spend eternity as the screw-up assistant to undead drill sergeant cop and all around bastard, Pogue. That is, until Pogue mysteriously disappears. The powers (of the night) want Valentino to find Pogue and stop a rogue band of vampires who call themselves the Very Bloody Marys.
The only problem is that Valentino has no clue what he's doing. He stumbles around San Francisco, making an unholy mess of the case, while sinister otherwordly beings manipulate him into doing their bidding. Valentino isn't as hopeless as he thinks he is though, and manages to find out what happened to his mentor, figure out who the real bad guy is, and take down the Very Bloody Marys." - Kathleen Bradean

"If you’re looking for a good, fast paced read, or if you like mystery or fantasy or gay fiction. Or if you just want something different and new, this book will be as satisfying as a vampire’s first drink of blood." - Colleen Anderson

"M. Christian's writing really sparkles here, and his wit is obvious, and never labored. There's a lot to love, amongst characters like a talking cat addicted to cat nip, and a statue of Lincoln that is a wizard's personal butler. There were a few moments of perplexity on my part as I was reading through, but M. Christian does well in keeping you turning the page, and, whilst everything is tied up in the end rather niceley, this isn't forced and feels much better for it. In fact, I felt this one book would make an excellent start to a series, and I know I for one would be reading cover to cover." - Steve Williams

"M. Christian creates a variety of quirky characters from wizards to zombies to fairies, and the tone captures the feeling of a fast-paced horror movie, alternately funny and creepy." - HorrorWorld

"Atmospherically potent and stylishly polished, Christian marries suspense, terror, black humour and romance intelligently and wittily making The Very Bloody Marys a smart and fun addition to the bloodsuckingly camp vampire genre." - GayDar Nation

The Very Bloody Marys
Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions
ISBN: 9781615087792
$7.99

I'm Going To Be Reading -

- at Carol Queen's Birthday Bash!

Carol Queen’s B-Day Ho-Down!!
Friday, July 20, 7:30pm: A benefit for the Center for Sex & Culture

At The Make-Out Room, 3225 22nd. St.
$10-50 sliding scale 

Celebrating 55 somewhat long, often strange, and mostly sexy trips around the sun, Carol has asked many of her favorite performers to come out and entertain her — and YOU! On the bill so far we welcome: 

The burlesque stylings of Alexa von Kickinface
Literary chameleon M.Christian
The SO aptly-named Morgan’s Funny
Peripatetic genius Sadie Lune

Soon-to-be-ex-Bay Area treasure Beth Lisick (our loss is Brooklyn’s gain) 

The music & sheer stunning presence of the one and only cabaret star MegaFlame
More fabulous artistes still being added!

Plus we’ll pull some auction items together, or figure out some other way to win/buy/acquire fabulous stuff.

It’s Dr. Carol Queen’s Birthday month, which I always use for aCenter for Sex & Culture fund drive; can you contribute? It will culminate with a birthday show/fundraiser and shindig at the Make-Out Room on July 20, so please save the date. (Performers, I am still putting this together — let me know if you want to participate, I’ll see how many slots I still have to work with…!) 

CSC is working on a bare-bones budget these days, and has made many fabulous improvements to the space since we moved in, mostly via our own cash flow. We would like to retire our credit card debt this summer which was mainly associated with getting moved in, and your donations will go towards that purpose and toward bridging us over the always-lean month of August, when all y’all go wear peacock feathers on the playa. 

Checks here: 2261 Market St #455-A SF CA 94114 Credit card donations: Wads of cash can be stuffed into our pockets at any opportunity! And ANY amount helps us move this fabulous one-of-a-kind, all-volunteer, labor of sex-positive love into the future. We have people coming to enjoy our library now, and a pack of scholars coming next month to swarm the archives and extract bits of amazing info; we have the most wonderful volunteer staff and interns coming from all over, all because the Center for Sex & Culture EXISTS!
Please help us stay stable and able to provide space for all these amazing things we (and our communities) do. Pass this note on to others if you can. Wishing us all mondo pleasure! xox—CQ

Twice Upon A Time

- one of my favorite films.



Wikipedia:

Twice Upon a Time is a 1983 animated movie directed by John Korty and Charles Swenson. This film had an unusual history in terms of release and editing, but it has been named one of the most important films in the history of stop-motion animation.

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Cyndi Lauper Is Fantastic!

Cyndi Lauper Is Fantastic!

