Dusk : Fuck Me Friday

Fuck Me Friday is organised by Aisling Weaver. Here is how she explains it :

Twitterotica themes have been hanging around for some time, with various writers tackling weekly challenges such as #wankwednesday and so on, and writing challenges far and wide are abundant. This is another one.

The goal is two-fold; for writers, a weekly challenge to keep the, err, juices flowing. For readers, you'll find all the stories linked off at the bottom of each week's prompt. Are you game? Will you try your hand at some on the fly writing? Will you expose your work to new readers, will you read along and find new authors? I do hope so.

So, welcome to the linky love edition of Fuck Me Friday. All you have to do is this :

• Write a story with the prompt as your title. Today's will be : #Dusk

• Tweet it with both the prompt and hashtag #FuckMeFriday

And lastly add it to the links at the bottom of this post. (Note, if you don't want to tweet it or don't have a blog, I invite you to post your story in the comments section. 

Dusk

Dusk was falling. I'd been too slow. I'd taken too long. Would I get to my home before they did? Everything depended on it.

I was the last of my kind. The Omega Man. The last man on Earth.

But why am I tell you this? You must know. After all, I am legend.

Or perhaps you are living in the distant future. Perhaps to you the history of the end of the world as we knew it seems but an unreliable fairy story like those of Arthur and his knights.

It all began with the invention of Soylent Puce, the ultimate anti-depressant. It appeared to have no side-effects and to work instantly. People who had been miserable for years suddenly began dancing in the streets. And they were not the only ones to take the drug. Everyone had had their bad days, but not with a  bottle of S.P. at hand. It was the guaranteed pick-me-up.

Six months after it first appeared on the market, the nearly six billion people who had used it, were dead.

I missed the whole thing. I was away on an eight month fishing trip. By the time I came back, people were dropping like flies.

But I wasn't the only one who didn't take the drug. There was one sub-group in society that liked being depressed. Today the world belonged to me, and to the hordes of goth and emo girls who had no use for S.P.

They only came out at night. They hated the sunlight. The day was mine, the night theirs.

I put my foot down on the accelerator as the sun hit the horizon. The carcass thumped against the roof as I flew over the potholes. It had taken longer than usual for me to find a cow. Once again I wondered about abandoning the city in favour of a rural farm. At first the supermarkets had supplied all my food needs, but now everything was past its used by date.

My home had electricity though. If I moved I'd have to either find another place with solar panels or install them.

I was almost home now. I was going to make it.

Each night I barricaded myself in. I'd turn up my country music as loud as it would go to try to drown out the sound of the girls banging on my door and yelling out, "Neville Roberts! Neville Roberts! Come out! We want your cock!"

They smashed all of the windows and I'd had to board them up.

I pulled up into the driveway, and I was none too soon. In my rearview mirror I could see figures beginning to emerge from the deepening shadows. They were naked, as they always were in the warm weather. Black hair, black lipstick, brooding faces and tattoos of hearts wreathed in barbed wire, pentagrams and broken dolls.

The cow could wait until the morning. I hurried inside.

"Why won't you fuck us, you greedy bastard?" yelled one of the girls.

I was distracted. I'm sure you've done it before. But it was a mistake I couldn't afford. I left my keys in the door.

They had me where they wanted me, and so they bided their time. They waited for more of their kind to arrive.

Half an hour later I was settled in for the evening, swigging from a bottle of Jim Beam, puffing on a cheroot, singing along to Tammy Wynette singing Stand By Your Man while watching Jackass 3 with the sound down on BluRay. "They don't make movies like that anymore," I said wistfully as I watched Steve-O drinking the sweat rung out of the fat guy's jack strap.

At that moment the door burst open and in rushed a dozen naked goth chicks. Two of them grabbed my arms and hauled me out of my seat.

"Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty emos!" I cried.

"Don't think we take any pleasure in this, Roberts," sneered a girl with enough rings through her eyebrows to hang curtains from them. I recognised her as the nineteen-year-old daughter of one of my late bowling buddies. Like the rest of the girls she had very pale skin, but she wasn't as skinny as the others, her slim waste was offset by lovely full breasts with large pink nipples and a curvy set of hips. "We need you to impregnate us, so that the human race can have a future."

"No pleasure, hey," I replied, drily, observing that several of the girls behind her were licking their lips and fingering their wet pussies. "You better tell your companions they can't get pregnant from their fingers."

