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Subject: FUCK DECENCY 386  Passions Playpen  NND g2
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                                               GIRL ALERT !

         It’s amazing who you meet on the bus.  Today I met this guy. 
He has a long name, like that of President Bush, whose full name is
George Herbert Walker Bush.
         This guy’s name is Samuel Theodore Utica Dell.  I’ll call him
Dell.  (There’s no relation between himself and the Dell paperback book
company, though.)
         Dell was sitting next to me on the bus.  He sighed.  I looked
over at him.  I introduced myself.  I asked him why he looked so sad.
         “I was all set,” Dell told me.  “I met a strong, assertive
woman.  She was willing to teach me and guide me, and have me sire her
children.  She was going to train me to care for her children after they
were born.  She even found me a 9 to 5 job as a secretary at the firm
she owned.”
         “Sounds pretty good,” I said.  “A wife, kids, a job, a roof
over your head, and even three meals a day, provided you’re willing to
cook them.”
         “Yep,” Dell agreed.  He sighed again.  He looked at me.  “But
then disaster struck!” Dell told me.
         “Gosh!” I said.  “What happened?”
         “I went to Tower Books,” Dell said.  “To buy the Wall Street
Journal, because my wife-to-be said she needed a copy.”
         “Yes?” I asked. 
         “I saw a magazine,” Dell told me.
         “What sort of magazine?” I asked.  
         “It was the June issue of some magazine from France, called
Depeche Mode.”
         “Sounds like one of those ladies’ fashion magazines,” I said.
         “Yes,” Dell said.  “But instead of having a strong, assertive
woman on the cover, clad in Puritanical business garb, they put a child
on their cover!”
         “A child?!” I asked.
         “Yes, you know,” Dell said.  “A girl.  A girl who’s under 18. 
And she isn’t all sweaty, and dressed in a basketball or a baseball
uniform, like girls are supposed to be.”
         “She isn’t?!” I asked.
         “No,” Dell said.  “She’s wearing a cowboy hat.  Her hair is
pulled into pigtails, making her look even younger than she already is. 
She’s wearing a shirt that’s open all the way down its front, like a
nightie.  And, worst of all, she’s got on a pair of very small hotpants,
that look like they’re made out of silk.”
         “Gosh!” I said.
         “But there’s even something worse than that,” Dell told me. 
“As this young child stares into the camera, with a lascivious smile on
her face, she is PULLING DOWN the front of her hot pants, as if she
wants to take them off!”
         “Good Lord!” I cried.
         “Yes!” Dell said.  “Let me tell you, that ruined me-- after
that there was just NO WAY I could marry my fiancee.  Now I spend my
days loitering around swimming pools with 12-year-old virgins in skimpy
bikinis, idling away, not doing anything socially useful with my life.”
         “What a tragedy!” I cried.
         “Even worse, the 12-year-old cherries-- I mean, girls-- they
ask me about sex!” Dell said.
         “You mean you’re corrupting the youth-- like Socrates?” I
         “Yes!!!” Dell gasped.  “I mean, I could be a married, working
father, dutifully serving my wife, and instead I’m hanging around with
beautiful young virgins, talking about sex.”
         “Isn’t it amazing how one day you can be doing so well in life,
and the next day your whole life can completely collapse?” I asked Dell.
         “Indeed!” Dell said.  “Now several of the girls want to move in
with me.  They want to be my groupies.  God knows, I could spend the
rest of my life living like Hugh Hefner, or some rock n’ roll god, when
I might have been a hard-working secretary!”
         The bus reached Dell’s stop.  He got off.  A gaggle of
screaming girls in wet bikinis was waiting for him.  He turned to me and
sadly waved goodbye to me as the girls attempted to rip off his clothes.
         “Goodbye!” I cried to Dell from the bus, as it sped away.  “Try
to get help if you can!”
         “I will!” Dell yelled back to me.  “It’s no fun being sick!”
         Beware, men!  Don’t turn out like Dell.  The last thing you
want in life is to have some sick desire for, or relationship with, a
12-year-old girl.  In Dell’s case he’s suffering from a very advanced
form of the disease, where he finds himself associating with a whole
group of young girls.  Don’t jeopardize your chance to have a mature
relationship with a strong, assertive woman!  If you need to visit Tower
Books, be very careful not to look at the June issue of Depeche Mode. 
Keep your eyes lowered and do whatever business you need to do very
quickly, so your mind won’t be corrupted.
         Dell is probably doomed.  I doubt he’ll ever get to enjoy a
relationship with a demanding, assertive, wrinkled, out-of-shape woman. 
He’ll probably throw his whole life away, playing with slim, beautiful
12-year-old girls, discussing pointless things with them like sex.
         But you can still be saved!  Join NOW.  Send money to NARAL. 
Read “It Takes a Village,” by Hillary Clinton.  Get down on your knees
whenever you see a picture of Janet Reno.  Then one day you too will
enjoy the supreme pleasure of a sexually frigid wife, a 50 year
mortgage, ungrateful brats who call you “Dad,” and a job with
unremitting demands.
         What a great country this is, for those of us who aren’t sick!

