Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Patrick Califia Likes Rude Mechanicals

This is a very special treat: a blurb from the legendary Patrick Califia - a great writer and an even greater friend - for my technorotica collection, Rude Mechanicals.

Thanks, Pat!



Here is the latest collection of M.Christian's insightful and original work. Fabulous! I have yet to read anything Chris has written without feeling that my own assumptions were challenged, and I was pushed to think about sexuality, politics, gender, and literature in a whole different way. There aren't enough people who can write from the polymorphous perverse perspective that he seamlessly adopts. He is a genuine ally of sexual minority communities and has walked the walk and talked the talk in dozens of different erotic and edgy experiences. If you'd like to expand your horizons and spread your wings (or your legs, or somebody else's legs), you couldn't have a better guide than the wise, wry, irreverent, and twisted M.Christian.
-Patrick Califia, author of Mortal Companion, Hard Men, and Macho Sluts.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Painted Doll - An Excerpt



In celebration of the re-release of my cyberpunk BDSM erotica novel, Painted Doll, here's an except...



... Qui Dan Road to the High Street, a stumble of crisp British in a city of fish sauce and MSG. The change didn’t alter her steps, modify her movements.

Beautiful? Oh, yes: without doubt, without a question. The splendor of a rose, the loveliness of an orchid. The kimono is flawless, as is the china white of her immaculately applied artificial complexion. As she walks, hearts stop then race. As she walks, heads twist, eyes widen. As she walks, breaths are hissed in, sighed out.

Beautiful? Oh, yes: without doubt, without a question. But she is a knife-edged rose, a razor sharp orchid. Her stride is mechanically perfect, as is her perfectly vertical posture. Their hearts might race, their heads may twist, their eyes certainly widen, their breaths absolutely hiss in and hiss out, but as she steps nearer they instead step back. As she walks, they avert their eyes. As she walks, they pull themselves in.

The woman walking down the High Street feels them watching her, their glances furtive tickles, their quick stares barely felt hooks out of the corners of her always forward facing eyes. Passing a bookseller – tight fans of rough tan paper with lurid Cantonese chops on their glistening plastic covers hung in sagging arcs of cord – a reflection was revealed to her, a caught sight of what they were seeing.

But not what they were thinking. But she knew, nevertheless: each of them lost in illusions and fantasies as carefully crafted as her rouge, as flawlessly presented as the mae migoro and ushiro migoro of her kimono, as immaculately assembled as her performance:

She’s a dragon, some might think: the cruelty of a reptile, the flawlessness of a myth. You may approach her, with bravery beyond that of any battlefield, speaking with a stammer and a twitch, and if you were fortunate beyond your worth she’d slow, pause, turn with prudently measured grace, deeming your presence not completely disgusting. With that look, at that glance, would be a flickering forked tongue of cruel invitation, a scintillating promise of peaked breasts topped with fist-tight nipples, a belly steel plate flat and firm, a behind curving out in twin clenches of muscular intensity, thighs sculpted by rigid posture, and between them a scented valley of ruby silk.

But first, a miniscule task. But first, an all but insignificant request: to firmly stand guard for her honor and dignity; to fetch a inestimable gem, an incalculable jewel, or just a unexceptional sticky-sweet pastry; to perform for her a melody of praise, or a stammering litany of desperate worth; or a quick athletic demonstration of physical merit; or become for her an avenging knight, a battle to defend her honor against some heinous offense.

A minuscule task. An insignificant request. Accepted without doubt or hesitation, the reward a slow curl at the corner of her cold stone face, a bow of gratitude, and a bright flash of serpentine green eyes. Totally entranced by her, completely captured by her, the dragon would then reveal the metaphorical points of venomous teeth, sinking the illusion of her love deep into the shaft of your encouraged penis by showing you the true face of her cruelty.

The prize was yours but the tasks were actually anything but miniscule, not at all insignificant: firmly stand guard for her honor and dignity – for a year; fetch a inestimable gem, an incalculable jewel, or just a unexceptional sticky-sweet pastry – from a thousand miles away; perform for her a melody of praise, or a stammering litany of desperate worth – perfectly, without the tiniest flaw; a quick athletic demonstration of physical merit – unattainable by even the greatest athlete; or become for her an avenging knight, a battle to defend her honor against some heinous offense – in combat against a killing machine.

And so the dragon passes by, a smile on her cold-blooded face. No one approaches her, no one is willing to come near. And so they live, by letting her just walk by.

She’s a doll, some might think: a porcelain figure, an ivory representation. Beneath the silks and satins would be a body as perfect as only a master artisan could create. Breasts both delicate and womanly, nipples as delicate as rosebuds, a belly with an ideal swell, hands with the grace of ten Noh performers, calves a perfect taper, thighs an entrancing form, back a clean surface of alabaster, neck a musical curve, feet delicate and precious, a behind highlighted with sacral dimples, and a female cleft that was a pale oyster and a tiny pink pearl.

Like a doll, she would belong to whoever buys her. Cash, credit, merchandise – the right amount and the woman would instead walk behind, following her owner towards palace or hovel, both with the same unmoving mask of her face.

Palace or hovel, she would walk in the door, standing still and quiet with an item’s posture. Maybe she’d look better in the living room window, where the afternoon would bathe her in golden light? Or perhaps she’d be better exhibited in the bedroom, where her kimono could be removed like one from a real woman.

Yes, the bedroom. That was where she would be best displayed. Moving past, it was clear in their eyes, the allure of her perfect submission. A thing. An object. A piece of feminine sculpture. Unable to disagree, unable to refuse, bendable in all kinds of imaginative ways. From behind, cock sliding between her cool ivory cheeks. Face to face, marble breasts for unimpeded kiss, licks, and sucks. On top, her tight thighs spread apart and welcoming upward thrusts. Anything you wanted, anytime you wanted.

