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WHAT TO DO ABOUT LOLITA?
The big-budget movie Lolita, though playing in Moscow and across
Europe, has yet to be distributed in America. ItÕs a film about a man and a
girl who are in love. Since the man loves the girl, instead of a Woman,
this film cannot be shown in America. (You know what sluts American
Women are-- not a single penis must be allowed to escape the maw of
their insatiable cunts!)
Anyway, what to do? Obviously the wisdom of Solomon is called for.
But heÕs dead. So, instead, I humbly offer you the wisdom of holy joe.
My solution: show half the film. Recently, I saw two clips from
Lolita, on Charlie Rose. The first clip showed the man and the girl talking.
He was charming. She was beautiful, and charming. Then, upstairs came
the Mighty Ogre! (I mean, the Woman!) The girl had to go running to her
bedroom and the man had to pretend they hadnÕt been speaking. That was a
good clip. It accurately portrayed a man/girl relationship.
The second clip from Lolita was awful. It was from the latter half
of the film. It showed the man slapping Lolita around. What a terrible
clip! America doesnÕt need any fabricated crap like that. WhatÕs next: a
film about Jews planning the Holocaust, so they can get a free country? A
film about negroes hoping to be slaves, so their childrenÕs children can
enjoy the American lifestyle, instead of starving in Somalia?
So, my answer is: only distribute and show the first half of the film
Lolita in America. Then we will have a positive, accurate, uplifting
portrayal of man/girl relationships. At the same time, the Christian Right
and the Feminists can congratulate themselves on wielding power over
AmericaÕs movies.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Hamilton? Sturges?
http://www.amazon.com
Issue No. 360
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
PassionÕs Playpen
Chapter One
Drawing her panties down as he wished, she felt her hair fall
forward down and around her face, and finally into her eyes. It was blonde
and it smelled fresh and clean and she wondered if it would still be so
perfect in a few hours. Carefully she drew her white panties over her
black polished heels and, taking them up from her feet, she handed them,
with a quick glance at the driver, to him. Instead of putting them
immediately in his pocket he put them to his nose and deeply inhaled their
scent. She felt apprehensive watching, for she knew if the driver turned
his head just the slightest amount he would see all. Not sure, quite,
whether he did or not, seeing his head twitch a little beneath his peaked
cap, she then watched as her lover put the panties out of sight of the
driver into his pocket. He tugged on the end of them a little and, in the
front pocket of his coat, they resembled a handkerchief. A bit of lace
trim, though, she thought, betrayed their real identity. But he seemed to
wish for them to be seen, even if their real nature were known, and she
knew in this matter she could not correct him.
He reached over to her. He did not embrace her as before but he
simply touched her blouse and began pulling open her buttons. Sitting
bare-bottomed on the seat, still wishing that the driver might remain
unawares, more concerned really for her modesty in front of the driver
than in her loverÕs liberties with her person, like a nymph worrying over
her dropped flowers as a satyr carries her off, she innocently let her lover
undo her blouse. He did not open all the buttons. He merely wanted access
within.
She looked down, feeling a little fearful, and watched as her loverÕs
big brawny hand dipped within her white blouse and seized the portion of
her bra that hung suspended between her breasts. He pulled, hard. She felt
the clasp at her back scream and she felt her whole bra get yanked into
her back, the straps and the crosswise portion, as her lover pulled hard at
her bra in front.
And then the clasp gave way. Her loverÕs hand sprang out of her
blouse, carrying the torn remnants of her bra, its clasp broken, and he
pulled again to break the straps which still clung round her shoulders. For
a moment she thought she might be pulled into the front seat, or at least
against the glass partition that separated them from the driver. But then
her straps, perhaps sensing her own wish to surrender, broke free of her
and allowed her bosoms to be rendered naked.
Wordlessly her lover took her bra and balled it up and bade her open
her mouth. She did, and he put the bra into her mouth and then, as she
stared at him open mouthed, her tongue tasting her underwear, he closed
her mouth for her. A bit of lace loop from her torn shoulderstrap remained
hanging out of her closed lips. He nudged it and parted her lips and pushed
it within. Then he closed her mouth again.
