Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Danm Splel Chelk

by Daddy X

Boy, did my computer give me shit for this one.

My Date With A Fifty Foot Woman          

There’s this freaky-ass outdoor sex club way out past Los Alamos. The whole bar so strange with all that eerie radiance, just luminous desert with a vibrachlor glow, greens and blues emanating from the rocks that serve as bar stools. Some of the customers can be quite unusual and you can hardly tell wherever starport they came from. Cocktails of all persuasions are served and can be quite challenging depending on the ingredients involved.

Now I’m only five-seven, but there was this blonde chick at least fifty feet tall, sitting alone in front of a speaker. She perched on a rock that looked brighter than most others. I guess when you’re fifty feet tall, you kinda takes what you can get. She was pretty as all get-out, and slender by proportion, but crying all by herself, sniffling and snorfling to beat the band.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart,” I hollered up to her. “Why so sad?” I wondered what chemalts she may have taken or if she’d arrived that way.

“I can’t find anybody to love. Look at me; I’m fifty feet tall for chrissakes.”

“But there’s men-alikes much bigger than you in these envires.”

“Yeah—and you know big an asshole guys your size can be?”

The questortion sounded fair, so I countered, “Well, yeah. Sometimes.”

“Take a guess what they’re like when they’re over fifty feet tall. They know how rare they are and that’s when they really think they can cross the genderfool line. All the good looking big ones think their shit don’t-“

“What’s your name, baby?”

“Gwendolyn, but you can call me Gwen.”

“Hi Gwen, I’m Tom. How’d you get so humongogeneris, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not at all. I was only twice your size when I was fourteen, but then I just shot up.”

“What’d you shoot up?”

“No, not that. I meant I grew! I grew bigger.”

“You sure did. How long has it been since you had a date? Ummm… If that isn’t over that gender whatever line.”

“Date? You mean the last time I got laid, don’t you? You can talk straight to me, mister. Don’t pull any punches, little man.”

“Maybe it’s none of my gossipality after all. Why would it matter to me if you go out with guys your measural or not?”

“Shouldn’t,” she muttered from above.

“I just met you, Gwen,” I said, “but I think I’d like to know you better. I’ve never been comfortable talking with anybody so erotoballistic. My tongue always gets screwed up and confused and shit. But it comes so easy with you … at least so far.”

“We could be friendly, but nothing more.”

“What’s that mean?”

“We could never complify each other sexually, Tom.”

I knew that I had tried, every once in a while in the past, several times upon occasion, rarely, every now and then, to enter a woman headfirst, pushing my face and foreparts up as far into a girl’s netherden as possible. But of course they were usually considerably smaller than Gwen, and of course I could always keep my arms and shoulders free to keep myself from glurging to death.

“But I’m not so sure with you, my dear,” I said. “My life could be in the offing.”

“I try not to kill with my cunt,” she replied. “Mostly I satisfy myself with jackhammers.”

“Golly! Wouldn’t that hurt?” I was incredifluous.

“Nah,” she said. “I just wrap a latex sheet around a ergknot fixed on the end of the gyron and it wibbles my flibberty just fine and dandy!”

“They? I asked. “More than one? “You use more than one?”

“Not all at once, but I do like having one in reserve in case one fails. I can get out of control if I don’t finish my climax.”

“That sounds dangerous. Do they need electricity?”

“Hard to say. They’re mostly hydraulic and air powered types; but some electric ones do come with an atomic generator for use out here in the desert.”

I just then realized I was looking up her dress. I had always wanted more pussy in my life, but I always thought of it in terms of multiples—lots of pussys. I didn’t figure on just one filling the bill. She had spread her legs a few yards and I could peek at her plump pudenda underneath. Curly blonde hairs the thickness of twine stuck out the sides of her skivvies. The soggle fabric hugged her labius for an impressive, three-foot-long camel toe. I wondered where she could buy clothes that size—it appeared she wore satin.

She caught me looking.

