I used to think most porn was worthless just because it was boring or uninspired, like most of every other media, but there was always some good stuff buried under the crap. Now that the hottest-selling adult material seems to relish in being degrading and misogynist I find myself more anti-porn than not, and that’s depressing.

Recently I went hunting for an adult DVD for us to share, for the first time in awhile. We cuddled up, enjoyed our cake — if I woke my wife up in the middle of the night for just sex, she’d hit me; I bring chocolate cake — and settled in for some hot and heavy action.

And spent the next 20 minutes alternately laughing, fast-forwarding, or just goggling at it. Arousal was not an option.

When did porn become what anti-porn activists always said it was? I had to search high and low to find anything we might watch and the one I got (“Robinson Crusoe on Sin Island,” or something like that) had put some serious effort and money into sets, costuming, and cinematography that looked like a PBS mini-series. But when it got to the sex scenes they were just as insipid and insulting as any other movie.

My wife pointed out the underlying problem: the scenes are so obviously for the benefit of the viewer, and a pathetic viewer at that. Positions that allow extreme closeups, guys never ejaculating where you can’t see, guys always cool and in control while gals are unstoppably sex-starved, and so very few of the performers look as if they a) want to be there or b) want to be there with that particular partner.

Well, this viewer ain’t interested. I’d like to see scenes where the focus is how much fun the people involved are having.

I may be the wrong audience for porn, at least this century. More and more I find myself hovering around the “classics” section, afraid to venture out where “Butt-Pirates of the Carribean” awaits. But I’d be forever grateful if anyone out there can tell me which titles I should be looking for. I don’t even need a whole movie, gimme just a good scene and I’ll buy the thing.

Our needs are simple, I think.

– Normal looking people who at least look like they’re having fun.
– No one looking at the camera.
– No movies that describe the women as sluts, whores, or bitches, or use the words “molest,” “hole,” or “gang” on the cover.
– No anal, please. Nothing against the act itself, but it’s not aesthetically pleasing for either of us to watch. Not a big fan of the camera-between-the-legs shots anyway, or the closeups on lips and genitalia. I’d rather see the whole body and the lovers’ growing arousal.
– Woman-woman scenes that looks like the women involved might be enjoying it. You know, with kissing and maybe even some loving foreplay before they whip out the 20-inch double-headed dildo or try to go up to their elbows.
– Women who don’t feel obligated to stick their entire tongue out of their heads whenever they kiss or lick anything.
– If there must be anal, be discrete with it. And definitely do not go from anal to a facial or blowjob, which seems to be the new trend. Forget it, I’ll turn the thing off and go watch cartoons. I mean, eww.
– Women that aren’t shaved and made up to look underage.

– Guys that look like someone you might not run away from on a dark night. Or a sunny afternoon.
– Facials? Really? It’s not enough she’s willing to suck on you, you’ve got to add a bit of humiliation? I’ll accept a facial only if the guy kisses her right after. I think that’s fair.
– Sounds that weren’t dubbed or forced. Just record what gets said, or moaned. Don’t embellish, especially with cheesy dialogue.
– People grateful to get oral sex instead of standing there looking haughty and all conquerery. Maybe a guy who makes more of a noise than a reluctant “ung” would be good, too.
– Movies that don’t have the same sex acts, in the same order, in every single scene.
– And, hardest to find of all… playfulness! I have absolutely no interest in watching people fuck when I’m pretty sure I’d never want to hang around with any of them because they’re too fake, too insensitive, too shallow, or too scary.

Don’t fun people fuck? In front of a camera, I mean?

When it finally dawned on me that she might appreciate some attention and appreciation herself I apologized, tipped her a dollar and tried to get her to shake her money-maker, but by now she was intriqued by the activities I had described.

“They made him get up on stage?” she asked.

“He’s the bachelor, it’s traditional to embarrass him in public. Call it a rite of passage.”

“Stripping him to his bikini underwear, forcing him to his hands and knees and letting a stripper ride him around the runway whipping him with his own necktie is a rite of passage?”

“In many countries, yes.”

I showed her the picture of myself with the featured dancer on my lap and described some of the many artistic ways in which young ladies might take their clothes off several times a night. She remained unimpressed and generally disappointed, not at what goes on at such places but that I had obviously enjoyed it. I explained that I had actually spent most of the evening making fun of it all and hadn’t even gotten aroused once, so there.

“Then why go?” she wondered.

“Why does your office crew go to see “The Nastee Boyz”? Watching naked people wriggle about is fun, admit it,” I said.

She answered instantly, “That’s different.” Then she thought about it for a few moments. “Well, it is.”

I got up and rummaged around in her desk drawer where we dump all of our photos, finally producing a similar Polaroid. It also depicted a nightclub scene, but in this one Teresa was sitting in front of an undulating man wearing a loin cloth and a quart of baby oil. She was carefully tucking a bill into his clothing (she has long fingernails) and grinning to an alarming degree. “Yes, it is different. I only tipped the girl five dollars.”

“We just go for the fun, we’re not getting hot or anything.”

“Neither did we,” I replied. “Or at least I didn’t, I’m not sure about a few of the others. But where’s the difference? Why is it harmless to go watch a guy writhe in time to “Alley Oop” but a lapse in moral judgement to enjoy a girl shaking it to ZZTop?”

An hour of trying brought us no closer to a decent explanation so we settled on a fair compromise: I would go with her to the next “Nastee Boyz” revue and then we would drive straight from there to a strip club to compare.

Churl’s Night Out:

The “Nastee Boyz Revue” was held every Friday night in a local nightclub. We spent some time sipping $4 Cokes and watching a lot of women act like the teenage girls in the Beatles newsreels.

Teresa: “See? Completely different.”

Me: “You’re right, if I touched one of the girl dancers like that I’d get tossed out. Look at that lady, she’s got her arm in that guy’s pouch up to her armpit.”

Teresa: “But look, the women here are sober, mostly. They’re laughing and having a good old time. You can’t tell me that anyone here really thinks one of the dancers might suddenly quit his job and come home with her.”

