The Arse Play's The Thing

This is the second of my stories inspired by a visit to the offices of legendary Australian porn site Girls Out West. Rosie is both a model and a photographer/videographer on the site, and she likes pegging, hence the story.

Rosie looking radiant

“It’s an incident which will go down in the annals (or should that be anals?) of the Melbourne University Dramatic Society,” Rosie declared decisively, as she gently stroked the soft and glorious globes of LuLu’s naked bottom.

“I was playing the male lead in a production of the ancient Greek classic Lysistrata…” she explained.

“The male lead?” asked LuLu.

“Yes, the male parts were all played by girls and the female parts by guys. And the best part was that I got to wear a huge cock. It’s traditional with this kind of play,” added Rosie with a cheeky smile.

Then she stuck her right index finger in her mouth and slobbered all over it. “The play is by a guy named Aristophanes,” she whispered conspiratorially in LuLu’s ear. “But I call him ARSE-STUFF-PHANES,” she giggled, as she slid her spit-slippery digit as deep as it would go into her lover’s tight but eagerly receptive rectum.

“Mmmm, I like Mr. Arse-Stuff-Phanes already,” moaned LuLu, wriggling around on Rosie’s finger in a way that just happened to cause her stiff clit to slide around deliciously on the silk sheets.

The glorious globes of LuLu's naked bottom

“We used modern costumes and realistic, but oversized cocks,” Rosie continued. “My phallus was attached strap-on style beneath my tight black jeans and it stuck out through the open fly.

“Lysistrata was played by Mark Phelps, captain of the University football team. A real spunk. Not your typical drama nerd. He wore a lovely flowery summer dress and a wig of luxuriant red hair. I can’t say he made a convincing woman, even with the fake boobs and the red lippy. But he lost none of his sex appeal.

“Now you have to understand that Mark was a bit of a  lady’s man. A cocky bastard. So the way he was acting around me while we were doing the play came as a bit of a surprise. I’d catch him giving me strange looks and when I did he’d blush as red as a beetroot. When we had cause to speak to each other backstage he seemed positively shy. You would have thought he was the campus virgin, not the Casanova of the football field.

“During the final performance, when we were sitting backstage at interval I noticed that he was staring at my cock, obviously lost in a dream of some kind.

“‘I like to call him Dick Dastardly,’ I chuckled, wrapping my hand around it and sliding it up and down in a wanking motion.’

“When I looked down at Mark’s lap he had a massive boner tenting his dress.

“‘Oh, ho!’ I cried, playfully. ‘I think you like girls with dicks.’

“He went bright red and started to stammer. Poor guy.

“‘It’s something we have in common,’ I confessed, sliding my hand up under his dress and onto the seven inches of rigid manhood which was sticking up through the fly of his boxers.

The frontispiece to Norman Lindsay's illustrated version of Lysistrata

“’What would you like a girl with a dick to do to you?’ I whispered the question seductively in his ear. ‘I bet you’d like to be Rosie’s bum slut, wouldn’t you?’ The way his cock twitched in my hand and the dribble of pre-cum over my fingers gave me my answer.

“‘You can’t go out on stage like that,’ I laughed. ‘We’ve got another ten minutes. Let’s go back in the flats where no-one can see us. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch the leading man sucking the leading lady’s cock.’

“‘I’ll let you in on a little secret,’ I confided, as I knelt in front of Mark and pulled down his boxers while he held up his dress. ‘If I move my dick up and down like a lever the base of it rubs against me clit in the most delicious way. I can get off like that very easily.’ So that’s what I did while I slurped away on Mark’s hard prick. It wasn’t long before he filled my mouth with his salty jizz and I felt a warm quivery orgasm spread through my body.

“Now maybe I made a mistake by letting Mark in on my little secret, because, while we were on stage he kept finding excuses to grab my cock and pump it up and down. It didn’t fit with the action of the play and it made it very hard for me to remember my lines. In the end though, neither of us cared. We couldn’t stop giggling. I’m sure everyone thought we were on dope.

