The Erotic Literary Salon

The Erotic Literary Salon – Daily News

admin — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 15:18:55 +0000

Today the Daily News article on the Salon. Tomorrow the Salon. Only a few more openings for readings. If you are interested follow the guidelines on the navigation bar top of site. See you tomorrow. Come early for a good seat.

http://www.philly.com/dailynews/features/87636567.html

A Season of White Alchemy – reminder, Tuesday, March 16 Salon

admin — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 16:13:12 +0000

A long time friend of my family – octogenarian, has had her first piece of fiction published in Newsday, a well respected NY paper. So you wonder why I mention her work on this site.

I hear and read daily how people get stuck in their thoughts and what they do. I like to offer examples

True Dirty Stories – Reminder, Tuesday, March 16 Salon

admin — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 17:44:40 +0000

While traveling the Internet another interesting site. www.TrueDirtyStories.com Most of the stories are amateurish. However, they offer ideas for themes that you can borrow and do better in terms of writing.

Dirty Haiku/Erotic Haiky

admin — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 18:13:40 +0000

Found a lovely site – www.DirtyHaiku.com

Art in the Olympics – Erotic Twitter Haiku championships?

admin — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 14:53:01 +0000

True story – we once had arts olympians. The following story was published in the New York Times regarding this competition. I’m not certain the judging of erotic verse/poetry could be done fairly, but it certainly would bring notoriety to the genre.

The New York Times

Printer Friendly Format Sponsored By

February 19, 2010

When There Were Arts Olympians

By CHARLES ISHERWOOD

Probably few of the millions slumping in front of the flat-screen this week, skipping the gym to watch their bodily betters perform hair-raising feats of athletic prowess in the Vancouver slush, are aware that in the first half of the 20th century, the modern Olympics also included arts competitions.

The dream of uniting sport and art, as they were once paired in the original Greek Olympiads, was in fact central to the mission of Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the godfather of the Games. The goal was “to reunite in the bonds of legitimate wedlock a long-divorced couple — Muscle and Mind,” the baron loftily announced to an organizing committee in an early attempt to get the idea off the ground. But while the first athletic competitions got under way in Athens in 1896, it was not until the Stockholm Games in 1912 that medals would be given for architecture, sculpture, painting, music and literature.

Even then, the baron’s battle to keep the marriage intact encountered some tough sledding. The Swedish organizers of the Games were none too keen on the idea, arguing that judging art was a far slippier proposition than figuring out who threw the discus farthest. Still, the baron had his way. The arts Games were on, and continued until 1948. The animating idea was to award the prizes to work directly inspired by sport — a limitation that may have helped lead to their eventual demise. How many statues of muscle-bound athletes, how many paeans to the glory of manly competition, can the world really be expected to celebrate? (Although the culture competitions ended, festivals of arts associated with the Olympics have continued, with little more fanfare. Would anyone have taken note of this year’s if the Canadian poet laureate hadn’t skipped out, taking with him his lyric about the absence of female ski-jumping in the Games?)

In his appositely titled book “The Forgotten Olympic Art Competitions,” Richard Stanton relates the details of this obscure byway of cultural history in enthusiastic prose. Who knew that Walter Winans, a Russian-born aristocrat who maintained United States citizenship despite living mostly abroad, was the only Olympian to win medals in both sporting and cultural competition in the same Olympiad? In the 1912 games he took home the silver for the United States in “Team Running Deer — Single Shot” (since eliminated, we believe) and the gold medal for sculpture for “An American Trotter.”

Few immortals swim through the book’s pages. Jack Butler Yeats — younger brother of the poet W.B. — won the silver medal at the Paris competition in 1924 for “Natation (Swimming).” (Although the elder Yeats’s renown has far outstripped his brother’s, fellow Irishman Samuel Beckett was an admirer, and even wrote a poem celebrating his work.) Josef Suk, the lone musical winner at the 1932 Los Angeles games, was a noted Czech composer and a student and son-in-law of Antonin Dvorak.

But does anyone still play the “Olympic Symphony” by Zbigniew Turski, a prize winner in the last competition, in London in 1948? Does anyone play anything by Zbigniew Turski? Somehow typical is this forlorn confession from Mr. Stanton, relating to the Finnish poet Aale Tynni, who won the top prize for literature in the last games: “As of this time, a copy of her gold medal poem ‘Hellaan Laakeri’ has not been located.” Sic transit gloria Tynni.

