For my first post here at Wonk-Central I thought about doing something on why I am the way I am. You know, like an intensive breakdown of what makes me so wonky, with diagrams done in MS Paint and long reports from people who’ve seen me up close before running away frightened. I wouldn’t even need reports from people who’ve seen me up close, in all honesty, because I’m guessing most people here and on Twitter could attest to just how wonky I am.
My Twitter cloud would probably have a lot of penises in it. Which isn’t so unusual, I know, but when you consider that the penises are sometimes attached to Howard Wolowitz from the Big Bang Theory, I think you can start to see where I’m coming from. And I don’t just like to chat about nerd penis, either.
I like to write about nerd penis. I like to write about it A LOT.
And even when I manage to wrestle my brain back under control and force it to write about someone who’s, you know, actually handsome, it’s almost never the handsome parts I’m most interested in. I don’t look at Armie Hammer and think ohhh, look at those strong, manly shoulders.
I look at his strong, manly shoulders and think: I wonder what they’d look like under my legs, as I rode him like a horse.
Though I’d like to stress, at this point, that it’s not just the little-known sport of man-back riding that I’m concerned with. I have many and varied wonkmantical interests, ranging from heroes that cry because they’ve just been beaten up, to heroines who enjoy the fact that the hero is crying, because she just beat him up.
But I digress. Where was I, again? Oh yeah: I wasn’t going to go into why I am the way I am. Which is probably a relief to you, right around now, because I just said I like writing about beating dudes up — though of course when I say that I do mean the good kind of beating up. You know, the kind where he keeps saying “Harder, harder,” but you can’t go any harder because your arm is tired, and besides, the ball-gag’s making it really hard to discern if that’s really what he wants.
Maybe he’s saying “Sparta, Sparta,” because 300‘s on the telly and he’s not-so-secretly into dudes.
Who knows, in the kind of wonk-o-mance I’m interested in? I mean, my favourite wonky erotica breaks just about every rule ever laid down for all the books in the world ever. It’s not just a tad beta-y, with maybe a hint of fucked-up-edness. It’s full-on glorious wonk, of the kind I’ve only ever dreamt of since.
I mean, let’s look at some of the things that happen in it, shall we?
1. Even though the heroine is the most virginy virgin to ever exist, she doesn’t once seem frightened of sex. In fact, she’s the one that intiates most of it, and when she’s not intiating it’s only because she’s been taken by surprise. Once the surprise is over, she goes at it like a bobbing dashboard toy.
2. The heroine teaches one of the heroes what sex is. No, no – literally. This literally happens. I’m not talking “gentle tutelage in the ways of love”. I mean: the hero does not know what sex is at all, because it’s ceased to exist in the future world they’re living in. And then the heroine’s like: “Check out my badass vagina. You can do this stuff to it!”
3. When the heroine decides to stay in the present, things don’t just turn out magically great. Angsty arguments ensue, about how little she’s able to cope with this brand new world she’s in.
4. The present day version of the heroine actually chooses to jaunt off to some future dystopia. Because clearly she’s deeply into massively horny beta guys who are practically virgins, too.
5. There’s twincest.
And yeah, okay, maybe this book was never classified as a romance, exactly. It’s erotica, and often erotica is permitted a lot more leeway than erotic romance is. But I don’t care, because it’s orsum and still romantic and just a great, highly unusual book. It was and is a huge influence on my writing, as you can probably tell if you’ve ever read Past Pleasures or Control.
There’s nothing quite like a hugely horny beta guy, to get my motor running. And if it gets your motor running, too, then try Dreamers In Time, by Sarah Copeland. Go on. You know you want to get wonky.
P.S. My new novella, Doubled, was released yesterday! So if you’d like to be gently eased into my brand of wonk-o-mance, now’s the perfect opportunity. Doubled is wonky (it’s about twins) but not too wonky (the twins do not get it on with each other, just the one girl they’re both interested in), and there’s plenty of hot menage-y goodness. Hooray! You can find it here.
Wonk-o-mance is everywhere! Any place you might find a love story, you might also find wonk. Novels, movies, folklore, operas, country songs, erectile dysfunction medication ads, TV shows, and certainly real life. If it’s ripe for love, it’s ripe for fooked-up love.
