Daemon's Meme

Daemon, at Sadistic Excess, has a post about 6 word stories on his site. He wrote a very nice one. He also provided a link to a Wired article on sci-fi ones. It was Hemmingway who actually originated the meme - long before the internet was born. But I think he'd like the idea of it. His was: "For sale, baby shoes, never worn." Before you say, "So what?", please stop and consider the story that might lie behind the words. You can see that it's pretty brilliant, because a thousand stories pop into your head about how that ad could be in a newpaper, and why it's there. Two of my favourites from the sci fi choices are: Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so. - Joss Whedon and From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings. - Gregory Maguire And so...do I have the balls to try this? No, but I'm stupid enough to - a little sci-fi erotica: Undress, Commander, or we all die.

The Illustrated Teacher - Continued

Well, this is proving to be an interesting writing jag for me. As promised, the next chapter. For those of you who are wondering, "Is there any sex yet?" Ah...depends on your definition of sex. The Illustrated Teacher - Part 4 I've had a couple of people email me asking me to let them know when I post another chapter of this. If you'd like this to happen, please just join the mailing list at the bottom of the page on the right. I believe it's pretty easy to opt out if you're fed up. Hugs, rg

The Illustrated Teacher

This story is something of an experiment. I have known women like the main character and never completely understood them. This is, partially, an attempt to do just that, and to find the commonalities between us. For those of you after a quick wank, I'm afraid your going to be disappointed. This is about as far from stoke fiction as I have ever written. There is no sex, per se, in what has been written to date. On the other hand, perhaps it is entirely about sex. For it is hard to know where the identity ends, and sex begins, or visa versa. The Illustrated Teacher PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 At over 10,000 words, it is too long for a short story, and too short for a novella. It is not finished. I'll add as I write.

Shell Shocked

Authors note: This story pays a little homage to one of the character's in "The Beach", Daffy, and his ghostly companion. I also owe a little thanks to Richard (who found me by way of the Lazy Geisha, who made me think of my first visit to Bangkok again, after having forgotten it for some years. As much as I have loved Saigon, my first year there was not wholly a positive experience. Although it was thrilling to be a stranger in a strange land, there was a hollow disassociative feeling that accompanied it and grew as time went by. I was horribly culture-shocked. Days on end of listening to nothing but chatter in a language I could barely speak, logic I found impenetrable. I was jonesing for a conversation that went beyond: "Hi, you are how? You what name? You how old? How many babies?" I was dying to participate in a conversation where the focus was on the content and not the grammar. I wanted to be able to say, "You know what I mean?" and for someone to answer back, "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." The heat, the noise, the endless crowds. The daily battle to hold back the quiet and ravenous tide of humidity that slowly ate away at all my possessions. I had made the well-meaning but ultimately stupid choice to live native, rejecting the company afforded by tight and incestuous cliques of expats, refusing to eat at western restaurants, living in a part of town where no one had met a foreigner in thirty years. At the end of that first year, on the advice of a friend, I flew to Bangkok for a weekend of decompression. READ THE REST OF THE STORY ->

TAG: Chapter 2 - Performance Art

If you've read my blog for a while, you will know that I am unnaturally addicted to my online writer's group. Anyway, we're having something of a game. A type of 'tag'. Basically, one writer writes a first chapter, and the next writer has to follow it up. I was number two in the slot, and unfortunately I don't have permission to reproduce the first chapter, so you'll have to be satisfied with a synopsis. TAG: CHAPTER ONE: The Gallery, by Nan Andrews: In the first chapter, Gloria, an arts reporter, comes into the gallery where Ken, an art photographer, is preparing for an exhibition of his work. She looks at his work which are pictures of nude bodies, close-ups of parts and sees one where the model's breasts are being cupped by hands. Ken tells her that the breasts are being cupped by the model's own hands. Gloria opens her shirt, frees her breasts and copies what is being done in the photograph. She asks him what he thinks. My continuation of the story follows: TAG: CHAPTER TWO: Performance Art, by remittance girl Ken shrugged. "Well, I'm wondering if you make a habit of pulling out your tits for every artist you interview." Gloria stopped caressing herself and crossed her arms over her chest. "I beg your pardon?" Slowly, inexorably, a flush crept up her throat and onto her cheeks. "As far as your tits go, they're fine. But, quite frankly, I've photographed a lot of them in my time, and yours look an awful lot like all the others." "What the...Who the fuck do you think you are?" "Look, don't be offended. But you don't seem to have done your research very well. I'm not your standard randy artist who fucks anything that moves." READ THE REST OF THE STORY ->

