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
Thursday, September 13, 2012
FALL PLANTING - pt. 1
She worked garden dept. down the hill at the big home center where I shopped. She was young and radiant. Five foot one or two, perfect glowing skin even in the shadows under the brim of her hat. Small Latina, thin-waisted, shapely hips, small but round behind in jeans poking out of the back of her green gardener's apron. Her hair jet black and slowly, almost imperceptibly waving with the methodical movement of her right arm, back and forth as she watered the shrubs. The flowering greens were begging to spring from their 5 gallon containers into moist earth somewhere else but would surely miss her daily affections.
I'd never seen her there before. She was new to town which I found out by asking for directions to the nearest good Vietnamese food. She laughed and said, "They are everywhere but the best is the Pho spot a mile further on the right. Mmmm. Wish I could join you they are to die for."
We talked perennials, watering, climate etc. She seemed well versed in all things garden. I was in dire need of advice with my gray thumbs and it being late in the season. Just enough time left to get things into the ground and for the roots to take hold. I lived about 40 minutes away and 3000 feet higher where the first hard frost could come at any time. Little did I know my own cold snap would be breaking soon.
“What are you up to? You seem to, sort of, be up to something fun?” She smiled slyly frm under her straw hat eyes darting up from her plants and quickly back down to the task at hand.
I told her I was just down from the mountains for supplies and maybe a bite to eat. She said she’d love to go up there and “play around” sometime. I, of course, took that to mean with me. I suddenly grew balls.
“Well, what time do you get out of here?” At that, she chortled a bit, wide smile spreading like she'd just thrown out a line and immediately got a big hit on the lure. It was 5pm and she was going to be there until midnight on this Labor Day Monday.
“Why don’t you go to a movie or something and grab a bite and come pick me up at 12. We can go up there and look at the stars. I can help you plant tomorrow, I’m off.” Why was I not at all suspicious or more accurately trepidatious? This girl didn’t know me from Adam.
“Why me?” I queried when I came to my senses and noticed her looking at from the corner of her eyes, waiting.
“I feel loneliness in your eyes but also great empathy. You don’t worry me.” Who was she, Don Juan?
What could I say to that? How about, “How old are you?”
“I’m 19. Not jailbait, if that’s the question.” She guffawed abruptly and walked over and kissed me on the cheek, splashing a bit of water from her hose on my shoes. “Oops,” she giggles.
“Maybe you should hose yourself down,” I smiled.
“Nah, you wouldn’t want that…just yet.”
Why was I suddenly, head over heels, completely bowled over. Ready for anything. Feeling fearless, sexy, interesting, wanted. Would I make it through the night in one piece? Did it matter?
“Could you bring me something to eat, later?” She was practically cooing. Looking coy, her top teeth over her bottom lip, eyes averted and fluttering a bit. What an actress. She knew I'd bitten. I wanted to take her right there on top of the chrysanthemums.
“Any preference?”
“Surprise me.”
“That’s your department, obviously.”
“Get outta here, before you get soaked. I’ll see you later.” I turned and couldn’t stop smiling as I pushed my cart full of things that grow out towards my truck. “Hey…don’t forget to pay for that stuff.” I turned to see her bent at the waist laughing.
I'd never seen her there before. She was new to town which I found out by asking for directions to the nearest good Vietnamese food. She laughed and said, "They are everywhere but the best is the Pho spot a mile further on the right. Mmmm. Wish I could join you they are to die for."
We talked perennials, watering, climate etc. She seemed well versed in all things garden. I was in dire need of advice with my gray thumbs and it being late in the season. Just enough time left to get things into the ground and for the roots to take hold. I lived about 40 minutes away and 3000 feet higher where the first hard frost could come at any time. Little did I know my own cold snap would be breaking soon.
“What are you up to? You seem to, sort of, be up to something fun?” She smiled slyly frm under her straw hat eyes darting up from her plants and quickly back down to the task at hand.
I told her I was just down from the mountains for supplies and maybe a bite to eat. She said she’d love to go up there and “play around” sometime. I, of course, took that to mean with me. I suddenly grew balls.
