Friday, 21 June 2013


Lillah McCarthy (1875-1960) as Jocasta, Oedipus’ wife and mother, in “Oedipus Rex” by Sophocles. Painted by Harold Speed 1913

Incest. The final taboo. It is taboo, as far as I am able to ascertain, in every society on the planet. The exceptions to the rule appear to be royal dynasties, in particular the ancient Egyptian Kings and Queens.

We’ve heard of Freud’s theory about the Oedipus complex: it is the famous Greek tragedy that the theory is based on.

The writers of the Greek myths warn of what will happen if we break the taboo. If we embrace the depravity. Sophocles, Aeschylus  and Euripides have all dramatised the story.

Most writing on Oedipus comes from the 5th century BC, and the stories deal mostly with Oedipus' downfall. Various details appeared on how Oedipus rose to power. Here is the outline of this powerful tale.

King Laius of Thebes, heard of the Sphinx’ prophecy that his son will kill him. Fearing the prophecy, Laius pierces his baby son’s feet and leaves him out to die, but a herdsman finds him and takes him away from Thebes. Years later, Oedipus, the grown up son, hears a similar prophecy, applied to himself, and not knowing he was adopted, leaves home in fear that he would kill his father and marry his mother. Laius, meanwhile, ventures out to find a solution to the Sphinx' riddle. As prophesised, Oedipus crossed paths with Laius and this leads to a fight where Oedipus slays Laius and most of his guards. Oedipus has killed his father. Oedipus then defeats the Sphinx by solving a mysterious riddle to become king. He marries the widowed queen Jocasta, not knowing she is his mother. After many years of prosperity and conjugal bliss, a plague falls on the people of Thebes. Upon discovery of the truth, Oedipus blinds himself and Jocasta hangs herself. After Oedipus is no longer king, Oedipus' sons kill each other.

Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King”, has the Chorus, screaming out Oedipus’ crime. The audience, having seen the horrific tragedy unfold, has been anticipating this moment.
“O Oedipus, name for the ages --
One and the same wide harbour served you
                                    son and father both
son and father came to rest in the same bridal chamber.
How, how, could the furrows your father ploughed
Bear you, your agony, harrowing on
In silence O so long?

                                    But now for all your power
Time, all-seeing Time has dragged you to the light,
Judged your marriage monstrous from the start --
The son and the father, tangling, both one --
O child of Laius, would to god
            I’d never seen you, never never!
            Now I weep like a man who wails the dead
And the dirge comes pouring forth with all my heart!”

Translation by Robert Fagles.

The Chorus laments Oedipus’ crime. Just because he didn’t know that Queen Jocasta was his mother, he is still guilty, and the Chorus damns him in their profound disgust. Jocasta hangs herself. Oedipus puts out his eyes with pins from her brooches.

“But Oedipus’ destiny still moves us, only because it might have been ours — because the Oracle laid the same curse upon us before our birth as upon him. It is the fate of all of us, perhaps, to direct our first sexual impulse towards our mother and our first hatred and our first murderous wish against our father. Our dreams convince us that this is so.” Sigmund Freud. “The Interpretation of Dreams.” 1901

“In Freudian terms, we draw from the myth of Oedipus, designating attraction on the part of the child toward the parent of the opposite sex, and rivalry and hostility toward the parent of its own. It occurs during the phallic stage of the psycho-sexual development of the personality, approximately years three to five. Resolution of the Oedipus complex is believed to occur by identification with the parent of the same sex and by the renunciation of sexual interest in the parent of the opposite sex. Freud considered this complex the cornerstone of the superego and the nucleus of all human relationships.” WIKI

Fast forward millennia. “Brookside” 1996: A British Soap, famous for its challenges to our views. The incest storyline, in which brother and sister Nat and Georgia Simpson were discovered in bed together by their younger brother, is described by Phil Redmond, the producer, as “breaking the last television taboo.” It was so shocking an MP urged viewers to complain "in their millions".

One perceptive student says; “We tried to discuss the incest storyline with teachers at school. I think they were thoroughly disturbed by what we were watching as one encouraged us to watch "normal" television. I suppose she meant games shows.”

