Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 238
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Cunt Castle
Chapter One
ÒYou are a big fat dolt,Ó Rose told the bouncer as she passed him. He
stared after her, then shrugged.
ÒThatÕs why IÕm gay,Ó he said aloud, to himself. He turned and went
back to his post outside, away from the women with their overheated
perfume, the men with their full-grown desires. He had no interest in
such things. His loves were home asleep, tucked in at eight oÕclock.
With a sinking feeling I realized I must be the entertainment for the
evening. For the moment, though, I just wanted to get out of the crowd.
There were too many of them. I felt oppressed. As the applause
continued, Rose herself ushered us back, back, deeper into the crowd and
then finally through it, passing us through a door, which quickly opened for
us and then closed behind us.
Holding PollyÕs hand, I looked around at our new surroundings. Rose
passed out from behind us and confronted a large, handsome man in a suit.
We stood in a room backstage. Somewhere to my left I could hear the band
playing. I realized we were in the room performers used to prepare for
their acts out on the barÕs stage.
The man smiled at myself, Polly. He wore a vanilla white suit, as if
he were about to deliver a Sunday sermon. He was young, with a wry grin
that made me feel like I might be disrobed by it alone.
ÒYour doorman is an idiot,Ó Rose said to the new male in our life. He
smiled at her. He had teeth that sparkled like I knew the devilÕs would if I
ever met him.
ÒHe keeps the trash out,Ó the vanilla-suited man replied to Rose.
ÒAnd lets the good stuff in.Ó His eyes openly admired RoseÕs bust.
ÒDavid, to change your plans like this, at the last minute. ItÕs just
not fair,Ó Rose answered. ÒDonÕt expect me to do this again for you. Just
this once, okay?Ó
ÒOkay,Ó David replied, but with a voice so casual I knew none of us
could put any faith in it.
Rose turned and faced Polly and I. ÒGirls, weÕre going to continue
your training here,Ó she said. ÒBoth of you, please get undressed. WeÕre
going to give a little show for DavidÕs customers.Ó
ÒWaht?Ó Polly asked, her high-pitched voice cracking, urgent. She
lifted a hand to her shirt. It was so brief, its hem ragged, her titties
sticking up within it. Was she now to lose it? I liked this no more than
she. My jeans hardly did their job, but at least they did something. I
didnÕt want to take them off in this strange place, even if the vanilla-
suited man looked like a pastor who could keep whole flocks of choir girls
happy.
ÒI have to undress too, so donÕt complain,Ó Rose replied. At once she
pulled up her peasant blouse. It fitted her tightly. As it crossed over her
breasts it set them to lewdly wiggling. I put a hand to my mouth. We
were just to strip naked, without even anything to wear? David
approached Polly. She squealed. He put his hand to the zipper of her
cutoffs and zipped it right down, exposing her bush. He yanked them down
her thighs and a moment later she was bare from the midriff down,
wearing just her tennies and shirt, with her scarf decorating her neck.
Polly put a hand up to her cowboy hat, to assure herself that it remained.
There was a method to her madness for, with that on, the man might not
remove her shirt.
David slapped PollyÕs bottom. Her hands flew behind her to protect
herself. Then he lifted off her hat, having neatly tricked her right out of
it. I stood watching, fumbling with the buttons on my very short LeviÕs
501Õs. I guessed there was no way to avoid our fate. Polly shrieked as
David lifted off her shirt. Her titties jiggled from her struggles,
alluringly. She bobbed and weaved her naked hips. Her asscheeks quivered.
I dropped my shorts. Rose took off her skirt. Then she came to me
and pulled up my shirt for me, baring my breasts. Polly cried anew as
David undid her scarf. Then he sat her down on a chair, pushing her into it,
and lifted each of her legs in turn and took off her tennis shoes. She
looked like a little girl, each of her legs awkwardly lifted in turn, her slit
showing, her eyes big with fright and apprehension. Rose finished
stripping me, sitting me down finally in a chair of my own and pulling off
my tennies and socks.
We were given platform pumps, with long lace ties that had to be
bound to our calves to keep our new heels on. Rose did mine. David did
PollyÕs. Then we were made to stand and we were each given a baby doll
nightie.
