Dirty Movies: The Perils of Gwendoline in the Land of the Yik-Yak

'The Perils of Gwendoline in the Land of the Yik-Yak' might be the best looking movie you have ever snubbed. Released in 1984 and starring the adorable-even-when-she's-whiney, Tawny Kitaen, this sexploitation pulp movie should be awful but yet it keeps offering visual delights and strange plot twists that keeps your finger away from the fast forward button.

The plot is a classic pulp-peril frame that continuously jeopardizes Gwendoline and her really cute maid/sidekick, Beth. Gwen and Beth frequently get captured, stripped a little and then rescued so that they can be captured again. Gwen is looking for her missing father who went into the most dangerous parts of well, it may be China but they never really say. He's searching for a rare butterfly and if you pay attention, you'll spot a lot of hidden butterfly imagery. The two girls are completely out of their league and get captured in the first five minutes of the movie. This is why Gwen recruits a scoundrel boat captain who goes by the unflattering name of Willard.

Let me take a moment to talk about Willard. Liar, gambler and complete asshole, Willard is the romantic lead in this movie. He bitches about the dangerous journey, taunts Gwen at every opportunity and proves his worthiness by the occasional ass kicking of bad guys. His delivery has less to do with being cool as much as he just seeks to belittle everyone. When he smacktalks the villain near the end of the movie, you almost sympathize with the villain's incredulous response to the fearless idiot. He's not a dashing rogue, he's your annoying kid brother living out his action hero fantasy. He's almost a parody of an action hero and maybe that's why he ultimately grew on me. When you watch a movie with hard to beleive scenes, sometimes it helps to have a character who is just as annoyed as you are.

What saves this movie is the scenery. Every so often a set piece comes on the screen that looks like a painting from a pulp magazine. The gambling hall where Willard is feeling up prostitutes with the chief of police is gorgeous. The crappy boat Willard drives is scuzzy and float worthy in the way that only pulp boats can be. François Schuiten was the graphic designer for the movie and his background as a comic artist really shines through. There's a superior quality to everything that elevates this movie beyond it's sexploitation roots.



The later half of the movie is when things really accelerate. While looking for the butterfly, Gwen and her friends stumble upon an underground female dominated civilization with super science, bondage and freaky leather costumes. Willard is captured and a tournament is arranged to determine which warrior woman will earn the right to mate with him, while fiendish tortures and deaths are planned for Gwen and Beth. Stripping, bondage and scary sex games ensue.

Hey, someone mixed a BDSM Dystopia with my Pulp Peril movie! How will these two tastes taste together?



Pretty awesome I have to say.

There's an evil queen and a sniveling male scientist and a shit load of leather clad warrior women but the important thing is that the fun never stops. Just when you get used to the idea of a crossbow aimed at a woman who holds the trigger rope in her mouth, then you have to deal with a chase scene where everyone is driving chariots pulled by women slaves. The plot goes over the top and then stays there; shouting abuse at your poor sensibilities on what a sexploitation film should be like.

Is there a happy ending to this movie?



Yes.

'The Perils of Gwendoline in the Land of the Yik-Yak' is not a great movie but it is a unique movie. The mix of nudity, bondage, adventure, domination and science fiction is pretty damn rare to find in movies. The production values dwarf anything you'll see on SciFi Channel.

I give it 5 out of 5 Pam Griers.

Fiction: The Wolf Inside Part Three

It was Friday night when I awoke again. My body still hurt but the aches had faded some what. My underwear was a mess from all the times I climaxed in my sleep. Thank God I didn’t feel hot anymore. Whatever fever I had was finally broken.

I stripped down and climbed into my shower. The cool water fell on my body and washed the semen away. For ten minutes I just stood there and let the cold water cover me. After sweating for so much, it felt good to be embraced in near ice.

Despite the cold water, my erection was still there.

When I got out of the shower, I saw myself in the mirror. My chest was unrecognizable. It was covered in dark black hair that stretched all the way down to my cock. I touched my chest, thinking maybe I had picked up some sort of lint when I noticed something more impressive. Underneath the hair was muscle; hard, solid dense muscle that sure as hell wasn’t there before.

I checked out the rest of my body. My little gut pouch was gone. There was actually the beginning of definition on my stomach for the first time in my life. My hands kept wondering around my body. My ass was firm. My thighs were strong and firm. I had biceps and triceps that I could clearly feel. No wonder I felt so sore. My body felt like it had been working out for a year and apparently, I had the muscles to show for it.

That certainly explained the exhaustion. I wasn’t hungry though. Maybe I had crossed over into some sort of weird too hungry to be hungry phase, but food seemed unnecessary. I had no desire for it.

What I really wanted was to get laid.

My pants were too tight so I had to get out an older pair from a few years ago. The only shirt I could find that would fit over my chest now was a XXL I had bought by accident. For some reason, I didn’t even bother to put shoes on. Barefooted just seemed right for tonight.

I stepped outside my apartment and walked to the railing. The wind felt great. I was on the third floor and I could see down across most of the parking lot. It must have been around 6 because cars were flooding on a constant pace. People were coming home to their families, their lovers or their empty apartments.

I breathed in the air. It smelled like pussy. I breathed in deeper. My cock throbbed. It smelled like wet panties.

Barefoot, I ran down the stairs. My body took the steps three at a time with ease. I didn’t question my new fitness; I was too busy following that smell.

I left my apartment building and walked down the parking lot. I passed two buildings and the smell grew fainter. I backtracked to the second building. My nostrils were flaring, trying to suck in more of that sweet smell. Up the stairs I went and I followed the smell to apartment 206.

I knocked on the door. For a moment I wondered what the hell I was doing. If a woman answered, what the fuck was I going to tell her? If it was a man, what the fuck then?

A surge of anger lifted through me. If the woman had a man, then that mother fucker was the one who needed to worry.

The door opened and through the small crack I could see young blonde woman. Christ, if she was legal she must have been in college. Something inside me didn’t care though. Legal or not, I could smell her pussy and I wanted it.

A lie sprang to my lips. “Is Amy here?”

A look passed her face. “No, I think you have the wrong apartment,” she said.

I recognized the look on her face. It was disappointment.

“Oh man,” I lied. “Do you know which apartment she’s in?”

She was hardly paying attention to what I was saying. Her eyes were all over my arms and chest. Her mouth was slightly open and I got the feeling she was taking big gulps of air. It was very weird.

“No, sorry,” she said. She opened the door wider. “Have I seen you before?”

She probably had around the apartment complex. I knew I had seen her before. I had dreamed about her during my sick period, along with a hundred other women. I recognized the short blonde hair and the bright blue eyes though. In my dreams, we were in some dark club where naked people were being spanked and this cute girl was begging me to tie her up.

At this point I had lost all sense of risk aversion. “Oh wait, I think I have seen you at the club.” I looked around suspiciously. “You know, the really dark one.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh wow, I knew I had seen you before. Come on in.”

My cock throbbed. Fuck, that was easy. I felt shame at having deceived her but not enough shame to turn around and leave. I needed her too badly.

Her apartment was pretty sparse. There was a futon in front of a television and a small dining room table that doubled as a computer desk. Georgia University banners were everywhere so my college student hunch was correct. It was pretty common in Atlanta. Rich kids had parents who would rather buy them a nice apartment rather than assort with the riff raff at a dorm. In an apartment, they were less likely to meet drunken frat kids trying to get in their pants.

Instead, she had met me.

“My name is Bee,” she said. “That’s my scene name. Do we give real names outside the club?”

I had no idea. “Best not to,” I ad-libbed. “My name is Dylan.”

She kept looking at me. I’m not sure if she was expecting me to do something or if she was regretting her decision to let me in. For a moment I felt a bit of panic that she was going to see through my lies. I had this urge to just make a run for it but something stopped me. Who am I kidding? I stayed because I was so damn horny.

“I’ve seen you at the club,” I lied, “but you were always surrounded by other guys.” Not a bad assumption to make on a lie.

Bee bit her lip. “Yeah, being the new sub in a leather group gets you a lot of attention from guys. I was warned about that by my friend, Heather. You should have approached me. Most of those guys are old enough to be my dad.”

Leather group? My dreams were more accurate than I thought. What was more disturbing to me was how much I could see right through her as she talked. Her face was flushing ever so slightly. Her nipples were hardening under her bra. I could smell her pussy as if it was right in front of my face. I could hear her heart beat. She found me attractive and she was excited by the idea that I was part of her group.

“Well, I’m here now,” I said. I walked to her and her eyes lit up. I put my hand on her shoulder and she shivered underneath my touch.

It wasn’t courage that motivated me; it was pure fucking need on my part. I didn’t know how the people in her group did things and I was afraid that I would do something that would give that away. But at the same time, I knew what I wanted and somehow, I knew what she wanted too.

“Bee, I’m going to tie you up,” I said. I was shocked by how similar my words were to what Eden had said to me. Then I was just plain shocked by what I said. I mean, what kind of girl would consent to that from a stranger? She would have to be out of her mind to not call 911 and kick my ass out.

Bee purred. “Okay,” she said.

It was like a beast awoke within me. It sprang into action. I was surprised that she had agreed but my body was already moving. I reached for my belt but I wasn’t wearing one. Instead I reached for hers, unfastening it and pulling it off her body while she giggled.

“Oh wow,” she said. “I have some handcuffs if you-“

“No,” I growled. Handcuffs seemed wrong. They would be too easy. I wanted to exert myself over her.

I spun her around and pulled her hands behind her back. Bee immediately crossed her wrists. Damn, she did want this. I wrapped the belt around her hands, wrapping the thin leather like it was string. The belt cinched down tightly around her wrists.

“Ow, tight,” she said.

“Good,” I answered. Her discomfort was important to me. “Now what else do we have to work with?”

She turned around. “I bought some rope online. It’s dark red.”

I shook my head. I grabbed her shirt and lifted it up. She was wearing a small white bra that covered her petite breasts. With her hands bound, I couldn’t get the shirt past her shoulders but that was okay. It got stuck behind her head, pulling her neck down.

“Oh neat!” she said. “We should have a safe word, right?”

Safe word? I remember hearing that term once in a movie but I wasn’t sure. “What word do you use?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Bee said. She was so damn perky and excited. “You’re the dom.”

I closed my eyes and listened to that horny swirl of emotions within me. It quickly answered.

“Mercy, that’s your safe word,” I said.

I pulled her shorts down. Her panties were white with red hearts. I paused as the smell of her pussy almost overwhelmed me.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

I shook my head. Looking around, I saw what I needed. She had five or six belts hanging over a door knob. I grabbed one and wrapped it around her ankles. It was important to hobble her, to limit her movement and trap her.

Her pussy grew wetter and I could smell every drop.

“Do you do breast bondage?” Bee asked. “I’ve always wanted to try that.”

I stood up and looked at her. Anger rose in me. “No,” I said and then I hooked my fingers into her bra and ripped it open.

Bee squealed in delight. “Oh my god!”

The pink nipples were so hard. I wanted to bite down on them. I wanted to suck on them and feel her squirm. Despite how badly I wanted her, I struggled to control myself. She was helpless and I was not thinking straight. This felt like rape and it was becoming very hard to care.

“Ask me,” I said. My voice was low.

“Ask you what?” Bee said.

“Ask me to bite your nipples,” I demanded.

She bounced on her toes. “Yes, bite my nipples, sir!”

She shrieked as my head dived down. It might have been the ‘sir’. It was her term but it was an acknowledgement of submission. I had never been into that kinky stuff before but hearing her say that one word unleashed me.

I bit her tender nipple. I bit down so hard, sucking her young breast into my mouth.

Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes. This is what I needed.

I pushed her bound body against the wall. She nearly tripped with her hobbled ankles. Her body hit the wall hard and I didn’t care. Now that I had her permission, allowed myself to enjoy her.

I ravished her breasts. I licked, sucked and bit like they were the first tits I had ever touched. In a way, they were. No breasts ever tasted so sweet, no breasts seemed so soft and tender.

Better yet, I could smell the effect my sucking was having on her pussy. God damn, that was intoxicating.

When I finally stopped, her tits were covered in bite marks. Clarity swept over me. I had done that? Every inch of those small breasts showed my teeth marks.

“Oh you play hard,” Bee said.

Yes, I realized I did and I wasn’t finished. Looking at her, topless with her shirt still on and her ankles bound, she still seemed too free. I needed to control her.

I grabbed another belt. I slipped it around her knees. I locked her knees together and pulled the leather hard before tying it off.

Another belt went behind her. I wrapped this one around her elbows, pulling them together until she couldn’t put them any closer. She cried out as I tied it down, but she never asked me to stop.

The last belt went around her neck. I’m not sure why. I think I just wanted to put her on a leash. My cock throbbed as I saw how helpless she was.

“Oh wow,” she kept saying. I grabbed her by the chin and brought her face close to mine. She breathed in hard and I could feel her body tremble.

“Listen,” I said. “I want to rip off your panties and fuck you.”

“Okay,” she said.

