Rules of the Island : A Sunday Snog

Victoria Blisse has created a new institution know as the Sunday Snog. You can find out more about it (and find links to other contributions) at her blog. Basically, the idea is to post a kissing extract from one of your stories (or perhaps write a new one for the occasion.) Mine comes from my unfinished novel Vanessa's Island. If you hunt around you can find more of it posted on this blog.


Rules of the Island

Vanessa started the water running in the bath, while I looked around her bedroom. She had a big, double bed in the middle with a large floral quilt thrown over it. I examined the titles on her small bookshelf. Literary classics, reference books, romances by herself and a few competitors, The Joy of Sex...I looked at the few photos of family, friends, herself as a child and at college.

Then a piece of paper on her bedside table caught my eye. It was some kind of hand-written notes.

“Oh, don’t look at that,” said Vanessa anxiously, as she came out of the bathroom. She tried to snatch it out of my hand but I hid it behind me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Oh, all right,” conceded Vanessa. “When I was thinking about asking you to move in, I started to think up some rules of the household. Then I got a bit carried away and dreamed that we would be establishing a new sexy utopia. So I came up with my Rules of the Island. It was just a bit of fun.”

“Let’s see,” I said, reading her notes: 

“’Rule 1: No clothing to be warn at any time, except sexy lingerie.’

“But I don’t look very good in lingerie,” I commented.

“That’s for me, silly,” she explained. “All the better to tease you with. Anyway, I like the slippery, silky feeling against my skin. But don’t worry, you can pull my panties down anytime you like.”

My prick, which had been only half-erect up until now, became rock-hard at this thought.

“Here ye, here ye, here ye,” proclaimed Vanessa in a deep voice, “all gentlemen present who wish to adopt motion one please raise your cocks.” Smiling down at my rampant stiffy, Vanessa’s voice changed back to normal. “Oh, goody! Motion carried unanimously.”

“Moving right along,” I continued.

“’Rule 2. All indoor bathing is to be communal, in the interested of water conservation.’

“I think we’ve already decided on that one,” I said. “Which reminds me, one of us had better turn that water off before it overflows.”

“Woops. Almost forgot,” cried Vanessa, her juicy bottom jiggling deliciously as she ran back into the bathroom. “Water’s ready,” she said, when she emerged. “Let’s read the rest in the tub. It doesn’t matter if the paper gets wet. I have it commited to memory.”

“I bet you do, you naughty girl,” I laughed, giving her a playful slap on the butt.

“You get in first,” she said, pouring in some aromatic bath oils.

I lowered myself slowly into the water, relishing the warm wetness as it engulfed me. A delicious languidness swept through my being.

“Come on in,” I said to Vanessa, “the water’s wonderful.”

She stept over the side of the bath and gently placed her right foot next to my left thigh. With her other foot positioned in a similar position on the other side, and her hands on the sides of the bath, she slowly lowered herself into the water. I loved the way her legs spread casually in front of me as she squatted down revealing her sweet pussy lips for a moment before they sank beneath the water. At last her soft bottom came to rest on my feet.

“Is that all right?” she asked. “My bum on your feet doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“No,” I said. “I love it, because I can do this.”

I pulled my right foot out from under her bum and used my big toe to tickle her pussy.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” she said. “Motion two was definitely a good idea.”

“Let’s have a look at Rule 3,” I suggested, reading from the piece of paper which I had propped up in the soap tray.

“’Rule 3: A daily tax is to be paid by the subjects of the island (David and Vanessa) to the rulers of the island (David and Vanessa) in the form of kisses, which can be deposited on any part of the body that either subject or ruler should request. Amount not to fall below 50 kisses per day. And no fair kissing yourself.’

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Let’s see how it works in practise. Loyal subject David requests to deliver his first payment to Queen Vanessa’s lovely bottom."

“You would ask for something difficult,” complained Queen Vanessa, as she stood up, giving me a scrumptious view of her wet nakedness. Turning around carefully, she bent down slightly. I knelt up, pushing my stiffness against the back of her leg, as I buried my face in the soft, milkiness of her left butt cheek and planted a kiss there.

“Now it’s your turn,” I said, as she lowered herself back into the water facing me.

“All right,” she said. “Loyal subject Vanessa requests to kiss King David on the lips.”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied.

“You don’t get a say in it,” Vanessa explained. “All requests, from subjects or royalty have to be obeyed regardless. We may have a king and queen, but this is a utopia, which means that everybody has the same rights. Now if I’m going to kiss you on the lips you are going to have to come closer.”

I slid my bum down the bath, pulling Vanessa towards me as I did so. This led to her sitting right in my lap, straddling my hard cock, with her soft, slippery, soapy boobs sliding all over my chest. For the first time, my cock slid deep into the warm wetness of her pussy, as her soft lips met mine. I was in heaven, but only for a moment.

