Matrimonial Incursion

The spouse staged an intervention on Thursday.

My writing takes up too much of my time as an empty-nestor with a sexually capable spouse. Since he’s also my doctorate-holding proofreader, I must heed when he dispenses desires pertaining to his role in my writing.

I was forced to admit that 15 days isn’t enough time to revise and edit episodes that are roughly 20k a shot. Not when I take time out to do quickie freelance production projects and write the occasional horror short.

I altered the release schedule at Patreon and lowered the monthly price to reflect the release of one episode per month; my weekends are thus reserved for the spouse (+ social media promos & other nonsense).

See you next week.


An opportunistic reconnect in 1500 words. #scifi #adult #dialogue #writing

“Welcome to Solar System Social-”

“I got a summons to be here,” she said to the personable gynoid behind the glass. “You owe me some money,”

“Please relax,” the gynoid said. “Keep your eyes open for identification verification scanning,”

A fine orange light slid past her eyes.

“Thank you,” the gynoid said. “As per the notice you received, all the offspring produced by you during the Repopulation Initiative of 3016 have made the transition from higher education to operative positions outside the Orbital Network,”

“Just tossed them all down to the planet, huh?” she said.

A currency card materialized on the counter.

“Acceptance of this disbursement signifies your eligibility to retire with a full subsidy from the Orbital Network,” said the gynoid. “Your current employer has been notified.”

Taking the card, she bid the gynoid farewell.

The payoff was bittersweet; still spry at fifty, she could’ve used this six-figure thank-you decades ago when the getting was good. All thoughts on any newly affordable perversions abandoned her when she found him standing at the elevator.

He gave a mild start, “Hey there,”

“Hello,” passing the threshold after him, she moved to the far side to better look at him.

“You haven’t changed much since I last saw you,” he said.

“Sure, I have, I’m an old woman now,” she declared, as memories of every climactic expression he’d ever displayed during their decade together, flickered in her mind.

“Collecting your final payment?” he asked.

“My only payment,” she huffed. “You get paid every ten years they’re alive. I get paid once when they become functional members of society,”

Nodding he said, “This is my last payment,”

“Did they tell you anything about them?” she asked.

“Two of them acquired doctorates,” he said. “The other two achieved masters-degrees,”

“They didn’t tell me anything,” she said. “I guess they think women don’t give a shit,”

“There’s so many of you, and so few of us,” he averted his eyes. “We males are more emotional invested,”

“You know where they ended up?”

“One is in the southern portion of the northwestern continent,” he said.

“Lots of opportunities there,”

“The rest live safe from the ice,” he said. “Scattered throughout the equatorial belt.”

“No frost-bitten boys, huh?”

“Studying glaciers remains the domain of women,” he said, smiling.

“You look good,” she said. “Hard to believe you got, ten years on me,”

“You haven’t changed at all,” he said, following her out of the elevator.

“I’m still six-two, two-hundred pounds,” she said. “Well, two-hundred ten most days,”

“On S-Eight, fitness remains mandatory,” he said. “I don’t work out as much as I’d like, and at my age, I’m no longer required to,”

“You’re still on Eight?” she asked, her mouth flooded with the taste of his skin.

“I’m in Matrimonial Processing,” he said, nodding. “Where are you now?”

“After they let us go,” she said. “I went back to S-One and became a cop,”

“Law enforcement,” he said. “Crime remains an issue on One?”

“Crime is an issue throughout the Orbital Network,” she said. “Some Satellites are just better at keeping it under wraps from their population,”

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Did you marry?”

“I never tried,” she grinned when he laughed heartily. “Being fat gets me laid but when I tell them what I do for a living, they run away from me like my hairs on fire.”

“Hearing you speak,” he said. “Takes me back,”

“You got married, didn’t you?”

“I did, ten years ago last month,” he beamed. “Stephan and Bethany are dentists, and Miki’s in social services,”

“Still believe in God?”

“Living on S-Eight,” he said, graciously, “Yes, the Lord is a big part of our lives,”

“I’d never heard of religion until I met you,”

Following him out on the street, they made small talk about his three spouses, and his two daughters. He’d lost a good portion of hair since their time together, but his face remained youthful, and his eyes as soulful as the day she’d met him over thirty-five years ago.

“Do you know what they look like?”

“No,” he said. “I’m only privy to their lives on paper,”

“There’s a café across the concourse, join me?”

“I’d love a coffee,” he said, leading the way.

“You smell so good,” she said as they entered the coffee house, “What is that?”

“It’s aftershave,” he said, choosing a table. “Surely you’ve heard of it?”

“Yeah, I heard of it,” she replied, sliding into the booth. “Remember that soap in the bathroom of the boom-boom room?”

“The Intimacy Chamber,” he corrected her, his eyes averted.

“The names they came up with for some of that crap,” she laughed.

“During your gestation’s,” he said, lowering his voice, “I was resigned to the Establishment Center where I learned about how important I was as a male minority. To this day I couldn’t tell you what I established being in there-”

“-Why’d you keep choosing me?”

He eyed her, “I didn’t choose you,”

“You got stuck with me?”

“That came out poorly,” he said. “There were two others before you, but after you-”

“-you kept getting assigned to me,” she said. “You poor bastard,”

“There was nothing poor about being with you,” he said. “You were rather prolific,”

“Prolific has its price,” she tapped the currency card, “I could’ve used this years ago when my ovaries decided to close up shop and my uterus checked the fuck out,”

Grinning, he said, “You don’t seem worse for wear,”

“Oh, I still got it,” she said. “A vaginal dilation pill with some lube, and I’m twenty again,”

Seeing him laugh aroused her.

