In the beginning, there were single-celled organisms floating in primordial ooze. The “ooze” concept was pretty hot, but the world’s first horny beings multiplied by simply splitting in half. This was significantly less hot. But because the first organisms had nothing to compare it to, they figured that times were pretty sexy.
Later, the Earth evolved better lifeforms. At this point, the coolest kids on the block formed two genders, but they still hadn’t gotten things quite right. Female fish laid eggs and males came along and jizzed all over them in a cloud. Sex was definitely getting somewhere, but clearly there was room for improvement.
A bit later on, males got penises and females got vaginas. This was a banner day. If these new species wanted to survive, they had to find a way to deliver sperm to eggs so they could make babies. Because the eggs were all the way up a female’s cooze, the males had to fire up their injectors and blast sperm into the tunnel. Thus dawned the age of fucking, and the universe rejoiced.
But there was still a final hurdle for sex to overcome. Despite its obvious goodness, nature still hadn’t figured out how totally awesome fucking actually was. The whole “shoot jizz into a gal to procreate” M.O. was widely considered invasive, so early females of all species were (under this inferior system) generally perturbed by males sticking their dicks up inside them.
Some females ate the males who tried to poke their holes. Others beat the shit out of them. In order to adapt and unload their balls, males learned to be tricky, sneaking around behind their intended vaginas with enormous hard-ons, looking for chances to pounce. But when they finally got their tips wet, they had to be fast or were liable to get kicked in the balls.
But with the dawn of apes — and especially humans — sex finally entered its golden age. Fucking quickly claimed the center of society. Women were coveted because they possessed the precious gift of pussy. They were pursued and adored. They took over kingdoms and/or controlled them by manipulating men with the glory of gash. Men measured their worth by the inch, usually cheating by measuring from the underside of the balls. When they came up short, they bought sports cars.
Then, for a very long time, nothing happened.
Sex continued. No new organs or delivery methods came to the fore. We began to groom better for both slipperiness and visibility, but in general the mechanics haven’t changed since the dawn of man (and woman).
Dick goes in, dick comes out.
And sure, other things happen too, but those are the basics. If you understand those two steps, you graduate. In a way, it’s cool that something so awesome is also quite simple. But in another way, the lack of advancement is kind of disappointing.
When you think about it, innovation in sex has lagged far behind innovation in just about everything else. Shaving technology keeps evolving while advancement pertaining to the old in-and-out has stalled. Razors today have 17 blades and space-age lubrication strips, but cocks still go into pussies. They rub around until enough things convulse and/or dispense liquids, then the male falls asleep.
I’m being somewhat sarcastic, but in the big picture, I’m also kind of not. You may fuck once or twice a week or seven times a day, or once a year or never, but regardless, chances are you just fuck. You may role-play or be into feet or furries or something, but a given person’s repertoire tends to be fairly standard.
Dick goes in, dick comes out.
For most people, the standard, non-advancing nature of sex is a matter of fact. For me, it’s more. For me — as someone who makes my living titillating readers — it’s a career impediment. I have men in my stories, and they have dicks. The women have pussies. As far as heterosexual erotica is concerned, there’s not a lot of mystery. Is there ever any real question about what will eventually happen? Is he going to put it in her eye? No way. Jizz in the eye burns like a motherfucker. We know where that cock will end up. We just act surprised.
I face this conundrum, day in and day out. When you get down to it, my job is to make a fairly standard set of activities seem new enough to be scintillating. I can do it by pairing different sets of people, and by adding bells and whistles. I can do it by withholding for a while, so the reader can anticipate. But in the end, cocks pretty much always go into pussies, or mouths, or asses. Sometimes there are multiple cocks and sometimes there are none, but as a whole, I’m shuffling a deck with just a few cards.
I kind of wish that modern humanity would take a cue from those original bacteria, who weren’t satisfied with their sexual repertoire. They stood on their pseudopods and said, “Splitting in half is not hot enough for us! We must evolve sex organs!” Those germs had the fire to become more, but we human beings seem to have grown used to the fact that sex is sex is sex, forever and ever.
Maybe this whole thing — this feeling that sex is overdue for advancement — explains why I decided to write science fiction.
I wanted to peer ahead, and see what the future of sex would look like.
Let’s get something straight: I like all kinds of stories, but have never really been a sci-fi gal. I ignored the whole genre for a long time — both as a writer and as a reader — because our culture’s hangover from the 1960s and 70s had given me a skewed impression.
I thought that sci-fi was people in tinfoil suits piloting spaceships and firing lasers. Dashing blond men protected bimbos with gigantic space tits and Donna Reed hair. There were aliens everywhere. The biggest differences between them and us was color. William Shatner hooked up with all of them.
But that wasn’t fair, and I suppose I knew it. Looking back, I’d known for a long time that there was fantastic stuff out there that was nothing like my mental impression. There were the works of Ray Bradbury and Isaac Asimov. And hey, Frank Herbert’s Dune is one of the coolest books I’ve ever read.
Then, when two of my friends at the Self-Publishing Podcast (Johnny and Sean) published their sci-fi serial The Beam last year, I knew I had to give that a read, too, because I like them and their books.
And surprise, surprise, I really enjoyed it. In fact, I loved it.
I said, “The world you’ve created in this book is absolutely fascinating!”
Sean said, “Thanks! You should write a story that takes place in it.”
My exact response was, “Oooo-kay … ”
See, The Beam world is massive. The main storyline takes place in the year 2097, after two reinventions of the internet plus the birth of true artificial intelligence have created The Beam, a network that connects and monitors pretty much everyone and everything.
It’s not a 1984 Big Brother scenario. If it were, I’d have dismissed it as paranoid. It’s really the logical next-steps that follow the way everyone today is always on and addicted to their smartphones. Can biological implants and nanobots really be far behind?
The main storyline takes place in what’s known as the North American Union — a federation formed by the US, Canada, and Mexico after massive ecological disasters decimated most of the planet.
Between 2013 and 2097, there were 84 years of fictional history mapped out by Sean and Johnny. There was the rest of the world — beyond the NAU’s protective dome, out in what has become the barbarian “Wild East” — to think about. Johnny and Sean had focused on the ultra-rich leaders of the NAU’s two political parties: the capitalistic Enterprise and the socialist Directorate. And in Season One, they’d focused on one city: District Zero, which used to be New York.
Seeing my hesitation, Sean said, “You have over 80 years and the rest of the world to spread out in. You could tell any story you wanted.”
The boys are persistent, and they have this way of making you believe anything is possible. I’d just read their bestselling self publishing book Write. Publish. Repeat. (which I have a few cameos in!) and was high on possibilities.
In my weaker moments, I thought: I write about sex. So what? I can find a sexy story to tell somewhere in the world within an 84-year timeline, right?
That got me off the couch and made me take another look at sci-fi. The Beam wasn’t all tinfoil and lasers. It took place in the future, but at root was about people. I could write about people. Specifically, I could write about people fucking each other’s brains out.
But what really got me moving was remembering something else I’d heard about sci-fi. See, a lot of die-hard fans don’t even call the genre “sci-fi.” Instead, they call it “speculative fiction.”
Johnny and Sean had written about people who were over 80 years old but looked 30 thanks to repair nanobots in their blood. One of their characters (shockingly, my favorite) was an escort assassin who has neat little add-ons like cameras in her corneas and the ability to engineer hypnotic pheromones to lower inhibitions. In other words, yes, they’d written about people. But they’d written about advanced people. Evolved people. People who’d taken technology and used it to make themselves better.
If I was going to write a story in the world of The Beam, I knew I’d be writing about sex. But it could be advanced sex. Evolved sex. The old in-and-out could finally take that leap that was already long overdue.
Speculative fiction? Bah. Maybe that was good enough for some people, but this was my chance to indulge in some speculative friction.
The next time I talked to Sean and Johnny and they asked me if I wanted to write in their world, I smiled and said that I did, and that I had one hell of an idea. As a bonus, the title wrote itself.
I would call my story The Future of Sex.
Oh, the Nanobots
Sure, there’s plenty of dick-and-hole action in my vision of the future. But as The Future of Sex opens, the company looking to hire my main gal Chloe Shaw — a monolith called O — has already spent their entire corporate history asking what more there could possibly be. “The Future of Sex” is their tagline. It’s their mission. It’s the reason they exist, and following its guideposts has made them one of the largest companies in the world.
I set Chloe’s story in 2060, halfway down Sean and Johnny’s master timeline, just as the first internet expansion (a network called Crossbrace) is due to be replaced by The Beam. The key difference between the two is that while Crossbrace connected people to others and their environments more than ever before, it was built by humans and couldn’t help but be limited by primitive thought.
By contrast, The Beam — in beta for special clients like O as the story opens — was built by A.I. That means new levels of connectivity, but it also demands new levels of participation. When The Beam reaches its full potential, O imagines, classical sex and enhanced porn will cease to be good enough.
People will start to live half or more of their lives as if they were digital beings — where small distractions like bodies and physical laws no longer apply.
I won’t go into a ton of detail (mainly because you can just start reading the first book by clicking the links at the end of this post), but let’s just say that thinking as the O Corporation gave me all sorts of ideas about how sex might evolve by the year 2060. And as if that wasn’t enough, thinking as Chloe — who turns out to be a bit of a prodigy — gave me all sorts of ideas about how sex might evolve further by the year 2097, with The Beam as a catalyst.
New materials technologies. Immersive simulation. Nanobots. You get the idea.
Just about every sci-fi story — ahem, sorry … any tale of speculative fiction — contains a warning. The Beam certainly does, and the fact that its world is so familiar definitely unsettled me as a reader. And so yes, The Future of Sex has plenty of “makes you think” messages — about humanity, about desire, about stimulation of the body and mind (along with all the gray matter between them), and about what happens when natural evolution is influenced by marketing and profit.
But even without that … man oh man is future sex breathtaking. It would make our single-celled ancestors proud, because for once we’re not just putting a new coat of paint on a familiar machine. In The Future of Sex, humanity has pumped its collective fist into the air and declared, “Screwing and sex toys and porn are not enough for us! We need to evolve … well … everything!”
But something surprising happened as I wrote the first Future of Sex book … and then the three that have followed so far. I began to wonder if forward was always the right direction for progress. Evolution had always felt so clearly like an unending thing, but maybe that’s not the case. Maybe, in sex, the universe has already made something perfect. Something that doesn’t need to be improved upon.
Of course, I don’t know which way I’m leaning on that issue yet, because Chloe’s story isn’t complete.
At this point, I can only speculate.
But that, my friends, won’t stop you from having many, many hot times with Chloe along the way.
Or, read Episode One of The Future of Sex for FREE on the Blog by Clicking the Links Below: