The second thing I thought was that porn writing has not changed since the Seventies. I used to find my dad's super skanky magazines--no Playboy for him, with the models' legs demurely closed--it was Juggs and Cheri and Oui et al. Of course I read them from cover to cover. Repeatedly, so that I remember it clearly to this day. Every picture, every word of text, all the ads. Anyone would have done the same, even if they were about nine, as I was. This could have been cut and pasted from the November 1978 issue of Oui:
... the only diving I wanted to do was jackknifing straight into some warm moist muff.
Nature had equipped her with a pair of flotation devices that would have made the Titanic unsinkable.
As she started giving me head, I remembered that there’s no hurricane season in Oxygen’s tropical enclave. The only gale-force winds were the ones generated by Mika’s furious inhaling and exhaling on my dick.
Maybe dudes talk to each other like this all the time, when there are no women within earshot. How would I know?
It occurs to me that I'm not being very nice to the writer, whose blog I perused a bit. I actually think he's providing excellent stuff, writing about his sexual adventures; I love to read about other people's as much as I like to have my own. But he did that thing that mean old intolerant conservative me can't stand: he whined about how sexually repressed "this country" is. We are to understand that he certainly isn't talking about himself--no, it's all the rest of you loathsome little peasants who are sexually repressed. When there's real live actual sexual repression going on, like public executions of gay people in Iran, and the widespread opression of women in every country where there's significant Muslim influence, naturally "this country" is the repressed one.
Anyway, if any of y'all repressed, ignorant proletarians want to ride the Dominican Pussy Train, go here.
I especially love that they named it after a women's cable channel.
Peace out!