The dubiousness of judging aesthetic achievement by committee has been a common subject for complaint ever since awards began proliferating like wildflowers in the last half-century. The highly politicized nature of international competition only added to the problem, as becomes blindingly clear when you scan the list of arts winners from the infamous 1936 Games in Berlin.

Man, those Germans and Austrians cleaned up! Austria took gold and bronze for architecture, Germany silver. Germany won all three medals for songs for soloist or choir, with or without instrumental accompaniment, as well as gold for lyric writing and silver for epic, gold for relief sculpture, two of three awards for town planning (shudder) and more. Who knew home-field advantage could extend so thoroughly into the aesthetic spheres?

It’s funny to imagine who might have “podiumed” in the arts categories had the competition continued for the rest of the 20th century. LeRoy Neiman, the painter known for his celebratory images of sports greats, might well have been awash in medals, the Michael Phelps of oils. Perhaps Barry De Vorzon and Perry Botkin Jr. would have joined Zbigniew Turski in the Olympian musical ranks, for the sentimental strains that long accompanied the title credits to “The Young and the Restless,” and later became known as “Nadia’s Theme,” in tribute to the gymnast Nadia Comaneci. Might the lyric winner for the 1998 winter Olympics have been a tribute to the infamous skating scandal of the previous games, something titled “The Ballad of Tonya and Nancy”?

In keeping with Baron de Coubertin’s dream of truly uniting the worlds of art and sport, I’d like to fancifully suggest that a resurrected arts competition blend disciplines, mixing the skills of Olympic sport with the aesthetics of the new century. One event could be the textathlon, which would involve high-speed texting while skiing, with random breaks for shooting, of course. There could be a competition for Twitter haiku, to be composed while hurtling through the icy chutes of the luge.

But the dream that excites me most is this inspiration, which came upon me as I sat transfixed by boredom and confusion for a couple of hours last week, watching the women’s curling competition. Fanfare please: drag queen curling.

Yes, since curling, that curious combination of skating, shuffleboard and housework, has managed to hold on for dear life as a winter Olympic sport, we may as well accept it. But why not heighten the fun by allowing international teams of drag queens to compete, thus sexing up the game with the sequins, feathers and splashy vulgarity that make watching ice-skating such a voluptuous wallow in expert athleticism and spectacularly bad taste?

A few rules would have to be amended. Someone would have to invent a spike-heeled shoe that would not puncture the ice. And instead of using those little implements to scrub away at the ice to change the speed and direction of the “stones” — drag queens do not sweep — maybe the same effect could be achieved by having the competitors gently sway the movement by hurling heated imprecations in their way. “Do not even think of slowing down now, honey!” Color commentary by RuPaul, of course.

