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Social Sway

By Anita Hotty

Published by Hotty Power Inc.[ed] on her blouse giggles

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Thank you to our precious earth,Friends, Lovers, FamilyPassing acquaintancesThank you Cybernetic Realities.

Let us journey into ownership of ACTION.

CUNTYRIGHT © 2008 by AnitaHotty

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without permission. For further information address HOTTY PRINTING PRESS, 2837 Fifteenth Avenue, Prince George, British Columbia.

This is an authorized first print edition published by Hotty printing press.

FIRST PRINTING

TrademarkRegistered Trademark – O’Nita Registrata

O’Nita Books are published byHotty Power, Inc.[ed] on her blouse giggles,Address undisclosed.

PRINTED IN CANADA

World Wide Request: Those wishing to transcribe book in languages of multiples. No transoffender here. I faith my appeal: culturize the written word erotic. Please.

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ISBN 0-9780853-1-0

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Artmuffstick Cumtributors:

The Photographic Cumtributors:

ricardoalbertoleiva.com wendydphotography.com smutbunnyunlimited, Finnegan Sproule spaceshipstudio.com Imagebox, Bernie Lee masede.net

The Striker: www.sexyanastasia.com

The Stimulator:

Hsing Lee ~ www.focced.com

Gracious

Gratitudes

To my Cuntabeautiful Cockliscious Hotties:

THE CUMTRIBUTORS

They’re grrrrrrrrrreeeeeaaaaaaaatttt ! Ya think? I know it!

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CockTense ~ Sequencing Sway

CumIntro * Pretaste: Isolation Rigged Me Erotic ping 10

Curvature 1 Atticisms purr 15

CoxSway 2 Whores & Contradictions pimp 29

CurvySex 3 Rated Adult PG play 47

ClassSoI 4 Dotations pang 67

CuntSeek 5 ϑυστ ωηατ αµ Ι τρψινγ το σαψ?

91

Cummer 6 Isms’ d’autre espèce peck 107

Coldcox 7 Torturings piss 129

CoySway 8 Motherly Wisdoms, Subliminally Sublime peep 151

CoxSwing 9 Model Mania pose 161

CumSweet 10 Play4Boy kisses psht 177

Cumquad 11 Kicks, Fixes & Desperate Measures poop 183

Cumwad 12 Motherly Wisdoms, Blatantly Loving poof 199

Cunt-on 13 Lipstick lips seal our fate part 213

COCK

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CockTense ~ Cocking it Down

! ~ Cummer CuntyRight cool 2Artmuffstick Cumtribuors cums 4CockTense cock 5CockTense Breakdown, this page you foo’

cunt 6

* ~ CumIntro Pretaste: Isolation Rigged Me Erotic ping 10

1 ~ Atticisms Shaven legs 16At the Café look 17Victorian Blowjob lips 23Hush lock 24Treasure Rare love 25Kaleiding Eve love 25Pedro lick 26Winded, my ailed Egrets lust 28

2 ~ Whores & Contradictions

Rationalize. Fractionalize. Bedside Lady Love Computations

slut 29

Lady Love Capone sexy 33Tortured by submission, as long as it makes you happy to love me...We reunite. We ignite. sins 35Bastard Man soul 39The Fine Arts of Nasty Suck Theatre suck 41

3 ~ Rated Adult PG Bureau Open Lover: Highway 10 to Heaven

boys 48

Pocket full of Condoms bust 57Nudecaster Application: Question Number One bush 58AnitaPuss bone 59Nusery Divorcée bone 59

CUNT

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Peeping Paul bong 60

Is there a doctor in the house? bang 61Ichi Bum best 62Ichi Bum II Ichy butt 64 Peace BumbuzzleRise! boob 65

4 ~ Dotations Ode to my Ex Lover – Do you miss me now? o’no 68Ebony oded 69Fat Bastard open 73Tiffany ogle 74Toiletries o’my 80

Personable Joe over 81Strippin’ Columbo ohoh 82Mexico olay 83Dotation omen 85Lovin’ Honkey oman 90

5 ~ ϑυστ ωηατ αµ Ι τρψινγ το σαψ?

E-mail real 92

Mary Had a Little Daughter rape 93SlipKnot roar 94Merry Kissmas rest 95Stepping Stone and Food Chain rump 96Hair Crazed! rise 97Prophesies roam 100NudistFriends rock 101To all the bastards I’ve loved before… rant 102Freudian…Confession risk 105Parameters unknown, rate 106

6 ~ ‘Isms’ d’autre espèce

Alcoholic more 108

Nostic IV x 2 mess 109

CUNT

Entried: Three Days in Vancouver mack 110A Lonely Man mime 116Left. Swept. Depth. muff 117The Complex moan 126

7 ~ Torturings Morally Sleeps me Lonely flee 130Begging for his rtn fail 131Derivatives fool 135My first Contempt fist 137All the Breakdowns Billy Gave Me flip 140Leeching Lover Let Go fuss 142Contempt the First Time foof 143Rosebud fump 145Grey-haired Grizzle fame 147Sway you into the social fame 147Green River fite 148Ain't Nothin' But a Porn Dog foes 150

8 ~ Motherly Wisdoms, Sub- liminally Sublime

Define [Sublime] hugs 152

All in a Pushman's Pay hung 153Rosepeddle Charm hiss 155Wrong Number hoar 156

9 ~ Model Mania 'Nypping Away at my Insecurities, Capitalized

tits 162

Addressed: 'Jandro tail 163Substance Hugh toot 164Tan Tips Kly tips 166Takin' My Obsessive Pole to Niven tips 166Orlando Talents? tugs 167Treetop Lovers? tool 168Consciousness International tame 169Heartbracking Recovery toil 173Titatanium Trap toil 173

CUNT 8

Dearest Modeling Agency tear 174Minxing Reason tear 174Modeling my Caviar Dreams tite 175Nue-ance trance tite 175After Six ting 176

10 ~ Play4Boy kisses

Business Hugh wise 178

Women wild 180

11 ~ Kicks, Fixes & Desperate Measures

Cocaine Therapy assy 184

Alternate Me[s] yesy 187W.A.S.P. Sung About it Once issy 191Thanato ashy 197

12 ~ Motherly Wisdoms, Bla- tantly Loving

My Dearest Oprah joys 200

Eulogized, My Beloved Friend join 204PG Made History jest 209

13 ~ Lipstick lips seal our fate

Lipstick lips fuck 214

Everything free 215Hotty Goals [and she scores] dick 216Cuntaliscious Profile dink 217Ass End dpe 218

CUNT 9

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cumintroPRETASTE: Isolation Rigged Me Erotic

The name’s AnitaHotty and I have a flare for the literate erotic. I’d say my story dates back to my time on the rigs when I was surrounded by ‘redneck’ judgments espoused on doghouse walls and power dynamics which outcasted me from mainstream ‘riggers.’ I was not like the other medics. No. I brought with me Christmas lights, my Pussy/Posse panthered money loving Montana, a peach flowered tablecloth, vintage clothes and black stiletto boots. The boys loved to insecure me and resist my insistence for safety. Some treated me equal. Most treated me subordinate. One consultant watched porn and respected me for doing his laundry. Most Push[ed] at me with decorated walls of pretty porno-graphic delights.

Well, this thirty-one year old lady cockied herself status while she was out on those rigs. I held my own. With every ridicule attempt I lashed back with proud philosophies: “do unto others…,” the attitude of nonjudgment and self-assertion to treat all with respect and dignity, even in the face of cruelty. One time I braved myself with a bold, “I’ve got more balls than all of you as far as I am concerned!” My consequence? Gags of toilet paper in my shoes, a ransomed coffee mug, bound tape ducking and a mock lopped off wienered finger. I fired back classy: presents and decorations for the [un]Well-service[d], verbal protection over ‘fat’ people, original gifts for Fracs populated as giant as twenty-five and a first ever rebellious PlayGirl purchase.

Rumors of prostituting independents and medic companies were the gossip (and wish) of many. I heard the stories and even created a few of my own... One geologist fantasized a motor transported emergency response which I feared yet dared. We arranged a devilish escape from my trailered on-call duties, pre-arranged a ‘safety’ plan, pulled over along a not-so-secluded mudded road and cured each other of our frustrated ills. My unsuspecting Medic Company funded another rendevous where we played dirty in hotel sheets. That was the night I pulled out those heels of black and Dusted my fallen Star in a birthday celebration at the Level ‘berta High club for whoop it up dalliance. I dressed up my fraccer boy in the shine of the shirt left behind by a fleeing ex husband. I admit my time out in seclusion was hard. What is a sexually peaked woman to do surrounded by masses of lonely drooling men? How is a woman to react to the degrading reminders of calendar girls and decor of Hustlers, Swanks, Playboys and Penthouses? Who are these Maxim

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Pretaste

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tutors educating men on the How-to-Guide for pleasing a lady? I was pent up for sure; I needed an outlet other than the repeated uptight natures of horny men. I was bothered by the expected submissive nature unwritten in the Code for Medics. That’s when I started to write the literate erotic.

Although I have a history for open love, promiscuity and sexual freedom I found myself unexpectedly bothered by the whorish and objectified representations of women. I thought to myself, “Oh ya. I’ll show you!” as I reacted to egotized power-control dynamics. I bought a Playgirl with the reactive intent to discomfort those boys my retaliation and display posed open pages on the dashboard of my company-loaned vehicle. How does it make you feel to see various penises, bared chests and sexy manly expressions plastered anywhere I damn well want them to? You boys like knowing that the objectification of men turns me on? Don’t want to get to know ya. Just stroke off to you, fuck you crazy in my mind, blow my load and fuck off when I’m done. Maybe I’ll call you. Maybe I won’t. Meanwhile shut up and bear it or get turned on like the rest of us otherwise I have no use for you. Don’t you boys like visual stimulations of the male form arousing you while you are at work?

My Playgirl purchase was one of disappointment-transformed inspiration that urged me to release pent up sexual frustrations in the written word. My first reaction to Playgirl was dissatisfying as I critiqued the men as unstimulating and assumed the sexual expert as seriously inexperienced due to the nature of his question and answer response. I proclaimed confidently to myself, “I can do better!” and so I began to write with the intent of creating my own pornographic magazine. I wrote with the fantasy to create a magazine for women that men would also feel comfortable reading without feeling the stigmatic embarrassment of being caught reading a female porn mag. I wanted to educate men as Maxim does but with an added social conscience: to teach men not only how turn women on and teach them about female bodies and their psyche but to engage them into those issues that women find important and meaningful. I wanted to teach men how women think while at the same time easing the pressure to get to know a woman by stimulating them sexually. So I began to write with man as my motivating inspiration.

As I wrote my stories I could not resist reciting them eagerly to anyone who would listen. The occasional rig boy who strolled over for casual conversation would get a paid time-out to arouse himself in the fantasies of my vivid imagination I love to read out my work for after I create I eagerly wish to share. The boys enjoyed the allure

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cumintroof the sexy medic with the sexy voice engaging them in a sexy dirty story. We loved our auditory, visual and mental exchange. When I returned to my hometown of Prince George I continued to write and read out my stories to strangers, friends and family. Their positive reaction confirmed my own judgment that I had developed an art for the erotic.

I anticipate that women may find my stories offensive. I admit that although they were written for my dream of a magazine designed for women my true motivation is to educate the man and appeal to his sexual tastes. My visual descriptions are written to arouse the male audience for it is he whom I want to lure in. The man, in my opinion, needs to be educated on how to respectfully turn women on; the key word being: respectfully. I also want man to learn about those issues, struggles and topics woman find most important - to teach as Maxim does how to ‘get a woman’ by learning about female sexuality and interests.

Please do understand that I recognize my contradictory nature. Some stories are raw and graphic, perhaps even distasteful. Not all women wish to be treated as the Tortured Submissive. Not all women engage in anal sex. Not all women have insatiable libidos. My sexual stories are a blended `concockshine` of fantasy, experience, reality, delusion and social conscience. They are meant more to arouse dialogue, deep thought, critical awareness and stimulate physically, mentally and spiritually. I consider my work to be purposeful and driven. I am a blatantly manipulative woman! My writings are inspired by heartfelt personal conviction twisted by humanly flawed contradictions. I write compassioned with malicious loving intent to culture the stereotyped ‘redneck’ and provoke people to question their motives and judgments.

Poetic mischievousness adds to my insatiable libido for wetted values and stimulated consciousness. Coolly, I aim to balance the reader a blend of lengthy arousals and shortened rigorous whorings. The petite (yet powerful) passioned perversions Sway Social inspirations first roused by Marilyn Hacker’s year long love affair. I assume the innocent surrender of Love, Death and the Changing of the Seasons impelled eroticism into myself. I would recite from memory and feel the allure of her gentle disclosure blend to rise those who listened to my hypnotically uncomfortable spell.

For those who are lost (as many of us may be) I am introducing you to my poetic balance – its origin. I also wish to praise the 1950’s blessed River of Stevie Smith, the sex advice of Mohammad Ali, a friendly

PING

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Pretaste

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GojiBerry and lastly my true thrusting thirst for Worldwide Body Acceptance. Shaven came to me one independent walk down a city sidewalk. As most often I do I thought of my body and its relationship with the world. Deep provocations entrenched by the passion I have for a Bush or Bare it philosophy brought me to a hippied bend. I bled images of my own haired comfort in my giggle-girl shine hardcover. Shaven came to tickle deeply into my spirit. More poetry free-associated as I continued to write, antagonized by social realities.

The majority of my book centers on the literate erotic. Each chapter fits the nature of prose. Atticisms draws the reader in with the class of eloquence. Slowly I lure the female with soft eroticism for I fear she will flee if I begin with the hardness of horn. Winded, my ailed Egrets is an especially beautiful later addition to my book. The conditions of relationships are perceptual. They may evoke feelings of betrayed beauty. For those who are unaware the Snowy Egret nearly became extinct during the 19th century. Feathered plumes were once popular on hats.

Two my second chapter: Whores & Contradictions; here I reflect on the contradictory nature of sexuality in modern society. Bastard Man explores the stigmatic cruelty of judgment for those living with a disability. Rape, murder, sex, power and control are other Bastard themes written to reality our collective world. Three, as I count down my Highway to Ten giggles, I laugh the reader into embracing his and her inner child: Rated Adult PG. Sex too often has lost the innocence of play. How often have we been pressured to accept that No means Yes? I ease the pressure by encouraging others to lose themselves in child-like frolic. Peace Bumbuzzle Rise giggles a number of references to ‘insectual’ causes and concludes with an invite for the reader to inform his or her own conclusions. Nursery Divorce is a short giggled sadness inspired by my life.

Dotations are my dedications. Sex and love can – and do belong. The fetish of Toiletries twirls a subliminal admiration for the ways we love. Love, whatever its form, lingers. On the contradictory hand, my Dotation devoted to Dotations twists sickly in the mind of a delusional other - - or does it?

ϑυστ ωηατ αµ Ι τρψινγ το σαψ? ranges from the bold to mild. Open dialogue is my devious intent. For those who are admired cult followers I invite you to find me at NudistFriends. And I ask that provoked retaliators recognize that Mary Had a Little Daughter is an expression, not my belief that victims are to blame for enmeshed abusive family dynamics. ‘Isms’ d’autre espèce insights the reader

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cumintrointo a little bundle of judmentalisms perpetuated by the media, the unnecessary necessity for labels and the consequence of internalized absorption.

I continue my journey of eroticism through Torturings and sway it into literate realities that passion my virtue. Torturings is a chapter of deviation. I express the pain of life in purposeful ways. The heart of an abused woman cries outward her pain, her perversion and her hate. Grey-haired Grizzle is a simple story of humored betrayal. My voice introduces the reader to academic consciousness as I go from swaying you into the social and into my disheartened and shameful reaction to the Green River murders. What horrific realities evoke reaction – and will we cherish the disheartening memories as a means to humble our person in our day-to-day lives?

Chapters eight and twelve are interconnected: Motherly Wisdoms, Subliminally Sublime & Blatantly Loving. The content of their virtue cautions the reader blatantly or with concealed wisdoms both from the nurturing heart of the mother in me. Please ask yourself the question, “Just what am I trying to say?” Model Mania is ideal for the intelligent reader who has a thirst for uncovering hidden secrets. Each poem references real-life attempts to attract the photog into my desperation for empowered pose. My yearnings are motivated by escapist desires and caviar dreams. I devilishly interweave a trivial pursuit written specifically for investigative characters while at the same time I separate each contribution into its own individual expression. member Musci dies rebirthed predictions is a metaphorical relationship between man, woman and nature. I also educate the reader with a scenic biology lesson. Do you know what it is?

Play4Boy kisses is loaded meaninglessness. This chapter is a piece of a special gift. The gift is limited in its edition and only those who own it will have the complete incompleteness of my personal reality. The bloodied handprint remains on my wall. Cumquad’s Kicks, Fixes & Desperate Measures is self-explanatory. The chapter kicks the fix for desperate measures. Finally I conclude with superstition and transform the emotively fluctuating condition of human-natured response into bold optimism. There is a lot of Power in One. This book and my home have taught me that I am just another nobody who’s a somebody. I wrote Social Sway for the world and I am proud of myself. I ask everyone to faith their own abilities and to maintain balance with truth and reality although they are forever perceptually contradictory.

PING

Ι - Аττιζιςмς

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Curvature one

Shaven

Here bushy bushy bushy! Here bushy bushy bush!

Have you seen my razor sleek who glides upon the surfaceof these rounded mounds and dipped crevices?

My bushy is a tickler Razor cuts deep ice

The two are the opposites of each other, but fit real niceOne Comforts hidden passions One cuts them – Scorns them deepOne is unlike the other but perfect when they meet ..

LEGS

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atticimsAt the Café

Sitting. Sipping. I look around at the people - their busy and important lives. Chatter chatter chit chit chatter boxes. Do they ever stop to notice those in the dark alleys behind garbage bags (a gigantic orgy of multiplying maggots happily living in the darkened filth that humans throw away – a fuck fest you might say. Well, how else might you explain it? You know > > > what goes on in a garbage bag…)?

People are more blessed than they realize. It’s so easy to take for granted the simple pleasures, the infinite luxuries. Observations of my eager capitalist friends. I feel whimsical and jiggle inwardly. Here they are: dIAMOnds. My head jolts sloppily backward almost rolling off my neck. Haa Haa HhaHaaa. (if I could recite this to you there would be a spark in my voice and a glimmer in my eyes – wide-eyed in fact). So I pause momentarily and soak up their DiamONds. And then I note an actual dIAMoND. Yes! One big rock of a diamond on precious little lefty…

…She turns and looks right at me – perhaps even right through me. I am awestruck. Her lips shimmer in the sunlight. I am instantly drawn to her. This youthful mature spirit burns into my loins. And her eyes!? They literally singe my retina. But in a good way. No complaints. She has a power that is bold and solid. Like a Queen rightfully crowned.

The past few weeks I have started looking at women, noting how quick and sharp their personalities are. They frighten me often. I wish (almost desperately perhaps) to play with them…but I am afraid to offend. And then – Here is this woman. This SHARP woman! She is looking at me in a way that – I feel so intimidated yet emotionally intrigued. A fearful hunger shoots at me as cupid’s arrow pierces its territory.

Then I notice the man across from her. He is looking at me too. And he shocks me to the bone. What is this? What is this I see? More diaMonds! A tight band around his finger. His digits wiggle as if to tell me he knows. I feel a hot ache center its way to concentrate itself upon my pink surface. Are these two - ?

He waves his hand up in the air and sways me over. Instantly I am drawn to them. I want them in some strange way I can’t understand. I am nervous. This feeling is new. And I just don’t understand it.

Somehow my mind disconnects itself from my body as I feel myself

LOOK

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Curvature one

café

d’aristocrate

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atticimsrising to my feet. My breasts pull an animal weight heavy towards the auburn brick below me. Clip. Clip. Clop. Clip. I notice that my knees feel week.

Then out of nowhere – Abruptly. My heel thrusts me at my knees and I fall forward. Down on all fours. I look up at them with vulnerable anticipation. I bite my lower lip. The taste of cheap lipstick traces over my tongue when I smuttily slide my fleshy muscle across the back of my two front teeth. The jingle plays. “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth. My two front teeth. My two front teeth. All I want for-” Perhaps this is one of my many coping mechanisms?

I come back to…

“May I help you to your feet my lady?” He laughs at me. I’m okay with this.

I look over at her for permission. She nods her head. I accept his hand. He guides me up and straight. I decide not to mention my blunder. Husband? walks me over to their table and slides out a chair. Its legs drag against the concrete. My mind wanders into a flash image: a woman’s heels dragging along ice drenched blades of grass. Her head is lopped clumsily off to the side. Blood weakly trickles down the corner of her lip. The woman’s eyes bob out of her head.

The image jabs me with a bolt of fear. Will this happen to me? I shake it away and bend my knees to sit.

For a while nothing is spoken. I find it strange but exhilarating. I repeatedly catch myself eyeing the woman’s breasts. They are so beautiful pressed up against each other. She pushes her arms closer to her sides causing these generous suds to squeeze intimately local. I feel telepathic jolts consume my attention as I find myself exposed for yet a second time. I respond with a great warmth of humiliation. It flushes over my cheeks. I bow my head even lower. I am afraid to look her in the eyes but I do. And then back down to her breasts. By now I’m not even sure if I care. The unspoken silence has become contractual.

I feel pressure slide from up my thigh to the middle of my legs. Oh. I am so hot. I yearn to touch my own dimples.

I raise my eyes sinfully again. I want to feel her petals blossom hard upon my chops. I want to moisten them so they shine like her bright pink lips do. I want her. I spread my legs. I want him too.

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Curvature one

Slowly I realize how close I am to him. The sinking awareness marked by Husband’s? energy overwhelms me. I ache to open my shirt to them both. In fact, to them all! All the DiaMonds. All my precious DiamonDs!! I invite you to join me – touch me too. I blink my eyes welcomingly. But instead they stay transfixed in their worlds, sipping their lattes, picking away at their plates. The trio to the left of me clink! their glasses and join in a gay and merry chorus of laughter.

I spread my legs even wider.

Then to my surprise Wife? disappears under me. I wonder if anyone noticed the flapping motion as she performed her magical illusion? Oh my!! Oh my!! She crawls under my long wide skirt and I shimmy for her. The next thing I know I can feel her freshly manicured nails trail down the sides of my thighs, down my calves and to my ankles. This moment heats me deep and I lift my heel so she can slip my panties out and under. Then I spread again, inch forward into an open slouch.

I love this! My tits are busting out of my “Spoil Me” tank top. I am happy that today I chose this tight top. It gives the illusion of force pressing against my tiny triple A’s.

I love how the surprises don’t ever seem to end with the duo. She licks my labia first. My clit responds with a jealous fit of rage. Suck me!! Suck me!! it pleads with a demanding sense of spite!! The lippy labia lashes back, Fuck off!! It’s about time we’re noticed down here!! Her tongue moistens me closer to my cheeky clit. Bitch! I’m the leader of the pack! A golden oldie melody dances in my spirit for a brief moment. I am acutely aware of how actions time themselves eloquently as I melt into the chapped texture of a strong hand sneaking its way under my shirt, over my belly and up to one of my braless child-like bubbles. His palm scratches slightly against my skin.

I spread my legs as wide as I can now, pressing my left leg against Husband? My labia biologically spread a little farther away from my slit and expose my bulb to the subtle coolness of a drifting breeze. The whisper brushes over my clit and inner side crevices thus urging me to believe in the hypnotic ways of fate. I don’t normally. At this moment I do. O-ho. I do.

She began to gobble me now. Gobble Gobble. Gobble away at my sticky oozing goo. Husband? delicately pinches away at my chest erection. It’s neighbor becomes the jealous “Jones” as the aroused one

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atticimsverbally attacks: C’mon. Keep up. Keep up. My yacht is bigger than yours. My automobile races .25 seconds faster. I have more servants, a larger mansion. You’ll never keep up. Then my nibblet finishes with a smirk, I taunt you because I can.

A moan escapes me. I respond with a quick scan. I search the crowd for their glittery reactions.

None. Safe.

I rotate my hips and push one hump into her face. He pulls out his hand. Her face impels deeper into my folds and she rocks her lips hard from side to side. I can feel her head angled sideways assisting her to address me vertically. I think his hand is pushing, maybe even directing her movements?

I want so bad to moan again. Loudly! Into this crowded arena of selfish gossipers sipping – sipping and tipping their cups, poking at their food with mini-spears. An image of “The Simple” Hilton and Ritchie salute me. Wife? gobbles me faster. I want to fondle my own breasts, feel into my hole. I decide to obligate myself to only one of my hungry desires.

My fingers delve into Wife’s? long blonde locks. Silky. Then sheepishly work their way into her mouth, on my bulb and into my opening. Wife? pops out my two Virginia Slims and hungrily sucks away at them like the grease of buffalo wings on a consumer’s fingers. I want them back in my hole but am instead delighted by two foreigners on tour. Slowly in and out I can feel the friction against my tight walls. I squeeze them as if to entice his cock into me. Wife? pulls these ones out too. I can faintly hear her sucklings while at the same time I become surprisingly delighted. I feel Wife’s? claws scraping against my insides. She enters me, slowly exits, then quickly thrusts at me – in and out of me. in and out. in and out into me.

My body responds in little pools. I feel my clitty aching to push out a sensuous and powerful yelp! I am acutely aware now of how in tune the duo entice me into this moment. Wife? wickedly alters the motion up a notch by wiggling her two fingers against one another while continuing to poke hyperactively in and out. I left the Ritalin at home, thank God!

But I am alarmed suddenly from my unbelievable pleasures. A tall stick figure hovers over the table politely asking us to leave. He informs us that we are a distraction. Some people are complaining.

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Curvature oneThe two of us catch each other almost instinctively glancing about the cut throat DiaMonDs before us. Wife? stops lapping at her water dish. Indeed. There are a few of them scowling in our direction. I pull up my panties. Wife? comes out from under the table. I walk back to my cold coffee with my head trailing ashamedly below me. I am now afraid again. I grab my jacket. Pause. I am afraid to look back. If I do will I turn into salt?

I drop a twenty on the table after shuffling into my purse for what feels like a good long drawn out hour – or even more! Wife? and Husband? quickly scurry past me. I wonder if they left a tip too?

When I look up at them their heads are surprisingly pointed confidently ahead of them. I feel a flash of pride whisk by me. Do they have no shame?

I choose to linger for an invite as I stand there waiting for them to look over at me as they cross my path along the sidewalk. I don’t even see them. Sadly I realize that they have no intention of acknowledging the intensity of our moment. Their poise asserts the brutal truth of their DIAmonD nature.

Snots! I distastefully hiss under my breath. I defiantly imitate their confidence and leave the café vowing never to return again.

I am one of them now. A diAMond. One shiny d…I?amond in a garbage bag. I’m not sure? Can you tell?

**I predict that only the educated commoners will find the hidden meaning in my sweet last liners…One last time: A diAMond. One shiny d…I?amond in a garbage bag…

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atticims

Victorian Blowjob

Place thine instrument of beautyUpon my quivering lipsClose thoust eyes As it lay to restAllow thine instrumentTo protrude into my hollow anxious mouthAnd enclose around it,To moistenBut more to arouse it.

