Back Home

Well, I'm home and a little sad to be here. I had such a wonderfully relaxing time in Thailand where I did pretty well nothing but lie by the pool, eat and shop. I wasn't all that happy with the pictures I got, and I found myself being a little too timid to go up to ladyboys and ask them if I could take their picture. Maybe if I spoke a little Thai? Anyway, in recompense, J.T. Benjamin posted this wonderful link on the ERWA site. Personally, I love breasts in all shapes and sizes. But what I loved more about this exhibit was the occassional bits of interview at the sides of the pictures. The woman in this particular picture has been told she has to lose 5 inches off her waist if she wants to be a model. Good GOD. She's unutterably beautiful as she is - and some asshole of an agent wants to spoil her. The photography is by Jordan Matter - which is fabulous. If New York actually looked like this, I'd go there more often.

Sucking face for show

I found this image on Tom Paine's site and decided I was in the mood for a rant. Does anyone else find this sort of stuff annoying? The whole trendiness of heterowomen sucking each other's faces and pretending to bi-curiousness in order to titilate their male partners really pisses me off no end. If I kiss someone in a sexual manner, it's because I want to be with them. I am focused on them, regardless of their gender. I find this fad for pseudo-performative lesbianism really offensive for a number of reasons. For a start, it's usery - they don't really want to fuck each other, they just want to look attractive for a male. Secondly, what if one of them takes it more seriously than the other? Well, they're right up shit creek - because the whole thing was just for show. If some woman did this to me as a way to get her BF hot, I'd feel used and hurt. Finally, I just hate the idea of mock sexual intimacy. It reminds me of porn. Two people who, in any given situation might never find each other attractive enough to fuck, get together for the sake of a performance. The only difference being that porn stars do it for a living and get paid for it. I love women. I'd never use a woman as a prop to get a man. And I'd never use a man as a prop to get a woman, either. In fact, I'd never use anyone as a prop. It's just rude.

Still Traveling

Back from down under where the coffee, I might add, is bloody good. The connectivity, however, was not. So... 24 hours to do some laundry and I'm off to Thailand. Hopefully, I'll have a better internet connection there. Supposedly, the room has WIFI. My goals in Thailand? I'm meeting the fabulous Lisabet Sarai - a fellow erotica writer and the editor of Cream. I'm also bringing my new (yeah) SLR and planning on photographing as many kathoey's (ladyboys) as will let me. I've got some work to catch up on as well, but I'll do my very best to get another chapter of the Dinner Party written.

Absence makes the heart grow fodder?

I have to take a little trip, and so I probably won't get a chance to post in the next couple of days. However, in my absence, I'd like to set you all a challenge: I remember watching "The English Patient" and thinking, well, I wish I could have seen the explicit version of those two in bed together... Which mainstream film that you have watched would you like to see "the explicit" version of? My vote is for The Night Porter.

I'm Sold

After a couple of emails from friends, I trundled over to the "Dove" site to see what all the fuss was about. Apparently, Dove has made a TV commercial for it's "ProAge" product line that cannot be aired. The reasons for it being denied airtime are not quite clear to me. I guess it's the nudity. However, what makes this a little hard to understand is, if you've ever seen a Calvin Klein ad, this isn't any more revealing. So, it must be because the women in the ad are over 50. The funny thing is, I would have never thought of buying any Dove "Pro Age" products before I viewed it on their website and found out the ad was banned. Personally, I'm a Nivea girl. Yup - the stuff in the blue tin. It's cheap, it moisturizes and a friend of mine who was plastic surgeon and a dermatologist once told me that if I spent any more than $2.95 on mosturizer, I was stupid. They all had basically the same active ingredients and the only think that separated them was packaging, scent and a marketing campaign. He said the best thing a woman could do to stay young looking, was to stay out of the sun and stop smoking. (Well, I manage one of those). Either that, or the knife. But I digress. The point is - the fact that this ad couldn't air made me so angry, I decided to buy the product. I'm not yet the age of most of the women in the ad, but I'll be damned if some asshole who doesn't like naked mature women is going to make consumer decisions for me. Wanna see the ad? Click Here