“This was the final performance. What did anything matter now? I’d already got a pretty bad review on opening night. Notorious critic Quentin Throsby gave the play overall a fair rating, but he said that my performance was an embarrassment. He said I seemed to be more interested in strutting around waving my phallus at the audience than I was in really trying to inhabit my role. O.K. He had a point. But I still think he would have gone easier on me if it weren’t for the fact that my cock was probably bigger than his.

“That evening Mark and I had a date in one of the upstairs bedrooms of the house where the end of season party was being held. Everyone was there, even Throsby had turned up to avail himself of the free booze.

“‘Not as realistic, but kinder on the sphincter,’ I explained to Mark as I strapped on a modestly-sized clear plastic dildo. Both of us were enjoying our first sight of the other completely naked. Out of his costume, Mark had the physique of a Greek statue, but with lots of hair on his chest and legs. From the stiffness of his cock, I could tell he liked the way I looked as well.

Rosie wearing a strap-on looks a little bit like Rosie holding a banana in front of her pussy

“‘First a little appetiser,” I declared, pushing him forcefully onto his hands and knees on the bed. Then I spread his butt cheeks and licked his wrinkled arse-hole. He wasn’t expecting that. But from his ecstatic sigh I could tell he loved it.

“‘Are you ready to be violated by a bottom-buggering little bitch?’” I asked. It was a rhetorical question.

“‘I want you in my arse, Rosie,’ he declared proudly. ‘Fuck me long and deep.’

“His bravery was impressive, but I eased him into this brave new world with a little lubed finger action. When I knew he was ready, I gave him the cock. Slowly his anus stretched over the lube-slippery plastic dick until all resistance was overcome. With a slurping sound it slid all the way in and my belly slapped against his hairy bottom.

“Mark really took to being buggered like a duck takes to water. An hour later we were back at it, only now, due to the heat we were out on the bedroom’s balcony with Mark leaning up against the railing, and me reaching around to wank his throbbing cock. What we didn’t notice was that many of the other party guests had also made their way outside into the garden to cool off. Our little anal orgy was not going unobserved.

“Quentin Throsby looked up at us dumbstruck. His mouth was open as it usually is. It was just like watching someone shoot a water pistol into a clown’s mouth at the carnival. Mark shot his load into the warm evening air and it arced through the twilight straight into Throsby’s gaping maw.”

“That’ll teach him for saying nasty things about you,” LuLu laughed.

“At first I felt sorry for him,” admitted Rosie. “But now I realise that his desire to be the centre of attention greatly outweighs any capacity he may have to feel humiliated.”

Rosie really has balls!!!!

“What happened to Mark?” asked LuLu.

“He was embarrassed that his peccadillo had been so publicly exposed,” she replied.

“His pecker?” LuLu queried.

“The fact that he was a bum slut,” Rosie explained.

“So it wasn’t a happy ending for him?”

“In the end it was. As is so often the way, embarrassment is but the rite of passage into an exciting new world. A significant number of the female guests at the party found themselves curiously aroused by what they had seen. As word spread, so did curiosity amongst the female student body about what it would be like to have a hunky guy bend over and take it from them. With a shortage of guys keen to take and a plethora of girls wanting to give, let’s just say that Mark’s “dance card” was full.”

“And so was his bum hole,” LuLu concluded the tale for her. “And now it’s my turn. Get your finger out. Give me a really big butt plug instead.”

Rosie likes a good yarn, especially if it is by Aussiescribbler

BillyRose and Eve : Tattooed Lesbian Wrestlers (An Aussiescribbler VidCapToon)

Time for another of my old VidCapToons from the Girls Out West website.

This time I've decided to change the formatting by separating the images and posting them down the page to make them easier to read. Let me know if you prefer them this way.