                                      Andrew Roller Presents
                                              FUCK DECENCY

                                      NAKED girls and more at:

                                              Issue No. 386

                                   Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in 
                                            Passion’s Playpen

                                               Chapter Four
         Kate spent four more days at Marie’s.  In the later days she,
and her lover, were permitted more freedom.  They spent the mornings
lying in bed, afternoons in the barn or the bath, and nights partying
with couples that Marie invited over to meet them.  
         “I love you,” Kate said to her lover as she was helped up into
the carriage to go back to her school.  He could not come with her.  He
had to get back to his life at work.
         “Again this weekend?” Trent asked, looking up at Kate as she
settled herself in the carriage.  She wore clothes given to her by
         “Perhaps,” Kate said.
         “If you say ‘no’ I’ll find someone else,” Trent said to her.
         “So will I,” Kate smiled.  “Here she comes now.”
         And, stumbling out of the house, hurrying so she wouldn’t miss
the carriage, came Cindy.  The girls had grown close in the ensuing days
and Cindy, pregnant from one of Marie’s lovers, but not wanting the man
or even knowing his last name, wished to leave also.  She’d had enough
of being Marie’s ‘special guest.’  
         Cindy had a hand clapped to her head and was holding on a
broad-brimmed straw hat, with a ribbon tied to it, lest the early winter
wind blow it away.
         Trent found himself with the need to help Cindy into the
carriage.  He did so, helping her up, patting her bottom as he did, for
he had always found it as darling as Kate’s.
         “You’re going to live together?” Trent asked Kate.
         “Yes, love.  She needs someplace sane to stay while she has her
pregnancy,” Kate answered.
         “Marie is a bit nuts,” Trent said.  The girls, Kate and Cindy,
stared down at him from the carriage.  Kate had her hand on the door. 
She held it open.
         “Sure you can’t come?” Kate asked.
         Trent shook his head.
         “I can come, but, you know, I do need to get back to work,” he
         “Well we might meet somebody in the meantime,” Kate said. 
She’d never felt so free before.  She liked the idea that her lover’s
plan might have backfired.  He’d brought her to Marie’s to make her his
forever but instead, on this cold morning, her breath frosting the air
and wearing another woman’s clothes, Kate felt sexually liberated.
         Trent looked confused by her sudden change in demeanor.  They’d
had sex many times during the week, professing their love for each
other.  Yet now, perched in the carriage, Kate seemed to be saying
         “You surely can go out with me again this weekend?” Trent asked
hopefully.  The driver of the carriage, feeling a little annoyed at the
length of their goodbye, aimlessly cracked his whip in the air.
         “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Kate smiled.  She felt Cindy’s breath
against her cheek.  She was sure the two of them could find wonderful
new men together, the two of them partying on the weekends and living
together.  She loved Trent but, at the same time, she wanted to meet
other men.  For the first time in her life she felt truly free and
content with her body.  She was gorgeous.  Only 5 foot 2, perhaps, but
gorgeous.  Why should she limit herself?  And Cindy was a bombshell too,
at least until her tummy swelled.  
         Trent stood in the cold air staring up, his eyes questioning
but finding no answers.
         “Perhaps, perhaps not, she said.  Get a life!” Cindy chortled.
         “Bye, honey,” Kate said to Trent.  She pulled the carriage door
shut.  The driver heard it and struck hard at his horses.
         The carriage pulled away, leaving Trent standing in front of
the brownstone.

