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Tools of the Trade

How many times has this happened to you? There you are, hammering away at your latest erotic masterpiece, when suddenly you cannot go on without the perfect phrase to precisely describe what a three-quarters-erect uncut penis feels like through moistened silk. This is not the sort of thing that is designed for, and the help desk at the city library is notoriously unhelpful in these matters.

Erotica writers who are male have this one solved, of course. Even female writers with agreeable male acquaintances can manage. One only has to locate a scrap of silk and experiment, leaving one hand free to type. But what if you have no penis, either personally or to hand? Will kielbasa wrapped in a scarf suffice? Should it be microwaved first?

What if you’re a man trying to articulate that exact feeling achieved when a curved dildo rubs against the sweet spot just behind the pelvic bone inside the vagina? Can you fake it? Unless you have a convenient woman to ask, a healthy appreciation for invasive surgery, or you’re M. Christian, you’ll just have to guess and hope no one will notice a certain vagueness in your prose.

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Verisimilitude is one of the biggest pitfalls you face as an erotica writer. You may or may not get away with describing an erection as “throbbing” but if you use even such likely-sounding words as “howling” or “pinging” your readers will suspect you’re making it all up. You are, of course. Anyone in a sexual relationship good enough to write about has no time to write about it. But they shouldn’t know that.

Your best course of action is to enter into your own intimate relationship and catalogue as many aspects of sex and sexuality as you can, for later use. Obviously this can have its own problems.

“You like that, baby? Huh?”
“Ooohh, god, yes!”
“How about this?”
“Aagh! Oh, Jesus…!”
“Better than before?”
“Oh yeah, lover, yeah, just keep…”
“How much better?”
“…unh… what?”
“Would you describe this as ‘pulse-pounding,’ ‘deliciously tantalizing,’ or just ‘arousing’?”
“What? Oooh… I don’t know, the second one?”
“Really? That’s interesting…” [makes a note]
“What… what are you doing?”
“Nothing, baby. Hey, is this an inner labia or an outer one? I can never remember…”

But with a bit of discretion and some skill in shorthand you’ll be able to sock away an enormous repertoire of erotic terms and exposition, often with pulse-pounding results. Even a disastrous one-night stand with a drunken coworker can yield pages of sordid analogies and fleshy passages to convey excitement, discovery of your own burgeoning sexual identity, physical ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams, betrayal, soul-searing heartache, and the correct terminology for generic penicillin.

This may not be suitable for all writers, however. Some writers may be celibate. Some writers may choose not to participate in the acts they’ve chosen to write about, something like writing about auto racing without ever getting into a car. Some writers may be virginal, a more common condition than you’d think and an excellent source of long-repressed imagination. And more than a few are married, in prison, or otherwise absent from any handy sources of romantic passion.

In these situations, substitutes must be found. You need props to help you visualize your characters and their wobbly bits, and fortunately they’re close at hand. Any number of online adult toy stores would be more than happy to outfit you with the genitalia of your choice. But what of the erotica writer with a budget?

Cheap sex toys are worse than nothing at all. Few readers are turned on by hearing about a lover’s plastic smell or visible seams, and describing a pussy by the squeaking noises it makes will never get you into Maxim Jakubowski’s anthologies. Instead, create more realistic versions at home yourself. It’s easy!

For a penis, take a thick pepperoni and cut it off at the desired length. Use a long drill bit or a chopstick to create a thin tunnel that extends almost to the end of the sausage. Get a bicycle pump and stick the nozzle into the hole you’ve created. Now pump rhythmically with one hand while you hold the pepperoni in the other. Feel that firm meaty wand, pulsing in your grasp like a wild animal straining to be free? There you go. You can name it “Carl.”

For a vagina, I recommend grapefruit. The pulp is moist with just the right amount of give, and the thick outer skin will help keep it together. Cut a diamond-shaped slit in the skin and use a knife to shave and soften the edges. Dip the entire grapefruit into boiling water for just a few seconds, and you’ll have a cunt to be proud of. It’ll start to come apart quickly, so have a pencil ready for your metaphoric inspirations. Do not do this if you have any cuts or open wounds on your fingers, as the effects of hot citric acid could give you some very unique concepts about personal intimacy.

Keep your refrigerator stocked with these items, as well as some cucumbers, tightly-bagged chicken breasts, zucchinis, and handfuls of raw liver, and you’ll never again be at a loss to capture that throbbing, pinging feeling again.