To taste thine tender exposed fleshThrobbing upon my frantic tongue,So sinful and yet sacredTo explore every measurementEvery even, every crooked surfaceTo tease, tickling thoust pulsing veinSo you moan, you groanIn an absorbed tone

My nails wouldst gather flesh under them,Digging deep against thoust quaking thighs.Whispers and sighs into my filthy ears

And to teaseNibbling,caressing with red lips,my tipped tongue,

And finally,thoust beating vein,rapid as a haunting tune,drumming against my urgent tongueAs you’d gather silky lockswhich tangle in quivering palms,pulling my head abackThe climax too powerful, too sinful to bear.Rapid breathsto become faint whisperswhich echo my nameto assure that thou art minethrough aging time

LIPS

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Curvature one

Hush

Hush: Silence smooth

Creamy Delight.

Enter. My door is open

LOCK

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atticims

Treasure Rare

My lady fair, Golden hair Designer wareHidden in the closet over thereDon’t look where you have mistaken me for

Kaleiding Eve

My hands glided kaleidoscope last Eve.

I am tempted to touch around again.

The colors rest upon my mantle.

LOVE

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Curvature one

Pedro

Pedro. PedroPedro will you come to my feetLove me to my kneeO’ my servant Pedro Will you lick at my bends Soften me at my curvesAnd swirls me in curls?

Pedro, my dear peasant boyClimb to my thighLove me there For a while Drift into my Bundle o’ bush And mount me thereMy Pedro, dance about my hair

Pedro, my dear PedroAll in gigglesAre you lost Somewhere down there?

I summon my boy toyTo brush the brow from his faceUrge up farther Along your lady grace Up to my navel now Into my wrinkled poolTaste oceans upon your tipOceans upon oceans … Sip Sip Sip

Pedro, my silly slaveCome away from my naveAnd up up up toLady Cup Shine her subdued temple Raise her prick’d friendsLovers. We are loversNear’d thee bitter end

Slide your fleshy monsterAlong up to my neckGive me lady kissesAnd pucker’d up tendered pecks

My Pedro, child of graceFollow my eyes to lipsWet me moist and hollowSlide your tongue right into there Poke and prod and skin me deep Into my nosePlay. Stay.And leave me laughing there

Pedro, my silly little PedroBring me to my kneesLeave me kiss over templeAs a last token to please Me. O’ I am lost in Pedro As I bid him firm! goodbyePedro, my only PedroI leave with saddened dismal sigh

You are my dear PedroI bid you last, goodbye.

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atticims

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Curvature one

Winded, my ailed Egrets

An angel tended to my crispen breeze, spread wide o’er rivers and mountains free. Her coursecontoured company, heavenly shapedcompanion vee. She swayed subdued suredly swift. I blessed her feathersas loving gift, bent my coolnessbellied so hump, laced soar plume everly done. Shemolded my shape, entranced hertrace, chilled my heartwith a lover’s faith. Her whisper ‘swoosh’ beautiful bye; tho hold her fall or tumble sky. Said heron white impure, as ‘swish’ deceit endured, “Bear for a lover’s need. Sails they wail for a lover’s breed.” Eses I frowned, arched my sorrow. What I thought she borrowed, Egrets! what horror!

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coxsway twoRationalize. Fractionalize. Bedside Lady Love Computations

Rationalize.Fractionalize.Three to the umpteenth power.Divide that computes my appointed accountant.How many multiplesCan you add into one equation?Calculate The money when they leave secrets on the bedside table.One hour at three hundred Times the infinite business menCalling for appointments.

The wife sits at her kitchen tablePressing numbers into the gobbling machineCompletely unaware that one plus one equals three.

Tonight I am calculating all the integers in my headOf all the men who sleep in my bed.Orgies divided by the singular powersOf units – all those families.

Determine the root of the squareBoxes we are living in

I look beside me at the lamp-shaded paper bills:If you have one lady times twoAnd she is racing at a speed of sixty-twoWill the cocaine that numbs herNight after night three sixty fiveHelp keep her spirit alive?

How many wives press ‘clear’ To convince themselves that this sign – that sign.No. None of it measures up.My husband would never – never – No. Never. This would never add up.

I gaze over at the QueenFractionalize.Rationalize.

Only to conclude one value …

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whores & contradictionsUnaffected by decimals or positives and negatives. Only one multiplication Could have everEquated to hopeless romances of my own.When men would come to my door with chocolates and candy canesInstead of whorish bed stains.Perfumes, pretty dresses. I would powder my faceAnd giggle with my girlfriends about the waysCircle arrows would romance me in and out of broken hearts.What percentage might I have gainedMinus the miseries I have caused?

Pocket books and pocket pussies.My head lays stiff facing the pigment that seduces meTo compartmentalize my world in a series of bracketedFormulas telling me what mathematicsLed me to this neatly packaged computationOf white powdered three sixty five lovemakingsPlus or minus a few days depending on my mood And the greedy realities of supply and demand.

Times zero.Times zero.

I feel a kink in my neck and cannot look away From those dollars greening so sensuously cruelTo the right of me.My tears they fall into musky hotel pillowsAnd I breathe in the smoky odors of satisfied menAs axioms hit against the walls of my now throbbing head.

My self-reflections continue to haunt meWhen I recite these equations repetitiouslyIn hopeless efforts to discipline appropriate lifestylesIn a world of inappropriate actions.How many women innocently unawareOf men with their double, triple, quadruple livesGamble dice games, roulette wheels, hearts and clubs?

Two minus one?One plus minus the one?Children divided byAll the divorces that followWhen intuitions behind peering steering wheelsPatiently confirm themselves as their husbands

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coxsway twoDrive into transient parking lots.Maybe three hotel roomsIn my thirty-three devoted years of mathematical subservience?Angered rage suppressed until they return homeFor their midnight slip under King sized Downy fresh flannel sheets.I imagine the multiple powers of married devoteesWho balance the scales of family justiceIn an effort to keep the sanctity of religious love And Victorian romanticisms alive In their man-made textbook driven ideologies.

Another tear or two.Those plaited crossers continue their infinite rendezvous;Many of them do.

Arithmetic.Chemistry and even a little biology?

Times zero. Times zero.The only memories I set asideAnd program into my surreal existence, If not empty existence altogether.

What do you get when you Speed along highway sixty-twoThree sixty five days of the year?

Wives: I feel only pity for you.

Mr. Redden, my dearYou inspire me.

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whores & contradictionsLady Love Capone

Please don’t mind me for professionLady Love me trained a whoreGirls with lace frilled stocking hoesWe welcome them at door Lost some come no home Broken, starved, alone Under wing protect them in Nurtures Love CaponeKnives & Guns & RamblersWearied from man-hard daysNeeding comforts to holdIn positioned ‘quested ways Outlaws, bandits, men of law No role of judgment here Pretty ‘settes gentle corse Mount them sly untearOwn laughing rowdy flauntsTrain them to my bidingGallop, Whollop – all they askReign them, pull men riding Lady Love them, ‘tice all home Lonely unforgotten Mold all fragile, fuss them strong Wise them hypno oftenTell my children under wingKeep secrets to their selvesWhen men doth open shame they cryHearts do overswell Kiss their temples, Fuck like whores Bother them unwise Nod your head as though you care Deceit Believe their livesOur role as ladies of the houseTo fake them dirty wifeLove them ‘ppease them as their motherNemese them for life Bread they bring us for food upon our table Money what we want from them For our working home enable

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coxsway twoBond we girls Feed them BeerCheers unmuttered sorrowsThis our home love them homeBless them lost tomorrows Cock hammer gone, Spring Fox upon our Turkey Crass with class & smack our Ass Bide by all so dirtySisters Close, We are oneI tell them when I want themCome to me Bring to meMore ladies lost unwonton Please pay no mind For this pimping of my nature For I am lady come to love Mended lives unsutured‘Slingers West they pull drawEastern Double GunMissionary, North they MountSouth cruel cock n’gone These boys claim men our escort’s taste I teach my ladies have them Take from them stole from us All men who’ve caused us brokenI tell my ladies, warn them wellHow men brought us to our placeAnd only have we this our homeFor us to save our face Never mind what others say When forbidden tears some cry Independence force their fate Employ my plan abideMy name o’ lady love, Mother Bordell’ CaponeI have taught them: frequent hereSpend time. Stay. Bring More.

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whores & contradictionsTortured by submission, as long as it makes you happy to

love me…We reunite. We ignite.

I don’t want you to come up from behind. Not into the ways you suck energy from my mind. If only things can forever be right, no fight. But instead my hands twist and flail into the air, begging you to hold on and let go all at once – and in opposition of one another.

My dear, please whisper to me clear. I wanted you not back then…but now. (Or at least I force myself into believing). Into a hollow opening I offer you my best hiding place. I crawl into it myself whenever I contort.

Truth be told is that I do…I just present to you fake face. But it is true – I do. I do want you to come from behind…The ways you used to buck it in and out. Gallop hard against my backside. So forceful that my screams would be antagonized by pain and sick delight. Hmmm…With all of your might I would bleed for more.

I know. I know I should be advised not to fuck so strict. But baby’s been a bad bad girl. Pull. Pull on piglet’s little pony. Bobbles slide down against the tease of baby girl tails.

I dress like this for you night after night. Games. We play…

But you evoke such anger and fury from me!! At the same time you love me you love others…Maids of sexual slavery. You insist to me that I am the queen of my man as you bear me the throne of your repeated entries. Ooommmph! Ooomph! Ooaoof! Fuck again and again so as to bludgeon my insides, rips and tears of flesh if not to hear them but yes to feel them!!

I wonder if I am but another bitch maid - - en…d?

I wine inside sickly as I feel you leave me and plunge into this blonde bosomed buxom. Her moans I despise for they call out more sweet to the slide of your tower. I ask to myself why you save all manpower for me? She purrs like a kitten, stretches her claws in a playful yawn awkwardly against your sides and your back.

I hate her. I want to fuck her. I want to feel what you feel.

I hold myself wider spread imagining my following opening wide

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coxsway twoand alive, enticing you to come back into me – away from her and into me.

But instead I watch as you reach for her bursts of mammaries as they explode into your cupped hands. Tweaking and pinching. I am sure I can feel her erections forming on my own. I feel yearning dribble from between me, wishing you were there to lick my wounds…

Push. Gentle fast pushes you offer her. She holds her hands against the wall now. Steady. Steady. She rolls her head in the air, flowing streams snottily towards me so that I am denied her open expressions. I do so hate her! I hate her so much that I want to touch her butterfly against my cheek, close by the bridge of my nose - feeling her wetness, smelling her sour odor and reaching my tongue desperately upward to catch an animal-like flavor upon my tip.

Her areoles the size of creature monsters! Big and round!! Perked to perfection. Your hands kneading – kneading – kneading the dough of her giant sacks. Sudden jolts stab at me as I beg to tell lies!! I plead for mine to be as large as hers. Gepetto create me for my sins. I want so much to be engulfed by my disciplinary whale.

But it’s as if he knows my inadequacies. He fucks her hard now. She screams satisfied into the echoed corridor. Satisfy!! Satisfy? Satisfy this maid-in bitch!!? No!! No!! He pulls out all the way now!! A glob of brown I watch as he injects it back into her!!

She loves it!! The bitch loves it … while I still stand perpendicular - angled, cheeks pulled wider so I can feel the painful stretch and cool air. Why must I be so pathetic this way?

And still I wait. I watch.

Again. All the way out and in. Again. Again. She moans and I feel her pleasure. My little mutated cock throbs its own ache; slow oozing secretions react to my filthy desires. So desperate now. I want to feel texture – any type of texture against my buds – perhaps especially my own texture (since I know you adore it when I touch myself). But I am hypnotic to your command. So I just watch. Watch her breasts swing massive pendulums and occasionally hit into your reachings and gropings…

I open my mouth and lick my tongue into the air. Ever so desperate. Could I be ever so more desperate than this? …By now I am almost relieved that you cannot see my tastings and lapping at imaginary

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whores & contradictionsbutterflies. Or catch me sneak my middle to tap against the rounds of my open hole.

As much as I hate your maidens I wish there was another now. Another to lip and lap and slurp my drain-o.

But I am more than angry now!! She and you. Turned against me. I can make only the side of your face with eye closed. Your mouths are open to each other. I just know it. Tongues lashing and frolicking in more than friendly play. I am sure.

Here I stand bent with ass awkwardly open while you love her into the one agreed forbidden hollow. What shall I do? What am I to do? My mind is lost in buzzy whirs of thought. I feel the emotions of a romance novel – love, hate, betrayal – they surge into me. Jealousy, venom and loathing – they slap against my naiveties. Rage, bull-fury and red fire eyes – I am broken to tears.

And you see none – none of this. Lost into her I can feel. You have forgotten me as even here. My silence is deep trapped into me. You only respond with a quick switch from her butterfly to tight cocoon. I notice her knuckles a mixed blend of marbled whites and reds. Steady. Steady. Hold myself steady…

Furies. Mind furies so ferocious that tidal waves almost drown me. Steady. Steady. You fuck her steady and cool. My finger now taps impatiently against myself and I feel my pool dry in the heat of my passion. She moans her bitch moan! I don’t notice her – her intensions. I just simply hate her for no reason but to be lost in my own envy and broken pieced esteem.

I wonder if I quietly exit stage left you would even notice the central character has left the main plot?

But no. I stand there waiting. Still open-holed. Dry but still willing. Wondering if I will ever get to play or be forever benched?

And then finally, I know your bloodshot face! Your reddened pulse bursting from the side of your neck. You blast a torpedoed thrust giant and massive! Roars of now fossilized meat eaters growl from your larynx! You belt out loud and proud! Ram! Ram! Only to confirm you have conquered your maiden bitch!!

She is breathing hard and heavy. You both are. Sweat sticky. I know you don’t care for the feel of it. But I wonder if you are oblivious to

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coxsway twohow much these ladies are simply your slaves? Your expression is tired and weary yet full and accomplished. I wonder again – I wonder if she has taken my place? For I am the one still angled with frump in air, tapping deviously at my unsatisfied openness. Have you loved her more than just a maiden? Does she please you more? For goodness, you have not even looked at me the way I am so accustomed! That longing look for me after you have loved another.

But like the knowingness of the future fortune, the teller answers my burdened perplexities. I watch as you push your hand against her back, pull away from your whore maiden. I voyeuristically transfix to the slow-motion moment as I carefully guard my eyes on every inch of time. She stands. Chunks of cubicles burp out of her. Your face pierces from the darkened odor of her. You take two steps back and turn your head not to look.

Not me > > I watch. I see her face frown into her own disgust, shyly smiling in hopes for you to love her – up at you looking for your eyes to lock with her own.

But you are not his queen. No, you are not forever to be loved by his status. My King turns his face away from you and comes to love my lips! He walks to me, stained brown, all beaten and butchered. He walks to me and as he walks, I open – I open myself to all of him. He offers and I hungrily lick him clean, sliding my lips lovingly, rolling my tongue affectionately. He enters his fingers into my patient backside, fucking me digitly smooth. I feel his other hand probe and reactivate my dessert into a flourishing brook.

I am reassured. Loved. He coordinates himself until I cum ferociously, flailing my arms to and fro, while I suck, taste and fuck his love into me…

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whores & contradictionsBastard Man

She was blind, couldn’t see – Only feel the man of me.One drunken night. One bar fight. And I woke up blind to the sick bastard man in me.

Sure.I was offended. Might say I was stunned, askin’ myself what I had done?With rancid on breath, snore at my besideI wished I could crawl in to hide … my shame.

But again in morning sun -I fucked her again as the morning begun.I fucked her and fucked her until I was doneWhile rotten and rolling at me Glossy eyes aimless beyond transparency.

With tipsy on breath, she I woke upOpened her legs and opened her bucks.Hated her. Loved. Pushed hands against face.I fucked her. I did her. In all my Disgrace.

Certainly I was offended. Conflicted and satisfied.Setting the rolling rolling of those blinded eyes.She muffled. She fought. Took all and the lot.My Disgust. Her’s Disabled. Tactile vision in airScreaming screaming under my palm with great dareProtected. And pushed. I fucked her blind and I laughAll mighty do shield me … when enough is enough

God ugly blind eyes - knowing and seeing -To resist them looking ever so seeming.I fucked my response.I angered it in Sin her and in her superficialities chagrin.

Hairy brail of bushBetween wanton legs I did go.I threw her around to and fro.Pushing and poundingAt my prejudice

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coxsway twoI fucked her in stigmatic complete darkness. Forcefully. Forcefully. I fucked those eyes closed.Intentionally or not, with judgment unknown.

How could any sober appetite feast?These words I communicate to my ignorant beastWhen those eyes keep on rolling and rolling. RollingBlind bitch under me?Rolling they go.Rolling them closed.Rolling them cold.

Mourning lightMourning brightOh how I fucked you dark In this light.You – the lady I’d driven one drunken fight night.

She was blind, could not foresee.The bastard man resonate in me.One drunken night. One bar fight.And she woke peaceful to the bastard man of me.

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whores & contradictionsThe Fine Arts of Nasty Suck Theatre

You ever notice how guys seem to get studlier and studlier with each notch on the bedpost? And ladies are referenced as the wicked witches of the west or the evil Eve handing Adam the apple? Well, I’m here to say I’ve embraced my dark side over and over again. I’m an open lover. If I could be officially certified as a whore I would kneel before the court registrar and swear my fate on the dotted line.

My adventures are forever infinite. I’ve got so many stories that I have a hard time picking favorites. I love the power that comes with gritty raw sex. I encourage other whores like me to embrace the naughtiest filthiest sluttiest parts of themselves. Get ready ladies. Prepare for your juices to explode as I tell all about an Italian hunk named Louigi...

One February 10, 1990 I was visiting a museum. My friend, Sheena, had an exhibit going. Quite a few artists were displaying their works. I wasn’t much for the arts but I loved my best friend and her dedication to her craft.

So, there I was checking some probably wannabe Picasso. I’m not sure. All I know was it had a bunch of squiggled lines, splashed paint colors and a misplaced rectangle in the corner. What the fuck did I know about art? Now…the art of fucking? That’s another story…

I was looking at the portrait when I noticed a presence to the left of me. Peering out of the corner of my peripheral, I glanced at a sweet pair of tanned Guccis poking out from black slick straight slacks.

A man dressed upper class is what I call “Elite Temptation.” I’m not much for politics or fancy shmancy stick up your nose snooty banter. So when I see one of these classy gents I cave slightly inwards with intimidation. But that only lasts for a few short moments when I remind myself that behind every intellect is one dumb sounding beef jerky treat.

I know. I know. I talk about sex like Courtney Love lives life. Raunchy, filthy, unashamed and crisis-ridden but loads of fuck me slutty fun!!

So, slowly I inched my eyes up along his straight leg to the succulent healthy treat of his raw zucchini. I have this secret recipe of cock flavoring: if his bundle bulges I sate in the skillet of his choice and lap up the flavor of the week. Yes, I am master chef. I pound the meat with hard thrust, broil and purposely overheat. I love it when the

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coxsway twocock exits dark and charcoaled!!

Sure enough. My eyes danced with approving delight when I reached his teasingly covered mound. Slacks often hang too far away to ever show any package justice. Yet this man was bulging so big I thought he was wearing spandex!!

I continued my filthy gaze along the flat hang of his stiff tailored blazer up to the chiseled features of his naturally browned modeled boyish face. He was hot! Hot, young and ripe for the taking.

He made an uncomfortable sound in an attempt to clear his throat and then shifted the weight of his right leg to his left. He wiggled his shoulders and raised his hand to his chin. Classic black and white [The] Thinking Man pose. This man was hypnotic.

I watched as he turned his head with smooth cat-like coyness to smile at a passing young woman dressed in a sexy red velvet gown. I melted into his charms when the lady in red returned his affection with a flirtatious grin. The three of us poking and humping in some back alley chilled shivers up my extremities.

I wanted him to notice me but not catch me noticing him so I walked over to the painting to his left. As I passed from behind, I longed to reach my hand out and grip his derrière. I love grabbing at a man’s ass as I thrust him hard and deep into me. A firm ass generally equates to a firm fuck.

Yes, ladies. I know it might be hard to believe. But I know a good fuck when I see it. I’m rarely ever disappointed. I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing. I was quick to observe his fuckable love bunny packed in a furry browned coating of man flesh!!

As I walked past, I hoped that my usual perfume odor would linger over him. “Estée Lauder?” soothingly drew me into an engaging play of words.

“Ralph Lauren,” I corrected.

He reached out his hand to introduce himself, “Louigi.”

“Lisa.” I flushed. His eyes were deep hazelnut. His lips were thinly paired, masterly timed against one another as he spoke. The cheekbones of Cher. Golden brown curly locks neatly styled over his head and around his delicious earlobes. His accent was heavily

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whores & contradictions

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coxsway twoItalian. I wanted to lick his spaghetti balls.

“I see scorching sin. What do you see?” he asked as he pondered over the portrait in front of me. I contemplated as though I needed to understand the awkward shapes and colors before me. All I really saw was what looked like a breast, a cock and a slashed face of a man torn into the canvass of what someone might call art. I thought it looked stupid but found myself looking deeper into the images. The colors were dark and lush. Visions of fucking Louigi coupled with flashing impressions of the portrait hit hard in my mind. “Sinful smut.” My answer had nothing to do with the painting in front of me.

Louigi raised his hand to his chin, caressed his sweet flesh with his thumb and index. Then he turned to look at me with those nutty eyes. “Lisa? I want to paint you. Will you accompany me to my loft?” He paused a moment and added, “I will keep you safe.”

I’m not one to hold back for the sake of safety although Lougi’s reassurance was inviting. I’m a spontaneous lover who succumbs to sexual opportunity. I playfully agreed, “How do you stroke your brush?” He smiled knowingly, took me by the hand and led me out the door to his loft of sensual delights.

I was instantly classed-up as my heels echoed into his residence. They clicked like hooker boots. My breasts perked with lady love maturity. Louigi guided me to his plush bloody velvet colored couch and walked to his kitchen. He returned with two crystal twinkling semi-filled shimmering wine glasses. I took a sip, darting my eyes from painting, to sculpture, to hard wood floor and dusty shelved literature filling spaces in a chestnut colored bookshelf. I also happened to notice an inviting bed at the end of his open home.

Louigi placed his goblet on the glass end table to the left of me. He strode seductively over to a blank canvass. “You were meant for me tonight,” he said as he took a paintbrush in his hand, dipped it in black and smeared a streak against the once naked canvass. I looked up with innocent anticipation and slowly undid the buttons of my blouse.

Lougi smiled approvingly and dipped his paintbrush in the black oil once again. I opened my blouse for him, revealing budded excited nipples peering out from lace-covered breasts. He walked up to me, crouched before my feet and began to create his masterpiece. The devilish visionary slowly tickled the bristles from the side of my neck down to curve of my rounded breast. My pussy burst into a hard

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whores & contradictionsheartbeat of rhythmic pulsating.

Then he placed the paintbrush down beside his crystal glass. He took his hand and pushed his palm against my hungry skin, smearing black paint over my chest and up to the corner of my lip. He pushed his middle finger into my eager mouth. I greedily sucked away while he literally finger fucked my hole.

His other hand ravenously grabbed at my breast as if it were butchered meat. I arched my back, winced with pain and reached for his blood blown rod. My hand clasped around one motherfucking thick beast. I estimated a more than satisfying two inches of intense friction. With the class of a seasoned professional, I started stroking, jerking, yanking and petting. Louigi moaned with an ever so inviting wild-like animal nature. Oh, those common dumb sounding grunts thrill me every time!

He pushed my legs apart, spreading me like a dancer on stage. He began rubbing his hand against the thick seam of my jeans as I gushed multiples of pleasure. I’m easily stimulated and highly orgasmic.

As if time was momentarily lost, I went from tight jeans claustrophobically constricting my throbbing clit to Louigi’s face nuzzled close and deep into my honey-drenched hive. He lapped, sucked, spat, rubbed, gurgled and breathed in my sweet nectar to the greatest heightened sensitivity of my life. The build up of vaginal longing urged frantic yelps into the echoing space as my legs tensed and I shot out orgasmic spits from my squirting cunt. I gushed heavy tears of joy until merciless sensitivity forced me to push Lougi’s face away from my vertical slit.

Lougi panted heavily, stood up and lowered his slacks to the floor, exposing the juiciest chunk of salami I ever did see. I estimated wrong. See the evil. Feel the evil. Look at the evil. He was enormous!!

I surged my mouth at his thick meat, longing for the foul odor of salami breath. Deep into the back of my throat plunged his hulking rod as I coughed up a taste of vomit and bile, quickly gulping it back down to receive another hard thrust into the hollows of my throat. Tears streamed from my eyes as he stabbed his knife; he sliced, diced and butchered my gullet. I dug my nails deep into his flesh as I slammed his body into my face until finally he rewarded me with shots of salty tidal waves of jizz. His cum bolted into my mouth, down my throat and over spilled out the sides of my lips. It was the heaviest load that ever blasted my taste buds. In a desperate way, I wiped the over

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coxsway twospilled cum back into my mouth, ensuring not a drop was wasted. Filling to the very last drop.

Our breaths were heavy and uncoordinated. I sat back, admiring his enormous cock while he stood there staring down at me wide-eyed. “Picture perfect?” I giggled up at him. Louigi flashed a crooked smile.

We finished our wine, occasionally stroking each other’s hair and body parts for another half hour before I decided it was time to call it a night. You see, that’s part of the way I love a man. The time spent is short but forever long lasting.

After a few long passionate kisses goodbye I secluded to my own private quarters. I slipped comfortably into deep slumber, reliving the events of my own arts exhibition knowing that tomorrow I would share the graphic details with Sheena and then millions of strangers such as yourselves.

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3 - RATED Adult PG

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curvysex threeBureau Open Lover: Highway 10 to Heaven

The open lover. That I am. O’ how I love a man. Ladies, ladies these are my gents: Howard, Frederick, and fetish sucking Spence. Many more have I had. Some I remember. Some not warms me glad or leaves me in trembles. I am sage in all I say, all I do. One fuck and another should I bother. Names? Sure. Nameless even better.

Open lover. Secrets untold. Open lover my battle is what I unfold. I concern for myself. I cause confliction. I want them all mine yet I share my wisdom. Ladies, ladies know what I offer? The dirtiest of truth feared to crucify me. Besetting unsettling insecure will appeased? Ladies, ladies I know I am torn. Yet impelled I pest Social Candids of Scorn.

I am the open lover. Hot whispers they knock on my door; asking, wishing or pleading for more. I am the lover – the open lover whore. This is why, lesson one, they come to my door. Daddy voices and religious convictions are plenty reasons barefoot in the kitchen. Sure love will be there when they feel so sad. But will you be there when they yearn to fuck bad?!

Lessons of many this eases me simple. Nothing to fear, media pimps out the piddle. You’ll find it in porn. When you turn your sets on. You’ll find it in ‘zines. In whore fantasies. The newest of age: the enter we net. Social rebellion waters so wet. Audio. Radio. All that we hear. Pay what we buy. Do listen my dears.

Ladies, ladies – this you must know. Eradicate shame. Embrace your whore. If not yet you have come to fruition? Stop - fuckliscious, not smitten. My boys I all know, though timid some be, all dream wet for nasty dirty. The pleasure from women wild and carefree satisfies social sexual needs. Open the twat of a lady’s sweet hole. Dear ladies, slut out. Give it a whirl!

But no! porks out a roasted scream. Therefore denying what’s lovely and free. You close with the apple, legs locked in. “I couldn’t! I wouldn’t. How dare you!” you cringe. The shock is a block. The position is shrewd. To fuck like a whore is unclean and it’s crude! Sex sells you to buy so buy that you do. A whore is quite fun but don’t you dare do it?!