She could not speak. Her mouth was full of her bra. Quietly he
buttoned her blouse back up so that no one could see what had happened to
her. She still wore her black vest. He straightened her skirt and told her
to zip herself back into it. She complied. It was harder to zip the skirt up
than it had been to zip it down but she got it back up and was finally
sitting neatly beside him again, her hands on her lap as if nothing had
happened.
Her lover knocked on the glass. The driver turned slightly. Her lover
slid open the glass partition and passed a note to the driver. Then he
closed it again, as the driver unfolded the note and looked at it. He paused.
Then he nodded. He cracked his whip and the speed of the horses
increased. She felt the carriage rock back as the horses drew it abruptly
faster. Her lover touched her skirt and straightened it, as before, on her
thighs.
ÒIÕm going to handcuff you,Ó he lover said to her. She started at his
remark, as if she were a horse and he had hit her. He drew a shiny steel
pair of handcuffs from inside his coat. She wanted to tell him that she
didnÕt need handcuffs but when she tried to speak her bra choked her
words and she found herself mumbling. For the sake of appearing graceful
she let her words die. He drew her slim white arms behind her and held
her wrists together and he locked the cuffs securely.
He kissed her. She thought it was a kiss of love but in a minute she
realized it had only been his way of asking further permission. He drew
out another pair of handcuffs. She blanched. She was frail and small and
had skinny legs and slim, almost bony arms. She was just a wee bit short
to be a model and, except for her breasts, which ballooned out in front of
her almost embarrassingly (and quite uselessly in a struggle), she was
feather light. He was large and his arms might have been butcherÕs arms,
except they were too well muscled from years of weightlifting to be
mistaken for that of a manual laborer. Nonetheless with his second pair
of handcuffs he drew her elbows together and locked her arms securely,
just above each elbow so that her breasts were thrown out in sharp relief
from the rest of her body and she felt like some obscene pinup.
She breathed and she felt her breasts move in her blouse. Her lover
was more exacting than sheÕd supposed. What had she wished for? She
could not tell now, her thoughts were too confused and she felt a moisture
between her naked thighs that had not been there a moment before. She
looked at her lover but he just kissed her again and then looked away,
checking his watch and gazing at the tree-lined road out ahead of them as
they plunged in their little carriage into the gloom.
In a little while, after sheÕd had time to contemplate all that had
happened to her and how heÕd made the handcuffs on her wrists tighter
than they needed to be, as if to test her, hurting her a little, the coach
drew up in front of a townhouse. It was flanked by tall slender trees that
seemed slightly overwhelmed with the snow. Their branches, which would
be nude in winter but which still had leaves clinging to them, seemed
weighed down by the newfallen snow.
The coachman came back and opened the door of the coach. Kate, for
that was what everyone called her, short for Katherine, was wrapped in
her loverÕs coat to keep her warm. She could feel her wrists sticking out
from the underside of her loverÕs coat and she hoped, as she got down from
the coach, that the coachman couldnÕt see the gleam of metal shackling
her wrists. She seemed especially stiff in her movements and he reached
to grab her arm for her but her lover, knowing the true condition of her
arms, brushed his hand aside.
She almost slipped on the snow covered pavement. Her heels were
spiked and she would have had no protection if she had fallen. Her lover
reached out and saved her, catching her, balancing her. She walked with
his arm around her up the walk to the front door of the townhouse and she
did not look back at the coachman. Her thoughts were so focused on the
door of the building that she barely noticed the retreating footfalls of the
horses as they departed.
Her lover rang the front doorbell for her. She stood in the cold,
shivering, barelegged, the wind somehow finding her bottom beneath her
skirt and her loverÕs coat and chilling her naked seat. They had to wait a
little while and she saw lights come on in the front of the house.
The door opened. It was a woman. Kate had never seen the woman
before but she smiled at once and drew Kate inside. Her lover followed.
