The Lesbian Thing

I’m writing a book at the moment. It's a fairly extreme horror novel inspired primarily by horror flicks of my youth (so, the mid-80s) but wilder and, hopefully, populated with more interesting characters. Anyway, the two main characters are women and they end up falling in love with each other. A friend of mine read the manuscript for the book and liked it a lot but said, “You know, you’ve really played out that lesbian thing.”
You see, he’s read various other things that I’ve written and, since I tend to write about lesbians often, he’s become familiar with (and, apparently, tired of) the lesbian relationships that I write about. He’s one of my very best friends and I’m glad that we’re close enough that he could tell me how he really felt but his statement left me troubled. You see, I don’t see my lesbian characters as simply pornographic toys to play with (although they serve that purpose as well, I suppose.) I see them as fully-fledged characters with actions, motivations and desires not *too* much outside the realms of possibility.
Let me tell you a little about what I think about your average perception of lesbians (from a male point-of-view.) The male idea of “lesbian” falls into three major categories:
1) Hatred. These are your men who resent the fact that women can survive and have a fulfilling sex life. This challenges their worth (in their opinion) and it scares them.
2) Denial. These are your men who don’t believe that lesbians really exist at all. We’ll call this the “Bankie” syndrome (in honor of Jason Lee’s character in “Chasing Amy.”) They can’t accept that women would be able to “resist the power of the cock” so they must be simply pretending whenever they fool around with another woman. Many of these men do not mind enjoying watching two women have sex but this kind of foolish activity is, to them, “foreplay for the REAL THING.” To be sure, there are many women who have sex or play around with another woman just for laughs and to turn on their boyfriends, but the men afflicted with Bankie Syndrome somehow seem to think that an actual lesbian is a kind of myth, like unicorns or Bigfoot. The interesting thing about most of these guys is that they totally accept the concept of homosexual men (again, the power of the cock) even though they, of course, aren’t one themselves. I can picture them now… “What? You kidding me? Course not! I NEVER think about other guys in that way, I’m just saying that, you know, there are guys out there like that!”
3) Possibility. These are your men who really enjoy watching women have sex together, primarily in pornography and the like. It turns them on.
Now, many of the men from the third category like to imagine themselves joining the two women during sex. This is a common male fantasy and has been documented to death.
Let me tell you how I differ from this. I do not imagine myself joining in with the two hypothetical loving making women in any fantasy that I have. To me, this would completely ruin the fantasy. What gets me excited about lesbianism is the idea that two women would be so turned-on by each other, so passionate about each other, that they simply MUST make love (and, hopefully, pursue a relationship.) If I, or any other man, would join them during sex, this idea would be completely destroyed. Now, it becomes about cock (see categories 1 or 2) and not about lesbian love.
This feeling of mine extends to such an extreme that I don’t think I would even enjoy watching two women actually make love in front of me. I imagine that I would keep thinking, “Why are they letting me watch?” I would soon, no doubt, come to believe that they were *trying* to turn me on and, if that were the case, the once beautiful sex act that they were engaged in would become a fairly standard heterosexual act, because they would be doing it to turn me, a man, on. Even if this wasn’t the case, even if the women simply DIDN’T CARE who was watching them, I would still probably think that this was the case. I’m not saying that I’m unique in thinking this. I’m sure that there are other men who feel the same way. I just think that guys like us are few and far between.
Therefore, I write about women who have no need for men, who enjoy the sexual and intimate company of other women. I’ve already said that the book I’m writing is a horror novel. This is significant since lesbians do not fair well in horror stories. If they appear at all, they are usually secondary characters and almost always die (think Hitchcock’s otherwise wonderful “The Birds.”) I wanted to create, with this novel, an extreme horror story with strong women characters who were the main characters and who didn’t feel the need to define themselves solely through their involvement with men.
Of course, I suppose the way to create a truly strong female character in a horror story is to write a character who is not in a relationship at all during the course of the story and (here’s the important part) not reveal anything about her sexuality. Think about it. There are numerous horror stories that have a male main character who doesn’t have a girlfriend and not much is made about his personal life AT ALL. This is downright common.
I’m sure, in the future, I’ll write that book as well but right now, I like the idea of giving a couple of lesbians good parts in a grisly horror story and seeing what they’ll do. This is why I won’t change the novel that I’m writing, even though I greatly appreciate my friend’s advice and counsel. Let me know what you all think…

Brian Flynn, 10/20/06

Have a Trashy Day!