Cuntfused by messages closes you up from feeling the joy of a nasty good fuck? Repent in voices that tell you so wrong that a lover’s

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rated adult pgdesire shuns fucking so long! You must know, my ladies, your whore is quite safe to fuck away societal sexual chaste. De-uptight. Fight! Resist conventions. Chastity casts only savior’s religion. I preach you not as evangelists do. But warn I caution for the fuck of a screw! Note: Creed’s attrition aids political missions passing partial mention for oppressive intentions? Kindly, dear ladies, do learn what I know. The whore is Picasso’s saintly Rousseau. Faith the tramp for id’s fine pleasing. Frigidity = neurotic = illogical - reasoning?

An open love mentor is Wisdom’s Grand Hand. My secrets I give in love I do stand. Sure, respect is in-love ever true. The caution I send is a lover’s fool moon. I tell you my ladies love is quite nice. And yes it’s divine for romantic delights. Yet actions in sex is what I proclaim is the right of a lady to make herself sane. The sex is the true lover’s entice that keeps him coming for sex that feels right. For man’s surrender open your fuck; this is what gets two lover’s off.

On to number two, these lessons I dare. My reasons are simple. I offer your share. You must know to keep them. Ladies, my ladies, I devotingly care. Men without fuck stray and this I can’t bare. Maybe there is truth that you’ll take them from me? Yet I venture on livelong, headstrong, Ding Dong! for fuck-it humanity! (Sanctity? Christian? Insanity? Woe is me … ?!~)

Frustrations pent up in serpent, he needs his release. Testicular rollings done lovingly sleaze. Fear not to touch forbidden fruits. Open your mouth and nectar in juice. Round rump in air and bend it on over. Let bad girls get spankings or spits in the face. Shun yourself not with a lady’s disgrace. Whatever together, make those decisions. Envision protection. Communicate real. Crazy, unclean or slyly gentile.

My lover tastes may be unlike yours. But guarantee this: men love their whores.

Did you know in good health a man’s release of testicular fluids is cancer’s great ease? Soften your mind. Science the facts. Open up and jump in the sack! Counteract suppressive conditions. The world is sick. You feel contradicted? Be soft. Go hard. Dom a fine whip. Wigs and cameras. Try the taboos. All that matters: Agreed upon truths.

Ladies, my ladies, open your twat ~ accept your legs spread wildly apart! A mighty fine sleazing is a natural reason! Do care. Do care. Add sexual flare. Pussy is well for reciprocal tastes – sexual health brightens the face! Energize sweat. Scream out Glory! Funk up n’

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curvysex threedorey! Wild out maniacal. Groove Olivia. Shake the shock of let’s get physical! Gung ho ho ho. Santa the cause. The whore is the best for one and for all!

But no? Inhibitions ransom your back? How might you balance needs in tact? This I have answers for roles I have played. Fears I have conquered without our delay. Ladies, dear ladies, faster we go. Lesson with huff my piglets of three. Onward our Vixen with Dasher’s great prance, fighting the words of etiquette’s dance.

A secret I learned one trailer bush night. I reference his Push in my lover’s delight. Fight! You must fight! Quiet inside. Trust. Pay heed to shaming pride. Dwell not for what is unknown. Just Nike and do it > he’ll play unharmed. Man likes any which way. When the lady is naked, Dick Dong: He stays! So wack an ass’s sweet jiggle. Humping is soul for a pounding fuck wiggle. Jelly the bubble bum rolls > in+bedded, you wet it, cum read the scrolls:

Embrace thy whore.

Care for sex.

Give silence uninhibited virtue for self. Hunh?

Call out, scream out your cunt. Moan, groan, blurt out your grunt.

True. Beware of neighbors so quiet. Perhaps there are times you hush slut’s riot? But even in these times embrace your rebellion. Fuck with desire for the golden medallion!!

Scales they are tippy when you balance your needs. One fills caution. Best take heed. Boundary limits set the speed. The other releases embarrassing creed. Tip Tip Tippy, steady the steed. Talk it and lock it or free it and fuck it?

Don’t know the groove for sex on top? How do you rhythm slut’s trollop? Do it. Just do it. Don’t tell him your fears. Keep it inside and fight it my dears! Silence the sighs for pleasure’s good will. Over you cum faining your thrills? Mental your pleasure wild and free. Trust: explore, you will achieve! He’ll think you the expert forever believing nothing could be so ever deceiving. As long as you move and do it your way. Go go my sweets, roll in the hay!

I tell you my ladies, quiet in voice. Do it. Push on. Venture the choice! Chat acknowledges fear but silence creates accomplishment gears!

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rated adult pgThe shift is your secret to act – To play out the scene; who cares what you “lack.” Just do it. Just try it! Have a good time! Do it to feel it. Give it a try! For what is unknown I wager the bets. The better it gets when you skip up the steps!

So now that you’ve learned lessons of three: whore, care and secret scaries. Four my next guidance I’m on my roll. Can’t stop it now. I’ll give you some more…

Imagine your body with disgust o’ lament? Negative messages I insist you forget. Not true. So false. The assumption is clean. If the man is naked, you are circe. The power is yours. Your Queen owns control. Onward! He touched you. You’re it!

Greatest of curse a woman’s great shame when she feels ‘less than’ in sexual games. Honey you’re beautiful in mind you will say. Believe it or not these words must remain. Lights ignite while you join his pluck. Vision’s great stimulant betters the fuck. Up` over stare directly in his. Look `accept loads of sweet jizz. Watch how it enters most decadent. Frustrations release them. Defy your repent! Ladies so skank. Accept my advice as socially swank. Enter your mind as though it were blank!

Hate is my word for lies unbeautied. Never believe media’s conceit. Your ass lacks class? Massive in size? Not true. Shit bull. “Butt Big:” the guaranteed prize! Over years I have learned asses with mass rise a man special. Shake it. Just make it. Flaunt it a bushel! Or maybe it’s small as though it were gone? That makes you feel like nothing belongs? Decorate pretty. Shove it with thong! Abolish anxieties. Demand they be gone!

Adults forget to be kids. Stuck so uptight lost in their wits. Five here I am. Drrrrrive you alive. Ladies embrace your inner child. Sex is not a derangement arrangement. He came. You didn’t. He’s done now you’re spent? Is this the sex that lacks freedom so suave? Continue this he’ll bid you “Au revoir.” Play! You must play! For sex is quite fun. Never a chore, just something that’s done. Try out a wig. Cameo Slut. Boink out in nature. Nurture your smut.

Ladies I ask you are you following? These learned so wise in my offering? Don’t be the fool and put this book down. Don’t be the fool and react with a frown. Trust me, my ladies, do clown around! Laugh. Giggle. Be merry and gay! Get mean. Pout your lip. Whatever just play. For sex is the drug that adults can take. Endorphin more often keeps the doctor away!

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curvysex three

Six is the sex slippery and wet. Sex is not pretty when on dick is shat. Noises are sloppy. Smelly foul odors. Farts from pussies our little Twat Horrors. Wrappers that crinkle your wait. Dinkles that push air’s penetrate. All are reasons we hesitate. No worry. Don’t worry. Understand this: animals. We’re animals. Fuck like the song. The act is barbarous and nothing that’s wrong. Our nature is human to procreate. Animal’s survival continues the race. Let’s fuck like dogs! Hare for the chase. We need it. We want it. We’re hungry like hogs!

But all sounds so unnatural? You bow your head? A guilty hellion? A truth to tread? Only bologna. Wet to the meat. Horny the tramp. Nasty fuck treats. Nothing is fishy about your smell. Normal is poopy when you fuck anal [unless carnal better prepares: diet and clyster to lighten the air]. Slops n’ sucks n’ pussy sweet farts. These are acts of nature’s art.

A condom’s cover clunks your poise? Golly the wrapper makes all that noise! Don’t be silly! Cover the willie for the girlies and boys! Listen, my darlings, I assure you this: Sex is one messy wet kiss. Hushes bore danger in choice! Will you? Won't you? work yourself moist?

My ladies, dear ladies, don’t shrivel so prude. Seize what’s dirty as part of the mood. Sounds are aural, wild, relaxed and good, not misconstrued: righteously lewd. Resist the cringe of discomfort’s waste. Face constricting shy efface. Patience, acceptance in odd moments calms condition's higher cognicance. You need not bother to be embarrassed. Nothing to gain but sexual morass. So free yourself uppity tight! Accept the noise as normal, alright?

Seven is heaven. Open the gates. Do it because it simply feels great! Focus the mind on bodily parts. Bring him deep upon body’s arc. kNo~ah* the feel for all sensation. Alert your cunt to the rubbing friction. Every entrance full on in. Every exit for giddy a grin. Free the mind for all that you can. To feel it. To own it. Enjoy full on! mmm oy ~

Impress the mood. Hump to please. Feel the fuck as though it’s been years. Poke’r hands that penetrate. Straight, flush or horny in state. Scratches on back. Heighten. Elate. Police a frisk: skin against skin. Bang! Bang! Insertion is great! Alert the wince of a nipple’s quick pinch. Baby’s got back? Whack a sting up n' smack. Juice the ooze from your lady’s crack!

Add additions to wild sex some more. Dildo your fun so it’s never a

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rated adult pgbore. Try on a wig. Put on some lace. Giggle your child so fucking’s no waste. I’ve mentioned before canned advice. Sex on camera is always quite nice. Maybe an orgy? Or cover your eyes? Try a fetish. A few more guys? Shackles and chains to feel the pain? Satin, cotton, the scratch of metal. Boil the pot stirring the kettle. Waters, ‘cycles, burning of wax. Honey so sticky? A couple knick-knacks? Cock ring. Vibrate. Explore. Play! All for your leisure! A welcome buffet!

My ladies, O’ ladies. Faking joy in the grind? Are you finding you’re wasting your time? Defy no more! Sex-on = a beautiful score! Carpe your diam. Ladies deplore!~ Succumb to your whims. Expel ‘til your spent. Make sex-on (and on …) heavenly sent!~

But what about those other side thoughts? Maybe you think he’s got nothing you want? My advice I’m on eight. Ingratiate. Ladies, my ladies, kindly relate. Come to your Lover. My open is true. Discover the secrets bravely construed. Hear a lesson in wisdom’s grand truth. Take a moment and gather the groove: Chatter for nonsense fusses the head which messes your bed which feeds dread, disorder and spreads sex-on tension. A simple translation? Excess thinking is wasted reasoning. O what a snore! Overthinking is useless galore!

Ladies, my ladies, close off distractions. Are you paying mindful attention? Wisdom in lessons. [Wo]manu[‘re]mission? Stay bull’s eye. Live in the moment with time on your side. Cancel out that grocery list. Forget the time last you were pissed. Erase whatever the children are doing. Keep the focus while you are screwing. Throw your mind deep into seven. Let desire wild you to heaven. Focus! Feel it! Focus! Feel it! Did I mention Focus! Feel it?

My ladies, dear ladies, I add you some more guiding you into glory’s grand whore. In order for Seven to bring you to heaven, be in the moment forever fit. There is no need for anywhere else. Pleasure is what I reccomend best. My ladies, o’ ladies. Listen up now. Quit your bitching so scowl. Stay for the fuck. No other reason. Sex is meant for only mood pleasing. Stop complaining with sorrows of pain. I tell you this: wining is lame! Go for a spin but not in your mind, unless wind whirls lost in his grind. Stay where you are. Plump Pollock. Fishy your dishy and swim under covers. Always fuck for lusting as lovers!

Charge the pump with dirty sweet lines. Number nine burns fuel in the rhyme. The words we say can be so divine. They boost the mood delisciously fine. Twinkle. Twinkle. Sexual chime! Commentary primes the sugar divine! Declare. Prepare. Add temptation. Now

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curvysex threelisten to my salutation~(: Filthy talk cocks harder. Filthy words rise visual. Understand: men are dirty. Expletives make him horny. Picture cocks in, out. Speak thoughts right out! What you sprout in the head excites time in bed. Imagination. Vividly. Randies ‘tang + Willie. Hot talk hardens cock. Speak nasty. Get feisty. “Cock. Cunt.” “Pussy. Fuck.” Moan. Groan. “Ass.” Grunt. “Wet twat. Hard nipples. Penis.” Grind. “mmm supple.” “Lick. Nibble. Tongue so quick. Lapping. Flapping. Clitty clit.” “Meaty cunt. Thick wad. I’m cumming. I’m cumming. O God! I’m cumming! heavy grunting Fuck God! I’m cumming!

Fuck God!” Cumming is stunning!

For lesson nine add one caution: Careful of the verbal potion. The filthy words that you say might cause prejaculate. Nasty chat gets them horny. Spits too soon? Could be sorry! So, yes, talk a filthy time. Do beshine your golden high. Just be careful foxy trotsy! Over-sexy could be risky. Might lead to eager spits. Heavens no! That's the pits!

Now, my ladies, embrace your thoughts. Dirty talk hits the spot! What I told up above was only made in mindful love. Up up so high: a warning that I simply sigh. Chary wisdom is not the excuse to act prudish crude. Timely essence is your lesson. Talk it hot to rock the cock long before the load will blow if you want to fuck some more!. Speaking filth into the ear is a joy to revere. Yip! Yip! Pussy cheer! So keep in mind what I say. Speak it hot in crareful ways!

Now, my ladies, time to talk: action. I take you in my last direction.Our while has been quite nice. I admit the term has been a splice. But now it’s time for conclusion. Along the Highway we are cruisin'. A little more pussy oozing. You’ve cum this far. Keep perusing. Are you ready? No refuting …

Do you yearn for this and that but the cat flops his hat? Columbo here; roam there; you want it harder; now lick your ear? Tickle snatch? Scratch your back? A little slower in the sack? You want the buck from the dirty back hole but bash bow shy reject control? He don't wiggle duty's share? Screaming inside for hands elsewhere? You know what’s right, but he’s failing you so? You want it faster. He moves too slow? You’re shit outta luck and not a ‘good fuck? What a waste. What a muck?!

Not true. So false. I tell you this: there are ways to get you off! Make the effort. Assert control! Teach the stroke to poke your hole. Self-

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rated adult pgdirection is the lesson. The greatest lesson to transcend. Number ten. A lovely trend. State where you’re feeling good. Maybe on your clitty hood? You want the hand to cup your breast? Tell him – drop the guess! If you like what he did voice it out. Be candid. Recite directions on the box. Tell him what gets you off! “Bite my neck. Lick me dry. Kiss my feet. Ride me high.” “Fuck my ass. Ride me deep, hard and fast. On my knees. Won't you please?” “Put that cock against my bone. That's the spot that makes me moan.” Use commands while loving. Heavens! Acclimatize. Say something!

Matters in your hands asserts control taking you back to number one: Whore. Runner on shoe. Drive your screw. I tell you dears, do pursue! Spread your legs to feel him deep. Sixty nine a numbered treat. Hold the head to the split of your twat. Urge your finger in the back of your butt. Over years my learnings have taught to speak slut sass or just do it yourself!

Are my ladies doing okay? I’ve driven a course with words to say. Flustered, flattered or plane out ‘gasted? Tight tighty tighties, how I wish to train – to tame seductions senile insane. I am the lover of heart, and so wish for apples to drop. I satisfy man’s sexual needs fighting oppressive sexual creed. A lover’s amorist, rejoice what I know. Obey my wisdom. Tend to your whore. Ladies, dear ladies I conclude this to you. An open love fancy, I captivate truth. A whore is healthy. Oppression is crude.

So now we’ve reached the end of the road. I hope you embrace all that I’ve wrote. Ten from one, count them backwards. Twist them ‘round, just as long as you’ve heard. My drawer I have given with love for man’s race. Always my ladies with uptmost grace; tied shoe bow love n’ lace. Hold these lessons forever in heart. Cruise the highway for slut’s sake … I impart!

-------------------------------

I add one final Post Scriptum for considerate mention:

No matter what, everything blows? No matter what, fluids fail flow? Numbers to nine you have tried, but jagged you Jagger ain’t satisfied? Nothing rises the pussy shrine? You nurtured the whore, axed inner ‘bitions, fucked fears cleverly muted? Lessons first three are failing you dears? You tended four for the love of the body and still you're not fucking so jolly? fondles@genuinefive ever so naughty failed to

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curvysex threefrolic your child’s play party? Sex is stale to no avail? All attempts were simply frail? Six did not help your dirty sex fix? Tried others for a blending of mix? Seven you fucked with all your delight, yet nothing juiced you up just right? You cleared your mind, erased thoughts but he’s still not giving it all that he’s got? Or nine you spoke out the skank but still your fuck totally wanks? Maybe he spurt much to fast failing to make it memorably last? Ten you asserted Pussy’s Tweet song? Yet everything keeps wasting so wrong? Maybe he resisted your needs? As a result you were not pleased? Perhaps you were crazy in bed but fucking your lover was like fucking the dead? Ladies, my hunnies, I bleed for you. No resurrection? The fuck is screwed? I tell you, my ladies, I understand. Don’t continue with a lousy fuck man! You may believe my words are cruel. But really there is only one last to do... Assert yourself void of guilt. Throw in the towel. It’s time to quit! Kick him the fuck out. Off to his home. Don’t call again and hang up the phone. Never again. Never. No more. Accept he’s bad and boot out the door. Let him lick salt. You eat the cake. Don’t look back. Burn the stake! Never again. Out with the cock! My ladies, dear ladies. You’re shit out of luck! Looks like the highway and another to fuck!

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rated adult pg

Pocket full of Condoms

Pocket full of CondomsFuck Ya Fuck YaAin’t got S.T.D.

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curvysex threeNudecaster Application: Question Number One

How do you feel about being nude in front of cameras for periods of time?

May I have the honor? O Please. To be naked for millions to see?

At the vibrant age of thirty one, My life is far from done

I have walked naked in streets,Casually strolling with my feets

Posed natural at a flashTastefully exposed my gash

I am comfortable as isPriding my hairy fizz

I’ve danced and pranced for videoWould simply thrill for cameo

Painters have stroked their brushAs I sat naked buff

Sculptors have loved me museNatural my response to cues

How might I possibly feel? The more appropriate question reveal

Honey, what’s the big deal?

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rated adult pg

AnitaPuss

I want just one little pussyOne little pussyOne little one for me

Just one little pussyPlay with me

One little pussyClaim her mineJust one little pussyOn me

Nursery Divorcée

Can I have anotherLove me not Love me?Ring around my finger Husha HushaThe marrige broke down

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curvysex three

Peeping Paul

Peeping PaulIs so tallHe can look over The shower stall

Are you looking at me?How could this be?Is that Peeping PaulPeeping over at me?

O Peeping PaulWho is up so tallAre you peeping overThe shower stall?

No, says Peeping PaulI don’t have the gallTo be seen peeping overThe shower stall

Well, says IIf I were a guyI’d be peeping overIf I was up so high

Peeping Paul exclaimed with delightWhy I do believe you are rightSeeing a naked lady showerIs quite a wonderful sight!

Now Peeping PaulCan admit to allHe likes peeping overThe shower stall

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rated adult pg

Is there a doctor in the house?

Oh, is the doctor home?

And shall the nurse accompany her?

Two nursing ladiesSpitting at meHusha HushaAnd we all fall down.

But then came little black horn dogRockin’ and a rollin’ All Day LongTwo o’clock - Three o’clockGoddam any day for me!!

Jingle Balls Jingle BallsDingle them teacup ladycup for us whores o’ four...

Quick, Put this on Betty!Before ladybird, ladybird - - You’re it!!

....Adults are allowed to play too, you know

giggles~

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curvysex three

Ichi Bum

Wanna SmellMy Ichi Bum?

BEST

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rated adult pg

BEST

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curvysex three

Ichi Bum II Ichy

Wanna SmellIchi Bum?

Scratch my Bum

Ichi Bum

Smell my bum?

Hard in Bum?Ichi Bum

Rub my BumIchi Gash

Bum my RashIchi Gash

Lots of fun

Ichi Bum

Rash in BumIchi Bum

Pinch my Bum?Ichi Bum

Want some fun?Ichi Bum

Smell my bum?

Ichi BumLots of fun

In my Bum

Play my BumIchi Bum

Ichy Ichy Ichy

Bum

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rated adult pg

Peace BumbuzzleRise!

Peace Race Me Hummmmble ~!Bummmblesfrom behindAnd stings me prickGrumbled Bumblebeewith W.A.S.P.ing _crusher’sSwarming Rocky MountingBaby Circada Willing Yet replies she‘Squitto sweetTampon treatme blood appétitTuggers Tigger TigerAt Buttershit LiesButterflied WildDutch claimedBy his Buttered resemblanceNun mothever memorializedtugging on herLepidopteraHatching her Lemme Lutz some Hannes my wayinvasively beebezzlingpeacing Association to collectively Insect Rights youwww dot Bloomington?

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BOOB

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4 – D

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A

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I

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class so i four

Ode to my Ex Lover – Do you miss me now?

Respectful Omission or Heartbreak Attack?

- Story Pulled

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dotationsEbony

Ebony tie your hair Grease monkey your spatula shine And pour me another coffee Serve my grits with bacon And toast me yourself goldenThe Diner runs finer… Baby back groin And clunk table #4 Smokin’ refill Smiles that trucker serviceSure’s a hard worker… Black bone skins the meat From the home style cookin’ That regulars keep comin’ forAnd I love her with five in my pocket… “Northern drawl me number seven” “Two’s up” “Anything else for you boys?”Harry Walker nudges me his wife So I steam my hand round The box just that much more clenched Fryin’ the rings down basket At the same timeEbony… Groans Neigborhood Marybell That her legs ache her somethin’ fierce And ‘my ol’s lady’ I says in my head Grants me promise when demands die down Off to refill # too many yearsRound go these nervous hands… ‘Ginia shoos her support And I breathe myself bold, “Ebony,” I says “No time,” browns her expression “Ebony,” and I take her hand

With her strange question mark Walk myself to her feet, Proposin’ my Ebony future Harry calls loud like only he would And my face flushes fiercer fear favor For my tanned conviction Marybell, truck stop central, Even retard Warner

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class so i four Turn their look my way A good ten years of table wiping, Clipped menu receipts circled for my order, Even stall room cleanings beyond waitress duty And Ebony on my knees, I offer business fixings To support her our lives through In the box I open to confuse tears streaming First quizzical, Pressured? Maybe Relieved… “Will you…?” “Yes~” And spoons clink their neighborhood joy Somehow as if they all knew history soft coal And long time friends satisfy their pride With ‘Ginia’s tears and Harry’s pat on the back The whole town church rice at the aisle And sing mercy-cultured praise When our two mixed blood Play with side street cousins And don’t mark us for our bloodEbony… My dreams darken in the reality Of sweat drippings on the griddle And local Marybell grumbling body pains That my dear Ebony rubs away Now that truck rush slows its pace ‘You’d think times would change?’ I hope inside, grip the rounded cube ‘Ginia shoos again Harry grins his head side to side “Ebony? Will you marry me?” I ask again She cries herself, “No” And I platter my heart broken, Slide the ‘cumulation of fat off to the side With battered messI watch my Ebony… Pull the pad from her apron, Stained mustard brown And pop her gum Like attitude caresMy fingers open the karat

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dotations

ODED

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class so i four Side order ‘n peas And I gulp the Harry clap And Ebony pourSo I come from behind metal kitchen And enter aisle unfamiliarities “Will you…?” I ask again, Spreading her fingers to accept our Drungy picket fence home Bein’ somewhat thankful She never beautied herself mainstream city For a small town boy to have An Ebony like that She ducts her reply So Harry pats my back An’ his wife joys her kissShe says… “Yes”So I’m her Ebony’s deposition

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dotations

Fat Bastard

Fat Bastard’s humorous inviteWined me into sipping elitismsWith French kissing tonguesAnd Some Aged GuySagging his oak barreled face

Shiraz! Shiraz! Their answer was this:French anticipation uttered British,“now that is a Fat Bastard”

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class so i fourTiffany

Tiffany at fifteen. I was crazy for that girl. She was the first girl to blossom into a young lady. Although innocent, she managed to carry herself as a tart little thing. She had it even back then. That smile. That fresh crisp burst of youthful elegance. Her wide sexy devilish grin could devour any young horny teen. I was awkwardly bitten and twice shy.

Young voluptuous Tiffany had well-defined hips. An hourglass that let seconds slip right through her. Oh, how I adored those sensuous curves and the slight jiggle of her firm frump with every naughty giggle. I ached to be the crease that separated her leg from the round hump of her ass. Occasionally I would cuss under my breath convincing myself that I would never have a chance to kiss her sweet lips.

I hated puberty. Pimple-faced geek. Every morning Brad would look back at me with a nasty cringe. Splat!! I would squeeze one only to watch it become a gutted glob of insect against the reflective windshield in my bathroom. Yes, I hated puberty with a passion. I knew with every facial puss mass, my chances would double five steps back. I never thought I would have a chance with that luscious tasty Tiffany.

Some nights I would lay in bed with little boy blue in hand, eyes tightly closed remembering the sweet heave of Tiffany’s chest. I doubted that most thirteen-year-old boys would ever have such a knockout girl going to their school. I respected her daring nature. Never had I seen such a little cutie wear an unbuttoned top so teasingly low. After rigorous jerks, my tummy would be covered in little pools of white sticky goo.

But as most geeky young boy realities would go, Tiffany would be painfully untouchable. I would watch from the sidelines while she laughed with all the popular boys. Only once do I remember her ever noticing me. I have hung onto that moment for 21 years.

Tiffany was hunched slightly forward, poised ready at bat. Her ball cap tilted wickedly to the side. The pitcher was winding up. She licked her lips. Held the bat hard. Her knuckles turned red, then white. The pitcher jerked his hand forward and let go of the ball. Then her eyes – I don’t know how she commanded time to kneel at her mercy but she did. Those dirty hypnotic little green girl eyes darted my way with a flash of pearly whites. Magically, with precision speed,

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dotationsher eyes wickedly darted back to the pitch in front of her. And she swung with mighty power - popped that one clear over the fence into the tennis court.

From base to base her hair graced the wind. I gazed in awe. Those mature jugs bubbled up with every pounce in her determined race. I remember the energy resonating from those focused no nonsense lagoon greens.

Yes, that was sweet Tiffany at fifteen. And that was the hottest moment I ever shared with fifteen-year-old Tiffany.

So, you’re probably wondering why I’d bother mentioning some young childhood crush. I’m a thirty seven year old university graduate now, working in an accounting firm. And I’m not one of those guys who get off on little girls. It’s not like that – not like that at all.

In fact, I very much prefer the lady over the little girl. Ya. So I want to tell you about this high heeled, long-legged beauty that strutted her way to my desk one late afternoon. She looked somewhat familiar. Long wavy deep auburn hair. Such a playful bounce. I wanted to take my hand up the back of her head and pull her face into my bulging monster. It’s crazy how instant I could feel my cock blood rush into my soldier. Oh, I salute you my taunt vixen!!

She seemed to swoosh and sashay her way over to me. Her strides were remarkably quick, rigid and long. This woman had strut – attitude – and an obvious destination.

“What’s up with this?” she vocally pounced at me, throwing papers at my desk. “I’m getting my lawyer. These numbers are so far out there!”

Mrs. Swanson. Divorcee. I was warned about this demanding woman. She was used to nothing but the best. Mistakes were beyond intolerant.

I looked at her a little longer with curious fascination. She looked so familiar. I stood up, offering her a seat much the way Vanna White offers luxury jewelry. Her eyes sparked a quick fearless shot at me. Into my soul and down the tip of my shaft. The blood rushed again. She crossed her arms at me and stationed herself with a firm stance.

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class so i fourThen a strange coyness cocked her head to the side. “Brad?” she asked me. “Brad Wrightcroft is that you?”