Another student says; “I think the problem with this storyline is that it came at era where society was just not ready. Not suggesting that they’re ready now, but consensual sex between family members back in the 90’s wasn’t seen as effective story-telling, let alone talked about. Now however, you have to look at the latest magazine on the shelf and there is probably some true life story about GSD (Genetic Sexual Disorder). As ludicrous as that sounds, it exists. Usually it’s contrived, so that the two people of the same genetic family meet as adults, not where they grew up together like Nat and Georgia did.”

Here’s the episode “Family Therapy” from the Soap, “Brookside”. Okay, it lacks the sophistication of Sophocles, and it certainly does not conform to Aristotle’s concept for tragedy as discussed in his “Poetics”, but in its way, it is more effective for today’s TV generation audience. It is more accessible.

As far as I can remember from the TV soap, Nat and Georgia move away from Brookside Close, to live out their lives happily and anonymously somewhere in the south of England.

Nothing adds that certain flavour to a storyline like a romantic or sexual attraction between siblings. Most of the time it may be merely implied, but sometimes it's laid out right in the open for the viewer to see. Its presence in a story usually adds a great deal of emotional intensity.

Frequently, actual incest is avoided through the device of siblings who aren't really — they're fostered, or step-sibs, or adopted. Thus, while in arbitrary terms of relationship they may be brother or sister, in "true" terms of blood they are not, and may pursue their chosen target with relative impunity. Often it's just an extreme version of the Childhood Friend Romance set up; male and female characters who normally couldn't cohabitate or possibly even interact normally with each other are 'forced' to but meet with an arbitrary contrivance preventing them from developing past it. The only difference is that the audience is more likely to accept the latter contrivance as believable.

Phil Redmond, the producer of “Brookside”, doesn’t shy away from the issue, he tackles it head on. It is a consensual incestuous relationship -- Nat and Georgia, the brother and sister BOTH WANT to have sex with one another.

I found this on the Web. “Forbidden Love” Can sex between close relatives ever be acceptable? Johann Hari on the queasy issue of 'consensual incest.’ The Guardian newspaper,  Wednesday 9th January 2002.

“The exponents of incest that we talked to in cyberspace were very keen to draw a distinction between "consensual incest" on the one hand and abuse, rape and paedophilia on the other. Consensual incest, we were told by "JimJim2" from Ontario, is ‘when two adults who just happen to be related get it on. You can't help who you fall in love with, it just happens. I fell in love with my sister and I'm not ashamed ... I only feel sorry for my mom and dad, I wish they could be happy for us. We love each other. It's nothing like some old man who tries to fuck his three-year-old, that's evil and disgusting ... Of course we're consenting, that's the most important thing. We're not fucking perverts. What we have is the most beautiful thing in the world.’”

Friday, 14 June 2013


 The Rape of Ganymede; Peter Paul Rubens (1611)

I think a lot about our erotic fantasies, those wonderful tales that we tell ourselves. We cast ourselves as the hero, or heroine as we delve into our deepest, darkest desires. Yearnings that teeter on the edge of the profane, the taboo. I talk to friends about their fantasies; sometimes, I put their fantasies into my stories.

 Some of us fantasise about being raped. Not just about relinquishing control, about being forced. I am talking primarily, from a feminine perspective; some women have rape fantasies, but I’d never considered that men might have rape fantasies too. And I don’t mean a male being controlled and forced to serve, and service a beautiful woman, or women; there’s plenty of those stories on the web. I’m talking about a man fantasising about being raped by a man; being forced, being violated.

I hadn’t thought about that, until I had a conversation over a bottle of wine, with Justin.
I’ve known Justin for years, I was often a guest at his home, when he was married; like so many of us, he’s now divorced. I was friends with his wife, and with his two great kids. Justin drifted a bit after the divorce, he’s a freelance photographer, so he can find work wherever he goes. He’s unusual, rather than good looking; sort of Scandinavian, with silky, straight pale blond hair and stunning eyes. Watchful eyes, dark grey and heavily lidded. When he’s old, with his angular bone structure, he’ll look like an eagle.

