Back in the ‘good old days’ of smut – when pornographers had to haul their steaming piles of sexually explicit materials up four and five flights of stairs – a certain writer with a gleam of sexy potential in his mesmerizing green eyes … okay, I mean me … wrote a column for the fantastic Adrienne at Erotica Readers & Writers called “Confessions Of A Literary Streetwalker.”
Now one of the things I did was part of being a Streetwalker that really took off was a little series I did called “The Four Deadly Sins:” a playful examination of the things that smut writers could do but that could – to put it mildly – make their work a tough sell. The very same “sins” I’ve been posting here on WriteSex.
Fast forward a … decade?! Sigh. Anyway, I had to put aside my Streetwalker days for other things but that little verboten list has always been by my side, especially since I’m now an Associate Publisher for the wonderful Renaissance Books (which includes Sizzler Editions, our erotica line). By the way [COMMERCIAL WARNING] my old columns are now in a dead-tree and ebook collection called How To Write And Sell Erotica [COMMERCIAL ENDS]
The reason why those “sins” stay with me is because one of my Associate Publisher things is to consider books for publication – and still, today, erotica writers don’t seem to understand that while, sure, you can pretty much write whatever you want there are still some things that will more-than-likely keep your work from seeing the light of day. Just for the record, the four are underage (self-explanatory), beastiality (same), incest (ditto) and excessive violence (torture porn or nonconsensual sex). But I’m here to talk about a new one that’s popped up … or ‘pooped out’ to blow the joke.
As you may have heard, an anthology I edited was just released by the great folks at Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions (called, by the way, The Love That Never Dies: Erotic Encounters With The Undead) featuring some truly remarkable stories of ... well, as the description says:
Thousands of books have been written about love and sex between humans and werewolves, vampires, aliens, shapeshifters, ghosts, and other supernatural creatures. But, what about the real, honest, and alluringly bizarre world of the undead. Not just zombies - though a few are stumbling through this anthology - not just the once-alive - but also the differently-living? In these pages you'll discover things shambling out of tombs, existing on whole new plains of existence, and more. In the hands, and minds, of these deeply talented and wonderful writers nothing will be quite what it appears. Buckle yourself in and get ready for a ride will of unexpected twists and turns, where your libido and desires may go in one direction while your brain - screaming all the time "No no no no no no!" - goes the opposite. Including stories from erotic writing celebrities like Laura Antoniou, Nobilis Reed, Jay Lawrence, Billierosie, PM White, Ralph Greco, Jr. - and science fiction/horror stars such as Jean Marie Stine, Ernest Hogan and Chris Devito!
And, speaking of Ernest Hogan - who is a great, great guy as well as a fantastic writer - recently put up a very fun post about his submission, "The Frankenstein Penis" on his blog. Here's a tease:
Just when you thought is was safe to read again, it's baaaaaaaack!
I'm talking about my most infamous story, The Frankenstein Penis, once again available for sale in the anthology Love That Never Dies: Erotic Encounters With the Undeadeditied by M. Christian. It's an ebook, and a paperback is in the works!
This is probably a good time for me explain why I wrote such a bizarre story. Fortunately, I've done it before here at Mondo Ernesto. The saga ofthe story can be found in And the Great Penis Rip-Off Goes On, and I discuss the two student films – and have links to them so you can watch them online – in The Frankenstein Penis: The Movie(s), and More.
As some of you might know - in addition to being the debonair, man-about-town, that I am - I'm also an Associate Editor for the adult entertainment site YNOT (who are wonderful folks, btw) - and here's a brand new one: a great little piece on the (ahem) infamous book Naked Came The Stranger....
Ah, the 1960s — or, to be more precise, the end of that decade: 1969. Richard Nixon was President of the U.S., the Beatles gave their last public performance, the Stonewall riots provided a rallying cry for gay-rights activists, Sean “P. Diddy” Combs was born and.… Oh, yeah — man landed on the moon.