Sure it was. And just who might you -? I noted five unlatched buttons on the left of her blouse. There was a great heave accompanied with a breathless sigh. Then I knew. Oh God. It was sweet little fifteen-year-old Tiffany. Her breasts heaved exactly the same as they did over twenty years ago. I wanted to fuck her right then. A flash of her split second smile blinded me in the moment. My heart burst hard into my chest.

This time I was not puss faced pubescent never going to be noticed little nobody. No zits. Lots of muscle. I was a regular at the gym. My arms packed tight mass. Women noticed me for my biceps. I can’t tell you how many times the ladies would ask for a flex and permission to squeeze. I love how the ladies would inflate my blow-up ego.

We exchanged some elementary memories and then arranged dinner and a movie for later that evening.

When she approached the car I knew she was a fox ready to trot. She had the maturity and tomboy nature of that summer sunshine on the Dukes of Hazard. I was lost in a haze of lust and love. Again, blood rush. I opened the door and her shiny legs eased their way in and under the glove box.

When I got into the driver’s side sweet Tiffany stumbled over her words. “I’d – I had – I’m – I’m obviously a bit nervous.” Tiffany shyly bowed her head and bit her bottom brim. “Can we go up to the hill? At the old playground?”

The hill. That was the place all the boys and girls would go play love doctor. I wondered if I might be able to kiss her sweet lips after all these years. Never. Never would I have ever thought.

So I agreed without question and time warped to 1984. I parked behind the big oak tree then coolly looked over in her direction. I opened my mouth to tell her how hot she looked but she clasped her palm against my face. “Don’t ask any questions,” she hissed, lowering her hand from my mouth, pulling her body close and then grabbing my crotch. “Sweet Tiffany,” I moaned in my mind, “Oh, how I love you.”

The engine of my motor hummed. Tiffany licked her lips, gazed down at my middle. The clink of my belt buckle let me know what was about to happen next. Hand down my pants. Out pops my rod. A

OGLE

77

dotationsyearning groan and instant wet warmth. She had my solid wildebeest beating ruthlessly against her tonsils. I could feel the thick bile on the tip of my knob each time she pulled away and let out great gasps for air.

How lucky was I?

Gurggle gurrrgle. Tiffany’s vocals were hot and filthy. I felt her teeth slide quick, fast, painfully and painlessly down my shaft. A quick nibble and then her tongue poked into my penile slit. She tongued my tip with firm jabs and then speedily gobbled my cock a doodle doo. Her left hand instructed my shaft to slap against her cheek. Tiffany growled, then devoured again.

Man, can that Tiffany suck cock!!

Then she looked up at me with pouted bottom lip. “Swing batter batter,’ she cooed. She made a hand gesture as if to cock an imaginary baseball cap to her right.

I melted, “Tiffany,” I breathed against her temple. Had she meant that tomboy home slam for me dated years before? I was silly putty. I felt my legs spasm and my cock burn with horny ache. I opened my palm and slipped my hand between her cleavage. I cupped her tender smooth oval. She hunched herself over and let it hang like a dew drip over the edge of a water-speckled leaf.

Hot breath against my ear. She shifted her legs behind her, unzipped her pants and wiggled her way free. I worked my hand up the back of her thigh and felt the crease I had once adolescently imagined myself to be. I took both my hands and massaged her firm baby back humps, occasionally spreading them away from one another. Tiffany. Oh, that sweet Tiffany moaned every time I pulled at her smooth cheeks. She was a mature woman, allright. Her aged status was confirmed as I pushed my index up her anus. “Mmmmhmmm,” was the welcome to the motherland moan she offered me.

Tiffany was a playful little bunny. Soon I felt her fingers slide against mine. She had slid her hand down the front of her pink splendor and made companions with my index. Three fingers slid in and out of her tight sphinxster. I love ass. I’m an ass lover. An ass fucker.

Her rectal juice smoothed the gracefully raunchy entries and exits. “Ymmmmm. Ah uhmmm. Ooooo. Mmmmmm.” Tiffany meowed and purred. Then clawed at me. She cupped my chin in a forceful

OGLE

78

class so i fourdemand. “Outside.”

We quickly jumped out into the warm midnight air. She spread her legs and frumped her body over my hood. “Fuck my ass.”

I did. Deep. Hard. Quick. Slow. I felt myself lost in some mesmerizing fantasy. Each thrust felt like nothing I had ever known. Each penetration was met with a tightness – a looseness or a gush of wetness that was unlike the ones before it. I had never fucked such a beautiful ass in my life.

And not just any ass. This was Tiffany’s ass. Sweet. Sweet. Breast-heaving Tiffany.

I pushed into new unexplored territory as I poked at her shiny goldmine. I fucked her cunt. Oh, I fucked Tiffany’s cunt. Poked into her ass. Grabbed at her hair. Moaned clumsily into the hollow night. She squealed, giggled, grunted, growled. A lively little jumping bean that pushed against my push and rotated her rump in circulars against my hard lower abs.

I begged in my mind to bear her children. I know it sounds crazy. But I was living a fantasy that haunted me for most of my life. I was into her more than I had ever known. I had a burning hunger – a craving to fuck her over and over again.

Tiffany jiggled her ass compact then warned me she was on her way to coming hard. “Will you join me?” she asked. Could I ask for anything more lovely than that? Yes, I could activate a blast of jizz upon invite. She stiffened her legs, screamed, “Oh fuck son of a bitch!! I’m cumming. I’m coming hard. Brad! You fuck me so good!” she belted furiously into the slow moving traffic of the night. Soon her screams were followed by molten lava shooting and oozing deep into her crevices and folds. Her vagina tightened hard against my exploding cock. I grabbed at her breasts, arched my back. I plummeted into her and grunted like a caveman spearing his family meal. My knees went weak as the last of my load dribbled into her clenched suction cup.

“I love you Tiffany,” I whispered into her hair as I carefully dropped my chest against her back. Two last loving thrusts and we just collapsed there. Two bodies exposed by surrounding blackness. Two bodies hot with sweat. Just the two of us naked over the hood of my ’67 Mustang.

That was my encounter with 36-year-old Tiffany. The years had been

OGLE

79

dotationsgood to my chickadee crush.

So, do you want to know what happened after the egg hatched? Well, I guess Tiffany became my reality. We’ve got two little birdies of our own. Swing batter batter. After two months of dating we talked about that one home run. Tiffany confessed her carefully guarded secret. Those ageless years ago she made a promise - a promise to land all the bases for me. Go figure!! Teenage love lingers into mature play.

Tiffany. My sweet wife, Tiffany. I love you yesterday, today and every day.

Swing batter batter.

OGLE

80

class so i four

Toiletries

The black flap of your gurglesKeep gulping your drownAs the chain chokes you from behind

You would stay that wayHad I not pulled myself drawn By your beckoning annoyance

Quack your flap Toilet Duck

O’MY

81

dotations

Personable Joe

Joe was a strangerSplit into twoSenior and JuniorTwo polesSpellbound in deathAnd bittered rivalriesSo the date of his birthNever came to be known

Gannon, Star & GilleyMay have frequentedMay have dancedMay have trancedHerself into believingShe was one when sheBecame three, Forever bold in identity

Dallas FeathersShe earned her trayNight after nightWhile Joe paid her billsA Hazard wind,Her smile patienceBalanced her as just one

Three personalitiesCould have MassacredThemselves years agoPerhaps they would haveStaggered over the lightsDarkened in the nightTo earn their reputationVarnished foreverUntil Joe fell apart

Alizé and ChardonnayCould have takenTo Storm MalibouIf Fox and Christian CoignyHad not blessed their decorations

The unwritten rulesEarn every respect, unrespectfully

So many fish, So little timeThese are just a few personnasOf our Personable Joe

OVER

82

class so i four

Strippin’ Columbo

Open my legs did goApril Foolin’Legs unrulyHairs of flirtyTwat of curlyPits un ‘girly’Tits so perky

Legs did spreadBut came unfedWater I saidCame waitress friendThank you I says

Another kindsStood my mindGranted timeOn stage o’ mineFor consciousness rhymePartake my grindBeers or WineWhatever Devine

My legs came openCummin’ Jokin’Balls I’m hopin’Concedes a ropin’Rompin’ Pokin’Consciousness Gropin’

My open pranceJived legs of danceTo my open beatRocked Columbus Stance!

I am AnitaHotty, Open Lover, Nonjudgment Style

OHOH

83

dotationsMexico

I am into the plans. You know I really dig chicks. I will only feel safe enough doing it when no one knows me there. We’ll shop around. Check out the corners – or however it works. And take one.

I’ve imagined it, you know? What it might be like…

Saturday. Slopping drunk. Drinks at the “El Amigos.” Usually you carry me out when I can’t walk. Tonight you can’t walk too.

Franco and Albert, they are with us. When aren’t they with us? (Ha Ha)

Well, so we stumble on out of the open doors. Fresh air. Laughing. Dangling foolishly off one another. Franco. Franco he says, “Jump in.”

Next thing we know we jump into the vehicle parked beside us. Never knew it. But Franco, hey – He knows how to kick it. Jumps starts the old Vollkswagen Bug. And we drive off.

Who knows what he saw when he drove? Streaked lights, probably.

So, back seat, you and me. Got your hands groping my tits. Do that wet finger tap a few times. Clitty’s all hard. Want it. Want you.

Screeeeeee – eeech!! All of a sudden we take this sideways grip against the seat, backs sucked in tight against the upholstery.

Franco. He pulls over to the side of the road. Calls out the window and says, “Baby!!”

I look. You’ve got your hand down my pants, kneading my dough. I can feel you getting the money handy.

I look. She’s wearing ripped fishnets. Black. Miniskirt. Black. Drips of pussy spit moist between her legs? I imagine as I feel my own. Drunk and slobbery. I step out of the car and reach for her tits.

Confession: I have wondered how a breast would feel cupped in my hand?

Well, in Mexico I liked it.

OLAY

84

class so i fourShe spreads her legs. I slobber over her like a drunken sailor. White. Blue stripes. I am drunk for a dunk underwater. I let go. Dive in.

On the street corner. Drunk in Mexico. Rubbing $50 an hour. Hooker for our night.

I say drunk cus I can’t imagine feeling so free to touch her without booze?

Honey, I really do want to see you climax with another woman. I want to suck cock together. I want you to touch her breasts, to watch the both of us admire your delicious cock!!

Will I be strong enough to make it happen in Mexico?

I can’t wait until you get me drunk. Drunk in Mexico. I want to do it. I’m excited about our plans.

OLAY

85

dotationsDotation

“I like w a l k i n g and l oo king at the snow”

P A T T E N R S

of molding h umps and crystal cl

us t e r s

compress a ~ m i s t

of grey Grinded

Upon our Pleasure With her p i i l g t a nature she adds+ little more

“I want to my ballerina ” d c e d c e a n a n

OMEN

86

class so i four

and o - - > ff > > she d c e a n s

her s w a y on her browned cl t r us e

m*e!s-s ,

my gaze

far ahead

of hers, b-e-d-d-e-n

d o w n

for her EY ES soft

- s poke n

That was her.

My whisp..ered d rea

m…

OMEN

87

dotations

Sickened on repeat vision when HATE failed my Protection so d o w n she went in t pp s o l e Jill d O W h N the i l l “Ayaeeeeeeek!” even cute as CRASH she came…

Her snow now appeals me

a lonely

Abandoned

OMEN

88

class so i fourBecause today lot white looks to me – a dessert – white oasis – block rocked structure in the land I am here,

still judged two-bit town

Persecute me to her death Damned as Satan’s pleasure Wicca, SLAP my face

“O Lady Lights,” I say as others watch

me s p o

o l

fooLish pass er bys

But I continue my write anyway “ Freud, he loved us together,”

w a l k i n g to my freezer dεmon cold

“Call her voice back…” and she responds, willing her sexual

u n

o c u b e the ways we b nn y

b u m m ble d

OMEN

89

dotations

“Fuck me! You fuck me so good!” diaphragm d r i v e n the best fucks I ever had a w-a-f-t of cool air flushes at my skin as I release the suction tight. The condition is bruised yellow beaten for my love of her baby nature.

Our play

Never would I push her to f a l

l into love sway natural, surreal unbelieved to be dreamed “O God!”

the \jolt\ surge that pierced her eyes solid passed So I carried her home I pull out b – u – t – c – h – e – r – e – d parts Of ever true devotion For my daily Inspection

Let the ice melt my Skin and hold her Labia to my chest

Another day where my love has not freezer burn

OMEN

90

class so i four

Lovin’ Honkey

Log millin’Ball grabbin’Honkey tonkRedneck you

Picked me upBar nightOnly banding through

But beautiful badboy youLeather wildin’Your chapsSticking atMy moistened lips

Belchin’ theAlphabetlike only trucker you

At the diner:Grillin’ bythe waitress,me.

OMAN

91

5 − ϑΥΣΤ ΩΗΑΤ ΑΜ Ι τρψινγ ΤΟ ΣΑΨ?

92

Cuntseek five

?From: Kate To: ~ AnitaHotty Subject: Re: You are a writer ~ surrender to the passion within Date: Wed, 11 Jan 2006 12:29:21 -0700 Dear Anita, I believe that your poetry springs from a genuine and heartfelt center - the expressions are extremely powerful. While believing that, they are disturbing to me because it makes me wonder if you have experienced the kind of abuse you are writing about. The pain and anger that reeks from your words is perhaps too strong for me because I know you and hate to think of someone as dear and sweet as you suffering as your narrator describes. It would be trite and thoughtless of me to discuss structure and mechanics because of what I feel. You are definitely communicating with me, but just what you are trying to say, I’m not sure. Love, Kate

REAL

93

jυστ ωηατ αµ ι τρψινγ το σαψ

Mary Had a Little Daughter

Mary Had a Little DaughterWhose piece was as pure as snowBut wherever her daughter wentHer father was sure to go

To Parties he’d take her escortTo school and then back to homeEverywhere Marry went alwaysNever was she left alone

He would follow in vehiclesChauffer friends in parkwood mallsWherever his Marry would beEven personal bath stalls

Some neighbors worried their gossips“Her daddy sure is obsessed,”But Mother Mary would reply,“Daddies always know best.”

Little Marry’s Mother knew wellFrom a sad past of her ownThat wherever daddies belongDaughters must hide and follow

She was told to dress up daintyHow to comb and wash her hair“You are little daddy’s daughter”Oppressed secrets theirs to share

Their Christian neighbors prayed from booksSpoke only amongst themselvesNo one called Shepards’ protectionsOr the safety’s services

Mother Mary’s Little ChildGrew up in religious waysShe was taught sex as forbiddenThat Little Daughters obey

And never did Virgin MarryDeflower her fleece so pureFor Mother let Marry’s DaddyChastise Marry as she grew

RAPE

94

Cuntseek five

SlipKnot

The Rumors are flying. They say we and me and miney moe. I caught that tigger by the toe –

Last night…

Last night I was in my bed. You hovered, swiveled and vined your way into my devil nectar.

Taunt. Taunt. Taunt me.

Nasty Queen.

You are mine to be seenIn silken sheetsDawn over you with the grace of doves

Vixen? Vixen? Can you hear me calling for you my dear vixen?Please, I beckon you to teach me the ways of oral pleasure…

The Rumors are flying. They say we are one of each other. I lash out with the vengeance of a mighty whore!! Disciplined, but worn. Staggered but brace.

Declaration: Scorn me notFor revolution of mindCock in my hand You will findScorn me notFor hunger and lornJoin in lust All adorn

Rumors?

Embrace me.

ROAR

95

jυστ ωηατ αµ ι τρψινγ το σαψ

Merry Kissmas Tonght I wish I wish world cause, I wonder peace will so far? Up up passion so high, Like a human vulnerable, why? Think a little. Think a little. How these, my wonders, ~ oh thine

REST

96

Cuntseek five

Stepping Stone and Food C – h –a- i- n

Rats in a maze. You know me? Ya. You think you know me. Insist that you do.

Your ignorance amuses me.

Blunt and stated. Point blank with shotgun in face. My black powder puff intimidates you.

No. No. You won’t admit the responsibility of self.

I can make a difference. I do everyday. Some shy away. Easier to complain. Harder to do.

Will you admit your avoidance ? – Your self gratitude? Has the ID taken control? Your white flag waving amidst the hurriedness of traffic.

I am one person fearful of my own reflection. Whispers and hushes…Are you laughing at me? Are you smirking with curled lip behind my back? Who? Who? I ask with a ghost-haunted sigh. My eyes close inside.

Just a rat in a maze? you say. How dare you minimize!! The gall! The audacity!! I command the chain to abide by my selfish nature.

No. No. I won’t admit this to myself. I know me better than anyone.

RUMP

97

jυστ ωηατ αµ ι τρψινγ το σαψ

H a I r C raze d !

Always my delightYour invites my mindFuture rendezvouszane me buffoon

My caresses wildtumbleweed hairWalking up flightsFor lick at my chops

You like me? I’m hairyMasculine my disguiseShivers slut RightI’m fucking Miller

Clop at my echoup ‘rotic flightDeodorant tonguePushes my upsent

Miller fillersOpens air juiced holeI’m upping paceHoles my assing behind

Puff out tits sproutingtheir curlsPluck them notAnd faster I go!

Darken shadow humpsbuttocks togetherYet lick anal ‘roidJuices my pace

Level at threeTwo steps a trallopSlashes lust‘Tween eyes of my brow

‘Stach at gashWetness circles entwineIf hairs from my ears

RISE

98

Cuntseek fiveNever would mind

I love him?Don’t askBut hairied I runApples - sins leave, yes!

Inhales at breathcecilia my flareBut enter to tongue meshakens long strides

Spin at headlike fabricDogging my lap ½ more approof

Fetish me feetFor almost I’m therePiano clink shoeshineStand. I’m at door.

Bang, almost poundBash barrierBut dingles I ringRight bracer tenses:

DingDingDing

He told heart over...

DingDing

“Lost love you”Curses his judgeRejected Told “asshole” no return.

ZombieDing Ding

Stand but I do.

RISE

99

jυστ ωηατ αµ ι τρψινγ το σαψLike rain at head Tear pubil fantasyBut I need him ‘gain

No cell, without contactFuck tumors at head!Stand. Sit. Crouch. Sleep.I wait.

Hours so passTick tockTippety tock

Ding DingDingle Dings

Apartment DoorDoesn’t answer meNo more“Love is dead”

Speaks Apartment Number fourwith her two black childrentugging “mommy? she’s back”And she polites me away

RISE

100

Cuntseek fiveProphesies

I

¿have secretly prided myself in my

class

subtle class – the

class

Unlike

those motivated by selfless helpfulness, although mine lingers apparent to myself as greedy selfish internal praise.

These things begin to drain out * ~

§

the

¤Whonh. Whonh. Whonh. Whonh.

Whonh. Whonh.Of teacher Charlie Brown.

I did not get it.

His

metamorphasis just was not making sense.

ROAM

101

jυστ ωηατ αµ ι τρψινγ το σαψ

NudistFriends

Adorable how from hardeningswhimper limperings?

E’s of letters plastered upon her faceWho is your lady portrait?Do you love her, always? Yes? “I trust you well to ‘stablish ourselves”

She strikes me

Breasts of rockHands hippening her curvature dipsWith stretched thinned bottomto smile me

Your naturalist couplingMelt selves sexually?Boundaries firm?Peace words if lust pushes itself?

conversed certifying seals vowed ever true?

Before this rendezvous:View my profileAnd you contact me

ROCK

102

Cuntseek fiveTo all the bastards I’ve loved before…

I am inspired by past lovers to tell you a bit about myself.

I don’t think I’m much of a smart girl. I know I am. I’ve worked hard to get to this place - to the place where I can actually tolerate a man.

I mean, don’t you ever find that they just aren’t classy enough? They just aren’t doing much for you? One dinner. Perhaps?! And somehow he believes that will be enough. Doubtful, don’t you think?

So just how is someone as active as myself, trapped in a city I can’t stand – how can I tolerate such imbeciles, if only to satisfy my sexual cravings?

Let’s just say these are my secrets…My secrets about myself…These tight-lipped confessions I give - - to love all those who have once loved a bastard, if not to at least protect yourself from any potential predators…

Question & Answer:

Quest Some:I do have quite the fancy for juicy cock. Perhaps it’s that rock solid feel that drives me the most. I did that!! I commanded that motherfuck! I pull the trigger; bulldoze the earth; torpedo the missile. Just us. And we fuck. That simple.

But then they want to talk. Maybe even snuggle. How do you get that monkey off your back? Shake your shoulders wildly? Or not so subtly push him off the bed, demanding him to leave now that you are done with him?

And Swear:Look. I’ll tell you right now the latter ain’t the way to go. And if you shake any more it’ll make your titties jiggle, only encouraging him to stay!!

No. You need to love him in ways that fool his superiority. This way you get the best from him. You care not for him – but for his fuck. So, ya, if you want the best fuck, stroke the ego and let’er buck!!

: Or How About I Buddha Your Big Bad Buddha Behind?

Wise the wisdom of the wistful Wiseacre, wishBoning what he

RANT

103

jυστ ωηατ αµ ι τρψινγ το σαψWill not Withhold.

You want the Wiseacre? Can’t help yourself to the ‘bad boy’ draw? His leather jacket or his Harley hop hard in the sack? Buys you drinks. Tells you look pretty for pink in a round of that stink eau d’uh mink? Fuck, just can’t help to expend asshole shopping in the local meat market, shaking your behind so fine to get him to fucking love you? Where are you, girlfriend? -in this man-fucked world? To the capital! my letters I’ll Buddha: The Blunt’s Bad. Figure it this, play the con. You know, fuck the fucker fine.

Con the love in, but cunt it cool.

…Or did I fuck Buddha and spell it too clear? Wise Wiseacre, Boning Will Withold

Dear Doctor O’ I have an itchy rash. It rubs me wrong, irritates night and day, infects others, but wets me right when scratched inside. The thing changes color based on stimulation to my infected areas. I find the experience revolting when the ooze secrets itself but relieves me when thoroughly cleansed with warm saturation. I am sure the cause roots to a bacterial infection. I have tried a number of remedies. Cold Cough Fluid. Warm compress. Headache Relivers. TrYthemAll Pills. Electra Impulses. Phallic Supplements. UrethraMyScene MenForOccasions. Pick-a-million MenInAddictions. Cream Rubs. Liquid Drops. Counseling Cummunications [in case it was a masturbatory thing]. Butt it seems no matter what I try, I cunt get that itchy rash to go away!~

O’ Doctor O’tell me how I can rid myself of this nasty itch? Signed, Itching to rid the Itch

--------------------------

Dearest Itchy, I hear you Bitching about your itchy itch. You tell me you Cold Coughed some Fluid. Compressed yourself warm. Relived a few Headaches. And tried lust of pills. You had a few Electra Idpulses. Some Dildo Supplements. MenInNeed that did not relieve your bacterial infections. Maybe some ‘Self Applicated’ Rubs ‘with’ liquid drops? Then finally, mental cummings?

RANT

104

Cuntseek five Honey, look. I’m here to relieve the itch. It’s your Ginch! Give him the pinch! Fuck him! Be gone! And don’t ever look back unless you can fuck him out love. Don’t fool your infection, ‘cuz you’re sick if you don’t!

Always, When you ‘Nita Doctor O’

So are you starting to get what I’m all about? You getting to know me quite yet? I really do want to protect all my fellow cunts. Can’t stand the skank in a man! I’m a strong broad! I know I am! And I’m telling you straight how to fuck each one great! Sign that one on their rotted fate!

I’ll entertain you with one last Breakdown:

Yo Yo Yo Baby PopI’m here to give Bliss

Better fuck LotsI recommend do this

Fuck that humpAnd love will be a bitch!

Yes Yes Yes Cream It LoudFuck him with Kisses!

Wetter fuck getsWhen fucking, then diss

Hump off, Fuck right backIf he’s just a dick!

No No No So Caught UpTake for what it is

Fuck each time BetterWhen lovers are ditchedHump with protections

And fuck when Love’s rich!

Try that melody for size, sing it up and TempoWhore the Pace. Sing your Voice Loud & Proud!

Now, I’m fuckin’ outta here!~

RANT

105

jυστ ωηατ αµ ι τρψινγ το σαψ

Freudian…Confession

I love you. I mock you. I spit in your face. Freud is guiding me now in my dribble drabble –

ruthlessly savage I obey him … Yes, it is true. I wanted to fuck my father → Tuesday.

RISK

106

Cuntseek five

Parameters unknown,

Sex requested conquest

coalesced

in a kendall equation

Correlatated a test:

If you Wolfowitz 1942 behaviors

Underlying my variable meanings

Will your assumptions standardize

The computation of your assumptions?

RATE

107

6 – ‘isms’ d’autre espce

108

cummer six

A lcoholic

Cock back guzzlesBreast push commercial

To arouse my ‘ismAnd turn me anonymous

MORE

109

‘isms’ d’autre espÈce

Nostic IV x 2

Polar BiPolarYou waver me downSometimes I’m happySometimes I frown

Unaware so uncertainPod open splitsSometimes I’m classSometimes I’m ditz

Alzheimer Remind meMy past o’ dementSometimes I canSometimes I can’t

Substance induce meWhile I maladaptSometimes escapeSometimes I’m trapped

M-m-motor my st – stutterC – c – com – mun – i – i - cation’s orderFluency disturbanceSometimes disorders

Depression ConfessionCan’t up from my bedSometimes forget meI wish I were dead

Manic when Panic sweatsSometimes my fearsChest choking distressCrowding me here

Personally, my personPersonalities my functionYou tell me it’s my faultBut I deviate your symptom

MESS

110

cummer sixEntried: Three Days in Vancouver

What if we belonged to faces void of projections? The ‘snap snap’ I would bleed for, but nothing to match what I feel. I engage myself watching these people in their foreign conversations. I look to see if it’s true. And – sure enough – there appears to be nothing direct, no meeting of the eyes, yet still lively in smiles. I am uncertain. Am I reading this right? Fine lines of tiny building blocks chatter as tongues pronounce vocals. I continue thoughts for myself…

So I wonder. Can I faithfully hold to what I now define my vanity? That I am such a predictor of energy all I need do is look into the eyes and understand their worlds? I pride these – my self-reflections, my desire to fight the vanities I seem to be running toward.

‘Snap Snap.’ Let my hungry eyes devour the ‘snap snap lens.’ How? I’ve asked myself this many a time. Just how could it be? I’ve gained quite the esteem. And I wonder just what kind of ‘click clicky’ life is this?

My imagination wanders and once again I arrive for the ‘snap snap’ shots – Fired? Ooo[ps. That was a new one……………………………………………………….. » ‘snap snap’ shots firing away at my rusty old vintage. But I feel myself feeling beautiful, stubborn against mainstream despise for the ‘less than’ of their worlds, unless – of course – they are the truly weak → poverty-stricken, slave of muscle degenerating disease, corn pickers (you idiot – they don’t pick corn).

I do feel beautiful exposing myself as I am, imperfectly myself ~ pastoral style. Planter style ~ when I eat countertop droppings. No shame ‘til I hit it main.’1 I feel beautiful ~ strong and beautiful even with my frightful legs in butterfly shivers. I walked in a ‘clog.’ I felt worlds invade me – eyes on my furried walkers. I feel the shame, embarrassings of ‘snap snap’ paparazzi’s ‘Snap Snap’ Ka-pow!Blazen rushes thrusting confusions, ecstatic honor, my surging sense of pride at odds with my own internal catching twenty-twos!