“Well, what time do you get out of here?” At that, she chortled a bit, wide smile spreading like she'd just thrown out a line and immediately got a big hit on the lure. It was 5pm and she was going to be there until midnight on this Labor Day Monday.
“Why don’t you go to a movie or something and grab a bite and come pick me up at 12. We can go up there and look at the stars. I can help you plant tomorrow, I’m off.” Why was I not at all suspicious or more accurately trepidatious? This girl didn’t know me from Adam.
“Why me?” I queried when I came to my senses and noticed her looking at from the corner of her eyes, waiting.
“I feel loneliness in your eyes but also great empathy. You don’t worry me.” Who was she, Don Juan?
What could I say to that? How about, “How old are you?”
“I’m 19. Not jailbait, if that’s the question.” She guffawed abruptly and walked over and kissed me on the cheek, splashing a bit of water from her hose on my shoes. “Oops,” she giggles.
“Maybe you should hose yourself down,” I smiled.
“Nah, you wouldn’t want that…just yet.”
Why was I suddenly, head over heels, completely bowled over. Ready for anything. Feeling fearless, sexy, interesting, wanted. Would I make it through the night in one piece? Did it matter?
“Could you bring me something to eat, later?” She was practically cooing. Looking coy, her top teeth over her bottom lip, eyes averted and fluttering a bit. What an actress. She knew I'd bitten. I wanted to take her right there on top of the chrysanthemums.
“Any preference?”
“Surprise me.”
“That’s your department, obviously.”
“Get outta here, before you get soaked. I’ll see you later.” I turned and couldn’t stop smiling as I pushed my cart full of things that grow out towards my truck. “Hey…don’t forget to pay for that stuff.” I turned to see her bent at the waist laughing.
Monday, August 27, 2012
SEXUAL SUBCULTURES: BEARS 'R' US
Here in Big Bear Lake, the town just made the Big Bear Adventure Weekend IV an official event a gave a Big Bear welcome to a sold out event! Plan ahead for next year and come on out to the Bear-friendliest town in So. Cali...
Here's what you missed if you didn't make it up this weekend.
The sexual subculture BEARS has been appearing in the straight press more frequently in recent days. Here are a couple of different perspectives.
ANDREW SULLIVAN AT SALON.COM:
RICH JUZWIAK at GAWKER.COM:
PETER MOSKOWITZ at NYTIMES.com blog LENS:
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
KEIRA KNIGHTLEY - BDSM
Just saw the film A DANGEROUS METHOD directed by David Cronenberg of VIDEODROME, NAKED LUNCH, CRASH (the twisted one), and EASTERN PROMISES fame. An interesting, controversial and masterful director who here explores the early days of the psychology movement. The relationship between Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortenson) and his protege, Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) and their competition, analysis and mentoring of the troubled patient and future analyst Sabrina Spielrein (Keira Knightley) is explored as the birth of psychoanalysis is pulled from the tumultuous era and their groundbreaking work in this critically acclaimed film from 2011.
But hey, this is a sexuality site so you can't go very far without stumbling into a cloud of Freudian theory or Jungian dream. Then again their is Keira Knightley who is quite accomplished and daring in this role especially in her portrayal of the emotionally and physically troubled early sessions with Jung.
Then again, what may be remembered most by some are the BDSM scenes between Fassbender and Knightley. Check them out and find the film if you are a fan of historical, psychological, chatty, sexuality driven tales.
KEIRA BDSM SCENES IN A DANGEROUS METHOD
But hey, this is a sexuality site so you can't go very far without stumbling into a cloud of Freudian theory or Jungian dream. Then again their is Keira Knightley who is quite accomplished and daring in this role especially in her portrayal of the emotionally and physically troubled early sessions with Jung.
Then again, what may be remembered most by some are the BDSM scenes between Fassbender and Knightley. Check them out and find the film if you are a fan of historical, psychological, chatty, sexuality driven tales.
KEIRA BDSM SCENES IN A DANGEROUS METHOD
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
SeXXXandPolitics: Health Care for Adult Stars
Here is a link to a blog I just discovered, SeXXXandPolitics.com
The article from this past April talks about issues of health care in the Adult Film Industry. There are more pieces in the online archive.
