Another quickie

Obviously the post right below this is announcing the wrong information.

I’m on WordPress now. Blogger never imported right, and my blog was ‘off’ with some strange error that made its homepage an error page but made a better URL valid some of the time, and redirect other times…

Plus, blogger refuses to integrate with flickr from what I can see, and I’m not sure of its content policy now that google owns it. WordPress let me declare this blog as a mature blog – as it should be. I suspect it will be a while before anyone reads this, I need to redirect my blog, fix my asstr links, and more…

Oh, for those wondering after reading some old posts here. I left NIS years ago. I found too many contributors were going in directions I had ethical difficulties with. My protagonist was older for a reason… You’ll note that her story ends years later… there’s a tale in the middle there, I’ve been thinking of writing. But its not a pleasant one.

Long ago when my first breakout story became a hit in online erotica, I was asked to write a sequel. I refused, because it was a contained tale. One reader went so far as to write the sequel and email it to me. I deleted that email without reading it. Harsh, but I did not want to be spoiled. Turned out to have been the right decision… later encounters left me and that author at ethical odds.

It has been a LONG time since I wrote erotica. I’ve got plenty of stories inwork, and no idea if I will ever been them forth. But I am regularly in Second Life. As either Tenyari Inkpen or Input Zero.

Just a short post…

Just a short post, to announce moving over to blogger’s new method, and to see if I’ve finally fixed what kept this blog from working for the last year and a half.

It had said I’d migrated, but kept giving errors anytime I tried to post or go to it or anything else… So I found a way to download an ‘xml’ file of it, and then upload that right back, and it appears to be visible again.

No longer at asstr, sadly. So there goes -ALL- my readership. But oh well, I’ll manage somehow.

Since 2009 I’ve been a Second Life junkie of sorts, which is one of my new excuses for not writing anymore. 🙂

This is my Second Life Profile Page – Tenyari Inkpen

Back in the day they made you pick a last name, so I kept hitting refresh on the list of last names until I came up with a writer sounding one. Now you can’t even have a last name if you want one… so I made just ‘tenyari‘ as an alt but have only logged into that alt once.

Here’s what I look like in Second Life now, different from what you see in the post below:

And another view:

I’ve gone neko, through I’m also often on an alt of mine who wavers between human and a na’vi / twi’lek look:

Feel free to contact me in Second Life about my writing or anything else.

Of late in Second Life, I’ve also become a mentor for new members of the ‘Adult Content’ community. You can see me in this role, or meet others helping in this topic, here:
Adult Hub

See you in Second Life, and hopefully I’ll actually finish my next story someday

A rescued post – "Oh hai. I can haz blog"

Below is the last post I made to the old blog, right after Blogger switched over the way they do things. As a result I’d made this one by actually manually editing the HTML on my old site… which was a pain to get uploaded.

From May, 2010:

Oh hai. I can haz blog?


So here’s something I haven’t done in a few years; post to this old blog of mine.

In the time I’ve been away, it looks like blogger has removed the ability to use its toolset for posting external blogs. In other words, the ability to post to asstr through blogger.
So if I keep this thing going, it’s going to have to be done manually.

So where have I been? Well, I’ve not been so active in writing for a while. Life has been hectic. Everyone knows the economy of the late 00s hasn’t been a picnic. In the time since I was an active writer I’ve gone to and finished graduate school. But I graduated right as the economy went down the drain, and life has been rough.

While in school I took up researching and writing on human trafficking; a topic of great concern to me. Some of my fiction in the past may have hinted at this, but I am quite the feminist and quite concerned with human rights and empowering victims.
Many of my stories back in the day thus focused on a person put into a shocking situation, empowering herself, and taking ‘ownership’ of her reality; mastering it rather than letting it overcome her.

From AI girl through to Alandra, that’s been a consistent backdrop of otherwise erotic tales. Peppered in there has been a healthy dose of caution about the dangers of the new world economy; globalization and capitalism without the spread of democracy.

That’s how I tackled the ‘Program’ of NIS: it saw itself as the new way to better humanity, but it was just as much a tyranny as a liberation, and my protagonist has to try and subvert it to empower herself, and yet nonetheless falls prey to her own environment and lack of perspective.

I’ve written quite a lot since then, but it consists of a series of unfinished stories. Chief among this is one with a prospective title of ‘Life on Venus.’

Life on Venus tells to story of a person from the ruins of Earth being taken to a colony on Venus. She goes from a world of scavenger surviving to a lush society in space. From being unaware she is even female, unaware that there even are sexes, to living in a world where women are bottomless and notions like the ‘presenting’ of NIS form a solid foundation of the social system.

It is erotica after all, and its got a healthy dose of sex, even though I think I was on page 70 or so before the first scene of intercourse.

Here’s a little teaser, but keep in mind this is a draft, alpha revision at that. You’re looking at stream of thought here:

My name, well; like most people, wasn’t much to take pride in. I was 69-23121903-404907355. That was my ID number, that’s what I had to legally answer to, and there wasn’t anymore than that. Well, among friends I was just ’69’. I think it referring to my hatching order, I’d been the 69th person to come out of my birthing chamber that day in the city of New York.

Given the crowds, I never did quite understand why the government still produced us; but there you had it. I guess every society just needed it’s toiling masses.

My life was one of roaming the ruins, breathing in toxic fumes, living on a dump, and hoping to stay one day ahead of the next plague, cancerous blight, or murderous rampage.

I was nineteen cycles old when the feds pulled me off the street. I guess, for a thrall; that made me old. Most of the people I’d grown up with were already long dead.

— That part is in conflict with a later theme where I have her living in New York in an almost feral hunter state, even hunting her fellow citizens, as they rumage through the city for things to sell to the ‘people of the dome cities.’ Obviously I need to pick one of these paths and run with it. Her Earth past is only a short part of the story, but she refers back to it often and it often shapes her reaction to events on Venus

Another teaser:

“69?” the woman who’d come out after me asked.

“Wow!” I said. “88 right? You look… different.” I looked at the name tag dangling on a cord between her enormous breasts. It said Eladia N. Orleans. She sat down beside me on a cushion. We were in a waiting room of some kind. No windows, just a steady stream of other ‘new women’ coming in, and a couple Venusians moving about taking notes.

“Melani… I like that, it fit’s you,” she said. “Melani N. York. And you’re barely anything like the ‘thrall’ I remember.” I liked her milky skin and long wavy fire-red hair. And I liked how it felt when she ran her fingers through my black strands.

“Oh no!” she gasped out, holding up a hand. I looked, some of those strands were stuck in her fingers.

“Quick,” I said. “Put them back!” I didn’t want the Venusians to see that I might be defective.

“Good idea,” she said, trying to stuff the stray strand back into my head. I didn’t tell her that I could see one of her strands on the floor next to her. Rather, I put my foot over it when one of the Venusians passed us.

For her part, the Venusian just giggled, shook her head, and walked away.

One of them kept touching herself whenever she talked of going to ‘Sparta.’ I watched for a bit in rapt curiosity as her vulva became puffy and red with the touching.

She turned away when one of her companions scolded her, “you’re going to freak out the new girls if you let that run it’s course,” she was told.

“They looked freaked out enough as it is,” she said in response, pointing right at ’88’, who still had her hands in my hair.

’88’, or rather Eladia, quickly took her hand back and folded it under her butt. She tried her best to look innocent. I just cast my eyes down, trying to hide. The Venusians however, just laughed and continued with their notepads.

I like teasers, so here’s two more. This first one is her first site of the -inside- of the Venusian space station’s open city area:

I thought we were in space. But I could see clouds. The streets were crowded with people walking in every direction. More people than I’d ever seen. And many of them were smiling. They looked healthy, happy, and busy. A stream of them everywhere.
No vehicles. There was a riot of different building styles, and many of them were connected by walkways. On the first walkway, maybe fifteen levels up, I could see small vehicles going by – what I would later learn were bicycles.

No one had weapons, no one seemed to be guarding territory, and I couldn’t see any hunters.

Almost every last one of them was, much like Eladia, Daphne, and myself; bottomless. But I did see a few with pants on.

They looked strange. Then it clicked for me. “Are those… men?”

Daphne giggled. “Of course silly. You’d think you’d never seen a man before.” I figured I could tell her that, more or less, I never had. The way I’d seen ’13’ before didn’t really count after all.

“Why don’t we have pants?” Eladia asked. Daphne just kept giggling.

“Silly dirt-pounders…” she said. “Welcome to New Lesbos girls. The subway’s only a block over.” She looked around. “What a city…”

“You’re not from here?” I said. I glanced around as well, a reflex motion. I noticed something strange about the horizon in the distance – it curved up, not down, eventually fading into a haze.

“Oh no… I’m a native of New Minoa. Though I did do college in Sparta…” she grinned at the mention of Sparta. “Now that was an adventure.”

And finally, a lesson from Ms. Manners:

“You’re going to have to explain that presenting thing to me,” I said.

She was doing stretches. The entertainment screen was showing women in a group doing synchronized movements, and she was trying to copy them. Her legs were spread wide apart and she had managed to stretch down and do a perfect split. Then without interrupting it, she bent down and almost managed to touch her hands to the floor while they were stretched above her head. “Yeah,” she called out. “Wake up Eladia and we can have a chat.”

Later as we lounged about the living room she explained presenting.

“So,” Eladia said. “They can just make you display yourself like that anytime, anywhere?”

“Well, you have to show them whatever it is they want to see,” Daphne said. “But of course, away from the apartment they can’t make you take off any clothes.”

“But, if they want to look inside your vagina, you have to spread yourself open, or let someone else do it. Of course if you’re worked up enough, it might not need spreading.” She blushed.

“But what about the touching?” I said.

“Oh yeah, unless your in Sparta they have to ask,” she said.

“Sparta?” I said.

“Yeah, the other city. In Sparta as long as you’re not busy, they can touch you any way they want, any time they want. Men there can have sex with any woman they find,” Daphne said.

“Anywhere anytime?” I said, a little surprised.

“Well…” she said. “As long as you’re not too busy, like if you’re working, at something that isn’t public service, or if you’re trying to get somewhere, you can say no. But if you’re just there, or you’re shopping, or chatting up your mates – yeah, they can and will just screw you then and there.”

“Oh my,” I said. “They just come up and put their fingers right into you?”

Daphne laughed, hard. She even rolled over for a second and kicked out. “No silly, not their fingers. Their cocks. In Sparta, they can fuck you, right there in public.”

