I never thought your stories were true…

December 5, 2006 at 3:26 am (Uncategorized)

pentforumoct75.jpgThe Penthouse Forum has always pissed me off. Sure, I suppose you could end up bagging your girlfriend’s sister in the middle of a carwash while you’re wearing a Snoopy outfit and she’s dressed as Lucy. Surely it could happen, and God bless you if it did.
The thing is, if it DID happen, you’d run out and tell all your friends without consulting a thesaurus. You would not use terms like “throbbing member” or “ripe, juicy mounds” in the narration of this wild conquest tale. You’d tell it like it is and we’d pat you on the back and buy you beer. You lucky Snoopy, you.
But who am I to talk? I tried writing one of those things and spent half the time fanning away the heat of white hot story telling and the other half giggling maniacally. It was truly atrocious and now I write sex scenes only when I’m trying to distract a reader from glaring holes in a plot.
My hat is off to anyone who can fire off a libido tweaking narrative. Including the author of this tale, who wishes to remain anonymous. For obvious reasons. And if you want to weigh in with a smoking paragraph or two, by gawd let her rip. Winner gets a dose of penicillin and a case of Altoids. You know… the curiously strong mint.

“Paradox of Power” by Lostshoe Walkingaway

When I signed up for the required political science
class, I never could have foreseen how weird it would
turn out. The first day, drudgery. The prof stood
there droning in monotone, in his suit & tie, skinny
white-haired man. Not really salt & pepper, he had
some but not that much of the pepper. He was skinny,
not at all good looking, kinda nerdy looking. I
thought he looked familiar but couldn’t remember where
I’d
ever seen him before. (Later I realized that he looked
just like Phil Jackson.)He stood there looking so
uncomfortable, kinda rocking from one foot to the
other, sometimes I wondered if he was in pain. I
thought, I would be really self-conscious standing in
front of a bunch of people and talking for a living,
being looked over & judged, so I tried to not be too
judgmental of him and listen for the information &
knowledge he had to offer.
Sometimes he presented political ideals which really
appealed to me and said what I think, better than I
could say it. Other times, he told the opposite
political perspective & pissed me off. I think it was
about the third class when I noticed he was wearing a
wrinkly shirt. I was distracted by it, a very wrinkly
shirt. Why would he be standing there in front of us
in a shirt that needs to be ironed? Obviously he
doesn’t have a woman in his life. A woman wouldn’t let
him wear a wrinkly shirt; she might not iron it for
him herself, but she’d tell him to iron it, or have it
done at the cleaners, or at least make sure he buys
perma-press shirts.
My mind wandered in directions I didn’t expect. I
tried to concentrate on the subject, but somehow I
found myself thinking inappropriate thoughts. The
following week it continued, and so I went to his
office in the teacher’s section of the college.
I told him I had to drop his class. He wanted to know
why. I admitted that I couldn’t stop thinking about
having sex with him, and I had decided that I wanted
to date him, so I wanted to drop the class.
“You want to date me?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You are setting me up for a lawsuit! Forget it! You
will not win a sexual harassment suit against me!”
“No, not at all. I don’t want to sue anybody,” I
responded. “I just want to drop the class and then go
out with you.”
“You are a student, it is not ethical, I cannot date a
student.”
“I am an adult. I’m 38 years old, I am NOT a CHILD,
and I have the right to choose whoever I want to fall
in love with. Who has the right to limit my pursuit of
happiness, just because I’m also pursuing an
education? That makes me mad!”
“Even if you drop the class, I couldn’t date you for
at least a year.”
“OK, I’ll drop the class & wait a year, then we can go
out.”
“You think you’ll still be interested in a year?” he
asked, and I said yes.
“Oh, I see, you are trying to guarantee an A from me
by using your femininity.”
“What? I’d never thought of that!” I emphatically
exclaimed: “I want the grade I earn, and nothing
more.”
“In that case, stay in my class, and wait a year, then
we’ll se if you still are interested.”
“Oh, that would be hard, I keep having inappropriate
thoughts about you.”
“Well, try to find some self control. You need a
politics class to get your degree, and the other
professor has been ill, who knows when you’ll be able
to get the requirement taken care of. Just get through
this class and then we’ll talk about it after a year
passes.”

At the end of the semester, he called me to his
office. He said, “I’ve scored your exams & papers, and
have your grade. You earned a B.”
“Oh, good, thank you.” I said.
He looked at me, seeming to expect some other
response. “You aren’t mad that you didn’t get an A?”
“Of course not, if I earned a B, I earned a B. It
wasn’t my best subject. B is a good grade anyway.”

