Month: December 2017

Happy 2018!

So, just what did you expect me to be doing at midnight on New Year’s Eve? Okay, sure, that’s not me in the picture, but I find it inspiring, and I plan to bring in the new year just as naked, and doing pretty much the same thing. I’m not wandering over to Times Square. There’s just too much of a hassle these days, with security check points and all the other nuisances. I suppose they may deter terrorists attacks, but life was a lot easier when you could just walk over there and join the crowd. No, I’ll just stay here in my apartment and play with myself. With any luck at all, when the ball drops in Times Square I’ll be in the middle of a massive orgasm.

What do I have planned for 2018? I’ll be writing more, obviously. I’m currently working on The Erotic Adventures of a Lady’s Maid. This is supposed to one of the books written by Maureen O’Leary, the maid in Lust for Blood. No vampires in this one, obviously; just a lot of sex. Lots and lots of sex.

As you may recall from Lust for Blood, Maureen’s sexual exploits tended towards self-pleasuring and lesbian interludes with her employer and her employer’s best friend. Cecily Margaret Freelove (pronounced Freh’-liv), the heroine of The Erotic Adventures of a Lady’s Maid, isn’t quite so exclusive. She certainly enjoys masturbating, spending a good part of the train trip to her new job with her skirts up around her waist and her fingers working on her pussy, but she also enjoys ordinary, heterosexual fucking. Perhaps needless to say, she also tends to get it on with her mistress, an aristocratic lady who is still quite slim and beautiful at 35.

What lady doesn’t enjoy diddling herself until she’s cum a few times? Sure, you’ll find a few religious types who think the whole idea of an orgasm is something horrible and evil, but, put bluntly, those people are fucking crazy. Women enjoy cumming. So do men, I’m told, but they’re a bit more limited in how much pleasure they can derive from masturbating because men, most of them, can only cum once and then they have to stop and rest, while a woman can just keep going. I figure I’m usually good for a minimum of four orgasms per session, and that’s when I don’t have a lot of time to put into the exercise. 

It’s nights such as this when I sometimes think I might claim my computer has stopped working and call Jim to come over and fix it. There’s nothing wrong with my computer, but Jim has a great dick, and it feels so fucking good when he’s working it in and out of my cunt. I find that, at this stage of life, I enjoy screwing a lot more than I did when I was younger and had to worry about getting accidentally knocked up. Now I can fuck all I like and there’s essentially no chance in hell of getting pregnant.

It might do some Washington people a world of good to get laid more often. I mean, I know a lot of Republicans are like my mother, and figure sex is evil, something foisted upon humanity by the Devil, and to be avoided at all costs. But Republicans also seem to think that poverty is good for you, and do their damnedest to keep everyone except the rich people they work for poor. Maybe if they got laid more often they’d be happier and more inclined to actually give a shit about their constituents.

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Merry Christmas, Wanna Fuck?

That’s the sort of question I like to ask on Christmas. I don’t really observe the holiday for the religious aspects. There’s roughly zero chance that Jesus was actually born on December 25. Isaac Newton was, but Jesus was probably born sometime in March or April. That’s when you’ll find shepherds in the fields, watching over their flocks by night, not in the middle of December, when the sheep are mostly kept in the barn.

The truth is, the only reason Christmas is on December 25 is because the early Church couldn’t get the people to stop celebrating the Roman Saturnalia, which fell on that day. This was celebrated with parties, gift giving, and orgies. Roman orgies were legendary, though, truth be told, they generally tended to be a lot more about eating and drinking than sex. The wild sex angle was largely Church propaganda, trying to make pagans seem “evil,” because they would “give in to the base desires of the physical body.”

I never really understood that. Fundies seem to think that body and spirit are two entirely separate things, with completely different agendas. The spirit aspires to elevated thoughts, pure and serene desires that center on God and Jesus, while the body just wants to corrupt itself. Okay, the body wants to enjoy itself, but it’s the mind, which is where all conscious and unconscious thought resides, not in some symbiotic “spirit,” that tells the body what to do.

Adam and Eve, being horrible and messy. Eating apples leads inevitably to blowjobs and swallowing cum.

