By Christie Sims and Alara Branwen
Guest post by Danyul De Guerre
Hi everybody! Suzi asked me to guest blog for her again, and review a story or two by Christie Sims. Yup, that Christie Sims. Christie Sims who writes of the dinosaur sex. So, you know, if you’re type that is at all squeamish about adult language, being reminded that sex is a thing that exists—especially weird sex involving an extinct species of giant reptile—right now would be an excellent time for you to click away from this and go look at pictures of adorable kitties doing adorable things. The following will not be for you. Here be dragons.
I'm not sure who Christie Sims actually is, or Alara Branwen. I did try to look them up on the googles, but despite the massive amount of buzz they've been getting lately, Branwen's social media footprint is very light, and what's there isn't very informative. Sims' social media footprint is basically non-existent. It's probably a safe assumption that they're pen names, and after having read some of their work, it honestly wouldn't surprise me if they were the pen names of a couple of fourteen or fifteen-year-old boys who don't get out much.
I don't really read a ton of erotica, what with the ease and availability of online porn and all. I don't think I've ever read a proper bodice ripper. Basically my measuring stick for narrative smut is the Penthouse Forum letters we had back in the olden times (you know, just after we showed the Nazis a thing or two, and pornography came either on long spools of magnetic powder glued to plastic tape, or as a series of static images printed with ink onto sheets of the pressed cellulose pulp of dead plants). So I can't speak with any real authority how this stacks up against the massive amount of other erotic fiction available online and elsewhere. I imagine a lot of it is quite good.
This story, however, is not good. Good is not what you would call this story. This story is the opposite of good. This story is bad. Fortunately, it's hilariously bad. Even if (or maybe because) the writing really doesn't stack up against a story that begins: “Dear Penthouse, I never thought it would happen to me...”
Let's get into it, shall we?
This is the part where I might normally warn you about spoilers, but you already know this is a story about a woman fucking a dinosaur, right? We're all clear about the dinosaur fucking? Good. There isn't really anything else to spoil, as the dinosaur fucking is the main bit, and the rest of the plot gazes longingly at wet tissue paper, envying it for its relative adamantine durability.
So, Kate needs a job. She's desperate. Desperate enough to jokingly entertain the idea of prostitution, but not so desperate as to consider flipping burgers. Kate's roommate gives her a copy of the local penny saver, in which Kate finds a listing for an overnight security guard position at the local dinosaur museum. Must have car and cell phone.
Kate is interviewed by a bumbling old, kinda folksy, kinda clueless, curator who pronounces 'museum' with three syllables, and thinks calling a potential hire “darlin'” in a job interview is perfectly acceptable behavior. And, despite being the only two job requirements spelled out in the ad, it turns out he isn't all that concerned about the car and cell phone. It seems they've had a ridiculous amount of staff turnover in that position, and gosh, he just can't figure it out. So she's hired on the spot, by way of the cheapest possible classified ad, without a reference check, without a background check, without any experience what-so-ever, to a security position in which she is responsible for what is presumably a priceless fossil collection. And then she's set loose on the job with only a basic orientation, no training, and without even an emergency contact number other than, I assume, 911.
Shady. Shady is what that is. And sketchy. Super sketchy.
Some time after the other museum employees leave, Kate makes her first round of the museum, her kitten heels clacking the whole way. You see, despite the curator's recommendation of sensible footwear, Kate thought some kicky heels would be a good choice for a job that requires walking, and may involve confronting intruders, and possibly running.
I think we may have discovered one of the roots of her employment woes.
Kate wonders to herself what might happen if she did, in fact, have to confront an intruder in her sexy footwear. To which she answers herself (in an English accent, for some reason), “Well then, my dear, you would be well and truly fucked.”
Foreshadowing, ladies and gentlemen! I give you foreshadowing! [slow clap]
Continuing her rounds, Kate becomes entranced with—I shit you not—her own reflection on something shiny. But wait, what was that? Kate hears something large “skittering” in one of the other rooms. Maybe a couple of somethings. Was that movement? Maybe it was nothing.
Kate runs back to the security booth, wondering as she goes if there are security cameras capturing her acting a fool. Which is weird because Kate is a security guard. You'd think they might have mentioned to Kate whether there are security cameras or not. You might even think that Kate, as a security guard, might have access to the security cameras. Oh well. Time for Kate to read her book.
But as Kate reads, she keeps catching more movement out of the corner of her eye. Does she stop reading? Does she call someone? Nah. Probably not a serial killer. Just gonna read this book. But then something brushes her skirt. Could it be the big “skittering” thing? Nah. First reaction: “Eww, bugs!”
But it's not bugs. How could it be bugs? This is Taken at the Dinosar Museum, for fuck's sake. It's the muscular tail of a Pachycephalosaur (a dinosaur, about the size of a horse, with a domed bony skull plate, that stands kind of like a T-Rex). She should be freaking out, she should run, but its tail brushes up against her cotton panties just so, and, ahhhh. Dino-sex is on, folks!