Me: “And the lady slurping whipped cream off the man’s abs and groin?”

Teresa: “Living it up. Letting herself go. Giving herself something pleasant to think about next time she’s in the shower.”

Me: “Or if she’s closing her eyes and pretending her husband is a man?”

Teresa: “Sure. They’re aware of how fake it all is and they can relax and enjoy the show. They don’t obsess.”

Me: “Don’t look now, but I think the lady in the realtor jacket just might be obsessing. She hasn’t blinked yet.”

Teresa: “There’s always exceptions. But you don’t see any bouncers around, do you?”

Me: “They prefer ‘floor managers’. And yeah, there’s one over there.”

Teresa: “One. And he looks like he’d rather be on stage.”

Me: “Wouldn’t we all?”

Teresa: “Really? There’s an amateur night…”

Sauce for the Gander

Off to “The Passion Playhouse”. For an hour or so we watched the dancers on the stage and on the other tables as they gyrated and bumped to pounding tunes. Teresa considered it validation of her argument.

Teresa: “See? Sleazy.”

Me: “Sleazy? What’s the difference?”

Teresa: “When the guys dance, they look silly and sexy and they know it. They aren’t taking themselves seriously and don’t expect the women to. Here the girls act like every guy might be the one to turn her on and save her from all this.”

Me: “The redhead doesn’t.”

Teresa: “True, she looks like she just wants to bang everyone in the room, including the other dancers.”

Me: “You have to give the customer what they want. The ladies want fun, the guys want fantasies. Apart from an unfortunate gender generalization, who cares?”

Teresa: “I just want guys to be more than that. Look at that table over there. Those guys look absolutely hungry. I’d be afraid to dance for them, I’d be afraid I’d end up in an alley with my panties around my ears.”

Me: “I looked at you that way myself not half an hour ago.”

Teresa: “But I love you, and I’d be hurt if you didn’t think of me lustfully. I expect a stranger to be polite enough to disguise his interest and treat me decently.”

Me: “Sorry, I was busy thinking of you lustfully. Ow! There goes your tip, girlie. Guys don’t come here to be polite. A lot of them probably come here because they spend their days being polite around female co-workers, bosses, friends, strangers, what have you. They may have wives or girlfriends that don’t appreciate being stared at lustfully. They may be afraid to look upon a woman with interest because they’re afraid it might be actionable. Here they can stare openly and enjoy some meaningless R-rated flirting without having to think about being sensitive or calling the next day. The women at the revue were hooting and screaming and enjoying themselves, this is the guys’ way of letting off steam.”

Teresa: “I know, I just hate seeing it. It’s like a Twilight Zone episode, where you suddenly realize that you don’t really know the people around you, or that they’re all secretly animals or something.”

Me: “We are secretly animals. You don’t really mind seeing the animal in man one on one, it’s just that seeing a pack of them at the same time is a bit scary.”

Teresa: “But when the women let it out they’re still just having fun. When the guys let it out it seems dark and dangerous and a little pathetic. It’s like for the women it’s a playful desire and for the guys it’s a desperate need.”

Me: “You’re just mad that the girls can take off their undies and the guys can’t.”

Teresa: “That, too. That is so unfair.”

Me: “I don’t know, losing the posing pouch might lose the guys some tips. The ladies can fake intense interest even if they’re busy thinking about their stock options. Guys have outdoor plumbing; if they’re not interested in their customer people at the next table know it. Easier to keep it covered and leave the fantasy intact.”

Teresa: “They could always get implants. The girls here did. Look at that one, I can’t imagine how she sleeps.”

Me: “Let’s call her over and ask. I’ll buy you a table dance.”

Teresa: “Whoops, look at the time!”

Call it a draw.

I can help you. Just follow these simple tips and you’ll have them falling over you, and not just from anorexia.

Don’t tell her she’s pretty. She knows that, idjit. She gets paid for her appearance, and hundreds of people tell her every day how perfect she is. Not only is it unoriginal, it’s also the only thing about herself over which she has no real control – supermodels are very aware that they make a living from being genetic flukes. Compliment her on her attire, her bearing, her jokes, her witty conversation, her amazing capacity for stimulants. Even better, point out her imperfections. She’ll eat it up because she’ll realize that only you can see beyond the beauty to the real her. Make sure you mention every enlarged pore, every pimple, each inappropriate hair, any dangling nasal mucous, the growing bags under her eyes.

“Hey gorgeous, getting a little spread back there?” She’ll swoon.

Be ugly and talented. Seriously. Look at the history: Paulina Porizkova and Ric Ocasek, Christie Brinkley and Billy Joel, Heather Thomas and Tommy Lee, Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee, Pamela Anderson and Bret Michaels, Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton, Kate Hudson and the straggly guy from The Black Crowes, Susan Silverman and Jack Black… Hot chicks dig ugly, talented guys, so get cracking and start playing. You might not even have to be really good, I dunno. Has Bret Michaels done anything? I don’t really keep up with these kids. Just tell ‘em you play rhythm guitar, then all you have to be able to do is play a couple chords and consume a city bus full of liquor in a single sitting.

Be rich and ugly. A slight clarification: be rich and sick and ugly. I don’t think I need to go into this one, if you can’t figure it out on your own then you might as well not bother. If you have acres of loose wealth, go hang around Anna Nicole Smith and cough a lot.

Be hung like a bull moose. There’s no other excuse for Tommy Lee.

Be political. Another way in which former president Bill Clinton has led the way for all of us. He’s been linked to former Miss America Elizabeth Ward Gracen, former Miss Arkansas Sally Perdue, former bad singer Gennifer Flowers, and there’s rumors he’s even been intimate with New York Senator Hillary Rodham (unsubstantiated at the time of this article). At least democratic presidents remember how to have sex! Lots of senators, congressmen, consultants, diplomats and appointees have been seen with the glamour world’s best and bright… um, best. Keep in mind that at the grassroots level you’ll have to settle for housewives and the occasional starry-eyed teenage campaign volunteer, but if politics teaches you nothing else it will teach you how to compromise.

