Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Art concepts for the Costumes!

** Here is what I'm thinking for the various characters. Let me know what you think. These are CONCEPTS. They are not set in stone.**

Wonder Woman- Blue Latex High-Waisted "shorts" (more like briefs) with the star motif. Red strapless Latex top. Tied up with classic Gold rope.

Cheetara- Orange single sleeved stretch bodysuit. Tied with rope to a bo staff.

Psylock- Black or Purple Bodysuit with all the "strappy bits". Tied with rope.

Doctor Who- Petticoat dress made to look like the 10th Doctor's outfit. Tied with rope. ( this will be more about capturing the "Oh look! Something awful has happened. How wonderful" attitude of the character)

Super NES- Either-
Pasties (maybe with Bob omb or Magic Mushrooms) and a themed thong ( "Rupees Collector is a favorite)


Dress that looks like the classic SNES controller.

Tied with controller cords.

Star Trek- Either

Blue Latex "Science Officer" dress


Star Trek insignia Pasties and "Boldly Go" Thong

tied with... ( this is a tricky one) Silver rope? Something "Futuristic" looking?

Storm Trooper- white latex bikini with inlays meant to look like a storm trooper. Tied with black rope.

Molly Millions- Ragged rough, ripped up tank top. Skin tight black pants. Long razor nails. White contact lenses. Tied with rope.

Sailor Mercury- Classic white school sailor/school girl outfit ( made to be slightly ... more brief) Tied all Nautical like.

Harley Quinn- I think I'd play with this more than maybe people would like. Red and black underbust corset over a Straight Jacket. Maybe Arkham Asylum style little white skirt, fishnet thigh high and boots.

Vampirella- Classic monokini and cape. Tied with a thicker red, black or silver rope.

She Hulk- Purple and White Latex Body suit. Chained up with heavy chains.

So whaddya think? let me know and don't forget to SUPPORT THE CAMPAIGN!

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Today is kinda a big deal

So Yeah. Today IS kinda a big deal.


Well let's see...

Felt Tips The Super Smut Anthology that features 44 AMAZING authors ( including yours truly) goes live today. You can get it
(paperback edition will be available shortly)

I interviewed Richard Kadrey for Whack Magazine and you can read that HERE


Tie Me up and Nerd Me went live today... this is my nerd/bondage Indiegogo campaign and I really hope it flies because I wanna do it something HORRIBLE.

Sunday, December 9, 2012



The last date of it's kind for like 88 years.


But it is important kids! Because that is the day that FELT TIPS comes out!


The *OTHER* Thing that happens on 12/12/12 is my NerdBondageproject Indiegogo campaign goes LIVE! 

It's going to be a LOT of fun with great rewards. I'm pretty fucking excited about it. 



Wednesday, November 14, 2012


Ewoks are cute.


yes CUTE.

When I was little and small and young in my nerdy ways.... I had a life sized stuffed Ewok. It was my first nerdthing. It was awesome. I loved it. It introduced me to Star Wars before I'd even seen the movies.


That's right fuckers. I was a Fake Geek Girl before it was cool. I am the Hipster QUEEN Hipsternerdgeekgirls. 

Thing is "Fake" geek girls get a lot of shit. 

But we're talking about Ewoks. Because Ewoks get a lot of shit. 

For being cute. They get shit for being cute. I mean, how can you take anything cute seriously? 

I mean... never mind that this band of small woodland creatures armed with vines and pointy sticks totally took out the Empire with all their AT-STs and blasters. They are cute. So they must be useless. 

Cause yanno... you should totes judge on looks and not on like.... actions and stuff.

Friday, October 19, 2012

competent women & sex (the choice between my brain and my tits)

I've always been a "That sounds AWESOME! Let's do that!" kinda gal.

Picture by Kaos Beauty Klinik

So when the opportunity to pose for Richard Kadrey* came up I was all... "HELL TO THE YES!"

And I did. And it was great.

I am unashamed of my body. When I am not injured** I spend hours every week in the gym. I'm not fashion model thin and I'm happy about that. I have lovely tits. I gotta nice ass. It's a strong body.

But then, I got a few of the pictures and someone close to me suggested that if they got out my entrance to the wonderful ( but mostly male dominated) world of comics.... well that it would be a trip in a revolving door... in and OUT.

Why? I asked

The theory seems to be.. well... that life is like setting up a character in an RPG. If you max out the sexy skill  then there is *NO* more points left for smart or creative or... anything.

Am I just being sensitive? When Ginny McQueen didn't wanna strip at a con trolls were quick to point out that she must be a WHORE because she posed nude as a model.

I have to admit that at NYCC, I saw the Playboy chicks and thought "What the frak are *they* doing here?"

So... I wanna have this discussion on Twitter. @Lgwenn - message me and follow #sexynotstupid

*If you don't know Richard Kadrey's photography you can find it here. How did I get this opportunity? Well... stalking the poor man didn't hurt. Richard swore that we had met in Portland... I've never been to Portland. I think maybe by sheer force of will I falsely implanted myself in this memory. Also: Don't stalk people. It isn't good manners.

**I got hit by a truck. I'm ok... but it's cutting into my gym time :(

Monday, October 8, 2012

Interview with my AGENT! Eric Ruben

As y'all know I can haz agent! . So let's get to know him, shall we? 

