ARE YOU 12 YEARS OLD???
QUIT READING THIS!!!
Please go to the Algebra Homework Website. THAT is where you BELONG.
DonÕt you know that adults much prefer doing algebra homework to having
sex? ItÕs true. When youÕre sent to the roller rink on Wednesday night
your parents are NOT at home having Sex !!! They are at home doing algebra
homework. And you should be doing algebra too. By the time youÕre 18,
you will understand all this.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 162
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Beach Western
Chapter One
"Over here we have hats," Ashlee explained. Her booted feet raised
up on tip-toe as she reached for a ten-gallon hat perched on a high shelf.
Ashlee's bottomcheeks bulged out as she stretched for the merchandise.
Suddenly she felt cold steel press against her bare heinie. Still
stretching, she turned her head about. Genieve was holding an iron brand
against her lightly tanned bottom. For several long seconds Ashlee just
stared, eyes wide. Anyone else, realizing the indiscretion which their
wielding of a brand had got them into, would have put it right down. But
Genieve just held it there, against Ashlee's bottom. Finally Genieve's eyes
rose to meet Ashlee's and she let the brand fall.
"How I would love to brand your bottom to claim you as my very
own," Genieve's eyes seemed to say to Ashlee. The girl shook her blonde
mane, blinked. She retrieved the hat and brought it down and presented it
to Genieve.
"My, this is nice--for a man," Genieve said, giving the ten-gallon a
diffident glance.
"Do you have a husband, ma'am," Ashlee offered. "Or a boyfriend?"
"I fear I have both," Genieve replied in a bored tone. "You see, my
husband's done very well in real estate. He's pushing 70. He moved here
when everything cost about a dime an acre and had the money to buy."
"My," Ashlee gushed. "What's it like being married to an older man?"
"It was fun," Genieve said. "But now his sexual powers are waning,
while I, at 40, am told that I'm in my prime."
"Yes, I've heard that," Ashlee said.
"About me?" Genieve asked, surprised.
"No," Ashlee giggled. "About a woman's sexual prime being her 40's.
It's strange. I think sex is great right now!" Ashlee blushed.
"I see," Genieve said, a wan smile coming to her lips. "You look so
young an innocent, I'd think you were a complete virgin."
"My daddy thinks I am," Ashlee said. "But I met a nice boy and, well,
you know. Unfortunately he moved away."
"I have a huge spread up in the hills," Genieve said. "Why don't you
come up with me and enjoy yourself? It's well stocked with young men,
all of whom are waiting for my husband to croak." Ashlee laughed.
"Oh, don't worry. I have plenty of suitors," Ashlee said.
"I'm sure you do," Genieve said. "But you should come up anyway.
Come and make a special presentation of your western wear." The
manager happened to saunter by at just that moment, no doubt to see
whether Ashlee was slacking on the job while simultaneously checking out
the 40-year-old woman. "I say," Genieve said, turning to the ruddy-faced,
cigar chomping manager. "Would you mind if Ashlee here came up to my
mansion to make a special presentation of your wears? I could guarantee
you quite a large sale. I have quite a number of young men at my place who
would just love this stuff, if only they could tear themselves away from
me to come here and see it, which of course they can't. But you can come
to them."
The manager pondered Genieve's proposal a moment, chin in his palm,
but even for a moron like him it didn't take too long to realize the dollar
potential of what this obviously wealthy lady was proposing.
"Sure, she can go up," the man said suddenly.
"Dalton!" Ashlee admonished.
"Then it's settled," Genieve said. "Ashlee, come the next time you
report to work." She turned to Dalton, the manger. "When will that be?"
"Well, she's working tomorrow," Dalton said. "In the evening."
"Have you a van?"
"Sure," Dalton replied. "Its got a few dents in it."
"That will be fine," Genieve said.
"Great!" Dalton said. He turned and called to a boy as moronic as
himself, but with great shoulders and a Malibu tan. "Boyle! Wash the van!"
he commanded.
"Sure thing, Mr. Dalton," Boyle replied, as Genieve added that he
should see her chauffeur for a map to her mansion.