Be funny. 91% of the Playboy bunnies who wrote their own data sheets included “sense of humor” in the turn-ons section, as far as I can remember. Girls like to laugh, and they like people who can make them laugh because they can relax around that kind of guy, unless he gets laughs by, say, pulling household objects out of his nose. A guy that can say just the right thing at just the right time is obviously perceptive and sensitive enough to know just how to touch her. Funny men make the best lovers.

Okay, granted, women prefer funny men who are also drop-dead gorgeous. And yeah, it’s really easy for funny guys to fall into the “best friend I can tell anything to but would never dream of having sex with” slot. I hated that slot. I lived in that psychology torture chamber for 6 years. I always had lots of close female friends, the ones that kept telling me “only you really understand me” and then turn around and describe how they blew some guy they just met last night, I just wanted to sneak up behind her with a rope and…

Ha ha! Yes sir, a sense of humor is all you really need. When she’s laughing she’s not affecting a worldly pose, she’s being human, and that’s right where you want to get your basic supermodel. Also, when things start geting really intimate, you can’t go wrong with a good hemorrhoid joke.

Turn her down first. The novelty of it is sure to get her interested. As soon as she’s within earshot, like the other side of the bar or just one balcony up, proclaim loudly that “No, I’m sorry Tyra, it just wouldn’t work out between us. We’re too different, and as exciting as you are I still want to see other people.” See the tricky psychological twist in there? Now she’ll go crazy wondering why she’s not good enough to hold your interest. At least I think she will, haven’t tried this yet. But it feels right. You should probably also drink a lot.

Be gay. Just think of the possibilities! She’ll trust you. She’ll confide in you (see above). She’ll undress in front of you. She’ll invite her friends over to try and convert you. My god, I can’t imagine why no one has thought of this before, it could work!

Okay, she’ll probably just marry you to cover her own homosexuality from the paparazzi, but you’ll still probably get to see her naked, and that’s more than you get now, right?

Well, I’ve done all I can here. Next week we’ll go over your failures, and we’ll discuss how to take the easier step of converting your current old lady into a supermodel. Hey, why buy the milk when you can put a dress on the cow, am I right? Right?

However, there are those of you who will be alone on this day. You may be single, or widowed, or your lover may be unavoidably occupied very far away. Many of you feel Valentine’s Day to be a mockery of your solitude, an insult added to your injury. I say thee nay! Valentine’s Day is meant to be a celebration of love eternal, no matter what your immediate social situaiton may be. Spend it with the one you truly love! The one who will never leave you, no matter how bad things get. The one you can say anything to, the one you can touch wherever and whenever you want without fear of awkwardness or misunderstanding, the only one in the world that truly understands you and loves you anyway. Your dog.

For those of you who have no pets, spend the day loving yourself. Take a 24 hour period and cherish yourself the way you were meant to be. Learn to love the person who truly owns your heart.

Monday morning, welcome yourself with breakfast in bed. Granted, you won’t have the element of surprise you would ordinarily, but you’ll get to enjoy both the little-sneaky-kid feeling of doing something special AND the wonderful feeling of being pampered. Bring your tray back to bed, cuddle up under the blankets and watch cartoons while you dine.

Be sure to get up early enough to get ready. Remember, you’re going out tonight! Groom yourself thoroughly – brush, shave, pluck, tweeze, shape, wipe, whatever you’d do for your hottest date. When you shower, however, take your time. Soap yourself thoroughly, letting your hands roma over and down your curves, no matter how many curves you have (or don’t have). Close your eyes and relish in your touch – let your slippery hands slide along your throat, brush your nipples, glide down your stomach and slip between your legs. Go ahead, lose yourself in the sensual… well, y’know… sensations. Don’t take yourself too far — you want to heighten the anticipation, not lose it in the shower. Towel yourself withe the biggest, fluffiest towel you own and get ready for work.

After making a few quick phone calls, head out to the car and find the love note you left for yourself. Isn’t that sweet? Secret love notes can be left anywhere you’re likely to find them, whatever your personal circumstances — tucked into your car visor, in your briefcase or lunchbox, tacked to your kitchen bulleting board, stuffed into the top of your garter belt, slipped into a file you know your Chief of Staff will be handing you later. Be creative.

At work, check your messages or voice-mail and smile to yourself as you hear the message you left yourself an hour ago. Gives you a warm feeling, doesn’t it? Your secretary or the guys at the plant may look at you funny, the jealous, small-minded fools, but they’ll really be surprised when the bouquet arrives. Don’t let anybody see the card (although you should chuckle to yourself as you read it, and blush if you can. What a hot little number you are!). Later in the afternoon, sneak off to the bathroom or lock yourself in your office and allow yourself to think about what’s to come. Close your eyes and whisper gently into your ear (fake it, c’mon, work with me here) all about what you want to do with yourself later. Get good and worked up, then go back out amongst your co-workers and try to hide your condition. Isn’t it wicked getting your lover worked up at work?

After work, head straight home. It’s time to start feeling sensual. Lay out your clothes so everything’s ready, then luxuriate in a long, hot bubble bath. You need to unwind and start feeling like a lover. Pour in lots of bubble stuff — bath salts, dishwashing detergent, those little soap ball things that are supposed to dissolve but always leave little deflated skins floating around in there with you — and just experience the moment. Feel the heat of the water on your skin, and the sense of steam rising past your face. Lather yourself completely and, still laying in the hot water of the tub, pour bowls of cool water across yourself. Let your hands roam a bit and see how close you can bring yourself to climax without going over, then jump out of the tub and get ready. Your fanciest outfit, jewelry, scent, the whole shebang. Hurry, you’ve got reservations!

