A lot of this stuff I'm posting is from authors who I've either indirectly or directly heard from that they have felt unappreciated lately.
Let 'em know you like them, you really like them!
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Tag, You're It! by Tina Noble
This is from one of my favorite unsung authors... Tina Noble:)
I don't think this was ever fully finished but.....sometimes that's how it goes. What is there is very good, though.
I don't think this was ever fully finished but.....sometimes that's how it goes. What is there is very good, though.
Tag, you’re it.
Cal crouched in the corner of
the “field”, the gigantic maze in which the game was played. He had been on the waiting list for
months. Anyone could play, and some
played often. It was the most popular
show on the Omninet, and winning the game could set you up for life. If you were a poor, low level worker from a
mine, well the game could be attractive.
If you won, you got enough creds to live well for at least a decade, and
to exist without having to work for the rest of your days. If you lost, well, Cal did not want to think
about that.
He stood up from his hiding place. He held the zapper in one hand as he backed up to a wall, his muscular frame covered in the dark blue body suit. Two days of stubble blanketed his face under straight dark, hair. The producers told him not to shave, that the audience liked it better that way. He knew from watching that they were right. He slid along the wall, confident that he could win.
He stood up from his hiding place. He held the zapper in one hand as he backed up to a wall, his muscular frame covered in the dark blue body suit. Two days of stubble blanketed his face under straight dark, hair. The producers told him not to shave, that the audience liked it better that way. He knew from watching that they were right. He slid along the wall, confident that he could win.
Prisoners of Tiresias Part I by Christopher Leeson
Copyright 1996
Revised 05/00
Part 1
"We are the children of chaos and decay. At our society's root there is only corruption and decrepitude.
Gone is purpose from our lives; all that is left is direction -- or, rather, misdirection -- and even that is imposed
from above."
"Socialism for the 21st Century," Geoffrey Kroski, 2007,
Chapter 1
I could see the white-coated technicians working on the other side of the gold-tinted glass shielding, their expressions intense, their movements economical. I could sense their excitement, still palpable though they must have done this operation many times before. It -- the big It -- would happen soon.
Very soon.
My breath shaky, I glanced down at the grating -- the high-conductivity mesh that any second now would carry a modulated burst of electromagnetic energy throughout our bodies. That burst would re-calibrate the vibratory rate of our molecular building blocks and reintergrate us out of this world and into another. Though intellectually prepared, I nonetheless shuddered, ruing the chain of events which had gotten me involved in this ludicrous project. A mutter to one side caused me to glance toward my equally-nervous neighbors.
Most of them were locked in manacles and leg irons, as befitted convicts in transit -- mostly street-gang members convicted of serious crimes. These were the bad ones, the violent two-legged sharks, the vicious fatherless sons of urban America, the rabid predators of America's crime-blasted inner cities. They were the random marauders that would kill a fourteen-year-old for a pair of Nike shoes or a sharkskin jacket, the gang-warriors who fought bloody battles over drug territory. They were the hijackers and burglars and stickup men who killed without remorse, they were the murderous pimps who knifed their own girls or cut the faces of streetwalkers who worked for rival hustlers.
Revised 05/00
PRISONERS OF TIRESIAS
by Christopher Leeson
Part 1
"Socialism for the 21st Century," Geoffrey Kroski, 2007,
Chapter 1
I could see the white-coated technicians working on the other side of the gold-tinted glass shielding, their expressions intense, their movements economical. I could sense their excitement, still palpable though they must have done this operation many times before. It -- the big It -- would happen soon.
Very soon.
My breath shaky, I glanced down at the grating -- the high-conductivity mesh that any second now would carry a modulated burst of electromagnetic energy throughout our bodies. That burst would re-calibrate the vibratory rate of our molecular building blocks and reintergrate us out of this world and into another. Though intellectually prepared, I nonetheless shuddered, ruing the chain of events which had gotten me involved in this ludicrous project. A mutter to one side caused me to glance toward my equally-nervous neighbors.
