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ÒAre you, or have you ever been, a sexually active person?Ó
- Question posed by the Senate Subcommittee on UnAmerican Activities,
June 21, 2029.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
NAKED girls and more at:
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
Issue No. 409
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
PassionÕs Playpen
Chapter Nine
Kate heard a car approach. She waited silently, her back to the road.
She knew it was very dangerous to stand like this, with her skirt flitting
in the wind, without panties on and wearing a constricting corset. She
forgot that she was still wearing JohnÕs handcuffs until the light from the
carÕs headlights glinted upon it. Then, suddenly panicking, for she knew
she must look ridiculous standing by the road in handcuffs with her hair
mussed and smelling of sex, she tried to run. But her whole body was
frozen with fright and she was forced to watch the car roll to a stop and
the side window come down. It was a Porsche. Better luck than she might
have expected for a foolish girl who should be back at college doing her
homework.
A voice called out in the dark. To KateÕs despair it was a womanÕs
voice. High-pitched, cultured, but not a Trojan princeÕs voice calling her
to be his Helen. When Kate remained still, a bunny waiting to be turned
into roadkill, the woman got out of her car.
ÒAre you a runaway?Ó the woman asked. She seemed to be in a hurry
and a little miffed that some calling of conscience had forced her to stop
by the side of the road. And then, looking around, she seemed to entertain
the thought for a moment that she was not a potential savior but a
potential victim, of roadside bandits.
ÒNo, IÕm just, well, um, a party got a little out of hand and I left,Ó
Kate said as piously as she could.
ÒWell come, then, itÕs terrible you should be out here in the dark by
the side of the road,Ó the woman replied.
Kate resisted answering any questions in the car. The woman
seemed to want to prosecute somebody. Kate told her to take her to the
college and then pretended to be asleep.
Kate went to a fraternity party the following weekend. She got
drunk and she thought she got laid but in the morning, sitting on the toilet
in the frat house with a terrible hangover, she decided sheÕd not really
gotten anything like what she was looking for. Walking out, she had to
step over some boyÕs underpants that heÕd shitted in. She went back to her
dorm room and cried a little and then tried to do her homework. Sitting on
her bottom, she wished it hurt a little, but it was white and clear and she
could sit on it all day if she wanted to, but that meant she had no excuse
not to sit at her writing desk and do her homework.
When evening came Kate decided to go to a nightclub near the
college. She put on a t-shirt that was a crop top and had no sleeves and
whose hem, leaving her belly bare, just covered her tits. She jumped up
and down a little in front of her mirror in her room to see just how much
bouncing the shirt could take without letting her boobs fly out. Not much,
she realized, and the thought that she was going to be this racy excited
her. For a moment she pondered taking the crop top off. SheÕd bought it a
year ago and her breasts had blossomed since, making it much sexier now
than her mother had ever intended it to be when sheÕd bought it for her as
a 17th birthday present. It had sort of been her momÕs way of
acknowledging her sexuality. Kate felt bad wearing the shirt now, when
she knew her mother would no longer approve of her wearing it because it
was much too small.
Kate rummaged through her clothes drawer and took out a pair of
bikini hot pants. They were very soft stone-ground blue jeans, with belt
loops in them and a snap and a zipper, but they had no sides to them, only a
front and a back connected by a slim strip of fabric along the waist. As if
to enhance their appeal, they were adorned with a white lace ruffle that
ran all along both leg holes. Kate squeezed herself into them and looked in
the mirror. SheÕd have to be sure to take her I.D. along to get into the club
tonight. She looked like a tramp from some junior high school.
Kate pulled on small ankle socks and tied on her tennis shoes. Then
she threw a coat over her little outfit, one made of black leather so as not
to hide her intentions too much, and she kissed the teddy bear on her bed
goodnight and left.
Kate saw him standing in the club, near the bar, steadying a drink in
his hand and looking too old to be there. He was watching the college girls
dance and he seemed to her as if he was acting nonchalant when he really
wasnÕt. He had a long face and he was fashionably unshaven, with stubble
for a beard. He was wearing an Armani suit, a little upper-crusty for a
place where kids dressed like Kurt Cobain were doing their best to act
insane. Kate decided to tease him, since he definitely needed someone to
take him to task for being in the wrong place, and she had nothing better
to do anyway, except let frat boys paw at her bosoms.