Well, reservation, anyway. When you show up at the restaurant, explain to the maitr蠤e that your partner is an ER nurse on call, but you expect them to show up any minute. This will help keep your server from sniggering at you when they bring your drinks. Make sure that you request a table by a window – they’ll think you’re watching for your lover to show, when you’re really using the reflection to gaze into your eyes. You’ll even get better service, as your server will feel sorry for you the more it seems that you’ve been stranded. With a litle luck you could even get them to come sing to you and bring one of those little cakes. Get up to go to the bathroom, find a server that hasn’t seen you yet, and have a drink sent to your table. If you’re feeling exceptionally daring, head to the bathroom, take off your underwear, stuff it in your pocket, and return to your seat to enjoy the illicit sensations. Enjoy a fine meal, but take it easy on the wine, you don’t want to get out of control.

When you leave (tip well), don’t go straight home. The night is young! Take yourself on a carriage ride, stroll on the beach holding hand, go to a horror movie and hug yourself during the scary parts, play mini-golf and giggle when you catch yourself cheating, pull yourself into a dark alley, slam yourself into the wall and roughly thrust your hand down between your legs for the fast, brutal thrill of it. Share an ice cream cone.

When you do head home, be coy. Smile knowingly when you let yourself in and see the champagne and candles. Oho, what did you have in mind? Stretch out on the couch and spend some time talking to yourself. What are your true feelings? What do you want from a lover? What turns you on? What fantasies do you have that have never been fulfilled? As you get closer, touch yourself lightly on the face and caress your throat. Open the top buttons of your shirt, or slip a few fingers into your neckline. Feel the heat of the room and the richness of the champagne as they both combine to bring fire to your cheeks. Close your eyes and let your hands roam as they will. When you’ve gone as far as you can with clothes on and you’re still thinking reasonably clearly, head to the bedroom.

Light just enough candles to see and drop onto the bed, ready. Strip your clothes off like an animal, flinging them away without ever taking your eyes off yourself. Grab yourself savagely, uncontrollably, undeniably. Ravish yourself quickly and violently the first time, to satisfy the hungry cravings that you’ve ben cultivating all day. Grab your hair and pull your head down, if you’re flexible enough. You can sit on your hand for five minutes to deaden it if you want to feel like someone else is touching you. Once you reach the ragged edge of orgasm, hold yourself there for several long, agonizing minutes, and then rake your fingernails across your nipples as you bring yourself to a screaming finish. After your breathing becomes regular again, you can continue to caress yourself the rest of the night.

Next morning, be sure to call yourself. It’s the least you can do.

But why limit yourself to that, fun though it may be? You’ve just paid someone a wad of cash to borrow their room for a while. Enjoy it! Here’s some tips:

•  Arrive separately, even if you have to drop your lover off and circle the block a few times.
•  Look around furtively a lot. Stay at different ends of the front desk and don’t make eye contact with each other. One of you will need to actually sign in of course, but the other can pretend they were only here for the coupon books for the local attractions (“PlegmWorld! $2 off the plume ride every other Thursday!”).
•  Trenchcoats can help here, especially if there are no visible pants legs underneath. Flagrant high heeled pumps make a nice statement, but only if you’re male. It also helps if you both look really nervous and one of you has a suspicious bulge in your shirt that awkwardly-crossed arms just won’t hide.
•  In a frantic-sounding voice, ask the desk clerk several times if the room has a working toilet. After he/she reassures you enough times, ask what its capacity is, and if you’re allowed to change rooms if it breaks.
•  Pay in crumpled, greasy singles, or a single hundred dollar bill half-covered with blue ink.
•  If the motel uses those little electronic card keys, take it, stare straight ahead while you run your finger across the magnetic tape like braille, then nod to yourself and put it in your pocket.
•  Ask for a room that faces Sirius and mock him if he doesn’t understand what you mean.
•  Walk into the lobby while embracing and kissing each other passionately and ask the clerk (through grasping, hungry lips) for the nearest goddamn room.
•  Bring along about 14 friends and ask for a single. Tell the clerk that they won’t all be staying.
•  Or just walk in normally, ask for a room and go through the process friendly and calm, and then, just as you leave, slip him $5 and, tapping the side of your nose, tell him “We were never here, eh my lad?”
Use everything the room has to offer. You paid for it, use it!
•  The soap is hardly capable of cleaning anything, but it’s handy for writing obscene sonnets across the bathroom mirror.
•  Get the Gideon Bible and read each other the dirty parts.
•  Ever fold gum wrappers so that they chain together? Ever wonder how long a chain you could make if you used an entire phone book?
•  Send crank letters to the President on motel stationary.
•  Turn on the tv, turn off the sound, and add your own filthy dialogue to the sit-coms, the soaps (not that they need it), the music videos, even the news. You always knew Gilligan was boned silly over Mary Anne, now’s your chance to hear it happen!
•  Tie all the towels, sheets, blankets, and washcloths together in a long rope and leave it tied to the bedpost closest to the window when you leave.
•  See how many pillows you can fit into the room safe.
A boring motel room is no excuse for boring sex.
•  Pile up all the blankets, sheets and towels into a huge nest to fuck in.
•  The bed is usually just the wrong height for one of you to stand or kneel during sex, but you can crank up the a/c, pull the mattress half-off so that it’s leaning on the bed, lay on it and pretend you’re stranded on the side of an Alp and you need friction to stay warm.
•  The little tables are usually pretty sturdy.
•  If you have a double room, each of you can get on a separate bed and see how worked up you can get each other. You can look, you can listen, you can stretch and touch each other, but both of you have to be somehow touching your home base at all times.
•  Or you can use the little bucket and the ice machine down the hall to turn one bed into an ice floe and pretend you’re penguins. Dump the bedspread into the tub afterwards to melt.
•  Come to think of it, the extra bedspread makes the tub much more comfy. Use it to make a cushioned hidey-hole, or fill the tub anyway and play Swamp Thing.
•  If the shower rod looks up to it, doing chin-ups while coupled is both healthy and an incredible sexual rush.
•  The ice machine is your friend. Nothing like a bucket of ice in one hand and a coffee pot full of hot water in the other to help you provide just about any sensation necessary.
•  Be imaginative when you cry out. “Oh God!” is trite and dull, and unfair to your potential next-door audience. Try exclamations such as “Great Krypton!”, “Oh, mommy, yes! Yes!”, “Now, give me one more foot of it!”, and “Fuck me ragged, Your Emminence!”
•  It is usually possible to have neighbors on up to four sides of you, especially during a busy season. See how many of them you can get to pound on your walls, ceiling and floor because of your shrieked cries of love.
•  One of you lies spread-eagled on the bed. The other stands perched on top of the television. Can you get hooked up in a single leap? Lube is essential here. If you master that, have your lover lie spread-eagled on one bed while you run and spring off the other one to get more altitude.
•  Motels are an ideal place to play spy. You may want to avoid using live ammunition, though.
•  Isn’t the pool just begging for a 3 a.m. skinnydip? Chevy Chase did it, and he got to see Christie Brinkley naked.
•  Don’t waste the money on the vibrating bed. Head to the laundry room and sit her on the corner of the washer. Cheaper, lasts a lot longer, and it’s way more powerful. Plus you can do a load of laundry at the same time. Can the vibrating bed do that? I think not.
•  Go fuck in your car anyway. That’ll show ‘em!
•  Balance the complimentary chocolate directly over her clitoris. Let it melt. Only lick the drippings off, leave the main candy alone. See how long she can take the gentle teasing.
•  On one memorable stay years ago, we picked up a two-quart jug of baby oil and ended up using the entire thing. We could barely stay connected, it was a giggly, exhausting struggle just to have sex at all.
•  Call other rooms at random and see if you can exchange spouses.
•  While you’re having sex,  play a wildlife tape of monkeys fighting, just to see if anyone dares investigate.
Amuse the help.
•  If room service is available, you owe it to the poor bored people downstairs to order something they can talk about for weeks after you leave. I recommend asking for a bunch of those little canoe-looking cakes you use for strawberry shortcake, a hacksaw, a single stalk of celery, a small pool pump, a copy of “Hiney Heros” magazine (last month’s issue), and 50′ of garden hose. Ask them to please hurry and to just leave it outside the door.
•  Explain that you’re technically not peeing in the pool, you’re peeing off your balcony and it’s hardly your fault which way the wind was blowing.
•  Bring along your own maid’s outfit and wander into other rooms.
•  Be sure to make faces at the mirror, just in case.
•  Get up early in the morning and replace all the complimentary newspapers with copies of Barely Legal.
•  Maids have a pretty boring job, so it’s a nice gesture to liven up their mornings by presenting them with something a little different in the realm of wet spots. Move around a lot, make some art. You’ve got a queen-sized canvas there, use it! Squirt food coloring into some body lotion and coat yourselves with it before you start. A masterpiece!
•  Call down to the front desk and ask for a teeny, tiny little favor. Tell them you can’t explain why, but you’d really, really appreciate it if they could send someone around to your room in exactly 17 minutes to bang on the door and yell “Honey, the chicken is done!” If someone actually does it, moan loudly.
•  Don’t use the Do Not Disturb sign. Instead, throw back the coverlet, sit up, hold a bottle of champagne ready, and when the maid enters the room, look up and say “Darling, I’ve been waiting.” Alternately, the same scenario, but wearing a leather harness.
•  Sit in the motel bar getting good and plastered before taking her hand and saying loudly “C’mon honey, we don’t have much time before my visitation time is over.”
•  If the manager comes to complain, refuse to come out until John Walsh shows up.
•  Tip very, very well.