Cyndi Lauper Advocates for LGBT Homeless Youth:

Chicago Tribune-Health:

Cyndi Lauper has been singing about True Colors; since the 1980s, and these days she's speaking out for young people whose true colors have put them and their health at risk -- the thousands of young homosexual and transgender people who face the emotional and physical ordeal of homelessness.

And JUST Found This Cool -

- and very futuristic Absolut ad ... so I had to post it here and on Technorotica.

(oh, and check out QueerImaginings for another pre-re-release review of The Very Bloody Marys)

Stumbled Across This

-too true, too true...

Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.

Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things.

The Very Bloody Marys - The NEW Edition

I'm thrilled to be able to announce the imminent re-release of my queer vampire thriller/humor novel, The Very Bloody Marys - coming very, very soon from Renaissance E Books.

Here's a tease of the new cover:

And here's a wonderful review of the book by the also-wonderful Kit O'Connell:

It’s no secret that M. Christian and I are friends. I’ve introduced one of his books and we’ve guest blogged for each other too. So even if I’m not the most unbiased critic, I still like to highlight interesting books I read from time to time even if they are by friends of mine.

One of Chris’ many recurring themes are alternate visions of the police. One of the characters in his wonderfully weird novel near-future novel Finger’s Breadth is a freelance officer who receives his orders and files reports via a distributed police ap on his smartphone. “Bluebelle” in The Bachelor Machine explores a future cop’s intimate relationship with his police vehicle, and Christian even co-edited the anthology Future Cops.

The most recent book I read by him is The Very Bloody Marys. Like Finger’s Breadth, it takes place in an alternate San Francisco but  creatures of the night. Our hero is Valentino, a young gay vampire so uncertain of his place in the world that he can’t even decide how to start telling his story at the beginning of the book, so he begins again 2 or 3 times. Somehow, despite his Lestat-like confidence or prowess, he’s been selected to join an undead police force charged with maintaining the secrecy of the undead and the weird. Here, Valentino laments his own impending doom after his superior officer disappears:

Two hundred years. It’d been a good run. Lots of … well, there’d been blood of course. Moons. Stars. Rain. Fog. Hiding, too: all-night movie theaters, bars, discos, stables, warehouses, churches, a few synagogues (even a mosque or two) [...] Lots of … I was going to say friends but, to be honest, the nightlife might be advantageous to boogying but doesn’t make for long-term relationships. Some back-alley assignations, sticky stuff in my mouth or pants; not blood, or at least not up until a few years ago. 

Two hundred sure sounds like a lot, but … the time just seemed to have hopped, skipped and jumped by. Never skied, never sailed, never surfed, never had two guys at once [...] What surprised me the most, though, was what I wanted more: orchids, bow ties, potato salad, string, oil or watercolor, hooks and line, two of everything.

The book has a breezy, playful noir style which would make it perfect summer reading. Though it doesn’t have the usual romance (though it has a handful of interesting unrequited ones), I found it especially interesting as a queer take on the torrid vampires-and-werewolves subgenre of urban fantasy.

I'm Going To NYC!

Be afraid - very afraid - all you New Yawkers: I'm planning a trip to the Big Apple (probably around the end of September).

If you know of any possible venues for readings, classes, or just want to hang out, drop me a line and I'll make it happen while I'm there.

Way to Go, Ralph!

Here's a hearty congratulations to my dear, sweetie, and very-wonderful friend Ralph Greco, Jr - who is having one of his plays produced as part of the Chatman Playhouse's 18th Annual Jersey Voices Festival. Way to go, Ralph!

In The Kid
By Ralph Greco, Jr. of Clifton
A young aspiring writer interviews with a famous playwright to be a research assistant. But the playwright may not be exactly who they seem to be; or maybe they don't really want a research assistant after all. This production features Cooper Sacks of Summit, Jean Kuras of Glen Ridge and Terri Sturtevant of Hillsborough.

Confessions Of A Literary Streetwalker: Bond, James Bond ... Or Do I Really Need An Agent?

Check this out: I just wrote a brand new "Confessions Of A Literary Streetwalker" piece for the always-great Erotica Readers & Writers site - all my previous columns, of course, have been collected in How To Write And Sell Erotica by Renaissance Books.  Here's a tease:

The world of professional writing can be ... no, that's not right: the world of professional writing is - without a doubt - a very frightening, confusing place.

Not only are there only a few diehard rules – to either slavishly follow or studiously avoid - but even basic trust can be a very, very rare: should I put my work on my site, or will it be stolen?  Should I even send my work out to other writers, for the very same reason? 

