Porn to DI For: May-December Relationships

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

WTF: Stripped -- A Poem of Money and Sex

Today's Want To Fuck Friday Poetry is on the theme of the economics of sex. Men are required to pay up for sex -- whether it be for a stripper, a prostitute, a girlfriend, a wife or especially, an ex-wife. The following poem couples the hollowness of paying for sex with the horrors of mortality -- two things that are inevitable. This could also be considered an introduction to future posts on this issue, because it is important and rarely discussed from the male perspective.

The payment for sex is culturally ingrained from the hooker and stripper on one side of the spectrum to the wife and mother on the other side. A woman's sex appeal is an actual economic commodity which can be utilized in various ways. From an emotional stand point, the economization of sex is very deadening for the male, because he always has a subconscious hunch that the attention he is receiving is for his pocket book, not for any intrinsic qualities he might possess. Those economic aspects of the sexual interaction color every little bit of fucking.

I know I have a couple of homosexual readers and I would be intrigued for their take on the economic implications of sex or if this is a hetro-guy thing.

Stripped

Green faced dead men
Minutely furrowed brows
Ghostly repetitions in light
Numeric representations
Of my sweat and labor ---

For them I can see flesh.

Grey faced women
Mockingly skin expose
Ghostly apparitions in dark
Simulated representations
Of sex or labor —
For the green faced men.

Grey faced man,
Manly fractured hearts
Ghastly searching for mercy
Demanded contributions
Of love and labor lost –
For the old dead poet:

Sonnets of love
Spilled off the ink of his pen
His love gone
Stripped of life and gone
As is he.

All we are left with is ink ---
Ink bleeding poetry
Or Ink creating furrows in the brows
Of famous dead men –
For which flesh can be stripped away
Leaving nothing but exposed nerves
For the length of a poem or song.

Puritan Sex -- Porn Part I

On Monday, I was left without a power cord and having been deprived of power, was completely unable to take the time to post the comments on my most recent porn find at the DI. The little paper back of Adventures in a Puritan Cult is classic Victorian porn with the odd twist of being based in a puritan-istic religious group on the American frontier.

The religion is never actually specified and has at various times elements of Mennonites, Shakers, Amish, Jehovah Witnesses and of course, Mormons and polygamy. Ironically, despite the title, no mention is actually made of the "Puritans" of Pilgrim fame.

The book is based on the diary of Leni, the daughter of Tilly and as a piece of porn is wonderfully seated on "plain oak pews . . . hard as a miser's heart."

The story starts out with a Preface explaining the strict religious community, devoid of sexual sin and in sharp contrast to the Sodom and Gomorrah cities of the East Coast (Boston and New York?). The book starts out with a very adamant acknowledgment of the patriarchal prerogative: "Early in the history of our country, when men breathed freely, and women breathed, if at all, by the divine permission of men."

The strict religious tone coupled with patriarchal humbuggery makes what happens in Chapter 1 all the more unexpected, but hey, this is PORN to DI for. The first chapter includes a description of a cock with balls the size of coconuts, fellatio, and dangerous biting of the male genitals. If that weren't enough we have a little education lesson with Tilly teaching her daughter Leni, the joys of mutual masturbation in a lesbian incest fest.

I'm just so glad that Leni listened to the prophet and kept a detailed journal of her life, even if it had just been Chapter 1, but praise Jesus, we have 11 total Chapters to look forward to -- if only she had been more faithful and diligent. Of course, I think it was Leni's squirting orgasm, not the still small voice, that made her feel like the "most sprightly and cheerful elf in the Kingdom." I've got a real testimony of the importance of maintaining a journal. Living prophets have added the 11th Commandment: Thou shalt journal.

I'm doing my part even now, putting my blog on line so that my posterity can understands that the depths my faith has taken me. I love it when I can get in deep -- how else do you escape a Puritan Cult?

Porn to DI For: Adventures in a Puritan Cult

When perusing the shelves at any thrift store in the desperate search for the pornographic word, make sure you look for the word "Victorian", since Victorianism means repression, it is also code for heavily laden prose porn. Preferably the book should also be written by Anonymous.

I have a glorious find for $0.75: Adventures in a Puritan Cult. You can buy it on Amazon, but there is only one available, so act fast if you must have your own copy, but if you can be patient with me and my poor typing skills over the coming weeks, you will be able to read the entire book here on my blog. One nice thing about anonymous authors from the 1800s is that their copyrights have expired.

My battery is about to die on my laptop, so tonight's post will be cut short, since I left the electric cord at work, so tune in tomorrow for the luscious tale of Leni and her daughter Tilly as they wend their way through the travails of belonging to an uptight religious sect with sex and spirit combining with the hardships on the United State's Western frontier.

Biblical Love Redux -- WTF (Want To Fuck Friday) Poetry

Carnaval dancers, originally uploaded by VideoVik.

Before I introduce this weeks poem, just a word about the poetic art. A strong portion of myself greatly rebels against poetry that is inaccessible and incoherent. I think the hyperlink technology is a great way to add to the ability to make a poem more accessible. I am a fan of T.S. Eliot's poetry, because even with his obscure references you knew what the hell he was talking about or he at least gave you a chance to figure it out. Maybe it was all the footnotes in The Wasteland or his redemptive Four Quartets or because of his sing-song Hollow Men:

This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang, but a whimper.