The article from this past April talks about issues of health care in the Adult Film Industry. There are more pieces in the online archive.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, October 9, 2011
SENSUAL MASSAGE -- THE PENIS
Here's a video I had never seen before that was sent in by a reader for the edification of you all. It's long and so is the video! This should give you a few, uh, pointers if you are into sensuous massage, large cocks or non-distracting quasi-Asian New Age music. Or if you have an oil fetish. A full service instructional video with a happy ending!
This is How You Massage A Penis
This is How You Massage A Penis
Friday, September 23, 2011
AUTUMN FALLING
I.
She said, “You could talk the pants off of me,”
I said, “But you aren’t wearing any.”
She said, “See.”
II.
“I met you when I was 14.”
I tried not to remind her how old I was now.
“I knew then we’d always be close.”
Years later, this conversation took place
She is jailbait no more.
She has kids
And an asshole ex
The type of which I encounter more often than not
These days
As a man about town
Where women have exs, children, bills
A smidgeon of spare time
Men have issues
And nights are long
In my arms confessing all.
In a town where my conquests, my flirtations
My formers and coulda-beens
Exist as much through the ether
As in real time face-to-face
Hip-to-hip horizontal bop.
Long distance lovers and dreamers and thieves
Who steal into my dreams and disappear
In the light of day
Or don’t.
She takes pictures for a living
Something I encouraged
A talented eye to try.
Now I look at shots of her
Through the years
And yearn for stories
And more.
We share sexy confessions late at night
She quietly listens
As my voices lowers near whisper
I hear her breath quicken
And she’ll coo in that warm musty voice of hers
Which strikes sparks
From my paused pontificating
As she murmurs
“I’m soaked. Tell me more…”
III.
Three dark sirens
And me strapped to the mast
Willing
Ready
Leaning into their songs.
The first doesn’t sing as much as scream
Panting at the slapping tide
Crashing against her hips
Stinging spots soft from neglect
Her eyes glazed in trance
Having waited for this storm
To rear up and spit its pent-up fury
In her anxious direction.
The second doesn’t sing
As much as dance the silent sound
Around
Serpentine ballet of illusion
Mystery
And pulls songs from around her
Where reflected
Become her own.
She is echo maker.
Creating bounceback
Riptide
Magnetic lunar tug
and light.
The sound that reaches
Here last
Shines as light vibrates
With sound
As creation is energized light
Fliting so quickly
Our eyes see nothing
But radiant
Blinding beauty
Youth of sound and movement
Danced and reflected
Spun like silk thru the tumultuous air
Shaking all still
In attentive embrace of the song.
But too fresh
To grasp the full effect.
Beauty reflects beauty
Reflects beauty
Dashed
To the ancient
Craggy sea.
IV.
Still autumn falls
In spite of our best efforts
In spite of hurried dreams
Storms brew and hit landfall
Floods, quakes
Minor heartbreaks
Blow up your inflatables
Man those paddles
We’re heading to the sea
On a river of you and me.
V.
There are healers
Squealers
Blatant revealers
Circling round my grizzled mop
Wallflowers
Awful towers
Of mismatched powers
Struggling over linguistics
Logistics
And wasted hours.
Tantalizing
Rope tricks
Some Willing Rogers lusty
Ribald
Knotty tales
Spinning captured
Words of rapturous
Love
Snakeskin boots
Apple corps.
Hanging
On this lion’s
Roar.
There are mysterians
Leaving c-c-cryptic massages
Red flesh handprint language
Moist code
To be deciphered
Mulled over
Questioned.
Just come clean.
Where were you on the night of…
Torturous inquisitions
Surveyed
Sexy
What ifs and what ares
Who dids and who didn’ts
Hands behind your back
Gimme some truth, baby
Confess
Melt down
Blab
What you need
Right now
All I ask
Amidst the charade
Is the ghost of reality
A taste on your lips.
~ September 8-10, BBC for Minx, Tiny, Ms. C, Ringer, SubB
She said, “You could talk the pants off of me,”
I said, “But you aren’t wearing any.”