The New York TimesPrinter Friendly Format Sponsored By
February 19, 2010When There Were Arts OlympiansBy CHARLES ISHERWOOD
Probably few of the millions slumping in front of the flat-screen this week, skipping the gym to watch their bodily betters perform hair-raising feats of athletic prowess in the Vancouver slush, are aware that in the first half of the 20th century, the modern Olympics also included arts competitions.
The dream of uniting sport and art, as they were once paired in the original Greek Olympiads, was in fact central to the mission of Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the godfather of the Games. The goal was “to reunite in the bonds of legitimate wedlock a long-divorced couple — Muscle and Mind,” the baron loftily announced to an organizing committee in an early attempt to get the idea off the ground. But while the first athletic competitions got under way in Athens in 1896, it was not until the Stockholm Games in 1912 that medals would be given for architecture, sculpture, painting, music and literature.
Even then, the baron’s battle to keep the marriage intact encountered some tough sledding. The Swedish organizers of the Games were none too keen on the idea, arguing that judging art was a far slippier proposition than figuring out who threw the discus farthest. Still, the baron had his way. The arts Games were on, and continued until 1948. The animating idea was to award the prizes to work directly inspired by sport — a limitation that may have helped lead to their eventual demise. How many statues of muscle-bound athletes, how many paeans to the glory of manly competition, can the world really be expected to celebrate? (Although the culture competitions ended, festivals of arts associated with the Olympics have continued, with little more fanfare. Would anyone have taken note of this year’s if the Canadian poet laureate hadn’t skipped out, taking with him his lyric about the absence of female ski-jumping in the Games?)
In his appositely titled book “The Forgotten Olympic Art Competitions,” Richard Stanton relates the details of this obscure byway of cultural history in enthusiastic prose. Who knew that Walter Winans, a Russian-born aristocrat who maintained United States citizenship despite living mostly abroad, was the only Olympian to win medals in both sporting and cultural competition in the same Olympiad? In the 1912 games he took home the silver for the United States in “Team Running Deer — Single Shot” (since eliminated, we believe) and the gold medal for sculpture for “An American Trotter.”
Few immortals swim through the book’s pages. Jack Butler Yeats — younger brother of the poet W.B. — won the silver medal at the Paris competition in 1924 for “Natation (Swimming).” (Although the elder Yeats’s renown has far outstripped his brother’s, fellow Irishman Samuel Beckett was an admirer, and even wrote a poem celebrating his work.) Josef Suk, the lone musical winner at the 1932 Los Angeles games, was a noted Czech composer and a student and son-in-law of Antonin Dvorak.
But does anyone still play the “Olympic Symphony” by Zbigniew Turski, a prize winner in the last competition, in London in 1948? Does anyone play anything by Zbigniew Turski? Somehow typical is this forlorn confession from Mr. Stanton, relating to the Finnish poet Aale Tynni, who won the top prize for literature in the last games: “As of this time, a copy of her gold medal poem ‘Hellaan Laakeri’ has not been located.” Sic transit gloria Tynni.
The dubiousness of judging aesthetic achievement by committee has been a common subject for complaint ever since awards began proliferating like wildflowers in the last half-century. The highly politicized nature of international competition only added to the problem, as becomes blindingly clear when you scan the list of arts winners from the infamous 1936 Games in Berlin.
Man, those Germans and Austrians cleaned up! Austria took gold and bronze for architecture, Germany silver. Germany won all three medals for songs for soloist or choir, with or without instrumental accompaniment, as well as gold for lyric writing and silver for epic, gold for relief sculpture, two of three awards for town planning (shudder) and more. Who knew home-field advantage could extend so thoroughly into the aesthetic spheres?
It’s funny to imagine who might have “podiumed” in the arts categories had the competition continued for the rest of the 20th century. LeRoy Neiman, the painter known for his celebratory images of sports greats, might well have been awash in medals, the Michael Phelps of oils. Perhaps Barry De Vorzon and Perry Botkin Jr. would have joined Zbigniew Turski in the Olympian musical ranks, for the sentimental strains that long accompanied the title credits to “The Young and the Restless,” and later became known as “Nadia’s Theme,” in tribute to the gymnast Nadia Comaneci. Might the lyric winner for the 1998 winter Olympics have been a tribute to the infamous skating scandal of the previous games, something titled “The Ballad of Tonya and Nancy”?
In keeping with Baron de Coubertin’s dream of truly uniting the worlds of art and sport, I’d like to fancifully suggest that a resurrected arts competition blend disciplines, mixing the skills of Olympic sport with the aesthetics of the new century. One event could be the textathlon, which would involve high-speed texting while skiing, with random breaks for shooting, of course. There could be a competition for Twitter haiku, to be composed while hurtling through the icy chutes of the luge.
But the dream that excites me most is this inspiration, which came upon me as I sat transfixed by boredom and confusion for a couple of hours last week, watching the women’s curling competition. Fanfare please: drag queen curling.
Yes, since curling, that curious combination of skating, shuffleboard and housework, has managed to hold on for dear life as a winter Olympic sport, we may as well accept it. But why not heighten the fun by allowing international teams of drag queens to compete, thus sexing up the game with the sequins, feathers and splashy vulgarity that make watching ice-skating such a voluptuous wallow in expert athleticism and spectacularly bad taste?
A few rules would have to be amended. Someone would have to invent a spike-heeled shoe that would not puncture the ice. And instead of using those little implements to scrub away at the ice to change the speed and direction of the “stones” — drag queens do not sweep — maybe the same effect could be achieved by having the competitors gently sway the movement by hurling heated imprecations in their way. “Do not even think of slowing down now, honey!” Color commentary by RuPaul, of course.

Writing about Sex Addiction

admin — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 16:11:06 +0000

I think it is important as writers of this genre to be informed about various topics that may impact their writing. Specifically because sex addiction has been in the news recently, I thought the following an important article.

AlterNet

Too Much Sex? No Such Thing — Why Sex Addiction Is Total B.S.

By Raymond J. Lawrence, CounterPunch

Posted on March 6, 2010, Printed on March 10, 2010

http://www.alternet.org/story/145922/

American befuddlement over matters of sex is on the increase, in spite of the fact that one can hardly imagine the subject becoming more befuddling to the people of this country than it already is.

