At the Movies

I’ll admit it, I like good porn. Most of the time, this means older porn, the kind where, if you met them today, more than half of the actors would be collecting Social Security, but they were young when the movie was shot. Porn from the days when there were essentially two primary categories: twelve to fourteen-minute 8mm loops used in peep shows in porn shops, and feature length productions, often shot in 35mm, intended to be shown in theatres. The loops were mostly random sex scenes. The features had plots, better production values, and often better acting. When the shorts were still largely on 8mm film, many lacked even a basic soundtrack, since most home projectors didn’t have sound capability. Sound loops existed, but most people couldn’t show them and often didn’t realize there had ever been sound recorded until the old loops were transferred to video.

Generally, I prefer the feature-length oldies, a huge number of which are now available on DVD/BluRay or streaming services. Over the last few days, I watched both parts of the Little Girls Blue series, filmed in 1977 and 1983, and directed by Joanna Williams. Like most of these old features, these were shot with the intention that they would be shown in a theatre, so they included a plot and good production values. Williams obviously had a desire to put out a product that would look good on the big screen and send the viewers home with sex on their minds.

Donna Ruberman evokes a fountain of cum from an essentially anonymous Turk Lynn in the opening fantasy scene from Little Girls Blue 1. Director Joanna Williams was noted for such scenes.

We don’t think of this as often today, but not that many years ago theatrical porn was a shared experience, and, for the viewers, the sex largely came after watching the film, not during. If you got caught masturbating in the theatre it would lead to being thrown at the least, and arrest, a fine, and possible imprisonment if it was a cop and not the usher who caught you. There was even a time when viewing theatrical porn was considered rather chic, and it was common to go to an X-rated theatre on a date. Something we don’t see today, not only because porn theatres have almost entirely vanished from the American scene (if there are any remaining at all), but because a “porn date” today usually means watching it in the living room or bedroom, frequently while naked.

That’s the way I did it recently, anyway. While I was watching that pair of classic movies, my friend Chuck was sitting beside me on the sofa. We’re not the sort of people who feel clothing is necessary if no one else is around, so we were both naked, sitting on towels (something you learn if you spend much time at naturist resorts), and playing with our own or each other’s genitalia as the spirit moved us. Chuck has always said that you can gauge the quality of a porn feature by how many times you cum before it’s over. He managed twice on part 2; I managed six times and ended up having to rewatch the film in order to write the review, having been somewhat distracted for too much of it.

Elaine Wells (Buffy) has just got her quiz grade raised to an “A” after fucking Mr. Barrett (Paul Thomas). Porn condones student-teacher relationships real life definitely frowns on.

Little Girls Blue is a classic take on the venerable schoolgirl theme, long popular. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a Catholic boarding school (at a couple of points I thought a nun might have been briefly in frame), but the uniforms had a distinctly European rather than Catholic look. Solid blue skirts, white blouses, and knee socks, more like what you’d find in a British girls’ school than at Saint Agony’s of Toledo. In any event, it’s clearly a private girls’ boarding school, and the general appearance is of a private high school. If that’s the case, one can only presume that all of the girls are seniors and over eighteen, because there’s a great deal of sexual activity happening.

An obvious advantage of older porn for people like myself, or my friend, Chuck, is that the actors are more esthetically pleasing. Tattoos are rare, which is fine with me. I simply don’t find them attractive. Today they tend to be so extensive on many performers that they literally break up the physical outline of the body, which is hardly something you’d consider advantageous in a profession where physical attractiveness is a major consideration.

Something I noticed in the first installment was that Casey Winters’ character, listed as “Debby” in the credits, seemed to mostly be addressed as “Misty” in the film. At least, that’s what it sounded like to me. I heard “Mariam” for Lori Blue’s character, but the credits called her “Marium,” so I guess cutesy spellings were already a thing in the late 1970s.

Casey Winters as Debby, or possibly Misty, sucking Paul Thomas’ cock in a classroom fantasy in part 1 of Little Girls Blue. Fantasy scenes play a major part in both movies, though they tend to be a little more obviously abstract and surreal in the second feature.