During this frenzy of great achievement, an odd thing happened in the world of publishing. At the time, erotica was dominated by — to be polite — less-than-literary (or, for that matter, literate) fiction by writers like Jacqueline Susann (Valley of the Dolls) and Harold Robbins (The Betsy, The Carpetbaggers). But in 1969, a new star eclipsed the established firmament.
Naked Came the Stranger by Penelope Ashe had it all: sex, sex, sex and even more sex. Sure it was badly written, but something about the novel caught readers’ imagination — more than likely all that sex, sex and more sex. Naked was the Fifty Shades of Grey of its day, skyrocketing up the sales charts until it spent a week on The New York Times Best-Seller List, the pinnacle of publishing success.
But Naked Came the Stranger had what folks in the fiction-writing game call a backstory: a secret history to which readers were not clued in until late in the game. Penelope Ashe, you see, never existed. Naked was penned by a group of 24 professional journalists led by the redoubtable Mike McGrady of Newsday.
Scientists love a mystery. Biologists
used to have the human genome, but now they have the structure of protein. Physics used to have cosmic rays, but now
they have the God particle. Astronomers
used to have black holes, but now they have dark matter.
And then there's the puzzle, the enigma, the joyous mystery that dots the
world over: the riddle of what's commonly called Mima Mounds.
What's an extra added bonus about these cryptic 'whatevertheyares' is that
they aren't as miniscule as a protein sequence, aren't as subatomic as the elusive
God particle, and certainly not as shadowy as dark matter. Found in such exotic locales as Kenya, Mexico,
Canada, Australia, China and in similarly off-the-beaten path locations as California,
Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, and especially Washington state, the mounds first appear
to be just that: mounds of earth.
The first thing that's odd about the mounds is the similarity, regardless
of location. With few differences, the mounds in Kenya are like the mounds in Mexico
which are like the mounds in Canada which are like the ... well, you get the point. All the mounds aer heaps of soil from three
to six feet tall, often laid out in what appear to be evenly spaced rows. Not quite geometric but almost. What's especially disturbing is that geologists,
anthropologists, professors, and doctors of all kinds – plus a few well-intentioned
self-appointed "experts" – can't figure out what they are, where they
came from, or what caused them.
One of the leading theories is that they are man-made, probably by indigenous
people. Sounds reasonable, no? Folks in loincloths hauling dirt in woven
baskets, meticulously making mound after mound after ... but wait a minute. For one thing it would have been a huge
amount of work, especially for a culture that was living hand-to-mouth. Then there's the fact that, as far as can
be determined, there's nothing in the mounds themselves. Sure they aren't exactly the same as the
nearby ground, but they certainly don't contain grain, pot shards, relics, mummies,
arrowheads, or anything that really speaks of civilization. They are just dirt. And if they are man-made, how did the people in Kenya,
Mexico, Canada, Australia, China, California, Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, and especially
Washington state all coordinate their efforts so closely as to produce virtually
identical mounds? That's either one
huge tribe or a lot of little ones who somehow could send smoke signals thousands
of miles.
Not very likely.
Next on the list of explanations is that somehow the mounds were created either
by wind and rain or by geologic ups and downs – that there's some kind of bizarre
earthy effect that has caused them to pop up. Again, it sounds reasonable, right? After all, there are all kinds of weird
natural things out there: rogue waves, singing sand, exploding lakes, rains of fish
and frogs – so why shouldn't mother nature create field after field of neat little
mounds?
The "natural" theory of nature being responsible for the Majorly
Mysterious Mima Mounds starts to crumble upon further investigation. Sure there's plenty of things we don't yet
understand about how our native world behaves scientists do know enough to be able
to say what it can't do – and it's looking pretty certain it can't be as precise,
orderly, or meticulous as the mounds.
But still more theories persist.
For many who believe in ley lines, that crop circles are some form of manifestation
of our collective unconscious, in ghosts being energy impressions left in stone
and brick, the mounds are the same, or at least similar: the result of an interaction
between forces we as yet do not understand, or never will, and our spaceship earth.