Towards a New Definition of Equality

I wanted to muse on concepts of equality within D/s relationships. This would, on first glance, seem to be an oxymoron, but there are some interesting discussions going on among cultural theorists on the definition of equality itself. How do we measure, for instance, gender equality when physically we are simply not equal? Commonly we base ideas of equality on the quality and number of rights granted and the universality of their distribution. There are, however, pitfalls to this. Ideas of equality based on the granting of rights tends to ignore the needs of the few in favour of the many. Rights are usually granted to fulfil the needs of the majority. What if you are someone who has needs that the majority don't have? Exemplars of this problem happen in cases of physical and mental handicap, non-heterosexuals, ethnic and religious minorities, etc. There are feminists within the D/s and BDSM worlds who argue for a re-definition of equality, based on need. This all seems a little like an excursion into overthinking the problem, but the premise is actually quite simple and elegant. Usually, we think of dominants as having more power (i.e. they are more "equal") than subs. But this is because we are basing our concept of equality on acts, not needs. If we were to base our evaluation of equality on levels of need, dominants and submissives don't differ in terms of their level of needs, only in the nature of them. So, a submissive's "need to submit", is as strong as a dominant's "need to dominate". Therefore they are equal. This is a hard concept to grasp because we are so blinded by the semiotics of certain acts, it shades the way we look at and judge those acts. A case in point is the act of penetration. Semiotically, in the vast majority of past and present cultures, penetration is an act of domination, whereas reception (receiving penetration) is an act of submission. This simple assumption has so permeated our consciousnesses that most people find it simply impossible to view it in any other way. But what if we did? What if we viewed the acts of penetrating and engulfing neutrally? Or, what if we viewed the act of envelopment as one of aggression? In plainer language, what if a cunt enveloping, taking in, a cock was considered the act of aggression? We have models for this in nature all around us: phagocytosis, black holes, the very act of devouring anything. Some male submissives definitely see it in this way. And, even within sexuality, we have examples of it: the vagina dentata (the toothed cunt): aggressive, engulfing, devouring. Some might say that the very basis of D/s itself depends on practically feudal models of social structure. I think that, for some people this is true. The appeal of going back to a time of strict gender-role definitions and power hierarchy lies in a rejection of modernity: its seemingly endless complexities and the disturbingly shifting definitions of reality. However, for some of us, who refuse to choose between feminism and being a submissive, this is not what draws us to D/s at all. And for us, we need new definitions of equality. It will require a real and honest evaluation of our own prejudices and cultural biases, and an effort to reset our understanding of meaning of both acts and language. On a lighter note, if you like more traditional definitions of D/s, there are two writers who both write wonderful stories within that model and who, for some reason, haven't ended up on my link list yet - but will: felicia mansur writes very good D/s fiction. her series "The Retreat" is particularly good. Her site is at felicia mansur stories Mackenzie Cross is a dominant who writes D/s fiction as well. His writing is also very good. His site: Mackenzie's Musings The elements of D/s in my stories tend involve people who have D/s tendencies, but don't identify themselves as such, or practice D/s in a formal way. Both the above writers are "lifestyle" writers who write erotica about people within the lifestyle.

Online D/s relationships

I have read about them, but I always wondered about the feasiblility of them until I ran across some of the earlier posts of Dominant Seventh. So, after following the rather charming, wonderful and sometimes quite sexy experiences of Irch and k in a single day, I arrived at the last post, which is dated January 20. The day they broke up. Aparently real life intruded in a rather pressing way. Damn, damn, damn. They gave me hope, you know? ::SOB::

I missed global orgasm day!