“No!” I growled. My fingers tightened around her chin. “Look, listen. Once I pull those panties off, I am going to fuck you. I am going to fuck and fuck and fuck till I can’t move anymore. It might take all night. So think about that, because once I start I don’t know if I’ll stop. Understand?”

Her eyes were afraid but I could smell her desire too. Stupid silly girl. I wanted her to say no. I didn’t want to know what I would do next. I wanted her to reject me and stop this before I fuck the shit out of this young woman.

“Fuck me, sir,” she said.

I tugged hard on her leash. She squealed as she stumbled towards me. At first I was going to fuck her on her bed but I couldn’t wait that long. I dragged her to the futon and then pushed her face down onto the flimsy cushion. She started to roll over and my foot pinned down her shoulder.

My pants were off in a second. I kneeled behind her and pulled her slightly up by the hips. I stuck a pillow under her hips, keeping her ass and pussy up at an angle. Now she was ready for me.

The tip of my cock was right beside her pussy. I hesitated. Bee whimpered.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Want me to beg again?

I laughed. “No, this time I was just teasing you.

I slipped into her. I impaled her with my cock, thrusting deep into that young tight pussy. God, she was almost as wet as I was hard.

We fucked. Well, I fucked her. Bee just took it. My cock slammed into her and pinned her to the futon. With her legs bound together, she could hardly move. All she could do was moan from every body shuddering thrust.

With each thrust, I changed. My guilt about lying to her faded away and was replaced with pride from having captured her. My hesitation about fucking a bound woman turned into excitement about fucking someone helpless. My worries for her feelings were forgotten as I worried only about getting what I wanted. I turned into a fucking, grinding humping beast of a man.

For fun I grabbed her arms. They were bound straight back and I lifted them. It drove the top part of her body deeper into the flimsy futon. I bet it hurt but God, she kept moaning. I needed her to hurt. I needed her to know she was mine to fuck as I please.

I needed to know she was mine.

My body was unstoppable. I had more endurance than I had ever had before. In and out, my hips kept pumping. In and out, my cock kept fucking. In and out, my thighs kept ramming back into Bee.

Bee came first. Her body shook and I could hear her scream into the futon cushion. The smell of her pussy changed ever so slightly, urging me to fuck just a little bit faster.

When I climaxed, it was with a roar. After masturbating endlessly, it was nice to come inside a pussy. My fingers clenched around her arms as I came, adding new bruises to her skin.

My head cleared a little. The beast inside me grew quiet. The overwhelming craving faded just a little. Fuck, did I not use a condom again?

I pulled out of Bee. With the flush of orgasm upon me, it felt like I was looking at her for the first time. The belts were so tightly wrapped around her body, I was taken back by how cruel it looked. I started to take the belts off, whipping them off her body like a guilty man.

“Oh God, that was so cool,” Bee said. “No one’s ever done that to me before. Can we do it again?”

The guilt fell off of me. The beast was growling within me. I didn’t want to be responsible or thoughtful. Bee was looking at me like I was a god. I wondered what her mouth felt like.

I let the beast take over again. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head down to my cock. Her lips opened and took me in. It wasn’t as good as her pussy, but the act of keeping her head down on my cock was just as good.

It was going to be a long night.

to be continued.

Volleyball Island Madd-ness

Last year I had this idea for a short story. It would the last match of some incredible volleyball tournament set on Dr. Von Madd's secret sexual laboratory. I had been trying to prune my stories down to smaller and smaller portions. I had this theory that people online had very short attention spans and what erotica needed to do was get shorter to the point you could read a story literally between television commercial breaks.

The problem I had with the volleyball story is that it exploded in my mind. At first I was going to write about the final minutes of the last game, but questions kept surfacing: where did the players come from? Where are they playing volleyball? Is there a prize? Is there a penalty? What were the other matches like?

It was also a period where I was pretty depressed. Divorce is hard, really really hard. I was rebuilding my coping mechanism for depression and I just needed something fun to do. The idea of doing an epic story about athletic volleyball women set in a ridiculous tournament really appealed to me. It would be like a summer mental vacation.

Looking back on the story, it was pretty damn ambitious compared to what I had written before. First of all, volleyball is a sport and sports writing has it's own challenges. You have to describe physical actions that you may visually recognize as a sports fan, but if you are a non-volleyball fan, how do you follow a story without getting lost?

Second, a volleyball team involves two players. I really hate stories where the point of view shift, but I figured if I split the povs among chapters, it wouldn't be so jarring. The character of a Laura came first and easy. She was brash, fearless and always feminine. Essentially she was every tomboy I had every fallen in love with. Victoria was harder in that if she is not as fearless as Laura, she becomes a stick in the mud. It took me forever but when I reallized Victoria was not cautious but just dominant, then she has her own storyline already suggesting itself.

The third factor was that I decided to make the story a tribute to the videogames of my youth. Streetfighter 2 was my god in High School and I wanted to capture the same pseudo international feel of that game. I also wanted to have bonus levels between matches to break up the possible monotony of volleyball matches. Portal was my final inspiration as I added the holographic Otto to comment and heckle Laura as she tried the challenges.

In the end I was really pleased with the story. The erotic science variations on the volleyball games are pretty funny in my opinion. The interaction between Laura and Victoria is some of my favorite dialogue. The fact that I sneaked in a coming-of-domme story amuses me to no end. All in all it's a very ridiculous sex story about sports, domination, erotic science and friendship. I'm proud of it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
Finale

Sexchievements

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"You have unlocked 'Blind Man's Bluff' by masturbating 8 times this week!"

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Fiction: The Wolf Inside Part Two

I was exhausted when I got home. I mean, sure, I had been fucked silly, but this was a different kind of tired. It took everything I had to climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment. My body was dragging. I fell on my couch and just laid there. I was breathing as hard as if I had just ran a marathon.

And damn, did I have the worst hard-on. The hottest woman in Atlanta had raped me, and I was ready to go again.

I was debating what to eat for dinner when I passed out on the couch. I hadn’t even taken my shoes off yet.

I woke up around midnight sore as hell. My legs and arms were killing me. I hadn’t hurt this badly since I had been dumb enough to move into my apartment by myself. Every muscle ached as though I had been lifting washing machines.

I was sweating almost as much as Eden had been in my car. I stumbled to the air conditioner and saw that it was 70 degrees in my place. What the fuck? Did I catch the flu from her?

Thinking about the flu made me realize something. I hadn’t worn a condom. It never came up, and quite frankly, I had been too blown away but what was happening to think about it. Now I realize how stupid I was. Girls you meet on the train who fuck your brains out are definitely what we call a high-risk situation.

Fuck it. I was too hot and sore to think about it. I was also damn horny again. I took some ibuprofen and stripped off my clothes. I hit the lights and fell on top of my bed.

I dreamed of sex.

I dreamed of my downstairs neighbor. I didn’t know her name, but I had seen her 100 times walking her Great Dane. That dog always barked at me as if he knew that I was checking out his owner. I couldn’t help it; she had beautiful long, curly, black hair that fell halfway down her back like a satin sheet.

In my dream, the dog was sitting on the floor whimpering as I fucked his owner. She was on all fours as I pulled her hair back with my hands. Her ass would shake with every pounding thrust I gave her.

I made her pant. I made her whimper. At one point, I even made her bark.

She did it all. She did everything I made her do, and she did it with a smile on her face. She was happy to be my bitch.

I awoke in my bed. My underwear was sticky with my emissions. I had come in my sleep like some fucking teenager.

I stumbled to the bathroom to clean myself off. Damn, I had never seen so much semen. I kept cussing as I wiped myself. It was easier to focus on the mess than it was on the horrible dream I had. Why was I dreaming about humiliating someone during sex?

My skin burned. My muscles were still on fire. I should have taken more medicine, but I was too exhausted to think. I went back to my bed and collapsed again.

I dreamed of the apartment manager, Tera. She was a big blond woman with even bigger tits. I picked this complex to live in partially because I had fantasies of one day asking her out. Instead, I had ended up masturbating to thoughts of her for a month until I met my ex-girlfriend.

In my dream, there was no shy masturbating. I dreamed of walking into Tera’s office and demanding a blow job. She was shocked. She was offended. She was completely turned on.

I forced her to her knees and tore off her blouse. Light blue veins ran through her white flesh. Her immense breasts were putty in my hands as I fed her my cock. I squeezed her tits and twisted her nipples until she sucked me just the way I wanted.

Tera masturbated as I fucked her mouth. I ordered her to do it, and she gladly complied. When she climaxed, I could feel her mouth vibrate on my cock.

I awoke again to another mess in my underwear. My body was feeling worse. I couldn’t find the will to sit up. I just laid there and wondered what the fuck was going on.

My cock was still hard.

The sun was out, and I dimly realized I was late for work. I didn’t care. It occurred to me that I should see a doctor but I fell back asleep before I could make a decision.

I dreamed about a black woman. I didn’t know her, but I recognized the apartment she was in as being in my building. She was inviting me into her place while she stripped off her clothes.

She told me she wanted to be dominated. She told me how her husband thought she was perverted. She told me about the porn she read and the books she hid with her vibrator. She begged me to do something about it.

In the dream, I was angry. I was not somebody’s gigolo. I wasn’t here to make her dreams come true. I was here to take. I was here to fuck.

I slapped her. It made her smile.

I pinned her down to the floor. It made her moan.

I fucked her. One hand was on her throat, and other hand was grabbing a brown breast as I pumped her. She lifted her hips to my thrusts and bared her neck to my grip. She wanted it. I gave it to her, but I also took it from her.

This time, the phone woke me. It was mid-afternoon. My cock was painfully hard, and I was pissed that I hadn’t climaxed. My body still hurt, but my anger motivated me to answer the phone.

“Dylan,” an icy female voice said. It was my boss, Lisa. “Where are you? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

I should have been apologetic. Paul got fired last year for not calling in sick, and I had done the same stupid thing. I should have begged her forgiveness.

“Listen,” I said with a snarl, “I am sick. I feel like shit, and I am mot coming in to work. Deal with it, and leave me alone!”

I slammed the phone down. My cock was still hard and sticky from the last load I’d shot into my underwear. The room smelled of sweat and come. I had missed dinner and breakfast and now lunch. I wasn’t hungry, I was just horny.

I started to jack off. No lotion or tissues, it was just me and my hand. I couldn’t wait long enough to do anything but grab my cock.

I hadn’t been this horny in years. I couldn’t focus on any one thing. I thought about fucking Tera’s breasts. I thought about fucking my downstairs neighbor from behind. I thought about fucking my boss in the ass.

I climaxed again. The orgasm felt great, but there was no release of tension. I wanted more. I needed more. I needed to thrust my cock into a woman and feel her take me.

I fell asleep with my cock still in my hand.

I dreamed of sex.

To be continued.

Apocafuck Doomsday Orgy Asteroid

In 2002, paleontologist Leonard Quincy had a promising and reputable career. Professor Quincy had already discovered four new species of dinosaurs and his research into the eating habits of raptors was setting the academic world on fire. When he was chosen to lead the Emsworth excavation in Colorado, many believed he would make discoveries that would rival the finds of any previous paleontologist. For the most part, he succeeded. He discovered 21 new species of dinosaurs at his dig site.

Unfortunately he also proposed a radical theory to explain the Cretaceous–Tertiary extinction event. This theory would ruin his career and caused the Emsworth Foundation to suffer terribly in sustaining future funding. Even today, most universities are casting doubt on his earlier discoveries, as if his insane theory had retroactively tainted his earlier scholarship.

Many scientists agree that a large asteroid smashed into the Gulf Of Mexico although they differ on how this asteroid may have resulted in the death of the dinosaurs. Some projections say that the resulting dust cloud would have cloaked the earth in a decade long winter. Other projections imply that firestorms caused by a planet wide debris would have incinerated the surface. Professor Quincy believed he had discovered an area that dated back to the same year as the Cretaceous–Tertiary extinction event. The area was abundant with fossils. He was tasked by the Emsworth Foundation to find a cause of death.

To Professor Quincy's surprise, he found that there were multiple instances of the same species at his dig site. To add confusion to the dig, almost always the bones belonging to a particular species would be found on top of one another. It wasn't till Quinn examined the photos of the intial digging that he came to a stunning conclusion: the dinosaurs were copulating at the time of their deaths.

In 2003, Professor Leonard Quincy proposed that whatever the asteroid was that struck the Gulf of Mexico, it must have been made of some sort of cosmic aphrodisiac. His examination suggests that the dinosaurs he found died of exhaustion and starvation, yet in the act of sex up to their point of death.

His incredible theory was that the dinosaurs fucked themselves to death. He called it the Doomsday Orgy Asteroid, or DOA for short. He believes it would account for the gradual collapse of the entire ecosystem.

The academic community were not pleased. His theory was rejected by the science journal, 'Nature' but more devastating to his reputation, his theories were thoroughly ridiculed by the commenters on Boing Boing. No one attempted to argue the science of the placement of the fossils Quincy discovered; they just pointed out what a dirty idea it was.