The next day found Ashlee piloting a white van with a lasso
emblazoned on its side up steep canyon roads. When the driving conditions
permitted it she gave a quick, intense glance at the map Genieve had
provided. In back, shuddering with every hairpin turn of the van, was a
whole load of western gear.
Black shadows slashed across the roadway, created by the setting
sun. Anything not in shadow had a tint of gold to it. The sere trees, the
cacti, the occasional beer can lying along the way.
Genieve's mansion was not easy to miss. It turned out to be sitting
right along the road, with its green, immaculate English lawn standing out
in stark contrast to the rusty dirt and tumbleweeds that made up the
traditional fauna of the canyon. The front gate stood open. Ashlee turned
up the drive. She marvelled at the mansion's beauty. It was a mix of 18th
century French baroque and modern convenience. Ashlee brought the van to
a halt and climbed down. She walked toward the front door, suddenly
feeling her attire to be inadequate. What seemed fine on the beach felt
out of place standing before this huge mansion. But what could she do?
She was representing the Beach Western, and wearing its uniform. The
midriff, the thong panties, the peewee cowboy boots. The little white
western gloves of simulated leather, the red neckerchief tied around her
throat. The decorative black leather belt, slim as a pencil, that circled
her hips and hung down on one side where a silver band, closing the loop of
the belt, allowed two wayward streamers of leather to dangle along
Ashlee's thigh.
The blonde lifted a gloved fist and knocked sheepishly on the front
door. It was a big slab of mahogany that, to Ashlee at least, looked like it
could have doubled for that of Dr. Frankenstein in Young Frankenstein. Or
Dr. Frankenfurter's in Rocky Horror. But it was no creepy doctor who
answered this door. A trio of young men, in polo shirts and slacks,
brimming with "good times" enthusiasm and smiles, flung open the door
and grinned out at Ashlee. The way they jostled each other in the doorway
it looked as if they'd competed to see which of them could reach her first.
Ashlee stepped back. A vision of her uncle's dogs leaping up to greet her
flashed through her mind. She remembered too how the dogs used to try to
rub up against her calves, to relieve themselves of their semen.
"I-I'm looking for Genieve," Ashlee said.
"Well, you've come to the right place," one of the young men said.
(Though if he'd been slow off the mark in responding no doubt one of the
other two would have eagerly provided an answer.) "Let us unpack your
van for you." Genieve appeared behind the young men, dressed in a black
blouse and skirt, with black pumps. The men scattered past Ashlee toward
the van. Ashlee was left looking at Genieve, who invited her in.
The interior of the mansion was as ornate as its outside. As
Genieve's young suitors unloaded the van Genieve showed Ashlee around.
Each room was unique. There was the living room, with the latest in
furniture, the dining room, with its candelabra-laden table and chandelier,
the study, with its books, the bedrooms, some with canopied beds, and
many other rooms besides.
"It must be fun cleaning all this," Ashlee said wryly. Her family
made do with a house in which she and her sister had to share a room.
"Oh, I'm bored here," Genieve said. "I wish my husband had bought
land in Paris or Monaco or someplace, instead of this God-forsaken desert
turned dump."
"You think L.A. is a dump?" Ashlee asked. She'd heard her favorite
city described in many ways, but not as a dump!
"Of course," Genieve replied. "The whole fucking world is moving
here. L.A. is a cesspool of humanity. More people, more cars, more smog."
She caught herself. "Excuse my French. I sometimes become a bit
boisterous in expressing myself. But, if I may verge on crudeness, have
you ever wondered how many times a toilet is flushed in a single day in
L.A.? That alone should lend veracity to my assertion."
"Well it hasn't hurt the value of your husband's property," Ashlee
offered.
"Oh no, everything costs a million an acre now," Genieve said. "Oh no,
we're wealthy alright, because everyone on the planet seems to want to
come here and flush a toilet in this desert." Ashlee couldn't help laughing.
The woman did have a pointed, if earthy, sense of humor. Perhaps her visit
here would be reasonably enjoyable after all.