Justin and I always end up talking about sex. We’ve never had sex, not with each other, but he knows about my stories and I’m aware of the private portfolio of his work. He told me about a book he’s putting together for a guy he knows who is a Dominant. Justin has photographed the Dom’s favourite slave girl, in every intimacy imaginable. The book will be exclusive. It will be a piece of pornography that collectors will kill for. Probably only a dozen or so copies will be made.

We were silent for a while. I poured more wine, then Justin told me about his own fantasy. Justin fantasises about being raped. Raped by a man. Violated.

I wasn’t shocked; there’s not a lot that shocks me these days.

There’s not a great deal on the web, but I found this.
“I know this is screwed up and unbelievable but I have no sexual attraction to men at all, only women, but for some reason, every time I get really horny, I have fantasies about someone bigger then me dragging me in an ally, pulling down my pants and raping me, especially when I stop masturbating all together, I have wet dreams about it.

It's taking over my life, I want to be raped; nobody knows this because I'm afraid someone might stage a rape and that's not what I want, I want it to hurt, be real and walk away…”
Cory James.

Male rape is acknowledged in the Greek myths.

Ganymede, the youngest son of Tros, the King of Troy, excelled in physical beauty. He was looking after the flocks of sheep, when Zeus, having fallen in love with him, swooped down in the form of an eagle, seized him and took him to Mount Olympus.

“When the gods in classical mythology fall homoerotically in love, they never do so with other gods or with adult human males; rather they always do so with a mortal youth. They enter into liaisons in which they, like Zeus, act the part of the erastes to an adolescent who, like Ganymede, serves as the eromenos. The sexual acts imagined to be performed by the divine-human lovers, though not described in detail, can be assumed to conform, just as the structure of the relationship does, to the cultural ideal of pederastic unions.”
From glbtq

“In Greek mythology, the rape of women, as explained by the rape of Europa, and male rape, found in the myth of Laius and Chrysippus, are mentioned. Different values are ascribed to the two actions. The rape of Europa by Zeus is represented as an abduction followed by consensual lovemaking, similar perhaps to the rape of Ganymede by Zeus, and went unpunished.

The rape of Chrysippus by Laius, however, is represented in darker terms, and was known in antiquity as "the crime of Laius", a term which came to be applied to all male rape. It was seen as an example of hubris -- pride and arrogance, and its punishment was so severe that it destroyed not only Laius himself, but also his son, Oedipus.” WIKI

“Laius, the king of Thebes, is thought to have been the first mortal to bring the practice of the love of youths to the Greeks. What we know for sure is that while he was still too young to rule, his cousins, Amphion and Zethus, grabbed the reins of power. With the help of loyal subjects Laius fled Thebes to save his life, and sought refuge in Pisa, a neighbouring kingdom. There King Pelops welcomed him warmly in his castle. When Laius reached manhood, Pelops entrusted his son, Chrysippus, ‘Golden Horse,' to him so that he would teach the boy the charioteer's art. The king loved Chrysippus best of all his sons, and wanted him well trained in the arts of war. Laius did as he was asked, but fell hopelessly in love with the beautiful youth. During the Nemean games, in which the pair competed in the chariot races, Laius kidnapped the boy. By then Amphion and Zethus had met with misfortune, so he was able to take him back to Thebes where he kept Chrysippus, by force, as his lover. It was not as if he did not know what he was doing. "I have understanding," Laius said in his defence, "but nature forces me."
From Gay-Art-History.

The 1972 film “Deliverance, directed by John Boorman, from James Dickey’s novel of the same name, features a male rape.

Four Atlanta businessmen, Lewis, Ed, Bobby and Drew, decide to canoe down the Cahulawassee Riverin the remote Georgia wilderness, expecting to have fun and see the glory of nature before the river valley is flooded by the construction of a dam. Lewis, an experienced outdoorsman, is the leader. Ed is also a veteran of several trips but lacks Lewis' machismo. Bobby and Drew are novices.
Pulling ashore to get their bearings, Bobby and Ed encounter a pair of unkempt hillbillies emerging from the woods, one toothless and carrying a shotgun. After some tense conversation in which the hillbillies appear to be goading the others, Ed speculates that the two locals have a moonshine still hidden in the woods and Bobby amicably offers to buy some. The hillbillies are silent; menacing. They force Bobby,  at gunpoint, to strip naked. Bobby is then chased, humiliated, ordered to "squeal like a pig;" then he is violently sodomized. Ed is unable to help because he has been tied to a tree and is held by the toothless hillbilly.

