Fancies & Fuckeries

Fancies and Fuckeries Index

2009-06-30T16:12:00.018+10:00

A nugatory or two.

From across 2007 to across 2008 I wrote a Blog called Fancies and Fuckeries. This is it.

I created Fancies and Fuckeries as a progression from two other 'sex' Blogs (muffboxfilms and rated-rupert), both are part of a continuum of my "adventures in the skin trade". Sexuality is such a funny creature. It has thrown me from one side of the spectrum to the other in all my thoughts and research. I don't see myself as being scientific about sex, nor do I have one particular flag to fly when it comes to all the variables associated with it. I have tried narrowing it down and found myself with a personal system that is my own.

What I was doing for myself in the Fuckery was separating all the yolks from the albumen to see what furnishings I should think about using in the bedroom of my soul. I wanted to sniff around at certain sexual characterizations, attempt a lived in sexual lifestyle and open up some Rabelais principles on anti-erotica. This is my own kit of research, theoretically and probably will not appear in Wikipedia until I have made my posthumous bed upon which to lie in.

In this process some cream has risen to the top and some sediment has settled on the bottom, I therefore have been slowly scraping both the bottom and the top of the barrel . Here are a few details concerning sex from having written Fancies and Fuckeries.

I believe that Polyamory is the Natural Selection of sexuality but in a world that primarily deals in other standardisations it is better practiced by the smaller community who value it, and you have to be in the right place at the right time, in the right relationship and surrounded by the right people. I embrace swinging, and recently have understood the idea that anonymous sex, whilst entertaining in its way, is a far cry from interpersonal swinging with a willing and preened coterie of like minded individuals. Once again, this lifestyle takes time to develop if it can be developed satisfactorily at all. Swingers Parties in general lack aesthetics, there are some that have themes enough to make them passably pleasant but I can sum it all up by one that I went to a while ago where because I was wearing a lounging gown I was unduly singled out by a coarse man who felt need to carp at my choice of swinging wear. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so predictable.

However I still very much do appreciate the swinging scene and it isn't to say that some clubs have got the balance between people and place at a tolerable level.

Through Fuckeries I realised that I have an interest in kink, perversion and smut more then erotica and sensuality. What makes it all the more unique is that I have my own definitions for these things. I prefer low-fi porn to high production values, even with Indie Porn. There are some hues of BDSM I like, and this is where I have to be a bit nihilistic about it, I like voyeurism, cuckolding and orgies. I like it when pornography crosses over into other media (ostranenie), and I don't like the 'girl next door' style exposé.

I prefer barmaids to bitches, and so far I have successfully failed to find the true meaning of my own lust although I have come close to what defines it. Flirtation is incompatible with my sexual psyche, I find that flirtation is like spending the whole of ones time decorating and binding a book with no intention of ever actually writing anything in it.

I have come to the conclusion that not only is prostitution the oldest profession in the world it should be treated as the most noble. The sometimes scorned reproach swingers give to sex workers is highly hypocritical, most swingers have payed at some point to enter a swinger's party - the argument boils down therefore to what price is put on prostitution. I would like to see brothels flourish and be safe exciting places for sexual activity. I think that more women using brothels and escort services would help change the way the rest of society treat this entity of our world.

Currency is the common set of units we employ to measure most of what we have and do in life, it does come down to 'a penny for your thoughts' once you start trading in anything, let alone ideas. Somewhere no matter how far down the well, a precious commodity of some sort waits to be collected and distributed. Yes, I understand that money in itself is meaningless, but that is an entirely different argument.

My views on pornography have somewhat altered. The censorship issue has gone out the window for me and what I think it comes down to is outright fascism, personal and political tyranny cheered on by the mob and spurred by outspoken philistines forever wrestling with their inability to process the matter of their birth. I agree with the George Bernard Shaw line that "Assassination is the extreme form of censorship".

As far as the porn I know and love goes, I feel interesting times ahead taking it and producing experiments in what I am calling right now avante-smut. I see many possibilities and the reason for this is because mostly the factions are focusing on several derivatives of pornography. One is erotica, the sensual, the classy arthouse image of sexuality. Another is the 'lifestyle' socially correct hobbyist porn which incorporates all that D.H.Lawrence inspired 'healthy' approach to sexuality with a clear and precise matter of fact annotation to go along with it. Another is the frequently self lampooning 'Hollywood' porn that talks of Golden Ages and Star Systems. Another is the reality-porn faction. Then amongst all that is the kinks like BDSM, vintage porn, niche n0rpography that slots in where-ever it can fit. Whereas I see avante-smut taking elements of these conventions and doing other things with them in a narrative form.

Finally in the Fuckery, before the cast-iron gates close and I re-direct the smattering of readers to the new Blog, I have discovered that I get up in the morning and I am sexual. I don't mean that I awake and I'm horny as hell, I mean that I never cast off the cloak of concupiscence. My new Blog 'The Vice Rector' has taken a difference engine and put it into my sexual musings. What I mean by that is that I have created it to incorporate functionality in my sexual design rather then all the trimmings of a fine curtain without the draw strings in order to be able to open it and view the world outside or close it and take on the world inside.

Vice Rector and The School of Thought is art orientated, sex work orientated, lifestyle oriented, on a theoretical and practical level. It is also mobile friendly, the template I have used looks pretty decent on touch-screen mobiles so readers can check in whilst riding up elevators or waiting at supermarket check-outs. I shall now leave you with a chaptered tuple of links for easy navigation through the archives of the Fancies and Fuckeries just as I have done with my previous Blogs ... Enjoy the selection below.

Censorship

Sense or Ship

Jesus Loves Porn Stars

Good Censorship Venus

Swinging

Pendulums

Pasties de Nata

Swinging with Friends

Swing Quartet

Whilst the Cat's Away

Girl Boy Girl Burger

Attractions

Two Cunts and a Prick

Showered with Gifts

In Out

What the Butler saw, and heard, and then did

Under the Red Light

Hustling for Whores

Quickie Fifty

The Priest and the Prostitute

Relationships

VI

Creative Cock Compositions

Debauchers

Fuckeries Shiva

Birthday Month

It's Porn Jim

Schlucked

Well Hung Over

And the Apple was bitten in to

Joystick

Lollywood

Cigaro Cock

Cock Watch

School's Out

Blog Warming

Artistic Musings

Bookery at the Fuckery

James Agate on Nudity

Memoirs of a Shy Pornographer

Art and Sex

2009-03-14T20:49:00.010+11:00

Sabine and I doing it after the wedding but before the honeymoon where we continued to do it over a period of a few days away from it all. I have been meaning to post one or two grabs from this video after Sabine gave me permission a while back but have delayed the process somewhat.

I recently was interviewed about pornography by a filmmaker putting in a proposal for a television event called Project NEXT, if he wins he gets to then make a half hour version which will be broadcast on ABC Television. It was interesting being asked some of the questions, especially since I began wondering just how defined my own perceptions are in regards to what I create. This applies to ideas I have been stewing in pertaining to anti-erotica and the avant-sexual. I have the premise but not the jointly exhaustive dichotomy I need to represent my art and life as one.

Trouble is, I feel such an exile in these matters, an exile in my 'pauvre type' existence, an exile in my surroundings, and an exile sometimes in my own head. I have trouble writing anything that doesn't veer down the path of the sexual, and that also probably limits my distribution to about half as what other people may be able to get. As censorship seeps further into the cracks of our cultural milieu it is becoming apparent what satisfies the public's moral taste.

It's always been there, and not always related to sexual matters, but the watering down of culture provides us with outcomes that are neither particularly interesting or stimulating. I have this one opinion on most forms of entertainment, and it has to do with the fact that a lot of people say they only prefer media which allows them to escape (They don't realise that challenging art is also an escape, and in the long run an escape from ignorance and intolerance), well, I ask "What are you escaping from?", they mean "Not thinking" but it is the same thing if I apply my question then as "What amount of thinking are you actually doing in order to need not to think so much?" - sure you may need to take a break from thinking if you are knee deep in Philosophical profundity every day, sure you may need regular escapism if you are in the thick of a turbulent society but really what are most people escaping from? Boredom? Tedium?

There is something wrong with our world if every day life equates to so much tedium that media and entertainment needs to provide an escape from it.

I digress. My own art form or my own platform upon which I make my art has recently been edging towards being accessible but pushing the censorship boundaries at the same time. My last couple of works have picked up awards, and one sneakily has found itself on a mainstream channel (twice). However I am not experiencing the enthusiasm for keeping on making proclamations about my art and my views on kink, perversion etc. I think that people are like flowers and begin to wilt, especially in their ideals. When art and life cross so effortlessly there are risks involved - and people think that these risks will somehow complicate their pension plans.

