Happy Juneteenth

•June 16, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Good News from SF BayView

Happy Juneteenth! SF Foundation invited the Bay View to apply, and got a grant! Bay View Archive Project For years, theywere told that the Bay View is too radical, too “edgy” to get a grant. Now the mighty San Francisco Foundation has kicked that obstacle out of the way, inviting them last year and again this year to apply. Last year a technical problem got in the way, but this time the grant – for $20,000 to the Bay View Archive Project – is signed, sealed and delivered. Their current website goes back only 10 years, and with the funds they’ll post as many of the previous 10 years’ stories as they can.

Juneteenth at Eastmont in East Oakland Report

I felt happy when I was dancing in the parking lot shouting “Ghetto International” with Jennifer Johns and the young ladies on stage.

I felt happy when I was shouting “I am a colored girl” with the other black woman on the stage, even though I was aware of being light skinned and biracial. After she uplifted all the dark skinned sisters, then she turned around and included the light skinned sisters and our brown Latina sisters who live here, and then all of the other colors and then said pink is a color, too, so the white girls could stand out there in the parking lot with all the colored girls.

I felt happy, doing Capoeira dance and martial arts moves with my Hello Kitty back pack and my skull fascinators and my black lipstick and Theda Bara eyeliner.

I felt happy when I got a mammogram out there and got to wait in the parking lot doing Juneteenth instead of having to get one in Berkeley at LifeLong Alta Bates. I was happy because I got to get my mammogram in a mobile office andd my hour in the waiting room was an hour out in the sun smiling and laughing with my neighbors.

I felt happy doing my goth chick club dances next to the elders who were line-dancing to the super hot cover of Boo’ed Up. I felt happy, even though sometimes I missed my mother – who was dark skinned and not mixed like me, but also a goth – who knew how to swing dance because she learned from her daddy who used to wear a Zoot Suit. I felt happy, even though sometimes I wanted to cry because I am over 50 now and my mommy is dead, and we can’t hold hands and dance and dare everyone to guess if we are mom and daughter or a lesbian couple anymore.

I felt happy when the younger black man asked me to sign his petition and said he knew me from Death Guild.

I felt happy when the grandson of my former pastor JR Richardson, the pastor who cast a vote and then went home and died peacefully in his sleep on died on Election Night 2000, came told me he STILL uses the video production skills my mom, brother and I taught him at th old public access station to videotape churches and secular, as well.

I felt happy when the Juneteenth in the parking lot on Bancroft at Eastmont reminded me of Juneteenth at Kimball Park in San Francisco and all the years me and mom wrote grants for non profits out there including SF Juneteenth.

I am proud of who we are, even if our Juneteenth is in the parking lot of a concrete institutional structure that houses police, social services, and low income medical care on one side and CVS and DeeDee’s Discount on the other side. I hope they make it an annual event.

Happy Juneteenth. I love Oakland.

Kill Switch “Travels” Sneak Peak

•June 14, 2019 • 2 Comments

HorrorAddicts.net Press presents…Kill Switch

As technology takes over more of our lives, what will it mean to be human, and will we fear what we’ve created? What horrors will our technological hubris bring us in the future?

 

Join us as we walk the line between progressive convenience and the nightmares these advancements can breed. From faulty medical nanos and AI gone berserk to ghost-attracting audio-tech and one very ambitious Mow-Bot, we bring you tech horror that will keep you up at night. Will you reach the Kill Switch in time?

A Sneak Peak Inside… 

KSss

TRAVELS

JERRY J. DAVIS

The phone had been ringing for quite a while.

Dodd noticed the ringing. Then he noticed it more. It was like he was coming back from somewhere down a long hallway to find a phone ringing at the very end. Then it took him a moment to realize he should answer it, being it was his phone.

He tore his eyes away from the large 3-D television screen and looked around his living room. His girlfriend was there along with some other friends, all of them staring at the screen. The phone rang on. No one noticed but him.

Dodd struggled to his feet and walked across the living room to the adjacent kitchen. He groaned. The time display on the telephone’s screen read seven-past-midnight. What was he doing still awake? It was a work night. The caller was probably Toby’s wife calling to get him to come home.

Dodd picked up the handset and touched the button to accept video. Instead of Toby’s wife, it was a cartoonish avatar for DeliveryMart.

“Hello, Dodd Corley! Sensors indicate that you are engaged with numerous guests watching a program and your refrigerator reports low stock on wine, beer, and snacks. Can we send more?”

“Um, what? How did you—”

“Great!” The avatar’s generated smile gleamed, and a twinkle showed in its cartoon eyes. “We’ll send it right over.” It broke connection and the screen displayed the date and time.

12:10 am. He had to get up for work at 5:30 am.

I’ve got to get these people out of here. He walked back into the living room.

“Okay, it’s time to call it a night. It’s way past my bedtime.”

No one looked away from the television. No one made a move. His girlfriend, Sheila, was only a few feet away, and she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. She stared at the screen with glazed eyes, breathing slowly through her slack mouth. Colors from the giant screen reflected over her white face.

He reached over and shook her.

“Are you asleep?” he asked.

“Huh?” She blinked, then turned and looked at him. “What?”

“I said, are you asleep?”

“Oh.” She held out her empty wine glass. “Can I have a refill?”

“A refill?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sheila, I …”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Please?”

Dodd took the glass and headed back to the kitchen. This is getting out of hand. I’m just going to go to bed with them here.

In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and kneeled down, holding Sheila’s glass under the tiny silicone spigot. A pale red liquid dribbled out, Vinny’s Uncommon ‘41, the best hydroponic wine money can buy. Sure enough, it was almost gone. The screen on the refrigerator indicated more was on order.

Haunting, racing music drifted in from the television—the endless soundtrack of the Travels Station. It seemed to spin around him in the air, the stereophonic sound bouncing through the kitchen. As he listened, he forgot what he was doing, swaying back and forth to the gentle rhythm. As he finished filling Sheila’s glass, he got another for himself and filled it as well. The Travels music was so relaxing. He felt light. He took the two glasses of wine back into the living room and eased himself down on the couch next to Sheila.

“Here,” he said.

Sheila took the glass wordlessly and ducked as he put his free arm around her. Dodd sipped the wine and the image of the rolling ball on screen pulled at his eyes like a magnet. For a moment he resisted, looking over at his friend and co-worker, Bob Recent. He was cuddling with his wife, Denise, at the opposite end of the couch. Both held empty wine glasses in their slack hands, and Dodd felt guilty he hadn’t given them refills. His other friend, Toby Whitehouse, was beside the Recents in an over-stuffed chair. He, too, was holding an empty glass.

Didn’t I have something to tell them? He couldn’t remember. The screen reclaimed his attention.

The surreal, multi-colored sphere had made its way down to a virgin beach. Early-morning sunlight streamed through large, mist-shrouded waves as they crashed ashore, and gulls soared in the lazy glowing sky. Music surged and ebbed with the scenery, never stopping and never repeating itself.

Dodd raised his wineglass to his mouth, but nothing came out, it was already gone. He let his hand drop, forgetting the glass, watching as the sphere bounced higher up on the beach, rebounding off rocks and driftwood, hitting patches of sand, and sending up clouds of slow-mo drifting particles.

Suddenly, he couldn’t see the screen. His eyes struggled to focus on a dark silhouette, inches from his face.

“Hey,” a voice said. “Been ringing for a while, man. Had to finally let myself in.” It was the DeliveryMart android with his groceries.

Dodd glanced over at the time display. It was close to 2:00 am.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed.

“You’re frying your brain watching that stuff,” the android said. “Touch here.”

Dodd touched his finger to the reader in the android’s palm, accepting the delivery. The machine was right. They were frying their brains. He stood and turned around to say something to Sheila, but she was still staring at the screen. Bob and Denise were equally oblivious.

He helped the android put away the groceries and said goodbye, then returned to the living room. For a moment, he considered just going to bed and leaving them to themselves, but Bob and Denise had to work just like he did. Maybe all he had to do was remind them of the fact.

Dodd leaned over his stack of video components and hit the main power button.

“Hey,” he said in a loud voice. “It’s after two in the morning!”

 

******************************************************

 

EDITED BY:

DAN SHAURETTE

& EMERIAN RICH

STORIES BY:

H.E. ROULO, TIM O’NEAL, JERRY J. DAVIS, EMERIAN RICH, BILL DAVIDSON,

DANA HAMMER, NACHING T. KASSA, GARRETT ROWLAN, DAPHNE STRASERT

PHILLIP T. STEVENS, LAUREL ANNE HILL, CHANTAL BOUDREAU, GARTH VON BUCHHOLZ

 

Available now on Amazon!

Interview with Scry of Lust author Sara the Black

•May 31, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Sara The Black

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Sara the Black is an introverted California native hermiting deep in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Proudly multicultural, this primarily Sephardic Jew/Kaldresh Romani was raised in Southern California. A Gender Queer, Asexual, Intersex disabled adult living with multiple chronic illnesses, Sara opted for retirement off-grid with a fiercely independent private contractor/writer companion and neurotic female feline minions. -She- is an unapologetically voracious reader with a healthy appetite for street tacos, good beer, and Hello Kitty

Scry of Lust

Dark and seductive, alluring and imaginative, perverse, shocking, and at times hilarious—Scry of Lust is an arousing collection of erotica, paranormal romance, sexy poetry, and kinky tales that will spark your desire and quicken your breath. Indulge in the lustful imaginings of this diverse group of writers, all by your naughty self, or share it out loud to entice your lovers. Scry of Lust will charm the pants off of you—literally!

Profits from this collection are being donated to the San Francisco AIDSWalk, through SFGoth Team #5015, in memory of Gregory Hug.

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Sarah the Black with Greg Hug

Writing Sample from Ego: Free Me

I burrowed deeper into my thick hoodie as I stormed out into the cold night. Dolly’s version of ‘Jolene’ queued up on my playlist. I cranked up the volume on my player app and filtered out the passing chaos of the city on a fast walk of a few blocks to my refuge.

It was one of those quirky secrets a city like San Francisco could swallow up and only be a hidden gem to true devotees of the darker side of consensual interludes. Yeah we had our share of sex club, bath houses, fetish bars and porn studios but EGO was a deliciously filthy mix of the best parts of the above with a dedicated cast of burlesque and cirque du freak acts. I reached the quiet unmarked door manned by Tiny, a huge Samoan dude in full Class A’s and a Jack Skellington beanie set at an absurd angle on his enormous bald head. He stepped in front of me with a dramatic scowl but those bright green eyes sparkled at some inside joke we’ve never uttered out loud. I pulled the hoodie back enough to show my face.

“Kit…its been a while.”
“Yeah um…I’ve been busy with stuff.” I glanced up briefly before looking back down at my threadbare Chucks.
“Stuff…yeah. They’ve been asking about you.”
“I owe them an explanation, especially Daddy Mao.”
“Yup. Go on in.” He grunted, giving me a slap on the back.
I swiped my membership card on the reader.
**BEEP**

Finally.

I stashed my gear at coat check and headed straight to the bar. Behind me the house DJ was playing a Dub step/WitchHouse mix with seriously cranked up bass. The bartender Katia made eye contact with me and looked momentarily stunned before assuming the usual mask of pleasantry.

“KIT! OMG BABE!!” she had a Jack and Diet Coke (light on ice!) mixed up and slung my way before I had a chance to respond. I smiled and shook my head before chugging round one of liquid courage. She refilled it as soon as the glass hit the highly polished black lacquered counter.

“Thanks.” I was relaxing into the next round when Katia looked up and her face immediately went pale. I glanced at the antique mirror behind the bar and studied the crowd behind me.

There in all His splendor, stood Daddy Mao.

Our eyes met via the warped reflection. A finely drawn eyebrow arched briefly before Daddy spun on 5” platform heels and sauntered in an effortless stride into the back hallway.

I slowly finished my drink then slapped down a crisp new Cnote on the bar with my glass securing it.

Rolling my shoulders and giving my neck a satisfying crack, I followed Daddy Mao into utter bliss.

Interview:

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Q. How did you find out about the Kinky Writer’s Group or Munch at Wicked Grounds? Was it online, in person, through a referral, and how well did it meet expectations when you arrived?

A. I’ve been invited several times but health and transportation issues have kept me from attending thus far. It seems like a lively group- I encourage those less hermity than myself to attend and unleash their yearning creativity.

Q. When did you first start writing? Do you feel it was your purpose to put writing in the world – or do you view writing as a hobby, and how did you begin to love writing if you do love it at all.

A. I’ve always written. It was a major survival mechanism against an absolutely atrocious childhood. As an emancipated teenager, writing helped me put reason to paper and guide me through decision making skills I didn’t have a mentor or an archetype to draw upon.

Q. Before Scry of Lust, had you ever put your writing out into the world in any form and if so, how and where?

A. I was published in a ton of underground zines in Southern California and more recently up in my WA stint. Most of it was poetry, off grid survival articles, costuming addendum to convention panels and workshops, some ghost writing for authors published through Eloras’s Cave, an article or two regarding medieval musicological theory. I haven’t published any personal pieces, absolutely nothing with a touch of self experience emancipated unto fiction until this year. My domestic partner is a ravenously prolific writer and between the call out for submissions and seeing him tap away one amazing piece after another I decided what the heck why not?

Q. Some of the pieces in the anthology are sci-fi leaning; others are fantasy, real life scenarios, poetry, or transgressive fiction. How would you describe your own brand of erotic fiction?

A. Real, raw- profoundly emotional. I write what I know. I was born intersex and was gender assigned cis female. Up until recent life events I was heavily into the modification, suspension and ‘Freak’ scene and I’ll always feature or at least hint at these details in future writings. I keep Kit’s biology purposefully vague, preferring to focus on the human experience of a scene. As a former High Protocol trained submissive that later graduated to being an instructional Top, consent, negotiated perimeters and through aftercare are essential not only in a deeply emotional piece but obviously in real life as well.

Q. Many of the people in the anthology are marginalized in one way or another. Women are underrepresented in horror while men are underrepresented in the romance literary genre, queer people are under-represented in literature and disabled people and ethnic minorities are more often written about by others than able to self-represent. Do you view yourself as a member of any marginalized communities and if so, how do you feel about the representation of those communities in both this anthology and in erotica in general?

A. I think I hit most of the big check marks on this one. Being a gender queer intersex disabled minority female that is openly of Sephardic Jew, Romani and a smattering of other exciting genetic queries I see this very strongly in the realm of writing, period. I think there is an uncomfortable amount of focus on race and identity when there’s a push to make a quota or find another marketing angle for a tired publisher/event. There are an amazing amount of undiscovered authors out there that don’t fit the classic ‘marketable’ mold. I wish more of these amazing people had a chance at mainstream recognition.

Q.  Erotica seems to have a bad name in certain circles as a trash genre – do you think that is true? Anne Rice said that erotica and romance are maligned because they are genres written mostly by women for women, do you think that is valid? Finally, do you think people view male-written erotica like John Norman’s Chronicles of Gor as any more or less trashy?

A. I love me some ‘Bodice Rippers’…but I also enjoy intelligent, deeply complicated fiction where people express sexy and panty melting moments. To both dismiss and systematically lump all erotica and ‘trash’ and ‘smut’ is honestly denying oneself an opportunity for moments of escape and self reflection. I think women know the things that make a reader tick or in this case, um…purr?

Q. I think male written erotica has more acceptability because its viewed as subjective since the main subject- females, are not a state of being they are intuitively aware of being. Its like someone that writes about serial killers but isn’t one if that makes any sense.

A. Which of the other writer’s stories did you like the most and want to recommend that the readers check out? I know you loved the whole book, but this isn’t the question. If you wanted to entice the prospective reader to buy the book, name 1 to 3 works that you didn’t personally write that you would point them at to read first. And why?

I haven’t read any of the offerings on this compilation. I’m waiting for the weekend after my outpatient surgery to curl up and really immerse myself into a huge spectrum of experiences. This sounds like its going to be delightful.

Q. Finally – since this is horror blog – what is your favorite scarerogenous hot sexy scene in a horror movie, and do you think it is appropriate or inappropriate to be turned on by this?

A. Ha! I’ll blame Merlin Monroe for this final question right? Easily has to be the scene in Bram Stoker’s Dracula between the Brides and Harker. You have to also consider what a seriously sexy mofo Gary Oldman was in the role as well all decked out in improper period attire. That cravat, Gods forbid!

The Red Bride by Omewenne

•May 31, 2019 • Leave a Comment

THE RED BRIDE by Omewenne

Little Ola was watching her Grandmother walk slowly away into the meadow which lay before The Great Forest; Grandmother who wore her long coarse pale gown, and the waving grain blowing in the cold North Wind. It was late in the day; the sky was darkening. Grandmother looked behind her at Ola so far away, Ola with tears in her eyes. This time her dear Grandmother would not return. Grandmother would simply disappear into the woods, not to go gathering food but to go away forever. Grandmother was the only one who looked after tiny Ola. She had told Ola to stay close to the younger mothers; that maybe one of them would take her in. But Ola had golden hair which meant she was marked for the Wolf Priests. This marred Ola for superstition so other children stayed away from her that is unless they too had golden hair and were little girls. There were only a handful of girls with golden hair. These girls shared curious glances between each other. Ola didn’t know nor did the other little golden haired girls, that they had been marked. The little golden haired girls didn’t know why others avoided them, or what it meant. The marking was a custom but a secret among the adults. Why Grandmother hadn’t told Ola wasn’t clear.

There Grandmother was along with a smattering of other old people. Frail people in fact, all the remaining in the village, now in the meadow, destined for the unknown in The Great Forest. Ola was taught to fear The Great Forest. It was sacred and dark things happened there. The wind was cold so Ola wrapped up in her goatskin to keep herself warm. Her Grandmother had been stripped almost all her garments. Ola could see her grandmother shivering and holding her arms close to her body as she slowly walked without even her stick deep into the meadow. Driving them on were many strong young men who prodded the elders on with great long forked branches while they themselves were dressed warmly in heavy furs of goats and deer, and fur wrapped boots. And so the elders were forced towards The Great Forest. This was the way of the people. There was little to sustain the elderly; no older person wanted to live to be resented for their invalidity. Still the old people looked back at the crowd of younger people watching them from the village with sadness in their eyes, and fear as the older people carried on into the woods. An hour or so must have passed as the light was nearly gone from the sky. When the sky was black, torches appeared in the meadow and drew nearer to the watching villagers. The deed was done, the old driven out. 

Ola ran to her stone dwelling and sobbed uncontrollably. There was now no one to take care of her. No one to gather her food; she would have to do it herself. How was she, alone, to survive? Something in her felt her Grandmother at her side saying,”Don’t be afraid, Ola! You must be brave.” Ola remembered hearing her Grandmother agonizing from time to time in the past,”Oh, I am a coward!” This scared Ola; she would not be a coward; she would be strong and follow the mothers into The Great Forest to gather food in the daylight. Ola would do as she had watched her Grandmother do so many times before, before the time she could not remember, adding the ingredients of her gathering to the cauldron inside the dwelling and making a stew which she could then eat for days in the winter. If she were fortunate perhaps the women would give her goat meat for that is what the people bartered for with the goatherds, the strong young men who had forced out her grandmother. Ola would have to be a big person and do as the big people did. For now she would feel the loss of her beloved Grandmother, pine for her, cry out until she fell asleep on the bed of pelts and dried grasses.

Rain fell for days to come. Ola knew the Great Goddess of the Sky was weeping for the old who had been absorbed into The Great Forest. In some dwelling deep into the woods, Ola thought, lived her Grandmother now. Some day the little girl would go and find her when she was brave enough, and she would bring with her food which she gathered as an act of gratitude. 

On a day of gathering the women villagers drew their children near to them and left their dwellings to go into just the outer rim of The Great Forest for herbs and fungi. Ola ventured as well staying close to one family, mimicking their actions. After awhile the mother of the family, who had dark haired children, hissed at Ola to go away,”You are marked, let us be!”

Little Ola took the few herbs she had gathered along with some water from the stream flowing in a crook in the earth; with the water she filled a dried animal stomach. Ola made her way back to her dwelling alone in the pelting rain, beating in blows against her body in the cold, cold air. She worried she might become sick with the shivers but then thought about her Grandmother’s cowardice and vowed to remain strong.

At the stone dwelling she emptied her collection of herbs into the cauldron and began with her stone striker to set a fire in the little pit in the center of the room. She had never set a fire before but had watched her grandmother-she must be able, her very survival depended on it. She struck and struck, her little fingers beginning to bleed, but finally a flicker, then a flame burst over the bracken and twigs – fire! The cauldron was then very awkwardly lifted and placed (with all the strength in Ola’s little body) atop the fire. All there was to do now was to wait for the cauldron to stew.

So life was for little Ola even when the snows came, when she was sluggish, wanting only to curl up in her bed. The wonder of snow on a child was lost on her.

The day came when one of the goat herders entered her dwelling, scaring her. He said to her,”Come, child! All of the brides must gather for the ritual of the white goats.” She was stripped down to her coarse white under gown by this man.Then the man took a frightened Ola’s arm with great force and so she followed him shyly out towards the center of the village towards the sound of tremendous drumming to where she saw a rather curious thing. Five white goats where suspended upside down from tall wooden poles in a ring where the other golden-haired little girls were brought by other goat herders. All of the villagers surrounded this ring as the golden-haired girls, shivering in the snow, were set beneath each goat.

Suddenly through the crowd came five giant men wearing what Ola guessed were ferocious looking wolf masks made of wicker and fur. These masks covered the men’s entire heads; they seemed also to be dressed in wolf pelts or so Ola thought but didn’t know for certain. These wolf priests terrified the girls to the point where they began to scream. Each of the wolf priests came to stand before each of the little girls and the white goats which bleated endlessly upon seeing the priests. Ola remembered that wolves came from The Great Forest and ate from the wild beasts which roamed there. But why were these tall men dressed as wolves?

Ola summoned up her courage, looking up at the priest but she could not see his eyes through the mask, she asked,”Do you come from The Great Forest? I must find my grandmother who lives there now. Do you know her?” 