The Dinner Party - Part 7

"There's a lady here. She says important to see you, now." But even before he ushered her in, Isabel recognized Carmen Masse. She was wearing a pale lemon, linen sundress and Jackie-O sunglasses. Isabel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Before she could stop herself, Isabel's head flooded with images of Carmen - legs spread, at the pool's edge. She felt her cheeks burn. "Isabel, you are so naughty," Carmen chided brushing past Khanh. She walked around the desk and pecked Isabel on each cheek. "You left without a word, and you don't return my phone calls." READ PART 7: The Dinner Party

Fiction: Making the Reader Uncomfortable & the Suspension of Disbelief

One of the main problems with publishing fiction in this format (chapter by chapter, sequentially) is that it's not like a book. For most readers, their chief experience of fiction is in book form. When they get to a part in the book that makes them feel uncomfortable, they're still holding a book in their hands, perhaps half-unread, and they rely on the author to make it right for them, somewhere in the following chapters. Also, the way I consume a book - and I'm pretty sure most of you do - is to settle down and read a significant chunk of it in one sitting. Perhaps 30 pages, perhaps more. And then you close the book and the world you were engulfed in, while reading, is still left there, in the book, like a nice drink half-finished. Presenting long pieces of erotica in this format, is somewhat different. It is far harder for me to lull you into a suspension of disbelief because the world I take you into has no physical analogue (the material book) which you can look at and point to and say: "In that vessel, over there, (pointing to the closed book on the table) there's a world where ... (whatever fictional events take place, in whatever fictional world). Similarly, if somewhere in the story I make you feel uncomfortable, you cannot rely on the fact that I will, ultimately, resolve your discomfort and make it right in the end. There is no nice ream of crisp, unread pages you can point to and say: "You have about 100 pages to resolve this for me". So, whatever moral dilemmas you may experience reading my stories, please keep in mind that we are all still using the "book" as our model for how to experience fiction (I'm still using it as a writer too! Notice that I use "chapters"?) but that I cannot be trusted to resolve your discomfort the way you might be able to rely on with a book author. I might disappear tomorrow, story unresolved! My server might decide that what I write is offensive and inappropriate, and shut down my account! Or I might be run over by a truck, and you will never know, but for the fact that suddenly the installments have stopped. It may be that you will be left wondering: what happened to (whoever the main character was, in whatever story you were reading)? This is a new way to experience fiction. It doesn't have the same familiar guarantees. You, as a reader, must be cautious! *grin* If once a reader had to be wary of the 'unreliable' narrator, now they have to be wary of the unreliable author ;-) But what is important for readers of my work to keep in mind is that I am not "blogging" my life, here. This is fiction and, being fiction, it is likely to cause you, in places, some momentary discomfort. But ultimately, the worlds in my stories are not real worlds, and neither, no matter how well written, are the characters. And if I happen to kill one off tomorrow, I can assure you that they felt no pain. Hugs and thank you for reading, Remittance Girl

The Dinner Party - Part 6

Isabel awoke at dawn feeling strange and unreal. She looked across the enormous bed to where Gilles and Carmen lay naked and spooned. There was very little she remembered about the previous night after she had come a second time. Snatches of sound and pictures flitted through her head: insidious erotic fragments, like a film no one would ever make. It was too real, too raw, too... READ PART 6: The Dinner Party

The Dinner Party - Part 5

Isabel had no idea how long they lay silent, drifting through layers of dream. Images would flood into her mind, swallowing her up and then release her with the taste of them lingering in her mouth. She was a child looking up at a grey sky, gentle snowflakes falling on her face. And then she was in water as thick as honey, pushing through velvet caves, with glinting, gold-flecked walls, like a mermaid. Vermillion anemones stretched out their fingers and caressed her as she swam by. When she stretched out, she was a pale luna moth breaking out of its cocoon into the midnight air. She let her wings dry in the cool breeze. READ: PART 5 of The Dinner Party

The Dinner Part - Part 4

He stood with his back to her, preparing something on a tray. Turning with a lychee fruit in his hand, he peeled it and held it up to her. "Do you like lychees?" "Yes. I do. I'm always happy when the season for lychees begins." Isabel made to take the peeled fruit from his hand, but he pulled it away, teasing her. "Carmen says they feel like the head of a cock." Gilles touched the round, firm fruit against her lips, sliding it back and forth, painting her with its juice. He nodded encouragingly when she opened her mouth, clasping the dripping white fruit with her lips. A trickle of juice escaped the side of her mouth, ran over her chin and down her neck. Putting a hand to her face, he covered her mouth with the palm, crushing the fruit against her teeth and pressing it inwards. His warm mouth went to her neck, where the single dribble had become a stream of sticky juice as the fruit exploded. Isabel moaned, almost choking as the juice flooded her mouth. The sensation of his tongue on her throat made her cunt flood in response. Gilles stood back, wiping the juice off his face with the back of his hand. "Chassez-vous le dragon, Isabel ?" READ PART 4 of The Dinner Party