Eric Ruben is a native New Yorker and an attorney with over twenty-five years of experience. His literary clients are authors in numerous genres. Years ago, he suggested to long-time friend, NY Times best-selling author Suzanne Brockmann, that she write about Navy SEALs as heroes. As a result, he helped create the genre of romantic military suspense. An award-winning performer and writer, appearing in films, commercials, and Off-Broadway theatre, his experience gives him a unique perspective that benefits his clients. He recently reopened his office to unsolicited queries. You can follow him on Twitter at @RubenAgency.

So, as much as I'd love for this to be a "let me tell you how wonderful my agent is!" post, but well you can find out how great he is here and here  
I'd rather pick Mr Ruben's brain about the agenty things and help my friends ( you fine folks) out

You are well aware of my Twitter addiction, and the interwebs is a GREAT tool for finding an agent... what are the *downsides* of looking for an agent online? 

It can be a little two-dimensional. One key to a successful agent/client relationship is the personality match. You’re putting your career into the hands of another person. Do you need someone with a sense of humor? A cold, calculating assassin? You can only learn so much from someone’s on-line interactions or PR machine. It’s like on-line dating. Eventually you need to meet the person and see if there’s chemistry. And it doesn’t need to be in person. I have clients I deal with on the phone or Skype.
Ultimately, I think you should view getting an agent like getting a tattoo. See who’s happy with theirs and if it impresses you. Don’t walk into a shop you don’t really know and pick one off the wall. It’s a far too important decision. It’s your career.
Remember, when it comes to agent/client relationships, most people get married and then start dating. That result is misunderstandings and miscommunication. You need to determine who the agent really is, not just on paper (or Facebook or Twitter). 
Also, there seems to be a growth of shady characters who are taking money for “managing” authors. They take money for editing or grooming authors. That’s not what real agents or managers do. And there are also some people who are editors or publishers AND claim they represent authors. That could be a conflict of interest.

Oy. How can a savvy writer avoid these pitfalls? 

Make sure you get a written contract. Also make sure you’re allowed to have an attorney review that contract. Remember, a real agent OR manager only gets paid when YOU get paid. For instance, I have management contracts with some clients for self-publishing purposes. But it just means I get a percentage of their income from sales, just as I do as an agent. The only time I charge people outside of that scheme is when I represent them as an attorney. Then I charge an hourly rate and we have a written agreement outlining the scope of my representation.

 You're an attorney-- and an agent-- what's the advantage of that? 

Most agents are pretty savvy, but there are constant changes involving contracts and all aspects of showbiz. I think I’m well equipped to deal with those issues. Also, as a lawyer, I think like a lawyer. It’s different.
Additionally, there are few rules governing the behavior of agents. As an attorney, I’m licensed to practice by several states. I’m bound by numerous ethical rules that, if broken, could lead to me being sanctioned or even disbarred.
Some agents move deal to deal. I tend to think of building and shaping a career. That may be because I’m a lawyer, or just because I’m me.

There's a bit of a back lash against "traditional publishing". Many many many people are out there writing their hearts out and the rejections of "gatekeepers" such as yourself can really really *really* sting. With that in mind...
1) What do you see the role of an agent going forward?

Agents need to take care of all the business aspects of a client’s career. Not just selling a book to a big house. Possibly helping guide them through self-publishing, PR issues, marketing. It doesn't mean we do all those things, but we should advise about them, put them in contact with other professionals. 

2) What is the next step for the recently rejected?

Depends by who. I’d assess why. Was it the work? Do you need an edit? Are you pitching to the wrong people?  Speak with trusted advisors. maybe you queried too soon. Maybe you are relying on critique partners who can't be 100% honest with you (Your mother and your best friend are not good choices)  Maybe the genre is played out. Maybe the agent has other clients doing that kind of work.  Always remember, it's not personal. Even if I reject this one, I am always happy to see the next one. Unless you get rude or aggressive. That sticks with me. 

3) Is publishing dead or dying? 

Absolutely not. It’s a part of the entertainment world and like movies, music and TV, it’s going through major changes. There are hardly any record stores but music is thriving. People are reading more than ever. Technology and distribution are changing and we’re figuring it out.

What are some things that writers can do to maximize their chances of getting representation?

Make sure your book is as good as it can be. Also, query letters are only important to me in that they shouldn’t be terrible. Short and straight forward. Don’t be weird or special. Also, make sure I know you’re serious about marketing. Let me know if you have a following on Twitter or an internet radio show. Also, if we can meet in person at a conference, it gives me a better sense of who you are and if we can work together.

What can they do to guarantee they *WON'T* get representation? 

Write badly, act unprofessionally. Be pushy, inappropriate, unprepared, drunk. Pay attention to how others are doing, complain, have a negative attitude.

Okay... time for fun! Lightning round! Answer with your first thought!

I'm a complete fanboy over....
Joss Whedon, Aaron Sorkin and Stephen Sondheim. And Alyson Hannigan. And the West Wing. And the Beatles.

My guilty pleasure is....
I don’t do guilt. But I enjoy the show COPS. There’s something about drunk guys without shirts or dental hygiene getting arrested that entertains me.

