One man’s retch is another woman’s wet dream. Read the rest in my Dark Fiction section. Here’s an excerpt:

Somewhere on the tulips and neon pink daisies that sunbathed underneath the Big Bang Roller Coaster were the heavy clumps of undigested tomato and beef that Harold had vomited up just minutes ago. He hadn’t the time to properly wash out his mouth and clean the puke from his shirt. Marilyn had backed him into a secluded corner of a shower stable not far from the swimming pools. It was an area that was shadowy and sinister by nature, located just on the precipice of a mimicked beach resort and the Pinewood Forest.

Marilyn shoved her hand down his pants. Harold felt her hand swim side-to-side until she finally caught hold of his flaccid penis. She stroked it ambitiously and pressed her budding chest against his.

Harold tried to gently push her away. The smell that emanated from his chest was potent; it made his eyes water and his stomach churn. “We should be heading back,” he said. “I need to put on a new shirt.”

“Can I kiss you?” Marilyn’s eyes were ethereal and strangely animated, as if painted onto her face. They were two large chocolate dots with beady white stars in the corner. Her eyelashes fanned his face. Without warning, she plunged in, her tongue ravishing his teeth and tonsils with an unexpected determination. Harold naturally parted his legs and unbuckled his jeans. She grunted and sucked the last bit of moisture from Harold’s mouth. She guided his hand down to her pussy, which had been disrobed by Marilyn as she pulled her panties to the side. Harold’s fingers skated upon the thick, gooey juice that had accumulated on the brim of her slit. Then, he allowed his fingers to dive under her wetness and caress her clit.

Marilyn moaned satisfactorily. “You taste so good,” She said. Her eyes, once sleepy and intoxicated with a sudden bout of desire, suddenly seemed startled. Harold couldn’t imagine why she complimented him on his “taste”, especially when that taste had been tainted by his putrefied lunch. Nonetheless, he held her comfortably enough so that the puke didn’t touch the bare skin of his chest. He pushed his groin against hers, the zippers being pried apart by his immodest erection. Harold grabbed ahold of Marilyn’s taut buttocks and lifted her off the ground. Instinctively, Marilyn wrapped her legs around Harold’s waist. The momentum of her swaying body forced Harold up against the fence that had barricaded the shower stable. His cock curved conveniently toward Marilyn’s vulva. Harold lowered her on top of him; but, just as her lips uncurled for his entry, the sounds of laughter coming from behind Marilyn made Harold’s hands go numb. He let go of Marilyn, who, cunningly enough, landed on her feet.

She turned around and noticed a couple of teenage girls snickering in their bathing suits. Marilyn gave them the mean eye and they scurried off. She glanced over at Harold, who had begun zipping up his pants. She approached him, running her hands through the nearly dried bile that wrinkled his shirt.

“Stopping so soon?” She asked.

“Not now.” Harold held onto Marilyn’s wrist, avoiding her soiled hand if possible. “I need to get dressed. If I stay in this shirt any longer, then I’m going to puke again.”

As Harold walked past Marilyn, she pulled him back. He bumped into her, and she leaned in to bite his bottom lip and lick his mouth. “Fine,” she said. One final nibble and she released Harold. “I’ll meet you in one of the shower stalls.”

Harold nodded unresponsively and headed for the locker rooms.

From 3D Toon Fucking, this disturbingly incredible clip has me captivated me deeply. This is the type of porn I’d pay good money to see… especially in an IMAX Theater. I love 3D porn. On SciFuckit, most of our content is animated in some way; but, these days it’s all about 3D animation in particular. And the results vary from amateurish shapes and badly shadowed characters to sleek nearly lifelike cinematic erotica.

I have quite a few favorites when it comes to 3D porn. And yes i will get to those later. Right now, I just want to discuss this particular piece, which is by the far the most eye catching.

It’s remarkable how talented this artists actually are. The content is graphic and pretty hardcore, but compared to real action hardcore porn of a similar caliber, the latter fails to deliver the same style or professionalism. Sure, there’s always the uncanny valley syndrome. But, when it comes to porn I’ve stopped caring. Why? Well, 3D porn offers endless possibilities. I can feel okay about this piece because it’s not real. I can sexualize all of those hardcore and seemingly (or obviously) degrading acts without empathizing with the female performer in some way.

So, yes, I’ll excuse the uncanny valley for the sake of guiltlessly rubbing one out to monstrous cocks, ballooning boobs, and one durable vulva.

I recently submitted my first finished horror piece to Short Story America. Let’s see how it goes. Wish me luck, pretty please. If I could publish some or all of the story here, I would. But, unfortunately I need to keep it completely unpublished for now.

Doesn’t matter. Let me tell you about how Home Burial came to be.

Like many, being buried alive frightens me. In elevators or subway trains during rush hour I have to breathe deeply and count to 10. If I don’t have my iPods on then there must be a focal point, some distinct mark that I could on rely on to distract me from my anxiety. There have been a couple of times when this focal point had failed to impressed, and I’m left collapsing to the floor in a moment’s breath.

Luckily, that hasn’t happened in about two years. I like to think I’ve gotten better at keeping myself distracted. But, anyway, if common occurrences like traveling to work or up a building startles me, then I can’t imagine what it would have been like to find myself in a coffin or any sort of container.

Some time ago, I watched a documentary about home burials. The process was a long strenuous goodbye, one that included the very last moments of a person’s life to their final resting spot, preferably on personal property with a burial site. According to NYTimes, very few states, if any, disallow home funerals. However, a handful of those states do require a home funeral doctor. Choosing a burial plot requires permits and other paperwork. Altogether, being buried on one’s own land, buried at another site, or being cremated is less costly than preparing a traditional funeral.

I was very struck by the idea of taking care of a dead body. When my grandmother died, her body was laid out for the wake, one that was bittersweet and confusing for a 10 year old like me. As relatives cried, laughed, and went about their business in a depressing fashion there, in the corner of the room, was my grandma. Why, was all I could wonder. I wished we could have buried her that night. She seemed outstretch like a piece of precious antique furniture, or like a statue of the Virgin Mary… She was lifeless and I knew my grandmother was dead. But, now I felt like I was forced to feel something for her because her body was in the room. I think the older people thought I might’ve been rude. But, it wasn’t like I missed my mother any less. I just knew she was dead. I’d much rather remember her spirit than cry over her corpse.

Her spirit also seemed like more a mystery to me than the body in the coffin. My grandmother in memory was elusive and had the power to appear in my thoughts whenever, even at my most frightened or embarrassed. While her body withered away in Jamaica, she is alive in my mind.

The idea that a thought or memory and how strong of a hold it could have on somebody was really what drove me to write Home Burial. Originally, it was about a big family who were preparing for the patriarch’s funeral. He was going to share a gravesite with other family members in a makeshift necropolis. But, the last years of his life were shamed by a family secret, one that he shared with his dead, beloved daughter Kaitlyn. Here, I thought it would take a very drama, heartwarming turn where we can have our faith reinstilled in the father; but, that type of ending was too much a tearjerker for me.

So, the story begins right before the wife and her two remaining children – both adults – sit down for dinner. The son, Roland tells his sister, Roxanne that he discovered a suicide note, one that implicated both her mother and father in her death. But, the note has disappeared and now the son has no evidence. All he could do is sit with his dead sister’s secret. But, the effect of the secret permeates with the rest of the family members and it drives them to act in very extreme ways.

Eventually, the home funeral element was removed completely. My characters don’t allow it to go that far. And soon, they reveal to me that what one doesn’t know can cause the same type of anxiety and gut-wrenching fear than waking up to an imprisoned darkness. In fact, keeping a secret is a type of confinement. Anticipating when this secret is revealed… a figurative (sometimes literal) death sentence.

Underwire announced the “return” one of my childhood icons, Tank Girl.In November, she returns in a new series called Bad Wind Rising. The trailer above prepares us for what looks like a traditionally awesome adventure. But, in stores right now is Tank Girl: Skidmarks, a miniseries that compiles issues from Britain’s Judge Dredd Magazine. The original Tank Girl series was created by Alan Martin (also illustrator for Skidmarks) and Jamie Hewlett, who went on to become the famous artist behind the Gorillaz.

Okay, I wouldn’t call myself a total comic book nerd. I wasn’t devoted to following a story; but the illustrations were always an attraction. And the tale that issue told was always one that seemed to have no beginning or ending, so it’s always suspenseful for me. When I was younger, there was only one comic book store in Bridgeport. It was right next to Supercuts in a strip mall that was just on the edge of the Bridgeport/Fairfield border. I would check out the store while my mom got her hair cut. And it was there that I found beautiful aquatic aliens submersed in territorial wars, Vampirella in her skin tight futuristic Amazonian garb, and Tank Girl.