The Dinner Party - Part 3

"Smile and wave," Carmen muttered. "Smile and wave." Her fingers brushed discreetly against the side of Isabel's breast as she watched them off. Isabel, not knowing quite what else to do, did what she was told: she smiled and waved. The minute the last of the cars had driven through the gates, Carmen turned to Isabel, wrapped her arms around her and kissed her hard on the mouth. The ferocity and intensity of the kiss startled Isabel. She'd never kissed a woman before and she hadn't expected anything so forceful. "Thank God. I thought they'd never leave," murmured Carmen. READ PART 3 of The Dinner Party

The Ship's Figurehead

I had to take a little break from "The Illustrated Teacher" series, because it was theme weekend on the ERWA writers' list. This month's theme was "Mystery, Murder and Mayhem". So, for your reading enjoyment, a little departure from my usual style into the world of Noir. Detective Hank Ransome gets a late night call. The SS Leaward has just docked with a dead dame as cargo. All aboard. Read: The Ship's Figurehead

The Illustrated Teacher - Chapter 6

For those of you who have been waiting patiently for the 'real' sex, and not the various things that Mr. Clinton would have described as 'not sex', your wait is over. The Illustrated Teacher - Part 6 If you have just arrived, you might want to read it from the beginning.

The Illustrated Teacher.

And yet another thrilling episode of The Illustrated Teacher And for the person who sent me an anonymous email about how that is not a very original title. Of course it's not. I'm having a little fun with intertextual referencing Malcom Bradbury. *grin* So yes, PART 5 If you've just arrived are thinking "Part five of what????" The story begins HERE

Word and Words and Silence

As difficult as my relationship with my father has been, I will always remember that he gave me two things that I still carry with me, in my head. They are both poems: one is Dylan Thomas' 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night', the other is Robert Graves' "The Cool Web". Elise over at Mangled Tulip is having a bad day of it. Feeling like words are not being her friend and so I'm quoting this for her. We all admire people who use language well, but it's important to remember that words are like oven mitts - they protect us from the heat of reality, they make it possible for us to touch it without being burned by it. The Cool Web Children are dumb to say how hot the day is, How hot the scent is of the summer rose, How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky, How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by. But we have speech, to chill the angry day, And speech, to dull the rose's cruel scent. We spell away the overhanging night, We spell away the soldiers and the fright. There's a cool web of language winds us in, Retreat from too much joy or too much fear: We grow sea-green at last and coldly die In brininess and volubility. But if we let our tongues lose self-possession, Throwing off language and its watery clasp Before our death, instead of when death comes, Facing the wide glare of the children’s day, Facing the rose, the dark sky and the drums, We shall go mad no doubt and die that way. Robert Graves (1895-1985) If you decide to go and read the Thomas poem, 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night', and you haven't taken much poetry in school, there is a bit of a "code" he's using with his words. He's using symbols a lot, and it's not so easy to decode them unless you've read quite a bit of poetry or mythology. I don't want to patronize anyone who already understands the poem but it it seems like gibberist to you, you can read on for a bit of an interpretation of his code. Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night by Dylan Thomas Commentary: Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night Old age should burn and rave at close of day; The "good night", the "close of day" and the "dark" all symbolize death in the poem. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Although intelligent people know that death is inevitable, the fear that they haven't made their mark on the world in some way before they go means that they cannot go gently. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 'Good men' is a metaphor for sailors. But it could be expanded to mean travelers, and adventurers. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. 'Wild men' are poets. To 'sing the sun in flight' is to write about the world and the life we see around us. They were so busy writing about it, they forgot to experience it before it ran out. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 'Grave men' are people who have taken themselves, and life, too seriously. 'Gay' here, is used in the old fashioned sense - they could have been happy and enjoyed their life. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. The "sad height" is the precipice. His father is dying.