Desire was a rippling wave behind her, a heat distortion in the warm city air. It was obvious in their eyes that there, in her, was a world without ‘no,’ a land without complaint, a woman without a soul.

Then they stopped, that wave of erections and licked dry lips chilled with a slap of frigid revelation. Stepping back with the rest of the crowd, these men retreated from the precise rhythm of her steps, with whimpering fear in their wide eyes, their shaking heads.

Ivory arms, marble legs, alabaster body: inflexible, unfeeling, stiff, unbending, unyielding, and -- worst of all -- cold. With her you’d never hear ‘no,’ never be refused, never be denied, but you’d also never hear the beat of her heart, the music of her voice, the chimes of her laughter, the moans and screams of her pleasure. You’d perform with her your deepest, darkest, most subterranean – and all she would do would be to look at you with inscrutably glass eyes.

She’s a tiger, some might think: a beast with the stripes of a traditional Japanese dress. Hidden beneath her Asian camouflage was a woman’s body, exercised into an extension of her erotic drive. Where other women had euphemisms and poetic alliterations, she had simple, direct, and powerful words to describe herself. Where other women had bosoms, she had tits of ideal jiggle and sway, covered in thrilling smooth skin. Where other women had nipples, she had a pair of dark brown direct connections to her clit. Where other women had posteriors, she had two plush muscular globes that clenched and released with the beating heat of her clit. Where other women had sexes, she had a demanding, insistent cunt.

To see and handle these differences would be more fortune than seduction. You did not take the tiger to dinner and slip hot words between dessert and coffee. You did not lay flowers at the feet of this hot blooded woman within the cool disguise of a geisha. You did not whisper poetry into the shell-like ear of this elegantly robed bitch.

There was no way to make her do anything, no way to slyly allure or simply trick her into a private room, no way to seduce her. The only thing anyone could do was to stand within the range of that sweeping predatory glance and hope that her eyes would positively estimate your worth as a device for her pleasure. Then, and only then, would her red-painted lips open ever-so, more than a whisper but less than full voice, and speak the one word you’d prayed to hear: “Come.”

Behind her, pulled along by her insatiable need, you would follow. It wouldn’t be a long journey, for her cunt has a very short attention span. Cheap hotel on the next street, expensive one even closer by, or just the nearest fetid and slimy alley – whatever was within range.

Patience was for ladies. Hesitation was for women. Tigers – even ones hidden within silks and satins – had no need for foreplay, patience, or hesitation. They wanted, so they took.

And if you were lucky, she would take you. Hands down to your cock, a squeezing judgment for size and firmness. Lips to yours, a tongue penetrating your mouth, am attacking kiss wanting nothing of you but to be kindling to her roaring heat.

On her knees, she would take you. But only because that was what she wanted. Your come was not expected or important. A flesh device to penetrate an orifice, you would be used until she was bored and ready to move onto other penetrations of other orifices.

Or perhaps she’d require something else. Falling back, satin fabric pulled roughly aside, she might bare an insistent slickness, the gleaming lips and fast-beating clit, and demand your service. Failure to accept or in performance too terrible to contemplate.

At the end, your cock would be needed: hard, strong, and fast -- nothing else important to her. Burning hot, insanely wet, you’d enter and execute the task she’d ordered, working until her screams tore at your ears and her nails scratched along your back.

Then that would be it. Humiliating? Being reduced to only a device for someone’s pleasure usually is. But the blistering heat of her, the ferocious need of her cunt would put – and keep – a smile on your sweaty face.

But – and again men standing step back, retreat in shivering dread when she walks back – one does not ever tame a tiger, even after it is fed. Who knows what she might hunger for after? Meat, blood, flesh, dignity, any number of horrible violations – any of them within her grasp, and you too exhausted to resist.

Tigers are wild things, after all: enjoyable to watch in zoos, penned behind restraining bars, but far too bloodthirsty in bed.

She’s a machine, some might think: isn’t it wonderful what they’re doing with shape memory alloys, mnemetic plastics, optical fibers, and conductive polymers? Absolutely wonderful things coming out of Japan, India, the Wilding, and the young turks of the École Polytechnique, these days. Look up and there are dragonfliers pausing for location fixes before darting off at near-invisible speeds, packages clutched under their iridescent fuselages. Look down and there are myriad scurrying mechanisms trailing polished tracks of perfumed cleanliness through the city’s persistent grime. Look around and there are cinematics lazily scrolling across a lady’s fluttering fan, posters for the newest Malasian blockbuster cycling through tantalizing glimpses of furious martial arts and stiffly chaste duets, the hushed commuting fuel-cell and ethanol traffic, and the softly creaking carbon fibers of a prosthetic hand on a crumble-faced veteran of the Chinese genocide as he lays down a mah-jongg tile.

Look at her and you might see a device as carefully machined as a German car, a Swiss watch, a Japanese entertainment center, Indian software, or an African running shoe: breasts as ideal and resilient as silicone, skin of perfectly cured plastic, muscles as precise and strong as actuators, a genital-pleasuring interface between her thighs, a mouth with the same technology.

It was a safe bet that without her protective kimono covering, the pseudo-body of hers was as superlative as a supermodel, as sensuous as a Playmate of whatever month, as adept as an amalgamation of every courtesan who’d ever lived, as refined and machined as her manufacturers could make her.

Movement like the architecture in fine software, presence as authoritative as graceful as a jet fighter, skin as smooth as the polish on a fresh-from-the-factory-floor Ferrari, she passed by – and with her passing the tracking of lust and greed in the eyes of the male crowd, and sour envy on the faces of everyone else.

Here was the best of both of a man’s world: the twin allures of a clever device together with a well-articulated woman – or, to be more specific, as those men revealed so obviously, ‘coupled’ together, a mating between flesh and sex and advanced technology and power. Purchasing this – or simply leasing with an option to do the same – and putting it in the garage or the bedroom, would mean not just a product but also a woman of every dream, not just a sex partner but also a sophisticated piece of fine engineering.

But that wasn’t all. Look at them watching her move by. Lust was there, both for machine as well as woman, but there was also the dawning realization that there could be even more there: things that squeezed, buzzed, vibrated, hummed, heated, cooled, swirled, oscillated, tingled, and more, more, more so much more.

But then they pulled away, out of her way, out of her traffic, their fantasies dropping behind to be passed by the rushing acceleration of a nightmare, the barreling truck of a terrifying understanding.

Engineering, went their minds as they retreated, is fine and good, stimulating and thrilling. Sex, they thought as they ran away from her, is fantastic and wonderful. But to fuck a machine, to be intimate with gears and cogs, synthetics and electricity, hydraulics and radiators, could be good, but also could be like thrusting into a meshing, tearing, burning, shocking, scalding, blistering industrial accident.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

REPORT ON AZTECAPHOBIA

I haven't followed the Hugo Awards for decades but the recent - and frankly deplorable - situation with them has made my blood boil.  Luckily the brilliant Ernest Hogan has said it better that I ever could:

(from Ernest Hogan's Mondo Ernesto)


They mock the secessionist petitioners in Texas and other states, celebrate the infestation of even the smallest American heartland towns by African, Asian and Aztec cultures . . .

The above is a quote from Vox Day, one of the puppies who has caused the current shitstorm over the Hugo awards. For those of you who have not seen the wide-ranging media coverage this story is getting, a bunch of guys who don't like the trend in diversity in speculative fiction hijacked the nominations of the Hugos, throwing the future of the awards into doubt. Personally, I haven't paid much attention to the Hugos (or the Nebulas) in decades, but this is starting to hit close to home.

Because, Aztecaphobia is alive and well!

They're afraid of Aztecs coming to their hometowns. The Wild West stereotype of the blood-thirsty, half-breed never died. In Arizona, we still hear people talking about rumors of cannibalism and human sacrifice in the barrio. Schoolchildren speaking Spanish can trigger panic attacks.

Or as a little old lady from Phoenix once said, “We don't want downtown smelling like tacos!”

I've always considered the smell of tacos to be a sign of an advanced civilization.


The idea of an Aztec future must be their worst nightmare. I wonder if they've read any of my books or stories?

Dell Harris' cover painting (he called it “Scorpio”) for the self-published High Aztech ebook must put stains in their underwear.

If you want to get that edition, with that cover, you should buy it now, because Digital Parchment Services is working on a new Strange Particle Press edition of High Aztech, that – among other things – will have a new cover, that and incorporated imagery by a famous Communist artist!

Don't listen to the puppies, folks! Dream the dreams you lust after. Create the futures you want, be they African, Asian, Aztec,Texan or Arizonan. We need more visions, not less. Everybody, let your imaginations go wild!

Don't worry if it scares anybody. They may pull dirty tricks and try to shut you down – it's been the story of my life – but it's worth the fight. If they can't face Aztec cultural warriors, they are doomed.

Besides, one persons dystopia is another's utopia. One culture, one civilization, isn't enough. Imagine more. It's what sci-fi is supposed to be all about.


Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Terrance Aldon Shaw Likes Love Wthout Gun Control

This is just plain wonderful: check out this kick-ass review of my sf/f/h collection, Love Without Gun Control by the very-great Terrance Aldon Shaw on the book's amazon page.

Btw, Love Without Gun Control is currently FREE for a limited time!

http://amzn.com/B002LEI6RM

Is there any style or genre that M. Christian can’t (or won’t) write in? After reading this very fine short story collection from one of today’s most prolific professionals, I’m leaning heavily towards “no”. The ‘m’ in M. Christian seems to stand for “multi-faceted”, or possibly “mega-multi-tasker”. The guy certainly is versatile, as well as daring, imaginative, often funny, and seldom—if ever—unentertaining, one of those writers who seems to be everywhere at once, though if he has, in fact, cracked the saintly secret of bi-location, he’s not talking.

Readers get a broad sense of Christian’s incredible range in “Love Without Gun Control”, the author’s 2009 self-compiled and –published collection of short fiction, most of which originally appeared in genre anthologies, now-defunct niche-specific literary magazines and long-since cached or dead-linked websites. These fourteen stories run a dizzying—and impressive—gamut of mood and style, each with its own carefully measured ratio of light to shadow, buoyancy to seriousness, horror to humor, and hope to despair.

Christian has clearly learned from, and distilled the essence of the best examples of twentieth-century American fiction, everything from Ray Bradbury and Jack Kerouac to Cormac McCarthy and Stephen King. He does not shy away from his influences, but has wisely allowed them to sing through him as he delves the deep, sometimes silly recesses of the American psyche. The title story is a broad, campy social satire in addition to being a pitch-perfect sendup of old Western movies and TV shows, while “Wanderlust” and “Orphans” pay dark homage to the uniquely American mythos of “the road”—think Steinbeck’s musings on Route 66 in “The Grapes of Wrath”, or the arid, windswept, dread-haunted vistas of Stephen King’s “The Gunslinger” and “The Stand”.

In “Needle Taste”, Christian shows that he is no less adept at horror of the decidedly psychological variety. Techno-thriller melds seamlessly with High Fantasy in “The Rich Man’s Ghost”; political satire meets The Zombie Apocalypse in “Buried with the Dead”, while knotty existential drama and the classic Post-Apocalyptic narrative come together in “1,000”, and “Nothing So Dangerous”, a story of love and betrayal in a time of revolution. Perhaps my favorite stories in this collection are the beautiful, elegiac, Bradbury-esque “Some Assembly Required,” a narrative at once clever and poignant, and the brilliantly breezy “Constantine in Love”:

“It was called The Love Shack, and it sold all kinds of obvious things: candy, flowers, poetry books, jewelry, balloons, perfume, lingerie, and many other sweet, frilly, and heart-shaped items. It stood alone, bracketed by two vacant lots. Its busiest days were just before Valentine’s and Christmas. It was described by many newspapers and tourist guides as “. . . the place to go when love is on your mind.”