I know that I am not going to get the lifestyle I want unless I do it all myself, I also know that I have to keep all my plans to myself and cogitate in the same way I masturbate, in the trance of my own snug perceptions, almost by myself without the ghastly stoic interceptions by others. I also know that the contrivances that revolve around me will venture to impede my ideas and stifle my often at times considered stubborn possibly arrogant savoir-faire.

My father once said that he hated eating. He hated the need to have to sit down and eat. He wished that one could survive alone on thinking. I don't think he hated eating that much but he was making a point. The point he was making was that if only thinking was as necessary a human function as eating because people can easily give up thinking and rarely has it any cause of harm to them but to give up eating is to die. Therefore thinking is something people have no qualms about dieting on.

This is my problem, that further on we go in life such rigorous thought becomes unfashionable and replaced with a resignation towards conformity. To me it's time and punishment - to remodel the well known Fyodor title - and it seethes into most people's lives one way or another. It comes down to this. When creating "art" one thinks to oneself, "Who am I doing this for?", if you aren't really doing it for anyone then you're in a pickle. At least there has to be one person you are serving, I don't agree that art can serve oneself entirely. The catch-22 in the current cultural climate as I see it is that people are primarily making art for the sake of making art and the recipients are responding to it in order to not have to think. That to me is a sorry state of affairs.

To end, my latest spoken word track has been finalised. Even though I aimed for a more general broadcast when writing it, the piece is still about a poem that excites orgiastic sexual behavior from a group of patrons at a dingy nightclub. It is full to the brim with paronomasia and other word play on morphological and phonological syntax . The spoken word piece follows the story of a poem that rises to fame in popular culture making room for other poetry to follow suit but it is also about the "dumbing" down of lyrics in popular music and acceptations that make little or no sense to anybody.

You can purchase, if you fancy, my spoken word track on . Proceeds of this track go directly into the production of my next spoken word release "Clever Dick" which I am working on this year.

I also have been linking it with QR for those people who like to download tracks directly from their mobile phones.

Below, Sabine and I continue to make our after-wedding amateur home movie.

Null Stern Swinger's Party

2009-03-01T01:52:00.009+11:00

I was lazing on the couch listening to Solveig's Song from Peer Gynt, and thinking further on this censorship thing, how twisted it can be even from the inside of social groups that seemingly need to value concepts of anti-censorship in order to continue practicing their own activities. Recently I received an invitation, it was sent purely on a box I had ticked on an adult swinging site profile that promoted a five star swinging party.

My first consideration of these five star or a-list swinger's parties was whilst watching one of Louis Theroux's Weird Weekend documentaries. Louis is the son of Paul Theroux, in case anyone was wondering about the name. Anyhow, Louis decides not to go to one of these parties because it seems as if he'd be pandering to a type of people who are at odds with his own appearance, but because of his "celebrity" status and the chance to have their party broadcast on television, the party organisers were willing to make an exception.

So I get this invitation. Now I've been to enough swinger's parties to know what they are like and generally what to expect. I know that if I want my less then carved body structure to be accepted as sexy then I shouldn't buy into body bigotry. Not that I have anything against personal taste, and I certainly have no issue with people establishing their own environment to cater for that, but what I do find issue with is when I come across statements like this:

Why??, because we are fussy, we vet everyone (details on profile), we are very much into QUALITY rather than QUANTITY ,....

....AND we ONLY "GENUINELY" cater for people in their 20s/30s ....(unlike ALL the other venues who let ANYONE /ANY AGE /ANY SIZE through their doors...hence you are confonted by a LOT of people in their 40s/50s /60s who just shouldnt be seen naked)

This particular party charges about four times as much as a regular swinger's party. Many other swinger's party have couple entry free nights whereas this party works on some kind of decreasing scale of pay depending on how many nights you return and eventually you can attend for nothing.

My issue lies with their opinion that the majority of people in their 40s/50s/60s shouldn't be seen with their clothes off. It would have been fine for me if they had of stopped at only catering for crowds in their 20s/30s. Even as someone in my thirties I prefer parties where I can meet people of most ages but wouldn't deny some of specifying a function to their tastes - but at regular swinger's parties they don't make a point of saying that you'll experience all ranges of age and body type not just a Frat of vacuous twenty-somethings. I'm not saying twenty-somethings are vacuous, I'm merely point out that regular swinger's events don't endeavor to insult a proportion of the population as a promotional gimmick.

I had a look at the photos that were included in the invite and I can tell you it didn't look that great to me. It wasn't to my personal taste, some of the people in the photos just looked liked pedants who not only would judge a book by its cover but also probably never have really read a decent book, therefore, not for me.

So this where censorship transposes into a hybrid of its own rudiment, where despite obvious hypocrisies something more ignorant and tangible lurks; V.I.P, very insular person. It's fine that you might not want to play with someone who is older or of a conflicting body shape to what you are attracted to but should they then not be allowed to occupy the same space as you? Sexual reciprocity doesn't have to be something that restrains principle freedoms of individual opinion, it can be instead a great way to allow for those opinions to have functionality in the living world and also a place in humanity rather then a means upon which to lock ideas and influences up.

To avoid a "this is my opinion, that is your opinion, life will be what it may and then we die" kind of dichotomy I lean then on concepts of fluxus and its preference for a collective journey into oblivion made up of indeterminate individual perceptions expressed, communicated or better still engaged in the ongoing assiduous processes between mortal fixtures, intermitting factors such as birth and death.

Sense or Ship

2009-02-08T14:05:00.008+11:00

Why I chose this rather unimpressive orthographic pun is because essentially censorship will always put us in one of two positions, to either govern and retain our own standards peer to peer or to have cast away what is deemed damaging to our psyches by unions of "thought police". Recently a law has been passed in the UK where possession of "extreme" pornographic images are illegal. So, what constitutes "extreme"? Let alone what constitutes pornographic (Forget about that one - I tried addressing it and got my film banned - oh the irony, oh the "Eye on me").

As a Commonwealth British subject I feel I must address this issue, not just because MonMouth kindly pointed it out to me but also because here in Oz, similar controversies are being underplayed and secretly implemented without so much as a public standing or decent revolt. The apathy of the masses, the trodden few, it may seem like a hopeless world but only because the world's dilemmas, the collective dilemmas are relative to each individual. The individual unfortunately is only as influential as the sum of her or his parts by way of intellect, position, authority or money.

Extreme. The first offer of definition being "of a character or kind farthest removed from the ordinary or average", so what is the most ordinary or average pornographic image then? I would like this addressed because if "extreme" is the adjective chosen to represent the evidence of this law's execution then surely having at home "ordinary or average" pornography must therefore be entirely legal. I had a bit of a search for what the heck "ordinary" pornography might be and came across a few suggestions - mainly to do with "virtual" child porn (i.e. suggestive and implied but not essentially pornographic) and the opposite of what is defined as "obscene" - now Miller writes a fair bit about "the obscene" as does D.H Lawrence and this I may, depending on how rigorous I gnaw at this subject, go into later on down this post.

Ordinary. I'm perturbed once again by this word. What is an ordinary car, an ordinary couch, an ordinary sandwich, an ordinary cup of tea, an ordinary pornographic image? Is a nude statue an ordinary pornographic image. Is the image of an animal whether it be goat or donkey an ordinary pornographic image? If the desire of the viewer was to want to fuck it, then perhaps at its most "unreadable context" it very much is, but also then, is it not an "extreme" pornographic image since we have defined bestiality as being illegal.

Then let's examine "average pornography". Andrew Blake (Pornographic filmmaker) in an article on BlackBook Magazine suggested that "average pornography is anti-erotic", but I'd like to take that statement (because Andrew was implying that average pornography is not subtle, or sensual) and use it in context to the "anti-erotic" that I am interested in which relates to meanings from smut and bawdiness. Anti-Erotica in my books is a binary opposite, rather then a reversal of the erotic, it is a deconstruction of it.

But I digress, "average pornography" there is none except to say that quite literally if we were to make that statement, it would mean that average pornography is what we most likely to expect pornography to be. Ask an eighty year old what they are most likely to expect pornography to be, ask an eighteen year old, ask a Priest, ask a pornographer, ask a Muslim, ask a prostitute, ask a jail-bird, ask a soldier, ask a dentist, ask a florist, ask anybody and you will find that what each individual expects is most likely to only highlight the bleeding obvious: nudity and sex. Then add to that whether it is an image, a drawing, a sentence or phallic object.