ÒIt doesnÕt cover my bottom!Ó Polly declared, when hers had been
slipped on. Mine didnÕt either. It wafted down over most of my bush,
leaving a little showing, then arched round my legs and up high in back,
letting nearly all of my ass be seen.
ÒImagine youÕre on your honeymoon,Ó David told Polly. I glanced
toward the stage, where the band had ceased playing. I doubted she and I
were going to find ourselves in a bedroom. More likely, we were going to
find ourselves out there, on stage. I felt the strap of my nightie slip down
off my shoulder. I lifted it back up, realized it would be a chore keeping
both my straps up at once. They were too flimsy, too close to the ends of
my narrow shoulders. Whatever deficiency my nightie had down below, it
made up for it by being too widely spaced where my straps hung from my
shoulders. Was this nightie made for a bigger woman? How could it be? I
guessed whoever designed it had in fact a girl of 14 in mind, and wicked
plans for her.
Polly was no better off. We each sported a decorative bow in the
front of our nighties, where the decollete front dipped too low, showing
off almost all of our bosom. Our nipples, barely covered, pointed like bell
pushes into the fabric. It was filmy, silky soft, a girlÕs perfect companion
for bed but hardly a garment to be worn under a spotlight out on a stage in
a bar!
ÒNo panties,Ó Rose was saying to Polly as I regathered my thoughts.
A woman stood behind me, gathering up my hair so it would not block the
view of my body. Lady Godiva was better dressed than I, riding her horse,
with her hair long and free. David, mesmerized by PollyÕs youth, tied her
hair into pigtails, pinned in a few barrettes to make her look younger still.
I turned and looked at Rose. She was buckling a dogÕs collar round
her own throat, as if she were to be DavidÕs own special pet. The woman
finished with my hair and helped Rose with her collar. She had trouble
buckling it, wearing her cowboy gloves. David gave Polly lace mittens.
ÒHere, put these on, youÕll need them,Ó he grinned. Polly, resigned to
the inevitable now, slipped on little mittens that covered her palms but
were otherwise fingerless. They had little bows that needed to be tied
around her wrists. David tied them for her. Then he gave me a similar
pair and, with his help, I put them on.
ÒOh, couldnÕt we please have panties?Ó Polly begged.
ÒNo,Ó Rose answered. She was in no mood to waste time arguing.
The woman touched up my makeup, PollyÕs. Rose donned a cowboy hat. It
had a chin strap and she neatly tucked the slim strap under her face,
turned and looked in a mirror and adjusted her hat. Then she stepped into
a very small skirt and pulled it up her legs. She wore no panties
underneath. She zipped it up as David watched her. The zipper was in
back. She zipped it carefully up her bottom so as not to pinch her flesh.
The skirt had steep slits up each side. When she walked I saw the skirt
was little more than a pair of flaps, one in front, one behind, joined at the
waist. It was made of shiny brown suede, matching her boots and gloves.
She did not attempt to cover her breasts. They bounced freely on her
chest. Her nipples were stiff.
Rose, still wearing her neckerchief, looked in the mirror once more
and tugged it so it would hang just right, teasingly, way to short too cover
her boobies and yet tricking one into thinking, somehow, it might have
been a blouse, if only it hadnÕt, well, been a neckerchief instead. Tightly
her dog collar bound her neck. It showed only that someone possessed her.
There was no hope it might provide her with modesty. Rose turned to us.
ÒLetÕs go, girls,Ó Rose commanded. She urged us up a small flight of
steps, like someone in the park urging reluctant doves ahead of her. Doves
domesticated by the parkÕs visitors, fed until they were plump. Polly and I
walked with wiggly bottoms, our cheeks round, apprehensive. She shooed
us ahead of her, we could not refuse. Leaflike, blown by the gust of her
determination, we emerged from the dressing room, and suddenly found
ourselves on stage.
Polly and I blushed fiercely as the crowd beyond the spotlights
erupted into howls and cheers of applause. She and I were festooned in
our nothing nighties, with nothing else to hide us from their stares. I
gazed out across the stage. There was a pole, made of plastic. It was
fairly wide, about a foot wide perhaps, or nearly so. It lay lengthwise
along the stage. It was elevated to the height of our thighs. Its top half
was slathered with whipped cream.
