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ÒLast summer anti-abortion activist Randall Terry began using his
radio talk show to urge people to protest against Barnes and Noble stores
for selling books by... photographers Jock Sturges [and] David Hamilton.
Ò...The [Barnes and Noble] chain, which has nearly 500 superstores...
has declared in a statement that Ôunder no circumstances will we remove
books from our shelves.Õ
Ò...Last week The New York Times ran an editorial defending Barnes
and Noble under the First Amendment and calling the protests Ôa campaign
of intimidation.Õ
Ò...What exactly are in the books? Sturges, whose work is in the
Museum of Modern Art, focuses on nudist families, in black-and-white
images that are beautifully composed and printed.
Ò...Hamilton offers... color shots of girls on the cusp of puberty.Ó
- Newsweek, March 9, 1998, pg. 58.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 348
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Chapter Four
ÒGod damn, I feel weird,Ó Dick said. He looked down at his penis.
ÒIÕve never been so hard in my life! IÕm practically almost cumming even
now. I remember once when my mother spanked me for masturbating.
When I was five. I hated it but, ever since, IÕve had this fantasy of being,
well, you know, like Miriam did this morning. But she never did that
before. She always kept her distance, just letting me play with others. I
only went there twice, actually, not a hundred times like I told you last
night.Ó
I pulled out my thumb and said, ÒI figured that.Ó Then I replaced it
again.
ÒWell, anyway, I went to two orgies at her place. Just, you know,
orgies. Everyone fucking and groping. But this morning, when she put the
loop of her crop around the head of my penis...Ó
His voice broke off. Katy reappeared, bearing hot steaming towels
on a silver tray. Under her arm she carried twin silk kimonos, one blue and
one pink. Her own kimono was yellow.
ÒWipe your face and your hands,Ó Katy told Dick and I, setting the
tray of hot towels down on the dresser. She had laid the crop there while
she undid our shoes and now she picked it up again. As she watched, Dick
and I picked up towels and wiped our faces. The steam felt wonderful.
Katy, ever helpful, despite the mean streak I knew she possessed,
picked up a towel and bent over and wiped the head of DickÕs cock.
ÒPlease donÕt drip pre-cum on our expensive carpet,Ó she said to him.
Dick shivered as she touched him. He was enormous, and on the verge of
cumming. No girl, I swear, would have parted company with that manÕs
glorious penis. Even at the gates of Hell sheÕd still accompany him,
hoping, watching it move with his every step, bouncing above his tightly
balled balls.
Katy, still bending, looked with concern at DickÕs organ. ÒYouÕre on a
hair-trigger,Ó she told him. ÒPlease donÕt cum on our carpet. Pre-cum is
bad enough, but cum would be a real mess!Ó
ÒThen... stop... touching... me,Ó Dick breathed. Katy was massaging
his pee hole with just the tip of her finger.
ÒOh, alright, I wonÕt touch you,Ó Katy said. She straightened up.
ÒControl yourself. You canÕt wear pants in the Japanese tea ceremony and
we have nice woven mats that Sauron would hate to see spermed. Here,
put on a robe.Ó She handed him a kimono and Dick, gallantly, took it and
shucked it on. I hated to see his penis hidden. But it poked out again,
between the halves. Dick belted the waistbelt of the kimono and did not
bother to try to recapture his dick inside its folds. He was simply too big.
Too hard.
ÒWell, I guess weÕll just have to put up with you displaying your
manhood throughout the entire tea ceremony,Ó Katy said with a sigh and a
smile. I didnÕt know whether she really wished him covered up or not, or
whether he would be permitted to remain clothed in the kimono. I did take
one for myself, however, thankfully, for I wanted to gain a little modesty
before Sauron barged in on us.
ÒNo, dear, we must make you up first,Ó Katy advised me. ÒA little
rouge on your nipples, a squirt of perfume in your bush.Ó She took my hand
and led me to the dresser. ÒMmmm, you have such a nice straight back and
such an adorable ass,Ó she said. She was frank in her comments. I did not
mind. Dick was watching all, his penis sticking out from his robe.
ÒBut you let your panties crease your skin,Ó Katy said. She touched
the soft line where my undies had hugged me between my bottom and my
thigh. ÒYou white girls. You must learn more refinement. Your skin is
precious. Perhaps your master might mark it, but you yourself must take
the utmost care of it,Ó she said.
Katy passed a hand beneath my huddling bottom cheeks and pinched
me lightly. There was a mirror hung over the dresser. Looking in it,
watching myself as she felt me, I jerked a little. She laughed. ÒThere,
you see? ThatÕs for letting your panties be too tight. Wear nothing next
time. No one will know.Ó Her breath was hot on my face. ÒSit up,Ó she
urged. She palmed my soft white hinds and pushed them up, taking me
with my bottom. Tensely I got up on the dresser and sat on its hard wood
top. The surface was slick, well polished, but it still was an
uncomfortable seat. She ignored my look for a cushion or pillow, my little
silent plea. Instead she got out a makeup kit from the top drawer. She had
to make me lift up my legs, her standing between them, in order to open
the dresser drawer.
