Ebook Sale @ Smashwords!

Fellow-travelers, greetings from the edge of the Great Beyond! As I gaze into the abyss (and perceive, just as Friedrich Nietzsche warned us, that it gazes back at me), visions of the future form in my slightly foggy mind.

Visions of… you! Yes, you, doing something… something obscure, uncommon… something odd, very odd, in this, the 21st Century, the era of people so distrustful they would rather catch a deadly virus than take the vaccine against it!

You are seated at your computer, reading an ebook!

A very naughty ebook, I might add. How do I know? Certain subtle signs… or not so subtle, if you’re a guy. I never bothered to count, but I seem to have approximately equal sales to both pitchers and catchers, if you catch my drift?

Or maybe it’s a book that makes you uncomfortable, for some reason. It’s a brutally honest tale of childhood, helplessness, and sexual abuse… but far be it from me to dictate your tastes in erotica or pornography!

What’s the book’s title, you ask? Alas, the spirits refuse to adjust the focus on my Beyond-O-Scope, and it’s too blurred to read. But I do know what you are thinking!

You are thinking “Good grief, what a piece of shit! I disagree with everything this author has to say, in this or any other book he or she has ever authored, and I have developed a profound personal dislike for him or her! Furthermore, this writing style sucks donkey dicks! It’s somewhere between reading Vladimir Putin’s annual speech to the Duma, and the science-fiction novels of A. E. Van Vogt! I can’t believe the publisher paid… oh wait…”

And then you remember that you are reading a self-published ebook, and there are no editors, proof-readers or publishers standing in-between you, naked, and the writer’s wounded, bleeding, pus-oozing, maggot-infested ideas.

Nothing at all!

And you smile… yes, smile… because YOU, lucky human, BOUGHT THIS BOOK ON SALE, at discounts ranging from 25-50%! At that rate, even this sordid, cliché-ridden piece of monkey excrement is a bargain!

And bravely, brushing the flies off the carcass of Western literature, you turn back to your screen and read on!

I told you I would not dictate your tastes in sexually titillating reading, and I won’t. But let me politely SUGGEST this:

If you buy my ebooks from Smashwords (adult filter set to “All Erotica”) between March 5-11, including the memoir “Growing Up in the Orgone Box: Secrets of a Reichian Childhood” at 50% off ($3.49), and/or my non-fiction interspecies romance novel, “Wet Goddess: Recollections of a Dolphin Lover,” at 25% off ($5.24), YOU WILL NOT BE BORED AND WILL NOT REGRET IT!

Your precious time will be spent reading only carefully-crafted words picked for the peak of perfection, woven into epic, thunderous, yet strangely tender tales, stories that seem hauntingly familiar yet unutterably alien, true stories that no other writer dares tell, and tells as well as me, the one and only Malcolm J. Brenner!

Wait! My astral vision is coming back into focus, somebody has turned the knob, cleaned the lens! I see clearly now, the fog is gone…

…In the future, I see you reading an ebook I wrote. You are nodding, smiling, perhaps chuckling a little, sipping a cup of your favorite beverage and carelessly nibbling an oatmeal cooking with raisins, oblivious to the crumbs falling into your keyboard… and you are HAPPY!

And I am very, very grateful! Thanks, readers, comrades, fellow-travelers, and anybody else who appreciates my stories, or buys them to burn in a self-righteous bonfire! The joke’s on you, asshole, your kid has purloined a copy and is reading it under the covers at night, by flashlight! — Malcolm

(Links to Smashwords sale sites below photo)

Photo by Thea Boodhoo, Rocky Mountain State Park, CO, ©2016

Orgone Box on sale: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/567580

Wet Goddess on sale: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/63173


The author as evil genius. Photo by Keithen Martinez.
The author as an evil genius. Photo by Keithen Martinez.

Hey, gang, here I go again! Only I lied when I wrote that headline, because these babies are brand new bargains and rarin’ to go! Drive ’em off the lot for up to 1/2 price, no trade-in required and no tiresome negotiations! I just didn’t think you’d believe me if I said that in the headline!

Yes, it’s the annual Summer/Winter Sale at Smashwords, my favorite purveyor of e-literature. Why? Because, with exquisite taste, they published me, when all other e-book distributors gave me either derisive scorn, or mocking laughter, at the thought of publishing a human-dolphin romance novel!

Well I’ve shown them, haven’t I? Since 2010, over 2,150 copies of Wet Goddess: Recollections of a Dolphin Lover sold in 18 countries, not including South Korea, which for some reason has a ban on Western books going even to U.S. service personnel, but a psychiatric institute in Beijing did order a copy to complete their collection on decadent, imperialistic Western sexual perversions, I guess. Got to keep up with trends in mental illness, after all, and delphinophilia is one of the latest!

(When looking for my books in Smashwords, be sure to set Filtering in the blue bar at the top of the page to Include all Erotica, otherwise you’ll never see them!)

To get a 25% discount on Wet Goddess regular price of $6.99, use this code: WE48B.

Not only that, but the memoir that rips wide-open the weird, creepy, seamy side of my childhood, and exposes New Age psychiatrist Dr. Wilhelm Reich for the idiotic fraud he was, Growing Up in the Orgone Box: Secrets of a Reichian Childhood, is on sale for 50% off!

What’s it like to be only 5 years old and lying on a couch, butt naked, with a dark, bitter man staring at you, who is going to hurt you, molest you and cause you only pain? And soundproof walls and a locked door stand between him and your father?

This book tells that story, reveals my mother’s callous indifference to my welfare, and exposes the dangers of believing in pseudo-science, or any unwarranted belief system whether religious or not, rather than your own child.

To get a 50% discount on Orgone Box regular price of $6.99, use this code: BJ25B

The Smashwords Summer/Winter Sale lasts from July 1-July 31, and they call it that because when it’s summer in this hemisphere it’s winter Down Under, right? Right!

And, maybe, I will get out an e-book copy of my straight, heterosexual sex-with-an-alien science-fiction novel Mel-Khyor: An Interstellar Affair in time for the sale. I’ve had some people who don’t like the audio book asking for it, and it’s time I did it, because it sure is gathering dust in paperback! Stranger things have happened, pigs have flown.

But basically you should buy my books for 2 reasons:

1) They are supremely entertaining, if weird, stories that happen to be true, and

2) I need to increase my gross income, so I can support my writing habit. And I’m Jonesing bad, man, bad!

Well, what are you waiting for?

Why dolphins really ARE “little people in wet suits,” Part 1: Feelings, Ooohh Feelings…

From the Sunday comic strip “Mark Trail” many years ago. I don’t know if it’s still going or not. It wouldn’t be a great loss, because nobody read the daily strips about a park ranger, but this one on a weekend caught my attention.

I think it can be safely said that I do know what anthropomorphism is. In its simplest form, it is endowing non-human entities, be they animals, plants, objects or just natural forces, with human traits, like awareness, reason, and emotions.

Especially emotions. We are long past the point of imagining a god is mad at us personally or collectively because a storm passes over… but a tornado, typhoon or hurricane may elicit that response, because the damage is more severe, or widespread, or fatal. Legally, we still refer to things that are foreseeable but unlikely and unavoidable as “acts of God,” a term that shows the piety of our lawyers, if not their wits.

We must thus be very careful in our dealings with other animals, who do not share our human ways, not to anthropomorphise them; we do so at our own risk! For instance, that grinning chimpanzee isn’t happy with you, it’s about to rip your face off!