“What a huge hooha you have,” I said, trying to put a suppositive light on my sexsight.

“Only to you. If I could only find the right guy, I sure would like to fuck him with it. I’m so horny.”

DX ….. Snip… And then, later on, the BS gets heavier; Gwen’s on her back against a steep sandy hill and Tom is now froeliching on her chest.

“Mmm … take it slow, little man,” she said. “I’m a lot of woman and I can sometimes seem more magnanimous than life; but if you’ll only stick around and get to know me, you’ll learn I’m just a starry-eyed little girl, looking for love.”

I was beginning to like the way she called me ‘Little Man’. It lent a certainty of purpose as to what was developing beyond my own sexual satisfaction. Cementing an important yet temporary emotibond between Gwen and me—not trying to enmeld us—not sculpting two entities into something we weren’t. Something deeper.

Even though her navel was so darned enticing and felt so good offerhugging my wank-alot, I did want to sample all of Gwen’s charms. If not all her charms, right down to her feet on this particular night, at least well below her publific region. After all … when, where or how else? Ever? So off I crawled, hands and knees into the yellow density that was Gwen’s thatch.

“Tee hee,” she said. “Do it some more.”

“I’m making progress,” I answered. “Just have to get through these thick strandelles.”

“Take your time, little man. Tiptoe through lightly, Tom. … Dance, if you will...”

“I certainly feel happy enough to dance, my dear Gwen,” and dance I did; a sure-footed naked prance along a textural edge of soft, golden grasses caressing my bare feet, winding in and out of her untrimmeled triangle’s upper border. As carefree as my dance became, I twisted a few hairs around a foot and disbalanced into the tanglup patch. “Whoops!” I cried.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Trying to brace my fall, my hand slipped down her slittle; which, in Gwen’s case would be rather a slittarge.

“Oh my god,” she cried. “That was too exisudden, Tom. Don’t hit such sensitive places so hardly, so quickly.”

“It was an accident, dear. I’m sorry.”

“Just teasing, little man. I like surprises.”

I took the opportunity to investigate further, twisting the arm that I now know is so surprising along her slick slittarge, feeling for the pearly buttonesque that I knew lurked under a soggle flapit somewhere along the curly furroid.


DX- Thanks for reading. The entirety of this story can be read now on ERWA’s ‘Storytime’ list, where I posted it on Monday.  It’s titled as “My Date With a Thirty Foot Woman”, (but someone put me hip to a certain discomfort factor in the proportions so I made some changes. :>)

