Millions of glazy-eyed people, young and old alike, have been captivated by the adventures of this young wizard and his friends. Each book has taken you through Harry’s life as he escapes from life with the dreadful Dursleys to learn about magic at the amazing Hogwart’s Academy of Wizardry. Unless you’re a hopeless pathetic loser Muggle you know how Harry has progressed in power and skill every year, always triumphing over the sneaky Slytherin House and thwarting the plans of the evil dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, with his own courage and the help of his loyal friends Ron and Hermione. Now it’s Harry’s 18th birthday, it’s his last year at Hogwart’s, and the fun is just beginning!

The release date will be near Christmas, just in time for us to make another mountain of money, but as an exclusive bonus for you loyal Hoot Island fans we’re offering an excerpt. What follows takes place after the final year students arrive back at Hogwarts for the new school year…

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Harry and Ron stepped through the fat woman painting into the Gryffindor common room in some consternation. “I hope Hermione hasn’t passed us completely,” Ron said. “I can’t believe she took summer classes.”

“I would have if I could,” Harry said, “but I didn’t have the O.W.L.s to manage it. Remember, her last letter said she was going to go on to post-graduate work.” They waved to familiar friends and began introducing themselves to the new students. Quite a lot of the younger students kept passing them and then looking back at Harry and stopping dead in surprise.

After eight years, Harry was used to being stared at. The dark Lord Voldemort’s attack on him as a baby left him a distinctive lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, and the reputation of being the only person Voldemort couldn’t kill outright did the rest, with some help from the reputation Harry had built for himself since. After discovering he was a wizard and could attend Hogwart’s School of Wizardry, Harry had gotten wind of several of Voldemort’s evil schemes and had thwarted them all. He had faced death, humiliation, basilisks, dragons, evil wizards, malicious spells, foul odors, the undead, and even the Inland Revenue and remained unscathed. Oddly enough, Voldemort’s schemes seemed to be losing oomph, as if he could no longer pull together enough power to get a really good evil plan together. The last attempt had been to place Harry on a chain letter mailing list.

As more and more students kept staring at him, Harry began to realize that there was a different class of attention. He recognized the star-gazers, the well-wishers, the groupies, the jealous, and the envious, but he kept noticing female students looking at him in a funny way, almost as if they were hungry. One pretty blonde student even went so far as to lick her lips and use her hand to smooth out the front of her robe, although Harry hadn’t noticed any wrinkles..

Ron noticed it as well. “Cor, Harry! You outta be able to get some serious schtank this year! And we’re finally of legal age to learn Sex Magic, so you’ll have an excuse and everything.”

“But why are they staring at me? Why not both of us?” Harry asked, blushing furiously.

“Well, look at you. You’ve been playing tournament-class Quidditch for eight years, you’re in fantastic shape, you’ve got the scar (chicks love scars, Harry), and Daniel Radcliffe turned out to be a hunk.”

“What?”

“Look, there’s Hermione!”

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Movie porn, anyway. Is there any playful sex out there anymore?

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. Read the rest of this entry »

“You seem excited,” said the lady behind me in line. My smile was ready to burst from my face and go dancing.

“I’m finally going to find out, boy or girl!“
 
”Oh, wonderful! Don’t want to be surprised?”

“I will be! My darling Chris and I wanted to save it for the wedding night.”

“What? Finding out the sex of your baby?”

“Finding out the sex of my lover! Chris has been hiding it, the tease.”

“You mean you don’t know? And you’re marrying him? Her?”

“Of course!” I said happily. “What has that got to do with anything?”

Three sets of eyes popped when Billie’s bikini strap did. She grabbed for it, totally embarrassed.

“Whoa…” “Damn, girl…” “Holy…”

I stepped in front of her and glared at my leering friends. “Hey, self-control, be polite, OK?” They filed out, muttering about my masculinity.

After she left I ran to my bedroom, aflame with my glimpse of round, creamy flesh and a delicious-looking chocolate nipple. My aching cock leaped into my hand—

–just as Billie walked back in, smiling. “The important thing about self-control,” she said, untying on purpose this time, “is knowing when it’s polite to lose it.”

It started out as a mild argument. A friend’s bachelor party loomed large and Teresa had graciously allowed me to attend the festivities, knowing full well there would be naked, oiled women present in some abundance. The problem arose when I returned home, smelling of smoke and liquor and still pretty cheerful about the evening. Mistake number one. Number two was failing to immediately notice that Teresa just happened to still be up, reading. Number three was failing to notice that she was wearing an attractive teddy and a light perfume. Number four, a big one, was plopping down next to her and regaling her with stories about the evening while continuing to commit mistakes two and three.

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.”

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