“I resisted testosterone supplements for years,” he confessed. “Then I realized how essential they were to maintaining intercourse,”

“There you go,” she said. “Any of your spouse’s fat like me?”

“Of course,” he said flirtatiously. “I do have a type,”

After the service-bot brought them coffee, she surveyed the area around them for eavesdroppers.

“Hey” she whispered, “Remember that time I kept popping off, one after the other?”

Humming an affirmative, he wouldn’t look up from his cup.

“That hasn’t happened to me, since,” she said.

Eyes fixed on his cup he whispered, “It felt good, being inside of you,”

“It’s hard to believe how filthy they let us get,” she said.

“I believe maximum intimacy was the goal,” he added.

“The goal was repopulating the planet,” she said. “A planet I’ll never visit in my lifetime,”

“I bet we could,” he said, eyes bright. “Our offspring survives down there,”

“They’re adapted to live down there,” she said. “Our respiratory system would cry foul and knock the shit out of us after the first day,”

After laughing at her observation, he became quiet.

“I wonder what they’ll do if there’s another Y-Chromosome depletion,”

“Going back to the celibate genetics that made us will bite them in the ass again, you watch,” she said, nodding. “Some weird thing will develop, and they’ll have our grandkids in fancy resorts just like they did us, banging away every day,”

“A slew of women in late adolescence, making babies the old-fashioned way with males born lucky enough to have working sperm,” he said, laughing. “The sheer social barbarity of it all,”

“I can’t imagine what those uptight handlers must’ve been going through,” she said. “Watching us all balling each other, constantly,”

“Did you exit the program when I did?” he asked.

“I got out when I turned twenty-five,” she said.

“I had no others after you,” he said. “But I entered at age twenty-five,”

“I remember,” she said. “When you told me how old you were, I couldn’t believe it.”

“It was strange for me,” he said, reflective. “On S-Eight we’re culturally divided by age. I hadn’t socialized with someone your age, since I was that age,”

“We did more than socialize,” she said, and when he looked away, she laughed. “Unreal, you’re still shy. What are you, sixty now?”

“It’s not bashfulness,” he defended. “You’re as brazen as ever,”

“You look good for sixty,” she said. “I bet you have lots of sex, don’t you?”

“Did you continue with gusto after our release?” he asked, over the rim of his mug.

“Strangely, no,” she said. “I threw myself into my career and lost my desire for it. Isn’t that weird? I got my groove back about two years ago. Can’t get enough of it now.”

“The legendary post-menopausal libido,” he said. “It ruined my parents’ marriage.”

“I remember you telling me,” she said. “Both your moms, right?”

He nodded, “I was apprehensive when they conscripted me into the Initiative,”

“Your attitude toward sex was lousy,” she said. “You came around though,”

“No pun intended,” he said.

“All my puns are intended,” she said, adding, “Hey?”

He set down his cup, “What?”

“There’s a hotel in this building,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “It’s why I agreed to coffee with you,”

The Old and the New

I whispered the debut of my series at twitter today because Sundays are notoriously bad twitter days. A friend became concerned by this and began telling me how to promote. >_>

FYI: I’m Tina fucking Anderson man, no one promoted like the Gynocrat. I practically set the standard for self-promotional crap when I was in genre-comics. 0_0

If it seems like I’m not trying it’s not because I don’t think the series is worth it – far from it, Femitokon is my first shot a real prose and I think it’s damn good. I exist in a no pressure zone now. I’ve got no publisher telling me to sell shit, and no spouse depending on my work to pay the bills.

Peeps will read, or they won’t. No big deal. I’m also hyper realistic about selling fiction on Patreon as a writer with no established reader-base. No one is going to instantly support any non-comics series of mine at Patreon.

I’m a noob in every sense of the word, and no one is giving me money until there’s at least 3 or 4 episodes posted. It’s $4 a month and right now, there’s only $2 worth of content available. Most readers want to see a build-up of actual work posted before they commit, for fear of writer-flake. That totally makes sense given how some folks give up on a story after a period of time. If no one is reading it by March then I’ll know I’m the only one that cares about this series.

Since over 30 episodes are written I will keeping editing and posting; I hate leaving shit unfinished. 🙂

Page Visits and Such

I use WordPress for because it won’t count my visits to the site (for editorial or link-checking). While waiting for my bread to bake, I pulled up my stats for the last few months.

Since October 1, I’ve had 465 unique visitors, with over 45,000 pageviews. It’s good to know that visitors are actually clicking through linked page, and reading other stuff. More than half of those visiting are from South America: gracias and Valeu!  The next largest groups were from the United States, and various countries in southern Asia.

My biggest referrer was Facebook, but the only problem with visitors from Facebook is that they visit one page, and then leave. The visitor numbers for Facebook referrers have low pageviews. Google+ and DeviantArt visitors were the second largest group, and they generated more pageviews than by Facebook visitors. I haven’t figured out Twitter enough yet to know when my posts have the most impact; my referral numbers have been high only on Saturdays. Weird. Tumblr is consist only if there’s artwork involved; my character posts tend to bring more hits, but not necessarily visitors willing to stay and read the other material.

Dinner time.