Today's WTF poem takes us from the whimper ending wimp out of the world, to the beginning with Adam and Eve and from the fall to the teachings of the New Testament and culminating in the crucifixion of our Savior, Jesus Christ, examined in my own, critical fashion:

Mormon Erotica's Biblical Love Re-Dux

Adam got Eve
Because it wasn't good for man
To be alone,
Because he needed his ass out of paradise
And suffering
In the cold cruel world.

Love your neighbor
As you love yourself
Is pretty bad fucking advice ---
Because most of us
Are pretty self-loathing.

Love your enemies,
Bless them that despitefully use you --
This is the definition of
Romantic love.

God so loved the world
That he sent us his only begotten son.
And look what happened
To Him.

Blog-osophy: Exhibitionism and the Word

Exhibitionist, originally uploaded by Mr Jaded.

I'm still struggling with developing my own philosophy of the blog or blog-osophy for short. I've read many, many blogs since I started writing this one and I'm titillated by the exhibitionistic quality of blogging and my voyeuristic consumption.

People routinely cut open their most innermost secrets and splay them out in exhibitionistic fervor. Reality TV? No, the blog reality is a land of voyeurs and exhibitionists. We are in search of some blog with a common cause, a common experience, an ounce of titilation to jolt a mundane existence, or simply the catharsis of realizing that there are people in a hell of a lot worse shape than you.

Diaries used to be kept under lock and key, but with a blog you can parade your exhibitionistic side, letting people read your diary, because they are locked out, not from the words, but your identity. The diary had to be locked up because the proximity of the journal exposed the identity of the writer. Blogs are exhibitionism without consequence.

Writing is one of the most primitive forms of exhibitionism -- a snapshot of thoughts captured in symbolic form. The gaze of the voyeur is the verification and justification of existence.

I used to pray to God, hoping he would hear me. Now I pray to you. Look at me. See inside me. See my brain. God is gone, but I still want something or someone to verify that my existence is real, that I exist.

Mormonism -- the bastards -- pounded three questions into my soul:

Who am I?

Why am I here?

Where am I going?

I haven't been able to shake the constant nagging of those three fucking questions. I think the questions bug me now more than ever, because I really wanted to know the answer, still do want to know the answers and I'm so far away from anything even remotely close.

But what does the meaning of life have to do with blogs? Everything. One of those pesky needs that we humans seem to be faced with is the need for connection. Sex is a great way to connect -- Tab P goes into Slot V or any other number of connections. Sex as a connective force is what propelled me to start this blog. I wanted to connect with other people by talking about the ultimate physical connection. In the meantime, I want to word-fuck your brains, too. I want to get inside you, make you feel my hard cocked words, until you come and come again, because you want more of me inside you. Voyeur fucking is the blog drug of the exhibitionist writer.

I used to think I needed to be a published writer with books on shelves, but I'm beginning to think that has changed. Technology has changed everything. You don't have to fuck anymore. You can do it all in the laboratory with words -- a little in-vitro word-ilization. I want my spermazota of ideas to impregnate your mind until you give birth to our bastard child of thought. If you are thinking, fuck this guy at this point, then put down a comment and maybe you can.

Is this a solid blog-osophy? I don't know. It is a start. I still don't know who I am. I still don't know why I'm here and I sure as hell don't know where I am going. All I know is that it is going to be one hell of a ride.

So now I have exposed myself to all of you and I know it isn't pretty. But hey thanks for looking.

Porn to DI For: Sensible Sex, Part II

Dr. Curtis of Ogden, Utah published a little tome in 1968, a guide to sex for the young Latter Day Saint Couple entitled And They Shall be One Flesh which I found on the book shelves at the Deseret Industries. In one of those weird coincidences, Dr. Curtis’ 1968 address listed on the title page is only about six blocks from where I live now. Even more odd is the Acknowledgments in the book list one of Dr. Curtis’s colleagues, who happened to be the Ob/gyn who delivered four of my younger siblings. I guess it just goes to show how small the Mormon community can be.

After the marketing geniuses got a hold of the book, the title was changed to Sensible Sex for the paper back printing of over 2,000,000 copies and the market was expanded to young couples with Christian sensibilities, while maintaining the separated male/female symbols on the front cover. Amazon.com gives the following biographical exposition on Doc Curtis, which I found revealing (and the final proof that despite his androgynous first name, Lindsay, he is most certainly male): "The author is Lindsay R. Curtis, M.D., F.A.C. ObGyn, practiced for many years in an OB-GYN Clinic, and also authored a widely syndicated medical column, "For Women Only". He also authored the best-seller, "Pregnant & Lovin' It"."

The cover of Pregnant & Lovin’ It is a cartoon of the mother to be, standing next to an upright poodle who is also expecting. The poodle has six protruding nipples through her yellow blouse. Dog and woman also both seem to be similarly coifed and pleased with themselves. I’m still mystified as to why the dog/human pregnancy are equated. The first chapter of the Pregnancy book is also one of those Chapters that might be considered too little, too late: "It Has To Start Somewhere!"

I discovered Dr. Curtis co-wrote this pregnancy book with the Ob/gyn that delivered my oldest child. My own personal reproductive history was influenced by this man. The One Flesh book I’d discovered at the DI was an archeological find of the Ob/gyn profession in Utah and as the book will show, an interesting combination of the mixtures of religious beliefs, pop culture and science that were taught not just by the church, but by the medical profession in Utah as well.
I give you unexpurgated: Sensible Sex.

