Message-ID: <6766eli$9803101636@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Andrew Roller Subject: FUCK DECENCY 349 Dungeon of Desire NND g2 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3501F3C8.1D9B@earthlink.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- THE WAGES OF SIN notes by a (former) feminist Many a minister (and other sanctimonious person) will tell you about the sin of saying “yes”. I’m here, my fellow women, to tell you about a far worse sin. That’s the sin of saying “no.” Take me, for instance. I was young once. My mother and my community and my school taught me well. They taught me all about the sin of saying “yes”. We were drilled in it daily at school. I imbibed it innocently, completely, until it was me and I was it. I would never say “yes.” Never. And I didn’t. I was never raped. I was never molested. I may have been stalked, when I was younger. Then again, it may only have been my imagination. I’m average. Call me Alison Average, if you like. You wouldn’t consider me a knockout. On the other hand, you wouldn’t regard me as ugly, either. At least, you wouldn’t have, if I was younger. Now I’m old. I’m fat. (I compensated for not being raped, molested, or stalked by overeating, you see.) I keep having to buy larger dresses at the dress shop. I’m getting wrinkles. My hair is thinning. Why did they teach me that “All sex is rape?” Worse, why did I believe it? Why did they teach me that being propositioned by a man is a form of sexual harassment? And why did I fall for that crap? These days, when men see me coming, they cross the street. The last time I talked to a man was sometime in the 1980’s. (He didn’t ask me out.) Why did I attend all those women’s seminars? Endless lectures by hairy ex-whores on the evils of men! Of *course* they don’t like men. They long ago reduced men to a commodity, and had sex so many times they got sick of it. I have a collection of dildoes at home (bought from a catalog). But I can’t use my dildoes like they use theirs because, never having had sex, I’m not about to deflower myself with a hunk of plastic. Girls, please! Listen to me! Say “yes”! Go out tonight! Let yourself be propositioned by a stranger. Have unbelievable sex in some back alley somewhere. The alternative is much, much worse: sitting at home, watching public T.V. (I can’t watch commercial T.V. anymore, it’s too heartbreaking. All those people talking about sex!) (If you are stuck at home, though, there’s a highly informative program on public T.V.: “Women in Crisis: Abuse in Our Nation’s Homes.” It’s by a prominent feminist -- oops! There I go again!) Let me tell you what it’s like to be an old maid like me. It’s worse even than being a single mother. At least if you’re a single mother, you can make a claim for welfare. When *I* tried to get welfare, do you know what the *woman* at the Welfare Office said? She said: “If you’ve got no kids, honey, you’re considered an able-bodied adult. Just between you and me, I’d advise you to get your fat ass to work.” (When I complained to her supervisor, she (the supervisor) said: “We’re married, have kids, and work too. You’re all by yourself. Who do you think you are, Cleopatra?” Now I work at a dry cleaning establishment, cleaning the dresses of (married) feminists with careers. While I majored in college in Feminist Studies, learning all about the crimes of men, those women majored in something useful, like accounting. Don’t believe that feminist crap! Do you know who thought up all that feminist crap? Women, who were having trouble meeting men. They figured if they could convince all the other women (like me) that “All Men Are Evil,” they’d reduce the amount of competition they faced. It worked. They’re married. I’m not. No men “harass” me by opening doors for me. No men “love me and leave me,” saddling me with their children. My home (an apartment) is cold and dark. Nobody helps me with the household chores. Nobody calls. (Other women used to call me, long ago, but they’ve since ‘succumbed’ and gotten married. I’m sitting here with every book ever published by feminists. They’re not nearly as much fun in bed as they seemed years ago, when I bought them.) Yes, my fellow women. The real sin is not in saying “yes.” It’s in saying “no.” When you say “no,” do you know what happens? Nothing! If you’re persistent enough in saying “no”, (I was) the guy goes away! He meets a woman less well-versed in feminist orthodoxy, who (guess what?) says “yes” to him! Please, listen to me! Don’t just toss this message and think: some message by some cranky old fool. Yes, I’m a crank, and a fool. But now you know why: It’s because I didn’t say “yes” to the men of this world! (I have no idea how that wound up in this magazine, but please pass it along to any women (or girls) you know who may need it. - h.j.) Andrew Roller Presents FUCK DECENCY Sponsored by: Crab the dog Issue No. 349 Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in Dungeon of Desire Chapter Four One final preparation remained. And, as befitted Sauron’s household, it was quite obscene. Katy stopped outside the tea room and let go of Dick’s penis. I saw a small table with a Moistex pad on it, unopened, beside the door, plus an empty glass flower vase and a box of kleenex. I wondered at them. The vase had a long graceful neck but it had been broken near the top of its neck, perhaps to make its vase mouth wider. It looked as if it had once been rather narrow at the top of its swan-like neck but now, being broken a little down, there was more room for things to be put inside it. Yet flower stems were all the same, were they not? What else could one put in a pretty vase like that? Katy picked up the vase and turned and held it under Dick’s cockhead. “Make water,” she told him. “Huh?” Dick asked. He watched as she tipped the vase forward a little so that its mouth enclosed the crown of Dick’s penis. He quivered in that smooth cut glass opening. Its edges were sharp, and Katy had to be careful lest she cut him. “You cannot enter the tea room with pee in your penis, or your bladder, or wherever you men keep it. It would be impure. Japanese tradition requires that you pee before having your tea.” She looked up at him, smiling, still holding the vase quite carefully. “Anyways, you’ll pee more from drinking lots of tea, so lets start fresh so you don’t have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, big boy.” I did not know whether Katy was lying or telling the truth. But Dick, inspired by his dangerous situation and her sensuous eyes, peed lustily. His stream burst forth and he filled the vase almost to its rim. Katy had to be even more careful then, for if she wasn’t she’d spill all the pee Dick had given her onto Sauron’s carpeted floor. She placed the vase down onto the small table. It looked golden sitting there, light shafting through it from a lamp nearby. Katy ripped open the Moistex pad with her fingers and gently wiped Dick’s pee slit on his cockhead. He shivered a little at the alcohol impregnated in the pad. “There, now you’re all ready for tea,” Katy said to him. She looked at me. “We girls must pee in pots,” she said. She pointed to two painted gold pots sitting discreetly against the wall on the far side of the table. I fetched mine. It was small like a bowl, but high enough in its shape that I might pee into it without splashing too much on myself. I fetched a kleenex for when I was done and I squatted. Katy got her bowl and placed it on the floor next to me and squatted over hers, kleenex in hand. Dick watched, bright eyed. Lifting our kimonos so we couldn’t mess ourselves, Katy and I peed into our bowls. We wiped ourselves. We deposited our kleenex into our bowls. Mine floated on my pee, like a crumpled boat. Katy took my bowl, hers also, and set them beside Dick’s vase on the table. “Someone will empty them,” she smiled. “Now let’s go inside.” Our gowns billowing, our footsteps soft, we made our way into the tea room. I got a nod from Katy and accepted it as permission to sit. Wearing only my collar round my throat, with my kimono open to show my breasts, I sat down for traditional Japanese tea. Dick sat at the next place. His penis, elevated by the wood on which he sat, thrust itself onto the table. Katy smirked and seated herself on a cushion of her own. “Where’s Sauron?” Dick asked. The inevitable question, and he’d had the courage to broach it. Katy settled herself on her cushion, letting her legs lie open, pulling her kimono up so that it did not block the view of her sex between her criss-crossed Indian-style legs. She reached over and adjusted Dick’s robe so that his balls and his penis would be displayed more completely. “Sauron must be busy,” she answered. “I’m sure he’ll join us soon.” She smiled at me and made sure I lifted and parted my kimono so that my pussy would show as easily and freely as hers did. Then she clapped her hands together, once. To my utter shock and amazement, a servant appeared. And it was no ordinary servant, either, like the faceless ones Miriam had. It was Jennifer! She stepped out from what must have been the kitchen, her head bowed, her hair done up Geisha-style like Katy’s was. But she wore no formal kimono. Instead a simple white blouse covered her otherwise nude figure, wafting at her waist, dipping just low enough to hide her hips but leaving her pussy bare. Jennifer’s fur was completely on display, and as I watched her mincing steps I doubted not that she would have preferred to have panties on, even panties that creased her thighs. “Jennifer’s learning to be our tea server,” Katy said. “We procured her from her boyfriend. She’ll learn more from us.” I wanted to ask how she’d been procured. But I knew. Somehow Sauron, in his rage, having lost to Dick, had found a way, Agamemnon-like, to steal himself a substitute prize. And here she was, all ivory-skinned and sweet, trembling a little as she approached us, her nails lacquered and her hair elaborately done up and her makeup perfect. She bore a small bronze vessel. It was hot and steam wafted up from it. Jennifer wiggled her nose a little as the rising steam tickled it. I guessed it heated her bosoms a little and made her billowy shirt stick a little to them. She held the tea kettle away from her so that her perky nipples wouldn’t be injured by its hot bronze surface. Alluring in her nudity, she wore big oven mitts on her hands to keep them from touching the tea pot. Jennifer knelt carefully with the pot and then placed it on a hot plate beside our low