PROSTATIA: Hi. [licks lips] I’m Prostatia Jones, porn star and part-time waitress. And I’m here to offer you the Spraybelline Challenge. You know how easily mascara smears, how easily lipstick smudges, how tough it is to get those messy stains off your cheeks without ruining your blush. Well, Spraybelline’s new BukkakeTM line of makeup can handle anything you can throw at it. Just watch!

[The background music seques gracefully into a fully-orchestrated rendition of the theme fom "Deep Throat" (arranged and performed by Vanessa Mae). A naked man enters from the left. He is large, muscular, and obviously very interested in Prostatia, or at least portions of her. He begins stroking his penis very quickly.]

PROSTATIA: Can your makeup handle this?

[She immediately turns just in time to catch the massive dollops of thick ropy fluid all over her face. She turns, smiling, making sure she's completely coated. When he finally subsides, she turns back to us, dripping.]

PROSTATIA: You girls know what to expect now, right? Wiping, drying, washing, cleansing, moisturizing, and then starting all over from scratch in time for the next scene, without even enough time for a quick toot. Well, you might be surprised.

[Another naked man strides in and hands her a small towel. Prostatia draws it across her face once; she is once again immaculate. The second man also begins stroking himself. More men enter the room.]

PROSTATIA: See? Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM can handle anything! When you do as many sex scenes as I do every day, you need makeup that can bounce back when you do.

[She spins around to take another face-full. The towel makes short work of this as well. There are now six men around the bed, with more coming in.]

PROSTATIA: Whee! And Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM can do a lot more than this! Mud, cole slaw, body paint, urine, whatever you need to get off your face right away, Spraybelline’s… glub…!

[She is interrupted by another shot in the face. The other men are starting to jockey for position. Prostatia grabs for the towel but it's a bit damp, so she makes do with the coverlet.]

PROSTATIA: Cough! Um, Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM is there to help protect your delicate skin from anything they can offer. Just… blub gurk…

[We can no longer see Prostatia behind the wall of men standing around her, but we can see their arms moving furiously and we can hear her over the music.]

PROSTATIA: (shouting) Just look… ack… look at this testimonials! Whoop!

[CUT TO: a beautiful Asian woman walking out of a massage room, carrying her robe. She is covered in spunk, but smiling a dazzling smile.]

HOOTCHIE: I’m Hootchie Mintrale. I just love Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM. With the time I save not having to reapply makeup between spoogings, I’ve doubled my income!

[A quick swipe with a convenient dress shirt and she's sparkling new. A potbellied man enters; she waves him into the massage room and turns to us with a wink before following.]

PROSTATIA: (voiceover) And BukkakeTM isn’t… gulp, gulp… just for professionals!