To a husband, the only important thing in the meal is the steak. But to his wife, the side dishes really make the meal.

God made man (or most men) to be aggressive sexually.

The poorest man on earth is still loaded with gifts that will please a woman if he chooses to give them.

During intercourse it is not only proper but desirable for her to use the muscles of her vagina to enhance the pleasure of the act in both of them. No one wishes to sleep with a dead fish.

The commonest complaint in a wife is overweight. [sic] Native Hawaiians want their wives to be fat and our hats are off to them if this is their custom. But here on the mainland, custom and social preferences demand that a woman avoid those ugly extra pounds. . . . If a woman (or a man, for that matter) wants to be thin more than she wants to be fat, she can lose weight.

Secretly every man thinks that he is God’s gift to women.

The truth is that nice young girls can be cleaner and more sanitary if they WILL use internal tampons. . . . In addition, internal tampons teach women about their anatomy and help to prepare them for marriage.

He then, under local anesthesia, can stretch the hymen further if necessary to avoid the painful and traumatic "first night" of an otherwise heavenly honeymoon. Does stretching the hymen robe a girl of her virginity? By definition, a virgin is a woman who has not had sexual intercourse. Stretched hymen or not, the girl’s virginity is preserved.

One of the best investments after purchasing a double bed is to buy an electric blanket with dual controls so that husband and wife may share the same bed without one making the other uncomfortable. This might also solve the problem of the first case mentioned so that she would not have to wear so many clothes to bed . . . or does she do it for another reason?

It [getting married] doesn’t mean that you stop complementing her on her appearance, her cooking, her sewing, yes even her cleaning. In fact if you are smart, you will help her with the latter.

I thought about doing ironic commentary or some historonic prose, but I decided to let Dr. Curtis speak for himself -- although I'd love to hear your input on these words of wisdom.

Housekeeping

01, originally uploaded by dressfan.

I didn't really have a lot of housekeeping to do (blog wise - my non-virtual house is trashed), but I needed to post a French Maid picture.

So, first -- subscribe for a free email every time I update the blog. I'm doing this mostly as an experiment, because I occasionally feel overwhelmed trying to follow the blogs of so many people I find interesting. Trying to figure out how to subscribe to RSS feeds takes more time than I have, so I was just trying to follow the golden rule -- I like knowing when blogs I follow have new posts, so I made it easy to do on my blog.

Second, tomorrow is the next installment in Porn to DI For -- thrift store porn at its finest.

Third, I hope you all spent the first two days of the three day weekend, getting maid (sorry distracted by the picture) -- getting laid.

The Erotic and The Spoken Word Or Want to Fuck Friday

Do you remember the days when Spence Kinard had that deep, pious voice on the Mo Tab's Music and the Spoken Word radio show? For nineteen years, his resonant voice pounded the airways on Sunday Morning, telling us of the Lord's goodness. Suddenly in 1990, for what I believe was rumored at the time to be some sexual impropriety, Spence resigned.

I tried to do some research into the rumor, but all mention has been expurgated from the official records and nothing could be found on the Internet. I did find a quote from the one apostle who always gave me hope for Mormonism, J. Golden Kimball, stating what is the most prudent wisdom ever from a General Authority on the topic of adultery: "If my wife looked like yours, I'd commit adultery too." Now, I have no knowledge of Spence Kinard's wife's looks, but it could explain a lot.

I've felt a strong need to put some order into my blog, in part because it fuels my creativity. If I know I have to have something posted on a certain day, I'm motivated. I did my little diversion on Spence Kinard, because I thought I'd name Friday, The Erotic and The Spoken Word, but the weekend is also about getting laid (which is why I'm home alone typing on my blog), so I'm leaning more towards Want to Fuck Friday: Poetry to get you laid (or your face slapped.) When I figure out podcasting, I'll use The Erotic and the Spoken Word for the podcast.

So, welcome to Want to Fuck Friday -- where we pay tribute to the likes of Spence Kinard, who wanted to fuck and did.

MANIFESTOS OF THE CRAZy

Something is rotten
Something is forgotten
Something is misbegotten
Something is gnawing at my brain

Manifestos of the crazy --
Manson, Kazinzki, Emmanuel Joseph--
I'm 200 pages of a Manifesto
Away from being classified as a danger to society.

I'm fucking nuts.
I am mad north by northwest,
but I know a hawk from a peacenik.
Or at least I used to.
I can't tell anymore.

I am a descendant of Joseph Smith.
A spirited, sexual descendant.
Of the first guy to marry 14 year olds.

I write my Man - it - festers
It rots,
It decays,
Daily decay to death--
A decay I fight with my toothbrush of words
and flouride of thought.

Opposition.
Contradiction.
Friction.
Disgust with the cost.
The system captures us.
We don't even see that with the filters on our eyes
There are only certain things that can be seen.

Lord have mercy.
Lord forgive us.
Lord hear our prayers.

Bless our soldiers.
Bless our enemies.
Bless those that despitefully use the lives of those around them.

The pressures of organization
The pressures of socialization
The pressures of institution
The pressures of all types of --tions -- and shuns.

All I really want is flesh.
Flesh and fucking.
Repent.
Relent.
Transgress.
Regress.
Ingress.
Egress.
The old ingress and egress.
The In and Out.
Hey Jude.
Hey Clockwork Orange.
Hey Who -- Who are You
Mamma's Squeeze Box
Ingresses and Egresses.
A society of ins and outs
Whose in
Whose out
It is oh so much warmer to be in
In like my Errol Flynn
Fractured in opposition.

