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Celeste's Top 20 Stories - January, 1998
Note: Even though guest reviewers write the posted reviews of some of these
stories, I read any story that I think may be eligible for a monthly or annual
award. I personally take responsibility {and blame} for these lists. If
someone else wants to publish an alternate list of awards, that's fine with
me.
Second Note: Since many readers would like to read the top stories for each
month, I have suggested that authors might like to repost as many of these
stories as possible. However, we may have a better solution. Beginning with
this issue, I am going to post STORY LINKS after each story in the Top 20
List. By pasting these into the appropriate line of your web browser, you
should be able to go straight to that story. Please give me your feedback
regarding the effectiveness of this procedure.
Third Note: I have also had great success finding these stories on the World
Wide Web by using the Deja News Server (www.dejanews.com). In addition, most
of these stories have been posted and archived through
alt.sex.stories.moderated. You can even find past issues of my reviews
through these services.
Fourth Note: To be eligible for my Top 20 List for any month, I have to have
read the story for the first time that month and reviewed it in CR.
Therefore, reposted stories whose old reviews I repost are not eligible
(unless they are substantially revised), but an "old" story that comes to my
attention and is reviewed for the first time would be eligible. If anyone
else wants to post a "rival" Top 20 list, feel free to do so. You can even
include my reviews, if you don't want to write your own.
- Celeste
Here's this month's Top 20 List:
{Note: Links that begin with x9.dejanews.com may be unstable.}
1. "Forget All That" by Uther Pendragon
http://x9.dejanews.com/getdoc.xp?AN=312070547&CONTEXT=886366408.2030436496&hit
num=17
2. "A Child's Christmas" by Mat Twassel
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/6930.txt
3. "Mind Games" by Uther Pendragon
http://x9.dejanews.com/getdoc.xp?AN=314530255&CONTEXT=886366577.2031222880&hit
num=11
4. "Power and the Word" by Taria
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7309.txt
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7341.txt
5. "The Call of Desire" by DG
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7340.txt
6. "Jealousy" by Friar Dave
http://x9.dejanews.com/getdoc.xp?AN=312565754&CONTEXT=886366637.2031222888&hit
num=10
http://x9.dejanews.com/getdoc.xp?AN=312561539&CONTEXT=886366637.2031222888&hit
num=13
7. "Pause that Refreshes" by OddManOut Anywhere
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7327.txt (1/2)
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7328.txt (2/2)
8. "Doubts and Uncertainties" by Kim
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/6921.txt
9. "Please Watch the Closing Doors" by Taria
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7687.txt
10. "Starlight" by SandMan
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7617.txt
11. "Somewhere on the Circle of Life" by Tooshoes
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7549.txt
12. "Flowers" by Vickie Tern
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year97/6495.txt
13. "Blossoms" by Malinov
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/6974.txt
14. "LeAnn Rimes - A Bodyguard's Tale" by El Diablo
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7870.txt
15. "A Christmas Triple" by Kim
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year97/6761.txt
16. "Coming in Last" by Sven the Elder
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7118.txt
17. "Sorrows End" by Sandman
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7188.txt
18. "The Bandit" by Mike Metlay
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7017.txt
19. "Burning Letters" by Lord Malinov
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7300.txt
20. "Pentaprism (Chapters 1-3)" by Mary Jorsay Gandmar
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7396.txt
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7395.txt
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7397.txt
Here are this month's reviews in alphabetical order:
"The Bandit" by Mike Metlay (atomic@tesser.com). Guest review by Piper.
In Western civilized cultures, there is a place separate from the so-called
real world; a place where young and old meet, where learning from books and
learning of life mix, where ideas and ideals are sometimes more important than
the people who hold them. We call these places universities.
The Bandit is a student in a place called Arcadia. This story covers the last
year and a half or so of his academic life. We don't learn much about his
studying or courses, though of course such things must take place (there's
only a few minor mentions of these matters). Instead, we read about him, his
friends and acquaintances, their shifting relationships, and the slow
unveiling of their inner personalities.
The Bandit is an intelligent young man with a libido that won't quit (like
many young men), but with a problem -- an inner voice that tells him about
right and wrong, and why he shouldn't do certain things that seem like good
ideas at the time. Think of Hawkeye from TV's _Mash_, with less joking, but
with a fair flair for music, especially bass guitar. Women and sex do not
occupy his every waking moment. He's got a real life.
Some of the other folks involved are: Zero, the skinny, easygoing guy with the
oversized shlong, who makes the girls crazy with lust; Mary Magdalene, the
slightly oversized sexpot with a killer kiss and an absolutely over-the-top
thing for The Rainbow Wizard, a cancer survivor who turned a mystic bent, all
to hide his mind games and manipulations; Diva, another somewhat oversexed
lady looking for a not-totally-meaningful relationship; Twink, who is honest,
forthright, wears her heart on her sleeve, but is so painfully naive it hurts,
and who eventually learns to share her boyfriend with one girl, her fiance
with another girl, and herself with yet another girl (all at the same time!);
Conan, the muscle-bound nice guy who hasn't got a clue as to what he's really
all about.
And there's still Starch, Lanky, Flower, Livewire ...