She turned around and addressed them sternly. "I told you we were not going to get any pleasure out of this. If we want pleasure we can get it by licking each others pussies. This is something we do more in sadness than in horniness. A year ago you would have rather died than had sex with a guy with such appalling dress sense," she pointed out, indicating my tropical shirt and baggy sweatpants. "Not to mention someone who listens to country music," she added, flipping off the sound system.

The other girls were unrepentant. "We'll soon have his clothes off, and you've put a stop to the music. That isn't what matters. We want to be fucked by a hot hard cock, and he's the only person left in the world who possesses one," pointed out a skinny girl named Erin, who had a crew cut and pointed studs in her bottom lip.

I realised that the tide had turned. Now I was the freak. Such things are merely a matter of numbers, and there is no minority smaller than one.

Now my life was over. I knew that never again would I be able to sit in my cosy domicile, chewing a rare steak, swigging some whisky, pulling on a cigar and checking out some seventies porn on the tube. But if this was going to be my final stand, there was no reason I shouldn't enjoy it.

"Well, you may take no pleasure in this, Serena," I informed the leader of this band of bare-assed desperadoes. "But I'm going to take great pleasure in sampling the delights you have laid out before me." With that I reached out and groped her soft plump breasts. As I did I felt a pair of hands behind me pull down my pants and my boxers, thus releasing my hard cock, which slapped up hard against my belly and then stood out quivering and dripping pre-cum onto the floor. In seconds they had me naked.

"Do what you must," insisted Serena, stoically, laying down on my bed and spreading her legs wide apart.

"O.K." I said, walking into the kitchen and coming back with a turkey baster and a glass jar. Then, looking down at her, I started stroking my cock and aiming it into the jar.

"What are you doing!?!" she cried.

"Well, you said you didn't want to take any pleasure in being impregnated, so I thought it would be best to do it artificially," I explained.

Serena's pale face turned a deep red as all the other girls laughed at her.

"She wants your big fat cock as much as the rest of us," pointed out a girl with a Louise Brooks haircut and multiple labia piercings, whose name I later learned was Circe.

Louise Brooks

"I think she deserves a spanking for being so hypocritical," I told them.

"Does seeing a bossy bitch get a bare-bottomed spanking from her cock-crazed cronies really spunk up your balls?" Circe whispered in my ear while wiping her cuntjuice-slippery fingers over my lips. "We need you to spunk lots to put us all in the pudding club, so whatever you want to see or do or have done to you just speak up."

"Oh, yeah," I smiled. "Seeing you give her a really pink bottom would definitely help fill this bazooka with baby juice," I told her, grabbing her slim fingers and wrapping them around my stiff cock as I reached down and squeezed the tender cheeks of her bum.

"We can all learn something from Mr. Roberts and his willingness to make a firm stand for future generations," said Erin, who was playing with herself.

"Hip! Hip! Hooray, for Mr. Roberts' firm stand," shouted the rest of the girls.

Meanwhile, two of them grabbed Serena and held her down over a chair while Circe began spanking her butt cheeks enthusiastically. "How dare you, you traitor!" screamed Serena, her face still bright red and her body quaking as she strove to restrain tears of utter humiliation.

Erin pushed me down onto the bed and slid her warm slippery pussy down over my rampant prick. The rest of the girls weren't going to just stand back and wait. The next thing I knew : there was a wide-open wet cunt writhing against my face ; someone was crouched beneath Erin licking my balls ; a girl was rubbing her pussy against each of my hands clearly indicating that they wanted me to finger them ; and wherever else there was room for a tongue or some fingers I was being licked or stroked.

"Rape! Rape!" I cried when I managed to get my mouth temporarily disengaged from pussy.

"I'm sorry," replied Erin. "We'd like to oblige, but I think we are already raping you as much as we can."

With one more thrust of my hips I gave her the hot spurts of cum she craved.

She hopped off and I felt another girl's warm mouth start gobbling on my now semi-flaccid cock.

"Off now," instructed Erin, pushing away the girl had been sitting on my face. "Neville needs to see what Circe's done to Serena's bottom, I think, if he's going to get his cock stiff again."

And, sure enough, the sight of Serena's bright red bottom and tear-stained face melted my heart and stiffened my cock.

"Have you learned your lesson, Serena?" I asked.

"Yes," she sighed. "I was just too embarrassed to admit that I want your cock so much that I don't really want to share it with the other girls. I just want to feel it throbbing inside me for days."

