Category: Writing

Needing Inspiration

a Muse?
Muses are supposed to be inspirational. I’m suddenly inspired to eat someone.

Inspiration is a fickle friend. Which Muse do you appeal to when the story bogs down? There doesn’t seem to be a ready answer, for the Muses’ traditional realms were various sorts of poetry, not prose accounts of sexual activity. The current work is fiction, but the story is spread over seven millennia, and there’s a lot of history mixed in with the fucking, so do I appeal to Clio? Her realm is history, after all. Or Terpsichore? Well, she’s into dancing, but if you remember Xanadu, she apparently gets into art as well, and looks a lot like Olivia Newton John. Clio apparently looks like Kerry Butler, proving, if nothing else, that when someone adapts a cult film into a musical play sometimes they get their Muses confused, or repurposed, or something. Personally, I don’t imaging the Greeks were picturing beautiful blondes as Muses, but probably inspirational spirits who looked a bit more, well, Hellenic.

What does this have to do with inspiration? I’m trying to inspire myself to finish the book I’m working on. Money, however, seems to be more of an inspiration than art. People buy my books, but a lot more people probably read the absolute dreck I turn out trying to convince them to buy soap, or cars, or toasters, or what have you. The books and stories satisfy my artistic yearning, but writing advertising goes a lot farther when it comes to paying the rent on my apartment and buying groceries.

If I could claim to have an actual hobby, this would probably be it.

For most of the last year, I haven’t even had to go into the office to do that job. I could sit in front of my computer at home and come up with the same slogans I’d create in the office, but with the added advantage that I could write them with one hand on the keyboard and the other on my pussy.

Covid has undoubtedly helped to make masturbation even more popular than it has always been. Certainly sales have been up a little for my books and stories. Not as high as they were back in the days when Amazon had most of them on sale, but up a bit from their pre-Covid averages. I can only conclude that more people are staying home and need something to jerk their cocks or diddle their cunts to. Inspiration to do something sexual is much easier to come by than inspiration to write something sexy.

I do sometimes wonder if my books would sell better if they were illustrated. I’m not a very good artist, though. And good artists are expensive. Photos would be cheaper, but it isn’t easy to find a set that exactly fits the story. You can’t just grab pictures from the web; you have to pay for them and obtain a proper license to use them. That isn’t easy. It’s surprising how few of the photo agencies allow their products to be used as book covers or interior art. Most are only licensed for online use. And commissioning photos to fit the story isn’t in the budget.

You might ask, what’s in the upcoming work? As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, the current working title is Undying Lust, and the protagonist is an immortal originally called Zara, and renamed Sarah in more recent times. Roughly 6,600 years old, she’s seen a lot and done a lot. She’s been involved in a threesome with Robin Hood and Maid Marian, fucked an actual god (which is how she ended up immortal), given birth to a demigod, survived a disaster or two, once knew Shakespeare, and been involved in more than one marathon sixty-nine session with me. Her original religion involved a lot of sex and the frequent praise of a set of gods and goddesses who held to a general non-interference policy with the people who worshipped them, but did enjoy watching them have sex (well, who doesn’t, if you’re going to be honest?).

yummy
Not the characters in my story, but she looks to be having a good time.

Naturally, this being one of my books, there’s a good bit of consensual incest. Zara’s people, the Moronites, didn’t actually see anything wrong with the concept as long as all involved were old enough to know what they were doing, and their gods and goddesses were nearly all married to their siblings. The one exception was their creator god, Kolek, who was married to his daughter, Kanzeki. Kanzeki had no mother, but was created entirely by her father, who masturbated her into existence. He’d previously spent most of his spare time masturbating galaxies into existence, but eventually became lonely and created a daughter instead. Kolek was more of a Deist-type god, letting the galaxies he’d jerked into being evolve on their own while he was off  spewing out more. So if a widowed Zara felt comfortable fucking her grown son, the gods didn’t care and neither did her neighbors.