And this is the part of the story where we discover that Pachycephalosaurs are surprisingly gentile and considerate lovers. I say that, because this a very muscular dinosaur the size of a horse, not counting the tail, and which we are told has a really massive cock. If much of anything regarding dinosaur cock exists in the fossil record, I've never read about it, so I guess it's a subject mostly down to speculation. There is, however, a surprising amount known about horses fucking humans. It's a thing that people of a certain disposition will apparently pay good money to experience in one of the (according to wiki answers) fourteen states where that sort of thing is still legal. It seems that the structures of human internal organs don't hold up well under the force generated by the pelvic thrusting of a randy stallion. There have been fatalities. So it speaks to this Pachycephalosaur's gentlemanly restraint that Kate had a lovely time, and didn't suffer from massive, horrible, or massively horrible internal hemorrhaging, or even a dislocated jaw. Good on you, Pachycephalosaur.
The sex scene was actually less over the top than I thought it was going to be. If it had been written with two humans instead of a woman and a dinosaur, it would actually be pretty tame by internet sex standards. I did, however, like the bits where Kate worries about the security cameras again, and where Kate sees a smaller dinosaur running by, wonders briefly if she could fuck that too, but then decides it's too small. I also liked the part where the Pachycephalosaur, after glazing Kate like a Krispy Kreme doughnut, immediately heads for the exit (Ugh, typical man! Am I right, ladies?).
About as much ink is spilled describing Kate masturbating in the, erm, “stringy” aftermath of her encounter with the Pachycephalosaur. She then cleans her self up. Much is made about it taking an entire box of tissues. The curator shows up for his shift, and wonders how Kate developed a limp overnight. Kate goes home, sore, but wondering coquettishly if maybe next shift she'll let the dinosaur put it in her butt. She also discovers that there are, in fact, security cameras. Two of which are pointed directly at her security booth.
This is usually the point in a Christie Sims review where the reviewer gloms onto the obvious weirdness of dinosaur-on-human sex, and wonders about what kind of person would write such a thing, but I don't really feeling traveling that already well-worn path, or making the obvious “mega-sore-ass” joke. Honestly, I don't think it's really any weirder than half the stuff that falls under the category of Rule 34. And anyway, the dinosaur sex isn't actually the disturbing part of the story.
The disturbing part of the story is the bit that didn't really get written about.
First of all, there is a museum where dinosaurs come to life. There is a museum where dinosaurs come to life! There is a fucking museum where fucking dinosaurs fucking come to fucking life!!! Jesus Unregulated-Capitalism Christ, that is fucking amazing!
This should, by all rights, be the single most famous scientific institution in the history of the world, but somehow the live dinosaurs have escaped everyone's attention. I guess the conceit is that nobody knows, not even the museum employees. But like, somebody at this museum knows about this. Somebody absolutely has to know. Somebody has a whole huge stack of video footage of people getting chased around the museum by dinosaurs. Maybe everybody at the museum is in on it. They've had massive turnover with their overnight security staff (and what really happened to them, one wonders?). One of them must have, at some point mentioned something to someone. And there's that Pachycephalosaur that sure seems to know his way around a lady. Add in the fact that they're hiring totally unqualified overnight staff out of the lowest-rent classifieds available. And they don't even bother to train them! Something is really wrong here, folks.
And how do the dinosaurs come to life, anyway? Most anything in a museum that looks like a living dinosaur is just a model, built entirely by an artist, and don't contain real dinosaur parts. And how might a living, breathing, dinosaur spring from some dusty fossilized bones? What about all the partial skeletons which vastly outnumber any complete ones in the collections of institutions like this? Do the partial skeletons turn the rest of the museum into some total horror show of mutilated dinosaur corpses every night?
What is going on here? Is there some ancient cult of necromancers who worship dinosaurs as gods, who nightly re-enfleshify the objects of their worship so that their gods may once again walk the earth? Was Kate, and everyone who held her position before her, meant to be some kind of slutty ritual sacrifice? Is the entire field of paleontology actually a cover for a secret underground Lovecraftian dinosaur rape cult? What the actual fuck is going on here?
There's some kind of seriously sinister conspiracy going on here, that's what. There's so much about this museum that's just plain effed up, and people should be in jail.
It's nice that Kate digs her new job, though.
Taken at the Dinosaur Museum is very much like those old B-movies from the '80s that starred Tracy Lords or Linnea Quigley, which were just awful in every conceivable way, except that Tracy and Linnea spend quite a lot of the movie with their tits out. It's really the only thing selling it. And like those B-movies, there's kind of a cringey/campy laugh factor here, but it's still pretty awful. It's not like anyone here was honestly expecting Shakespeare though, right? At least all the words are spelled correctly.
And... still a better love story than Twilight.
To read more about Taken at the Dinosaur Museum, buy it or add it to your wishlist click here.
Peeking into the archives...today in:
2012: A Dangerous Inheritance by Alison Weir
2011: We, the Drowned by Carsten Jensen
2010: Discussion Question + Happy Halloween!
2009: Giveaway: The Virgin's Daughters by Jeane Westin WINNERS
2008: Vivaldi's Virgins by Barbara Quick