While I read the story, I slowly came to the realization that all of the
protagonists were distilled essences of character types. What made them live
for me were the real situations and their believable reactions. I could see
people I know doing the same things, but maybe not for the same reasons. Like
an onion (a very over-used metaphor, I know), there is layer upon layer of
misdirection and misunderstanding.
Look below the surface in this story. It won't grip you by the gonads, despite
the fair sprinkling of sex, but it will, eventually, take over your mind,
infesting you with thoughts about the characters themselves. Whoever the
author is, he (or she) wrote a very intelligent, imaginative slice of life.
(My personal favorite character is Twink, but I don't think she'd settle for
me. I'm probably a bit too much of the one-man-one-woman kind of guy for her.)
This is another long (275k) story.
"Blossoms" by Lord Malinov (malinov@mindless.com). Guest review by Sven the
Elder.
As those who read both a.s.s and a.s.s.d at present can ably testify, a lot of
the former has become a rather putrid swamp just at present. This fact is
evoking rather a lot of vehement, if mildly entertaining, posts to the latter.
All have good points; and yes, there is "freedom of speech" and yes, that
includes all shades from the light of some really excellent stories to the
dark of troll & shock merchants, who are rather like naughty schoolboys saying
'Bum' for effect. There are also the dark porn merchants that beggar belief.
Sadly, in our imperfect world and anarchic Usenet they too have the 'right' to
post. We also have the 'right' not to read.
Soapbox ditched, mild rant mode 'orft'! Why this mention of the dross you
ask? Well, every now and again a story comes to light which eclipses the
rubbish to such an extent that it is worth trawling through the garbage to
find it.
Malinov, I know you don't like the thought of your work going through a
critique process; so I shall not do so. Just be aware of one thing, gentle
readers: Mal has recently started writing what he calls "Trashy
improv(isation)" - his description of some of his short stories. They tend to
use the English language in a neat and concise way which, coupled with short
punchy story lines, is most entertaining. They are all worth searching out.
Use Deja (adult) Malinov.
This is *not* a "trashy improv," I hasten to add - just a rather nice story
about gentle, hot love in the latter stages of pregnancy. Go find it and enjoy
a superb read.
"Burning Letters" by Lord Malinov (malinov@mindless.com). Malinov has been
writing stories at a prodigious rate lately. I saw a note on a.s.s.d. that
suggested perhaps he has been scanning stories from Readers Digest and simply
inserting sex into them. You might think that a person who writes so many
stories so fast would write weak stories, but that is not the case. The
stories are short. They differ from more fully developed stories. But they
have a distinct impact, and they are well worth reading.
In the present story we have a woman who has been told by her husband to burn
her letters from her old lover. He owns both her and the house now. It's
time to cut the ties. Or maybe it's Independence Day. This brief story
conveys an intense atmosphere and has a surprise twist at the end.
My advice to you is to download this author's stories whenever you see them
and to save them for a time when you have just a few minutes to read a quick
story. When the sexual revolution REALLY comes, maybe we'll see these stories
in a futuristic Readers Digest.
"The Call of Desire" by DG (dionysian1@hotmail.com). As I loaded the word-
processing file to write this review, I became aware that my husband was
gazing at me from the doorway. At least I thought it was me he was gazing at.
Sometimes it's hard to tell. We share the same computer, and he has two
Sports Illustrated calendars hanging on the wall right above the computer. He
refuses to throw away the 1995 calendar. He says it might become valuable
some day. And so this babe with a leopard-skin bathing suit and sand on her
breasts is probably going to stare down at me into eternity. I have a
religious calendar of my own - complete with Catholic fish symbols - right
between his calendars. Anyway, sometimes it's hard to tell what he's staring
at. However, on this occasion, judging from the bulge in his shorts, I
quickly ruled out the religious calendar.
"Are you happy to see me, or is that a banana in your shorts?" I asked. Ever
since I started reading and reviewing stories for this newsgroup, my clever
repartee has improved.
"Can you do this?" he asked. He was wiggling his nose and moving his mouth in
grotesque circles.
"Sure I can," I replied, imitating his facial contortions.
"Good!" he said. "Why dontcha stop what you're doing, and we'll go to bed and
fuck like bunnies?"
I smiled. It WAS a good imitation of those cute little rabbits that eat the
lettuce in my garden each spring and summer.
"Let me finish this review first."
"What's it about?"
"A guy who writes stories has been discussing his stories with his wife, and
she's fucks him during the story. It's pretty hot stuff!"
"I'll bet!" he said, as he walked over and stood behind me at the computer.
"He's always been a good author," I continued; "but his stories are getting
better and better. I'd like to think I had something to do with that
improvement."
"You don't need to wear this shirt in order to write a good review, do you?"
I had been wearing nothing but my panties and a South Park Elementary tee-
shirt proclaiming that someone had killed Kenny; and so when he pulled the
shirt over my head, I was topless. My panties were already moist from the
story I had just read; and when he began to fondle my nipples and kiss my
neck, I guess you could say I was primed and ready for action.
But I was a bit miffed at the fact that he had been ignoring the intelligent
conversation I had been trying to have with him. Fair is fair, I told myself.
If he can ignore me, I can ignore him.