ÒLooking for your daughter?Ó Kate asked, sidling up next to him. He
hadnÕt seen her coming. He looked quickly at Kate and almost seemed to
spill his drink. She gave him a snide pouty grin and pretended like she was
about to pass on.
ÒNo,Ó he answered.
ÒThen what are you doing here?Ó Kate asked him.
ÒIÕm the owner,Ó he answered.
ÒYou donÕt look like the owner,Ó Kate said. She felt an excitement at
his words and hoped he was lying to her.
ÒI usually live in New York,Ó he smiled. He was in control now and
she sensed he knew it. I own a lot of clubs. This is just one of them.Ó
Kate felt a thrill run up her spine. She had an odd sensation of
wanting to undo the manÕs zipper and see what he had under his expensive
Armani suit. She found her fingers lingering near his crotch, in mid-air
but still tentatively close to it, and she had to order them away before she
did something utterly unpredictable and foolish. To give her fingers
something to do she put them to her half-unzipped leather jacket and
unzipped it the rest of the way.
Without even asking, the man reached out and slid KateÕs jacket off
her shoulders. He managed to hold his drink upright as he did it. His eyes
gazed down at her bulging braless bosoms, quivering under her too small
tee. Kate found herself still looking at the manÕs crotch. She seemed to
see it thicken, but the light was bad and she tried not to think of such
things.
ÒLetÕs dance,Ó the man said to her. It was less a request than an
order. He gave her jacket to someone to hold for her. Kate accepted his
hand and let him lead her out onto the dance floor.
NAKED AT THE NEWSSTAND
by holy joe
Club, Holiday 1998, $5.99. Club Magazine, P.O. Box 133, Mount Morris, IL
61054. No web site listed.
Review: This issue makes an interesting point. (Albeit, I suppose,
unwittingly.) ItÕs that making porn is hard work! You canÕt just get some
naked girls and photograph them and expect everything to work out.
This issue left me cold. Sure, it begins with a beautiful blonde,
named ÒCharlieÓ, but she just stands in thigh-deep water and stares at the
camera. In real life this girl would amaze me. (IÕd probably even shit in
my pants.) But, trapped on a two-dimensional magazine page, she failed to
excite me.
Next up is ÒcumcamÓ. It features a blonde who was once
extraordinarily beautiful. Unfortunately, her once delectably-slim, round
bottom is now fat! (Almost as fat as mine!) This pictorial was a total
waste.
And on it goes. IÕm not going to bore you with a description of all
these failed pictorials. Suffice it to say that, while Ken Starr might find
something of interest here, I didnÕt. Fortunately Club puts out lots of
issues and, as a subscriber, I got this one for free. Better luck next time,
guys.
THE PERFECT COUPLE
Today I was reading the Economist. (Someone has to, after all.) It
was the October 10, 1998 issue. And there on page 92 I saw a photo. It
was of two people. A male and a female. They were well dressed and
obviously quite happy together.
Then I read the article. It was titled, ÒHate the sin, hate the
sinner.Ó It used words like the following to describe this happy couple
and their relationship: ÒgruesomeÓ, Òevil incarnateÓ, ÒrevoltingÓ, and
ÒdisgustÓ.
One wonders what words the Economist employs when writing about
such things as the Nazi holocaust.
To me, the photograph of Lolita and her lover looked like a photo of
the perfect couple. SheÕs beautiful, and 12. HeÕs handsome, and 45. She
makes a lovely girlfriend and he is able to provide her with money, a
house, and a car.
Now, you might be wondering: what if she falls for a guy whoÕs 15?
What then? This is actually not a problem. In 1970Õs America, which was
a Òfree loveÓ society, Lolita would be able to have BOTH her 45-year-old
lover and her 15-year-old lover. So, even then, everyone would still be
happy. Ken Starr might have to learn about Rogaine and weight loss
instead of anal and oral sex, but everybody else would be happy.