ÒShe is lovely. Is this the one you spoke to me of?Ó the woman
asked KateÕs lover. He nodded. He adjusted his stance and Kate guessed
his wordlessness was due in part to a rising discomfort in his pants, and a
sense of excitement. There was a youthfulness in his bearing as he stood
behind her, despite his age.
Kate looked up at the woman. She was a foot taller than Kate and
could easily have been a model, although Kate sensed she was too old to
start now if she had not started already. She had a bouffant hairdo and
impeccable makeup. She wore a black evening gown that seemed to hang
from her shoulders like water, sheeting down in front of her, all glossy
and sparkling. It had slim shoulder straps and dipped daringly low in
front. Within the gown her bosoms showed themselves quite freely. Kate
realized that, like herself, the woman probably had too large a bust to
ever succeed as a model. The womanÕs hips were slim and she showed few
signs of age, though Kate knew she must have been at least 30. There was
an uncompromising look in the womanÕs eyes and Kate remembered a
teacher sheÕd once had, a teacher whoÕd always made her do her homework
and had accepted no excuses and permitted her no exceptions. Kate had
worked hard but had learned a lot from that teacher, and although she
sometimes hated her at the time, later on in looking back on her sheÕd
come to admire her and find that she considered her one of her favorite
teachers.
NAKED AT THE NEWSSTAND
by holy joe
Australian Penthouse, March 1998, $8.95. No web site listed. E-mail:
penthouse@gemkilt.com.au
Review: I have now read in two different places that David
Hamilton, creator of the book ÒThe Age of Innocence,Ó has his own web
site! I havenÕt gone to the trouble of finding it yet, but itÕs out there!
Apparently he charges $10.00 per month, and has new works of art on
his site every month.
Just because I enjoy David HamiltonÕs girls doesnÕt, of course,
mean that I donÕt like looking at older girls too. A good magazine this
month is the Australian Penthouse. You can find it at Tower Books.
Playboy has many foreign editions, as does Penthouse. However,
all the Playboys IÕve ever seen have the exact same girl in them. Not so
with Penthouse! Each countryÕs issue is totally different. Take the
Australian Penthouse, for instance. In the current issue, a Hawaiian
girl is on the cover. SheÕs also the centerfold. Her centerfold has the
scrumptious title of ÒWater Baby.Ó Her name is rather unusual: itÕs
ÒSammy Stone.Ó
Sammy is quite cute. Her tits are too small, but thatÕs her only
drawback. There are lots of photos of her wearing a bikini bra. ItÕs
untied. Its untied cups dangle from her neck as she smiles at you. She
has a nice round bottom. In her final photo, she poses with her panties
pulled down to her thighs. TheyÕre very unique panties. TheyÕre black,
and are laced in front with an exquisitely thin black lace ribbon. Yum!
If youÕve ever wanted to see a cute Hawaiian girl, sexily posed, donÕt
miss this issue!
The pictorial ÒRaging InfernoÓ, also in this issue, features a
brunette with shoulder-length hair. SheÕs wearing very naughty black
clothing. Laced-up granny boots, that stretch almost up to her knees.
Black fishnet stockings with black spandex around the thighs to keep
them up. And, most wickedly, a black spandex bra, with no cups! Also,
sheÕs wearing black leather gloves. What a perfect dominatrix! Or is
she a ÒvictimÓ? ItÕs hard to tell. (Maybe sheÕs a bit of both!)
Unfortunately, this girl is posed outdoors, in an old car, in a junkyard!
Please! What a dumb location. Sex in a junkyard? Next I suppose weÕll
be offered sex in a dumpster. (Which, if any of you girls have a craving
for that, IÕm able to provide! I live in one.) The girl in ÒRaging InfernoÓ
should have been posed in a nightclub, or in a bedroom.
Next issue promises to be truly great. ThereÕs an ad for it in this
monthÕs issue. The ad shows a girl. SheÕs wearing a jacket, black
boots, a riding cap, and riding gloves. SheÕs holding a riding crop, plus
the reins of a horse. Guess whatÕs missing? Her pants! How sweet she
looks-- both her face, and her bottom! IÕm spurting already.
