I love science fiction books and movies, and sometimes the pulpier the stories are, the better! I wrote this erotic story "Lab Rat" several years ago and it was sold to the now closed Oysters and Chocolate website. If you didn't get a chance to read it over there, I present it here for your amusement. Enjoy!
By Angela Caperton
Davie arrived at the psych lab ten minutes early. Psychology was only an elective in his geology degree plan, but the subject had proven more interesting and challenging than he had expected. He’d struggled with the first test, his score guaranteed to bring down his grade, but the prof had told them extra credit could be earned by any student who would spend six hours as a volunteer test subject for grad students. Some of Davie’s friends had done their time the semester before in the various testing labs and, even down to androgynous Lexxie Mathis, unanimously they all told him if he didn’t sign up for the Sex and Intimacy series he would be making a huge mistake.
“I got credit for jerking off,” was Oliver Soland’s two-thumbs-up recommendation.
The lab occupied one of the older buildings on the Quad, a place that smelled like an old fire, ashy and damp. Davie made his way down an empty hall, found the door to Room 232 unlocked, and walked in.
The waiting area looked suspiciously mundane, complete with an empty desk and a closed door he figured must lead to the lab. His knock echoed into unknown space so he took a seat and waited. At nine sharp, the door opened and a pretty brunette wearing jeans and a white coat unbuttoned over a Spoon tee-shirt, emerged smiling into the waiting room.
“You must be Davie Ingles,” she said. She took the seat nearest him and handed him a clipboard with a release form. “I got your stats from registration. You’re 22, right? Science major… You know what you’ve signed up for?” She had a great smile and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.
“To be a lab rat?”
Her lips quirked into a grin. “Some people would say a lucky lab rat. You signed up for the Sexology lab. Read the release please, and sign it.” Did her grin widen a little when she said “release?”
He gave the paper a spotty read, signed it, and tried not to smirk as he returned … the release to her. He saw clearly that she wore no bra under her t-shirt, one of the o’s in Spoon beautifully circling an erect nipple pushing against thin cotton.
“You know my name,” Davie said, keeping his voice steady in spite of the anxiety building in his stomach. “What’s yours?”
“Maybe later. We need to get you hooked up first.” Her grin twitched again. She led him through the door and down a hallway to a little room with a chair and a bank of PCs, monitors, and other gear. She handed him a robe. “Undress and get into this.”
“Undress? To my shorts?”
“All the way,” she said and left him to it.
Davie stripped off his shoes, socks, jeans, and shirt. He hesitated at the jockeys, his boner already of considerable size. She’s probably seen hundreds of them, he reminded himself and peeled off the tight drawers. The robe was nicer than anything they would give you in a hospital, calf-length and made of some lightweight synthetic. He put it on and tied the belt loosely, careful to tuck his overanxious dick down just as she came back into the room.
She took his upper arm in a casual grip and pushed him gently toward the chair, pausing just before he sat. “You’re going to have to take the robe off while I wire you or I’m going to have to tell you how to wire yourself. I hope you’re not shy because it’s much easier if I do it.” Her gaze was stone still, impassive.
No, he thought, it’s going to be much, much harder. “You get a lot of shy guys signing up for sex experiments?” he asked and untied the robe. Mr. Lively had calmed down some but Davie knew the lull wouldn’t last long.
“You’d be surprised,” she said. “Most people never really think about sexuality except as … an applied science.” She hardly glanced at his unruly cock, which was probably just as well. “Sometimes we get guys in here who think they’re Chippendale dancers, but the lab makes them nervous and they…well they get embarrassed and shrink. You don’t seem to have that problem.”
With quick efficiency, she applied gooey sensors to his nipples and abdomen, his temples, shoulder blades, and lower back. Loose, thin wires connected him to a modest console spangled with blinking LEDs. Her fingers were warm even when the jelly chilled his skin. “You can put the robe back on,” she said, “and have a seat.”
With her help, Davie wrestled the robe around the streaming wires. He left it open in front until he sat in the chair and then he started to fold the tails across his restless penis.
“Wait,” she said. “One more.” She held what he took at first for a condom, though he quickly saw the tube was more rigid and, yes, wired.