"I mean, this guy would probably write good stories without me, but I suspect
that my reviews help motivate him." I was impressed at the fact that I could
make this reasonably intelligent statement while my hormones were already
registering about 5.7 on the Richter scale. "At the very least I have helped
get him an audience, and that's gotta be a factor in his development as a
writer." I nodded with pride. Not at my influence on this author - which was
probably negligible - but at the fact that I had managed to utter a sentence
that was almost as insipid as a Rye Crisp. A nun in high school had once told
us that if we ever found ourselves getting sexually aroused, we should think
of something insipid or really bland to cool ourselves off. Rye Crisps used
to work for me. So did her lectures.
My husband continued his ministrations, but he glanced at the screen.
"Straight 10s!" he said. "What's so good about this story?"
"Well, first the husband and wife have a great relationship."
"So do we."
"And the first half of the story describes a really sexy, intimate fuck
between the two of them."
"Better than ours?"
"No, but a lot like some of ours." The bastard was clever. He had stopped
ignoring my conversation, but now I was more turned on and more distracted
than ever. My Rye Crisp was becoming a chocolate sundae. Pretty soon I would
be imagining Sister Mary Sex Education in the nude.
"Then the man quotes to his wife from his fan mail. A woman who runs a
phonesex operation had written to him. She said she liked his stories and she
offered to return the favor by giving him a free phone call. That's why the
story is called 'Call of Desire.' The woman's name is Desire - or maybe Day-
zee-ree, but Usenet can't transmit the French accents." If this digression
about computers and linguistics didn't cool his fervor, I was going to be in
real trouble soon.
Fortunately, the phone rang at just that moment. With any luck it would be
for him, and I could finish the review and then join him for a romp in the
sack.
"It's for you," he said, grinning roguishly as he handed me the phone.
The caller was a really boring old biddy from the PTA. The kids in our high
school band had been invited to perform at Epcot Center during spring break;
and she was trying to get us to cancel the trip, because the Disney people
have been letting gays and lesbians have a Gay Pride Day or some such thing at
the park.
Now you may think that this phone call would interrupt my husband's attempted
seduction, but that's not the case. He loves it when this woman calls,
because he considers it to be a personal challenge to make me have as many
orgasms as possible while I'm on the phone line with this prissy bitch.
I knew when I was defeated, and so I faced the inevitable. I turned away from
the computer, leaned back in my chair, spread my legs, and let him remove my
panties. He immediately slid around in front of me and knelt on the floor
between my legs. While he kissed my thighs, he slid two fingers into my
pussy. My husband is a very generous winner.
Now, you may think it's hard - er, difficult - to be brought to a roaring
orgasm while carrying on a telephone conversation; but with Rose it's no
problem at all. She talks constantly. She never listens. So all I had to do
was say "uh-huh" several times in the next five minutes. She had no idea that
I was bucking up and down with my free hand wrapped around my husband's head,
desperately pulling his face into my muff, while his tongue played my clitoris
with the expertise shown by a Cajun fiddler manipulating his instrument.
When I finally collapsed in exhaustion, my husband was short of breath, and he
withdrew his head for a moment. I think he had some pussy hairs in his mouth
as well. I took the opportunity to speak a few complete sentences into the
mouthpiece.
"Rose," I said; "Disney isn't sponsoring the Gay Pride Day. They are simply
letting gays and lesbians do their own thing. Nobody is going to be
copulating on the midway. I'm sure the gays and lesbians are every bit as
discreet as heterosexuals."
By this time my husband was back in action again. He began to kiss and caress
me again, and by now I was really getting into the swing of things. If I
didn't have to talk to the MotorMouth on the phone, then surely I could put my
mouth to a better use. I startled him by engulfing his cock completely in my
mouth. I moved up and down on it gently, each time withdrawing completely on
the up-thrust and muttering "uh-huh" into the telephone. I wasn't really
certain what I was agreeing with, but I was pretty sure it wasn't anything
important.
After a while, I realized that maybe Rose could go on forever, but my husband
could not. I was also getting pretty pissed at the self-righteous bitch who
was interrupting my review writing with her petty nonsense. Well, maybe not.
But anyway, I decided it would be fun to do something really outrageous -
something that would blow Rose away if she knew it was happening.
Gently, I removed my mouth from my husband's cock, kissed the pee-hole gently,
and shoved his face away. Before he could register an objection, I rose from
the chair, turned around, knelt down, leaned into the chair, and spread my
asscheeks.
My husband grinned with delight. I know this even though I couldn't see his
face - because I don't have eyes in the back of my ass. We don't do anal sex
very often, but he and I have both grown to like it. My first anal experience
came during the Tonight Show, when I found myself awakening with my ass
pulsating in a manner strangely similar to a pussy having an orgasm. As I
gained consciousness, I realized that I had fallen asleep while my husband had
been lying with his head on my asscheeks, caressing me from behind. I found
out later that he had switched to my asshole after I started snoring, and
since my ass had begun to pulsate, he assumed I liked it and had been doing it
for fifteen minutes or so. It sounded dirty and felt dirty, but only in the
best sense. And so we discovered something new. On that first occasion I
simply played with his cock while he continued to diddle my asshole; we both
came gently, and we fell asleep very comfortably.