I discovered a little restaurant within the college,
called the “Sunshine Place.” It was run by the
students who were studying to run restaurants &
hotels, that sort of thing. SO the students gave
wonderful service, since they were doing this for
their experience & grades. The college administrators
and faculty were the main customers. It wasn’t closed
to students, it just wasn’t really known by very many
students, and probably most students didn’t want to
have lunch with their professors.
I hated the students’ cafeteria, it was so noisy &
distracting I couldn’t think or read there. In the
Sunshine Place, I could sit and read as long as I
wanted while sipping tea in real ceramic cups &
saucers, and have soup & rolls. That was only a couple
dollars. I liked having tea in a real cup, not a paper
or foam cup. There were friendly hellos with other
customers, and I was soon having occasional lunch
conversations with several of the teachers. Well,
mainly, there was a shop teacher, and an English prof
who occasionally shared my table. When it was crowded.
Or better, when it wasn’t crowded.
One day, my old Poli-sci prof spoke to me, he had
something to ask me. I went to his office where we
could talk. He showed me his calendar and said it was
just over a year since I had finished his class. Did I
still want a date with him? Yes! I agreed & we set the
time & day for our first date.
He took me to a fancy French Restaurant where the food
was wonderful but I had some trouble enjoying a meal
that cost enough to feed my kids for a week.
Afterwards, he asked if I wouldn’t mind if he stops
really quickly to pick up something at his condo. I
don’t remember what that was now. I do remember him
getting out a tray and sorting & rolling a joint! He’s
not just an intellectual college professor, he’s also
a guy who gets high in his living room! I laughed, it
seemed funny to me, made me realize that I might be
making assumptions about him and not seeing him
clearly. There’s more to a person than what you see at
work. After he rolled it, I just took 2 hits, but
declined any more, explaining that I just get too
sleepy and then I’m no fun. We watched a video or
something while he smoked his joint.
He asked me questions about my past lovers and got me
talking. After awhile, he confronted me with my
numbers. “So I’ve been listening to you and it sounds
as if you’ve been with about 15 men in your life so
far? And over twice as many women?” I found the
numbers disturbing but could not refute it. I had
never thought of it that way, I’d fallen in love, it
didn’t work out, so I’d found someone else. Now I
found someone really great, and I was afraid that this
good man would
reject me because of my past, too many lovers. He
asked if I’d had an AIDS test & said that I had, so he
said that’s OK, we’ll use condoms anyway.
Although he’d seemed skinny, he had surprising
muscular legs & butt, he was actually quite beautiful
from the waist down, and we joked about that. Well, I
couldn’t believe, here I was, I’d wanted him for over
a year & now I was in his bed.
Did he say that or me? I don’t remember, but I do
remember him saying that he was surprised I want him,
rather than a certain English prof that I’d been
eating
lunch with earlier that week. I said, the English prof
wasn’t interested in me, and he said, oh yes, he’s
interested.
I was in the middle of sex with this man, in
missionary position, and my mind was having that
moment of questioning– what am I doing? I am making
a choice
that’s ruling out another possible choice? I could
have had that sweet English prof, so cute and romantic
and deep, and instead I am in bed with this stiff
intellectual man, who I’d thought I wanted & now I got
him. I don’t want to do this. I said it out loud. “I
don’t want to do this.”
“What do you mean? You’re already doing it.”
“Let me up, I need to go to the kitchen (I don’t know
why I didn’t say bathroom) I need to get up.”
‘Not now, it can wait.”
“NO, I don’t want to.”
“We re already fucking. You want to stop now?”
“I want to stop. No means no. I’m saying no.”
“Isn’t it a little late for that?”
I wondered, a woman is supposed to always have the
choice to say no, but what about changing my mind in
the middle of the act? Is there a point where it is
really too late to say no?
“I’m sorry, I’m changing my mind, I don’t feel like it
anymore.”
“I don’t care, I’m almost finished.”
I struggled, I couldn’t get my legs between my hips &
his so I could push him off, he was too strong, and he
had my arms down.
I said, “I should gouge your eyes out now, but you are
holding my arms.”
He released my arms, while still keeping my lower body
held down with his. My hands free, I could reach his
face. I thought of the rape – defense advice the
feminists always give, they say to use your thumbs to
press the sides of the eyes & pop the eyeballs out, to
get a man to stop. I looked at him, remembering the
movie “JAWS” and the fisherman with the eyeball
hanging, and I thought, about the blood getting all
over me, and I thought, how is that better than
having sex against my will? I knew I didn’t want hurt
him.
“Are you saying you want to have sex with me whether I
want to or not?”
“Yes, it feels good. I don’t want to stop.”
Then I wrapped my legs around his hips, locking my
ankles together over his butt, and said, “Fuck me
then. Make me feel your power! Make me feel the power
of your
cock in me!”
And I fucked him hard even though I was underneath
him, I rocked my hips, used my Kegels to grasp &
release as I held on and rocked…. he hollered so
loud when he came the neighbors probably heard him.
Exhausted, he lay in my arms, quivering with pleasure.