[CUT TO: A seedy biker bar. A ring of large burly bikers, all facing inward with their pants down, breaks up. As they move away we see a young girl kneeling on the floor. She appears to have taken a cream pie in the face. And the chest, and shoulders. And hair.]

JIM: (from offscreen) Honey? You ready to go yet?

[Rather than panicking, the girl runs to the bar and swipes her face with a bar towel. Instantly she's fresh and wholesome, just in time for a Richie Cunningham-type of guy to come in the bar. He is clean-cut and wearing a letter sweater. He embraces her.]

JIM: Hey, you look great. Ready to go to my parent’s house for dinner?

[She nods happily. He hugs her again and gives her a big kiss on the cheek, then starts to pull her by the hand out the door. The bikers wave.]

JIM: Say, is that a new perfume? It’s very musky.

[CUT TO: PROSTATIA. She is alone on the bed, submerged in a soupy puddle. Perhaps 15% of her skin is visible, the rest is covered in goo. Another naked man comes in carrying a garden hose and begins to hose her down.]

PROSTATIA: Cough, cough, ptui! Whew! I could never have gotten the “Most Prolific Slut” award without Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM! Splut! Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM line of cosmetics includes everything you could ever want: foundation, blush, mascara, eye shadow, lipsticks, the whole works, and in all your favorite colors! Made with Spraybelline’s patented mix of the finest makeup ingredients and urethane. Try it and see! If it doesn’t wipe off with a damp cloth every time, we’ll give you some more of it! That’s the BukkakeTM Challenge!

[The hose is turned off. Prostatia is once again perfect. She stands and walks away from the bed as two men come in wearing thick rubber gloves and begin rolling up the bedcovers. They squish. We follow Prostatia to a small table which is displaying some small bottles and a wire brush.]

PROSTATIA: And if you order now, you’ll get a year’s supply of Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM Primer, Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM Remover, and this lovely cleansing brush.

DIRECTOR: (offscreen) Prostatia! I need you on the rock star dressing room set in 5 minutes!

PROSTATIA: (smiling) No problem! (whispers to us) Not with Spraybelline’s BukkakeTM. Remember, when you want your face to look as good as it can, you want BukkakeTM.

Better teach ?em quick. The current administration has a major hard-on for abstinence-only sex ed, countering all protests with the perfectly valid argument that if you never have sex, you won?t get pregnant or have icky stuff oozing out of you.

Of course, if you do have sex anyway and don?t know anything about protection you?ll have all sorts of bad things happening to you, but then you deserved it with your wicked, wicked ways.

And yep, I talked about this just last month when the report broke that out of 13 abstinence-only programs, 11 were providing inaccurate information, a polite euphemism for ?lying.? Now oversight of the two largest abstinence-only grants are being moved to ?friendlier? departments in the government and President Bush is appointing more advisors and directors to continue the never-ending battle against informed students.

Want to fight this? Support comprehensive sex ed programs, support sites like Scarleteen, and give your own kids complete freedom, total knowledge, full disclosure!

I believe that Saturday morning cartoons should contain full-frontal nudity. The Japanese ones do and look how sane they turn out.

I believe that every year of school should include increasingly more intricate lessons on proper sexual techniques, birth-control and that thing you do with your tongue.

I believe that kids should be allowed and encouraged to play “doctor,” even to the point of providing them with speculums, stirrups and boxes of latex gloves.

I believe that masturbation should be a PE elective, possibly even a competition sport. Root, root, root for the home team! Just think how proud you’ll be when your daughter gets a varsity letter! Maybe your son will take the district distance record!

I believe that instead of keeping your children in ignorance and fear, you try the “scared straight” method of taking them to the nearest Welfare office or food stamp line instead and show them the number of teenage mothers there. This is not only beneficial to your children, but if you’re a single parent it can be a great place to pick up chicks.

I believe we should see book reports explaining exactly why the hooker was so happy, or which bits the Marquis deSade left out.

I believe that “irrumerator” should be a spelling bee finalist question.

I believe you should take your kids to the hospital to watch different women going through labor. Not many things better suited towards teaching the responsibilities of sexual behavior than hearing a soccer mom cussing like a longshoreman.

I believe parents should have to stay up until 1 in the morning helping their kids finish the huge paper-mache science project genitalia that the kids forgot was due the next day.
You know, the immense penis with the baking soda eruption. Go ahead, tell me you haven’t thought about it…

I believe that all post-pubescent kids should be administered oral sex by the school nurse. This isn’t a new belief, when I was in junior high school I fervently believed this.

I believe the Hardy Boys adventures should be republished with the original “racy” passages restored.

I believe that breakfast cereals should use porn stars as mascots. (Captain Crotch! Fuckenberry! Honeycome! Fruit Loops! Oh, wait…)

I believe that Nerf should redesign their soft, playful weaponry into fun, instructive shapes.

I believe that all senior proms should be “shirts vs skins.”

Maybe these simple steps would result in more teen sex — only time and study will tell. But at least they’ll know what they’re doing.

I favor comprehensive sex education – although I’m not sure how “comprehensive?” it could be when there’s no lab work or humorous skits involved – but I could reluctantly accept abstinence-only teaching as being better than nothing. I can even see an upside to it since my children, being better-informed, will have clear advantages over lesser-trained teens when it comes to putting the moves and layin? down the velvet hammer.

But teaching our kids inaccurate information driven by agenda rather than science is reprehensible and dangerous. Out of 13 curriculums studied, 11 of them had factual errors and suspicious wording. Some examples:

Despite the claims of such crackpots as the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Department of Health and Human Services, it turns out that contraceptives are remarkably useless in preventing sexually transmitted diseases and pregnancy. One curriculum says that “the popular claim that ‘condoms help prevent the spread of STDs,’ is not supported by the data”; another states that “in heterosexual sex, condoms fail to prevent HIV approximately 31% of the time”; and another teaches that a pregnancy occurs one out of every seven times that couples use condoms. Also, condoms are less effective as water balloons or bachelor party decorations as previously believed, and the ribbed ones actually provide no pleasure for her whatsoever no matter what the package says.

This is even more terrifying when you read further and find that HIV can be spread by tears, sweat, buying someone a drink, or blowing someone a kiss from less than 25 feet away, even if you pull a condom over your face first.

The only sure way to prevent sexually transmitted disease or pregnancy is to avoid any and all sexual relations forever, ideally by moving to another city, changing your name, and wearing loose, non-trendy clothing.

As everyone knows, 5% to 10% of women who have legal abortions will become sterile; that “premature birth, a major cause of mental retardation, is increased following the abortion of a first pregnancy”; and that most women who have had abortions go on, tragically, to vote Democrat.

Some of the curricula also present as scientific fact the religious view that life begins at conception, when scientists know that life really begins at 30. For example, one lesson states: “Conception, also known as fertilization, occurs when one sperm unites with one egg in the upper third of the fallopian tube. This is when life begins.” Yeah, baby, unite that egg!

Did you know that women need “financial support,” while men need “admiration?” Scientific fact, apparently! Forget all that feminist crap, and remember that “women gauge their happiness and judge their success on their relationships. Men’s happiness and success hinge on their accomplishments.”

Some other teachings in the abstinence-only curricula:

Over 45% of teenage girls who have sex before marriage, despite their family’s financial status, ended up living in a trailer. And not one of those nice double-wides, either.

When you have premarital sex, your forehead breaks out in a reddened “A” shape that is plainly and permanently visible to your friends, teachers, and parents. You don?t want to know what happens if you have oral sex, trust me.

Sex really isn’t that interesting. Just ask your parents.

Engaging in unhealthy sexual relations before marriage can cause irreparable psychological damage that could haunt you for the rest of your days. Far, far better to wait until you can have unhealthy sexual relations after you’re married so you can pass your twisted neuroses on to your children.

You can get AIDS from toilet seats, sparkly lipstick, and Playboy.

Condoms make your dick look smaller. Honest. And then it drops off.

Birth control pills are Satan’s candy, according to a four-year study by the American Family Association.

Touching another person’s genitals can give you warts.

Merely flashing your firm young breasts at a teenage male can cause permanent damage to his retinas. Watch where you point those things, ladies!

Passing out eggs for assigned couples to “parent” in Health Class is no longer allowed unless the students are legally married first. What kind of future do you expect to give that egg if you’re riddled with disease, huh? Huh?

Masturbating makes Jesus cry. Teabagging just pisses him off.

Penises have minds of their own and can encourage their owners to make grave errors in judgment. In fact, penises actually possess tiny brains of their own, the same way dinosaurs had extra brains in their tails. Except of course that dinosaurs are part of that “evolution” crap, so forgot I said anything.

You really don’t want to have sex at all. You just think you do because of the constant emphasis on sexuality present in all forms of media. All those near-naked bodies in commercials, in TV shows, in movies, just wiggling around and jiggling right in your face, bouncing and swaying and bobbing and… class dismissed.

If your child is receiving abstinence-only sex ed, I suggest you augment this at home with additional information about healthy sexual relations. You don?t have to go too crazy, simply slipping your youth a copy of “Hustler’s Barely Legal” or letting him or her read through a few days worth of your e-mail ought to do the trick.

Or you could be responsible, I guess, and send them to worthwhile sources of accurate information such as scarleteen.com. Your kids will get all the facts, learn a lot more about themselves and how to have a safe and responsible sex life (married or not), and they?ll be able to talk to other kids to find that they?re not alone in their feelings or problems.

In fact, you might want to hurry. It’s getting awfully “moral” out there…

You do? Seriously?

Good, you’ll ace the quiz. Each of the terms below is an actual clinical term that describes a specific sexual kink, preference or action. All you have to do is guess which definition is accurate. Go wild. You sick fuck.

1. A harpaxophiliac is aroused by:
a. Aborigines
b. from being robbed
c. a Marx brother
d. stringed instruments, especially upright – oh god, upright ? ones
e. wigs.

2. Bradycubia refers to:
a. an overpowering attraction to Marsha Brady
b. an overpowering attraction to Greg Brady
c. an overpowering desire to watch Greg nail Marsha
d. a sex technique where the male slowly thrusts in and out of his partner’s vagina or anus
e. a sex technique where the male slowly thrusts in and out of Greg and/or Marsha Brady

3. If you’re an ochlophiliac you really get off on:
a. crowds
b. summer squash
c. Scottish accents
d. the Spider-man bad guy with the arms
e. spitting off highway bypasses

4. If a lover offered you a little scrotal infusion, it means they’re about to:
a. kick you in the nuts
b. kiss you on the nuts
c. help you kiss your own nuts, with ropes and a fence puller
d. let you force your scrotum into one of their orifices
e. inject a saline solution into your ballsack until it looks like a hairy water balloon

5. A wild evening of formicophilia would require
a. a hydraulic jack and a can of Fix-A-Flat
b. a kitchen countertop with a hole in it
c. a jar of honey and a jar of ants
d. a wire brush and a bottle of iodine
e. a pile of dirty laundry

6. A stupprator is only sexually interested in:
a. newlyweds
b. virgins
c. uniformed people
d. comatose people
e. stupid people

7. A gomphipothic person would be intensely aroused by the sight of your:
a. Social Security card
b. Aunt
c. Jesse Helms hand puppet
d. Incisors
e. anorak

8. If you hop in the bed of an ophidicist, watch out for:
a. snakes
b. beetles
c. novelty lunchboxes
d. piles of sand
e. unspooled cassette tape

9. If your lover offers you a quick round of genuphallation it means you get to stick your dick:
a. in your lover’s armpit
b. in your lover’s toaster oven
c. between your lover’s earphones
d. in a moistened light socket
e. between your lover’s knees

10. Kokigami is the art of wrapping the penis in:
a. aluminum foil
b. piping hot towels
c. darling little paper or cloth costumes
d. bacon and held in place with toothpicks
e. hundreds of rubber bands until it looks like a balloon animal

