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Moar SciFi!! -Friday, by Robert Heinlein

I recently posted on TRB a short blurb about the sexuality in the novels of Robert A. Heinlein. I’ve read several of his books of late and I find a great deal of sexual permissiveness in his fictional societies. I’ve said before that science fiction is less about one or two people and more about humanity. However, this particular novel is very much a story about just one person.

The novel ‘Friday’ is written as an autobiography of an artificial person living on a planet earth far in the future. An artificial person is one who has been designed from the ground up, then grown in a lab and raised in a group home. She is genetically human and has no (well, not many) post-production add-ons. However, due to the careful selection of her genetic material she is the strongest, fastest, most clever a human can possibly be. She was selected at a young age by ‘Boss’ a paternal figure who runs an organization of spies, assasins, couriers, doctors, information analysts, and more. He is a great player in the world and he has her trained to be a combat courier, someone who can get whatever, wherever, with a minimum damage to herself and none to her cargo. Her highly specialized training and temperment are evident in the calm way she deals with any number of events. Someone is following her? She kills him, hides the body thoroughly and quickly, and gets out of there. She talks about how she makes crazy round trips to shake anyone who might be following her. She outlines the lines of thought she goes through during torture and interrogation. It’s very matter-of-fact in almost every way.

The memoir follows Friday as she searches for a sense of belonging. Artificial persons are officially segregated and considered soulless and unnatural. It’s a fairly heavy handed analogy for racism, the difference lying in that artificial persons are indistinguishable from anyone else except by their super human abilities. As long as they keep those abilities under wraps they remain incognito. It’s difficult to give a synopsis of the book because there are several sequential story arcs that kind of jump around. Halfway through the book her organization is disbanded so even the intrigues she’s been tasked to discover fizzle out in the immediate story. It kind of feels like how I would write the story of my life: my personal story with world like 9-11 and the Ukranina protests as a backdrop. There isn’t some grand overarcing theme, every few years there is a new theme and in the case of this book about every three or four days there’s a new adventure. As simply an adventure story it is delightful but I will probably wait until my children are in their late teens before recommending it. I’ll get to why a little later.

Several obvious themes jump from the pages in a similar way to the last two Heinlein novels I read. He seems to be lacking a little finesse as far as morality lessons are concerned. Racism and rejection are constant and glaring themes. Friday lives with the constant knowledge that people who initially treat her well would refuse to consider her a real person if they knew that “[her] father was a knife, [her] mother was a test tube.” At one point she tries to buy her way into love and belonging by joining an S group, a group marriage that is also a corporation in which each family member buys shares. When she finally reveals her origins she is greeted with disbelief, then loathing, then rejection. We, the readers, know Friday is a great person and we wouldn’t consider her anything other than the protagonist, the character we identify with, one who has a beautiful soul and deserves respect if not regardless of then despite her origins. The short chapter in her life is a not very clever way to push the unsavory nature of racism.

Of course the racism leads us to our other theme of rejection. Friday, as an unacceptable member of society, must now drown her sorrows in sex and booze, using it as a way to seek love and acceptance. She winds up in bed with a few delightful people who turn out to be supportive and helpful, loving, accepting, and recurring characters in her search for a home. It’s so patently unrealistic that the lesson doesn’t really work. Friday’s emotions are written so casually that they come across as inhumanly shallow. We can identify with rejection, lust, hatred, fear, anger, and passion but Friday expresses these emotions almost robotically. It would be unnerving if I didn’t know exactly how that is. More on that later. Of course in the last two pages she is rescued, loved, and accepted. She bravely (except not really bravely because she wasn’t ever afraid of anything) overcomes the prejudices of a planet by leaving the planet behind and starting over mostly new. Forgive me if I sound a little jaded, but it did feel like he was feeding his audience a little too obviously, and perhaps could have had a little more character development in his main character.

That being said I loved the book. I could barely bring myself to put it down. I loved the humorous way Friday describes the cultures she finds herself in, enjoyed the easy cameraderie of the supporting characters, and found the world overall creative, fun, interesting, and a bit satirical when the political climate was relevant. Heinlein broke the world into smaller nations (the US is now California, Texas, the Midwest, the Southeast, and part of Washington is now part of the part of Canada that became British Canada) and gave each nation a political identity that takes their current ideologies to their illogical extremes. California is described as painfully democratic and their high cheif is a Native American in full tribal gear. The midwest is ruled in part if not completely by corporations. New Zealand is exactly as far from everything socially and geographically as it is now. We don’t even really hear about Europe, now that I think of it. We have colonized the habitable planets several billion light years out and even they have social aspects that seem like they may be poking fun at certain populations.