Tank Girl was not a svelte Amazonian babe, nor did she exude the same sex or feminine appeal than the beautiful fish-people and the soap opera stories they led. Nope. She was a skinny punk stuck in a post-apocalyptic waterless world. She hung out with kangeroo people and owned a massive, massive tank. Of course, having a kick ass girl with a horrible haircut on the front cover was not the only eye catcher for me. The story itself was reminiscent of Mad Max, only the leather-daddy machismo from that sand-filled future is replaced with tongue-in-cheek humor, a bratty and obnoxious pint-sized chick, and a very absurd aftermath of our scientific efforts.

And, if you need a clearer picture of what Tank Girl’s aftermath would really look like when translated from its pages, why not check out the movie:

But read the comic book, obviously.

I haven’t purchased it yet but I’m on my way to the Strand and Forbidden Planet is on the way. So, I know either way I’m done for.

Recently, I thought about where I was in my own career – sex work and writing – and I realized that I’m 24 years old and while I have been very fortunate to do well as a sex worker, it’s not the direction I truly intended for myself.If you read entries from way back, you’ll notice that it’s mostly about writing fiction, horror to be specific. In another blog that is now defunct I talk about the process of creating dolls and other artwork, which I was, at one point, obsessed about. I had written entries that were far more artistic and introspective… which is true about AFN but in a much different way.

Now, this blog has been about sex and, while I’ve always enjoyed writing about it, I know that it isn’t my sole passion. And I know that when I sit down and consider what I want to create and sell, I know it’s not personal essays about my sex life.

Not that I’m suddenly ashamed. I’ll always frankly discuss my personal life, sex being one; but, I feel like I’ve compromised my other passions for the sake of discussing this one topic. Not that I had or that I didn’t want to, I’m just at a point now where I’m slowly retreating from the sex world and entering a new world, one that’s just not exciting (okay… may even more so) than writing erotica or sexual memoirs.

So, don’t be surprised if I start to talk more about my writing. It’s permeating my world! I’m on a track now where I submit at least once or twice a week. I’ve completed, edited, and submitted at least two short stories this week, with two other rough drafts on the backburner. There’s also a list for the next seven ideas. A set schedule and everything!

I also changed the look of the blog quite a bit. Why? Well, as I began to understand the type of work I wanted to create, I wanted the blog to reflect the same attitude. I’ve used this design before; but briefly. However, I like it. Just need to tweak the html. The blog has been transformed into a website to list all of my talents and supa skills! So, please I encourage you to explain the new additions to this site.

So, please let me know what do you think?

This really cool article features opinions from various performers in the adult industry. A major issue that comes up with anyone who is a sex worker is identity and privacy. How can one balance a personal life and private life? Or can the two live harmoniously as one all-encompassing identity, one that’s three dimensional and open to all reception, both positive and negative. Here’s my piece…

Christina Cicchelli, New York’s own dearly beloved porn star, escort, domme, and writer, told us that prefers to keep her private life private. She said her porn and escorting persona is different from her private self: “As a porn star or escort, my job is to perform in someone else’s fantasy. And this fantasy element is the thin, slightly brittle boundary that keeps me from sharing certain information as Luna or Leon or Simone.” When I asked if she used her real name or stage name, she laughed. “No one ever calls me by my stage name. That’s just silly. . . . Sure, fans don’t know any better.” [Editorial Note: We have to agree with her there, you swine!] “But those closest to you do; in my eyes, if someone close to me (not a colleague or another pro) kept calling me Luna or Simone, then I feel like they’re trading in my personality for the fantasy of a character that I created.

Here we see the ideal: A hot vampiress biting into the thigh of a gorgeously-chested woman (Funny, so far the female vampires bite near the thigh, as if just inches from the cooch… and yet I haven’t the male vamps go down at all. Hm). As this indulgent devouring commences, the flamboyant Russell reclaims his reign of terror. With a quick rip of a reporter’s spine, he reassures our fears and pretty much shits all over the romance of the vamp.

Please ladies, do you actually want to be bitten through the neck… Do you really think that a vampire is going to treat your neck like a sumptuous piece of chocolate? When did we have to soften the corners to comprehend such terror?

Best scene in the season. And what I believe epitomizes my problem with True Blood as a story itself. It’s become so oversexed, so obsessed with the waif triangle that centers around a passive mind-reading Twinkle Bell and two over-sized, overrated vampires , that we’ve forgotten that at the root of this story we’re missing an evil, a acknowledgment of real fear and terror that these monsters are capable of. Sometimes I feel like for women, the monsters have to be sexualized in order to accept the gore, scene after scene of blood baths, etc — all of which are extreme and sometimes unnecessary, as if the writers are compensating for the scenes of innate horror and fear that they can only translate as more skin, more flesh, more blood.

