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THE WAGES OF SIN
notes by a (former) feminist
Many a minister (and other sanctimonious person) will tell you about
the sin of saying ÒyesÓ.
IÕm here, my fellow women, to tell you about a far worse sin. ThatÕs
the sin of saying Òno.Ó
Take me, for instance. I was young once. My mother and my
community and my school taught me well. They taught me all about the
sin of saying ÒyesÓ. We were drilled in it daily at school. I imbibed it
innocently, completely, until it was me and I was it. I would never say
Òyes.Ó Never. And I didnÕt.
I was never raped. I was never molested. I may have been stalked,
when I was younger. Then again, it may only have been my imagination.
IÕm average. Call me Alison Average, if you like. You wouldnÕt
consider me a knockout. On the other hand, you wouldnÕt regard me as
ugly, either. At least, you wouldnÕt have, if I was younger.
Now IÕm old. IÕm fat. (I compensated for not being raped, molested,
or stalked by overeating, you see.) I keep having to buy larger dresses at
the dress shop. IÕm getting wrinkles. My hair is thinning.
Why did they teach me that ÒAll sex is rape?Ó Worse, why did I
believe it? Why did they teach me that being propositioned by a man is a
form of sexual harassment? And why did I fall for that crap?
These days, when men see me coming, they cross the street. The
last time I talked to a man was sometime in the 1980Õs. (He didnÕt ask me
out.)
Why did I attend all those womenÕs seminars? Endless lectures by
hairy ex-whores on the evils of men! Of *course* they donÕt like men.
They long ago reduced men to a commodity, and had sex so many times
they got sick of it. I have a collection of dildoes at home (bought from a
catalog). But I canÕt use my dildoes like they use theirs because, never
having had sex, IÕm not about to deflower myself with a hunk of plastic.
Girls, please! Listen to me! Say ÒyesÓ! Go out tonight! Let yourself
be propositioned by a stranger. Have unbelievable sex in some back alley
somewhere. The alternative is much, much worse: sitting at home,
watching public T.V. (I canÕt watch commercial T.V. anymore, itÕs too
heartbreaking. All those people talking about sex!)
(If you are stuck at home, though, thereÕs a highly informative
program on public T.V.: ÒWomen in Crisis: Abuse in Our NationÕs Homes.Ó
ItÕs by a prominent feminist -- oops! There I go again!)
Let me tell you what itÕs like to be an old maid like me. ItÕs worse
even than being a single mother. At least if youÕre a single mother, you
can make a claim for welfare. When *I* tried to get welfare, do you know
what the *woman* at the Welfare Office said? She said: ÒIf youÕve got no
kids, honey, youÕre considered an able-bodied adult. Just between you and
me, IÕd advise you to get your fat ass a job.Ó (When I complained to her
supervisor, she (the supervisor) said: ÒWeÕre married, have kids, and work
too. YouÕre all by yourself. Who do you think you are, Cleopatra?Ó
Now I work at a dry cleaning establishment, cleaning the dresses of
(married) feminists with careers. While I majored in college in Feminist
Studies, learning all about the crimes of men, those women majored in
something useful, like accounting.
DonÕt believe that feminist crap! Do you know who thought up all
that feminist crap? Women, who were having trouble meeting men. They
figured if they could convince all the other women (like me) that ÒAll Men
Are Evil,Ó theyÕd reduce the amount of competition they faced. It worked.
TheyÕre married. IÕm not.
No men ÒharassÓ me by opening doors for me. No men Òlove me and
leave me,Ó saddling me with their children. My home (an apartment) is
cold and dark. Nobody helps me with the household chores. Nobody calls.
(Other women used to call me, long ago, but theyÕve since ÔsuccumbedÕ and
gotten married. IÕm sitting here with every book ever published by
feminists. TheyÕre not nearly as much fun in bed as they seemed years
ago, when I bought them.)
Yes, my fellow women. The real sin is not in saying Òyes.Ó ItÕs in
saying Òno.Ó When you say Òno,Ó do you know what happens? Nothing! If
youÕre persistent enough in saying ÒnoÓ, (I was) the guy goes away! He
meets a woman less well-versed in feminist orthodoxy, who (guess
what?) says ÒyesÓ to him!
Please, listen to me! DonÕt just toss this message and think: some
message by some cranky old fool. Yes, IÕm a crank, and a fool. But now you
know why: ItÕs because I didnÕt say ÒyesÓ to the men of this world!