Enjoy the wonders of Trash!! Played by the lovely Linnea Quigley.

To Slash or Not To Slash (The Karine Gambier Question)

So, here's my dilemma: I've been itching to write a story, a slash story (natch), in which the main character is based on a real person.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. It's a genre of slash that exists (it's called RPS, for "real person slash") and I have actually written one already (no, I'm not going to tell you what it is - you perverts will have to track it down by yourself) but I felt kind of ashamed of myself after I wrote it. I'm still considering writing the one I'm currently thinking of, though, and I'll tell you why.

The person I'm going to include is named Karine Gambier. Karine was a French sex film star who was in more than fifty films from the mid 1970s to the early 1980s. She was a fleshy, free-spirited, lovely and crazy woman who always brightened up the films that she starred in. She hasn't worked since 1986 and no one seems to know what happened to her. She most likely left the adult film world (and, indeed, the film business in general) and went on to lead a normal, civilian life. If this is the case, I wouldn't want her to stumble on a wired, chaotic lesbian thriller which cast her in the lead role. She may be offended.

Now, it's possible that she may get a kick out of it. Maybe she's really cool and will laugh it off (or - Horrors! - even kind of like it.) Maybe I'm thinking about this too much. The thing is that, from what I understand, Gambier is not even her real last name. It was the most common screen name that she used. So maybe this is not a real issue. The "Karine Gambier" that I am so intrigued and fascinated by may not even be a real person, per say. She is a cinematic creation, like any character. It's not like many people know about her, really. I searched desperately through the internet trying to find any biographical details about her. The only things I could find was her filmography and that she was born in France. Maybe that's enough. Maybe this story will have this odd, gorgeous cinema "Karine Gambier" that lives in the minds of viewers and will be completely separate from the real woman in question.

I'd like to hear from you about this matter. Let me know what you think is the right course of action. I'm leaning towards saying, "To hell with it," and writing the damn thing, but I'd like to know your thoughts...

Yet Another Change in Plans...

So, I've decided to put together a Doctor Who/Blakes 7 femslash zine. Therefore, I will no longer post stories from either of these fandoms on this blog. I thought about deleting the ones that I already put here but decided against it. I will not, however, post the rest of "Sentinel's Orbit" here so if you want to see how it turns out you're going to have to buy the zine (and I'll tell you when it's available for purchase.) I will, of course, continue to post slash stories from other fandoms here as well as reviews and rants and things, so keep visting (those four of you who do.) Thanks for your time.

Sentinel's Orbit (Chapter One)

This story contains graphic sex, violence and bad language. Do not read it if these sort of things offend you. Also, this is a fan fiction story using characters from the television series, Doctor Who, property of the BBC. No ownership is implied nor profit gained from the use of them in this context.