PIC BY M WATSON / ARDEA / CATERS NEWS – (PICTURED: A Chimpanzee laughing) – These comical creatures are clearly up FUR a laugh in these sidesplitting images which show a variety of ecstatic animals enjoying a good old chuckle. The hilarious snaps, taken by a whole host of photographers from around the globe, prove life in the jungle is most definitely jolly, as creatures from an orangutan to a elephant seal are pictured mid-laugh. A cheery chimpanzee can be seen sporting a toothy grin as he enjoys life at Chimfunshi Wildlife Orphanage in Zambia. And a pot-bellied pig is clearly tickled pink at his home in Lower Saxony, Germany. In another image an Icelandic horse appears to crack up when he spots a photographers camera, while a chuckling cheetah creases up in Kenya. SEE CATERS COPY

Exposing your canine teeth (fangs) is a sign of aggression in chimps, even though grinning among us humans is a sign of pleasure. Moral? Just give that chimp a nice, close-lipped smile, and retain your face a while longer.

From the brilliant Japanese Manga comic strip Beastars, one season available as a fantastic anime on Netflix. After a llama student is horribly murdered one dark night, it’s the predators vs. the herbivores at Cherryton Academy, where a bunch of neurotic students ranging from a shy wolf who doubts his killer instincts to a dwarf rabbit with nymphomania and a young buck — literally — maneuvering himself into a place of esteem and power are being educated… but not in reading, writing and arithmetic!

Same with a dog that humps your leg; this often comes up in discussions about how Dolly the dolphin used to rub against me. She was definitely masturbating, but chances are about 90% that your dog doesn’t have sex on its mind when it humps you, it has dominance.

I say that because I saw it in action. Long-time readers will remember that before I acquired Epic I had two other dogs from Grants, N.M., Pixel and Pugsley. Pugsley was a neutered Husky bitch, one of the smaller dogs that Husky enthusiasts tell me do most of the actual sled-pulling.

So that was Pugsley’s raison d’être. Then Cay came to stay at my place and brought with her Keiko, an utterly untrainable (to Cay, anyhow) 80 lb./36 kg. male pit bull mix.

The mixed-breed Keiko in a quiet moment.

When the dogs had settled into a predictable dominance hierarchy, with Keiko uncomplainingly on the bottom, every night, after they ate, Pugsley would hump him. Keiko pretended she wasn’t there. For the two dogs, this served a dual purpose: for Pugsley, reassurance of her dominant position over Keiko, and for him, the ability to completely blow her off, because she was fixed, whereas Pixel, who was my mate at the time, wasn’t, and Keiko got her pregnant when… well, that’s another, sad story.

But the point here isn’t to make you any more sorry for me than you already are, it’s to explain that humping for dogs, and many other quadrupeds, is not only sexual activity but a crude form of dominance behavior, expressed by both males and females, and should be interpreted thus in non-sexual situations. The “obvious” betrays us because we are conditioned to think of humping as involving sex. Not always!

I think it can also be safely said that many, if not most, scientists familiar with marine mammals will accuse me of anthropomorphism in allowing my relationship with Dolly to develop to the degree that it did, but this isn’t true either. In fact, I can safely say that, because of my experience, few other humans are as aware of the differences between humans and dolphins as I am!

So what do I make of the late Drs. David and Melba Caldwell, co-authors of many scientific papers and the popular, anti-revisionist, pro-U.S. Navy book The World of the Bottlenose Dolphin, when they say, as they do in the book,

“Dolphins are not little people in wet suits.”

By this, I take it the really mean,


but they were much too polite to put it that way, at least in print.

(David & Melba chart the auditory damage done to dolphin hearing by attending orca death-metal concerts featuring extended humpback whale solos.)

On the surface, this homily seems like a foregone conclusion. As a species, bottlenose dolphins are vastly older than us, having retained their current form, including the large, 3.3 lb./1.5 kg. brain, much more convoluted than our 3 lb./1.36 kg. model, for the past 12,000,000 (that’s 12 million, for the numerically-challenged) years. We have had our current, erect primate form only since Homo Erectus about 2 million years ago, and our current level of physical and cultural evolution, Homo sapiens, for about 250,000 (one-quarter million) years at longest. Obviously, these creatures who exist without tools, weapons, protective clothing or even manipulative appendages (aside from their mouths) could teach our species a thing or two about SURVIVAL SKILLS!

What I found really surprising about Dolly’s behavior was how much it WAS similar to human behavior, and I don’t think this just my interpretation. For instance, consider the situation when I brought “Elaine,” a young woman (just turned 18, not that it should interest you) I wanted to have a serious (read sexual) relationship with, to meet Dolly, “the gentlest of all the dolphins,” her trainer and the woman who coaxed me to shoot photos for her never-written book claimed.

Dolly towing my wannabe girlfriend about 30 seconds before the next photo was taken.

Dolly, of course, had her own damned ideas!

You don’t want this to happen on a date. Trust me, you don’t.

Am I wrong when I label this behavior “jealousy”? It caught me totally unawares! I had never imagined that a creature like a dolphin could regard me as her exclusive property, to be defended against all interlopers for their attentions, whether her own species or not!

How did Dolly know, sense, or figure out, that Elaine was my girlfriend, a rival for her affections, and not my sister, or niece, or daughter? I remember that day there was absolutely no feeling that I had any type of “contact,” or mental communication, with her at all. And not for lack of trying! I was sending her my thoughts — she just wasn’t letting me know she was receiving them!

Years later, when I read David Holroyd’s account of a similar experience with a captive dolphin in Great Britain, I knew my analysis was correct. When dolphins don’t want to communicate with you, they shut down ALL the channels! That’s how you know you’re fucking up.

I could run this post a lot further, but I’ve already published 2 today, and I need some time to make these points, can’t do it willy-nilly. Bare with me, and I’ll get around to telling you why dolphins ARE sometimes “little humans in wet suits”!

(End Part 1)

E-book prices slashed!

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From March 1 until March 7, you, Dear Reader, can buy my two ebooks from Smashwords for half price! Why, that’s almost 50% off! 🙂 Both titles temporarily marked down from $6.99 to $3.50 in honor of nothing in particular, just that Smashwords gives all their authors a chance to do this every year, and I’d be a sucker if I didn’t take advantage of it!

The titles are, the novel Wet Goddess: Recollections of a Dolphin Lover and the childhood memoir Growing Up in the Orgone Box.

Smashwords Global Coupon Code: ZJ74D

Why Smashwords? Well, when I published Wet Goddess in 2010, they were the only ebooks publishing site that would accept “bestiality” — provided it was between consenting adults of both species, of course.

Nevertheless I’m in their debt, because the publisher fought hard to prevent the major distributor of ebooks from dropping the entire Smashwords lineup. So he got my second book as well, and a third ebook of Mel-Khyor: An Interstellar Affair is in the offing!

I think a lot of my critic’s problem lies in their not believing that a creature like a dolphin can exercise free will, or, being female, can experience libido, or can change her behavior on the apprehension of a thought. But they can do and feel all these things.

I’m looking into new ways of exploring the dolphins’ world without getting wet, specifically Remote Viewing, the information-gathering technique used by the U.S. military and the CIA in the 1980’s to spy on Soviet military objectives, allegedly without the Soviets being aware of it. Scientists are, of course, skeptical of any kind of out-of-body experience, but I’ll perform some tests and judge for myself, thanks.

So hurry, get out your charge card — er, your cell phone — and get two of my books for the price of one! They won’t last long at this price!


Both of these books contain unusual sexual situations which some people may find objectionable, and Orgone Box in particular contains scenes of adults committing physical, sexual and emotional abuse on a child (me). I don’t believe in “being triggered,” because people are not Colt .45s who walk around half-cocked, as my father, a GI in WWII, used to say, but Godz forbid somebody should accuse me of doing that because of the content these books! You have been warned, okay? If you’re easily offended, don’t buy them and then complain about the subject matter. You have been warned!

Thought For The Day

“One of the great challenges in life is knowing enough to think you’re right, but not enough to know you’re wrong.” — Nick GT on The Joe Rogan Show.

The Sex Therapist Show!



About six weeks ago I was contacted by someone with the unlikely name of SunShine McWane, an associate producer for the Dr. Susan Block Show, to ask if I wanted to do a live interview. The podcast has been on the air since 1996 (!), and Dr. Suzy, as she is known, has quite a few listeners in the Los Angeles area.

Of course, ever hopeful to evangelize a greater audience (which, I hasten to add, is hardly a scientific way to do my work, but an effective one given I don’t have the numbers) I said yes.

Thus began the odyssey of SunShine (no, I never did ask why) McWane, who was determined to get a marine biologist on the show to discuss dolphin sex. I warned her.

“The producers of ‘Dolphin Lover’ tried, without success,” I recalled. “They couldn’t get the one they wanted, so my dialogue about that ended up on the cutting room floor.”

SunShine assured me that she was hopeful. Two weeks later, she didn’t sound so positive.

“They’re all so hoity-toity,” she complained. “I never imagined it would be this hard to find someone to go on a podcast and discuss the normal way dolphins have sex!”

I told her that, for what it was worth, with bottlenose dolphins there didn’t seem to be a normal way of having sex. It was made up all the time, with whatever props, objects or beings were available. That made her pause for thought.

“Well, we’ve got to prepare a PowerPoint presentation,” she finally sighed, and we left it at that, although where she was going to find a lot of illustrations was an unresolved problem.

Two days later, SunShine was back on the phone. “Can you do the show tonight? We had a cancellation.”

So I did. Who could turn the poor thing down? But of course there was no time to prepare the PowerPoint, so it would just be 90 minutes… of me. And due to the time difference between here and the West Coast, I would be on at 1:30 on a Sunday morning.

So be it. No sacrifice is too great to benefit the cause of Cetacean Liberation!

When I finally got on the air with Dr. Suzy, I found a rather nice, considerate person who tried to balance her concern for animals who might be the victims of sexual abuse with a realization that my story was quite real and told us a lot, not only about dolphins but about humans. She didn’t try to squelch me, like Bubba the Love Sponge, or make fun of my zoophilia, like Howard Stern. For that I was thankful.

And, as the above recording shows, she actually knows a lot about the situation with dolphins… although she prefers bonobos, those cute little apes who have been known after spats to make up by having sex.

You be the judge.



Y ahora, la versión en español!

Quite some time ago I was contacted by a reporter named Benjamin E. Rosado, who said he was with El Mundo newspaper, Spain. (I mistakenly thought that meant he was writing for El Mundo, but as you shall see, I was wrong. No matter.)

He’d seen an old article about me on the UK site Unilad, which describes itself as “a major youth platform for breaking news and relatable viral content.” What I’m doing there, I’m not sure; I’ve been careful in my dialogues with individuals to make sure they are all 18+. But there’s no accounting for the tastes of editors, except to publishers. And I’m not rich enough to be one of those.

Back to Mr. Rosado. After some fumbling we managed to agree on a date for a Skype interview. His English was pretty good, better than my Spanish at least, and the interview lasted 1.5 hours, which is unusual. He was on a tight deadline so he wrote the story at once and sent it in to the newspaper Cronica, which it turns out is in Argentina! It ran in the Sunday edition as a feature, which figures, since it was what – 10 years old?

And it was a pretty good article despite a couple of errors, like one caused by a comment about time that made Rosado think I was living in Indiana (?). He also had me driving from Washington State to Mississippi to try to rescue Dolly, rather than from Philadelphia, where the car was — but never mind. I have fixed the errors in translation. Despite a certain Latin tendency to melodrama, Mr. Rosado’s article was mostly accurate and, thankfully, non-judgmental. He is to be commended for doing a good job. Muchas graçias, Señor Rosado!



My romance with a dolphin, of which I have written a book.

At first I rejected her, but I ended up falling in love.

The facts are not recent, they happened at the end of 1971, but they have taken on an unexpected meaning under the cover of the new animalistic creed. Let’s start at the end: Malcolm J. Brenner had sex with a dolphin. Then he was 20 years old and the world was not prepared to understand what was going through his mind every time he appeared Dolly, a flirtatious and seductive cetacean from Floridaland. In that natural reserve, now extinct, which occupied several hectares of Sarasota County, tourists could feel the warm embrace of nature. Let’s say, to synthesize, that Brenner was no exception.

It took him more than three decades to gather enough courage to tell his story in a book, Wet Goddess (Diosa Mosada), that in the absence of publishers who were not scandalized with the recreation of underwater scenes he self-published in 2010. Five years later, his romance with Dolly appeared in a short documentary, Dolphin Lover, which caused a sensation at the Slamdance alternative film festival. No one could believe what Brenner confirms to us on the phone from his home in Florida: “We do not practice sex, but in each encounter in the water we made love.” What follows is a confidence, as delusional as tenderly true, of a man marked by an unconventional love affair.

You have to go back to the summer of 1970 to date the crush. At that time, Brenner was a student at New College and accepted the proposal of a writer who prepared a book about Floridaland dolphins. “She asked me to take the pictures to illustrate the volume,” he recalls. “I dreamed of becoming a journalist and I didn’t hesitate for a second.” They rented a boat and toured the reserve until they reached the dolphinarium dock. “I’ve never been so close to a dolphin and I experienced an indescribable feeling.” What Brenner did not imagine is that the Dolly Pizpireta, who celebrated his entry into the water by shaking the fins, would eventually become his lover. “I started rubbing her back and belly, and she seemed to enjoy my touch.”

The courtship lasted several weeks. In the morning Dolly worked as an acrobat in the Floridaland family show in front of crowded crowds of children. She had been trained by the Navy to locate mines and transport spy equipment. Compared to military missions on the open sea, the trick of the hula hoop was a bicoca that provided generous buckets of sardines. In the afternoon, Brenner paid her a visit. “When I got into the water, she approached me without fear and asked for attention. I never fed her, but as time went by, our encounters became more vigorous and intense: when she saw me, she put a belly up to touch her genital cleft.”

At first Brenner resisted. “She reacted to my refusal violently. On one occasion, she tried to masturbate with my foot, but I rejected her proposal,” he confesses to CHRONICLE. “Then she pounced on me and sank me with full weight to the bottom of the dolphinarium. I made it clear that that tactic would not work with me, so she took pains on other types of erotic tricks that ended up conquering me.” As he relates in his book, Dolly was massaging his arms and legs with her fine and pointed teeth. “It was a way of telling me: I am strong but I will not harm you.” By then Brenner had already begun to ask himself some questions. “I suspected there was something different about my sexuality. And, although I was attracted to Dolly, I yearned with all my might to be a normal person.”

That club was not made for him. His parents, devoted followers of Wilhelm Reich and his esoteric theories about orgone, put him in the hands of a psychologist who ended up abusing him. “I don’t know if a zoophile is born or made, but something had to do with the vexations I suffered in the consultation.” His first erection was provided by a dog at the age of 5. “I had gone to the cinema to see The Shaggy Dog and I shuddered to see the effect that the character of Walt Disney caused me.” The defloration came five years later, coinciding with the estrous cycle of Miss Clavel, the family poodle. “She was in heat and I assumed that she wouldn’t mind having sex with me. But I was wrong. It was an embarrassing and unromantic incident. I felt dirty.”