She came over and kissed me passionately. Then the girl who had been sucking my cock moved aside and she climbed on top of me, sliding my cock into her hot dripping pussy. She sank forward, and I relished the feel of her large breasts pressed against my chest. The other girls hung back now and gave us space. They were all lounging around the room masturbating as they watched us. This included Erin, who hadn't cum when she was fucking me. Everyone was turned on, and everyone wanted to cum, but the goal of impregnation had to take precedence over immediate satisfaction.

I managed to fuck seven of the girls that night, which isn't too bad. What got me erect again and again was that Serena whispered the filthiest and most flattering things in my ear as she let me fondle her tender warm butt cheeks. Anytime she cried, "Ouch!", my cock would twitch back towards stiffness.

It is strange that I am still capable of remembering that night with any kind of fondness. Because now I am heartily sick of sex. When it is all they will let you do day in and day out it becomes a crashing bore, not to mention a pain in the balls. And, since my health is a priority, I'm on a the same vegetarian diet as them. And no more booze or cigars. Except on Father's Day. There has to be some kind of reward when you are the father of 12,956 children.

The End

Shield : Wank Wednesday

It's Wank Wednesday again as hosted by Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Here is how she explains it :

Welcome to week eight of Wank Wednesday, your weekly festival of smut. 

With so many great writers of smut and erotica on Twitter and the web I thought it would be a nice idea to get a smutty blog carnival going. For writers or would be writers a weekly prompt will get you writing and as a reader well you’ll be able to get your fix of sexy stories all in one go.

To join in all you need to do is write a story with the weekly prompt as a title. This week’s prompt is #Shield. Then:

• Blog it – post it on your blog then come back here and add it to the link list.

• Tweet it – write it on twitter using the prompt hashtag and the #wankwednesday hashtag

• Add it – if you don’t want to blog or tweet it then please do add it as comment to my post

• WE it – if you are a member at Word Ejaculation you can submit with them too, just remember to link back to me here and to add your entry to the link list.

Please link back to this page in your post and please also do take the time to read and comment on the other contributors, we’ll all keep on writing but it is so much nicer to do so with feedback.

Thank you for writing and reading.

Shield

“Fuck the IMF!” screamed a female voice and almost simultaneously a flaming Molotov cocktail crashed into my riot shield, exploding into a multitude of fragments. Gunther, my trusty partner, whipped out his fire extinguisher and hosed down the fiery debris.

“They really mean business today,” he commented, surveying the crowd of several hundred rioters who were overturning cars, throwing bricks through shop windows and pelting us with anything that came to hand.

“Passionate about their beliefs,” I pointed out. “You have to give them credit for that. Respect for our safety and other people’s property perhaps not as high a priority for them as it should be, that I grant you, but spirted, that they are.”

The girl who threw the cocktail was coming at us full pelt now, head down like a charging rhino. She was a slim girl in skin-tight black jeans, a black windcheater and a black balaklava.

“Fascist cunt pigs!” she shrieked, kicking my shield so hard that I fell back into a crouching posture.

“O.K. That’s it!” I screamed. “It’s the tazer for you, you little shit!” Down she went, jerking and twitching uncontrollably. “Cuff her, Gunth.”

Three minutes later the three of us were back in our squad car.

“How did you know it was me?” chuckled Patty, when I pulled off her balaclava. Nobody recovers from a tazering as quickly as my Patty.

“Your unerring accuracy with a Molotov Cocktail is unique amongst that uncoordinated rabble,” I pointed out.

“You aren’t actually going to take me in, are you?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I replied. “They’d only keep you in jail overnight. I know how riots make you horny and I don’t want you getting hot and heavy with one of those ugly female prison guards.”

“They aren’t all ugly you know,” she smiled evilly. “Neither are all of the other inmates. Jail time has its fringe benefits.”

“Exactly the reason you are going to be under house arrest tonight. That way I can punish you properly for smashing the front window of Harrods with that brick,” I pointed out.

“Oh, you saw that,” she said, trying to look contrite and failing miserably.

“Yes, I saw that,” I replied. “And so will everyone who watches the BBC news tonight. I’m just lucky you were wearing a balaklava otherwise I would have to take you in.”

“And you are lucky that he has me wrapped around his little finger,” replied Gunther.