And, of course, there’s a certain amount of pee involved. Call it a personal fetish. One of the things I like about Sarah is her oversized bathtub, big enough for two to play around in. If you’re already in the tub, who cares if you get a little wet?

Still Working on It

Memoirs of an Immortal is taking longer than I expected. It’s also going to be longer than I expected, which goes along with the extra time writing the thing. The fact that the lovely Zara’s life spans a little more than 6600 years is another factor. It isn’t so much a matter of which periods to place her in as which to leave her out of.

I still think this is more or less what Zara should look like, though I think she’d be a bit older than this model as she stopped aging at 36, young. but not this young.

I did make a conscious choice to keep her mostly out of biblical times or, at least, biblical events. Religious people tend to get upset when you make fun of their mythology, so Zara won’t be interacting with anybody found in the Bible. Not even the fictional ones, thought that, honestly, takes in most of them anyway.

It’s kind of a pity. Abraham and Sarah fall so nicely into the sort of story I tend to write, what with them being half-siblings who share a father. It’s always struck me as curious that the founding figures in two major religions were a couple whose marriage would be strictly forbidden by either of those religions (the third Abrahamic religion traces itself back to a different son of Abraham, whose mother was not the man’s half sister). My Sarah will not be meeting either of them.

It was a bit harder to resist inserting her into Esther’s ancient Persia, since historians are just about unanimous that this story is nothing more reliable than an ancient romance novel. The proto-rabbis who admitted Job to the canon themselves declared that story to be exemplary fiction; history says Esther is likewise fiction, for neither she, nor Mordechai, nor Vashti, nor Haman, nor anyone like them ever appears in Persian history. Still, I’d prefer not to find myself being burnt at the stake if the evangelical types ever manage to get themselves into power.

If Zara finds herself screwing any historical figures, count on them being long dead. She certainly won’t find herself involved with our current president at any time during his career. I like to think she’d have better sense.

One of my projects today was doing a thorough update on my website. I had my regular IT guy over, he of the salt and pepper hair and huge dick. He gives me a nice discount if I suck his cock. That’s something I’d do whether I got a discount or not, by the way, so don’t think it’s some sort of exploitation.

One way to get discount IT services (but, no, this isn’t me, she’s a model).

While I was working on Memoirs, I took a couple days off to write Left on Their Own, which has been submitted and is now awaiting cover design and publication. It’s the story of twins, brother and sister, left to their own devices by the parents, who’ve gone off to the big city for a will reading. It should be appearing at Lot’s Cave shortly. Once it does, I’ll link it from my site.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of writing a porn short subject script, then publishing it and inviting readers to shoot their own movie from it. I suppose the problem with that is that this sounds like some sort of contest scenario, and I have nothing to offer as a prize beyond a free, and obviously non-exclusive, license to shoot it. I may do it anyway, just to see what results.

Plot v. Porn

There is always a question when you’re writing erotic stories. What is the proper ratio of plot to action? Is there a fixed percentage of the story that should be devoted to graphic descriptions of sexual action? How much description and exposition is enough, and how much is too much?

There doesn’t appear to be any hard and fast rule on this. Porn videos have obviously leaned in the direction of action over exposition. It used to be that porn movies needed to include a good bit of plot and non-sexual action in order to avoid being censored, just as porn magazines, while loaded with pictures of naked people having sex, also contained “scholarly” articles explaining why the things the models were doing was healthy and psychologically important to their mental health. These days, with porn more or less established as legal, there’s a lot less of that.

In 1980, a 70-minute porn feature might contain 30 minutes of people talking. Today, a same-length feature is likely to contain 60 minutes of fucking and just enough plot to get from one bed to the next.

I’m going through this calculation with my current work in progress, which will be called Memoirs of an Immortal. Because the story has to cover a span of over six millennia, there is obviously lots of space for both plot and sex. So far, there’s a good deal of both. My primary character, Zara, who also goes by Sarah, Elissa, Veronica, and a few other names between her birth in 4685 BCE and modern times, spends much of her time having sex. Being immortal, she’s also immune to the various plagues she lives through, and stopped aging at 36, remaining eternally a hot redhead (hence the pictures of hot redheads scattered through this essay).