Flicks With Chicks : Pacific Banana (1981)

Alyson Best as Mandy

The Story

Martin Budd (Graeme Blundell) is a pilot for Blandings Airlines. After his employer's wife, Lady Blandings, tries to force herself on him, first during a private flight and secondly in her chauffeur-driven limousine, Martin develops a sexual disfunction. When attempting sex he sneezes and loses his erection. This is depicted by a shot of a windsock deflating. Sir Harry Blandings (Alan Hopgood) sees Martin fall out of the limo and sneeze, while a dishevelled Lady Blandings informs him she has been molested.

Blandings fires Martin, but not before showing him off to his daughter, Julia (Helen Hemingway), and explaining that this is what a sex maniac looks like. For Julia it is love at first sight. After his wife is gone, Harry explains that he knows what she is like and that he will send Martin to work as a pilot for Banana Airlines. On his way there he is picked up by a sexy woman who tries to seduce him. When he finds out that she is Blandings' other daughter Penny he sneezes and goes limp.

Banana Airlines seems to consist of only one plane, and a pretty clapped-out one at that. The other pilot is an inveterate lady's man by the name of Paul Davidson (Robin Stewart) who is engaged to both of the airline hostesses - Sally (Deborah Gray) and Mandy (Alyson Best), but still finds time to cheat on them with a string of other women.

Once Paul, Sally and Mandy find out about Martin's problem they try to help him with it. When the plane is chartered by Candy Bubbles (Luan Peters) to carry a bunch of swingers to Club Candy (her cut-price answer to Club Med), she and her club hostesses lend a hand.

Julia Blandings keeps stowing away aboard the plane and popping up to declare her undying love for Martin, which just panics him even more.

While jealous husbands and jealous hosties pursue Paul, Candy finally resorts to a primitive ritual which involves her baring her boobs and which is liable to arouse not just every man on the island, but the slumbering volcano as well.

But perhaps it is true love in the person of Julia which will, after all, provide the cure for what ails our hero.

The Director

John D. Lamond was once the king of Aussie skin flicks. He began in 1975 with a mondo style documentary called Australia After Dark. This was to be a look at the sinister and sleazy side of Australian life. The only problem was that in 1975 Lamond found it hard to find anything sinister or sleazy going on to film, so he had to create his own black mass and kinky orgy, the latter scene featuring a well-known gay television personality sporting leather gear. Next came The ABC of Love and Sex : Australia Style (1978) - a softcore sex film posing as as a sex education documentary and featuring women in leotards fondling giant penis statues. Also in 1978, Lamond made his most popular film Felicity, an Emmanuelle imitation about a plucky school girl who travels to Hong Kong and finds herself on a journey of sexual discovery. After that he turned to the popular slasher film genre with Nightmares (1980). Pacific Banana appears to have been Lamond's last real success. He directed a couple more films in Australia - Breakfast in Paris (1982) and A Slice of Life (1983), a comedy about vasectomy, and he wrote and produced a science fiction adventure called Sky Pirates (1986). Since then he's made a couple of obscure thrillers shot in Asia. But his appearance in Mark Hartley's documentary Not Quite Hollywood (2008) and the DVD releases of a number of his films has brought him back into the public eye, and now he is planning to direct two new movies - a noirish thriller and a dramady as well as executive produce some others. Check out this article for more on these current projects.

The Writer

Alan Hopgood is a writer and an actor. In Pacific Banana he plays the role of Sir Harry Blandings. He wrote the script for the famous Australian sex comedy Alvin Purple (1973) which made a star of actor Graeme Blundell. He also wrote its sequel and the television series which followed. He has written for famous television soaps such as Bellbird (1967), The Flying Doctors (1987-1991) and Neighbours (1998-2001). As an actor he has been a regular on Australian television. He played the part of Wally Wallace in 75 episodes of Prisoner. Films in which he as acted include My Brilliant Career (1979), The  Blue Lagoon (1980) and Roadgames (1981). Clearly Lamond thought that, by reuniting Hopgood and Blundell, he might end up with a hit like Alvin Purple. Certainly he and Hopgood were hoping it would be the first of a series. It didn't turn out that way. Hopgood was disappointed with the way Lamond cheapened his script, adding a pie fight sequence, etc. He feels that it was the director's fault that they didn't end up with a successful series of films.