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

The Origin and Meaning of Fuck

Well. In our fortnight of dirty words blogs my wonderful co-bloggers have covered a variety of words and phrases. I hope you’ve been following along. Because today I am going to talk about the origin ad use of the word “fuck.”
It is perhaps one of the most interesting words in the English language today. Of all the English words beginning with f, fuck is the single one referred to as the "f-word". It's the one magical word. Just by it's sound it can describe pain, pleasure, hate and love.
Fuck, as with most of the other words in English, has arrived from Germany. Fuck from German's "fliechen" which mean to strike. In English it folds into many categories. For instance as a transitional verb, "John fucked Shirley". As an intransitive verb, "Shirley fucks".
It's meaning isn’t even always sexual. In modern usage, fuck and its derivatives (such as fucker and fucking) can be used in the position of a noun, a verb, an adjective or an adverb. There are many common phrases which make use of the word, as well as a number of compounds incorporating it, such as motherfucker and fuckwit.
It is frequently used as an adjective such as John's doing all the fucking work. Or as part of an adverb—"Shirley talks too fucking much" or an adverb enhancing an adjective; Shirley is fucking beautiful.  (Shirley obviously gets around!) It can be used as a noun, "I don't give a fuck". Or part of a word, "abso-fucking-lutely" or "in-fucking-credible". Or as almost every word in a sentence: "fuck the fucking fuckers!". (My personal preference!) As you can see, there aren't many words with the versatility such as the word fuck.
So where did it come from, this flexible, adaptable word? There are lots of theories.
In ancient England a person could not have sex without the consent of the King (unless you were in the Royal Family). When anyone wanted to have a baby, they got consent of the King who gave them a placard. They hung it on their door while they were having sex. The placard had F.*.*.*. (Fornication Under Consent of the King) on it. Or so history relates.
Fuck did not appear in any widely consulted dictionary of the English language from 1795 to 1965. Its first appearance in the Oxford English Dictionary (along with the word cunt) was in 1972.
The word's use is considered obscene in social contexts, but may be common in informal and familiar situations. It is unclear whether the word has always been considered vulgar, and if not, when it first came to be used to describe (often in an extremely angry, hostile or belligerent manner) unpleasant circumstances or people in an intentionally offensive way, such as in the term motherfucker, one of its more common usages in some parts of the English-speaking world.
Fuck has a very flexible role in English grammar, which stems from its vulgarity - the more vulgar a word is, the greater its linguistic flexibility. Linguist Geoffrey Hughes found eight distinct usages for English curse words, and fuck can apply to each. For example, it fits in the "curse" sense ("fuck you!") as well as the "personal" sense ("You fucker"). Its vulgarity also contributes to its mostly figurative sense, though fuck is used in its literal sense to refer to sexual intercourse, its most common usage is figurative- to indicate the speaker's strong sentiment and to offend or shock the listener.
Most literally, to fuck is to copulate, but it is also used as a more general expletive or intensifier. Some instances of the word can be taken at face value, such as "Let's fuck," "I would fuck her/him," or "He/she fucks." Writing erotic romance I used the word more times than I can count. Probably because my characters are frequently copulating (fucking!) The more I write the more immune I become to the negative connotations of the word, although I often call my villains motherfuckers.
But I leave you with a last thought here, as you debate how comfortable you are with the word. One of my sources included a paragraph that stated in Puritan-heavy New England sexual intercourse was most definitely restricted to married couples, male/female only. For those who copulated outside that narrow boundary the word F.U.C.K came to mean “For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.”
So take your pick. Personally I think carnal knowledge, lawful or otherwise, is great fun and wonderful to write about. what about you?

Monday, July 29, 2013

Use Your Naughty Words

Sacchi Green

I used to say that you knew you were writing erotica when you had to make hard decisions as to which terms to use for body parts. That was shallow thinking on multiple fronts. For one thing, good writing requires making hard decisions as to which words to use for almost everything, body parts or not.  Mark Twain said it best: the right word is to the almost-right word as the lightning is to the lightning bug.

I deal with erotica as a writer, editor, and reviewer, so I come at this from several angles. Being a reviewer requires the flexibility to consider the target readers of any particular work, and try to assess it according to their likely reaction, whether or not it does anything for me personally. This can be harder than even writing or editing, and the editor inevitably intrudes when I think that words are misused, or badly used, or repeated too often, especially when they’re words (or phrases) that call so much attention to themselves in the text that readers (or at least this editor) are apt to notice the repetition.
Any kind of writing, erotic or not, fiction or non-fiction (although I do think fiction is more complex in this regard) requires a sense of how the reader will react to your words. When it comes to sex, we’re conditioned by so many factors, from toilet training to our earliest recognition of the allure of the forbidden to hypersexualized media, that the specific words that turn us on can differ widely according to individual or cultural background.  We need to take into account our own experience and understanding of certain words as well as that of the reader, and, most important, consider what words the fictional character would be likely to use, in thought as well as speech.

One nearly universal factor is that we get a thrill from thinking of sex as transgressive. Nasty, naughty, dirty, sinful, depraved, outrageous, even perverted; what erotica reader can resist stories described like that? And the language in the stories needs to fit. Anatomically precise words like penis, labia, vagina can work if the atmosphere of lust is amped up high enough, but there’s always the risk of being sex-positive to the point of sounding wholesome, or even clinical, and who wants to read about wholesome sex? Well, okay, some romance readers like their sex wholesome, sanctified, and barely even vanilla, but they generally prefer it to take place off-stage, too. They’re not our target audience.