I’ve imagined the scene so many times. I’ve felt my heart passionate for world cause achieved in my never-ending battle of ‘posh posh’ against home humbling roots. I work hard to keep this all in check, disciplining myself even in my own make-believe truths.

My defiance kicks in and I blurt out now: “I’m going to do it!! Sure I

MACK

111

‘isms’ d’autre espÈceam!!” Faces upon faces I make contact with. One freckled lady looks perturbed from my distraction. Two chattering-eyed avoidances connect this time. Another most striking – the woman with simple glasses who looks my way, then absent as if to protect me from my own self. A few more quick reactions nip me; none worth mentioning.

My companion tells me the time is present. I package up my belongings in one gulp whisk and gladly escape into new faces, busy in their hustling and bustlings. A sharp blast of cold snaps my vulnerable neck and blows wind at my brave face. I enter into another cluster of projections, following behind in my friend’s comfort.

“You hungry?” he asks as we are passing ‘CoINs For food.’ “Right here.” I turn my head to the left and make my entrance into the sheik ware of a once established scene. Desolation wonders me into my journalist curiosities: How’s business going Max? Max? Well, maybe his name is Max. I go where my mate goes. He’s been paying my way all trip so I feel obligated to waggle my way behind him as a good little man’s o’ faithful.

I feel a wash of dismay to only brush it away into new play. I remember unworn draperies. So move we go to our new booth home - - Vagabond with excess luggage. O’ how I could use a caddy about now. Caddy me escort. My companion is irritated I am sure, perhaps more so with complexities overted? He does nothing to ease me with his reassurances that all is fine.

I open my bags and grab the one outfit never yet wore on this that three-day venture. Shall I arrive soon to my trapped home with a class of upper sophistication? With keys in hand, I undress in a locked room of stalls. My preference would have been to dress out front this private place but my go-with-the-flow disciplines a whipping of good girl from the Bad Girl Bronx. Ya, right! smirks I. I step out with bra, pick my spot. Excited and quick is my padded makeover. The man tabled at me notices nothing, not a thrilled voyeurism for a fitting hiked dress. Too bad for him.

Clip clop. Clip clop. Quick ‘click’ clip clop flashes at me. Tongues hanging twisted are these reactions that admire externally. I hold myself tall down the runway hall. Eyes ‘snap’ at me. All at me now; not for legs, but for sleek seventies in category blue.

I own this Lady of Defiance. Hold my own. Hard. Fought dignity gulps back dirty boy swimmers2, all for the sake of whispers – my signature so sweetly whispered. Too bad for him. So, too bad for him. He

MACK

112

cummer sixreturns to his crepe meal.

I’m still odd-whimmed her words that day? Awkward and ‘clog.’ My visions of spontaneous fun aid me toward my next-step-way to ‘Famous La La Land’ ambitions. People projectorates and mockers behind back I am sure – I believe though…Even when weak and timid I consume ravenous faith. I will and I can! I’ll fight ‘til dying day!

Ye Rage!!

Cigars and slurs picture it now: Lap-topped her business when I walk in. Model eyes scrutinize me. I respond to her Unwanted Wanted signs posted for petite, young and only the serious. Gawd! Pretty in pink stilettos. This heavy head rolls back and forth at my ridicule. I gawk a laugh of good ol’ days reunion. Like a clog, I shake. Just like a clog.

“Let’s go,” and our meals are done. Off now to airport we fly – we fly. Taxi cab. Taxi man. In and out crawls and crawls passing by. One quick in out to the café before fly zoom here I am. From airport to plane faces, no names. And once again, wayward projections consigned.

‘Click click’ flash flash I enter with excess and the occasional, “Oh honey, I’m sorry…” for bashing you with my red carpet baggage. Do you know who I am? vanities not yet mastered. [Not yet. But getting there - visions of conquered purpose dancing in my head]. Scuffle scuffle. I put my bags away, tame my vanities with present projections of periods passed.

I close my eyes back in time, eased by airline seating. Back into vivid dreams where dances of freedom were spirited to blood thirsty hours I could take no longer; To the black and mysterious ‘snap snap click’ flashes of a romanticized Quinto. I escape into the men who captured my cravings; To the high-healed pleasures experienced submissive with chair; To the maze of white crinklings wrapped around my body forever embraced by three men and a photo lens; To the Rebar street boy who engaged me into his gossiping confession of loving a woman primed in her thirties…I reflect on these memories three dayed an adventure. How my vanities pursed my lips. How I rose my nose snot nose snoot at the sound of my own heels clopping against painful surfaces of elite hotels, airports and city streets. My diva’d3 plan o’ pink black.

Yes. Vanities. The vanities that brought me here in the first place. I am reminded → What if we were void through our projections? Then perhaps invisible released cuffs caught in my act? → Flash Flash!

MACK

113

‘isms’ d’autre espÈceCan’t see me. Can they? Can they see? Do they know how prepared I discovered myself not to be – but still was? Did I find at least linkages vital for fame?

----

O’ here they return my vanities. Pause and hold. Strike a poise → NO! I insist I drown them out! Away and into stares at lives absorbed by novels and magazines, a baby’s sprouting mind perked over picket fenced seating and other such grassroot happenings.

Or…back into my naked sauna sexcapade with an adoring host? Back into my mind snap snap naked midnight on heels. I posed for him. Could have been for another? May have or not have been much the same? Does a lady’s back instinctively arch when posed high-heeled? I become wet alone along the aisle. Quinto? I call out and reply grounded to extinguish vanities: NO! … But yes, maybe? Maybe when we may have met four o’ at the café across town. O,’ how I should have better managed my time…

I desperately redneck for more…Would he have photographed me? Been an attractive man? One who explored unclean at me unlike the boy before my photographer friend? Or the boy after him? The one I rolled next to and asked, “Would you have been dirtier?” O. I sigh at my vanity for variety.

Open. Open my recollections. Open. He wanted me wide and they opened. O’ how he liked the little cock of my clit, opened by my parting. A sudden SLAP! I clasp over my delighted ‘hotty’ smile. Yes. That’s right. I started it all. He scratched my back. I asked him to. So arousing, he tapped and tweaked and rubbed me – banana slide oozes caution: Slickery when wet. Men love me.

Vanities exist in these private faces? Hmmmmm…I am still playing with mine – fighting in a ring full of mud bikini bouncing pretties. Slickery dickery cock. His fingers slid ‘hind my dock. Perhaps if I had bothered myself with brainstormed ‘flash Flash’ Take it now and Where do you want me? Maybe we would have done more pictures? The one time I allow submissiveness…

Could have been Quinto? Why must I dream of Quinto? NO! Vanities. He’s a busy man. Could have met him four o’clock. Why not? No. Type him in: Possible Linkage. I ramble on to bedtime with Sashah. Twenty seven variety Sashah. Lips so sweet, his kisses. I kicked him out of bed muses myself. After his teasing beside our peek-a-boo

MACK

114

cummer sixcompanion I felt it best the boy be gone.

He was a loving boy. Not a good boy. Not a bad boy. A loving boy. Not whore boy. But a loving boy.

We exchanged numbers.

Plane so fast I return to my PG Cage, greet my happy friend. How come he is so happy to see me? annoys myself. I want to escape back. Back to dreams, my goals. To those people I thought as vampires, for they danced and danced so openly barred none for inhibitions. I want to return to them and love variety. My informant lover compliments me with their comments: “Who was she, pretty in pink? Who did I bundle so revealing in white?”

I enjoyed that November five, when unravels revealed my naked skin, my silk panties. Circles round and round ravels me back up into a pretty white bow. Those boys. Did they want me? The women? Would they have had me?

Or…to the day of arrival? My patient friend guiding me through downtown streets, humored by my pink mismatched fluff with harried legs and brown bog boots, yawned by yet another changeover to cover-girl Pretty Woman zip-ups over bended knee. I returned the next day thinking she had purposely avoided me. Canada stickers and apologies for ‘clog’ I slipped under her door.

Or…to my final eve where I longed and whored myself into photo friendzied ‘snap snap’ flash flash ‘click click clickies’? Hot from scratchings to heated fuckflings. I enjoyed my companion’s open requests, sure to spread myself wide upon return to welcoming ensnares of familiar faces and obligations; but of course, alone in my Queen Bed.

I could have extended my trip for a twenty more, but return I came – here. My trap: my vanitied dwelling full of fancied adornments with no place to go.

Vain. I am so vain to believe in myself, don’t you think? O’ these be my projections. I am glad my happy friend walks ahead of me. I wish not for him to see my void face, although I still believe. I disagree

MACK

115

‘isms’ d’autre espÈcewith agency number one, insecuring me that ‘snap snap’ is no place for self-esteem.

Clip clop ‘snap!’ asserts my poise. I look to my business card linkages and vow a less spontaneous adventure. Three days in Vancouver did not seem quite enough time to explore myself.

MACK

116

cummer six

A Lonely Man

What are you wearing?What texture is it? soft, silky. Is it smooth?Mind? May I touch? to feel you – ah (fumbles)You – Hints of you under thefabric that lacesyour skin?

May this poor blind maninch closer to smell your breath?Your odor? * (sniffs) *Even from this distance, you linger.

May I? Could I possibly touch your fabric?Or – (stumbles)taste the dripsof sweat as you moveover me? Tonight.

May I? (anxious) touch to your undergarment and feel it slide along you?Would you mind? (hesitation) Would it be okay?Just to touch you without you being afraid?(shame)

MIME

117

‘isms’ d’autre espÈceLeft. Swept. Depth.

The domesticated icon created in God’s image… offered a drink as he sat next to me. I had no time to escape or perhaps even the desire. Regardless, the bar stool warned me with an offensive squishing noise. The cultivated construct looked at me with only a quick flash of embarrassment and recovered with a forced brainwashed spread pair of lips. He was Saved - Saved by his crowd jeering score or so he cocked his head at me.

A drink? Sure. Why not? I was feeling rather desperate. Bored.

With a concealed yawn, I nodded my head. He smiled salesman success, directing the bartender to command to his insecure power. The muscled heave, being it his job, obliged with sloppy pours, rehearsed agreement and ended with clunked glass upon useless coaster. “Thanks for the drink,” I dryly accommodated. The religious symbol extended a ten, cockily adding, “Keep the change.”

“You come around here often?” Another night at the Roxberry. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother?

“All the time.” My honesty sickened a heaviness within my chest.

We spoke about nothing for hours upon hours. His voice sucked energy from me. I swore I could feel the wrinkles of my face impel deeper into my skin. Yes, another night at the Roxberry .

Whatever happened to the short miniskirts and my long legs glistening in the sunlight? Whatever happened to the angry parents frustrated by the incessant pesterings of my lovesick fools? They would call my name, “Jeannine…Phone,” with a certain level of jealous annoyance. Then before handing the receiver they would warn me, “Not too long!” and smile, roughing my hair as I would bark back with love, “Ya. Ya. Ya.” Oh, my – whatever happened to those days? Yesterday’s mirror image of my wrinkled sacks haunt me.

“Let’s go to my place,” was the unoriginality of my life. Inside I was met with irked relief. I prepared myself for another repeat evening. God, I hope he fucks better than he talks.

Strangely, he offered me his hand down from the stool. Air erased the indent of my saddened ass. Dismal, I thought. My life is so pathetically dismal. But sex was like a curse that guided my every move. And I needed it tonight, perhaps even worse than any other night…

MUFF

118

cummer six

My daughter died. She was only thirty-one. And my only true love…The rest were just ways to pass the time…

So his monotonous tone droned out the crowd as they queerly parted seas to lead us to the safety of the revolving exit/entrance of my life. For the past sixteen years…I was an even uglier version of Norm. I thought to be wise and ask him for my favorite white aphrodisiac. But he did not hear me and the door opened wildly into a great breeze. My grey-blonde hair reacted violently in the cold scolding slap of wind.

Godzilla wrapped his arms alarmingly fervent and quick around my upper body. His strength contradicted his endless ramblings of computer programming…mega bites of dust mights and megahertz of droned falsified adoration. I megabit and megahurt all evening. But this? Suddenly my flower burst as my tulips blossomed a sweet spit of nectar - this being the only youthful spot about me; I felt the need to repeatedly exercise these two lips on nights of heavy whiskey reminders of the evening before.

He carried my stagger while my awkward feet attempted to click my heals on the pavement each at the right time and in the right way. But my walk was drunk. And I had come to the point that even I could not deny my addictions.

“A cigarette,” I murmured as I pushed him to the side to foul through my leopard skin, shaking my tassels left and right, up and down, round and round. My head spinned. I took the dirty habit from the pouch and lit it at my lip. The forceful turbulence still bounced ferociously at my locks causing me to nearly light my hair. I laughed mockingly at my own patheticness.

“Where’s your car? You have a car, don’t you?” Spit slopped out carelessly.

He fumbled silver into the tight hole of a slick black corvette. Ooooo. Fancy, I jealously mocked in my own mind, but caught myself looking up at the side of the dull face in new light – a flashing Motel light blinking to be exact. New faces shocked me with every brief blaze. Boring to rich. Boring to rich. Asshole to rich. Asshole to rich. Perhaps computer programming is fucking hotter than I ever gave it credit for? I smoothed my way into cool leather and allowed him to close the door. His vanity returned in flourishes as he bragged about his failed marriage and missing children.

MUFF

119

‘isms’ d’autre espÈce

MUFF

120

cummer sixOh, my sweet Christina. Muddied pigtails at age seven; battered Pollyanna in hand (my mischievous monster – her favorite companion, Pollyanna). I remembered her giggles, telling me how she pushed Johnny in a mud puddle. Then to the struggling actress, waitress, two-time divorcée (in my mind, they were always his fault for my baby could do no wrong). O, My sweet Christina just yesterday. My dead Christina today.

He drove. I listened. I slurred internally, Ask questions and show interest in answers: reminder to self – Check. Check.

Oh, Christina. Save me Christina, begged my plea as I turned to the reflection of my darkened droops. I wanted to let them all out, but chose to light another cigarette. “Mind?” I asked as though I cared.

He buzzed the car faster with a rev of immaturity. I have had my share of children bad asses but they never cease to amaze me. I robbed my purse and pulled out Mickey Jack, turning my head for a little tip of cock back. His rev was an elderly wisdom long rehearsed. I droned away an empty gulp. My cheeks aged gravitational force. I hated the tense of my throat and the gut of my pain.

Sex would be good for me, I wilted as the whiz of city life throbbed its pound at my sculled hollow. Sex ‘n’ brains were a secret of mine although my finger gems wheeled them in every time. Inheritance had its privileges. Charge card my Norm call redial, buzzed static on endless end.

My darling Christina traited assertion. I grew to respect but never measured up to my adoration for her.

The drunken slosh secretly sipping choked aged lungs and horked into my own beverage. Don’t ask me how.

The Computer God flexed his muscle and flashed me his Roxberry Billion brights. He was a non-smoker. My miserable mind zoned its reaction as I secretly longed to blow my foul odor in his face. But my bitter age still controlled my envy. I hated my eyes on his genitalia. But I placed my wrinkled frailty there.

His castle was opened with gates as he silently sneaked his boastful engine onto the grounds. “Where are we?” I was thankful for the reminder of wealth to appease my patience. His habitat was a mansion of arousal pulsating a flashing red; Caution: Dirty Crossing.

MUFF

121

‘isms’ d’autre espÈceSpot lights trainbuzzed their slow motion. My hand long removed wiped the silent tear from my eye. Let it be my only one this night. I tasted my salt block flavor as a rotten way to thrill myself. I was sickened by my ragged wag for fuck-my-tail, but I coaxed myself anyway. My resources had been depleting over the years, feeding my lonely existence. His rippling mounded grizzle was suddenly re-acknowledged.

Shit? I thought. Fumbles tumbled letters in my head: I twink dis one’s really a petty pwitty pussytwat?

“Slosh slosh,” wheezed my rounded rippled bloat. I tweaked a fart old lady out-clenched from my ass. I giggled my embarrassment while I exited to his scurried open door escort. My slop slosh became the perfect excuse for no explanations. Rags are dirty.

To my surprise, he skirted me boldly to the side and against the sleek of his metallic shine. My balance wobbled itself: Frailty on Heels. I Elvis-weighted my crumpled lip and dollar-signed the spread of my legs as I creaked my neck back and awed the cream-colored pillars entranced by the lead of lady-draped spread. So much wiser, I droned inside.

Christina was an architect by profession. She could have been his lover. I felt a sharp shame of being caught in the act, apologizing for what yesterdays have monotonized everyday. A sick pathetic Norm felt the pinch of a fingernail scratch into my decayed integrity. My vagina disgorged its wallow. I saw my traveling reflection, dark and gloomy. I circled my own flattened mats and felt the upside down heavy roll into the back of my skeletal sockets. I was glad to fuck him.

His computed muscles hoistered an unexpected youth into steady arms. “What the fuh-?” I caught myself in a convulsed husky swamp of a laugh. My leopard tassels whipped a sloppy drunken romance that made no sense for the moment of my life. I guilted my Christina back because it was too soon not to miss her. I aged a rotten relief and reminded myself of my bag lady curse. My game was to widow my existence with a closet of old lady 80’s style to Wicked Witch the rags that rob the riches. I floppily feared savior, “Will he reveal my game?” as I blurred my vision into two blue computer chips.

Christina was corporate class. I reared her a grave distance that she never once complained about. She was an icon heart in the elitist community, raised around caddies and caviar. “A doctor in a way keeps the money worries away,” miseried a heavied smile as expected

MUFF

122

cummer sixhauntings despaired the reality of no more Christine. Now I wondered if she took to her mother’s advice?

Marriage number two granted me three grandchildren. But my haggard heave hidden inside-out sourced my addictions. “I want some coke,” I mumbled into his sleeve.

He sat me on cream leather and clicked a smooth television from out his modern wall. My nose snotted a cocaine thirst as though the bianca lighted me a better time. I crotched my legs and lapped at my purse for a mirage of white. Desperation promised me a better tomorrow that my own immediacy accepted as fatefully (and repetitiously) broken. God, I am too old for this. The decay of my rancid existence reminded me that I was an ugly fifty-something…And Christina was dead. Just fucking dead.

“I want cocaine,” I said again as I heard the knock of my hand smash beside me. I did not care what I destroyed, but hiccupped and apology anyway.

Head lopping moments later, God’s arrogance re-entered the room as he compared me to his issues. She was twenty-eight. He was thirty-eight. She was an accountant. He was a computer programmer. A match made in heaven. I hiccupped my frumped snort and admired the pleasures money did buy as I fingered my shiny spread. Then I itched my delirium at the cluster of make-up, cologned business cards laced with late night memories, condoms for the fuck-in-case and other various knick-knacks. This was my deception meant to fool myself into remembering as many as I could, although the passing of days faded my receptive triggers. The keepsakes turned me on when no one was looking and I wish they would.

His nose whistles as he breathes and his teacher Whonh. Whonh. Whonh. Whonh. Whonh. Whonh. is making my crust itch. I was an eNormous repulsion.

This time I did not care what he saw and I took my drink. All this time realized my own thoughts; Why the fuck is he so nice anyway? Computer drone swept the last of his line to imagine a clean slick snort like cock hitting the spot.

But he sidetracked my thoughts and rubbed the handle so my granny ginch pushed over to the side. How does he know this prune shrivels for any love of affection? The holy man crucified me to only half the cross, torturistically thrusting into my blazing vagina. Screaming.

MUFF

123

‘isms’ d’autre espÈceScreaming. Screaming for less. Screaming for more. He rammed death into my depth.

I hated Christina as I blamed her for my sex and I let him fuck me with his household maintenance. I moaned my worn willingness and fucked at Hallowe’en experience as though I fucked brooms all the time. Why does none of this surprise me? I sloshed an accepted shame into my sorry state. He was fucking my pains away and this made my temporary fix.

I fucked his stick as though he was not even there and grunged into the motion of whatever the fuck it was that came at my ass at the same time. I hated being alive and fucked with the image of the heroine rush blasting into my envy for a Christina life.

She was my daughter yesterday. Tonight she is my dead existence.

I started to make out his words; “Your bitched body disgusts me.” His hand choked my throat and I felt the muscle power rip at my outdated blouse. But I did not care or even notice. The slow motion lights reminded me of my drive into plushed reasons lying to myself that I chose to be here for the money. The rape of my soul was effortless, as I have raped myself years and years of many reasons to drink another. Somehow in the heat of the moment my arm stretched and I grabbed at the reasons my laugh is husky. I twisted off the cap, laughing out loud as I felt the rip of the cleaning supply that does nothing to cleanse the skeletons in my closet.

He did not stop my drink, but he crucified at my hollowness and told me I was old. I was ugly. I was an alcoholic. He had no drugs for a rancid cougar like me, but he was the best fix to torment my sorry existence. God was guiding me into the bright light and somehow this man became my genius. I fucked harder at the vertical ribs and looped plastic.

Christina’s Pollyanna doll danced a lined pattern of Christmas decoration as a drunken high pretended to acid my imagination in the heat of sickened friction void of acknowledged inappropriateness. I could smell the alcohol on my own breath. I fucked away his insults as though I understood none of it meant anything anyway.

I pictured a love where submission bade no arguments and the whine of his Godly arrogance would comfort my emotions away. Off into the radiated sunset. I blinked away my blur and fucked the slut stick just that much harder.

MUFF

124

cummer six

Like hating God, I begged for rips because I could feel his scratch at the age of my rot. “Old and ugly!” he yelled as he rammed. I felt a punch into something rounded inside. I could never figure out what that internal ball was ever supposed to be? My ovary? If sex class didn’t force my eyes to the middle of my crotch, my shyness at the time might have been listening to the teacher.

I wanted him to stone me. But because I knew he was too Godly for my sin, I decided to spread my cellulite and let him figure the rest; I winded my clock leg window wiped and groaned my Jell-O rolls and bowling ball strings into the hardened texture of his cold floor.

I saw Christina walking into her corporate office wearing her monopolized smile. I never cared to believe the occasional stories I heard. Then I felt the painful pinch inject itself into my imagination for a veined syringe. I took to the stick to shake away my hate for whatever I became over all these years. How come everything feels better when my head aches a frozen heaviness?

I let my hands release themselves because I decided that my Mickey Jack needed to pay me another visit. “Where’s my purse?” I groped forward. God passed me the bottle as though he were my own Son? But I never had boys. Just Christina and dreams that faded when a business suit lessened the pennies that once earned me fake smiles and empty lies. Riches to Rags. So I unscrewed only the bottle, gurgled a coughed up-slurp and screwed myself back on. Another air ripple would have been perfect ceremony, but the stick fucked my plug although I felt my tummy grumble.

We congressed like this for a few more sips until my cum creamed its slop. I screamed my usual. He understood my completion. Of course his turn was next.

His kinky instructed his cock down my throated croak. I took it like the stick. But this time I let them all come out. Christina blubbered salivated froth and salted trails down my cheeks. I hated every evening I became. I hated the computerized Gods that calculated my diamond gems for my fucked satisfaction. I hated the age that withered my complexion and pulled the plug on my fountain. God’s cock deepened my bile and vomit flavor. But nothing mattered. Nothing ever mattered.

I knew my night was done when glob coated my insides. I swished the sweet rot of his prediction into myself and stopped my pity. He

MUFF

125

‘isms’ d’autre espÈcereminded me that I stunk of addiction and my years were rotten. I wanted to ask for another shame of cleanliness, but decided to leave the broom alone.

Why? Why? when my time was unNormally pathetic? The scythe should have heaved the last sickled breath for me.

The regular phone call was made. I had my impaled time on the stake. My crucifixion was sex-cesspool. I took the last of Jack with a creak-backed neck. The God handed me my tasseled baggage and sent me off in a whited cab that only reminded me of my next visit. “Did you just fuck me with a broom?” I asked after the programmer closed the door. He kissed me and took my number.

Strangely, that made my evening. I reminded myself he was rich – that he left me one clean sweep. The funeral was tomorrow. I wondered if the Roxberry God might even be there again? My life was too predictable.

MUFF

126

cummer sixThe Complex

Not a confused computerNot a difficult questionThe ComplexIs not as perplexingAs she first appears

Her stereo has been typed into twoBut she is not a secretaryNor a singerAlthough she is a PromoterAnd a Producer

She is contagious porousContracting sensuousInvisible to the Naked EyeBut is neither male nor female

Sometimes she sheds(Like the Invisible Man)Or breaks out in fits of evulsions(Visible for all to see)

She likes to shareWhen you wipe her bareShe is the hostessOf her guestsFriends & strangers BewareThe Buyer if the towel is wetOr you heavy her pet

Stigmas silence her spreadShames, Embarrassments,A sickness of dread

Like an impasse without a cureShe will never leave you,Just hang aroundAnd expose herself at her willYou will never knowHer time or how long she will stay

Stress could outbreak her cry She is sensory and virion

MOAN

127

‘isms’ d’autre espÈceA simplex siren

She gets on the defenseWhen she is infereron or antigenI’d say she’s a bit of a bitch

She is pathologicalBut not a liarUnless the owner Doners her secrets sequentially

She wears her genes A hundred plus too tightBut not becauseShe’s a slut of the night(although she just might be)

She is popular with the boysAlthough women are more susceptibleAnd boys often culprit the crime,Yet this crime is not criminalEven though she outbreaksQuite often within her first incarceration

Her suppression can be quite severeFor those who are not immune(But really > no one is)

She is a sore loserFor anyone who plays her gameTo condemn the protectionAnd risk inflaming her reaction:Her blistering fever,Her pissing burn,Her swollen threats, Or even that mild infectious bite.

The stats are highAlthough she is not an addictBut could be a druggie,A drinker, A manic nympho

She is judgedAlthough she is nonjudgmentalThat makes her a business suit,

MOAN

128

cummer sixA construction worker,A Finnished French loverA coward without faceThe gender has no race

You can whisper, “Sweet Baby”In her earAlthough this might rock the cradleAnd her baby will bear the seed

The solution is abstinenceFrom many people’s realityAlthough this is unrealistic

She offers no aidAlthough she AIDS the blameAnd aids very littleIn a pill or two

Her name S.T.anD.s as an abbreviation She is as complex as they getAlthough she riddles quite simple.

I would not recommend fucking her Full Blown, kissing her lips,Devouring sips,Sucking the Bone,Or lesioning her alone.

The Complex is SimplexThe cure is unknown.If you have herIf you’ve been with herYou have a duty to inform.

MOAN

129

7 - Torturings

130

coldcox seven

Morally Sleeps me Lonely

I bedden my sighDreaming of what might have beenHad I beenComplacent to your requestsOf bend overBackwards, forwardsSpread my upside veeAnd push into your rock

But your persistenceFor my voicelessnessLeft me feeling inadequatelyUnprepared to accept you

Saline streams Snot snifflesSubstancing my pillow

Another lonely eveAbandoned Me in response to My virtuous values

I lay my regret to restWith an upsetting sleep

Perhaps my voiceIs better silenced?

FLEE

131

torturingsBegging for his rturn

I raise my smell to my lips and inhale. Never have I known my stench to be so heavenly. My unlicensed husband used to wear my odor upon his face. I loved that. But he left me. I gave him my worn underwear as a token of my affection. He left me his full of holes. I scent myself to feel emotions so sad. I yearn for his return ~but not all the time...

My secret ploy is one so unordinary that most could not understand. I long for the ways he would devour my sexuality, and with time passed have come to appreciate the ways he would say anything to convince my legs to spread. So I have invited him to my home with the offer of videoed play. “We can make money,” I say, “doing the thing we most love.”

No words can I justifiably express as I repeat the gesture. Smells like fish. Tastes like chicken. Mine mesmerizes more alluring. Perhaps a lingering metallic taste converted olfactory, blended tuna, glued subtly hide eu LePage? The scent of a woman. How I wish myself deep against his face as we used to love one another those memories ago.