“What’s a cock?” Eladia asked. I tried to pretend being cool enough to know.

Daphne gave us the strangest look though. “Yeah…. that’s right… You dirt-pounders really don’t mix the sexes at all do you…”

We shrugged at her. “Yeah,” I said.

Daphne picked up her dildo and said, “its kind of like this. They put it in you.”

“So…” I looked at her dildo. Now I understood its shape at least. Eladia just looked shocked.

“But they can only do that in Sparta?” Eladia asked.

“Well, they can ask here in Minoa, but not in public,” Daphne said. “And there’s no presenting at all in Lesbos.”

“Really?” I said. “Why not?”

She just shrugged. “I dunno. That’s the capital though. Where the Queen and Crone’s Council sit. Only women can make you present there, and only to other women of a lower status.”

I remembered something from my nanite education. The Venusian Federation was a matriarchy. The Queen, as she was called, was really just the head woman of the Crones council. It seemed odd that a country run by women would have all the women bottomless and let the men have so many liberties with them outside of the Capital.

“I just don’t get this whole presenting thing,” I said.

“Well… I dunno. But you know, there really aren’t as many men,” Daphne said.


We spent the afternoon getting something of an education. All the little details our nanite training hadn’t covered. The nanite training had been about things like reading, math, using a restroom, not continuing cannibalism, and some basic history. Daphne told us about regular life.

We learned we had to keep our breasts covered outside, except in Lesbos or a park. In formal situations we had to wear gloves, shoes, a hat, and a good clit ring. We could go barefoot anywhere otherwise, but it was seen as tacky unless you were doing something sporty.

We learned how she shaved her pussy, and that something about our hormone treatments meant we didn’t need to. She told us we were expected to have a dildo with us, to make presenting easier. We could touch ourselves and even cum pretty much anywhere, unless the situation called for people being quite or busy.

Maybe you can see how I managed to get so far before hitting a full MF sex scene. Its up to 88 pages right now, and maybe half done with -just- the initial draft. Then I’ll have to go back and do revisions, get rid of inconsistencies, and tighten up for the plot.

Otherwise life goes on. Another thing that has kept me very busy is joining Second Life

I’m not too present there as Tenyari, but I do have an avatar as a Point of contact for me:

Tenyari Inkpen

Here’s a pic of what my ‘Avatar’ in Second Life currently looks like:

Though I am often in furry form instead:

If you’re in Second Life, and you are or were one of my readers, or a fellow erotica writer, drop me an instant message in there and say hi.
Hopefully I’ll be able to finish the Venus story, or one of my other stories, and get back in cycle on writing.

May 29, 2010.

Another story, my hopeful next after I finish my Alandra piece.

Here’s a little prelude of something I’ve been working on…

About half of chapter one… not yet edited 🙂


Title: Justicia Cabrera – Naked Cop
Author: Tenyari
Part: 1
Universe: Naked Future
Keywords: MF FF cons rom viol interr F-solo exhib bi (F) ScFi NiS Naked
Summary: After Justicia busts a mob boss, she becomes tangled in a web of trouble.
Copyright: August 8, 2002 / April 16, 2006 – all rights reversed.

Comment: This takes place in a ‘post Naked in School’ future where the politics of the day have become a little off-key.

Yakov was getting nervous. He’d sent her out of bed the night before, after his meeting, and he’d left early that morning to ‘handle things’ in Napa. Something was going down today but he was holding out on her.

Instead of working the score, she was sitting at a café along Embarcadero sipping a latte and watching traffic coming in from Oakland over the Bay Bridge. Waiting for Yakov, in her afternoon best. Top Nigerian design, the height of fashion. It was a choker heat collar, belt, bracelets and anklets, and a set of black inch tall heels. Naked otherwise, save for the imported Russian dildo strapped to her belt, a gift from her patron, the man of the hour.

Typical of San Francisco in the fall, it was cold and windy, and were it not for the heat bands, she would’ve been freezing her naked ass off. Like so many of the up and coming, she was well off enough to not need clothing, well off enough to show her body in all its glory even in the cold Pacific fog.

Seeing the air bus approach, she took up her compact and made to adjust the blush on her nipples. Yakov was on that ship, and he always liked them shiny. A wet pussy, ready to fuck, with shiny nipples – he was a simple man, with simple needs, not caring to look beyond a girl’s cunt or she would have been dead by now. She watched it drift down from the sky and dock by the ferry building where boats once came in generations past.

She looked over her face, just to make sure everything was in place. A pretty Hispanic, with her red hair in a braided tail. Mestizo by race. A different face, not hers, but close. She glanced over her body, checking herself before he came. She was slim and athletic, with moderate breasts, kept perky with the wonders of modern medicine. A century ago she might have passed for twenty one, twelve years younger than the truth.

As a tall Russian gentleman approached she casually looked across the street to the clock mounted on the ferry building. “3:30 Yakov – you do like to keep a lady waiting,” she said. Her eyes though, took in the young man casually scanning a newspaper from an old wooden bench at the water’s edge across the street. Behind him she could see the railing on the sidewalk edge before it dropped into the bay, and beyond that a view of where the bridge tunneled right through the hill of Yerba Buena Island.

*Paolo, what are you doing here?* she sent across the private channel, a line she’d had dead for almost a month.

“Maria, how thoughtless of me. It’s always a pleasure to meet you, my little rose petal. I apologize but business kept me detained,” Yakov said.

*DA’s taking him down Justicia,* a voice whispered into her head.

*Now? In this public place? I still need to finalize shipment details,* she told the voice in her head. The man across the street turned the page of his paper, more of a digital thing, with an animated effect to look like turning pages.

*There’s two goons behind him and I think that trio at the corner table is more than they seem. I’m going to have Joey flush them out to be sure,* the voice told her.

*I’ve been watching them, you may be right. Who else is here?* she told the voice, avoiding a glance at the tall blond woman with two men sitting to her left.

All of this said in the slight moment it took Yakov to put out his hand, forcing her to rise and greet him. Up to his usual form, Yakov drank in her form and kissed her hand in mock European sophistication. His eyes lingered over her shaven crotch, noting the non-smear red lipstick she’s chosen for her labia and the little rose tattoo he’d gotten for her the week before. Always an easy man to manipulate; in a changed world, Yakov still fell for all the old tricks.

*We’ve got a full SWAT team ready,* the voice said. *DA’s taking his Pacific Heights place in five minutes. We get him now, or the Feds move in by five.* The voice in her ear said.

*My case isn’t ready,* She told the voice, eyeing Yakov’s two business associates as they took seats at a table across her from the unknown trio. Playing the role of goons, they looked bored and seemed to pay attention to nothing in particular, causally ordering sandwiches and coffee when it came their turn with the waitress.

*Shit Paolo, you could’ve warned me,* the redhead sent to the voice in her head.

*Nice to hear from you too, detective Cabrera,* the voice replied.

As for Yakov, to say he leered at her would be an understatement. The poor man practically drooled his desire. But that was his way and Maria had grown accustomed to it over the weeks of this job. Perhaps a bit of casual conversation before the full bait. “Is Anya well? How’s her trip?”

*At least let me try to get what I need, and get him off guard,* she told the voice.

*Usual signal…* it said back.

“She sends her regards, Saint Petersburg is lovely this time of year. The reconstruction is almost complete. She misses your taste; as do I.” Yakov slipped a foot from his shoe and ran it up the redhead’s thigh into her pussy under the table, sending a warm wave through her. He was a good lover, it would be a waste; but this was business. A part of her wondered how clean that foot was.

“Oooh… but… We have business to discuss…” The redhead leaned back, spreading her legs up onto the two empty chairs between them to give him better access. Seemingly ignoring her own advice. If the other patrons noticed they went about their business. In these times the site of a woman in a lustful embrace was no longer much to ponder over.

*Don’t take too long Justicia,* the voice whispered in her ear. *The boys are getting hot waiting in the van. You don’t want them too distracted when you need them…*

The man across the street kept reading his newspaper, oblivious to the world around him. He wore leather chaps, something of a retro fashion for the city; and a 7″ cock dangled limply between his legs; despite the breeze. His jacket partly concealed behind the digital screensheet news.

Yakov’s foot diddled at Maria clit. His glance went to her dildo, but she shook her head no.

A pigeon hopped from pecking at something near his boot to two teenage girls sitting in their body paint and heat collars on a nearby bench; giggled and obviously aroused by his presence. One of them began to masturbate as the other turned to the sound of a skateboard rolling down the broad lane of the waterfront.

A well toned Chinese boy in his mid teens rode atop that skateboard. Headphones in his ears blaring out the latest tunes, hat on backwards, long shorts and bare chest.

“Hey Analog!” the bodypainted girl with free hands called out.

“Yeah? Can a hoverboard do this?” the boy yelled back. He crossed over to the café’s side. Doing a few flips here and there.

Suddenly he was all left feet as his board flipped out from under him to come crashing into the end table where the trio sat in idle conversation. The boy soon followed landing in the lap of a blond woman in a long bare breasted and crotchless gown, it’s straps forming a ‘X’ between her bosom and up around behind her neck. The move was executed with perfect perfection and he lay there staring up the base of her bosom taking in her nipples and licking his lips. Then he winked.

Of course his moment didn’t last. The three of them rushed up from their chairs knocking the boy to the floor. Anyone watching would have seen his careful eye as he appeared to be tumbled about by their commotion and rose to a stream of apologies for his clumsiness, wriggled free of one man’s grasp, grabbed his board, gave the men a peace sign, and rushed off down the street glancing longingly at the girl stroking her clit on the bench across the way.

“Way to go analog boy!” the other girl called out.

One of the men spoke in quick Russian words and all three sat down, the other man glaring off to where the boy had gone around a corner. The woman seemed to be sizing up Yakov’s Maria.

*Joey says the three on your left are all armed,* the voice in her head called out. *The woman might have implants, but her thermal’s normal.*

Yakov paused a moment in his task “Hey, that was getting good” his redheaded companion cooed from her chair “Don’t stop over some clumsy kid, he didn’t bump us anyway.”

Yakov grinned wishing it wasn’t his toes getting soaked under that table. But he had business to attend to. “It’s all there, ready for you to go to work; just like the last job,” he said.

The last job… the things you had to do these days to set it all in line. The redhead took the small disk from him as she pulled her PDA out from its clip at her belt. She left the accompanying package on the table. The disk went in and her PDA went to life. The usual bits of revisionist propaganda, packaged for invasion into the American memes. As far as Yakov knew, Maria was one of the best meme-hacks on the west coast.