Others, those who prefer their granola slightly less crunchy or wear their
tinfoil hats a little less tightly, have suggested what I – in my own ill-educated
opinion – consider to be perhaps the best theory to date. Some, naturally, have dismissed this concept
out-of-hand, suggesting that the whole idea is too ludicrous even to be the subject
of a dinner party, let alone deserving the attention and respect of serious research.
But I think this attitude shows not only lack of respect but a lack of imagination. After all, was it not so long ago that the
idea of shifting continents was considered outrageous? And wasn't it only a few years ago that
people simply accepted the fact that the sun revolved around the earth? I simply ask that this theory be considered
in all fairness and not dismissed without the same serious consideration these now
well-respected theories have received.
After all, giant gophers could very well be responsible for the Majorly Mysterious
Mima Mounds
YNOT – Let's face it: No business, adult or otherwise, can make a dime if no one knows it exists. This is why it's important to listen to people who know what it takes to take an enterprise from obscurity to popularity, especially in these days when social media distracts and anyone can call himself a marketing guru.
That’s where Sherry Ziegelmeyer and Jay Moyes come in. The owners and operators of Black and Blue Media, Moyes and Ziegelmeyer operate quietly behind the scenes of several well-known companies and individuals — companies and individuals they’ve helped transform from unknowns into household names.
Never heard of Black and Blue? There's a reason for that. The company has been around since 2004, but Ziegelmeyer and Moyes cling to an odd notion that what they do is about their clients, not about them. Consequently, you’ve probably seen more evidence of their work than you realize.
Okay, okay, I admit it: Me (the immovable object) finally have surrendered to Facebook (the irresistible force). You can fins my "personal" page here, though I prefer it if people 'like' and follow my author's page.
And since you can never talk about the Hellfire Club without at least mentioning Diana Rigg's (ahem) memorable appearance in The Avengers episode "A Touch of Brimstone" - which was about a modern reincarnation of the club - as The Queen Of Sin!
Since the wonderful Bill Mills and the fantastic Jean Marie Stine of Renaissance/PageTurner Editions were so wonderful to create the Did You Know? video series to promote my new book, Welcome To Weirdsville, I thought the least I could do was share my article about the Hellfire Club from the book ... so here it is. Enjoy!
HELLFIRE!
History has not been kind to them.
If you can even find references to their Brotherhood it's usually shaded
with Christian hysteria, whispered tales loaded with the usual Catholic shockers
of Satanism, sacrifice, the black mass, rituals – you name it. They say that the winners write the history
books – well, I consider it a bad sign that it takes a lot of digging to uncover
the truth: while they haven't won they certainly have a good enough foothold to
pretty badly taint the memory of the Amorous Knights of Wycombe.
Even if you travel to their later meeting place, the sleepy little hamlet
of West Wycombe, the locals spout the nonsense – telling tales laced with those
Christian bogeymen images: hooded figures droning a litany of forbidden words while
a naked offering is laid out on cold granite, awaiting the ritual blade in the hands
of a Satanic Priest.
While the truth about the membership of the Monks of Medmenham, and later
the Amorous Knights of Wycombe, isn't as – well – Hammer Films material, the tale
of its founding, membership, and rites is fascinating.
Oh, to be in England in the 1760s.
The Colonies were behaving themselves, the Great British Empire was just
that, and everyone – so it seemed – belonged to a club. There was one for just about every class,
interest, or occupation: The Lying Club, where the truth was banned; the Ugly Club
where the qualifications for membership were unhandsome, at best; the Golden Fleece
where members took on such names as Sir Boozy Prate-All, Sir Whore-Hunter, and Sir
Ollie-Mollie.
Then there was the Monks of Medmenham Abbey. Meeting clandestinely on a spot of land somewhere along the Thames
near London, this circle of Gentlemen came to typify the age, the era of the Great
English Clubs.
Sir Francis Dashwood is one of my heroes – roguish, yet always the stalwart
Gentleman; a prankster and jape, yet the author of the Book of Common Prayer – Sir Francis was the center and guiding force
behind the very special club, the one later to be known by the misnomer, the Hellfire
Club.