I hadn’t read Harris’s novels, so I’m unsure as to whether or not this castration of the horror genre bears the same tone in her series. And the written word doesn’t translate the same way that television or movies do, especially when it comes to sex and violence.

What a waste of blood!

Honestly, I continue to watch the show. Like porn, it’s mindless and hollow and features enough skin to cover up the lack of story and the horrible dialogue. The sex scenes themselves warrant no real sex appeal; how we did suddenly associate our vampire fucking like a jackrabbit with sexual pleasure? It’s purely penetrative, features no clit or nip stimulation on the victim, oh wait, I mean lover’s part and, by now, comedic at best. But, because it’s a vampire, and because the actors are pure eye candy for its devoted female demographic, then somewhere along the line female viewers may have to fill in the gaps. Haven’t we been doing that for way too long?

Yahoo! Personals offers tips on how you can find your mate for life… and you can do it through the magic of the internet!

Can’t wait to find your husband? Me too!

…I was kidding.

I spoke about this on SciFuckit; but I wanted to focus on the overall tone of these seemingly surefire and even harmless tips.

Step 5 encourages women to spend way too much time on a man than one needs to. Here’s what writer Ann Marsh had to say:

Many women toss out great prospects because they aren’t swept off their feet instantly. Remember that men who sweep you off your feet right away might be a little too practiced in the art. You’ve got to wonder who else he’s swept away that week. Look for substance. I went out with several men multiple times whom I didn’t feel terribly attracted to initially but liked for one reason or another. It was good discipline. I fell in love with my husband by getting to know him gradually (although, after our first date, I did catch myself telling friends that I might marry him).

I don’t understand her logic here. In the beginning of the statement, she tells women to maintain caution around a man who is just too good at being romantic, because he obviously has been with more women. However, she claims to have gone out with various different men that she wasn’t attracted to but liked… just liked. Okay, so what’s the difference? First off, she makes the assumption that a man who is romantic might have been with several women before you; but, haven’t we ever heard of quality over quantity. I know of guys who are naturally able to attract women, and it isn’t so much a persona or game for him; he just gets along really well with women and it’s easy for him to find dates. And, what do you expect him to do? Shun away a certain number of dates because he doesn’t want to seem too experienced? But in Marsh’s case, she dated men she’s wasn’t interested in or attracted to but liked them. Why waste one’s time? Obviously, a guy isn’t going to date you just because he likes you. That’s reality. He wants someone he’s attracted to, someone he can see himself being with. To cling to a guy you’re not attracted to is giving him false hope. And even if you don’t find him attractive but really want to keep seeing him, then make him your friend and express that outright. In some situations, relationships with someone who becomes a friend can work better than finding one on the internet.

My least favorite tip: “Don’t get physical until you’re with The One”:

Whoa! This is a counter-cultural message! You’d never hear the characters on Gossip Girl acting this way (if they did, of course, there wouldn’t be a show). But I figured that the fastest way to find your mate online is by dating a lot of people. The only way to date many people simultaneously and not lose your mind is by not getting physical with anyone. That’s because physical intimacy, I learned, floods your system with a neurotransmitter called oxytocin, which bonds you to that person whether you like it or not. But by not bonding prematurely, your head stays clear. Incredibly, I didn’t even kiss anyone (yes, I was tempted). If asked, I would tell a date that I was holding off on anything physical until I knew I was in a committed relationship — one leading to marriage. I don’t know if saying this scared anyone off. If it did, then that was a good thing!

I‘d like to point out that in another post, I briefly discussed the three major chemicals that promote certain actions and behaviors when it comes to courtship and sex. Not only does oxytocin play a role, but vasopressin and the dopamine system also affect other occurrences like the need to pair up, but also how to focus our attention on one mate and sustain a lasting relationship with them. The joke (in a way) is that none of the systems work in synchronicity with one another, so women are capable of having sex without the need to pair. And when you do feel that way with someone, know that it’s not some uncontrollable system that can not be ignored. Remember your reality is far more important.

Lastly, my big beef with this article is that it mentions nothing about sex and sexual intimacy, which does and should play a role in the romantic relationships you attempt to make. Sure, if one wants to wait until they find the right date, then that’s a choice. But, to attach some high value to your lover is unrealistic. Instead of finding The One to have sex with, you need to see each guy as an individual and decide when’s the best time to fuck that guy and that guy alone. And even if you want to delay the sex for marriage or to hear those three magic words (Fuck me now?), then why not practice other types of sexual intimacy? Why doesn’t Marsh teach women to remain sexually powerful even if they don’t want to express it so physically so soon? If one doens’t want to have sex, they can still explore fantasies through dirty talk, mutual masturbation, and from there gradually develop a sexual relationship that dovetails your emotional relationship.