The social aspect I like the most and the personal attribute of our protagonist I identify with are the two reasons I would be careful about sharing or recommending to young adults. I love the sexual attitudes of almost the entire world and definitely of the characters portrayed as kind, accepting, loyal, and just generally good. Their emotionally welcoming personalities lend themselves well to open sexual relationships, not bound by guilt or fear or poor health. The only character portrayed as cold or unsexual is the mother-wife who ultimately rejects Friday from her ransomed sense of home. Lack of sexual openness is found in characters with low morals, little intelligence, and poor attitudes. At every turn Heinlein secures a place for open sexuality along side the satisfaction of the primary conflict: belonging. I think this is inapropriate for young people with a developing sense of self because, while I agree that sex and being sexually open can help form and strengthen bonds, I think it is not a good thing to base relationships, much less a sense of self-worth on. In today’s slut-shaming culture, it is too easy to see a strong woman, kicking ass and making love, and emulate her as a reaction without realizing the dangers of building self-worth around sexuality and sexual desirability. I did this for a while. It took several years and a few solid mistakes for me to realize that we and our sexuality exists in a much larger context than we think. I’m getting more ideas for posts all the time! Anyway, I think that sex and relationships are far more nuanced than Heinlein presents in any of the three novels I’ve read and this book should either wait or be dealt with carefully. I do, however, think it’s a very good way to introduce the ideas of a plural sexuality to friends and partners who might otherwise be averse. It presents happy, healthy, low-stress sexual encounters as healing and wholesome, almost heavy-handedly, and could open up lines of communication.

Friday was raised without a very thorough emotional atmosphere and it shows. This is the other reson I feel this book is inappropriate for young people. We are social creatures and base far too many of our decisions on how we feel. There’s nothing wrong with following your heart, as long as your head is prepared. I feel as though I am capable of that: making impulsive decisions while realizing and accepting the consequences. I went through a time in high school where I felt apathetic. Not agressively anti-family/school/whatever but actually inemotional (I don’t even know if that was a word but it is now). It wasn’t the typical teenage “ugh, I’m so apathetic, look at me being cool and not caring” it was simply a contentedness without satisfaction or disstisfaction. I wasn’t happily content, nor was I unhappily content, I was simply…. content. My emotions were shallow and breif and because of that I identify with Friday. However, I feel my experience is atypical and I think teaching young people that a consistently low emotional state is ‘cool’ isn’t probably the best lesson.

Overall Friday is recommended as are the other Heinlein novels I’ve read. I found it engaging, fast paced, sweet at times and at others brutal, imaginative, a pure delight to read. While less nuanced than it could have been there are strong themes which I feel my audience in particular will identify with. It’s also quick and easy. Enjoy!

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Happiness

I saw most of a documentary tonight on KCTS, Seattle’s local public television. It was simply titled “Happy” and covered several cultures in search of what makes us happy. Their conclusion was familiar to me.

I have always thought we were social creatures, our lives depending on each other for survival. There is a whole segment of evolutionary theory concerned with group fitness and altruism that takes for granted that we would never have survived into maturity without each other. The documentary concluded that not only is social interaction necessary for survival, it is also responsible for our happiness and longevity.

Okinawa, Japan has the highest centenarians per capita in the world. The more industrialized parts of japan are suffering from a wave of deaths at the workplace due to sleep deprivation and stress. The difference is the focus on community and social connectivity versus the focus on economic success. The residents of Okinawa farm for part of the day, then go to town where they share tea, participate in cultural activities, and care for each other. The residents of Tokyo work long hours and are constantly bombared with the need for economic success at the cost of families and even lives.

In Okinawa there was a gaggle of old ladies sitting together being interviewed. One mentioned that her husband was lost in the war and she has no other family, but she never feels alone because her neighbors are always there to care for her and interact with her. Not one of the old people shown were walking with canes or feeble in any way. It was inspiring to watch and vindicating for me, who has always been so hell bent on social interaction, that even statistical analysis upheld the hypothesis that we get our happiness not from how much money we earn but from how much love we receive.