Splashing in the water with Dolly helped him clear his bad conscience. “Zoophilia comes from Greek and means ‘animal lover.’ I am not a goat rapist farmer, but a person capable of experiencing tender and affectionate emotions with animals.” A cloudy morning in 1970 he approached the dolphinarium with the intention of having sex with Dolly. “I tried to penetrate her, but the water was too cold and I was terrified that they could discover us at any moment.”

It took a year for them to consummate their relationship. “I made love with Dolly on my last visit to the park, when their owners decided to sell the land to build homes.”

Brenner took pains in the preliminaries for half an hour. “We practice games and try different positions until finally I managed to break through. Dolly’s vagina was like a sucking valve that caused me a sense of fusion at all levels: emotionally, mentally, physically and even spiritually. I managed to climax almost at the same time that Dolly emitted three groans in increasing cadence, which led me to think that she also reached orgasm. Then she rested her snout on my shoulder and we held each other for several minutes while staring into each other’s eyes.”

Brenner, today single and father of a daughter, fruit of his first marriage, is still excited to remember the outcome of the story. “When I learned that Dolly had died, I drove from Philadelphia to Mississippi to visit the ocean where she spent her last days,” he recalls. “Her coach told me that she had not wanted to eat and that they found her faint at the bottom of one of the tanks. He explained that the dolphin’s breathing is voluntary and that she had let herself die … I think Dolly killed herself for love.” And he says goodbye to the other side of the line: “Please do not describe me as a disturbed or a sexual depraved (person). Talk about a man who fell in love with a non-human person and who only regrets not having spent more time with her.”


Interviewer denounces author as “dolphin abuser,” walks out.

Well folks, I went on the Dom, Meg and Randell podcast this morning (in New Zealand, it was late afternoon the day before in Punta Gorda) and about 4 minutes into the interview, as I was describing Dolly’s first advances, rolling on her back and swimming forward until I was rubbing her genital slit, then, when I moved back to her head, doing it again, Meg (the female member of the interview trio, as you may have adroitly guessed) exploded into rage completely unrelated to what I was talking about.

Without giving me a chance to answer her accusations, she said I was a “dolphin abuser” who “took advantage” of that poor dolphin! Then she stormed out of the studio, all too eager to leave before she could learn the truth: dolphins are sexual creatures.

Very sexual.

The two male interviewers, Dom (who recently had a good friend commit suicide) and Randell, continued the interview without her, and it went rather well from my point of view. I got to say everything I wanted to say, got to promote human-dolphin telepathy, got to answer all the interviewers’ questions about the event and got to plug my book and ebook at the end. Listen to it all here, friends. (As soon as it’s published, it was pre-recorded.)

UPDATE: They recorded it, then sent me a version that was half long but still all right, and then, without telling me, they ran this shit. I’ve been treated badly by shock jocks before (Bubba the Love Sponge and Howard Stern come to mind), but I’ve never been set up like this! I feel like a bowling pin, and the station is going to get a letter from me denouncing this.  It’s right here, and they start talking about me at 42:30.

An Open Letter to Susan H. Shane, Ph.D.

Suse Portrait

UPDATE: I received a reply from Dr. Shane on July 12, apologizing for her statement and saying she wouldn’t make the same negative claim today. She also said she had no intention of denying my experience with Dolly, and described female dolphins as being “good candidates” for experiencing orgasm. (I think they’ve had it for 30 million years, but hey, I don’t have a Ph.D., which means I can leap to conclusions with virtually no consequences.)

I’d publish her response here, but she hasn’t given me her permission to do so.

I accept her apology and applaud her open-mindedness in being willing to change her mind. As far as I’m concerned, this matter, which has bothered me for 44 years, is closed. Thanks, Suse.

July 7-8, 2018

Suse, I’m writing you this morning to “get off my chest” something that happened between us in 1974, while you were attending New College and staying at my mother’s house on Siesta Key, where I was also living at the time. You deeply wounded me and ruthlessly invalidated me with six thoughtless words, and it has rankled me ever since.

Your professed ambition as an undergrad, as I remember it anyway, was to become “the Jane Goodall of dolphins.” Sorry you never made it, but maybe it’s for the best anyway. Let me explain why, from my own perspective.

You’ve probably forgotten all about this, but I never have, because you became symbolic to me of mindless veneration of dogma, any dogma but in this case SCIENTIFIC dogma (if you don’t tell me it doesn’t exist, I won’t have to call you a liar).

I don’t remember what led up to this, but we were sitting in my car, I was in the driver’s seat, you were in the passenger seat, we were stopped somewhere and I was trying to describe my 1971 experience with Dolly the dolphin to you, which was only the most profound, moving, deeply personal and transformative experience in my life.

No, you have no idea. You really, really don’t. And I’m not even sure you CAN.

And I was trying to describe to you, while Dolly and I were making love in her pen at Floridaland, how she took me underwater just before we experienced a simultaneous orgasm, and how she groaned, just like a woman, underwater.

You looked at me as if I’d just offered to sell you a slightly used bridge in Brooklyn, cheap.

That’s when you said the six words that utterly invalidated me, my experience with Dolly, my observational abilities, my truthfulness and my intelligence.

You said, and I quote, “But female animals don’t have orgasms!”

And I just sat there, gobsmacked, not believing what I’d just heard.

This has nothing to do with any feelings I may or may not have had toward you. You were very attractive (you still are), and I was hopeful enough to imagine we might get it on, even though I was pretty sure you weren’t attracted to me. I wasn’t very accepting of my own zoophilia then, and was looking to normalize myself through experiences with women. But that’s neither here or there.

When you said, “But female animals don’t have orgasms,” a number of rebuttals came to mind. More have come up int the intervening years. Here are some of them in a nicely-ordered, bulleted list:

• Without putting too fine a point on it, you’re a female animal (I presume you’re not vegetable or mineral) and YOU have orgasms, don’t you? What makes you so special? Or what makes female non-humans so unfortunate? Is female orgasm an evolutionary privilege of H. sapiens, and if so, what have you human women done to make the universe favor you over all other females on this planet?
• Since when is an unprovable negative hypothesis “scientific”? A single case of a female animal having an orgasm is sufficient to invalidate your assertion. Try this link  at 0:40. I don’t know what you’d call that, if not a bitch orgasm.
• Please cite a peer-reviewed scientific paper – ANY paper – which authoritatively states that female animals don’t have orgasms. The only two people I’ve seen allege this in print are Larry Niven (misogynistic SF writer) and Dr. David Bronowski (mathematician). I don’t see as that makes either one an expert on the subject, or anything remotely close. Nor can I find any references to actual studies of this question.
• The clitoris (not mansplaining) is the focus of female sexual arousal and orgasm. The only female mammal I’ve been able to find that doesn’t have one is the platypus. The platypus male has such a spiny penis that he has to knock her out with poison spurs before they can mate. Since other female mammals have clitorises, what do you suppose they have them for? Do you think they get stimulated during mating? And let’s not forget, because of humans’ upright stature, the female human’s clitoris is typically farther from the opening of the vagina than in other female mammals. This means other species’ females should find it easier, rather than more difficult, to experience orgasm during mating without much need for foreplay. Female equines even have a moveable clitoris which they can push against a stallion’s penis when he’s thrusting. Canines form the copulatory tie, which not only involves long-duration sexual stimulation but positions the male dog’s bulbus glandis so it’s depressing the bitch’s clitoris, which I’m sure leads to orgasm. Pigs copulate for up to 20 minutes; it’s difficult to imagine how a sow could NOT experience an orgasm with that duration of penetration.
• In many species I’ve observed (dolphins, dogs, birds, bovines, equines, etc.) a female in estrus will solicit sex from a male rather than waiting for him to get around to it. (Below: cow in estrus soliciting sex from a bull.)