I’ve known a few fundies who honestly believed that, if Adam and Eve had behaved themselves and never eaten that fruit, God would have found a way for them to reproduce that didn’t include anything as horrible and messy as sex. My mother thinks that way. It’s always been sort of a joke between me and my brother, Sam, that, since there are three of us kids, it seems very likely Mom and Dad have had sex exactly three times, and probably didn’t enjoy it. You’re not supposed to enjoy it, according to Mom. Uncle Ralph, Dad’s brother, once told me he was very surprised when she married my father, because “she’d have to fuck her husband, and she was saving herself for Jesus.”

So, what are you having for Christmas dinner?

Usually, on a holiday, I’d have my brother over and fuck his brains out, but he’s married again, and they’re off to an unnamed theme park in Florida to commune with the rodents. Instead, my friend Sarah is coming over. We expect to open presents (I buy my gifts from Vibrators.com), sit around my apartment naked, and eat each other’s pussies until we can’t cum any more. A basic, traditional holiday, in other words.

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Cumming at Carlisle’s

My new book is on sale now.

My latest book was released on Saturday, December 9, to the usual blast of promotional tweets and no noticeable critical attention. They All Cum at Carlisle’s is part 3 of my “autobiographical” series. The other two books are The Life of Lauren, which started it all off, and Across the Pond.

The series isn’t exactly chronological. The first book starts with me in high school and finishes fairly recently. The second is set between my freshman and sophomore years in college, and Carlisle’s is set when I was 30. That was a helluva year, because I spent the summer at Carlisle’s Nature Resort, where the dress code was officially “clothing optional,” but “just go naked” was more what was meant. Usually, the only person you’d regularly see wearing anything was Julia Carlisle, the 26-year-old co-owner (with her brother, Jordon) of the establishment. Julia was often seen in a bikini, because she spent a lot of time in the office, on the “public” side of the boundary fence and hedges. That was where people checked in, and where there was a reasonable expectation that the odd non-nudist might show up from time to time.

Julia was a gorgeous brunette, who bore a certain resemblance to a young Bettie Page, and did everything she could to emphasize that. Jordon was actually three years older than his sister, but absolutely hated anything to do with bookkeeping and the tedium of running a popular resort property, so he did the maintenance and let his sister run the place. He was fairly popular with the female guests, since he was handy, could fix stuff if it was broke, and had a 13″ dick that always seemed ready to spring to attention at the first hint of interest.

The sort of thing you might see by the pool at Carlisle’s. Full photo set will be in my member area.

Carlisle’s was what you’d call an “adult” nature resort. No kids allowed. Most naturist places are crawling with the little darlings, and, in general, they’re safer there than they are in the clothed world. Social nudists are, for the most part, surprisingly prudish. Carlisle’s, and another place I used to go, Hidden Cove, didn’t allow anyone under eighteen, so the usual horror of hardons didn’t apply, and people would sometimes fuck right out in the splendors of nature. It used to be that way, at least. Hidden Cove was bought by a fucking church, so now the place is clothing-mandatory and praise Jesus.
Considering it was Reverend fucking Killjoy’s church that bought the place, I couldn’t help wondering if he was still pulling the “holy anointing oil” and “tower of blessing” stunt on the high school seniors.

Not me, and not Rev. Killjoy, but a pic just like this is more or less what got me my scholarship. (set and video in member area.)

I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much about the old pervert, though, considering he paid for an Ivy League education for me once I had pictures of him with his cock in my mouth. I wouldn’t call it blackmail, exactly. Okay, maybe I would. The statute of limitations ran out on that years ago, so what does it matter?

Julia and I became great friends during my stay. Neither of us are lesbians, exactly, but we’re definitely flexible. Perhaps not as flexible as my friend Hilda, who’s a professional contortionist, and can eat her own pussy, but flexible enough. (Hilda might be worth a story on her own, come to think of it.) Julia and I took the train back to my place in New York, which was an experience in itself. If you’ve never had sex in an Amtrak roomette, you haven’t lived.

There was a lot of this stuff going on at Carlisle’s.