“That was delicious,” said Vanessa as she slid back down the bath. “But there’s no room to fuck properly in a bath. That will have to wait. Now for royal decrees. Queen Vanessa requests that loyal subject David kiss her left nipple.”

I knelt up and placed my lips on Vanessa nipple. I sucked it gently between them and played with it with my tongue.

“Mmmm,” said Queen Vanessa, “I might just have to knight you for that one. Now it’s your turn.”

“Ummmm,” I said. “I don’t know what place to pick.”

“Where do you want it most, David?” asked Vanessa, with a smile. “I think you’re thinking of somewhere, but you’re embarrassed to say it. Now be honest. I’ll know if you’re not. What was the first thought that crossed your mind.”

“All right,” I said, resignedly. “King David requests that loyal subject Nessa kiss the end of his dick.”

“I knew it,” said Vanessa, “there’s no sense trying to hide anything from me. That was the first thing you thought about when you read rule 3 wasn’t it?”

“Well,” I pleaded, “a guy’s only human. And you really don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Vanessa, “I love kissing dicks. It’s only your lack of imagination I’m poking fun at. There’s loads of other lovely places to be kissed, too. Now we better stick him under the tap and wash the soap suds off, so I can kiss him properly.”

Once this had been done, I knelt up, while Vanessa, holding my prick loosely with her right hand, bent down and wrapped her tender lips around my glans, at the same time lapping the tip gently with her tongue.

“Oh, yeah,” I sighed.

“So I take it Motion 3 is carried,” Vanessa asked as we sat down again.

“Definitely,” I agreed.

Rude Health

Carolina from Girls Out West demonstrates some Pilates

"We can help you lose a few inches!" How often have we heard that? Almost as often as, "We can help you gain a few inches!"

Working out and getting fit is often presented as the way to make ourselves sexy. The only problem is that a lot of pain has to come before the gain. And there is something puritanistic about this mortification of the too too flabby flesh.

But perhaps the process might be sexy in itself. When Olivia Newton-John sang Let's Get Physical she was suggesting something more than what Richard Simmons has to offer. Gyms are places where men and women wear skimpy or tight-fitting clothing, moving their bodies around and sweating a lot. There can be something sexy in all this.

Then there is massage. Even when it isn't just a code word for the old rub and tug, it can still be a very sensual experience.

If you are attracted to your own sex, what better place than the communal showers at the gym to check them out?

And the supposed health benefits of nudism should not be forgotten. Lots and lots of Vitamin D from all that sun on skin exposure, plus endless games of volleyball.

Long before the establishment of Playboy in 1953, guys were jacking off to Health & Efficiency, the British nudist magazine founded in 1900. I'm not sure what the "Efficiency" bit refers to. Perhaps the fact that you can save so much time in the morning if you don't have to get dressed.

Television's Trinny and Susannah go nudist

Although getting fit is always on my "to do" list for tomorrow if not the day after, I have explored some of its sexy possibilities in a couple of my stories.

In Chapter Nine of my novel Vanessa's Island (soon to be available as an e-book), our would-be reclusive artist hero David reads aloud from a lesbian fantasy story written by his lover Vanessa :

At first it seemed a bit strange to be reading aloud a story written in the first person by a woman. But somehow, knowing that Vanessa had written the story, I found it a tremendous turn-on. It was as if I was not just possessing her body from the outside as I had already, but from the inside. When she played with her body or the bodies of other women in the story it was with my hands. When she saw them it was with my eyes.

"'I run a health club for women only'," I began. "'Alot of women would rather work-out away from the lustful eyes of men. What the women who frequent my establishment didn't know up until recently, is that they were still being lusted after as they worked out. Only by a woman. Me.

"'Oh, I've had boyfriends and lived a normal life. My passion for women was secret until recently, but it was the deciding factor in my career choice. The sight of women working out has always been a turn-on for me. Not that I like tight hardbodies, not at all. But most of the women who come to work out are not like that. They think they could afford to lose a few pounds. I like them just as they are. And in the showers I get to see every inch of them.

"'Of course, I used to have to be careful to make sure they didn't notice me looking at them. Now all that has changed. This is the story of how it happened.

"'It all began with Samantha. Samantha was five foot ten, a brunette, with the breasts and ass of a swimsuit model. Watching her work-out in her tightly stretched leotards got me so worked up that I often had to go and get changed in the middle of a session lest she or any of my other customers notice the wet patch forming in my crotch. They must have thought I suffered from some form of obssessive compulsive disorder, but it was better than letting them find out that I lusted after their bodies.