Most of them were locked in manacles and leg irons, as befitted convicts in transit -- mostly street-gang members convicted of serious crimes. These were the bad ones, the violent two-legged sharks, the vicious fatherless sons of urban America, the rabid predators of America's crime-blasted inner cities. They were the random marauders that would kill a fourteen-year-old for a pair of Nike shoes or a sharkskin jacket, the gang-warriors who fought bloody battles over drug territory. They were the hijackers and burglars and stickup men who killed without remorse, they were the murderous pimps who knifed their own girls or cut the faces of streetwalkers who worked for rival hustlers.
This is a still from a television documentary. It shows
a group of convicts in the TiresiasTransfer Chamber just before being "sent over." This wasn't our group,
of course. I wasn't in the mood to take pictures that day, since I didn't think that I'd want to remember any part
of it!
The Captioned Mind of Christopher Leeson
Yes, the guy who wrote all those fantastic Eerie Saloon tales with Ellie Dauber, who penned all those good future sci-fi Tiresias novellas, has been in contact with me about posting on this blog.
It'd be great to get someone that (at least I think) is so respected to post here. He, too, had been feeling a bit hemmed in by the greater influx of CD/TV work elsewhere. Hopefully this will give him a new platform.
Hope you guys enjoy!
It'd be great to get someone that (at least I think) is so respected to post here. He, too, had been feeling a bit hemmed in by the greater influx of CD/TV work elsewhere. Hopefully this will give him a new platform.
Hope you guys enjoy!
She-Wolf of Suburbia by Cluedog
I may have unintentionally been insulting to our buddy Smooch/Cluedog. I should have been referring to HER as SHE.
My apologies!
After all, our real-life TG tech is getting ever more effective, which I'm sure will inspire more and more stories in the future.
Anyway, without further ado, here's another excellent example of her excellent skill in showing emotions without ever TELLING us with WORDS;) That's how good she is.
My apologies!
After all, our real-life TG tech is getting ever more effective, which I'm sure will inspire more and more stories in the future.
Anyway, without further ado, here's another excellent example of her excellent skill in showing emotions without ever TELLING us with WORDS;) That's how good she is.
Friday, August 10, 2012
The Monkey Paw by Ed Miller
Ed sometimes goes a little overboard in his sexual escapades but what gets me is his attention to detail in describing the transformations.
This is probably the last story I've seen him produce. Kinda miss him. Ah well.
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This is probably the last story I've seen him produce. Kinda miss him. Ah well.
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This is a story involving explicitly described sex. If you think you might be offended by it, or you aren't allowed by the laws of the place in which you live to read such a story, don't. If you read past this warning, any offense you take or laws you break are your problem. I've warned you. Permission is hereby given to archive this story anywhere on the Internet, so long as I'm credited as the author, it is reproduced in its entirety (including this disclaimer!) and no fee is charged to access it. On the matter of fees: I wrote this story (and others) for free, and I never expected to get anything out of it except the occasional response or critique, either good or bad. Constructive criticism is welcome, though please don't be abusive, and remember that this is primarily an attempt at a wank-story, not something aimed at a Pulitzer Prize. My point being: the only benefit I get from writing is feedback, and it seems to be tapering off in recent years. If you like it, tell me! If you don't, tell me why! Leave feedback on Fictionmania (that's best), or send email to: edmiller21@yahoo.com Put "your stories" in the subject line, or I might miss it in all the junk email I get. Lastly: I am not retired. I just seem to have fewer ideas for these kinds of stories. I HAVE been writing quite a few captioned images; check them out at Freya's site if you haven't already: http://www.pornhome.com/stories/freya The Monkey's Paw By Ed Miller
The Mechanic by Cluedog AKA Smooch
Okay, I'm going to start tagging these by BOTH of his names since some people seem to think Cluedog and Smooch are two different people. They're the same person!:P
That being said, here's some more of his excellent art!
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The 'awesome' thing about this is that well, there's no visible reason for the change. He....just.....changes.
That being said, here's some more of his excellent art!
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The 'awesome' thing about this is that well, there's no visible reason for the change. He....just.....changes.
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