Dazed by the lights, Polly and I proceeded out onto the stage. We
held hands tightly, scared stiff. Our nipples were no less frightened,
poking into our nighties, showing themselves for all the world to see
beneath the harsh stage lights. Our hips waggled with our fear, making
our bottoms sway back and forth like womenÕs bottoms, fresh from love.
WeÕd each been given a teddy bear and we clutched it for dear life, praying
we might somehow be delivered by the bears, or saved by them.
Polly and I approached the cream-lathered pole. Rose managed to get
our hands apart and drew Polly from me. I stood stock still, watching, as
Rose led her to the other side of the stage. The two of them had to cross
over a mud pit in the center of the stage. The pit was lower than the rest
of the stage, and two boards had been laid over it to allow Rose and Polly
to cross. As soon as theyÕd done so, a man appeared and took away the
boards. He wore workmenÕs clothes. He was fat, though not as big as the
doorman. I wondered if he too were gay. Probably not. As he passed, I
saw a bulge in his trousers. He escaped from the stage via the steps weÕd
come up. I knew I must not follow.
ÒBut IÕll get cream all over my pussy!Ó I heard Polly declare from
across the stage. Rose had made her straddle the pole and she stared down
at it apprehensively.
ÒSit!Ó Rose urged and, so that she might not disobey, Rose placed a
firm hand on the girlÕs shoulder and shoved her down. Polly cried out and
felt her bush and her cunny come straight down on the pole.
SPLAT! I heard her as she sat. I realized I must do the same. Rose
looked over at me, her eyes firm, uncompromising. I approached the pole.
I stepped across it with one leg, then gazed down at it.
ÒPut your teddy bear in your mouth, then,Ó I heard Rose say. I looked
up. Polly had just stuck the leg of her upturned teddy bear between her
teeth, so that she could grab hold of the slippery pole with both her
mittened hands. Poor teddy. He wore a little shirt, leaving his belly and
bottom bare. As Polly held him aloft, his leg in her mouth, his bare woolly
bottom knocked against her chin.
I put the ear of my bear in my mouth. I didnÕt want to lose him. He
was my security blanket. He would save me, somehow, from this creamy
pole and the ominous mudpit. My bear dangled by his ear, still grinning
stupidly at the audience. His legs were stuck open as wide as mine were.
I had no choice. I must sit on the pole, or worse things than this would
happen to me.
SAVED BY THE CROSS!
by holy joe
I was house sitting poet Will CockeryÕs mansion recently. ItÕs a good
job. Will has a lot of porn and he lets me read it for free when he asks me
to house sit for him.
The job does have certain drawbacks, though. The house has no
running water. The mansion actually belongs to one of WillÕs relatives.
HeÕs staying there surreptitiously, and since nobodyÕs supposed to be
living there, nobodyÕs paid the water bill. The city shut off the water for
nonpayment of the bill. So thereÕs no way to wash your hands after you
shit and, when you do shit, you have to shit out back in the yard.
(I actually shit out front when I can, behind some bushes, because I
like watching the little girls who play on the playground across the
street.)
The fact that the house has no running water is fine, however, for
hobos like me and Will. We are the last holdouts from the 1960Õs. We
donÕt just believe in mouthing ecological theories from the privileged
pulpit of the Vice Presidency, as a certain ÔAl WhoreÕ does. No, Will and I
LIVE Earth Day. Each and every day. No electricity (that bill wasnÕt paid
either). No water. No phone. No car.
Usually this all works out pretty well. However, the other day I was
constipated. (IÕd had three ÒGiroÕsÓ at the local gas station.) There were,
of course, no laxatives in WillÕs house. (Or out back, in his yard, where I
was squatting, trying to take a shit.) So, I thought, ÒHmmm, letÕs see. I
could use my trusty finger, but I can feel my shit stuck WAY up in my
rectum. My little finger isnÕt going to get it all out.Ó
Then I remembered. Ever since the Christians brought me to Jesus,
IÕd been carrying a crucifix with me wherever I went. I happened to have
it on me as I squatted out back, trying to shit. ÒHmmm,Ó I thought to
myself. ÒThe crossbar on this cross isnÕt very long, but the other part is.