Soon Ashlee was standing in the middle of Genieve's living room.
There was a cluster of young men and women lounging about her,
seemingly eagerly engaged by her presentation. She showed off her (or
rather, Beach Western's) hats first. Then the clothing, including gloves
and neckerchiefs. Interest seemed to intensify as she brought out the
boots, followed by saddles and, in the end, riding crops, whips, and brands.
As the first shafts of a full moon entered the living room's skylight the
guests ponied up their money. Anyone who wanted something but didn't
have the cash was covered by Genieve. There was very little left over
when the buying had ended. This was taken out to the van by two young
men as Genieve invited everyone, including Ashlee, to a round of cocktails
by the pool.
The moon was full that night, and perhaps it had an effect in luring
Ashlee to loiter at the mansion. Of course she didn't want to be impolite
to such a wealthy buyer by leaving before she should. Dalton wouldn't be
at all pleased with that. But as she sat on a chaise lounge sipping a
cocktail, staring up at the moon, all sense of time seemed to slip from her
mind. Genieve lay in the chaise next to her, whispering pleasantries, as
guests frolicked in the pool. Music played in the background for the
occasional couple who wanted to dance. And, below it all, spread the
stunning vista of L.A. where, no doubt, many a toilet was busy flushing.
Someone splashed water on Ashlee's top. It was only thin linen, and
the water soaked right through, illuminating her pink nipple beneath. "Oh!"
Ashlee cried, but as if to relieve her embarrassment, two of the girls in
the pool exuberantly stripped off their bikini bras. Whether the girls in
the pool had seen what had happened to Ashlee was unclear. They were
frolicking at the far end with a beach ball, with a male in attendance. Yet
Ashlee felt that an inordinate amount of attention was directed at her. It
was as if she was the unspoken centerpiece of the whole party. Genieve
leaned close and called for a towel.
"You needn't worry dear," Genieve assured Ashlee. "We're all quite
free here."
"Yes, I noticed," Ashlee said with a glance at the girls tossing the
beach ball. A towel was given to her and she brushed it over her chest. It
had little effect, for the water had already soaked the fabric. She wiped
droplets of water from her face.
Two young men splashed Genieve, intentionally. The woman
responded by stripping off her black blouse. Beneath she wore a lacy
white bra. "Have you ever tanned by moonlight?" Genieve asked, lying back
on her chaise, turning to Ashlee.
"Uh, no," Ashlee replied.
"It's quite possible," Genieve said. "Moonlight is just reflected
sunlight, you know."
"Come for a swim, Ashlee," a young man implored. He bounded up to
her and took her hand.
"I only have a bottom--no top," Ashlee protested.
"So just wear your halter," the young man said. "Or you can borrow a
top, I'm sure." Ashlee pondered a moment. Her halter top was already wet.
On the other hand, the girls with the beach balls had bikini tops that were
slowly sinking beneath the illuminated surface of the pool. Well, she
didn't really want to have to ask one of the girls for her bra. Ashlee let
her eyes graze the figure of the young man who stood before her. He was
totally naked, save for a pair of "ball hugger" swim briefs that left little
to the imagination. The outline of his cockhead was clearly visible
beneath the nylon. Could her nipples, visible when her midriff was
immersed in the lighted pool, be so much more sacred than this boy's
manhood?
Ashlee relented and let the boy pull her from the chaise. "Good girl.
Have fun!" Genieve called from her chaise. Ashlee jumped in the pool with
the young man.
As Ashlee frolicked with the other swimmers she found her midriff
did not hold up well in a swimming environment. Already off her
shoulders, it soon was off her breasts...
AND NOW...
HOLY JOE, THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE !!!
Thanks to all of you who voted for me in ÔThe Sexiest Man Alive
Following a Nuclear Holocaust Contest.Õ I am very delighted to have
finally won something in life.
I realize it was a tough choice: me, or Pee Wee Herman with a bag
over his head, or a 3 foot Ronald McDonald, but I did win, and IÕm very
proud.