My ideal client is...
Someone who writes well, has a positive attitude and isn’t afraid to ask questions and view me as a partner.

Favorite book ...
OMG, really? One book? Oy. A toss up between A Christmas Carol and Siddhartha.

Favorite movie...
Again with this. I refuse. Casablanca, Shawshank Redemption, The Big Sleep, Key Largo, Duck Soup, Annie Hall. There.

Chocolate or Vanilla?
CHOCOLATE. With chocolate stuff in it.

Stupid thing people should know about you?
I sing show tunes to my cats.

Anything you wanna add? 
I hope people remain calm and positive. They need to stop running around with their hair on fire. Books are not over. Authors are not finished. We just need to be smart and patient. 

Friday, September 28, 2012


*Another Anonymous Post. I love being part of someone's dirty secret ;)*

I miss you most at night. In the darkness. In my bed.

We make no sense.

But in the pregnant moments before your lips touched the back of my neck. In the time it took for your arms to wrap around me. In the split second between laying beside you and being entwined... I knew.

We made perfect sense.

And in the dark I remember it. Your hand weighing my breast. Declaring it perfect. Your lips, hungry to taste me. Your lips, softer than I would have suspected. Your lips, oh god, your lips.

In the dark, I remember.

The heat between us. The push and the pull of our bodies. The the gasps and moans you tease out of me. The heat and the sweat and the myriad positions. One crashing orgasm after another.

In the dark, I am there.


Thursday, September 27, 2012


** This is an anonymous contribution to smut week Hope you enjoy!**

Great. I just had to open my mouth. Lil crouched behind a tree, muscles burning, heart pounding. The rain had run her make-up down her face, stinging her eyes and blurring her vision. She’d kicked off her heels, tights laddered from running through the forest shoeless. She still carried her shoes, thinking to use them as weapons, possibly even to put them back on if she ever got out of this god-haunted forest.
A twig snapped off to her right, and she tucked herself lower, preparing to bolt, forcing herself to breathe more slowly, quietly, through her mouth.
A hand, cool and strong, snaked around her throat from behind, lifting her just under the jaw, turning and pinning her to the tree she’d been hiding behind. She swung the shoes at his head, and he caught her wrist in his free hand, squeezing until she dropped them.
The face in front of her was human in shape, but sharper, impossible cheekbones, eyes blue enough to blind, lips…
She stared at the lips, thin, parted, behind them teeth, sharp, white, nearly fangs, shone surrounded by pale, pale skin.
“Why do you run? You came to us.” The words, soft, whispered like leaves in a high breeze.
A bar bet gone so very wrong, walk into the haunted forest. Alcohol fueled bravery fled, Lil stared at his lips in the darkness, licking her own.
“I… I thought you’d gone.” Her voice squeaked through the dry, tight throat beneath his fingers. Her pulse beat against those fingers, immovable, cool.
“Where would we go, daughter of Eve?” He leaned in, nose to nose, forcing her to look into those luminous blue eyes.
“I… don’t…”
He cut her off with a kiss, those thin lips surprisingly soft, thin tongue invading her mouth, forcing its way past her lips and teeth. Her body, already guitar string taut, tensed further, then she relaxed with a whimper. She cautiously responded, tongue darting up to meet his. He pulled back slowly, smiling.
“A better question is why would we go with a bountiful hunting ground so close? A word here and there, from a devoted friend, and we have a night’s entertainment.”
“Friend? He knew?”
“Of course.” His free hand settled on her hip, sliding up under her shirt to stroke warm skin damp with sweat. “He knows our tastes so very well.”
“Our?” Her voice squeaked again, and the hand squeezing just under her jaw, tightened its grip.
More shapes, male, female, tall, thin, pale and dark, drifted out of the shadows. Hands tugged at her clothing. Her captor pulled her forward and two of his companions caught her hands, jerking them behind her back and tying them. She didn’t resist.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want this.” He held her face close to his, his breath cool, smelling of cloves and autumn. “Tell me, who told you the stories, Lilith? The stories that made your heart beat so fast when you walked by the forest, wanting so badly to come in and see if we would ravish you like in your mother’s books, the ones you read when she was out.”
“You knew?”
“We’ve been waiting for you, Lilith.” More hands now, holding blades, cutting her clothing away, chill metal kissing her skin. As her clothing fell away, cool fall air painted goosebumps across her flesh. The flat of a knife blade slid under the sides of her panties, before they were tugged from between her legs and dropped, to join the rags that had been her club clothes on the ground. She shivered, nude, throat still gripped in her captor’s hand. Other hands roamed over her body, pushing her legs apart, sliding up into her cunt.
He kissed her again, teeth hard, bruising, nipping her lips.
She bit him back, and his free hand grabbed a nipple and twisted. She gasped. Someone pushed themselves up against her ass hands gripping her hips.
“Well?” He looked over at whoever had their fingers in her cunt.
The fingers withdrew, and Lil squeaked.
“My Lord?” A masculine voice, behind her.
“Not until she begs.”
The fingers returned, or perhaps another set of fingers, to tease and stroke, pinch, slide into her, goading her to the edge of orgasm and backing off. Her knees shook and finally buckled. The hands followed as she dropped to the forest floor, kneeling. Her captor let go of her throat and stepped back to watch her.
Others, just as beautiful, and feral, kissed her, bit, licked. Hands twined in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat to kisses, tongues, teeth, grazing nips and full bruising bites that broke the skin and drew beads of blood. She gasped, and leaned into the bites, but kept her eyes on her captor’s, and he smiled.
Time and again, she started to shake, tremble, hips starting to bear down on the hands teasing her, and the hands would back off to stroke elsewhere.
“One word, Lilith.” He crouched in front of her. “Just one. Can you guess it?”
She looked down and swallowed hard. Her body ached, muscles trembling. She licked her lips, and he lifted her chin forcing her to look into those incredible, impossible eyes.
The word itself, barely more than a whisper, echoed through the night.
He grinned, teeth sharp and bright, before standing and opening his trousers, his cock hard, pale as the rest of him. She opened her mouth, and took him in with a low, guttural moan, eyes closing. As cool as his hands, his skin smelled of cool autumn nights and harvested fields. He nodded, and the fingers in her cunt withdrew. The one behind her gripped her hips tighter, bending her a little further forward, pushing his erection into her from behind.
She wailed around the cock in her mouth, body spasming as she came hard. They fucked her hard, brutal. She pushed back against the cock in her cunt, stealing a breath before her mouth was filled again.
Someone cut her hands loose, and she raised them, gripping her captor’s thighs¸ taking him deeper, hard. She opened her eyes to look up at him, and saw him, eyes closed, lips parted, as he fucked her mouth. He glanced down, saw her watching him, and smiled, before grabbing a handful of her hair and pushing deeper into her.
He came, and she swallowed convulsively. He stepped back, and a woman, nude from the waist down stepped forward, taking his place. Lil leaned forward, her tongue darting between the woman’s labia, warmer than her captor, but not by much. Whoever fucked her from behind came into her and pulled out. Slick fingers slowly pushed into her ass, while more fingers teased her needy cunt.