Born in 1708, and an indirect descendent of Milton ("tis better to rule
in Hell, than serve in Heaven"), Sir Francis was a great supporter of reforms
as well as artistic advances. His estate
at West Wycombe became an example progressive architectural design and intelligent
land management. He was elected an
MP 1762, in appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer the following year – and then
the year after that elevated to the House of Lords. To add to these wonderful accomplishments, in 1766 (under Pitt)
Dashwood was appointed Postmaster-General. Sir Francis, you see, was a man of accomplishment, of intelligence,
ability, and – most certainly – wit.
Oh yes, for while Sir Francis was elevating his way through Parliament, he
also created, and pretty much single-handedly maintained, his own special club. Unlike those other eccentric clubs of the
time the Monks of Medmenham Abbey was a special organization – one dedicated to
japing the Papists, providing a place where a gentleman of wit and sophistication
might find a place to meet, drink, and – in general – raise a little hell.
The Monks certainly did that.
First at their hidden little island, set inside a false ruin of an old Abbey,
they met – clandestine greetings across the cool waters of the Thames, lanterns
and torches lighting the way, the Monk-robed members gathering together to eat,
drink, share amusing anecdotes and fuck like bunnies.
While there were definitely intellectual intercourse at those meetings of
the Monks of Medmenham Abbey, it was rather plain-old-simple intercourse that kept
them coming back. After 1763, when
the cloaked and torch-bearing Monks had attracted some undue attention, they moved
local to Dashwood's own estate in West Wycombe – where the Lord de Despencer had
constructed a veritable erotic, playful interpretation of Hades on – and under –
Earth.
The hills around West Wycombe are soft chalk, ideal for tunneling – and that's
just what Sir Francis did. With his
artistic and architectural eye he created a veritable maze of tunnels, underground
rivers, chambers and gardens on his property, decorated with elaborate erotic sculptures,
teasing portraits of the Knights of Wycombe (such as depicting Sir Francis with
halo), and many small chambers for intercourse of both kinds. It was at Wycombe that the real Hellfire
club began, a festive playground where the political, artistic, and intellectual
elite of England met – engaging in dalliances with some of the most famous of London
prostitutes. My favorite little jape
of the society is that while it is pretty much incontrovertible that Ladies-of-Rentable-Virtue
were present, it is also believed that – since both 'Monks' and 'Nuns' wore veils
or masks, and identities kept very secret – lovers, wives, sisters, and daughters
of other members were also there.
Now before you imagine (you filthy creature you!), English artists and intellectuals
running around in a white-wig version of Porky's,
let me reassure you that while Eros was a major focus of the Knights, it was handled
with grace and dignity – the Nuns could refuse any offer, or accept any offer, as
they saw fit. It was a place of playful
perversity, where free-thinkers could gather together to titter and mock the oppressive
Jacobites and their domineering Pope.
Rituals were held, yes, but with all the seriousness of rowdy jesters.
And what jesters they were – and this is what elevated the Amorous Knights
of Wycombe to memorable heights. I've
told you of Sir Francis, peer by day, Monk by night, but the other members – particularly
the inner circle – shine with their own randy double-lives. Just listen to this litany of the famous
and infamous who all took part in the elaborate games and fanciful parties in and
under West Wycombe hill: The Earl of Sandwich (for whom the food was named), First
Lord of the Admiralty; Thomas Potter, Paymaster-General, Treasurer for Ireland and
son of the Archbishop of Canterbury; John Wilkes, MP, and Lord Mayor of London;
Frederick, the Prince of Wales; Horace Walpole, Politician and author; Edmund Duffield
and Timothy Shaw, the Vicars of Medmenham; Chevalier D'Eon de Beaumont, French diplomat;
and – even possibly – our own bawdy intellectual, Benjamin Franklin. In addition to these noteworthies, West
Wycombe also admitted the well-spoken rake or two, and some famous artists such
as Giuseppe Borgnis, and Robert Lloyd.
