I know everything is a matter of taste, and that definitely includes erotica. You like what you like. I like what I like. And always, to each hir own. Some like it hot. Make mine tutti-fruity.

There are moments, however, when my mind gets blown by discordant responses to something I’ve written. Right now it’s about my short story “Too Wondrous to Measure.” I wrote this flight of fancy about a woman who is Godzilla’s lover because (1) I love Godzilla, (2) I love erotica with a touch of humor, and (3) I love glimpses into the absurd. The tale ended up with an admittedly odd home in
Gotta Have It: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex. I queried editor Rachel Kramer Bussel before I submitted it, asking whether her call for “quickies” was about people having quickies or just short-short erotic fiction. She said both, so I offered my tale for its erotic content and its brevity. When the book emerged, the “sudden sex” in the subtitle made clear the focus of my naughty nibble wasn’t quite on target anymore. Still, she wanted to include it, and I was pleased to see it in print. (Moreover, since that time, Maxim Jakubowski has decided to include it in his forthcoming Mammoth Book of Erotic Quickies. I am thrilled about that, too, and it gives me hope for humanity. Or for Godzilla-themed porn, anyhow.)

But then there are the reviews. Of the dozen or so erotic short stories I’ve gotten in print to date, several have been singled out as notable within their respective collections. I squee when that happens, audibly. By contrast, one has been called an absolute stinker, and that made me pout. Most, though, seem to fall somewhere in the middle and aren’t mentioned directly by reviewers at all. “Too Wondrous to Measure,” however, has the singular honor of being both loved and loathed, having actively squicked at least two reviewers, so badly as to need warn others that it’s there. Beware story 12 of 69! It’s waiting to getcha! Like Godzilla on a rampage, the story can apparently not only kill your arousal, it can give you The Squick.

You know, I consider the story more than up-front about where it’s headed, from the very first words. The opening line argues that whether size matters “is a question that only makes sense when relative dimensions are not so skewed that a single inserted claw tip fills you up like the biggest cock you’ve ever taken and you have to use your entire body to jerk him off.” To me, that’s just absurd. And funny. Now, if that’s not funny to you, dear reader, that's fine. However, one can probably guess that the rest of the story is not going to be about playboys in penthouses or getting hot for teacher. Several readers, however, apparently did not heed, and went on to read The Whole Story (all 1000 words), and found it…well, icky. Worse than that, in fact, or they wouldn’t be singling it out in their reviews. Adding WTFBBQ to OMG, one reviewer actually critiqued it for being “unbelievable.” Now, I’m entirely sympathetic, but where the heck do I go with that judgment!? Um...yep...Godzilla isn’t real.

Sure, part of the problem is that the story first came out in a book that ended up being mostly a collection of sexual quickies rather than erotic flash fic (though, oddly, no reviews to date have mentioned the story simply not fitting the theme). But it does amaze me that I have had such incredibly oppositional response to the story, from joy to dismay. I guess all I can do is smile, shrug, and end this post where the story itself ends, as my self-insert heroine heads off to Godzilla’s island, away from prying eyes, hoping love will see them through. “Stranger than strange, I know,” she concludes. “But then, all of life’s a miracle, isn’t it? Too wondrous to measure.” Even book reviews.