What about editors or - especially - publishers?  Does my editor really have my best interests in mind?  Should I make the changes he or she suggests or should I stand my ground and refuse to change even one word?  Is my publisher doing all they can for my book?  Are they being honest about royalties? 

Back in the days of print - before the revolution – a lot of these questions would have been answered by an agent: a person who not only knew the business but would actually hold a writer's hand and lead them from that doubt and fear and, hopefully, towards success ... however you want to define that word.

Agents spoke the cryptic language of rights and royalties: they could actually read – and even more amazingly - understand a book contract.  They'd be able, with their experience and foresight, to say when a writer should say yes or no to edits.

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Out Now: The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of M. Christian

I am extremely pleased and proud to be able to announce the publication of The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of M. Christian

What makes this book so special is that it is made up of stories that have previously appeared in Maxim Jakubowski's excellent Mammoth Book of New Erotica series - an honor that still makes me giggle like a schoolgirl.

What's also cool about this new collection is that it has a little bit of everything ... for everyone: erotic science fiction, queer erotic stories, and more! It's quite literally a book for just about everyone.

The Color of Lust - A shark, seedy poolhall, and a wager ... Daisy knew the hustle but what she didn't count on was being played herself. But in the best possible way.... Everything But The Smell Of Lilies - In the near future, Justine is a sex worker with a unique twist: for a fee her clients can do whatever they want - including kill her. Everything is going well for her ... until, that is, she comes across an ambulance attendant with his own unique fetish.  Betty Came - A sweet, and extra-hot, tale of longing and lesbian desire: what do you do when you know what you is so very wrong ... but feels so very right?  Regrets - Sitting on a chair, arms on the desk, fingers on the keyboard, words on the screen-" the letter is a final goodbye from a fellow to the world he's wronged ... or is it? And if he didn't write it then who did?  The New Motor - A steampunky tale of outrageous turn-of-the-century inventiveness: John Murray Spear created The New Motor, The Mechanical Savior, but it was a special woman who gave it a sexy spark of life ... and then some.  NY by Way of Taos - In a trailer baking in the hot desert sun, two women lose themselves to desire and fantasy: going to new and, for them, unexplored sexual worlds ... like New York City

M.Christian's Technorotica: I See Into The Future!

Reprinted from M.Christian's Technorotica

... or, at least, I wrote about what I saw as the next logical step in personal computers.  In Painted Doll, which I did a few years back - and is now available from Sizzler Editions - I wrote about an alternative culture in New Zealand that used an elegant head-mounted display:


(here's a bit about that, from a letter Flower wrote to her lover about this group - called the Noos - and their tech):

After dinner – did I mention the glasses?  Shit, forgot about them.  Easy to do, I guess.  They're a huge part of the world here, so big you don't even notice them.  Gave me my pair after the first week.  They called them iglasses, a joke they say no one under forty understands.  Which I'm not, so I didn't.  Anyway, they're mnemonic plastic.  They look cheap but they aren't.  Big guy named Star, like a golden bear with a huge bristly beard, told me they'd cost something like 5 million new yen if they sold them, which they don't.  He also told me they are a "mesh networked, micro thermopile powered, molecular computer system with a virtual retinal display" which I don't understand.  But they work, I know that.  You put them on and you can see and hear all this stuff that is and isn't there.  Like you can look at the ground and see where the irrigation pipes are, and then reach out and touch a little icon and then see instructions on how to fix them.  Or look at someone and see their name, what they are good at, what they don't like – stuff like that.  Sometimes it's like cartoons, little symbols and stuff floating around, other times it's like a ghost world that you can but then can't see.  I'm writing with them, too.  They showed me how to get them to show me a keyboard, and then I just touch where the letters are.  Kinda cool, but also kinda creepy.

They use the glasses to talk to one another.  They shoot videos with them, make cartoons, write poems, do all kinds of things, and send them to each other.  They may look like primitive, but they're really wizards with this kind of stuff.  It makes me sad to think how I know that, but I do.  

And now - guess what? - we not only have Project Glass from Google but now rumors that Apple may be getting into the game.

Welcome to the world of tomorrow, people: we're not writing it - we're living it

Creepy Uncle Sam

(via greggorysshocktheater)

What's Going On Today

Check out Technorotica for news, reviews, and other fun stuff about my cybersex stuff

Take a look at Meine Kleine Fabrik for articles, essays and - you guessed it - more fun stuff of a non-fictional nature

And over at Queer Imaginings there's going to be other kinds of cool stuff ... with a queer twist

"I put my whole self into everything I do"

It's so easy to think Andy Griffith was just Sheriff Andy Taylor on The Andy Griffith Show. But you have to - and I mean have to - watch A Face In The Crowd to see just how brilliant an actor he man could be.