                                         Chapter Five

         It was a private party.  At Marie’s, for experienced bondage
aficionados only.  Kate, despite her conscience and her better
judgement, was in attendance.  It was the following fortnight.  Cindy
was staying with her, five weeks pregnant now, though her belly still
didn’t show it.  Marie had called them both, asking about them,
concerned that their welts were healing.
         “Yes,” they’d told her.  Their welts had subsided and were
almost gone.  She asked about Trent.  Kate admitted that, handsome as he
was, she was bored with him.  Marie said she was having a party.  A
special party.  
         “Will it hurt?” Kate asked bluntly.  She knew what questions to
ask now.
         “A little,” Marie admitted.  
         Kate wasn’t sure she’d attend, she replied.  But already she’d
felt butterflies in her tummy.  And, when the night of the party came,
she and Cindy had put on makeup, and spent hours dressing and
undressing, picking just the right clothes, not sure they’d go but not
sure they wouldn’t.  And they’d called a cab just in case, and when it
arrived they’d made it wait forever, and then, kissing each other for
confidence before they left Kate’s dorm room, they headed downstairs
together.  A boy saw them holding hands and kidded them.  Blushing,
they’d released their grip on each other.  They’d not even known they
were holding hands.  In the cab they’d grabbed each other’s hands again,
instinctively, as soon as they’d gotten inside.
         Cindy wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to Marie.  But she had
to admit that the previous Friday and Saturday had been less than
exciting, club hopping til three in the morning, meeting guys they
weren’t sure about.  
         Now, at Marie’s, they knew she’d watch over them.  Everyone sat
in the living room, exchanging glances, admiring dresses and shirts and
men’s trousers.  There were about ten people, half male, half female. 
Drinks were served by an engagingly dressed young waitress.  She had
long blonde hair pinned up in a coiffure.  She wore spiked heels and
white gloves, plus a stringy bikini.  Nothing else, except her makeup
and earrings.  But what was so shocking about her was her back.  There
were new welts across her back.  They were just under her shoulder
blades, where her bikini bra tied in back.  And, looking at her, knowing
about how Marie whipped people, Kate wondered whether the lovely blonde
waitress had welts on her bottom too.  Everyone wondered it, whispering,
and at last someone asked her.
         “Yes, and they hurt something awful!” the waitress said.  She
put down her tray and turned around and pulled down the back of her
panties.  People gasped, gathered to look.  There were four welts
slashed across the girl’s bottom.  A woman traced her finger along the
ridged red marks.  The blonde winced, and bit her lip.
         “When were you given these?” the woman asked.
         “This afternoon.  They’re quite fresh,” the blonde waitress
         “Please keep your panties down and let us see them,” the woman
said.  “They’re very lovely welts.”
         “Thank you,” the blonde answered.  And because it was a bondage
party, the girl pulled her panties down in front and in back so that
they clung to the tops of her thighs.  Then she picked up her tray and
began serving again, and taking orders for drinks, and bringing more
         Marie entered.  She was dressed to kill in a sleek, short black
dress.  It was daringly decollete in front, showing her breasts right
down to the tops of her nipples.  When she turned Kate saw that the
sides of her dress were slit up to her waist.  Kate saw a slim band
cutting across her waist underneath, guessed it to be a G-string.  Marie
wore knee length boots that had been carefully tied up the entire length
of her shins.  Looking at them, Kate realized the boots had taken much
longer to put on than the dress.  And that Marie, though she might be
free of her dress in a minute, would need forever to get her boots off.
         “I see you’ve already got my serving girl to show her stuff,”
Marie laughed.  She was beaming, ready to party.  She took a drink from
the waitress’ tray but hardly acknowledged the girl, looking instead
with pride at her guests.  “Well, guys, I hope you’re up for some fun
tonight,” Marie said.
         “You don’t waste any time on small talk, do you Marie?” the
woman who’d asked the waitress to lower her panties said.
         “I try not to,” Marie answered, laughing.  “You must be
Lynette?  The girl from the agency that I talked to on the phone?”
         “Yes,” the woman answered.  She was about Marie’s age, with
brown hair and breasts that weren’t as big as Marie’s, but still plump. 
She was slim and had very long legs.  She looked like a runway model. 
“I could use a break from all my photo shoots.”
         “Well, I have something planned that will take your mind
completely off your work,” Marie smiled.


                                                Packing Day
                                            by Lisa Scarboro

   I took my smile and put it back in storage today,
   doesn’t look like I’ll be needing it anymore.  So
   back it goes along with some hopes and dreams
   that I had gotten out also.
   I probably should pack them up more carefully,
   but I just don’t feel like bothering.
   I know one thing for sure though, I’m going to 
   shove them so far to the back of my mind that I’ll
   probably never get them out again.
   I know I said that before... but they’re so frayed
   and tattered now that they’re more of an
   embarrassment than anything else, and so hard
   to keep together, it doesn’t take much to damage
   them further.
   They’re getting kind of old now anyway, it’s not
   like when they were young and strong and shiny.
   Too many little holes to patch.
   Too many little pieces to pick up when they fall

                                             AND IN THE END...

for Chinese dissidents, medieval protestants, Roman Christians, and

         “Genes, as expressed in the brain, enable people to figure out
what a society rewards and punishes and to behave accordingly.”

- Newsweek, June 22, 1998, pg. 62.

(I guess we’re all missing genes!  - h.j.)

-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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         Depeche Mode, “Juin 1998,” No. 119, $7.25.  Slick, full-color
magazine, many pages.  (Available at Tower Books.)

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