Back in the present, he replaced my fingers with his, caressed my buttocks,
and began to kiss around the edges of my rosebud. With my freed hand I
reached into the drawer next to my desk and found a can of WD-40. Casting it
aside, I found the tube of KY lubricant and passed it back to him. I keep KY
in several places around the house. You can never tell when you'll need a
lubricant to help insert a large object into a small aperture. I also keep
WD-40 and duct tape in the same places, because they are almost equally
useful, but for slightly different purposes. Ooops - I forgot - I'm no longer
trying to restrain my passions.
Anyway, while my husband unscrewed the cap and prepared to prepare my anal
cavity for heavenly rapture, I found time to express a coherent thought to
Rose. "You know, Rose," I said, with rising irritation in my voice, "I don't
think Minnie and Mickey were ever married. And what about those three
'nephews' who lived with Donald Duck?"
My husband didn't miss a beat. I had barely completed my sentence when I felt
first one finger, then two, and then three fingers gently slide into my
freshly lubricated backdoor. I knew that he was just priming me for the Real
Thing. Almost on cue, as I returned to my "uh-huhs," I began to experience
the wonderful fullness of his penis filling my ass. I know lots of women
don't like anal sex and lots of stories present it as a form of humiliation,
but I consider it to be a rare delicacy. I also knew that Rose would be
horrified to know that the woman she was talking to was really a slut who
enjoyed having her ass reamed out by a sexy stud.
My ass muscles are even easier to control than my cunt muscles. I knew my
husband had been almost ready to shoot his wad near the end of the blowjob,
and his thrusts and undulations suggested that he was at least equally ready
now. A joint orgasm during anal sex can be scary, but we have learned to
coordinate our efforts wonderfully. My ass muscles gave him one last kiss,
and immediately I felt warm cum shooting into my asshole. Simultaneously, my
entire body began to shudder in an enormous orgasm. The earth moved. Our
bodies continued to share this ecstasy for what seemed like an eternity - a
very nice eternity. I'm getting wet just proofreading this.
As his cock eased out of my ass, I regained my composure and spoke calmly into
the phone. "Rose," I said, "your problem is that you don't have a life. You
oughta go out and get laid by a real stud. Why don't you try taking it up the
ass like I just did?" I paused, then added, "I wish you could see me now, with
cum oozing out of my asshole, and my husband's cock continuing to throb as he
removes it from my ass and continues to gaze at me with unbelievable lust."
Then I hung up the phone.
My husband looked at me in amazement. "Did you just say what I think you
said?"
"Yes," I replied. "But she hung up back when I made the crack about Huey,
Dewey, and Louie."
While my husband went to get some towels to wipe off the wet and sticky stuff
from our bodies, I turned back to my computer. I had a feeling that we
weren't quite finished for the night. When he returned and handed my a towel,
I already had my tee-shirt snugly stuffed between my legs, preventing stains
via leakage onto the chair.
"So this guy wrote a story about writing a story, and it turned out to be
really sexy," he commented, as he kissed me several more times. "Too bad you
can't write a review about writing a review and have the review turn out to be
really sexy."
"A Child's Christmas" by Mat Twassel (Mmtwassel@aol.com). The author says he
hadn't originally intended to write a Christmas story, but he was disappointed
that Mark Aster didn't give us Pat and Julie and Keda and Tommy enjoying
Christmas and felt compelled to do it on his own. So he borrowed the gang
from the Allen sisters, and the result is a delightful story that reads almost
like one Mark would have written himself. The author points out that if Mark
wants to sue him, he hopes that maybe Julie Allen will consent to be his
lawyer.
The story begins with Our Hero (to whom the author gives the cryptic, almost
laconic name "Al") returning from his day's work as a department-store Santa
Claus, accompanied by a delightfully bratty child named Malcomb. The adults
do Christmassy things with the kids and sexy things with each other. The NBC
Today Show is currently running a series about turning 40; and from what they
say and from what happens in this story, we can safely conclude that Al has
not yet reached that age. The author does an excellent job of imitating Mark
Aster, with perhaps a touch of John Steinbeck at the very end.
"A Christmas Triple -- Three Stories by Kim" (Ghost@nym.alias.net). Kim
certainly has been writing some excellent stories lately! This is a set of
three stories, each quite different from the others.
"A Quiet Rooftop Orgy" is set in the context of Malinov's Holiday Orgy. To
put it briefly, Kim and Rob get it on nicely on the rooftop of the Castle.
Then in "Dark Doings in the Dungeons" various authors punish the repentant
reviewer for her pernicious punditry, if there is such a word. But the
depraved damsel bares up - er, bears up - and takes on all comers - men and
women, fingers, tongues, pricks, dildos, with a delightfully wicked enjoyment
and offers her customary love and kisses to all. The final story, "Silent
Night," is not as good as the other two. It relies heavily on a surprise
ending that just didn't move me.
But two out of three ain't bad!
"Coming in Last" by Sven the Elder (sven@brass-neck.demon.co.uk). Nobody
loves a loser. That's not quite true. When Sven the Younger comes in last in
a boat race, Kate licks his wounds, if you know what I mean. Sven takes a
lickin' and keeps on tickin'. I'd have trouble doing this. When I'm in a
boat, I hardly know leeward from windward, fore from aft, stem from stern, or
my ass from a hole in the boat.
