Guest Blog: Tim Baker

Love Stinks

At first, I balked at the idea of writing a zombie/erotica story. I mean, c’mon. These two things are not alike. But, after a small prod from Tim Marquitz, I thought, what the hell, it’s a chance to push my imagination to places only a psychotic would go which, as a horror writer, is my job. It turned out to be a short trip.  It wasn’t inspiration that brought the story about so much, but more a set of logical conclusions. Not wanting to reinvent the zombie wheel, I used the classic Romero zombie, which is not supernatural but a creature of this world, bound by physical imperatives, biologic function, and previous life habits. So I thought, what kind of zombie would still be sexualized, one that would, when prompted, and the conditions were right, screw like an undead nympho? Town hump? Hooker? Lindsay Lohan? No wait. Porno star. A porno SUPERSTAR. Yeah, that’s it. Beautiful and skilled and stalked.

Now I’m off to the races. Next, how would she respond? What would turn her on? Would she orgasm? Seemed unlikely, seeing that a zombie’s overriding desire is to eat, their turn on, so to speak. Hmmm, gotta turn that hunger thing off, if only for a few minutes so a man, my protagonist, can do what he came (ahem) to do without getting gnawed on. Easy enough. Overfeed, engorge her until she effectively says, “Whew, I’m stuffed. Enough already.”

Foreplay. Check. Now she’s good to go for some lovin’. Now, I wanted her to orgasm because, hey, this is a fantasy, right? Well, at least something akin to an orgasm. Okay, zombie love to chow on flesh like every day is Thanksgiving. And like us, eventually they have to eliminate the last meal to ready for the next, and we all know how good that feels, so logically… oh man. So, thus the inspiration for the title of my nasty little tale, Love Stinks. Thank you, J. Geils Band. Afterwards, after the story was done and submitted, like most victims of sexual assault, I had to go scrub myself in a very hot shower with a Brillo pad.

 Tim Baker

Tim Baker is a Mad Storitist experimenting with forbidden combinations of words and sentences in an attempt to create living, breathing, story beings intent on taking over the world—or at least, the small village in which he abides. Living on the high plains of Colorado and secluded in a basement with his alien born felines, he occasionally emerges to teach children Judo at a local gym. He loves long walks on the moors and candlelit butchering of stories and movies. Previously published in Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous. You can find his odd meanderings on his blog at:

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Fifty Shades of Decay


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