Sentinel’s Orbit
By Brian Flynn

Chapter One

Finding a good, sturdy metal computer console, the woman crouched behind it, her back resting against it. She let out a few quick, labored breathes, collected her thoughts. She was small, light. She probably wouldn’t be much good in a brawl but her skills with a pistol had been honed, her aim deadly.
She wore a form-fitting black leather outfit that showed off her small, perfect ass and revealed a cute bit of cleavage formed by a V-neck. She held a hand to her chest just over her small breasts to make sure her heart was still beating. Her face could have been girl-next-door pretty but had been battered and beaten in the last few years: her bright red hair was never longer than a quarter of an inch – she regularly shaved it – and there was a long, red scar that ran from her scalp on the right side of her head down at a severe angle through her eye to her top lip. The pigment in that eye was gone now. Her sight had eventually returned after the initial injury (thank God for modern medical techniques, even if they were black market) but had never been as good as it had once been. There were only four fingers on her left hand, her pinky finger having been snipped off in a particularly grueling torture session.
Turning around, still crouched, she fired three quick shots in the direction of her enemy: her former partner. The man who was responsible for the woman she was today: the bad as well as the good. They had come to the dead space-station that was orbiting the dead planet Skaro in search of some kind of valuable object which her partner refused to disclose any further details about. Once there he promptly tried to eject her out of the airlock. They had been traveling together for four years now and this was how he repaid her for all the times she had saved his life. Granted, it had been give and take. He had taught her how to shoot, taught her how to survive torture sessions as well as just about any kind of hairy situation. He had also, though, involved her in all kinds of trouble from day one. And now he was trying to kill her.
She had her back to the computer console once again, looked over her shoulder around the console, down the hallway.
“Still alive, Glitz?!” she called out. Like the rest of her, the voice would have been cute, almost annoying, at one time but years of uppers and tar-sticks had graveled her voice.
There was a moment of silence as she waited for Glitz’s answer.
“Course I am!” Glitz replied. He sounded farther away then he probably was. It was one of his strengths. “How are you holding up?!”
“Oh, I’m just fine, thank you!”
Turning again, she fired three more shots. She was back into hiding position in no time at all. Glitz only laughed from his obviously safe position.
“You’re a feisty one, Mel!” he said. “I’ve always thought that!”
Melanie Bush smiled sadly to herself. She would have to kill him in order to get out of here alive.

Thousands of years in the past, on the surface of Skaro, Bettan was fiddling with a computer in a small control center.
“Damn!” she exclaimed and threw down her spanner in disgust. How had the Kaleds ever got this equipment working? She had been examining the computer for several hours now and had achieved nothing. The control center had been built by the Kaleds during the war to monitor their orbiting space station, Sentinel. It had been abandoned for years as the costs to maintain it became astronomical and the war demanded all their attention. Now that the war was over, the Thals had become interested in finding out whether the space station could be brought up to full capacity once again.
“Problem?” Sevrin asked, poking his head into the control center.
“The usual,” Bettan said. “These systems don’t make any sense. I don’t think we can get it working.”
Sevrin wandered into the room, sat on the edge of the computer. Bettan pulled out a set of wires, began to piece them together in a futile attempt to get the power working. Sevrin began to fiddle with the controls. He was particularly interested in a switch marked “transport.” He reached for it.
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” Bettan said to herself and connected two wires together that she had ignored before. At the same moment that she connected them and the power came on, Sevrin pressed the transport button. There was a loud humming noise and a bright light began to blind Bettan.
“Sevrin,” she said, “what did you”—
Then she simply disappeared in a brilliant flash of light leaving behind the wires and the woman’s clothes. Sevrin sat on the computer, jaw open, wondering what had happened to his friend.