I'm sure there are nautical terms for this naughty behavior. As I see it,
this appears to be a nautical "tortoise and hare" story. The moral is, if you
fuck around too much, you'll lose the race. Year after year after year, until
someone gets suspicious.
This was a very nice story!
"Doubts and Uncertainties" by Kim (ghost@nym.alias.net). In the first few
paragraphs of this story we are given the vivid impression that a man who
raped the narrator has now been captured and is going to be executed by her in
revenge. Specifically, she's going to burn down the wooden shed he's in,
while he's securely chained to the workbench by a chain around his balls. The
only way he can escape would be ripping off his own balls....
If you have ever watched Dragnet, you may recall that the plots often
consisted of an essay embedded into the dialogue. I'm convinced that the
screenwriter would read an article on, say, the need to lock one's doors at
night. Then he would write a story about a middle-aged women with two little
children who would fail to lock her door at night. Sergeant Friday and his
faithful psychic would then come and interrogate her, and the dialogue would
include things like this:
"You really have to lock your doors at night."
"I know, but sometimes I forget."
"When you forget, bad things might happen. I know, because I'm a cop."
Kim does something similar here; but she does a much better job, because she's
a smut writer, not a cop. Since I have given this story high ratings, you can
pretty well assume that it's not a senseless rape and torture story. For more
details - and for an interesting embedded essay - I recommend you take a look
at this story.
"Flowers" by Vickie Tern (VickieTern@aol.com). This author invariably writes
clever stories about persons who are noncoercively or deservedly forced into
transgender situations. The plots generally sound just plain silly when I
describe them, but the author writes them in such a way that they actually
make sense.
In this case a man who enjoys wearing women's clothes goes to a barbecue with
his wife at the home of his neighbors. The male neighbor is a macho man, and
his wife is one of those super-tolerant wives who can swing both ways. As the
plot unfolds, we discover that our crossdressing protagonist is going to
become the boytoy of the guy next door and the soulmate of his wife and the
lady next door. I told you it sounded silly. But remember: I also told you
the author tells it in a way that makes it just plain interesting.
"Forget All That" by Uther Pendragon (anon584c@nyx.net). I suppose the main
characteristic of the sexual activity in Uther Pendragon's stories is that it
is both delightfully arousing and arousingly delightful. In addition, the
sexual activity is a perfectly natural part of each story. We don't read
about sexual athletes or people under the mystical influence of mind control;
we read about people like ourselves or our parents twenty or fifty years ago.
It turns out we might have been interesting and sexy people.
And then we have the aphorisms - adages that would make Benjamin Franklin
proud.
**** "There is room for two in a twin bed, but not for two and a wet spot."
**** "Daughters and husbands both create messes, but my daughter and my
husband are both worth it."
This chapter in the Brennan saga is written from Jeanette's perspective, and
it includes her perfect description of her perfect man: "His puns are
execrable, his vocabulary can make me blush, he thinks that passing gas is
funny, his version of vacuuming a carpet isn't worth plugging the machine in,
he can out-stubborn a cat without even trying. He will, however, hug me when
I need it without my telling him why I need it. And no, you can't have him."
When you mix that sort of thing with discussions of family finances, parenting
skills, French phrases that are easily transparent to non-francophiles, and
really hot and tender sex, the result is a darned good story.
As this story begins, Bob and Jeanette have now been married for ten years.
Imagine that. The Kitten (their daughter) is not yet a year old. They have
returned to Bob's parents' house to celebrate Christmas and to make this story
eligible for the Celestial Christmas Story Contest. The story is a remarkable
combination of current activities and flashbacks to Bob's and Jeanette's
earlier lives together and apart. I laughed and I cried and visited my own
version of Bob for orgasmic and comic relief. What more can a girl ask for in
a story?
The story is long on "relationships" - in this case with a focus on the
relationship between Bob and his family. In addition, within this line of
thought the author gives us sometimes lengthy digressions on complex topics.
For example, we get a complex lecture on economics from Bob's father. This is
boring - but that's the point: the old man goes off onto perplexing tangents,
but that's part of his personality. I think it is always difficult to deal
with relevant but extraneous information in a story where the readers will be
looking for erotic impact. I suppose this author could improve, but I think
he already does a pretty good job. My advice is, if you find yourself reading
a paragraph that sounds way too complex, just read it without trying to
understand all the details. There's a good chance the author is just trying
to give the impression that the characters are having complex thoughts - he's
probably not really trying to teach you any French or economic theory.
As in many other episodes of the "For" stories, the author throws in
tantalizing details that make us wonder, "What was that all about?" For
example, in this episode Bob and Jeanette visit her family as well as Bob's.
The details of that visit led me to suspect that Jeanette had been subjected
to some form of childhood sexual abuse from which Bob wants to protect his
wife and his daughter. The author handles this kind of innuendo extremely
well.
Penultimately, let me give you non-francophiles some free help. Bob and
Jeanette are long on puns. The main pun in this episode occurs whenever the
baby says, "Oooh." Each time this happens Bob immediately replies (often in
French), "No, it's not August; it's December." Ya see - The French word for
August sounds remotely like "Oooh," and since Jeanette is a student of
French....