But I must remind you that, despite being The Sexiest Man Alive
(etc.) I am not actually eligible! No. No. As a pre-school volunteer, I
consider myself married to my job (or at least to the little girls at my
job). But who knows? If the Bomb does drop, and the pre-school is wiped
out, the girls at the elementary school down the street may have a chance
at me.
Being a workaholic, I have very little free time. But somehow I do
manage to keep up with all the new porno at Tower Books. I canÕt possibly
review it all (ejaculating over it 10 times a day comes first), but I was
pleasantly surprised by the latest issue of PlayboyÕs Lingerie.
PlayboyÕs Lingerie, January/February 1997, $6.95.
Review: I had actually come to dread the annual Christmas issue of
PlayboyÕs Lingerie. You know, the issue where a bunch of Playmates (and
Newsstand Special Girls) pose in stockings, panties, gloves, bras, and high
heels on the cover. This year theyÕre all wearing pink underthings on the
cover, and when I saw the issue advertised I thought: Òho hum, another
$6.95 for a magazine IÕll buy but never enjoy.Ó
Well, rest assured! IÕve enjoyed this issue very much! First, only
the most popular Playmates and Newsstand Special girls are featured. I
realize I can jack off over any girl posing nude under the Playboy
imprimatur, but it does help when I really admire the girl instead of just
admiring the fact that she let Playboy pay for her underwear.
Most people will tell you that the Soviet Union ended in November
1989 because ÒthatÕs when the Berlin Wall came down.Ó To me, one little
wall couldnÕt make all that much difference. I mean, the wall is in
Germany, not Russia, and Germany is a long way from Russia. And Russia
is a very, very big country, too. So why DID communism collapse? ItÕs
because of PlayboyÕs Miss December 1989!
As any reader of Playboy knows, the issue always comes out one
month early. So Miss December 1989 actually made her debut in November
1989. And Miss December 1989 was none other than Petra Verkaik! This
very bosomy and (in 1989) delightfully slim-hipped beauty still manages
to wow Playboy readers. She is even the most popular Playmate among all
her Playmate pals. So you can imagine what all those Soviets thought
when they saw her in November 1989: ÒHow could we ever nuke such a
luscious beauty as this?!Ó So instead communism collapsed. (I mean, who
would you logically give credit to, a senile old man (Ronald Reagan) or
some bald guy with a big red splotch on his head (Mikhail Gorbachev) or a
luscious babe?)
In her latest pictorial, Petra flops on her belly on a bed and yanks
down the back of her panties. TheyÕre very small panties, so I canÕt
imagine why sheÕd want to make them even less effective by pulling them
down, but she does. In a second set of photos she admires her lovely
bosoms and pink-stockinged legs while wearing a tight corset. Funny, I
found myself admiring the same things she was. Maybe men and women DO
think alike!
Another luscious babe in this issue is the impossibly beautiful
Christina Leardini. Believe it or not, this improbably slim girl actually
was a mother before she was a Playmate. Hard to believe, but itÕs true. In
her pictorial she plays around with a cigar and stands in front of a fan.
Personally, if all I had on was an unbuttoned shirt and a wee little pair of
panties, I wouldnÕt worsen the odds of making myself indecent by standing
in front of a fan. But she does, and as a result I wonÕt need a date this
year. (Sorry, laidies, but I gave at the menÕs room.)
My favorite playmate (though she is beginning to look a tad older,
alas) is Shae Marks. Shae goes to a bar wearing just a corset and panties.
Then she stands on the barÕs countertop and takes her panties off and
flings them around in the air.
As you can see, not only did this issue of PlayboyÕs Lingerie feature
the best girls, it featured them doing very interesting, creative things.
About the only way I can see that next yearÕs issue could be improved is if
it showed me having sex with all the Playmates. Hopefully Playboy will
contact me and arrange this.
Remember, Playboy, IÕm the Sexiest Man Alive (etc). !!!
AND IN THE END...
DOWN WITH PEDOPHILES!
ÒAll great ideas go through three phases. First, they are ridiculed.
Then, they are violently opposed. Finally, they are accepted as truth.Ó
- Gene Cisewski
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-END OF 162 EMISSION