The Manly Guide to Rug Munching

If you’ve been paying attention to people and talk shows around you, you know that relationships are built on love, communication, and attentiveness. Of course a manly man wouldn’t have paid attention, which is why I’m writing this out for you. If you want to keep your woman happy and loyal, legally, then you need to open yourself up to her.

This is the price you pay for poon. You have to abandon your inner masculinity and pretend to be sensitive and shit. You have to think of cutesy, fucking adorable presents that look like ceramic cue balls with fluff and purple feathers on ‘em, or you have to shell out the price of a decent car on jewelry, or you have to put up with some kinda artsy crap that makes you want to chew your own ears off in self defense.

But more than any of that, more than those extra things you put up with to make her feel special, like eating at a sit-down restaurant or listening to her in public without laughing, she wants you to, you know. Munch it. Lick it a little. Get your face wet. Do some curl-diving. Clean the crease. Go after the honey. She wants you to eat some pussy, man, and you’d better be ready.

Now there are guys who flatly refuse to do this. They’ll talk about the sissiness of kneeling in front of a woman, or about how the vagina just doesn’t fit in the male mouth (although the penis does, in fact, fit nicely into a female mouth, as God intended), or how it’s immoral, or how it’s disgusting, or how it’s got teeth inside that’ll chomp your nose off in nothing flat, or how the swirling crevice of mists will steal your soul. All true. Which is why only a real man will dare do it!

The problem is attitude. Son, you need to stop thinking of the act of kneeling in front of a woman as being unmanly, and think of it more like kneeling in front of the defensive line just before the snap. You’ve got a tough job to do. There’s some heavy opposition, and you’re gonna be sore and aching before you score, but perseverance and a good game plan will get you across the line with seconds to spare.

See, first of all, unlike the average dick, your average pussy doesn’t want to come. I don’t know why this is, but it is. I mean, you can do just about anything to your dick that you do when you pet your dog, although I don’t recommend combining the two. But a pussy’s gotta be snuck up on. It’s like trying to unlock a padlock with your tongue. You gotta coax it into doing what you’d think it wants to do anyway. And if you screw up, you have to start all over. It’s no wonder a lotta guys won’t try it – same reason a lotta guys won’t try hang-gliding: they’re afraid that they’ll suck at it, and they’re afraid they’ll find out too late.

You can do it! You just need the right instruction. None of that “g-spot” and “follow your lover’s movements” and shit. Here, listen to this.

Learn the field.
Any sportsman knows how important it is to scout the territory. Don’t let it get the home court advantage! Study the critter closely. Learn its habits, its likes and dislikes, and where it hangs out. You need to know what it’s bringing to the court before you know how to take it.

See? That ain’t so tough. Just get in there and check it out, blazing a trail when necessary, and you’ll feel comfortable with it in no time. You might even suggest that she shave things up a bit. She’ll think it’s a romantic and sexy gesture on your part, no need to tell her it’s so you can see what all the fuck’s in there.

The clitoris is the part you want. The rest of it is just the stuff you have to eat to get there. The clit’s sensitive, I guess, and you don’t wanna start off with a rushing play or you’ll scare it off. Start out with short passes and ground movement to make your yardage.

Stay the distance.
Many a man has gone in with good moves and a clear head, only to pass out from fatique. It’s a lot of hard work, getting a woman to orgasm. Think of it like you’re pushing her, on her back, all the way into the end zone using only your tongue. Not so wimpy now, huh, pretty boy?

You’ll need a training regime, including some breath training, before you begin. I suggest daily exercises that increase your neck and tongue strength, such as wearing a cinder block around your neck while pushing your tongue through 1/4 drywall (10 reps, repeat). You’re going to have to keep licking, exactly the same way, for upwards of a day and a half, with no flags. Down in the trenches is no place for the weak. One of the membership rituals in the Special Ops division is to stand tall while holding a woman perpendicular to your face by sheer tongue strength alone. Let’s see the National Guard try that!

Plan your moves.
Once you get an idea of the terrain, you’ll need a solid game plan. Talk to veterans of the game to get a feel for the skills you’ll need. Older brothers, co-workers and uncles are good for this. Training videos are available at any adult video store. You might even have some already; go back and watch your porn again but stop fast-forwarding past the pussy-eating. Or you can just watch the girl-girl stuff, that works too.

It’s not uncommon to go in confident but forget everything once the whistle blows. This is why winning teams rely on their coach. You might find it advisable to draw some diagrams, or have a friend call out suggestions. Remember, he can see the whole field, he can advise you on your strategy when all you can see is hair.