The story naturally includes that standard “no resemblance” disclaimer, though some of the characters that appear are definitely real. They’ve just been dead long enough to be historical, so you get to mess around with them a bit more. So she gets to meet people such as Caligula, Bocaccio, Shakespeare, and others. What sort of interaction depends on the historical person, how they’re perceived, and what they’d be likely to do in a given situation.

Would she have sex with Caligula, for instance? I think she very well might, at least before he went completely nuts. With Shakespeare? Oh, no doubt, and he’d most likely write a sonnet or two about it, if not an actual erotic play. Fucking in blank verse. Not sure I’ll go there, but there is a certain temptation.

Honestly, you’re going to find plots in all of my stories. I find pure, mindless sex rather boring. Even if I’m watching some Japanese newsroom bukkake video I find that I need to come up with some sort of plot. Must there not be a reason why this ridiculous parade of men are wandering up to the anchor desk and cumming all over the newsreader? And she isn’t trying to kill them? Is it possible that aliens from Planet X have issued a threat to destroy Tokyo if this doesn’t happen? If you’ve ever watched old Japanese sci-fi movies this sort of thing might just make sense.

As for the original question, I can’t really make up my mind if there’s a magic formula for plot v. porn in an erotic story or novel. In Lust for Blood there were a number of chapters with no sex at all, and others where there wasn’t much else. Shorter works tend to have more sex as the encounters are more central to the plot.

Double Event

Today brought something unique. Usually, I send a manuscript in to Lot’s Cave and a couple months later they’ve created a cover, formatted everything, and the book or story is released on as many platforms as will take it. Because a lot of my stories contain incestuous relationships, that generally means that you won’t be able to buy them on Amazon. There are a couple there, but while they still have lots of sex, no one is related to anyone they’re having sex with.

In a bit of a surprise, Lot’s Cave released two of my stories today. Wet took about as long as usual, but the second book, The Donkey Show, was significantly faster getting to market. Wet is a continuation of my autobiography, with an emphasis on the pissy aspects. Not pissy as in bad, pissy as in peeing. Peeing in the woods, peeing in the tub, peeing on a friend, being peed on by a friend, that sort of thing.

If you think that one is potentially controversial, The Donkey Show makes it seem pretty innocuous. When four friends take a trip to Tijuana in search of that legendary show, they discover a club where there’s actually a donkey, and there’s actually a stripper who comes out every night and has sex with the beast. There’s loads of sex in this one. Tom and his sister, Tina, have been getting it on for several years. George is the sort of guy who thinks its perfectly normal to pull out his dick in a strip club VIP room and cum all over the stripper, so it probably shouldn’t surprise anyone when he gets a blow job from a hooker while he’s watching the donkey show in the night club. If George checked out the hooker a little more closely he might have been in for a surprise, since the lovely Carla was originally the handsome Carlos. We can only speculate on what George would have done had he discovered the pretty girl with his dick in her mouth had one of her own between her legs.

Meanwhile Al, the nice one, has a thing for middle-aged call girls who are willing to play “mommy” games while they fuck him. He certainly knows how to idle away an afternoon at the hotel while they’re waiting to go to the club.

Like I said, I don’t see two books coming out on the same day very often. I felt the need to celebrate, even before I sat down to write about it. That’s not actually me in the photo, but it does a nice job of demonstrating how I celebrated the releases. Masturbation and a nice Chablis, my recipe for a good private party.

Meanwhile, Memoirs of an Immortal is coming along nicely. I’ve got Zara/Sarah from Moronia in the 47th century BC to Rome in 46 BC in a little over 20,000 words, with another 21 centuries to go before she’s up to modern times. There was a very large skip there, by the way, from about 1948 BC to where she is now. She spent most of that time in ancient Israel, and while I have no problem with arguing that the biblical record is almost entirely fictional, I don’t see any reason to irritate my readers by including it in the story, either. Exodus was exciting and all that, but it never really happened, and the Israelites didn’t really come into Canaan and conquer it since they originated there, making the conquest not so much an invasion as an expansion. You’d think the modern Israelis would emphasize this, considering it actually strengthens their claim to the land.

Sarah will be interacting with people a lot more now that she’s in Rome. Caesar is assassinated in a couple years, the imperial system begins, Caligula and Nero both provide horrible examples, all that sort of thing. Then there are the middle ages to work through, Boccaccio and the black death and horny clergy, Tudor England, colonial America, the Victorian era, a couple of world wars, and on into today. Lots of time and opportunities to get the girl laid.

What’s On the Way

The real cover art will no doubt be somewhat less explicit, since it has to meet the various online booksellers’ criteria for display.

Looking forward to the next few weeks, this is what you can expect to arrive. The first new book is likely to be Wet, my soggy little tome in tribute to the art of erotic peeing. Admit it, it feels good when you pee. Of course, in the book, it isn’t always solo pissing. There’s a bit of peeing in most of my books. This one centers on the subject, so it may just be a little on the specialized side for people who just care about ordinary, everyday fucking.

Now, if you read some of my stuff, you might come to the conclusion that I’m an absolute fiend for having pretty young women pee into my mouth. Not true. I write fiction, for one thing, so you’re just going to have to guess how much of what’s in a particular story actually happened and how much didn’t. I’m not saying I never indulge, I just tend to discriminate more. All pee doesn’t taste alike. All cum doesn’t taste alike. All pussies don’t taste alike. Hell, all bread doesn’t taste alike. What you prefer is a matter of personal taste.

A very photogenic cunt. The sort a popular stripper who was fucking her brother on the side might wish to display when she’s squatting on the bar top.

I believe Wet should be out fairly soon now. After that, you can look forward to The Donkey Show, which is about exactly what it sounds like. Three male friends, and the stripper-sister of one of them, take a vacation in Tijuana in search of the legendary animal act. They even manage to find it.

I’ll admit, this one takes it to the outer limits even for erotica. Almost nothing I write ends up on Amazon now. Their standards don’t allow stories about incest, and they don’t allow stories that include people fucking animals in a night club. So why write about it, then? Because people buy it. When Amazon still allowed that sort of content it sold astonishingly well. Today, not as much is sold, most likely because the marketplace is much smaller, and a lot of potential buyers really don’t know where to look, or whether they can trust the seller if they find it. It was a lot easier before Amazon decided to give in to pressure from the moralists.

I know I have a tendency to include an actual plot in most of my stories, so that often my readers find themselves with a good bit of story to get through in between the fucking, sucking, and other goodies. If your sole reason for reading one of these tales is to masturbate while you do it, I hope I provide enough stimulation. But the next story, the one I’m in the middle of writing, may be fairly heavy in that area.

Frankly, this picture just makes me hungry. And I’m not talking about the fruit and yogurt.

Memoirs of an Immortal is going to be a long one. It’s at 12,000 words now and our heroine has just consummated her marriage (in public, since that was the custom then). That means she still has well over 6,000 years of adventures to recount before she gets up to modern times.

I’ve been having a lot of fun with this one. In the earliest part I get to create a new civilization, which most authors secretly want to do, but generally don’t get the chance to. I did a lot of the work on this in The Gods are Horny, but there’s still plenty of detail to add. After all, I have to get Zara from her one-year stint as a temple priestess at age eighteen, to widowhood at age 36, when the Moronite god Oroyna catches sight of her sucking off her son, decides he likes what he sees, and comes down off his mountain, seduces her, knocks her up, begets a demigod with her, and gives her the gift of immortality and eternal youth.

Well, eternal mid-30s, anyway. She’ll be a gorgeous redhead forever.

