As well as a music producer, I'm also an author. When I have the time, I write romantic and speculative fiction
and erotica.
My erotic stories Cat and Canary and Sick Day from The Erotic Adventures of Jack and Dora were published by Lucrezia Magazine, which is, for my money, the classiest online Erotic Literature and Arts magazine currently published. These stories contain explicit content and are recommended for adults
18 years and older.
Following is an excerpt from an unpublished novelette.
The Designs of Doctor Maldovar
"Mr. Lovecraft! How abominable! Stop that at once!" said
the small strange-accented man to the red-jacketed and red fez-capped
pug dog that was enthusiastically humping Dora's leg. It was a typical
day in a Beverly Hills art gallery.
Dora couldn't help but laugh as the small man scooped the Pug up neatly
in one arm, holding him against his white dress jacket with his ring-covered
fingers.
"That's alright," she said. "He's a little love machine."
The man said: "I'm terribly sorry madam. He's a playful little
monkey but he usually draws the line at licking."
"Really? I don't," said Dora.
The little man raised his eyebrows, smoothed his dark hair to one side
then let out a short laugh. "Oh madam. Really," he said with
a big smile. "No doubt he was overpowered by your charms." He
then frowned down at the Pug and muttered under his breath, "Either
that or he's suffering from granulomatous meningoencephalitis."
The little man looked back up at Dora and his smile returned. "Allow
me to introduce myself. I am Doctor Victor Maldovar, at your service," he
said with a bow.
Tomorrow Girl Tales are stories of romance, time travel, other dimensions
and alternate universes set in the world of the Tomorrow Girl Saga.
They are NOT directly connected with The Adventures of Yesterboy
and Tomorrow Girl, and reading them will NOT tell you anything about
the events that occur in that novel. However, the characters themselves,
if and when they appear in these stories, may bear more than a passing
resemblance to the characters in the that novel. I consider these
science fiction stories to be set in alternate universes from the
novel and alternate universes from every other story (unless otherwise
stated)! So, if there are differences that seem to reveal a lack
of continuity, that
is
purposeful. There are an infinite number
of universes, with an infinite number of Maxs and Stellas. So, you
could read one story about them (like the novel, perhaps) which may
not be a science fiction story (or may only hint at science fiction
elements), but a romance set in what we consider the "real" world
(whatever that is!). There are recurring
themes, characters, organizations and other elements in the stories
that
do start to form a picture of a certain reality and a larger story
that is
taking place, but the tone of the stories range from horror to comedy.
Max and Stella (especially Stella) are sometimes, but not always,
present
in some manner to affect events. The possibilities
are endless. So, expect the unexpected. I'll keep you up to date
on the publishing of these stories. Until then, here are some exerpts
for you to enjoy.
The Never Men
"So, what is he, an actor, a clone…?"
"No. He's you. You from another universe. A you that is in league
with either The Order or Love Corp. He's the bastard version
of you," she
said.
"I thought I was the bastard version of me." She turned to
me and smiled.
"No, hate to disappoint you," she said, "but you're
kind of sweet. A bit of a geek, but kind of sweet."
"Great," I said, not sure how I felt about that.
"And cute," she added, staring straight ahead at the road.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Our little moment was shattered like the glass on a cheap picture
frame when bright lights blinded us from behind, and the car
that had up to this point been content with keeping pace accelerated
into the rear of our vehicle.
Way Station
I shot toward the scarab ship and gazed in at the lovely pilot.
Her face was set in determination, her brow furrowed, as she
fought to hold the ship on course, which was obviously straight
at the structure on the surface. I didn't see how she could
control the ship beyond possibly crashing it into the triangular
structure. Then, she turned to me with a half-smile/half grimace
and I realized that was exactly her intent: I had rescued her
only so she could complete a suicide mission.
Tomorrow Girl
Everything in Stella's life was going perfectly. Except for the strange
dreams, the weird accidents, the premonitions and the voices in her
head. Plus she was single and couldn't seem to meet a decent man
for the life of her.
A Party Girl of Mars
Stella smiled and rubbed the gem gently between her thumb and
forefinger. She felt the universe shrinking down into her
body. The gem began
to sing quietly, an alien voice, sweet, soft, high-pitched
and hypnotic. Lips thick with red lipstick puckered and began
to whistle
a seven-note
tune matching perfectly that coming from the gem. The two
voices quickly settled on one long note. Stella stopped whistling,
but the gem continued on the same rich tone.
"One, two, three, four, dancing through the corridor," she said
in a melodic nursery-rhyme voice, closing her green eyes. "Four,
three, two, one, a Martian girl needs her fun!"
Then, she was gone.
Beyond the Fold
Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I turned
to see a giant writhing movement of phantom limbs and energy
fly through the WAL. I stared up at it, like a child before
a hurricane. A giant eye stared down at me and gripped me with
an overwhelming presence and a vast intelligence engulfed my
mind. Suddenly I was jerked into the air, plunged into a sparkling
darkness and shooting up the stairs faster than my legs could
move. My senses were vast and alive and my power was almost
limitless. I passed through the front of the house as if it
were water, hot on the heels of the criminal/ Doctor Lazarus.
