Friday, June 5, 2015
Sunday, April 7, 2013
THE "REEFER MADNESS" OF PORN
Just like the anti-Pot hysteria of the film "Reefer Madness" and it's camp value to a generation of potheads, this classic 1965 anti-porn warning from the Citizens Against Pornography and featuring well-known Los Angeles news commentator George Putnam ranting against the menace of girlie magazines and the associated "vicious climb in violence, forcible rapes and assaults to kill".
"Do you want your children stimulated and driven into an early, unstable marriage?...or your daughter lured into lesbianism?..." and on and on he goes. Interesting in that the filmmakers have no problem with blatantly showing a tremendous sampling of porn magazines of all types including full nudity, bondage, homosexuality and much more.
Just think what s step All in the Family, Boys in the Band, 9 1/2 Weeks, Will and Grace, video stars, the Internet and so many other sexually conversant creative works of art really were when in 1965 not too long before them, the kind of propaganda espoused in this film (and its flashcards of warning and hints to combat porn's influence) was par for the course. Seems so campy and reactionary now. Then again, as Putnam offers the greatest civilizations in history were all tore down by the wrath of decadence. "...Save us from the wrath of evil."
Such vehement anti-homosexuality and antl-lesbian rhetoric here is perhaps the most shocking aspects of the perspective displayed in the film
I was 9 in 1965 and if I had seen this film when it came out, I would have been completely intrigued and would have wanted to know more because I wasn't exposed to any of this stuff back then. My mother (who in fact watched George Putnam's show regularly, made my father draw in ink pen, a turtleneck over the cleavage of a model pictured on a Firehous Five + 2 album of Dixieland music which did nothing butt make me WANT to see the model's breasts even more. Oh, the joys of censorship.
Friday, March 29, 2013
QUOTE OF THE DAY
Seduce my mind and you can have my body,
Find my soul and I'm yours forever.
- Anonymous
Monday, March 18, 2013
PORN FLAKES
Yes, THIS is what I'm talking about. Forget crunchberries and flax, flax and more flax. How about cereal that helps your sex life? Well, I adore sex and I crave cereal so what's not to love.
Try SEX CEREAL
Everyone's talking about SEXCEREAL but only available in Canada? I'm moving.
Try SEX CEREAL
Everyone's talking about SEXCEREAL but only available in Canada? I'm moving.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
MENTOR THIS, pt. 1
I could feel his eyes on me as I danced with two of his former lovers both of whom I was currently courting, if that word isn’t too ancient. When the song was over, the girls both headed outside for a smoke so I sat down beside him and we small talked about music for a while. We’d always had an easy repartee in the two years we’d known each other. I wished I had his talent and he, my experience.
“How do you do it, man?” he chuckled.
“What are you talking about?”
“You walk into a room and everyone perks up. The women all look your way, make a point to come up and hug you…”
“It’s just that I’m no threat to them.”
“Bullshit, man. It’s charisma, dude. Sometimes I feel when I’m onstage I can conquer the world, you know, that I could have any chick in the room.” I shake my head agreeing wholeheartedly. I’d been talking to a girl just tonight who stopped mid-sentence when he came onstage and ignored me until he walked off. “But then I get out in the crowd, I feel like a phony. That they see through me.”
I laugh, “Are you a phony?”
“Of course, aren’t we all?”
“Yes. So why work so hard at it. We’re all ‘onstage’ all the time even at our most sincere. We act differently around one parent then we do around another, for example. We even spend inordinate amounts of time fooling ourselves everyday. The key is to accept that and not work so hard consciously trying to be something other than just being acceptant of who you are.”
He thought for a moment and asked, “So what is it with these women? Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re 20, even 30 years older than some of them and they just adore you. Not that, I mean, not that you aren’t charismatic and all. Shit, this sounds like I’m calling you old…”
“I am old. You are half my age and thanks for not mentioning ‘past my prime’, ‘hairy’ or ‘older than their fathers’. I just don’t feel it most of the time. In my head I’m in my late 30s, thus the attraction to 25 year olds.” Two young women walk by and smile overhearing me.
“See!” he marvels.
“They were looking at you, dude.”
“No way, man. Whatever. My point is, I’d fuck you if I thought some of that charisma would rub off on me.”