"'I remember the first day that Samantha joined our aerobics class. How my heart beat hard at the prospect of seeing her naked. I always showered with the clients. Under the shower no-one could tell how wet the sight of their naked bodies made me.

"'At last that first session ended and I followed Samantha into the shower room, my eyes rivetted to her gently rolling ass encased as it was in sweat-soaked lycra. Slowly she peeled of the lycra and I tried not to stare too obviously as her soft pale breasts with their small pink nipples sprang free. Then she pulled her leotard down further, having to wriggle to get it over the swelling, snow-white cheeks of her bottom.'

By this stage my stiff cock was crying out for some attention. I grabbed Vanessa's hand and pushed her soft palm against it.

"Hey," she cried, "there aren't any cocks in this story. This is girl's only."

"But I need it," I pleaded. "I need to use both hands to keep my place with the pages."

"Oh, all right," she agreed, slowly beginning to wank my stiff dick. "You can be hiding in the towel bin, sneaking peeks at us girlies in the shower and jerking yourself off. O.K. Just think how the towels that surround your naked, masturbating body were used to wipe off every part of our bodies, our boobs, our bottoms and particularly our sweet little pussies."

I couldn't hold out any longer. Pleasure coursed through my body as Vanessa's soft hand coaxed spurt after spurt of hot cum out of my cock. It splattered all over the front of her leotards.

"If you think I'm going to take off my leotards just because you've shot your load all over them, you've got another thing coming," Vanessa informed me with a pout. She wiped up some of my cum on her finger and then sucked on it playfully. "Now on with the story."

"'I could stand to loose a little bit off of my butt,' she laughed [that was Samantha, wasn't it], giving me an excuse to look.

"'Couldn't we all,' I replied, frustrated that I couldn't tell her what I really thought.

"'I quickly stripped off my own leotard and laid it down carefully in such a way that the sopping crotch was not visible. Then I joined the rest of the ladies in the shower. I was so tempted to take up a position next to Samantha, but I thought that if I did I might not be able to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her soft, wet, soapy skin.

The soapy bottom of Anna from Girls Out West

 "'One by one, the girls stepped out, dried themselves, got dressed and left. Samantha was one of the last to go. When I was alone, I did what I always did. I played with myself. I played back everything in my mind, especially Samantha stripping out of her sweaty leotard, while I slid two soapy fingers in and out of my juiced up pussy.

"'This routine continued for several weeks, until that fateful day when Samantha left her car keys in her locker.

"'On that day, as always, I stayed under the shower, after the others had gone, and imagined what I would like to do with Samantha. I imagined undressing her slowly from her sensible business suit, kissing her nipples, kissing her lips, the ones on her face and the ones between her legs. I imagined her in her leotards. How they stretched across that luscious ass.

"'As I fantasized I let my hands wander sensuously and soapily across my body. The fingers of one hand gently tweaked my hard nipples, while my other hand slid slowly down over my stomach and through my pubes into my waiting pussy. I slid one finger in on either side of my sensitive clit. I love that sensation. My fingers glided across my stiffening clit, while also giving me that satisfying sensation of being filled. Only it wasn't some guy's cock filling me, but Samantha's long and versatile tongue.

"'I felt that delicious warmth glowing in my belly as I slowly sank to my knees, feeling the spray of the shower carressing every inch of my skin. I had been dying to do this all the time I had been watching Samantha and the other girls work-out. I loved playing with myself. But if only I could play with them. Give them the pleasure I was giving myself.

"'"For this next exercise," I said, speaking aloud in the heat of my fantasy, "I want you all to strip naked for me, so that I can lick out your pussies one by one. You first, Samantha."

"'My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when Samantha's voice answered me casually.

"'"Sounds good to me," she said, and I looked up to see that she was standing there in her grey business suit watching me blatantly finger-fuck myself.'"

And in How Meggie Made Me Hard (one of the 13 stories contained in my e-book Inappropriate Behavior and Other Stories), Meggie decides to take on the role of personal trainer to an out of condition delivery man, but her motives are decidedly self-indulgent :

I was a bit of a slob until Meggie took me in hand. Took me in hand. There I go again, whenever I think about Meggie my mind turns to sex.

It all started when I delivered her exercise equipment. When I pushed the buzzer on the door it was answered by an attractive woman in her late 40’s with curly reddish brown hair and a sweet slightly shy smile. She was wearing a light blue summer dress.

“Bring it all in,” she said, seeing the truck and realising that her equipment had arrived. “I’ll show you where to put it.

Normally I get the smaller things to deliver as I’m not very fit. As I carried Meggie’s walking machine through the door I panted and wheezed.

“I can see you don’t keep yourself in shape,” Meggie commented patting me on my beer belly as I went past. I thought it was rather forward of her.

