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My greatest problem in putting together the anthology was to find the perfect title—the best in my view, Strange Bedfellows, had already been used. I came up with Dark Desires but was persuaded that it sounded too much like a Gothic romance. Then I asked various writers for suggestions. The following were offered: Interstellarcourse, Love with the Proper Alien, Love Without Feet, Love Is a Many-Headed Thing, Strange Bedthings, In Bed with Darkness, Close Encounters of Another Kind, Looking for Mr. Goodtentacle, Loving the Alien, Bems, Boobs & Bimbos, Fucking Weird, Bedrooms to the Stars, Dangerous Virgins—you get the idea. After much thought, my title of choice was Off Limits: Sex and the Alien. Unfortunately, when my agent submitted the anthology, she (and I, I admit) kept calling it the “alien sex” anthology, which led my editor at Dutton to refer to it that way to her colleagues. Everyone loved it and it stuck. Thus, you have the genesis of a very catchy title (after all, you do have the book in your hands, don’t you) for a thought-provoking book. The stories here may intrigue, horrify, and possibly offend you, but I guarantee they won’t bore you.

So what’s changed since Alien Sex was first published in 1990? Sexuality and gender have become more commonly dealt with in science fiction. Or if not literally “dealt” with, at least acknowledged. There are more characters with sexual identities other than heterosexual in stories and novels. Also, a year after the publication of Alien Sex, the James Tiptree, Jr. Award was established—an award celebrating “the exploration and expansion of gender roles in science fiction and fantasy.”

Despite the evolving maturity in our field of literature concerning human sexuality and gender, I believe that the stories presented herein have not dated and will continue to provide enjoyment (or discomfort, as there are at least a few SF/horror stories within) for many years to come.

DOUGLAS WAS EMBARRASSED WHEN he saw Annie and Vernon mating.

He’d seen hours of sex between orangutans, but this time was different. He’d never seen Annie doing it. He stood in the shade of the pecan tree for a moment, shocked, iced tea glasses sweating in his hand, then he backed around the corner of the brick building. He was confused. The cicadas seemed louder than usual, the sun hotter, and the squeals of pleasure from the apes strange.

He walked back to the front porch and sat down. His mind still saw the two giant mounds of red-orange fur moving together like one being.

When the two orangs came back around, Douglas thought he saw smugness in Vernon’s face. Why not, he thought? I guess I would be smug, too.

Annie flopped down on the grassy front yard and crossed one leg over the other, her abdomen bulging high; she gazed upward into the heavy white sky.

Vernon bounded toward Douglas. He was young and red-chocolate colored. His face was still slim, without the older orangutan jowls yet.

“Be polite,” Douglas warned him.

“Drink tea, please?” Vernon signed rapidly, the fringe on his elbows waving. “Dry as bone.”

Douglas handed Vernon one of the glasses of tea, though he’d brought it out for Annie. The handsome nine-year-old downed it in a gulp. “Thank you,” he signed. He touched the edge of the porch and withdrew his long fingers. “Could fry egg,” he signed, and instead of sitting, swung out hand-over-hand on the ropes between the roof of the schoolhouse and the trees. It was a sparse and dry substitute for the orang’s native rain forest.

He’s too young and crude for Annie, Douglas thought.

“Annie,” Douglas called. “Your tea.”