It seems intuitive, does it not? And yet here we find ourselves in an industry that trades economic success for social interaction. The providers of Seattle, and specifically of TRB, pride themselves not on how perfectly their hair is curled or how red their lips are, but on how well we make our callers feel when they are with us. We are both naturally skilled and self taught to give much needed care and attention. Many reviews we see on TRB focus primarily on how genuine and caring the providers are and keep the physical interaction on the down-low. More indicative than reviews are the little quips and back-and-forths between providers and the men who see them. There is more than a quick lay going on and it’s no suprise it’s a huge industry despite its legal status.

I, for one, consider myself priveleged to have made my way, finally, to Seattle and to this line of work. I’ve talked about how I love it, how the giving of pleasure makes me deeply happy both in the moment and when I look back on it. This documentary resonated with me. It validated my chosen work. It made me excited about my upcoming week, full of the joy of helping my friends realize the power of a moment of relaxation and of adoration. I reccomend watching it as a reminder to take time for yourself. If you don’t have time to watch it, see my previous reccomendation.

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Better With Time

The question of age come up on occasion. How young is too young? How old is too old? It surprises me that it is a question because I simply assumed that in this industry, age and ability matter very little. Attitude and chemistry are critical and for a truly skilled companion chemistry is no mystery. We learned long ago to exaggerate the right things, hold ourselves in flattering poses, cultivate an interest in each and every person we see so our chemistry is both genuine and assured.

I once said to someone asking that were I to restrict my clients to those under a certain age, I would lose the cream of the crop. As we age, we gather experiences like shadows that follow us, like clothes that distinguish us, and in the lines on our hands and faces. Our character is etched into our appearance and as the vigor of youth fades the steady strength of maturity emerges. The confidence I’ve seen in many of the older gents of Seattle is attractive and their attention is flattering. It draws out a brash sensuality, much like a receptive audience brings out the spirit of a troup of actors.  The doe-eyed nervousness of youth is equally flattering, but evokes in me a more protective, sisterly feeling that results in a more subdued, careful encounter.

As we age we learn what we like and what works for us, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. We tolerate less foolishness and immaturity and seek out knowledge, meaningful connections, and people who we believe will not only make us feel good, but draw us out and make us batter people. Relationships are fewer but deeper and it takes a remarkable person to draw us into the time and energy required to establish new ties. All of these things make time with the mature gents of Seattle rewarding and flattering. We both appreciate what we do for one another and we both appreciate the reality of the relationship. It is why many of you find yourselves drawn towards Tanuki, Sarah Nicole, Jillian Roberts, Joyfull, and the many other mature providers in Seattle: we all become better with time 🙂

So if you’ve been rejected before because of your age, your race, disabilities, dearth or excess of facial hair, attatchment to your rubber ducky, or any other superficial foolishness, rest assured that should you meet me as an equal, with respect, you will not leave disappointed.

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Once Upon a Time….

…there was a great King. He held himself in a regal manner and commanded great respect and love throughout his kingdom. He preferred to think of himself as a man of the people, more of a senator than a King but none could look upon his bristling white beard and full belly without knowing that this was a man of great works.

But the King often got lonely in his power. Too many tried to curry favor in one way or another and to retreat from this barrage of favor seekers and sycophants he turned to his concubines. The concubines to the King were not simply pretty things to serve his eyes, they were intelligent, wise in the ways of pleasure, and more beautiful for their knowledge than the most beautiful of foolish young maidens. The familiar scent of roses and sweet candles filled the nostrils of the King as he entered the domain of his women. They greeted him with their wide, sensual smiles and warm, sweet words.

The two women were similar in loveliness and enthusiasm. The taller of the two carried on her crown light red wisps of fair hair and on her shoulders a diaphanous green gown, its presence more to enhance the figure beneath than to conceal it. The smaller of the two displayed a smattering of freckles and a pair of full young breasts barely hiding behind the open front of an overlarge, thickly plushed robe.

“It’s been too long, far too long since we last saw you” whispered the redhead, between kisses. “You must not stay away or the stress of day to day life will overcome you and even our skills will be hard pressed to bring you back.” The berobed young concubine pressed herself against his back and assisted with the removal of his robes while her partner in pleasure assisted from before. Clothes dropped to the floor on all sides until nothing separated the young women from the object of their desire.

“Come, sit, enjoy what we have prepared for you” they said as they led him to the red throne, cushioned for comfort and just large enough for three but small enough that the three were close indeed. They fed the King grapes and chocolate from faraway lands and kissed him by turns. Their hands danced across his chest and arms as they exchanged small words of little meaning and sometimes bigger words with even less meaning. The waltz of hands and mouths went on for some time before the beautiful ladies presented the kind with the dias of pleasure which he mounted with eagerness and anticipation.

As the King’s precious women went about their work, the room grew quiet. The sound of the flames licking in the fireplace became loudest int he room. It blended with the small sounds of pleasure from the three participants and the bare whisper of oil slicked skin sliding along the King’s body. With four hands and two mouths on him he was filled with a pleasant humming of taut muscle and stress of the most pleasurable kind. Minute after agonizing minute the priestesses of pleasure worked the king over. Breath came harder and, once all were ready, so did the King. With a handful of lush femininity and a mouthful of kisses and sweet words, his whole body settled into a deep relaxation. The King’s lovers smiled their satisfaction to each other and set about caring for their beloved. They brought him hot towels for his feet, cool grapes for his mouth, and sweet tea for his belly. They spoke of their fondness for each other and made light of the King’s stress. For this one great hour the King was more than a King, he was a man in the eyes of woman.

Though they were sad to see him go, the women of the King knew great decisions depended on him and they loved him enough to see him off and to wait, though impatiently, for his return. A last few kisses and a warm goodbye left the young women alone again, already looking forward to the next time they would be able to serve the king.

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Squeaky Clean

She’s been in the shower an inordinate amount of time.

You busy yourself tidying the apartment, the tv on for background noise, and think back on the last few hours. After work and working out, she met you right out of the shower with dinner and a kiss. She wrapped her around you and you felt clean and warm. You smile at the memory of her breasts pressed against your chest, how her lips tightened when she smiled while she kissed you, the smell of her hair, and how she tilts her face up to you like a flower turning to the sun. The whole package is worth waiting through a half hour shower, because you know what happens when you are both squeaky clean. All the accumulated grime of the day is washed away and you both smell fresh, warm, she of coconut and you of your aftershave.

Your warm smile turns into a devilish grin as you put some scattered books on the shelf again and imagine what’s going to happen when she finally emerges, dripping hair and hot skin, from her cleanse. You turn around to find something else to tidy and there she is, watching you, loving you, appreciating that you put out the effort to keep your shared home neat and clean. You’re still nesting. It’s your first apartment together and you’ll remember it forever. You always remember your first.

She grins with pride as you look her up and down, appreciating the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts as she stand nude before you, all yours, with a fiery sparkle in her eye. A moment’s silent looking and you come together, hugging and kissing and touching each other with love and fondness and affection and lust all spiraling like a big delicious milkshake just waiting to be tasted. Speaking of….

In the bedroom under the covers a familiar scene plays out, comfortable as old shoes, sweet and new as fresh strawberries. Your hands play over her skin, teasing her nipples hard, raising goosebumps on her arms, brushing gently past her hips, finding all the places you know she loves caressed. She rewards you with little sighs and moans and hushed cries of pleasure. Her hands instinctively reach for the rapidly growing evidence of your desire. Just the feel of it in her hand always arouses her and gives her focus behind her half closed eyes.

You slide yourself down the length of her as you move your face to where you can kiss her sweet lips. You use your tongue to draw even greater gasps from her. Her hips begin thrusting, her breath comes faster, she gets louder and softer by turns. The gasps jumble with words as she is whisked away into some kind of alternate reality where her body is a million coiled springs, it’s pricked by a thousand needles, muscles move independent of thought.

“I need you… I need you with me” come the first distinct words in some time. With her wet sweetness around your mouth you move up to kiss her, sharing the salty sweet taste as the two of you meet. First contact. Shivers. Tight and slick you find yourself moving against her as she arched into you. Now she’s on her belly and you press your hips into the round firmness of her butt. You reach around to cup her breast as she reaches down to touch herself, adding to the intoxication of making love. It’s so wet there’s nearly no friction, only the pressure of you against her, parting and meeting again smoothly, building intensity. She is thrusting back into you. You can feel her fingers almost frantic on herself as she gets closer and closer to her climax. You hold back, partly to prolong your own orgasm and partly to help her find one, too. The second stretch into minutes of heavy breath, hands gripping the bedsheets, shower wet hair tangling in passion and heat.

It’s too much. The sight and sound and feel of such raw, familiar, lust filled activity is too much and to the sounds of her ecstasy you reach a climax. You are lost in her. You are safe with her. A last few sensational thrusts together and motion slows, then nearly stops. She is slowing down with her hands, releasing the tension. She asks you to stay lying there, a comforting warm weight on top of her as you both begin to cool off. Though you’re tired from the last twenty minutes you stay. Because you care. Because it feels good. Because she asked you to.