“The same as last time?” she said.

Yakov nodded, running a hand affectionately along her wrist. It was her job to take the memes and get them going on the net, put them on tongues in all the hot brothels, clubs, bath houses, and poetry groups – anywhere the -new and gnu- went to be seen and heard. The method of meme-pushing was a little like the subliminal advertising of the previous century. Only through riding the iconosphere of each key target’s personal net, the result was much, much more intrusive – like spyware riding your dreams and the corners of your vision.

“And this other stuff?” she asked. The real gold was the second half of the disk. It held a series of candid shots of important people in city business. All of them taken in the company of a six year old Asian girl. She was Filipino by the looks of it but too young to be sure.

The redhead paused, she knew one of those faces on that disk all too well. She covered it with a low moan as Yakov continued to work his toes in her cunt.

Yakov thought he knew what he was doing. He had confidence – he had game. But like anyone with a belief in his own greatness, he was losing his edge.

When the Russian mafia first started up they were crude, violent, yet effective. The efforts of police around the world had toned them over the generations. Now they operated like the best the old KGB had ever offered up.

It was never meant to be a Russian who did the real dirty deed. You always got outsiders, dupes who did it for some cause or a little cash. Disposable people. People who couldn’t trace back too far in the chain once caught. The target never really knew who was pulling the strings. They often never even knew the mob was at the root of it.

She’d been working with him for over a half a year now. Most people wouldn’t get far in that time. Most of them would’ve been floating in the Bay by now. But she was good at what she did. She’d warmed her way into his bed early on, into his heart not much later, and finally into his trust. He was getting sloppy in his old age. Forty was old for a gangster after all.

“A little favor,” Yakov said. She read the info blurb.

The task was simple, a matter of negotiation. The people on one side of an issue lacked leverage over the people on the other. They came to Yakov, he arranged to give them that leverage. The woman he knew as Maria, his little rose petal of a pussy, worked in the discrete business of bringing the leverage into the dealings.

Yakov would call it smoothing the flow of business, but it was nothing more than an old fashioned somewhat sloppy game of blackmail. She wondered why he was bothering with such a pedestrian affair, even given who it targeted. His influence, his finesse, had clearly fallen.

Illegal memetics had potential, but to date his had all been minor. She was sure there was something more to his game, if only she could stay in a little longer.

But this time he’d handed over the gold, the girl was merchandise to Yakov, but she would also be his downfall. A simple sex tape wouldn’t do in today’s world of open sexuality, but a child, that was dangerous. Now she knew Yakov was linked to a trafficking ring, even if just a bit player, but it was still too little details, and too late in the game.

“They’ll be informed by the end of tonight. I’m a professional Yakov. I won’t disappoint you. But first I need a little favor for my rose garden, I’m sure you won’t mind.” With that she dropped her feet back to the ground and rose to sit in Yakov’s lap. Reaching down she freed his manhood from his pants. An old world gentleman; Yakov still hid his cock when he wasn’t using it.

In short order she mounted him, right there on the open street in the middle of an outdoor café. His cock slid into her pussy with practiced ease and she began to grind her ass into his lap.

A delivery van pulled up beside the café; a Korean woman in loose coveralls got out carrying in a package, briefly sweeping an envious gaze over the sex play before her.

The redhead rode Yakov with obvious pleasure, facing away from him and locking eyes with the woman at the table of three that had been behind her. Several patrons turned to watch. The waitress served the only waiting table and left her tray behind as she walked over and kneeled before them for a better view. As she pulled up to the tip of his cock, the waitress gave Yakov’s shaft a slight kiss, and then followed up to suck in the woman’s clit.

On any other day she would welcome the added attention. This wasn’t the first time this waitress had made the offer but it was the first she found herself being pushed away by the red haired Hispanic woman’s hands. A bit confused she got up and retrieved her tray; her own juices happily dripping down a silver chain dangling from her vulva to gather on a small heart pendant at the bottom.

In current times; most women and quite a few men in the service industry worked nude; it paid better and tipped exceedingly well. Sexual interaction with the clientele was an added perk in such cases, encouraged by savvy management when it became clear that it only served to bring in more youthful and spend free customers.

Yakov began to finger the clit of the woman he knew as Maria. She moaned in pleasure, resting her hands on his thighs to steady her grinding hips. She used a tossing motion of her head to make a count of everyone in the area. Replaying the image on her optical relay and pulling IDs to see who was who.

She didn’t want any innocents caught up in the events. Out here in public things could already get nasty enough with an extra body getting tangled in it. As she rode Yakov she put her stare on the woman across the next table. She couldn’t see the guns Joey had pegged; but she knew better than to doubt him. Those three would be trouble. She knew Yakov’s two goons, knew what risks she could take with them. She wasn’t sure why those three were there, and even Yakov might not know. These Russian mobsters seemed to love secrets. Maybe they were just here to get a good look at her so they could finish her off before Yakov got foolish. She knew he had begun to compromise himself in his infatuation with her ‘flower’. But then, that was the whole point of the exercise. Maybe they were there for him. Maybe they just liked coffee and stopped in on their way up to Fisherman’s Wharf.

“Oh… yes…” Yakov began kneading her breasts. She rode him faster. The woman across her squirmed a little nervously in her chair, a hand reaching down to masturbate.

‘That’s it bitch, watch me get off and lose your edge. They didn’t train you for sex did they?’ the redhead thought as she watched sweat begin to bead on the woman’s breasts. Her partners though, they must’ve seen this sort of thing before. They had their backs to her and Yakov and seemed to continue their idle chatter as if nothing was going on behind them. Trouble, yes; but would they go for her or Yakov when it went down?

Well there was certainly no stopping now. Only a few more moments before she’d cum anyway. As long as she could be sure to get Yakov off in the process, there would be one less threat to deal with. She reached down and cupped Yakov’s balls, egging him on as her cunt pumped upon his shaft. “Oh Yakov… cum with me… I so love it when you do that… with everyone watching us… shoot it in me…”

“I know little rose; that’s why I love you so…” Then she felt it, a wave of heat rushing over her as her inner muscles squeezed to pull him in deeper. She gave a tug to his balls and pushed at the spot behind them.

Yakov groaned in pleasure as his seed gushed forth to fill her. The red haired woman cried out “Yes! Now… I’m cuming now…” The blond at the table across from her squirmed. “Now do you hear me!” the redhead called out, as if someone should be listening. “Damnit, I said Now!!!”

Suddenly everything fell into chaos.

The delivery van erupted with men in armored uniforms. The man across the street seemingly found himself halfway across with a shotgun in his hand, and armored plate having descended over his manhood from a Kevlar vest now only half hiding under his jacket. The girl on the bench with her hand on her clit squealed in both fright and orgasmic pleasure. Her companion who’d called for ‘analog boy’ just squealed on general principle.

Yakov’s two goons rose from their chair pulling out guns, only to pause when they saw the Korean delivery woman already had a bead on them with her own gun. One made to fire at her anyway, but she got him first in the shoulder. The other kept his cool. Yakov just looked confused as the red haired woman’s cunt squeezed out the last of his juices.

Most of the café screamed and hit the floor. But the blond and her two companions across from Yakoc rose. The men already had their guns at the ready but the woman seemed to be struggling to overcome her earlier state.

Yakov’s redhead jumped off of him and sprang into action. She knew she had to be quick or one of them would be dead. With Russian mobsters, it was hard to say which. Her feet left the floor as her hands hit the table. She went into a complete flip and managed to nail both men in the temples as her body came about just as they were about to finish their turn and fire their weapons. One gun went off into the air as her momentum carried her slamming her cunt first into the face of the woman across her. Both fell to ground with the woman flat on her back staring up into the redhead’s vagina as Yakov’s cum dripped down onto her lips and nose. “You seemed to want this” Was all the redhead said.

The blond licked a bit of cum off her upper lip. Her two companions flipped into squats firing into the crowd of armored men. More a distraction than anything, given the quality of the body armor. They made to run, jumping out into the street dodging bullets. Tasers sent them down in spasms halfway to the bodypaint girls on the bench and water of the bay beyond.

The man from across the street came up to Yakov flashing a badge. “Yakov Kuntzevich, you’re under arrest for illegal memetic engineering, EU collaboration, and… he picked up the PDA from where it sat on the table but the redhead Yakov had just finished fucking concluded the words for him…

“Running a child pornography ring. I suspect we’ve also got you on child slavery,” she said.

Yakov just looked stunned. “Flower? You…”

“Actually, it’s detective…” the redhead began to say, before being interrupted with a scratch from the blond woman she’d pinned. “Hey!” Looking down she added, “Chromataphoric skin?”

Under the naked detective, the blond’s skin shifted color to match the stone as she swung them both sideways, breaking herself free and tumbling into Yakov. She ran straight for the waterline, at a speed that should’ve ripped her legs right out of their sockets. Before a single cop could get a bead on her, she was in the water. All that was left was the dress she’d tossed aside during her flight.

“Somebody get that and pray for DNA,” the cop who’d grabbed the PDA said.

The redhead stood up and off of Yakov. “I’m a detective Yakov, detective Cabrera. Undercover, been gathering evidence these past six months.” Something in her felt wrong. “I’m sorry Yakov…”

The man from across the street raised an eyebrow at this; but began cuffing the mobster.

“Well I suppose it had to happen eventually; better you Maria than some faceless bullet,” Yakov said. The men in their armored vests began cuffing up Yakov’s goons and the others. “You’re cut,” he said, nodding to her leg where she’d been scratched.

“What took you so long to come?” detective Cabrera said, glancing as a faint scratch of blood along her leg. “after my signal…”

“You seemed to be busy doing a bit of that yourself, Justicia.” The other cop said.

“Funny Paolo… great sense of humor there.” Justicia looked at a few of the extra cops, and then over the frightened patrons of the café. “Get these people sorted out boys, next time be a bit faster; it’s not like I’m wearing much protection. I’d hate to end up splattered all over the street because you’re too busy getting off watching me work.”

There was a nervous pause and then everyone went to work putting things in order. Justicia stood and took a napkin from Paolo and began to wipe her pussy clean. The two stepped away from the crowd of police and detainees.

“You ok? Six months of fucking him must’ve been rough,” Paolo said.

“I’m an undercover… fucking perps is what I do. Besides…” She ran a finger into herself then tasted her juices “It has its moments. He was one of the better ones…”

“Whatever, I’m not sure I could do it…” he said, handing over a badge.

“I missed that,” Maria reached down and held Paolo’s now unguarded cock, “and this”, she said, stroking its length briefly. “Well you didn’t have the right equipment for this one anyway. Maybe next time.” She smiled then paused and let him go. “We’ve got trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

She pointed at the PDA, “Don’t let anyone see that disc till we’ve had time to talk. I want Joey’s thoughts on this too. Were is he anyway?”

Paolo raised an eyebrow. “Went around the corner. Should’ve been back though… he hates to miss your shows.”

Yakov was still a little out of sorts as the other cops dragged him away to an arriving police cruiser. His wet cock still dangling but now limp out from his pants. The woman and the remaining goons were led away separately. Each only vaguely aware of a list of rights and likely charges being read to them.

“Paolo, I mean it” Maria eyed the PDA Paolo now held. “This is bad Paolo, real bad… I’m going to find Joey.”

“What, the meme?” Paolo said.

Justicia stopped turning away and came back in close. “That? No. That was a low order at best.” She took the PDA and flipped to the first set of data. “See? Its just another counter-capitalist AIDS and SARS theory. Radical socialist at best.”

Paolo looked it over. Yakov’s plan was to spread a rumor that AIDS and SARS hadn’t been EU plots to destabilize the free capitalist bloc. Hopeless stuff really, everyone knew the two diseases had been cooked up by socialist revolutionaries in a lab in Paris. Yakov’s meme was trying to claim AIDS had come from African monkeys.

“This isn’t going to hold him long,” he said. They both knew that at best, this kind of socialist bloc propaganda would only amount to a section 1397 misdemeanor charge of un-American memetic engineering. “Why the fuck did the DA and the FBI want him out today then?”

“Like I said, we need to talk,” Justica said. “Pocket that thing.” She looked around. “Where the fuck is Joey?”

Justicia began to walk in the direction Joey had gone, but was interrupted halfway to the corner by two woman coming around with worried glances.

“Are you cops?” one of them asked. She was naked but for heat collars. A pale skinned Caucasian with bright red hair, unlike Justicia’s more brownish red. The other a Euro-Asian mix in garter belt, stockings, pumps, and a heating chocker necklace.

“Did you see a young man on a wheeled skateboard?” Justicia asked back. The iconosphere over her vision tagged them as a Jezebel Avery and Darla Tang, neighbors of each other in an Oakland apartment, registered prostitutes, though Jezebel was employed in human resources and Darla worked the streets of the Financial. Justicia shifted her icons down to low-info to avoid distraction cutting off a flood of information on their respective children that was coming online. Six months under and she’d forgotten how fast info came when her badge amped it up.

“That’s why we came for you,” Darla said. “He’s over there.”

“He doesn’t look so good,” Jezebel said.

Justicia narrowed her glance at them. “Stay here and don’t you run off,” she said, running around the corner.

Joey stood leaning against the wall, half crumpled to the ground. But there didn’t appear to be a scratch on him. His breathing seemed ragged.

Justicia squatted next to him, the street was mostly empty; but she held a few eyes as she lowered herself.

“Joey?” She said.

Joey was older than he looked. Stunted growth from having got sick as a kid, at twenty six he still looked fifteen. They’d worked together a number of times. Though he usually did undercover on school jobs.

His breath was raspy when he answered “Hey…” he weakly cupped Justicia’s left breast “I see you’re still hanging in there…” Joey always had that sort of mind. He fit right in with the New Generation, like Justicia; you’d never peg him for a cop till it was too late. “I’m not feeling too well, that guy must’ve done something when he pulled me off of her.” He rubbed his shoulder and Justicia eye’d his motions. What looked like an insect bite swelled red out of the spot he rubbed.

“Paolo!” She yelled.

Joey passed out…

“Is he ok?” Jezebel said, having ignored the policewoman’s order to stay put.

Justicia looked down at her leg, considering why the blond had chosen to scratch her there.


Rape fiction, and a feminist counter point

This formed the bulk of a recent email I sent:

I know a lot of men around here seem to think rape is a topic for action and humor, a chance for their hero to lord it over the women he controls by showing how helpless they are without his aid… But for many, it is a shock to personal past horrors to even breach the topic, let alone describe it in detail. I personally know many women who are victims, as well as at least two men – two who have admitted they were assaulted.

That sentiment is in response to what seems to be an increase in the number of stories coming into NiS that feature or revolve around rape. When a rape happens, I consider that a hotcode and list the story as such in the listing, when it does not succeed in the story, I don’t list it as such, but I do feel it is starting to be time for some form of cautionary call out.

This notion that women are there to be rescued is, let us face it, chauvinistic if not misogynistic. It makes some very nasty assumptions. First, it presumes that women are helpless creatures, but for the men around to protect them. Second, the reaction of the females rescued in this line of fiction indicates an assumption that women appreciate being reminded of this helplessness – that they are all just waiting for a hero to come and save them. Third, it presumes a women as property dynamic. Fourth, it presents the rape as a result of her transgression, solved through his correction via establishing control.

That seriously devalues any sense of individual worth and autonomy in women.

There is also the notion of why these rapes occur. It tends to revolve around a third party spurned male, or a group of social deviants. There is something to the spurned male – 2/3rds or more of all rapes are by people who know their victim (and usually on a very close level) after all – but it is typically presented as a sexual interest play. The female is being too sexually interesting, and so it is only a matter of time until someone gets her…

That same dynamic is often written into the group of deviants angle, though not always. It is this notion of ‘look at what she is doing, of course someone raped / tried to rape her’. Underlying that is an assumption that on some level she must have deserved it. It assumes rape is a natural result of female misconduct.

The “Hero” interrupts this ‘lesson’, and she then becomes his sexual property. Her purpose is served in propping up his manhood. He is the ‘enlightened male’ – letting ‘his flower’ bloom and have her misconduct, but under his control.

Actions and empowerment are not hers. Choice is not hers. Even when rescued the female has therefore been proved to be not an individual with her own dignity and empowerment, but a piece of transfered property.

Through her transgressions in being too sexually appealing she failed to realize this, an aggressor male(s) came along to claim her, but failed to understand that she does hold title to transferring her interest. A rescue male (“the Hero”) intercepts and by ‘saving her’ gains ‘legitimate’ title to her ‘deed’ – she gives herself to him, as his property, rather than her own.

In addition to de-powering the female, these stories are disturbing for the purpose served in doing this. They exist to prop up the male hero. He gets his ‘street cred’ as a ‘true man’ by being the rescuer. Having done this, he is now someone to respect, someone to be championed. The female’s only purpose is to be there and show how much better the male is. Her helplessness is his empowerment.

Now I realize this is “just fiction”, but fiction speaks loudly about us, and it goes to our desires, our fantasies, and our interests. Of course, “Naked in School” works on a premise that is very often extremely misogynist. The NiS world is one highly unfair to women while claiming to be promoting their interests. In fact, that very world-angle is the same as our ‘male Hero’ here – he saves her, rather than enables her. Many authors and readers have been quick to point out how vastly unfair the world setup is to male interests and individualism. While many have also noticed its biases against women, only a few have noted the particularly way it ‘coddles’ women in those areas it claims to champion them.

Within that framework an author has the choice of having the female characters resist and overcome, be trampled down, or become tools of the males.

In rejecting ‘enslavement’ stories – where the female gets trampled down as is so common in the ‘humiliation’ sub-genre of erotica, many NiS authors are choosing the ‘tools’ option. They are still de-powering their females, still having them fail to become dignified individuals. The safety and security, or even choices, of the females in these stories have been made by the male hero.

Empowerment has been successfully avoided in their fiction.

Is that really necessary, or even desirable, for an erotic story? If that is the turn on, it speaks pretty poorly of the situation. What is so wrong with an empowered female? Why is that such a turn off?

Why is it, that in the few stories where the female is empowered, she has to do it by becoming the aggressor-hero and humiliating the male?

This trend of rape used as a tool for action to empower the male seems to be growing in the genre, and I find that frustratingly disturbing. I would hope authors could find something better to do with their ideas.

4/10/06 EDIT:

A discussion about this in private email led me to quote to the other person from this government research project:

That, 1 in 33 men and 1 in 6 women in the survey reported being forcibly raped.

Quoting from the paper; “These estimates equate to approximately 302,100 women and 92,700 men who are forcibly raped each year in the United States.”

This is tangental to the above essay in that it shows that this is a topic that is going to hit home hard with many of your readers if you treat it the way I discuss above.

Last chapter of Alandra coming … soon … A preview

The last chapter of Alandra is coming soon. I’m in writing on the final portions, where I have to build up what essentially amounts to a tragic climax for our ‘heroine’ of her own design…

A downfall based on elements I hope have been properly hidden into the previous chapters. However this project took me three years more than I expected it to, so I might have to go back and edit to make sure, or at least reread the whole thing a few times before posting and ensure I didn’t get inconsistant…

Originally, I expected to be done writing the story in about a month, and then I was going to write a story with Fatima. That plan changed right after I realized that I couldn’t see a story with Fatima being viable… But I still expected to finish out Alandra a -LOT- quicker than the many complexities in my life have made it take.


I figure its time for another preview, so here you go. The following scene is a very rough draft, and it is missing a few concepts I want to put into it. That said, it does show a certain nature to it, and it introduces an odd little angle on the way things, and the Program regime in particular, are working in A.C.’s world.

The original plan in my outline for this scene had the kids going up onto the roof of the school and making trouble for themselves, but then I got an odd after as I was starting to write it, and figured I would let my characters get equally distracted from their goal as well.

So here you go:

     Leaving the Mall we thought of heading over to school. Over summer we’d found a way to get on the roof, and we had a good stash up there taped to the inside of the air conditioning ducts. A lot of weed and a little meth none of us had been willing to try out yet. Rick thought it seemed cool at the time he bought it, but not after I told him about ‘her’ and why my Pa moved away from California.

“Anyone go up there this week?” May had asked. “See if our shit’s still there?”

“If they’d found it, there would have been some kind of announcement,” Rubin pointed out.

“You guys really keep a stash of weed right on the campus?” Fatima asked.

“Sure, why not?” I said. “Last year we sold a bit around campus after Danny got busted.”

“Danny?” Melinda asked.

“Yeah, he used to deal out between the building and the gym, but the police busted his ass last Febuary.”

“Drugs?” Melinda said, taking a puff from a joint Kevin passed back in the car.

“Naw, breaking and entering of all things,” Rubin said. “Unlike when A.C. got busted, he was 17 and it was armed, so he got sent away.”

“A.C.?” Melinda looked at me with big eyes, passing her joint to May.

“Yeah,” I said. “I got busted way back when breaking into, of all places, Mr. Harrison’s house.”

“Fucking eh…” Melinda said.

“And they still let you go to school?” Fatima said.

“I was only ten back then,” I said. “Before I started here, before I knew who Mr. H. was. Danny had a loaded gun, and I heard the police claimed it had been used in a shooting over in the city.”

“So you guys just took his spot?” Fatima asked.

“Kind of,” Rubin said. “I mean, we don’t deal in a big way or nothing, but a couple people wanted some shit, after Danny was gone, and we used it to keep the right people from messing with us.”

“Yeah, like, we sell to two people in the administration office. That keeps shit from getting written up sometimes,” I said.

“Hey guys, I’m not sure I want to go on that roof with you. I can’t get into trouble like that. My father would literally kill me,” Fatima said. Everybody else grinned, but I wasn’t so sure she was kidding. I didn’t doubt the man wouldn’t actually kill his own daughter.

“It’s cool,” Kevin said. “If you’re cool.”

“Hey I’m cool,” Fatima said.

“Yeah, me too,” Melinda said.

“Hey, what the fuck is that?” May called out. “Kev, turn around and pull in over there.” She pointed out a place list up in red, blue, and yellow neon halfway down the block behind us. We were on another of those blocks with half closed up shops, and half new establishments. Pa said the mayor was trying to use the new changes to revise the city.

Kevin pulled into a place called ‘Tz-that’, it looked like some kind of night club, but it said ‘for teens only’ below the neon on the curb and on the front door sign. The lot was half full, and two other cars pulled in before we were done parking.

“How come we never heard of this place?” I said.

“Maybe that’s why,” Melinda said, pointing out a paper sign left of the front door that said ‘Grand Opening’ and below that a welcome party sponsored by the student council of the other high school in town. We were more in their turf than our own…

“Let’s check it out anyway,” Rubin said.

At the door they had a big guy and a bottomless woman chatting and waiting. They waved in one group of three before we got there. “…why didn’t you?” the woman finished as I got close enough to hear. There wasn’t too much business or a line. I figured they were mostly there for show.

“Can’t, new ERA says equal but different. They’ve got all these legal exceptions, and that ain’t one of them. lawyer said I had to charge em both the same prices,” the guy said, through a French accent. “Even a Lady’s night would be unconstitutional, despite the nudity.”

“So that’s why they dropped the discounts at the Mall…” the woman said.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “A good idea, till the lawyers showed up.”

“Can we still come in if we don’t go there?” Fatima blurted out as we met the doorman, pointing to the paper sign.

“Hey…” I said, trying to get their attention.

“Oh that?” the doorman said, finally looking up and gesturing at the paper sign. “Party was yesterday, we’re open to all teens today. You kids go to downtown?”

“Yeah,” I said, nudging Fatima.

“We’re doing a party for your school in two weeks, I’m trying to get your principal to agree to an announcement still.”

“Huh, you the owner then?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Towns needs a night hangout for teens. One that’s safe, and Program friendly. I see you kids are already good for that.” his glance made a beeline for my clit and stayed there, while his hand caressed the ass of the nearly naked woman next to him who had yet to say anything new. Looking down, I noticed he’d come up from underneath her and had a finger working to get into her pussy. Like Ms. Lippmann had said, employment for women is going to get complicated.

The man glanced at his watch and May asked, “what time you got?”

“About eight,” he said. “It’ll probably pick up in an hour or so.” being a teen spot, I guess they didn’t exactly run as late as an adult club would.

“You guys still want to go in if the crowds going to be mostly uptown?” Rubin said.

“Sure,” I said, stepping in. When we got past the door guy and found ourselves in a short hallway before a red curtain I added, “fuck em anyway. If they want trouble.”

There was a ‘coat check’ booth on the right in the hallway, with a naked girl manning it and a small alcove to step into and hand stuff over.

To the left of her booth they had a mountain of framed paperwork on the wall with a light shining on it. I caught ‘Health Department’, ‘approved’, and a Program logo before the girl spoke up and switched my attention. “Excuse me,” she said, stopping us. “Girls have to strip before entering,” she looked at Fatima and shrugged. That’s when I noticed she was the same race as Fatima – dark and south Asian, but without the accent. She also had a cross on a necklace.

Kevin noticed it too, he got hard in a second, and looked back and forth between them as if he’d suddenly figured he liked the type, and now had an idea what might be under all those cloths Fatima wore.

“Uh…” Fatima said. “I can’t do that.”

“Well it’s the rule, I’ll get busted if I let you in,” she said.

“Hey it’s cool Sharvani, let her in anyway, just for today,” we heard from back at the door. the guy from outside was looking in at us. “Not like our rules have been announced to you guys yet. Wouldn’t really be fair to hold you to them until we’re more known.”

“Hey thanks man,” Kevin called back. Fatima let out a long sigh.

“I figured I’d have to take off and go home,” she said. The booth girl gave her a frown and muttered something beneath her breath. Fatima turned away and moved past us into the club.

“You pay for everything on the way out,” she said. “Put on these,” she passed us each a tagged bracelet. I took an extra for Fatima. “They’ll take the tag number down for anything you order, and I collect when you leave. I need at least one credit card, for security reasons.”

Kevin passed over a card, as did May. I just gave her my Purse, after which everybody joined in and she gave me a second bracelet with a key design that I passed to Rubin. All our stuff ended up in a hanging back with a tag that matched the key-bracelet. “Pierre thinks this will avoid mix ups,” she said. I guessed that was the boss outside.

“Any virgins?” she asked, looking between Melinda, May, and me.

“Uh… no,” I said. “Why?”

“No virgins allowed,” she said. “We’re supposed to check it when you come in on busy nights, somebody will probably be around in a few minutes.” What was that about I wondered.

Past the curtain we hit a typical scene for a club. tables on three sides, a stage with a window to a DJ booth behind it, and a dance floor in the middle. A second floor ringing balcony area had more tables along the edge and space behind I could see. Stairs up on the left of the stage, and down on the right. All the staff, from those I could tell for staff, were naked. Three girls our age with collars on, little french berets, white cuffs, and army boots – which was kind of odd until I thought about broken glass. The guys were the same, only instead of collars they had white ties. All the girls had clit rings, and all the guys cock rings. Each also had a belt with a few things clipped to it. To the left of the curtain there was a bar and a door on the far wall that said ‘Employees Only’. There were only maybe fifteen or twenty other kids in the place, making us the largest group there.

“I’m gonna check the bar,” I said.

“I’ll find a good table,” Fatima said. “Can you get me a soda, I can’t drink alcohol.” Rubin started to follow Fatima, but then picked up a call onhis cellphone.

“It’s illegal to sell that to us anyway,” Kevin said. “I gotta see what’s downstairs, I’ll be back.”

May and Melinda followed me to the bar, and yeah, all it sold was sodas, coffee, and energy drinks. Well, that and snacks. It ended with a services section that had prices for some really strange shit. Like if you wanted a blow job, or wanted to fuck one of the girls who worked in the place. Every waiter and waitress, according to the menu, did double duty as a prostitute. Wow… I wondered what would happen if Melinda asked one of the waitresses to suck on her pussy… Or if she could only get one of the guys.

A waiter came up and repeated the virgin question. I gave him a once over, he wasn’t bad looking, and I pegged him for about the same age as us. Nice cock too, shaved like me, and semi-hard but a little shiny like he’d fucked in the last few minutes. “I have to check,” he said. He reached forward and slid a finger into me, like it was just the natural thing to do, then said, “you’re good.”

“You can check me with this,” May said, grabbing his dick.

“I’m supposed to charge you for a fuck,” he said, but he still turned May around, bent her over, and quickly slid his dick in and out. “No charge for that,” he said. For Melinda, he just poked a finger in and then thanked us all and walked away.

“That was way too fucking weird…” Melinda said.

“You’re telling me?” I said.

“Now I need a real fuck,” May said.

We grabbed a bunch of shit and wandered around until we found Fatima on the second floor claiming a table that overlooked the stage and dance floor. “Privacy,” she said.

“Hey, Rick and Marcy are on their way over,” Rubin said when he found us. “They just got back from the city.”

“They hooking up?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” He said. “Rick’s had it for Marcy for a while.”

“Yeah, I think that runs both ways,” May said.

Kevin had a big grin when he found us. “Shit man, you guys gotta check out downstairs,” he said. “Padded floor, and wall to wall cushions. They got porn vids running on screens on all four walls and a couple stands to dance or fuck on.”

“This is a teen hangout?” Fatima asked.

“Hey, like the guy said, Program friendly,” May said, getting up. “I think I’ll go see if I can get a fuck in. I need one after that virgin check. Anyone down there Kevin?”

“Virgin check?” Fatima asked.

“Yeah, there’s two girls and maybe five guys or so,” Kevin said.

“You really don’t want to know,” May said, looking at Fatima, and then running off for the stairs.

I touched Fatima’s arm and whispered over, “what did that girl out front say to you?”

“I figured she was an American, and wouldn’t hold that kind of hatred,” Fatima said.

“A lot of people here seem scared of you though,” I said.

“Yeah, scared, but not hatred, not like what goes on in the old country,” she said.

“She’s the first girl I’ve seen from your people other than you,” I said.

“She’s not one of my people,” Fatima said.

“Yeah, sorry, but you know what I mean,” I said.

“We all look alike?” She said it quick, but she also grinned at me.

“Well no I…, no yeah… you’re the only person I’ve ever met like you. I don’t know how to tell the different groups apart just by looking,” I said. It was the truth, though I hated to admit something like that.

“Hey I’m just messing with you,” she said. “After all you guys put me through with this,” she gestured over my body, “I’ve earned a few.” I never did get her to tell me what the other girl had said.

We chilled for a bit, listening to dance music and watching people filter in. In about a half hour the crowd doubled, and we weren’t the only people from our school, but it was mostly strangers.

A couple people started dacing near the end of that. Girls mostly, doing a bump and grind routine mixed with finger fucking themselves. That made it obvious why they had the rule to get girls naked. They wanted a nudie show, but without having to pay anybody. “Smart…” I quietly said.

“Huh?” Kevin said over the music.

“Oh nothing, thinking about dancing,” I said. I started to get up, but then Rubin grabbed my arm in a vice grip.

“Shit… check it out… I never thought I’d see the day…” he said. I followed his glance. We all did. Coming through the curtain was Rick, followed by Marcy. In her birthday suit.

“Fuck her tits are huge!” Kevin said. I didn’t know what to say exactly. I mean, I knew she was big, we all could see that under those thick shirts she wore, but this was back injury waiting to happen big. Big enough that she was supporting them under folded arms as the two of them stood in the middle of the dance floor between songs looking around for us.

May popped out of nowhere and ran up to jump on Marcy, who for her part suddenly thrust out her arms to hold the other girl at length. That’s when I noticed that May had splotches of what could only be cum all over her hair and backside. From Marcy’s reaction, and the way Rick’s eyes bugged out, I guessed she must’ve looked even worse from the front.

May was bouncing up and down, trying to drag Marcy into it, and then she pointed up to us, said something to Marcy, and ran off again.

“What was that about?” I asked Marcy when she arrived.

“She’s going to get hosed off,” Rick said, sitting down between Fatima and I.

“Fuck, never mind that, girl, nice to finally see you,” Kevin said, leering at Marcy.

“They’ve got hoses?” Fatima said.

“Fucking coat girl wouldn’t let me in till I stripped off,” Marcy said. Then she looked at Fatima with a glare. “I see she’ll let -you- in. What’s up with that?”

“Probably not hoses, maybe a shower though if they’ve got a fuck room,” Melinda said.

“Not what you think Marce,” I quickly got in. “I gather that girl wanted to flay Fatima, but her boss made the call.”

“Huh!” Marcy let out. Fatima shrugged.

“Girl, those aren’t tits, they’re fucking udders,” Kevin said, reaching over to touch Marcy’s breasts.

“Hey…” Marcy started, but then unfolded her hands to let him get a grope. “Whatever…” she said. “Now you know why I always stay covered.”

“So who did your pussy?” Melinda asked, looking down into Marcy’s crotch. I’d noticed her pubes had a blue and white pattern when she’d come in…

“So, how the fuck you guys find this place?” Marcy asked, switching gears.

I figured she must’ve gone to Purrfect Pussy from the way they’d recognized her the other day. “May saw it as we drove by,” I said.

“Come here Marce,” Kevin said, slapping his thigh. He gave Rick a look. No, not a look, more of a raised eyebrow pause.

“Hey don’t look at me man,” Rick said. Marcy got up to go over to Kevin, she made to sit beside him, but he grabbed her hips and slid her into his lap.

“Oh…” Marcy said, sitting up a little and putting her hand down into her crotch. She came up with Kevin’s dick which she left lying there coming up between her legs. Kevin was kneading Mary’s breasts, and it was clear she was doing something down there with his cock.

“Man, these are heavy,” Kevin said, pulling Marcy’s tits out by the nipples. Oddly, I noticed that I thought May had better nipples. Smaller tits, more firm, but May had huge nipples. Marcy’s were kinda small, despite the massive weighty nature of her boobs. They were so big Kevin couldn’t even fit them in his hands, and none of us could stop looking. If she didn’t has his dick to play with, Marcy would probably have been a bit on edge from the attention. Even Fatima kept stealing double takes.

“Time to dance,” Rubin said, getting up.

“Whoa man! What’s up with that?” Rick said, waving at Rubin’s crotch. Which indeed was up.

“They talked me into it at the Mall,” Rubin said. We did? whatever worked for him I guess. Melinda followed him up and took his cock in hand. For Rubin’s part, he goosed her from behind and didn’t let go.

“Coming?” Melinda called back. I figured what the heck and got up with them.

“Let’s go then,” Kevin said to Marcy.

“I can’t dance without a bra on,” she said.

“We’ll go for the slow tunes,” Kevin said. “Plus, you gotta check this place out.”

“People are gonna laugh at me, swinging these things around,” Marcy said, hefting up Kevin’s hands that in turn hefted her tits up.

“Trust me,” I said. “No one’s gonna laugh at those. That’s like a guy with a five foot long dick…”

“Man, that would be fucking weird,” Rick said. “I think I’ll sit it out for a while.”

“Me too,” Fatima said. “I don’t wanna make a scene.” She gestured over her outfit. Yeah, she was the only woman in the place with a covered crotch and tits. If people noticed her there’d be some kind of trouble for sure.

“Ok,” I said, taking Marcy’s hand before she could object any more.

“We outta go find May,” Rick said as we started to walk away from them.

“No way am I going down there,” Fatima said to him.

“I wonder what those guys May’s doing are gonna think when they realize what’s coating their dicks?” I said.

“Oh gross,” Rubin said as made our way down the stairs.

The dance floor had about fifteen people on it when we got there. About the size of the entire crowd in the place when we first arrived. It was about half girls, and they were lining up with a dance that really worked the hips. We joined right in, and Marcy immediately became the focus of attention with her tits swaying around. Guys are so tit focused.

We followed the dance through. Some red head in the middle seemed to be leading things to an R&B song, following along with a dancer on a music video they had going on a huge screen behind the stage to the side of the DJ booth. The whole thing involved shaking your ass, squating in and rubbing your clit, some steps, a little breast play, and a little spinning. Fun, and man did it get me going and needing a fuck.

It didn’t hurt that I kept seeing the three girls who worked the place get felt up by guys every time they went to a table. I noted that they didn’t note anything for copping a feel, even one in the pussy or a quick kiss on a tit, but they did everytime one of the guys lingered with it. Halfway through the dance, and I saw one of them get bent over a table and fucked from behind. This place was just wild. I wondered how much she made from doing that.

I stepped off when the song was over. A slow routine kicked up and Melinda paired off with Rubin while Kevin took Marcy. Some guys stepped in for the other girls on the floor, and a few people left off like me. This time around, there was no group routine, just a whole lot of dirty bump and grind. Midway through Kevin started fucking Marcy, right on the dance floor. He just bent her over and went at it from behind. She held herself up with a hand on a pole and a hand in her crotch while he kept kneading her tits.

“Excuse me,” a guy I didn’t know came up and said. “You’ve got a really pretty pussy and I’d like to eat you out.”

“Damn boy, you’re forward,” I said. A year ago, and maybe even a week ago anywhere else, and I would have kicked his ass for that line.

“Why beat around the bush, when I can just get my tongue right into it?” he said.

“Work on your puns,” I said. But then I gave him a look over. The poor thing had his dick hanging out, and it was hard and throbbing at me. “Sure, go ahead. If I like how you make me cum, I’ll let you fuck me too. What’s your name?” It was a very May like thing to say. But it was also with a guy, and I needed that.

“A rose by any other,” he started to say…

“Fuck it with the english class, you want to play, hand over a name,” I said.

“Hugo,” he said. He pulled me over to a raised seat sized platform with a little step up to get me up on it. Soon as I was up there I noticed it put my cunt five feet in the air, perfect height for the task at hand.

I spread my legs, and he reached in and spread my labia. “Careful with the clit ring,” I said. “And its Alandra.”

“So I’ve heard,” he told me. I started to wonder who this guy really was, as I don’t think he went to our school. That thought didn’t last long though. He went to town and it was check out time for anything else.

He put in a good effort, not the best, not the worst. Hugo tasted around me, in quick circles, before diving in. I caught a few people glancing over, but nowhere near as many as I would have expected for this sort of thing.

Hugo darted into my cunt three times, in quick drinking motions, before shifting to taking my clit ring into his lips and lightly tugging. A stray thought hit me and I giggled, not exactly the right response at a time like this, but I couldn’t help it. ‘Hugo’ just wasn’t exactly a sexy name, and I was thinking, ‘why can’t the guy going down on me have a name like Hugh? I just couldn’t see a guy named Hugo as a romantic. It was more the name of the guy who comes out to mow your lawn, not pamper your flowers.

But I had to give credit where it was due. Like he’d said, he got his tongue right in there. Hugo drank me up like a man licking his favorite plate clean, and as I felt my energy building I took his head and pulled him in tighter. But he pulled back. In fact, he dragged me right off my perch, stood me up, and began to frig my cunt with his hands. I found myself leaning on him for support, but I had enough in me to grab his cock and go to work myself. He didn’t last long, not long at all considering I’d only just started on him. But then, I didn’t last very long myself. A few shudders turned to gasps as I shook on the end of his thrusting fingers, and suddenly he splattered out in an arc across the floor and I shuddered, came, and was all ready to keep going when he lost his drive and pulled his hand out of me.

Out of the corner of my vision I saw a waitress coming over with a mop. Funny that. “No fuck left in you?” I said.

“A taste… a taste will do for me,” Hugo said, sitting me down. Freaking wannabe poet. “And so I bid you…” he started up again.

“Yeah, ok. Got it,” I waived him off.

“You want a soda?” He asked.

“I’m cool,” I said. It was just one of those stranger fucks, and I figured it would get awkward if we stretched it out. He must have had the same idea, because after that he just slipped away. I sat and watched the dancing go on for a bit. Kevin was up there with Melinda, and I didn’t see what had happened with Marcy and Rubin. They’d switched off and then moved away from the stage.

I wandered away after a rest, to see if I could find May. That was asking for more trouble, but what the fuck. She was down in the basement, which was just like Kevin described it, but also a little too dark to get real details. She had a guy on both ends. One pumping her pussy and her sucking off another. Most of the people in the room, about ten in all, were just sitting around and chatting in quiet tones while watching her and fondling each other.

Much as she’d pissed me off earlier over Melinda – and we knew each other long enough to know we were mad at each other over that – well I still loved her as my best friend. I sat down next to her and put my hand on her belly.

“Hey you in for it too?” the guy she was sucking asked me. I just shook my head no.

“Maybe in a bit,” I said. But then I thought about the dance floor above, the waitress who’d been getting fucked over the table, Kevin going at it with Marcy, and the whole place with every girl in it naked… “Yeah, what the fuck,” I said. I put myself out on the matted floor next to May in a way were we could look each other in the eye. Spreading my legs and reaching down to hold my labia apart I looked over that the guy she was still sucking and said, “better come and get it before I change my mind.”