Lisabet has already discussed the finer points of prick versus cock versus dick, and Lily has dealt with cunt in great depth. Cum versus come versus jism (or jizm) and multiple variations have been pretty well covered by Giselle. Ass versus arse is strictly a matter of national preference, although I have a sense that speakers of American English lean toward borrowing the British version because it’s just more fun to say. The various other alternatives to buttocks—butt, bum, bottom—we probably learned originally during that formative period of toilet training, which contributes to their aura of naughtiness, while buttcheeks or asscheeks have somewhat more visual appeal.  Arsehole, asshole, anus are all pretty commonly used, anus even in spite of its more clinical anatomical origin, maybe because it includes a “u” sound--which leads me to stray aside into speculation as to why the way certain words sound seems to have a good deal of effect on their erotic appeal.

The “u” sound in cunt, cum, slut, butt, fuck (and of course buttfuck), has an earthy appeal, and single-syllable words have a certain blunt impact. The “k” sound in prick, dick, cock (surely cuckold must come from some early “u” version of cock?) buttocks, suck, and fuck adds impact, too.  Some of these, I think, are considered to have an Anglo-Saxon origin, rather than the more courtly French added to the English language by the invading Normans under William the Conqueror (also known as William the Bastard.)

In any case, the English language has a wide supply of words to use in describing sexual matters, but writers, being who they are, like to vary their terms and create new ones, generally by way of metaphors. This is all very well in skilled hands, but the risk of overdoing it and throwing the reader completely out of the mood and the story is high. I mentioned repetition a while ago; well-seasoned terms like cunt, cock, breast, tit, ass, aren’t likely to set off my editorial alarm when they occur more than once on a page, or maybe even more than twice. But use a term like “delve” more than once in a book (yes, I’ve been seeing too much of this lately) and I’ll grit my teeth. Likewise saying “orbs” or “globes” in place of “breasts.” Tits are fine if you’re consistent.  

Repetition isn’t the only problem. In one review of an otherwise fairly inventive period vampire book, I said that I’d been slogging through so many repetitive, florid, bloated, adjective-overladen sex scenes that if I’d been able to use the traditional editorial red pen on the manuscript it would have looked as bloody as any vampiric orgy. Too many “love-shafts,” “carnal lances,” “bags of love juice” (on males) and “torrents of love juice” (from females) even when love clearly had nothing to do with it. Too much repetition, and, when an attempt was made for original metaphors, too many that made me either laugh or cringe. Breasts like “juicy amber fruits” with nipples like “twin stalks” isn’t all that bad, until you see the terms “rising stalks” and “burgeoning stalks” applied to masculine appendages. The difficulties with portraying prolonged, ever-increasing lust are noticeable when at one moment a man’s “wild electric eel” is “thrashing” against his belly, and a few moments later, with even more provocation, it merely “twitches compulsively.”

Well, enough of my editorial triggers. My point, if I’m making one at all, is that erotica readers like dirty words, naughty words,  earthy words, even though they have their own particular favorites. What they don’t want is anything that makes them laugh (unless it’s appropriate) or cringe (unless that’s appropriate, such as in a horror story) or in any way distracts them from the erotic flow of the story. If there’s any time a reader doesn’t want that flow interrupted, it’s in the middle of a sex scene. Use your words carefully, build to a climax, and never, never be guilty of literary coitus interruptus. (Or of careless use of Latin phrases. Do as I say, not as I do.)

Friday, July 26, 2013

Cunt by Lily Harlem

Cunt, now there is a word that can make people gasp, or smile, or their hackles go up. Even seeing it spelled out can make some people tremble. I use it in my novels sparingly - note the word sparingly - because I like the impact it has. But because of its power, it can also be a word that knocks readers from a moment when you really want them to be immersed in the story - but more about that in a minute.