She said, “See.”
II.
“I met you when I was 14.”
I tried not to remind her how old I was now.
“I knew then we’d always be close.”
Years later, this conversation took place
She is jailbait no more.
She has kids
And an asshole ex
The type of which I encounter more often than not
These days
As a man about town
Where women have exs, children, bills
A smidgeon of spare time
Men have issues
And nights are long
In my arms confessing all.
In a town where my conquests, my flirtations
My formers and coulda-beens
Exist as much through the ether
As in real time face-to-face
Hip-to-hip horizontal bop.
Long distance lovers and dreamers and thieves
Who steal into my dreams and disappear
In the light of day
Or don’t.
She takes pictures for a living
Something I encouraged
A talented eye to try.
Now I look at shots of her
Through the years
And yearn for stories
And more.
We share sexy confessions late at night
She quietly listens
As my voices lowers near whisper
I hear her breath quicken
And she’ll coo in that warm musty voice of hers
Which strikes sparks
From my paused pontificating
As she murmurs
“I’m soaked. Tell me more…”
III.
Three dark sirens
And me strapped to the mast
Willing
Ready
Leaning into their songs.
The first doesn’t sing as much as scream
Panting at the slapping tide
Crashing against her hips
Stinging spots soft from neglect
Her eyes glazed in trance
Having waited for this storm
To rear up and spit its pent-up fury
In her anxious direction.
The second doesn’t sing
As much as dance the silent sound
Around
Serpentine ballet of illusion
Mystery
And pulls songs from around her
Where reflected
Become her own.
She is echo maker.
Creating bounceback
Riptide
Magnetic lunar tug
and light.
The sound that reaches
Here last
Shines as light vibrates
With sound
As creation is energized light
Fliting so quickly
Our eyes see nothing
But radiant
Blinding beauty
Youth of sound and movement
Danced and reflected
Spun like silk thru the tumultuous air
Shaking all still
In attentive embrace of the song.
But too fresh
To grasp the full effect.
Beauty reflects beauty
Reflects beauty
Dashed
To the ancient
Craggy sea.
IV.
Still autumn falls
In spite of our best efforts
In spite of hurried dreams
Storms brew and hit landfall
Floods, quakes
Minor heartbreaks
Blow up your inflatables
Man those paddles
We’re heading to the sea
On a river of you and me.
V.
There are healers
Squealers
Blatant revealers
Circling round my grizzled mop
Wallflowers
Awful towers
Of mismatched powers
Struggling over linguistics
Logistics
And wasted hours.
Tantalizing
Rope tricks
Some Willing Rogers lusty
Ribald
Knotty tales
Spinning captured
Words of rapturous
Love
Snakeskin boots
Apple corps.
Hanging
On this lion’s
Roar.
There are mysterians
Leaving c-c-cryptic massages
Red flesh handprint language
Moist code
To be deciphered
Mulled over
Questioned.
Just come clean.
Where were you on the night of…
Torturous inquisitions
Surveyed
Sexy
What ifs and what ares
Who dids and who didn’ts
Hands behind your back
Gimme some truth, baby
Confess
Melt down
Blab
What you need
Right now
All I ask
Amidst the charade
Is the ghost of reality
A taste on your lips.
~ September 8-10, BBC for Minx, Tiny, Ms. C, Ringer, SubB
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
SMALL INSTRUCTIONS #5
As punishment for your not having read my previous message as of yet, tonight you will be forced to your knees, and as I take out my cock and stroke it in front of you, I may decide not to allow you to taste my warm tumescence. You must beg me for it with your eyes and if you aren't convincing enough I will punish you as I see fit. When I am through bringing you the pain that makes your body quiver with excitement, that hardens my stiffening wand to bursting, you will be requested to slowly ease your hand up my waiting ass. I want to feel your tiny hand inside me slowly coaxing my shivering body to respond. You will jerk and suck my cock down your waiting throat and when I am through having my pleasure satisfied you will receive a tender, deserved spanking until your tears are no longer yours but mine alone. Tonight, you are here for my pleasure. You will remember how you serve me and every day while I am gone, you will accept that your service will be missed and that when we next see each other all of our smoldering desire for each other will flow through us igniting the passion longed for over the miles.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
SMALL INSTRUCTIONS #4
Hello my little slut,
Future plans: You will meet me fresh from shower using sandalwood soap. I want every inch of you smelling of this. You will wear expendable clothes and bring along something to wear home. Sexy panties a must. Clothes that can be cut or torn off of you and taken as shredded souvenirs as I desire.
You will call me only Sir, or mister. "No" will mean "yes." I will take you as I please and I want some resistance verbally and physically but I would like to see you cower as you did in my loving room the first time. When I am with you I am in a space of surety entwined with ecstatic suffering as your pain brings me a pain drenched with love and trust. Your trust empowers me.
When you left on Sunday, I stayed up for four hours fantasizing about so many filthy things I want to put you through. I will teach you to hurt me as well. A wonderful start we had. I long to call you from California and tell you all of these filthy things while you get yourself off. I yearn to find a young man anxious for you who will be tied and blindfolded and listen to me slap and chastise you. Who will listen to me fuck your ass, slap your thighs, hear you crying.
And while you are restrained and spanked into a trance, I will slowly pinch and kiss and provoke his anxious skin, pull his hair and suck his cock as you watch us, torturing him with enticing words and thoughts of his filling you with hard, thick cock. But before he is allowed to violate you, he must first make slow deliberate love to me, following your every wish.
Finally, we will both fill you with our warm fullness and splash our excitement across you beautiful face.
In the meantime, you are mine slutty plaything and I am your dastardly puppet.
Future plans: You will meet me fresh from shower using sandalwood soap. I want every inch of you smelling of this. You will wear expendable clothes and bring along something to wear home. Sexy panties a must. Clothes that can be cut or torn off of you and taken as shredded souvenirs as I desire.
You will call me only Sir, or mister. "No" will mean "yes." I will take you as I please and I want some resistance verbally and physically but I would like to see you cower as you did in my loving room the first time. When I am with you I am in a space of surety entwined with ecstatic suffering as your pain brings me a pain drenched with love and trust. Your trust empowers me.
When you left on Sunday, I stayed up for four hours fantasizing about so many filthy things I want to put you through. I will teach you to hurt me as well. A wonderful start we had. I long to call you from California and tell you all of these filthy things while you get yourself off. I yearn to find a young man anxious for you who will be tied and blindfolded and listen to me slap and chastise you. Who will listen to me fuck your ass, slap your thighs, hear you crying.
And while you are restrained and spanked into a trance, I will slowly pinch and kiss and provoke his anxious skin, pull his hair and suck his cock as you watch us, torturing him with enticing words and thoughts of his filling you with hard, thick cock. But before he is allowed to violate you, he must first make slow deliberate love to me, following your every wish.
Finally, we will both fill you with our warm fullness and splash our excitement across you beautiful face.
In the meantime, you are mine slutty plaything and I am your dastardly puppet.
THE EYES HAVE IT
Concert at The Echo, bands I don't know. I crawl in solo and early, walking around before the show, making quick eye contact with a brunette in a hippie dress. Green eyes. Young. Half my age (isn’t everyone?). I get a drink at the bar, move around behind her 20 feet or so back. She’s obviously with some tall, galoot in a plaid shirt. He’s yammering at her about his job, what he does. Her eyes dart around the periphery and back to him when she thinks he’s looking at her, feigning interest. He never asks her a question, or even pauses to allow her a random innocuous comment. In fact, he doesn’t seem to really care if she is listening at all, he just presumes so. For the most part he keeps his eyes up in the rafters as he speaks. Glancing at the stage lights, the big, dark speakers hanging precariously in the corners of the room playing some decent, if non-descript CD of post-apocalyptic, West Coast, 80s punk.
She feels my eyes on her. I look up and down her body slowly, memorizing. She’s wearing a loose, hippie-type dress. Summery, muslin perhaps, short above her knees but low-cut with a little cleavage and a necklace I can’t quite see from 10 feet away in the darkened club. She feels my eyes on her, catching me looking her over. When he glances away from her, rambling, she smiles slightly and glances directly in my eyes. I do not avert. This goes on all during the first act, repeating like the incessant bass line. She seems to know the words to all of the songs. I know none of them. She’s obviously a regular and me just a newbie fan who hadn’t even heard of this band until the night before.