I mean, there’s a good chance that you might have sex with that person. And, if you can’t see yourself fucking that person, then I seriously think you’re cheating yourself. You’re settling. Because love and a great personality doesn’t make sex great all of the time or any time. The attraction must come from the most primal parts of your soul. And you shouldn’t treat sex like a reward but a natural process of any courtship no matter where it goes in life.

Ugh I feel so angry and sort of sick to my stomach. After watching an episode of Crime and Punishment, I was completely mortified. God forbid I get raped because I. Would. Be. Screwed! Crime and Punishment uses the same format as Law and Order, right down to the duh-duh (if you don’t know the… duh-duh… then you don’t know Law & Order). The only difference is that it features real life court cases happening in real time. No interviews. No interaction with the camera. For the viewer, it’s a very voyeuristic and slightly jarring look into how fucked up our legal system is, and how one poor element of any trial could bring it down like a deck of cards.

So far, my head is steaming from the most recent episode. I had to take a moment and pause because I almost chucked my macbook pro out the window. Episode 4 of CP’s first season features the all too familiar tale of a young woman who got drunk and made the dumb mistake of getting a ride home from two strangers, one of whom assaults and rapes her several times throughout the night. Disgusting.

Now, what’s jarring about CP is that it pretty much echoes everyone’s worst fears. When her prosecutor consults her peers about the case, one lawyer mentions that they’re both on trial. While the prosecutor chooses not to believe that, he reiterates that whether they like or not she’s on trial because of her choice and lifestyle. He’s on trial because HE COMMITTED A CRIME. Another lawyer, a female, asks if she considered the type of clothing the woman wore. The prosecutor also doesn’t want to touch the subject but again, they encourage her to. If she doesn’t then the defense attorney will.

And, boy does he ever! They must’ve handpicked him. Old, wiry hair around the ears, glasses bigger than brain. Throughout the entire trial, he sexualizes the victim, reduces her rape to “Intercourse gone wrong”, and uses her martial arts skills against her (which is normally not a recommended means of defense in this case). and worst of all (in my eyes) uses her lack of underwear as a red flag that she openly wants to get raped… no, wait… have intercourse.

It was obvious that the conservative cryptkeeper coached his client, as the older gentleman wove an unbelievable story of senseless bullshit. His memory? Poor girl was crying. He got out of his homeboy’s car to help her… oh by help he means kiss her. And she liked that so she hopped in the car with him. She was a bit of a nagger but hey he had sex with her anyway… in the dirt behind some bushes. She slapped him really hard because she was angry. He broke her jaw but couldn’t tell if she was actually hurt. She admitted it was her fault (duh!) and they fucked again and again… then she tells him she’ll never see him again.

Of course, the prosecutor ripped his story to shreds… with the cryptkeeper not too far behind to yet again remark the lesson learned in not wearing underwear or looking like a Jodie Foster/Nicole Kidman kind of girl…

So, then it hit me that if I ever made a shitty choice where a psychotic asshole and some type of drug was in the mix, I’m up shit creek without a paddle. Why? Can I make it any more obvious? I blab my big mouth off about how much I love being a dirty slut w/rough sex and a side of fries to go with that happy meal. I’m promiscuous, openly speak about sex work. Hmm… oh yeah and I’ve openly remarked on the other side of rape, which is why some people label me as a “victim blamer” or a “gray rapist” maybe.

Whatever the label, if there’s one person who should know a thing or two about what consent really means, it’s me. I put myself in situations where consent can be easily taken away from me. I’ve been smart enough (luck doesn’t always play a part) to choose lovers who have been considerate and courteous. I know how my ass and my cheeks (on my face) feel when they’ve been slapped the right way. I know that the sane ones who want to treat you like a dirty girl are the last ones who actually want to hurt you. And I’ve participated in enough sexual scenarios to know when a scene can turn dark. I’ve been in sessions where it has come that close and one only has a split second to make a choice that can prevent any further harm from going down. The last person who is going to get confused about if it’s rape or not is me. I know when it’s rape. The question is do the rest of you. Or are we so afraid of these incidents that whitewashing one’s sexuality and criminalizing one’s choices are the just the easiest ways to deal?

Yeah she made a dumb mistake. We all do. And I’ll continue to speak to that because it’s the truth; but a worse reality is that her choice is as socially questionable as the actual violence itself.