Not many people are most likely to say that average pornography is facials, light golden-showers, and threesomes. The common collective would probably say that average pornography is tits 'n' arse, or centerfold spreads which only relates to images solely of one person, gender being female. Anyway, using definitions is a useful starting point to breaking down this matter, but it isn't conclusive and whether we actually know exactly what "extreme pornography" is does not address other issues relating to life and what it means to live it under the oppression of laws induced to keep order or simply powerful people putting in place their own quantifying values onto the helpless individual for their own good.

There are so many factors that can be examined in this scenario. A basic one would be an example of someone being unduly punished for having this unidentifiable "extreme pornography", the character I imagine is called Sally - who has found a passion in watching "hardcore" amateur pornography and has therefore downloaded over the years many clips that she likes.

All clips are legal in the sense of consent and age, the only law she seemingly might have broken was having evaded the UK's IWF (Internet Filter). So Sally works as a pharmacist, she's possibly got children, a partner, and nothing else in her life is remarkably radical in the sense of being "questionable". Now Sally's job as a pharmacist is demanding, her life at home is pleasurable but also demanding in its way, she sometimes feels low on occasion and sometimes feels stressed - having these clips on her computer Sally suddenly becomes a "criminal".

Immediately she has contraband in her home, she's at risk of facing the law with having committed an offense, her harmless interest and stimulation from sex is now the act of a heinous and disruptive perpetrator. She must confront the idea that her actions are those of someone who cannot make judgments about life for herself, that if it came down to it, if she decided to take a piss out in the backyard with all due privacy, that that too might be frowned upon with shame and deserved of punishment.

So she's taken to court, she's made to feel like she's done something damaging to society, she could possibly lose her job, she might fall into depression, and the government along with the moral crusaders could not care less if her life is treated in this way as long as they've felt "justice" has been served. It's a cruel senseless world, and despite the intelligent arguments one can put to her case, she's going to be dragged through these processes even if the outcome is not severe - all the while, the same governments and same moral crusaders encourage acts of violence, torture and death without even blinking - while she's being prosecuted by the law someone else is being murdered, bullied or tormented without retribution. We understand the world operates in this way, no amount of sugar coating can delude forever what happens beyond our front doors - big business has always done things proportionately more horrific without any answerable trial, and shall continue to do so.

In Australia the government is implementing a White Box technology that filters out certain Internet sites. The details are complicated and the government is attempting to measure the outcomes so that two tiers will be implemented, the first tier as a general filter that blocks "illegal" and "inappropriate" sites, the second tier which apparently is to be optional, filters out pornography.

Whether or not certain pornography will be blocked with the first tier because it is deemed "inappropriate" has not been mentioned. Adultery may be considered "inappropriate" but if you enjoy cuckolding and look at sites where this is simulated whether "amateur" or "fictional", you just lost your freedom to communicate that aspect of your personality.

Fortunately this Internet censoring here in Australia has not been popular with the public, thankfully many who might think it a good idea may not be involved enough with the Internet to pass it through by numbers.

Unfortunately most of the world divides life into "good" and "bad", which is a very narrow gage for summarizing existence. We fail time and time again to employ any kind of empathy, indeed, it is the one thing we on the whole seem to really suck at.

It's funny because religious positions to issues like these often use the phrase "The thought is father to the deed", as if thoughts are only possible with the influence of direct external stimulus. They are essentially promoting brain-washing and mind control because their feeble communications fail to tame the free will of the individual. It's God by proxy behavior, not to do His will but to enforce their own under the pretense of a higher order. "My King requires you are executed", "Can I speak to your King about it?", "No, because I speak for him" therefore as his agent the person can do anything they damn well please. So to do the "agents" of morals speak for an abstract higher order and unless the people actually take to the streets, or bide their time for decades or even centuries, nothing will be changed or even processed properly.

Ultimately even though I feel it such an important part of my personal make-up to try and understand existence in its most holistic sense, I can't help but feel like James Joyce and sometimes want to hide under the bed-sheets of exile to escape all this nonsense. I am exhausted by the mechanics of society, the ruling mediocrity, the idiotic decisions made by the mob.

At times I just wish I could become a recluse like D.H Lawrence had when he exiled himself to The Black Forest, and shoot my arrows of outrageous misfortune from afar rather then face the doltish cognitive day to day. I understand the folly of the human race as I am as much a part of it as everybody else but I also take my philosophical treatment quite seriously and so must make my position as personal as possible while keeping in mind how the whole picture will paint itself.

The final result that I am seeing, is very much like the Hieronymus Bosch I pasted at the top of this post "The Ship of Fools".

Pendulums

2009-01-24T18:34:00.010+11:00

Well, some time off from Blogging in Fancies and a bit of re-preparation to my head space with public space has seen me return to the Fuckery for another post. Like many people who openly express themselves in a public forum, the risk of being crucified for what you think is alive and well in the past-times of the mob, and so I have kept a relatively low profile and made sure I put on my "egg shell" proof Demi Pointes in order to, as Johnny Cash would resound, "walk the line".

2008 was a year of heightened states of existence, either deep lows or satisfying highs. I don't want to revisit some of the lows although the consequences linger on to 2009 for some of them, and I'm trying to over-look it all as a sad fact of the thing we do called living, this thing we do, this living. Try and be philosophical, often personal tragedy puts a person back on track (whatever that is) or at least stops the ripples enough to experience some productive reflection.

I have had the pleasure of some intriguing brothel experiences this year. I used up the half hour session given to me by Sabine for Christmas. I've been embracing good bordello atmospheres and bettering my understanding of the essential importance of this oldest profession from the perspective of a client. I am making quiet progress.

At the moment I am feeling like I have very little to lose, and perhaps that is because over the past two years I was getting too much into the "pauvre type" as Henry De Montherlant writes, the public persona that is very different from what privately motivates and operates within us. So lots of things have been happening, I have received an award for one of my films, released a spoken word track, and recently had the satisfaction of knowing a distributor has picked up the new wave erotic feature by Anna Brownfield "The Band". If you are so inclined you can view the trailer here. I have posted the poster below, I'm the rocker in the center of the bed! New Romantic Emo Skater Boy with a penchant for masturbating in vans and doing devious things with dildos.

All that aside, let me share with you a recent swinging activity that is interesting as well as amative in its fuckery.

Last night I had the exceptional honor accompanying a girl I had known in High School to a swinger's party. We had been friends in my last year of High School and then both sort of exfiltrate from our friendship and only recently (fifteen years later) had caught up at the Attractions Erotic Ball on my Birthday with a group of six, myself, Sabine, Kacy and her husband, as well as two other friends. I shall call her not Kacy as I previously did but as Freiheit which is her profile name on Life begins with the Dirty Thirties.

She was seeking something to engage in at the end of the week and I suggested attending a party. She had already mentioned the idea of a swinger's party but when I responded that I knew of several parties on Friday night, and that Sabine would likely be not attending, I wondered if I had miscommunicated somewhat. The reason for Sabine not attending has to do with a progression of our exploration into Polymory, which over the past year has been in dribs and drabs discussed amongst busy home and work lives.

I was excited by the prospect of this play as over the past couple of years have had some very rewarding and charming play experiences with people I know better then the fly by night swingers who although are good undressed company, there is always that gap where more intriguing and experimental possibilities are further away from being possible. If you can't begin deconstructing things sexually then how can you build new things?

This adventure was to prove of more interest and sexual allurement because of the history, the fact that Freiheit and I had known each other so long ago, who could possibly have imagined we'd arrive at a similar destination, fucking? Both with respective partners, children, and a time-line of life experience each to our own. There you go though, as life should be with delightful and remarkable twists and turns. Sabine had been very wonderful about this experience as someone could easily be wary of a united past in the intimate sense, but I guess having briefly played lighty before, there was some confidence that the encounter wasn't a "loaded" one.

So Freiheit turns up, giving me a call from outside my house just in case it wasn't the right house - it was the right house as it turns out as it was me who opened the door. She wore pre-swinging clothes, and as it turns out her outfit for going to the party was also different from the outfit at the party, so in essence she walked out the door with me wearing a kind of anti-outfit. Knee highs and a sleek "coat" that fitted snug where eyes may wander and often do.

Our Taxi ride over was fairly swift and I purposefully asked our driver to stop a little while away from the party in order to check in with Freiheit and discuss a few aspects of the environment we were about to enter.

We were sitting in the smoking room swapping some stories about work when I puckered up and said, "Why are we talking about work when we should be talking about sex", what I meant was let's take advantage of our surroundings and drift steadily forward to some play. There were some friendly people there, notably a playwright and his girlfriend and a Truckie who had a montage of Betty Page tattooed to his leg thigh.