Damn it! I totally missed Global Orgasm day, although I probably did actually have one, since I rarely go without. I can't really comment on the science. I'm not that much of a mystic, nor do I have any definite views on global consciousness. But I thought it was just a nice, neat idea. It surprised me, though, that they didn't want anyone to orgasm at a specific time. I propose that next year, we should all participate and do it at a specific time - just to see if the world moves for everyone. Say, 15:00 gmt? In other news - last night I passed the 2,000 visits a day point. Yeah!!! I'm hoping my stories are helping with the "I'm too busy wanking to start a fight" effort. Regarding the colour of the blog. The overwhelming vote was for the grey, so I guess I'm going back. ::sob::

Purple or Grey

I'm tinkering with my blog again. I can't make up my mind about which one looks better. Purple or Grey Come on, tell me what you think.

Dominant with a capital 'D'

I've had a couple of interesting emails asking me why I don't follow accepted protocol and capitalize the 'd' in dominant. This deserves an answer, but it's a very personal and intimate one. Capitalizing someone's title is an act of admitting that you recognize their authority over you, personally. Your god is not my God. Your president is not my President, etc. I have not recognized that person's authority over me, and so I don't, in the abstract or in the particular, capitalize the word. Basically, your dominant is not my Dominant. Your dom is someone you have given permission to behave in certain ways with you. He's not my Dom. He's just a regular guy to me. He and I have no agreement regarding our relative power dynamic. And why should we? That agreement is a very intimate thing born out of a thorough knowledge of each other. If I had a dom, he'd be 'Dom' to me, with a capital 'D'. Although, in all fairness, I doubt very much that any Dom I'd be willing to recognize as mine would be all that obsessed about whether his title was capitalized or not. I'm not very attracted to men who can't see the bigger picture. Nonetheless, he'd be Dom to me, and, unless you were attempting an intimacy you have no business claiming, he'd be 'dom' to you. This, along with many other things, is probably why I don't have a Dom and you do.

A response to Roper's question in his post "What Made Me A Dom":

On his recent post "What Made Me a Dom", Roper asked some very interesting questions, one of which was: Anyone got any ideas what makes them tick D/s-wise, about why you are the way you are? Firstly, I don't think of myself as "D/s". I'm certainly not part of the "lifestyle". Perhaps this is because I hate labels - I find they tend towards stereotype and they are limiting. That being said, sexually I think I'm deeply submissive. Roper says that he finds most submissive women are notoriously dominant in their day-to-day lives. I definitely fall into this category. I think that a lot of men think of me as a ball-breaking bitch. Dominant is an understatement. Like everyone else, I've tried to be the person my partners wanted me to be. And, because many of the men who've been attracted to me, saw me first in my "public persona" mode, they fantasize that I am aggressive and dominant in bed. I've tried to be. I really have tried the 'ravenous tigress' thing. I can fake it pretty well, but it isn't me. As I've grown older, I've stopped trying to be that thing that men hope I am. Now, I'm going to say something that is likely to piss a lot of people off, but I am just speaking for myself - so keep your panties on. I know where my submissiveness comes from, and it isn't from a healthy place. If I'd grown up with the right balance of male and female influence - especially on my self-image - I don't think I'd be this way. Also, I think that if I hadn't grown up with a subconscious Judeo-Christian disdain for the purely physical, I probably wouldn't crave a submissive position as much as I do. I have a big, big "daddy" thing. Primarily because I didn't have one. My father was aloof, and cold, and really didn't have a lot of interest in me in any way. So I lacked that overarching benevolent masculine influence that, when present, creates women with really healthy self-images. Being submissive allows me to feel that overarching male presence, showering me with approval, guiding me with discipline, that I lacked as a child. Secondly, somewhere, deep in my subconscious, is the sense that sex and sexual pleasure is wrong. It's not just wrong, it's bad. Obviously, I don't feel that way about it intellectually, but you can tell from my stories that there's always a hesitation on my characters' part to throw themselves completely into the moment of sexual bliss without some structure of permission. Hence stories like "The Changeling". Being submissive relieves me of the responsibility for my own sexual gratification. Although I am capable of being responsible for it myself, there is always a blame or remorse that I never feel in a submissive situation. That blame or remorse is intellectual - it denies me the relief of a purely instinctual and physical experience. So, for those reasons, I am naturally submissive. That doesn't mean I'm naturally a doormat - even sexually. I would never tolerate or put up with any serious physical discomfort for very long, because the connection for me, between pleasure and pain is a tenuous one. There is a point at which pain erases any possibility of pleasure for me - that's the point I am not willing to go beyond. I think the best dominants (I know some of you are going to wonder why I don't capitalize that, but that is another post) not only recognize those particular needs and are willing to fill them, but have similar or matching drives. Something in their development, or their past makes being paternal erotic for them, makes being the orchestrator of sexual activity a turn-on. They get off on controlling the situation - and taking responsibility for it. I've been with a lot of men who were willing to do those things, but in all honesty, I've never been with anyone who actually was wired in such a way that they got off on it. They might have gotten off on the fact that I got off. But ultimately, that is not enough. It's not enough to go through the motions because you are a generous lover. It has to be at the very core of what drives your sexuality for a really good "lock and key" fit to happen. One day, hopefully before I get too old to kneel without my knees giving out, I'm going to meet that very special person: the key to my lock. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