table. Like the table, the hot plate sat on the floor. A small stand was under it to keep it off the woven floor mats that ran underneath us. The room smelled of bamboo, not a heavy smell, like in old Asian houses, but a fresh scent, as if the bamboo had just been cut and brought in from the jungle to serve us during our ceremony. MAGAZINE REVIEWS by holy joe Cosmopolitan, March 1998, $2.95. No web site listed. Review: The girl who packed my bags at the grocery store gave me a weird look when she saw me buying this magazine. I can’t help it. It’s got some great information in it about sex. Which brings up the question, why are the ladies’ magazines about sex sold in the grocery store, where any child can read them, while mens’ magazines about sex: a. aren’t even sold in the grocery store, and b. can’t be bought or viewed by anyone under 18? There’s better information about sex in this issue of Cosmopolitan than I’ve ever seen in any issue of Playboy, Penthouse, or Hustler. Consider these tips: “If you want to get your guy off orally, first spend some time stimulating his body from the navel to the knees with your hair. It feels great! Then, focus your warm breath and kisses on the head of his penis and the part that’s just beneath. For most men, the sensation is the same as if you had the entire penis in your mouth. Also, make hand play an active part of oral sex -- lightly caress his testicles and stroke the shaft of his penis. This helps increase the intensity of whatever you’re doing with your mouth.” (page 223). (Just think, America, your 8-year-old daughter may be standing in the grocery store reading that right now! And you thought banning the Internet from her life would keep her from finding out about sex...) There are many other great ideas in this issue of Cosmopolitan. I don’t want to violate their copyright by retyping it all on the Internet, but let me list just a few: (All of these are written for females to do, to males.) (I suppose gays could try it too, of course:) 1. Blow-job your man with frozen grapes in your mouth. 2. To make his dick feel warm, spray your mouth with Binaca breath spray just before sucking him. Mint-flavored toothpaste also works. 3. Place a vibrator against your cheek. Then, suck your man’s penis. 4. Stroke or lick the hairless underside of a man’s balls. 5. Use a soft, manual toothbrush on his body (or yours). 6. “Use silk scarves or a pair of your panty hose to tie his ankles and wrists together. ... Blindfold him and have him identify what you’re doing: Slide an ice cube over his body or lick whipped cream or chocolate sauce off his chest.” (page 226) 7. Blow-job your man with yogurt in your mouth. 8. Unzip your man’s fly with your teeth. 9. “Go to the supermarket wearing nothing but a raincoat.” (page 226) There are many, many other suggestions in this issue of Cosmopolitan. I skipped over the ones dealing with the female body since it would take too much brain-power for me to try to figure them out. (Even with Gray’s Anatomy sitting here by my computer.) But, from a man’s point of view, I think I hit all the really important ones. It looks like the Christian Perdition has their work cut out for them if they’re going to save America from sex... Sexually Frustrated by Laura Kramer Would it be wrong, to push against a wall, to kiss you? Hard. To pin your arms above your head, and press my body against yours. Hard. To feel you. How wonderful I would feel if you took me. Laid me down and pressed your body onto mine. Felt me. Kissed me. Fulfill my need for passion. Grasp it in your hand, and release it upon my waiting body. And then, after the need for passion has subsided, lay next to me, while I trace the lines of your body. To begin to know you, so that I can mold my body to yours and still feel the heat. Is it wrong to want this? To need this? AND IN THE END... GOSH, LADIES, ISN’T WORK FUN? “Your vision: a corner office with a panoramic view, a six-figure salary, a fat expense account complete with a generous clothing allowance, and a gleaming limousine to ferry you to and from the office...all, of course, before you hit 30. Your reality: a cubicle the size of a bathroom stall.” - Cosmopolitan, March 1998, page 229. (You should have posed for Playboy. -h.j.) -------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------ -Back issues (and stories): type http://www.dejanews.com/ into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key. Find “standard” in the middle of the screen. Click on “standard”. Change “standard” to “complete”. Above the word “complete”, Type in: roller39@idt.net Press your “return” key. -Or search using: roller666@earthlink.net -Other providers: Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership. NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018. -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder. -END OF 349 EMISSION “Brigid screamed and screamed, like a little girl of nine or ten having her first spanking. She was no longer trying to kick like a wicked child but surging her arse and twisting her hips as she shrieked and floundered over the padded trestle.” (Noreen, page 36, published by Blue Moon Books.) At least she didn’t wind up like me! - Alison Average. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |