Hi everybody, and welcome. I'll be your host for these next three days of author chattiness, serving up ideas, questions, and a hint of p0rn for whoever wishes to partake.
I've been a fan of Circlet Press for many years, starting back when the internet was new and I was reading archived versions of stories like laurenpburka's "The Specialist" on newsgroups. Once I got up the nerve to order books from Circlet's website I obtained a copy of ceciliatan (then ctan)'s little chapbook "Telepaths Dont' Need Safewords". I never looked back.
Okay, I lie. I looked back and reread many, many times. I also dreamed of an era when my own little tales of sci-fi pervitude might work their way into one of Circlet's anthologies.
With perseverance on my part and helpful encouragement from the editors, that era seems to have begun. It's important that Circlet welcomes and even encourages kink, bi-ness, tech, gender-bending, threesomes, moresomes, and aliens, among other things. Where else could weird-ass fiction like that find a voice?
Speaking of weird-ass, behind the cut is an excerpt from a story that came out in Best Fantastic Erotica. The short is called "Venus Rising". It explores the connection between sex and guilt. It also forms the basis for my first question.
I enjoy having my characters run aground on the shoals of taboo. In "Venus Rising", the proscriptions are race and age. in "Seoul Train", published in Skin Deep: More Real-Life Lesbian Sex Stories it's culture. in "Sakura", part of Wet: More Aqua Erotica it's about culture and consent. The characters initially feel guilty about their desires and it gets resolved in various ways.
What have been your experiences with taboos? What have you written about them, or what have you fantasized about, but never done? Have you ever thought "where's the harm, really" about any particular taboo? Or have you crossed into a long-forbidden realm of desire, felt strange, and never returned?
Or better yet, read the excerpt an then tell me.
The tease is
Her crèche was a clear ovoid filled with the waters that cushioned her, nourished her, and kept her eternally, illegally young. That was reason enough for his secrecy, even without the color of her skin, which he'd specified from the catalogue as 041 mahogany. Still, Winston never failed to think about how Amelia would react to this particular feature of his little toy. Inner-city girls like this were supposed to be cared for in her hospitals and schooled in her shelters, not kept to serve the lusts of some privileged white ape.
Ah, but Amelia wasn't here right now. She was off to a dinner party, halfway around the world where a plate of food cost thousands. A half-empty plate of food, at that.
"Playtime," he said to the console. An orange light flashed on and a countdown started.
He pulled open the trunk to choose what his baby would wear that night. A pair of tiny plastic shorts caught his eye. They were the ones like the street-girls wore. He fingered them, imagining how they'd ride up between her asscheeks and her pussy-lips too. But wait! Here was a complete uniform for Waverly, the city's best private school. Not that a girl like Letitia could ever be a student there -- not after the riots. Still, the fantasy never lost its charm.
But here, oh here, was a whole new package of scanties he hadn't even opened yet.
He tore at the wrapper like a breathless birthday boy.
Other teasy bits are available over at my website.