Sex addiction is the latest star in America’s sexual burlesque. Sex addiction has of course been a malaprop from its first usage. Addiction was originally and properly defined as a physiological dependence on a substance to which the body had grown accustomed, such as alcohol, nicotine, heroin and various other drugs. The cure was to end the dependency and abstain from further use of the substance in order to avoid a recurrence of the physiological dependency. These treatments do work and many people have been cured of their addictions and never returned to the addictive substance.

Applying such a metaphor to sexual pleasure creates a misleading and ominous innuendo. Sex is not an addictive substance. It’s a human interaction on which the survival of the species is dependent. It is also possibly the most pleasurable and sought after activity known to humankind, and arguably an experience no one should be deprived of. Most normal people consider more rather than less sexual pleasure to be a major objective in life.

Following the substance abuse mode implies that the only cure for an addiction to sexual pleasure would be a celibate or monastic life, a complete renunciation of the alleged addictive sexual pleasure.

The very idea of sexual pleasure as a harmful addiction plays precisely into the hands of one of the most perverse aspects of Western religious history, namely the teaching that sex is a work of the devil redeemed only by the act of procreation itself. Reliance on the notion of sex addiction in counseling and psychiatric treatment is ominous.

Christianity as a world religion has much to commend it on balance. Nevertheless, its posture toward sexual pleasure has been abysmal. In that respect it should be noted that Christianity, of all the major world religions, is the only one to cast sexual pleasure in such a negative light. Never mind that Christianity’s distaff side – Protestants and others – challenged such negativity toward sexual pleasure. They were eventually and unfortunately drowned out in the debate. It is no coincidence that currently the most Christian of nations, the U.S., is also the most negative toward sexual pleasure. (And at the same time the most confused sexually.) Europe as gone blessedly post-Christian.

We must suspect that the sex addiction proponents unconsciously wish to rebuild something like the medieval Christian social order where virtually every cultured and literate person was bereft of sexual pleasure for life, save for sexual pleasure in the service of procreation

Some psychiatrists are now getting into the fray, offering treatment for sex addiction. However, the Bible of psychiatry, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), is currently being prepared for its 5th edition, and is wisely declining to introduce sex addiction to its manual. It does, however, come close by introducing the category of hypersexuality as a mental disorder. This neologism is the editors’ own special, and arguably less troublesome, substitute for sex addiction. But as the saying goes, it walks like the proverbial sex addiction duck.

The pundits are now weighing in on the new DSM 5. Allan Frances in The Los Angeles Times is worried that philanderers and rapists will now be able to claim mental illness as a defense of their anti-social behavior and thereby escape punishment. George Will in The Washington Post astutely raises the problem of medicalizing the assessment of character, which he unaccountably blames on liberals. I thought I was a liberal, but I’m as concerned as Will about defining character or the lack thereof as a burden of psychiatric diagnosticians. And by extension, character as an expected outcome of proper medication.

So now according to the working version of the new DSM-5, psychiatrists will be able to assess whether one is having too much sex, or even whether one simply wants too much sex. Or too little. They will presumably have some kind of measuring rod to determine what is too much or too little.

This new project, of assessing who might be wanting or getting too much sexual pleasure, or too little, should create many more jobs for psychiatrists. We’ve been needing something to improve the job market. Maybe this will do it. Perhaps psychiatry will now join hands with the worst elements of Christianity and recreate the medieval Christian dream, a world where the only sexual pleasure allowable is that accidentally associated with the desire to procreate.

Raymond J. Lawrence is an Episcopal cleric, recently retired Director of Pastoral Care, New York Presbyterian Hospital, and author of numerous opinion pieces in newspapers in the U.S., and author of the recently published, Sexual Liberation: The Scandal of Christendom (Praeger). He can be reached at: raymondlawrence@mac.com