In the morning. I kissed him all down his belly to his
thighs, I licked him up & down & around & around,
flicking, teasing, squeezing, before covering the head
with my warm mouth as I worked the shaft with one hand
and slowly my other hand’s wet fingers explored the
sensitive skin below, carefully finding his butthole,
putting spit on my fingers & rubbing the hole watching
for his reaction, he relaxed so I continued, until I
was assfucking him with a finger of one hand while the
other hand was going up & down the shaft while sucking
his head enthusiastically. Soon, he came into my
mouth.
“You swallowed?”
“Yes, it’s 55 calories & the same amount of protein as
spinach.”
“Oh, now I’m a serving of spinach.”

He made breakfast, “machaca” which is eggs & beef
scrambled together, it was very rich & filling. He
asked me why I had wanted to stop and I said because I
didn’t think he’d want to have sex with me if I was
thinking about another man; he said, “Why not, I was
too.” I ignored what he seemed to have said, because
it didn’t fit my idea of what kind of person he was.
I learned more about him, as he told me about his
life. When he was hired to this community college
teaching job, he’d been homeless, had a student loan
to pay, selling encyclopedias door-to-door. When he was
interviewed for the job, he said the college president
asked him, “You are qualified for the job and I like
you but, how do I justify to the College Board why I
hired a white man over a minority or a woman?”
He said his response was, “I’m gay. Now you can tell
the college board I will sue for discrimination
against gays if I am not hired.”
“You lied and said you are gay to get the job?” I
asked, pissed that affirmative action was being
maligned. “No I didn’t lie. You know I’m gay, the way
you sucked & assfucked me this morning.”
“Oh, no, just because I put a finger in your butt,
that doesn’t make you gay. Everyone likes that, if it’s done right & they aren’t
too inhibited. You are gay if you are attracted to men & have sex with men, or want to.”

“I do have sex with men,” he told me.
I asked about his past lovers and he said he didn’t
have any. Then he said that what he likes is to go to
public bath houses in LA and have anonymous anal sex.
I started to freak out. When I was 19, I had begun
having lesbian fantasies, so I had gone out to gay
bars & met lesbians, and I was told very clearly, that
a lesbian occasionally needs to get fucked by a man,
(once a year, she said) to pick a good friend, a
straight man, but NEVER have sex with a gay man who
does anal sex. Off limits! Lesbians will never want
you after that, I was told. In the era of AIDS, that
seemed like important advice.
So now I was worried about that. He called me
homophobic! Homophobic? No way!
He said that I was a hypocrite, pointing out that I’d
also had numerous partners. I said, yes, but I was in
love.
“You were in love over 40 times?” he confronted me.
“Well, I thoroughly felt in love at the time, but it
didn’t work out, it didn’t last.”
“You feel that you are in love because of your female
hormones, they make your emotional and irrational. Men
are more honest about it, that’s all.”
“But anal sex with anonymous partners?” I was still
upset. I felt like the “hero” had transformed into the
“villain”- the prince charming into the beast; the
savior had
become the devil! Why does that always happen? Men!
ugh…..
He showed me his enema bag, which I had seen in the
bathroom and wondered why he had a douchebag. It
looked the same as an old fashioned red rubber
douchebag,
now he explained it’s use. He showed me the contents
of the big trunk in his room. It was his toy box! It
was full of condoms of varying thickness & colors &
flavors; various dildos & what he explained were
“butt-plugs” in many sizes, and there was a box of
gloves and a tube of lubricant. He brought the
smallest butt-plug, that was the size of a finger on
the tip, but the larger part was about the size of an
average
penis. He brought the gloves & lube. I let him know
that I would have nothing in my butt, or- nothing
larger than a finger if I did, and he agreed to
respect my wishes.
He let me try to use the little butt-plug on him, with
the lubricant generously applied, I inserted it into
him somewhat hesitantly. But I got into it, rubbing my
vulva on his butt-cheeks, pretending I was fucking
him. We both got tired of that in a few minutes. He
asked me to put on the glove. With a lot of KY jelly,
I slipped a finger into his butt. Then he asked me to
insert one more, and another, and another, until my
hand was sliding in. “More!” he insisted. Pretty soon
my hand disappeared up to my wrist. He said to make a
fist. “You’ve got to be kidding?” “No, it’ll feel
good,” so I did. I couldn’t believe what I was doing.
There I was with my fist inside this man’s rectum. I’m
‘fisting’ him! A rush came over me, a feeling of awe.
I said I
can’t believe how this feels. He asked if I like it, I
said it’s a rush, but it seems like it’s not sexual
for me, it’s power.
“Power is an aphrodisiac,” he quoted.
“But WHO has the power?” I asked. “Me, because I’m the
one fisting you? Or you? Because you persuaded me to
do something I thought was repulsive?”
“Ah! The Existential Paradox of Power!” he stated.
I’ve been reading Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de
Beauvior, Marquis de Sade, Frankle, Neitsche, & Yalom
for years, but I never thought I’d find their meaning
with my fist
in someone’s ass.
Then he cried, “Stop – now it hurts! Unclench & slowly
slide your hand out,” he instructed, and so I did.

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36 Comments

  1. Linda said,

    I only had time to read the first few inches before work, and here’s my early response: you call that anonymous??

    If there’s anyone out there, have a nice day.

  2. Mandy, the obit writer said,

    I’m not sure what was funnier, her description of free will: “I was in the middle of sex with this man, in missionary position, and my mind was having that
    moment of questioning– what am I doing? I am making
    a choice that’s ruling out another possible choice?”
    or this gem: “Ah! The Existential Paradox of Power!” he stated. “I’ve been reading Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvior, Marquis de Sade, Frankle, Neitsche, & Yalom
    for years, but I never thought I’d find their meaning with my fist in someone’s ass.”

    Years ago, I took a philosophy class on love and sexuality — and later assisted my professor as an assistant for her online version of the course — but I never came across that in my readings!

  3. Mandy, the obit writer said,

    I’m not sure what was funnier, her exploration of free will: “I was in the middle of sex with this man, in missionary position, and my mind was having that
    moment of questioning– what am I doing? I am making a choice that’s ruling out another possible choice?”

    or this gem: “Ah! The Existential Paradox of Power!” he stated. “I’ve been reading Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvior, Marquis de Sade, Frankle, Neitsche, & Yalom
    for years, but I never thought I’d find their meaning with my fist in someone’s ass.”

    Years ago, I took a philosophy class on love and sexuality — and later assisted my professor as an assistant for her online version of the course — but I never came across that in my readings!

  4. Robert said,

    THis brings back memories to a story a friend related to me after his wife dumped him for a night out…

    It seems he went out to the local bar and met a beautiful, voluptuous blonde and when she invited him back to her place he quickly accepted…well lets just skip the intimate details (Hey, I”m at work), and after a night of wild sexual escapades he awoke and realized it was 4 in the morning and his wife would be looking for him.

    So he asked his new lover if she had baby powder, and when she brought it he sprinkled some on his hands, rubbed it in, kissed her goodbye and went home…

    He arrived to find his wife on her 8th cup of coffee, just waiting for him to return….she asked where the hell he’d been, to which he fessed up…”honey, I went to a bar, met a beautiful blonde and went to her house to make love all night”….his wife took one look at his hands and replied – “you lying sack of shit, you’ve been out bowling with the boys”……

    Take that Penthouse Forum!

  5. Richie said,

    One word: “Turgid”

    Now I can move on to other things.

  6. Nadine said,

    One word: “next!”

  7. LaFlamme said,

    I got nuthin.

  8. Linda said,

    If you ever have to have nuthin, this is as good a time as any, don’t you think?

  9. LaFlamme said,

    Yeah. I could never write erotica at this time of day.

  10. Linda said,

    No, it’s either too late or too early, I agree. (is that like “free beer tomorrow”?)

  11. LaFlamme said,

    Tomorrow there will be free beer and porn, yes.

  12. AO said,

    Ohh…can’t wait till “tomorrow”!