First of all, a quick sweep around the world wide web about the origins of this complex word.. (not a polemic, just a bit of info!)

It seems that etymologists debate the word cunt but the overall belief is that the word derives from the Proto-Germanic word kunton meaning the female genitals. What is known for sure is that by the 13th century cunt was being widely used. The earliest known citation of the word comes from a street in London known as Gropecunte Lane. This name was common in many towns in Britain as the street where prostitutes conducted their business. The street name described the activity that took place, e.g. grope meaning to touch for sexual pleasure and cunte meaning female genitalia. This street existed under its current name in London up until fairly recently when the residents decided to change its name to something a little more PC - I'm just guessing at this new name LOL!

      So originally cunt didn’t have the obscene connotations it has today, it was merely a noun for the ladies private parts. But over the years its meaning evolved, by Shakespeare’s day it seems to have become quite obscene and although the great playwright never actually used the word in any of his completed plays, before him, Chaucer did in Canterbury Tales.

     However, moving forward a few centuries, the way in which Anais Nin used cunt in her writing is pertinent, titillating and I think beautiful. Erotica is more likely to use cunt with acceptance & grace unlike the rest of society who've pushed cunt to the outer rims of the majorities vocabulary. For a long time cunt was an outcast. Only uncouths and drunks used the word that once all enjoyed so merrily, until fairly recently when, luckily for it - society liked to shock.

      Now it is the golden age of cunt, everybody uses it from the humblest beggar to politicians in a way they hope will get a gasping reaction at their daring. There is, however, also a long-standing movement among feminists that seeks to reclaim cunt not only as acceptable, but as an honorific, in much the same way that queer has been reappropriated by LGBT people. I for one, hope they succeed.

     But despite its resurgence many are still confused on when and in what company it is okay to say the previously unutterable...

      Until the feminists are victorious in changing the general population's opinion of the word, utilising cunt in the modern age is a difficult balancing act. If you underutilize or refuse to say it then you are missing out on one of the most powerful words in the English language. If you overutilise cunt then you run the risk that people will think you're either a misogynist or a feminist, depending on your gender, and cunt will lose all its punch and forcefulness. (information sourced from Live Leaks, sexloveliberation)

     So, back to Anais Nin who paved the way for modern day erotica authors and readers. Well, I know we don't generally share lots of excerpts on Oh Get A Grip, but since I have a new trilogy out this week - Sexy as Hell co-written with Natalie Dae - that uses the word cunt in several different ways I thought I'd share a few examples of how Natalie and I like to work it into stories.

      This is the first snippet, and what I should point out is that cunt is in the very first line of the very first book. Why? Because it shocks, it hooks, it shows us a lot about not just the female lead, Zara, but also the reaction of the man she says it to. Here goes...

Excerpt from The Novice book #1 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy

Chapter One

“Lick my cunt,” I said.
I wondered what Victor saw, standing there fully dressed as he was against my bedroom wall. A woman sprawled out on the bed, naked, her fingers spreading her slit apart, or me, Zara Watson, the girl he’d picked up in a coffee shop after work? Or so he’d like to think. I’d picked him up, but I wasn’t about to let him in on how. It had been easy, making him believe he had the gift of the gab, what it took to successfully snare a woman, but in reality I’d orchestrated every move. I doubted his ego could take the truth.
“What?” he asked, dark eyebrows going up, eyes widening.
So he wasn’t as sophisticated as he’d made out. In my experience, they were all the same. Confident and all-knowing until someone like me threw them. Came out with a simple statement that had them reeling. No idea how to claw back their self-assured air without a pause to take in what had been said. The shock of it was usually too much. Hang on, lady, you’re not meant to be saying things like that to me. It should be the other way around. I ought to be shocking you.
“You heard me,” I said, holding back a smirk. “So?”
He remained where he stood, more was the pity, and smiled, a tactic I’d seen so many times before. I‘d bet his mind was swirling, him trying to think what he could say that would get him back on top. I only wished he would get on top, or at least do something that would live up to the promise of his sexy words in the coffee shop. I sighed. All mouth and no trousers, that one. Shame he still had his trousers on. Black ones that matched his shirt. A grey silk tie that could be taken two ways—he was either a stuffy prig or had no choice but to wear it for his profession. And he’d told me all about that. An architect, don’t you know, well paid and with a flashy car that he’d wasted no time in describing to me. As though a hunk of metal was of interest. The only hunk I was interested in was him, and the way things were going, I wouldn’t be getting my mitts on him as quickly as I’d envisaged. Shame, because he was a great-looking guy and I wouldn’t be surprised if his body matched the aesthetic appeal of his face.
“A bit forward, aren’t you?” he said, rubbing the cute, vertical dink he had in his chin.
“Is that a problem?” I leant back, bracing myself on my hands. My breasts didn’t move. Pert things, they’d brought many a man to his knees. A pity this one wasn’t on them between my legs now, supping the cunt I’d so graciously offered.
“Well…” He frowned, seemingly at a loss on what to say.
“Well what?” I smiled inwardly. Talk about getting to him. I could almost see him trying to hold in a squirm.
“You…you didn’t seem this type when we met.” He lifted one hand, running his fingers through his floppy brown hair. Sprinkles of silver weaved through his sideburns and the wispy, longer hairs at his temple.
“And what type is that?” I was enjoying myself. 

Zara goes on to ask him how a naked lady on a bed, asking him to 'lick her cunt' can fail to turn him on. It's clear from his reaction that it's that one word that's thrown him, the straw that broke the camel's back in this scene, and a great place to start his character development.
This next snippet is from book #3 The Vixen, a shorter excerpt because it's quite plot heavy and I don't want to throw spoilers around, but I wanted to use it as an example of cunt being a word filled with hate and the power it can have when used that way. Plus it's such a short, hard word on the tongue, can be almost spat out, that even when reading and not saying it out loud it still reverberates.

I hadn’t had to put the incredulous in my voice, because I could recall my shock when they’d asked me, or rather Conner had told me what I had to do. 
Conner. I’d told myself I’d never say his name, never think it, but things had changed. He was the one who’d liked the games the best, the others had just watched with folded arms and amused sneers on their faces.

This is just a tiny section of Zara's thoughts in that scene, but I still think the depth of her hate is evident on the page from that final word.
Finally, an example of cunt used in a heated moment which leads to lots of loving and caring and written as a thought while in the heroine, Zara's, point of view. This is taken from book #2 The Player.

Oh, God, he meant it. The fire in his eyes was plain to see. I’d pushed him way too far. What the hell had he and Ollie been talking about?
He shoved me and I fell onto the bed, the backs of my knees against the edge of the mattress. Still standing he straddled them, loomed above me, staring down with such menace in his eyes I knew I really should give him a snippet of the truth before he exploded in spectacular fashion. His cock tented his jeans—oh, yes, it tented them quite nicely—and I clenched my cunt muscles to stave off the stirrings of desire.
“I don’t know the proper rules,” I said. There, there was some truth. “All I know are mine and the games that I play. I don’t know any other way. Satisfied?”
My chest went up and down as I fought to catch my breath. It seemed as though my admission had taken all the air out of me, had left me weak and boneless, vulnerable—something I’d vowed never to be again.

Fairly subtle in that last one, but I like how it is in the protagonist's thoughts, again it tells us a detail about her, how she thinks, that she's comfortable with the word if she has it in her head like that, and also that she uses it in different ways herself.