Changes!

You may have noticed quite a few differences here on my blog. In a nutshell, quite a a few people have pointed out that my writing is (to be polite) rather scattered: gay fiction and erotica here, science fiction and cyber-erotica there, and - somewhere in the middle - my non-fiction (like my newly released Welcome To Weirdsville).

So what I've done is set up two brand new blogs and tweaked my prime blog here and at meine kleine fabrik to focus a bit more specifically on what I do - in the future my plans are to still post pretty much everything here on M.Christian but then put the appropriate content (plus new and surprising stuff) on the new blogs.

Here are the new blogs and (very) brief descriptions of what's on them:

Click here for M.Christian's Technorotica: A Blog Dedicated To My Technology-Inspired Erotica

Click here for M.Christian's Queer Imaginings: A Blog Dedicated To My Queer Erotica

Click here for M.Christian's Meine Kleine Fabrik: A Blog Dedicated To My Non-Fiction ... and Other Fun Things

... and, of course, Frequently Felt is still around: my - a lobcock of erotic trivialities, oddities, and miscellanea transcribed with jaundiced talent for naught but a boxing Jesuit indulgence by a disreputable posse mobilitatis

Stay tuned for even more changes - but in the meantime please feel free to write me with yours comments or (sigh) look up me on Facebook

Painted Doll, An Excerpt

In celebration of the re-release of my cyberpunk BDSM erotica novel, Painted Doll, here's an except...

Chapter 2

... Qui Dan Road to the High Street, a stumble of crisp British in a city of fish sauce and MSG. The change didn’t alter her steps, modify her movements.

Beautiful? Oh, yes: without doubt, without a question. The splendor of a rose, the loveliness of an orchid. The kimono is flawless, as is the china white of her immaculately applied artificial complexion. As she walks, hearts stop then race. As she walks, heads twist, eyes widen. As she walks, breaths are hissed in, sighed out.

Beautiful? Oh, yes: without doubt, without a question. But she is a knife-edged rose, a razor sharp orchid. Her stride is mechanically perfect, as is her perfectly vertical posture. Their hearts might race, their heads may twist, their eyes certainly widen, their breaths absolutely hiss in and hiss out, but as she steps nearer they instead step back. As she walks, they avert their eyes. As she walks, they pull themselves in.

The woman walking down the High Street feels them watching her, their glances furtive tickles, their quick stares barely felt hooks out of the corners of her always forward facing eyes. Passing a bookseller – tight fans of rough tan paper with lurid Cantonese chops on their glistening plastic covers hung in sagging arcs of cord – a reflection was revealed to her, a caught sight of what they were seeing.

But not what they were thinking. But she knew, nevertheless: each of them lost in illusions and fantasies as carefully crafted as her rouge, as flawlessly presented as the mae migoro and ushiro migoro of her kimono, as immaculately assembled as her performance:

She’s a dragon, some might think: the cruelty of a reptile, the flawlessness of a myth. You may approach her, with bravery beyond that of any battlefield, speaking with a stammer and a twitch, and if you were fortunate beyond your worth she’d slow, pause, turn with prudently measured grace, deeming your presence not completely disgusting. With that look, at that glance, would be a flickering forked tongue of cruel invitation, a scintillating promise of peaked breasts topped with fist-tight nipples, a belly steel plate flat and firm, a behind curving out in twin clenches of muscular intensity, thighs sculpted by rigid posture, and between them a scented valley of ruby silk.

But first, a miniscule task. But first, an all but insignificant request: to firmly stand guard for her honor and dignity; to fetch a inestimable gem, an incalculable jewel, or just a unexceptional sticky-sweet pastry; to perform for her a melody of praise, or a stammering litany of desperate worth; or a quick athletic demonstration of physical merit; or become for her an avenging knight, a battle to defend her honor against some heinous offense.

A minuscule task. An insignificant request. Accepted without doubt or hesitation, the reward a slow curl at the corner of her cold stone face, a bow of gratitude, and a bright flash of serpentine green eyes. Totally entranced by her, completely captured by her, the dragon would then reveal the metaphorical points of venomous teeth, sinking the illusion of her love deep into the shaft of your encouraged penis by showing you the true face of her cruelty.