I realized I was in great need of psychiatric help, since I was unable
to look at the photo of Lolita and summon up words like ÒgruesomeÓ and
Òevil incarnateÓ. So I went to a psychiatristÕs office. I took my photo of
Lolita along.
hj: Hello, are you a shrink?
db: A shrink?! Son, I am a doctor!
hj: IÕve always admired people who can do surgery.
db: Surgery? DonÕt even mention that word! It makes me think of blood,
and IÕm afraid of blood!
hj: How can you be a doctor if you donÕt like blood?
db: You donÕt need to be a surgeon in order to be a doctor. There are all
kinds of doctors, son. Why, if you go to your local college, youÕll see
doctors all over the campus! There are doctors of political science,
doctors of art, and doctors of basket-weaving. I am a doctor of
psychiatry!
hj: Well IÕm looking for this guy whoÕs a shrink. His name is Booger.
db: ThatÕs me. Doctor Booger!
hj: I think I need help, Doctor Booger. I have this photo here, a photo of
Lolita and--
db: What?! Evil incarnate!
hj: Maybe you could tell me whatÕs so wrong about Lolita. I mean, I just
donÕt see it.
db: What?! You donÕt?! Well, first of all, look at those pigtails!
hj: I am.
db: SheÕs obviously a child. Look how young and cute she is!
hj: So I shouldnÕt like her because sheÕs young and cute?
db: Right! And look at that top sheÕs wearing-- it leaves her tummy bare!
hj: I know.
db: And look at how small her belly is. ItÕs actually tucked in under her
ribs, itÕs so small!
hj: Yes, I noticed that.
db: And look at that little skirt sheÕs wearing! It matches her cute little
top!
hj: Yes.
db: Hardly what you would call ÒPower ClothingÓ, donÕt you agree?
hj: Yes--
db: And sheÕs not wearing shoulder pads! Good God, her shoulders are
BARE!
hj: Well, theyÕre small shoulders--
db: TheyÕre BARE! Like her tummy!
hj: Her legs are probably bare too, but you canÕt see them, owing to how
the photo is cropped--
db: Yes-- BARE!
hj: DonÕt you think she looks happy? I mean, sheÕs smiling so sweetly--
db: BARE!
hj: Doctor? Are you okay?
db: BARE!
I decided to leave. Doctor Booger just kept yelling the word ÒbareÓ
over and over. Fortunately he was staring at Lolita, otherwise I would
have thought he was commanding me to undress.
I let the doctor keep the photo of Lolita. (I bought another one). I
still donÕt know why Lolita canÕt love whomever she wishes. It seems to
me that if she likes a guy, and he likes her, thatÕs it. Who needs some
bald-headed man, or some bossy woman, to tell her she canÕt be happy?
Fadeaway Encounter
by Will Dockery
Fire, period.
Emily with Jesus in the garden,
talking about the werewolf of Peabody, and
Time, red haired angel, sheÕs the
Dragon of Sandinista.
Machine works, life.
Sunset, outside. Pastel.
Lightbulb, inside. No electricity.
Burning desire, sets the stage for
Gunshots on Chesterfield Avenue.
Speedball, murder winds.
Desert moon drops.
LaGrange premelt.
Emily at the stations of the cross.
Pastel sunset, then wine in the dark.
Nightmare notes,
bloody bathroom tiles.
Eos, another May baby, she carries the
Ragnarock brick.
Flying mystery,
Jesus on a joyride,
in frosty frizzy clouds.
There goes that pretty blind girl again.
Thinking about Jesus and Emily,
and of course the pretty blind girl.
AND IN THE END...
Why the Media Hates ÔPedophilesÕ
ÒA well chosen enemy... [can] sell more papers than Little Orphan
Annie.Ó
- Richard Norton Smith, C-SPAN 2, About Books, August 17, 1997 (on
newspaper publisher Robert R. McCormick).
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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Find the box labelled ÒMain ArchiveÓ.
Change ÒMain ArchiveÓ to ÒComplete ArchiveÓ.
Next, do you see a blank box labelled ÒPower SearchÓ ?
Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the blank box on the screen
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Click on ÒfindÓ (the button to the right of the box).
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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!
-Also by David Hamilton: A Place in the Sun, and Twenty Five Years
of an Artist Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
- NAKED girls, under 18! Plus scholarly books. Publishing for over
a decade, itÕs AlessandraÕs Smile, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY
10185-2377. Phone: 1-212-505-6985; Web:
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- JOIN the worldÕs greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
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-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.
-Official Newsletter, Temple of Pan
- Think different. http://www.apple.com
-END OF 409 EMISSION
ÒJust eavesdrop at the mall one afternoon, and youÕll hear enough
pubescent sexcapades to pen the next few episodes of DawsonÕs Creek.Ó
- TIME, June 15, 1998, pg. 53.