It would be easier for Yukon to look at this piece as one big ball of nonrespect for the reader. "How could you underestimate my intelligence like that?" you'd ask the author aloud. "Of course it wasn't sex! Any moron could see that!"
But that would be the easy way out. Blame the author instead, gentle reader, for attempting subtlety...and failing utterly.
Humor works, author, only when handled with skill.
All else is transparent and plodding. So
with that in mind, we present the transparent and plodding:
Rubbing Her the Right Way
(Or "Well, DUH...")
by TJ
Title- Rubbing Her the Right Way (or,
"Rubbing the Readers the Wrong Way)
Author- TJ
Rating- PG (this one's a tough call) (No it's not.
It's PG. There, that wasn't tough, now was it? Ohhhhhh...Yukon understands
now...the author is trying to mess with our fragile little minds, and make us think it's
smut. You'll have to do better than this, TJ. I'll believe it's smutty when I
read about yet another purple-helmeted warrior eagerly searching for its warm, moist
cavern o' love.)
Category- MSR (Not really.)
Summary- Mulder does Scully a big favor. (Indeed he does.
He gives her a backrub.)
Spoilers- None (Except my appetite. So much for
that Eye of Newt and wild rice pilaf simmering in the cauldron. Yukon begrudgingly
admits she's already spoiled the GREAT BIG SURPRISE of the story.
Yawn. Oh, and in "The Crying Game"...'she' has a dick. A little
one.)
Disclaimer- (Sound of maniacal laughing,) They're mine! All mine!
(followed by the sound of footsteps of men in little white coats who are coming to
take me
away, haha, hehe, hoho.) If I thought they were mine, or claimed so, we all know
what
would happen.
(Yes, we'd have it confirmed that this was the end result of genuine
lunacy, rather than mere incompetence. You might want to reconsider the idea,
author. The lunacy angle gets you off the hook.)
M and S are not my creation, no matter what the little voices inside my head
say. They belong entirely to CC, 1013 Productions, Fox Network, the talented DD and
GA
and anyone else associated with the production of the X-Files. There, I said
it. Can I have a weekend pass now?
(No, not if you're going to keep writing transparent, plodding crap
like this.)
A Special Note:
I wrote this story in the early morning hours of May 21, 2000. I was so hyped about
Requiem that I couldn't sleep. After seeing the season finale tonight I'm a bundle
of
nerves. To anyone else who is experiencing similar mood swings because of
the last line in Requiem, I hope this helps take your mind off the chaos
that Chris Carter has created. If not, try this.
Arrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!! There. That's much better.
(Repeat after Yukon: It's just a television show. If the
odd, fictitious events that happen to odd, fictitious characters in an odd, fictitious
show cause you to lose sleep or to become a bundle of nerves, you do indeed
require counseling. Chris Carter did not create chaos, author. All he did was
write that one of the characters he created for a television show may think she's
pregnant. That's all. Go forth and get a life.)
________________________________________________________
"Mmmmm...yeah, oh, yeah, that feels good," (as
massages usually do, if performed properly. You're welcome, author, for finishing
the sentence you ended with a comma.)
"You like that?" I whisper in her ear.
"Yeah, I really, really like that," is her response before she repeats the
"mmmm" part.
"Slower or faster?" I ask, aiming to please.
"Faster,"
"Like this?" I don't know why I'm so worried about this. It's not
like I haven't done this before. It's just that I haven't done this with *Scully*
before. (See, now you might have hooked Yukon this early, if
you hadn't given it away so flagrantly in the title and headers.)
"Ooooh, yeah, yeah. I really like that. God, that feels good."
Her head is tossed back and her hair falls from her face as she moves it from side
to side. I quicken my pace although I am starting to get tired. I don't want
to stop now.
"Ooo, can you move down a little more?" She asks. (And WHAMMO, just like that, it's no longer sex.
It's a massage. See where it happens, author? If she'd said, "Ooh,
a little lower," then we might still be with you. Okay, no we wouldn't.
You lost us with the overly-obvious title. See, it's called beta, and it's
available. Make use of it.)
"Uh huh," I say simply and do what she asks.
"Ohhh, oh, right there, that's it. Oh, you've found it," she
sounds almost breathless, so I know that I must have located X marks the spot. (That X marks the spot thing is both awkward and TACKY. And the
reader is already impatient, because we know the author is trying to make us think he's
found her clitoris. Author, Mulder is a grown man. Trust Yukon, he'd find it
without a problem.)
I lean into her, giving her all the force I've got. (Ick.)
"Harder, Mulder," she is grimacing as she tells me. "You can do it
harder." (Yawn. It's SUCH a massage. Harder,
deeper, yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.)
"I don't want to hurt you," I could never hurt Scully, especially not when
I'm doing my damnedest to make her feel good.