Alas, nothing is forever – the tide turned, and when the now-Papal friendly
popular opinion discovered the existence of our festive Monks, the scandal almost
brought down the government with them.
Even its own sense of nasty jape seem to have had a hand in the club's fading. During one particularly intense mock black
mass, ever-the-rogue John Wilkes took an ape, affixed it with a devil mask and released
it during the service. The outrage
was wonderfully hysterical – though telling that the Earl of Sandwich (said by many
to be very ugly, and very ugly tempered) was said to have fallen to his knees and
said, "Spare me, gracious devil.
I am as yet but half a sinner.
I never have been so wicked as I pretended!"
The last meeting took place in 1762, shaken by scandal, internal conflicts,
the Monks simply fell apart. The caves
fell into disrepair after the death of Dashwood, and soon the horror stories of
the evil rites held there had hidden the truth; that it was once the festive and
mocking domain of the Amorous Knights.
On a closing note, I have to relate one of my favorite events during the later
part of the society. In a bitter hypocrisy
after the foundering of the club, that disreputable Earl of Sandwich had the notorious
wit John Wilkes on the stand – in no doubt an act of revenge. Proving himself beyond a shadow of a doubt
that he was completely, utterly wicked, Sandwich belabored his previous fellow-monk
until, in a fit of frustration at Wilke's calm and witty rejoinders proclaimed,
"Sir, you will either die on the gallows, or by the pox!"
To which, in a perfect closing to this tale of elegant mischief, Wilkes responded,
without batting an eye: "That depends, Sir, on whether I embrace your principals
– or your mistress."
I can't ever say it enough: I have some truly incredible friends: just check out this post by dear friend, Ralph Greco, Jr., over at the Von Gutenberg site about my new book Welcome to Weirdsville:
Well-known writer, part-time rapscallion and full-time great friend of us all here at Von Gutenberg, M. Christian sees not only the release of his new Welcome To Weirdsville from Renaissance E Books/PageTurner Editions but also a five part video series connected with it called Did You Know? (see it here) written Renaissance publisher Jean Marie Stine and produced by media master, Bill Mills.
Prolific scribe that he is (the guy has 400 stories published in anthologies alone!) we know M. Christian’s ability to not only turn a phrase but to unearth some of the most interesting tidbits on a subject, as he does in the non-fiction pieces he has penned for us and in WTW you’ll find more of the same as we learn about a noble Word War 1 German pirate, the City of Fire, the giggling genius of Brian G. Hughes, The Antikythera Device and much much more.
Welcome To Weirdsville is a must for any student, devotes or those of us with a passing interest in marquis weirdness written about with unmatched aplomb.
I am ... speechless. This is just so damned cool: as a very special celebration of the release of my book Welcome to Weirdsville, Renaissance E Books/PageTurner Editions presenting a five part series Did You Know? written by our publisher Jean Marie Stine and produced by by our resident magnificent media master, and great guy, Bill Mills.
"A wonderful compendium of interesting subjects and fascinating topics. Will keep you reading just to found out what's going to be covered next. Highly recommended for all lovers of weird & wonderful this side of the Universe." -Avi Abrams, Dark Roasted Blend.
Peek under the rugs, open more than a few drawers, peek in the back shelves and you'll find that ... well, Lord Byron himself said it best: "Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction." Lakes that explode, parasites that can literally change your mind, The New Motor, a noble Word War 1 German pirate, the odd nature of ducks, the War Magician, the City of Fire, men and their too big guns, a few misplaces nuclear weapons, an iceberg aircraft carrier, the sad death of Big Mary, the all-consuming hunger of the Bucklands, the giggling genius of Brian G. Hughes, the Kashasha laughter epidemic.... Ponder that in a world that holds things like kudzu, ophiocordyceps unilateralis, The Antikythera Device, The Yellow Kid, Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka, Alfred Jarry, Joseph Pujol, and suicide-bombing ants ... who knows what other kinds of wonders as well as horrors may be out there?
Welcome to Weirdsville
M. Christian
$9.99
PageTurner Editions
183 Pages Available where all ebooks are found