The night was dark, the place was closed. The streets were quiet.

Then the Love Shack exploded—with a fantastic shower of fragmented chotchkes, and flaming brick-a-brack, it went from a shop dedicated to amore to a skyrocket of saccharine merchandise. Flaming unmentionables drifted down to land in smoking heaps in the middle of the street, lava flows of melted and burning chocolate crawled out for the front door, teddy bears burned like napalm victims, and cubic zirconia mixed with cheap window glass—both showering down the empty, smoldering hole that used to be the store . . .”

I do have a few complaints as well. In several of these stories, I found myself wishing for a stronger editorial hand. The text needs a good, personally-detached copyedit. Several otherwise excellent stories (“Hush, Hush”; “1,000”; “Friday”) are simply too long to effectively maintain the emotional impact for which the author aims. I found them overly repetitive and rather dull, with the narrative lines collapsing into nebulous incoherency. After all, the “short” in short fiction should be a clue to the essence of the form; all unnecessary baggage and ballast summarily jettisoned to achieve an economy of language, and, with it, maximum expression. Christian is an established and well-respected editor in his own right, but no matter how skillful or perceptive an author may be as an editor of other people’s work, when it comes to self-editing, even the best and brightest have their blind spots.

Still, there’s far more to like and admire in this collection than to kvetch about or pan. Readers will be well-rewarded for what is, in the end, a ridiculously modest price of admission.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

READ RAVE "LOCUS" REVIEW M.CHRISTIAN'S SEXFUTURE COLLECTION "BACHELOR MACHINE"

(from the Sizzler Editions blog)


FORBIDDEN THOUGHTS: REGARDING AN EROTIC SF COLLECTION BY M.CHRISTIAN 

(REVIEW FROM LOCUS ONLINE BY CYNTHIA WARD)

http://www.amazon.com/Bachelor-Machine-Finalist-Science-Fiction-ebook/dp/B00S977F7C/

In the 1980s, I read an article about some noted visionaries of the bold future of virtual reality.  The visionaries uniformly denied that virtual sex would be a factor in this brave new technology.  Apparently the visionaries hadn't noticed that several existing technologies were significantly subsidized by sex, among them the phone companies (by 900 numbers), Big Pharma (by The Pill), and the new videotape industry (by X-rated sales and rentals).  Here in the Twenty-First Century, though we're still waiting for VR, phone companies enjoy the additional subsidy of surfers seeking X-rated websites, penile implants and Viagra keep multinational medical companies big in the stock market, and video stores add X-rated DVDs.

SF authors are bolder, or maybe just less blind, than the VR visionaries; they routinely incorporate varieties of cybersex in their fiction.  But SF authors rarely center plot and theme on sex, and the professional and semiprofessional SF magazines rarely publish speculative sex stories.  Yet the enormous sexual changes of the last few years, both trivial (porn spam) and profound (legalized gay/lesbian marriage in Canada), demand more SF exploration of the subject.  Fortunately, on the small-press margins of SF, at the border shared with the erotica genre, a few writers are speculating intelligently and imaginatively about the future of sex.  Among the best-known and best of the erotic-SF writers is M.Christian.

The stories in his new collection, The Bachelor Machine, pass the litmus tests of both the SF and erotica genres.  Take out the tech and there's no story; take out the sex and there's no story.  This description may lead those unfamiliar with SF erotica to suspect that every story is about getting off with the aid of futuristic technologies, and that's true as far as it goes.  But that's not going nearly far enough.

The stories in The Bachelor Machine are not about sex, though they're stuffed with sexual acts; the stories are about what sex means.  M.Christian is writing about the psychology of being human, and he often does so by exploring sexual possibilities and realities that are rarely discussed, even in private conversation.  He not only thinks forbidden thoughts, he extrapolates them in the finest SF fashion.

The aptly named "Technophile" pushes technofetishism to the ultimate as it explicates an idea most authors (especially male authors) would never imagine, let alone write about.  To put it bluntly, "Technophile" eroticizes castration.  A character has his penis cut off and replaced with the top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art "Long Thrust." Another character wants to lose his virginity to the technological phallus, which he sees as hotter and better than the old-fashion flesh kind.  But the cutting-edge implant needs a recharge and remains limp throughout the encounter, a bitter irony.

In the decaying post-industrial future of "Winged Memory", Dusk does something most people couldn't imagine, and would find horrifying if they did: he sells (and loses) his memory of losing his virginity.  He does this to buy thirty minutes with a prostitute "walking the street, eyes available red." To have her again, Dusk keeps selling memories, until he doesn't know who he is, or who this woman is that he inexplicably wants.

The stories "Bluebelle" and "Skin-Effect" break taboo by making explicit the sexual undercurrents of the savagery and killing in nearly every Hollywood cop and military action flick.

In "Guernica", several individuals meet secretly in a basement to enjoy sex acts outlawed by a repressive Twenty-First-Century government.  Their practices, costumes, and toys deliberately, ironically, terrifyingly recreate the uniforms, actions, and tools of the cops who would arrest and punish – and kill – them.

In "Butterflie$", a hacker immersed in the full-sensory, Disney-perfect Glade of the Datasea finds herself assaulted – literally – by a flock of beautiful butterfly-sprites.  I generally hate stories about rape/violation, yet Christian's skill, imagery, and insight kept me reading to the end ... and I never felt violated by the story.  It's an impressive achievement.

In "Hackwork", Rosselyn Moss works for ExpressTaxi as a body that cyber-riders hire to carry their consciousness around New Orleans.  They dictate her actions and, inevitably, drive her body into sexual encounters.  One night, she is distressed to find herself whipping a beautiful young stranger – and even more distressed to discover the stranger loves it.

