“She’s a dreamer,” he said, his voice hard and sharp in the silence of the room. “The illustration shows her in a dream state.”
“And those…?” Juliana pointed a finger, ran the tip over the phallic objects in the illustration.
“Tentacles. This passage here.” He pointed to a few paragraphs of illegible text. “This passage refers to an old god. There doesn’t seem to be a name, which doesn’t surprise me. The god that I’m involved with never has a name in any of the other texts, there’s rarely much of a description either. The woman in the picture is a dreamer, so she’s special. She is able to form a psychic link with the god, to communicate with him or her. Or them.” He shrugged. “I don’t think trying to label these things with our own concepts or number or sex,” he emphasised the word, “is very helpful.”
His tongue ran over his bottom lip, and Juliana imagined the way it might taste. Her body cried out for him, wanted to feel the weight of his flesh on top of her own, the press of his cock between her legs. Lay me down right here, she thought, then shook her head in an attempt to clear it.
This wasn’t like her. Not at all. She was quiet, shy, a little prudish.
Gifts from the Old God is a tale of tentacle sex and cosmic terror, which I like to call “Lovecraftian Erotica”. There’s a conspiracy to free an Old God, the Necronomicon makes an appearance, and there’s a wave of horniness and lust sweeping through a city by the sea.