Finally, please note that the story has been reposted in revised form by John
Dark (john_dark@anon.nymserver.com).
"Jealousy" by Friar Dave (friar_dave@mhbbs.com). It's difficult for me to
imagine a bestiality story that I might enjoy. It's also difficult for me to
imagine a Friar Dave story that I might not enjoy. So I approached this story
with what my old psych prof called an approach-avoidance conflict, I think.
Friar Dave won.
Friar Dave describes Inez as a beautiful, powerful argument for the colorblind
miscegenation of her native Venezuela, with her ochre-highlighted hair, her
glowing, swarthy complexion and her lush lips and big brown eyes. Inez
develops a warm relationship with the narrator, but one without sex. He finds
out why when he stumbles across a tape of Inez doing it with animals. It's
really hot stuff, especially when they watch the old tapes together.
This story is extremely well written. I especially like the way this author
builds up the sexual tension with Inez by talking about his previous sexual
relationships.
"LeAnn Rimes - A Bodyguard's Tale" by El Diablo. LeAnn Rimes is not my
favorite singer - that'd be Pam Tillis, of course; but I have had some good
times while the teenage C&W singer has supplied the background music in our
bedroom. My husband was already in love with her voice before he discovered
that she was only 14 years old.
I've hungered for your touch
A long lonely time
And I know that time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine?
I need your love
I need your love
God speed your love
To me
To…..
Ooooooooooh.
It just doesn't sound like a teenager when she sings that song. My own
favorite is "Sure Thing"; but the point here is that it's easy to imagine an
adult bodyguard falling in love with a kid like this. The combination of
naive innocence and sexy presentation of adult emotions is LeAnn's natural
selling point, and that's also the stuff of pedophile stories.
First the bodyguard saves her life, then he takes her to Disney World, and
then he finds her cuddled in his arms in the middle of the night, afraid of
the Florida lightning. What's a guy to do with a young lady who hungers for
his touch and needs his love? As the song says, what this guy's got coming is
a sure thing.
I had better lay off the C&W allusions. I'm better at jokes:
***
"Your honor, " explained the young man, "I'd like to get
married, please."
"All right, what is your age?"
"I'm 22, sir."
"And the age of the bride?"
"She's 15, sir."
"Fifteen??? That's too young -- marrying you would be against the law!"
"I see, " said the young man. "Could you try explaining that to the fella
next to her with the shotgun?"
***
This story presents an excellent sex fantasy. Fantasy? Heck, it's probably
closer to truth than some of those things you read in the supermarket
tabloids!
"Mind Games" by Uther Pendragon (anon584c@nyx.net). This is one of those
really good stories that I can't tell you anything about. The best I can do
is give you a related anecdote. Back when my husband and I had been married
for two years and I was heavily pregnant with our first daughter, we went to a
wedding. I introduced him to two sweet, religious, elderly ladies who know me
from long ago. One of them politely commented that it had been a lovely
wedding. My husband replied, "Yes. I hope ours goes as well next month."
The expression on the ladies' faces as they glanced at each other and tried to
avoid my gravida stomach was priceless.
This story is sort of like that, but with strangers on elevators. And with an
unusual twist at the end.
This would have been an excellent entry for my 500-word story contest, except
that it has 802 words.
The main problem with this story is the title. At the top of the title page,
the title is "Friday." In the Postings, however, the title is "Mind Games."
Since you'll never find it if you look under "Friday," I have chosen to label
it "Mind Games" for this review.
Don't do this with strangers - the part about sheep, that is. The elevator
part is perfectly OK with strangers. It can enliven elevator rides. As well
as what comes later.
"Pause that Refreshes" by OddManOut Anywhere (oddman0ut@hotmail.com).
This is a story about Jenny getting drilled. Literally. Well, not quite
literally. Actually it's the Coke bottle that gets drilled. This is
necessary, of course, because excessive thrusting has caused a vacuum that
inhibits the natural removal of that flask from Jenny's vagina, where it had
been serving one of the secondary purposes of Coke bottles, a purpose more
typically served by a zucchini, a carrot, or an engorged phallus.
In other words, this story is about the sort of problem that a hormonally
imbalanced teenager in high school would think about during a really boring
physics lecture. Or a horny girl in a Catholic college for that matter.
This is really a nostalgic story. As the saying goes, "They don't make Coke
bottles like that anymore." Modern coke bottles are made of plastic,
typically holding two or three liters, and most American women don't even have
metric vaginas.
Anyway, Jenny was masturbating with a Coke bottle, and simple laws of physics
made it impossible for her to remove it; and now she is wandering around
practically naked with the neighbor kids and the old guy next door watching,
trying to find the right tool to remove the damned thing.
In case you're wondering - you know what you REALLY have to do if you get a
Coke bottle stuck up your cunt - or up your ass, for that matter - don't you?
You have to go to the hospital emergency room; and it's even more humiliating
than wearing dirty underpants when you're in an automobile accident. Your
mother may have been the one who warned you about the underpants; but the
people at the hospital emergency room have all the good stories about Coke
bottles, large salamis, and medium-sized rodents. I wouldn't kid you about
things like this. The worst part is that nowadays the emergency ward janitor
as likely as not will blab the whole thing all over the Internet, where your
humiliation will come to the attention not only of your parents but even of
the pope and whoever puts together the newsletter for your 25th-anniversary
high-school reunion. You'll eventually wind up being the punchline in a joke
that ends with, "Who's the person with the bottle up his/her ass/cunt standing
next to the pope on the balcony?"