Get in there and win
Hunker on down between her legs and plant yourself good and solid, you’ll need purchase. Get your game face on and look it right in the eye. 50% of good rug-munching is intimidation. Make it respect you, and the battle’s halfway over.

The sex books will tell you to start slow, nibble the lips, let her get aroused at her own pace. Fuck that, I ain’t got all day and neither do you. Go for the goodies right away, she won’t be expecting that and you’ll have the upper hand. The clit will be surprised and vulnerable, and you can get it into a tonguelock before it knows what hit it. Often at this point the woman will scream in ecstacy or something, and may be so deeply aroused that she tries to grab your hair or even kick you. Play through the pain, my friend!

Now you’ve got to get settled in for the long haul. It can take hours, even days of grueling and repetitive neck-breaking effort. Is that an excuse? Did I hear an excuse? Get back down there soldier and give me 20! I want you to lick like you’re trying to lick the label off a bottle of Bud! This is a fight to the finish, and you’ve got to hang in there til the last round. Ever see your dog go after the water dish after a long run? Lap, lap, lap, quick and steady, for fucking hours. Be the dog! If you can get your tongue to curl up backwards like he does you’ll be in and out of there in twenty minutes!

I admit, it can seem daunting. A word of advice – they make these little TVs now that you can carry it in your palm. Sneak one of those along, stick one of those little earphone jobbies in your ear and you can keep up on the game while you make with the oral stuff.

How to tell when you’re done
Beats the shit out of me. I usually stop when she screams in passion, “Enough! God! Enough!” All I know is, after one of my Jawbreaker Specials, my woman doesn’t have to ask me for it again for weeks, she’s that satisfied.

As the late, great Woody Hayes probably said, “Treat your baby doll to some deepdish tonguing. It’s your duty, soldier.”

Playboy’s mid-life crisis

Playboy’s 50th anniversary issue will hit the stands on December 2nd, and I want to get my prediction out for the 50th Anniversary Playmate before any hints get released. I’ve been studying “The Great 50th Anniversary Playmate Hunt” pictorial in the December issue for weeks now, stopping only occasionally for food and more lotion, and I think I got her.

I?m choosing Jennifer Pankratz, the cheerleading class president, page 90, left. I have no advance knowledge or insider information for this, it’s just my guess and I could easily be wrong. There are many extraordinarily beautiful women there to choose from, and while one or two of them might get kicked out of bed I predict there’d be a hell of a scramble on the floor.

But I feel she most completely represents the Playboy ideal in several respects: she’s gorgeous, she’s blonde, she possesses that magical “wholesome yet sexy” look that Playboy has become justifiably famous for, and like the other girls she’s been Photoshopped until her own mother couldn’t pick her out of a lineup.

What the hell happened, guys? Since its beginning Playboy has been known for its beautiful women so that’s nothing new, but you’ve always leaned towards the “girl next door” look, the girl you know but never dreamed you’d see naked, the nice girl. No sluts, tramps, skanks, or hot wet bitches for these hallowed pages. And by sticking to that goal, and by supplementing it with excellent articles, penetrating interviews and awe-inspiring fiction, you’ve held their position as the leader in men’s magazines.

And you’re boring me to tears.

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I grew up on Playboy. Literally, I swiped my Dad’s as soon as I was old enough to walk and turn pages. Playboy had lots of stuff to keep me occupied, and best of all, Playmates always smiled. Sure, they might moan a bit or whip a little sultry look on you now and then, but for the most part they were smiling and obviously happy to be there.

Playboy got celebrities naked, which as more than I could do on my own.

Playboy kept me up to date on just which new trends in electronics and fashion I couldn’t afford from month to month.

Playboy interviewed everybody and got famous people to talk about stuff that the same people would sue other magazines for printing.

Playboy had articles and investigative reporting and travelogues and a common sense Advisor and they still have all those things. But I have to admit, right here in the open, that the nude pics are getting boring for me. They’re all the same! Every woman in Playboy, every woman, has a perfect tan, clear skin, fluorescent white teeth, perfect nails, and the same exact racing strip pubic hair. It’s like masturbating to a Barbie.

I don’t think I’ve opened the centerfold in over a year. There’s no point. I’ve seen it.

Playboy hasn’t always been like this and I blame it on two things: the Internet and Viagra.

The Internet Porn Explosion caught everyone in the adult industry off guard. Suddenly seeing real live girls bareass was easy, almost unavoidable. How do you compete when nudity is all around you?