Near sunrise, Lil shivered, nude, alone in the trees, her body covered with bruises, bite marks and scratches. Her cunt ached. So did her jaw and her ass. She crawled to the edge of the trees and found the man from last night’s bar bet waiting with her car, a blanket, and a full thermos of hot coffee.
He ran forward with the blanket, wrapped her in it, and helped her to the car. Once she was settled in the passenger seat, sipping coffee, he grinned.
“Got my twenty bucks?” He winked at her.
“Go fuck yourself.” She kept sipping coffee, waiting for warmth to return to her body. Her fingers and toes felt leaden. It hadn’t been that cold last night, or had it? She stared out the windshield as they sat, watching the sun rise over the hills.
“What are you thinking?” He started the car, turning on the heater full blast. Lil leaned back into the seat, closing eyelids too heavy to stay open.
“Will they have me back if I ask nice again?”

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

SMUT WEEK! With Joe Tortuga

** I dunno if it's true, But I like to Imagine that Joe Tortuga is a demented Dungeon Master for an extremely sexually explicit D&D game that involves lots & lots of Cloaks of Stiffening and Gauntlets of Orgasm. If I'm wrong, Joe... don't tell me. Please, please, please... don't ever tell me.** 

That Feeling

by Joe Tortuga 

I noticed that feeling Thursday on the drive home.  You know that
feeling? The one in the small of your back that makes you yearn, makes
you need.  I used to need to be touched there, after a year of being
lonely, but these days I need more than a simple touch.

The day started bad, just by being a Thursday. As soon as I walk in,
Walters gets in my face about the Jacobi account, even though it's his
people that were screwing it up. Our boss broke it up and told us to
figure it out.  That makes Walters smirk, which of course meant it was
my problem.  It was my commission after all, and we needed that
commission for school supplies.

I felt the knot between my shoulderblades tighten.  The weight of
everything rested a bit more heavily on my shoulders.

I spent the morning figuring out the Jacobi shitstorm, and had things
almost okay when I got the call,  "Judy needs braces, hon."  I sigh
and call HR to see how much of that is covered, and how much I'm going
to have to find in our budget.  The knot between my shoulders
tightened a bit.

The small of my back starts to feel empty then, like a hole that needs
to be filled. I notice it in one moment, but my day is going nuclear
and I didn't have the attention for it. Nothing to do about it but
down another cup of coffee and make more phone calls.

Lunch? Let's not talk about lunch: about how the lines were long, how
they overcharged me and how got my order wrong.  It was half edible; I
dumped the rest into the trash. I thought about complaining, but the
way my day was going I'd wind up in the emergency room.  Or jail.

After lunch I met with Jacobi and ironed things out. They were willing
to do the deal, but cautious.  I couldn't get them to sign today, but
maybe tomorrow. It was a victory, but I didn't feel it.  Instead, I
worried about them changing their mind.  And then I knew I was going
to worry about it all night.Thinking I'd get another night of bad
sleep stressed me out more, making the weight on my back heavier and

I spent the rest of my afternoon making cold calls, hoping for
something that'll land a commission, get us a bit more flow.  Most of
them hang up, and the few that do talk are merely being polite.
That's the way it goes, but when I pick up my bag to head home I can
feel the tenseness in my back, in my whole body.

Just another day at the office.