Why do they do this? For Queen and Country? I think not; most non-humans don’t have the comprehension to connect sex with reproduction (dolphins and a few self-aware others being exceptions). They do it because they’re anticipating an orgasm! And why shouldn’t they? The anticipation of an orgasm leads female animals to solicit sex, just the same way it does males. It’s a powerful driver for bisexual reproduction, which is the most important act an animal can perform. If it didn’t exist, evolution would have invented it millions of year ago for just this reason. Also, in many females, orgasm triggers ovulation and various involuntary responses that help transport sperm to the ovum.
• How did this idea you parroted back to me get started? Well, it’s true, most female animals don’t display a lot of activity or vocalize during mating. The one exception, the feline, is supposed to scream during sex because it’s painful, the males having small spines on their penises. (I conducted an informal experiment many years ago to test this hypothesis and found that female cats scream even when penetrated by a smooth phallus, it just takes 3-5x longer than with a spiny one. So it isn’t the spines that are causing her to scream.) Does this lack of activity or vocalization mean they aren’t having orgasms? Of course not, and it would take a leap of faith to assume so. Many women do not display the “stereotypical” (i.e. faked) orgasm behaviors, moaning, thrashing around, biting, pulling their partner’s hair, etc., that are often associated (in men’s minds, at least) with the female orgasm. To make Brooke Shields fake an on-camera orgasm in the 1981 romantic film “Endless Love,” director Franco Zeffirelli stood off-camera, pinching her toe incredibly painfully. While my own experience is, admittedly, unscientific and limited, the two non-human partners I’ve successfully had sex with (Dolly and Pixel, my previous, 34-kg bitch) had orgasms. If you need to remind yourself what I told you about Dolly’s orgasmic behavior in 1974, you can buy & read my novel Wet Goddess  because I’m damn sure not wasting my breath explaining it to you again. When I had orgasms while having sex with Pixel, I could feel her vagina squeeze me. According to Masters and Johnson, involuntary contractions of the female sexual organs are the most reliable indicators of female orgasm, so I am inclined to think that’s how most female mammals experience it: totally on the inside, not the outside. After all, if the female mammal started thrashing around, the male would fall off her back and sex would be over without insemination. So thrashing around would be self-extinguishing, evolutionarily speaking. And looking for human-type behavior in non-humans is called “anthropomorphism,” isn’t it? (Rhetorical question, but you already knew that, didn’t you?) If scientists claim female animals don’t experience orgasms because they don’t react the same way human females do, they’re being anthropomorphic scientists. If they want an honest answer from somebody who is uniquely qualified to provide one, they should talk to zoophiles, like me. We’ve been there. We know. Not “think” or “believe” or “imagine” or “hypothesize” or “guess” or “that’s what the data indicate:” WE KNOW. Because we’ve been there, that’s how.
• How did this silly, crackpot, unsupported notion get started? I think I figured it out, and although this is my speculation, it’s based on well-known and often-observed aspects of male human behavior. Prior to the 1950s, there weren’t a lot of woman biologists, certainly not like there are today. So biology conferences were mostly-male gatherings. What do a group of men (yes, even scientists) like to do when they get together by themselves? Drink beer and watch porn movies in back rooms after the  conference. So some guy with a 16mm B&W fuck film would commandeer a projector and slap a hand-lettered notice on his hotel room door announcing that there would be an impromptu showing of “Mating habits of the female Homo sapiens” at such and such a time. And I assume the men would make coarse jokes about the ACTING of the players, all of whom are faking their reactions because they have to endure multiple camera set-ups, retakes, etc. Just like regular feature film-making, making porno films is a boring, time-consuming exercise in patience. But all the biologists see on the screen is the edited version: the woman screaming, flailing, thrashing around, biting her lip or her man’s shoulder, etc. Of course, when you go out in the field, you are subconsciously comparing that arousing performance with, say, a mare or a wildebeest who may let the male mount her with very little courtship. And under those circumstances, the biologists who have been Hollywood brainwashed by powerful images at primal levels about what to expect from sex (with a human ACTRESS, let us not forget,) look at a mare or sow or jenny mating, and they don’t see the dramatic performance seen in porno films, and that some women actually do achieve in their sex lives. (One of the worst nights of sex I’ve ever had was with a woman who assumed, without asking, that I liked her screaming and pulling my hair.) In short, the dubious conclusion that “female animals don’t have orgasms” is certainly a case of inadequate investigation, superficial observation, bias confirmation, constricted imagination, latent Victorianism and probably, not wanting to rock the status quo, an all-too-facile acceptance of “revealed wisdom”.

So I sat there, in my car, staring at you and trying to deal with a lot of disbelief, anger, even outrage. First, there doesn’t appear to be a source to your assertion, whereas I had actually performed the act and felt the sensations with my body, which is a very sensitive, but often unreproducible way of monitoring somebody else’s emotions. And I took a number of physical risks to do that. I had no inkling of the emotional risks i was taking, which turned out to be far worse and long-lasting.

I was trying to interest you, or anyone really, in the fact that I had a high-strangeness experience with an intelligent alien species. Information theory determines that the frequency of an event is inversely proportional to the value of the information can be gleaned from it. We learn more from rare events than common ones. So someone should be able to learn a whole fucking lot about dolphins from my experience, but so far no takers. I don’t know, maybe cetacean researchers are prudes?

“Female animals don’t have orgasms.” My first cogent thought, after I got over my shock, was How the fuck do you know, Suse? And I still wonder who told you that, or how you learned it, or what book you read it in, and why you decided to accept it was true without either an authoritative source or some research. And what made you think you “knew” it, when it could not have been anything other than a pure belief on your part, almost a superstition. I mean, you didn’t get a grant to check it out, did you? I didn’t think you bowed to authority, but I guess I was wrong.

My second thought was rage. Just pure rage, which I struggled very hard to control. I almost told you to get out of my car. It wasn’t so much what you said, Suse, as the abusive way you said it: as a pronouncement. A fact. No question of argument with YOU, Professor Shane! You didn’t express any curiosity about my description of human-dolphin love making, or question it, you invalidated it and negated it without really considering what I’d just told you. You seriously dissed me. Why did you feel the overwhelming need to blow me off? What did I ever do to you? I never fucking laid a hand on you, never insulted you or called you a rude name. I tried to behave like a gentleman toward you, as I was taught. In return, you insulted me, my observation abilities and my ability to reach conclusions based on evidence. You not only told me that I was wrong, but that I was stupid or naive for having reached the conclusion I did. Suse, I had experience. I had evidence, gathered at great personal cost. I’d been there, you never even considered the idea. Your comment on my experience was made from an armchair. Am I saying you should have been a zoophile? Of course not. I’m not proselytizing for my sexual orientation, I’m proselytizing for dolphins. And yet, in spite of my admission, which I was keeping very close at that time, you displayed no curiosity or interest. You just wanted to tell me I was wrong, and you didn’t explain what your motivations were, or why.