(Damn. IÕm out of kleenex.)
Les Filles de Penthouse, Edition Francaise [France], $7.75. Numero 13,
Octobre Novembre Decembre 1997, No web site listed.
Review: The first thing you notice about this issue is the cover.
It shows former Playboy Playmate Teri Weigel. You can see her lovely
bare bosoms, including her nipples!
This magazine originates in France, yet itÕs sold right here in
America, at Tower Books. ItÕs stocked right alongside all the American
magazines. Why canÕt the American porn publishers show a girlÕs
nipples, while the French can? I have this recommendation for
AmericaÕs publishers: SHOW THE NIPPLES! If the French can do it, you
can too.
Inside, this magazine is loaded with wall-to-wall girls. ThereÕs
no dumb articles about basketball or stuff like that. ItÕs just one
pictorial after another. There are old photos and new photos. I keep
very excellent track, in my head, of all the photos IÕve seen in my life.
Yet there are some Penthouse photos in here that IÕve not seen before,
even though the pictorial itself may have appeared (before) in America.
This issue has many, many high-quality photos. It has pictorials
featuring one girl. There are also several Ôgirl loving girlÕ pictorials.
The highlight of the issue, for me, is the pictorial ÒDanielle and Susan.Ó
It is a pictorial that features Penthouse Pet of the Year Andi Sue,
before she became Pet of the Year! She looks very young in this
pictorial. She takes a bath with an older woman, getting her bare
bottom sprayed with a bathtub sprayer. Then, the woman (after a
whipping?) gives Andi SueÕs bottom a luxurious massage.
(Incidentally, Andi Sue posed in her Pet of the Month pictorial
with a riding crop. Also, in the video ÒThe Ultimate Pet Games,Ó Andi
SueÕs bottom has bruises on it. The bruises do not appear to have been
from the games.)
A pictorial that every red-blooded American male will recognize
in this issue is ÒEsclaves du plaisirÓ. ItÕs the pictorial where three
model-perfect pets pose in exotic ÒcutawayÓ playsuits. (The ÔgarmentÕ
looks like a collection of shoestrings wrapped around the girl. The
shoestrings are made of colored vinyl. They outline the breasts,
bottom, tummy, etc., without covering anything.) This is a very soft,
loving pictorial. The girls palm each othersÕ bosoms, kiss, and console
each other. They are apparently imprisoned love slaves of some Middle
Eastern Sultan. If youÕve ever wanted your own harem, youÕll love this
pictorial!
I highly recommend this issue. Yes, you might have seen some of
these photos before, but youÕll find many you havenÕt seen, and the few
that are repeats are excellent. If youÕre new to Penthouse, I give you
my holy joe guarantee: you will be thoroughly exhausted by the time
youÕre done ÔreadingÕ this issue!
There is an antidote to the Puritanism thatÕs still gripping
America. The first half of the Lolita movie, books by David Hamilton,
and foreign editions of Penthouse! It may be easier to watch Oprah than
to find ÒLes Filles de Penthouse.Ó But that, in fact, is a handy formula
for determining value. Dirt is easy to find, and cheap. Diamonds arenÕt.
AND IN THE END...
ÒI think what a lot of people find difficult about Lolita is that you
donÕt dislike Humbert.Ó
- Jeremy Irons (Charlie Rose, March 25, 1998.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browserÕs ÒLocationÓ window. Press your ÒreturnÓ key.
Click on ÒPower SearchÓ in the middle of the screen. Next,
Type in: roller39@idt.net in the box that appears.
Click on ÒfindÓ (the button to the right of the box).
-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/
-When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock SturgesÕ Radiant
Identities and David HamiltonÕs The Age of Innocence. Support art!
- JOIN 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.
-Official Newsletter, Temple of Pan
-END OF 360 EMISSION
Advice for Pedophiles?
ÒYou regret what you donÕt do rather than what you do. ... ItÕs
better to do it now than tomorrow.Ó
- Charlie Rose, March 25, 1998.