After that, we can get her mixed in with history. Sort of like Forest Gump, except that Forest was worked into modern history, and Zara/Sarah gets to involve herself in ancient history. Who but a Moronite immortal could find herself variously at the royal courts of King Solomon, Ahasuerus and Esther, Caligula, Macbeth, Elizabeth I, Victoria, and numerous other important people of more recent vintage. I don’t suppose there’s anything to stop her bumping into some fictional types as well, Sherlock Holmes, perhaps, or Dracula.

You just never know where a story like this is going to take you.

Immortality

Not Sarah, but might be a candidate for the book cover.

Sarah Norman has now found herself in several of my books. She’s a hot redhead I met recently, or so the story goes. She first turned up in The Gods are Horny, where I dropped a few rather pointed hints that the 36-year-old Sarah might just be the same person as Zara b’Biktar, a 36-year-old Moronite beauty who ended up screwing the Moronite god, Oroyna, and having his demigod son, Nalaro, a sort of Moronite version of Heracles. Oroyna liked fucking the young woman so much that he made her immortal, so even a bit more than 6,000 years later she’d still be alive, healthy, and the same age.

Another possible candidate, though I’ve used her on the One Room cover already. Might depend on whether the licensing company has a good set with longer hair.

I have a feeling this is going to be one of my longer books. I’ve hit 10,000 words already, and the poor girl is still only 19. Nearly all of the detail has happened since her 18th birthday, naturally, that being the nature of erotica these days. I suppose there will be a bit of skipping as the years pass. A character who’s over 6,000-years-old presents an obvious opportunity for insertion into various historic events, which she can describe “in her own words.” I know she’s going to spend some time in Caligula’s court, hang around with Elizabeth I, perhaps provide some inspiration for one of Bocaccio’s horny nuns, or lend her tits and cunt as inspiration for King Solomon when he’s writing Song of Songs. I don’t think she’ll be meeting Jesus, no matter how great an opportunity to offend the maximum number of people that might present.

An interesting thing here is that, since I’m working with an established character, there are some things I can’t change. Where and when she was born, her service as a priestess in the Temple of Oroyna and Nalima in Valtera, her demigod son and personal immortality, her connections with (the fictional) me. That sort of thing. Since these things have already been set down in permanent form, about all I can do is expand on them, maybe provide a bit more of the dirty details. I presume my readers are okay with the dirty details.

One thing I do plan to do is take a slightly more active than usual part in selecting cover art. For most of my books, my publisher has provided the covers, and done a nice job of it. For this one, whether I’ll pick the image myself, or just specify stricter criteria, I haven’t decided yet. Zara/Sarah’s red hair is a very clearly delineated part of her characterization. It wouldn’t do to have a blond on the cover. Maybe I’ll pick one of the models used in this post. Maybe it’ll be someone else. I have licenses for those two sets (among others), but I may just see something I like better before the book is finished.

Which, right now, is something I need to get back to doing.

Desire

DESIRE (Sonnet II)

O, thou dearest object of desire,
Perfection’s form to worship from afar,
Dare I approach thine incandescent fire,
Or kneel before thee, brightly shining star?
As I behold thee tenderly unfold
Thy secret place of pleasure’s sweet repose,
I would that my poor tongue might be so bold,
As there to deeply seek, and lust expose.
Deep probing pleasure not to be delay’d,
With virile simulacra thrusting true,
My jealous soul doth clamor thus to trade,
Thy vinyl love for all I’d wish to do.
Dear fantasy, thou art perfection’s gift,
Whose beauty doth my heated soul uplift.

I find beauty inspiring. The young lady in the photo inspired the sonnet. It’s all fantasy, to be sure. The photo is posed. For all I could say, the young lady succumbing to a vinyl-inspired orgasm may actually have been bored out of her mind.

I don’t actually care. I deal in fantasy. I am, largely, a fantasy myself. How much of the real Lauren appears in what I write? Some, certainly. Since this is being posted at the end of International Blasphemy Day, I suppose it won’t hurt to admit that the general dislike of organized religion is part of the real me. I don’t hate God, obviously, I just don’t see any evidence there is one. It’s hardly a secret I tend to think most big-time evangelists are nothing more than con artists. Marjoe really was an accurate documentary, and while there aren’t as many traveling revivalist con-artists today, the breed lives on after moving from tent to television and continues to take their victims for as much as they can wring from them.

I’m going to keep up the poetry, though I can’t promise to write something daily. If I’m to judge by blog stats, people seem to like it. Or, at least, they’re interested enough to check it out, resulting in a significant increase in visitors.

Naturally, while you’re here, I’ll urge you to wander over to my author’s page on Lot’s Cave and check out my books and stories.

A Sonnet

 

MIRROR OF PASSION

I look on thee, and find thee very fair,
Thy form so pleasantly stretch’d on thy bed,
The sunlight through the window on thy hair,
With cuntly thatch as scarlet as thy head.
So languidly thy hand doth beckon me,
To worship at the altar of thy quim,
As thou dost part thy lips that I might see,
That sanctum thou shalt never give to him.
My dress I leave bepooléd on the floor,
Thy perfect breasts I worship with my lips,
Thy cunt my tongue now trembles to adore,
Thy pungent nectar welling to my sips.
O sister, twin of mine, I love thee dear,
As tongues in quims bring ecstasy so near.

Sonnets are a little trickier than free verse. You have to follow a strict rhyme pattern and, at least generally, write everything in iambic pentameter.  Erotic content is optional.

I’ll admit, there’s a personal element to the poem. I’m rather fond of the taste of an aroused pussy, and I’m even more fond of when the owner of that pussy is busy licking mine while I’m licking hers. I plan to continue enjoying this as long as I’m able. It’s good to be single. I can have sex with whomever I like, presuming they’re similarly inclined. Some of my lovers have pussies, and some of them have cocks. I’m flexible that way.

 

 

Some Poetry

I don’t write a lot of poetry. Still, in time, I do expect to have enough to publish a book that no one will read. I’m being honest there. Hundreds of poetry collections are published annually and their total sales hardly reach the figures of some truly horrendous romance titles.

Anyway, here’s a little free verse (that means it doesn’t rhyme or follow any set pattern) poem called “My Brother’s Cock.” It’s the sort of thing that you’d hear down in the Village back in the ’60s, usually with bongos in the background.

My Brother’s Cock

Rising,
Ever rising,
Flesh towering o’er golden thatch,
Rampant power,
Thick,
Hot,
Sibling’s delight,
My brother’s cock,
Responding,
Growing,
Purple knob twixt open lips,
Filling my mouth,
Head bobbing,
Rod of steel,
Animal heat consuming,
Fingering,
Stroking,
My clit on fire with his touch,
His magic cock
Filling my mouth,
Sliding in,
Sliding out,
Flesh gliding wetly,
Tongue swirling,
Deep, deep kisses,
Sucking,
Loving,
Fuck society,
Fuck stupid rules,
Our lust predominates,
His cum bursts forth,
Filling my mouth,
Taste of salty nectar,
Spilling out,
Drops on chin,
Splash on tits,
I hold him in,
Keep him up,
His fingers probing deep within my cunt.
With sudden thrust
I push him back,
Down on the floor,
Giant rod rising,
Tempting,
Soon deep inside,
Stretching,
Sliding,
Delighting,
I fuck my bro,
Our secret ritual,
My cunt alive,
Throbbing,
Clasping,
Pulsing with lust,
Drawing him in,
Teasing,
Keep him up,
Tightly squeeze,
Feel him now,
Feel him grow,
Tremble,
Shooting forth,
Gushing within me,
Sensation growing,
Peaking,
Body shaking,
Quivering,
Hard to breathe,
I collapse in joy as he subsides.