I could see the trail of malicious intent he had left like
a ship leaking fuel in its wake. I half-leapt, half-flew across
the night in pursuit, intent on bringing the fugitive back
with me to face punishment for his unspeakable crimes.
Titans in Amber
"There they stood, like seven priests of some fathomless time and
space, frozen in positions that indicated either some frenzied
arcane dance, or an anguished desperate pose like victims of Pompeii.
But
if they were meant to be the latter, there was the impression
that it was no mere natural disaster like a volcano that had trapped
these
beings like titans in amber, but some immense cosmic cataclysm
of malevolent origin.
Bad Day
Dick Rogan was having a bad day. He wasn't in the mood to put up
with any shit, and he definitely wasn't in the mood to be charitable,
as if he ever was. In fact, he was just about at the fucking breaking
point, which is at a different place for different people. Well,
Dick was quickly approaching his. So, when he saw the hitchhiker,
he barely looked in her direction. But when he realized it was a
girl, and a pretty nice piece of ass at that, he changed his mind,
thinking, Hell, maybe the day's starting to look up.
The Strand
He remembered how he had met her, how impossible and miraculous it
had been, and how he had all but lost her again...
Now, the only thing that kept them together was his
improbable invention: a device which located a single
strand still
connecting his universe
with hers.
Musings on love and longing written loosely in the
style of letters to a lover.
Currently unpublished, some samples are available to read below.
Any Suggestions?
I was thinking maybe I needed to go to some eccentric witch and drink some
stinky gruel like Jimmy Stewart did to get over Kim Novak in Bell, Book and
Candle. But then it didn't quite work for him, did it? So, how could it work
for me? Kim Novak was merely a blonde. Well, I had to try something. Anything
was better than living with this thing that every idiot spent night and day
hoping and dreaming for: that certain special someone to come along and ruin
their life. So here's a partial list of what I tried:
Climbed the Highest Mountain in North America: When I got to the top, you were
there, sunbathing naked.
Ran the Boston Marathon: I finished exhausted, sore, bruised, half-sick and
hallucinating, and still in love with you.
Spent Countless Hours in Therapy: Spent thousands of dollars to find out that
you are the projection of my female self, my anima, and that there is no escaping
you.
Had a Sex Change Operation: Became a girl only to realize I was a lesbian and
still in love with you. Changed back cause I couldn't stand heels.
Had My Memory Erased by an Experimental Drug: It backfired. I ended up losing
all memory of everything except you.
Escaped to an Alternate Universe: Found a brilliant scientist that sent me
through a portal to an alternate universe. There, every girl was you. Hit the
recall button.
Went to an Eccentric Witch and Drank a Stinky Gruel: Spent 500 bucks, threw
up all over her black cat, got beaten with a broom, and left still under your
spell.
I'm all tapped out. Any suggestions?
No Time
I understand now what the great scientists understand. There is no such thing
as time. Everything is happening simultaneously. I know, because no matter
how many months pass, I feel as if it was our first lovely day together.
I know, because no matter how many miles separate us, I feel you next to
me, holding me all the time.
It will always be that first day. You will always be next to me, holding me
all the time.
999,999 Girls
I once told you, sugar: you're one in a million. And yes, it's true. But I
hadn't thought it all the way through. That leaves 999,999 other girls from
which to choose! A million-less-one girls, here in my own metropolitan backyard.
Cavorting, prancing, slinking and dancing through this Glittering City of
Sun and Smoke.
Sun-bleached sirens, sweet Loreleis to share the waves.
Bright-eyed starlets, with laughter like champagne bubbles, eager to perform.
Amazons to race and wrestle in bed.
Black-eyed girls pale as ivory, with fingers cool as autumn leaves, romancing
death.
Rock and Roll rebels with snarls, kicks and savage kisses.
European expatriates with culture and color who crush on American boys.
Hot-blooded Latinas dancing Salsa, Cha Cha, Tango, Rumba, Meringue.
Spiritual girls that meditate, congregate and master themselves.
Cat girls, sneaking through the night, purring secrets.
Sexy scientists, theorizing, equating, calculating and mating.
Artist girls with dexterous hands, full of imagination and passion.
Sexy vixens, shy wallflowers, mysterious wraiths, girls-next-door, funny girls,
sad girls, happy girls, naughty girls, clever girls, call girls, big girls,
small girls and every possible above below and in-between girls.
Yes, that's right dear. 999,999 girls from which to choose!
Oh, hang them all! Marry me! Won't you, darling?
All of You
You once told me you were just happy to have me in your life
in any manner, and I know that didn't signify nonchalance on your
part, darling. It's a lovely sentiment and a grateful attitude with
which I can identify. But I find myself feeling a bit less reasonable
about the matter. I want ALL of you.