On a different note, recently I was at a reading in Cardiff with fellow erotica and erotic romance authors KD Grace, Lucy Felthouse and Kay Jaybee and we had a question and answer panel at the end of the readings and the open mic. One of the audience asked us about using the 'c-word' in our books. I took the route of it having positive female connotations in history as a noun and that I found it particularly useful when writing. I also put forward that if readers are picking up erotica they're not too likely to be shocked by a single word. This seemed to be a general opinion of the other authors on the panel, and I know full well, because I've read and loved their work, that they, too, use cunt in a variety of different ways.

Do share your thoughts, I'm hoping to be having a little r&r with Mr H this week but will do my best to check in and say hi! And again, I've just skimmed the surface on this subject, it can be debated at length...

Lily x

Oh - And I probably should say, that The Novice, Book #1 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy is FREE for a few days only! Grab your copy from Amazon and feel free to tell all of your friends, friends who can cope with the word cunt that is! Or if you're feeling brave, just grab the whole box set!

Please note the original title The Virgin, was switched to The Novice after a dispute with Amazon.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by Giselle Renarde

If readers assessed me based solely on my posts here at Oh Get A Grip, I'm not sure they'd realize what dirty, filthy smut I write.  I don't tend to talk about erotica here, do I?

But today I will.  Today I'll delve into the nitty gritty of word choice in erotic fiction.  Lisabet already talked cocks (pricks, actually) earlier in the week.  I'm more interested in cum.  Or come?  Jizz. Ejaculate.

Maybe I should clarify: cum is not a personal interest of mine.  I'm just talking about words, here.  When I saw the topic "Dirty Words I've Taught the Computer," I didn't think I'd taught my computer anything.  I'd planned on talking about how writing erotica professionally made me a better person, but I've written that post a billion times times already already.  So when I was tip-tap-typing away this week and the autocorrect turned "jizz" into "jazz" I was like... EUREKA!


Am I the only person who uses this word?  I remember reading a post on Alison Tyler's blog that said something along the lines of "Don't send me submissions containing the word jizz."  Why not?  I like it.  Reminds me of Jiz Lee, who is soooo cool and smart and stuff.  Gush, gush, gush.

Are there connotations I'm missing?  I like the way it sounds.  Jizz, like fizz.  Is that gross?  It's got a streamy, streaking feeling to it.


This is my go-to word for describing ejaculate as a noun.  The rule I go by is cum as a noun, come as a verb.  Turns out a lot of anthology editors and publishing houses don't share this rule.  Come is always come.  Many of my cums become comes, but that's okay.  I'm not married to cum.

Wow, you've drained me.  What other synonyms do I use?  Oh, "cream" sometimes.  "Hot cream." I don't tend to go on and on about cum, but it's best to have a solid vocabulary.

In the interest of building my sexual word-power, I asked my girlfriend to shoot me a couple words for cum.  Here's her response:

jizz, juice, milk, man juice, nectar, ejaculate

Haha... "man juice."

But there must be more than that.  Must be...


Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Wabi Sabi Girl # 2: A Story of Dirty Words I've Taught My Computer

Hello, this is Henry Lutz, please leave a message.

Your sister warned me about you, you selfish bastard, your self absorption, your utter narcissism, which is really your expression of oedipalistic self loathing isn't it?  Isn't it? But I dismissed it because you were so strange and I always think that under the strange or the exotic some wounded wisdom will be discovered and because you were a poet, or something that looked like one, and an exotic creature and the New Yorker’d published one of your poems as any mediocrity might get hit by lightning once in his idiot life - that one time I felt as though I were in the company of some kind of glory.  You’re only one out of a long line of failed gods.  

Oh!  And also -You have no grasp of trochaic meter and your poems suck.  That’s right.  Now I've said it.  Somebody has to tell you.  

Oh!  And also, I mean like really, that docked pentamic line in the second stanza about self contradiction?  You stole that from Whitman you fucking fake.  If the people at the New Yorker weren't such over rated, under educated morons they’d have caught your plagiarizing ass, fuck yes.  The next time you steal, stay away from dear old Uncle Walt.  

I swear to Jesus I will rat you out. Truth alone is sacred. Truth will always triumph over the great lie!  