The Actors

Graeme Blundell became a household name in Australia playing the role of Alvin Purple in the film of the same name. This tale of an ordinary guy who is unaccountably irresistible to women was a huge success, taking advantage of the recently created R-rating and paving the way for a string of raunchy romps like Pacific Banana. He has had an extensive career in film and television and even appeared in Star Wars : Episode III - Revenge of the Sith (2005). He has also worked extensively in the theatre and was the author of a best-selling biography of Australian television personality Graham Kennedy.

Robin Stewart is an English actor perhaps best known for his role as Mike Abbott in the sitcom Bless This House (1971-1976) starring Sid James and as Leyland Van Helsing in the Hammer Films / Shaw Brothers collaboration The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974).

Deborah Gray adorned the cover of Australian Playboy in March 1981 as well as appearing in three other issues of the magazine. She became famous in 1977 playing the character of Miss Hemingway on the notorious Australian soap Number 96. Miss Hemingway was a serial exhibitionist who would appear in public in a long fur coat only to drop it and reveal that she was completely naked underneath. Her public exposures and trips to the psychiatrist in hopes of finding a cure for her behaviour were  a highlight of the show towards the end of its run. As well as playing the role of Sally, she and Luan Peters co-wrote and sang the film's catchy theme song. She went on to have a pop music career in the late seventies. Now she writes witchcraft books and has put out a jazz album.

Alyson Best appeared on a number of television soap operas, including having a main role in the short-lived Holiday Island (1981) of which her bikini-clad form was the major appeal. She also appeared a number of movies, including Harlequin (1980), with Robert Powell and David Hemmings, and Paul Cox's brilliant Man of Flowers (1983). She had a very appealing girl-next-door quality and often got her gear off on film. John Lamond claims she walked around nude for much of the time they were filming Pacific Banana. She hasn't acted on television or film since 1986.

Helen Hemingway was born in 1953. This would mean she was 28 when she played the role of Julia Blandings, running around in a school uniform. So the voice over narration which describes her as "mutton dressed up as lamb" is accurate. Her acting career was a fairly modest one. She appeared in three television series and two movies. The other movie was the cult horror film Patrick (1978). A pity. After seeing her sexy and charming performance in this film I would have liked to see more of her.

Luan Peters did a lot of television in Britain including two appearances on Doctor Who. She also appeared in two Hammer vampire films - Lust for a Vampire (1971) and Twins of Evil (1971).

Hedley Cullen who has a brief non-speaking role as an airline passenger who leeringly looks up Deborah Gray's skirt was better known as Adelaide television horror host Deadly Earnest.

The Review

John Lamond's movies are not what you would call high-class cinema, but unlike many other auteurs who chased the drive-in dollar he kept the production values high on his movies. They might be dumb exploitation movies, but they always looked good. And Pacific Banana is no exception. The girls are gorgeous and artfully photographed. The scenery often spectacular. And the acting is good enough for the requirements of the script. Graeme Blundell, in particular, has always been a fine comic actor. The gags in the film, and especially the campy narration, are more likely to induce groans than giggles, but it really doesn't matter. The characters are likeable, the actors and actresses good looking, and watching them fly around a number of Pacific islands having sexy adventures is a pleasant way to spend an hour and a half.

The Book

There was a tie-in paperback based on the film written by someone with the unlikely name of Aldor Flagg. It isn't very good. The plot differs in some areas from the movie, but it really has nothing to offer as the film's appeal is in its visuals and not in its plot or dialogue.

Sheepish Shakira : An Aussiescribbler VidCapToon

Here is another of the comic strips I created from caps of a video on the Girls Out West site.

Romance Language : Wank Wednesday

In the beginning was the Word, and the word was #word.  That's right, today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is, in fact, #word. It comes from Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Go there to find out more about this writing challenge and to find links to other participant's stories.

Romance Language : Wank Wednesday

You may know her as Celeste Harrington, author of Rodeo Romeo, Infidelity in Istanbul and Passion in Paraguay. I know that her real name is Ida Scraggs and she's lived all of her forty-two years in Melbourne. She's my ex-wife.

We lived together for twelve years. We were good together too, but when she caught me with another woman it ended. I didn't blame her. Everyone has to chose what they want in life, and what she wanted was no longer me.

I moved to the U.S. and started up a men's magazine. That was ten years ago. It wasn't the right time for it. The internet had already eaten up most of the wank mag business. So I went bust. Ended up scraping a meagre existence writing porn paperbacks for Viscount Press. They'd been around since the fifties. Now they were releasing their range in ebooks as well as print so they were managing to stay afloat. There wasn't much money in it, but it paid for my burgers and beer.

Then my dad died and left me $5,000. I was homesick for Melbourne, so I decided to use the money to return there and look for a place to live. I could write smut anywhere. It might as well be somewhere I could get a decent beer.

At first I was hesitant about contacting Celeste. But she wasn't one to hold a grudge. It wasn't anything personal anymore. I'm sure she had someone new and my misdeeds of the past would be the least of her concerns. And she was the only person I could think of who might put me up while I looked for a flat.

I emailed her. She was happy to catch up. I was right and wrong about her having someone new. She'd had plenty of guys, but at the moment she was on her own.

She met me at the airport. To me it didn't seem like she had changed at all. She was wearing a light floral summer dress. Her brown hair was kind of a mess, pulled back behind her head but with strands hanging down the sides. I suppose there was a tinge of grey to it now, and maybe deeper laugh lines around her eyes, but I still wouldn't have kicked her out of bed for farting even after all these years.

"God," she said. "You look terrible. You obviously haven't been eating properly."

"You wouldn't know a real man if you tripped over him," I replied. "You live in romance land, populated by blokes in whose ripped muscular bodies beat hearts as soft as poofters."

"I don't know how a lady of my refinement ever ended up marrying such a Neanderthal," she scowled.

"I bet you haven't had a decent root since I left," I smiled.

"I never found out what a decent one was until I dumped you," she responded.

"So seriously, how is the old romance lark?" I asked her once we had got to her house and stowed my luggage in the guest bedroom.

"I'm doing well enough," she told me. "It's hard work though. No matter how good the writing is, you really need the quantity to make a living at it. What about you? What are you up to these days?"

"Thinking about getting into a new line of work," I admitted. "I've been writing porno novels. There's very little money in it. And hardly anyone is buying the stuff I write. The readers are just so jaded and only the kinkiest and sickest books sell. Nobody wants good clean wholesome smut anymore. I mean look at some of the other titles that Viscount are publishing," I said, calling up a list on the computer. "Tamed by the Torturer, Incest and Peppermints, Loving Lassie..."

"'Loving Lassie'?" she queried. "That sounds like a Scottish period romance."

I showed her the cover.

"Oh..." she said, looking a little pale.

"There must be something else I can write," I sighed.

One thing I'd always loved about Celeste was her cooking. That evening she made lasagne.

As she was preparing the ingredients, with an red and white checkered apron over her dress, I came up behind her and began fondling her buttocks. They were incredibly soft, but still shapely.

"Why don't I sleep in your bed tonight," I suggested. "We could both do with a bit of a clean out of the old pipes."

"You've really lost none of your debonair charm, have you?" she laughed, pushing my hands away.

I wasn't able to persuade her, so that night I slept in the guest bedroom.

"Why don't you try writing romance?" she asked the next morning at breakfast. She was sitting there drinking her coffee in a baggy pink tracksuit which had seen better days.

"You really think I could write that kind of stuff?" I queried.