The prize was yours but the tasks were actually anything but miniscule, not at all insignificant: firmly stand guard for her honor and dignity – for a year; fetch a inestimable gem, an incalculable jewel, or just a unexceptional sticky-sweet pastry – from a thousand miles away; perform for her a melody of praise, or a stammering litany of desperate worth – perfectly, without the tiniest flaw; a quick athletic demonstration of physical merit – unattainable by even the greatest athlete; or become for her an avenging knight, a battle to defend her honor against some heinous offense – in combat against a killing machine.

And so the dragon passes by, a smile on her cold-blooded face. No one approaches her, no one is willing to come near. And so they live, by letting her just walk by.

She’s a doll, some might think: a porcelain figure, an ivory representation. Beneath the silks and satins would be a body as perfect as only a master artisan could create. Breasts both delicate and womanly, nipples as delicate as rosebuds, a belly with an ideal swell, hands with the grace of ten Noh performers, calves a perfect taper, thighs an entrancing form, back a clean surface of alabaster, neck a musical curve, feet delicate and precious, a behind highlighted with sacral dimples, and a female cleft that was a pale oyster and a tiny pink pearl.

Like a doll, she would belong to whoever buys her. Cash, credit, merchandise – the right amount and the woman would instead walk behind, following her owner towards palace or hovel, both with the same unmoving mask of her face.

Palace or hovel, she would walk in the door, standing still and quiet with an item’s posture. Maybe she’d look better in the living room window, where the afternoon would bathe her in golden light? Or perhaps she’d be better exhibited in the bedroom, where her kimono could be removed like one from a real woman.

Yes, the bedroom. That was where she would be best displayed. Moving past, it was clear in their eyes, the allure of her perfect submission. A thing. An object. A piece of feminine sculpture. Unable to disagree, unable to refuse, bendable in all kinds of imaginative ways. From behind, cock sliding between her cool ivory cheeks. Face to face, marble breasts for unimpeded kiss, licks, and sucks. On top, her tight thighs spread apart and welcoming upward thrusts. Anything you wanted, anytime you wanted.

Desire was a rippling wave behind her, a heat distortion in the warm city air. It was obvious in their eyes that there, in her, was a world without ‘no,’ a land without complaint, a woman without a soul.

Then they stopped, that wave of erections and licked dry lips chilled with a slap of frigid revelation. Stepping back with the rest of the crowd, these men retreated from the precise rhythm of her steps, with whimpering fear in their wide eyes, their shaking heads.

Ivory arms, marble legs, alabaster body: inflexible, unfeeling, stiff, unbending, unyielding, and -- worst of all -- cold. With her you’d never hear ‘no,’ never be refused, never be denied, but you’d also never hear the beat of her heart, the music of her voice, the chimes of her laughter, the moans and screams of her pleasure. You’d perform with her your deepest, darkest, most subterranean – and all she would do would be to look at you with inscrutably glass eyes.

She’s a tiger, some might think: a beast with the stripes of a traditional Japanese dress. Hidden beneath her Asian camouflage was a woman’s body, exercised into an extension of her erotic drive. Where other women had euphemisms and poetic alliterations, she had simple, direct, and powerful words to describe herself. Where other women had bosoms, she had tits of ideal jiggle and sway, covered in thrilling smooth skin. Where other women had nipples, she had a pair of dark brown direct connections to her clit. Where other women had posteriors, she had two plush muscular globes that clenched and released with the beating heat of her clit. Where other women had sexes, she had a demanding, insistent cunt.

To see and handle these differences would be more fortune than seduction. You did not take the tiger to dinner and slip hot words between dessert and coffee. You did not lay flowers at the feet of this hot blooded woman within the cool disguise of a geisha. You did not whisper poetry into the shell-like ear of this elegantly robed bitch.

There was no way to make her do anything, no way to slyly allure or simply trick her into a private room, no way to seduce her. The only thing anyone could do was to stand within the range of that sweeping predatory glance and hope that her eyes would positively estimate your worth as a device for her pleasure. Then, and only then, would her red-painted lips open ever-so, more than a whisper but less than full voice, and speak the one word you’d prayed to hear: “Come.”

Behind her, pulled along by her insatiable need, you would follow. It wouldn’t be a long journey, for her cunt has a very short attention span. Cheap hotel on the next street, expensive one even closer by, or just the nearest fetid and slimy alley – whatever was within range.

