"Ah! Good words." At last, Sophie turns around. Mata stands too close to the bed and does not see that the bored adolescent is gone. Only the homunculus witnesses Sophie’s transformation into something cool, calculating, and above all else, something hungry. "What does she keep hidden?"
of Matta's Mata's thumb presses its warm and smooth weight across his groin. The homunculus swallows a whimper.
"Dolls," Matta Mata says, and hoists the homunculus up into the light.
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"Ah! Good words." At last, Sophie turns around. Mata stands too close to the bed and does not see that the bored adolescent is gone. Only the homunculus witnesses Sophie’s transformation into something cool, calculating, and above all else, something hungry. "What does she keep hidden?"
of Matta's Mata's thumb presses its warm and smooth weight across his groin. The homunculus swallows a whimper.
"Dolls," Matta Mata says, and hoists the homunculus up into the light.
]]>
#emblogo { display:none;}
• 08/31/08 - Remember when I said Nymphonomicon was coming in the Fall of 2008? I was dead serious: Nymphonomicon teaser update.
• 08/03/08 - Final web comic update! Now to get my house in order so I can start posting stories again.
• 07/27/08 - A web comic update with the hints of a plot, ladies and gentlemen!
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A call from outside: "Sophie, no games!"
the homunculus'bedside, homunculus' bedside, glaring at that invisible land in the middle distance where all teenagers go when annoyed by their elders. The homunculus is moved by her beauty and peevish silence alike.
He realizes with a sudden shock that she appears normal sized. He is used to women towering over forty feet high, as homunculi measure things. Women are creatures so much larger than himself that his senses must take them in one element at a time—a curtain of hair, a parted mouth, the curve of a shoulder or ankle, swell of a hip or breast—or drown in sensual overload. But his present vantage point from the head of the bed is no different from any man’s gazing up at his lover.
Sophie’s partner in crime hops thr]]>
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Nymphonomicon
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!Nymphonomicon
!!!Please post !
!!!Please post ]]>
My story began in a boudoir locked from the outside, nestled in the core of an ultra-maximum security sorority pleasure enclave built some two hundred years after my story, not to mention my life, came to an end.
I awoke alone, pillowed in silk bedclothes and the soft but insistent perfume of the promise of sex, the scents of talcum and lipstick and floral oil. The bedchamber stood cavernous and dark in the dead of night. Its emptiness had startled me awake. For a man in my peculiar predicament, this was a survival trait. My peculiar predicament, you may as well know, was the curse of always being the right size. At that moment, the right size was about eight inches.
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My story began in a boudoir locked from the outside, nestled in the core of an ultra-maximum security sorority pleasure enclave built some two hundred years after my story, not to mention my life, came to an end.
I awoke alone, pillowed in silk bedclothes and the soft but insistent perfume of the promise of sex, the scents of talcum and lipstick and floral oil. The bedchamber stood cavernous and dark in the dead of night. Its emptiness had startled me awake. For a man in my peculiar predicament, this was a survival trait. My peculiar predicament, you may as well know, was the curse of always being the right size. At that moment, the right size was about eight inches.
Mine was a story about women, you must understand. Women turning my life inside out and upside down.
Women.
Women with time machines.
---
To a man eight inches high, the surface of a woman’s bed is a vast plateau suspended above an alien world. A comforter’s bumps and creases become a moonscape stretc
!!!Please post !
!!!Please post !
I awoke alone, pillowed in silk bedclothes and the soft but insistent perfume of the promise of sex, the scents of talcum and lipstick and floral oil. The bedchamber stood cavernous and dark in the dead of night. Its emptiness had startled me awake. For a man in my peculiar predicament, this was a survival trait. My peculiar predicament, you may as well know, was the curse of always being the right size. At that moment, the right size was about eight inches.
Mine was a story about women, you must understand. Women turning my life inside out and upside down.
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The homunculus’s arm, tucked close and hidden by his body, creeps beneath the pillow as the window bursts open like bubblegum.
“Voilà!"Voilà! You see?” see?" The woman’s accent is Spy-Movie Eastern European. Wa-la. You zee? “That "That (zat) is why sonic screwdrivers are better than the laser, Sophie. Sophie?”
“Ja?”
“We’re Sophie?"
"Ja?"
"We’re in! Vas-y, vas-y!”
“Ah.” vas-y!"
"Ah." Fingers sink into the congealing muck of nano-slush that ]]>
My story began in a boudoir locked from the outside, nestled in the core of an ultra-maximum sorority pleasure enclave built some two hundred years after my story, not to mention my life, came to an end.
I awoke alone, pillowed in silk bedclothes and the soft but insistent perfume of the promise of sex, the scents of talcum and lipstick and floral oil. The bedchamber stood cavernous and dark in the dead of night. Its emptiness had startled me awake. For a man in my peculiar predicament, this was a survival trait. My peculiar predicament, you may as well know, was the curse of always being the right size. At that moment, the right size was about eight inches.
Mine was a story about women, you must understand. Women turning my life inside out and upside down.
Women.
Women with time machines.
---
To a man eight inches high, the surface of a woman’s bed is a vast plateau suspended above an alien world. A comforter’s bumps and creases become a moonscape stretching o
#emblogo { display:none;}
• 08/03/08 - Final web comic update! Now to get my house in order so I can start posting stories again.
• 07/27/08 - A web comic update with the hints of a plot, ladies and gentlemen!
• 07/20/08 - A very special 10th episode web comic update! More Raz than you can shake a stick at.
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