(I have no idea how that wound up in this zine, but please pass it along to
any women (or girls) you know who may need it. - h.j.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 349
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Chapter Four
One final preparation remained. And, as befitted SauronÕs household,
it was quite obscene. Katy stopped outside the tea room and let go of
DickÕs penis. I saw a small table with a Moistex pad on it, unopened,
beside the door, plus an empty glass flower vase and a box of kleenex. I
wondered at them. The vase had a long graceful neck but it had been
broken near the top of its neck, perhaps to make its vase mouth wider. It
looked as if it had once been rather narrow at the top of its swan-like
neck but now, being broken a little down, there was more room for things
to be put inside it. Yet flower stems were all the same, were they not?
What else could one put in a pretty vase like that?
Katy picked up the vase and turned and held it under DickÕs cockhead.
ÒMake water,Ó she told him.
ÒHuh?Ó Dick asked. He watched as she tipped the vase forward a
little so that its mouth enclosed the crown of DickÕs penis. He quivered in
that smooth cut glass opening. Its edges were sharp, and Katy had to be
careful lest she cut him. ÒYou cannot enter the tea room with pee in your
penis, or your bladder, or wherever you men keep it. It would be impure.
Japanese tradition requires that you pee before having your tea.Ó She
looked up at him, smiling, still holding the vase quite carefully.
ÒAnyways, youÕll pee more from drinking lots of tea, so lets start fresh so
you donÕt have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, big boy.Ó
I did not know whether Katy was lying or telling the truth. But Dick,
inspired by his dangerous situation and her sensuous eyes, peed lustily.
His stream burst forth and he filled the vase almost to its rim. Katy had
to be even more careful then, for if she wasnÕt sheÕd spill all the pee Dick
had given her onto SauronÕs carpeted floor. She placed the vase down onto
the small table. It looked golden sitting there, light shafting through it
from a lamp nearby. Katy ripped open the Moistex pad with her fingers and
gently wiped DickÕs pee slit on his cockhead. He shivered a little at the
alcohol impregnated in the pad.
ÒThere, now youÕre all ready for tea,Ó Katy said to him. She looked
at me. ÒWe girls must pee in pots,Ó she said. She pointed to two painted
gold pots sitting discreetly against the wall on the far side of the table. I
fetched mine. It was small like a bowl, but high enough in its shape that I
might pee into it without splashing too much on myself.
I fetched a kleenex for when I was done and I squatted. Katy got her
bowl and placed it on the floor next to me and squatted over hers, kleenex
in hand. Dick watched, bright eyed. Lifting our kimonos so we couldnÕt
mess ourselves, Katy and I peed into our bowls. We wiped ourselves. We
deposited our kleenex into our bowls. Mine floated on my pee, like a
crumpled boat. Katy took my bowl, hers also, and set them beside DickÕs
vase on the table.
ÒSomeone will empty them,Ó she smiled. ÒNow letÕs go inside.Ó
Our gowns billowing, our footsteps soft, we made our way into the
tea room. I got a nod from Katy and accepted it as permission to sit.
Wearing only my collar round my throat, with my kimono open to show my
breasts, I sat down for traditional Japanese tea. Dick sat at the next
place. His penis, elevated by the wood on which he sat, thrust itself onto
the table. Katy smirked and seated herself on a cushion of her own.
ÒWhereÕs Sauron?Ó Dick asked. The inevitable question, and heÕd had
the courage to broach it. Katy settled herself on her cushion, letting her
legs lie open, pulling her kimono up so that it did not block the view of her
sex between her criss-crossed Indian-style legs. She reached over and
adjusted DickÕs robe so that his balls and his penis would be displayed
more completely.
ÒSauron must be busy,Ó she answered. ÒIÕm sure heÕll join us soon.Ó
She smiled at me and made sure I lifted and parted my kimono so that my
pussy would show as easily and freely as hers did. Then she clapped her
hands together, once.
To my utter shock and amazement, a servant appeared. And it was no
ordinary servant, either, like the faceless ones Miriam had. It was
Jennifer! She stepped out from what must have been the kitchen, her head
bowed, her hair done up Geisha-style like KatyÕs was. But she wore no
formal kimono. Instead a simple white blouse covered her otherwise nude
figure, wafting at her waist, dipping just low enough to hide her hips but
leaving her pussy bare. JenniferÕs fur was completely on display, and as I
watched her mincing steps I doubted not that she would have preferred to
have panties on, even panties that creased her thighs.
ÒJenniferÕs learning to be our tea server,Ó Katy said. ÒWe procured
her from her boyfriend. SheÕll learn more from us.Ó I wanted to ask how
sheÕd been procured. But I knew. Somehow Sauron, in his rage, having lost
to Dick, had found a way, Agamemnon-like, to steal himself a substitute
prize. And here she was, all ivory-skinned and sweet, trembling a little
as she approached us, her nails lacquered and her hair elaborately done up
and her makeup perfect. She bore a small bronze vessel. It was hot and
steam wafted up from it. Jennifer wiggled her nose a little as the rising
steam tickled it. I guessed it heated her bosoms a little and made her
billowy shirt stick a little to them. She held the tea kettle away from her
so that her perky nipples wouldnÕt be injured by its hot bronze surface.