Before I came to my lonely keys, for they are all I have now, I was vivid in my bed. My eyes closed and heart calling. My funk came to be as I remembered our nightstand one wife and how she juiced her lips along the slide of his raw erection. Visions so free, my tongue rapidly tapped side to side as luscious bulbs pricked my lips. I saw myself watching – telling him what I wanted him to do, as I lopsidedly rubbed against the bone of my clit.

I have had many a man call him a fool. But they are all fools themselves. For so very few take the effort to lavish a lady. Do they open doors anymore? Date us romantically in our living rooms? “Where have all the gentlemen gone?” I chime them melodied.

I came from a moment alone, rubbing at my lady, calling out for him to devour her vagina and love her ass realistically – from the flooding slide that horned my fingers forth and back diagonal. I am dreamed into the ways he once loved my continuous waterfall supply. Now I inhale myself skinned animal.

“Not only did he leave me once. He left me twice,” and “He defines himself: asshole.” These are the lines I say. These are the lines I use in my agony to escape his hold over me. Our pattern is one hard

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FAIL

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torturingsto break, although I have strengthened myself to block e-mails and tomorrow phone calls. The purr of my furry kitten meows quietly young. I do not wish to let go. But his denied determined refusal rejects me into myself.

I formally invite him so desperately convinced that if only he stayed for my presence, he would fall victim to my trance once again. “This time won’t be like the last,” I plea and add my bargain, “You don’t have to love me, quit needles or tobacco addictions. My home is messy now. I smoke pot.” But none of my new life matters. His delusion has satisfied him well, I am sure he is convinced. He curses me for our past, as though the fault was all my own. Just as his failed faith refused me board games with owned boy mates, he continues to disbelieve my changing power of person - this renewed person I offer unworthy of his service or service in return. I would never again crown my merit – never again be idolized behind darkened shades. He vows there will be another greater than I could ever dream to be. And yet I cry out for him everyday within the walls of my head.

If only I say this or do that, perhaps again our love would flourish as the brook of my vagina? My pornograph encounter is but a lonely one. And my fingers scent me dismal empty.

He speaks to me as though my life photographs still. He wishes me to move forward in the arms of “nice guys” as though my encounters have been empty. But my life goes on…in fragrances that have lingered with other men...in the moments I reflect efforting to understand…in saled away garaged belongings and those stored for future “stilled” summers…in talents unknown previous to put downs insisting that I get a life…or the uptightedness of my nature tamed by a demeanor more chilled than I already was when we first met…in my literate erotic plans for publication…in adventures stilling me into captured poses resuméd for world peace….vocals of training to perform for live audiences…endless potential careers…Two years have gone by, my dear. Life does move on.

A young character sidetracks me positive. I wonder might he train well as a wild animal in my imbued forest? My offense gushes wafting strong from the seam of my jeans. I title him: photographer. Illuminations glowing aura around his presence lock into my mind. When divorce verbalized me abolished and condemned, I imagined myself idolized by an adoring photog. He would love me as his career and fame me as his most divine. I would be the center of his work as I was once the center of my ex husband’s world. He would keep me as his working aide, his partner and once again I could love in the

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coldcox sevencontinuous union of business, friend and lover partnership. I dream of him to love me doting the ways I am ‘customed.

We met Sunshine along the Coast when I Entried: Three Days in Vancouver. Although his identity I do not remember, he has drawn me over prettied mailed screens. I am enticed by glorious photographs of earth enriched accomplishments posed hotly bare-chested. He has welcomed me to him, judging me not for my openness to love plentitudes of others. I have confessed my pained torture for the man who once loved the perfume of my flower, yet my photog keeps contact with romantic desires. My royal personage met him free-spirited, naked my soul to share with his community companions, and yet he offers me no jealousies like the insecurities I have grown accustomed to. He entices me with limited judgments that were once customary and guilted to satisfy justified pleasures. He is my temporary “nice guy.”

Young at twenty-four concerns me that his passion lacks wisdom. I have sent to him the few photographs I have, hoping they entice him into masturbatory manipulations. I admit my desire for endless doting. In fact, I yearn for him to. Perhaps a new devotee will break me of my shackles?

Peek-a-boo: I miss you, my little rock ‘n roller.

Good luck and be on your merry way. Call again some day. Lift away the impasse.

And look up the word: imbue, referenced Bogus and Landau, page 354, headline “illustrative.”

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torturingsDerivatives

My tears dry their way,Creaking hinges against my back,Bleaching dull the love shineThat once drove the lineOn the wrong side of the road.Thelma and Louise Had nothing on Hillbilly Flee.And I keyware my lock,Now in lithium weak,Silvered white gone my hair,And worn trail carpeted woven pain.

I have placed you in my closet shoeboxWhere treasure chest monies drownAnd black powder revolvers loosen their grip.Pulp papers, browning the sepia fadeAnd my face ages insideSo the coil ceased its springAnd in waits lost freedom.

Film fades still shots and moving slide sex[with a little on the side for his]Inlet souls mortalize bottom-booted,Scuff marked, and unsturdied my luscious frame.

the new work of my creationare the drops that release lubricant derivatives

So onward comes to pass,Bleaching the love shineThat once rainbowed golden wildAnd unlocked the aura, grey-pure,Rather steady suffering,Weaved in boxed despair,Held under water for his faded devotion,Worn elder age, and eased depressions unending.

My projector masturbates apertureAnd the soul triesI mean, really triesTo wipe the friction and reframe the picket fenceOf our derivative nature when you phone,Cycling us nevermore revolving.

FOOL

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coldcox seven

Tears Bedden secret streamsHillbillied special for me,Fastening the fateWeakening of unstable excusesTo pay my silver white,Worn boxed,In debt,While shots blast [faint for only me]aging cautioned limitson roaming handsfreedom passed unsafe.

I know we fade,For lost love mortalizes youBottom-booted,Beaten, manipulatedIn movie scene romancesLubricating them allEverytime…Weeping me Recycled reasonsWritten in derivatives,

By me.

FOOL

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torturingsMy first Contempt

He tail jolted when my spitjuiced the floorand cried me,misunderstanding my urination

Behind backs and into earsLovers became slutsAnd contempt caved resentful

His coward crinkled my skinAnd hate crucified itself

Callings challengedTo defeat the infamous cuntAnd home I became unworthy for

Jealousies manifestedKilled him stabbings a numberFor the Bitch! I becameAnd the money worn prostitute

He fulfilled conning predictionsThat cried screams and silenced attemptsFor forgiven reconciliation

Womanized defensesUrged disclosures meant to hurtBut rock him bottom

Caldron realities temper flaredAnd open affections manipulated over

Superiorities confirmed themselvesCorrupt by money schemed addictionsAccredited to my cunt

Anger festered for fair reasonWhen hate imposed its griefAnd vowed resentful justice

Secret stirrings mixed themselves messages:Sex and money suckingsLies. Cheatings. What he takes.

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coldcox sevenVagabond pawnshops Fake licensed for his lack of responsibility

Images of notch post fuckingsMade furious for kinkied arousal Cock sucked Sick

First esposa spread aproned upBallerinaed love long fuckvotionBehind a wife’s back

Nagged accusations misconstruedTo culprit the victimIn her own home

The cock dreamed messages Felt scribed And returned to his holy unfaithfulness

The butter lips he took kitchen kiss & fondledDrunken when not lookingAnd naked in my face inflicted torture

The reasons for Driving him center streamBetween the eyes to knock him coldCould cum me over and over

Butter lipsBrook betrayed

AIDS Ass outcriedRomanticized credit crime

And those picket walls unknownCream the lather loathingOf Winter warningsBecause she has a good man now

Calm the corrected predictionsThat forewarned the fuck-infested futureEmbarrassed by parental guidance

Dream the inject flopped helplessFor slutted drug

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torturingsMercy to his satan

Tear the birthday balloonsForever cunt upon him

Queen cups blackened FidoOr the videoed webbings

Fear not to rock the boatThat may tip back port in tenUnless first he is dead

Love to hate the loveTo love himUnloved

Thoughts to the first time …

So Shock subsidedAnd BerlinCame to ban himBut bound him to fame

AnitaHotty was the givenAnd King crowned her first.

Forever sealed upon forgiveness,Fuck fame you!

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coldcox sevenAll the Breakdowns Billy Gave Me

Let me start you with the lyrics, “You’re so vain. You probably think this song is about you.” Had a guy come to my place. Peaked out the window before I opened the door in reds. “Oh. It’s him,” and I opens the door.

Tape measure, all neon to fool me. When I checked it out later, was only a 26er and didn’t even have the fractions. Shit measure.

What about the “No means no!!” Let that one get to the world. Need to British your ass!! Fuckin’ ignorant slut-produced mushroom boys!!

Crying on my floor like a broken sniveling baby. Your needy energies zapping life from our genuine souls. No surprise to me come these years: the roids, pills, poppers and rockers. Projecting your insecurities as though dutied to pass on your legacies.

Frightened in return by our own tears. Supposed friends shooing the guy along, “She’s fucking crazy,” your friend says. Just cuz you felt lonely for love.

The barbaric animal grunts do scare little girls into giggles amongst school chums. Hard to imagine some of ‘ems getting it up ‘da bums, like we have forgotten the cycles we went through. All ‘cause they come from our sperm bellies?

Or the vagueness of memory to recall only the subtleties of drunken nights. Your worst one the fart at his face, or the squeals from his ass?

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torturings

I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow this house down! Stranded with left bills, thrown to the redneck slaughter – that was my man, we hold our dreams. “When will the new lover come home?” knowing he will never be the one before.

FLIP

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coldcox seven

Leeching Lover Let Go

Massacre my Self EsteemBludgeon. Destroy.Mutilated. Poor me.

You do this.Why do it to me?Over and over. Repeatedly.

Stop. Stop. Please StopSucking the new life that I’ve got.

No. But you insist.Not enough. This sick pervert thirst to win the battles I fought.

Suck Suck. Energies from me.Why do it stillWhen it was you to have left me?

FUSS

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torturingsContempt the First Time

Pictured, my pain out eye pouringsNow his previous content photographs cruel

AlmostMy contact was madeTo send warning …

But Class dissuaded meAnd my Anger subsided …

Fluctuated …

We partied afterAlthough I did not want to

We loved afterAnd I enjoyed them

We held onBecause I fooled myself

We married angerAlthough I begged divorce …

Assholes, Sluts and JunkiesCunted my rejectionWhen contact made itselfIn endless apologies

We maddened our feverAnd jealousied our enviesThat were never there

Happy face watchesAnd lies of coolBrainwashed my moneyAnd left me for dead

MunchkinsAnd Stars for together dreamsWere never enough

So Videoed affairs

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coldcox sevenGranted ass fucking’s greatest statusAnd locked lines better Brook

Play wore sensualitiesRedeemed belt notch trophiesHe could always brag the boys

For forever feeding The used linesCreative time charmed over more women

The craft perfects himselfMonumental Formaldehyde StatusBecause he will fuck himself to deathIf no one saves him.

FOOF

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torturings

Rosebud

A rosebudDeadI hateIt bled

A babyIt criesI hateIt dies

The birdSoars high

I hateI lie

No truthI speakI hate

You’re weak

You leftI’m gone

I hateThe dawn

I lovedYou then

I hateAgain

FUMP

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coldcox seven

FUMP

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torturings

Grey-haired Grizzle

I was attacked by a grizzly bare.She tore at my limbs to satisfy her hunger, rubbed her ass on the tree stunk and made way with all my honey.

Sway you into the social

From erotic, your masturbations jerk rigorous(only if I have my way)For I am Hotty O’NitaAuthor divine, Social Sway

Open your mind with erotic illusionsAs you follow my life since passedFall victim to romantic delusionsInto greater social ghast

Where shall my introductions lureTo prepare you on your wayI offer you food for thoughtIn my journey Social Sway

Now I take from you My Torturings of AllureAnd shock you unsuspectinglyThis torturing so Demure…

FAME

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coldcox sevenGreen River

I look at the faces of pre-corpsed women. If you did not know the story, you’d think they were just a bunch of pretty faces. My heart gulps back a misunderstood pain. Not gut wrenching, just a light sense of sadness flooding a warmth with thoughts shocking and disbelieving.

I too was once a victim to another click of a channel. A meal with my family while we ate and listened to habituations drowning the ways we felt passion for the world. Floods, 911, burning buildings – the corporate wars. Grease drippings from my father’s lips as he spat particles of chicken, complaining about how expensive taxes are these days. I grew up a casualty of ignorance hypnotized by the gentle fuzz of pictures and sounds vibrating their ways into my subconscious.

But it’s so bred into me. Neigh shakes of my head work to own my fore, yet still I – with my strong social convictions – catch myself superficial to the ways these women look.

I sit now, absorbing countenance ~ disgusted at my actions: Beauteous, angry, young, posed, what brought them there? I know none of it matters. My essence drains me warm again, picturing the rock lodged in Marcia’s vagina. She would have been a young twenty-three this August passed.

I think about it for a while. How that must be? Those last moments of bedazzled hysteria? The helplessness and mettle? The core-curdling dread of remorseless, sadistic confrontation? The last face you see delighted by the act of killing. Oh no. Am I wrong for imagining this brutality? Internalized shame as if a sin in itself?

But I think we need to. We need to care when we hear stories of people who ran stop signs and killed our neighbor’s children. To take those silent moments of respected memorial. Reserve stages to remember and wonder. We need to re-sensitize ourselves in ways that guide us to daily wisdoms. Appreciations. For what we have. Not what we don’t.

Children go without food in their bellies. They work in fields of garbage nine to five. Their money earns them rice, barley – whatever they can afford for their family: mother, father, siblings. These children. Just children. The ones we protect from the persecutions of bullies who mock them for stains on their shirts. These are all our children. Our Vision for the World.

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torturingsSo here I sit alone in my home with a ripped-out Maxim article to my left. Blonde-dyed Nelson. Glared-out choler ~ What if she was my friend? What if she was the enemy I told to fuck off? I shake shivered emotions inside. Could I be the mother who wakes up every morning with that familiar hollow ache? Would I have been able to function in such pain? Would we ask ourselves the same question: Why her? Not me?

A phone message waits on my answering machine. Some girl I don’t know that well, telling me I am retarded, convinced that there is something wrong with me. And rather than anger, I react with the realities of pretty faces beside me.

“Debbie Abernathy. Amina Agisheff. Yvonne Antosh. Martina Authorlee. Mary Bello. Debra Bonner. Colleen Brockmann. Just seven of forty-nine women murdered by Gary Ridgeway. Another suspected forty-five or more. Leave a message after the beep.”

Credit: Mr. Wise, writer. Unknown to you the inspirations you have on others. I admire your talent.

FITE

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coldcox seven

Ain’t Nothin’ But a Porn Dog

Cunt lips lap herBow WowOn all foursAs slam ramBuddies High FivesBecause she fucksHarder than dry humpAnd semen spits Globbing her black furDog fuckingHer career

She’s a Star!

… Elvis hounds herWhile McSweeney’s Moe really howls Volumes best

FOES

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8 – Motherly Wisdoms,

Subliminally Sublime

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coysway eight

Define

Mother’s voiceSubliminally SublimeIs a quality

Moral SpiritualIntellectual

… Subsurface

HUGS

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motherly wisdoms, subliminallyAll in a Pushman’s Pay

Man down in rigsAin’t a pretty thingBlood limbedBoned out‘Testines twistedDressings cover to soaksplattered massWhile machinery projectshim missionary standing awkwardly shaped

I am crying while I know the heartpump of my handswill do nothingas the thick juice of his spillbubbles slick glob out in cough spits

“Rigs ‘s like war,”I think in delusional despairnervous for my lack of experience

I medic this manNever really knowinghis little pumplings’ names

1 - & - 2 - &

RTC?

Damn fuck RTC!Response for the Stars!

My rather is to package backGut mass neatly insideInstead of watch them hang like overcooked giant spaghettis

The boys macho as all’s been done beforeAll in another work day

But I’m on the service of well menwho’ve mastered years of blowoutsYears of egg-odored warningsBroken protrusions lost impactIn stories that never prepared me for this

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coysway eightI want to cryRun like little girl responseBoy stories laugh and anger themselvesBoth at the same time

But I know my title,I comfort inwards as the safety of pre-planrelieves me in ‘copter ‘peller whirlsspinning Tasmanian pirouettes

Weakened cough‘Companied by his confusedilating his brain deterioration

I tell them his story:Tubing jolts his positionHead turnedBeats of six faint unpromisingMechanism just that

The paraschooled alphabetizewhile I watch corner-eyedguilty for my intrusion

I ‘tempt to rush others awayFrom the chaos of lost brother loveDetermined to work the dayFor camaraderie’s sakeSick sake, for my thoughts

But i cannot protect them soon enoughand all I want is to wipethe up-spill from off his chinAs they close his lids down

My piggy brothers will drink tonightto remember

Then work tomorrow as though just another dayWhere limping legsfrozen fingersblistered feetinfected chinsmetallic slivers

Nothing – Nothing will deny the extra safety pointsthat add to the Push man’s pay

HUNG

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motherly wisdoms, subliminally

Rosepeddle Charm

With a rosepeddle on topI ask you for another cup of teaGranny Cane

Invite me into service your broken sewerand bank your booksfor my charities

Your aged sinceritiesaid you my tendered handwidowed openly unprotected

And I ask you for a biscuitButter baked by your beldam handsSeniled kindTo show me your treasured loomsSeeming to love me your son

Cookies sweeten The web night hoursSpent lady loving Gigolo styleWrinkled in retirementAnd life insurancesCaning their way to boil the waterAnd bake the apple pieCharmed for fluted movementVersed Luke twelve: thirty-fiveWith humbled honesAnd quilted questions Crannied trust estatesBedspread between layersOf undivided attention

Solemn solicitations of solicitous intentWhistles the kettle pour

With a heartstring harpGranny opens her pocketAnd signs forMy smile and her only company

“You look nice today”in flowered vintage not my styleand musty grandma smellsI can’t wait wills myPrerogative petals charmed.

HISS

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coysway eightWrong Number

A slight pounding throbbed against my right upper temporal. I had been pacing back and forth throughout the living room for the past hour. I ached to do something entertaining but could think of no one available to play with. The sun beckoned me to put on a bikini and take a walk down the beach, but my headache kept me locked in behind closed doors.

Oh, I am so bored, I sighed inwardly, casually glancing down to observe a trickle of sweat slowly traveling its way between my breasts. For whatever reason, that slow trail of sweat had a magnified sensation of sensual erotica. I raised my hand to the side of my head and rubbed, wishing it would alleviate the pounding pain. Sexual frustration coupled with the irritating effect of an unwanted pulsating reminded me of my past lover. I loved having sex with him, but he gave me a headache.

Another bead of sweat slyly found its way down to my bosom. I ached for a gentle caress, then a ruthless clawing of nails into my flesh. How I love it soft and sensual, and then rough and hard. Tell me you love me and then call me your bitch.

Just then the phone began to ring. “Hmmm…” I hummed internally. On the one hand I could be entertained by a little chitchat. On the other hand, tolerating conversation might intensify my angry head.

Who’s this? I wondered as I looked at the call display. I did not recognize the number.

“Hello?” I questioned after putting the receiver to my ear.

“Hi. Is Mark there?” asked a deep, haunting, mysterious voice. I had never heard such a hot and sexy voice before. Warm tingles instantly shot out from my lonely vagina.

“No. I think you got the wrong number.”

The anonymous caller recited a phone number. His voice was raspy, yet clear and solid. I had a quick flash of a man with thick, dark eyebrows, brown, curly, shoulder-length hair, and five o’clock shadow standing shirtless before me, wearing tight jeans that teased me with a well-defined bulge.

“No. Mine’s 3534,” I explained disappointedly. The folds of my labia HOAR

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motherly wisdoms, subliminallysqueezed together as I tensed my legs.

“Oh,” Mr. Wrong Number replied in a strangely sad voice. Then he added, “Um—I apologize, but you have the softest, sexiest voice I have ever heard.”

I stumbled a bit. “Really?” I asked rather desperately.

Silence transcended the airways for a few long seconds. I wondered if I sounded too desperate. “What are you wearing?” a softened voice asked. The question was bold.

I was intrigued. I had not been laid for three weeks and I wanted to play. I looked down at my cleavage once again picturing Mr. Wrong Number’s big man hands grabbing my right breast and rapidly tongue flicking my left budded nipple. “A tight white shirt. Short jean cutoffs.” I grabbed at my crotch and raunchily tugged them down to separate my wetting panties from the snug hold of the material against my parted lips.

“I want you to stroke your muff,” he instructed.

Who is this guy? I wondered. The sweet deep tone was now demanding. Muff? Muff sounds so barbaric. But that solid, husky voice had me hook, line and sinker. I gushed.

I took my hand to my nipple and flicked it with my finger until I felt it getting hard. Then I quickly lowered my hand to my cunt, rubbing my four flattened fingers against the thick material of my jeans. I wanted to take them off, rub my meat and feel the creamy liquid of my vagina between my fingers. I could feel a yearning from my ass as I imagined a thick juicy cock sliding in and out.

“Are you doing it?” he asked in a naughty whisper.

“Yes,” I breathed. I looked around for the nearest chair and sat myself down, sliding slightly so I could comfortably spread my legs and stroke myself. I secretly wondered what his name was but instead asked, “How does your cock feel?”

“Hard.” At this point I imagined blonde hair and blue eyes. Chiseled body. Tanned flesh. Construction yard. Hammer in his hand. Sweat glistening off his skin. His tone was abrupt and firmly deep.

I wanted more play, more involvement, more voice. “How do you like

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coysway eightyour cock sucked?” I asked with a whorish grin.

There was no answer for a moment, followed by a hypnotic groan. “I’m stroking my cock,” he stated bluntly. “I can feel your hot, wet lips engulfing my shaft. You can take it deep, right?”

I lied. “Yes. Down to the back of my tonsils.” I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, fighting to slide my hand in.

“Want your ass smacked?”

Dirty. Oh, God he likes it dirty.

“Yes,” I said. By now my silk thong was drenched. I quickly squeezed out of my shorts so I could freely frolic in my juicy playground. My cum felt smooth against my clit as I indexed my bulb. I moved slightly up and down against my chair, eyes closed, imagining a thick juicy cock rubbing against the fleshy innards of my asshole.

“Smack your ass for me,” he demanded. “Put the phone by your ass so I can hear it.”

So very dirty.

I wanted to be his whore. I had never heard of such an original request. No other lover I had talked filthy to had asked this of me before. He went back to the dark haired, thick eyebrowed man I had envisioned earlier. This time I could see the details of his face. He had a scar starting from the bottom of his chin, crossing diagonally down to the middle of his neck. I imagined it was from a bar fight as I pictured my hunk in a black tasseled leather jacket.

I giggled to myself, as I foolishly stood motionless to convince my new Wrong Number lover that I was taking off my shorts. Then I lowered the phone to my ass and clumsily smacked my left hand against my buttock. The sound was too quite. I switched the phone into my left. Then I hit it again. A loud sharp smack stung my ass. I brought the phone up to my ear.

“Hot,” he groaned. “Again.” I could hear him breathing slow and heavy. My mind raced with visions of my Wrong Number man on a black leather chair sitting vulnerably in the buff, stroking that rock of a nine inch beast, elbow manly pointed outward, shoulders poised with a slightly forward hunch.

HOAR

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motherly wisdoms, subliminallyI took the phone in my hand, lowering it to the left of me. This time I bent over and placed my knee up on the armrest. I could feel my ass cheeks wantonly spreading apart. Smack! The sting was hot and painful. I did it again. Piercing. Again. Sharp wicked tingles. Again. Oh God. Again. Again. Again.

“I’m a nasty cunt!” I screamed. Oh my, my mind responded. I bowed my head in shock and embarrassment, and then raised the phone to my ear.

I listened, waiting for Mr. Wrong Number to speak. All I heard was quiet rapid breaths and the occasional moan. I felt a sudden flourish of rejection and jealousy. Then I rectified that immediately by assuming a doggy style position against my tan brown lounge chair, positioning the phone against the seat with the receiver facing up, sticking two fingers as deep up my ass as they could go with one hand and using the index and middle fingers of my other to plug into my vagina. I awkwardly leaned my ear against the receiver and listened to Mr. Wrong Number’s quick breaths and occasional grunts while I fumbled to coordinate my movements; fingers moving slightly in and out of my ass as my cunt playmates took turns tag teaming my hole and excited clit. I breathed along with my lover, occasionally exaggerating my moans so that he could feel assured that I was fucking myself right along next to him.

After what seemed like only a few short minutes, Mr. Wrong Number let out a powerful dumb sounding groan. I was startled. “Are you done?” he asked.

“No,” I pleaded as I started rubbing my clit faster and harder, pushing my never-quite-long-enough fingers in and out of my clenched hole.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said.

“What?” I asked in amazement. All activity jolted to an abrupt halt.

“Can I call you again?” my mystery man inquired. Call again? For a brief moment a picture of my ex lover flashed before my eyes. I was stunned.

“No,” I stated firmly. “No you can’t,” I repeated.

“I’m sorry.” Mr. Wrong Number’s voice sunk into a tone of regret. Maybe we could still salvage this, I desperately hoped. I ached to reach the intense burst of climaxed release.

HOAR

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coysway eight

The phone clicked.

“Hello?” I begged. “Hello?” No answer. I was dumbfounded. I clumsily dropped the phone to the floor.

Once again, my ex lover singed my mind. I was stunned. Stunned and painfully horny. So I did what any reasonable woman would do. I rammed my fingers back up into my clenched ass and rubbed at my clit vigourously. It took me half an hour to rework the momentum. I know. I kept glancing up at the clock on my wall. I gushed a pool of delight onto the floor and felt the wetness ease its way down along the upper part of my inner thighs. I collapsed there doggy style for an additional few minutes with my fingers sadly lodged up my ass and my other fingers spreading and closing against one another so I could feel the stickiness of my vaginal juices.

I experienced a disappointing satisfaction, numbed by the reality of my Mr. Wrong Number. What was he thinking? I craved answers and explanations.

A few more minutes of pathetic reflection. Then sheepishly a slow throbbing began to hit against my skull. I groaned miserably. Beads of sweat traced crooked lines down my back. I wondered if somehow my ex lover disguised his voice.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The phone sirened my reality. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I picked up the phone and silenced it against its other half. To erase or not to erase? I asked myself with a pouted grin as I stared at the last number on my call display. The answer was simple. I went and got the phone book and started dialing. Ms. Wrong Number looking for Mr. Right.

The moral of the story? Two wrong numbers don’t make it right.

HOAR

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9 – Model MANIA

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coxswing nine

‘Nypping Away at my Insecurities, Capitalized why start correspondence with me?

Hornilistic Reasons: to pull portrait free into my life. Esteem all cameras for global heart. Body Acceptance. World Peace. Fame. Escape from the deadneck redneck. To be loved. Recapture my identity. Cry. Emote click style. Anger. Bobble cute. I want to play again. To smile. Extrovert my person without shame, fear. Surround myself with others like me. To rescue myself from sadness with the support of those who genuinely love me and want to protect me ever true To get over past tortures, close life chapters, move forward, progress, resist my self-imposing digress that locks me under covers I don’t want to die alone. Trapped for self-pity, moaned depress Reasons? My dear Mr. ‘nyp, I have many reasons. Perhaps too many to mention...