The moons of your breasts, the moons of your bottom, the stars of your eyes,
the night in your hair, your pale dawn skin, the tinkling silver-bell trill
of your laugh, your mischievous full-lipped smile, your sassy mouth, your dancer's
legs, your painted toenails, your romantic fashions, your breathless moments,
your sighs, your lies, your hopes, your fears, your wicked thoughts, your foolish
ideas, your brilliant insights, your dreams, your lust and ecstasies, your
faith, your trust, your youth, your motherhood, your silver hair, your full-bloomed
secret alien unknowable womanhood, your humanity.
All of you. I want all you, darling.
I'm happy with what I've had. And grateful for what I can get. Shall we be
reasonable? Reason has never won love. But, very well, let's be reasonable:
I'd rather have all of you. Wouldn't you rather have all of me?
Can Someone Get This Love Off Me?
How do you remove it once it's on? I mean really on. Applied thickly, liberally
and all over the place. It just can't be done. It's like trying to:
Remove butter that's been spread on hot toast
Remove dressing that's been tossed with the salad
Remove bleach after it's been put in the hair
Remove salt after it's been sprinkled on food
Remove rain after it's fallen in the ocean
Remove red paint once you've mixed it with white
Sure, you can try to cover it up. You can add jelly on top of the butter, or
pepper on top of the salt to mask the taste. You can add another color or change
the location of the water by evaporating it. But it's still there. You know
it. Love knows it. It's laughing at your attempts to remove it. It's laughing
at your attempts to ignore it.
What's a boy or girl to do?! As we so often must, we look to cats for the answer:
stop, glance about casually, lick yourself then continue on as if you planned
it to go this way the entire time. Cats are the greatest liars.
True and True and Through and Through
I'm in love with you. True and true. No matter how deep you dig, all the way
down, there's no getting away from it. I carry your love about on the surface
of my thoughts like a comfortable work-a-day suit or the shadow I take for
granted. I breathe your love in and out, and have it coursing through my
veins. I live with your love in the deep integral unconscious part of me,
like the female aspect of me, my anima: the Eve to my Adam, the Hera to my
Zeus, the Ginger Rogers to my Fred Astaire. I am soaked with you through
and through. And whatever you go through, I will go through as well. Ahead
of me is bliss or grief or contentment or frustration, or all. Some switch
has been flipped. There's no going back. I'm going through it – heaven
or hell or both.
Fine, then. Let's get on with it. If not, if you are gone, I will grieve and
carry around your ghost knowing it will never go away but hoping in time it
will thin enough to not weigh me down, perhaps even fading and transforming
to become merely a faint, pleasant though melancholy scent that I always have
with me, like the Jasmine of your skin, which I seem to be able to smell even
now.
Circles and Dreams
I keep trying to forget, to move on. My heart pretends to walk away from you,
but it's secretly walking in a circle and I end up right back where I started.
I know, not only because I think of you each day, but also because I dreamt
of you again last night. It's happening more and more. You know someone's
gotten under your skin, penetrated your psyche, once they enter your dreams.
They've become an archetype, a symbol in your unconscious. Then you'll never
be rid of them because they've become a part of you.
We were walking in a homey neighborhood with quaint houses. You were wearing
maroon. We held each other as we walked. I could feel your smile penetrate
my heart, causing me a wonderful weakness. Your face was so real, so close
to mine. I looked down at our bodies as we walked. We were both tan from the
Southern California sun. No more pale skin from the cold northern mists. You
said you missed me so much and put your hand on my crotch. I woke up and could
almost still feel it.
"Give me a break!" I said aloud to the universe.
I Am Ruins
"You've ruined me for anybody else," you said.
Do you really think it's different for me? You underestimate yourself. My City
rose up from a lonely, desolate, barren waste, to become a place full of:
Colors, smells and smiling faces
Markets, meetings and celebrations
Wonders, inventions and machinations
Tunnels, vistas and towering places
Poetry, music and flowing libations
Orgies, ecstasies, new sensations…
The City was brought to life and kept alive by You.
You were the friendly sun in the sky, powering the great spinning wheels.
You were the moon and stars at night beneath which the people danced and dreamed
and made love.
You were the waters that made it rich and abundant.
You were the solid ground upon which its foundations stood.
You were the knowledge that gave it hope and made it grow.
You are the goddess who forgot she was a goddess and drifted away on a dark
wind.
Now, I am ruins.
Yet, legend has it that in the City there is a single grain from which the
City sprung. That grain holds everything the city was. It lies even now, lost
amidst the rubble, a living thing, waiting, hoping to be found. And with that
grain, it is said that all of the glory of the City can be restored in time.
Of course, legends are usually nonsense, believed by superstitious, gullible
fools. Then again, they usually contain a grain of truth.
Reluctant Siren
You called me with your siren song; hell, you pursued me onto dry land! A true
ocean daughter, the water came with you wherever you went. I, a happy landlubber,
found myself suddenly surrounded by water on all sides. So I became a sailor.
Now you've left me out to sea. You keep singing your song and I try to stop
up my ears with wax, but it's no good. And every time I approach, you dive
beneath the waves only to appear just out of reach, still singing that damn
song.
At least have the decency to finish the job. Drown the man!
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