Then play began in the "red room" dubbed so because of its pervading red tint caused by the lighting. Freiheit and I stood up close to each other and kissed, allowing for hands to scuttle in and out of the inclines of our bodies. Bit by bit layers were discarded although all I was wearing was a pair of 1970's Puma Tennis shorts, and so down they went. I let my cock nestle up against Freiheit, it often likes attention so having her hand stroking it was making it purr from perineum to tip. A likely crowd was gathering against the peripherals of our play, although we didn't intend to exclude anyone from our first dabble it just so happened once we got into it we simply let our indulgences dote on each other.

Soon we were no longer perpendicular but undressed and entangled on the mattress, it wasn't long before I crouched over the condom bowl, plucked a little rubber from the heap, rolled it on and had it lured inside by Freiheit's panting cunt. The initial punt deep inside was almost representative of a continuum of time between us, from the days we spent in High School visiting each other, rehearsing in plays, deep and meaningful conversations that partook of tea and time, mutual acquaintances and now this fifteen year later reunion of not just our selves but our genitals. It must be said that by chance we had developed similar attitudes to sex, and still retained broader visions of life not yet (Hopefully never to be) quashed by aging conservatism and narrow-minded sensibilities. Hence we were at this party fucking away, instead of passing the time in nostalgia with tea and biscuits.

As I previously mentioned, it has been hard for me over the past year. I have only just begun to regain theoretical positions on my life in the most holistic sense. I have been flattened by the mediocrity of society, I have had my morale tied to a couple of bricks and plunged into the sea of inner banality, I have been stung by contempt for my own frustrations and ideals, and I have festered in depressions more brutal then any I have experienced before. Only in the past four months have I had clear enough head to re-establish my principles, fence them to protect them from being damaged by the drudgery of a routine world, and mulched progress into them in order to make new ground.

Not to say i haven't experienced pleasure or not kept my balance entirely, but there were one or two times I truly did fall. It happens. Life is not an Excel spreadsheet with macros enabled.

So by this stage we were banging hard at it - I like to cast my imagination from participant to spectator and create an image of Freiheit's arse pitching up and down to each plunge of my cock. She was quite vocal with each wave of lust, and after briefly fucking from behind we found ourselves surrounded by a couple of guys, all vying for some kind of inclusion. Freihiet allowed them to play a little while, a bit of cock sucking and fingering before we both communicated that a break and cigarette for me would be desirable. So that was our first proper play in fifteen years.

It is odd because all those years ago, Freihiet lost her virginity to my best friend and in a recent exchange of communication she expressed the wonder of what it would have been like had she lost it with me. That I cannot answer. I am friends on Facebook with the girl I lost my virginity to, and she to me, and must of dated for about a year when I was fourteen. We are in sporadic communication, as Facebook seems more about poking one's nose into the lives of others then actually establishing deeper roots of rapport. I suppose ultimately Freihiet and I established deeper roots in the way we went about catching up, if you excuse the obvious pun involved in that declaration.

However, if we had gotten together all those years ago who really knows where it would have gone. The early years is about change and I suppose that encounters had in those years are as much victims of change as they are about writing ones own history. I have seven ex-girlfriends as friends on Facebook and I can attest that all of them lead very different lives from me now and most would not likely attend a swinger's party with me these days. Not to say in the past there has not been over-lapping hook-ups and reunions in sexual ways, but I think from where I stand now in my own relationship and what I am working towards in my life that the circumstances would require a very liberal and free thinking individual to involve themselves in it.

So Freihiet and I sat for a while until she got up and mingled with other people. I stayed chatting with the playwright and the Truckie. I decided after a drink and cigarette or two that I might go and source out some play with another couple. I was in one room watching two couples on the mattresses mucking about when an older gentlemen told me he really enjoyed my earlier session with Freihiet, I made some courteous response to him before reclining on the mattress watching a couple close up. As I had entered that room I noticed that Freihiet was busily snogging a Sri-Lankan man on a couch in front of a large television screen showing porn. It wasn't long before I noticed them pass the doorway of where I was. Freihiet motioned me to join them but I said that I would in a little while. I was still soaking up the play going on in the room where I was.

Later I checked in and found Freihiet well into play with Kevin, the Sri-Lankan guy. He was eagerly sucking at her cunt, making her arch and moan. Then Kevin got up and ordered me to fuck her saying "Fuck her good, she's been waiting for you 15 years...". I didn't really require the order but the invitation was generous and so indeed I banged Freihiet with a bit more verocity then the first time as I noticed that she seemed to quite like "rough and hard" sex at times. So in the tradition of "animal" speak, I gave it to her, and got it very swimmingly in return.

That was our swinging night. We afterwards returned home in conversation about some philosophical matters, I was still very much lustful for her and wanted to luxuriate in some one on one fucking in my study where it is in need of this kind of behavior in order to stimulate its atmosphere so in my future time spent in there I can cast my mind back to the wonderful events that have unfolded amongst its books and papers. So we fucked on the couch and on the floor, and I had time to absorb the delectable parts of her body, the feel of each junction of her form, and frisk her from within with a sensation sensitive cock. Then we relaxed and I read out to her a letter she wrote to me fifteen years ago that I had kept.

It was an interesting trip to the past and so we annotated it, discussed the thoughts she had imparted and then as I put her to bed a swill of desire arose again and we fucked on the wonky camping cot, I nearly reached my third orgasm but I was very much by this stage pooped, still horny but pooped.

So that was that. It would be exciting to follow up at some future point with another encounter, perhaps something themed or theatrical, I'm starting to wonder about role-play these days, don't know why but have just been thinking about it. Perhaps she and her husband, myself and Sabine could attend a swinger's party or set up play at home, be ambitious and have six couples or something. Who knows.

My next post is going to be about some censorship issues that are arising around the globe. This should be of concern to everybody who appreciates free speech and the freedom to share and live the lives they desire without retribution.

Arse in ASCII

2008-12-02T20:18:00.003+11:00

Well, fucky-whucky, I think that's the expression. Here I thought to pin up one of my experiments in ASCII, matrix ASCII. It's my cock sliding up Sabine in ASCII. Not overly erotic I know. Well, it is 2009 and I've been quite busy over the holiday period but a moments break has allowed me an update on The Fuckeries, I put in my New Year's resolution a promise to myself that I would get my other site updated enough to move Fuckeries over with at least some content! Anyhow on the eros front, Sabine and I attended a swinger's party with a lady friend the other month and had a jolly old swing. It was a party we hadn't been to before so the usual investigating the atmosphere was to be had at the start, but then things, or swings got under way.

For Christmas Sabine got me a voucher to a brothel I quite like so I'm looking forward to spending my half hour freebie. When I opened my gift I wondered if I may be one of the few men ever to receive a bordello voucher from his wife - apparently the woman at the brothel seemed to think so, she was apparently somewhat stunned when Sabine went in there to have it made out to me.

Anyway, hope everyone had a good Christmas and Happy New Year's day.

More time spent in limbo

2008-11-06T22:04:00.003+11:00

Well, it hasn't been all quiet, here is proof. Sometimes I have noticed over the five or so years of Blogging, Bloggers who have Blogs that suddenly freeze. Occasionally a quick update and then frozen again. My dilemma has been with the gearing up of a new Blog, my dilemmas always seem to do with directions I want to take and then I'm swept along by something else, and then return I do. I think I do.

I shall soon endeavor to make a come back in December, seeing how I go but I am still about, juggling all the bits and pieces.

Time for an update

2008-10-12T22:37:00.002+11:00

Here is an image I found from Anna's film The Band where you can see me delivering my ... well not lines as such to Phoenix Star who plays the Groupie. See how different our skin tones are, it is amazing how much sun I don't get.

What has been happening? Well, it seems too long that I have posted in Fuckeries. The other Blog I'm doing is moving more slowly then an equatorial shift, so I've been writing on other Blogs, just doing work stuff, and some creative projects but you can't squeeze square time into round free. For some reason I'm still solidly backed up with the pressures of trying to "get stuff done".

There has also been little time for play or anything of that nature. A few options but nothing being seized at the moment. I've been recalling things I really should be doing and then forgetting about them ten minutes later. Two weeks go by. I remember them again and then I forget them again. Reading Blogs, writing Blogs, any kind of writings is slim pickings at the moment. Even this feels like a rushed post.

I will feel better I imagine in a little while.

Still going

2008-09-03T22:06:00.002+10:00

What a process is changing the furniture of your mind, but I'm also sifting through buckets of paper work that seem to be all befuddled about my shelves. I think that I'm going through one of those stages where everything is scattered, a huge pile of things that don't need urgent attention seem to need urgent attention. I'm also experiencing a lovely low patch, which is timely, it is difficult to go through low patches when everything feels messy, disruptive, lacking some sort of order. I'll be posting these little notes about the place as I go, my brain is slightly swollen from too much air methinks.