Schoolgirl erotica has a long history and reflects a fair amount of historic reality. One of our high school science teachers was fired when he married a former student a year after she graduated. This was based on the presumption that she started dating him while she was still a student. In fact, I knew that she was, but didn’t see any reason to complain about it at the time. I don’t know if they were having sex or not, though it wouldn’t surprise me. I do know that he was actually only about five years older than his future bride and, considering how long they’ve been married, presumably it was a love match sanctioned by whatever gods, or spirits, or compatibility genes bless such unions, regardless of the school board’s opinion. That was at the public high school the real me attended, not the somewhat liberalized version of a Christian high school the semi-fictionalized version of me found in my books attended.

Getting back to feature-length porn, I think there’s a lot to say for long-form sex movies. Aside from the personal benefit I occasionally derived from writing scripts for these things, it’s just nice to see an actual story. While I often got the impression that Williams secretly wanted to be directing some French avant garde work of art, particularly in the fantasy scenes, it was all still remarkably entertaining. You could care about these people.

Mariam (Lori Blue) in part 2 of Little Girls Blue, during one of the fantasy segments. Shot six years after the first installment, the makeup is far less extreme, and her hair is done in a more becoming style.

You don’t find that in many modern porn flicks. Too much recent porn consists of nothing more than some overdeveloped palooka pounding away at the poor actress’ asshole or trying to shove his cock all the way down her throat. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of caring involved. In many older films the plot unfolds in much the same fashion as a conventional romantic feature, except that in these films the sex is explicit instead of merely suggested or only briefly glimpsed. The final sexual encounter in Little Girls Blue 2 could easily have been lifted from a mainstream feature with only a few cuts. It was artistic as hell, which is another way of saying very moody, intense, and obscurely lit. It also gave the impression that it meant something profound to the participants, while the dĂ©nouement of most modern porn seems to signify nothing more than a couple people have had orgasms and will now go on with their individual lives unconcerned with anything except that it felt good for a few minutes.

Needing Inspiration

a Muse?
Muses are supposed to be inspirational. I’m suddenly inspired to eat someone.

Inspiration is a fickle friend. Which Muse do you appeal to when the story bogs down? There doesn’t seem to be a ready answer, for the Muses’ traditional realms were various sorts of poetry, not prose accounts of sexual activity. The current work is fiction, but the story is spread over seven millennia, and there’s a lot of history mixed in with the fucking, so do I appeal to Clio? Her realm is history, after all. Or Terpsichore? Well, she’s into dancing, but if you remember Xanadu, she apparently gets into art as well, and looks a lot like Olivia Newton John. Clio apparently looks like Kerry Butler, proving, if nothing else, that when someone adapts a cult film into a musical play sometimes they get their Muses confused, or repurposed, or something. Personally, I don’t imaging the Greeks were picturing beautiful blondes as Muses, but probably inspirational spirits who looked a bit more, well, Hellenic.

What does this have to do with inspiration? I’m trying to inspire myself to finish the book I’m working on. Money, however, seems to be more of an inspiration than art. People buy my books, but a lot more people probably read the absolute dreck I turn out trying to convince them to buy soap, or cars, or toasters, or what have you. The books and stories satisfy my artistic yearning, but writing advertising goes a lot farther when it comes to paying the rent on my apartment and buying groceries.

If I could claim to have an actual hobby, this would probably be it.

For most of the last year, I haven’t even had to go into the office to do that job. I could sit in front of my computer at home and come up with the same slogans I’d create in the office, but with the added advantage that I could write them with one hand on the keyboard and the other on my pussy.

Covid has undoubtedly helped to make masturbation even more popular than it has always been. Certainly sales have been up a little for my books and stories. Not as high as they were back in the days when Amazon had most of them on sale, but up a bit from their pre-Covid averages. I can only conclude that more people are staying home and need something to jerk their cocks or diddle their cunts to. Inspiration to do something sexual is much easier to come by than inspiration to write something sexy.