Like Rosselyn, the narrator of "Switch" is a rent girl.  She isn't a taxi, but she may have an even more troubling job, for she never remembers who her clients were, or what they did to her.  M.Christian travels deep into taboo territory by demonstrating that, for some, being so thoroughly controlled, so completely owned as to remember nothing, is the ultimate turn-on.

In "Everything but the Smell of Lilies", Justine Moor is a whore with a deeply creepy specialty.  She's been turned into "a hardwired dead girl, a chilling and stiffening hooker", dying over and over for money.  If this bleeding-edge cyberpunk extrapolation isn't disturbing enough, Justine finds herself lying, a motionless but fully-conscious corpse, in an ambulance staffed by a necrophiliac.  (In case it's not already abundantly clear, some stories in The Bachelor Machine are not intended to arouse.)

Many of M.Christian's grittily urban stories are cyberpunk; "Heartbreaker" pushes the form to a logical extreme.  When an undercover cop sets up the bust of an outlaw biohacker, the two women don't just have sex, they withdraw very special interface cables from inside themselves and connect them: "Linked, each hardwired into the other's genitals, mixed and matched, they surged and merged."

In "Thin Dog", fans jack their minds into a full-sensory experience of what it's like to be superstar reactor-rock band Thin Dog.  Members Johnna, Paul, Georgina, and Jingo (ahem) play instruments that are nanotech implants woven through their bodies; playing includes on-"stage" couplings and quadruplings.

Some stories not only share 1980s-cyberpunk's fascination with Japanese culture, but show the influence of "anime" (Japanese animation).  In many ways, the woman and situation in "State" are ideal for anime.  The prostitute Fields lives in Japan and earns her living by pretending to be an almost mythically superior Japanese-made sex android.  Her masquerade must always achieve perfection – from biochemically lowered body temperature, to "incredibly durable bonding polymer" applied daily to every millimeter of flesh, to behavior in orgasm – because her clients must never suspect she's human.

Not every story is cyberpunk.  "The New Motor" is an amusing steampunk entertainment set in Paul Di Filippo territory.  Nineteenth-Century spiritualist John Murray Spear has a vision of "the Association of Electricizers ... spirits with a mechanical turn of mind," and begins proselytizing for the creation of "the Physical Savior of the Race ... the New Motor!" This charismatic messiah for "a new Age of Man Through Machine" leads his followers to transcendentalist New England, where they settle in the conservative town of Lynn, Massachusetts.  Seducing and neglecting a particularly fervent follower proves seer Spear is dangerously blind to certain human truths.

The collection has some flaws.  Some futures don't seem entirely plausible (a minor problem, and one hardly confined to the erotic-SF subgenre).  A couple of stories are vague in their SFnal elements.  I never quite figured out what "Bluebelle" was (a micro Death Star? a flying fembot? a round mecha?).  It takes too long to learn what the futuristic technology is and does in "Eulogy".  The endings of "Eulogy" and "Winged Memory" left me wondering just what was happening.  And frustratingly, the book provides no copyright data, providing no information about if or when the stories were previously published.

M.Christian's prose is strong and supple and sometimes lyrical.  If you don't like naughty language or graphic descriptions of sex, you'd better steer clear of his work.  But if you like smart, taboo-breaking SF, then read The Bachelor Machine.  

–Cynthia WardLocus Online (2004)

(Cynthia Ward has published short fiction in Asimov's and numerous anthologies, and has written a monthly market column for Speculations.  She has written many reviews for Amazon.com.  Her website is at www.cynthiaward.com.)

Thursday, February 19, 2015

The Amazing R.Greco And M.Christian Road Show: Feb 27 - March 7!

(from R.Greco and M.Christian Presents) 

There's amazing and then there's amazing: join R. Greco and M.Christian on a whirlwind tour of teaching, performing and meeting and greeting, beginning in Las Vegas on February 27th with the Sin In The City convention and going onto San Francisco for shindigs at Wicked Grounds, the SF Citadel, and the Center For Sex And Culture!

Check out this kick-ass (and a half) schedule ... fun, fun, fun and more fun!



Sin In The City
Las Vegas
February 27th – March 1st, 2015
http://www.sin-in-the-city.com
Join hundreds of other kinksters and leather people in saying "Hit Me!" to our Sin in the City dealers for a double-down dose of fun
Tit-Torture For Boobs: A Breast Play Intensive
Saturday, February 28, 2015: 9-10:30
Breast play offers wonderful opportunities for intensely powerful play - but also comes with serious, even dangerous, risks. In this breasts-on seminar, participants will learn how to treat tits, both male and female, with exactly the right measure of sensuality and intensity to play well but also safely. Clothespins, nipple clamps, pinching, suction devices, gentle impact, bondage, and more will be demonstrated - as well as how to deliver effective aftercare. Additionally, participants will be given instruction in first aid, the dangers of breast play, and the limits of what boobs can take. 
Sex Sells: How To Write and Sell Erotica
Saturday, February 28, 2015: 11-12:30
The market for erotic fiction and nonfiction is booming! There actually is a secret to writing great erotica - and you'll discover just what that is in this fun, hands-on workshop with well-known erotica writer and teacher M.Christian. For the beginning writer, erotica can be the ideal place to begin writing, getting published, and - best of all - earning money. And for the experienced writer, erotica can be an excellent way to beef up your resume and hone your writing skills. M.Christian will review the varieties of personal and literary expression possible in this exciting and expanding field. He'll also teach you techniques for creating love and sex scenes that sizzle. Plus: current pay rates, how to write for a wide variety of erotic genres, where and how to submit your erotic writing, and more. 
Cupping: Using The Ancient Medicinal Technique For Erotic Play
Saturday, February 28, 2015: 3:30-5
For thousands of years, Asian cultures have been using 'cupping' as a remedy for a variety of ills – from muscle strains to just a wonderful way to relax. In this unique class, participants will not just learn how to use cupping safely but also how to use it to enhance all kinds of erotic – and kinky – play. Demonstrations will include not just how to use cupping on various parts of the body in new and exciting ways but also the different types of cupping sets that are available and what type is right for everything from advanced BDSM play to just soothing an achy back.