"Well, it ends up with sex scenes," she pointed out. "You just have to be more subtle and long-winded about how you get there. More time describing the sea and the sky and less time describing the body parts."

"I've never thought of myself as a romantic," I pointed out.

"It's not up to you to supply the romance," she explained. "That's for the reader. You only have to learn to provide a framework for them to hang their dreams on."

So I decided to give it a go. Celeste agreed that I could stay on for a bit while she attempted to show me the ropes.

"How's this?" I asked later that day, showing her what I had written :

The sheikh swept her up in his arms beneath the desert moon. He made her his own with a passionate kiss on the lips, much as he might brand one of his camels with a hot iron. Her tender heart twitched liked a newborn rabbit, as he bore her to his tent. As the wind whipped the sand into eddies around their fragile shelter, he lay her down upon a pile of silken cushions and, with great relish, unwrapped the sweet delights of her soft form. Then he proudly threw off his robes, grasped his jizz-filled fuck stick in his hand and shoved it up her twat. 


"It's starts well," Celeste conceded. "But, you see, it's all a matter of the words you use. What's happening is just the same. It's all about fucking, but you have to make it sound like it is something different from what you see the animals doing at the zoo."

Half an hour later I showed her something new :

There in the woods, with the glittering gowns and whirling waltzes of the Grand Ball still swirling in our heads, we embraced with a heated passion that burned like the furnaces in the dark satanic mills. We transported each other to a rare etherial realm where fairy folk serenaded us on the pan pipes as we lost our raiments and our inhibitions. Our love was like a mighty wave that reached a foaming crescendo as my body melded to hers. And, then, when our ecstasy could reach no higher peak I bathed her visage in the excess of my adoration.

"What does that last bit even fucking mean?" asked Celeste.

"I came in her face," I said.

"Maybe I'm wrong," she sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe you really don't have it in you."

"Don't you ever want the real thing?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" she wanted to know.

"Well, you write about people making passionate love in glamorous places, but here you sit in a suburban home in Melbourne in a pair of trackie dacks that would give Casanova a soft-on," I explained.

"Sure, I'd love to sip champagne in Paris in a Yves St. Laurent dress while an Archduke kisses my hand," she admitted. "But it just isn't going to happen."

"But that isn't what romance is really all about," I told her. "It isn't about places or clothes or even good looks. It's about how you can make a person feel. Smile in the right way, open your heart to the one in your arms, show them that you treasure them for all that they are, and you can make them feel like a million dollars. You used to be able to do that to me. The last few years I've felt like a piece of shit, because that is all anyone took me for. But when I saw you there at the airport, I remembered that with you it was different."

"But I wasn't enough for you, was I?" she asked.

"No, you weren't," I admitted. "And I'm sure I wasn't enough for you. But romance is not about sufficiency, it's about electricity. And you can't keep lightning in a bottle."

"If you're a genius at anything," she said, "it's making excuses. But you're right. Having you around has put a spark back in my life too. I can laugh with you. And I can be myself. That counts for a lot, and I don't intend to take it for granted."

"He enveloped her in his manly arms," I began, fitting actions to words. "And pressed the hardness of his lips against the softness of hers."

Her mouth opened and I felt her tongue slide into my own.

"You're tracksuit may be of the finest silk, milady," I told her, "but it is no match for the silkiness of your pure white skin."

I unzipped her tracksuit top and pulled it off of her shoulders. Then I crouched in front of her and yanked  down the bottoms. She was wearing a sensible support bra and white cottontails.

"I, also, will divest myself of my vestments," I declared. "If we are bound for paradise then let us be clad as Adam and Eve before us."

I tore my t-shirt over my head, pulled off my shoes and socks, unzipped my jeans and pulled them down. I stood in just my underpants.

"My love for sweet Celeste grows inside my codpiece like a mighty oak," I soliloquized.

"You might be overselling it a bit there," she told me.

"Romantic hyperbole, my dear," I assured her. "Nothing more."

