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About the author:
In her spare time Bibi sings Karaoke and hangs around on film sets with child actors. Having the the firm belief that no one can be too weird or too funny, she happily admits that most of her favorite people and characters are both.
What inspired you to write your book?
A lot of things. I was trying to write something a bit steampunkish, but in the future, though it really turned out more to be a dystopian. And I wanted to write the most unlikely romantic hero ever and was thinking of qualities that would make him unlikely. What I cam up with blows people’s minds.
Here is a short sample from the book:
A few seconds pass while I listen to the low buzz of the tungsten lights and the higher pitched hum of what I assume is the machinery.
“So your service, it’s some kind of machine, right?”
“More or less. Are you ready to try it?” He lays a hand on top of mine. “You don’t need to be scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I lie. “Should I undress?”
“It’s not necessary. You can if you want to.”
I think about that for a moment. The setting is so strange and unsexy. I can’t imagine how anyone would want to undress. There isn’t even a bed. Are we going to have sex on the floor? And when will this machine appear?
“You have questions?” Tully says.
“I have the feeling you’ll say I have to experience it to fully understand.”
He smiles, leaning forward and reaching behind my chair. “I can explain it. But it’s true that your experience will be better if I don’t. Knowing too much interferes with the effect.” When he sits back, he has several wires in his hand, each terminating in a small electrode. As he speaks in a low soothing voice, he attaches the electrodes – one to each temple, one in the center of my forehead, two somewhere in my hair, and one below each ear. “I want you to know that the safe word will work, if you need it. Do you remember it?” I nod as he attaches a final electrode on the back of my neck, just below my hairline.
“Am I having electroshock therapy?” I’m joking. I hope I’m joking.
Tully smiles as he clips a heart rate monitor onto my index finger. “You won’t feel anything.”
“I won’t feel anything? Doesn’t that defeat the whole point of visiting the Pleasures?”
He laughs then, and rises from his stool, turning toward the workbench. “Oh, you’ll feel something. Just not at the point of the electrodes.” He sits on another stool, in front of a chipped cathode screen, which comes to glowing green life as he types onto a clacky keyboard. “Sit back and relax. If you lean forward like that, you’re in danger of falling out of the chair.” He spins on his stool, facing me again. He has a small handheld terminal in his hands, a thick coil of wire connecting it to the equipment on the workbench. “Ready?”
I lean back into the chair, resting my head on the soft cushion. “Ready.”
He turns a knob on the handset. There’s a barely perceptible increase in the background hum as Tully stands. I watch him take one graceful step toward me, two, three and then the world goes black.