Hello, this is Henry Lutz, please leave a message.

I have value you smug shit!  I am a human being!  The modern woman refuses to be erased!

Hello, this is Henry Lutz, please leave a message.

Or deleted!

Hello, this is Henry Lutz, please leave a message.

My voracious clitoris refuses to be tamed!

Hi there!  June bug here, please leave a message describing the intrinsic contradiction of man’s existential peril in a world of moral relativism and if I think you’re interesting I might call you back.”

Junie, listen, its Henry.  I know you’re there, okay?  If you weren’t such a physical coward you’d pick up.  Am I totally right? Listen Junie, I think I’m dying.  

You’re not a human woman, You’re a succubus, some tentacled lamia that’s poisoned me against all other women, but like a martyr of love I move inside you still. Junie I want you.  What I want . . . How can I say it . . . I think . . . what I really want is to . . . to . . . 

Hi there!  June bug here, please leave a message describing the intrinsic contradiction of man’s existential peril in a world of moral relativism and if I think you’re interesting I might call you back.”

I want to lick my cream off
your blue waffle
Roll a tongue sandwich in
your meat muffin,  
Why you have to be so mean?
Here’s a stud wants to do your do
Wants to suck your sugar bean 
Suck it tight
Suck it all night
like a snake bite
Suck that poison right out of you
suck you squeal suck you grunt 
Put you in your place
While I wear your cunt
Glued on my face 
like a ham wallet gas mask.

Hello, this is Henry Lutz, please leave a message.

You want to jam
Your limp little spear 
up my rear?  Dear? 
That little dinkie you call a winkie? Huh?
You think you got the juice
To do my deuce
baby- baby- baby 
Spout that hot load of baby gravy
Like your prick, some kinda Moby Dick?  
like I’m gonna suck that snail?
Make you wail- 
Thar She blows!  She blows!
Fuck no!

Hi there!  June bug here, please leave a message unless you're Henry Lutz who has a little tiny dick maybe the size of a Gherkin pickle!  I've seen it!

Even the moonlight
searches the cold seaward waves
lost Whisker Biscuit


Hello, this is Henry Lutz, please leave a message.

Heat, you'll never touch
Stars licking blood desert moon
Camel Toe Soufflé.



Hi there!  June bug here, please leave a message unless you’re Henry Lutz who cries like a baby when he comes - Boo hoo hoo!  Mommy! I made sticky!  Boo hoo hoo! I’m sorry mommy! Waaahh!

My kiss will stop the silly things you say
My Yogurt Slinger will yet thrill your spine
I’ll lightly lick your Camel Toe Soufflé

Yes, I confess, this once my doodle went astray
In her bed, those condoms were all mine.
My kiss will stop the silly things you say.

Love thee?  Aye - Let me count the Vay Jay Jays- 
I would stuff your Sausage Hole’s Winkling Eye
I’ll lightly lick your Camel Toe Soufflé.

How I miss my Salami’s Hide Away
And how I miss your Bearded Beaver Pie
My kiss will stop the silly things you say

My Enchilada of Love swells and craves
To shoot my choot in your Hot Taco Pie
I’ll lightly lick your Camel Toe Soufflé 

For what it’s worth, your mom’s a lousy lay
She doesn’t move, she just won’t come, that’s why
My kiss will stop the silly things you say.
I’ll lightly lick your Camel Toe Soufflé.

Hello, this is Henry Lutz, please leave a message.

Oh my god Henry. 

Promise me, promise me you’ll never do that ever again.

Not just don’t fuck my mom behind my back anymore, but I mean don’t write these villainous villanelles.  I think you've lobotomized the right side of my brain. It hurts. I’m damaged.  I’m ruined.  Promise you won’t give that poem to the CIA for a torture weapon.  It’s too cruel.  God will smite you for this.

Okay, let’s meet.  Starbucks.  In the mall.

And wear knee pads, you bastard.