OH, HOW I LOVE A WOMAN IN ARMOUR!

And I'm not talking that skimpy brass bikinis stuff. I'm talking plate, head to foot, cap-a-pe, as I think they say somewhere in Shakespeare. Give me a woman who's been locked, bolted, strapped, and screwed into a full suit of armour.

NEWS FLASH!********NEW ROXY KATT STORY ACCEPTED FOR EROTIC LESBIAN ANTHOLOGY!

"The City Pony," a new story of mine never published before, has just been accepted for Cleis Press's upcoming anthology, WHERE THE GIRLS ARE: URBAN LESBIAN EROTICA (editor, D.L. King). I'm thrilled about it. This means that so far, I have two stories lined up for hardcopy publication in 2009. The other story, of course, as announced earlier, will be a phallogyne story to appear in the MAMMOTH BOOK OF EROTIC CONFESSIONS (editor, Barbara Cardy) some time in the middle of 2009.

Keeping my fingers crossed for some more submissions under consideration.

A ROXY KATT STORY -- WAITING FOR MICKEY

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RIGHT NOW I JUST DON'T

give a fuck.

I am very tired.

Tired of failing every single fucking day of my life to life up to any sort of standard I set for myself. Whether that's because the standards are too high or not, I just can't meet them.

So I've gradually stopped setting them.

I can't live a single fucking day that I don't feel was wasted. My labours seem always inadequate, and even when I can acquit myself of the charge of laziness, my labours seem to achieve much too little.

So I wander through my days in a kind of stupid autopilot, unable to get off it. Inspiration, ideas, enthusiasm frighten me because I know I will be on autopilot again before I can ever make anything of them.

Some people are plagued by bad health all their lives, poverty, drugs, some miserable family situation, some terrible character flaw, whatever.

With me, it's just pissing everything away. I can't figure out how much of this is my fault and how much of it is just the inevitable imperfection we are all saddled with one way or the other.

The wealth of my mind and my soul is buried in junk.

GREENE, IOWA: A HAVEN FOR HOMOPHOBIC DISCRIMINATION

Since when, I wonder, in a supposedly democratic country, is a town allowed to block purchase of a home because it doesn't like what the prospective owner publishes, however legal?

Check out Brenna Lyons' Blog for details.

Citizens of Greene: what is your fucking problem?

REMEMBRANCE DAY

Congrat-

ulations, America, on liberating yourself from the Republican nightmare. There is still lots to do, of course, but this is a great step. Well done!

And putting that in today's context, Remembrance Day, maybe now in future there will be fewer whose deaths we will need to grieve.

Canada, take note. You are still asleep when it comes to Afghanistan. You are kept there by the same kind of sometimes mindless, sometimes politically motivated rhetoric which, for example, sent so many to their needless deaths in the imperialist war of 1914-1918. Today is a day to learn from those deaths, not to use the honouring of the dead as a tool to make more of them.

A NEW WEE STORY -- INVASION

Blargh! I wrote this wee 250 word story to post at Alison Tyler's blog for her key contest, but I made a mistake about the date and now it's too late. Well, let's just post it here, shall we?

INVASION

by Roxy Katt

Her shiny, form-fitting suit of armour makes her look like a steel mannequin or a robot. You can't even see her eyes beneath the narrow slits of her sealed anatomical helmet. She has a huge raygun on each metal hip.

But there is a real woman locked inside. Tall, proud, an alien with designs on my planet. She gave me her key, for the lock she can't quite reach.

Her need was unbearable, she said.

"Hurry woman," she says, bent way over, metal ass in the air. She grasps a slender tree for support. "We must not be discovered by my troops."

The lock is placed like an asshole deep between her metal cheeks. I stick the key in: turn.

*BOING!* The hinged bumhatch flips up. Her skin is so soft, so white . . .

Slowly, slowly, I push it up her bum: the huge, well oiled plug she gave me. She gasps, trembles.

Then it's all in . I pause. I throw the switch at the base and it begins to hum.

"Oh . . . oh . . . that's . . . so good," she groans faintly.

I watch. I forget what she offered me in return but it's unimportant. I push the hatch down firmly and it clicks shut.

"Huh?" she says, standing upright, feeling her locked bum. I drop the key down a ventilation slit in her back. "What the . . .?"

"Your troops have spares. Enjoy your humiliation before them, stupid bitch!" I walk away laughing. But I know her type: she'll come back for more.