Find the soul.
I lost my soul.

Mary had a little soul, a little soul
Whose sheet was white as snow
And every where that Mary went
That soul was sure to go.
It followed her to school one day
Which was against the rules.
And she sent her little soul home
But it was lost, never to return
Now Mary is a soul-less bitch.

March, march entering like a lion,
Out like a lamb --
March the month of Man --
We enter her hard as a lion and leave
limp and soul-less as the Lamb.

Hope you enjoyed Want to Fuck Friday.

Remember to Subscribe to This Blog and Get Email Updates of New Posts.

Get your WTF Stickers here.

The Wonderful World of Disney: Thoughts that Flashed Across My Mind When Flashed With Britney's Cunt

The Magic Kingdom is the closest thing Mormons have to an earthly version of the Celestial Kingdom. The ritual vacation to Disneyland in a mini-van, fraught with the danger of leaving one of the eight kids at a rest stop, is the Celestial family's right of passage. Disney also signifies wholesome and uplifting G-rated fare for Monday night viewing (and for those of my generation, Sunday night's The Wonderful World of Disney was the fourth church meeting of the day). An entire generation of Mormon children were raised on the mystical stories of Ariel the Mermaid, Belle the Beauty, Jasmine the Iraqi and Angel Moroni.

As the mass media became more massive, Disney multiplied and replenished itself across the earth. Most changes were for the better and Walt was surreptitiously baptized for the dead and given his temple endowments at about the time of the release of The Little Mermaid. His necrophilic baptismal dunking even erased the sin of that apostate Touchstone division that developed R-rated movies.

Soon Walt was working his magic from the spirit world and Disney bought ABC and ESPN ravaging Monday Night Football, relegating it to ESPN, in a move that Mormons could only see as providential, since pure tithe payers couldn't afford cable. The Disney Channel was the Clean Flicks answer to cable television – the Mousketeers, the remakes of old Disney Classic movies like The Parent Trap, the geeky live action princess of The Princess Diaries. Disney captured every little Mormon girl's heart.

The Second Coming of Christ must be at hand – a DVD in every mini-van spreading the gospel of Disney.

All would have been well in Zion if it weren't for that fucking devil, Lucifer the Son of the Morning. In what can only be considered a coup rivaling his first victory in the Garden of Eden with his long, tempting snake, the Devil went down to Disney and has reeked havoc.

Alice may be jacking off to get to Wonderland – but she isn't the only one.

Former Mousketeers commit all kinds of atrocities making Annette's Beach Blanket Bingo pale in comparison: Justin Timberlake sings songs about Sexy Back (is that anal sex guys?) and strips an accused pedophile's sister's blouse, exposing her nipple at the Super Bowl, plus he is apparently boning Cameron Diaz. Britney is flashing her cunt all over the internet. You know things are bad when Christina Aguilera seems like the purest one of the bunch.

Then there are the movie stars. Not to be out done by her Mousketeer counterparts, Lindsay of The Parent Trap flashes, exposes her nipples and is going to be in a new movie as a topless dancer. In a slightly more subtle descent into decadence, Anne Hathaway obliterates her princess-ness with a see-through blouse and starring in movies where she not only gets naked, she gets jiggy. and marries a gay guy.

The one deficiency the Devil has is he is lacking some gay Disney. I just don't think the Britney/Madonna/Christina kiss fest or a drunken Lindsay making out with some girl qualifies. Where is the gay Gaston? The gay Genie? Hook as Peter Pan's jilted lover and cranky having to settle for Smee? Maybe they are all hiding out with Winnie the Pooh and Tigger. Maybe Ursla the Sea Witch is really a drag queen. Hopefully, the perverse readers of this blog can enlighten us on which Disney character gets them the hottest and we can give Beelzebub a hand.

I say this in the name of Mickey Mouse, Amen.

Porn to DI For -- New Monday Column

In my first attempt at putting some regularity into my blogging, I am going to introduce my new weekly column:

Shopping for Porn At The Deseret Industries

or

Porn to DI For

For the non-Mormon crowd, the Deseret Industries (hereinafter "DI") is simply the Mormon version of a thrift store. Affluent church members dump their junk in a dumpster like drop-off and the poor, mentally handicapped and destitute of Utah's Mormon society are hired to provide the labor in getting the junk back on the market and then selling it back to the less fortunate -- kind of a capitalist version of the United Order[1].

Of course only the poor or counter-culture college students with thrift store fetishes actually shop at the DI, except for the possible exception of Halloween, when the DI might be the only place to find that polyester shirt you need for your 70's costume. This explains the billboards with little babies dressed as bumble bees that say "Costumes to DI For" on I-15.

For a bibliophile like myself, I have found the occasional gem of a book at the DI for the low cost of $0.75, but what I am most fascinated with is the books that the wealthy Mormon houses feel like they need to discard.

Tossing away porn is an art form in shame filled Utah. How else do you explain the ability of scouting leaders to actually enlist 12 year old teenage boys to help put trash in garbage bags on a Saturday morning? Scouts pick up trash for those glorious moments when there by the road side and twenty yards away from the scout master, the Scout is prepared to pocket the scrap of brown edged glossy newsprint, dimpled with tire tracks and rocks, and holding a glorious glimpse of pink. Those signs saying that such and such Scout Troop #669 has adopted this stretch of highway should add "For the Collection of Porn."