Just imagine how embarrassing it would be if you were in an accident with a
Coke bottle up your cunt or ass! That's why this is labeled "a cautionary
tale."
Come to think of it, this story presents a problem that could appear on one of
those creativity tests: "Imagine that you have a Coke bottle up your cunt
{just to make the gender bias work in favor of girls for a change}. Describe
how you would remove it, using only items that are found in your house."
Fortunately, KY sterile lubricant is an item in my house, and I'll bet it
would work. KY is useful not only for inserting things into tight places, but
also for removing things from the aforesaid tight places. Once my daughter
was trying to raise the seat on her bicycle, to no avail. I approached the
bike with my tube of KY, liberally lubricated the pipe on the bottom of the
seat, and yanked. Off came the seat! My daughter said, "Hey! I'll have to
get some of that stuff some day." I said, "Yes, maybe you will."
My main criticism of the story is that it over-emphasizes metric measurement,
as when the bottle emerges millimeter by millimeter. It would be better to use
a more universally understood expression for a very small distance. For
example, "The bottle barely moved the distance of a cunt hair."
"Pentaprism (Chapters 1-3)" by Mary Jorsay Gandmar (maryjg@finebody.com).
Guest review by Mark Aster.
A five-sided prism, five images, each a little different, but essentially the
same. She is a young upper-class woman in India, firm-bodied, breasts
pendulous, cunt dripping, lips smiling, face in ecstasy, the gold chain around
her neck slithering over her rich brown skin as her servant fucks her
energetically from behind. They do it again and again, in all positions, all
orifices, and they whisper and shout tender filth to each other as they fuck
for hours. "Do it to me," she wails, "fuck me like a whore!"
This is pure stroke-stuff. I've read only three of the chapters, but I assume
from the title that there are five. In the first we see Anuja as a grown and
married woman, being fucked repeatedly by the servant Bharat. Some video
cameras and her mysteriously-aloof husband are also involved. In the other
two, she is young and unmarried, first showing off her young body in some
wonderful masturbation while the servant Baban watches through the keyhole,
and then inviting him to deflower her, and finally fucking four of his friends
more or less simultaneously. She is the classic insatiably lustful woman, a
standard dish on the porn menu, and either a tool of patriarchal domination or
a symbol of woman's essentially uncontrollable and free sexual nature,
depending on your politics.
The "pentaprism" idea is interesting (I'm inferring the idea from the title
and the layout of the stories; I haven't read anything directly from the
author about it). In a way it's fun, and very sexy, to see this woman's
devouring sexuality from five slightly different angles. On the other hand
the angles are perhaps not different enough: we see that chain rocking at
least five times, which is not a bad image, but we also get told about the
kajal around her eyes three times, we see a cock described as "ramming and
reaming" three times, we read the adverb "erotically" TEN times, see "spoot"
used to refer to semen five times, four different penises which are such-and-
such "inches long, and correspondingly thick", and a number of similar
repetitions.
But that's probably beside the point for all but the most analytical of
critiquers. This is porn, people fucking, orifices penetrated and people
cursing and screaming as they come over and over again. A young woman
masturbating by fucking the smooth wooden knob on her bedpost. Bodily fluids
all over the place. Lots of sex. Very hot screwing, just enough plot to hold
it all together, and sufficiently well written that it's mostly a smooth and
easy read (although the one really bad typo, "her cock", really MUST be
fixed!). Prime masturbation material for het males at the very least. If the
"pentaprism" idea is carried out to the full five faces, and some of the more
mundane repetition removed in favor of more shifting reflections, this will be
a most memorable piece of erotica: a stroke-story that is also an elegant
little carving, neat as the smooth wood that Anuja hungrily anoints with her
hot inner juices.
"Please Watch the Closing Doors" by Taria (tariat@aol.com). While riding
public transportation, the woman studies a Chinese teenager across the aisle
from her. The next thing we know she is getting off the train, giving him
instructions to follow her. He obeys. She has no real plan, but she ad-libs
well. She takes him into the recently-renovated Public Library. She finds an
empty handicapped stall in the restroom. Then she teaches him what it's like
to be with a real woman. It's the adolescent fantasy of the stranger who
comes out of nowhere to fuck a kid into oblivion.
I don't recommend doing this. Parking in handicapped parking areas is bad
enough, but fucking in handicapped stalls may be going a bit too far.
This is an extremely good story. The author apparently composed it while she
was bored during a ride on the train earlier this week. I can't wait till she
goes to church this weekend. I hope it's a boring sermon.
"Power and the Word" by Taria (tariat@aol.com). I labeled this story
"interracial sex." I could have perhaps labeled it "emerging sexuality,"
since the narrator's increasing self-awareness in the context of her sexuality
and black literature is the main theme of this story. I went with the
"interracial" label mostly because I wanted to show you that it's possible to
have interracial sex without monster cocks and white girls who love to be
called sluts.
Cleanthe is a young black woman who has arisen from her poverty to attend
college at Columbia University. She is intensely attracted to her professor
of African-American Literature, who is a white man. The story describes the
development of that relationship.
