...and, bloody hell, let me tell you that I was one step away from setting my master plan into motion. I researched locks and bars for doors and windows and cozy, secluded rental apartments, in which I would install my favorite -- by then kidnapped -- author in front of a computer and friendly, yet firmly ask her to “WRITE MOAR ABOUT MY BABIES”...
..when she suddenly claimed to have written a book 8!
Since the anticipation has been eating me alive ever since, I'm rereading her books and now this little creation: The Mechanics of Fucking. If it weren’t for Nina, I’d never have noticed it. Despite its tempting title. What the heck indeed.
And this approximately 13 pages short story is nice! It’s well written and entertaining, like all Manna’s stuff is. And yes, it includes dirty mechanics and dirty fucking (without T&W, so it's not really the same, but oh well). My dilemma however: I’m not into erotic robots or fucking machines. And I’m fine with that, because they’re usually not into me either. But... I’m not really into reading about them either? :/
The fucking machine was like..well, like a machine. Like having a sex robot, the dream of every male teenage SF fan across the world. Getting tired, getting bored, having cramped muscles – these don’t mean anything to twenty kilos of steel and a continuous-duty rated electric motor.
Okay. Well, when you put it like that, Manna, I suppose I can see the appeal..for others. But that's not all, there’s something else going on as well...*whispers* something sexual, that I can’t seem to get used to either (not enemas, no. Thank god!). Please forgive me for being a dowdy Mary Sue here, but... tongues boldly going places where tongues have no business going... I can never help but wonder about hygiene, EHEC bacteria and ‘waste’. And let’s face it: those topics are mood killers.
Maybe one dirty day I’ll get used to it? :-o