The wolf priest looked down at her for some time but said nothing.

Please! I wonder what has become of her!”, Ola cried over the great beating of the drums.

The wolf priest did not respond.

All at once the drums ceased. There was fear in the air. The wolf priests went to their belts and drew out daggers. Ola looked way above her head to the face of the goat, very much alive and hanging over her head. The wolf priest slit the throat of the goat with the dagger. Blood engulfed poor Ola who began to scream. All the little girls screamed. The wolf priests threw off their masks and drank from a potion hung around their necks, gurgling it down. Ola saw that her priest was a swarthy, rough skinned, dark haired man with blood shot, very pale blue eyes and bushy eyebrows which met in the middle. He and the other wolf priests then let out a horrible howling cry to the sky.

The women and men called out now to the little red girls,”Run! Hide! Run into the meadow, to The Great Forest! Run, Red Brides, run!”

Ola and the other Red Brides did just so as fast as their little feet could carry them. The villagers made a path for them to the snow-wafted meadow.

Run, Red Brides, run!”, the villagers continued to cry. Ola did not look back over her shoulder as she made her way for the snow covered meadow where not long ago she watched her Grandmother walk away into. Ola thought she would find her now. Those wolf priests are only men; there is no magic to them! The Great Forest approached as the snowy meadow’s grasses whipped coldly at her little body and the bodies of the other Red Brides. “Keep coming, Ola!’, she heard her Grandmother say,”Come home to me! I am waiting for you!”

Omewenne for Blog

Biography:

Omewenne was adopted from care in Detroit, Michigan into a Catholic Military family and grew up on both coasts of the USA and Japan. Fleeing from her fanatical and controlling, abusive father, at eighteen in 1984 she landed in San Francisco where she shared a friend’s flat. Omewenne reinvented herself and became a kind of subcultural celebrity in the 1980’s and 1990’s on Haight street to start then onto the club scenes in various circles, then as an actress on stage and screen, playwright, singer composer, poet, and short story writer. Record deals and book deals evaded and failed her but she has been captured in photographs and in films including “Never Met Picasso”, “Stroke”, and a pixel portrait by George Kuchar called simply “Omewenne”. Having wrestled with mental illness since a child she became lost in the psychiatric realm. Marrying in 2001 to an Englishman she swapped countries for the Netherlands and began to research her new world. In Cornwall in her cottage in 2009 she had a massive breakdown and fled to Portland, Oregon where she stayed briefly and manged to maintain her poetry and research into ancient texts. It wasn’t until her return to Cornwall that short stories and music returned to her.

Interview with Scry of Lust with Darcy Hughes

•May 28, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Darcy Hughes aka Princess Skunkheart Photo Credit: Desiree Darling

The Author:

 

The book cover name listed is Merlin Monroe. It’s part of my queer magicks to have more than one name; I have fifteen.  The full list is: Christopher Douglas Salvatore Hughes, flurp, Tristissima, Grok Amiri, Staci Everheart, et alia laughing and weeping, Wizard Lizard, Princess Teacup. Pope Uncommon the Dainty, Gandalfina Ixtliyollotl Face-and-Heart. Merlin Monroe, Dionysia Sacredmirror, Kaleidoscope Eyes, Darcy Marie Salvatore Hughes, Skunkheart

I use either e/em/eir/eirs/emself or fey/fem/fear/fierce/femself pronouns.

Name of Stories in Scry of Lust:

  • Aduality{0≠2;1=108}
  • Bimbo Sutra #2
  • Tlazolteotl in the Language of Asatru and Hinduism, Or: Because I Do Not Know Your Language Well Enough Yet
  • Letter Found in the Wreck of a Pirate Ship Sunk in the Caribbean, April 10, 1947

Excerpt from Aduality{0≠2;1=108}

Skunkheart (photo credit: Dan Nicoletta)

Skunkheart (photo credit: Dan Nicoletta)

                An outline of a rectangle like a hexagon pulled upwards, formed by two metallic rods rising until they were connected at the top by a revolving steel shaft which supported a crosswise arm of harsh steel, reached up from the table surface.  Two large square bottomed pyramids of epoxy resin and metal shavings contained magnets and dangled from this arm’s two extremes.  Under each was that very curiously constructed fixture which so casually fascinates the eye, a sort of shallow oval bowl, formed of a peculiar layering of magnets, wood, and metals, filled with water, and above that a number of zinc and copper plates, alternately arranged; the two served as orgonic and electric reservoirs, respectively.  These were supplied with lofty metallic attractors that reached gracefully upward.  As with most ships, various metallic bars, plates, wires, magnets, insulating substances, peculiar chemical compounds, etc., adorned our Electric Messiah according to the doting arcane nuances of our New Mary’s incessant tinkering.  At certain points around the circumference of these structures, and connected with the center, more pyramids hung alternating with small, steel, magnet-enclosing balls.  A balloon structure hanging between the table legs inhaled and respired gently, like the chest of a sleeping lover, growing to delicious size and then lazily draining air into the rest of the machine.

I felt myself begin to be aroused, blood rushing to my cheeks and sensitive bits, the invisible shift as my cardigan accommodated tightening breasts and assertive nipples, the muscles of my hips and legs loosening.  My dress worried me, as my trinket pressed against it, ruining the line of its fall past my hips; I no longer felt the hem along the front of my thigh.  I wiggled my toes ~ a ritual of sensuous anticipation ~ and a giggle interrupted my enjoyment of the precision with which this ship part was made.

“Ummmm, okay, so how do we start?”

“I usually start with a moment of appreciation of the well-made machine we’ll be powering, Captain.  Gets me in the mood, as it were.  That being said, I suppose it’s time to engage with you.”

She pranced closer, steps too quick for me to track, and suddenly all I could feel was the sticky slipperiness of her latex, pink with her considerable features offered with pale blue outlines, as our closeness pressed its bulges against me in ways both random and predictable.

The Interview:

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Priestess (Francesca Gentille) and Darcy Hughes (Merlin Monroe)

Q. How did you find out about the Kinky Writer’s Group or Munch at Wicked Grounds? Was it online, in person, through a referral, and how well did it meet expectations when you arrived?

A. I met Maustress Sumiko at a local kinky speed-dating event. On our two-minute speed date, she was bold and brash enough to offer me a taste of how her nails felt scratching the back of my hand.  I left her a note saying that I’d enjoyed it, which was enough to convince her to very shyly approach me soon thereafter.  Within a handful of minutes, she had me at her mercy in the dungeon, and a new D/s relationship burst into the world.  This was at about the same time that she was starting the munch, but she wasn’t the only founder I’d met before ~ Lydia had been a frequent attendee of the Elegant D/s Munch held at the same coffee shop by another Dominant of mine (Priestess, who is also published in this book).  I was pleasantly surprised by the efficacy of the model being used ~ most writing groups of which I’ve been a member keep the writing and the critiquing very separate, on different days of different weeks if anything.  But this group gave writers a reason to have to write, which is something many of us struggle with, and then allows for immediate feedback from writers at all expertise levels.  That last is super important, because the breadth of experience in your critiquers allows your work to be examined by many different angles.  Writing is a craft where the gross and the subtle, the macro and the micro, really do interpenetrate and interdepend, after all!

Q. When did you first start writing? Do you feel it was your purpose to put writing in the world – or do you view writing as a hobby, and how did you begin to love writing if you do love it at all.

A. I love the implication that one could be a writer who hates writing, or (worst of all!) is neutral towards it. It tickles a rare sadistic part of me to imagine someone who is compelled to churn out amazing work while despising every second of it.  Regardless, I grew up knowing that I wanted to write.  Sci-fi/fantasy was my first love, born from a childhood thinking that I was imaginary because I was both and neither boy and girl (I’m genderqueer for those who need to know what to call me).  That all shifted once I hit high school, the common hormonal transmogrification from prose fiction dreamer to shitty poetry writer.  I fell in love with the standard poets for disaffected teenagers to fall in love with ~ Lord George Gordon Byron and Allen Ginsburg, most prominently.  Then came the movie Slam, starring Saul Williams, and my literary life changed dramatically in a blink of an eye.  My first-ever attendance at a poetry slam was in December of 2000, back in those halcyon days before the PATRIOT Act and a second Gulf War and all the things that shaped people my age who are like me.  I went on to perform poetry on slam stages for a decade before turning my attention back to prose.  Ever since, I’ve been focusing on speculative prose fiction, graphic fiction, and writing for role-playing games.

As for loving writing ~ the word “genderqueer” wasn’t coined until I was thirteen (by Riki Ann Wilchins) and “nonbinary gender” took another ten years before it was coined. It wasn’t so much that I thought I was the only one who felt both like fey didn’t fit into either the boys’ line or the girls’ line and like e fit into both, but that I thought that was impossible.  I thought I was impossible.  But, as J.R.R. Tolkien said, “Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme/of things nor found within record time./It is not they that have forgot the Night,/or bid us flee to organised delight,/in lotus-isles of economic bliss/forswearing souls to gain a Circe-kiss/(and counterfeit at that, machine-produced,/bogus seduction of the twice-seduced).” ~ by engaging in acts of mythopeia, I was able to begin spelling myself first into possibility and then into existence.  My many fantasies were, in fact, a glamour that called me, weirld little ol’ me, into being.  Without them, I would probably have killed myself ~ or is it killing if the corpse was never real?  So, ummmm, yeah, that’s how I began to love writing.

Q. Before Scry of Lust, had you ever put your writing out into the world in any form and if so, how and where (links, if available)

A. This is my first like legit book publication! WOOOHOOOO!  Before this, all of my publishing was performing on stage.  As I mentioned earlier, I performed slam poetry for about a decade; in the process of that career, I won a spot on two national teams, both from Palo Alto, attending the National Poetry Slam in Albuquerque in 2006 and Austin in 2007.

Q. Some of the pieces in the anthology are sci-fi leaning; others are fantasy, real life scenarios, poetry, or transgressive fiction. How would you describe your own brand of erotic fiction?

A. Hmmm… Well, see my previous ranting about my writing being a magickal spell to exist, for one. That’s true for my various fiction writings (prose, graphic, and RPG), at the barest minimum.  I want to throw Tolkien’s ideas about mythopeia (as demonstrated in the poem of the same name and the essay “On Fairy-Stories”), the anti-capitalist pagan/polytheist use of re-enchantment as a liberatory praxis (you can find a good start on this at https://finnchuillsmast.wordpress.com/2015/08/19/becoming-placed-part-i/), Willem Larsen’s conception of Mythic Cartography (http://www.lulu.com/us/en/shop/willem-larsen/the-college-of-mythic-cartography/paperback/product-21654330.html), and even the ideas from Aevee Bee’s “Toward a Cutie Aesthetic” (http://www.mammonmachine.com/mammon-machine-central-routing/2014/9/27/towards-a-cutie-aesthetic-) together into my stewpot, leave it simmering for hours like a broth or a good marinara, and feed the result to all of my readers, nourishing them.  It’s up to those readers if I succeed ~ writing is, to me, an inherently submissive endeavour whose success is dictated not by my efforts or will but by the reader’s.  This is erotic fiction with a wide variety of bodies and genders and sexualities and romances and neurologies, stories which understand and assert that sexuality need not look like genital friction but that lust and love can run in any number of directions.  I hope my attempt at science fictional objectum sexualis erotica works ~ I welcome any OS readers’ commentary on how to make my description of the Electric Messiah hotter!

My poetry is a broad selection ~ Scry of Lust contains two slam poems, one of which is also a prayer of praise and alignment, a devotional offering to the teotl I often call my Boss Lady, and an assemblage poem. In “Letter Found in the Wreck of a Pirate Ship Sunk in the Caribbean, April 10, 1947” I explore the inherent queer incoherence of language, step towards a second-order existentialism, the search for an image without a meaning.  My fiction is working to make me real, but this poem and its siblings are an attempt to claim citizenship by virtue of my gender in the nonsensical realms.  It was compiled by taking a collection of Pablo Neruda’s poetry in translation and welding together in order the first line of the first poem, the second line of the second poem, the third line of the third poem, et cetera.

Yes, I am, in fact, pretentious as fuck. Blame too much time spent in and among academia.  The non-pretentious version: my writing is me saying some shit and hoping it sparks new thoughts in your brains or something.  Or maybe it sparks joy; I dunno, go ask Marie Kondo.

Q. Many of the people in the anthology are marginalized in one way or another. Women are underrepresented in horror while men are underrepresented in the romance literary genre, queer people are under-represented in literature and disabled people and ethnic minorities are more often written about by others than able to self-represent. Do you view yourself as a member of any marginalized communities and if so, how do you feel about the representation of those communities in both this anthology and in erotica in general? (note:– you may consider

A. I am genderqueer, nonbinary, transgender, Autistic, crazy, and my primary sexual orientation isn’t straight, gay, bi, or pan, but kinky and submissive. I am also a religious minority, somewhere in the pagan/polytheist/occultist realm.

We’re well-represented in this anthology! We have multiple pieces in this work depicting each of these identities, with the possible exception of Autism.  Several of the characters in the book could be guessed to be Autistic, but as far as I can tell, mine is the only one that tried to make a point of it, subtle though it is in my story.  Though I am not multiple, a plural, or a system, I’ve many friends among a variety of systems and so was SUPER HAPPY to read a piece in this book involving sex with members of a system.  Enbies and ace/aro folk are starting to get some recognition, but it seems to me (again, as a singular person) that multiples are just starting to build the fondation from which they can really gain the recognition they deserve in our society.

More importantly than our presence, however, is how we are written. Much of the erotica, hell most of the literature, I have read objectifies the marginalized identities oresent in it, even when written by us.  The issue is that our identity becomes part of the buzz, part of the heat, part of the engine driving the work ~ it becomes not a story about trans folk having sex, for example, but about fucking trans folk.  As if us being trans or crazy is dirty, kinky, naughty.  We are not a fetish.  I made Awiti Autistic because disabled folk of all kinds, including Autistics, are very often desxualized in our culture.  I have literally had allistics tell me, thinking I was one of them because I pass well, that having sex with an Autist would automatically be rape.  As if we didn’t have the natural, human, sovereign capability to consent.  And if we don’t have that, what can we assume but that we are seen as less than human?  Less even than animals, since animalian consent is considered possible by wide swathes of the population?  Anyway *calming myself down* what I’m saying is that I would like to read more porn by Autists for Autists starring Autists.  Please and thank you!

What I was actually saying was that the stories in this book are, generally speaking, written from within the communities and having gotten over that hump born of internalized oppression and the need to beg for recognition. These are stories starring us, even about us, in which us being us isn’t the core of the tale.  We get to be humans, or pets, or fucktoys, or what-have-you in these tales rather than objectified representations of identities, and that has lifted my heart to the highest heavens.

Q. Erotica seems to have a bad name in certain circles as a trash genre – do you think that is true? Anne Rice said that erotica and romance are maligned because they are genres written mostly by women for women, do you think that is valid? Finally, do you think people view male-written erotica like John Norman’s Chronicles of Gor as any more or less trashy?

A. Ooohhh, this is a thorny question. For the most part, I think, my answer is similar to my perspective on our culture’s trashing of gossip ~ is gossip/erotica bad/trashy because we associate with women, or do we associate it with women because it is bad/trashy?  I don’t have an answer, and I defy you to say that you do.  Erotica is the fancy name we give to pornography (a word, of course, that means “writing the female slave” in its Greek roots) because we want to think that reading is somehow more elevated a pursuit than looking, and pornography is an emotion-focused genre just as much as horror, thrillers, or psychedelic literature are.  We cannot talk about Westerns without talking about the (genocidal af) American West, and we cannot talk about science fiction without talking about science (even fantastical, made-up science).  What we say about one we are saying about the other.  Look at your perspective on erotica/pornography; look at your perspective on sex.  Are they different?  Why?

Q. Which of the other writer’s stories did you like the most and want to recommend that the readers check out? I know you loved the whole book, but this isn’t the question. If you wanted to entice the prospective reader to buy the book, name 1 to 3 works that you didn’t personally write that you would point them at to read first. And why?

A. SO MANY! Like, seriously, most of the stories.  Not even lying.  Oh, wait, I have a limit of 3, and my Mistress is asking the question, so I better obey.  *sigh* What a sadist 😀   OK, let’s see ~ “Adona’s Feast” is a masterful capturing of the type of sexually ecstatic, sadomasochistic(ish) religious mood so often evoked in the mythology of ancient Greece, whence of course the harpy (to whom the ritual being depicted is dedicated) comes to us.  Part of that is the insightfully genius way Maustress Sumiko captures the ambiguity that creeps into modern readings of ancient rituals, seeming especially so when we are discussing the wild rites of the Hellenes.  It’s dedicated to Andona, but seems to be almost more about the mortals involved than about her, but it’s the maenadic loss of control that matters.  It’s sadomasochistic in that it is a kaleidoscopic admixture of pain and sex, but the feel of it, the mood of it, its essence, is so far from modern conceptions of even spiritual sadomasochism that it sets our brains on tilt.  As both a classicist, a Dungeons & Dragons player, and a kinky-ass submissive, the story lit me up.  I might even, as a bit of a follow-up, try to write a D&D setting taking elements of this story, another of Maustress’s and some of the other more fantastic bits of the book and at least fan-publish that (with consent, obvi).

“The Clearing” hit some deep sense-memories for me and stirred them together with my daydreams and fantasies for a simply intoxicating cocktail of a text. The blending of loving yet cruel non-monogamy, the comfortable assumption of Dominance, the ecosexuality and subject<=>SUBJECT consciousness with which the surrounding non-city environment is treated and how it is involved in the sex, and the romance of the whole thing was such a heady mix that it made this sentence less grammatical and more wordy than I intended 🙂  Not only did it have me squirming my cute little ass in the bed while I read it, but it drew the sort of sighs from my chest that can only come from one who has approached within sight of that which they long for, only to not achieve it.

Speaking of not achieving it, “Getting Hammered” is one of two stories in the anthology that directly address what it’s like to love and fuck real people with real traumas. That point out that the point of a fantasy is to reach for it, not to achieve it.  While the other story both hits one of my biggest kinks (bimbofication, for those playing the home game) and has adorably real moments of failure, both in the sex and in the dealing with trauma bits, “Getting Hammered” got the spot on my Top 3 because it gets closer to depicting my trauma.  The very easy and thus common trauma of a Dominant never quite being happy with your service.  Without even realizing what they’re doing, a Dominant can ravage a submissive’s inner landscape.  It has happened to me, and it has happened to the narrator of this story, and it was truly beautiful to see a Dominant recognize what was happening, understand it, and address it *within the dynamic*.  He doesn’t have to break his Dominance to help her heal, and that makes the healing all the more powerful for both character and reader.

Q. Finally – since this is horror blog – what is your favorite scarerogenous hot sexy scene in a horror movie, and do you think it is appropriate or inappropriate to be turned on by this?

A. Almost any mind control scene, honestly. The depth and level of the submission that is taken by the villain of whatever sort is exciting, and then the ways in which that usually results in the self-destruction of whoever’s controlled really tickles my trinket in the most pleasurable of ways.  If you want a specific example, I definitely got that vibe throughout The Craft, even in those scenes in which there wasn’t any mind control, somehow.  It helped that this was when I was at the age that many people discover witchcraft and that it was at the time when the teenage McWitch industry began to really boom, but I had many wet nightmares throughout my early first puberty of Fairuza Balik and the others mind-controlling me into doing things like driving a car at full speed into a wall.  If you’ve never had erotic nightmares, I do suggest you try sometime ~ I find them quite delicious.

Also, one way that my submissiveness can swing is towards a memetic image I have in my head that I can’t think of any actual example sof, but I’ll mention it here. It’s the image of, like, a demon (or Satan, I suppose) sitting on a throne in Hell or in a demonic stronghold or somesuch, with a broken slave chained and sitting on the floor next to them.  The cognitive side of the image is that slave has been completely broken and, thus, can always be used by the demon when the demon for whatever reason can’t let go and go as hard as they want on someone.  They can go as hard as they want on the broken slave, but ~ AND ~ that means the slave doesn’t get hurt as often anymore, but does get trusted and can thus serve as the most delicious sort of instigator, driving the demon to ever greater and more creative tortures of other beings.  If you can think of any examples in media that resemble that image even in the slightest, PLEASE send them my way ~ werd2thenerd@yahoo.com or (better) on FetLife as @Staci_Everheart.

As to whether it’s appropriate or inappropriate: fuck if I know.  Anyway, it really only involves me most of the time, so if I can’t collapse that waveform and come up with an answer, that seems OK.  I’m happier living in the question and the self-examination that requires, anyway.

Scry of Lust Interview with Sara the Black

•May 21, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Sara The Black

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Sara the Black is an introverted California native hermiting deep in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Proudly multicultural, this primarily Sephardic Jew/Kaldresh Romani was raised in Southern California. A Gender Queer, Asexual, Intersex disabled adult living with multiple chronic illnesses, Sara opted for retirement off-grid with a fiercely independent private contractor/writer companion and neurotic female feline minions. -She- is an unapologetically voracious reader with a healthy appetite for street tacos, good beer, and Hello Kitty

Scry of Lust

Dark and seductive, alluring and imaginative, perverse, shocking, and at times hilarious—Scry of Lust is an arousing collection of erotica, paranormal romance, sexy poetry, and kinky tales that will spark your desire and quicken your breath. Indulge in the lustful imaginings of this diverse group of writers, all by your naughty self, or share it out loud to entice your lovers. Scry of Lust will charm the pants off of you—literally!

Profits from this collection are being donated to the San Francisco AIDSWalk, through SFGoth Team #5015, in memory of Gregory Hug.

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Sarah the Black with Greg Hug

Writing Sample from Ego: Free Me

I burrowed deeper into my thick hoodie as I stormed out into the cold night. Dolly’s version of ‘Jolene’ queued up on my playlist. I cranked up the volume on my player app and filtered out the passing chaos of the city on a fast walk of a few blocks to my refuge.

It was one of those quirky secrets a city like San Francisco could swallow up and only be a hidden gem to true devotees of the darker side of consensual interludes. Yeah we had our share of sex club, bath houses, fetish bars and porn studios but EGO was a deliciously filthy mix of the best parts of the above with a dedicated cast of burlesque and cirque du freak acts. I reached the quiet unmarked door manned by Tiny, a huge Samoan dude in full Class A’s and a Jack Skellington beanie set at an absurd angle on his enormous bald head. He stepped in front of me with a dramatic scowl but those bright green eyes sparkled at some inside joke we’ve never uttered out loud. I pulled the hoodie back enough to show my face.

“Kit…its been a while.”
“Yeah um…I’ve been busy with stuff.” I glanced up briefly before looking back down at my threadbare Chucks.
“Stuff…yeah. They’ve been asking about you.”
“I owe them an explanation, especially Daddy Mao.”
“Yup. Go on in.” He grunted, giving me a slap on the back.
I swiped my membership card on the reader.
**BEEP**

Finally.

I stashed my gear at coat check and headed straight to the bar. Behind me the house DJ was playing a Dub step/WitchHouse mix with seriously cranked up bass. The bartender Katia made eye contact with me and looked momentarily stunned before assuming the usual mask of pleasantry.

“KIT! OMG BABE!!” she had a Jack and Diet Coke (light on ice!) mixed up and slung my way before I had a chance to respond. I smiled and shook my head before chugging round one of liquid courage. She refilled it as soon as the glass hit the highly polished black lacquered counter.

“Thanks.” I was relaxing into the next round when Katia looked up and her face immediately went pale. I glanced at the antique mirror behind the bar and studied the crowd behind me.

There in all His splendor, stood Daddy Mao.

Our eyes met via the warped reflection. A finely drawn eyebrow arched briefly before Daddy spun on 5” platform heels and sauntered in an effortless stride into the back hallway.

I slowly finished my drink then slapped down a crisp new Cnote on the bar with my glass securing it.

Rolling my shoulders and giving my neck a satisfying crack, I followed Daddy Mao into utter bliss.

Interview:

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Q. How did you find out about the Kinky Writer’s Group or Munch at Wicked Grounds? Was it online, in person, through a referral, and how well did it meet expectations when you arrived?

A. I’ve been invited several times but health and transportation issues have kept me from attending thus far. It seems like a lively group- I encourage those less hermity than myself to attend and unleash their yearning creativity.

Q. When did you first start writing? Do you feel it was your purpose to put writing in the world – or do you view writing as a hobby, and how did you begin to love writing if you do love it at all.

A. I’ve always written. It was a major survival mechanism against an absolutely atrocious childhood. As an emancipated teenager, writing helped me put reason to paper and guide me through decision making skills I didn’t have a mentor or an archetype to draw upon.

Q. Before Scry of Lust, had you ever put your writing out into the world in any form and if so, how and where?

A. I was published in a ton of underground zines in Southern California and more recently up in my WA stint. Most of it was poetry, off grid survival articles, costuming addendum to convention panels and workshops, some ghost writing for authors published through Eloras’s Cave, an article or two regarding medieval musicological theory. I haven’t published any personal pieces, absolutely nothing with a touch of self experience emancipated unto fiction until this year. My domestic partner is a ravenously prolific writer and between the call out for submissions and seeing him tap away one amazing piece after another I decided what the heck why not?

Q. Some of the pieces in the anthology are sci-fi leaning; others are fantasy, real life scenarios, poetry, or transgressive fiction. How would you describe your own brand of erotic fiction?

A. Real, raw- profoundly emotional. I write what I know. I was born intersex and was gender assigned cis female. Up until recent life events I was heavily into the modification, suspension and ‘Freak’ scene and I’ll always feature or at least hint at these details in future writings. I keep Kit’s biology purposefully vague, preferring to focus on the human experience of a scene. As a former High Protocol trained submissive that later graduated to being an instructional Top, consent, negotiated perimeters and through aftercare are essential not only in a deeply emotional piece but obviously in real life as well.

Q. Many of the people in the anthology are marginalized in one way or another. Women are underrepresented in horror while men are underrepresented in the romance literary genre, queer people are under-represented in literature and disabled people and ethnic minorities are more often written about by others than able to self-represent. Do you view yourself as a member of any marginalized communities and if so, how do you feel about the representation of those communities in both this anthology and in erotica in general?

A. I think I hit most of the big check marks on this one. Being a gender queer intersex disabled minority female that is openly of Sephardic Jew, Romani and a smattering of other exciting genetic queries I see this very strongly in the realm of writing, period. I think there is an uncomfortable amount of focus on race and identity when there’s a push to make a quota or find another marketing angle for a tired publisher/event. There are an amazing amount of undiscovered authors out there that don’t fit the classic ‘marketable’ mold. I wish more of these amazing people had a chance at mainstream recognition.

Q.  Erotica seems to have a bad name in certain circles as a trash genre – do you think that is true? Anne Rice said that erotica and romance are maligned because they are genres written mostly by women for women, do you think that is valid? Finally, do you think people view male-written erotica like John Norman’s Chronicles of Gor as any more or less trashy?

A. I love me some ‘Bodice Rippers’…but I also enjoy intelligent, deeply complicated fiction where people express sexy and panty melting moments. To both dismiss and systematically lump all erotica and ‘trash’ and ‘smut’ is honestly denying oneself an opportunity for moments of escape and self reflection. I think women know the things that make a reader tick or in this case, um…purr?

Q. I think male written erotica has more acceptability because its viewed as subjective since the main subject- females, are not a state of being they are intuitively aware of being. Its like someone that writes about serial killers but isn’t one if that makes any sense.

A. Which of the other writer’s stories did you like the most and want to recommend that the readers check out? I know you loved the whole book, but this isn’t the question. If you wanted to entice the prospective reader to buy the book, name 1 to 3 works that you didn’t personally write that you would point them at to read first. And why?

I haven’t read any of the offerings on this compilation. I’m waiting for the weekend after my outpatient surgery to curl up and really immerse myself into a huge spectrum of experiences. This sounds like its going to be delightful.

Q. Finally – since this is horror blog – what is your favorite scarerogenous hot sexy scene in a horror movie, and do you think it is appropriate or inappropriate to be turned on by this?

A. Ha! I’ll blame Merlin Monroe for this final question right? Easily has to be the scene in Bram Stoker’s Dracula between the Brides and Harker. You have to also consider what a seriously sexy mofo Gary Oldman was in the role as well all decked out in improper period attire. That cravat, Gods forbid!

Interview with Scry of Lust author Sumiko Saulson

•May 20, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Sumiko Saulson

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Sumiko Saulson (Mauskaveli on FetLife) is a cartoonist, science-fiction, fantasy and horror writer, editor of Black Magic Women and 100 Black Women in Horror Fiction, author of Solitude, Warmth, The Moon Cried Blood, Happiness and Other Diseases, Somnalia, Insatiable, Ashes and Coffee, and Things That Go Bump In My Head.  She wrote and illustrated comics Mauskaveli, Dooky and graphic novels Dreamworlds and Agrippa. She writes for the SEARCH Magazine.  The child of African American and Russian-Jewish parents, a native Californian and an Oakland resident who’s spent most of her adult life in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is pansexual, polyamorous and genderqueer.

Name of Stories in Scry of Lust: Andona’s Feast, Translucent Skin, Love… poems Spit and Pathos and My Beloved Gave Me A Rose.