As for Leonard, he was fired by the Emsworth Foundation for bringing shame upon the reputable institute. His wife divorced him, and reported to the tabloids that her husband refused to have sex for fear of dying. His Doomsday Orgy Asteroid theory has never been seriously considered by the scientific community. Leonard Quincy lives in seclusion now although sometimes he is crank called by the radio show, Coast to Coast.

Apocafuck Scholars like to point out that if a cosmic asteroid with the power to cause a whole planet to fuck itself to death can crush into the Earth once, who's to say that a second interplanetary aphrodisiac couldn't crash into us today? And if it did crash, what chances would we have to resist the arousal induced space dust if the mighty dinosaurs couldn't?

R.I.P. Patrick McGoohan

When I was a child I saw a series that scared the shit out of me. It was about a minister in colonial America who disguised himself as a scarecrow to terrify the British soldiers. It was done like a weird Batman historical piece but as a kid I was just scared. During the day, the minister would look so normal and nice but at night he would put on a mask and be unrecognizable. The Scarecrow would capture soldiers and make them beleive they had died and gone to hell in order to get information from them. For years I had that theme song stuck in my head and when I told my friends about it, they just thought I was making it up.

It wasn't till the mid 90's when the internet told me I had watched 'The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh' and that the terrifying character was played by Patrick McGoohan. It made me laugh. I had fallen in love with McGoohan's other show, 'The Prisoner' and here was another show where his character was fucking with the Powers who tried to suppress him.

I saw the Prisoner at a weird time in my life. I was in college, living with a jack- ass because the rent was free. I was dating the woman who would become my wife and I was already adapting to making her happy at my own expense. I had just escaped my really awful parents and in a weird way, I just swapped in other abusive figures for their place.

See, when a man escapes from a prison, he sometimes accepts different prisons because he can say "Sure it sucks, but that last place was worse."

I learned that from watching 'The Prisoner'. It just took me another ten years to realize it.

If you have never seen the Prisoner, it's impossible to describe. A secret agent resigns from his agency, is kidnapped by unknown people and then taken to a surreal village where no one has names but everyone has a number. Patrick McGoohan's character is never named, he is just simply Number Six. Every episode, a brand new Number Two tries to find out why Six resigns while Six simply tries to escape. That's pretty much it, well except for the floating balloons that guard the place, the mind control, the fake elections, the endless betrayals and bicycle imagery.

Watching the Prisoner, I was fascinated by McGoohan's character. Knowing that McGoohan was also a writer on the series and producer made me see the show as his personal work of art. Number Six was so damn relentless. I thought he should have given his captors something to get them off his back. I mean, what is the harm in telling them why he quit? His life would have been so much easier but Number Six refused. He flat out refused to cooperate in any way just because he didn't want to, and he had no intention of being coerced into something he didn't want to do. He refused because he wasn't going to let any one take the slightest bit of freedom from him.

As a young man who had lived with a controlling step-father and traded up for a controlling girlfriend, this seemed like a radical idea. I used to laugh at him because I thought McGoohan was stubborn. I thought Number Six was just as flawed as the people who ran the Village and that all the conflict was born of their inability to cooperate. It took years for me to realize Number Six was right.

That is really the lasting legacy of 'the Prisoner', and Patrick McGohhan in general. His portrayal of a man who refused to submit to government, peer pressure or personal torment is so rarely reflected in our culture. Even when our culture does show a hero who stands against the Village, they are sure to show his destruction as well. That is the lesson our culture teaches: stand against public opinion and you will fall. Question government and you will be laughed at. Question the mob and Toby Keith will sing rude songs about you. Refuse to follow along quietly and you are a traitor.

Do not get me started on American Idol.

Patrick McGoohan passed away January 13th, 2009. He was 80 and quite frankly, there were times when I was surprised to here he was still alive. Interviews with him also revealed a vibrant intelligent man who never once apologized for the wackiness that would occur in 'The Prisoner'. He was an artist and his work changes my life on a constant basis.

Fiction: The Wolf Inside Part One

It was a bad day to be hunted by a beautiful woman.

I noticed her while I was waiting for the MARTA train. It was a dreary day, and her red hair with yellow streaks caught my eye. While everyone else wore coats and jackets, all she wore for warmth was a tight red sweater. Even at a distance, I could tell she was beautiful, but I averted my eyes.

At the time, I thought I looked away because it had been a bad day at work. My boss, Lisa, had chewed me out right before I left work. My ex-girlfriend Karen had left a nasty message on my cell letting me know that once again I forgot to track down some CD she had left at my place. To top it all off, my coworker Scott had taken credit for one of my ideas. I was wallowing in self-pity, and a beautiful woman was an unwanted distraction.

Looking back on it now, I know the truth. I looked away out of self-preservation.

A few minutes later, the woman was walking near me. I was facing the train track, but I could see her out of the corner of my eye. I could smell her, something sweet that made my throat dry. I stared straight ahead as she walked behind me. I heard her pause, and then she kept walking. When I thought she was far enough away, I turned and sneaked a look at her back.

She looked over her shoulder at the same time I looked at her. She smiled and nodded.

I blushed. She had caught me sneaking a look at her ass. I remembered how much Karen had scolded me for looking at her ass. Karen had felt that looking at a woman’s ass — even if you are dating her — was somehow sexist. I could still hear her self-righteous tone. Not for the first time, I wondered if I would ever forget that nagging voice.

The train arrived, and I was glad for the chance to get away from that embarrassing scene. I stepped in and found a seat as quickly as possible. I held my breath as people filed in, wishing that it would be empty enough that no one would have to sit next to mine. You never know what kind of people you might end up near.

The doors closed, and no one was sitting with me. I let out my breath. When I breathed back in, I smelled her. I snapped my head around, and there she was, five rows behind me.

She was still looking at me. Her arms were folded over the top of the seat in front of her. She was leaning forward, as if ready to leap up at any moment.

I turned back around, confused and even a bit alarmed. What if she was going to confront me? What if she was toying with me just to embarrass me at some point? Shit, why would such a beautiful woman even be looking at me?

The train thundered to the next stop. I kept my head forward, resisting the urge to look back at the woman whom I knew was staring at me. The train halted, and the doors opened. While the doors were open, I couldn’t smell the woman’s perfume. When the doors shut again, I realized I could smell it even stronger now.

Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, I slowly turned my body sideways. I took great care to act like a man stretching his legs. I glanced behind me as casually as I could.

She was now sitting two rows behind me. She had one of the strands of her red hair wrapped around a finger. When our eyes met, she winked.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now I knew she was messing with me. I got a little angry. I didn’t know what her game was, but it had been a long day. I was not in the mood to be screwed with. I just wanted to get home, make dinner and watch TV.