  13. Rolling Chunder said,

    WTF?

  14. "The Weasel" said,

    Tooooooooooooooooo Loooooooooooooooooooooong……..

    Come on Flamette….. Give a little SOMETHING to the Flammer. I bet it took me longer to read the blog than it will take Flammer to……. well you know. Give it up for the blogs sake.

    PS Where’s K2 been?

  15. LaFlamme said,

    Hey, I didn’t write the porn piece. That’s from ANONYMOUS.

  16. anonymous walking shoe said,

    weasel, did you want the fisting faster? You gotta work up to something like that.

  17. "The Weasel" said,

    Just waiting for Brenda to give us one of her stories of fisting in California’

  18. brenda said,

    how long do you think you’ll wait for that, weasel?

  19. brenda said,

    Rolling Chunder wrote: WTF?
    Is rolling chunder actually shocked? wow.

  20. living in the past said,

    my name is brenda and i am stuck living in the past life i had in california
    where racism ran rampant
    everyone smoked weed
    fist met ass with ease
    yes my name is brenda
    and i left my heart in california

  21. Linda said,

    Now Brenda, one melancholy, wine-soaked Friday night I wrote something like that (only with out the fist meeting ass part). Someone on the blog rearranged the lines for me and said it read more like a poem that way. I’m telling you, this can be a tough crowd and you are taking your chances, just so you know!

  22. LaFlamme said,

    There once was a man from Nantucket
    Whose… But, ah. That’s old.

  23. Linda said,

    So Mark, if you don’t mind a change of subject — and i doubt that you do — did you see The Family Guy last night where Peter rolled into the hot dog vendor at Fenway Park? I’m sure you did. I loved the part where he had a hot dog up one nostril and he sucked it in, then snorted mustard up the other nostril. So cool! Could you really do that do you think?

  24. brenda said,

    well, I spent 1967 to 1971 in CA, then went back there in 1980 to 2004, that totals 28 years, so I suppose if I were to write my memoirs most of them occurred in CA, however I really prefer living in Maine. I left my grand-daughters & 2 grown kids in Ca, so you could say I left my heart in CA, But I brought a good part of my heart to Maine with me also.
    And an important part of my experience & education was to become aware of life from other points of view, to realise that th e racisnm that exists and to be mad enough to say something about it, rather than denying or accepting it. I’m not going to not be who I am.
    I was intrigued when someone suggested to write a forums bad-sex-writing contest and want to see what any of you will come up with? Couldn’t be worse than what this lostshoe walking person wrote.
    I like the idea Linda had suggested in an earlier blog, about sex acts which changed the course of people’s lives. Besides the obvious cases of conception- there could be many consequences that might be interesting to wroite about, to make people think? What are your ideas? I’m afraid my ideas will involve more rambling than actual lurid sexy descriptions but maybe I’ll think about it. Anybody else willing to take a risk?
    risk- yes- there it is, probably easier to write about something on the other side of the country & about someone you all wouldn’t know. I mean if it were a poli-sci teacher in this area, people would be speculating who it is……

    peace out!

  25. Linda said,

    What? what idea did I have about life-changing sex acts? I must have been insane or drunk if i shared it with the blog.

    I’ve got nothing against taking a risk, but writing bad sex scenes for this blog isn’t high on my to-do list!

  26. another Brenda said,

    I just noticed there’s more than one Brenda around these blog-boards.

  27. LaFlamme said,

    I didn’t see that one last night, but I HAVE seen it before. I think I’ve seen all of them at this point.

  28. "The Weasel" said,

  29. AO said,

    Hey!! Where the hell is Bulldog? This would be something she’d be interested in.

  30. Mainetarr said,

    AO = Annie Oakley????

  31. LaFlamme said,

    Yeah. Bulldog could write one of these letters based on what she did this morning before work. If she can remember through the meth haze, that is.

  32. LaFlamme said,

    Fess up, AO. Are you Annie Oakley? It’s been a year and a half, for chrissakes!

  33. Linda said,

  34. "The Weasel" said,

    Didn’t meth start in California??????

    Que Brenda

  35. Brenda said,

    meth is evil. avoid it. ruins lives.

  36. Brenda said,

    sorry, Linda, my mistake.
    It was Mandy:

    “Mandy, the obit writer said,
    December 1, 2006 at 9:18 pm
    For my next story I should try to combine sex and the chaos theory. One sex act alters the course of my characters’ lives.”
    –just got me thinkin’

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