While I was at Carlisle’s, I found myself teaching a creative writing class. Some of the stories my students produced are included in the book, and some of them are pretty wild. One of the students stated, very clearly, that nothing in his sister’s story of a family orgy upon their arrival at the resort was true. Naturally, we all figured that it was. One guy apparently wants to be the next John Norman. Norman, if you’re unfamiliar with the guy, wrote the Gor series, which includes a lot of “women should be sex slaves and men should be the masters” nonsense (along with some mistress-slave relationships as a counterpoint). His story is included, and it’s fairly awful, but might just appeal to a certain demographic. Everyone else can just read and say, “This guy’s an idiot.” (My student, not Norman, whose day job is philosophy professor.)

They All Cum at Carlisle’s is fairly typical of my autobiographic books, or, for that matter, my Lot’s Cave books. There’s a lot of sex, a certain amount of incest and, I hope, some decent literary value.

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Erotica, Horror, and Vampires

There is something inherently erotic about certain forms of horror. The modern incarnations in slasher movies have nothing erotic about them, but much of older horror did. Vampires are particularly evocative in this context. Vampirism, after all, has always been a metaphor for sexual congress.

Curiously, one of the oldest English vampire stories, Polidori’s The Vampyre, recalls an older form. Lord Ruthven is a vampire from the beginning of the story, but during the first part of it he is clearly still living. He dies, or becomes un-dead, partway through the story. One might say that the story is also a cautionary tale, and even something of a condemnation of the exaggerated sense of honor in vogue at the time. After all, our hero could have saved his sister if he hadn’t thought that upholding his oath to Ruthven was more important than her life.

Lord Ruthven is also, like most pre-1922 vampires, not particularly bothered by sunlight. That vulnerability seems to date from that year, when it was first used in the unauthorized German Dracula adaptation, Nosferatu. Count Orlock, to be sure, did not burst into flame, which seems to be the modern standard. He simply faded out of existence.

The Irish writer, J. Sheridan LeFanu, provided a different vampiric milestone. Carmilla, the title character in his novella, is also seemingly comfortable moving about in the daylight. She is also, rather clearly, a lesbian, and her vampirism seems to be connected with this sexual appetite. LeFanu might be given credit for the notion of the vampire as shape-shifter, for Carmilla often commits her depredations in the form of a large cat.

Hammer’s 1970 adaptation, The Vampire Lovers, emphasizes the lesbian aspects somewhat more than LeFanu, who had to contend with Victorian standards that allowed only oblique inferences. It also contains a good deal of nudity, with the sort of natural, unmodified female bodies that still prevailed in the early 1970s. It’s just my opinion, but I can’t help thinking naked women looked better in those days than they do now.  I’m not sure that I did, but I was five when this movie came out, so I was kept well covered up. Particularly in the household where I grew up. No one went to horror movies because, you know, Jesus wouldn’t have approved, particularly if there was nudity.

More or less what our Bible Study group was really up to.

It would be another thirteen years or so before I got around to experimenting with sex. Mostly with the other cheerleaders. We had these weekly Bible study sessions after games, you see, where we’d read all the dirty parts, such as Lot and his daughters, or where Abraham admits that Sarah, his wife, is also his half-sister, or David and Jonathan (those two were gay as shit, trust me), or just about anything in Song of Songs. Reverend Killjoy insisted Song of Songs was an allegorical ode to Jesus’ love for the church. In our opinion, it was mostly about fucking and pussy eating.

Bram Stoker, the author of Dracula, spent several years working for LeFanu before taking on the role of Henry Irving’s theatrical manager. His research into central European vampire legends rounded out the literature. His imagined world still dominates, and there are constant references to Dracula in literature and film. There are certainly vague hints at a lesbian relationship between Mina and Lucy, at least as school girls. I’ll admit that I rather picked up on that, then took it all the way, when I was writing Lust for Blood, which not only has vampires but a good deal of explicit (in a Victorian sort of way) lesbian sex.

Originally, there was going to be a bit of incest, too, but I decided that this was something that might appeal to a broader readership than most of my books, so that came out. We have to make compromises if we want to sell anything on Kindle or iTunes. (The iTunes version, along with any other non-Amazon eBook versions, should be along sometime in February, after the Kindle Unlimited enrollment expires.)(So if you want to read it free, you need to do so now.)

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