If you’re Hustler, you get even wilder, more explicit, more shocking online. If you’re Penthouse, you go bankrupt. And if you’re Playboy, you make your models more incredible, more glorious than any mere webcam girl could ever be. Thanks to a combination of the world’s best photographers and some skilled computer artists, they’ve done that. Playmates are now so unblemished and unattainable that, for me anyway, they’ve become sexless.

But I think Viagra was what dealt the chilling stroke to Playboy. I don’t have the energy to go retrieve my back issues from where my teenage son has hidden them, but I’ll bet that Hef’s Viagra usage can be charted by reading the first few pages of every Playboy for the last five years. Doesn’t it seem obvious to you that he started getting laid again and suddenly we got ridiculously perfect centerfolds, along with page after page of his partying? I think it’s clear that Hef’s back in control and I’m glad for him, but I’d appreciate it if he didn’t use our magazine for his mid-life crisis.

So happy birthday Hef, thanks for all you’ve done for us and sexuality in general, and please, go get your horde of girlfriends and a bucket of little blue pills and disappear for awhile. Let Christie run things again. I respect you as I respect few people, but it’s getting embarrassing. Let us have our girl next door again, and leave Photoshop turned off. Stop bragging about your parties and famous friends every single issue. And when you do the annual “Sex in Cinema,” try not to have every other movie mentioned be a Playboy TV original. It looks really cheesy and self-serving. Just a thought.

Oh, and get some new jokes. It’s really annoying for us long-time readers when we recognize the same jokes we remember from just eight or nine years ago.

How to Make Love All Night Long!!!!!

You’ve seen the offers in your e-mail! You’ve gotten the piles of junk mail at your front door! You’ve seen the amazing offers televised as late night “local programming”! But now, for a limited time only, thanks to this website, you can get all these insider secrets for absolutely free! Jealously-guarded tips from the world’s greatest lovers, previously available only through mail-order books and court transcripts, are yours for the taking! You’ll never need to read your spam again. Or any of your e-mail, just delete it all, because we’ve covered everything!

How to Get Any Woman You Want

It’s just so easy! All you have to do is to work out, plan your finances carefully, and take sensitivity courses until you become a nice, hot-looking rich guy. What could be easier? Other suggestions:
– Carry Godiva chocolates with you at all times.
– Pay them.
– Tell them that by dating you they can drive their mother crazy.
– Keep a “lover’s kit” in your car: romantic card, sensual (but not tacky) lingerie, silk flowers, burlap sack, ether.
– Get a fatal but non-catching disease, and contact the Make-A-Wish foundation.
You’ll be rolling in women in no time!

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Add Inches to Your Penis

Bigger is better! Every undersized guy knows, deep in his heart, that it’s the size of his prize that makes the difference (as opposed to skill, affection, technique, or anything else that can only be improved through something really desperate, like effort).
But how can you strengthen and lengthen your rod? Do you need costly creams, dangerous mechanical devices, costly and dangerous surgery?
Of course you do! You’re trying to change part of your body, you dolt. It’s not like you can just eat more. But here’s some easy ways anyway.
– Trim back your pubic hair to “add” inches. You can also get tummy tucks and even have your pelvic area surgically removed to aid in the illusion.
– Have shadows and light areas tattooed on your joint to force perspective.
– Buy specially-made furniture that’s ? scale.
– Date midgets.
– Hang around a near-sighted girl and constantly emphasize how much more attractive she is without glasses or contacts or that dangerous LASIK stuff.
You’re a stud, baby, you’re a monster stud!

Increase Your Breast Size, Naturally

Guys and lesbians love big tits. Everyone does, it’s an earth mother thing or something. You need great big round boobies or you’re not really a woman. But how can you get fuller, firmer breasticles without risky injections or padded bras that might kill you? We can help!
– Use handfuls of Silly Putty to sculpt new knockers on top of your old ones.
– Buy bras two cup sizes too small. Not only will this make your existing ta-tas look larger, but if you get a really tight bra you can push two small breasts together and make one big one.
– Leave milk out every night for the Breast Fairy.
– Find someone willing to suck on them for at least an hour every night, for conditioning.
– Use extra makeup or a fabric marker to add cleavage.
And if you order our all-natural, herbal breast-enlargement system now, you’ll get the second breast half off!