“He doesn’t dob me in for protecting my girlfriend from criminal charges, and I don’t dob him in for selling dope cookies at the local retirement home,” I explained.

I didn’t lock her in or cuff her to the bed. What if there were a fire? I knew she would be there when I got home.

“O.K. Little Miss Riot Girl,” I addressed her forcefully as I entered the apartment still dressed in my full uniform, “now I’m going to make you pay for your anti-social behaviour.”

“Oink! Oink! Oink! That’s all I heard, Mr. Piggy,” she responded insolently. She was dressed in her old fashioned prison stripe pajamas, laying back on the bed watching TV.

I threw my leg over her and began unbuttoning her pajama top.

“Dirty pig, just wants to see my tits,” she smiled wickedly, and then spat in my face.

“You little bitch!” I yelled, yanking down her bottoms to reveal a bald pussy and an A for anarchism symbol where her pubes had once been.

“Fuck this, Porky Pig!” she taunted, grabbing her crotch.

“Oh, I intend to, honey!” I sneared. “Just you wait. But first we have to go through proper prison induction procedure. Starting with de-lousing.” With that I picked up a container of talcum powder and started shaking it all over her naked body. The clouds of powder that rose from her breasts went up her nose and she started sneezing uncontrollably.

Then I dragged her to her feet and pulled her into the bathroom.

“We have to make sure you aren’t trying to bring any naughty substances in with you,” I explained as I bent her over and pulled her butt cheeks wide apart. By now she was no longer resisting. The softness of her warm bum cheeks in my hands caused my cock to become rock hard in my pants as I stared at her cute pink bumhole. “It looks all clear to the naked eye,” I decided, but just to be sure I stuck out my tongue and licked all around her hole. “One more test to be sure,” I added, sliding the middle finger of my right hand as far as it would go into the saliva-lubricated passage. “Just as I thought,” I concluded, “nothing up there.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I think you gave up too easily. You’re cock is longer than your finger.”

“My cock doesn’t come into it, young lady,” I scolded her, slapping her hard on the ass.

“It would if you fucked my bottom with it,” she replied, turning around and poking her tongue out at me.

“Now I have to check you haven’t got anything secreted in your vaginal cavity,” I informed her. “Sit on the counter and spread yourself wide open.”

She did as she was told. Her pussy was sopping wet, her creamy juices dribbling down onto the counter.

“See, there’s nothing in here,” she told me, shoving two of her fingers as far as they would go into her juicy depths. She then started sliding them in and out and rubbing her stiff clit with her other hand.

“Masturbating is stictly forbidden!” I yelled. “Except after light’s out.”

“But I always feel like wanking my wet little pussy when I see a police officer in his uniform,” she pouted. “Especially one with a big truncheon like yours,” she added, stroking the front of my trousers.

“The next step is the shower,” I responded, trying to maintain some kind of discipline. I turned on the shower and shoved her under it.

“Ah, FUCK!!!!!!” she yelled. “It’s fuckin’ cold!!!”

“A cold shower is just what little sluts like you need,” I pointed out.

The next thing I knew she’d dragged me under the water with her.

“Ah, FUCK!!!!!!” I yelled. “It’s fuckin’ cold.”

“I told you so,” she replied, turning on some of the hot.

It wasn’t long before we were back on the bed. I’d had to take off my wet clothes, so now we were both naked. And the fact that my cock was doing its patent impersonation of Nelson’s Column didn’t exactly help me to maintain the dignity I’d had when my uniform was on. But I still had the upper hand. In fact my left hand was pushing into Patty’s back as my right hand spanked her bottom. 

“Ouch! That hurts!” she cried.

“Of course it hurts, Little Miss Che Guevara!” I replied. “It wouldn’t be much of a deterrent if it didn’t.”

“Police brutality! Police brutality!” she cried.

Eventually, I got kind of tired though, and my hand got sore.

“You know what?” I whispered in her ear.

“What?” she sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye.

“I take bribes,” I admitted.

“What kind of bribes,” she wanted to know.

“Well, just the other day I caught a naughty girl who was throwing Molotov Cocktails and I let her go in return for a blow job,” I told her.

“You did?!?” she replied. “That’s very corrupt of you.”

“Yes,  I know,” I admitted. “I’m a very bad man.”

“I think you’re the one who belongs on the inside,” she informed me. “On the inside of my pussy.”

