...Like any other text a slash text is a node in a web, a part of an often complex intertextual sequence, and it bears a close and running relationship with (at least) one other text. This is why I use the term palimpest to indicate a nonhierarchical, rich layering of genres, more or less partially erased and resurfacing, and a rich and complex continuum of themes, techniques, voices, moods and registers....
...Far from being a monolithic, repetitive set of substandard texts created by a naive set of scribbling women whose bizarre hobby stands apart from any self-respecting body of literature, slash is a legitimate part of the literary discursive field...
Mafalda Stasi, "The Toy Soldiers From Leeds: The Slash Palimpest": in Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, ed. Hellekson and Busse, McFarland and Company, 2006.
From Helen Raven's The Same River:
“The humans you have sex with, do they please you with their cocks? With what they do with their cocks.”
A mechanoid showing curiosity about his sex life. Definitely a novelty.
Again, he considered lying, but the truth seemed to bring such interesting responses from Grey. “You’re the sum total of my sex life at the moment. It’s been a while since I had sex with a human.”
“When you did, then. Did he please you with his cock?”
It was some seconds before he replied, and then it was slowly. “Yes, he pleased me. Very much. But he’s dead now.”
“It was William Bodie, wasn’t it?”
He had got to his knees and was staring down at the machine. “It can’t be in the briefing. Nobody knew. I’m positive nobody knew.”
“It’s not in the briefing. That was my first guess.”
Doyle lay down again, but on his back. He felt suddenly exhausted. “You’re a clever machine, Grey. Maybe too clever for your own good.” He didn’t know what he meant by that. Just something to say. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. Silence again.
The mattress dipped then recovered. Floorboards creaked and pistons sighed.
“I have made you angry again.”
He opened his eyes. Grey was kneeling in front of him. “I’m not angry. I’m sad. Thinking about him makes me sad.” With an effort, he sat up. “It’s time I took you back.”
“Do you wish I was him?”
“I wish everyone was him. But you’ll do for now. Pass me my shirt.”
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