Erotic Authors: Ralph Greco, Jr. & M.Christian 
Wicked Grounds, San Francisco
289 8th Street, San Francisco, CA 94103
Tuesday, March 3, 2015: 1:00PM to 3:00PM
http://www.wickedgrounds.com
Wicked Grounds is San Francisco's first and only kink cafe and boutique. We have a full cafe in San Francisco and host a wide variety of BDSM and related events, including workshops, classes, social gatherings, and munches.
Here's an opportunity to meet and greet Ralph Greco Jr. and M.Christian: two kick-ass smut writers and BDSM/sex educators who know how to have a good time ... either on the page or in the bedroom/dungeon! 
In town as part of a whirlwind tour of kinky teaching and sexy authoring, Chris and Ralph (to their friends) will be available to chat about being an editor for Von Gutenberg Latex Couture Fashion Magazine (Ralph) and Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions (Chris) and their BDSM classes (such as Sensual Caning, Basic Bondage, Cupping, Breast Torture, and more) and their renowned erotica writing class series! 
Come chat BDSM classes, get some books signed, and have a fun time with two fun guys...

Basic Bondage: Tie Me Up On A Budget with M.Christian & R.Greco 
SF Citadel Club, San Francisco
181 Eddy St, San Francisco, CA 94102
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
http://www.sfcitadel.org
THE SAN FRANCISCO CITADEL CLUB’s mission is to provide BDSM entertainment, education on alternative lifestyles, cultural and leather community events, and other resources to individuals, associations and communities who identify with having different ways of expressing their proclivities; to create a safe place to meet, entertain, explore and share enjoyment, happiness, laughter and pleasure within those communities locally and nationally; and to be open to the non-BDSM community to check our evening classes, weekend retreats and weekend entertainment events.
Let's face it, BDSM - especially bondage play - can be pricy: steel shackles, leather restraints, handcuffs, and other fun things don't come cheap. But in this class students will learn that tying someone up doesn't mean you have to break the bank. From Saran Wrap to Bungie cord, duct tape to clothesline, and more students will learn all kinds of tricks and techniques to not only restrain on a budget but how to do it safely as well as effectively ... and enjoyably!
Class from 8:00PM to 10:00PM, doors open at 7:30PM
Cost: $20 at the door, or $15 in advance
https://www.Purplepass.com/sfc342015


Sex Sells - How To Write and Sell Erotica With R. Greco Jr. And M.Christian
The Center For Sex and Culture, San Francisco

1349 Mission St, San Francisco, CA 94103
Thursday, March 5, 2015
http://www.sexandculture.org
The Mission of the Center for Sex & Culture is to provide judgment-free education, cultural events, a library/media archive, and other resources to audiences across the sexual and gender spectrum; and to research and disseminate factual information, framing and informing issues of public policy and public health.
The market for erotic fiction and nonfiction is booming! There actually is a secret to writing great erotica - and you'll discover just what that is in this fun, hands-on workshop with well-known erotica writers R. Greco Jr. and M.Christian. 
For the beginning writer, erotica can be the ideal place to begin writing, getting published, and - best of all - earning money. And for the experienced writer, erotica can be an excellent way to beef up your resume and hone your writing skills. 
R. Greco Jr. and M.Christian will review the varieties of personal and literary expression possible in this exciting and expanding field. They'll also teach techniques for creating love and sex scenes that sizzle, current pay rates, how to write for a wide variety of erotic genres, where and how to submit your erotic writing, and more!
$20
6:00PM - 8:00PM
http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/1133598

Leather, Lace & Lust: An Evening Of Erotic Storytelling and Sexual Merriment
The Center For Sex and Culture, San Francisco
1349 Mission St, San Francisco, CA 94103
Saturday, March 7th, 7:00PM – 10:00PM
http://www.sexandculture.org
The Mission of the Center for Sex & Culture is to provide judgment-free education, cultural events, a library/media archive, and other resources to audiences across the sexual and gender spectrum; and to research and disseminate factual information, framing and informing issues of public policy and public health.
Leather, Lace & Lust: An Evening Of Erotic Storytelling and Sexual Merriment 
Come one, come all* to an evening of lusty literature by many of the best erotica writers in the Bay Area! 
From the tempting tease of delicate lace to the steamy heat of hardcore leather, these authors and performers will amuse, delight, and most of all excite you in all kinds of new and provocative ways; This is an evening of witty, carnal, and provocative literary endeavors that will tickle just about every kind of fancy, a festival of playful sensual fiction that will make you laugh, cry, and get that oh-so-special tingly feeling in your nether-regions. 
In other words, a night of kick-ass erotica performed by ass-kicking writers!
Sponsored by WriteSex: Everything a writer needs to know about the business of publishing erotica! 
Our featured performers include:
• Molly Weatherfield: "Twenty years ago, a mild-mannered computer programmer decided to spend some quality time with her erotic fantasy life, and Carrie's Story - BDSM for smart girls - was born."
• Blake C. Aarens is an author, poet, screenwriter, playwright, and a Black Girl Nerd.
• Jean Marie Stine is the author of a number of pioneering works of erotica published in the late 1960 and early 1970s, beginning with Season of the Witch in 1968, which was filmed as the motion picture Synapse. Her erotic short stories and novelettes have been collected as "Trans-sexual: Fiction for Gender Queers."
• M.Christian is a recognized master of erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica and many others.
• Dr. Carol Queen is the author of Real Live Nude Girl: Chronicles of Sex-Positive Culture, The Leather Daddy and the Femme, Exhibitionism for the Shy, and co-editor of PoMoSexuals: Challenging Assumptions About Gender and Sexuality (winner of a Lambda Literary Award in 1998; with Lawrence Schimel)
• R. Greco's short fiction (erotic and ‘straight’ fiction) has been published in 7 countries, various anthologies and single author short story collections from Xcite Books in the U.K., C.F. Publications and with Renissance E Books. Ralph is also the co-host of an hour-long net talk program, “Peter Riot’s Smack Talk”, was a pre-school music teacher and has played his original music in concert festivals in Italy, the U.S. and England. 
Saturday, March 7th
The Center For Sex And Culture
1349 Mission St, San Francisco, CA 94103
Doors at 6:30PM, Event starts at 7:30PM
Admission: $10
*no guarantees

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

M.Christian's Erotic Science Fiction Collection, Bachelor Machine, Back in A New Edition – PLUS Groundbreaking Sequel: Skin Effect!