After seeing one such sign during an excursion through the barren red rock wasteland of Southern Utah and overcome with guilt for possessing the silky paged copulations of breast enhanced nymphets, I unrolled my window and tossed the magazine, Club, I think, or maybe High Society. The porn rag took on the distinct character of an insane wounded bird, flapping mightily but unable to actually fly. Gravity and speed did there thing splaying and spraying minute particles of porn along the roadside for the next testosterone addled adolescent. I try to keep a spare copy of a porn mag in the car, just in case I ever run across a Scout sponsored strip of highway. Be Prepared is this Eagle Scout's motto.

But, I digress. Porn at the DI. Porn to DI for. For those less direct than me in the distribution of porn to minors, Mormon households love to send their dirty books to the DI. In what can only be seen as a divine joke, Mormon sexual Puritanism combines with Mormon pioneer thriftiness and a book that is itself dripping with Satanic ink, isn't burned, but simply allowed to DI, be forgiven and resurrected for $0.75.

Now, I'm sure that there must be some system in place to keep Club and High Society from appearing on the DI shelves, but probably because those magazines are so -- visual. I don't think the person stocking the books at the DI can read or at least can't read and understand about sex simultaneously -- the DI version of the simultaneous orgasm. Going through books at the DI is a sexual smorgasbord, almost as good as going to Evanston.

The first book I chose for my new Monday column (yes, I realize it is now Tuesday, but it was a long day and it will still be Monday in the Pacific Time Zone) is the gloriously titled, And They Shall Be One Flesh: A Sensible Sex Guide for the L.D.S. Bride and Groom by Lindsay R. Curtis, M.D. The book must have had a great run, because it was reissued in paperback under the much more titillating title, Sensible Sex.

The first thing I noticed about this book (and it was retained in the paper back counterpart) is that this is definitely a 1968 Mormon sex book by the cover. Whoever designed this cover had a great sense of humor, because he put the male and female symbols in different boxes. The cover is like watching an old re-run of The Dick VanDyke Show, as Dick and Mary get into their separate single beds. This couple isn't one flesh, this couple has matching twin beds. Where their children came from is a complete mystery. Plus in typical fashion the male appears headed off in one direction and the female in another. I guess this is what happens when you make sex sensible.

This book is so incredibly rich in material, that it might have to make several appearances in the Porn to DI For column, but I'll conclude with a slight speculation that Dr. Curtis had mother-in-law issues. Why do I say this? Because I'd just bought a sex book at the DI and I slipped it into its brown paper sack and and hurried home with visions of a naked Adam and Eve being commanded by God (you know there are times you've really got to kind of like the Mormon/Old Testament God) to get busy and be one flesh. Surely, the book would start out with some salacious medical description of the joining of the Peter Priesthood with Molly's Holy of Holies.

Imagine my disappointment when the entire first chapter was entitled "The Solution to the 'In-Law' Problem". Dr. Curtis starts out promisingly quoting Genesis 2:24 and God commanding the first couple to get busy, but then he unexpectedly goes beserk in the second sentence with this choice gem: "It would seem that God in His wisdom anticipated many problems that would eternally nag [emphasis added] the human race, not the least of which would be "in-law" relationships."

The first question that sprung to my mind was "What the fuck?"

The second was "Is Adam Eve's father in-law since she came from his rib and what does this say about the in-law problem?"

The third was "Does this mean that as children of Adam, created by God, makes God the Father, not only God the Father, but God the Father-in-law?

And finally, if as Dr. Curtis suggests in the Chapter that in-laws can be a detrimental to newlywed sex and God is in some respect our Eternal Father-in-law, does that make God a detriment to our sex life?

As I realized that the answer to the last question was yes, I decided I needed to tip my hat to Dr. Curtis. What a subversive little fucker, telling young little Mormon couples to forget God and hump like Ex-Mos and hippies at Burning Man all under the guise of hating his own mother-in-law, but alas I kept reading. . .

To Be Continued

Tune in Next Week for More Crazy Adventures of Dr. Curtis in Sensible Sex Land

Comments until that time will be appreciated

And now for the footnote:

[1]The United Order led to the strange naming of towns along Highway 89 such as Orderville. Many forget that Joseph Smith had the heart of a hippie. Not only should the love be shared all around, but all the food and land too. The sharing of food, land and property is one of those vestiges of the old kewl Mormonism that hasn't lasted. Did you know that all those devout temple going folks up on the hill in Bountiful promised in the temple ceremony to abide by the Law of Consecration (the Law of Consecration being Joseph Smith's idea that you needed to consecrate all of your property to the Lord for the common good.) Maybe I should rejoin and go start knocking on doors, asking for them to share the wealth now that I'm back in the fold. Surely, the Brethern will enforce the sacred oaths made in the temple, especially since my furnace is broke. Ah, but wait, I forgot, the DI is the modern version of the Law of Consecration. I guess I'll just stay apostate and keep buying porn.

Emoticon Seduction ;-|~~

Ravings Redux -- Reconciliation? Nah.

Ok, JulieAnn you are welcome to spank me for taking your picture any time – punish me please.

ISSUE ONE: CHARACTER VERSUS ARTIST CONFLATION.

I went back and re-read my review and never once did I accuse you, JulieAnn the artist of being anti-porn or anti-sex. In fact, I even provided a link to your web published erotic story. I am hopefully too wise to conflate artist and fictional character.