View this story online at: http://www.alternet.org/story/145922/

AlterNetToo Much Sex? No Such Thing — Why Sex Addiction Is Total B.S.By Raymond J. Lawrence, CounterPunchPosted on March 6, 2010, Printed on March 10, 2010http://www.alternet.org/story/145922/
American befuddlement over matters of sex is on the increase, in spite of the fact that one can hardly imagine the subject becoming more befuddling to the people of this country than it already is.
Sex addiction is the latest star in America’s sexual burlesque. Sex addiction has of course been a malaprop from its first usage. Addiction was originally and properly defined as a physiological dependence on a substance to which the body had grown accustomed, such as alcohol, nicotine, heroin and various other drugs. The cure was to end the dependency and abstain from further use of the substance in order to avoid a recurrence of the physiological dependency. These treatments do work and many people have been cured of their addictions and never returned to the addictive substance.
Applying such a metaphor to sexual pleasure creates a misleading and ominous innuendo. Sex is not an addictive substance. It’s a human interaction on which the survival of the species is dependent. It is also possibly the most pleasurable and sought after activity known to humankind, and arguably an experience no one should be deprived of. Most normal people consider more rather than less sexual pleasure to be a major objective in life.
Following the substance abuse mode implies that the only cure for an addiction to sexual pleasure would be a celibate or monastic life, a complete renunciation of the alleged addictive sexual pleasure.
The very idea of sexual pleasure as a harmful addiction plays precisely into the hands of one of the most perverse aspects of Western religious history, namely the teaching that sex is a work of the devil redeemed only by the act of procreation itself. Reliance on the notion of sex addiction in counseling and psychiatric treatment is ominous.
Christianity as a world religion has much to commend it on balance. Nevertheless, its posture toward sexual pleasure has been abysmal. In that respect it should be noted that Christianity, of all the major world religions, is the only one to cast sexual pleasure in such a negative light. Never mind that Christianity’s distaff side – Protestants and others – challenged such negativity toward sexual pleasure. They were eventually and unfortunately drowned out in the debate. It is no coincidence that currently the most Christian of nations, the U.S., is also the most negative toward sexual pleasure. (And at the same time the most confused sexually.) Europe as gone blessedly post-Christian.
We must suspect that the sex addiction proponents unconsciously wish to rebuild something like the medieval Christian social order where virtually every cultured and literate person was bereft of sexual pleasure for life, save for sexual pleasure in the service of procreation
Some psychiatrists are now getting into the fray, offering treatment for sex addiction. However, the Bible of psychiatry, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), is currently being prepared for its 5th edition, and is wisely declining to introduce sex addiction to its manual. It does, however, come close by introducing the category of hypersexuality as a mental disorder. This neologism is the editors’ own special, and arguably less troublesome, substitute for sex addiction. But as the saying goes, it walks like the proverbial sex addiction duck.
The pundits are now weighing in on the new DSM 5. Allan Frances in The Los Angeles Times is worried that philanderers and rapists will now be able to claim mental illness as a defense of their anti-social behavior and thereby escape punishment. George Will in The Washington Post astutely raises the problem of medicalizing the assessment of character, which he unaccountably blames on liberals. I thought I was a liberal, but I’m as concerned as Will about defining character or the lack thereof as a burden of psychiatric diagnosticians. And by extension, character as an expected outcome of proper medication.
So now according to the working version of the new DSM-5, psychiatrists will be able to assess whether one is having too much sex, or even whether one simply wants too much sex. Or too little. They will presumably have some kind of measuring rod to determine what is too much or too little.
This new project, of assessing who might be wanting or getting too much sexual pleasure, or too little, should create many more jobs for psychiatrists. We’ve been needing something to improve the job market. Maybe this will do it. Perhaps psychiatry will now join hands with the worst elements of Christianity and recreate the medieval Christian dream, a world where the only sexual pleasure allowable is that accidentally associated with the desire to procreate.

Reminder: The Erotic Literary Salon, March 16, one week from today

admin — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 08:30:34 +0000

Reminder: Violet Glaze will be our next featured reader. There are still a few openings if you wish to present your work, or those of others at the Salon. Follow the guidelines at the toolbar on the top of the site.

Philadelphia’s Erotic Literary Salon, Unique in the English-Speaking World, Featuring Retro Erotica From Author Violet Glaze – Along with New Salon Erotic Readings from Attendees. Tuesday, March 16^th.

Monday, February 22, 2010

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact: Susana Mayer, Ph.D., Salonnière 215-840-5830 email: contact@TheEroticSalon.com

www.TheEroticLiterarySalon.com – daily blog of all things erotica, Salon notices, guidelines. http://theeroticsalon.com/guidelines/ - reserve a time slot to read at Salon (5 min max)

www.SusanaMayer.com – professional daily blog

PHILADELPHIA: The Erotic Literary Salon, unique in the English-speaking world has launched a growing movement mainstreaming erotica. Salons attract a supportive audience of 40 or more individuals. Approximately half participate as writers, readers, storytellers, spoken word performers of original works/words of others, the rest just come to listen, enjoy and applaud. Lily, our resident nonagenarian (93 years young) often recites her original erotica.