In James Dicky’s novel, the narrator is Ed. Bobby has been ordered to strip off his trousers and pants and lay across a fallen log.
            “The white bearded man was also suddenly naked up to the waist. There was no need to justify or rationalize anything: they were going to do what they wanted to do. I struggled for life in the air, and Bobby’s body was still and pink in an obscene posture that no one could help. The tall man restored the gun to Bobby’s head, and the other one knelt behind him.
            A scream hit me, and I would have thought it was mine except for the lack of breath. It was a sound of power and outrage, and was followed by one of simple wordless pain. Again it came out of him, higher and more carrying…The white haired man worked steadily on Bobby, every now and then getting a better grip on the ground with his knees. At last he raised his face as though to howl with all his strength into the leaves and the sky and quivered silently while the man with the gun looked on with an odd mixture of approval and sympathy. The whorl-faced man drew back, drew out… Bobby let go of the log and fell to his side, both arms over his face.”

The terrible images stay with you, long after you’ve stopped watching the film, finished reading the book. The violation is graphic, in both Boorman’s film and Dicky’s prose.
And just when you think it can’t get any worse, you realise that the rape precipitates real tragedy. There is more to come, they just don’t know it yet.

I have put this piece together, because the concept of violation, of being forced, disturbs me. It really does disturb me. And writing about it, is the only way that I can deal with it.

But from my friend Justin’s point of view, and Cory James, a real rape is not just something to be desired, something to fantasise about, it has an urgency, it is a real need.

Friday, 7 June 2013


The writer Fulani has been busy lately; I mean really, really busy. Last year he was one of five great writers of erotica selected by Sweetmeats press for their Naked Delirium collection. Then last winter Fulani presented us with his excellent The Museum of Deviant Desires. And just last week Fulani announced that another new collection of his stories was about to be released; "Filthy Money."

            I was lucky enough to get my hands on a copy.

            Fulani excels at taking his reader on a journey. In "The Museum of Deviant Desires" we travel to the world of BDSM. We are nervous, chattering little voyeurs, as Fulani walks us around the exhibits; he’s a museum curator, a tour guide, pointing us in the direction of what he know will be of interest to each one of us. Whips, restraints, ball gags, ropes, chains; they are all exciting. We sense the pheromones in the air. Wild, arousing explicit sex is there for all of us to see. We can join in, if we dare; Fulani is an educator. And he certainly knows his subject. He knows his reader too.

            Fulani’s new collection of tales delves into the world of the “Gutter People”.
Fulani comments in his introduction:

“Some authors take pride in writing from the margins of society.  The collection you're about to read doesn't come from the margins.  It comes from the gutter.”

            You don’t normally see the gutter people unless you look really hard. But they are there by day and by night; they are where we will all end up if we are stripped of the luxury of our dreams and fantasies. And our dreams and fantasies are a luxury, a privilege; you need a certain amount of wealth to be able to indulge in desire.

 The desire that is built on our economic circumstances; our status.

So in delving into the lives of the gutter people, Fulani is daring to take a political stance.
Nothing so crass as Party politics; Fulani isn’t telling us that this isn’t fair and we should all write to our Members of Parliament, neither is he making a judgement on the gutter people.

Fulani is simply saying; “this happens, get used to it, get over it, get over yourselves”.

In the first tale, "Out Clubbing" Grazz, Deezil and Tricky, “The Makers of Chaos”, are wired, broke and bored. They’re out with Psycho Dolly and Hannah and “Club” has a deal that if you get in before 10pm you don’t pay. The night is wild and unpredictable and defined by sex. Sex in the toilets. Sex for money; anyone of them will have sex with anybody if it provides just enough money to pay for a drink. The Makers of Chaos are thieves, pickpockets and shoplifters; they maybe outside of society, but they have their place in society too.