I do sometimes wonder if my books would sell better if they were illustrated. I’m not a very good artist, though. And good artists are expensive. Photos would be cheaper, but it isn’t easy to find a set that exactly fits the story. You can’t just grab pictures from the web; you have to pay for them and obtain a proper license to use them. That isn’t easy. It’s surprising how few of the photo agencies allow their products to be used as book covers or interior art. Most are only licensed for online use. And commissioning photos to fit the story isn’t in the budget.

You might ask, what’s in the upcoming work? As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, the current working title is Undying Lust, and the protagonist is an immortal originally called Zara, and renamed Sarah in more recent times. Roughly 6,600 years old, she’s seen a lot and done a lot. She’s been involved in a threesome with Robin Hood and Maid Marian, fucked an actual god (which is how she ended up immortal), given birth to a demigod, survived a disaster or two, once knew Shakespeare, and been involved in more than one marathon sixty-nine session with me. Her original religion involved a lot of sex and the frequent praise of a set of gods and goddesses who held to a general non-interference policy with the people who worshipped them, but did enjoy watching them have sex (well, who doesn’t, if you’re going to be honest?).

Not the characters in my story, but she looks to be having a good time.

Naturally, this being one of my books, there’s a good bit of consensual incest. Zara’s people, the Moronites, didn’t actually see anything wrong with the concept as long as all involved were old enough to know what they were doing, and their gods and goddesses were nearly all married to their siblings. The one exception was their creator god, Kolek, who was married to his daughter, Kanzeki. Kanzeki had no mother, but was created entirely by her father, who masturbated her into existence. He’d previously spent most of his spare time masturbating galaxies into existence, but eventually became lonely and created a daughter instead. Kolek was more of a Deist-type god, letting the galaxies he’d jerked into being evolve on their own while he was off  spewing out more. So if a widowed Zara felt comfortable fucking her grown son, the gods didn’t care and neither did her neighbors.

And, of course, there’s a certain amount of pee involved. Call it a personal fetish. One of the things I like about Sarah is her oversized bathtub, big enough for two to play around in. If you’re already in the tub, who cares if you get a little wet?

Weird World

I’ve been fairly busy since the last time I wrote anything on this blog. The “biggest” news is that An Erotic Life has now been published and is on sale wherever the censors will allow it to be sold (which obviously doesn’t include ol’ Jeff’s place). If you liked the four “autobiographies” I’ve done so far, you should enjoy this. It contains everything that was in those, but rearranged so that it’s all in chronological order, and I’ve added enough new material that I could have just done a fifth book instead of putting it all together.

Something else that’s new since my last post is that WordPress has finally managed to make it so ridiculously difficult to wrap text around images that I’ve completely given up on even trying. I guess I’m just going to have to use larger images and put them inline between paragraphs. Tech people are always trying to “improve” things, but as often as not they just screw them up instead.

Something else that’s new. One Room is now available as an audiobook. If you’re in the US you can get it from Audible here. It’s also available from Audible in the United Kingdom, France, and Germany. All of those are in English, of course, they just have separate markets for those countries. Amaya Thompson reads it.

There’s also my other audiobook, Lust for Blood, read by the appropriately British Angela Mannering.

This is also available on the US, UK, French, and German Audible sites, and can also be had in both Kindle and paperback editions from Amazon. You’ll want to use the links, because someone has apparently noticed there’s a lot of sex going on in here and they’re making it difficult to find. When I put my name in as a search term the site just gave me several pages of clothing from some guy named Ralph.

Getting serious here, it seems that my mother still believes there was something funny going on in the last election. So do I, but what I’m inclined to question is entirely different from what she thinks happened. “It was those voting machines,” she says. Maybe, but not the ones you’re thinking of, Mom. I’m a lot more suspicious of how McConnell managed to get reelected, despite being such a miserable excuse for a human being. I don’t see much of problem with the Dominion machines. I really think the Reps dislike them because they’re so freaking difficult to tamper with. If you could somehow rig them to change votes at the input stage, the voter would be able to see it on the printout that goes into the scanner. And if you fucked with the scanners, then the count wouldn’t match the paper ballots. Which they did in all but one case, and that one had to do with some ballots being laid out wrong because of a local race, not with any attempt at fraud.

They want an audit? Okay, but you realize most fourth graders could manage that, right? The machines they like, on the other hand, look like they’re a lot easier to screw around with. Guess who won most of those elections.

On the bright side, even if Fearless Leader doesn’t get convicted in the Senate–and there’s a pretty good chance he won’t, considering the number of Republican senators who’ve essentially said they won’t even consider the evidence, they’re just going to vote to acquit–it looks like Georgia will be hauling his ass into court for election tampering. With any luck they can get Graham as well. I’m not sure if they have him on tape, but they’ve got the big guy, and Georgia is a “one-party consent” state, so the tape is admissible in court.

And, of course, New York will be going after him for a lot of questionable stuff involving his businesses. In the end, it may not even matter whether he’s convicted in the Senate and barred from holding office in the future. There’s a pretty good chance he’ll be living somewhere that won’t let him run anyway.

That’s an interesting legal question. If a prisoner managed to get himself elected President, do they have to let him out so he can serve? Or does he have to try to run things from the Ossining White House? Honestly, I think that would at the very least be 25th Amendment time. Being locked up for, well, in his case, probably the rest of his life (given his age and life expectancy), would certainly constitute a viable impediment to fulfilling official duties.


I think I may be getting lazy in my old age. Well, my current age. I’m not old. I was born in 1965. It says so right there in my bio. I mean, would lie about a thing like that? Okay, maybe I would. Technically, I’m as fictional as any of my characters, so that does give me a bit of leeway.

The lazy part may be true, though. I noticed today that I haven’t added anything to this blog since September 2019, which is a long time to go without writing something here. It’s been quite a while since I published anything, too. How much longer that will go on I’m not sure. I sent a new book in not too long ago, so it really just depends on how long it takes the publisher to get it out. Sometime it takes longer than others.

My four published autobiographies will be part of my big new book.

The next thing out is called An Erotic Life, and combines everything that’s in my four existing “autobiographies” with enough new material for a fifth book, so even if you’ve already read these you’ll still get your money’s worth. And I didn’t just throw the four existing books in and add a little between them. It’s all been rearranged in proper chronological order.

This is a big book, particularly for something in the erotica category. Almost 107,000 words; a very healthy length even in a mainstream novel. Naturally, it finds me involved in the usual situations. I’m still fucking my brother, getting it on with my aunt, some cousins, an uncle, and the usual strangers and friends. It’s purely coincidental that I didn’t start doing any of this stuff until after I turned eighteen, and has nothing whatever to do with my otherwise ‘almost anything goes’ publisher having a character age limit. As usual, I don’t know what the cover will look like yet (but if one suddenly appears on this post, it means I went back and added it).

Not Sarah, obviously, but another hot redhead I’m sure she’d like to get together with.

Meanwhile, if you’ve read The Gods are Horny, you’ll already be familiar with my friend Sarah, the lovely redheaded lady who’s been knocking around the world getting into all sort of sexual hijinks since around 4685 BCE. She’s the protagonist in the book I’m working on now, Undying Lust, which follows her through the last 6,600 or so years as she gets involved with a host of fascinating and horny folks from history, folklore, and legend, including me. After all, here’s someone who’s been a priestess in a Moronite temple, where the male worshippers expressed their thanks by getting a blowjob from the priestess, a loving mom who thinks her sons should be kept satisfied, the mother of a demigod, granted immortality by the god she once fucked, and a witness to some of the more interesting events of the last few thousand years. This is someone who’s been in a threesome with Robin Hood and Maid Marian, lived through the Black Death more than once, and enjoyed rural Victorian English life as the intimate friend of an incestuous baron and his sister. She made an eventful Atlantic crossing to America, did porn in the ’70s, lived next door to me when I was finishing high school in Georgia, and, well, been pretty busy ever since.

I don’t think Undying Lust is going to be as long as An Erotic Life, but it seems pretty likely to hit 80,000 words or a bit more. Like most of my books, it’s going to have a fair bit of plot mixed in with the fucking, sucking, and lesbians.

I’d really like to have it illustrated, but I’m a terrible artist, and I don’t have the budget for a good one. Ah, well…

Still Working on It

Memoirs of an Immortal is taking longer than I expected. It’s also going to be longer than I expected, which goes along with the extra time writing the thing. The fact that the lovely Zara’s life spans a little more than 6600 years is another factor. It isn’t so much a matter of which periods to place her in as which to leave her out of.

I still think this is more or less what Zara should look like, though I think she’d be a bit older than this model as she stopped aging at 36, young. but not this young.

I did make a conscious choice to keep her mostly out of biblical times or, at least, biblical events. Religious people tend to get upset when you make fun of their mythology, so Zara won’t be interacting with anybody found in the Bible. Not even the fictional ones, thought that, honestly, takes in most of them anyway.

It’s kind of a pity. Abraham and Sarah fall so nicely into the sort of story I tend to write, what with them being half-siblings who share a father. It’s always struck me as curious that the founding figures in two major religions were a couple whose marriage would be strictly forbidden by either of those religions (the third Abrahamic religion traces itself back to a different son of Abraham, whose mother was not the man’s half sister). My Sarah will not be meeting either of them.

It was a bit harder to resist inserting her into Esther’s ancient Persia, since historians are just about unanimous that this story is nothing more reliable than an ancient romance novel. The proto-rabbis who admitted Job to the canon themselves declared that story to be exemplary fiction; history says Esther is likewise fiction, for neither she, nor Mordechai, nor Vashti, nor Haman, nor anyone like them ever appears in Persian history. Still, I’d prefer not to find myself being burnt at the stake if the evangelical types ever manage to get themselves into power.

If Zara finds herself screwing any historical figures, count on them being long dead. She certainly won’t find herself involved with our current president at any time during his career. I like to think she’d have better sense.

One of my projects today was doing a thorough update on my website. I had my regular IT guy over, he of the salt and pepper hair and huge dick. He gives me a nice discount if I suck his cock. That’s something I’d do whether I got a discount or not, by the way, so don’t think it’s some sort of exploitation.

One way to get discount IT services (but, no, this isn’t me, she’s a model).

While I was working on Memoirs, I took a couple days off to write Left on Their Own, which has been submitted and is now awaiting cover design and publication. It’s the story of twins, brother and sister, left to their own devices by the parents, who’ve gone off to the big city for a will reading. It should be appearing at Lot’s Cave shortly. Once it does, I’ll link it from my site.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of writing a porn short subject script, then publishing it and inviting readers to shoot their own movie from it. I suppose the problem with that is that this sounds like some sort of contest scenario, and I have nothing to offer as a prize beyond a free, and obviously non-exclusive, license to shoot it. I may do it anyway, just to see what results.

Plot v. Porn

There is always a question when you’re writing erotic stories. What is the proper ratio of plot to action? Is there a fixed percentage of the story that should be devoted to graphic descriptions of sexual action? How much description and exposition is enough, and how much is too much?

There doesn’t appear to be any hard and fast rule on this. Porn videos have obviously leaned in the direction of action over exposition. It used to be that porn movies needed to include a good bit of plot and non-sexual action in order to avoid being censored, just as porn magazines, while loaded with pictures of naked people having sex, also contained “scholarly” articles explaining why the things the models were doing was healthy and psychologically important to their mental health. These days, with porn more or less established as legal, there’s a lot less of that.

In 1980, a 70-minute porn feature might contain 30 minutes of people talking. Today, a same-length feature is likely to contain 60 minutes of fucking and just enough plot to get from one bed to the next.

I’m going through this calculation with my current work in progress, which will be called Memoirs of an Immortal. Because the story has to cover a span of over six millennia, there is obviously lots of space for both plot and sex. So far, there’s a good deal of both. My primary character, Zara, who also goes by Sarah, Elissa, Veronica, and a few other names between her birth in 4685 BCE and modern times, spends much of her time having sex. Being immortal, she’s also immune to the various plagues she lives through, and stopped aging at 36, remaining eternally a hot redhead (hence the pictures of hot redheads scattered through this essay).