Thousands of years later, on Sentinel, Mel had finally managed to seal the door to the computer room. Feeling relatively safe now, she looked over the large, imposing computer. The technology was ancient and, from the look of things, the station hadn’t been used in thousands of years. She booted up the main program drive and tried to decipher the language the computer used. Luckily, her relationship to a certain time-traveler had left an aura around her; one which still worked with the spoken word but was a little less successful with the written word.
She had gone through the main programs (life support, security, etc) when she found a program that was still waiting to be activated. It was a transmat program by the look of it; an ancient, experimental one. She hesitated for a moment. What if it was some kind of trap? Would she be able to get out of it? Considering that the system was several thousand years old, she figured that she could make it work. She activated the program.
A flash of brilliant light flooded a corner of the room that was occupied by a small, dark recess in the wall, obviously designed for the transmat. Soon, the light formed into the shape of a naked woman sitting on the ground.
“—do?” she said.
She looked around in confusion, saw Mel.
“Who are you?” she asked. At this point, she noticed her nakedness and made a half-hearted effort to cover herself up.
“We don’t have much time,” Mel said. “Can you fight?”
“What?”
“Can you fight? Can you fire a gun?”
“I can hold my own.”
“Good. Now get up.”
Bettan stood up and nearly fell over. She was dizzy, disoriented.
“What the hell?” she said.
“You’re probably suffering from some kind of transmat sickness,” Mel said.
“Transmat?” Bettan asked.
“Your signal's been in a sort-of holding pattern for a few thousand years.”
“Thousand years!”
“Yes,” Mel said, “a thousand years. All your friends, your family, everyone you knew is dead. Now let’s get you an outfit…as much as I’d like to see you running around stark naked.”
At this, Bettan dropped the pretense of covering herself and put her hands on her hips. Mel got a good look then shook her head.
“We don’t have time for this,” she said. “There must be another one of these suits around.”
After a few moments, the two women had found a locker tucked away in a corner of the room which contained an outfit matching Mel’s. Bettan put in on and Mel “helped” by basically feeling her up. She took great relish in zipping up the Thal.
“Why are we in such a rush?” Bettan asked as they finished.
“My former partner is trying to kill me, for one,” Mel said.
“And?” “And a Dalek regiment is on its way here.”
“Daleks?!”
Mel nodded.
“I imagine you’ve heard of them,” she said.

To Be Continued...

Dalek Girl

This story contains graphic sex, violence and bad language. Do not read it if these sorts of things offend you. Also, this is a fan fiction story using characters from the television series, Doctor Who, property of the BBC. No ownership is implied nor profit gained from the use of them in this context. The Daleks are owned by the Terry Nation estate and were most definitely never intended for this purpose! Oh, and this girl to the left is Jill Tarrant, played on television by Joy Harrison.