She touched up my eyeliner, matching the shade. She powdered my
face. She limned lipstick across my lips to make them bright and
seductive. Then, taking a tickly brush, she painted my nipples a little,
making them redder. Then she powdered my pussy. ÒGet down, let me see
your bottom,Ó she said to me. Her voice sounded quite natural, even
demanding. I felt like a yearling being readied for a show by my mistress.
I slid from the hard dresser top and turned around. I cupped my hands
under my bottom and hefted up my cheeks, pushing them high, as if they
were bosoms caught up in a tight corset. She smiled and squirted a scent
on them with an atomizer. I felt the little droplets of mist as they struck
my bottomflesh and wondered if IÕd be feeling something less agreeable
there by nightfall. Where was Sauron? Perhaps he would not come. We
would drink tea, we would be safe, we would depart as virginal as we felt
now, all undressed yet not touching, just smiling and winking and nodding.
ÒNow put on your kimono,Ó Katy said to me. She gave me mine and I
slipped it on. I belted it round my waist.
ÒToo tight. Let your bosoms show,Ó Katy told me. She put her hands
to my front and opened my robe sufficiently. ÒThatÕs why we rogued your
tits, so they could be admired at dinner,Ó she said. ÒJust donÕt drip any
sushi noodles on them or spill your tea. I wouldnÕt want to see you scald
yourself.Ó She smiled. I felt new fright, yet I did my best to be brave and
suppress it. She took my hand. Then, turning, she reached for Dick but
caught him by the penis instead of the hand. ÒCome, Dick. And donÕt cum
on our carpet, please.Ó
Barefoot, my breasts bouncing above the folds of my open robe, my
ass hiding its swing inside my kimono, I walked with Katy and Dick across
the house, back through the living room, and to an authentic Japanese tea
room. Sauron was nowhere to be seen, but there was a low table made of
marble, and around it were three cushions. Each cushion had been placed
on a bottom-sized block of wood so that when somebody sat on them their
genitals remained above the level of the table.
COMMENTARY
by holy joe
Today I was riding the bus. I was telling a guy about my publishing
activities on the Internet. And he said to me, ÒYou wouldnÕt be wanting
any children to be reading your zine, would you?Ó
Allow me to clarify who I am publishing FUCK DECENCY for. I am
publishing it for those ÔchildrenÕ who will be born after IÕm dead.
Think of it this way: when did Plato write his dialogues? 2,500
years ago. Believe it or not, I wasnÕt alive then. The poet Ovid wrote his
Metamorphoses 2,000 years ago. I wasnÕt alive even then!
So, in my case, IÕm not really writing for you. IÕm not even writing
for your precious children. IÕm not even writing for their children, who
have yet to be born. IÕm writing for those human beings who will be here
long after you, I, and America are long gone.
(I figure, even then, there will be people who do a search of data
using the keyword ÒfuckÓ.)
In the far-flung future, some poor student will probably be tasked
with writing a report on ÒThe United States of America.Ó Allow me to
assist her with selected readings that she may wish to include in her
report:
ÒColorado Springs - An elementary school principal suspended a
first-grader for passing out lemon drops at school, citing the school
districtÕs drug policies. The boyÕs mother asked for an apology, but school
officials refused. ÔStudents reported to the teacher that the boy was
handing out something they perceived as a controlled substance,Õ an
administrator told reporters. The principal, who wasnÕt familiar with the
brand of candy, which looks somewhat like tablets, phoned the fire
department and an ambulance Ôto be on the safe side.ÕÓ
ÒThornton, Colorado - Citing a zero-tolerance policy toward sexual
harassment, a principal threatened a fifth-grade girl with suspension
after she and a group of girlfriends repeatedly asked a classmate on the
playground if he liked any of them. He insisted he did not and notified a
teacher.Ó (Playboy, April 1998, pg. 52.)
Meanwhile, inspired by the American Revolution, Ho Chi Minh decided
to unify his country, Vietnam. HereÕs what happened to one girl, named
Tran Thi Truyen, who tried to help Ho unify Vietnam:
Stanley Karnow writes: ÒShe went south at the age of sixteen to
serve as a nurse in a field hospital in southern Laos, near the South
Vietnamese frontier. Like her comrades, she... carried a rifle, a shovel and
a sixty-pound knapsack containing clothes, food and a few personal items.