As your breath returns to normal and the less glamorous aftermath of the evening is taken care of, the comfort of her presence is warming. You know she can’t stay. You know things will take her from you from time to time, but for now, in the afterglow, you cuddle together silently, lovingly, and think of nothing.

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A most wonderful experiment!

As should be obvious, I have recently amended my Modus Operandi to include a mostly unidirectional sensual offering. It has been a few weeks of testing the waters both of the new incall and of the new techniques and, aside from a tiny glitch with the buzzer, it’s been delightful! I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been busy, between buying new sheets and more candles, shopping for new lengerie, and spending time in the company of some truly delightful gents.

My first was at least with someone I knew already. I spent more time giggling with nerves than being sexy, but he was thoughtful and gracious and experienced and it went much like a first encounter with an older lover, one who gives suggestions and advice to make me into a better lover myself. After a few more experiences, I found more confidence. I began to experiment with my craft, with the timing, the order of events, speaking or remaining silent. Of course I have the gentle encouragement of my gentleman friends to thank for that confidence, and for the chance to start to find a groove. I can’t say that I’ve become an expert, yet, but the learning curve is incredible. The transition from one movement to the next is like a symphony of touch that I’m working out, playing, conducting, and composing all at once.

I was not prepared for how silly and awkward I would feel that first time. The first time I made love to one of my friends it was fairly natural and straightforward. I’d made love before, it came naturally. This was slightly different. Not that I’ve never given a friendly massage before, but they had always stayed just friendly. The transition between friendly and friendlier was, well let’s just say I’m glad I have a cute giggle, because I was doing a lot of it. Nervous giggling with a big silly grin on my face. Of course part of that is because I was very much looking forward to the rest of our little get together.

I was also surprised with how thoroughly and consistently my work arouses me. There’s something about being in control of a situation that allows me to fully immerse myself in the playful sensuality of it. I discovered this with my first forays into the hobby: because I have control over the situation, and because I am mentally prepared there are no distractions from the pleasure of your company and your touch. During a massage, the situation is even more under my control and so it is far easier to relax into full dedication to the task at hand. I can feel my breath quicken, my eyes focus, then blood starts to flow to certain sensetive areas where the throbbing tempts me to throw caution to the winds and tumble together in mad passion. I find myself often lounging for a while after, glowing with sweat and oil, toying with myself in the memory of my encounter. In this interaction I get everything I want. I get to give pleasure and get lust in return. I am free to explore budding relationships and am in turn allowed glimpses into other worlds. I provide companionship and receive joy. I am a safe place and that fills me with pride.

In short, I am more than pleased to have begun this journey and I encourage old friends and new to walk with me. I’ve still got a lot of learning to do. Might you fancy yourself my teacher? 😉

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Happy New Year

Welcome to the great wide world of twenty fourteen. Recap:

After two months of research, I dove headfirst into the world of hobbying and loved it. I met the most delicious and intelligent men, was treated to delightful places and experiences, and found myself giving pleasure and joy to the gentlemen of Seattle. I have also met a few of the ladies of the area and found them beautiful, intelligent, strong women with drive and culture that it has been my deep pleasure to get to know. My personal life has been a whirlwind of friendships made and lost. My closest friends have all been aware of my nontraditional hobby and discussion between an active provider and laypeople has been lively. Some people are amazed, some disdainful, some cautiously intersted, some indifferent, and some enthusiastic. There was even a short time when a rumor flew around my work place that I was *gasp* an escort! But no, that’s impossible, a girl like that: so nice, not into drugs and so happy couldn’t possibly be something like that! With the help of friends we explained it away as my activities as a stripper getting blown out of proportion but at the same time I found it interesting that my best defense against this ‘rumor’ was that I didn’t fit the stereotype. I don’to fit the stripper stereotype, either, but that’s somehow not really scandalous around here. I found the whole situation almost laughable. I know it’s not the majority perspective, but safe and healthy sex in a professional setting is not something to be ashamed of or horrified by and while I can laugh it off, most people cannot.