During the break I sit on edge of the stage and watch the crowd mill about. Some mating dances, lots of 20-somethings out for a night of rock n roll with packs of friends. She must be on a first date because who would hang with this moron more than once. Almost every time I look at her she is either already looking at me or turns her eyes slightly trying to be nonchalant and not obvious about it. Why her interest in me, I’m unsure. Other than the fact that my fearlessness at making eye contact might be a bit irregular for someone of her beauty and then again, perhaps I'm obviously just forward enough considering her hovering suitor.
During main band’s set, all sexy 70s harmonies and 90s grungy guitars with flashes of Bakersfield honky-tonk twang. She video tapes the whole thing. While the three guitarist front men are much closer to her age, she doesn’t sing along this set but keeps glancing away from her screen and out of the corner of her eye at me. She has positioned herself between the finally quiet boyfriend and the sweat-wet singers and her date is none the wiser. This has got to be a first date or perhaps the closing moments of something gone on too listlessly long.
Before the encore, he runs off with his peanut bladder, and I figure, impulsively, that I only have a minute or two. I take five steps to my left. Eyes locked on hers, her camera is at her side. Everyone else must presume I'm lurching, aching for rock star proximity in the pit when actually I’m scooching to the right over to her side to say, “Your red light is still on.”
“A-----”, she says her name softly, as if a forbidden secret shared.
“Hi. Who’s the guy? What’s is story?”
“He’s boring. He went to get one for the road. You really want HIS story?”
“No, just yours. You, live in town?”
“Yes, Silver Lake. I’m 25. You?”
“That’s two answers. I only asked one…I live in the mountains.”
“Nice…(she waits)”
“54, though I look MUCH younger.”
She giggles. “Older than my dad,” with a big beautiful smile.
Now it’s my turn to say, “Nice.” She laughs out loud.
“Great hiking up there waiting for you, come on up for a visit.” I smile big. She grins big back. I can’t believe how easy it is to just invite this stranger to my moungtain home, miles away. I’m kind of amazed myself. My balls hurt, they are so big. But I figured the dude would be back any minute. “Seen these guys before?” I ask, meaning the band.
“Seen the opener but not the other guys. You?”
“Nope. But they were awesome.” She giggles again. “You like Jeff Beck?...not Beck, Jeff Beck the guitarist?” Now, I’m throwing it out there fast. I am so sick of wasting time especially when I have nothing to lose.
“Sure, he’s got a girl on bass.” I don’t tell her it’s not that band anymore but I’m impressed she knows that.
“I thinking about trying to get tickets to see him in Pomona tomorrow night. Can I call you in the morning?”
She just recites me her number. Hold on…” I scramble for my phone. She repeats it and I get it in without area code, furtively glancing up to see “Mr. First Date” Coming from across the room, walking slowly concentrating to not spill his two full beers.
I start to ask a question, which she anticipates, “323.”
She was about 5’2”, natural, unpretentious looking girl, brunette, curly Joan Osborne type angelic hair. Pale skin. Curvy, dimpled smile. Eyes green like emerald pools. Nice body from what I could see. Not super skinny but not fat either. I liked that she was direct, only shy in the first 30 seconds of me approaching. She looked directly into my eyes when not casually looking around for her dude checking his whereabouts. She seemed very comfortable with my attentions. Quite nonchalant and natural. Wow.
Looking up, I see he’s about 10 feet away, and closing, hands soaked. She has both of their coats in her arms and he tries to hand her a beer and of course, doesn’t reach to help with the coats. Doofus.
Fortuitously, I get a call from my buddy who told me about the show. I turn and look down at my cell before the guy gets that I’m chatting up his girl. Stand there acting busy, texting, “I’m talking to a hottie.” I put my phone to my ear and then glance up at her and she mouths the words, “Call me,” as he leads her to one of the little tables that were emptying out over by the side wall. I head outside, leaning against a car parked curbside, hoping for one last glance. After about ten minutes, they get booted and stroll out into the night. As they pass my post, I look into her eyes and stick my hand against my chest and make it flutter. She smiles and walks by in Moron’s yammering wake.
I can barely sleep all night, anxious to call her. I wait until 11 a.m. the next morning, Sheer will power, I was thinking she was probably up late and didn’t want her to think I was too anxious. She answered on the second ring and said, before I had a chance to speak, “’Bout time you called.”
“How’d you know it was me?” I laughed.
“I recognized the area code. You sure were forward last night,” I hear the teasing under-her-breath smile curving the vorners of her mouth as she speaks.
“I apologize but I just couldn’t risk not seeing that look in your eyes again.”
“…or the chance of seeing me naked.” Boy, this girl was direct, pretty intense for a girl her age. I felt exhilarated but also a bit trepidatious thinking I should probably keep on my toes.
“So are we going to that concert tonight or is this a booty call?”
“Well, do you have a preference?” Two could play this game.
“How about you come over and fuck me and then we decide?” I had no problem agreeing to that but wanted to make her wonder for a moment. “What makes you presume I want to fuck you?” I queried, unconvincingly.
She hung up.
Oh shit. Now, who’s the doofus? But I could practically hear her laugh in the silence of her far-off room. On the tenth ring she picked up, torturing me.
“So that didn’t take long to decide, now did it?” she sounded reserved but playful, but what did I know, I hardly knew her. “Did it?” This time she said it a bit more forcefully.
“I will do whatever you want me to do, young lady.” She had me and I tested the waters to make sure she was ready and willing as she implied.
“In private, you call me Mistress Ann. I presume you know how to pay me proper respect when you address me?”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
“Good. Now when I am ready, I will text you my address and I will expect you there within the hour. I want you on your knees at my front door when I answer it. Barefoot. Now, go clean yourself up.”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
She feels my eyes on her. I look up and down her body slowly, memorizing. She’s wearing a loose, hippie-type dress. Summery, muslin perhaps, short above her knees but low-cut with a little cleavage and a necklace I can’t quite see from 10 feet away in the darkened club. She feels my eyes on her, catching me looking her over. When he glances away from her, rambling, she smiles slightly and glances directly in my eyes. I do not avert. This goes on all during the first act, repeating like the incessant bass line. She seems to know the words to all of the songs. I know none of them. She’s obviously a regular and me just a newbie fan who hadn’t even heard of this band until the night before.
During the break I sit on edge of the stage and watch the crowd mill about. Some mating dances, lots of 20-somethings out for a night of rock n roll with packs of friends. She must be on a first date because who would hang with this moron more than once. Almost every time I look at her she is either already looking at me or turns her eyes slightly trying to be nonchalant and not obvious about it. Why her interest in me, I’m unsure. Other than the fact that my fearlessness at making eye contact might be a bit irregular for someone of her beauty and then again, perhaps I'm obviously just forward enough considering her hovering suitor.
During main band’s set, all sexy 70s harmonies and 90s grungy guitars with flashes of Bakersfield honky-tonk twang. She video tapes the whole thing. While the three guitarist front men are much closer to her age, she doesn’t sing along this set but keeps glancing away from her screen and out of the corner of her eye at me. She has positioned herself between the finally quiet boyfriend and the sweat-wet singers and her date is none the wiser. This has got to be a first date or perhaps the closing moments of something gone on too listlessly long.
Before the encore, he runs off with his peanut bladder, and I figure, impulsively, that I only have a minute or two. I take five steps to my left. Eyes locked on hers, her camera is at her side. Everyone else must presume I'm lurching, aching for rock star proximity in the pit when actually I’m scooching to the right over to her side to say, “Your red light is still on.”
“A-----”, she says her name softly, as if a forbidden secret shared.
“Hi. Who’s the guy? What’s is story?”
“He’s boring. He went to get one for the road. You really want HIS story?”
“No, just yours. You, live in town?”
“Yes, Silver Lake. I’m 25. You?”
“That’s two answers. I only asked one…I live in the mountains.”
“Nice…(she waits)”
“54, though I look MUCH younger.”
She giggles. “Older than my dad,” with a big beautiful smile.
Now it’s my turn to say, “Nice.” She laughs out loud.
“Great hiking up there waiting for you, come on up for a visit.” I smile big. She grins big back. I can’t believe how easy it is to just invite this stranger to my moungtain home, miles away. I’m kind of amazed myself. My balls hurt, they are so big. But I figured the dude would be back any minute. “Seen these guys before?” I ask, meaning the band.
“Seen the opener but not the other guys. You?”
“Nope. But they were awesome.” She giggles again. “You like Jeff Beck?...not Beck, Jeff Beck the guitarist?” Now, I’m throwing it out there fast. I am so sick of wasting time especially when I have nothing to lose.
“Sure, he’s got a girl on bass.” I don’t tell her it’s not that band anymore but I’m impressed she knows that.
“I thinking about trying to get tickets to see him in Pomona tomorrow night. Can I call you in the morning?”
She just recites me her number. Hold on…” I scramble for my phone. She repeats it and I get it in without area code, furtively glancing up to see “Mr. First Date” Coming from across the room, walking slowly concentrating to not spill his two full beers.
I start to ask a question, which she anticipates, “323.”
She was about 5’2”, natural, unpretentious looking girl, brunette, curly Joan Osborne type angelic hair. Pale skin. Curvy, dimpled smile. Eyes green like emerald pools. Nice body from what I could see. Not super skinny but not fat either. I liked that she was direct, only shy in the first 30 seconds of me approaching. She looked directly into my eyes when not casually looking around for her dude checking his whereabouts. She seemed very comfortable with my attentions. Quite nonchalant and natural. Wow.
Looking up, I see he’s about 10 feet away, and closing, hands soaked. She has both of their coats in her arms and he tries to hand her a beer and of course, doesn’t reach to help with the coats. Doofus.
Fortuitously, I get a call from my buddy who told me about the show. I turn and look down at my cell before the guy gets that I’m chatting up his girl. Stand there acting busy, texting, “I’m talking to a hottie.” I put my phone to my ear and then glance up at her and she mouths the words, “Call me,” as he leads her to one of the little tables that were emptying out over by the side wall. I head outside, leaning against a car parked curbside, hoping for one last glance. After about ten minutes, they get booted and stroll out into the night. As they pass my post, I look into her eyes and stick my hand against my chest and make it flutter. She smiles and walks by in Moron’s yammering wake.
I can barely sleep all night, anxious to call her. I wait until 11 a.m. the next morning, Sheer will power, I was thinking she was probably up late and didn’t want her to think I was too anxious. She answered on the second ring and said, before I had a chance to speak, “’Bout time you called.”
“How’d you know it was me?” I laughed.
“I recognized the area code. You sure were forward last night,” I hear the teasing under-her-breath smile curving the vorners of her mouth as she speaks.
“I apologize but I just couldn’t risk not seeing that look in your eyes again.”
“…or the chance of seeing me naked.” Boy, this girl was direct, pretty intense for a girl her age. I felt exhilarated but also a bit trepidatious thinking I should probably keep on my toes.
“So are we going to that concert tonight or is this a booty call?”
“Well, do you have a preference?” Two could play this game.
“How about you come over and fuck me and then we decide?” I had no problem agreeing to that but wanted to make her wonder for a moment. “What makes you presume I want to fuck you?” I queried, unconvincingly.
She hung up.
Oh shit. Now, who’s the doofus? But I could practically hear her laugh in the silence of her far-off room. On the tenth ring she picked up, torturing me.
“So that didn’t take long to decide, now did it?” she sounded reserved but playful, but what did I know, I hardly knew her. “Did it?” This time she said it a bit more forcefully.
“I will do whatever you want me to do, young lady.” She had me and I tested the waters to make sure she was ready and willing as she implied.
“In private, you call me Mistress Ann. I presume you know how to pay me proper respect when you address me?”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
“Good. Now when I am ready, I will text you my address and I will expect you there within the hour. I want you on your knees at my front door when I answer it. Barefoot. Now, go clean yourself up.”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
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