Alluring in her nudity, she wore big oven mitts on her hands to keep them
from touching the tea pot.
Jennifer knelt carefully with the pot and then placed it on a hot
plate beside our low table. Like the table, the hot plate sat on the floor.
A small stand was under it to keep it off the woven floor mats that ran
underneath us. The room smelled of bamboo, not a heavy smell, like in old
Asian houses, but a fresh scent, as if the bamboo had just been cut and
brought in from the jungle to serve us during our ceremony.
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Cosmopolitan, March 1998, $2.95. No web site listed.
Review: The girl who packed my bags at the grocery store gave
me a weird look when she saw me buying this magazine. I canÕt help it.
ItÕs got some great information in it about sex.
Which brings up the question, why are the ladiesÕ magazines about
sex sold in the grocery store, where any child can read them, while
mensÕ magazines about sex: a. arenÕt even sold in the grocery store,
and b. canÕt be bought or viewed by anyone under 18?
ThereÕs better information about sex in this issue of
Cosmopolitan than IÕve ever seen in any issue of Playboy, Penthouse, or
Hustler. Consider these tips:
ÒIf you want to get your guy off orally, first spend some time
stimulating his body from the navel to the knees with your hair. It
feels great! Then, focus your warm breath and kisses on the head of his
penis and the part thatÕs just beneath. For most men, the sensation is
the same as if you had the entire penis in your mouth. Also, make hand
play an active part of oral sex -- lightly caress his testicles and stroke
the shaft of his penis. This helps increase the intensity of whatever
youÕre doing with your mouth.Ó (page 223).
(Just think, America, your 8-year-old daughter may be standing in
the grocery store reading that right now! And you thought banning the
Internet from her life would keep her from finding out about sex...)
There are many other great ideas in this issue of Cosmopolitan. I
donÕt want to violate their copyright by retyping it all on the Internet,
but let me list just a few: (All of these are written for females to do,
to males.) (I suppose fags could try it too, of course:)
1. Blow-job your man with frozen grapes in your mouth.
2. To make his dick feel warm, spray your mouth with Binaca
breath spray just before sucking him. Mint-flavored toothpaste also
works.
3. Place a vibrator against your cheek. Then, suck your manÕs
penis.
4. Stroke or lick the hairless underside of a manÕs balls.
5. Use a soft, manual toothbrush on his body (or yours).
6. ÒUse silk scarves or a pair of your panty hose to tie his ankles
and wrists together. ... Blindfold him and have him identify what youÕre
doing: Slide an ice cube over his body or lick whipped cream or
chocolate sauce off his chest.Ó (page 226)
7. Blow-job your man with yogurt in your mouth.
8. Unzip your manÕs fly with your teeth.
9. ÒGo to the supermarket wearing nothing but a raincoat.Ó (page
226)
There are many, many other suggestions in this issue of
Cosmopolitan. I skipped over the ones dealing with the female body
since it would take too much brain-power for me to try to figure them
out. (Even with GrayÕs Anatomy sitting here by my computer.) But,
from a manÕs point of view, I think I hit all the really important ones.
It looks like the Christian Perdition has their work cut out for
them if theyÕre going to save America from sex...
Sexually Frustrated
by Laura Kramer
Would it be wrong,
to push against a wall, to kiss you?
Hard.
To pin your arms above your head,
and press my body against yours.
Hard.
To feel you.
How wonderful I would feel if you took me.
Laid me down and pressed your body onto mine.
Felt me.
Kissed me.
Fulfill my need for passion. Grasp it in your hand,
and release it upon my waiting body.
And then, after the need for passion has subsided,
lay next to me,
while I trace the lines of your body.
To begin to know you,
so that I can mold my body to yours and still feel the heat.
Is it wrong to want this?
To need this?
AND IN THE END...
GOSH, LADIES, ISNÕT WORK FUN?
ÒYour vision: a corner office with a panoramic view, a six-figure
salary, a fat expense account complete with a generous clothing
allowance, and a gleaming limousine to ferry you to and from the
office...all, of course, before you hit 30. Your reality: a cubicle the
size of a bathroom stall.Ó
- Cosmopolitan, March 1998, page 229.
(You should have posed for Playboy. -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/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim
Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the worldÕs greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 349 EMISSION
ÒBrigid screamed and screamed, like a little girl of nine or ten
having her first spanking. She was no longer trying to kick like a
wicked child but surging her arse and twisting her hips as she shrieked
and floundered over the padded trestle.Ó (Noreen, page 36, published by
Blue Moon Books.)
At least she didnÕt wind up like me! - Alison Average.