My personal relationship with my partner has been an interesting one as well as we work through expectations. Of course I’ve finally given in to the appeal of the older man and over the course of the year have deceloped a deep relationship with one of my closest friends. My friend, confidant, lover, and on point man have rolled into one. Developing a compromise between my work and our relationship has been a journey. I remember sitting on the floor after a delightful drunken evening talking so passionately about this work that I began to cry. It felt so right, so simple and easy to make people just feel better. To be able to make someone feel like the only man in the room, the center of my world, if just for a moment. Over the course of the year I’ve become more sure of myself, more comfortable with boundaries. The community I found is so incredibly supportive which I’m sure is ironic considering the reputation sex work carries. I am, however, not surprised by it. The men I choose to pleasure are men who enjoy both mental and physical pleasure. Those I wish to see regularly offer a relationship that is reciprocal in many ways, not just one. Enjoying that lifestyle and emotional intimacy while at the same time maintaining a strong relationship with a life partner who is unused to a sexually open lifestyle is a journey. We call on each other for support and for balance. His methodical caution has tempered my impulsiveness while my care free attitude has drawn out a willingness to compromise and modulate emotional responses. Tanuki had some good things to say as did Sarah Nicole when I asked about open and polyamorous relationships: open and honest communication between all involved and willingness to compromise is critical. Over the last year I have had ample opportunity to practice both.

What have I learned from all this? I have learned to have a mind and heart open to people of all shapes, sizes, ages, and abilities. The young and stupid part of me that put so much value on superficial aspects is gone and good riddance. Do I like to look at nice looking people? Yes, but that is no longer a factor in my sexual choices. I have learned to make and enforce boundaries both with my body and with my time. I remember an occasion, several years past, when I was sad and alone, angry and vulnerable, and I did things I regret. I gave him head, nothing I regret in principle, but the circumstances and the person involved made all the difference. It’s actually a kind of funny story, but the circumstances surrounding it are more awkward and sad than anything.Nothing like that will ever happen again because I know better now. Dozens of people and events reinforce my self awareness and my surety. It has long been a motto of mine that I should never regret anything later that I did not regret while I was doing it. (My other motto is: only interact with penises attached to awesome people. I’d say I have about ninety five percent success rate on that one.) This time there was an overtone of regret; I liked neither what I was doing nor why I was doing it. I have never felt that way in my professional activities nor in my current partnership and I feel like that is something remarkable about 2013.

In academia I completed the necessary work to obtain my real estate license and so the with new year comes a new chapter in my professional life I am both eager and nervous to explore. What this means for my hobby activities is that my schedule will shift and may be unpredictable. I will keep my calendar up to date as best I can, of course, but you’ll have to forgive me if it is occasionally incorrect. It also means I may not be able to offer public social time in the future but that decision is pending.

Cheers! To a new year with new friends and new challenges!

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Wool, by Hugh Howey

Oh. My. God. I finished the novel ‘Wool’ only moments ago and my heart is still pounding. It is the best book I have read in some years, combining a rich post apocalyptic world with well rounded characters and riveting plot.

The foreshadowing is brilliant, giving the reader just enough clues to figure out the mysteries but hiding things well enough that there isn’t much lead time between the ‘aha’ moment and the author’s reveal. The title is an allusion to the phrase “pulling the wool over their eyes” which was fairly obvious early on but the imagery echoes in little ways a few more times before we’re sure the central theme is deceit.

I know I go on and on about science fiction but there is something captivating about exploring a new world. In the world of ‘Wool’ life is underground, in a silo over a hundred and fifty levels deep with modern technology such as computers and radios common place but things we think of as common such as water and paper in short supply. Within the limited environment of the silo, everything is recycled, including people. It’s no soylent green solution, but the garden is the graveyard, reusing the nutrients in the human body to feed those who are left. Reproduction is strictly limited with legitimate couples allowed a chance at children by lottery and all others implanted with birth control in the cradle. Labor is divided and modeled after an apprentice style of teaching for trades such as gardening, mechanical, or IT. Yes, this post apocalyptic world has an information technologies department to run the screens that show the outside world. The View.

The View takes up the top level of the silo. There are cameras above ground that feed into a huge display in the cafeteria that is ever present. It is so critical to the maintenance of the social atmosphere that on occasion someone will be sent to clean the cameras exposed to the dirt and grime of the toxic atmosphere. The cleaners are only sent if they commit a crime worthy of the death sentence, or if they express a wish to go outside. Though many years of hard work have gone into improving the protective suits they wear, none make it farther than the next hill. Tragic but necessary, it is a way for people to blow off steam, a holiday when you can come see the crisp picture through clean cameras, and a reminder to keep your head down and not even think about outside.

Our heroine Juliette is brought from the down deeps, the floors past floor one hundred, where the mechanics live and work keeping the drills pumping up oil for the generators, making electricity to grow food and live and work. She is brought up top to fill the vacancy left by the sherriff, the character from the opening scene, the man last sent out to clean. During her few short days in office she discovers something about the suits given to the cleaners: they are fake. They are built with materials designed to fail in order that the men and women don’t live long enough to discover a bigger world. The visor is a screen, programmed to show the cleaners a vision of paradise, a clean world, a vision to induce their cooperation, to ensure they clean the servers like they are supposed to and never leave or try to come back. She knows the secret and so she is sent outside to clean and to die before she can infect others with her knowledge.

She does neither. One other person who can help her knows the secret and has her suit built with materials designed to work, designed to succeed and give her time, more time than anyone has had before. Instead of behaving as she’s ‘supposed to’ she walks past the hills and discovers the bigger secret: they aren’t alone. She discovers another silo and an open door. After this discovery the novel moves quickly. We’ve solved the mystery, now it’s time to save the world, or at least her world. The last few chapters went so fast I almost flew through the pages. There is love and sorrow and action and anger and resolution and then another problem to solve. My heart was racing. My eyes kept skipping ahead to find out what happens next, unable to wait as long as it takes to finish the page.

Howey’s world is beautifully rich. Every page reveals a new social norm that is alien, but makes perfect sense in a world like that. The next page is a twist to the plot that you almost saw coming. We see a moment of weakness and then of strength that carves each character from pure literary marble, so captivating as to make Rodin envious. The last time I read a book that caused such a physiological response was years ago and is a book I have treasured since childhood. This novel is great. I reccomend it far more highly than the last few. You will at least admire it, if not simply love it.

Greater than the story, richer than the world, more personal than the characters is the what if factor. The greatest thing about science fiction is that the author is writing about us, but not us. He writes about humanity driven to the breaking point and what happens when we reach it? The war that destroyed the earth and made it uninhabitable is not outside the realms of possibility but what is truly interesting is how the author mused we as a people might prepare for that and how we might deal with the aftermath. In this case it is with lies and deceit, a strict purge of anything that might bring out the truth, a sophisticated method for murder in the interest of preservation. The author’s projection of our capacity for ruthlessness in the case of the war and of the daily deceit of an entire small world is frighteningly possible. And that is the beauty of SciFi 🙂

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Massage Plus or FBST

You open the door to find a Long hallway complete with red carpet and at the quiet thud of the door behind you a face appears from the kitchen. “Welcome” she says as she comes around the corner. A thin black robe conceals the majority of the young woman but you can see her soft legs invitingly peeking from the hem and her open, welcoming face. “I’ve been looking forward to this all morning. Would you like tea, coffee, water, or perhaps something a bit warmer?” she says with a wink. You know from last time there is always something around to warm your belly.

The shower is hot and you begin to relax already, memory and anticipation melding together like spices into mulled wine. When you emerge from the bathroom clad in a big fluffy towel she greets you again with a chaste kiss and a mug of warm comfort. Soft French jazz coming from behind a closed door holds promise as the two of you sit on the couch to sip your drinks and catch up, establish sore spots, and enjoy a little face time.

The sheets on the table are smooth and cool. The candles on the shelves warm and make the room glow as if you’re in a dream. The oil on your back is slick and the hands are soft but firm. The conversation drifts in and out as your muscles begin to release the tension of holiday shopping and the stresses of work. You catch a glimpse in the mirrors of a face, a leg, the smooth curve of her bosom or hip as she moves around you, helping you stretch and relax, the oil drizzling across your back and spilling onto the sheets.

With a few words and a naughty little smile she lets you know you’re ready. Before the relaxation wears off, you’re lying on your back, enjoying as your arousal rises under her skilled and playful hands. There’s a look in her eye that tells you she likes it. She loves watching as you respond to her touch as much as she did when it was designed to soothe and relax. There is a rhythm to it, a cresting wave you can watch in the muscles and the eyes, the sound of someone enjoying themselves, totally selfish, absorbed, pampered, pleasured. The wave crests in a moment of slick, dirty, gorgeous release and after taking a moment to regain your senses, you open your eyes to a satisfied grin, a warm cloth, and a moment of closeness in the afterglow. The rest of your body is well attended; arms and hands, shoulders and feet all receiving her talented and well-schooled ministrations.

