This isn't the story I teased about when I asked the question "How Gay Does It Have to Be?" If anyone has been waiting for that one, sorry -- it's still locked on my old computer, though I have a plan in mind to deal with that.
The focus isn't erotic -- if you just want sex scenes, again sorry; some may happen along the way, but none are planned. I do intend however, to explore some other aspects of human sexuality -- hopefully profoundly. (Yeah, right, says my muse -- make promises you can't keep!)
The title describes the story in three ways I know of -- as Neil has shown us all, stories have their own way of taking on life, so the tale itself may develop another, or two. In fact, just while writing that, another twinkling of an idea popped a synaptic watt or two in the back of my head.
I often wonder -- why "in the back of my head"? Is there a special "idea zone" back there? A delivery dock from the universe of concepts, where Swerve's counterparts travel about dropping off bits to a multitude of minds? I really don't know, but that's not mere musing: that, too, has its place in the tale.
I don't promise romance, or passion -- though I don't forbid them; if they come, let it be with a vengeance! -- but I will promise a princess or two, and of course princes, with perhaps dragons of sorts from which they must by all means be rescued, and their hearts must, in the end, be won (if only in another story).
I don't aim for this to be short, nor for it to be long. When I write a story, I envision a beginning, and a goal, a sort of Emerald-City-like place I'll know better when I get there, but to which for the nonce I may, gathering up the characters, forces, and all manner of extras, point and declare, "Onward!" From there, it's a matter of spinning an entry into this other world, setting out a scene, and wrestling the whole menagerie onward toward the goal. How long it takes can surprise me; sometimes a tale I was sure would require twenty thousand words finds a climax in far less than half that; other times, something I meant (not unlike Neil's Watching Brad) for a short hike into the unreal world and back becomes a saga. And then, sometimes when I get to the goal to which I aimed us all, I find it wasn't the end, just a place to see the end from, and the word-wagons roll on, dragging dreams into letters for me to marvel at as they emerge, and you, hopefully, to enjoy.
Please, critique and lambast as you will; please don't lampoon. This is taken from memory of a story I began once, which hit, according to a friend with a warped sense of humor, 71,683 pages -- though I counted them as 124, in pencil on tablets of lousy, yellow, hard-on-the-eyes paper. I can find only scraps of the manuscript; with my luck, the rest got scooped up and are packed now in storage with other things in a box labeled "Summer Crafts" or some such thing.... at any rate, I'm left with a few concepts, a handful of characters, and the incredible itch to be telling a story where it can get feedback. With that disorganized base, I'm sure it will provide plenty of opportunity; I invite you to exploit whatever pops up.
With that, I have a few polishings to do on the first piece. Don't get your hopes up; the opening may be something only a geek could love. It's going to lack something in my eyes, because JUB doesn't have the cute font tricks available that I can play on my computer. You judge the result.