Prepare for change

2008-08-20T00:08:00.003+10:00

Having reached 159 posts, slightly under the now (R)chived (182 posts) and Muffbox (168 posts), the time has come under the current Blogger climate to change direction somewhat. I came to this conclusion not directly because a few favorable Bloggers have stepped into other skins or shifted alignment, not directly because months and months ago I thought to tone down my excessive dependency on committing myself to Blogging and virtually nothing else creative, not because of any of these things directly. The main reason, is that my Blogging is quite like a rough map of my ideas in some form and an outlet for writing about the things that fail to speak to the communities around me in real life.

On my Blog I can rabbit on about books that I enjoy or things that entertain my thoughts, but I realise also that I began Fuckeries as a departure from my other Blogs which all served a particular purpose in expressing some of the fundamental principles I tend to toy with in my world in the wider world that surrounds me.

For instance, the first Blog was about relationships and sexuality, primarily. Its purpose was to create a lifestyle that could be viewed as any number of role models for the outside community and perhaps begin to shift some of the narrower ways of thinking. I feel I have achieved what I set out to do, the world is indeed a much more tolerant, liberal, and broad minded place since I started Blogging. Well done me.

My second Blog of this nature was all about me realising that and capitalising on my new found megalomania. It was there I set out to become what I preached, to reap the rewards of my hard come by social change. To indeed inscribe my name heavily on my throne and occasionally give the world a bone or two, in photos or print, just to show I cared.

Then that went all screwy and I was dethroned, chucked back into the mess of a world that whilst I was whistling away in my kingdom of infinite self-appraise turned to muck and cheapness before my very eyes. I tried one last attempt to twist the dagger of lascivious hope into the rectum of humankind with a sort of Richard the Third plunge into absurdity, delving into a mad realm of crazed sexologist epode, in vain to shift my own kingdom up that mighty forest of fuckery like a less blond Fitzcarraldo. In vain I sought to build an opera of smut that would break the sensibility of the clerics of sexuality on my own side and disturb the mediocre slums of conservatism on the other side.

So I founded The Fuckery, this fancy of fuckery. Remnants from an orgiastic monarchism, a shanty town of shadows and debts in failed logic. Indeed, it helped me to potter away, cloaked and disguised, in whispers of thoughts and ideas that would never betray my former glory.

Now, I have decided to open up my Cheese Shop, My Ale House, my Radish Garden, or what have you, and all these years of Blogging will have the spirits of communication say "Is that so and so? No, couldn't be". I will sell my Cheeses, my Ales, my Radishes and what have you with all the hearsay of heresy clucking about my dressing gown patches.

The new Blog will be up soon, as soon as I can think of a good name for it. The theme will be directed towards certain interests I have in connection with other certain interests but like I said, it will be me putting out warm milk for pussy, not caterwauling with eyes as big as saucers, or howling when I moon.

The great cross-over needs to happen, some corners need to be tucked, some finery's draped, some umbrellas shaken, and this is because of everything I have just mentioned above.

To summarise, there needs to be the ripening of certain cultural nuances that add flavor to humanity in small doses. I know it all sound a bit ambiguous, but it is the only way to explain what is in my head in regards to this transition. I'm not going to just vanish from the Blogsphere, there is much packing to do, the curtains must be dusted, the chairs polished, the windows licked and so on and so on.

London Aphrodite

2008-08-16T00:08:00.003+10:00

The collection of stories I have been reading has got me thinking of love and sex. Each one seems to revolve around issues of "love" in unusual relationships such as H.E.Bates story The Kimono which presents a Poly tale in the most proper of fashions, sensible injustice, and lust revolving around dress and colours. The Wanderers by Alun Lewis is a wild Welsh Gypsy tale involving adultery and commitment. The Pearl of Great Price is a tale sodden with values corrupted by food and ubiquitous morals as served by religion, this story is by Rhys Davies and so far I've just finished The Bridal Night by Frank O'Connor, Irish writer, and this tale involves love, madness and a twisted marriage of non-mutual ideals. All extremely different and somewhat adventurous in the way of "all flesh".

But it got me thinking about the potency of desire, how love is more akin to an existentialist idea on the general art of being. Each character in these short stories have to use love as an idea to guide them across varying moods of lust, desire, and all the temptations. If love didn't exist there would be no use in most of these surrounding moods, even if you don't a love a person you are desiring, you can still love desire, and that's probably what love is, an adjective for an adverb, not a noun, not a thing, as we all consider love to be this definition that fails to really be defined.

Another fascinating element to these short stories is the frankness of thought surround the characters motivations and actions, each writer is able to turn the spanner of each characters perspective nicely in tune with the narrative.

That's why I was so interested in Zero Zero yesterday, because I think the idea of a world without love is a really interesting canvass upon which to work out what exactly the hell it is.

Zero Zero

2008-08-15T01:46:00.004+10:00

Mike Batt

I grew up with this this musical dance video from the 1980s, "System 605" and in other countries "Zero, Zero". Listen very carefully to what Mike Batt, mostly known for his contribution to The Wombles, but also Hunting of the Snark, The Tarot Suite etc ... has to say ... very interesting, more so the "maybe evolution wiped it out so just the strong survived".

Love makes you Crazy

I don't know why I love, perhaps I should find out or maybe I don't have the feeling any more. What is love? I assume it is friendship with extras ... am I wrong? What is love? As if anyone can explain without barricading you against your deepest feelings. So what are they, stripped of all pretense and act? What is he really talking about? Love, and then death? What makes you crazy? Why? Love, a terrible affliction of sex, and yet, "seized the body and the mind like strange disease".

Watch the video, and spill your heart out to me, don't just critique it.

Burlesk

2008-08-11T20:52:00.004+10:00

This will be the wind up to "Black Spring" because I'm a few pages off finishing it, but I liked this particular moment. Henry was standing at an Opera House listening to Wagner's Parsifal being performed, the place was packed and Henry was straining his neck to see the stage. I'll let Henry take it from here ...

"Parts of the opera are dull, duller than anything ever written. But there are parts which are sublime and during the sublime parts, because I was being squeezed like a sardine, an embarrassing thing happened to me - I got an erection. The woman I was pressing against must also have been inspired by the sublime music of the Holy Grail. We were in heat, the two of us, and pressed together like a couple of sardines. During the intermission the woman left her place to pace up and down the corridor. I stayed where I was, wondering if she would return to the same place. When the music started up again she returned. She returned to her spot with such exactitude that if we had been married it could not have been more perfect. All through the last act we were joined in heavenly bliss. It was beautiful and sublime, nearer to Boccaccio than to Dante, but sublime and beautiful just the same"

Henry Miller - "Black Spring".

Now, I love these moments because they are wonderful displays of random mutual lust but not the nightclub eyes meeting eyes "let's go shag in the alley way" kind of lust, but incidental lust where a current of lust meets in the temporal touching of two random, possibly opposing live wires. It doesn't matter that Miller is who he is and the woman who she is, the context is a classical concert - you can't, to borrow a repeated expression from Miller, get more sublime than that.

I've talked about mutual attraction before but I think too much emphasis is put on ideals. The idea that it would be gross if the person rubbing against me was seen as repulsive only exists because of the extreme other, and the extreme other is that the person rubbing against me should be divine, the problem this causes is that anyone in between tends to be scooted down towards the repulsive end and not the divine end of the attraction ruler. You see, if a person was viewed as "kind of alright", how much more fun would we be having? If we said to ourselves, "Well, he or she is no God or Goddess but will nicely suffice as I'm feeling a bit horny myself", then we've hit jackpot. We've taken our polar axis and bent it according to a flexible and proficient outlook upon the landscape of inhabitants that move and sing about us - if you want to call it moving and singing, I did because it sounded a good way to describe the perpetual showmanship of the human mouth and limbs.

Sabine and I have been starved for time over the last year but things are now starting to relax a little bit with new directions, new opportunities, and of course challenges which always I imagine there will be. I haven't stepped back from my life lately, taking time to absorb things, I've kind of been crammed onto the shunting caboose of busyness, waiting for the steam to stop spluttering and begin its steady stream. I guess this is called taking stock, and I shall need to do it soon, my head has begun pre-production on another short film, god help me to stop making the little blighters.

Bookery at the Fuckery

2008-08-06T20:42:00.006+10:00

"He's losing his mind," says Jill.

"Wrong again," says Jabber. "I've just found my mind, only it's a different sort of mind than you imagined."

Henry Miller "Black Spring".

Sometimes on Fuckeries, I just like to muse about books. I like books because there are no distractions, unlike electronic forms of literature, in a book there is no where else to go but travel along the train of thought mapped out by the author.