Dalek Girl
by Brian Flynn

Skaro was a dead world.
At least, it was supposed to be a dead world. Jill Tarrant had come to Skaro to kill herself. Formerly a soldier in the Space Marine Corps, Tarrant had come to the conclusion that she was useless. She never contributed anything to the missions that she was involved in, she hadn’t been able to keep any stable relationships and, finally, she had been dishonorably discharged from the Corps.
Her choice of the planet Skaro as the place to kill herself was an odd but not unexplainable choice. She felt that there was only one memorable mission that she had ever been involved in. That mission had involved the Daleks. Tarrant had been terrified of them, those dark, hulking, rolling metal monsters of death. Skaro was the Daleks’ home planet and so she chose it as her Alamo. She would fly to Skaro, choose a rock sitting in a desolate desert somewhere and shoot herself through the head.
This had been the plan, at least.
How was she to know that when her ship was entering the planet’s orbit, she would get caught in a freak time wave and be catapulted hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years into the past? These things tended to happen around Skaro, she had learned. Now she had been living for the past few months on a populated Skaro, her ship crashed beyond repair after her bumpy reentry. She had decided not to kill herself. The fact that there were people around seemed to dissuade her. It didn’t seem right, making these people clean up the mess she would undoubtedly leave. She lived in a squalid, miserable Thal camp in a one-room shack infested with large, alien beetles that had a tendency to steal her food.
There were no Daleks, as far as Tarrant could tell. They had just recently been created by the Kaleds before being sealed underground at the conclusion of an age old war between the Kaleds and the Thals. Most Thals liked to pretend that the Daleks had never existed; that they had been imagined by the shell-shocked survivors of the final conflict. Others knew better. There were still Dalek casings that one could find. You just had to know the right person…
“Tarrant!”
There was a loud knock on Tarrant’s door and the woman sat up in her bed. She was a fairly tall woman with strong features and chin-length, auburn hair. She got out of the bed and answered the door.
“Are you ready?” Bettan asked.
“Yeah,” Tarrant said. “Just let me splash a little water in my face.”
“Don’t take too long,” Bettan said.
The impish, strong woman leaned in the doorway of Tarrant’s shack and watched the other woman wake herself up. Bettan was pretty but her face was a bit severe. This was most likely due to the long war. Bettan had been fighting it since she had been old enough to stand. Tarrant liked the woman’s short, blonde hair, though, as well as her mouth. They had made love only once, three weeks ago, but Tarrant couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Ready,” Tarrant said and joined the other woman in the doorway. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them moving.
“You sure about this?” Bettan asked.
“I’m sure,” Tarrant said.
“It’s…pretty strange.”
“I know. I need this. I need to…punish myself.”
“All right.”
Bettan leaned in and kissed the other woman. It was a brief kiss; one of comfort, rather than lust. After it was over the two women headed toward their destination: only a little over a mile away. The dive bar was nearly empty this early in the day and the two women only got a dirty look from the creepy drunk man who seemed to always be sitting in a darkened corner of the place. Bettan led the other woman into the back area of the club, down a hallway of doors to a backroom.
“Wait here,” she told Tarrant. She opened the backroom door and went inside by herself. Tarrant waited for almost five full minutes before Bettan opened the door, gave her a serious look.
“All right,” Bettan said. “Come in.”
Tarrant nodded and went inside, Bettan swinging the door open for her. The room was small, claustrophobic. It was dark, lit by a single, lonely lamp in the corner. There was a mattress in another corner, a pile of electronics sitting next to a large object with a black sheet over it in the third corner and a woman standing in the fourth corner.
“Hello,” Tarrant said to the third woman.
“Did I give you permission to talk?” the third woman asked.
“No,” Tarrant answered.
“I didn’t think so,” the third woman said.
Peri, the third woman, was luscious: fully figured and voluptuous with dark hair and creamy skin. She wore black, form-fitting PVC.
“So,” Peri said, “you want to be humiliated?” There was a pause. “You can speak.”
“Yes,” Tarrant answered.
“I have what you’re looking for.”
Tarrant nodded and looked at the floor.
“Disrobe,” Peri ordered.
Tarrant did so, unzipping her one-piece outfit and slipping it off. She let it drop to the floor and stood before the other two women completely naked. Tarrant could hear Bettan getting undressed behind her. Peri remained clothed.
Bettan began to nibble on Tarrant’s neck and her right ear from behind and the former Space Marine closed her eyes in pleasure. She could feel Bettan’s hand exploring her sex. Tarrant was beginning to sweat. There was no air circulation in the room: it was sweltering.
“Get on the mattress,” Peri ordered. “On your knees. The edge of the bed, ass facing me.”
Tarrant did as she was told and Bettan kneeled on the bed in front of her. The two women kissed. Behind her, Tarrant could hear Peri working on the pile of electronics. She was charging them, turning them on.
“Look over your shoulder at me,” Peri ordered.
Tarrant followed orders. Peri had what looked like a control device in one hand. A wire from the device snaked to the floor and was connected to the large object under the black sheet.
“You ready?” Peri asked. Tarrant could see through the woman’s tough, bitch-mistress act. She was really asking Jill if she wanted this.
“Yes,” Tarrant said.
Peri nodded and, with a dramatic flourish, pulled the black sheet off the large object. The Dalek casing had been spray-painted a flat, dull black and what was attached to one of its arms was definitely not a plunger.
Peri fiddled with the control box and moved the Dalek backwards and forwards to make sure everything worked.
“Get into position,” she ordered.
Bettan lay down on her back, head facing Tarrant. As Tarrant bent over, Bettan raised her legs up so the other woman could lie on her shins. Bettan held Tarrant’s thighs and ass up with her hands. It was an effort but Bettan was a strong woman and she seemed to be enjoying it. She raised the other woman into position almost as if she were bench-pressing her.
Peri operated the control box and moved the Dalek forward.
“Keep watching,” she ordered.
Tarrant was still looking over her shoulder intently as the Dalek rolled forward, the extra attachment mounted on its arm getting closer. She wanted to close her eyes but didn’t. She felt that she deserved this. The Dalek had reached her and its attachment slid roughly into her ass. Tarrant yelped in pain and the Dalek started into a backwards and forwards rhythm, plunging into the woman again and again.
Tarrant kept screaming. Pain and pleasure were tearing her apart and, a couple of times, she almost bit her tongue. The whole time she kept her eyes wide open, staring at the Dalek, almost wishing that it was alive so it could exterminate her.
Peri watched on, operating the Dalek. She couldn’t stop from crying silently, tears rolling down her cheeks. Nothing that this woman could have done in the past was worth this. How could she think that she deserved this?
A few minutes later, Tarrant had an orgasm: a quick, heart-stopping climax that made her whole body shake. Peri backed the Dalek off, shut it down. That night, she and Bettan would destroy the casing utterly and totally and bury it deep in the desert. If Tarrant asked, they would tell her that it had been stolen. This was not an unrealistic scenario since Dalek casings had become rather valuable as trophies and trinkets of interest among collectors.
Tarrant collapsed onto the mattress beside Bettan. She closed her eyes finally and cried; her mouth open and wailing. Bettan snuggled up close to her, put her arms around the other woman and held her close. A moment later, Peri joined them. She began to kiss Tarrant tenderly. It took almost a full minute before Tarrant responded, kissing Peri back. Bettan leaned in and they enjoyed a three-way kiss and healing finally began.