“We're taking responsibility for our lives, like they're always telling us to.  Which is funny, because we don't have ordinary-people lives, if there are any ordinary people left.  We're just trying to do the best we can.  We're being the makers of chaos.  It's what we do best, it's the only thing we can really be responsible for.”

A sexy, beautiful woman comes on the scene; there’s fighting, more sex and drugs. This is their normality; there’s a recklessness that is enviable. Gratification is instant and that’s the way they like it.


 "Transference" takes place outside of the courthouse. A last spliv, a last cigarette, the last chance to have sex before the hang man’s noose tightens, in this case, before the magistrate’s bench beckons.

Two worlds collide; the nice guy in the suit, nervously awaiting his court appearance meets gutter girl.

“He looks me up and down.  Hoop earrings, red jacket, over a tight white T-shirt top, black power skirt – the kind that's a wide elastic bandage, you can wear it with the top at the waist so the hem is just above the knee, like I will in court, or with the top just under the bust so the hem is miniskirt length like I'm doing now.”

Sex with a stranger; sex in public, sex outside the courthouse. You might be going to jail, so why not?

“So right then, right there, I bend over, reach out, unzip him and flick his cock out of that nice-looking suit.
See, that's me not doing well on impulse control.
It's not exactly a strength of mine.
I'm looking into his eyes and he half-moans.  "You can't do that here!"


"Abuse Type Four" is about creativity. The sort of creativity that instant sexual gratification offers. The story opens in a hardware store and the diverse uses that various gadgets can be put to. It’s not likely that the old inventors ever imagined their creations would ever be used as sex toys; but you never know.

“And you can tell what's going on in the customers' minds, as well.  Because for some people – and I'm not ashamed I'm one of them – a hardware store isn't just a place that sells hardware.  It's a place that sells sex.  It sells toys and possibilities and fantasies.”

 Enter, a customer. It’s Fulani himself.  The shop assistant is intrigued with his purchases and they engage in a dialogue steeped in innuendo.

It’s a pick up; but she’s nervous and doesn’t show for the meeting. When she finally plucks up the courage she enters a world of delectable promise. BDSM Dominance and submission; the sort of confection of sexual gratification that she’s hardly dared to fantasise about.


"How (Not) to Make Porn" is what the gutter people do when faced with a night of boredom.

“When you don't have money and can't go out clubbing, what you can do is this: have friends drop by, drink cheap cider, let it take effect, get down to the sex and make it last all night.
So that's what we do.
All eight of us.  In my one-room flat.”

They are all unemployed; living hand to mouth on benefit hand outs. They don’t have much, but they have sex. How do they appear to the “straight” people? The people who hardly ever see them?

  “We all are problems, as far as other people are concerned.  And we live in the part of the city where no one gives a fuck about anything and no landlord keeps up their property, because they're hoping when the next shopping centre or office block gets built, land values will rise and they'll make a killing on the sale.”

The night turns into a feverish orgy; a celebration of multiple partners and sexual positioning straight from the images in the Kama Sutra. All filmed on their mobile phones. We are the audience; voyeurs, watching the action. We are also invited guests and we better not be rude about our hosts.


"Alpha Male" gives us another daylight glimpse into the world of the gutter people. A chance encounter with a stranger is an unexpected dynamic. He’s not just a stranger, he’s from a different world, or might as well be. A stranger in a strange land.

“… he sounds educated and said a whole complete sentence without one of the words being fucking.”

Opposites attract, in physics and in sex and these two find a connection that is weird, but in a strange way, wholesome. They swap fantasies and one thing leads to another. Both of these characters are damaged and through their sexual connection each heals the other.


Jaded is the sixth story in Fulani’s collection and Jade spells danger. The sort of danger that is seductive and enticing.