I licked the index finger of my left hand and slid it right up inside her warm clinging butthole as my cock entered her juicy wet cunt. I held her left bum cheek, still warm and tender from the spanking, in my right hand as I fucked her long and slow.

“Mmmmm. Pleasure me with your perfect prick, Porky Pig,” she sighed.

“Shut up or suffer more spankings you sedicious Socialist slut,” I whispered tenderly in her ear.

Eventually we came together in a paroxism of pleasure.

“So where are you rioting tomorrow?” I asked casually.

“Ah, now that’s for me to know and you to find out, isn’t it?” she replied, pinching my cheek playfully.

The End

New E-Book : Transylvanian Roulette

Vampires are all the rage these days, though they are not always the kind of vampires I grew up watching on late night television. Back then vampires were characters in horror movies rather than serious prospects for romance. And none of them were wimpy enough to show signs of reluctance about drinking a maiden's blood and condemning her to the hell of living death.


Back in 2000 I wrote a vampire story called Transylvanian Roulette for a friend of mine who was a big fan of the Anita Blake series of novels by Laurell K. Hamilton. But it was more of a love letter to Bram Stoker and the Hammer horror films, such as Brides of Dracula and The Vampire Lovers, which I've always loved.


Of course, being one of my stories, it is also a parody, and it's pretty smutty.


I've now published it as an ebook at Smashwords. It'll go up on Amazon soon.


Here is the free sample :

"Before you kill me," said the old man, "let me tell you how I got this way."

Funny how vampires suddenly want to stop for a chat when you have a sharpened stake jabbed into their ribcage. What the hell, I thought, I might as well humour him.

The story he told me made me realise that this was going to be a case that Nicole would be interested in. Nicole is the supernatural affairs editor for "World's Most Dangerous Sex Acts" magazine, and we have worked together many a time.

Let me introduce myself, my name is Van Helsing, David Van Helsing. All right, so you've never heard of me, unless maybe your a reader of the previously mentioned magazine, but I bet you've heard of my old great grand-daddy, the great Professor Van Helsing. Well, I'm in the same line of work, killing vampires, and other supernatural creepy-crawlies. The only difference is I sometimes like to fuck them first. Call it a penchant, call it an eccentricity... All right, call it down right perverted if you like, but I like to get me a little monster pussy from time to time. Once I even sucked a Fuckubus, er, I mean, fucked a Succubus. Doesn't mean I'm soft on the critters. Hell, no. I always kill them afterwards. Not only does that rid the world of some mighty dangerous creatures, but it makes sure no monster kids turn up on my doorstep in ten years time calling me Daddy.

Many a time Nicole has come along with me on one of these adventures to record the event for posterity. I could write the story myself but who'd believe me. Nicole is my expert witness, and she takes photos. And, all right, sometimes she saves my ass when I get myself in too deep.

You could say she plays Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes.

Of course Sherlock Holmes and Watson never fucked. Or at least if they did, Watson never wrote about it in the stories. Nicole and I, on the other hand, fuck like bunny rabbits whenever we are on a mission together. Danger will do that to you. Either that, or it'll make you piss your pants. It can go either way.

"It all happened about six months ago, when I was making my way home from the pub in the early hours of the morning," the old man explained. Of course he was speaking in Romanian, this being Transylvania and all, but I'm translating it here for your benefit. "I was making my way through the pass in the mountains when thunderclouds started piling up in the sky and I could tell that the downpour would occur any moment. I had to find shelter. The only place nearby was the old castle. I knew that some folks held it to be haunted, but not being the superstitious kind, I went up to the front door. I found it ajar. I knocked but there was no answer, so I entered hoping to at least keep the rain off, even if I couldn't find a bed for the night. I found the place deserted. Wherever I looked, upstairs and down, I saw not a soul. Eventually I decided that if the castle was not occupied there would be no harm in me sleeping in one of the beds. The linen smelt a little stale, but it would at least be warm. I found a small servants bedroom under the stairs and decided to use it. In case the owner of the castle should turn up unexpectedly I thought it would be best to be found in the servant's quarters.

"Getting undressed I crawled into the small bed. I slept only fitfully in this strange environment, and at some time after midnight I was awoken by the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. They seemed to be coming closer.

"I pulled my head under the bedclothes and tried to pretend to be lump in the mattress.

"'Greetings, traveller," came a smooth seductive female voice from the doorway, indicating that my attempts at concealment had been unsuccessful. "I thought that I would just come up and see if there was anything I could do to make your stay a little more comfortable.'