To comfort myself, I thought of various cool things I could say to the woman. I imagined her trying to accuse me of looking at her ass and then I would say something devastating and witty. In my imagination, I handled confrontations with poise and dignity.

The train stopped again. As the people loaded and unloaded, someone sat down beside me. Of course, it was she.

All the cool things I had been going to say died on my tongue. She leaned toward me, just enough so that her sweater-covered breasts pressed against my arm. I was very aware of just how heavy they were.

She grabbed my hand and placed it on her jeans. She squeezed my fingers around her thigh. I wanted to say something but I was paralyzed. All I could do was look at those blue eyes of hers.

“How many more stops till your place?” she asked.

“I get off at Dunwoody,” I said.

Her fingers tightened painfully around mine. “No, I will be the one getting off. You might if you’re lucky.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Are you propositioning me?”

She laughed. “I want to fuck you. If you have a problem with that, too bad.”

My cock hardened. This was too weird to believe. “Is this a joke?”

Her fingernails dug into my hand. “Shut up, now.”

I did. The train kept going, and I didn’t know what to do. Was this some sort of trap? Was she going to mug me? What would Karen think? Should I make a run for it when we got off the train?

Now that she was sitting next to me, I was braver about looking at her. She had on pink lipstick the color of candy. I didn’t see a shirt underneath the sweater. As I kept looking, I wasn’t too sure she was even wearing a bra.

I squeezed her thigh. There was no give as with Karen’s chubby legs. It was like squeezing a brick.

My train arrived at my stop. The woman stood up and held onto my hand. I followed her through the train station. I noticed several men giving me jealous looks. They couldn’t figure out how a guy like me was with such a hot girl. They didn’t know that I was her prey.

“Do you take the bus, or do you have a car?” she asked.

“I have a car,” I said.

“Good, we might fuck there,” she said. “I can’t wait.”

My cock throbbed again. “Wait, we can’t fuck in the parking garage,” I said. “They have security. We’d get in trouble.”

She spun around on me. Her lips curled into a snarl. No, that wasn’t quite right. I’ve dated an angry woman. I work for an angry woman. This wasn’t anger. This was something else. It was hunger.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Dylan,” I said.

“Dylan, listen very carefully,” she said. “We are going to fuck when I say we fuck, and you are going to fucking thank me for fucking you. Understand?”

I could feel my face blush. I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but damn, she was so sexy. Honestly, was it any worse than something Karen would say? And this girl was so much fucking hotter.

“What’s your name?” I said.

“You haven’t earned that,” she said. “Where’s your car?”

I showed her. It was on the top floor of the parking deck. There were few cars left, as most of the other commuters had already left for the day. It looked like it was about to rain. I could smell ozone mixing with whatever that perfume was that she wore.

When I unlocked the car door, she stepped behind me and unzipped my pants. I didn’t say anything. I knew who was in charge here.

She reached into my pants and grabbed my cock. I moaned, but she shuddered. I knew then that she didn’t just want this, she needed this.

“Get in the car, and pull your pants down,” she ordered.

I did what she said. I also pushed the seat back as far as it would go. My cock was hard in my lap. If this was some sort of a trick or trap, this is when she would spring it.

Instead, the beautiful woman unzipped her pants. She yanked her jeans down to reveal no panties whatsoever. Covering her sex was a lush bush of red hair. She kicked off her jeans and threw them into the car. The woman then climbed into the car, slamming the door behind her.

She straddled me. With one hand wrapped around my cock, she guided me up into her. Tight, scalding heat engulfed my cock. She took all of me, growling like a beast as I slid up into her. I just sat there, gasping and moaning from the perfection of her pussy.

“You want to touch my tits, don’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Too bad,” she growled, and I was not surprised.

She grabbed my headrest and fucked me. There wasn’t a lot of room for her legs, but she was so damn limber. One foot was on the edge of my seat next to the door, while the other was on my gear shift. Her legs moved like pistons, lifting her body up and down on my cock.

I put my hands on her breasts, still covered by that tight red sweater. I could feel her nipples. I could feel how heavy they were. Like a kid in high school, I groped her breasts while respecting her boundary of no actual touching. It was humiliating, but it was also damn hot.

The car shook with our fucking. The windows fogged up almost instantly. The collision of her ass hitting my thighs was starting to bruise me. She let go of the headrest and grabbed my shoulders. Her fingernails dug deeper and deeper as she tried to drive my cock deeper and deeper inside her.

Sweat was dripping off her and onto me. I looked into her eyes; they were narrow slits. She was panting, her body straining to keep up with her own fucking. I let go of her breasts and watched them bounce underneath her sweater. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was primal. It was feral. I can’t explain how I felt except to say I admired her. It was like her entire being was focused on just one thing — fucking the hell out of me.

I could feel her tightening around me. I knew she was about to climax. I don’t know why I hadn’t already. I guess I was too afraid or shocked. As her climax came closer, she did something that really surprised me.

She kissed me. Just like the fucking, it was ruthless. Her mouth dropped down on mine, and her tongue entered me. She took my mouth, and I was stunned by how fierce she was. She was a stranger, but I had never been kissed with so much passion.

When she climaxed, she screamed into my mouth. It was a roar of triumph. She stopped fucking me as her body shook. We paused. She was exhausted, and I was afraid to move.

“Come,” she said. “You may come.”

I stayed still.

She sighed and reached down. Her hand gripped my cock. She stroked me. The tip was still inside her, but she was stroking me hard and fast.

I came within seconds. In contrast to her animal scream, I could only whimper as I shoot inside of her.

“Oh, God,” I said. I looked into her eyes and tried to think of something, anything that could sum up how I was feeling. I had nothing.

She rolled off of me and into the other seat. She took her jeans and started to put them on. I felt a surge of panic. Was she just going to leave?

“Wait, what’s your name?” I said.

She sighed. Her face was different now. That hard hungry look was gone. She just looked tired.

”Eden,” she said. “You deserve that much.”

“Do you do this often?”

She laughed, and there was no joy in it. “I’m trying to cut down.”

Eden opened the car door, and I tried to stop her. “Hey, do you want dinner or something?”

She paused. “You were dinner. Go home, Dylan. Your little adventure is over.”

Eden got out of the car. I sat in the car with my pants still around my ankles and watched her go. I was fucking exhausted, but I didn’t want her to go. She seemed sad about something, and I wanted to help. I watched her go back into the train station. I didn’t even get out of the car. Fuck, I can be such a pussy.

She was wrong, though. My adventure was just starting.

to be continued,

Fiction: Behind Bars

The captive courtesan looked out her barred window. The cool breeze from the ocean soothed the whipmarks on her flesh. The roaring of the sea drowned out the rough sex happening in the cell next door. For a moment she daydreamed about being outside and under the sun once more.

But that would mean she would have to leave the dungeon. She would have to leave the iron manacles, the insatiable soldiers and the cruel fortress Captain. She would have to be a woman again and not the plaything of evil men.

She whispered her thanks to the bars that kept her where she wanted to be.

Sex Towel

I don't travel nearly as much as I would like. Maybe if I did, I wouldn't have been so completely stunned by the beach towel pictured here. I suspect that no amount of traveling would have prepared me for seeing the dozen different topless beach towels I saw hanging in a store in San Juan.

I have always been interested in crass tourist items for sale. San Juan didn't disappoint. You could be walking the aisles; innocently looking at figurines of pirates and snow globes containing beaches, when all of a sudden there would be an entire shelf dedicated to copulating frog statues.

When I see stuff like this towel, my brain goes into erotica writer's mode: "Ah! Since I have seen 4 different stores that sell this towel, they must sell well. Therefore, towels with tits and a hint of pubic hair must be what the people want!"

Then my sense of taste kicks in and I ask myself, who buys this shit? I am imaging one of those college kids you seem to trip over in San Juan. The same kids who slam the bar at the hotel when they are giving away free cups of Pina Colada. The same kids who are most likely reading my blog until they realize I am a guy and not a woman with tits. I bet they buy these towels.

The reason I bought the towel is because I couldn't stop thinking about it. I laughed at it the first day but then on my second day of vacation I went back and bought one. As a sex blogger and writer, I am intrigued by what works when people try to sell things with sex. I mean, here is a towel you can't really ever use in public, and if you hung it in your bathroom, you are not going to impress any girls but yet, here it is. It is also huge, about six fee long. It's a towel destined to be folded up in someone's closet.

Interesting fact, the vast majority of towels were of blonde white women, the kind you don't see a lot of in Puerto Rico. I thought that was an odd choice for an item that is allegedly meant as a souvenir for visiting a Caribbean island. That is when I knew what the towel really represented. It was a sexual ideal of what Puerto Ricans thought tourists would think was sexy: A lot of color, big tits and a tiny 'Puerto Rico' label on the side. It is an artifact about one culture trying to guess another culture's sexuality.

Considering that I bought the thing for 20$, they must have been right.

Fiction: The Orgy of Trees

Most people head south for the winter. They flee the cold bitter wind and take refuge on sunny beaches and humid climates. Catalina wasn't like most people. For her vacation she had come here, to the cold dark woods of Massachusetts at the foot of the Appalachian trail. The leaves had long ago fallen and the sky wrapped everything in life sucking gray but to Catalina,there was no more beautiful place on earth during the winter.

Catalina saw things a bit differently from most people. She was a Voluptumancer, and the secrets of the sexual world were an open book to her. The wind was cold but she didn't wear a coat. Her thin white blouse barely covered her large brown breasts but she never shivered. Last night she had slept with a truck driver and she used her magic to keep his hairy warmth with her. A blue skirt fell around her long legs but the wind couldn't chill legs that could still feel the heat of a thrusting sweating man. The only thing she allowed the wind to touch was her long black hair which whipped behind her. The hungry fingers of winter played with her hair, spreading and fanning it like a halo around her.

She walked carefully through the woods and looked for the signs. Beer cans and cigarette butts lined the outer circle. Catalina pressed inward to the second circle of discarded blankets and left behind hats. After a mile, she found the secret makeout places. Condoms and the occasional lost pair of panties marked where young lovers could not contain themselves any further. She sighed at the litter but smiled at the hundreds of encounters that had taken place here.

"They know it in their groins," she said to the wind, "even if they don't know it in their heads. They can't help themselves. They just think this is where people go to make out."

The wind answered her by blowing harder.

Catalina found a tree low enough for her to climb. The hard bark scratched her skin like tiny bites. She sat on the branch and lifted her skirt. Her fingers toyed with the thick bush between her legs. The energy of the area was starting to affect her and she knew that meant it would happen soon.

The first shape pulled free of a tree in front of Catalina. The body was green and the lines were hard but there was no mistaking the femininity of the shape of her hips. Curves on the chest may have resembled breasts but the cleft between the legs was unmistakable. The shape slid away from the tree and walked to a near by tree.

Knock, knock, knock, the shape tapped on the tree.

A new shape pulled free from the knocked tree. This shape was definitely male as he sported a branch between his legs that would make a horse jealous. The two shapes embraced, almost melding together into one before breaking apart. They separated reluctantly and Catalina was touched by the way their fingers were the last to let go. She admired their discipline as they walked away to knock on more trees.

Knock, knock, knock, and other shapes came loose from their trees. Faceless female shapes with long leaves for hair and round breasts that will never give milk danced along side faceless male shapes with broad tree trunk shoulders and mighty erect shafts of wood pointing before them.

The shapes had many names throughout history. The Greeks called them Dryads. The Japanese knew them as Kodamas. Catalina and the other Voluptumancers called them the Green Lovers for they had no desire other than to touch, feel and embrace.

When there were over a hundred of them, they began to dance. They danced slowly, moving with the steady assurance that time was meaningless to the forest. They formed lines that swirled in and out of each others lines. They touched each other; hands sliding over hands, erect members sliding over curvy asses and faceless heads exchanging kisses. The forest echoed with the sound of wood bumping against wood.

Above them, Catalina watched. Her fingers stroked her sex as she watched the intimacies being exchanged. She gasped as she watched the dancers slowly break away from the mass of the dance for more personal dances with single partners. She stroked faster as she watched the lines disintegrate into smaller couplings. Catalina fingered her clitoris as she watched wood bury itself into wood.

When Catalina first heard of the Green Lovers, she had expected their orgies to take place in the Spring. It was her mother who taught her better. The first thaw of Spring is worth celebrating with sex, but it is the cold loneliness of Winter that brings forth the Green Lovers. Starving for warmth, certain ancient trees have the power to reach out to one another. The Green Lovers reassure each other that they are not alone. They comfort each other in the way that Life always finds comfort. They make love.

Catalina watched. In front of her, a female shape climbed on top of a male shape and impaled herself. To the side, two shapes rolled in the dirt, both so eager that neither could stay on top for long. To the other side, one shape bent over to receive the long hard member of another. At Catalina's own tree, a male shape pinned a female shape to the tree and entered her. Catalina could feel the tree shake from every powerful thrust, encouraging her own fingers to go deeper and harder.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, Catalina's fingers moved faster. The orgy continued on the ground below her. The bodies copulated, separated and took on new partners. Catalina was tempted to join them but she held back. The Green Lovers would welcome another warm body but history was filled with legends of Green Lovers who do not easily let their human lovers go. Catalina had no desire to spend a dozen years inside a tree.

That was okay. Catalina was content to watch. After a year of manipulating sexual energy and harnessing the tension that people lived with daily, Catalina loved to come out to this forest and watch love making in it's simplest form. Here a kiss is exchanged for another kiss. Here a body thrusts into another body for the simultaneous need of each other. Here Catalina remembered what it was like to desire and have it returned selflessly.

It was beautiful. It was inspiring. It was sexy.

Catalina climaxed. Her moans of pleasure joined the sighing of the trees.

The Four Sirens of the Apocafuck

The Hound sisters first came to national attention in 1848. Elizabeth Hound was 16 while her younger sister, Laura Hound had just turned 14. The girls claimed that they were in contact with a spirit who lived in their old house. When the girls sat down at a table with a piece of chalk in the center of the table, and all of the lights were turned off, strange writings in chalk would appear on the table. The writings were in French and contained several antiquated phrases. The spirit claimed to be a French prostitute who's working name was Madame Highbutt. She also claimed to have been brought to Philadelphia by Benjamin Franklin when he returned from France in 1785. Almost always the writings discussed the secret romantic lives of people who currently lived in the city.

Local newspaper men, politicians and doctors flocked to their home in Philadelphia to witness these strange acts. They paid extensively to prevent many of the writings from becoming public. The scandals that did emerge were mostly about poor people who couldn't afford to bribe the Hound family. These stories the local papers published extensively and helped their national circulation.

The vulgar nature of the writings prevented many of these stories from being recorded verbatim. Madame Highbutt had a fondness for stories about buggery and anything having to do with horses. According to the spirit writings, at least one out of ten women in Philadelphia had some sort of sexual equine experience. This caused many spiritualism experts to suspect that Madame Highbutt may have been a bit bored in the after life and fabricated many of her ribald accounts.

The Hound Sisters were tested often by investigators. Their hands were bound and yet the writings would still appear. Their French tutor was interrogated and found to actually be Italian. The chalk was replaced with pencils and pens but no writing would appear unless the chalk was placed back. The Hound sisters were frequently admonished by religious men and moral women for the impropriety of their spirit writings but the girls never confessed.

The spirit writings continued for two years until the night before Elizabeth Hound's wedding. On that night, the Hound sisters asked for advice from their spirit friend about Elizabeth's wedding night. When they turned the lights back on, they were alarmed by Madame Highbutt's writings.

"Silly girls," the writing was later translated to say, "I don't have time for your shit tonight. I must tell you about the four Sirens of the Apocafuck. I can see them coming and when they arrive, the joys and fears of your wedding night will be as small as an English man's cock on a winter night.

The first Siren will be the Actress. Although she belongs to a profession more shameful than mine, she will be celebrated and applauded by millions. Any role, no matter how chaste, will become sexually charged.

The next Siren will be the Singer. Her songs will fill the world with her power of her voice. The sound of her voice will make men hard and women damp between the thighs. Sinners will sing her songs as they commit new depravities.

The next Siren will be the Writer. The stories she tells will corrupt the willing and seduce the reluctant. Her stories will be read in secret and shared between lovers. The virtuous will justify their new sins by the power of her stories.

The last Siren will be the Artist. She will put on canvas what only exists in the filthiest of minds. Her art will be seen by everyone no matter how hard they look away. She will give shape, color and form to Lust itself.

Prepare my young friends. Tell everyone. The Four Sirens of the Apocafuck are coming to enflame your world into perpetual lust."

The Hound Sisters were disappointed by such a grim warning. Elizabeth went on to marry her fiancee and judging by their seven children, it would appear that she had learned a thing or two from Madame Highbutt's previous writings.

Laura Hound however was never the same. She never married and wrote many pamphlets encouraging celibacy and temperance. Laura sought out and tried to destroy the original copies of the spirit writings. Of the 420 verified writings, only six remain. It is only through the hard work of the Collette-Ashbee collection that the world has these six.

Madame Highbutt never responded to the sisters' requests for more writings. In 1931,the popular spirit medium Johnathan Parker attempted to contact Madame Highbutt. He wrote about his experiences in his book, "My Immaterial Lover." Madame Highbutt never mentioned the Sirens though she did have many new stories about people having sex with horses.

Apocafuck Scholars have found many mentions of the Sirens of the Apocafuck but only the Hound Sisters were able to specifically name them. It is not certain if the Sirens will cause the Apocafuck or merely herald it's arrival.

Erotic Predictions and Promises

2009 is going to be one interesting year for sex blogging. Sex blogging has sometimes been a counter culture thing which is easy to do when you have a conservative authority in political office. When you have assholes with power clamping down on sexual expression, talking about blowjobs becomes an act of political defiance. with a friendlier more liberal administration, sex isn't quite the act of rebellion it was a few years ago.

The downswing of the economy is also going to have an effect. As luxury spending declines, people are going to need more free entertainment. Hell, they are going to just need entertainment period. The thing about economic depressions is that they are just plain depressing. People are going to need some cheering up.

Personally, I also think 2009 is going to represent a saturation point in expertise. Even the most Luddite of my coworkers have personal niches of the internet that they use for news, information and entertainment. In the past you could start a blogspot account and declare yourself an expert on sex. Now you have a ton of competition if you decide to go that route. Google by itself is a better sex educator than I had available when I was a teenager. I think sexperts are going to be an endangered species and I am curious as to how they will evolve. My own guess is that they will have to be a hell of a lot more entertaining.

On a similar track I think sex bloggers who just link to other more interesting sites are going to be in for a rude awakening. I think they are useful when they specialize in something and then focus on bringing you all the news related to X, but I think the days of linking to tits, asses and the occasional true life sexploit are over. As users become more savy with finding the things they want, the less need they have for blogs that are nothing more than highlight reels of other blogs.

I don't know if erotic fiction will become more popular. Our culture works so hard at making people feel guilty about their sex drives that the number one need people have about sex is assurances that they are not the only pervert in town. They would rather read about a plain act of intercourse that happened for real rather than a creative sex act that only happened in the imagination. Erotica will always be around in some form or another, but I feel like people want sex blogs to read like a letter to Penthouse Forum regardless of how authentic it might really be.

As for myself, I am planning more fantastic fiction. I have a supernatural bdsm story coming up this month, tentative plans for a sword and sorcery long story and lots more Librarian stories. I might not have any tits to show my readers, or stories about how I banged people you never met, but I do have a metric ton of creative energy and an imagination that gets easily bored. 2009 is going to be a wild year on this blog but I will make a promise now to my readers: you're never going to be bored.