TITS

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model mania

Addressed: ‘Jandro

I suppose I awe myself as gallivant men flounce their decorative attire Or Queens flaunt their oversized crowns Your beaten skeleton reminded me of the drunk bum caught sleeping in daddy’s old Toyota Little girl freckles stare me into myself Wishing I was preciously she Your show time blasts me shock red less than Envers Although Pow runways my oddball style Perhaps you will box me a memory moment As I dream ways to apply my new found woman? I am 31. Peace out.

TAIL

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coxswing nine

Substance Hugh

Unturned hair calms stone candied schemes.Diamonds shine me hardened in dreams

Men all do love, some pan petrifiedThey jewel me close-eyed as though it a crime

My lip’s pocket anger I mail to your pewterBurnish pump laser, smite alloys in sulfur

Second: sluice box on raw barren floorCradle the ruby of “Consciousness whore”

Flumes these I gold, confute crystallineObsess ore beaten unjaded caving

Control your tactics, pressure’s no needFor open explosions come naturally

Do call your Hefner, tell him from HottyI’m spading to coyote gem’s controversy

Mother our load, extend metallurgistBow to me now: venture courtship

Body bore all, no sorry’s contriteMolten hornblende for plan’s rhyolite

Rock you mass me, rate BeautifulPeace slut’s love~ unaltered, bestowed

TOOT

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TOOT

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coxswing nine

Tan Tips Kly

Tip your balance scales As I trade ying for yang Crossing my arrow mindedness, I darted dark, unnecessarily hesitated, wonton hopeful, concluded void of finality Just supposing, would you accept my own - darkside express?

Takin’ My Obsessive Pole to Niven

I found this note in a dresser drawerwhile I was sniffing at her panties:

I started working out with my dance pole As soon as my friend and I invented her golden sleek She sure erects pretty in my living room We are planning for design #2 So that I can take eroticism with me to the Peabody

Notes like these tell me to keep sniffing.

TIPS

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model mania

Orlando Talents?

Orlando, OrlandoMy darling OrlandoEntice me with Kissimmee Ask two hundred from me

Hunger fantasiesOils that moisten our glistenDefiance that holdsNo research

FloridaCame down at meAs upward my climb

Success … fame

Rock Talent be mine ~,

TUGS

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coxswing nine

Treetop Lovers?

The fig leaves of Eve innocently sin herself apple While the slut of Bikini Rod curves her back tootsie cutsie Family gallop continues assemblance firin’ siren last line As Rooftop “Marry me?” Barber styles her nationality ”Perhaps these are the ones that move me most,” Grants Eve as she deflowers Lee[ves] from the stem of her appleShe sure is a deviant sexy.

The children come running in from outsideLaughing and pushing at one anotherAnd he gropes his wife behind him.

He bumps her And she snips off his hair!

TOOL

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model mania

Consciousness International

me you want me as most of them dowanting me heavy controlling your fearBeautiful Models press me my dear

Hefner is heavy with ladies and wineBold peace spiritoffers sum$ sign

Business = my venturewill capitalize sinall accept body bless within

Natural, so classed with fame by my sideI smell his Hugh when fingers ‘spell grind

...of money’s sweet powerto tell you this:Body Accept me, racial next.

TAME

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coxswing ninemember Musci dies rebirthed predictions

Moistness glistens my blanket body, alongearth rounds primitively damp, flourishing our collective bush.The morning dew yawnsmy every morning stretch worldwide

I was born a simpleton,sprouted out mother Mossesthrough a process of separation.

Today my day is cool,although somewhat agitated...quite sad actually

My protonema beginningssplit me in two too many directions, expecting me to slide one generationinto the ‘appropriate’ one

As I yawn my stretchI also think ... appreciatemy immediate collective

Perhaps our culturebonds us without necessity for speech?

Should I be one to ponderwhile shrubberiesconfuse me with their uniqueness?

I cross rhizoid,a little angrier than lastMy heart is differentiated,sometimes dissappointedand feels failure

Alert I am to soundsdripping thier condensed echosI know there are no more separationsfor the process has been done

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model maniaMy predictions have forever failed me

My dampness mists heavily inside ... festering

I do believe in power’s collectivealthough pessismismsdissassociate myself alone

Woodies rule tallBush tangles the messStocks cock their enabling trapand my wet fury grows

Within my own mindI torment the twosplits for love of nature kindand the evils of selfishness

But since my lonelinesshas no true rootsand I rely on the interconnectedto breathe my nutrientsI can’t help myself but to shade my debris

I know my optimisms are forever fading meI am blown awaySwept clear

I take my singular vascular breath,exaggerate my yawn just a littleconspicuous

to lay into a new firm bed of lesser qualityyet adequately devoted

My imperatives are forever manipulationsalthough I still believein the power collective

I am fortunate my fellow Muscigrow with me

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coxswing nineI am rebornwith morning stretcha comfortable bedand my better world collective,tolerating partial dappled sunlightbecause my predictions forever fail me.

TRAP

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model mania

Heartbracking Recovery

Hull became my hell After franςais love Fell for me And abused me behind Modeling self re-identifies my strengths internal

Titanium Trap

Metaphorical consciousness Grinds my eroticisms objectively tasteful wrought with the want you capture in manipulative click-Snap! Have I lost my mind? ~ ... or have you found my soul? Requisition R.S.V.P ~ unlock me trapped, PG girl

TOIL

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coxswing nine

Dearest Modeling Agency,

Hair holds me heavyTo my female animalAndrogynouscat-likeFeline

Your industry superficialCalls me bare-skinned raw

Harbinger

Ye!Herald!Master fortune future

I hope to entice ~ Please do come my wayWorld Peace I beckon shall stayIn my natural form

Hairy.Unaltered

Minxing reason

Dama ices her open mouthand the cool ‘mometer degreesenters his full-lipped flavor She cautions freeze,couturing a sailor capthen returns his Bazaar BeautyBusiness greyedto their climax, tearsheets cascading the blue of belle du jour

TEAR

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Modeling my Caviar Dreams

I must admit: I am a dreamer. I fantasize an agency whisking me away in leer jets and luxury vehicles. Money hinders me. Here I remain a local Prince George girl, only beginning to discover her talents at age 31.

I am still 31. I hope to captivate with mystery and passion. Please do respond.

Nue-ance trance

Nue-ance dine me dancedBreastess quivers where sinterpretationspinken naturally wrinkled wisdomand thirty-one becomes the race present run for less one a decade prime

Nue one manymy lost in love oasislagooned blue transparentAnd I fell true

But he left mewhile talent fools meHis return home will be well

TITE

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coxswing nine

After Six

I visit youWhat for meThe teeth I seeBrand Name: Victorian Hush!Bubble Bum love LushWith ContrastPassion BlueTo the vulva fluffOnward shadow allureUndercrotchingthe separationRip round 8Stand her self,dignifiedto lickLollypop Metallicwhile Old WomanDarknessWises the corner chair ... then beige tips her greetingold fashion wayat Yellow, pink and blue’sbaby so young, matureand white stripeCapone’s niceTele Flappingher 1920’s Flapper

TING

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P L A Y 4 B O Y

kisses

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cumsweet ten

Business Hugh

Adore my persistence. Believe in my schemes.Fear not my character hardened in dreams

Men all do love, even first some deniedThey love me close-eyed as though it a crime

My lip’s hot anger I mail to your ‘puterSinning your peter ‘cunting’ smite duty

Second: graced on raw barren floorTrancing faith of “Consciousness whore”

Words these I say, seduce you to sinBelieve in my power’s feline sensingControl your tactics resists no need

For open expressions come naturally

Do call your Hefner, tell him from HottyLady sluts right for love’s controversy

Money my maker, extend him my worshipBow to me now: enterprise courtship

Body accept all, no sorry’s contriteJoining hypno for plan’s rhyoliteFall you love me, enter Beautiful

Peace slut’s love~ unaltered, bestowed

WISE

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play4boy kisses

WISE

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cumsweet ten

WOMEN

By AnitaHotty

I am a woman fascinated by the captivations of my species. The curvatures of allure; how pretty faces command mystic curiosities; the rounds of breasts that perk, hang like awkward cylinders, varying sizes and shapes … The appeal drawn by the emotion of posed facial expressions? Her neck, waste, lust of slim long buttress legs, wave of her hair …For what reason are we as a collective so captivated by female sexuality?

I cannot say that men move me the way women do. As much as I embrace my rebellion against superficialities, I am most undoubtedly more swayed by the shape of a woman than I am by the stalk of a man. What is it about the hourglass figure that molds both man and woman into an open-jawed awe? What rationalities lure consumers into societal perpetuations that propagate fantastic delusions of the “ideal?” Where do generational media sensationalisms stem from? Are we really living in a man’s world?

I am fazed by questions that often miss their mark. Sometimes I am not even sure what I am asking myself. All I know is that I am a woman who fears the feline female while at the same time I protect the pride of my ancestry. And I cannot seem to shake the probing repetition, “Why? What is it?”

My counter fascination for the male species is more one centered on a different power dynamic. How do men so carelessly blow freely from the nurturing natures of women? For what power are they able to disregard our kindred kind compassion (or am I speaking purely on my own bias?)?

Am I making myself word my person as though she has a history of bumps and bruises?

Perhaps.

Or more correctly: Yes.

There are moments when I envy what other women have. Certain Marilyns command class beyond what so few have bothered to fancy my way. I yearn for yachts and caviar but where all the gentlemen are is not here. Not now.

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play4boy kissesCurrently I have begun a relationship of open origin. His ruin, I feel, will be a fluff wipe off his shoulder (although passion inside assures me I am a fantastic lover). I frustrate over how blind a man can be to the tender truth of a woman’s heart (or, once again, am I speaking from myself?). He will circus his travel from one woman to the next as a commodity lap along the fun romp circuit without even calling to say why he is late.

Do I want to be a man? Is that the foolish desire I am asking myself? Lord knows I have ached to feel the sensation of a cock that only a sex change could cure me. But rather, No. I wish to continue my claim as mature status. My womanhood for simply my sex grants me this assertion.

Still. I wonder into myself what is it about my gender that commands production of the centerfold flesh exposures society so speedily gobbles to satisfy its appetite for visual stimulation? My compulsions drive me into the classic liberation of October 1989 (all this time I mistook Ms. Anderson as another well-known icon). I gaze my curious awe and view this woman’s representation as the blanket appeal media wide. What special zing wangs Playboy readers to love you although they never really know who you are? How come your hatted vagina is the shadow of millions of multitudes that decorate their imaginations with the symbol of your stand? What hypnoticisms linger your pout into the beds of hungry horny admiring appetites, or especially those firm in their denial (although they cannot help themselves but to be attracted to your outer self)?

I am a woman who is absolutely swept into an unknown inquisition, for I cannot direct you to what I am pointing at. This lack for clarity is a strange new phenomenon that has been milking its way into a patient boiling fester. My wonder sits itself comfortably and comes out to visit on only unplanned occasions. Tonight is apparently one of these eventfully empty, yet thought-provoking moments.

Perhaps my unnecessary dilemma tips gender scales beyond comprehension? I amuse myself that you might be as flustered by my useless ramblings just as much as I, yet you still feel that I am saying something truly remarkable at the same time (or am I sourced by my own internal hypnoticisms?).

A man has his way. A woman is a way – an unexplainable phenomenon that we can all nod our heads in unspoken agreement. We all know women will forever appeal to whatever our eyes are drawn into; this unmistakable meditation pull that beckons us to look even when we

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cumsweet tentell ourselves not to; both man and woman. We feel it both.

Tonight I am waiting for my lover. We had beautiful sex last night. My bloodied handprint has been purposely uncleansed from my wall. I wish to treat him with my perversion. But he disappoints me with another stand up invite… so I plan on ending it tonight.

Hilton is another mystery capitalized by our repetitious consumerist histories. A face that smiles her coy in ways to remain virtually undisciplined in her play. The murderous mischievous mannerisms captured in one image are what impel society to gravitate over idolized depictions? What words can claim to answer what I am not really asking?

I am fascinated by women (or more myself?). There are times their presence commands me to shy my head and cower. Yet I am one of these bold creatures, so deviously sexual in my play.

I ramble my realities and virtues as though I really know what is ailing me so. My earlier lonely masturbation is most likely projecting itself into an oddball mess of my female psyche. Yet still I am twisted in my Freudian associations and I amaze myself to attempt to understand just what is it? Why?

The minutes become longer and my lids grow heavy. I don’t know his last name, nor have I bothered to ask for a phone number. Yet for financial burden I invited him to live with me and love unconditioned…Now I question my offer, because his tardiness is inappropriate for my sexual appetite.

Why does the portrait of a woman captivate us? Has the media consumed my lover’s understanding of how to treat his mistress? Why can we not stop ourselves to resist female beauty while at the same time dishonor it? My ramblings are meaningless, yet I am certain I am communicating something wrought with importance.

But why? And exactly what is it?

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11 – Kicks, Fixes & Desperate Measures

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cumquad elevenCocaine Therapy therapist dogged me to lie on his couch:down a straight survival line I increased attention as the snot slid sexual slideOver the aggressive hump of his oral fixation

I contented latent for myself To wipe under my own noseFor reasons same as his

Thursdays. Ten o’clockHer glasses tip ‘tangular on nose endat meAs she rationalizes her identified persona

EverytimeEvery Thursday

I compensate my therapy transferenceWhile he sublimatesAnd introjects that snot unconscious

He displaces his hand overMy reacted formation

Then regresses his countering antagonistInto the retentiveness of my button-zippedErogenous zone

Represses with pinches,Forming my pube’a twirls

His objectivity transfers (for he knows me)“And your father never gave a shitNot for how good you feel”

(he knows my denial.

Every Thursday

Maclean’s on glassMy repressed reflection glimmers beside gloss three

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kicks, fixes & desperate measuresAn impasse superverted ditch of aBeautiful white lineIs dim shadowed, butSparkles his thick sleek globOnce again even more inviting.

“Knock Knock!” She skirted her envious red. Today.

Mrs. Rectangles,He called her.(Funny I associate the same thing).

She carried my favorite fixation.(the one I was reflecting for)

His index projects me deeper“…Or when your dad came in your room that nightwith your teddy bear - - ..rubbed it real soft against you…”

“Doctor’s orders,” her pleasure lips principle as she satisfies free her immoral varchedrumpedsuited flesh genitals so firmly bubbled

The cure is this:Libidoed greed gratifies linear nile white nurturing so therapeutically for me

“Bon appetite,” they mask me outstretchedsupportedby - -

I lick his vile shineclean

Concave myself

UnbuttonUnzip myself

Side roll myselfKiss my mouth to the fuzz of my psychotherapeutic sofa

He rogues his fingerASSY

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cumquad elevenDown into places that Therapy taught meAre no longer wrong.

Straight lineSnortTherapy

Each one of us Gestalt.

And out I goTo open her rectangle drawer

Pull out her hairHer lipstickHer polished shoes

(smell them)

I hear malpractice scuffle their empty-chairs

I put on her pantyhose(no underwear)and pull her factory sewtight between labiaand Electra

royal road centers cool-handed contactto penetrate the air holed fabricand wet the masturbation of my sex play

Her heelsHairBusiness attireAnd rectangular glasses …

my lieben und arbeiten idvited me:so I come every thursday

I get parties Up my nose

He helps me understand my father.

And his secretary is pretty

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kicks, fixes & desperate measuresAlternate Me[es]

I just need it. I disgust myself. Gotta have it. I’m sorry, but I got…

I can’t explain my nasty desire to seek out this kind of torture – but it’s a sickness that comforts me. Even now, I feel this rabid, slurp-sucking bare-to-the-bones desire. Pervert pants. I am the guy you cringe at with sheer disgust; you know he’s staring you up and down like a lonely pervert butcher – the one who sneaks a private moment between the fleshy feel of the meat he just packed.

O! I live like that most everyday.

Again. Hell. Another visitor. Mini ‘me.’ Again and I breathe. My eyes closed. Down Down. Sliding slow over and gliding into rough-edged material. My wrist wriggling and just inches … just inches … – my fingers crawling up all sneaky to their prey.

Funny. I imagine the game of peek-a-boo when my fingers dance under the coarsities of pretty pink lace.

O. Mmmmmmmmy.O.

It’s like a melting sensation as I feel the first jigger of coldness invade my purposely pursed lips.

I’m so into it now that I have learned how to play games with myself.

My next step – desire if you will – to play my game with another > > If not others (ooo. And I grab my tits now at the thought).

Which me?

O Fuck. I don’t care!

Wet my fingers. Slide open slow in and out of my oval entry. A quick flash of ‘fleshy innards’ (another fantasy written. Have you heard it before? Put it in one night of dining your impressive bests for the long sleek legs, red-specked heels. Upright. Proper. But slut-satisfying in the bedroom. The fantasy written).

Another me. Another me enter fantasy world.

Wiggle. Wiggle.

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cumquad elevenMy eyes closed now. Lost in the feeling of cock rubbing against my inner cheeks for hours upon hours. Once shot into me, slyly coating my esophagus with flavored creams … O, the flavored creams of all those men. The pleasing numb-rubbing effect.

Can you believe images so vivid?

Gracefully now. Ever so graceful. My knuckles bend slightly and I press a little harder. Side to side now. “My titties. My titties.” I talk in my head. “Lick my titties,” as I imagine my freshest lover hovering over me while I look up to him from behind. A mutual subservience back goes my head and an evil tramp appetite for cock calls out oof me. Hhhhhhhaaaaa. Fire shot eyes at him demanding to love me with his cock dirty –

I want him to spit at me. But I keep it inside. Sometimes. This me – the one that I hide. A voice void of inhibitions that could scream lies or half truths. I love you! I love you!

Then a switch.

Back to graceful. Sweeps over my bulb and I giggle like a schoolgirl. Innocent little schoolgirl prancing around in her school uniform, hair up in blonde bouncy pigtails.

I’m a brunette naturally.

Slash and tumble my finger from flap to flap – the bashing and bumbling of my clit wad. I pick up my head from the pillow and look down. I need to see it now. Damn. I know I hate to stop because I don’t want the dirty feeling to stop.

Then I’m reminded of my first thought. The moment pauses.

I have the drip, or feel the shame of others judging me as a disease. Actually. I judge myself. My cravings for it. The ways I breathe it through my nose – that loud annoying whistle humming through my nose.

When I was little I trained myself to stop that noise. It kept me up at night. Just like the sound of the condom wrapper, or the limped disappointment of a rejected flesh to flesh contact that I beg to imagine the actual hot sensation engulfing the rod that pounds it.

Me. Me.

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kicks, fixes & desperate measuresBack to bend ass in air, open spread – to never get that sucking feeling as my legs raised in air – Highschool? Yes. It was highschool with my girlfriend. I taught it to her. Taught prank phone calls, bicycle position, spread “v” in air and in sluuuurrp sucks in that air. I didn’t know what it was, thought it was funny. “I just called to say -” and then down we would go and push out flapping childhood lips. Laughing and

London Bridges Falling Down Falling Down Falling Down… London Bridges Falling Down

I just have to take off my pants now. I can’t stand it anymore! Need to look at it. See it. My own erection. Pushed out so big that I can imagine its initial blossoming parting the nurturing sides of my folds. Graceful. Graceful.

But then bucked on my knee. Looking back, seeing my own ovaled politely as I imagine the rounding hips of a heart slowly and purposely traced against crinkled washi.

Another hello.

I know this one as elegant. The one where I am greeted with flowers and chocolates…I walk away – My escort pays the bill, waves his hand in a shooing motion.

Fantasies. My fantasy world now. It’s the one I seek. Upper class. Alerted eyes, hushed voices, silenced by the gasps of overwhelmed open-jawed, giddy some, heart fluttered, amazed responses gawking at me. The ways I dream of entering British accents and chandelier balls.

Lying down and I raise my head against knees bent. Wide for me. Stretching my shaking neck – slutting to watch my two fingers prompt clear muggy oozes out into the world.

I play for me. Push indexes at me. Roll over awkwardly like a lopsided bowling ball falling into the gutter. Into myself I push my short plug and fuck it while Fonzie slicks his hair back cool and knowing. ‘Eh. His reflection smiles to me. ‘Eh as he loves his Potsy, Ansy and the Ritchie family.

I know I’m sick. Some twisted addiction and faster, faster I rub at myself. Plug it into myself. Flap my tongue out into the air as I feel the wetness of pussies rest and push them against my face, up my

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cumquad elevennose.

I wiggle up to the wall, lapping up the soap taste. I feel the demanding fried-egg sizzle collect into the throb of my thrilled knob. Quick jutted and awkward coordination. Licking my bitch tongue against the wall. I love you Fonzie! My titties! Pinch, pull at my fucking tits you asshole! The ripping pull at my skin as my lady apple pushes out. Cock rubbing. Cock-numbing. That rancid morbid breathing. Little girls laughing. Old foul-thinking men vigorously jerking their aged-pervert cocks. The lighted torch of coordinated lovers lighting my fires one off the other. Back and forth. Teeter-totter. Weeeeeeeeeeee. My hair is blowing freely – children running through the fields of a laundry soap commercial. My mind opens a heaven light. Press a little harder. Lick a little meaner. Fell the cramp of the muscle. Bursting. Bursting. I feel me begging. Pushing out my clit. Pushing it out. I’m ready now. I’m ready. Pushing. Hand grabbing at my ‘pretty little titties.’ Thumb ramming inside and I feel the scratch of…

No! No! Don’t lose it! Push. Pushing out at my bulb. Yes. Ex lover fucking the porn star wearing glasses. I’m going to burst! Push it out. Wet juice sliding into the cup of my palm. Awkward. Stupid. Tonguing my wall.

Fuck! I see walls upon walls of dildos and sex toys now. Yes! Yes! I want you to watch me while other men fuck me! Yes! Climax I have you! Push! You are cumming to me. Thick jizz shitting at my face. I love you! I love you! Centered nerves rush into my center and push out push out they speed out – heightened blast shoots out one hard tingle and Bang!

It’s all done.

Throb. Throb. Satisfied throbs. I lie there now. Satisfied. Awkward. But satisfied. A satisfied me, kicking back to a last unsatisfied thought?

I pick up the card on the nightstand to my left…(Drift) He seemed like a nice man. Gentle voice. Cute little bundle under those gray slacks. I read the number as I dial.

“Hi. My name is Cindy. I’d like to make an appointment.”

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kicks, fixes & desperate measuresW.A.S.P. Sung About it Once

I am seeking the bow down nurture for my nature, gold dollar dared for the flare of gems gleaming into mine. Wisdom will be for my question.

Digestion will be your submission. Green you will open me into the riches of your mansion. Will you require an expansion for an explanation? You

little ones do muse me ... The cruelty for the green is my control.

Nothing more, or be outcast! ~

A squeeze of angered sex maddened my testicular squish, sweet bursting red bulge. Her whip and inched-up specks stilettoed my new crush. I fell for a soft blackened heart. I ached to show mercy.

My abuse for desire clenched a brilliant pinch that only violenced me more. I pictured the elastic burst of buggered balls as though eyes had coughed from their sockets. My left hand stroke was a disappointing new fixation – a fangled goal to conquer. My awkward apoplexy heightened the breathless choke. For a moment I had my speed. But the muscle tense slowed my rhythm.

Could I possibly let go - to loosen my hatred and risk losing it all for a solid cocking?

The left squealed its torture, “I think I can. I think I can.” My face smiled back at me in silvered frame shine. If I had called my regular sooner, a strap would young lad the whipping I knew I deserved for being such a bloody-kneed beggar. But I dropped to the shocking surge of bone smashing tile and hollered my scream. The fix for her name: “O’Nita!” The sore vow would Bare Bush her claim.

“Lefty Lefty. Loosey Loosey,” Satanized my circadian delirium in a porn-murdered garbage commercial. What if my privilege was to be at the blade of her surgical incision? Would she hammer my willing torment? Or grind a slow foreplay with an edged pellet?

My right held tight. The left trucker tugged on. Hypersonic blurs disfigured my determined convulsion and bent me a fumbled moment. O’Nita would have umbraged her pitiless discipline for my overestimation. As though she were in my presence, I lowered my shame and begged her forgiveness with accelerated attack. I took my eyes up into the bottom-arialed view of her elliptical orbs. Her callous appetence dared my continuance. I defied her, but never would have had she really been there.

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cumquad elevenBack down to the rotten bulge that thrilled me was where I devoured my self-affliction. I tinker-wanked my monkey with exhausted pleasure. I crushed my self-inflicted restraint. I humped my pushed-out anal pucker. I opened my mouth to the heel of my punishment. I winced at the whipping of leather slaves that appeased their obligation to O’Nita crooked pleasures. I blunted all sensations in my final climax. My eyes headached aggravated revelry. My cock spitballed a forceful barf at the highboy altar before me. I released my choking hold and felt the tingles rush to fill bloodied hollows.

Bondage dot com had came me. But my satisfaction was unsatisfied. My heavy heaves of explosive release did very little to engulf my craze for slavery. I felt the need to find her like a long abandoned brother. I typed my response with corrected care:

I sign entreaty. Submission’s plea.

“Something to impress her,” warned myself.

Flog my debris. Defect your stiletto heel.Cock crush banshee if you do not come for me.

I felt like my shot was long. For days and days I agonized for her response. My e-mailed tribulation to check my inbox devotionally months on end granted me not even an acknowledgment. She lived in my heart as an obsession that thrilled me no matter what came to be of my dominatrix mirage. I spoke to her. She silenced me. I fucked her. She butchered my esteem. I offered her my balls. She balled them blue. I cased her only more.

My dreams would devour my hunger as she slept into my pillow baby-dolled next to me. In the morning I would wake to her twisted lady hands and cut face that illuminated my lap top screen. My work slaved me empty because I felt the reality of my hollowed horror. My infatuations surged a crisis rampage. Her name repeated itself in every secondary moment. And when I could not hear myself calling for her, my discipline returned its savage so that internally her nomen screamed echoes louder.

I would walk the streets expecting to see her > Into book stores; department bays; the bus rides I took every Sunday. I anticipated her stare – those controlled devilish powers in the coy of her glare. Down hallways and alleyways I begged for her to appear. But all that came of my desperation was the gut crawl of wormed pain eating into my

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kicks, fixes & desperate measuresorgans.

Even my regular thrill became an empty void. Last month was my thrust to push him far from me. He was my own submissive. But I had developed a neoteric fixation, or at least I drained into my mind. I had to have myself for her. What was I missing? What had I done wrong?

I repeatedly returned to read her words - Absorbed her riveted persecution. She had my gonads ball locked. I could not escape her if I wanted to. I went so far as to add a chrome attachment.

What was I missing?

I am seeking the bow down nurture for my nature, gold dollar dared for the flare of gems gleaming into mine. Wisdom will be for my question.

Digestion will be your submission. Green you will open me into the riches of your mansion. Will you require an expansion for an explanation? You

little ones do muse me ... The cruelty for the green is my control.

Nothing more, or be outcast! ~

Her devious cat pussied me hard.

I crawled my eyes into my head – Pictured her talking to me ~Unlocking her riddle. I hated how she did not care to demand my own explanations. She just stared at me in striped zebra blue. I twisted the cold steel torturistically to speed up the pace of my heart. I gripped my vice in a hardened gulp and felt it flame my head-tormented acclaimed fame:

O’Nita Hotty name your nomen.I know more than you knew.AnitaHotty I am your crush

Forever call my OmenAmen

I kill for you This time she would have me. This time she would acquisition me unmistakenly.

But again the days passed. The months were monsters blasting my head. Tears even fell to my testicles.