The shower after is relaxed, a moment to remember and savor the best parts. You emerge to a drink refreshed to keep you warm and hydrated and a kiss, less chaste than before. You are warm and safe and sexy. Those knots you’ve been trying to work out for ages have been calmed for a while and the endorphins from the final rush add to the glow. You savor those last few moments, looking forward to floating through the rest of the day and to the next time you can treat yourself to ninety minutes of warm, firm, sensual heaven. You chat of trifles and promise to come back soon, back to the hands waiting to warm you and that naughty little smile, waiting to devour you 😉

Or maybe next time you choose a higher energy option. Instead of a slow, soft greeting you find your lips and lap occupied within moments of opening the door. You’re reminded of that high school girlfriend; a good little Christian girl with a sinful appetite. You never quite went too far but even through her jeans she used you shamelessly. You lose your clothes with no delay and chase her to the table. Firm hands and full body strokes are less relaxing, more teasing teasing as you feel breasts, lips, and fingertips sliding across slippery skin and roaming into all sorts of naughty places. You can feel her weight as you become her personal jungle gym, knees and hips joining hands and arms to knead and tease, prolonging your arousal. Sweet nothings drift to your ears and your hot breath makes you both shiver. It’s been both forever and no time at all when her weight gently slips off of you and it’s time to roll to your back. You turn over and the sight is a welter of curves, smoldering eye contact, and the candles shining on thick streams of coconut oil. Breath, breasts, arms, hands, belly, and thighs all create their own sensations as she rides you and shares deep, long kisses. Your breath rises high and fast together. This isn’t your ordinary sensual massage, this is the closest thing to sex you can find without actually having it. You move together and the resultant mess is a sign of your satisfaction. You have time, still, to relax and receive some deep therapeutic bodywork on your hands and feet before washing off the aftermath and dressing again. If you’ve chosen to stay long enough there may even be time for round two, but that’s up to the mood and the moment. Next time you’ll have to opt for the relaxation style again; you’ve got to save your strength for this high energy seduction.

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Pant(ie)s!!

First, a nod to one of my favorite musical artists of all time: Jonathan Coulton

I have to wear a uniform at work. Up until recently it was: black shoes, black tights, black pencil skirt tailored to mid thigh, black suit jacket and baggy blue undershirt. Tights. Every. Night. Now I don’t have a problem with tights. I have quite a number of them in varying colors, textures, patterns, and levels of sexpot but wearing boring black tights eight hours a day, five days a week, 52 weeks a year… it gets old. Last week was glorious. Last week we got pants. This is a huge accomplishment for our manager who has been lobbying on behalf of the women here for several years against the stodgy sensibilities of the owners. Women can’t wear pants because… well, we’re women! We are also not allowed to actually tend bar, but that’s not a formal restriction, it’s just how the owners like it and… well, that’s another story.

Right now the story is of the pants! We are supposed to purchase our new pants from Macy’s but I, as a denizen of the night, am not often downtown when the store is open and so have been wearing yoga pants to work. It is glorious. I’m sure it’s highly inappropriate because boy do they cling to the backside, but it’s so freeing and relaxing. They are even high waisted so I can tuck my shirt in which is more than I can say for the Macy’s fashion work pants. Of course the butt-hugging nature of the yoga pants means boy-shorts or lacy panties only, to avoid lines and maintain an illusion of decorum. This brings me to my metaphysical revelation of the day: wedgies can be fucking hot.

Wedgies? I know, weird, but hear me out, ok? The word wedgie is awful and not sexy at all. It comes with connotations of middle school bullying, streaks, and that uncomfortable tickle that must. be. satisfied. However, as I walk around my little castle behind the desk I notice that my sexy gray lacy panties are hugging my soft round cheeks very well. I am acutely aware that, were I not wearing pants, the bottom of my bottom would show, that little ass shelf made by a woman’s finely rounded tush when she stands with legs straight and back arched. The mild discomfort of the lace tracing little crescents atop my moon reminds me with every step that under my clothes I look sexy as hell. I’m a little seductive demon in gray and I know it. The knowledge is sexy and it shows in my face and my walk. I don’t much like thongs, but I can absolutely understand now why they make women feel sexy. When I feel that little string tickling my rosebud, I know my apple is in the eye of every man in the room and the lust is palpable. So when you think ‘aren’t they uncomfortable?’ the answer is yes, they are delightfully, sexily uncomfortable and that’s why we wear them.

I think I may buy a few more pairs this week 😉