I brought in the excercise bike and the ab-roller, then I was finished.

It was a hot day and I was tired and sweaty. Meggie offered me a cold drink. I accepted.

“Pew! You stink,” she said, proving once more that tactfulness was not her stong suit. “You’d better have a shower before you go.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked. “I could do with freshening up a little.”

“Go ahead,” she replied, “the bathroom is that way.”

Once I got to the bathroom, I shut the door and stripped off my sweaty t-shirt. I unzipped my jeans and pulled them off. When I was naked I turned on the shower and stepped in. Because it was such a hot day I left the water on lukewarm.

I was just enjoying the feel of the refreshing water running over my body and beginning to apply soap to me face, when the door opened. Quickly, I rinsed the soap off of my face. I mustn’t have been too thorough because my eyes stung as I opened them just in time to see Meggie opening the shower door.

“What do you think you are doing?” I asked. “Can’t a guy have a bit of privacy?”

Meggie smiled so sweetly that I couldn’t help but forgive her instantly. “I just wanted to see if you were really as out of shape as you looked with your clothes on,” she explained.

She reached out her right hand and brought it up against my belly, just inches above the spot where my hands were clasped protectively over my cock.

“You could stand to lose a bit of that,” she said.

“I know, I know,” I replied. “Now let me shower in peace.”

“You don’t have to be so shy,” Meggie chided me, pushing my hands gently away from my prick. “If I let you use my shower, the least you could do is give me a look at your cock. I like looking at guys’ cocks. Mmmmm, I don’t think you really mind me looking, otherwise it wouldn’t be swelling up like that.”

She was right. I loved the idea of having a sexy woman like herself looking at my nude body with undisguised lust. I had only tried to hide my cock in the first place because it seemed the polite thing to do. How was I to know that politeness was not high on Meggie’s list of priorities.

“I could really do something with that body of yours,” Meggie mused, deep in thought. “Oh, wow! Look how your cock jumped when I said that. You thought I meant sex, didn’t you? No, I mean if you let me be your personal trainer I could really whip you into shape. If you got yourself into shape, then a little sex might not be out of the question.”

In my mind I imagined taking Meggie right away, right there, just lifting up her dress, pulling down her panties and slipping my prick into her sweet pussy.

“Oh, dear, now I’ve really made your cock go stiff,” she said, teasingly. “I think you’d better pull yourself off. Then you’ll feel much more relaxed.”

“What, with you standing there watching?” I asked, in disbelief.

“I can tell you don’t mind the idea,” replied Meggie with a smile.  “If your dick gets any harder it’s going to burst. Come on let’s see how a naughty boy likes to stroke his stiff dick in the shower.”

That was it. There was no point resisting. I grabbed my rock-hard prick in my soapy right-hand and began to wank myself off. My soapy hand slid up and down my cock as I watched Meggie watching me. There was a twinkle in those sexy brown eyes of hers as she watched me masturbate.

“Feel good, honey?” she asked looking me in the eyes briefly before returning her attention to my slippery stiff cock.

“You bet,” I sighed.

“Would it give you a bit of inspiration if I let you see how wet my panties are getting?” she asked, lifting her skirt and leaning back with her legs spread so that I could see the spreading patch of wetness on her pale pink knickers. She gently teased the area through the wet material with the tip of the index finger of her right hand.”

To feel my hot, hard cock in my hand, and to know that the sight of it was making her drip pussy juice into her fresh clean panties, sent me over the edge. My cock jerked in my hand and spurted a shower of hot cum across the bathroom floor.

“Yeah!” cried Meggie, dropping her skirt and clapping her hands.

*    *    *

“Now these are the rules,” said Meggie, “if you want me to be your personal trainer.

“’1. You have to come over at 7.00 ever night and stay until 10.00.

“’2. You have to do anything that I tell you to without question.

“’3. As soon as you arrive you have to take off all of your clothes and remain completely naked  until it is time for you to go. (This has nothing to do with the effectiveness of the workout, you understand. It’s just my reward for helping you.)

“’4. You are not allowed to touch me in any way. That is your reward when you have achieved our goal.

“Sound O.K.?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” I said. “How will you be dressed?”

“I’ll start off the way I am, but if you do well, I’ll gradually wear less, is that a deal?” she asked. “I reckon you need to lose about ten inches from around that waist of yours. Let’s say that by the time you have lost two inches, I’ll be totally nude. Then while you lose those last eight inches you will have a bare-bottomed, hairy-pussied, bouncing-boobed totally naked trainer giving you the encouragement you need. But still no touching until you lose those other eight inches.”

“Oh, God,” I sighed, rubbing the crotch of my jeans, where my cock was once more making his presence felt.