Her unit was driven by truck to the head of the [Ho Chi Minh] trail, and
proceeded from there by foot on its month-long journey [south].Ó
Truyen states: ÒThe rainy season had just started, and the route was
muddy. Occasional flash floods forced us to cling to trees and shrubs to
keep from being washed away. The jungles were infested with leeches and
other insects that swarmed all over us. We crossed deep rivers and
streams, and there were the mountains, some so high that it was as if we
were walking above the clouds. We sometimes needed ladders to scale
their steep slopes, or we removed our sandals and climbed in our bare
feet. Despite our hardships, the local tribesmen acting as guides tried to
scare us with tales of bandits in the area. I was young, and I frightened
easily.Ó
Karnow writes: ÒWorse still, Truyen and her unit were constantly
harassed by U.S. aircraft as they marched down the trail.Ó
Truyen states: ÒThe Americans had denuded the jungles with their
bombs, and there was no place to hide. They would light up the area with
flares, then drop bombs everywhere. Each time they flew overhead, our
commander ordered us to disperse and dig foxholes, but the bombs fell
close, and I shook with fear. My heart would throb, and my whole body
trembled inside as the bombs exploded. Even after the bombing had
stopped, I couldnÕt focus my eyes, and my head ached for hours.Ó
When Truyen reached her destination in the south of Vietnam, she
set about enjoying the vast benefits conferred on her people by GodÕs
Country, The United States of America:
Truyen states: ÒI was inexperienced, and my first sight and smell of
blood and pus so nauseated me that I vomited and couldnÕt work. Some of
the wounded had lost arms or legs. Or their bellies had been ripped open
by bomb fragments, and their intestines were spilling out. Others were
horribly burned by napalm. Many, who had been lying injured in the jungle
for days, were brought in with maggots crawling out of their infected
wounds...Ó (Vietnam, by Stanley Karnow, pgs. 469-471.)
Having satisfied the needs of some future scholar, allow me to do
quick reviews of the latest issues of Playboy, and Penthouse:
Playboy, April 1998, $4.95. Web: http://www.playboy.com
Review: Aw, damn, itÕs a fucking nigger. (Did I say IÕm perfect? IÕm
not.)
For some reason, Playboy tends to run a black centerfold during this
time of year. This year is no exception. ThereÕs a delicious shot of this
monthÕs (black) Playmate of the Month taking off her panties on page 104.
The gatefold isnÕt bad, either. But I just have no interest in black girls,
particularly in magazines. (Sometimes I do see black girls in Ôreal lifeÕ
who have spectacular bodies.)
ÒThe Return of Casual SexÓ, page 66, looks like it may be a great
article. I only skimmed it, but it seemed quite informative.
ÒGuys are GoodÓ, page 45, is a welcome article telling how great us
guys are. Among other things, guys Òare interested in sex. ...We make the
first move. Despite the odds, or the politically correct stance that
flirting is a form of sexual harassment, we still make sexual advances.
...We ignore discomfort to try sex in the backseats of cars, [and] on jungle
gyms.Ó
IÕm glad to see the articles improving in Playboy. Now all we need in
this magazine are some GIRLS! (God forbid they should make Tiffany
Taylor a Playmate of the Month. Men everywhere might actually jack off
to this magazine.)
Penthouse, April 1998, $5.99. Web: http://www.penthousemag.com
Review: Chloe, in last monthÕs issue of Club, is this monthÕs
Penthouse Pet of the Month! Bob Guccione does his best to gunk her up
with makeup and make her look like a whore, but sheÕs so young her
youthful innocence still shines through! I donÕt know what kind of articles
were in this monthÕs Penthouse. I was too busy jacking off to it.
HEY CREAMBALL
by Mal J. Daniel III
WhatÕs happening girl?
Still creaming the boys in the gym?
Oooooooooooooo,
pouts Creamball.
Not now, Creamball
IÕve got to grade exams.
Creamball,
in her six foot nakedness,
squeegees into her raincoat,
slithers outside in the February mist;
shoots the orange pill
in an olive drab London Fog.
Her hair matches the ball;
her eyes, the raincoat.
Shooting foul shots,
she often sings.
Teenage boys peer
through the back yard fence.
Mud smudges CreamballÕs
long freckled legs.
She works on Òpost-upsÓ
and Òtip-insÓ.
North Carolina
is a great basketball state.
AND IN THE END...
ÒThe digital age... has brought... the spread of... poisonous ideas to
every nook of a networked world.Ó
- TIME, March 9, 1998, pg. 196.
(This from a magazine that, in 1938, named Adolf Hitler its Man of the
Year. - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browserÕs ÒLocationÓ window. Press your ÒreturnÓ key.
Find ÒstandardÓ in the middle of the screen. Click on ÒstandardÓ.
Change ÒstandardÓ to ÒcompleteÓ.
Above the word ÒcompleteÓ,
Type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your ÒreturnÓ key.
-Or search using: roller666@earthlink.net
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Copyright 1998 Andrew Roller. Poem copyright 1998 Mal J. Daniel III
-END OF 348 EMISSION