I was madly in love with my Mastress Hotty. All I had to comfort

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cumquad elevenme was the blistering pink of my welled eggs. I felt loathing into myself. I was a revulsion unworthy of her physical torture. She could have driven a rusted nail into my rocks because my internalized compliance had mind-warped itself into incomprehensible depths. I was changing. I was shedding myself.

The slither of my snake bent to tickle my rascals. I numbed my skin in the stroke of my ache. I wished for her rake; her froth to cake as I blasted her my icing; for her degradation; any form of humiliation. But something she could see. Not this lonely flame. A hard ache inflamed.

If only she knew my faithful unworthiness for her? If only she knew my obedient devotion?

I was shedding into something beyond myself. My balls pulsated an antagonistic attack of swears. My sworn oath to her was the joy that thrilled me never enough. I took a needle to myself and acupunctured my voodoo healing. Black magic queen. She was a liar. A bitch. My wicked vicious woman. Eyes of DeSade.

“Fuuuuuuuuuu – uuuuuuuck!” I miseried her swing. Hammer hard down to hatch my sperm.

“You fuck my mercy! You torment me! Satan fuck this ass-fucked bitch I bow at! What could she bow-wow command me for? Green is only my envy to bark loud – bark in silence – Anything! Cunt sucking! Bitch fucking! Spread my ass!”

I dropped my gasconade so it slapped back at me. I took my hands to my cheeks and spread them for the pained rip. I pushed myself against the suction on my wall. I felt it stuck in its pinch. My asshole clench only needed its coaxing. My thighs bared the weight as I cocked myself in little nips, luring my plastic $149 into my awakening vortex. The ooze of cock penetrated the squish of my flesh-warmed corridor.

I closed my eyes and pictured her there. She stood in her peek-a-boo blue. I could see the blare of her hair as I yearned for my face to bury into her wetness. My released hands swung to the front of myself. I squeezed for the rush. I shook electrified. I scratched my functionally unclipped nails at the prickles of my five o’clock shadows. My own fears that only O’Nita could have instructed barren prevented a deeper cut, but the blood lined itself into the dermis of my skin anyhow.

I stroked my cock. I slapped it against my wall. I cried my torture.

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kicks, fixes & desperate measuresI afflicted my torment. I hollered debasement. I choked my sack. I pulled my pouch. I bit into my hand. Terror for my infatuation took me to my climax. I tugged for my moaning stretch. I hit my head into the wall. I jiggled my jokers. I jerked until I choked out – a choked out thick hork of a glorified glob. I blew a heavy blow out my wolf-widened mouth.

This-repeat-shedding-of-my-weakness-only-strengthened-resolve-to-the point-of-shameful-convulsions-as-though-my-Mastress-would-evil-her-wisdoms- eternally struck ~my ignorance.

And my ignobleness reigned inferior.

Over months into years, I harbored an internalized antagonism for a Protagonist Mastress. Her message never changed. Her color saddened my shame. Her chains shackled my balls. The blue crush was forever my misfortune. I could never determine what I missed?

I sent her additional messages met with only her silenced command:

You crush me blue.Your stiletto spike pierces me daggered.Forever viced, the grip of your hold.

Your only green is the blue of my lagoon.I am edible for your submission.Teach your wisdom.Your Muse is my domination.

I bow to nurture your nature.Why outcast my physical pleasure?

Roses are deadWhips are blackThe rose reddens The lash at my back

You can violet my ballsScrape your nailsTulip your spreadVow Obey ‘til our death

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cumquad elevenThe subordinate shedding raw slaved my submissions. They were the climactic illusions of my reality. The dungeon drama that swallowed the bird whole was the snake that coiled strangulation the tighter and tighter my “I think I can. I think I can” could go. Could any fixation constrict my explosion any wilder? If younger days compared me to the sloughing of my Mastress maturity, I would never have known the ultimate submission.

I wrote her one last time. I wrote her this:

Two dull bluish-whitesBulge my never-ending maturityThe past turns me back on myselfNew layers render me soft and vulnerableAs I shed from my old skinI tame my unpredictable aggressivenessAnd renew my transparencyThe rough objects and surfaces helped shed meI dislodge and glide myself freeNo one has shedded my balls so blueI defecate and drink my l’eau

Your are my Mastress, Ball Crusher

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kicks, fixes & desperate measures

Thanato

A piece of nostalgia

I entered into her

Broke necrolagnia

Her flesh icicled the brake

But inside was the jelly I applied

So I continued my slide

Gave her one Dalmer of a time

Until my philia was satisfied

And I covered her with morturary secrets

Stiffed her back in the frosted file

To paint her face tomorrow

I whispered my appreciations

Thanato

Thanato

Thanato

Dearest,

Thanato for allowing us our moment

ASHY

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12 – Motherly Wisdoms,

BLATANTLY Loving

cumwad twelveMy Dearest Oprah, Sept 30, 2005

I was at a live function this evening. I had the opportunity to recite some erotic prose that I had written, as well as focus my attention on other people’s open expressions. Earlier, I viewed your program.

The two events combined through a conversation I had with a couple. We spoke of art, the expression of self as well as body image. I was taken by a comment a ‘fat’ person said to me as we entered a truck. She explained that I should sit in the back because she was larger than myself. I have passionate views about body image. I have explored the concept of outer appearance and continue to do so daily. With sincere caution, I asked this beautiful woman a personal question; I asked her how cum she made the comment about the difference in our body types. Admirable confidence exuded her as she unapologetically identified herself as “sexy.” I loved that about her. Not simply because I agreed, but because I understood that true beauty lies in the person – their values. I was attracted to her confidence more than her outer appearance.

As a group of like-minded and strong-willed women, we bonded through dialogue. We spoke about you and your beliefs. We shared our concerns about the concept of body image. The ‘fat’ woman, who sung and recited poetry earlier that evening, educated me with knowledge she attained through reading literature. Heather (let me refer to her by her given name) graced me with a perspective that I had in common with her. She spoke of an author who embraced the word ‘fat’ and investigated through personal experience the impact that one word had on the way she lived and how others treated her. ‘Fat’ in itself is a beautiful thing. Unlike the woman you mentioned on your program one afternoon – the entrepreneur of Vogue magazine who has a distaste for ‘fat’ people … I do not agree that ‘fat’ people are unattractive.

You interviewed a black fashion guru on the same program. He was the man who guided those into his vision of true style. He was the man who knew what looked good, to put it simply. Now, from my understanding this Vogue lady had great admiration and respect for her employee. He was called to her office one day to talk. As he expressed so vulnerably on your program, he brought great insecurity to that office visit. He was concerned that he would be fired because he was ‘overweight.’

Now, I understand you know how this story plays out – that it seems to have worked itself into a happy ‘ending,’ if you will; he

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motherly wisdoms, blatantlylost a tremendous ninety pounds if my memory serves me correctly. Granted, his accomplishment was great. For it is true that excess weight carries with it the baggage of possible health complications. For that reason – and that reason alone, I believe that his choice – his willpower and commitment to lose weight was a wise decision. On the other hand, a sadness continues to linger … And I am not sure if it is within me or this man?

The sadness and concern I feel is that your viewers may assume that somehow being large is not a good thing. I am a slim, attractive woman. I have lived with judgments based on my outer appearance throughout my life. Thank the heavenly lord above that my personality shines larger than my ‘pretty face.’ Even though people assume that I am beautiful, others in my life realize my ‘person’ is what truly makes me beautiful. Regardless, I reflect on my values daily and guide my actions accordingly. People carry with them certain assumptions that because I am physically ‘attractive,’ this means I am also healthy. But this simply is not the case.

I am not as healthy as others might assume. I don’t drink nearly enough water. Did you know that dehydration leads to heart attacks in later age? I continue to struggle with the discipline of nourishing my body with healthy substances. I am not the most active cook, to put it politely. I live alone and do not spend the time to make healthy meals regularly. So, there are days I eat little. Other times I neglect the most important meal of the day. This meal, of course, is breakfast.

Oprah, my dear. I have the utmost confidence that you are a sweet and compassionate woman through and through. Your viewers have watched you mature over the years. You went from a place of great insecurity into this vibrant financially exuberant woman. You encourage people to change their lives. You – one woman – influences masses upon masses of thinking, evolving beings. And that can be both a rewarding and overwhelming responsibility.

Oprah, honey. I speak to you with genuine respect and sincerity. I am concerned. I remember your beginnings as a tender soul that was moved to the point of tears when people expressed their personal stories. Today you present yourself with great confidence and security. However, your transformation into a stronger person has left me feeling conflicted. I miss your honest tears. I miss the ways you were taken by people’s struggles. Yet, I admire the power you replaced that emotion with. I defend you when people criticize your supposed ‘vanity.’ Some are not pleased that each issue of your magazine features you on the face of the covers. For me, I am proud of

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cumwad twelveyou. I faith, “Good for Oprah! She has her own beauty that is unique to the mainstream concept of what quantifies a ‘model.’” Oprah, you are truly a beautiful woman!! I believe you have earned the glory to be featured on the cover of every issue. Although it may steer you to the dangers of vanity, I trust that you exercise your conscience. I feel passionately that you are an individual who lives in accordance to her beliefs.

There is a definite risk of losing the honest and precious parts of ourselves when fame grants us certain powers. I admit I do have aspirations to become famous myself. Before even setting this goal, I knew I faced great challenges. In fact, I purposely avoided the possibility of great fame initially because I worried that such status might overwhelm me – that I could lose my person – that money and status could have the potential to override my personal convictions. That I would value money and material possessions more than I would value my relationships with people. That I would become more selfish than I already was. At that point in my life, I understood that I needed to relinquish the selfishness of my personality, yet still keep certain selfish traits – to accept and appreciate them as a means to keep me humble – to establish safe and appropriate boundaries.

Yes, Oprah. I admire you. At the same time I encourage you to explore yourself – to reflect on where you began, where you are today and what direction you see yourself moving towards. I only ask that you embrace ‘weaknesses’ and ‘vulnerabilities’ that serve their place in your life, as well as the lives of those you influence. Your power is so great that it has the potential to not only influence positive change, but to also lead you into dangers that you may be innocently unaware of.

Self-reflection can be difficult when it requires us to admit our deficits. I know from personal experience that people generally do not want to hurt others or be a ‘bad’ person. We often identify ourselves by our core traits. This ‘core’ is precious and lets us know that we are truly ‘good’ inside (as a humanist might theorize). We have a responsibility to protect this ‘core’ for this ‘core’ makes us who we are. Yet at the same time I know that a tremendous wholeness can be achieved by challenging our inner cores. We can challenge ourselves without losing who we are. The challenge requires us to be honest more deeply than we may have ever fathomed.

Oprah. I believe that ‘fat’ is not a deficit. I believe that should I mistake someone for being pregnant that I am not insulting her. Fatness does not need to be how we measure a person’s self worth. Values

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motherly wisdoms, blatantlysupercede outer appearance. I encourage people to delve into our cores and honestly strive to see others from eyes that are not our own, but from the eyes of the ‘fat’ person. I agree that ‘obesity’ is a concern only to the point that our health is jeopardized. Active living, not body image is what we need to promote. People can be ‘fat’ and still healthy. When weakness is associated with generalized stigmas, what we end up promoting or teaching others is how to feel insecure. And when we feel insecure, we lose personal power. Consequently, the struggle to attain health and acceptance in society becomes that much harder. Cycles breed and prevent us from believing in ourselves. I am fat. Therefore I am ugly. Because I am ugly, I escape into that ugliness. Unhealthy coping mechanisms become the crutch. And our superficial judgments of others do little to inspire unconditional love and acceptance.

I believe we need to challenge ourselves daily – to accept that there is always something we can ‘better’ in our lives. You inspire people to change and embrace their strongest virtues. At the same time, I caution you to reflect. Please remember where you came from and resist your own power. Continue along your appreciated and nurturing willingness to share yourself with others. Re-examine your values and how the media and the fame associated with that change you (I know you do). I am not accusing you of any ‘deficits’ but I am encouraging you to recognize what influences you and to honestly reflect. Are your actions still in line with your core beliefs? Or have you established new beliefs that may require further reflection? I trust that your journey into self-discovery never ends.

Venture forth my fellow woman. Let us grow closer through honest dialogue.

Peacefully,

AnitaHotty

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cumwad twelveJamie Douglas Bellevance

September 14, 1970 ~ May 30, 2005 35 years old, my friend

Jamie prided himself on his memory…Mathematical equations, phone numbers. We used to play Rummicube. Sometimes he would cheat and I would catch him in the act, threaten to quit the game if he did it again – and there were a couple of times I did quit the game!! A few times we played Scrabble. We rode bikes together. He would tell me jokes. He knew which joke was my favorite. I’d tell it to you, but it would mean that I’d have to say a swearword.

We would visit each other. We went to movies. He signed me in as a worker so I could get a discount (I can finally confess, what a relief!). He would feed me and even help me with my laundry and dishes. Jamie always wanted to help – and not just any help, but the kind of selfless, unconditional help where he expected nothing in return, just the privilege of doing something for someone else. He was the one who seemed to always be smiling, never angry, at least around me. He would offer a “Hello” to strangers and friends as he passed them by. I would say these are the simplest ways to describe Jamie.

But to me, Jamie was so much more than this. He was my best friend. And he taught me a lot about myself by just being the loving, considerate man that he was. We met many years ago. I could not tell you how long back because I was never much with numbers. That was more Jamie’s bag. What I can say is that we knew each other for many years. At first it started with some massages. And me being the glutton I am for massages, I loved it!! Somehow he got my number, started calling and we effortlessly blossomed into a beautiful friendship.

But it took me a long time before I really understood Jamie as a friend, and how much he really has to offer. I did a paper on him a long time ago and learned about his disability, that he fell from a tree fort when he was ten, was in a coma for a long three to four months. It was then that I started to look at myself and my own biases. I would often refer to Jamie as the guy who can’t swallow, as if to warn other people about his handicap. And I started to ask myself why I did this? Because he was my friend first, not a disability. So I stopped for the most part because I realized that by introducing him this way, I was not being a good friend.

I was not his worker. Not even close, although people often assumed I was. Sometimes it would bother me because it shows how quick people are to stereotype. But at the same time, people also knew I

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cumwad twelvewas in the field of social work at that period in my life.

I remember one time Jamie had come up to tell a joke when it was not his turn. Sometimes he would just get so wound up that he would not think things through. He was escorted back to his seat and talked to as if he was a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But Jamie was not a child. He was a grown man. Older than me, in fact. I remember the look on his face. He looked embarrassed so I talked to him about it. I think people have the best intentions, but I wonder sometimes just how much we try to change people who are different in order to feel better about ourselves. Perhaps we need to look at ourselves and ask, is it us who need the changing? Society could really use some educational upgrading. Jamie was a person way before any disability.

At the same time, I want to say thank you for all those who have worked with Jamie. I know that each and every one of you helped Jamie grow into the man he was. You helped him filter out the good jokes from the dirty ones. You kept him busy doing the thing Jamie loves best – helping others. And I am certain that each and every one of you has fallen in love with just a little part about Jamie. Loving Jamie comes naturally, with great ease. And in some way, I am sure he was a delight to work with.

I knew Jamie in ways that perhaps most of you don’t. When I say he was my best friend, I mean it. Jamie was there for me when I cried over loves gone sour. He was there not just in good times, but in bad. Even just before he died, he came over to the house. I was sad over my ex husband and Jamie put his arm around me and consoled me. He never failed to help me through the hard times. If I needed him, he was there. He would constantly let me know that I am a good person and a good friend, although I have never really quite felt that I was even close to being as good of a friend to Jamie as he was to me.

He loved to help and sometimes he would get in the way or hurt himself simply because he was too excited about the actual act of helping. If you saw us together, you would see just how much we were friends. I would tell Jamie, “No. No. Don’t do that,” because I was worried that he might get hurt or cus I thought that he could not do the task. But then Jamie would do it anyway and I would just watch him and let him take over. Sure enough, he knew what he was doing. Other times he would kinda mess up, but never big enough for it to really be a big deal. More and more I would see myself and realize that I was just being too uptight. There were times maybe he would get in the way, but then there were times that I would also get

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motherly wisdoms, blatantlyin the way. You know what I mean? Jamie was capable of so many things – and even more things than I had a chance to discover.

I guess if there was one thing I wish that I could do before Jamie died was to encourage more of my friends to go visit him. That was the next plan on my list. He did get lonely from time to time, just like any normal person would. I learned that about myself. I learned that you need friends so that you don’t feel lonely. And you need friends more than you need a lover. Lovers come and go. But true friends stay.

I had a chance to see Jamie before he died. He looked peaceful. His hand was warm. I kissed his forehead goodbye. And in all honesty, I don’t feel too sad because I know that death is a natural part of life. If he were to have died in pain, I think it may have ripped me apart. We had a beautiful friendship, no arguments, no fights. We were able to talk openly and honestly together about our feelings. We shared some private confessions that will stay with us and only us. Heavens, there were even a couple wild times we shared. We went to the Generator once, danced, but the music was a bit too loud for him. And did you know we went to the stripper’s once? He smacked her butt and it was hilarious!! But really, strippers are not Jamie’s cup of tea. He had a good time, but was not interested in going again. I suppose I share these stories because I so very much want Jamie to be remembered as a grown man. Because that was who he was.

I wish that he could have had a girlfriend. He so would have made a wonderful father and husband.

Because our friendship was healthy and full of love there is nothing left behind to haunt me – no lose ends. Therefore, there is no need for me to grieve over his death because in life I know we treated each other with sincere respect and love. We need to cherish and love people when they are alive, so when we die we can move on without any guilt, pain or sadness. I had that with Jamie. So, I ask that – yes, remember Jamie, but don’t take this time to feel sad.

Take this time to love all those around you, because you never know when they will die. And I ask that you live with Jamie in your hearts by loving those around you unconditionally, offering help not to just those who ask, but especially those who do not. And I ask that everyone see a person first, before their career, the way they dress, their disability…Cuz in the end, are we not all unique and different?

I love you Jamie. And I am still learning to be a better me everyday. Thank you for everything you have ever taught me about love, honesty,

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cumwad twelverespect, how to treat others and how to better myself. Thank you for your trust and your selfless friendship.

And thank you to his parents, Corrine and Jim for bringing my best friend Jamie into this world and into my life. Thank you to his family, sister Paulette, nieces Aria and Taryn, and his best buddy Kit Kat.

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motherly wisdoms, blatantlyPG MADE HISTORY!AnitaHotty Reporting…

A group of six brave individuals toughed out a chilly rainy day and took to the streets to protest against the over consumption of oil and gas. They carried signs. Two rode bikes. The others walked. Two experienced virtual complete nakedness (minus the shoes and socks [giggles]) while another two chose to bear half their bodies. The remaining duo stayed smartly semi-toasty in their clothes. The theme was Bare As You Dare! Our route went from Johnson, along 15th, 3rd Avenue, Patricia to the corner of 17th and Queensway. Some participants made time out of their schedules to participate before having to go their merry ways.

The experience was interesting and the support was rewarding!! The gathering started at 1662 Johnson Street, next to the Fort George Baptist church. News media were present. Several onlookers gathered around. Some were in their vehicles. Others stood outside or watched from residential windows. The emotion was tremendous along 15th Avenue, where the streets were decorated with balloons and two large signs advertising the protest!! Honks of support urged us on. There were the occasional curious and fascinated looks. And some, but very few, reacted with upset.

The spectrum of emotion was met with understanding and respect as well as defiance and conviction. The local RCMP kept guard, making sure to collect our names and protect everyone from potential harm. By the time we reached the coliseum, an officer requested us to put our clothes on and we obliged. One rider was delivered a set of cuffs after refusing to disclose a name, or that was how I understood it. Another rider dared a couple protest-driven flashes with the intent to add light to a serious issue. The event organizer, Goji Leakey, faithfully carried a bag of newspapers along the route so that he could recycle them on his way back home.

On this June 11, 2005 day, Prince George was one of fifty other cities that joined for the World Naked Bike Ride cause. Of the other countries that were involved, Netherlands, Ireland, Belgium, Italy, Brazil, Israel, and the British Virgin Islands each had one city that participated. Three cities from France, Australia and England united. Six cities from Spain. New Zealand had a total of four. Germany, two. In the United States, 16.

Canada had a total of eight cities that protested for conservation and healthy body image. In Quebec, Montreal had a turn out of

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cumwad twelveapproximately six to seven people. Much like Prince George, their weather was on the dismal side. One female participated while the rest were men. Both Ontario’s Ottawa and Toronto demonstrated. Nine people from Ottawa ventured into the hot 40˚ weather. Activities included media coverage, interviews, and body painting. The weather prompted a quick skinny dip (obviously!) in the Ottawa River. Participants biked around Parliament Hill two times and a group photo was taken on the steps of the Supreme Court. Nova Scotia’s city of Wolfville also joined the cause. In the province of BC a confident three cities made their mark: Vancouver, Victoria, and conscious-driven Prince George!!

One city in particular solidified their commitment to the message. In England’s London, 250 riders bared as they dared for a long one and a half hour ride. The participants brought petitions to sign. Their purpose was to prompt government to “ease up on its thirst for oil.” The Observer published a photo on the front cover of their London newspaper. And the city set a new precedent when local police and council granted approval for next year’s protest, included with a budget of 90 pounds (what’s that converted into Canadian dollars? >Hint! Hint!<). All this support even after a cyclist’s back wheel was crushed by an aggressive driver (the protester was not hurt, but had to discontinue the ride).

Chicago also had a strong showing of support: 200 or more with 80% mostly naked. Over 12 cyclists cruised by on radically modified show bikes. Unfortunately, their bike ride was a little disorganized. The route was unplanned and their message was reported as “not clear.” Regardless, applause from supporters was described as “thunderous.” They partied afterwards at the pub.

Sixty-two to 63 riders joined in Seattle. Clothes Free TV filmed the pre-ride party and ride itself until the rain came and cancelled the second leg of the event. Kiro Channel Seven or Komo Channel Four were reported to have filmed the protest. The ride lasted ten to 12 miles. Two DJ’s provided music and water was donated.

In Ashville the turnout was described as: crowds cheering and lining the streets, car horns blaring, shouts of “Way to Go’s” at every intersection and lots of cameras. Two female police videotaped the ride. A total of five men and one woman wearing her underwear and no top rode for four miles. Police were “everywhere.”

The Second Annual World Naked Bike Ride was an important event, indeed! Besides, how often do you get to see a group of naked people

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motherly wisdoms, blatantlyexercising their bodies and voices along your city sidewalk? Our local media thought the cause newsworthy (Thank you for the tremendous support!).

The devotion and involvement that went into the World Naked Bike Ride was motivated by the desire to promote healthy life choices and oil and gas conservation. Healthy lifestyle choices are meant to connect us closer with ourselves as well as others. Positive self image and exercise are therapeutic for the body and soul. Drinking plenty of water flushes our systems. Eating most fruits and veggies raw is a great way to maximize their health benefits. Enjoying natural vitamin D helps combat depression. In fact, natural sunlight has been reported as a nudist’s remedy for arthritis, asthma, heart trouble, nervous disorders and shingles.

Oil and gas dependency does not have to be the fate of our nation. There are several things that both you and I can do to waste not want not. Solar and wind-powered energy are great alternatives to electricity and gas. Instead of leaving your outside electric light on, try a solar-powered light that saves you money on your hydro bill. Value relationships over material possessions. Invest your energy into your friendships with others instead of buying fancy possessions that give the illusion of importance. Consume less and recycle what you have. Car pool, ride your bike, roller blade, or find alternatives to gas-powered transportation.

When we are faced with a tremendous problem, we often feel as though our hands are tied behind our backs – that there is nothing we can do to combat the powers that be. The truth of the matter is that we can! There are so many ways to love and cherish our world and the life it breathes. Try recycling as an alternative to over consumerism. Support local business as a means to fight against the multinational monopolies. Spread love and unconditional acceptance; resist the media’s influence over the ways we compare ourselves to “perfect” body shapes, colors and sizes. Pick up at least one piece of garbage every day and lovingly encourage others to do so. This way our city home can clean up fast – fast – fast! Use the bartering system as a means to combat capitalism. Give back to the earth what we take away by composting and using natural human waste instead of commercial fertilizers made from natural gas (does that mean taking a dump on the neighbor’s lawn? > > Doubtful! And I ain’t your Mr. Rogers!).

The Naked Bike Ride prompts us to examine the ways we live and how we view the world. The Nakedness of the bike ride urges us to understand the difference between sex and nudity. The two are

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cumwad twelvenot necessarily one of the other. The intent behind our actions often defines what is acceptable and what is not. The nudity encourages us to talk about abuse and gather together to support those who have been abused. For concerned parents, nudity prompts them to speak frankly and delicately – to assist our children to distinguish the difference between good touching and bad touching through respectful dialogue. Keep in mind that the majority of sexual predators are clothed…

The World Naked Bike Ride is an annual event that lives in my heart everyday. I admit that when I first became involved I was enticed at the excuse to walk naked freely in my community, but the more involved I became, the more I understood that this was just not a “one-day-hippie-protest.” No. But rather a lifestyle choice. I feel impelled to question my motives and take responsibility for my actions. What actions are you willing to take to stand up for? What do you believe in?

See www.worldnakedbikeride.org for more information. Be sure to take note of Prince George’s name on the site. To think, we made history, kid!!

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13 –

Lipstick Lips

Seal Our fate

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I leave you with poetry of inspiration. My category at the time: grade 10. I reflect as dreams fierce and great wilded me back then. Never would I have ever fathomed this would be my talent of fortune: author

of heart, Social Sway.

One last postscript: I have come since to admire Playgirl. The more you flip and allow your eyes to feast, the more both the man and woman can fantasize themselves magical. Let your imagination flourish your realities, if only to believe in all that is good. And caution yourself

with Cybernetic truths.

Kiss. Kiss.

Signature: AnitaHotty.

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EVERYTHING

Climb a mountainExplore the sea

EverythingI’ve dreamed to be

Soar the skyWalk the shore

EverythingAnd even more

Sail the oceanBreathe the air

EverythingBecause I dare

Live the dangerI am free

EverythingI long to be

Close to deathMakes me high

EverythingI must try

Nothing oldSomething new

EverythingI will do

JEST

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Hotty Goals [and she Scores]:

1. ~ World Peace2. Body Acceptance3. Establish new genre: Lyrilick Erotic Prose4. Create ProChoice Movement (Go Bush; Go Bare: Pro Choice)5. Eradicate Racisms6. Motivate Individual Responsibility on a Mass Scale7. Inspire Collective Dialogue8. Support Nudism; Expose Sexual Abuse and all9. Continue Considerate Environmental Awareness Coupled with Action10. Virtue Non-Judgment as Radicalized Better Way Living11. Spread emotive & fiscal wealth, plentifully enriched core heart12. Encourage others adaptation of My Value System, ethic wise

~

13. And with last breath .. …Devil’s thirteen: Goodness, have sum fun!

DICK

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Artist’s Profile:

I am a thirty-three-year-old woman who passions her life, her relations, her actions and honored essence into social conscience.

I pledge my existence to the time-honored “practice what you preach,” and “do unto others…” I ethic my actions by the Code I

was trained to abide: respect and dignity towards others (as well as self) and the unconditional nature of the nonjudgmental attitude. I understand the evolution of my being and embrace my ignorance

as a part of myself that was but no longer is. My history dates back to the ‘redneck’ stereotypes, where I judged others based on fears

and misunderstandings locked deep within the psyche of my denial. I credit the awakening of local Prince George education to my

current being. Now I bring to the world a humbled desire to spread unconditional acceptance through the words I express, my values

and goals of success and fame.

DINK

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That’s the ass end of that!

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DPE