The story naturally includes that standard “no resemblance” disclaimer, though some of the characters that appear are definitely real. They’ve just been dead long enough to be historical, so you get to mess around with them a bit more. So she gets to meet people such as Caligula, Bocaccio, Shakespeare, and others. What sort of interaction depends on the historical person, how they’re perceived, and what they’d be likely to do in a given situation.

Would she have sex with Caligula, for instance? I think she very well might, at least before he went completely nuts. With Shakespeare? Oh, no doubt, and he’d most likely write a sonnet or two about it, if not an actual erotic play. Fucking in blank verse. Not sure I’ll go there, but there is a certain temptation.

Honestly, you’re going to find plots in all of my stories. I find pure, mindless sex rather boring. Even if I’m watching some Japanese newsroom bukkake video I find that I need to come up with some sort of plot. Must there not be a reason why this ridiculous parade of men are wandering up to the anchor desk and cumming all over the newsreader? And she isn’t trying to kill them? Is it possible that aliens from Planet X have issued a threat to destroy Tokyo if this doesn’t happen? If you’ve ever watched old Japanese sci-fi movies this sort of thing might just make sense.

As for the original question, I can’t really make up my mind if there’s a magic formula for plot v. porn in an erotic story or novel. In Lust for Blood there were a number of chapters with no sex at all, and others where there wasn’t much else. Shorter works tend to have more sex as the encounters are more central to the plot.

Double Event

Today brought something unique. Usually, I send a manuscript in to Lot’s Cave and a couple months later they’ve created a cover, formatted everything, and the book or story is released on as many platforms as will take it. Because a lot of my stories contain incestuous relationships, that generally means that you won’t be able to buy them on Amazon. There are a couple there, but while they still have lots of sex, no one is related to anyone they’re having sex with.

In a bit of a surprise, Lot’s Cave released two of my stories today. Wet took about as long as usual, but the second book, The Donkey Show, was significantly faster getting to market. Wet is a continuation of my autobiography, with an emphasis on the pissy aspects. Not pissy as in bad, pissy as in peeing. Peeing in the woods, peeing in the tub, peeing on a friend, being peed on by a friend, that sort of thing.

If you think that one is potentially controversial, The Donkey Show makes it seem pretty innocuous. When four friends take a trip to Tijuana in search of that legendary show, they discover a club where there’s actually a donkey, and there’s actually a stripper who comes out every night and has sex with the beast. There’s loads of sex in this one. Tom and his sister, Tina, have been getting it on for several years. George is the sort of guy who thinks its perfectly normal to pull out his dick in a strip club VIP room and cum all over the stripper, so it probably shouldn’t surprise anyone when he gets a blow job from a hooker while he’s watching the donkey show in the night club. If George checked out the hooker a little more closely he might have been in for a surprise, since the lovely Carla was originally the handsome Carlos. We can only speculate on what George would have done had he discovered the pretty girl with his dick in her mouth had one of her own between her legs.

Meanwhile Al, the nice one, has a thing for middle-aged call girls who are willing to play “mommy” games while they fuck him. He certainly knows how to idle away an afternoon at the hotel while they’re waiting to go to the club.

Like I said, I don’t see two books coming out on the same day very often. I felt the need to celebrate, even before I sat down to write about it. That’s not actually me in the photo, but it does a nice job of demonstrating how I celebrated the releases. Masturbation and a nice Chablis, my recipe for a good private party.

Meanwhile, Memoirs of an Immortal is coming along nicely. I’ve got Zara/Sarah from Moronia in the 47th century BC to Rome in 46 BC in a little over 20,000 words, with another 21 centuries to go before she’s up to modern times. There was a very large skip there, by the way, from about 1948 BC to where she is now. She spent most of that time in ancient Israel, and while I have no problem with arguing that the biblical record is almost entirely fictional, I don’t see any reason to irritate my readers by including it in the story, either. Exodus was exciting and all that, but it never really happened, and the Israelites didn’t really come into Canaan and conquer it since they originated there, making the conquest not so much an invasion as an expansion. You’d think the modern Israelis would emphasize this, considering it actually strengthens their claim to the land.