When I write stuff like this I feel like I should be wearing sneakers, black slacks, a black turtleneck with an ankh necklace, and a beret. Tight turtleneck, and no bra. Sort of a depraved Laura Petrie look (that was Mary Tyler Moore on the old Dick Van Dyke Show, for you youngsters). Or a young, depraved Diana Rigg, which might be a better metaphor, since Dame Diana has done depraved to perfection in more than one role.

I do still have some ankh jewelry. I love the symbolism. The ancient Egyptian symbol of life, as they like to tell you. Think of the arms as round and the origin becomes clearer. It’s basically a cunt sitting on top of a cock and balls.

I should now go write something profound. Or raunchy. I can never seem to make up my mind about that. Maybe something profoundly raunchy?

Writing Sex for the River People

I have to admit I’m often a little frustrated by Amazon. So far, I have exactly two books in their system. Both are distinguished by the relationship between their characters. That is to say, their characters aren’t related at all. Not if they’re having sex with each other.

The characters in One Room are business associates, forced to share a hotel room because of a convention in town. According to one review, the story is a polemic against Christianity. The conventioneers are evangelicals, and one of the preachers does a little groping in the elevator. Two or three paragraphs, I’m thinking, do not a polemic make. This particular preacher is an asshole, which a surprising number of them are, but it’s just a passing incident and hardly different than if I’d made the jerk a Shriner or an Elk at a convention. People are known to misbehave when they’re in a town where no one knows them.

The main point here, of course, is that you can write about sex and publish the story on Amazon, but you have to be careful about how you do it. No one under eighteen can be involved in anything sexual. Incest is right out. No sex with animals, except maybe werewolves, but only when they’re human.

This is a good example of something you can’t do on Amazon. The title alone will likely get the book thrown into “blocked” status, since it certainly implies there’s incest going on. It might even get blocked for something as innocent as the author’s pen name. And, of course, there’s simply no way that cover illustration is ever going to be allowed. There are naked boobs! Children might be watching, for fuck sake! Mind you, I sort of like that effect. Even though it’s a photograph, it has the look of those old painted covers that once adorned the better sort of one-off porn novels hidden behind the counter at the smoke shop.

I’ll be honest, an author might get away with this for a while. Amazon has humans who can pass final judgment on the titles they allow, but initially you’re dealing with bots, and bots may not catch the boobs, the implication of the title, or the “cuss word” in the author’s name (I wonder if I should use that one on a title or two, but maybe change it to “Randi”). In any case, they’ll eventually catch you, and while they probably won’t ban a commercial publisher who tries to slip in an incest title from time to time, they’re a lot more likely to do so to a self-published author.

If one were to use this old Victorian photo as the basis of a story, some routes would be just fine at Amazon, while others would definitely not be. If the story suggests that this is a Victorian gentleman enjoying the company of a pair of filles de joi from the local brothel, it would probably pass muster. On the other hand, if your story implies that this is young Lord Humpe, passing the time by nibbling on his sister’s cunt while his other sister plays with his generative member, it won’t be long for the list. In actual fact, I have no idea who these people were, though a pimp and two of his stable would likely be a safe enough guess. About the only thing I can say for sure is that it’s a studio shot, since real Victorian houses didn’t have painted canvas walls behind the sofa.

You could not, in any case, actually use the photo in your book, or on the cover. Not only are there naked boobs, there’s also a naked dick. There’s a good chance they wouldn’t even allow that inside the book.

This is another good example of a book you won’t find on Amazon. You will, naturally, find it on Lot’s Cave, and on several other online marketplaces. The cover, curiously enough, might just pass muster at the river site, the model’s breasts being sufficiently covered by her hair, but the subject matter would never make it. It’s a pretty good little book, in my personal opinion, though I suppose you could argue I might be slightly prejudiced in its favor. I got a little experimental with this one, keeping the story flowing, but changing the narrator, so you end up with a continuous first-person story told by four different people. I think it works rather nicely.