"Harder, Mulder. It feels great when you do it hard," As reassurance, she
places her hand over the one of mine that is using her shoulder as leverage. (See, even this might work if you hadn't given it away so early.)
I press into her body deeper, enthralled by the satin texture of her bare skin. God,
she's so soft. I am met by resistance suddenly, and pull back afraid that for
certain must have hurt. (The "bare skin" reference
is the only thing in this entire thing that implies some sort of MSR angle.
Otherwise, it could just as easily be friendship. Friends massage friends' backs all
the time. It's not a sex thing.)
"Don't stop!" she almost moans, her body tensing. (She's
raised her voice, and it's almost a moan? "Yes!" Scully whispered.)
"It's just that you're so tight, Scully. Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"
"God, Mulder! I told you it feels great. Sometimes it's better because it
hurts," she grins and then adds, "Just keep doing what you have been and soon
it'll be your turn to feel this good." (Right. Now the
implied sex is implied S&M. And Yukon doesn't mean "Scully &
Mulder".)
"That's ok, (okay) Scully, you don't have to return the
favor, you know.(comma before the quote)" I tell
her. I don't want her to feel obligated.
"Come on, Mulder! Don't give me that crap.... ummm, yes...ummmm, oh!" (S)she sucks in her breath a bit as I push back into her, harder
than I had before. "You know you want to have one too." (And
yet another slipup. Have one? Have one what? If he's pushing into her,
the implication is sexual intercourse, not a handjob or some other one-sided sexual
experience.)
"Yeah, it would be great, Scully. It's been such a long time for me."
"Really, I thought you had one at least once a week."
"No, it got too expensive, you know. Besides, the girl I went to quit a few
months ago." (And...if the prior slipups hadn't done the
job, THIS one would have. Now the implication is that Mulder not only frequented a
prostitute, but also admitted it casually to Scully. Righto.)
"ummm, mmmm, oh, oh, right there, harder, harder....she quit? What'd ya do to her
Mulder?" ("I guess I pushed into her too hard.
After she got out of traction, she said she didn't want to see me anymore.")
She somehow gets that in at the end. I can't believe she's still trying to
carry on a conversation. (You're not the only one. See
below.) She should be comatose at this point. I'm tempted to look at my
watch. How long have we been at this now? It has to be at least a half an
hour.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I tease.
Scully elbows me in response. 'She's jealous.' I think to myself, then add, (same paragraph)
"She decided to get out of the business once she got married, that's all. It made her husband uncomfortable, I guess. Trust me Scully, there was nothing to it for either of us, but a client/service provider relationship," (Of COURSE there wasn't. Professional massage therapists are just that: professional massage therapists.) It was a shame too, 'cause she was really good. I was her most regular client for the longest time. (We'll disregard the pukeriffic Billy Joel reference for the time being. Yukon is unsure why the author still assumes that the reader would believe this smut nonsense. Perhaps it's due to a lack of understanding on the topic. Here's something that might help:
SEX 101 for Underage Smut Authors:
Conversational Possibilities
1. Sex feels really good. Even if you don't like the
other person very much, the human body tends to like the feeling of it. Very much.
This is why there are over six billion of us now on this little planet.
2. Part of the "feeling good" bit of sex is that primal instincts tend to
come out more, and conscious thought becomes less of a priority, much less a possibility.
3. Sex is exertion, if you do it right. Participants become short of breath,
and they perspire. It's great.
The practical conclusion to arrive at, author, is that regular,
normal, non-panting dialogue just doesn't happen in the middle of really good sex.
Nuh-uh. Screaming of names is a stretch as it is. It's an animalistic
thing. People grunt, they groan, they moan, and they sigh. Some whimper, and
some cry out. Some even scream. They do not converse in complete sentences.
And even if they try, they have to stop every few syllables for air. The
exertion alone makes it tough to talk properly. When you're old enough, author,
you'll have some sex yourself, and you'll understand why the rest of us found this story
ridiculously silly and unintentionally funny. And naive.)
"Can we change positions, Scully? My arms are cramping up," I
ask, trying to change the subject. It bothered me that Scully knew about how I
spent one hour each week releasing stress. It shouldn't have. A lot of men do
it. Fortunately, she rarely gave me a hard time about it. (Why would she? A professional massage is a truly glorious thing,
which most people would indulge in if they had the money for it. And it's not just
men, you silly, silly author. Ever heard of something called a Day Spa?)
"How do you want me?" She asks, stretching as she gets up from the floor.
That's one thing about Scully that always surprises me. She's actually pretty
flexible when it comes down to it.
"On your stomach? Will that be comfortable enough for you?"
"It might feel better that way, actually. Beside, the floor's hard." (Besides.)
She rolls over onto her stomach on the bed (they're in the bedroom?
You might have told us this, author, to reinforce the impression you're trying
[unsuccessfully] to give) and I straddle her hips. I find myself really
liking this position because I get a great view of her ass. I lower myself down onto
her, trying not to put too much of my weight on her. She's so damned tiny. I
worry about crushing her.