“Don’t worry,” Meggie assured me, “you  can have as many masturbation breaks as you want. And if I’m feeling really horny I might just join in.”

Check out Inappropriate Behavior for the rest of the story.

Book Review

Confessions from a Health Farm by Timothy Lea

Back in my very first post on this blog I briefly discussed the Confessions series of books and films. These were an institution in Britain (as well as Australia) back in the Seventies.

Author Christopher Wood, who would later write the screenplays (and novelizations) for two James Bond films - The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker, wrote a novel called Confessions of a Window Cleaner in 1971. The hero, a loveable rogue and bungler by the name of Timothy Lea, related his picaresque adventures in the window cleaning trade in the first person, and Wood hid his identity behind that of his fictional hero by giving Lea the author credit. Many more books were to follow in which Timmy took on jobs ranging from travelling salesman to private soldier to icecream man. He even spent time in jail and as a member of a committee investigating the pornography trade in Confessions from the Clink. Whatever occupation he was pursuing it would always lead to a multitude of sexual encounters, many of them ending disastrously with angry husbands chasing him down the street in the nude or sexually aggressive women ganging up on him and fucking him within an inch of his life.

In 1974 Confessions of a Window Cleaner was made into a movie starring Robin Askwith as Timmy Lea. It was the top-grossing British film of the year and spawned three sequels, based loosely on other books in the series.

The appeal of these books is perhaps limited by two factors which, I'm sure, endear them to fans. Lea uses loads of colloquial expressions, some presumably of his own invention, others traditional Cockney rhyming slang, to tell his story. To those who are used to these kinds of expressions, e.g. a beak is a judge, a Hampton (i.e. Hampton Wick, i.e. dick) is a penis, etc., this adds to the amusement, but others may feel that they are reading something approaching Clockwork Orange when it comes to mysterious forms of expression. There is, however, something amusing about a book in which the hero plunges his "action man kit" into a girl's "spasm chasm". The other aspect which might alienate some modern readers is the political incorrectness of Lea's world view. One can look on it as a satire of that world view a la 'Til Death Us Do Part or All in the Family, but there are no doubt some who will fail to warm to a character who refers to women as "bints" and black women as "jungle bunnies" and says that the subservience of Japanese women is almost appealing enough to make up for the buck teeth one would no doubt have if Japanese. (And in the distaff Confessions series which Wood wrote under the pseudonym of Rosie Dixon most the humour revolves around farcical ways for Rosie to get raped or molested.) For some of us, however, this kind of bad taste has its own appeal, and the fact that Timmy usually ends up being the butt of the joke keeps it from being mean-spirited.

While these novels are no great works of literature, and are seriously dated by all sorts of 1970s cultural and political references, when it comes to creating hilariously farcical situations, Wood sometimes recalls even such masters of the form as P.G. Wodehouse and Tom Sharpe. Only sometimes mind you. There are also lots of cheap gags and run-of-the-mill bedroom capers. But the books are always a quick fun read.

Confessions from a Health Farm (1974) was the tenth in the series. As with all the other books it begins with a scheme cooked up by Timmy's brother-in-law Sid. Having recently had a lucky escape from managing one of the world's worst rock bands (Confessions from the Pop Scene), he has now decided to start up a health farm. A certain massage therapist by the name of Wanda Zonker has incriminating photos of Lord Baulkit, thus allowing her to persuade him to let her convert his country seat Long Hall into Beauty Manor, a luxurious health farm. The manor is full of secret passageways and spy holes. The horny Lady Baulkit shows Timmy around and also shows him a good time. Then Sid tries to prove that he is fitter than Timmy by challenging him to a pentathlon on Clapham Common during which both cheat shamelessly and also get in trouble with the police. Timmy has to go undercover at Bosky Dell Health Clinic to see how these organisations are run. There he has an erotic encounter with the insatiable Mrs. Chalfont and is so hungry due to the minimal diet that he is reduced to eating dog food. When he gets back to Beauty Manor he finds himself at the centre of various anarchic adventures involving sex in the sauna, overly-energetic Japanese nude masseuses and a mud-machine full of horse manure that breaks loose and runs rampant through the establishment. And everything comes to climax with a visit by Omar Gord and his fellow oil sheiks.

This is neither the best nor the worst of the series. But it is a fun romp. If it has any particular weakness it is that Wood seems to have decided to really run the rhyming slang into the ground. I love this stuff, but a sentence like "She has a large Mahatma Gandhi to pull herself together and though I fancy a pint of apple fritter I have to settle for Gunga Din because there is not an Aristotle of pig's ear in the Mickey Mouse" is too much even for me!

Ain't That the Dickens!

There is a cool little gadget on the net that can analyse your writing and tell you which famous author you write like.

I first tried it out with my story Nicky the Naughty Nurse and it told me that I write like Charles Dickens.

I then tried it out with some of my other works, including non-fiction and poetry as well as stories. It turns out I write like a lot of different authors. The author to come up most often was Anne Rice, with Cory Doctorow a close second. And I've never even heard of him. And it says that I wrote The Awful Truth in the style of Stephenie Meyer, and that is pretty awful, and I hope not the truth.

I was particularly pleased that my (soon to be published as an ebook) story Transylvanian Roulette came up as being written in the style of Bram Stoker, as that was exactly what I was aiming for.

How accurate this gadget is I don't know. I tested it by putting in three lines of the word "fuck" and it said I write like William Gibson. I'm not into cyber-punk. I've never read any William Gibson. Maybe he does write like that.

But to celebrate the apparent fact that I sometimes write like Charles Dickens, here is some Dickens fun.

My Favourite Dickens Quote

“No public business of any kind could possibly be done at any time without the acquiescence of the Circumlocution Office. Its finger was in the largest public pie, and in the smallest public tart.” Little Dorritt

My Favourite Dickens Joke

Paraphrased from the British comedy/variety show The Two Ronnies :

This evening we will be talking to a member of the Nude Dickens' Appreciation Society about his experiences at their recent weekend get-together. He had great expectations, but unfortunately it was a very bleak house and everybody laughed at his Little Dorritt.

My Favourite Dickens-Based Porno Movie

The Passions of Carol (1975) is a very strange variation on the story of A Christmas Carol. Carol Screwge is the bitchy editor of a women's magazine who is visited by various spirits during the evening before Christmas to teach her about the consequences of exploiting people. The late Jamie Gillis played Bob Hatchet. It was directed by Shaun Costello, most famous for directing such porno nasties as Forced Entry (1973) and Water Power (1977). For more on this film check out Gore Gore Girl's insightful review.

Dickens-Themed Erotica

In my first The Bounty of Boobs posting I mentioned Aisling Morgan's novel Devon Cream. She has also written a novel inspired by the work of Charles Dickens - The Old Perversity Shop (2006).

The Amazon blurb describes it thus :

Nellie Trent flees to Plymouth from the villainous debt collector, Daniel Quilty, where she tries to find a new life as a respectable shop keeper. Hampered by her abundant charms and easy virtue, she and her business slide into trouble until local squire and debaucher, John Truscott comes to her rescue. And makes an unusual suggestion – to use their store to sell specialist items for the adult trade. Soon elevated to the status of a wealthy, if not respectable, citizen, Quilty returns, bent on evil, to fight a climactic duel with Truscott.

Now that I've been told I write like him, maybe it is time I tried my hand at a Dickens parody. David Cop-A-Feel anyone?


Nicky the Naughty Nurse & Lusting While Dusting

I write like
Charles Dickens

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Brandy at the Lake & The Libertine : A Pirate Tale & Tired Girl & Bolt

I write like
Anne Rice

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Anita's Birthday Party & Inappropriate Behaviour

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

My Flatmate

I write like
J. D. Salinger

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Vanessa's Island & Beach Blanket Ricquie & Ever Been Grabbed by the Personals

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Transylvanian Roulette

I write like
Bram Stoker

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Anita the Collector

I write like
Vladimir Nabokov

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

The Awful Truth

I write like
Stephenie Meyer

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Glad 'e Ate 'er

I write like
Kurt Vonnegut

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Wind

I write like
William Shakespeare

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

King of the Crotch Operas - David F. Friedman RIP (1923-2011)

I write like
H. P. Lovecraft

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Jeepers Creepers, Get A Load of These Peepers!

We get the term Peeping Tom from a certain tailor who defied Lady Godiva's request that nobody observe her naked ride through Coventry. For drilling a hole and peeking at her nakedness he was supposedly struck blind.

But before and since many a desperate individual peeked in a window hoping to catch a glimpse of a bit of nudity or sexual activity. Generally they were not struck blind, but some, no doubt, were arrested.

Today, television and the internet not only make it possible for us to be voyeurs without paying such a price but, in the case of shows like Big Brother, we might feel positively anti-social if we don't join in on the peeping.

There are many websites where individuals provide spy cams in various parts of their house. Viewing these gives one a newfound respect for more traditional peepers. You can sit there for hours watching an empty room, or somebody sleeping, or, if you are really lucky, checking their emails while fully clothed. In these days when Michael Bay movies and video games have infected us all with Attention Deficit Disorder, the Peeping Tom still retains the virtue of patience, able to stay crouched in an uncomfortable position for hours on the slight hope of catching a glimpse of a bare butt.