Third, I was astonished. I thought maybe you hadn’t understood me, that I hadn’t made my argument, when I told you that, as we reached climax, Dolly groaned three times in a rising tone synchronized with my thrusts. That detail seemed to go right by you. Selective hearing? You made some dismissive remark about that observation, I forget what, but then I tried to tell you that, as we swam along making love, Dolly synchronized the strokes of her tail with my pelvic thrusts. “That was just for deeper penetration for better fertilization,” you retorted, completely ignoring the subjective or emotional component there. I suppose you meant it was somehow “instinctual.” How could making love with another species be “instinctual”? We both know that dolphin matings are very quick, a matter of a few seconds, but Dolly not only managed to last about two minutes with me (sorry, I didn’t check my waterproof watch, I’m sure you understand) but apparently timed her orgasm to be simultaneous with mine. Besides, when you made your “better penetration” remark, you weren’t in possession of the full facts, because you never asked me. While it’s difficult for me to know for certain, I’m pretty sure I never penetrated Dolly’s vagina. At the time I thought I’d run into one of her pseudocervixes, but a marine mammal vet intimately familiar with the situation (if you believe him, anyway) told me I’d run into the external adductor muscle, which I guess closes the opening of the vagina, preventing salt water from getting in. Her genitalia are certainly a lot more complicated than yours! So I guess her thrusting in sync with me was because she enjoyed the sensation, not some vague instinctual urge.

Finally, Suse, there was a disillusionment, sadness, and rejection. I tried to share something very precious and rare with you, an intimate experience that, at the time, I had told almost nobody about. I felt like you’d be interested, but your only interest seemed to be in correcting me, and rather rudely at that. You weren’t trying to enlighten or inform me about something in which I was in error; you were bluntly telling me that my experience didn’t happen the way it happened, or that my sensations of it or conclusions about it were erroneous, and you did this without the slightest shred of evidence that they were.

In short, YOU GASLIGHTED ME, SUSE, at the same time as you ripped me a new one. For what reason? I think I have a right to know, even after all these years. Was my statement somehow a threat to you or the knowledge you represented? Were you appalled at my apparent ignorance? Did you think I’d taken too much LSD and hallucinated the whole thing, that I was bullshitting you, that I made it all up, or that I was sexually boasting? Nothing could be further from the truth. I was (and remain) deeply puzzled about my love affair with Dolly, and continue to try to understand her motivations and interpretations of it to this day. Because it was so strange, so tender, and so beautiful, it has become the central defining point in my life. (The birth of my daughter ranks second.)

You showed no concern for my feelings; in fact, like a lot of women I’ve encountered, you acted like I didn’t even HAVE feelings, which is offensive and sexist of you. You seemed eager to humiliate me, or show off your own “correct” knowledge. It was disparaging and emotionally deeply wounding, and at that point, while I was still in mourning for Dolly, I was easily wounded. Your callous remark twisted that knife.

I mean, what the fuck, Suse? What the goddamn fuck? I can’t find any reason why you behaved that way. I understood Dolly a lot better than I understood you, which has always been my problem with people in general and women in particular. I have no inherent facility for understanding, and interacting with, my own species. My tool kit to do so seems to have been assembled one painful socket wrench at a time.

As UFO researcher Jacques Vallee said of UFO skeptic Philip J. Klass’s derision of the whole subject, “Since when is ridicule part of the scientific method?” Because you showed no curiosity or interest in my experience, I don’t think you acted in a scientific manner. Admittedly, my experience was anecdotal, but you didn’t try to gather testimony. You reminded me of the savants of Medieval France who scoffed at the peasants who claimed that stones fell from the sky. Everybody knew such a thing was impossible!

Your attempted nullification, or re-interpretation of my experience to fit scientific orthodoxy, was very much in keeping with the other scientists I encountered at that period, people I’m sure you know or knew: the Caldwells, Blair Irvine, the Tavolgas, and so on. (Interestingly enough, Randy Wells, whom I knew in high school, has never tried to “correct” me, listens patiently to my ideas and manages to make insightful remarks. He’s a great guy and an open mind.)

I was confronting very unsettling and problematic questions about the “telepathic” communications with Dolly that I seemed to be having at the time. I considered the possibility that I was becoming schizophrenic, and rejected it. I existed in a state of “suspended disbelief” for quite a while, and even the overwhelming experience of totally interpenetrating each others’ bodies, hearts and minds when we made love couldn’t completely convince me that the phenomenon of inter-species telepathy was real. Since then, however, I’ve made contact with a number of other trainers and researchers who claim something similar (but non-sexual), has happened to them: Ric O’Barry (on tape: “Eventually I realized it was all telepathy, because shooting a weekly television show we just didn’t have time to use standard conditioning techniques.”); Frank Robson, NZ fisherman, dolphin trainer and author of Thinking Dolphins, Talking Whales and Pictures in the Dolphin Mind; Michael Greenwood, civilian scientist with the U.S. Navy, author of Peter Fisher’s Odyssey: Marine Mammal Warfare (“If the U.S. Navy would release what it knows about dolphins, it would revolutionize psychology,”); paranormal researcher Lyall Watson, who found a strange man in NZ who could mentally “bully” dolphins into obeying him; the inimitable and widely despised John C. Lilly, and most recently “David Capello,” pen name for a British trainer from the 1970s who wrote a very good trilogy, The Perfect Pair, about the brutal, frustrating and heart-breaking work of being a commercial dolphin trainer. I’m trying to get information about SRIs remote viewing experiences with dolphins. I also interviewed the late Florida sculptor Don Seiler, who claimed a dolphin thwarted an attempted shark attack on him in the 1940s. I got a letter from a witness who confirmed his story — Truly Nolan!

When a scientist proposes a hypothesis, he or she goes out looking for data to either confirm or disprove it. Based on the data, it is possible to make predictions about how the hypothesis will be received. Since Dolly and I made love in 1971, human beings have learned a hell of a lot more about dolphins that we knew back then. EVERYTHING WE’VE LEARNED HAS REINFORCED MY CONCLUSIONS ABOUT DOLPHINS, and nothing has contradicted them. Dolphins are self-aware, linguistic, tool-users with highly complex social systems, remarkable memories, undiscovered abilities and a so-far-unexplained camaraderie with human beings, their biggest predator. I could have told you that back in 1971, based solely on my experiences with Dolly, but I hadn’t paid my dues, so who would have listened? Certainly not you. You acted like a fucking know-it-all. It’s not an attractive attitude, even for scientists.

Since that time, I see you’ve come a long way. How far, or in what direction, I have no idea. You seem to have strong humanist values, for which I applaud you. Are they a recent acquisition? Where were they, in dealing with me? I just didn’t deserve the way you dismissed me, Suse, I just didn’t deserve it.

I had a terrible night last night, and woke up filled with an inexplicable, unfocused rage. I don’t think back on our encounter often, certainly don’t dwell on it, and I bear you no ill-will, Suse. I also want to say I was a very inconsiderate, selfish and careless person myself, in those times, and I regret having been that way. But I would like an apology from you, both for being factually wrong, then for deeply, callously hurting my feelings by invalidating the most personal, transcendental and loving experience in my life. It wouldn’t have cost you anything to keep your mouth shut, but you had to go and be a nerd showoff. Well, you hurt me, Suse, with your callous attitude, and you added to my increasing dissatisfaction with scientists as human beings.

You probably think I’m fucking nuts for writing this after all this time. Maybe I am, I don’t care anymore. I’m no spring chicken, and there is, as I said at the opening of this letter, an irrepressible urge to have this out with you. Although I have largely outgrown or learned to cope with the long-shouldered rage and resentment I experienced in my deeply troubled youth, I haven’t been able to let this one drop. Admittedly, I have a problem hanging on to resentment; worse, in the winter of 2012-2013, the stress of watching my lover’s people being slaughtered and captured by the Japanese fishermen in Taiji gave me an emotional breakdown. When they captured that little white dolphin, Angel, for display, something inside me snapped, and I decided I would try to make dolphin meat a little more expensive in Japan. I conceived a plan to invade the Japanese consulate in Miami and either kidnap or kill the consul. I worked on this for several days, laying out a budget, material requirements and strategies, before realizing I was fucking out of my mind and getting some psychiatric help. After that episode, my brother, a psych nurse, suggested I re-start taking gabapentin, which has helped with my episodes of Intermittent Explosive Disorder in the past. That rage hasn’t been a problem since… until today. But more recently, I’ve had terrible problems with vertigo, which has eluded all the usual diagnoses, and my ENT told me to stop taking the gabapentin, which I did about 3 weeks ago. So if this letter upsets or offends you, blame it on my meds. Or the lack of them.

That’s all I really have to say, Suse. My New College education was a sham, I’m not friends with anybody I went to school with there. My most precious possession from that time, the 8mm film 351 that I made with the late David Pini and my former friend John “Rabbit” Wasko, was destroyed by a careless projectionist. My only reason for “friending” you on FB was to share this complaint with you, a complaint about rather callous rejection and denial that also questioned my integrity as a human being, and to get an apology, if one is forthcoming. For a long time I just sloughed it off, because I didn’t want to go to all this trouble, thought I was silly for playing emotional paleontologist and was afraid of the reaction I might get from you – afraid of another rejection, oddly enough, and I just realized that now as I’m closing.

I wrote Wet Goddess and appeared in the award-winning short documentary Dolphin Lover because I had acquired some unique insights on dolphin thought, emotions and behavior. I had to explain to people that dolphins can offer us love as deep and profound (maybe more so) as we experience with other humans, to make people aware how emotionally vulnerable dolphins are in spite of their enormous physical strength, to show why it’s wrong to keep them keep them in captivity or eat them, to encourage the restoration of their degraded habitats and to encourage further investigations into their cognition, language, abilities and their facility for working with us, the killer apes of Planet Earth. And for most of the 37 years it took me to write, re-write, re-re-write, layout and publish that book, I was horribly afraid that I would die without being able to share my experience with a world that desperately needs to hear it. In a joking sort of way, I thought if that happened I’d have to go through reincarnation, except that this time I’d be the dolphin, and Dolly would be the human…

Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out a way to disentangle my dolphin experience from my zoophilia, and it’s on my zoophilia rather than the dolphins that most interviewers and writers have focused. (The comments on Dolphin Lover range from WTFs and calls for eye bleach to the people who want to dismember or murder me for having made love with a dolphin.)  This is disappointing, but not unexpected, the shock media being what they are these days. In spite of this, I persisted because I JUST HAD TO TELL THIS STORY, no matter what the personal outcome to me. The same has been true for my other two books, one a memoir of sexual/physical/emotional abuse as a child in the late Dr. Wilhelm Reich’s infamous orgone energy-sex cult, the other being my second wife’s unbelievable tale of becoming a “seductee” after an extraterrestrial spaceship, piloted by a very humanoid alien, crashed in her back yard. I could never disprove her story, because, like my early suspicions about the dolphins, all the event-forks kept breaking her way. But, sadly, I couldn’t prove it, either.

I hope you read this, Suse; maybe it will make you learn something about yourself you weren’t aware of before, or teach you something you didn’t know. But maybe not. I know you thought I was a jerk back at N.C., and I did very little to change that opinion. But life has a way of abrading a person’s rough edges, and I am a better person now than I was back then, if not more materially successful. Now officially retired from journalism, I’ve had a very checkered career, never really achieving my goals. You seem to have done well for yourself and achieved at least some of your goals. What I’m feeling toward you, or at least your career path, isn’t jealousy but envy. My problems were seldom doing the job, almost always with getting along with other people on my jobs. On the other hand, your current posts display an admirable humanitarianism. I just wonder where it was when you told me, with the certainly of a pontiff quoting scripture, “Female animals don’t have orgasms.”

Whether you respond or not, Suse, I’ve fulfilled a personal need that has been simmering in me for decades. Unless you want to engage in dialog, I will not broach the matter again. Since I have no great affection for you, I’m going to drop you as a FB friend. I’ve said what I have to say, and while your response, if you choose to make one, may be illuminating, it’s utterly unnecessary from my POV. You can still PM me if you want. I hope you never treated, or will treat, anyone sincerely looking for knowledge like you treated me, Suse Shane, because it was beneath you, and it was lousy science, too. Have a nice life.


With some effort, dolphin-human love story regains its lost “Premium” status


PUNTA GORDA, Fla., USA – “The role of the self-published author is not an easy one,” Malcolm J. Brenner said, sliding onto a dingy leather couch that might have once been white.  “In addition to successfully writing one’s magnum opus, one must also bring it forth into the real world, where it will grow up to compete in a ruthlessly Darwinian struggle for readers and reviewers.”

Brenner sipped iced tea – his habitual summer drink, with the occasional hard cider thrown in for historic, recreational and religious reasons – and relaxed. He had the furrowed brow of a man who has a lot on his mind, and no wonder. He recently finished re-formatting a 113,000-word Microsoft Word file for the ebook version of his most famous, or infamous work, the 2010 autobiographical novel Wet Goddess: Recollections of a Dolphin Lover.

“It’s basically a re-telling of a torrid love affair I had with a female bottlenose dolphin in the summer of 1971,” Brenner explained.  “I just changed the names and a few details so that living people on whom the characters are based couldn’t sue me.  Even though I’m publishing it as a novel, it’s much closer to Tom Wolfe-style ‘new journalism’ than it is to fiction.”

Author Malcolm J. Brenner at home.
Malcolm J. Brenner in his trailer in Punta Gorda, Fla.

An admitted procrastinator since childhood, Brenner said that Smashwords, which publishes and distributes the ebook edition of Wet Goddess, alerted him last November that changes to their Premium Catalogue distribution system might require revising the file, which he first uploaded in 2011.  “I wasn’t clear on the details of what exactly the problem was, but apparently the old file no longer satisfied the new requirements, or so they said,” he said.

The Smashwords Premium Catalog puts the book into the hands of all the large ebook distributors, including iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Scribd, OverDrive, Tolino, Gardners, Odilo, Baker & Taylor Axis 360 and more.  “I’m interested in sharing my experiences with dolphins as widely as possible,” Brenner said.  “They are non-human people, so it behooved me to take care of this update issue sooner or later.”

After receiving warning emails for several months, Brenner finally pulled up his socks and tackled the problem himself.  This versatility, he said, demonstrates the technical virtuosity required of successful self-published authors in the 21st Century.

“If you’re an aspiring author and you’re lucky enough to land an agent or a publisher these days, you can thank a higher power,” Brenner scoffed.  “I knew a controversial book like Wet Goddess would be a hard sell even for a successful author.  I made a few stabs at finding a publisher without success, and an agent took me on for a while.

“She wined and dined me once at a book fair in Tampa, then, with no explanation, stopped communicating.  Months went by with no word.  It was only when I threatened to sue her to recover my manuscript that I learned from an irate family member she was still recovering from a near-fatal car crash months before.

“In publishing, like anywhere else, sometimes shit just happens,” Brenner concluded, with a hint of resignation.  After more rejections, he responded by abandoning the idea of conventional publishing and taking on all the tasks himself.  “It required me to become a jack-of-all trades, but the fact that I don’t get along well with many people actually makes that a good way to work,” Brenner admitted.  “If I work for myself, I may have an asshole for a boss, but at least he understands me.”

Brenner pre-sold copies of Wet Goddess to family and friends to raise funds for the initial press run of 50 copies.  A sympathetic friend contributed necklaces made from fossilized sharks’ teeth as premiums for advance sales.  The worst problems came from trying to get the manuscript proofread before it went to print.

“Don’t get me started,” Brenner fumed.  “I hired a so-called proofreader from a local community college, but she could only proof in academic style!  Book manuscripts require what’s known as Chicago style, and besides, Wet Goddess has a lot of colloquial dialogue in it,” he recalled.  “Every time a redneck character used the word “ain’t,” she flagged it – more than 300 times in the manuscript!  You’d think that if she was professional she’d have called me up and asked me what my intention was, but no.”

As a result of this and other unforeseen difficulties that cost him the original author’s proof copy of his debut novel, the first press run of Wet Goddess shipped with about 250 typos in it, including one whole, and rather crucial, paragraph repeated, Brenner admitted.

“It appears very close to the, uh, shall we say ‘climax’ of the novel, and it was very embarrassing to find it,” he explained.  “I hope I’ve got it stuck back in the right place now.”

For a cover, Brenner was able to rely on the talents of his daughter, Thea Boodhoo, an advertising industry professional and college-trained artist.  “I was going to use a B&W photo of a dolphin that a friend in New Mexico colorized many years ago,” he said, “but Thea thought she could do better, and when I saw her finished work I knew she was right.  I only made a couple of very minor Photoshop changes to the file she handed me to make the title stand out more and add the subtitle.”


A friend who owned a small desktop publishing business referred Brenner to Royal Palm Press, a nearby print-on-demand company, for production services.  “I had no idea what the local reaction to the book would be, so I had a chat with Tom Lewis, the press’s owner at the time, to make sure he wasn’t blindsided,” Brenner said.  “Tom said ‘As long as it’s between consenting adults, that’s fine with me,’ and that was that.”  Brenner also served as his own layout artist, an experience he described as “a mad blur of on-the-job training.”

With book in hand, Brenner ventured onto the soggy ground of marketing.  “Here, I got terrifically lucky,” he said.  “I didn’t have the money to hire a public relations firm to distribute a press release, but I found one that had a reverse-charge policy. The media outlets who received the press releases paid for the service, not me, so my initial publicity was free!”

Upon its release in January 2010, the novel received intense press coverage due to its taboo-shredding themes of interspecies sex, zoophilic love and a dolphin character smart enough to out-think a human.  “For a while it was frantic, but very gratifying,” Brenner recalled.  “I was doing several interviews a week, sometimes two a day.  A few of the interviewers were skeptical or harsh about what they thought might have been going on, but the majority were genuinely curious to know what happened, and to learn more about dolphins.”

Since then, the book has enjoyed sales surges whenever some news gatherer gets curious and wants to know about his experience, Brenner said.  One came in 2011, when a New Zealand TV producer, David Farrier, released a videotaped interview with Brenner he’d recorded the year before.  Others don’t conjure such pleasant memories.  Brenner felt humiliated by shock-jock Howard Stern’s 2015 obsession with his zoophilia, and a 2011 interview with Bubba the Love Sponge cost him a gig with a local slick when its advertisers threatened to withdraw unless the magazine dropped him.

Brenner’s most recent foray into the murky waters of self-promotion was somewhat less melodramatic.  “When I finally got around to looking at the Smashwords file, it said there was a problem with one of the book’s photos, but I couldn’t find it with a self-diagnostic program they offer,” Brenner said.  “So I took a chance and asked Smashwords’ customer service, citing the warning notices they sent me.”

He quickly received a courteous reply from a guy named Kevin, explaining that the problem was probably due to the use of colons in his chapter titles and sub-sections.  “I was glad it was so easily resolved,” Brenner said, “until I downloaded the file onto my computer to make the corrections and realized what a mess it was.”

In the interim between uploading the file in 2011 and downloading it in 2018, Microsoft had changed Word and given it a new file extension, .docx instead of the original .doc.  “That one little ‘x,’ unfortunately, made a hell of a lot of difference,” Brenner said.  “When I had to add a couple of pages to the print manuscript of Wet Goddess, converting the book from the old to the new file format inserted blank spaces more or less at random between paragraphs.  I had to start at the beginning and re-do the whole layout, including throwing in a couple of new photos to fill some yawning blanks.”

The problems with the ebook file were similar.  There, many words were unnecessarily hyphenated, and photos had to be re-aligned to make sure they didn’t obscure the text.  Brenner said the process took him about two weeks, including a couple of days off when he wasn’t feeling well, but he’s glad he did it.

“I don’t have the money to pay somebody else anyway,” he complained, “so I might as well do it myself, because being retired I do have a fair amount of time.  Besides, whenever I master a task like this, I improve my overall word-processing skills, which helps me find work in the freelance job market.”

In the eight years Wet Goddess has been in print, it has sold about 1,500 copies in 18 countries, mostly in the English-speaking world, due to Brenner’s unflagging self-promotion efforts.  When a fan in Russia contacted him  three years ago to inform Brenner he’d undertaken an unauthorized translation, the author responded by granting him permission to publish it there!  “It hasn’t taken off yet, because the translator, Anton River, lives in a very conservative northern city,” Brenner said.  “He’s planning to move to a better climate soon, and I hope he’ll renew his efforts to promote the book when he does.”

In addition to Wet Goddess, Brenner has written and self-published two other books.


Growing Up in the Orgone Box, published in 2014, is an unflinching memoir of his torture and sexual molestation at the hands of Dr. Albert Duvall, an “orgone energy” therapist and close associate of the late Dr. Wilhelm Reich, and the dysfunctional family structure that allowed this to happen.


His 2016 novel Mel-Khyor: An Interstellar Affair is a more light-hearted romp through the mythology and culture of the UFO scene, told from the point of view of a young woman determined to live up to her family’s expectations of her, no matter what it costs her personally.  “There is, again, inter-species sex, but since the other species is bipedal, mostly humanoid and obviously sapient, nobody should blow a 50 amp fuse over it,” Brenner said.  “After all, ‘Star Trek,’ Edgar Rice Burroughs and countless other science-fiction writers have only been doing it for about 100 years.”

Sales on these two books have been nowhere near those of Wet Goddess, Brenner said, and he’s had difficulty getting them any kind of publicity or reviews.  “That’s because, while they’re both sexually radical books, they’re not as radical as a man and a dolphin making love,” he said.  “Somehow, that just blows people’s minds.”

Having just turned 67, Brenner hopes to see his work more widely appreciated before he dies.  Asked if he thought his writing would endure beyond his lifespan, he waxed philosophical.

“My daughter might take it on, but she’s not planning to have children, so who knows what will happen over the course of time?  We only know of the Greek poet Sappho’s beautiful writing because it was used to wrap fish,” he noted.

“Let us remember that from the point of view of a book, which may endure for millennia if it’s an epic, humans are fleeting things who read it at some point in their limited lifespans, devoting to it some portion of their precious time,” Brenner said, drawing on an eerie theme reminiscent of the ambiguous Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges.  “For this reason, books, especially long-lived books like Epic of Gilgamesh, Tao De Ching and Cattle Raid of Ulster, are grateful for the time their readers spend with them.  The books try to compensate the readers through a symbiotic relationship that informs you with a novel set of ideas, or supports your need for entertainment that doesn’t require batteries, WiFi or 3D glasses.

“I think that we humans, as a species, have a lot to learn from our dolphin cousins,” Brenner concluded.  “As for my writings, they will survive if people find value in them.”