Today I was thinking how similar Lawrence Durrell's "The Black Book" is to Henry Miller's "Black Spring", not only by title but by design. "The Black Book" was written in 1936 and published in 1938, and Miller's "Black Spring" contains stories written from 1936, in particular it is the story of Jabberwhorl Cronstadt that is almost written in the same style as Durrell in his Black Book, and highly likely influenced by as Lawrence had sent Henry Miller the manuscript of "The Black Book" in 1936 to read and then throw in the Seine.

"And Mowgli in the garden whistling for the rent, he's a poem too, a poem with big ears, a wambly bretzular poem with logamundiddy of the goo-goo. He has round, auricular daedali, round robin-breasted ruches that open up like an open barouche. He wambles in the wambhorst whilst the whelkin winkles ... he wabbles through the wendish wikes whirking his worstish wights ... Mowgli ... owgli ... whist and wurst"

"Black Spring" - Henry Miller.

See how "Spell Checker" likes that piece of writing from one of the most creative and prolific writing talents of our time, and then tell me we haven't been diluted by laziness into mediocre correctness and bland sensibility by modern fixtures.

Today I was sitting on the train platform feeling extremely anti-social, carving out some idea in my head, wanting space from people. The platform was entirely empty but to make sure I wasn't near the smattering of people on the opposite platform, I walked all the way down the other end. I found myself a seat, sat back, lit up a smoke, and gazing at some adjacent trees, allowed my mind to sink into thought.

Something distinctly blue and black out of the corner of my eye interrupted this reverie. An elderly woman was walking up the platform, she was half-way up it when she caught my attention, passing one seat, then another seat, getting closer. "Oh no" I thought, "This can't be", but it could and certainly would be. She kept on moving towards me, passing two more benches. Then with her large black sunglasses and blue jumper, she forced me to move my bag out of courtesy, and myself along the bench to make room for her. Then she sat facing away from me.

There was no one else on the platform and several benches on either side of us, but she had to sit next to me! My bag propped on one side, smoking a cigarette, the smoke wafting around the bench. It nearly ruined my day. When I got on the train I noticed she had walked even further up to the very first carriage just as the train pulled into the station.

The other day I made a few bulk purchases of books to stock up for the unexceptionally non-cold winter we are having.

Books such as "Last of the Dandies" by Nick Foulkes, a look at the life of Count d'Orsay who was friends with such notaries as Charles Dickens and William Thackery, he also was involved in what is presumed a bizarre love triangle with Lord and Lady Blessington.

Also on my book shopping list "The Erotomaniac - The Secret Life of Henry Spencer Ashbee" by Ian Gibson. Henry Ashbee was a Victorian gentleman who had a secret collection of erotica and pornography thousands of volumes strong. A veritable library of smut that was even larger, they say, of the massive collection housed by Richard Monckton Milnes 1st Baron Houghton.

I got some more Henry Miller too, "Max and the White Phagocytes" and "The World of Sex". Two titles in one book. I found a collection of short stories by the brilliant Portuguese writer, Machado De Assis, under the title of "The Psychiatrist and other stories", and finally a more contemporary read, "The Vesuvius Club" by Mark Gratiss (Praised by Stephen Fry, so I thought it possibly a good read).

I had paused my book buying for a while in order to catch up on collection on my shelf, of which I have now done, and feel very, very pleased about that.

Why do I read? I read primarily to write. I read because I am interested in the ideas of others, but more of what comes out of people's heads rather then their mouths. I think good writing is about what comes out of someone's head as if they wanted it to come out of their mouth. Not what comes out of someone's mouth backed only partially from what is in their head.

The former is the kind of book I enjoy to read, books where I can feel the author's mind panting from the processes of thought. Only someone like Winston Churchill or Oscar Wilde could claim to both be great minds as well as great mouths.

The last and lesser of these purchases was "Harris's List of Convent-Garden Ladies" which is a series of reviews, good primarily as a curiosity, of prostitutes in Georgian Britain, kind of like the Fun in Australia website which does the same thing but Online. Harris however compiled his book in order to try and make a buck selling it to those who enjoy dancing the beginning of the world under the red light.

A Brief History of Now

2008-08-03T01:01:00.005+10:00

I seem to be mostly splattering the pages of Fuckery with my own amusements, and have had little urge to update on other aspects of my quite erratic life. A few major changes have occurred, good yet challenging, but my life always works in a way that where there is success there is also failure, where there is joy inevitably it is accompanied by pain, where there is peace along comes panic, where I think one thing and the opposite happens. This has never changed in my existence, when I look out at the stars, as Mr Wilde would have it, I am still in the gutter, and when I sit upon a star, my view is of the gutter. So be it.

I am still reading Henry Miller's "Black Spring", but looking forward to picking up "London Aphrodite" which is a selection of Elizabethan authors such as Alun Lewis, Dylan Thomas, Glyn Jones and Rhys Davies. It states in its introduction to the short stories that "The Welsh writers in particular, seem to have struck a rich vein of almost Rabelaisian humour in their sexual writings".

It was sad to hear that Chelsea has stopped her Blogging, I've been going back and forth from her Blog for many years now. It takes a lot of endurance to Blog over the years, and the virtual world has its own set of strange etiquette and human systems, all mapped out in information with not much actual firmness but it's a flimsy aura that surrounds our real-life identities, an aura we have decorated in many visual and expressionistic ways, hanging off our real selves like trinkets of ideas dangling from our minds.

Shake Your Cock

2008-07-30T11:56:00.003+10:00

You've heard it is all the rage to shake your face and upload it onto the Internet, well a new trend is wriggling its way onto the Servers, and that is Shake Your Cock. Here I attempt a couple of Shaken Cocks, but the lighting nor the camera is very good for this kind of anatomical animation but give me a month or two and I'll see what I can do. Why not Shake Cock in groups or at dinner parties in restaurants?

Experience the mirth and loveliness beaming from your friends and family as you Shake Cock, of course Shake Cock doesn't have to be just restricted to men, oh no, Shake Breast is for the women at the table to have a shot at. Who knows, you may just convince the waiter or waitress to have a shake too!

Soap on a Grope

2008-07-25T20:40:00.002+10:00

Always on the look out for a new discovery in the sometimes mediocre trappings in life, you may have remembered some time back I invented the "Cock Cream", a lavish, desirable moisturizer for men who wanted to have a smooth penis all year round. Of course, I am Baudelaire reincarnate when it comes to these ideas and never ever set the wheels in motion to produce them, I instead find it much more easier and perhaps more satisfying to get annoyed at the person who does create such ventures with success. Open the window and say "Alas", indeed.

Today I sat wanking in the bath, my phone at my side waiting for a text message from a friend of mine, and after a bit of time, I began wanking. I am not much of a bathroom fan when it comes to the act of masturbation, but these days it matches my moments of privacy which in circumstance is reduced to certain hours if I'm lucky, and that's just a fact of life, and something unavoidable.

What I conceived in this moment could revolutionize the pleasure of every domestic male. What I experienced with a particular brand of market stall soap, scent and ingredient that was traditionally made from spices of some sort. I forget what it was, as I tend to buy and then include it without much given thought to its origin. This soap however was the perfect accompaniment to a hard-on.

I thought, soap that induces erections. Soap that encourages sexual stimulation. Not just soap delicately designed for couples to increase bath time pleasure, but soap for men to use jacking off in the shower or bath. Soap that stimulates the penis and tickles the sensory glands. Soap that proudly says "Drop me". Yes, it can be done, with the right inclusion of ingredients, it could be called "Soap on a Grope".

Debauchers

2008-07-21T22:55:00.005+10:00

Here is a card game I've adapted from a common schoolyard game called Torture. I heard about it from my son and thought, wow, that would be a groovy game kinked-up, I didn't say that out loud, just let it waft about in my mind pleasurably.

The premise of Torture I have adapted for the playing of this game, I call it ... Debaucher!

How you play it is this. Shuffle a pack of cards, then each person chooses a card. After everyone has chosen their card they commit it to memory and then put it back in the pack. Someone else reshuffles the deck and places it on the table.

Then everyone leaves and doesn't return for at least ten years, then upon reuniting each person must remember what card they had chosen ...

No, I'm joking of course, the play goes like this: Each person then takes a card from the top of the pile and places it face up on the table. If a person arrives at their card then they are a Debaucher, they can then sit out while the others go through the pack.

The person left standing who hasn't found their card yet is the Debauchee, and that person must keep on selecting cards until they find their own. Once having done this, the remaining cards signify the amount and what kind of Debauchery that person will experience.

So if twenty cards are left, then that person will be Debauched twenty times by the Debauchers. How they are Debauched depends on what cards are left. Each person in the group then takes turns in lifting a card. If the card is say five of hearts and if it has been decided that hearts represents being stripped of five pieces of clothing, then the person who has the five of hearts must strip five layers off the Debauchee.

This goes on twenty times, and the number of the cards represents the number of times the person gets Debauched by the Debaucher who holds the current card.

To make the game extra Debauched, the Queen, King, Jack and Ace could all represent something especially kinky or xxx-treme. For instance Jack of hearts could represent being Jacked off whilst having an item of clothing removed, or if clubs represented Turkey Slaps then Queen of Clubs might be Turkey Slaps on the cunt etc etc.

So there you have it comrades, a game for all occasions, played easily in parks, on beaches and in libraries. Just set your own Debauched actions as that way you can cater to the level of kink you and your group can get into.

Popular Watchdogs

2008-07-19T11:26:00.003+10:00

So a threesome between two men and a female has caused somewhat of a stir on one of our major television stations, and it seems that kicking up stink about what is suitable and what is not is the sole goal of some organisations. Rather then have people see and understand sex in appropriate contexts, the idea it seems to lock every cupboard that contains the truth of humanity. This is a well worn path, and I'm not revealing anything new about humankind. What society doesn't realise is the tighter they narrow things the more radical the backlash is bound to be - we've seen this in action over certain decades like between 1910 and 1920, between 1950 and 1960, yes, so eager are the conservative lobby groups to scrub off the dirty stain of sex on art, that it only takes one Michelangelo to come along and paint the Sistine Chapel.

So sit back and relax, watch the censors at work, and be prepared for the "big push over the top", as I personally, am dubious about this "all in its place" mentality that is nothing more then "murdering with a smile" to quote a little Shakespeare. Thoughts can't be filed, they wander free in the mind, they are perceptibly influenced by circumstance and surroundings, they are irrational and unpredictable, so whatever it is you do expect backlashes.

So, who are these watchdogs or as they might like to think of themselves, watchgods, watching out for? The children? I don't think at the broadcast time of this show that you are going to get many children watching, and what ones are will probably have seen more "sex" then the watchdogs give credit for. I know from having a son that his friends all sneak peek at porn and they aren't even teenagers yet. When I was in my early teens I used to smoke tea-leaves in the bush, steal shoes from people's verandas , and get pictures on 5inch floppy discs of nude girls given to me by my friends.

The dirtiest, kinkiest, filthiest girls I went out with came from "Private Schools" that were not coed, and had strict policies on censoring anything considered rude or sexual. These girls all developed a backlash in behavior, having been starved of experience growing up.

It doesn't really matter but it does matter.

Imprison someone and undoubtedly they will want to someday be free.

Quickie ... another.

2008-07-13T20:52:00.009+10:00

Well, the Pope is going to be in town and he wants to see me, and one of my stories is appearing on Bedroom Angels Bedtime Stories (Oh, I'm story of the month winner ... mwah?), one which many of you have probably read before. It is there now, so if you haven't read "Prince Charming", that is where you'll find it.

Now I must don my glasses, slick my hair, tighten my tie and ...

I just have to add to this post, that all around me everyone is winging about winter and crapping on how wonderful it would if summer were here. Well, let me tell you this. Winter is beautiful, the cold is refreshing, it makes me ecstatic, I LOVE IT!!! I love waking up to cold gray mornings, warming up with a cup of coffee, rugging up, bracing myself for crisp air and mizzle dripping off trees and houses. Biting winds trailing off dew, and thunderous looking clouds rolling center stage, and people dashing off, huddling into precipices and cuddling up against blankets or people. Hot mugs of milk, warming wine, wistful wallops of wet testing people's patience, I just love the Winter, love it, love it, love it, and am hoping for a nice long and loving Winter. Summer, humbug, move to the Philippines if it bothers you so much. Gosh. I don't think, apart from a best friend of mine, have I heard anyone really just embracing Winter, bring on Global Warming it would be better to hear them say, or I'm moving to Brazil, off you go. There has been far too much Summer daze anyhow, time for some creative chill.

Rant over and OUT!

Black Spring

2008-07-10T23:03:00.004+10:00

I did my first proper shoot for Aaryon yesterday night and am well exhausted, not from the shoot but from the working week. The shoot was smooth, some schoolboy antics and debonair reclining in my latest dressing gown. Very fine stuff. If you haven't checked out what is in store at Aaryon have a peek, the actual site isn't up yet just the dummy page calling for talent and introducing the concept behind it. I think the photos will turn out well however it is a shame I get so tired from work otherwise I'd have looked more fresh and inviting but nothing wrong with looking like a bit of worn leatherette.

I've been somewhat submerged in Miller's "Black Spring", only Henry could devote two or three pages purely to the joy of pissing, "I am a man who pisses largely and frequently, which they say is a sign of great mental activity". He tells of the public urinals he actually goes out of his way to visit, just to enjoy a piss and it seems have some woman looking out of her window at him. I was reading "Black Spring" on the tram and the conversations that were breaking around me were driving me bonkers, it was almost as if Douglas Adam's statement had been written for this exact moment ...

"If human beings don't keep exercising their lips, he thought, their mouths probably seize up. After a few months' consideration and observation he abandonded this theory in favor of a new one. If they don't keep on exercising their lips, he thought, their brains start working." - Douglas Adam's Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

I was getting a bit of a headache and feeling like yelling out "Shuuuuuut-uuuuuup". There is sometimes pleasure to be had in listening in to people's conversations but the babble that was going on around me was as if people had decided to congregate solely for the purpose of spitting sounds at each other. It was going to be a long ride and I winced every time people sat next to me, one girl chomping through a packet of crisps like a bum ferreting through a garbage can, a group of boys slapping each other and tinkling with their mobile phones, but at least it wasn't as bad as the guy I once had hop on the tram next to me practicing or using his chanting for some purpose, he looked like a K-Mart clothed version of Cat Stevens only anal-retentive in the way he had his collared shirt tucked tight into his jeans and his back-pack propped up high. He opened the tram window and began chanting out of it, his beard and long black curly hair clearly shaped to compose such guttural grunts - I felt like saying to him that his meditations may be settling his troubled mind but they were sure unsettling me - but back to the recent tram ride ...

I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the words of Henry Miller, his stream of printed piss glazing my perceptions and lulling me away from the bustling nonsense around me. Not that I was completely following everything Miller was saying, it was more having an intelligible rabble going on in my head rather then the bubble-gum popping and squeaking around me. So I am finding Miller useful and enjoyable at the moment, and I was thinking about what he wrote, about leaving a scar on humanity, and that felt appropriate.

This is Fuckeries

2008-07-05T21:17:00.005+10:00

Mutley had commented that there was an absence of my cock lately on Fuckeries, and yes, I suppose not much inspiration has flown in for 'creative cock' pics, and so I thought to show off my latest dressing gown. I got it for winter as my usual wear is quite flighty allowing me the freedom to dart about the lounge-room leaping over couches, chairs, coffee tables etc. This gown however is more heavy, thicker, woolen and warm. It's a bit of a pensioner gown, but I don't feel any of the benefits of youth at the moment, it is a passing phase, and in a year or two I'll be swinging from the rafters again.

As you can see I'm sneaking in a cigarette, having a night to myself in the apartment. I finished reading "A Moveable Feast", where upon hearing the times Hemingway spent with Fitzgerald in Paris (1920s), made me understand that the fruits of our creative labors are only half the tragedy of being. That a sensitivity to all things and an unknowing which perspires contradiction is a fundamental condition for questioning the universe that has born us. That succinctly not much will change as each wave of generation filters through all the puzzles and procedures needed to breed the next lot, and so on. Tender is the night ... said Fitzgerald, and he perhaps in his dizzy anxiety and perplexing insecurities would be one of the few who truly felt it.

So now onto Miller's "Black Spring", as I sit back listening to Electric Light Orchestra's rendition of Edvard Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King". Briefly I think back to a month ago when I had an amusing conversation with a phone sex girl and she described humming on my balls, I asked what she was humming, she laughed, and I suggested "Popcorn" the tune composed on the Moog by Gershon Kingsley. I then suggested we do "69" and I hum on her cunt, something like Mozart's "Turkish March". There was much amusement as we attempted to orate this expressive fantasy - me with a hard cock, wanking, and she probably in front of the telly with the sound on mute.

It was one of those paid phone sex conversations that converse nicely between getting off, and after I came she said "Wow, you actually sound intelligent, I'm used to dumb, rude and arrogant idiots". I bade her good luck with her "Dumb, rude and arrogant idiots", hung up the phone and went to bed smiling. Glad to have made someones working night a little more enjoyable then it might normally be.

