Blind_Justice
Universe builder
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2012
- Posts
- 3,066
No, I didn't pick the wrong site to post on. I've written an erotic story, only one wrapped into a cyberpunk setting. If anyone would be kind enough to spare me a few hours of his or her time to help me squash some nasty bugs, I'd be most grateful.
I mostly need help with grammar and punctuation, as well as a second set of eyes for those errors the spell checker didn't quite catch. Word count is around 5700, so it's not that long.
The sex involved is straight M/F, pretty tame stuff.
To give you an impression, here's a few paragraphs from the beginning:
--snip--
Cat killed Curiosity (tenuous working title)
by Blind_Justice
Rain.
Nothing but rain for the last few weeks. Never before have I seen so
many, so awfully rainy days. I actually felt like being in the old 2D
VHS of "Blade Runner", flickering, broken neon lights and old, barely
working CRT TVs in the store windows of pawn shops included. I hovered
in front of one of those, its grey, blotted PVC awning offered a bit
of protection from the torrents pouring from the skies. The badly
maintained TV screens plastering the window showed a nice cross-
section of what we called television in the year 2020. So it was
mostly adverts, in screaming colors, huge letters and lots of close-ups. Thankfully
the store owner had the volume muted.
"The ultimate for home defense! H&K TK666, rapid fire, maximum
stopping power. Never fear, HK is here!"
"The Iron Stallion implant - each night, every night, and she'll never
know!"
"Channel XXX, because we know what you need. Male, female, whatever,
we'll show it!"
"Cybernator WarMachine! The unstoppable battle cyborg! He's fresh out
of the vat, but damn, he's angry! Rated T for Teen."
I decided that braving the pouring rain was better than suffering any
more product placement, and so I shuffled off, clutching a worn
synth-leather duffel bag close to my body, while moving towards the
ominously looming spires of the apartment plex I called home for the
time being. Most people had more common sense than me and stayed
indoors in this weather, so my only company was the usual big-city
soundscape, faintly echoing, distorted dubstep remixes of ancient '80s
pop songs, punctuated only by the wail of police sirens or the throaty
staccato of automatic gun fire.
Finally, the shadowy monolith of 'my' apartment tower was looming over
me. Only a couple dozen meters and I would be out of that blasted
rain. I barely felt the icy blasts of wind whistling around the
towers, probably a side-effect of the meds used on me in the corporate
clinic where I got that interesting implant behind my left ear.
A tingle of anticipation pulsed through my body. I had worked my ass
off until finally someone important seemed to notice that I brought
reasonable results in my line of work and decided I was worth bringing
into the big league. So, a few days ago, a mysterious Ms. Smith called
me and offered the chance of a lifetime. I didn't get to meet her,
instead they sent a car that carted me through half the city, I got
the implant and the bag and was sent on my way, along with some
instructions on what I should do with both. To avoid suspicion, they
dropped me off a dozen or so blocks away from my flat, in a part of
town where tricked-out corporate limos wouldn't raise an eyebrow.
That's the main reason I had to wade all the way here.
I moved a little faster, trying to evade the flooded pot holes, and
finally reached the front door. Fumbling in the pockets of my drenched
black coat, I produced a scratched swipe card and fed it to the
reader, once, twice. But apart from a status LED feebly blinking
nothing happened. Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the cheaply-made
reader and promptly got rewarded with a friendly jingle and the front
door opening.
--snap--
If you want to help me publish this thing, please contact me via my e-mail stored in my Lit profile.
I mostly need help with grammar and punctuation, as well as a second set of eyes for those errors the spell checker didn't quite catch. Word count is around 5700, so it's not that long.
The sex involved is straight M/F, pretty tame stuff.
To give you an impression, here's a few paragraphs from the beginning:
--snip--
Cat killed Curiosity (tenuous working title)
by Blind_Justice
Rain.
Nothing but rain for the last few weeks. Never before have I seen so
many, so awfully rainy days. I actually felt like being in the old 2D
VHS of "Blade Runner", flickering, broken neon lights and old, barely
working CRT TVs in the store windows of pawn shops included. I hovered
in front of one of those, its grey, blotted PVC awning offered a bit
of protection from the torrents pouring from the skies. The badly
maintained TV screens plastering the window showed a nice cross-
section of what we called television in the year 2020. So it was
mostly adverts, in screaming colors, huge letters and lots of close-ups. Thankfully
the store owner had the volume muted.
"The ultimate for home defense! H&K TK666, rapid fire, maximum
stopping power. Never fear, HK is here!"
"The Iron Stallion implant - each night, every night, and she'll never
know!"
"Channel XXX, because we know what you need. Male, female, whatever,
we'll show it!"
"Cybernator WarMachine! The unstoppable battle cyborg! He's fresh out
of the vat, but damn, he's angry! Rated T for Teen."
I decided that braving the pouring rain was better than suffering any
more product placement, and so I shuffled off, clutching a worn
synth-leather duffel bag close to my body, while moving towards the
ominously looming spires of the apartment plex I called home for the
time being. Most people had more common sense than me and stayed
indoors in this weather, so my only company was the usual big-city
soundscape, faintly echoing, distorted dubstep remixes of ancient '80s
pop songs, punctuated only by the wail of police sirens or the throaty
staccato of automatic gun fire.
Finally, the shadowy monolith of 'my' apartment tower was looming over
me. Only a couple dozen meters and I would be out of that blasted
rain. I barely felt the icy blasts of wind whistling around the
towers, probably a side-effect of the meds used on me in the corporate
clinic where I got that interesting implant behind my left ear.
A tingle of anticipation pulsed through my body. I had worked my ass
off until finally someone important seemed to notice that I brought
reasonable results in my line of work and decided I was worth bringing
into the big league. So, a few days ago, a mysterious Ms. Smith called
me and offered the chance of a lifetime. I didn't get to meet her,
instead they sent a car that carted me through half the city, I got
the implant and the bag and was sent on my way, along with some
instructions on what I should do with both. To avoid suspicion, they
dropped me off a dozen or so blocks away from my flat, in a part of
town where tricked-out corporate limos wouldn't raise an eyebrow.
That's the main reason I had to wade all the way here.
I moved a little faster, trying to evade the flooded pot holes, and
finally reached the front door. Fumbling in the pockets of my drenched
black coat, I produced a scratched swipe card and fed it to the
reader, once, twice. But apart from a status LED feebly blinking
nothing happened. Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the cheaply-made
reader and promptly got rewarded with a friendly jingle and the front
door opening.
--snap--
If you want to help me publish this thing, please contact me via my e-mail stored in my Lit profile.
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