The next Salon will be held Tuesday, March 16th. Part of the evening will feature upcoming erotic fiction author Violet Glaze. She will be reading a passage from her newest novel Will Success Spoil Pace Hammond?. A martini-drenched crawl through the glittery underbelly of gay Hollywood, circa 1957. Her first book Hotel Butterfly, an erotic novel of enchanted Japan, was described as “Like Spirited Away, only for adults” by eroticist Katrina Strauss. You can read more of her short fiction, graphic novels, film criticism and arts journalism at www.violetglaze.com.

Salons gather the 3rd Tuesday of every month at TIME (The Bohemian Absinthe Lounge), 1315 Sansom Street, Center City, Philadelphia. Doors open at 7:30 p.m. (limited seating), for cocktails, food and conversation. The event begins promptly at 8:00 p.m. Admission is $10, discounted for F/T students and seniors (65+) to $8. Salon attendees must be 21.

Creator of this event, Dr. Susana is Philadelphia’s best-known sexologist. She lends her voice to the Salon by offering relevant information to support the discussions that arise in the Salon/blog.

Anonymous responses from participants who were asked what they liked most about the event:

Safe space for all sorts of different types (of erotica)

Openness, support and warmth of audience

Freedom of expression, the acceptance, the humor, comfort level

###

Chlamydia Dell’Arte: A Sex-Ed Burlesque

admin — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 15:52:31 +0000

March 9 – 13 performances at the Adrienne Theater, 2030 Sansom St. 215-563-4330. I have seen the performance at the Fringe, it was great. I plan on attending once again on Tuesday, March 9, 7PM, come join me.

Erotica – Frantic Lesbian has a Bizarre Fetish

admin — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 17:14:32 +0000

This wonder piece on Lesbian erotica was written by a male and read at the last Salon. Towards the end of the Salon we had an open forum discussing writing from a different sexual perspective. Violet Glaze had also read works she had written on homoerotica.

Frantic Lesbian has a Bizarre Fetish

By Walter J.F.

If I tell you what turns me on, what I brood over and masturbate to nightly, and you don’t freak out, I will be the happiest woman alive.

But if I tell you my fetish and you grab my ass and slam my crotch against yours and stare down at me and slow your breathing and rock your hips back and forth like that chick in that one music video you’re obsessed with, and I can feel you’re just as wet thinking about my fantasy as I am, then I swear I’ll wake you up every Saturday morning with my head between your thighs till you’re old and flabby and gross, and I’ll compose a full-orchestra prog-rock album dedicated to your babeness — Yeah, I know I can’t write music, but I’ll learn. Did you know I played French horn in marching band? And they say that’s one of the most difficult instruments to learn, which is probably true, because I was terrible. But you know what I’m not terrible at? Coping with my timidity.

Do you know how many strange things I’ve shoved in my pussy? A lot. I’m a 28-year-old lesbian, and I don’t even own a dildo. I finger fucked you in the back of the theater at “Finding Nemo,” and yet I can’t go into a sex shop and admit to the person who works there that I like sex. My palms get sweaty, my heart races, and the anticipation of buying something naughty knocks me in the chest and I get horny with adrenaline.

I wuss out and go home and furiously jack off to thoughts of you.

Want a tangible example of the long-term damage of a prudish upbringing? How about waiting in the parking lot across from Vikki’s Passion Hut, too nervous to go in, heart racing, and — oh no, there’s that adrenaline again — So, yeah, I wussed out again and fucked the gearstick right there in the shadows then floored it to your place, rubbing my thighs together, pumping the bass in my speakers full blast, hoping the tremors rumbling through the seat would bring me halfway to cumming by the time I charged into your apartment, tore off your clothes, and tackled you onto the bed, and — Christ, why couldn’t I have been raised Hindu? They’re taught to be prudes too, but at least when they do fuck they do it right. I don’t know, maybe if I’m good enough I’ll be reincarnated as a Hindu or… Wait a minute — No, never mind. Anyway, do you see what I’m saying? You bring this out of me, you make me feel OK for being horny, and that’s the happiest I’ve ever been.

So please, work with me, baby.

Erotica vs. Pornography

admin — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 17:45:01 +0000

The never ending question. How do you define erotica and pornography? Send me your thoughts, your definition.