I’m ecstatic that my horror short “The Jezzies” was published this week in The Last Girls Club‘s sizzling Sex Worker Summer Edition. The story is a steamy, cult-like classic in the making.

Think you’re ready for a futuristic sexual revolution? Well, I’ll leave a taste in the hopes you might be tempted to purchase your own copy in print or pdf.

A special thank you to Editor-in-Chief Eda Obey for indulging my kinda weird in her empowering magazine and continuing to push me to embrace my strange. Cheers!

The Jezzies

Lying on your back, touching those holy temples that reside on every person’s body, it’s natural to turn your gaze skywards towards the Jezzies. To pray to them. To worship them. And in doing so, worship yourself. Gaze upwards–they inhabit the top floor of almost every high rise in the world. Revered sex workers, the Jezzies sleep closest to the clouds, gatekeepers to heaven on earth.

Tonight, my family will feast on their beauty at the annual Pascha Party. I purchased three seats before the first full moon. Blessed be our free sexuality!

 Daughter retracts the bedroom’s solar blinds. “Yippee! I’m non-binary today! Non-bi-nar-y! Non-bi-nar-y.” Ze (she/he) chants and patrols the parameter of our bed, a poster child for recent gender reforms.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Aster What thoughtful timing.” I beam at zir (her/his/him) bravery. Daughter has such a creative sense of self. “Do you remember where we’re headed today?”

Aster sits cross-legged now on the end of the bed. Ze is doing her deep breathing and will not answer until zir chi is filled. Children are such a marvel.

Flipping a switch to roll back the blankets, I stretch, check my metabolic rate and testosterone level before announcing to my primary, “And I am masculine today.”

“Really?” Charlie stretches zir hand across my body patting my flat chest.  “My favorite.” Ze rolls on top, pinning me to our mating nest. “Will you wear lace or leather today?

“Hmm…I think both, mate.”

Dressing, I am careful while polishing all straps on my leather pieces. The lace beneath is delicate and likely to tear if I am careless. I read the Tenets of Gender Diversity as they scroll on the closet screen. The words reaffirm that every person has the right to identify daily and change those designations each morning at will. With my custom suit in place, I observe Aster has rejoined us.

Ze is braiding zir favorite Jezzie doll’s hair. From the edge of the bed, the doll’s long legs dangle. Daughter has dressed her in a floral, fuchsia dress and woven flowers in the doll’s plaits. Must be Melek. The famous Pascha Jezzie will perform at the party. Daughter explores her chest, giggling at the weight of Melek’s ample breasts.

“Front row seats! I can’t believe it!” Charlie projects the tickets from zir personal device. Ze lifts me, spins me in a circle. We are gleeful in anticipation of today’s festivities. It has been too long since our sexual energy has been replenished. Charlie wears a hand-beaded tunic that pleases me greatly, a ritual robe for a special occasion, and I know there is nothing underneath.

This way to the Pascha Party…