Work Sample (From Translucent Skin)

Nurse Night BAGG
“You will find it near the coral reef at low-tide,” Naedra’s father had told her. “Find and fetch the amphibiod home. Only encircle it about the waist with a slender chain of wrought iron first, which you will find at the fence. That will prevent it from using any of its magic against you.”

“It is wrong to bind an amphibiod,” her mother had warned. “Ignore your father’s instruction, child! It is the way of men to use force, when you could use seduction. Seduce it instead, with tender kisses, so it might grow enamored and follow you willingly.”

“You endanger our daughter without cause!” Padre howled and cussed at Madre as Naedra slipped out the back door. Opening her leather pouch as she tip-toed past the fence, she quietly piled the chain into her bag. Better safe, she felt, than sorry.

She continued on her quest, until she found the ambipiod leaning against the coral reef at low-tide at the crack of dawn. It lounged against the rocks, long mane of ruby-red fins decorating its pretty head like the fans of a Betta fish. Its skin was translucent pearlescent silver, and below one could see clearly the function of its heart, liver, lungs and intestines. Even its reproductive organs were transparent like a fish of some sort. Opaque testes and ovaries coexisted in the scrotal pouch below its tailfin, as the creature like all its ilk was intersex. Its wide-set frog-like eyes protruded slightly, each red with a rectangular black pupil.

“You’ve come to steal my magic,” it said without emotion, but a rapid blinking of its eyes and nervous licking of lips betrayed its fear.

“Why steal what you will give me willingly?” Naedra asked teasingly, running her finger over her bottom lip, licking it, and then biting. The creature squinted in what she wasn’t sure whether to interpret as lust or cringing in response. It rubbed its thighs together nervously.

“Many a young maiden yearns for the seed of Pinadoia,” the ambipiod bragged. “It pretty things desire. It longs to believe that the pretty things are in awe and lust over its beauty. How well do it know better. The human only wants its semen for her witchery crafting, to cast spells and make potions with.”

The Interview:

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Q. How did you find out about the Kinky Writer’s Group or Munch at Wicked Grounds? Was it online, in person, through a referral, and how well did it meet expectations when you arrived?

A. I’m the founder of the group, so I actually started it. I met Lydia LaRue at a speed dating event at Citadel and we talked about wanting to do such a thing. I had casually discussed it with my friend Serena Toxicat at an earlier time, and I think Kathleen Mahnke before she moved back to Chico, and Ev Joy Lokadottr. But it never got very far until I met someone committed to the project, Lydia. She became my co-moderator, and I showed up every Wednesday with her or Serena for a while, then asked Mir to put it on the calendar. They said Wednesday wasn’t the best day, so we picked Monday, because Lydia and I both go to Death Guild. The rest was history! It’s grown by bounds since that fateful day in January 2019 when we met.

Q. When did you first start writing? Do you feel it was your purpose to put writing in the world – or do you view writing as a hobby, and how did you begin to love writing if you do love it at all.

A. I started writing really young. I told my dad I wanted to be a writer when I was five – I’d been reading since three, so I was some of a language arts prodigy.  By the third grade I was writing poems for people’s wedding invitations. My mom helped me start a little business, in fact. I was on my high school newspaper, and had poetry published in high school and as a young adult. I didn’t write my first novel until I was 42, however, and my short story career didn’t take off until my forties either. In my 20s I was a journalist and a poet.

Q. Before Scry of Lust, had you ever put your writing out into the world in any form and if so, how and where (links, if available)

A. I have been a published journalist and poet since I was a teen in the eighties, and I have been a novelist since 2011. My works can be found on my website Things That Go Bump In My Head , and I write for Search Magazine

Q. Some of the pieces in the anthology are sci-fi leaning; others are fantasy, real life scenarios, poetry, or transgressive fiction. How would you describe your own brand of erotic fiction?

A. Most of my works in this book are in the sci-fi or fantasy erotica genre, which isn’t that surprising considering that I had already been writing the paranormal romance series Somnalia and tried my hand at sci-fi erotica for Scierogenous II and supernatural shapeshifter erotica for Babes and Beasts: Tales of Lusty Shifters.

Q. Many of the people in the anthology are marginalized in one way or another. Women are underrepresented in horror while men are underrepresented in the romance literary genre, queer people are under-represented in literature and disabled people and ethnic minorities are more often written about by others than able to self-represent. Do you view yourself as a member of any marginalized communities and if so, how do you feel about the representation of those communities in both this anthology and in erotica in general?

A. I am an enby biracial black woman of African and Ashkenazi Jewish heritage (also a bit of Irish), disabled and pansexual, so yes. I feel the anthology has a lot of queer representation including trans- and genderqueer stories (and agender!) but there is a definite lack of stories with female or femme tops in ratio to male top stories. This is definitely a reflection of both the market and the kink community’s representation overall. Cis-male tops are encouraged in both the queer and straight kinky world as a norm.  Female or femme tops and trans/enby tops are rarer. Anyone who goes to Folsom Street Fair or your local dungeon will quickly see that. But putting ourselves out in the fantasy world will encourage our outing ourselves in the flesh.

Q. Erotica seems to have a bad name in certain circles as a trash genre – do you think that is true? Anne Rice said that erotica and romance are maligned because they are genres written mostly by women for women, do you think that is valid? Finally, do you think people view male-written erotica like John Norman’s Chronicles of Gor as any more or less trashy?

A. The literary world is loaded with pretentiousness, just as all forms of entertainment are. People want to believe that jazz music didn’t start as a lowbrow genre, and that classical music and literature were always things found in the gilded halls of learning. Most of the things we eventually come to think of as classy were once thought of as trash. Erotica is no different. Yesterday’s porn is now hanging on the walls of museums, lauded as cultural enlightenment at the most or historically relevant at the very least. Humanity needs to get beyond acting like the act of procreation is inherently dirty and therefore, less worthy of remembrance in prose, poem and ballad that the courtly love story, tepid, dry, and bereft of titillating lust and simmering sexuality.

Q. Which of the other writer’s stories did you like the most and want to recommend that the readers check out? I know you loved the whole book, but this isn’t the question. If you wanted to entice the prospective reader to buy the book, name 1 to 3 works that you didn’t personally write that you would point them at to read first. And why?

A. “The Penetration of Albion” by Charlee Verrette is a personal favorite, delightful and filled with titillating visual imagery, humor and rollicking analogies about Merry Olde England that capture the reader’s mind and reel it in. Lif’s “Fireside Legends” is a super hot read for me as a dominant, as the demon narrator is unapologetic about its unabated hunger for sexual control. “Aduality {0≠2;1=108}” is under one of Merlin Monroe’s myriad pen names or just names as fey have so many. It is the purest sci-fi erotica in the book and brings to mind pornographic takes on Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.  Finally, Serena Toxicat’s “The Leftist Appendage” is touching, funny, and erotic while being altogether sensitive and romantic.  I also loved the number of nineties Generation X centric pop culture references therein.

Q. Finally – since this is horror blog – what is your favorite scarerogenous hot sexy scene in a horror movie, and do you think it is appropriate or inappropriate to be turned on by this?

A. Not really a horror movie but certainly a horror scene, the bug removal scene in The Matrix. So these three well-dressed hot people snatch Neo up in a car, pull out guns and order him to take his shirt off. After this, Trinity shoves some tube-gun apparatus over his belly button, which pierces flesh before extracting a wiggling bug thing up through a glass tube of some sort. Is it inappropriate? I don’t think it is any less appropriate than similar scenes in the movie Videodrome that were intended to be erotic.

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