Then I slid off my last garment and twisted my hips so that my stiff cock swung proudly before her.

"I must feast my eyes upon my fair lady's bosom," I declared, "and upon the juicy cunt that soaketh through her panties."

"It's not exactly 'You had me at hello'," she laughed. "But I'll give you points for trying."

I unclipped her bra and set her soft pale boobs free to swing above her belly. Then I pulled down her panties and slapped her playfully on the bum.

"Let us away to the fuck chamber!" I cried, picking her up in my arms and carrying her to her bed.

I pulled her tight in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist and my cock slid happily home into her warm wet pussy.

"You're my home, you know that, don't you?" I told her. "In your arms, and in your pussy, is the only place in this whole crazy fucked-up world where anything makes any sense."

"I know," she said, "I can tell. And I'd rather be here with you than with some hunky cowboy in Texas or some oil sheik in Bahrain."

And so, as the sun sank slowly over the western suburbs of Melbourne, glinting off of the chrome bumpers of half-dismantelled Holden cars in many a back yard, and as the blow-flys floated over the piles of canine excrement set like jewels in the green cloak of the kikuyu grass, Celeste and I drifted off into an erotic wonderland of pussy-twitching and jism-spurting exultation, and all was right with the world.

The End

Meet Fabulous Faith (An Aussiescribbler VidCapToon)

For a while back in 2006/2007 I was doing Picture of the Day postings for Girls Out West, a top-quality female-run Aussie porn site. When promoting a video, I got sick of simply doing a single vidcap and, instead, started making up image mosaics. When that got dull I started to turn them into cartoon strips with captions and even, sometimes, voice bubbles. I've posted a few of these on Tumblr where they seem to have been popular. I was reluctant to post them here simply because some of the images are a little more explicit than those in the pictures I use to illustrate my stories. But, what the hell, they are still not as graphic as what is described in the stories. Let me know if you like the idea and I'll post more. You'll have to click on the image and see it at full size to be able to read it.

Pornetry

What is Pornetry? It is poetry which makes a pulse pound in your pussy or penis. And it is the subject of today's post.

Book Review

Living Libido Loco by Annie Player is a collection of 19 outrageously erotic poems. Often I'm impressed by a poet's creation of images and clever use of language, but it is only occasionally that I read a poem which makes me pop a boner. But Annie's poems slide so easily from the softly sensual and teasingly playful to the deliriously dirty that reading them is like being made love to, especially as she has a habit of addressing the reader directly. Now when she says something like "My lips sweep past your belly And curl over your dick," I'm not sure if it will have as much of an effect on a woman reader as a male reader, but, even when she writes about girl on girl action, I find the uninhibited sense of joy with which she celebrates the pleasures of the flesh intensely erotic. In fact, perhaps my favourite of all of the poems of hers which I've read is her Wank Wednesday contribution Default which is all girl on girl. In fact it is Annie on a hundred girls!

The book is divided into three sections : Sweetness, Choked and Food Play. Sweetness contains seductive descriptions of more conventional sexual encounters. Choked is a collection of very dark poems full of anger and blood. I wasn't as keen on these, but they are still a very exciting read because of the powerful imagery and emotional rawness. And the book is closed out with some of Annie's most deliciously playful poems all about smearing food all over one's lover and licking it off in Food Play.

Here is a sample from the Food Play section of the book :

The Circle of Love

The mess,

The stench

Wrenched deep up inside,

Drenched

Wench

Suggests it's dinner time;

Ravished,

You savagely

Chomp at my bit,

I love it,

You rub it

In disgust round my clit

And you lick

And you lap,

Your lips noisily smack

Together

You sever

The base and you hack

Through toppings

And pop in

Your tongue to lick out

The sauce

And enforce

My pussy to pout.

Annie also has a book out devoted to her darker poems called Gash. I'm looking forward to reading that, but I thought that Living Libido Loco being the more playful book would be the most appropriate to review here.

Whatever you do make sure to follow Annie on her blog where you will be able to read her latest ribald rhymes and keep up to all the other exciting things she is involved with.

A Poem

I should include something by myself here. While most of my erotic stories are very silly, for some reason, on the couple of occasions when I've tried writing a poem, I've been in serious mode. But, this is my blog, so I suppose I can post something which isn't funny if I want to.

Maxine writes erotic poetry and also posed for Girls Out West in 2006

Your Invisible Lover

I am with you when you masturbate

When your fingers tease your stiff nipples

They become my fingers

When your slick fingers slide over your stiff clit

That is the pre-cum-slippery head of my cock

The soft sheets of your bed that caress your back as you writhe

They are my arms and my hands sliding down your sweaty back to caress your bottom

I am your invisible lover

I am with you when you are naked

You are my stripper, my centrefold, my wank-fantasy

I love your body as it is

Your nude body is your gift of yourself to me

I will teach you to love every curve and crease

We will explore it together and learn the marvels of its ways

Feel my eyes caress your nudity, drinking in the pleasure of the real you

I am your invisible lover

I am with you in the bath

The warm embrace of the water against your skin

That is me holding you close

When you spread yourself wide with your soapy fingers

I am the warmth that flows into the depths of your sex

To ease away the pressures of a hard day, you tenderly caress yourself

But really it is me massaging the shampoo through your hair, stroking your slippery skin

I am your invisible lover

I am with you when you dress yourself

The softness of your panties as you draw them up your legs

Is the touch of my hands on your skin

As they encase the softness of your bottom and the warmth of your pussy

I feel the delights of your most intimate regions

All day long, it is not your bra but my hands that cup your breasts

The feel of your clothes against your skin as you go about your daily life is my caress

I am your invisible lover

I am closer to you than you are to yourself

There is nothing about you that I do not know

You can have no secrets from me

And yet you need none, for there is nothing about you that I do not love

I know the things you don't want anyone to know

But I also know many things about you that you do not know yourself

Beneath the humdrum struggle of your life, I see the fire that burns like the brightest star

I am your invisible lover

Blog Based Bards

Maxine likes to keep abreast of the erotic poetry scene

Here are some more purveyor's of poetic pleasure. I'm limiting myself to those whose blogs are mainly devoted to poetry. There are many others I know who write the occasional poem. I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. But, please, if you have any poetry on your blog or website, or you know someone else who does, please feel free to post a link in the comments.

Madame Sweetcheeks

Madame Sweetcheeks is a prolific creator of sweet, sassy, flirty poems. She knows how to put her readers in a naughty mood with saucy suggestions rather than all-out raunch.

Fridayam's Blog

Fridayam has two blogs. This is his poetry blog. Only a few of the poems are erotic ones, but in his other poems he expresses an original vision which is often very beautiful. For his exclusively erotic work, much of it prose, go to Fridayam's Erotica.

Pornetry

Pornetry creates poems entirely assembled from the subject lines of spam emails. William Burroughs would have been proud.

Getting more exposure for poets is what it is all about

Limericks

I love a funny dirty limerick. Often the ones that make me laugh the most involving guys doing rude things with animals, but I'll show unaccustomed good taste and post here some I've found on the net which are not quite that perverse :

There was an old man of Dundee

Who came home as drunk as could be.

He wound up the clock

With the end of his cock,

And buggered his wife with the key

There was a young girl named McCall

Whose cunt was exceedingly small,

But the size of her anus

Was something quite heinous -

It could hold seven pricks and one ball.

There once was a man from Australia

Who painted his ass like a dahlia

The color was fine

And the likeness, sublime

But the aroma, now that was a failure.

A much nicer ass than that of the man from Australia

There once was a hooker named Sue,

Who filled her vagina with glue

When they paid to get in,

She said with a grin,

You must pay to get out of it too!

For more try these links : Daily Dirty Limerick, More (Dirty) Limericks, Limericks, Limericks.

It's goodnight from me and it's goodnight from Maxine