This is amazing news!  Not only is my erotic science fiction collection, Bachelor Machine, back in print from the great folks at Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions but the sequel - with many new stories - is out as well: Skin Effect!  

Here's my announcement - and if you want a copy of either for reviews and the like please let me know.




M.Christian and Renaissance E Books, through its Sizzler Editions imprint, is pleased and proud to announce the republication of M.Christian's groundbreaking science fiction collection, Bachelor Machine, plus a brand new, never-before seen, follow-up collection: Skin Effect!

M.Christian rocked the world of both science fiction and erotica with Bachelor Machine – Cynthia Ward at Locus Online calling it "smart, taboo-breaking SF" and – and now his groundbreaking book is back in a brand new edition!

Not only that, but M.Christian will further amaze as well as arouse with a follow up collection of imaginative and stimulating stories: Skin Effect!

In Skin Effect and Bachelor Machine are tales that push the envelopes of both science fiction as well as erotica in innovative and stimulating ways: stories voyaging to the near as well as the far future, exploring the ultimate limits of sex and arousal.

In her introduction to Bachelor Machine, Cecilia Tan says of M.Christian "There are only two people in the world I envy. One is the late Roger Zelazny, whose talent for an almost jazz improvisational way of writing I could never match. The other is M.Christian, for writing exactly what I’d write if only I could get off my ass. Which is to say, raunchy hallucinatory sexfuture dreams that never fail to arouse me and kick me in the gut at the same time."

In his forward to Skin Effect, the Chicano science fiction legend Ernest Hogan (author of High Aztech and Cortez On Jupiter), says "The stories in Skin Effect are erotic, and original, state-of-the-art science fiction. They take the technological developments of recent years and plug them into the engines of human desire, taking us beyond our present day sexual issues into worlds that deliver in ways I hadn't imagined possible."

In Skin Effect and Bachelor Machine are tales that are riveting as well as arousing, stories of technology and desire, and arousal and innovation ... told in an engaging and evocative style guaranteed to amaze as well as excite.

From down and out hustlers, enhanced sex workers, enigmatic aliens, bleeding edge erotic technologies, and more – Bachelor Machine and Skin Effect are an unique visions of the future, while celebrating humanity's oldest pleasure ... sex!

"M.Christian’s stories squat at the intersection of Primal Urges Avenue and Hi-Tech Parkway like a feral-eyed, half-naked Karen Black leering and stabbing her fractal machete into the tarmac. Truly an author for our post-everything 21st century."
–Paul Di Filippo, The Steampunk Trilogy

"M.Christian speaks with a totally unique and truly fascinating voice. There are a lot of writers out there who'd better protect their markets – M. Christian has arrived!"
–Mike Resnick, Hugo and Nebula Award winning science fiction author

"When I tell you that these stories are hot, I might be giving you an understatement. M.Christian’s erotica comes from the heart ... he has created an entire new genre."
–Amos Lassen

"There is an uncommon variety of material in here [Bachelor Machine], from cyberpunk to space opera, alternative history to dystopia. The science-fictional settings are manifold, as are the sexual positions and inclinations—and, more importantly, the role of the inevitable explicit sex within each story. From the frivolous to the poignant to the socio-politically scathing, there’s something in this book for everyone."
–Johann Carlisle, Future Fire

"M.Christian is a hybrid artist and knockout stylist on the order of Jonathan Lethem. Hard-boiled, sharp-edged, funny and fierce, his tales brim with unbridled imagination and pitch-perfect satire,"
–Jim Gladstone

"M.Christian is a writer who takes you for a long walk down a dark wet street at midnight. You can't get much more edgy and still be legal. His fiction never disappoints."
–Nancy Kilpatrick, The Power of the Blood series and In the Shadow of the Gargoyle
Calling M.Christian versatile is a tremendous understatement. Extensively published in science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, and even non-fiction, it is in erotica that M.Christian has become an acknowledged master, with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and in fact too many anthologies, magazines, and sites to name. In erotica, M.Christian is known and respected not just for his passion on the page but also his staggering imagination and chameleonic ability to successfully and convincingly write for any and all orientations. 
But M.Christian has other tricks up his literary sleeve: in addition to writing, he is a prolific and respected anthologist, having edited 25 anthologies to date including the Best S/M Erotica series; Pirate Booty; My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica; The Burning Pen; The Mammoth Book of Future Cops, and The Mammoth Book of Tales of the Road (with Maxim Jakubowksi); Confessions, Garden of Perverse, and Amazons (with Sage Vivant), and many more. 
M.Christian's short fiction has been collected into many bestselling books in a wide variety of genres, including the Lambda Award finalist Dirty Words and other queer collections like Filthy Boys, BodyWork, and his best-of-his-best gay erotica book, Stroke the Fire. He also has collections of non-fiction (Welcome to Weirdsville, Pornotopia, and How To Write And Sell Erotica); science fiction, fantasy and horror (Love Without Gun Control); and erotic science fiction including Rude Mechanicals, Technorotica, Better Than The Real Thing, and the acclaimed Bachelor Machine.