The Dinner Party - Part 2

It seems this was has been kicking around in my head for a while, because now it's all coming out in one, huge glout. If you have only just arrived, you might want to read part 1 of this story, before you go on to part 2 PART 2 Isabel ate her strawberries in silence. The table had completely returned to normal. It had been cleared by one of the Mase's many staff, and even the wine stain was gone. The conversation had reverted back to gossip and rumour: whose business was doing well, who was leaving for the home country, which school was best for international schooling. Isabel pretended to listen, but her mind was still trapped at the moment when Carmen's face grew still and her body slumped, stated, against the white cloth. Moreover, Isabel couldn't get over the fact that each of these seemingly conservative, middle-class couples had sat and silently watched what Isabel considered to be, at the very least, an intimate moment between a husband and wife. Now they were acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Worst yet, the uncomfortable twinges between Isabel's legs hadn't abated at all. She could still feel herself oozing all over the back of her dress. She decided that now - while everyone was busy with desert and coffee - was a good time to find a bathroom and see what could be done about it. READ PART 2 ->

The Dinner Party - Part 1

I know I haven't written anything on spanking in a while. When I was looking at my stats, I noticed that a lot of people came to me from spanking blogs, so I thought I owed them a story. The Dinner Party The invitation to dinner was unexpected. It came in the form of an email. "It was very nice to meet you at the Consulate party on Tuesday night. Carmen and I are having a little dinner party on Friday and would be happy if you could join us. We realize that our villa is a little bit out of the way, and getting back to the city might be a problem. Please feel free to use one of our guest rooms. Drinks at seven p.m. Dinner at nine. Map attached. Please RSVP. Gilles and Carmen Masé Isabel opened the map. "A little bit out of the way" was something of an understatement. It was in the middle of nowhere, almost forty kilometres north of Saigon, past the old rubber plantation area around Bien Hoa. It wasn't just the distance that made Isabel hesitate. She didn't know these people. They were part of a cliquish French ex-patriot community that rarely socialized beyond their own kind. The French still mourned for the days when they'd been colonial masters here and regularly got together to complain about how everything had turned to shit since they got kicked out. Still, the invitation intrigued her. Gilles Mase was the owner of a huge lacquer ware export company, and Isabel had been bidding for a contract to provide translation services to his company for the last three weeks. It would be stupid not to accept the invitation. So she did. READ THE STORY ->

A little dark Humour

****WARNING: POLITICAL INCORRECTNESS ALERT**** If you are one of those people who doesn't enjoy black humour, or who read Swift's "A Modest Proposal" and believed it to be a serious attempt at a solution to the Irish queston, please don't read on. This post is not for you. Some of the writers on my list have been complaining that they're addicted to reality TV shows like "The Model" and "Top Chef". Sadly, or not, I don't get those shows in Vietnam, but I have seen that one with Donald Trump, and the one about the wanna be rock stars. I really don't understand the appeal, but hey, I'm clearly wrong about this because a vast majority of people do watch them. So, I've been thinking up a reality TV show for Vietnam: It's called "Boss of Beggars". Basically, there is a Donald Trump-like character, who supervises the show and contestants have to audition by showing the audience just how bad their particular handicap, birth defect, scaring or deformity is. Then, once you've been chosen, you are let loose on the city of Saigon for four hours and compete to see how much money the contestants can beg off people in a fixed amount of time. Skills would include: - Showing your deformity to its best advantage - Designing the most unusual contraptions to overcome mobility problems - Looking pitiful and sympathetic at the same time - Persistence - Turning up just as someone is about to start eating noodle soup and making them feel guilty. - Persuading equally pitiful family members to come with you. Rules: - No drugging infants into a stupor and using them as props. - No threatening people with infectious diseases. - No picking pockets instead of begging. - No bleeding on the patrons. At the end of each show, each participant's "take" for the day gets tallied up, people with the lowest take get kicked off the show. I can just hear the Boss' comments to the contestants: "You're not using your blackened rotting teeth to their best advantage. Smile more, and breath on people." "Hey, no hiding the leg! You're only missing one. You have to work with what you've got." "If you strike out on the begging, you can't offer your relative for prostitution - that's another show."