The other night I clung onto trying to remember my mother. She died when I was almost 3 years old and I have no memories of her. I lay in the darkness and for about four hours I tried really hard to recollect. I stimulated my mind with things I could remember in the hope that I would trigger a memory that might be hiding dormant somewhere. It was exhausting as I went through things that had caught my eye at a very young age, traumatic times, and common memories. The stimulus that was most vivid was the traumatic experiences so I concentrated on attempting to recall trauma. I was told by my Aunty that when my mother died I was lying in bed between her and my Uncle, and at 6am I woke up crying terribly, it was 6am when my mother died in hospital.

This brought me to one important point. I was lying between my Aunty and my Uncle, and this brought to my attention the fact that I had a fear of the dark as a kid, something I had forgotten about up until now. It was a lead.

Up until about eight I had to have a tiny orange light that plugged into the wall socket wherever I went, whichever friend's houses I stayed in and during the summer where I grew up. During winter all my early childhood I had a fire in my room that gave off a flickering glow that calmed me, as I had terrible fears that sharks swam on my carpet and wolves were under my bed.

So I knew that most likely I would have slept between my mother and father at a very, very early age. It seemed rational enough to pursue this line of recollection, and then it happened, I got a flash of memory of waking up having peed the bed or just woken up, and my father being irritated and my mother in a white nightie comforting me. It was a surreal memory and it felt real, as real as memories can, real enough to convince me that my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. I think I have found my memory of my mother ... I think.

Tardy Me

2008-06-30T21:44:00.004+10:00

Tardy me in all things at the moment (Even replying to comments to my posts which seem to only occur when I can think a little at the end of the week), and guess what, I got a stress rash all over my chest. Wonderful sight as I slipped into a hot bath thinking I'd read over some of Earnest's observations on Bicycle Racing, when I looked down, stubbed the cigarette I was chugging on and called out in a panic to Sabine. Yes, a stress rash for now, unless it turns out to be something more serious but this weekend I really did slump in a pool of exhaustion and found myself with ex-partner and son suddenly turning up and spending a few nights at my place due to an uprooting of her current living arrangements.

This was topped with the steep financial climb to do my PHD in the UK, funnily enough living expenses where I want to go are not much more then what you end up paying here. There is so much to organise and what mind space I do have is devoted to daily grinds, nightly naps, and weekend wondering at where the weekend went. I am always in awe of people who are able to simply "get things done", it seems to me like a flaunting grace that ever so deftly manoeuvres itself around life's administrative congestion.

It's not like any steady progress is being made in my mind just rough sketches of what I want to do surrounded by a cluster of goals matched against outcomes, I have had to cull some of my directive idealism and can it up for a later, much later date. Amazing how one can think to do these kind of things especially when it is intrinsically within oneself. One cautiously backs away from life, it suddenly encroaches, one extends towards life, it suddenly retreats. That's really Tantalus summed up to a tea isn't it, and also not because he never got any tea did he?

Opinions, opinions, opinions

2008-06-25T22:41:00.002+10:00

... Of which I am not asking for but merely thinking about. How we arrive at our opinions, stick by them, alter them, change them completely. Opinions, we all have them and use them in different ways. We all have a point of view or something to say, but opinions about sex or what one likes is often that extra bit fraught with inner innuendo, "it gets innuendo", you could say. Opinions about life and who each of us are also makes me wonder if ever a holistic temperament is manageable without everyone going all Zen on each other. Some people have about as much depth as 7-inch 45 rpm record. Not to say that seeing life as a continuum is easy, only really at the very tail end do we reminisce enough to get a perspective adequate enough to, well, provide some kind of wisdom.

Of course an opinion would logically stem from ideation but the reality of this logic is somewhat obscured by the existence of conventionality of Pavlovian proportions to which I am sorry to say makes up for the great wealth of beans we have upstairs on the whole as far as our species has evolved since the first fish thought to build sandcastles. However this of course is just my opinion, and one that doesn't give any empathy towards most of my fellow Homo sapiens except for a marginal few who I admire in profound ways which makes for a slightly more rigorous adornment of their character then most.

My opinion of my own life at the moment is that I have been too busy to do anything other then the things at hand and they are not priority things. Last night I lay on the couch, a glass of white wine in my hand, my feet up, and I thought to myself "This is what I've been looking forward to for the past two weeks", it was about 8pm, and then next thing I knew Sabine was waking me at 1:30am where quite clearly such was my exhaustion I had promptly fallen straight to sleep right after that thought.

Some people use the analogy of wires in the brain, some people being wired differently or the wiring not quite right, well the wires in my brain are somewhat frayed and tend to be sparking when I move my head. I feel I need a good few weeks of emptiness in which to rebuild structures that are half finished, from scripts to applications, to study to general cracked ideas that need mending.

BTW, the Hack interview can be downloaded from this link on MP3, but they only last a week, so be quick on that right click.

At the moment I'm reading Hemmingway's "A Moveable Feast", it felt a more appropriate read then Dylan's "Adventures in the skin trade". Written with brevity, A Moveable Feast tells of Hemmingway's time in Paris, especially his time spent with Gertrude Stein, and it also reveals some of Earnest's writing techniques and thoughts on the creative process. For instance, "Up in that room I decided that I would write one story about each thing that I knew about. I was trying to do this all the time I was writing, and it was good and severe discipline." another "I was writing it now and it was not writing itself ..."

Some terrific and yet calming insights into the processes at work for a writer who really took pains to complete his work, I guess a bit like Dylan Thomas too.

Triple JJJ Hack and Aaryon

2008-06-23T21:28:00.007+10:00

A forward to an interview on Swinging was filtered across from the folks behind Attunga who in always expressing a holistic approach towards sexual cultural awareness and having shown an interest in this Blog which is fantastic, has developed towards Sabine and I plonking our behinds down on Chesterfield leather being interviewed by a young reporter from Triple JJJ.

Sabine and I took to the microphone for some publicly positive promotion on what makes Poly tick or want crackers and other explosive items in their love life.

I am sure, or believe that Sabine and I will vocally clear our lungs on various points involving Polygamy and Polyamory on Triple JJJ's Tuesday evening show Hack. Well, we got interviewed tonight by an eager reporter on the lifestyle and he told us to tune in tomorrow, being Tuesday at 5:30pm through to 6pm to hear his "news item" on "What is monogamy?", and of course Sabine posing as June and me as Rubin gave him the run down, not the rub up because he himself was unsure on whether or not he could commit to "the lifestyle" or better "The style of life" which should be its proper term, and in the end, meaning.

This weeks Hack program is all about fetish, but the show is generally about kinks etc, so if you want to tune in for a variety of other reasons or general interest then I guess you should. Not only that but you'll hear a lot of reasons why monogamy is absolutely fine for the fanatics who love it but just look at the Divorce rate and level of cheating around the joint and tell me there isn't a need for an open "open lifestyle" too. Or else what are we doing on this planet? As I summed up, why should I blame myself for societies crimes? It is all very profoundly sensible yet quite confidently pinched from Bruce Robinson's "Withnail and I", I didn't have the heart to expose my unoriginality.

You can listen to streams from their past week of broadcasts on this link but those who don't live in Australia with transistor sets handy or good old crystal wireless might need to wait a few days before it goes Online for streaming. Either way I shall let everybody know and if not everybody then just this solitary half filled glass of 2004 McWilliam's Merlot which only responds back to me in forms of head ache.

Onto my other note for this Blog, I went merrily on my way to the 12th floor apartment of a high-rise apartment block over-looking the sea. My objective was to meet with the photographer behind the latest Melbourne sojourn into sensuality, Aaryon, now I know you Bloggers and Readers are just waiting to see what mischief I come up with for this site, but hang-on, the photos up at the moment are just taste-testers for the site when it actually goes live-live.

The photographer and I chatted at length about a few things, lots to do with the Adult Online world, a bit about my background and I also probed him about his experience. All up I found him a reflective and interesting man, especially because he asked me how I cam up with the narratives to ideas. I found this rather touching, someone actually interested in the thinking process behind creativity. My response was rather inarticulate but now looking back, I would have borrowed a Dylan Thomas remark regarding being "prodded by ideas", and honestly that is how it is. The shoot was fairly basic, at first just me with jacket and shirt, pants, shoes etc. The second round was a stage character I had created called "The Tartan Suite", and finally completely nude except for a tie and my scarf tied around my waist which I knotted and twisted as I contorted my body in various shapes.

The only major criticism he offered to me was that I tend to frown a lot, well, sadly that is the general outlook that bereaves me in life, and if frowning ever becomes the new black, I'm relatively fashionable, if not distantly dour.