“It’s a plesmograph.”
“It doesn’t shock, does it? Or vibrate?”
She laughed. “No. It’s just a sensor.” Without asking if he wanted to put it on for himself, she bent to the task. Little Davie volunteered eagerly for his new uniform and she had no trouble sliding him into the cool plastic sheath. “There,” she said. “All snug. You can cover up now if you want to.”
Out of general respect for science, he closed the robe. Next she gave him a pair of clumsy gloves, like the mail gauntlets of a plastic knight. “VR gloves,” she said. “State of the art.”
“Nintendo would kill for these,” he said as he put them on. They felt a little stiff.
Finally she produced a helmet and fitted it on his head. “You ever been in true virtual reality before?” she asked.
“No. I’ve heard about it. Didn’t know anyone really used it.” The world looked milky white through the helmet’s lenses.
“We’re lucky to have the rig. There are a dozen of them around the country in psych departments all networked together. We call it the O-Zone here.”
She grinned that sweet little grin but didn’t explain further. “When I turn it on, the first thing you’ll see will be an orientation space … where you can get a feel for the gloves and we’ll make sure the zone doesn’t make you sick. Some people can’t take it. I’ll talk you through that part, but then – if you’re okay – you’ll be on your own.”
“What happens after that?”
“You’ll see a door. Go through it. You’ll find your partner on the other side.”
“Yeah. Someone in another lab that’s using the zone like we are. They will present to you as an attractive, young woman.”
He thought about that a moment. He knew that anyone in cyberspace might not be anything like what they seemed.
“We’re measuring your reactions here, so try to relax and behave naturally, but even nervousness and hesitation can produce good data.”
“What do I do?”
“Whatever you feel like doing, but I need to tell you. Your partner is in a different kind of rig than you are. You’re reactions are being measured, but your partner will feel sensations based on what you do. If you do something that causes pleasure – stroke her for example – she will feel good. If you …decide to make love to her, she’s equipped with hardware that will simulate intercourse.”
“You’re shitting me?”
“You’ll be able to hear her reaction, though the voice you actually hear may not be her real voice.”
“She could be a guy, huh?”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“No. I don’t think so.” He wondered if the sensors could read a lie. The idea of virtual sex with some guy in a girl suit made him a little uneasy.
“One more important thing. If you decide to hurt her, she’ll feel pain. Nothing really harmful, of course, but enough that she’ll know it, and so will you.”
Davie took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said as his heart began to race. His dick shrank a little inside the plastic sheath and he pulled the robe tighter.
“Remember, try to follow your instincts,” she said and then left him alone in the room.
The milky lenses flickered and the dim lab vanished, replaced by a table rendered in high-res graphics, like a top-end video game. The lab girl’s voice whispered in his ear to guide him through the orientation. He turned his head. The space around him appeared amazingly real, almost too real. His hands waved in front of him, bigger and darker than his real hands. He flexed them.
She talked him through simple exercises, taught him to “walk” by gesturing in the direction he wanted to go, helped him handle the objects on the table – a glass, a ball, a pencil. The gloves produced enough feedback that he quickly learned the subtleties of touch, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to see how the technology could replicate other sensations, pleasurable or otherwise. His self-awareness and the boundaries of his senses stretched and he relaxed a little as the alien space became more comfortable.
“Turn around,” she said and he did, almost fluidly, without changing his place in the chair. Where there had been a white wall, he saw a door now. “Relax,” she said one more time. “And have fun.”
Davie glided toward the door and opened it. The knob clicked in his hand and he blinked against the rosy light inside the new virtual space. His partner waited for him there and he remembered the questions he had answered when he signed up for the lab, asking what he found attractive in a partner. Tall, blonde, high-breasted, long-legged. He wondered how many variations they actually got on the answers to those answers.
He looked down and saw that he was naked too with a virtual cock roughly the size of his real one, and he had a flashback to Sunday school. Adam and Eve knew they were naked…
He saw and felt himself getting hard, aware of the plastic sheath but comfortably detached from it. His virtual cock grew to impressive proportions and his breath quickened, making a sort of rhythmic shushing sound under the helmet.
“Ooh!” the virtual girl giggled when she saw him. “I’m glad to see you too.”
“This is weird.”
“You’ll get used to it fast. Try touching me.” Her voice was decidedly feminine, light and bubbly.
He closed the distance between them in his jerky glide and reached out a gloved hand to her arm. There was no warmth, but the glove registered softness. “Mmm,” she said. “Now touch me somewhere interesting.”
Davie tried to tweak her nipple, midway between timid and playful, and the best he managed was a thump. “Ow!” she blurted, but then she smiled widely.
His cock grew again – Pinocchio’s lying nose.
“What are we supposed to do?” he asked.
“Anything we want to. But, I’ll tell you, I don’t want to waste my appointment talking.”
He desperately wanted to ask, “Are you a guy?” but he resisted the temptation, even as the thought made his cock shrink a little.
“Listen. We can play a game if you want to,” his playmate said.
“Maybe. What’s your name?”
“Justine.” She didn’t ask his and while he was wondering whether to volunteer it, she said. “Ask me a question, and if I don’t get the answer right, you can spank me.”
Why not? He thought for a moment. “What’s the capital of New York?”
“New York City?”
“Oops!” She turned coyly away from him and extended a gloriously perfect digital ass. He swatted her with a clumsy stroke, harder than he meant to. The blow registered against his palm.
She cried out, “Oh yes,” her voice delighted and a little breathless. “Scranton?”
“Scranton’s in Pennsylvania,” he said.
“You better spank me harder.”
Davie had never spanked a real girl, but he found himself intrigued, his cock growing harder by the moment. He swung with considerable force and the glove registered a sharp blow.
“Fuck,” Justine cried and she staggered a little. “Fuck yes!”
He swung again and again and she began to make little noises that he had heard girls make when they were really enjoying being fucked. He realized that he had become almost comically hard, the plesmograph tight around his real cock and his virtual one reaching out toward a porn star’s native country.
Part of his brain clung to the reality of his being in the chair wrapped in electronics, but the girl in front of him seemed very real. Somewhere, she was very real and he knew by the sounds she made that she was really enjoying whatever the computer was doing to her.
He swung harder. His cock swelled again inside the plastic sheath, the sensation shocking heat and pleasure up his spine.
Justine began to utter a breathless scream and Davie lost the fight against shooting his wad, the sensation like the disembodied pleasure of a wet dream. He hoped to god he didn’t short anything out. He knew she was coming, whoever she was, wherever she was, but he didn’t stop spanking her until the room blinked and faded to milky white.
Wetness trickled down his thigh.
For a moment, nothing was real except the helmet and the mess in his lap. His cock shrank stickily out of its techno-cunt. He dabbed at the semen with the edge of his robe, dazed by what he’d just experienced.
Time passed, what seemed like half an hour went by before he heard his tester enter the room. She unfastened the helmet and lifted it off him. His eyes struggled to grasp the real world in front of him. The tester seemed almost two-dimensional in the dim room but her face flushed red and her eyes stared wide.
“Look, I’m sorry… I hope I didn’t break anything,” he started.
“No, no. It’s okay. Really,” she helped him stand and took the robe off him. As she removed the sensors, her fingers seemed to stray a little more than they needed to and when she came to the straps that held the cock sheath in place, she hesitated a moment before she touched him.
She slipped the device off and laid it aside. He considered offering to clean it up for her but before he could speak, she stroked his shrunken cock, pausing to smear a slippery circle around the tip.
“Listen,” she said and he recognized the inflection of the word. Justine. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? But I’m not a Psych student. My friend let me come in here to work tonight because I begged her. I just wanted to see what it was like, and … wow.”
“Do I still get credit?” he asked.
She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she had really heard him. “I have to ask you something.”
“Can we go out sometime?”
Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or partwithout written permission from the author.
2012 comes to a close in just a few hours, and a new year starts. 2012 was not an outstanding year for me. In many ways it seems to have passed in a blur of mundane activities. I find myself looking back with some regret, mostly that I wish I had not let a variety of life irritations interfere with the momentum of my writing. I did write some stories that satisfied me in 2012, but I feel like I should have done more. I look at my files of partially completed manuscripts and wince at the possibilities put on pause.
But this is it – I am done beating myself up over not spending more time at the keyboard, of leaving so many worlds and words frozen like ants in amber.
Tonight is a night to celebrate the triumphs, to take them and let them feed a rededication to my craft. I did have some successes this year. I had several short stories published and had one of my favorites turned into a audio podcast over at Nobilis Erotica with the lovely voice of Rose Caraway giving my story “Tourist” life. My erotic superhero short story “Lawman” was chosen to appear in Circlet’s best of print collection Fantastic Erotica. I was honored to have stories in collections edited by Delilah Devlin, Kristine Wright, Rachel Kramer Bussel, D.L. King and Maxim Jakubowski. eXtasy books, Xcite books, Seal Press and Renaissance eBooks published some of my work as well, and I was thrilled to have a couple of my older stories reissued by new publishers.
So 2013 starts with a flurry of successes including the two stories that Maxim Jakubowski selected for his Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11 (available January 1) – “The Boiling Sea” and “Barnacle Bill.” I am delighted that “The Boiling Sea” is the lead story in this year’s collection. Also, two of my quickie shorts will appear in Maxim’s collection due out in the spring.
Other successes conceived in 2012 will be given life in 2013 – another audio version of one of my popular short stories and other works that I am determined to finish up and send out into the world.
In a few hours I will enjoy some champagne, the company of good friends and family, and I will bid farewell to 2012 and welcome 2013, embracing the possibilities and adventures that can only be born through will and a creative heart. I hope your New Year’s Eve is filled with laughter, good company and most of all, I hope it is safe.
All the best for a bright New Year. Life is sexy – live it.
2010 continued our collective journey through the financial crisis, and while our politicians ratcheted up the rhetoric and demonstrated a shortage of leadership, the American people tried to rise out of the muck and remake themselves. It only seems fitting that horror movies also seemed to find meaning in remakes. Breck Eisner took on the George Romero classic The Crazies, Samuel Bayer raided Wes Craven’s closet and remade Nightmare on Elm Street, Joe Johnson cast Benicio Del Toro as The Wolfman, and Steven Monroe remade Meir Zarchi’s I Spit on Your Grave. Besides being noted for the remakes, 2010 gave us Cropsey, a creepy documentary by two filmmakers exploring the urban legend of their youth, Splice fed our need for a genetics-gone-wrong story, and Paul Bettany played a sexy fallen angel trying to prevent the End of Days in Legion.
But it was the remake of the amazing Swedish horror film Let the Right One In that hands down won our 2010 race for best horror film.
We approached Let Me In skeptically. As mentioned in our 2008 post, Let the Right One In left an indelible mark on our expectations not only for vampire films, but for horror films as a whole. Combine that with our lack of faith that such a rich story could be transplanted without killing the roots, and we feared the worst. Obviously, we were pleasantly surprised by this high profile production from the reborn Hammer studios. Let Me In moved the story from Stockholm, Sweden to Los Alamos, New Mexico, but still did a wonderful job of making the girl vampire Abby, both sympathetic and terrifying. The chemistry between actress Chloë Grace Moretz and actor Kodi Smit-McPhee rivaled that of their Swedish counterparts (Lina Leadnersson and Kåre Hedebrant) and gives this movie an amazing tension. Outcast and bullied Owen befriends Abby at night in a local playground, and eventually he learns her true nature. Let Me In reminds us that vampires are terrifying creatures, predators of the first order, and even though Abby appears as an “adolescent” and is in need of a guardian, she is a monster. The relationship between Owen and Abby has a sexual charge, but it is subtle and sweet, and has more to do with mutual understanding and respect than sex.
Another surprise of Let Me In was Richard Jenkins as Father, Abby’s guardian, and in some ways, her prisoner. His performance does an amazing job of portraying his devotion to Abby, but also his jealousy as Abby and Owen grow closer. His unwavering loyalty is tested and tortured as he tries to provide for his charge, and his inevitable end leaves Abby vulnerable.
Let Me In beat the odds by staying remarkably true to Let the Right One In, and it paid off. This remake won several awards including Best Horror Film and Best Performance by a Younger Actor (Chloë Grace Moretz) from the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror Films. There is no doubt this film qualifies as a new classic horror film and redeems the vampire as an object of smart horror.
As noted, it’s hard to say anything meaningful about a year so recently passed, but it’s safe to say that not many historians will view 2009 as one of the world’s great years. Wars and rumors of war; the continuing unraveling of national and international economies; earthquakes and hurricanes. Michael Jackson died, but shallow celebrity culture lived on!
In horror films, the year was not as rich as 2008, but then few years are. Torture porn lurched forward on a hundred legs with the dreadful The Human Centipede (First Sequence), which reduced the unspeakable to ironic posturing. Lars von Trier’s Antichrist gave us a front row seat at a personal Gnostic apocalypse that may have done the best job of capturing the world’s mood in this dark year, but ultimately felt unsatisfying as a narrative. Bad sequels (Cabin Fever 2) and stupid re-makes (Friday the 13th and The Haunting) captured the quality of most of the year’s offerings. Zombieland was hugely popular, but we found it un-engaging and painfully self-conscious. Close contenders for favorite of the year included Pontypool (which I inadvertently listed in 2008) and Wake Wood, a scary, low-key tale from Hammer.
But our pick is a brilliant little gem that was released, almost accidentally, in 2009. Trick ‘r Treat, written and directed by Michael Dougherty, is well on its way to becoming a holiday classic! A brilliantly woven web of stories, Trick r’ Treat reminds us that humor and horror can still be effectively combined, if the humor is smart. Trick ‘r Treat was intended for release at Halloween in 2007 but Warner’s nerve apparently failed and the movie teetered on the brink of oblivion before finally finding a DTV release in 2009. In the mean time, it had started to pick up a buzz from a few screenings at festivals and underground digital “distribution” and has gained considerably more of a reputation since its release. Any lover of Halloween should see Trick ‘r Treat.
We like this film not only for its sense of humor and clever structure, but for its playful use of Halloween iconography and numerous, often subtle references to horror comics, films, and folk tales. Sometimes compared to John Carpenter’s original Halloween, Trick ‘r Treat is a far more loving and complete tribute to the weird holiday that, above all else, celebrates the power of imagination.
It was easily our favorite horror film from 2009, even if it should have been released in 2007!
Thanks to the wonderful and unique Side Real Press, one of the seminal artifacts of Weimar decadence is back in print after 90 years. I’ve written about Anita Berber here before, but I never expected to see a reprint of her notorious book, Dances of Vice, Horror, & Ecstasy, co-authored with her dancing partner/husband/partner-in-debauchery Sebastian Droste. The original booklet was probably sold at their performances and surviving copies are rare and expensive, if they can be found at all.
Fortunately for anyone with an interest in Ms. Berber, naked dancer and pioneering celebrity bad girl, Side Real has recreated the booklet in a glorious new edition, translated into English by Merrill Cole and including the original photographic and artistic illustrations. Side Real continues to be one of the most interesting small presses, and I am very honored to have been featured in one of their books, Delicate Toxins, a collection of short stories inspired by Hanns Heinz Ewers, notorious author of dark fantasy and horror stories in the decades before World War II. One of Droste’s poems name checks Ewers, so it’s safe to say that Berber and her lover either knew the author or admired his work:
Villiers de l’Isle Adam
Edgar Allan Poe
E. T. A. Hoffman
Hans Heinz Ewers
Rooms long left
-Suicide, by Sebastian Droste
The poetry is honestly pretty awful stuff, but it may have been effective when recited over two near naked bodies writhing in an Expressionist dance against hallucinatory backdrops. Alas, I don’t think there is much surviving film of Berber and certainly none from the performances where this exceedingly dark little book was offered for sale. We are left to interpret exactly what the numbers Cocaine or the Byzantine Whip Dance must have looked like.
My favorite part of this delightful little volume is the section of color sketches at the end, showing concepts for sets and costumes. These drawings, even more than the photos of Anita and her grotesque lover, are windows into a world we will never see, but that we can touch in our own flights of erotic imagination.