I settle into the car, and for the first time today I can feel the
ache there. There's only one thing that fixes that ache. In the mood
I'm in, I can't even hope that I'll get it. I text that I'm leaving,
and drive home.  My family greets me at the door; dinner is on the
table.  We deal with the kids, get them put to bed, and I feel my back
tense up even more.  I'm worried this is not a good time for us.

I slip into the bedroom, strip off my clothes and get out the flogger.
I can hear the shower going, and have some hope. I set the flogger on
the bed and close and lock our door, in case one of the kids wanders
in.  They haven't in years, but with my day... I don't want to take
the chance.

I slip into the shower, "I got out the good flogger."

"Bad day at work, hon?" I nod.  It's the way it is, there's nothing to be said.

A quick kiss and I'm alone in the shower.  I clean up quickly, and
towel myself dry. I step back in the bedroom, and move where I'm
pointed to.  Hand above my head, I feel the cuffs snap around my
wrists and ankles as I'm bound to the door.  I'm tense; I can't relax
at all. "Maybe this isn't a good time."

"Shhhh."  The blindfold slips on, and I'm in darkness.

When the falls touch my back, it's just the tips.  A light trail down
my sensitive back, enough to let me feel the soft leather. I shudder
from the feeling, nearly coming I need it so badly. I arch and strain
against the cuffs, pulling on the door where I'm tied.

Then it starts in earnest, dull thumps hitting my shoulders,
alternating sides.  The leather straps thud into my back.  My body
fights back, tensing, trying to move away.  But it keeps going, on and
on and inexorably. "Give my your pain."

My body relaxes then, and I give it up. My soul starts to dance in
response to the flogging. The pace is rhythmic now; it's settled into
a pattern.  I hang slack on the door, and the tears start flowing.

"That's it, that's it" I hear.  "Give it to me."  I lose myself in it:
the flogger, the pain, the tears, the stress.  Eventually it is all
gone, and the next thing I know, I'm being unhooked from the door, and
settled into the bed. Our warm bodies wrapped up together, holding
each other while we go to sleep.

And I know, so long as we're together everything will be all right.
And that's the feeling I needed more than anything else.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

SMUT WEEK!!! with Danielle DeVor

**It's SMUT WEEK. I LOVE SMUT WEEK! I have some GREAT tid-bits for y'all this week, starting with this little piece. :D ENJOY!**


The corset was pinching her ribs again. Jade navigated through the club until she finally got to the bathroom. Thank God. No one was in there for once. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her almond-shaped-eyes were still ringed with kohl and her lipstick wasn’t on her teeth. She wished she had something other than brown eyes, but wearing contacts always seemed like cheating. She was a little washed out, a little too pale, but not bad.
She reached in front and untied her corset. The relief was almost immediate. She pulled up the undershirt and looked at the bruises on her ribs. Looking good held certain sacrifices, especially when Mayhem liked corsets so much. Not that he’d ever paid much attention to her, but a girl could hope.
She looked at her breasts. They were full. They might not be as big as some, but at least she could run without hurting herself. Guys always seemed to want bigger breasts, but they didn’t have to live with them.
Just thinking about Mayhem made her nipples grow hard. Breathing hard, she reached up and touched her right nipple. The electric zing went straight through her body and made her wet. She closed her eyes. If only she could have Mayhem once, she’d be a happy girl.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him: What she’d heard about him, how big he was, what it was like to lick the sweat off his stomach. It made her knees weak.
But she’d never get him. Mayhem was the god here. He had his choice of any girl in the club. She was just one face in the hundreds that were there each night.
What she knew of him was that he’d started out as a boxer, ended up making a crapload of money, and eventually opened The Inferno. The Inferno was now one of the hottest clubs in New Orleans. Each room was designed as one of the seven deadly sins. Mayhem’s favorite room was Lust. So far, Jade had been too shy to enter there.
It wasn’t the room so much, but the thought of getting close to Mayhem. He was tall- over six-feet with short cropped hair that usually had some sort of design carved into it. His blue eyes could be playful or mean depending on his mood. His skin, while pale, was always flushed red- at least it had been the times Jade had seen him in person. It was good for Jade that he walked around without a shirt most of the time. At least then she had the images that allowed her to dream at night. Most of those dreams left her hot and panting.
She knew her own ministrations would never be enough, so the dreams would have to do.
After righting herself, Jade left the bathroom, took a deep breath, and entered Envy- the room was seemed to suit her best. She was just too chicken to go into his domain.
Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her back.
“Now, where have you been hiding?” the voice asked.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She turned around. Her eyes met those playful blue eyes. It was Mayhem himself.
She swallowed. Too shy to speak, she pointed towards the bathroom.
He chuckled and took her by the hand. “No more hiding.”
Then, he led her through the room and into Lust. Unlike Envy where the lighting and décor was green with various green-shaded velvet cushions, Lust was a mixture of black and red.
He led her to his table. It was a circular booth with the cushions made of black quilted velvet. He glared at the women seated at the table. They all shot Jade dirty looks, but didn’t do anything other than that. They left, silently.
Then, Mayhem motioned with his hand towards the table. Jade shyly slid into the booth. Soon, he was seated beside her. The lights danced over the bare flesh of his chest and down to the leather of his pants.
Jade forced herself to stare at the table. She was too shy to do anything else.
And then, her chin was gently pulled away from the table.
“I’d rather look at your face than the back of your head,” he said.
Jade felt herself blush.
He traced her face with his fingers. “You’ll not hide from me anymore.”
Jade shook her head.
He began playing with the ties of her corset. She watched him, mesmerized, as he untied it and her breasts sprung loose.
He leaned forward and kissed her throat.
Jade inhaled sharply.
He raised her shirt and then froze. Gently, he touched a bruise. Jade jerked slightly, the pain startling her.
“What did that?” he asked.
“The corset,” Jade whispered.
“If it does that to you, why do you wear it?”
Jade stared at him in awe. “Because I heard you like them.”
He smiled and gently grabbed her breast. “This is what I like.”
He lowered his head and placed her nipple in his mouth. Jade’s back arched towards him. It felt so much better than she thought it would.
He reached down farther and pulled up her skirt, then paused and released her nipple. “May I?” he asked.
Jade was just about overcome. Who said chivalry was dead? “Yes. Please.”
He pulled off her panties and gently pushed her backwards into the booth. Before she knew it, the slight stubble of his face was tickling her thighs. She forced herself not to move. But, when he put her clit between his lips, her hips bucked. She couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “A feisty one. I like feisty.”
Then, he began licking her folds and Jade couldn’t stop quivering.
Her eyes were closed, and suddenly all sensation stopped. She looked up and Mayhem had a wolfish grin on his face.
“I think that’s enough for now,” he said.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “You’re good enough to wait for.”
Jade was stunned, but happy. She wasn’t just a one night stand. This was better. The promise of more to come was more than she’d hoped for, and even if it was only a little at a time, she knew for once in her life she was getting something she’d dreamt for, and it was perfect.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