This is an excellent story. It does a marvelous job of integrating into the
story line poetry and sensible insights about a person's personality. This is
the sort of story that I would love to have my students read; but I can't,
because the Puritans who control American school systems severely harass
teachers who try to introduce this level of realism into literature classes.
So I'll just ban it instead, and that way my students will find it and read it
on their own.
"Somewhere on the Circle of Life" by Tooshoes (tooshoes@cris.com). Zatanna is
a witch. If you type her name on a word processor, your spellcheck will
suggest Satan as a replacement. Really. If your spellcheck does not make
this suggestion, you need an upgrade.
Zatanna lives in Salem, where most modern witches live.
Linda Lee is Supergirl. Not the shapeshifter who appears in some stories with
Supergirl in the titles, but the comely lass who came from the same planet as
Clark Kent and who has been seeking her identity ever since while working as
an exotic dancer and superhero. As previous stories by Tooshoes have
revealed, Linda Lee has a major concern with the sluttishness that
occasionally tries to leap to the forefront of her personality. In the first
quarter of this story we get vague details about an incident on a football
field, where Linda shed her clothes and her reputation in front of national
media cameras. Now she has withdrawn from public view and is trying again to
find herself. She is traveling incognito under the name Linda Danvers with
her cat Calvin, looking more like an English teacher than a sex goddess - a
simile that missed its mark completely, as far as I am concerned.
So Zatanna and Linda Lee meet in Salem, where they are joined by a mysterious
vampire. I'll skip some details now and simply say that the climax comes
during a total eclipse of the sun and involves Superman.
Magic is something I have trouble understanding, because the rules keep
changing. Superman I think I understand: his rules evolve more gradually.
Exactly how or why Supergirl can save the world by having a roaring orgasm
during a solar eclipse eludes my grasp - but maybe the notion is supposed to
be a bit obscure. In fact, the whole story is confusing, but in a very nice
way.
"Sorrows End" by Sandman (sandman@bitsmart.com)
Guest review by Anne747 (Anon747@aol.com)
I'm almost tempted to use the author's own introduction to tell you what the
story is about. In fact, his own summary is, 'A plane crash forces a hermit
to share his cabin for a long arctic winter with two women.' Now that might
give a misleading idea of what the story is about; however, the author goes a
little further and says:
"Considering that I had the chance to explore incest, pregnant sex, and an
interesting threesome, the story and characters evolved in a very tame manner.
I think I am probably as surprised as anyone that what sprang forth was a
rather quaint love story with nothing even remotely approaching taboo. This
is a story yes, there's sex in it yes, but sex isn't the end all and be all of
this tale."
And he's right. What we have here is a sweet romantic tale that deals far
more with two people falling in love than anything else. The only change I
might suggest is a section at the beginning of the lovemaking scene. We
almost slip back into the 'sex story' mode when she notes his 'well sized
organ' and his hands roam across her 'her ample breasts'. Up until this point
it has been an emotional piece. These two lines are very close and tend to
pull you back to a 'physical' impression. The characters have a very real
feel to them, this almost brings them back to the usual celluloid feel of sex
story characters.
Now, I'm not a romantic at heart. I normally wouldn't pick them to read.
Also, I might have preferred a slightly different ending, but this is just a
personal thing. Overall, this is a well-written, poignant story, and I did
enjoy it. I was going to knock a point off on the personal appeal simply
because romance pieces aren't my thing, but looking back at some of the other
reviews I've done I decided that wasn't fair. Interesting note: after 29
reviews - this is the first straight 10s review I've given.
"Starlight" by SandMan (sandman@bitsmart.com). Steve Whiley is a private dick
- a detective, that is. Crystal Dawn (about whom a country western song
should be written, if there isn't one already) is a netstar who needs
protection from a stalker. Steve gets the gig. My husband says I am sexy when
I use technical terms.
Crystal is a beautiful dame. She has the nicest set of teeth the author has
come across in a long time. The author didn't say that, but maybe he will in
another story. It's something Sergeant Friday would have said, had he been
allowed to say what was really on his mind. I think Magnum P.I. actually DID
say it once, but maybe that's something I just made up.
The story is set in the future, at a time when soaps are virtual reality on
the Internet instead of the simple fare we have on TV now and when earthquakes
could be predicted so accurately that Californians time their lovemaking to
take advantage of the movement of the earth. Hemingway would love that.
Ernest - not the blonde Hemingway. Anyway, they do sex about the same way we
do it now, except that they occasionally line up their beds to point to the
epicenter. Imagine that.
This is not so much a sex story as a very good detective story with sex in it.
I liked it a lot.
The most novel spellcheck mistake award goes to this author's accidental use
of "prescient" instead of "precinct" - unless P.I stands for Pussy Inspector,
in which case prescience would be more useful than a precinct. At least I
think so. Sometimes the gang down at the precinct think they are prescient,
but they probably just make a good guess now and then about whether she's
wearing panties or not.
Also, "uno momento" is a tiny amount of time in Spanish. A "memento" is a
sort of souvenir. Look for the word "memory" in the root. I am a cunning
linguist - a sort of a word dick. That's my job. Mark VII.
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