11. If you engage in amatripsis it means you masturbate by:
a. stroking your penis with your own heels
b. rubbing your labia together
c. rubbing up against a public official
d. thinking about pop stars
e. rubbing fistfuls of money all over yourself

12. An albutophiliac would just lose all control in your:
a. hiney
b. lobby
c. attic
d. sprinklers
e. socks

13. Tripsolagniacs could probably pick up a cheap thrill at:
a. the local beauty salon
b. the local grocery store
c. the local cemetery
d. the local courthouse, especially the witness stand
e. the local slaughterhouse, especially by the runoff area

14. If a thlipsosist sneaks up behind you, you’re about to get:
a. hugged
b. mugged
c. showered
d. goosed
e. pinched

15. Siderodromopjiliacs are aroused to a remarkable degree from:
a. voting
b. soap operas
c. trains
d. a guy named Sid
e. scuba suits with the nipples cut out

16. Hoot Island patrons would probably appreciate a knismolagniac – they get get turned on from:
a. laughing
b. tickling
c. falling off furniture during sexual congress
d. falling off a municipal bus during sexual congress
e. engaging in an act of sexual congress with a member of Congress

17. Which word does not mean “arousal from person of same sex”:
a. iterandria
b. uranism
c. sexual inversion
d. selglalia
e. lung-yang

18. I could be considered a nanophiliac because all of my lovers have been:
a. short
b. incontinent
c. indiscriminating
d. big busted, thank heaven
e. blind, deaf, and apparently unable to smell

19. Pareunasthenia is a fancified word for:
a. a sexual attraction to sea bass
b. male masturbation with the hole in a 45 rpm record
c. sex involving runny cheese
d. a desire to pollinate flower displays in store windows
e. a limp willy

20. Perhaps the strangest fetish of all is normophilia, which refers to:
a. an attraction to fat guys on barstools
b. a desire to have sex the same way your neighbor does, but better
c. a preference for being ravished by William, Duke of Normandy
d. those only aroused from acts considered normal by their particular society or religion
e. a fetish for men with penises of exactly average size, to be determined by means of a measuring tape, a micrometer, a weight scale, and the latest copy of Cosmo

Answers:
1 b, 2 d, 3 a, 4 e, 5 c, 6 b, 7 d, 8 a, 9 e, 10 c, 11 b, 12 d, 13 a, 14 e, 15 c, 16 b, 17 d, 18 a, 19 e, 20 d

All terms taken from Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices by Brenda Love. I recommend it; it’s guaranteed to make you feel better about your own twisted perversions.

They’re all wrong, of course. See, dirty stories are like feature films. You write the plot, character, and situations first, and then add the filth in post-production, like CGI effects. Just include notes to mark where the sex will need to go later.

Carlos stood over her, furious. “You’ve betrayed me! How can I trust you ever again?”

Maria eased back and loosened her blouse. “Come to me, lover. Let me [INSERT SMUT HERE]

Bone-tired but with a lighter heart, Carlos lay back against the burst fruit. “I love you, Maria. Could you pull that out now, please? I’m starting to chafe.”

See? Get the story out of the way first without obsessing over the juicy scenes. Once you have your story polished and ready, then it’s time to make it hot, hot, hot!

TWEAKING THE LANGUAGE

Even ordinary dialogue becomes sexy when the right adverb is applied.

“I can’t see how investing in such a shaky venture will help your financial situation,” she said lustily.

“Well, time to go,” he said fuckingly.

Or add a simple clause, like “stroking himself.”

“I won’t stand for any more of your bullying,” he said, stroking himself.

“As God is my witness,” she said, stroking herself,” I’ll never be hungry again!”

“Give us Barabbas!” the crowd cried, stroking themselves.

Sometimes all you need is a well-placed adjective.

Samuel stood, mournfully, and picked up his hot, hard, pulsating briefcase.

Burning rivulets of thick, white-hot liquid ran down her sidewalls.

Jameel had never seen such a voluptuous, lust-filled pineapple.

Just look at how easy it is! First, here’s the original text:

Rain beat against the windows and pounded against the door. Lightning blazed through the howling skies to burn demented patterns into my eyes and the thunder was an angry beast, roaring across the night. I warmed my hands over the fireplace.

Behind me, Lucille frowned her disapproval. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

I turned to face her. “That’s my final word.”

Without another word she spun on her heel and stormed out, a worthy addition to the maelstrom outside.

And here’s the same story, after a bit of tweaking:

Rain beat against the yielding windows and pounded sensually against the reddening door. Lightning blazed through the howling, moaning skies to burn demented patterns into my thighs and the thunder was an angry, aroused beast, roaring across the gasp-filled night. I warmed my hands over the fireplace, reveling in the heat against the taut skin of my throbbing, two-foot cock.

Behind me, Lucille, resplendent in lace and burlap, frowned her disapproval. “I wish you’d reconsider, you golden-skinned stallion without whom I could never find climactic release.”

She walked up behind me and pressed her massive breasts against my back, her diamond-hard nipples scratching a message into my kidneys. I turned to face her and, within seconds, was thrusting my enraged dick past her botoxed lips while I closed my eyes and thought furiously about the Indian woman on the margarine box. After a few more seconds I was zipping up and Lucille was gargling with brandy. I limped to a chair and collapsed, spent.

“That’s my final word,” I gasped.

Without another word she spun on her heel and stormed out, a worthy addition to the maelstrom outside.

Go ahead, tell me that didn’t turn you on.

Writing erotica can be as simple as taking a well-loved story and cramming sex scenes in it. Just change the names and who’d know? If you steal children’s stories, make sure you up the ages so the cops don’t come calling. I’m still doing public service for my thrilling novel “Sherri Futter and the Order of the Penis.”

A visit to your local library can offer thousands of stories that just need some grease to be good. “Wuthering Heights” can be improved immeasurably with a double-penetration scene, and how much more poignant is Carton’s sacrifice in “A Tale of Two Cities” if he had shared a baby oil threeway with Lucie and Charles beforehand. Then there’s the Dr. Seuss stuff…

Write your stories first. The rest will come. And come. And come.