Patience was for ladies. Hesitation was for women. Tigers – even ones hidden within silks and satins – had no need for foreplay, patience, or hesitation. They wanted, so they took.

And if you were lucky, she would take you. Hands down to your cock, a squeezing judgment for size and firmness. Lips to yours, a tongue penetrating your mouth, am attacking kiss wanting nothing of you but to be kindling to her roaring heat.

On her knees, she would take you. But only because that was what she wanted. Your come was not expected or important. A flesh device to penetrate an orifice, you would be used until she was bored and ready to move onto other penetrations of other orifices.

Or perhaps she’d require something else. Falling back, satin fabric pulled roughly aside, she might bare an insistent slickness, the gleaming lips and fast-beating clit, and demand your service. Failure to accept or in performance too terrible to contemplate.

At the end, your cock would be needed: hard, strong, and fast -- nothing else important to her. Burning hot, insanely wet, you’d enter and execute the task she’d ordered, working until her screams tore at your ears and her nails scratched along your back.

Then that would be it. Humiliating? Being reduced to only a device for someone’s pleasure usually is. But the blistering heat of her, the ferocious need of her cunt would put – and keep – a smile on your sweaty face.

But – and again men standing step back, retreat in shivering dread when she walks back – one does not ever tame a tiger, even after it is fed. Who knows what she might hunger for after? Meat, blood, flesh, dignity, any number of horrible violations – any of them within her grasp, and you too exhausted to resist.

Tigers are wild things, after all: enjoyable to watch in zoos, penned behind restraining bars, but far too bloodthirsty in bed.

She’s a machine, some might think: isn’t it wonderful what they’re doing with shape memory alloys, mnemetic plastics, optical fibers, and conductive polymers? Absolutely wonderful things coming out of Japan, India, the Wilding, and the young turks of the École Polytechnique, these days. Look up and there are dragonfliers pausing for location fixes before darting off at near-invisible speeds, packages clutched under their iridescent fuselages. Look down and there are myriad scurrying mechanisms trailing polished tracks of perfumed cleanliness through the city’s persistent grime. Look around and there are cinematics lazily scrolling across a lady’s fluttering fan, posters for the newest Malasian blockbuster cycling through tantalizing glimpses of furious martial arts and stiffly chaste duets, the hushed commuting fuel-cell and ethanol traffic, and the softly creaking carbon fibers of a prosthetic hand on a crumble-faced veteran of the Chinese genocide as he lays down a mah-jongg tile.

Look at her and you might see a device as carefully machined as a German car, a Swiss watch, a Japanese entertainment center, Indian software, or an African running shoe: breasts as ideal and resilient as silicone, skin of perfectly cured plastic, muscles as precise and strong as actuators, a genital-pleasuring interface between her thighs, a mouth with the same technology.

It was a safe bet that without her protective kimono covering, the pseudo-body of hers was as superlative as a supermodel, as sensuous as a Playmate of whatever month, as adept as an amalgamation of every courtesan who’d ever lived, as refined and machined as her manufacturers could make her.

Movement like the architecture in fine software, presence as authoritative as graceful as a jet fighter, skin as smooth as the polish on a fresh-from-the-factory-floor Ferrari, she passed by – and with her passing the tracking of lust and greed in the eyes of the male crowd, and sour envy on the faces of everyone else.

Here was the best of both of a man’s world: the twin allures of a clever device together with a well-articulated woman – or, to be more specific, as those men revealed so obviously, ‘coupled’ together, a mating between flesh and sex and advanced technology and power. Purchasing this – or simply leasing with an option to do the same – and putting it in the garage or the bedroom, would mean not just a product but also a woman of every dream, not just a sex partner but also a sophisticated piece of fine engineering.

But that wasn’t all. Look at them watching her move by. Lust was there, both for machine as well as woman, but there was also the dawning realization that there could be even more there: things that squeezed, buzzed, vibrated, hummed, heated, cooled, swirled, oscillated, tingled, and more, more, more so much more.

But then they pulled away, out of her way, out of her traffic, their fantasies dropping behind to be passed by the rushing acceleration of a nightmare, the barreling truck of a terrifying understanding.

Engineering, went their minds as they retreated, is fine and good, stimulating and thrilling. Sex, they thought as they ran away from her, is fantastic and wonderful. But to fuck a machine, to be intimate with gears and cogs, synthetics and electricity, hydraulics and radiators, could be good, but also could be like thrusting into a meshing, tearing, burning, shocking, scalding, blistering industrial accident.

What Lives On My Desk