Blog Tweaks

As you can see, I'm tweaking my blog. So, if you've tried to get on, and have had trouble, please forgive me. I'm trying to get a third column; the better to link to you with, my dear.

Do ya ever...?

Have you ever read a single blog post that makes you go weak at the knees, your heart starts hammering, and you find yourself instantaneously wet? Mister Roper is at it again - Snapshot #7. This one is just too, too, too, too...too...too... oh...oh ::sigh:: Back to the ladies room, damnit.

Slinking back with my tail between my legs

Okay, clearly I suffered a little fugue state the other day. But I can't say I'm sorry for it because I got so many wonderful, warm, truly cool comments that I think I'm gonna do this every six months or so, just so I have a social life. Each of your comments deserves an answer, individually, and since I don't want to spam you, I thought I'd answer them here: Anonymous said... I'm here every day. Thank you for sharing your writings. :) Anonymous - thank you for disrobing as much as you have. I am really glad to share them with you. jsull said... js is a commentor! You so are, JS, and I certainly wasn't aiming that post at you. You're a good friend and I thank you for all the wonderful, funny, quirky comments you have left me. Of course you make me warm and squiggly. Starlit said... I'm here everyday too. I'm just really shy... but I shouldn't be cause you're all open and stuff. I have read and looked for you for years. Its so nice to see you back on a regular basis. Thank you for the amazing stories. Thank you for being the kind of person who cares what your readers think. You are amazing! Starlit, you have no idea how shy I am in real life. Would it make you laugh to know that I am practically the stereotypical librarian who writes filthy things in secret? That's what so nice about the internet - it's been the liberation of so many librarians. Hehe. Anonymous said... Yours is some of the best damn erotic fiction I have ever come across, published or unpublished. Your work covers the gamut from hot to thoughtful to tasteful to down right fuck festastic raunch. Classy site, classy lit, classy broad. Thanks four your efforts, they are truely appreciated Anonymous: Classy commentator! Thank you for leaving a comment and I am very glad that you enjoy the writing. I enjoy writing it, especially when I know it turns you on. Elizavetta said... RG, I can't speak for others, but commenting on your stories often takes some time for me - I need to let them sink in, do a few re-reads. But I'll always come back and comment when I can. You know I adore your fiction, so much so, that I have added a byline to your link on my site which reads: Erotic fiction; just damn good erotic fiction. I know it's hard, but try not to let the dearth of comments get to you, dear. Maybe you could just assume that the people who read your stories are so freakin' overcome with awe that they are simply rendered speechless ;) Elizavetta: I know you do, always. And I really appreciate it. There is something about this strange brotherhood/sisterhood that is really important to me. I think that a lot of people read the stories and think that I don't care if they liked them, or hated them, or were moved, or turned on by them or not. But I do care. This is the way I communicate, and the way I commune with the world. Sometimes it just gets very, very quiet and I get lonely. elise said... 1000 visitors a day? gracious. i get all silly and excited when i break 100.*wink* when i grow up, i wanna be just like you, both writing-wise and other stuff.and..umm...the by-line on my link to you reads "oh, the talent." Ahhhh...let me extoll the virtues of good meta-tagging.*wink back* However, I would gladly take 100 a day if it they all talked to me. :-) Thank you for reading and thank you even more for leaving a comment. ShalamarM said... Well, I just stumbled on here late last night and I must say, your writing is refreshing! It has such brass, its hard hitting yet tasteful. Like Elizavetta said above, I was just in awe and rendered speechless ;) Well, Shalamar, I'm very glad you found me. Please don't be rendered speachless! kali said... You know I love you, RG. I seem to not see a comment option on many of the stories on the side. The snipet/titles don't have a commenting ability through those links. I posted a comment for River Mother, and I wasn't the first to leave feedback, but I don't see where it went. The story link doesn't have a comments tally i can find and the blog day isn't listing the comments I saw up yesterday. Maybe things are being changed around.On another subject, I used you as an erotic exemplar the other day :-) Your writing has such good emotional context that it's exactly why I love erotic fiction and cannot watch most porn (yawn). Context gets me juicy! So go you! Kali, I think when you left a comment, Haloscan was down. It's up now, and I got your comment and I thank youf or it. The stories aren't part of the blog, because I find Blogger a little inflexible about templates. So the front page is blog, but the story pages are just normal HTML. Regarding context...oh, if only porn had context - I'd be a huge consumer of it. *grin* Rachel said... Hello! I was turned on to you, literally, by a fellow sex-blogger. i think she is amazing, and she thinks you are amazing and in this case a=b=c DEFINITELY a=c. you get me really wet! Rachel, even the tentacles??? *smirk*. I'm so glad you found me, and I'm so glad my stories make you wet. There just isn't enough ewy-gooey female liquids in this world. Any little helps ;-) Sadie J. said... Dear Ultra Sexy Remittance Girl,I don't remember how I stumbled upon your writing, but I'm so glad it happened. I've been a writer for years but never tested my tootsies in the erotic. Have always been madly interested in sex though; just never thought the combination of that and writing could be so inspiring. You have opened up the world of shockingly sensual, original erotic writing to me and it is freakin' AWESOME. So, many thanks for the entertainment you bring to my reading leisure as well as for the unintentional challenge your writing gave me to try something new in my own. By the way, I love The Substitute series (please, please, please: more) and Grown-Up Games. I tell my friends to get their horny asses on this site and read up. Dear Sadie, I think the highest praise one writer can ever give another is that they inspire and motivate. So please, if you've written some erotica, PLEASE let me know where it is so I can read it. I figure that the more good writers write erotica, the more likely someone will be to finally get a decent literary award for it. This is a much maligned genre that deserves more recognition than it gets. G. said... I've been a regular visitor for about two and a half years. I've often wondered why I never comment. It quite possibly has something to do with the very drive that draws me to your erotic world in the first place. Shame.Let me explain. I don't mean that I'm ashamed to appreciate what, clearly, is well structured, thought provoking and simply beautiful writing. I'm ashamed of my own desires (though as I gain experience, I'm becoming less so). And to let you know "hey, I think your work rocks!" is to say out loud what I'm barely able to whisper to myself. You might counter that with - how brave is it really to comment anonymously on a blog? But we both know that words have power. With these words I'm forced to own my sexuality in some small way, just as a lover can force me to avow my dark desires. None of this excuses what is, undeniably, rudeness. But I hope it begins to explain why some readers might be afraid to come into the light.Please don't doubt your power to affect your readers. There's one young woman, in far off Australia, who found words and images and thoughts in your stories that began to trace a path through her emerging sexual identity. Before, there were no words. I mean this sincerely - you've been proufoundly impactful in my life jouney! (*blushes* now I really am getting embarrassed...)So, this little note is to say sorry (for not commenting) and thank you (for your wonderful words). And "hello". Dear, dear g. I would have answered this privately if I could have, because I actually understand what you have said about "shame" better than you will ever know. And I can't begin to tell you how really, truly happy it makes me to have played some small part in your questioning how that shame dominates your life and who you are. I'm not going to tell you to leave the shame behind - if it was that easy, we'd all have done it the minute we hit puberty. What I can say is that fantasy is a very good, very safe place to examine the darker corners of our desires and that is really why I started to write erotica in the first place: to shine a light on what was in me that I couldn't let out. And, somehow, in writing it, I've come to own it and recognize those things as a part of me. It doesn't define me in its entirety, but it is an essential part of who I am. So perhaps, if I can be bold enough to offer you some advice (because, hell, I'm bossy): write it out. It doesn't matter if you don't do it well at first. But the transfer from mind to paper is a powerful purgative. Once you get it out in words, it becomes less frightening to handle what is there - to take the dimensions of what shamed you, or scared you. It makes it easier to evaluate this part of who you are, and come to judge it as good, and part of you. You don't even have to show it to anyone else. You can write it and then burn it, or delete it. Do it as many times as you need to. One day, you are going to meet someone who wants to know that exact part of you, and love you for it. And then you'll realize how important it was to be able to put words to it. Thank you for being brave enough to leave a comment. Perhaps this is just the beginning? Vil said... Love your writing Vil, thank you for reading, and thank you for taking the time to say so. Anonymous said... I feel like I've only just found you!Wonderful stories and how fantastic that I have an interuption free evening to enjoy reading.It's wonderfully written. Thankyou Anon: Well, I'm very glad you did find me. Because it means that I have found you too, and I have another person out there in the ether to turn on. ;-) Paul said... HI, This is really brilliant stuff..there are so many layers in the stories..they are rich and suggestive and delicate in their delivery..outstanding Hello, Paul. Thanks for leaving the comments you left on my story pages. I'm glad you like the complexity - some people find that it gets in the way. Now I know that you write too, so hows about sharing? :-P shula said... I love all of your stories, how you express yourself. Thank you for doing so. Shula: Thank you for reading and thank you even more for telling me so. My pleasure is your pleasure - quite literally. :-) Love to all of you. Thank you for commenting. It's starting to feel like a party in here, now. (Can anybody Rhumba?) rg

Watering the Flowers

Now, can any of you explain to me how it is I get over 1,000 visits a day and only one or two comments? Didn't your mother tell you that it's nice to share? Don't you think that I might like a little human contact every now and again? I realize that some of you have stumbled accross this site in search of oatmeal cookie recipies, and I can fully understand why you might want to get out of here as quickly and quietly as possible, but at least 60% of you read more than two of my stories before leaving. It would be nice to know if you liked them, or hated them, or wondered what fucking planet you'd stumbled onto. I get that my fiction is not for everyone, but I'd appreciate knowing how you felt about it. I'd ask you to consider something for just a moment: what on earth do you think motivates me to put my stories online on my own site? I could post them on pay sites for money, or sell them to anthologies. What on earth would posess me to post them here, for free? I don't even run any stupid ads or have any ugly blinking banners. So please, be friendly and say "hello", if nothing else. p.s. for those few lovely humans among you that do leave comments, I beg you to forgive me for my southpark tantrum. You know I love you, really.

Me Song : River Mother

I'll admit it, this is wierd for me. It is erotic, but there's a healthy element of magical realism in it, too. If you are expecting my usual heavily angst-ridden erotica verging on porn, you're going to be a little disappointed. Me Song : River Mother (c) Remittance Girl, 2007 He came to her as he always had done, long before the sun rose, while the frogs and the crickets still sang in the pond behind her house. This time, for the first time, he didn't come alone. * * * Her village was a poor one - poor and useless -like her. Her grandmother had told her that, once, long ago, it had been prosperous. Then the war came and with it the soldiers, the planes, the powder that fell from the sky and the sickness it brought with it. Grandmother said it was supposed to kill the forest, but it made everything sick: the rice, the chickens, the pigs, and people, too. Even now, the war long over, the earth was still sick. The paddies gave only grudgingly, the chickens laid only little eggs with thin, brittle shells and Nhan - she was marked, too. Born without a place for babies to grow. When the other girls in the village began to whisper about their monthly bleeding, she said nothing and waited for hers to begin. Her mother took her aside and asked almost daily: did she have the women's sickness yet? Nhan began to dream of it, even without knowing how it felt. She pushed on her belly with the heels of her palms, willing the pain to start and the blood to flow, but there was nothing. Continue reading...

Why I love Humanity

Today was rather a lazy day for me. I ran across the original Numa Numa Dance video, which led me to start watching a whole load of the vids that it spawned. It got me thinking. The original meme was a outpouring for joy by a geeky guy in his dingy room. Even the first time I saw it, it tugged at my heart. It's his genuine descent into abandon that moved me. And, it seems, the same thing that moved me moved others. If you bother to search "numa numa" on google video, you'll notice that the people who have given themselves over to this phenomenon aren't the beautiful or the popular, for the most part. They're very much like the initiator - geeky, eccentric, vulnerable. They come from all over the world. Here are a couple of my favourites: The Malaysian Boys Nihkil from India Louis Zhou from Toronto, Canada Norl from Barcelona, Spain K & B - two Turkish guys Two cuties who just call themselves Tru Azn Unidentified Boys from Chile - hysterically camp gay revue Cute little Ryan from the UK Finally, but by no means last, is what seems like a goodly portion of the CS6 Crew of the USS Enterprise Aircraft Carrier. Douglas Wolk has an interesting article on the phenomenon: The Syncher; Not the Song So yes...I'm finally going to do one - with my cat.

Visitors from Japan

Massive sushi bar silliness... "She felt the first chilled piece of tuna sashimi placed strategically on her left nipple, only to be devoured away, a moment later. Then another, and another, all over her body, until someone, very delicately, parted her nether lips with an expert pair of chopsticks and seated something deliciously cool and slimy, probably a shrimp, she thought, in the cleft of her pussy. She gasped at the chill of it. But the gasp was replaced with a low moan of pleasure as someone's tongue snaked around the morsel, lifting it out and gobbling it up. Sam writhed: it was too much sensation, too much to bear. Each time someone placed another piece of food on her pussy, she'd only get the tantalizingly short sensation of someone removing it. She decided she liked the sake better; it took longer to deal with." Read More

Seafood Anyone?

I've been surfing around the net today, trying to get some inspiration for a story. I'm challenging myself to write something where somebody gets it within the first 600 words - because if you've read much of my work, I take a while to get around to it. Well, I'm still working on the short, sweet fuck, but in the meantime, here's a fun little past-time Hentai style. Bliatz wrote an interesting post on the whole tentacle sex thing a while back, and I followed the links she provided...which finally led me to this rather bizzare piece of interactive (very mildly interactive) porn (or erotica - depending on your definition). Now I've seen my share of hentai, and I've sat through all four installments of the Urotsukidoji animes - not very erotic in my book. But for some reason, High Schools seem to be the place were all wierdness and erotic intrigue begins. For those of you who are a little squicky about the Japanese schoolgirls in panties thing - you might want to skip this. Personally, I often have fantasies about being a Japanese schoolgirl in white panties - I realize that is staggeringly politically incorrect for a thousand reasons, but such is life. Anyway, no minors were involved in the making of this porn - it's strictly manga. And just in case you have a problem telling fantasy from reality, the site has a warning on the front: If you feel any urge to transfer those fantasies into real actions you should seek urgent medical advice. This means that it's time to go back to school: Shokushu High School

Ever have one of those days?

Do you ever have one of those days where you're just crazily restless and fidgety, and stupidly horny for no reason. That was me, today. I've gotten really good at bringing myself off in the ladies washroom and not making any noise. The problem is that, after about an hour, I think about that and it makes me horny all over again. It's been a tiring day.

A Man's POV

I'm always worried when I write from a male's point of view that the narrative voice is lacking in legitimacy. No matter how much you observe, or how far you've gotten into someone else's head, there's alway the nagging doubt that you are missing a lot of information. This is expecially true when writing erotic stories. As a female, no matter how hard I try to envision it, I'm never going to really be able to know what it feels like to have a cock. Feelings, motivations, sequences of action are all achievable, but not the actual physical sensation. Even when I have talked very openly with close friends who are male, they have a very hard time explaining how it feels - because they've never felt any other way, and have nothing to compare it against. I often ask about early childhood - did they remember becoming aware of their sexuality? Even with people who are normally very talented at verbal communication, they seem to struggle to find them in this case. Perhaps there aren't really words for that most concrete and visceral connection of organ to brain. Of course, this leaves me on the outside, looking in. So, when I run across a very well-written blog by a man, I tend to read through all their posts and take what I can from it. If you are interested in reading a very well written male POV on the subject of sexuality in general and D/s in particular, you might want to meander over to Confessions of an English Gentleman. Thornhill is erudite, reflective and wonderfully honest about his thoughts. He doesn't try to explain everything, but cummulatively, you do get a very broad insight into his personality and motivations. It's a great pity there aren't more like him in the blog world.