How to Make Love All Night Long

Put the excitement back into your marriage, or somebody’s marriage, without any embarrassing life changes or personal reevaluations! Take each other to the heights of ecstasy, again and again, until the rosy hazy of dawn with these easy-to-follow tips.
– First things first, move to a northern climate and plan for the summer equinox. No sense making it any tougher than you have to.
– Pick an ugly partner. You can burn away hours just trying to get aroused or erect.
– Viagra, Viagra, Viagra. Use it as a suppository if you have to.
– If you’re having problems with premature eruptions, stretch out sexual encounters by constantly getting up to check your e-mail. You can also arrange to have a friend call you at random intervals all night.
– Use a bonding agent in your lubrication to ensure that wild, mind-blowing sex keeps on going, even if you’re asleep!
If you can’t last all night you’re just old, worthless, weak, uncool, and probably impotent or frigid or both. But does that mean you need to use dangerous stimulants and untested aphrodisiacs? Send now for our free catalog!

Your successful sex life is now assured, and it didn’t cost you a dime. Congratulations!

Should you feel inclined to share your newfound wealth and confidence with others, I’d appreciate it if you contacted me. I’m an expatriated Nigerian businessman with millions of dollars that I need to get moved into this country, and if you give me your bank account number…

Next week: Five ways your underwear drippings can make you rich!

Boring porn star fantasies

Last night I woke up from a long and detailed dream about Asia Carrera. We were shopping.

Honest. I don’t remember exactly why she was shooting a nighttime scene in the woods near where I live but I happened to drive by, recognize her, and convince her I wasn’t a freak (or at least that I wasn’t a strange freak). The fact that anyone shooting a porn movie anywhere near where I live is about as likely as the Winter Olympics picking the local 7-11 as their 2008 location was besides the point, obviously. After she threatened to call the police I managed to remind her that we’d met before – “Oh, you’re that guy!” – and we talked. Turned out she was staying in the area another day and was somewhat disappointed in the accommodations. I, of course, offered my house.

In your average porn-star-related dream this would be when the thumpa-thumpa music started and we got horizontal, then vertical, then horizontal again. Instead my dream-self took her home and let her get a long hot shower while my wife and I ran around the house frantically cleaning up.

As I recall, and it was amazing how clear this dream was, we spent the rest of the day talking, web-surfing, and hitting the local malls. There was a great deal of nudity since she was topless whenever we were in the house – probably since those are the personal pics of her from her site that I like the most – but aside from my own quiet enjoyment it wasn’t particularly sexual.

This isn’t unusual for me. I’ve never really wanted to meet porn stars when they were porn starring, if you follow me. No reflections on those who do, of course, I realize I’m in the odd minority. I’m one of the ones who prefer the at-home pics to the glamour shots, the naked-playing-with-kittens poses to the naked-and-bent-over-a-BMW shots. The reason I like Asia so much is not because she can deep-throat a zucchini but because she personally is so cool.

It’s not just Asia, either. If I met Tera Patrick I’d want to see what she looked like in jeans and a t-shirt, without the mask of makeup. I’d love to meet Nina Hartley and talk about sexual awareness and her activism, or hang around with Jonathan Morgan and shoot hoops. While I enjoy watching them have sex, the idea of projecting myself into that scene just doesn’t work for me because I can’t make my stubbornly reasonable mind accept it.

Part of this is realism; if Serena Williams popped by the house for an afternoon I wouldn’t try playing a set against her, either, for many of the same reasons. I’d fare poorly, would sweat a lot, and would not be the one anyone would want to watch on the video afterwards. Part of it is that I’m more interested in whatever aspect of the porn star’s personality that caused me to notice them above and beyond the rest in the first place. They can all fuck magnificently, which but which ones can make me laugh when they’re not fucking?

Part of it is politeness towards a fellow professional. I don’t like talking about web page design or personal writing habits when I’m trying to relax. When I meet a doctor I try not to ask them about my sinus condition. When I pass the time with a mechanic I do my best to forget I even have a car. I figure they’ve gotta be tired of talking about the same thing day in and day out, and we’ll have more fun if I resist the impulse and talk about something else.

A big part, admittedly, is my own brain, which is constitutionally unable to envision me having sex with just anybody. The situation has to make sense. Even in high school, when I would fantasize about the lovelies in my class I’d spend as much or more time mentally working out the justification for our hot monkey love, which often involved late-night emergency rides, narrowly-thwarted muggings, or foiled kidnapping attempts. My mind had to believe that it was possible, or nothing would happen. Consequently by the time I had figured out how to get my mental lady ready and willing, I’d fall asleep from all the planning. Celebrities fantasies were even worse because I had to work out why they were in my town in the first place, without friends or their entourage, and then it just got silly.

What does this mean for the porn industry? Not a damn thing. People like me aren’t a large demographic, unfortunately, else there’s be more at-home videos and porn blooper DVDs. I just thought I’d share.

‘Cause it was a really weird dream.

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