CHEW review by Clovia Shaw

** GUYS GUYS GUYS. I LURV CLOVIA SHAW. Like... I would have her babies.... if she REALLY REALLY wanted me too ( gawd Clov, don't. Women in my family don't fare well post-baby) Go find her on Twitter and enjoy!**

You know how it is when you find that perfect neighborhood comic book store: a halloo from behind the counter when you walk in, every customer is known by favored reads if not name, and a staff excited that you're excited about something they love.
Well, I didn't. Go figure it'd be the one place in the world where my boobs made me invisible.
Then I walked into Third Eye Comics, and for the first time, got a cheery "Hey, guys!" that wasn't solely intended for my husband. The owner asked me (me!) what I was into, made a few suggestions, mentally noted what I took home, and engaged me about it when I came back in. What. I am both delighted and suspicious the Universal Lucy is about to yank my football away.
Man, did I get to kick the shit out of that football.
Third Eye, by paying attention to me as a fan and a buyer, by noting my tastes, has turned me on to things I never would have found browsing by myself. One of my favorites is Chew, by John Layman and Rob Guillory.
The protagonist of this award-winning series is Tony Chu, a police detective recruited into the Special Crimes Division of the FDA after he snaps and gnaws off most of a murderer's face. You see, Chu is cibopathic—he gets psychic impressions from the food he eats. Whatever he eats.

You see where this is going.
In the Special Crimes Division, he has to eat a lot of disgusting things. Though the squeamish are never spared discomfort, there's something so engaging in the presentation that I never failed to turn to the next page. The professional cannibalism, though regularly played for laughs, is never fetishized. Not by Chu. He's dedicated, meticulous, and tragic, in that nibbling on a murder victim's toe isn't necessarily worse than choking down a hotdog.
It is funny. The juxtaposition of the plausible (after an avian flu epidemic, chicken is outlawed in the U.S.) with the outright wacky (chicken-frog hybrids and plants from space that taste like…chicken) keep the overall tone light, and some of the most laugh-out-loud moments come from panels where there isn't any dialog at all. And then there's Poyo. Just trust me.
The basic template is a buddy-cop police procedural in which the conspiracy nuts are right—the pandemic 15 years ago was no avian flu—and a trusted mentor becomes the villain. Within that comfortable frame, reader expectations are tweaked, turned inside out, or fulfilled with sadistic glee.
"It's got heart!" is kind of an odd thing to throw at you now. (I mean, spine-cripplingly busty rival USDA agents with cybernetically enhanced animal partners.) But this series has heart. Family entanglements are depicted with an honest rawness at times, the main antagonist is not evil, and a refreshingly sweet romance keeps Chu's life from being unrelentingly bleak.
In addition to a storyline that always has a fun twist, Guillory's artwork is stunning. Just as familiar tropes are pushed into burlesque territory, the characters' proportions are exaggerated beyond "pretty" or "ugly," and stock-character attributes played up until they become something slyer. Chu's lean asceticism is contrasted against another cibopath, Mason Savoy, who's drawn as massive, paunchy, excessive even in his dandyish manner of dress and affected speech. Chu, who can eat only beets in peace, is hunched under the responsibility of his talent, while Savoy dominates their shared space, relishing every bite he takes unfettered.
The colors are rich but subdued, so any use of brighter hue for a sound or object really pops. Pacing, sense of motion, the ebb and flow of tension all feel effortless. Yeah, I dig the art.
Obviously, Chew hit a geek-spot for me, and despite my heavily pruned ramblings above, I realize these things are subjective. Some may not find it funny, satisfying, or even entertaining.
Those people wouldn't know genius if it gnawed off most of their face.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

BIG COMIC WEEK- Stephen Wilds

The Boys
An article by StephenWilds

If you’re a fan of violence, sex, and great characters then you owe it to yourself to pick up a comic book series written by Irish writer Garth Ennis. Even if you aren’t a huge fan of comics Ennis is far from traditional, and has openly voiced his hatred of American super-hero books. If you like that idea read his Punisher Kills the Marvel Universe, where he has one of his favorite non-powered characters kill every person in the Marvel Universe.
The violence Ennis enjoys writing about comes from the war comics he grew up reading and he has written several. (War is Hell, Battlefields), Ennis is best known for his runs on Marvel Comics’ Punisher, 2000 AD’s Judge Dredd, and DC Comics’ Hitman. He has also worked on such titles as Hellblaizer, Midnighter, John Woo’s Seven Brothers, and several standalone issues for other high-end characters in both companies. Ennis is probably most known and spoken of in mentioning his sixty-six issue western epic Preacher, published through Vertigo comics. This story follows a Southern preacher who is possessed by a creature known as Genesis who gives him the ability to command people to do what he wanted as he now speaks with the word of God. On his search to find out why God has abandoned heaven, the journey leads the characters through vampires, odd religious sects, and a family history that would make Jerry Springer blush.
Avid readers will have heard of these books by Ennis before. Readers may not have heard about the project he is currently finishing up with though. With artist Darick Robertson, Ennis has forged a new seventy-two issue series from Dynamite Comics called The Boys. This is his attempt to “out-Preacher Preacher” Ennis was quoted as saying, in the levels of sex, violence, and general fucked up storylines. To show how well he’s doing at the job, the first six issues were published by Wildstorm, a division of DC Comics. After realizing what Ennis was doing with the books DC cancelled the series and it was immediately picked up by Dynamite and it continued from there.
The Boys exists in a world where a drug called compound-V has created super-heroes that have become corrupted and self-destructive in the light of their powers and celebrity-level status. A company called Vought-American uses comic books and press events to keep their heroes looking clean to the masses who think they are out to protect them. That’s where The Boys come in: A CIA-sanctioned group of compound V-empowered agents. They watch and study the movements and activities of those ‘heroes’ who cross the line in an attempt to bring down Vought-American and their prime super-team the Seven.
From issue one the brutality of the series is on full display, as the first six issues delve into the back stories of the different members of The Boys black-ops team. Billy Butcher is the leader of the squad—a British former military man has a personal grievance against the leader of the Seven, the Homelander. Standing alongside Butcher is the Scotsman and former conspiracy theorist Wee Hughie is the newest member of the team and is brought into the world of the empowered children abruptly when his girlfriend is killed by one of them moving at superhuman speeds. Rounding out the team are Mother’s Milk, Frenchie, and the Female who all have their own troubled pasts and reasons why they fight groups like the Seven. If these teams do cross the line, it’s up to The Boys to step in with extreme force.
As the series goes on the reader also gets a chance to see things from the other side of the fence through the character of Starlight, the newest recruit to the Seven. The young innocent Christian super-hero is forced to perform oral sex on members of the Seven to stay in the world’s most elite super-powered group. She is forced to change her costume to show more skin and even the other characters who have been wronged within the group that would have reason to side with Starlight want nothing to do with her. The two stories meet in full when Starlight and Wee Hughie meet each other in the park and form a relationship, unaware of who each other really is.
Through the seventy-two issues The Boys face multiple teams of so-called heroes, saving the few innocents they can while many die or become corrupted in front of them. They travel to Russia to try and stop the black market trade of compound-V before infiltrating the disgusting display of decadence known as Herogasm. These exploits build up to the coming final battle with the Seven and the globally dominant Vought-American.
This series is filled with sexually explicit content that will leave your jaw open when you read it. Ennis’ satire on the super-hero comic stretches into how he feels real people with super powers would act; how they would play, do drugs, and fuck. Women have to take meds just to be able to survive an encounter with a man who possesses enhanced strength and stamina. Sexuality is a big issue in the stories and is put to the test for many of the characters who find themselves in precarious situations that leave them scarred for life. The level of violence has no measurement here as it surpasses the simple idea of gore and breaks into a psychological near torture that is well written into the story. No character is safe from the backlash that comes.
The Boys world is dark and violent but what stands prominently, stitched not together but above the blood and sex are the in-depth characters that he builds over time. The main characters are well laid out and grow in their own rights over the multitude of issues but even side characters are granted an immense level of detail and emotion that sticks with the reader. Even those that are only in a few issues of the story line have an effect on the story and the team members who observe and interact with them. Though The Boys is a team book each individual feels like his own character and the villains are just as sympathetic and well crafted as their counterparts. Readers will find themselves sad to part with many of the characters that are not only a product of the world they inhabited but a rich texture that added to it.
With the series now approaching its end Ennis has given it his all to out-do himself. Time will tell whether or not The Boys will overshadow Preacher as his most influential work but there is no mistaking that it is one of his giants. Rights to a film version of the comic were picked up in 2008 by Columbia Pictures. There have also been several standalone story lines of the series that further explore the pasts of these complex characters. (Highland Laddie, Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker) Though Ennis is ending the main series there are rumors of further standalone series like these for the world he’s made. No matter what Ennis decides to do many fans wait patiently anticipating what this amazing and controversial writer will do next.  

Monday, September 17, 2012


How the X-Men Orphaned Me To a 2000 AD Foster Home Where I Was Abused and Loved It
Toby McCasker

I did some growing up on a tiny island country in the South Pacific called Vanuatu. You can drive around the capital Port Vila, where I lived and wore no underpants ‘cos it was fucking hot, in like three hours. That’s it. That’s the place. It’s lovely. Everyone’s nice, and the natives are simply too good-natured to even think about discriminating against the white minority busy dodging tax on their fair island – most of whom are too ignorant to pick up even the most basic of Bislama in return (it’s a phonetic Creole language that’s only 5,000 words big, ffs). This kind of racial harmony was a great thing to see at a young age. Thing is, Vanuatu is also really boring. What’s a kid to do but thieve imported Marvel comics from the local South African mixed business? They all had the tops of their covers shorn off for some reason, so for ages I thought I was reading about the many misadventures of the A-Meii.

Thus my comic fixation started with the Uncanny X-Men, circa early ‘90s. This was about the time Bishop had come back from his crappy future to do some badass shit and Storm had become the leader of the gross Morlocks. Good stuff, and I loved it for years afterwards. Remember Magneto magnetising all the adamantium out of Wolvie and then he got his own hairy series for a while where whenever he popped his shitty bone claws he’d bleed liters? Awesome. And then that asshole Cyber stomped on them one time and they were all twisty and crazy for ages. The X-Men were the only comic superheroes I liked, and could relate to. Everything else seemed just a bit too hokey and I never understood how anyone gave a fuck about some eligible bachelor flying around in his underwear or a guy with the miraculous power to have tiny wings on his ankles. The X-Men were and are real talk, despite the fact that if you take their collective name out of context you wander into a transgender surreality. They resonated with how much of an outsider my unorthodox upbringing was totally making me.

And I had a massive crush on Rogue, you don’t even know.

A coupla years later after relocating to Melbourne, Australia, I was something like twelve years old and X-lurve had gotten me into the habit of spending hours in the news agency. I’d just go crazy for all the cool mags and shit they had on the shelves, I don’t know what my goddamn problem was. Invariably I’d end up lashing all my pocket money on anything that looked awesome. One time I bought this thing I’d never heard of, a soft-cover copy of a 2000 AD graphic novel called Indigo Prime: Killing Time. It was full of Jack the Ripper brutally dissecting prostitutes and all kinds of virulent psychosexuality and was pretty much the most fucked thing I’d ever seen at that point, and it scarred me for life. It was a cool scar, though. The kind you show off to people you find attractive and then a knowing wink passes between you, with sex very much on the cards. Speaking pretty broadly, it spurred in me an attempted understanding of and a definite appreciation for all things totally out there. If it weren’t for Killing Time, I would be a relatively normal human being. As it slouches, it went on to profoundly inform everything I became enamoured with from then ‘til now: Underground metal, arthouse films, disgusting VHS horror movies, even the way I dressed (which was weirdly, and everyone always gave me shit for how strange I looked and how long my hair was). I’d even go so far as to say my worldview was altered by what became constant weekly exposure to 2000 AD’s magazine apropos. Certainly the inside of my head exploded with thoughts and ideas and artistry that set me apart from 100% of the schoolyard. Even the token smelly kid looked at me like I was Ed Norton in a Fight Club carpark.

And I had a massive crush on Durham Red, jesus ass, you are not even aware. No, seriously. Here is a picture someone drew of her eating my dick:

It got to the point where I insisted I was gonna rename myself “Finn” after I discovered “Rogue Trooper” would probably be shortened to “Rog” by most lazy Australians. Finn and Rogue Trooper were two of my favourite stories alongside Strontium Dogs (post-Johnny Alpha era, The Gronk forevs), Sláine, ABC Warriors, Outlaw, Flesh, Tyranny Rex (babe), Cannon Fodder (shades of Killing Time here)… the list is epic and always distinguished. To this day I don’t know who the fuck Tharg the Mighty is. Mayhap he is an ideal like Batman but with more intergalactic vernacular, but whoever has long been the impetus behind this magazine was/is brilliant beyond considerable measure. At some point in the mid-‘90s, they must’ve worked out a crazy tie-in ad deal with EA for the release of Urban Strike. Remember those games? You were in a helicopter and flew around blowing shit up on your Sega, winching pixel men to safety even worse danger. Part of this deal must’ve included “in-mag crossover content” or whatever the fuck stupid ad people in double-breasted wool suits talk about. 2000 AD ran with this so hard I couldn’t believe it, putting out a five–episode Urban Strike story that was totally brutal and subversive and all of its characters fucking died horribly and I think the world also ended. Here is a comic that can even make advertising obligations awesome, over a period of five weeks, while clearly maintaining a strong deficit of fucks with which to donate.

And without it, I’d have an all-year tan, a vapid wife who used to be hot but is now fat, two shitty kids, a white picket fence and a completely unnecessary Range Rover in the backyard of our presentable house in a quiet suburb where everybody says “Hey champ!” but really they’re all committing incest.

Fucking thank you.


Toby McCasker