"'Something about the way that she said 'come up' instead of 'come down' made me a little uneasy. The main bedrooms were upstairs. All that was down stairs was the cellar.

"When I finally got up the courage to stick my head out from under the blankets, I found that I was being addressed by one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She was tall and slim with snow white skin and ebony hair that fell freely to her waist. Her eyes were emerald green and held me with a look that made me want only to do her bidding, whatever that might be. She was dressed only in a gossamer thin night gown of antique design which being nearly transparent did nothing to conceal the rosy red nipples that tipped her milky breasts or the wild growth of jet-black pubic hair that decorated the area between her defiantly spread legs.

"As my eyes ran up and down her gorgeous body my cock stiffened and stood up beneath the bedclothes. She noticed this and her eyes focussed on the place where the blankets were rising circus-tent-style.

"'Show me your cock,' she ordered, letting me know that I was to be her love-slave.

"I threw back the covers and unveiled my manhood. I liked the way she smiled as she looked at it. What I didn't like was the thin trails of drool that were seeping from the edges of her mouth. There was something unnatural about this woman. But her hypnotic eyes and the snake-grace with which she moved her hips entranced me. As she strode towards me I could almost feel in advance the rough carress that her forest of pubes would give my upper thigh. Sure enough she lifted a long white gossamer-shrouded leg and straddled my left leg. I could feel her wetness trickling over my thigh and dampening the sheet below. A pale, deathly cold hand wrapped itself gently around the hot hardness of my stiff cock, and she bent slowly to take it in her mouth. It was when I felt her long wet tongue encircle my prick that I realised that she was not human. By then I didn't care.

"I have a rather large cock," the old man explained, starting to pull down his pants.

"That's O.K." I reassured him. "I'll believe you."

"Anyway, no woman could ever fit the whole of it in her mouth," he told me. "But this woman, or thing, made love to the whole of my cock. Not just that, but my balls as well. She didn't take it into her mouth. Her mouth came to it. She had a tongue like a snake's tongue, only thicker and wetter. It slithered out of her mouth and down in circles around my cock, dripping saliva as it went. When the whole of my cock was wrapped in her wet tongue and the tip of it was tickling my balls, she started to wank me off with it. It was the best blow-job I'd ever had. No human could give a blowjob like that.

"And she wasn't a human. She was a vampire. Once she had me in her spell, she made no attempt to hide her fangs. I could see the razor sharp ivory carressing the purple veins of my cock lovingly.

It's only $2.99 to download the ebook.

Life, The Universe & Chocolate Bunnies!

Although the most important holiday for the Christian religion, celebrating its central figure's alleged return from the grave, Easter derives its name from a pagan goddess named Éostre. The concept of a new beginning and life's triumph over death are represented in the symbols of eggs and the notoriously fertile rabbit.

Whether one is a believer, or an unbeliever like myself, there is something to be celebrated at Easter time.

Some of my atheist friends act a little embarrassed by religious holidays and try to distance themselves, for instance renaming Christmas as Newtonmas (since December 25th was Isaac Newton's birthday.) To me this has always seemed kind of silly. Christmas and Easter, while specifically Christian holidays, are also about the celebration of things which are not limited to one form of belief, but are, in fact, universal. Christmas is a celebration of love, community and generosity. And Easter is a celebration of life's persistence and of fertility.

In recent times we've seen some terrible natural disasters as well as man-made conflicts troubling various parts of the world. The wonderful thing about life in general and humans in particular is that such things do not defeat us. In the wake of each disaster, the survivors reestablish their communities, homes are rebuilt, babies are born and life goes on. For me, this is what Easter celebrates. Death doesn't win.

But also it celebrates fertility. This is not just biological fertility. If I wished fertility on you, many of you would probably scream, "No, that's the last thing I need!" But fertility is not just about producing babies. It is about the fecundity of the soil in which we plant a seed, be that seed an idea, a monetary investment or a literal seed that we plant in our garden. To toast fertility is to wish that those seeds bear fruit. Unless they are vegetable seeds, in which case it would just be weird for them to bear fruit.

One need not believe in Heaven or Hell to believe that life is not limited to our physical bodies, finite as they are in time and space. Our deeds and our ideas sow seeds which can have a life of their own, bearing fruit in places we will never visit and also long after we cease to exist as individuals.