Sarah will be interacting with people a lot more now that she’s in Rome. Caesar is assassinated in a couple years, the imperial system begins, Caligula and Nero both provide horrible examples, all that sort of thing. Then there are the middle ages to work through, Boccaccio and the black death and horny clergy, Tudor England, colonial America, the Victorian era, a couple of world wars, and on into today. Lots of time and opportunities to get the girl laid.

What’s On the Way

The real cover art will no doubt be somewhat less explicit, since it has to meet the various online booksellers’ criteria for display.

Looking forward to the next few weeks, this is what you can expect to arrive. The first new book is likely to be Wet, my soggy little tome in tribute to the art of erotic peeing. Admit it, it feels good when you pee. Of course, in the book, it isn’t always solo pissing. There’s a bit of peeing in most of my books. This one centers on the subject, so it may just be a little on the specialized side for people who just care about ordinary, everyday fucking.

Now, if you read some of my stuff, you might come to the conclusion that I’m an absolute fiend for having pretty young women pee into my mouth. Not true. I write fiction, for one thing, so you’re just going to have to guess how much of what’s in a particular story actually happened and how much didn’t. I’m not saying I never indulge, I just tend to discriminate more. All pee doesn’t taste alike. All cum doesn’t taste alike. All pussies don’t taste alike. Hell, all bread doesn’t taste alike. What you prefer is a matter of personal taste.

A very photogenic cunt. The sort a popular stripper who was fucking her brother on the side might wish to display when she’s squatting on the bar top.

I believe Wet should be out fairly soon now. After that, you can look forward to The Donkey Show, which is about exactly what it sounds like. Three male friends, and the stripper-sister of one of them, take a vacation in Tijuana in search of the legendary animal act. They even manage to find it.

I’ll admit, this one takes it to the outer limits even for erotica. Almost nothing I write ends up on Amazon now. Their standards don’t allow stories about incest, and they don’t allow stories that include people fucking animals in a night club. So why write about it, then? Because people buy it. When Amazon still allowed that sort of content it sold astonishingly well. Today, not as much is sold, most likely because the marketplace is much smaller, and a lot of potential buyers really don’t know where to look, or whether they can trust the seller if they find it. It was a lot easier before Amazon decided to give in to pressure from the moralists.

I know I have a tendency to include an actual plot in most of my stories, so that often my readers find themselves with a good bit of story to get through in between the fucking, sucking, and other goodies. If your sole reason for reading one of these tales is to masturbate while you do it, I hope I provide enough stimulation. But the next story, the one I’m in the middle of writing, may be fairly heavy in that area.

Frankly, this picture just makes me hungry. And I’m not talking about the fruit and yogurt.

Memoirs of an Immortal is going to be a long one. It’s at 12,000 words now and our heroine has just consummated her marriage (in public, since that was the custom then). That means she still has well over 6,000 years of adventures to recount before she gets up to modern times.

I’ve been having a lot of fun with this one. In the earliest part I get to create a new civilization, which most authors secretly want to do, but generally don’t get the chance to. I did a lot of the work on this in The Gods are Horny, but there’s still plenty of detail to add. After all, I have to get Zara from her one-year stint as a temple priestess at age eighteen, to widowhood at age 36, when the Moronite god Oroyna catches sight of her sucking off her son, decides he likes what he sees, and comes down off his mountain, seduces her, knocks her up, begets a demigod with her, and gives her the gift of immortality and eternal youth.

Well, eternal mid-30s, anyway. She’ll be a gorgeous redhead forever.

After that, we can get her mixed in with history. Sort of like Forest Gump, except that Forest was worked into modern history, and Zara/Sarah gets to involve herself in ancient history. Who but a Moronite immortal could find herself variously at the royal courts of King Solomon, Ahasuerus and Esther, Caligula, Macbeth, Elizabeth I, Victoria, and numerous other important people of more recent vintage. I don’t suppose there’s anything to stop her bumping into some fictional types as well, Sherlock Holmes, perhaps, or Dracula.