“I'm Jaded.  Which is to say, I've been Jaded.  Jade's done me and I've done Jade.  It was kinky as fuck but I don't know whether I'd call it fun, exactly.  The girl's a sex maniac but she's also a regular maniac, a psychopath.”
 Jade has allure, she knows how to throw a glamor; she is also charismatic. A lethal concoction if it goes along with insanity. So if you have any sense left in your head, you’ll steer clear of her. Jade loves sex and she loves pain.

I get the idea that Jade is not from the gutter. She is not there because she’s been born into it; she’s there partly because of her circumstances, teetering on the edge of insanity. It’s like she has actively sought the gutter out; she wants to be there. It is in the gutter that she finds a semblance of belonging.

But there is that warning sign blazing away in neon.

“I'm open-minded, you know?  Just being sociable.  But at the same time there's this question in my mind: if she has this need for sexual attention, and is in fact very easy on the eye, why isn't she surrounded by guys with their tongues down to their knees?”


In "What Happened" the narrator slowly comes to terms with exactly what did happen the night before. She wakes, broken and bruised in Frankie’s squat; her wrists are bound with gaffer tape, a chain is around her neck. Crusty spunk coats her skin.

Frankie’s squat is basic;

“As for toilets.  The squat doesn't have a working one.  They pee in buckets and chuck it down the drain.  I've never dared ask where they crap.”

The story of the night she cannot remember is punctuated by sex. Screaming for sex; accosting men in bars for sex. Frankie and his friends were just looking out for her; keeping her safe. But they still had sex with her; lots of sex. They didn’t ask; they just took. Strangely, she doesn’t seem to mind. After all, sex is sex; it keeps you warm at night; flesh on flesh. And does consent really matter among friends?

And Fulani saves, what I think is the very best story "Filthy Money" until last. It’s the story that gives the collection its title. The girl is broke and in trouble. You don’t mess with the sort of people who are looking for her, but she has stolen from them and sold their stuff. She has just enough cash to buy dope, then she’s got to find somewhere safe to hide; until the friends, who are now her enemies, lose interest. A guy, who thinks she’s a hooker offers her a way out.

“So in the circumstances, something I shouldn't have done – because it's made me homeless again – has turned out well.  I'm looking for somewhere to stay, wondering whose dick I can suck so I can buy credit for my phone.  Because if I'm in a tight spot, I will use sex to get me out of it.  This guy's staying in a big hotel and he'll put me up for the night.  He'll want to fuck me, but so would anyone else I can think of who'd have me stay with them.  Anyway, my gut instinct is the sex will be less important to him than having me call him Daddy and then either spanking me or being spanked, and I can handle it either way.  Plus, because it's a big hotel, he's paid by credit card so he's traceable.  That means he won't kill me.”

The guy in the suit asks her how much? She plucks a figure out of the air; £1000, she says. The deal is sealed and they spend an energetic night together.


I’ve enjoyed these stories by Fulani; I always like his stuff. He not only entertains me with characters that are larger than life, Fulani writes great, very arousing erotica. Very explicit erotica. And Fulani makes me think too; and I like that.

So I’m thinking about the gutter people now. About people I know who are close to the gutter, and people I once knew, who, if not dead, are most certainly in the gutter by now.

The gutter people live in the “now”. Their world of instant gratification is seductive; alluring.

Could I live like that? No, I wouldn’t want to; I’m not brave enough. And I do think that there is a sort of bravery in rejecting this straight world. What is the point of ambition? Don’t worry about where you’re going to sleep tonight. Just crash wherever you find yourself in the early hours. Drugs are a priority; food is not. Just eat when you think about it; eat whatever’s there. An out of date can of pineapple; if that’s all that’s there for breakfast – that’ll do.

The gutter is a celebration of a way to live; but it scares me.

And therein lies a warning. The gutter people are “the Other” The Other has to be there to warn us of what we stand to lose by shunning convention; by being different. And I think it suits the government of the day to have the Other; the gutter people. Much as politicians (usually the party that isn’t in power so that they can blame the party that is in power) make loud noises about benefit cheats and thieves, there are no bigger thieves than those high up in the social scale.

Read anything by Fulani; read everything by Fulani. But most of all read this book by Fulani; Filthy Money.

Filthy Money is available from these ebook stores.