The End

A Change in Plans

Okay, so my next story isn't the Blakes 7/Doctor Who crossover that I was talking about. So sue me (I'll still writing that one, so be patient). I wrote the above piece really quickly. It's mostly a dark, unfunny joke. It's another Doctor Who femslash, just so you're warned. I have this whole Terry Nation/Chris Boucher/Robert Holmes/Eric Saward thing going on: I don't know what it's about. It's kind of sad, really...
Anyway, I just want you to know that the new story is darker in tone than most of my stuff, so enjoy!

Flynn

Bettan (barely...)

So, this is the only image I can find of Bettan, played by the elusive and interesting Harriet Philpin. She's hiding from a Dalek (and if you don't know what a Dalek is, I won't tell you here: you'll have to look it up) and you can barely see her. Oh well, this is as good as it gets for now...

Peri

A shot of Peri, a character from Doctor Who who appeared in my story below, "Confessions of a Tough Thal Chick." Peri was played on television by the jaw-dropping Nicola Bryant. Nice, huh?

Servalan (a lovely image for you...)

So, I thought to myself, "Hey, some of these people have no idea what my characters look like!" Well, I haven't been able to find any good images of Bettan (I'll keep looking) but here is one of the lovely Jacqueline Pearce as Servalan (who will appear in my next story.)

Blakes 7

First of all, the title should be written as Blake's 7, not Blakes 7, but that's the way it's written in the title sequence of the televsion show, so that's how I'm writing it here. Anyway, I've started to get into the classic BBC television series Blakes 7 and it's started to affect my writing. By that I mean that I'm just warning you that my next piece of fan (femslash) fiction that will appear on this blog will be a Blakes 7/Doctor Who crossover. I thought I'd forewarn you so you could run screaming in the other direction if that doesn't float your boat. You don't really need to know anything about Blakes 7 (or Doctor Who, for that matter) to enjoy the story so don't worry about that. It will have Bettan (from my last story -- who no one has commented about) in it and she'll be interrogated by the strong, butch, lovely Space Commander Servalan (that's the character from Blakes 7.) I've just started writing it so it will be posted here in a week or two, I assume. See you then!

Flynn