As a novelist, M.Christian has shown his monumental versatility with books such as the queer vamp novels Running Dry and The Very Bloody Marys; the erotic romance Brushes; the science fiction erotic novel Painted Doll; and the rather controversial gay horror/thrillers Finger's Breadth and Me2.

M.Christian is also the Publisher of Digital Parchment Services and an Associate Publisher for Renaissance E Books, where he strives to be the publisher he'd want to have as a writer, and to help bring quality books (erotica, noir, science fiction, and more) and authors out into the world.


Skin Effect: By the Award Finalist Author: More Science Fiction Erotica
$2.99

Monday, January 12, 2015

“The future has many names -

“The future has many names. For the weak, it means the unattainable. For the fearful, it means the unknown. For the courageous it means opportunity.”
— Victor Hugo

Monday, December 15, 2014

Love Without Gun Control - Part of Erotica With A Big Brain's 2014 Top Ten!

This is thrilling: the very, very cool Terrance Aldon Shaw just put my science fiction/fantasy/horror collection, Love Without Gun Control on his Erotica With A Big Brain top ten list for 2014!

http://amzn.com/B002LEI6RM
Is there any style or genre that M. Christian can’t (or won’t) write in? After reading this very fine short story collection from one of today’s most prolific professionals, I’m leaning heavily towards “no”. The ‘m’ in M. Christian seems to stand for “multi-faceted”, or possibly “mega-multi-tasker”. The guy certainly is versatile, as well as daring, imaginative, often funny, and seldom—if ever—unentertaining, one of those writers who seems to be everywhere at once, though if he has, in fact, cracked the saintly secret of bi-location, he’s not talking. 
Readers get a broad sense of Christian’s incredible range in “Love Without Gun Control”, the author’s 2009 self-compiled and –published collection of short fiction, most of which originally appeared in genre anthologies, now-defunct niche-specific literary magazines and long-since cached or dead-linked websites. These fourteen stories run a dizzying—and impressive—gamut of mood and style, each with its own carefully measured ratio of light to shadow, buoyancy to seriousness, horror to humor, and hope to despair. 
Christian has clearly learned from, and distilled the essence of the best examples of twentieth-century American fiction, everything from Ray Bradbury and Jack Kerouac to Cormac McCarthy and Stephen King. He does not shy away from his influences, but has wisely allowed them to sing through him as he delves the deep, sometimes silly recesses of the American psyche. The title story is a broad, campy social satire in addition to being a pitch-perfect sendup of old Western movies and TV shows, while “Wanderlust” and “Orphans” pay dark homage to the uniquely American mythos of “the road”—think Steinbeck’s musings on Route 66 in “The Grapes of Wrath”, or the arid, windswept, dread-haunted vistas of Stephen King’s “The Gunslinger” and “The Stand”. 
In “Needle Taste”, Christian shows that he is no less adept at horror of the decidedly psychological variety. Techno-thriller melds seamlessly with High Fantasy in “The Rich Man’s Ghost”; political satire meets The Zombie Apocalypse in “Buried with the Dead”, while knotty existential drama and the classic Post-Apocalyptic narrative come together in “1,000”, and “Nothing So Dangerous”, a story of love and betrayal in a time of revolution. Perhaps my favorite stories in this collection are the beautiful, elegiac, Bradbury-esque “Some Assembly Required,” a narrative at once clever and poignant, and the brilliantly breezy “Constantine in Love”: 
“It was called The Love Shack, and it sold all kinds of obvious things: candy, flowers, poetry books, jewelry, balloons, perfume, lingerie, and many other sweet, frilly, and heart-shaped items. It stood alone, bracketed by two vacant lots. Its busiest days were just before Valentine’s and Christmas. It was described by many newspapers and tourist guides as “. . . the place to go when love is on your mind.” 
The night was dark, the place was closed. The streets were quiet. 
Then the Love Shack exploded—with a fantastic shower of fragmented chotchkes, and flaming brick-a-brack, it went from a shop dedicated to amore to a skyrocket of saccharine merchandise. Flaming unmentionables drifted down to land in smoking heaps in the middle of the street, lava flows of melted and burning chocolate crawled out for the front door, teddy bears burned like napalm victims, and cubic zirconia mixed with cheap window glass—both showering down the empty, smoldering hole that used to be the store . . .” 
I do have a few complaints as well. In several of these stories, I found myself wishing for a stronger editorial hand. The text needs a good, personally-detached copyedit. Several otherwise excellent stories (“Hush, Hush”; “1,000”; “Friday”) are simply too long to effectively maintain the emotional impact for which the author aims. I found them overly repetitive and rather dull, with the narrative lines collapsing into nebulous incoherency. After all, the “short” in short fiction should be a clue to the essence of the form; all unnecessary baggage and ballast summarily jettisoned to achieve an economy of language, and, with it, maximum expression. Christian is an established and well-respected editor in his own right, but no matter how skillful or perceptive an author may be as an editor of other people’s work, when it comes to self-editing, even the best and brightest have their blind spots. 
Still, there’s far more to like and admire in this collection than to kvetch about or pan. Readers will be well-rewarded for what is, in the end, a ridiculously modest price of admission.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

I'm Going To CONVOLUTION!

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)


Wheee ... this is going to be a real treat: I'm going to be attending and participating is a ton of panels for the Burlingame, CA, science fiction convention, CONVOLUTION.  

Here's my schedule ... see you there!




Friday 4-6 
20 Books To Launch In To Space


Friday 8-10 
Kink: The Good, The Bad And 50 Shades Of Grey


Saturday 10-12 
How To Build A Better Story


Saturday 1-4 
Writers Workshop


Saturday 10 PM 
Turning The Heat Up Beyond Time And Space


Sunday 12-2 
Reading #5 (Never On A Sunday)


Sunday 2-4 
"New Adult" - Is This A Real Thing?