In public we all put on something of a false front. The creep peeping into your bedroom window, however, wants to see the real you, he (or she) will not be satisfied with the PG version. The peeper is a perfect model of tolerance and open-mindnesses. Don't trouble yourself about the possibility that your nudity or your behaviour might offend.

So here is my celebration of peepers, in stories, pictures and films. Expect reviews of peeper-related movies to follow.

Peeping Tam by Evangeline Love

Peeping Tam is a free ebook available from Smashwords. Natalie is bored with her latest boyfriend Greg. Little does she know that her neighbour Tam has a crush on her. Or that Tam's bedroom window looks into her own. Tam knows it is wrong to watch Natalie fucking, but she can't help herself. This is a fun little story with a very sexy payoff. I look forward to reading more from Evangeline Love.

Baxter! (1973) (dir. Lionel Jeffries) is a movie which had a big impact on me when I was young. It tells the story of a young American boy with a speech defect. Roger Baxter (Scott Jacoby) can't say his R's. So when he says his own name it comes out as "Woger". He has just moved to England with his mother, who has little time for him. So he makes friends with his neighbours, Roger (Jean-Pierre Cassel) and Chris (Britt Ekland), and a girl who lives across from him, Nemo Newman (Sally Thomsett, who went on to fame as the blonde in Man About the House). A speech therapist, Dr. Roberta Clemm (Patricial Neal) helps Roger with his speech problems and ends up going beyond the call of duty when he suffers a nervous breakdown. It's a film which captures the joy as well as the sadness of life during adolescence, and really deserves to be released on DVD. This video shows one of my favourite scenes in the film in which Roger gets peeked at.

Vanessa's Island

Vanessa's Island is my major work, a novel, almost completed, most of which I wrote back in the 90s. I'm planning to publish it as an ebook sometime later this year. In the meantime, here is a peeking-related extract.

It was no good. I just couldn't get her out of my mind.

I was back on the other side of the island where I lived in a small cottage over-looking the beach. I had my easel set up on a slight rise that gave me a perfect view of the sea and the beach and the rich green vegetation that covered the island from the edge of the beach to its central rocky outcrop which rose to about 20 metres above sea-level behind me.

I was trying to paint, but it was no use. The large rocks that gave the beach its character, round and smooth from thousands of years of tidal erosion, became soft round buttocks. The clouds that hung in a deep blue sky became milky white breasts. And the bushes became...well, bushes.

Could an alcoholic concentrate on his work if he knew that there was an ice cold beer in the lunchroom refrigerator? I rest my case.

There was nothing for it but to pay Vanessa a visit. Maybe if I saw enough of her I would get bored and be able to return to my work. Desensitisation therapy I think they call it.

Now if you really think I believed this crap that I was telling myself then you're a bigger fool than I think you thought that I thought that I was. I think.

No, visiting Vanessa was not going to return my shattered peace of mind, but it would probably give me a hard-on and I was willing to accept that as second best.

The island was not a large one, so it only took about 20 minutes of trudging through the hot, white sand to reach Vanessa's place.

From the beach a cobblestone path curved up through an unkempt cactus garden to Vanessa's front yard. As I got close to her house I heard the sound of softly splashing water and realised that she had turned the fountain back on. This fountain, which had been silent since Old Man Ramsey had become too infirm to visit his island retreat, was in the form of a statue which seemed to depict a naked woman holding a vomiting fish.

As I approached the front door I noticed that the curtains on the front windows were not drawn, so I decided to have a peek.

All right, I know, I was being a peeping Tom, invading Vanessa's privacy. But hadn't she invaded my island? All's fair in love and war, they say. Which one Vanessa and I would end up engaging in I was none too sure of at the moment, but it had to be one or the other.

So I crept over to the window on my left, very aware of the fact that, when it is easy to see in, it is also easy to see out. No luck there, just the kitchen/dining area. Moving stealthily to the other window, however, I found that I was in luck.

This appeared to be a lounge room, but Vanessa had set it up as a room to do her writing. And there she was sitting at her computer, her back, thankfully, towards me.

What I found hard to believe was how she was dressed. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Before I noticed what she was wearing, I notice the fact that her glorious bottom was totally bare.

She was sitting on a backless stool, over which she had draped a fluffy white bath towel. Her arse was even better than I thought it would be. So soft, so pink and with a light dusting of freckles over the top of her hips. I had to suck in my stomach to give my cock room to stretch himself. It was all I could do to resist the temptation to pull down my shorts and jack-off on the spot. But I realised that if Vanessa turned around she would see me.

It was now that I noticed what Vanessa was wearing. Above she wore a pink lace-up, Victorian-style bodice. The laces were threaded but not pulled tight, something which I imagine would have been impossible for one person on their own. Below this she was wearing a white garter-belt and white stockings.

This seemed a strange way for a woman to dress when she was on her own. For a moment I felt a jealous twinge as I wondered if she had brought a visitor to the island. But there was no sign of anyone else.

As I stood there staring at her lovely bottom and listening to the tapping of the keys of her computer, I noticed that occasionally she would stop typing and move her right hand down to her lap. Maybe she has to rest it occasionally so as not to get RSI, I thought. Surely she doesn't have to rest it that long, I wondered. Ha, ha, it almost looks like she's...No, she couldn't be...Shit, I think she is.

I moved in to get a better look at what she was doing with her hand, and my head and the window pane collided with a resounding thwack.

I caught a quick glimpse of Vanessa jumping up from her stool, as I ran and knocked at the front door, hoping I might still be able to salvage the situation.

When Vanessa opened the door she was wearing the towel around her waist. Above her pink bodice a rather large expanse of pale, freckled bosom was exposed, heaving deliciously in her current state of agitation.

"It's only me," I said, in the vain hope that, if I played it cool, she would think that the face in the window was a figment of her imagination.

"OF COURSE IT'S YOU. I KNOW IT'S YOU. THERE'S NO-BODY ELSE ON THE FUCKING ISLAND," she yelled. "BUT WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO COME PEEKING IN MY WINDOW."

Personally, I thought she was overreacting. Maybe a change of subject would help to defuse the situation.

"Why are you dressed like that?" I asked, remember that a person's favourite subject is themself.

"MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!" she shrieked, thus dashing any thoughts I may have had to parlay my diplomatic skills into a job with the United Nations.

"I'm sorry I peeked in your window," I said, trying another tack. "I just caught a glimpse accidentally as I was coming up to the door, and you looked so gorgeous that, even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn't help myself."

This time I'd hit on the right formula. The storm clouds disappeared from over Vanessa's face.

"All right, you can come in," she relented. "But I'm still going to be mad at you for another 5 minutes, because you deserve it. I ought to give you a good spanking, that's what I ought to do."

"Yes, please, Miss," I replied.

"You're an all-around deviant, aren't you?" she said, shaking her head.

By the time my 5 minutes were up we were sharing a couple of cold beers at the kitchen table. Vanessa had changed in the meantime into a light yellow summer dress.

"Actually I wouldn't have really minded if I hadn't been writing at the time," Vanessa admitted. "I really get into the story when I'm writing and it's very frustrating to get interrupted."

"Yes, it really did look like you were getting into the story," I agreed, meaningfully.

"What do you mean?!" she asked heatedly, though I could tell from the smile on her face that she was more excited than angry now. "David. Tell me the truth. How long were you looking at me through the window?"

"Well, long enough to tell that you like to take a few breaks from your writing," I replied, trying to be tactful.

"All right, so sometimes a girl likes to play with herself," said Vanessa in mock irritation. "Any objections?"

"Well," I replied, "only that I couldn't get a very good view from where I was standing."

Vanessa can't have been very thirsty because she emptied the rest of her beer over my head.

xNovel is a site where you can download porn novels from defunct publishing houses. Be warned, a lot of the novels there are kind of gross - Nazi concentration camp stories or tales about people who love animals in a way not condoned by the RSPCA. But there are also some that make for a fun read. One of those is Jane Fox's The Peeping Neighbors. It tells the story of four couples and one single girl who live in an apartment complex. Vera Parker wants to try out on her husband Vance the sexy techniques she has learned about from her neighbour Sharon McNeal. But Vance gets called away to investigate goings on by the swimming pool. He oversees Tony Summers fucking Georgette Martin, the single girl from downstairs, in the pool enclosure. Andy McNeal is paranoid about his wife Sharon. She learns her sex techniques from books, but when she gives him a great blow job he thinks she has been practicing on some other guy. Charles "The Colonel" Kolby is frustrated because his church-going wife Gladys has told him they are now too old for sex. The only way he can get satisfaction is masturbating while peeking through a hole in the bathroom wall which lets him spy on Belinda Summers doing the same in her shower. When Sharon, annoyed by Andy's suspicions, plots with Vera to put an end to them by getting Georgette to seduce her husband so that they can catch him with his pants down, things really hot up and soon everyone is being converted, one by one, to the joys of swinging. Jane Fox writes with the explicitness one expects in a porn novel, but also a playfulness which is very appealing. The story is not very believable, with its instantaneous conversions from jealous spouse to free-wheeling swinger, but if you want social realism you're probably looking in the wrong place.

Peeping Story on the Web

Window Watcher by Irishnia

An eighteen-year-old girl is having an shower when she notices the middle-aged man next door peeking at her through the window. Feeling horny, she decides to put on a show for him.

The Creep by The Lonely Island (feat. Nicki Minaj & John Waters (these creepers are also peepers).