You just never know where a story like this is going to take you.


Not Sarah, but might be a candidate for the book cover.

Sarah Norman has now found herself in several of my books. She’s a hot redhead I met recently, or so the story goes. She first turned up in The Gods are Horny, where I dropped a few rather pointed hints that the 36-year-old Sarah might just be the same person as Zara b’Biktar, a 36-year-old Moronite beauty who ended up screwing the Moronite god, Oroyna, and having his demigod son, Nalaro, a sort of Moronite version of Heracles. Oroyna liked fucking the young woman so much that he made her immortal, so even a bit more than 6,000 years later she’d still be alive, healthy, and the same age.

Another possible candidate, though I’ve used her on the One Room cover already. Might depend on whether the licensing company has a good set with longer hair.

I have a feeling this is going to be one of my longer books. I’ve hit 10,000 words already, and the poor girl is still only 19. Nearly all of the detail has happened since her 18th birthday, naturally, that being the nature of erotica these days. I suppose there will be a bit of skipping as the years pass. A character who’s over 6,000-years-old presents an obvious opportunity for insertion into various historic events, which she can describe “in her own words.” I know she’s going to spend some time in Caligula’s court, hang around with Elizabeth I, perhaps provide some inspiration for one of Bocaccio’s horny nuns, or lend her tits and cunt as inspiration for King Solomon when he’s writing Song of Songs. I don’t think she’ll be meeting Jesus, no matter how great an opportunity to offend the maximum number of people that might present.

An interesting thing here is that, since I’m working with an established character, there are some things I can’t change. Where and when she was born, her service as a priestess in the Temple of Oroyna and Nalima in Valtera, her demigod son and personal immortality, her connections with (the fictional) me. That sort of thing. Since these things have already been set down in permanent form, about all I can do is expand on them, maybe provide a bit more of the dirty details. I presume my readers are okay with the dirty details.

One thing I do plan to do is take a slightly more active than usual part in selecting cover art. For most of my books, my publisher has provided the covers, and done a nice job of it. For this one, whether I’ll pick the image myself, or just specify stricter criteria, I haven’t decided yet. Zara/Sarah’s red hair is a very clearly delineated part of her characterization. It wouldn’t do to have a blond on the cover. Maybe I’ll pick one of the models used in this post. Maybe it’ll be someone else. I have licenses for those two sets (among others), but I may just see something I like better before the book is finished.

Which, right now, is something I need to get back to doing.

Merry Christmas 2018

I suppose some people will wonder why I give a shit about Christmas, considering that I’m essentially an atheist and tend to look upon organized religion as a massive con. The reason I care, at least a little, is that most of the celebration is actually secular, or derived from sources that have nothing to do with the sort of pleasureless, guilt-ridden Christianity that I was raised in. The Romans, who first started celebrating on December 25 in thelr Saturnalia festival, would have no doubt looked quite favorably on the young lady on this year’s Christmas card. Romans were into orgies; Christians, generally, are not, despite adhering to a religion centered on the necessity of human sacrifice for the atonement of sin and revering cannibalism as the core sacrament of their faith.

Anyway, if that sort of thing turns you on, fine. It’s no sillier than any other ancient religion, beyond the obvious problem that people still believe it while all of God’s contemporaries were long ago consigned to mythology.

To my way of looking at things, Christmas is an excuse for getting together with friends and any family members you’re still talking to. It’s a good time to watch old movies, forget your diet, remember why you adopted that mutt five years ago, buy presents for your nieces and nephews, buy presents for yourself, binge watch the first three seasons of Lucifer, all the while wondering how much racier it’s going to be after moving to Netflix, stick the DVD of Teenage Twins in the player and masturbate while wondering just how they ever got away with that one, and generally just have a good time for one day when almost no one has to work. That’s more or less what I’ve got planned, other than the porn feature. Most of the time I don’t masturbate while I watch feature-length porn because I’m too busy taking notes just in case I decided to write a review.

So, just have a merry Christmas. Or have a drink. Whatever seems best to you.