(Mulder is straddling her hips while she lies face-down on the bed. And it's still supposed to be about sex? Right. Author, pay attention:
SEX 201 for Underage Smut Authors:
How it's done
http://store.yahoo.com/kamasutrafree/kamsutpos.html
This is a website that shows little anatomically ambiguous dolls demonstrating a plethora of sexual positions. Please note that penetration of the female is pretty much impossible in the position described in the preceding paragraph. Unless her legs are WIDE open or her hips are raised, there's still no sexual possibility here, author. The only thing he might be able to accomplish is a passable dry hump. And it wouldn't be very good for her, considering all her good bits are buried in the mattress.)
This way definitely feels better for me, too.
I begin to rub her again, trying to pick up where I left off. (Okay,
so he's rubbing her, while straddling her ass. This is no longer sloppiness; it's
shifted into the realm of the absurd.) She makes appreciative sighs and moans with
each stroke, punctuated by a few, "Oh's, Ahh's and Mmm's". I can feel all
the tension in her body begin to release knot, by knot. (And the
payload, as the author climaxes prematurely. Knot by knot. Duh.)
Soon she is completely limp under me and I realize she's falling asleep, but by now I'm so
unbearably stiff I can't help myself. I need some release myself. (Okay, THAT was good. Why couldn't you have written the whole thing
like this?) I lean down towards (toward) her and
breathe hotly on the back of her neck to ask, (same paragraph)
"Hey, Scully, when do I get my back rub?" (click here and wait for it...)
(I swear, gentle readers, that really was the punchline.)
Author's notes: (Brace for it, gentle readers)
Hey! You perverts, can't you tell an innocent little back rub from an all out jungle
f*&% when you read one? (Why yes. Yes we can.
Can you?) Geez. Pull your minds out of the gutter and get a clue. (As a duly authorized representative of the readers, I can assure you that
we have a clue. Oh, and we're rubber and you're glue. Neener neener.)
I said the rating was PG, didn't I? (Why yes. Yes you
did. Which is why we knew it wasn't sex, you nutty kid, you.) He's just
rubbing her back, that's all. (Yeah, we got that. Like
before the story began.) And the girl he went to once a week to "relieve
stress" was a massage therapist. (Say it ain't so!
We were all convinced that Mulder was telling Scully about his long-term professional
relationship with a hooker!) And he was stiff because of all
the physical stuff a FBI agent does out in the field, not because he was horny. (Righto.) Well, actually he probably was both, but I didn't
go there with this particular fanfic. Look for Panty Raid to be posted soon.
That one has *lots* of Horny Mulder. (Considering the amount
of sexual knowledge demonstrated in this little opus, don't expect a
rabid readership for the next one, author.)
I couldn't help but write this. (That's absolutely right.
But you could help but post it.) The two characters
on SNL who are always
going at it then act offended when people get upset were the inspiration for this twisted
fic. (If the story sucks, author, we don't care what your
inspiration was. But we shouldn't be surprised it was something puerile and
unrelated to The X-Files in any way.) My husband should also get credit,
however, for giving the best back rubs in the world. (Er...um...HUSBAND?
<gulp> Holy cow there. We really need
to talk, author.) I do intend to return the favor, Hon. And I can't
give enough thanks to Denise for all her help, support and friendship.
Feedback, please! Or I will need a sedative. (Take that
sedative, author, because you're not going to hear from me. Unless of course you
WANT an e-mail version of primal scream therapy.)
[email protected]
General
Evilness
4/5
The assumption that I'd be fished in through the
end was insulting to my witchy intelligence. Tsk.
Gak-o-Tron
1/5
Not too heinous. Not
shmoopy or gakky.
Who ARE These People?
3/5
While Yukon can't see
Scully submitting to a bare-backed massage without at least the pretense of a romantic
relationship, the dialogue wasn't horrifying. Well, except for that hooker innuendo.
I R a Gud Speler
2/5
Not bad.
Grammar/Punctuation
3.5/5
Weird paragraph issues.
Some punctuation problems with quotes. A little odd usage and structure.
Mary Sue Must Die
3.5/5
Yukon suspects the author's love of massages and
puerile late-night sketch comedy was more in her mind than Mulder and Scully were.
Death to Clones
4/5
Been there, author. Lots of authors try to
fool the audience into thinking one thing while they develop the story in another
direction. It's just that others have done it with much more skill. If you
can't help but write it, okay. But you can help whether you post.
Say it with me, gentle readers: Don't post crap.
Wild Card: Transparency and Plodding Attempts at Humor
5
We knew where you were going from the get-go, author. We weren't amused.
Your notes at the end were the best part, really. Truly good unintentional humor
always makes the great arctic witch snicker with joy. You didn't really
think we'd fall for it...did you?