“Oh really?” Now, I’m cracking up. “How high are you?”
“No man. The shit pores off of you. I noticed the first time I met you. People like your attention. I watch women and men both put their eyes in your direction all night long. It’s like wherever you are there must be something going on.”
Right. “Well, send them over. I’m a lonely old perv.” He laughs and I continue, “Why are you so worried? Every woman I’m interested in wants to sleep with you. You’re a sexy, young, buff rock star with a deadly smile. I don’t get it.”
“Probably because they know they can have me. I’m an easy mark. A notch for their street cred, nothing permanent.”
“Ha. Yeah, me too.” Jokingly but I realize, “Aren’t we sort of in the same boat? You follow your dick around like most studs your age, which makes you not only a conquest of sorts but also someone they want to attach themselves to. The lure of that big, illusive fish in the pond. Untamable. They want to be the one that captures you and settles you down. Then I am as ready for action as you are but at my age impermanence is part of the pitch. ‘Fuck me while you still have the chance.’”
“So now you’re trying to turn me on with your sly, self-deprecating wit?”
“Oh, that’s what it is? I’m just being me or a version of me that is custom tailored to you.”
“Ah-ha. So that’s what attracts them.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t seal the deal. That’s what gets harder and harder over the years.”
“You get harder and harder over the years? Just keep talking. Whatever you’re doing is working.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“That was my next question,” he smiles.
Now, we’re having fun. Listing each others attributes and going completely over the top. Mentioning shoelaces, hip swagger, bracelets, hip turns of phrase, retro bell-bottoms…on and on. Funny.
“I think all of the beer’s gone,” he muses after we both shut up long enough to watch a couple of girls kissing in a corner while they wait for the restroom. “Let’s go. The girls will never miss us.”
“Yes, they will.”
“Good.” There’s that cocky, youthful carelessness.
Once in his car, talk gravitates back to the gig. Easier than the unspoken weirdness of the unknown that we are actually in the process of chasing across town. His house was a mess of a place as expected of a band dwelling. His roomies were still drunkenly jamming at the after-party as we left but here the house was quiet for a change.
“Come on back…uh, drink? Joint?” but before I could answer he flipped on the light switch and I followed him down the hall. “Close the door,” he said, pulling a half-filled cap-less fifth of Jack off the nightstand next to the disheveled bed. We each took a sip; he set it on the floor and then walked me two steps backwards with his hand on my chest until my back was against the door and his face inches from mine.
“I’ve been told you’re a great kisser,” he said directly, looking at my lips.
“I’ve been told I kiss like a lesbian,” I retorted truthfully. The stirring below my belt at his daring, wide smile momentarily distracted me from his incoming kiss. It was wet, soft and not tentative but not all-forceful tongue lashing like the average hormonal 23-year-old.
“A lesbian with a mustache,” he smiled before interrupting my laughter again with his anxious mouth.
I could feel his excitement building as his hips pressed against mine. He pulled back slightly and said with a hint of hesitation, “Ever done this before?”
“Been kissed by a man while being pressed against a door by his raging hard-on? Uh, no.”
“Me neither,” he stated and with a hand on either side of my head, he pushed it back and up and bends to kiss down my neck to my chest. I spin him so that he’s the one backed up to the door and he grabs my shoulders and softly but decidedly pushes me down to my knees in front of him. I can feel the heat of his manhood through the straining fabric of his jeans. He yanks off his belt with one swift motion and I unzip his fly, the musky scent of his flesh hits my senses just as his spring-loaded member just misses my chin on its leap towards his taut belly. He pulls his t-shirt up over his head but I notice only his long, thick cock jutting skyward. My mouth instinctively caresses the thick ridge from its base up to his mushroom glans. Just as I reach that perfect head, I spin him around to face the wall and slap his ass three sharp times. He winces and moans as I spread his cheeks to lap at his hairless pink star. It takes no time before he is swaying his ass back and forth, his breath slowly increasing speed. Reaching down I unleash my stone-like appendage, dropping my pants as I stand behind him, leaning my weight into him. He bows his head between his crossed arms, which support him against the door.
“What do you want?” I ask. He mumbles something quietly. “I can’t hear you,” I whisper as I slap his ass again and reach around to briefly but tightly squeeze his magnificent hard-on.
“Fuck me now. Please. Fuck my ass, sir.”
This boy is a natural. I spit twice on my hand and ready my swelling head, which practically leaps towards his waiting asshole. I press slowly, instructing, “Push.” In short order, my large pulsing head enters him with a pop and he sucks in his breath and then says, through clenched lips, the side of his face pressed against the door, “Don’t stop. Slowly please…sir.”
“How do you do it, man?” he chuckled.
“What are you talking about?”
“You walk into a room and everyone perks up. The women all look your way, make a point to come up and hug you…”
“It’s just that I’m no threat to them.”
“Bullshit, man. It’s charisma, dude. Sometimes I feel when I’m onstage I can conquer the world, you know, that I could have any chick in the room.” I shake my head agreeing wholeheartedly. I’d been talking to a girl just tonight who stopped mid-sentence when he came onstage and ignored me until he walked off. “But then I get out in the crowd, I feel like a phony. That they see through me.”
I laugh, “Are you a phony?”
“Of course, aren’t we all?”
“Yes. So why work so hard at it. We’re all ‘onstage’ all the time even at our most sincere. We act differently around one parent then we do around another, for example. We even spend inordinate amounts of time fooling ourselves everyday. The key is to accept that and not work so hard consciously trying to be something other than just being acceptant of who you are.”
He thought for a moment and asked, “So what is it with these women? Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re 20, even 30 years older than some of them and they just adore you. Not that, I mean, not that you aren’t charismatic and all. Shit, this sounds like I’m calling you old…”
“I am old. You are half my age and thanks for not mentioning ‘past my prime’, ‘hairy’ or ‘older than their fathers’. I just don’t feel it most of the time. In my head I’m in my late 30s, thus the attraction to 25 year olds.” Two young women walk by and smile overhearing me.
“See!” he marvels.
“They were looking at you, dude.”
“No way, man. Whatever. My point is, I’d fuck you if I thought some of that charisma would rub off on me.”
“Oh really?” Now, I’m cracking up. “How high are you?”
“No man. The shit pores off of you. I noticed the first time I met you. People like your attention. I watch women and men both put their eyes in your direction all night long. It’s like wherever you are there must be something going on.”
Right. “Well, send them over. I’m a lonely old perv.” He laughs and I continue, “Why are you so worried? Every woman I’m interested in wants to sleep with you. You’re a sexy, young, buff rock star with a deadly smile. I don’t get it.”
“Probably because they know they can have me. I’m an easy mark. A notch for their street cred, nothing permanent.”
“Ha. Yeah, me too.” Jokingly but I realize, “Aren’t we sort of in the same boat? You follow your dick around like most studs your age, which makes you not only a conquest of sorts but also someone they want to attach themselves to. The lure of that big, illusive fish in the pond. Untamable. They want to be the one that captures you and settles you down. Then I am as ready for action as you are but at my age impermanence is part of the pitch. ‘Fuck me while you still have the chance.’”
“So now you’re trying to turn me on with your sly, self-deprecating wit?”
“Oh, that’s what it is? I’m just being me or a version of me that is custom tailored to you.”
“Ah-ha. So that’s what attracts them.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t seal the deal. That’s what gets harder and harder over the years.”
“You get harder and harder over the years? Just keep talking. Whatever you’re doing is working.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“That was my next question,” he smiles.
Now, we’re having fun. Listing each others attributes and going completely over the top. Mentioning shoelaces, hip swagger, bracelets, hip turns of phrase, retro bell-bottoms…on and on. Funny.
“I think all of the beer’s gone,” he muses after we both shut up long enough to watch a couple of girls kissing in a corner while they wait for the restroom. “Let’s go. The girls will never miss us.”
“Yes, they will.”
“Good.” There’s that cocky, youthful carelessness.
Once in his car, talk gravitates back to the gig. Easier than the unspoken weirdness of the unknown that we are actually in the process of chasing across town. His house was a mess of a place as expected of a band dwelling. His roomies were still drunkenly jamming at the after-party as we left but here the house was quiet for a change.
“Come on back…uh, drink? Joint?” but before I could answer he flipped on the light switch and I followed him down the hall. “Close the door,” he said, pulling a half-filled cap-less fifth of Jack off the nightstand next to the disheveled bed. We each took a sip; he set it on the floor and then walked me two steps backwards with his hand on my chest until my back was against the door and his face inches from mine.
“I’ve been told you’re a great kisser,” he said directly, looking at my lips.
“I’ve been told I kiss like a lesbian,” I retorted truthfully. The stirring below my belt at his daring, wide smile momentarily distracted me from his incoming kiss. It was wet, soft and not tentative but not all-forceful tongue lashing like the average hormonal 23-year-old.
“A lesbian with a mustache,” he smiled before interrupting my laughter again with his anxious mouth.
I could feel his excitement building as his hips pressed against mine. He pulled back slightly and said with a hint of hesitation, “Ever done this before?”
“Been kissed by a man while being pressed against a door by his raging hard-on? Uh, no.”
“Me neither,” he stated and with a hand on either side of my head, he pushed it back and up and bends to kiss down my neck to my chest. I spin him so that he’s the one backed up to the door and he grabs my shoulders and softly but decidedly pushes me down to my knees in front of him. I can feel the heat of his manhood through the straining fabric of his jeans. He yanks off his belt with one swift motion and I unzip his fly, the musky scent of his flesh hits my senses just as his spring-loaded member just misses my chin on its leap towards his taut belly. He pulls his t-shirt up over his head but I notice only his long, thick cock jutting skyward. My mouth instinctively caresses the thick ridge from its base up to his mushroom glans. Just as I reach that perfect head, I spin him around to face the wall and slap his ass three sharp times. He winces and moans as I spread his cheeks to lap at his hairless pink star. It takes no time before he is swaying his ass back and forth, his breath slowly increasing speed. Reaching down I unleash my stone-like appendage, dropping my pants as I stand behind him, leaning my weight into him. He bows his head between his crossed arms, which support him against the door.
“What do you want?” I ask. He mumbles something quietly. “I can’t hear you,” I whisper as I slap his ass again and reach around to briefly but tightly squeeze his magnificent hard-on.
“Fuck me now. Please. Fuck my ass, sir.”
This boy is a natural. I spit twice on my hand and ready my swelling head, which practically leaps towards his waiting asshole. I press slowly, instructing, “Push.” In short order, my large pulsing head enters him with a pop and he sucks in his breath and then says, through clenched lips, the side of his face pressed against the door, “Don’t stop. Slowly please…sir.”
Saturday, March 9, 2013
SLAP HAPPY
Sitting astride him, tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes glassy in bliss mode. He watched one tear glisten precariously from the tip of her exuberant left nipple. With his free hand he slapped it away, the sharp sound of flesh against flesh answered immediately by her high pitched squeal. His other hand palmed her right buttock, squeezing full force, trapping her already steaming skin in his unforgiving grip.
Rhythmically, she rocked her warm moistness against his pulsing shaft, his purpling glans roughly tickled by a hint of tomorrow’s stubble. The sight of his engorged tumescence, pale against the dark chocolate bareness of her inner thighs excited him feverishly.
She asked again, in a pleading, hushed whisper, “May I come, please, Sir?”
His palm rang out three quick responses against her damp brown-tipped breasts.
“Slap me,” he demanded.
“Please, no…Sir…I can’t.”
“Do not deny me. Slap me, slut,” using the word she loved most in moments of passion. “Slap me until you come.”
By the third time her small hand stung his right cheek, her tears again flowed freely and his cock stiffened with each sharp sound. She switched hands and slapped his left cheek, and he whispered, “Now.”
Her release coursed through her body like a consuming fire. Her hands dropping to his chest to support herself as she tilted her head towards the ceiling of the motel room. That tiny body shook convulsively as she ground her slick passion against his rigid heat. Her loins and legs still shook softly as she finally collapsed onto his thick chest. He answered her enthused and peaceful smile with his own tears.
The hurt he felt every time he granted her wishes for pain and tears always somehow confused his rationality before and after the fact but in her arms, witnessing the tranced-out bliss of her smile, the clinging embrace of her need made him feel her servant, made him feel worthy of her love.
“You always surprise me, Sir,” she cooed into his neck. "We are so good together." The flutter of her lips against his skin inspired a subconscious tightening of his perineum sending an ingasm of pure Kundalini energy up his spine, shaking underneath her for a hypnotic 40 long seconds that would resonate for a lifetime.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)