My Anti-Porn Case Against Corinne:

I accused the character Corinne of being anti-porn. When viewing the porn, Corinne’s reaction inevitably is to be made ill. She is never aroused by the pictures. She postulates that the reason her husband’s favorite position is doggy style is because he is objectifying her. Corinne is so uptight sexually she never relinquishes her tight fisted control over her sexuality. She never succumbs, sticking with her Clinton-ian "I did not have sex with my dentist" position. Her most consistent response is to acknowledge the "pink elephant in the room" (her disdain for her husband’s solo activities) by not saying anything to her husband. I can think of at least twice when she rebuffs her husband’s sexual advances.
From a guy’s point of view (which genetics has saddled me with), Corinne’s coldness would either be an invitation to break out the Hustler magazine or look for some other fireside to warm the digits by. The least intrusive on the relationship is to jack off to some porn. However, Corinne is a strict believer in Matthew 5:28: That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.

Corinne’s version is as follows: "Brent was messing around with, near as I could tell, about five women. And God knows how many more there have been, so that makes . . . one, two, three . . .hm, how many cyber-people equal one live person? Since I felt very much like I caught him with a real woman, I think we’re even. Yeah, that should make me feel a whole lot better."

The rest of the story continues from this point (realistically I might add) as if Corinne had caught Brent’s cock mid-thrust up Jenna Jameson’s moist wet cunt, not just masturbating to porn.

This is the character in the story, based on all I have to go by – the text.

ISSUE TWO: SEXUAL ADDICTION

I just don’t buy the sexual addiction argument. The way addiction is used in the novel is a convenient excuse for not addressing the issues in the marriage. This is a couple that has stopped communicating. The masturbating and porn viewing wasn’t the only addiction then, because by your definition which you shouted at me – "acting out DESPITE RECURRENT AND NEGATIVE CONSEQUENCES" then Corinne was addicted to keeping her mouth shut about how she felt, to the point of leaving a "good, decent man." How do you leave a "good, decent man"? You paint him as a lying addict.

A good chunk of my initial review was playing with the fact that this book written in the chick lit genre caters to a sensibility in women that lacks compassion or understanding of the male point of view. The point of view of the protagonist promotes a sly double standard that is by far more destructive to male/female relationship than the so-called "sex addiction" of jacking off to porn. I’m not saying there isn’t sex addiction, but sex addiction is not jacking off to porn – no matter how raw one’s dick might become. By your definition, I’m afraid that most men qualify as sex addicts. I stand proudly erect and accept my conviction of that charge.

ISSUE THREE: THE MORMON ENDING FOR THE MALE

Another reason I felt that the argument of sexual addiction was a red herring/excuse for Corinne is that the definitions she used for addiction are a description of how sex is treated for a young Mormon male, which I spelled out in detail in my review.

To summarize: Masturbating for a young Mormon male contemporary of Corinne’s husband Brent would be "obsessive thoughts that can only be assuaged by compulsively acting out despite recurrent and negative consequences." Nothing there that a little apostasy, fucking and talking couldn’t cure.

At the end of the novel, Corinne, in typical chick lit fashion and true to her genre, is free, on her own and moving on. The fact that her husband ends the book like he was written in by Jack Weyland, simply illustrates where the problem in the marriage resided – not in sexual addiction, but the total inability of this couple to talk about how the religion had screwed up their sexuality, led to their early, rather coerced marriage, and made the husband so ashamed about his sexuality that he had to hide everything. Not to mention the juicy Electra Complex Corinne is toting around, leading her to, among other things, fondle her dentist’s drill, but not put it in her mouth.

Ravings of a Mad Woman: Sex, Porn and Postum -- A Review

I’ve spent the last five nights going to bed with Julie Henneman, I mean Julie Henneman’s book, Always Listen to the Ravings of a Mad Woman: A Story of Sex, Porn, and Postum in the Land of Zion. When I wasn’t curling up with the book, I was stalking her on her acronym filled blog. I would encourage all of you to go read her blog (and my unsolicited comments which she has graciously posted up until now.). As you can see from one her MySpace picture’s I pilfered, this appears to be one raving woman you might just want to listen to.

Now, I’m not usually a chick lit[1] kind of guy and this book is definitely chick-litty, so I am going to have to rely on my somewhat ashamed addiction to Sex and the City for insight into the burgeoning world of chick lit. In chick-lit, the heroine has at least two, probably three side kicks – the oversexed beauty, the New Agey friend and the newcomer. Ravings’ heroine, Corinne, has all three and two spinster visiting teachers as well.

Yes, visiting teachers, Sister Sunny and Sister Bright. This book takes place in Salt Lake City (as evidenced by the Salt Lake temple out the naked woman's window on the cover) and in the heart of Mormon-dom. The first couple of chapters were filled with what would be Mormon[2] cliches if we had more Mormon-centric fiction: phallic temples, South American missionary with 2 baptisms a week and a parasite, bad Utah drivers, Honor Roll bumper stickers, Mormon Assault Vehicle (mini-van) and of course, Postum[3].

But what about the sex? SEX HERE FOR ALL YOU PORNO FREAKS. Yes, the book has sex -- some steamy explicit scenes[4] with thong underwear, lactation and doggy style sex, but here is the rub – the book is ostensibly anti-porn[5]. I’m intrigued by the dichotomy of the anti-porn heroine fucking her dentist, well, almost fucking her dentist. The equivalent is a book on the evils of alcoholism with a hero, who doesn’t mind a shot or two of tequila to quiet the nerves or on the evils of drug addiction, with a hero who breaks out the meth pipe when he gets tired.

The battle of the pro-sex and anti-sex feminists is played out inside the heroine’s head. You can almost hear Catherine MacKinnon or Andrea Dworkin whispering "All sex is rape", while Corinne’s body fills with raw lust. No wonder she is raving. Throw into that secular mix, all of the Mormon religion’s spin on sex and it is no wonder Corinne is a confused mess. Corinne’s pop psychology answer is that her husband is a sex addict, because he can’t stop looking at porn and jacking off. She is a co-addict facilitating his descent into addiction. Porn is the ostensible smack of his sex addiction.

Having been accused of being a sex addict at various times in my life[6], I read with interest Ms. Henneman’s dissection of the male characters in this book. Men, we don’t come out very well. After picking up a younger man at a club and bringing him home, Corinne rebuffs him at the last minute, because she doesn’t want to be just a piece of ass and respects herself more than that. She later does the same when dumping her dentist. She accuses her husband of wanting to use her as a live masturbatory device. (You can take the girl out of Mormonism, but you can’t take the Mormonism out of the girl.)

For the main character, the mere presence of male sexual attraction and desire reduces and objectifies women. This is an insidious double standard with male desire as objectifying, demeaning and crass and female desire as subjective, uplifting and pure. This double standard is just as perverse and dysfunctional as the double standard of male sexuality being studly and female sexuality being slutty. Sex is yin and yang and when it is working best, more complementary than competitive.

The book resonated with me on what I am sure is a normal and frequent reaction women have to finding their significant male other viewing porn. The disturbing part however is what will make it sell well in the female coffee clatches --- the lack of empathy for the male point of view. Corinne seems incapable of understanding why her husband is hiding the porn from her, even though they had viewed it together before.

News Flash: Her husband was raised Mormon. Mormon's hide their sexuality, especially Mormon men. We hide our communal historical sexuality. Hell, men are programmed to hide our masturbation, even lie about it to function well within the society from the age of 12 on. Damn, Boyd K. Packer and that little pamphlet. You either lie to the bishop or you are on a continual track of repentance for your sexuality from puberty to marriage. With a conditioning program like that, of course you are going to hide your porn. Half the thrill is in the deceit, because that got indoctrinated with every teenage orgasm spasm.

I think the ending of the book is quite telling, because the porn-addicted husband leaves his apostate wife and goes back to church. This novel could be used as a religious tract by the Mormon side – his wayward wife wouldn’t forgive him for his porn addiction and he repented, stopped drinking beer and started going to church and when she wouldn’t follow, so they got divorced. Having him return to church activity and Elder’s quorum president status in his single ward is the happy Mormon ending. The main twist is this book is told solely from the smart ass wife’s point of view.

Now before you think I’m being sexist, calling the main character and narrator a smart ass – she is. In fact, her smart ass attitude is one of the most enjoyable parts of the book. The whole book feels like you are just waiting for her to start flipping you off as the reader. Corinne may have a complete lack of compassion for the male perspective, but this is chick lit and you have to have a sassy attitude – it is a requirement of the genre. Think Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex in the City as a Mormon housewife, along with a little Roseanne Barr thrown in and you get the picture.

Which brings me to the conclusion of my review – Will I always listen to the ravings of this mad woman? No. Will I always find the ravings amusing? Usually. Should you buy the book? Damn skippy, you can never buy too many books. The book excels at giving a realistic picture of how warped views of sexuality muck up people’s lives, even though it falls short of giving a full and balanced picture. I also think of this as a genre piece of fiction and as a piece of Utah based chick lit, it is the closest things we have to Bridget Jone’s Diary with visiting teachers.[7]

FOOTNOTES

[1] Chick lit is short for chick literature which is short for feminist sponsored literary endeavors, usually published with pastel colors on the cover. It appears that Ravings opted for the more resplendent red satin color of a romance novel, but this isn’t a romance novel, so don’t be fooled by the cover.

[2] When I use the term Mormon, I am using it in the sense of relating to all things Mormon, say within six degrees of separation of Joseph Smith. Thus, Ex-Mo, Pro-Mo, Anti-Mo, Post-Mo and even Slo-Mo would all be included.

[3] I’ve always had a fondness for that grainy drink. Given the fact that I like only a little coffee with massive amounts of milk and sugar, Postum really does taste the same as coffee to me. My grandparents always used to have Postum and it was damn good. Not Ovaltine, but the fact that it was sinisterly close to coffee (and being made out of barley – close to beer, too) warmed my heart as much as the boiled water. One interesting side effect of reading the book – I went out and got myself some Postum.

[4] Page 58 and 70-72 if you can’t wait when you get the book. Plus you can go to Julieann’s short story on the web that has "pussy" in the first sentence.

[5] Yes, I intended the capital letters to be ironic -- and attract attention.

[6] The first time would have to have been my self accusations as I headed with dread into the bishop’s office to confess yet again that I had again violated the law of chastity by beating off. I always tried to stop at least a month before the scheduled interview so that I could plead repentance.

[7] The visiting teachers at the strip club scene is worth the price of the book alone. JulieAnn, the last half sentence was the blurb you can use showing how wonderful I thought it all was.

Dentist Fucking -- Or Fucking Dentists

Ok, I know I have some readers that aren't heterosexual males, so I thought I post a picture of a guy, who just apparently also happens to be a dentist. Personally I prefer the pictures of the women, but I am an equal opportunity blogger. I'm posting this picture as a precursor to the review I'm completing and posting tomorrow evening on JulieAnn Henneman's book Always Listen to the Ravings of a Mad Woman: A Story of Sex, Porn, and Postum in the Land of Zion.

What does a naked dentist have to do with a book about sex and porn in Zion? Well, the book starts out with some heavy petting in the dental chair, with a dentist sporting the great Mormon surname of forgiveness, Kimball. I really didn't have a lot of other dental related stuff, but I did come across an old poem about a root canal -- it isn't too sexy but it does reference marijuana and other licit and illicit drugs.






ROOT CANAL

Pain reigns in my body --
Bullet piercing violence shot from interior shadows
Can’t sleep.
Can’t eat.
Can’t dream.
Can’t do anything --- but cry from the pain

No, No, Novacaine
No laughing and no gas
A little liquor, a little lortab
I be puffin’ or Ibeproufen
I am set --- with pain --- not Percocet

Nothing stops the pain —
Except the drill through the crown
Cutting out nerve tissue
Sinking down through grey matter
Eliminating any ganglion
That might be hanging.

Losing nerve, but still residual pain ---
Time for little files
To remove vestiges from the interior
That might flare up
With a passing reference --- Or something too hot or too cold ---
And sometimes its frightfully cold.

Until No thing, nothing is left, but
Artificial packing material
Insuring no new thing, no new nerve can enter --
A new crown of thorns for the cleaned out edifice.

I am my own client.
I am my own doctor.
I am my own surgeon.
I am my own dentist.

And without any effective anesthesia
And upon myself
I perform a root canal

On my heart.

Polygamous House For Sale! Take Me Down to Colorado City

FOR SALE -- CHEAP!!!

19 Bedrooms, 3 Commercial Kitchens and Jacuzzi Tubs in every bathroom (Enough room for 4 wives and 27 children and one large male ego) in that last bastion of religious freedom -- Colorado City.

Here at Mormon Erotica, I feel it is my duty to keep you up to date on breaking news stories that touch upon the periphery of this blog and what better way to start out a New Year than with a recent new story that tips its hat to those vestiges of an early Mormon Heritage, the FLDS of Hildale and Colorado City. Apparently the legal troubles and new settlements in Texas or Canada, have the polygamous faithful flocking out of Southern Zion. Left behind for the beleaguered Trustee, appointed to govern over the FLDS communal property trust, are huge, vacant houses -- that are bigger than even stuff on the East Bench in Salt Lake County. The whole mess is detailed in today's Salt Lake Tribune Article by Brooke Adams.

While reading the paper this morning I discovered another article from that region of Utah's Dixie: Overcrowding Has Kane County Seeking New Jail. The sub-heading on the article states that "There especially is a need for more space for women inmates and an up-to-code kitchen." All I could think was "Man, I know where you can buy a jail on the cheap, with three brand new kitchens and it already feels like a women's prison." Kanab and Hildale are in the same county afterall and it is just a short 45 minute drive across the reservation to the new jail.

Besides solving the Kane County jail crisis, I was also pleased to read about all the hot tubs those polygamists had. Whoever said polygamy wasn't about sex . . .

And lest our readers think that I'm not out pounding the pavement for my own blog scoop, I had the good fortune to have an in with one of Warren Jeff's arresting officers and he provided me with a bootleg tape of a fundamentalist Mormon band, doing a cover of Guns n' Roses' Paradise City, but with the words had been slightly changed. So here for the first time in print I give you the lyrics to the Warren Jeffs On the Lam Anthem: Colorado City:

Take me down
To Colorado City
Where the ass is teen
And my wives are many

Take me home (Oh won't you please take me home)

Take me down
To Colorado City
Where the ass is teen
And my wives are many
Take me home (Oh won't you please take me home)

A bunch of urchins livin' on the street
Bein’ a welfare case is a tough gig to beat
All of us a charity case
So buy us somethin' to eat
I'll pay you back another time
Tax you to the end of time

Ragz to richez or so they say
Ya gotta-keep runnin' from the warrants and fame
It was only a teen tumble
Faith is just a sex game
Ya’ll treat it like a capital crime
Everybody's goin’ to do some time

Take me down
To Colorado City
Where the ass is teen
And my wives are many
Oh won't you please take me home

Take me down
To Colorado City
Where the ass is teen
And my wives are many
Take me home

Stripped of our cash
From the judge’s chamber
Why that Trustee is hear I can't quite remember
To bad Word of Wisdom says it's hazardous to breathe
I could use a cigarette but I can't sin you see
Tell me who you're gonna believe

Take me down
To Colorado City
Where the ass is teen
And my wives are many
Take me home

Oh won't you please take me home

So far away -- Texas is so far away, so far away

Captain Moroni's been torn apart
Now Jeffs’ a court jester with a broken heart
He said-Track me down or take me back to the tarts
My Brothers must be losin' their minds-'Man I’m in a bind!'
Christ, I could come a million times

Take me down
To Colorado City
Where the ass is teen
And my wives are many

Take me down To Colorado City
Where the ass is teen
But the girls ain’t pretty
Oh won't you please take me home

Repeat Chorus Ad Nauseam