Behind the Curtain

    Why the pen name? Why the whole establishment of an entirely separate entity? Why isn’t the ebook’s author visible?

    Does Reveries ( embarrass me? Am I ashamed of publishing so much sexual detail?

    Those were questions from the clique to whom I devulged my nom de porn and output.

    The wise guy response: Hey. Why so many questions?

    But it was good to have friends challenge me. What better preparation exists for the inevitable tight-assed abstainers, the righteous who advertise their piety instead of demonstrate virtue, and the extreme hardcore types who wonder whether procreative relations are necessary sinning? 

    Recently, a collar of New York City clerics and laity convened a press conference. They decried the high number of abortions within the five boroughs. Looking upon the clammy assemblage, I noticed a paucity of women. Mostly men complained about a condition unique to the second sex. Sincere as every male in that room could’ve sworn himself, not a one had first-hand knowledge regarding menstruation, ovulation or gestation. 

    Especially the ones who’d taken celibacy vows. A-hem, instead of amen.  
    And while they were bold enough to publicize the dilemma, none was brave enough to suggest contraception. That remedy alone leads to huge reductions in unwanted pregnancies and diseases. Emphasis on abstinence only produces frustration, “experimentation,” maybe an STD, or worse, an 18-year tax deduction who demands being regularly fed. 

    The only sex under strictly proscribed parameters crowd is not Reveries audience

    Aren’t the morally inflexible great at exaggeration and playing telephone? 

    I don’t obscure my identity from fear of the none-holier-than-me gang. If our society were more mature, I’d enjoy openly debating the sexual Luddites, Know-Nothings and Flat-Earthers. It would be an in his prime Ali vs. tomato cans.

    Instead, the cloak spares the uninvolved. My surname isn’t a common one. I don’t want relatives, intimates, friends, colleagues or the men with whom I share names enduring rough questioning or aspersions against their characters. 

    Both groups might find themselves in curious predicaments of innocent entanglement by another’s situation. Since neither group could offer satisfactory answers, they’d erroneously be judged as evasive. As in the “must be hiding something” category. 

    Ah for the days when ignorance deflected inquisitions. Not knowing reaps accusations of “should’ve known anyway.” Then the subsequent interrogation would naturally focus on why the subject was ignorant. 

    That’s good for several sidebars of rank speculation! 

    So no. I prefer sparing my Christmas card list and strangers undeserved modern tabloid indignity. 

    Besides, just because I’ve fleshed out four stories that trade in earthly pleasures doesn’t mean I’m possessed by lust. Tough. I won’t join the lengthening roster of men whose appetites allegedly became addictions.

    This man knows his limits. 

    Which may or may not exceed those of others. I reject comparisons. 

    After all, what reader sees Stephen King as a ghoul? Or Anne Rice as a vampire? Or Tom Clancy as a special ops devil dog? Not hardly. Even the Wizard wasn’t a wizard! So why should anyone who presents frank fiction be branded a fiend? 

    That’s too knee-jerk even for our inattentive society.

    Have Beyond the Classroom, On Display, Stretched Bliss and One Above and One Below grown through kernels of fact? Is each story based on accumulations of actualities? 

    Plenty of fiction has germinated from real life. Let’s just say all four stories were lovingly tended with invention and embellishment. And that’s where we’ll leave the matter. 


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