The internet is the perfect example of this. The inventors of Facebook, Twitter or Google could die tomorrow, but that which they created would continue to have a life of its own, providing a conduit for social interactions the outcome of which noone can possibly predict.

Recently I've been taking part in the Twitterotica challenges created by Ruby Kiddell and Aisling Weaver. Here is another example of seeds which bare fruit. A seed word is sown over Twitter and lands in the fertile minds of sundry degenerates who set to work to create some prime filth. Nobody could predict the fruity tales of debauchery they produce. These in turn are disseminated over the net where they themselves perhaps inspire much stiffness and wetness of generative organs. And what happens after that is anybody's guess. But the point is that a simple idea in one person's mind ended up effecting the lives of many in ways that they will never fully know.

So what can make us more fertile in this broader sense? Well, just as the fertility of a woman is unlikely to bear fruit if she doesn't open her legs, so an open mind is most conducive to the success of productive endeavours of all kinds. And nothing stands in the way of such success like a closed mind. The most wonderful of creations are those which could never have been predicted. And the belief that we can predict the future closes us off to the seeds of such creations. Few of us would claim to be psychic, but we think we can predict the future when we say such things as : "I'll never get that job promotion!" ; "No member of the opposite sex could find me attractive!" ; or "All my problems will be solved when I win the lottery!" It is welcoming the unknowability of the future with open arms and following ideas to see what they lead to, rather than presupposing that they are worthless, which allows us to make the most of life's creative principle.

But let us also not forget that Easter is a time for perving at scantily clad girls in bunny ears and eating lots of chocolate!

Also not a bad time for catching up with a movie or two or some reading. Here are some suggestions :


MOVIES


The Religious Aspects of the Holiday


Jesus Christ Superstar (1973)


Ted Neeley makes for a whiny, annoying Christ, but it is all about Carl Anderson's dynamic Judas, Yvonne Elliman singing "I Don't Know How to Love Him", and Josh Mostel in his bathing trunks asking Jesus to walk across his swimming pool. Andrew Lloyd Webber's finest moment if you ask me.


The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964)


Who would have guessed that a movie by an atheistic communist homosexual would come in at number two on Pope John Paul II's recommended movies list. A starkly beautiful film in the Italian neo-realist style. A counterpoint to Pasolini's last film Salo, the watching of which is a bit like being crucified.


Ben-Hur (1959)


One of my all-time favourites, this has it all. A crucifixion scene which can even ring tears from a devoted heathen such as myself, the splendiferous spectacle of the naval battle and chariot scenes, and lashings of homo-erotic chest-baring and muscle flexing.

Life of Brian (1979)


Look on the bright side of life with a comic masterpiece which, contrary to the views of some of its critics, is not disrespectful to Jesus or his believers, poking fun, instead, at those who are less discriminate in their faith-placing as well as at bureaucracies and misguided forms of rebellion.


Chocolate

Chocolat (2000)


Chocolate as a source of romance and eroticism. A charming film from the director of Abba : The Movie.


Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (1971)


Tim Burton is a genius, but Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was not his finest moment. Go back to the original film starring Gene Wilder. And it has a classic song in "The Candy Man".

Rabbits

Harvey (1950)


Films don't come any funnier or more charming than this tale in which Jimmy Stewart's relationship with an imaginary giant rabbit causes consternation to all around him.


The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Movie (1979)


Everybody's favourite rabbit - trickster, anarchist and inveterate cross-dresser. There's no-one like Bugs and this movie was a showcase for some of his funniest cartoons.

Night of the Lepus (1972)


If you are truly perverse (and if you're not, what are you doing on my blog?), you'll want to check out this mind-numbing horror misfire, supposedly based on a novel called The Year of the Angry Rabbit by distinguished Aussie author Russell Braddon. It's all about giant mutant bunny rabbits that eat people! The original title of the movie was going to be Rabbits, but they were afraid people wouldn't take a horror movie with that name seriously. Needless to say, they still didn't take it seriously.

EROTICA


Chocolate

Heidi Klum...yum!

Lavender and Chocolate by Dalide (Lady Laid Bare)


Read this mouthwatering story and then break out the chocolate bodypaint with your partner!


Hot Cross Buns

Emily Winters and Tender-Bottomed Girl always have buns which are hot and cross from having received the spankings that naughty girls such as themselves so richly deserve. So why not go sample the sweetness of their just desserts?


My Favourite Easter Bunny

Rosie, model and photographer for Girls Out West.