He just nodded, pulled his dick out of her mouth, and moved over and into me in one quick motion. Next thing I knew, some guy who’s name I didnt know, who’s face I hadn’t even gotten a good look at, was pumping his dick into me in the basement of some crazy teen club I’d never even heard of before an hour ago.

“Aw man, A.C., now what am I gonna do with my mouth?” May said. “Somebody come over here and stuff it in my mouth!” she called out.

“May, sometimes you are too much,” I said. A guy detached himself from the wall, came over, unzipped his fly, and overed up his dick for May and her mouth.

“Now that’s more like it,” she said, before taking him in. She mumbled something around his dick.

“I think she’s asking your name,” I said. “Matter of fact,” I looked down at the guy fucking me. “I’ve got the same question.”

“Mario,” the guy in May’s mouth said.

“Doug,” the guy in my pussy said. Speeding up his tempo a bit he added, “I’m sorry, but after her I ain’t gonna last much more.”

“No problem,” I told him. “Just shoot it in me, I need the fuck man.” As I bounced up from him slamming into me, it occured to me that he never bothered to ask if I was on any birth control. These days, I guess you could just assume a girl was on the shot. It was just so rare not to be.

he started working it around, rotating his dick in me, and rubbing my spot. “Oh yeah, keep that up,” I gasped out. May giggled on the end of the cock she was sucking, looking over at me. She tried to mumble something, but all that did was get the guy to start pumping his dick.

“Yeah baby, hum on it,” he said. The guy in her cunt started grunted and next thing I knew she was getting bounced so hard and fast the guy in her mouth popped out.

“Hey man…” he said, then the other guy gave one last grunt, a hard slam into her, and I could tell he was shooting his load.

Getting up and walking away, he high fived another guy who’d stood up to walk over and take his place. Except tha the guy she had been sucking beat him to the pussy, moving around to get into her cunt.

Not long after, the guy in me pumped his own load out, and before I’d thought to say anything, somebody replaced him. After that I just rode the high, cumming and cumming on the end of a series of dicks and letting May’s maddness take me.

I stopped tracking them after number three. Guys started showing up with dicks for my mouth and my cunt, and I’m pretty sure several of them were repeat offenders to both May and I. After another girl joined us on the floor I saw one of the more muscle bound male waiters show up and stand wandering the basement. In the back of my mind it registered that he was probably here to make sure all the fun was really fun – consensual. They probably didn’t stop to think that May and I could probably do a lot of damage to any guy tried to force us.

It was pretty obvious we were here by choice. May was moaning out “yes, yes,” over and over, and I’d just been in a fit of odd giggles ever since my fourth cum. After a while, I got a nice shiny and wet, but soft, black dick in my face. Reaching up to take it in hand, I noticed it was attached to Kevin, and he was trying to get my attention despite the guy pumping into my pussy down below.

“Yeah,” I got out between gasps.

“Hey, you guys still want to burn the clothes, we’re gonna have to hit the road soon,” Kevin said.

“Party pooper…” May blurted out in a pout.

“Just let him finish off, and we’ll be cleaning up,” I said, rubbing a hand over the cock pumping my pussy.

Kevin looked up to the guy fucking me, and then over to May. “Sure,” he said, then I saw him wander over to Marcy, who I hadn’t even seen come down here. She had a guy sucking on each tit, and one sucking her cunt. The smile on her face was one of pure joy.

A guy moved in to get his dick in my mouth, so I told him “sorry, I’m closing up shop.” He looked a little upset, but laughed at my comment and moved over to another group of people.

I started squeezing in my cunt, to get in as much as I could of the guy fucking me. That only got him to speed up and start grunting. Another minute and his pumped his load into me and pulled out. I sat up, grabbed his cock and licked the head, then let him go.

“Where’s Melinda?” I asked Kevin after getting up and walking over to him and Marcy. She was sitting in his lap while he fondled her pussy in a casual sort of way.

“Rick was fucking her in the stairway last I saw,” he said. This place was just getting us all out of control. May came over and joined us, grabbing me by the hand.

“We gotta clean up A.C., if I look half as fucked as you…” she started.

“You look even worse,” Marcy said. “You’re covered in jizz girl.”

“To the showers then,” she said, leading me away.

“Find the others, we’ll meet you guys outside,” I said as May took me through an arch by the stairs. the showers had three heads arranged around a room with space for maybe six people. A sign on the wall said ‘No sex while others are cleaning’ but it was empty.

“Wow,” May said. “I gotta come back here, often…”

“No shit,” I said. “I feel good and well fucked out.”

We cleaned off and made our way up and out.

Or tried. I wasn’t paying attention in the stairwell and suddenly a fist came up hit me hard in the stomach. It was the girl who’d been with Mitch’s friend Paul the other day. Good thing she hadn’t gone for my face or I would have been in trouble. May turned around, but on a look from me spun just in time to block another girl going for a kidney punch. It was Belinda, one of Mitch’s regulars. She looked past me with a nod and I knew there was at least one more rushing up the stairs from behind.

“Fight!” somebody called out from below, and suddenly I had two girls on me. One grabbed at my hair and slammed my head sideways against the wall. The other punched me right in my pussy. Good thing I wasn’t a guy, but it still hurt. She made a mistake though, she was above me on the stairs, and with that punch she’d lined herself up to get kneed. I was going for a knee into her chin – a fight ender – but I only got her in the chest above her tits. they were doing good, I was going down if I took another hit in my head, and they knew it.

In the flurry I saw Belinda swinging a butterfly knife at May, going straight for the gut. I could see May already had a thin line of blood on her left leg. Just before the knife would have gone in a guy from above grabbed Belinda’s hand. “All of you, out, now!” he said. He took the knife and added, “get out, or we can hold you all for the police to sort out.”

The big muscled guy who’d been in the basement came up behind me and grabbed one of the girls off of me. All of us got rushed out to the ‘coat check’, where we got our purses and had to stand there glaring at each other as our bills got read off. The girl who’d been with Ken, the one that slammed my head into the wall, drew a line across her throat.

“You’re dead, spic,” Belinda said.

I felt a little sick, so I didn’t say anything back. Instead I glanced at the wall of signs again. This time I noticed ‘License for house of Prostitution’ under one authorizing loud music and another large gatherings of juvenilles.

Turned out Kevin had paid for May and my sodas on his own way out, so we got a lead on the others heading out the door. “No fights in my lot either,” the woman who’d been outside when we came in said. She was still out there, but her boss was gone. She didn’t look so friendly this time around, but she also didn’t seem to be connecting us to Kevin and the rest.

Kevin in fact was watching from over by his car, and at her words he started over. I waved him short and May moved past me. “Mitch’s crew is in there somewhere,” she said when we reached him by the car.

“Three of his girls jumped us in the stairs,” I said.

“How many people are in his crew anyway?” Kevin said when we were pulling out of the lot. He had May, Melinda, and me in his car, and everybody else had piled into Marcy’s car. I hadn’t even known she had one. Marcy was dressed again.

“I think two of those girls were new,” I said. Mitch had never had girls with his group before this week, save for Belinda. “One of them was the girl with Paul the other day, and the one behind me might have been at the grocery store earlier today.”

“Didn’t see the guys,” May said.

“Must have been on the second floor,” I said. “But I bet they saw us get marched out.”

“Oh fuck! You got cut!” Melinda called out, hovering a hand over May’s leg.

“It’s nothing,” May said. “Just a scratch, I got lucky.” Which was true, on both counts.

Driving out of the lot I saw Belinda and the other two girls come outside. Belinda stepped over to a figure in the shadow of the building gesturing and maybe talking. The figure stepped out, holding a lit cig. He took a puff and looked at Kevin’s car with a huge shit eating grin on his face. It was Hugo.

“What the fuck?” I whispered.

Thinking of writing an erotic comic book

See this cover image.

I’m thinking of writing an erotic comic book after I finish Alandra (Hopefully that will actually come to pass).

The idea is roughly –
Our protagonist would be trapped in a nude world, and must overcome a series of challenges to win some prize / santcuary / safety…

The usual ‘in a strange land story’, wherein the hero/heroine seeks to get some great deed done in order to get home.

This somewhat conflicts with another story I’m already writing, so I have to think about whether or not I want to do it. However the appeal of writing a comic rather than a written piece is drawing me to this, even though I know it would take an amazing amount of work to do on my aging computers…

Anyway, I just wanted to call that out – you can go to the linked image to see a ‘concept piece / cover art’ for a story that might be someday…

My last chapter of Alandra continues, and I might have a spoiler or two in a few days.

We can’t do no grammar fix’n less you tells us.

Now that I’ve written up a short piece on dialog, it seems only right to follow that up with a simple request to my readers.

If you see grammar errors in my writing, let me know.

Most writers want to know what they’ve done wrong. Those that don’t, well, probably shouldn’t be writing…

Sure, some grammar errors are going to be intentional, like a bit of dialog saying something like: (bear with me while I search my stories for a good example – or you could always bare with me…)

“We getting together?” I asked.


One them calling out “Aunt Nessy! Momma wanna know if Tisha can sit Wednesday.”

In perfect grammar these might be:

“Are we getting together?” I asked.


One them calling out “Aunt Nessy! Momma wants to know if Tisha can sit Wednesday.”

But outside of dialog and ‘thought bubbles’, grammar should be good or if not good, bad for what is obviously a style choice in the given story. Style choices to use bad grammar are common in poetry, and sometimes seen in fiction. Writers should keep in mind though that a style choice for a slant on grammar needs its own internal grammar system, such as using Creole grammar, or it will just look like bad writing.

Also, don’t always trust Word to deliver the best grammar for you. According to Word, all of these are good sentences:

Sometimes you are tripping.
Some tripping you is.
Tripping is some you.
Tripping you some is.
Tripping you some.
Tripping you some is not.

I don’t know about you, but there’s got to be something wrong with a few of those…

At least it did catch: Got wrong be they to done.
But it likes: They done got to be wrong.

So the words of the day are, tell us when you find grammar errors. We ain’t done gonna be able to fix it no other ways (Hey, Word likes that sentence too…).

We can’t do no fix’n less we knows? (Ok, finally got me something Word didn’t like… maybe I’ll change it into a title for this post).

Which just goes to say, Word is -very- generous. Probably far more so than an editor should be.


Do I write good, or at least decent dialog? I don’t know, but like any critic I’ve begun to get a little full of myself with the notion of what should be in good dialog.

I think we all know that porn is the last place one would ever find good dialog. The same is often true in the ‘stroke’ variety of erotica.

When I first started writing I read a few guides on dialog, and the best bits of advice I came away with were:

  • Listen. Pay attention to the conversations around you. Takes notes if you have to, being discreet of course, but keep your ears open. Pay attention to how people really talk.
  • Don’t do monologues. Conversations are a two way street, and keep it alive. Don’t let a character ramble off with a long speach. It really looks artificial. Even when someone is giving an actual speach, punctuate it with side comments or gestures and other reactions.
  • Break grammer. Perfect sentences are not how people talk. But don’t fly off the handle either.
  • Limit slang and colloquials. Don’t overdo them. Don’t misspell just to capture an accent – readers from that background will be offended.
  • Your character often lives in how she says what she says. Don’t let all your characters talk the same way, or say the same things, or express identical opinions on a subject. Give each of them a different angle on what is going on.
  • Avoid certain words that you would use in a fourth grade essay to start a paragraph. Words like ‘anyway’, ‘finally’, ‘also’, etc. Joiners like this are rarely how people talk. When they do use them, they don’t use them the same way.
  • Avoid overuse of ‘um’ and ‘like’ unless you are really trying to drive home some particular (probably humorous) point. Yes, people do use these a lot in conversation, but in dialog they get cluttered.
  • Conversation is jumbled, it can drift off point, go on tangents, and get confused. Use this, but don’t abuse it. Dialog is like conversation, but not the same. Dialog is a tool to tell a story, conversation is a tool to get laid. While you should throw in the occaisional off topic note, you should do so constructively, such as to break up a very long idea, or put in something that only seems to be off-topic (but hints at a metaphor), and so on.
  • Limit what is said to what a given character could reasonably know, given their place in the story, their education, age, social class, culture, and so on. I have seen so many erotica stories fail when the 14 year old boy begins talking particle physics that I just want to, well… ack!
  • Attribute speach. Always start each speaker as a new paragraph, and tell us who said it. One of my dialog books goes so far as to say every quote should end or begin with ‘[name] said’, and not even anything other than ‘said’. I won’t go that far here, but you must tell us who it was. That particular book was making the point that you don’t tell us ‘Jane asked’, you show us that Jane asked something by what she said.
  • Intersperse actions into the dialog. Have a character look here go there, touch this, take that, etc. Use a mix of dialog and action to show us what is happening without telling us what is happening. Show the action unfolding, don’t just describe what happened. Dialog is a tool to show, but it can very easily be abused into a tool to describe.
  • Listen. Yeah, I did this one already, but it all comes back to listening. You really need to pay attention to how people around you talk. Go to a freaking coffee shop for a few hours or something.

And like any writing, a lot of reading helps. Think about what it was you liked in the dialog of the writers you enjoy. Take notes on it.


Maybe next time I’ll try to type out an example of what I think is good dialog, and then the same conversation written as bad dialog.

Legalizing prostitution (in the American context)?

Gut reaction, yes or no?

Given who is likely to be my readership here I suspect most of you went through something like;

‘Heck yeah, then I could bang those chicks and get away with it!’ (at which point I have a mental image of ‘Glen Quagmire’ from Family Guy saying ‘giggity giggity’…

You’re then probably going to have ‘moral second thoughts’ at some later point in time when you ‘think about it’.

So, think about this;

In my city earlier this year the police broke up some 17 brothels – all of which were using women trafficked in from Asian countries and held against their will. Some of these brothels are found in ‘the usual places’ like massage parlors, the back end of a strip club or bar, etc. But some of them have been found in residential homes sitting in those ‘nice quiet family neighborhoods’ where the locals just don’t ever pay any mind to all the people coming in and out all day long…

I myself have lived in places where women were forced into sexual bondage to pay off the debts of themselves or their male family members. In other places women might be kidnapped right off the street and then quietly shoved away to some other country. This is rarely the thing you see on a TV special with some middle class white woman from a first world nation. It is almost always a victim from the third world, trafficked to some other place in the third world or into the major first world cities such as Tokyo, San Francisco, New York, Jeruselum, etc…

So should it be legal now? The answer there I guess revolves around whether or not creating a ‘legal market’ would wipe out the ‘illegal market’.

But we can go further, one of the major issues with prostitutes is that they have nowhere they can go for help. With an illegal lifestyle, if you experience medical problems or become a victim of crime you have no recourse to protection. These health and security of the men and women who work in the sex trade is unprotected. This makes then a nexus for problems like AIDS, and we know of the major factors spreading AIDS around the world is people who carry it between sites of illegal prostitution.

By contrast in places with legal prostitution, such as the Netherlands and parts of Nevada, the workers get regular health checks and there is security there to force the clients into agreeing to use protection, as well as preventing predators from killing or otherwise maiming these workers. I’ll leave that comment on the note that two of the people I know with involvment in the sex trade have lost people to such violence – one of them doused in flames and burned alive while others were forced to watch in order to teach those others an obediance lesson, the other ‘purchased’ from her handlers for the express purpose of ‘sex with razor blades’. You can claim those are just ‘friends of friends’ stories, and that might be right – I can’t prove them, but they do fit a pattern that does exist in crime reports.

So that might support the idea that legalizing it would at least ‘turn on the lights’ and let us make sure both the workers and the ‘johns’ are safe and not spreading disease. This is the real world I’m writing about after all, not the world of NiS – we don’t have magic cures for many of these diseases. Even if you think the lives of sex workers and johns should be worth nothing, they both then spread it on to innocent third parties. Many women in Asian and African countries have aquired AIDS after their husbands went on business trips, and I suspect the same is true in the USA after seeing American men and how they behaved when travelling to sites of ‘sexual slavery and tourism’. Sometimes these women victims do not discover it until after they have passed it on to their children.

Next there is the idea that it is a victimless crime. What business does the state have criminalizing something with no victims? This is countered by the notion that the families of johns become victims. But in chapter 4 of Alandra I wrote in a reply to that:

     “And do you think there are negative consequences?” Ms. Magante said.

“I’ll let the class make up their own minds on that. On the surface, sure; she should be able to use her body as she wants. It’s long been said that prostitution is a victimless activity.”

A girl I didn’t know raised her hand and said “But what about the families? Of the guys I mean. What about his wife?”

“If you think the government cares about the family, why is adultery legal?” Mrs. Jacobs said.

I’ll return to that in a moment…

A final more radical idea, because you know an erotica writer has to have a radical theory in her bag of tricks somewhere, comes in the notion of ‘economic control’. I put this idea out there in my Alandra NiS story, though I don’t think anyone noticed me doing it. The idea here is that sex has economic value. We all know this even though we try to deny it. Outlawing prostitution puts the economic control of a woman’s body in the hands of men. She is either denied the ability to make profit on her property, or she is pimped out and denied the ability to keep the profits of the use of that property. this of course also extends to male prostitutes.

In Alandra, chapter 3, I put it like this:

     The second half of the reading talked about prostitution, both male and female. Mrs. Jacobs put in notes about several states overturning prostitution laws in the last few years – many of those also put strict health rules, but that was breaking down with all the STD and AIDS vaccines. Some of them even regulated pimping and brothels – allowing companies that sold sex. Pa would say it was just a way men could ensure a hold on the money. He said prostitution was the original form of female empowerment – giving girl’s economic control over their sexuality. Pa said it’d been illegal for so long not because anyone was hurt by it, but because men wanted control over sex. But that was Pa – but I imagine Ms. Lippmann and Ms. Magante would agree with him.

I didn’t see myself ever selling a fuck, so I’d never really given it much thought. Way I saw it, with all this Program shit the cost of a fuck was gonna go down pretty fast. Maybe that’s why they were legalizing it – now that it really wasn’t worth all that much. Or whatever.

. . .

Mrs. Jacobs ended it by saying the Supreme Court was looking at a woman in a state where prostitution was illegal saying she had a fundamental right to freely employ her own body. It was something about freedom of religion, privacy, and contract. Mrs. Jacobs wanted us to think about that, if we thought she’d win. If she did, prostitution would be legal in the whole country.

This final radical idea simply put, is that who has a right to control and gain wealth of a person’s body? That person or someone else? Should not a person be able to use their body as they like? Outlawing it ‘locks it down’. It gives the power to control sex and sexuality to men or to the state, who each control access to sex. A woman, or even a man, is not allowed to trade access for their own gain – they must either grant it freely (previously illegal under fornication and adultry laws), or grant it and consent to a loss of freedom in exchange for ‘security’ (marriage) and legal recognition of ‘kinship’ (not sure how to describe the benefit spouses get in things like ability to visit in a hospital, etc).

And I said I would return to chapter 4 again, so look at this longer quote from chapter 4:

She filled us in on that woman who was suing her state for the right to use her body as she wanted. How it got to the Supreme Court on appeal, and how we’d know the result by summer, if not sooner. The woman had claimed her right as an extension of privacy, property, and something called ‘liberty of contract’ that Mrs. Jacobs said used to be a big thing after the Civil War, but was mostly not used anymore.

“It makes a lot of sense when you put it that way.” Kevin said.

“Yeah…” A girl in the back said.

“But,” she started, and I noticed Magante sit up “People often ignore the larger consequences of the choices that support their side.” Mrs. Jacobs looked at Ms. Magante.

“And do you think there are negative consequences?” Ms. Magante said.

“I’ll let the class make up their own minds on that. On the surface, sure; she should be able to use her body as she wants. It’s long been said that prostitution is a victimless activity.”

A girl I didn’t know raised her hand and said “But what about the families? Of the guys I mean. What about his wife?”

“If you think the government cares about the family, why is adultery legal?” Mrs. Jacobs said.

“Uh… Hmm…” the girl said. She didn’t have an answer for that, nor did I actually, I don’t think I’d ever thought of that.

“No, prostitution has traditionally been illegal because it represents economic power in something women have that men don’t, something they want. Men have been trying to control pussy since the day they realized they didn’t have one. It’s power over them.” Mrs. Jacobs said. Ms. Magante smiled at that, and it left me thinking, but I could see Kevin frown. “You might say adultery gives men power over the sexual relationship, as a converse.”

“What about wives who cheat?” I asked.

“That still gives a man sex without making an investment.” She said. Maybe if I thought about it I could answer that, but I didn’t have any ideas just then.

Prostitution puts sex in the ‘supply and demand’ model. If a person believes in ‘the free market’, that should be a desirable goal.

So there’s your ‘radical theory’. Pack that in with the ones over safety, victimless crime, ending slavery, etc…