I wonder if Jesus would mind if I stuck that part up my ass? It would only
take a minute...Ó
I realized, though, that I couldnÕt stick JesusÕ cross up my ass
without any lubricant on it. Naturally, I didnÕt have any vaseline or KY
jelly with me. So, praying to Jesus, lest I blaspheme his cross, I spit on
it. I spit a really gooey lugey on it and it seemed to make it nice and
greasy.
Then I shoved the thing up my ass. I was digging out a good load of
shit with it when, suddenly, I heard footsteps. I remembered that
Reverend Throttle, of the First Pruditerian, had promised me heÕd come by
to check on my soul!
ÒYikes!Ó I thought. ÒIÕve got shit all over this crucifix. What am I
going to do?!Ó My mouth was quite dry with fear. So, having no other
source of water available, I pissed on the cross. It did get all the shit off,
but it unfortunately stained the cross yellow.
Could I let the Reverend see a pee-stained cross? I didnÕt think so.
But what to do? Then I remembered I had a condom in my pocket. (From
1968. I was unlucky in that era too.) I broke open the condom pack (It
said, ÒStop the WarÓ on it) and pulled it down over the base of the cross.
I got the condom on just in time. And I got my pants pulled up.
ÒGreetings, Joe!Ó the Reverend said.
ÒGood day, your holiness,Ó I replied. ÒHowÕs the Pope?Ó
ÒThe pope?! He is Satan Incarnate!Ó the Reverend answered. ÒWhy do
you ask me, a born-again Christian, about that idiot?Ó
ÒOoops! Sorry,Ó I said.
ÒIÕm glad to see youÕve got a cross there with you,Ó the Reverend
said. ÒAre you into idolatry?Ó
ÒWhat?Ó I asked.
ÒIdolatry! That cross is the sort of thing Catholics carry around
with them. All you need, young man, is a bible. Nothing more!Ó
ÒOh, yes,Ó I answered.
ÒHere,Ó the Reverend said. ÒI brought a bible with me. ItÕs the King
James Version. DonÕt read anything else. All the other versions were
produced by false prophets.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó I said. I took the bible from him.
ÒNow read something from that bible for me, so I know youÕre a
practising Christian, not just some idolater carrying around a cross like a
man fearing vampires,Ó the Reverend told me.
ÒOkay,Ó I answered. I opened up the Holy Book. ÒWhereunto it hath
been said, by Almighty God, verily, see thou that thine is always with me
in spirit, for I am with thee too, verily, though thou not know it, saith the
Lord,Ó I read aloud.
ÒHmmm,Ó I said, looking up from the Bible. ÒWhat does that mean?Ó
ÒIt means,Ó the Reverend declared, Òthat the Communications
Decency Act is GodÕs Will, and Senator Exon must be elected President.
Also, it means you need to make a donation to me for stopping by to see
you.Ó
ÒOh, yeah,Ó I said. ÒSorry, IÕm out of cash right now.Ó
ÒWhat?!Ó the Reverend said. ÒThen good day to you, sir.Ó And with
that he spun about and was gone.
Unfortunately, I was feeling rather ill as I watched him go. I felt a
sudden need to vomit. (I guess those GiroÕs hit me worse than a meal at
McDonaldÕs.) Before I could think, I vomited up those constipatory GiroÕs
right on my crucifix. (And my new Bible, too.)
I pulled up my pants. I walked back toward WillÕs house. I had just
stepped up onto his porch when I felt a sudden onrush of diarrhea. (Those
GiroÕs can be pretty amazing, though not, sad to say, in the taste
department.) Now I was really scared, lest I shit all over WillÕs porch! He
probably would kick me out, and not let me house sit his house anymore,
and read all his porn.
So, guess what I did? Yes, IÕm not proud of it. I yanked down my
pants and shoved JesusÕ cross up my ass!
WillÕs porch was saved. I walked (very awkwardly) out into the yard
again. When I reached my favorite spot to shit I pulled out the cross.
WHOOSH! Out came all my diarrhea. Thank God! At last, I was completely
relieved in my bowels. But WillÕs porch would have been a sight to behold,
were it not for that cross. And so, my friend, that is why even I, holy joe,
am able to declare that even a bum like me was SAVED BY THE CROSS!
AND IN THE END...
ÒHe seems untainted by the paranoid self-righteousness that is so
common on the American right.Ó
- The Economist, March 29, 1997, pg. 34.
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-END OF 238 EMISSION