~Edward P. Morgan

Today ends Banned Book Week.  Can you stand just one more rant from yours truly?  I know I already did that yesterday; but it’s important because it speaks to our basic and most beautiful right to not only express ourselves but to seek out kindred hearts and thinkers.  It also happens to speak to our human right to learn and grow and self-actuate.  So lets have at it just one more time … what do you say?  And then I’ll exercise my First Amendment rights tomorrow (or maybe the next day) to write you something really dirty and juicy.

So once upon a time & a few years back, when I was writing regularly for Sex Kitten (and I may be doing so again … so stay tuned), I wrote the piece below.  Most of you here haven’t seen it and I think it stands the test of time, so here you go:

Banned in Boston, Condemned in Cleveland

In a perfect world, those who screw with The First Amendment would be sentenced to careers-without-parole as testers in ball gag factories. And why not? Why not let them see what it feels like for a change. Just a thought. Or maybe they want to take that away from us too?

…you run across an old school book and remember how autumn always smelled so new, so full of promise, back then.

********

About Index Librorum Prohibitorum.:  Well, shame on me!  I grew up a Catholic gal and had never heard of this.  And wouldn’t have, unless a thoughtful commenter on my last post brought it up.  (Thank you, very much and I hope you visit often.)  Of course, I googled it and there it was all over the place.  I’ll just send you to the Wikipedia page, where you can read all about it. 

And I just had to use it as a title, ‘cuz it makes look smarter than I am.  *wink*

One more thing:  "Google" is officially a verb now (and has been for a while), which makes "googled" a real word ( a past tense verb, to be specific).  So why doesn’t my spell checker recognize it?  argghhhh. 

It’s banned book week and I just gotta say that …

… I’m a self-confessed and unapologetic bibliophile.  I’m a sucker for books:   good books, bad books and everything in between.  I love the smell of books, the feel of books.  I collect books and like looking at them all nestled together on my book shelves or piled here, there and everywhere in the corners of my life.  There is always a book in my purse.  There is always a book beside my bed.  I never ever go to sleep without reading at least a page or two of my current read … and there is ALWAYS a current read.   I  generally avoid bookstores because once I step through the door, I’m doomed to spend hundreds of dollars. 

… I often give books as gifts.  Because, honestly, I can’t think of anything better than to share a book that has thoroughly entertained me or taught me something new or made me laugh or caused me to weep or even perhaps changed me in some deep and fundamental way.  Is there anything better than being in the middle of a book that you can hardly put down, that you can’t wait to get back to?  If I care about you, why wouldn’t I want to give this experience to you?

… It follows that  with my liberal “brattiness” I am indeed passionately opposed to the narrow-minded minority who would attempt to ban any book, because they think they know better than you or me.   And so a few years ago I wrote the following.  I think it’s worth repeating …

Get Your Rocks OFF With a Banned Book

A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return.

~Salman Rushdie

Won’t you join me in championing free speech this week by observing Banned Books Week: Celebrating the Freedom to Read. Do it anyway you want, I don’t care: Take a book to lunch. Or dress it up in stockings and stilettos–then fuck it silly or jerk off and cum all over it. But most of all, hold it to your heart and keep it safe. 

Great Book Quotes

•  To be a book-collector is to combine the worst characteristics of a dope fiend with those of a miser. ~Robertson Davies
• There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde
• The man who doesn’t read good books has no advantage over the man who can’t read them. ~Mark Twain
• A room without books is like a body without a soul. ~Cicero
• Never judge a book by its movie. ~J. W. Eagan
• Don’t join the book burners. Don’t think you’re going to conceal faults by concealing evidence that they ever existed. Don’t be afraid to go in your library and read every book. ~Dwight Eisenhower
• This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force. ~Dorothy Parker
• I first read books to survive my life; then I read books to live my life; now I read books to celebrate my life. ~Angela St. Lawrence 

Most Sacred First Amendment

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble , and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Books from the Hit List

• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
• Cujo by Stephen King
• Beloved by Toni Morrison
• The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
• Native Son by Richard Wright
• Lord of the Flies by William Golding
• Ordinary People by Judith Guest
• The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
• Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
• The Color Purple by Alice Walker
• Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
• I Know Why the Caged Bird Sing by Maya Angelou

***Researching and putting all of the info together for this entry, I’ve had tears in my eyes more than once; fell in love with power of words–over and again; was struck heart-deep by the weight of truth which those who write always bare; and fell in love with my beautiful country all over again. If you even find your way to one of those things…I will be profoundly humbled.

***********

One more thing:  Between you and me, I sincerely believe that books saved my life.  Once upon a time I was a little girl in a bad situation — the world was ugly and there was no physical escape.  But there was the local library, just a few blocks from my parochial school.  And so I would go there to read and read and read.  My library card was my only prized possession, and with it I would borrow as many books as was permitted and read in my room, on the school bus, on the porch, in the yard.  And eventually all that reading got me from there to here.

So, yeah … spank your monkey with a book.  Fuck it, hump it, cum all over it.  Do it for me.  Do it for you.  Do it for those who read their way into their own selves.  Do it for all the little girls and boys who not only found a way out, but up, up, up …

Because books are that powerful.  And so are we.  If you don’t believe me, read a book.  You’ll see.

….you might as well drop your panties and spread your legs. Because, sooner or later, he is going to have his way with you

Last night, after a busy day of “much ado about nothing,” I was wired-tired. You’ve been there, right? Feeling all day like your left foot was nailed to the floor as your right one kept running you around in endless circles? Yeah, one of those days. So I was really ready to call it quits. Fresh from a hot bath I was looking forward to calling it a night and had been about the business of doing just that when my muse showed up.

"Not tonight, dear," I told him. "I have a headache."

But he was having none of it. Hopping up onto my shoulder, he pulled out his teeny-tiny muse-monkey and began spanking it. Not this time, I thought to myself, determined to ignore his lewd, rhythmic keystrokes—right there, beside my ear.

"You know you want it, Angela," he whispered.

“No. No I don’t, Muse. Please go away.”

I looked longingly at the just-poured glass of merlot sitting on the kitchen counter top only a few steps away. I imagined the beautifully-bound anniversary edition of To Kill a Mockingbird awaiting me just down the hall—perched atop the pillows I’d just fluffed. I thought of the bedside lamp, its amber nimbus waiting to surround me in the sweetest of solitudes as I sank into my pillow to sip my wine and read a page or two of Harper Lee’s masterpiece before drifting off to higher ground.

“Go to your keyboard, Angela.”

Muse’s voice had taken on that sexy growl, the seductive tenor that always makes my little slut-digits quiver. I whimpered. He chuckled—that familiar sleazy snarl of a chuckle. Oh, how I hate you, you insatiable bastard. As if he could read my thoughts, Muse grunted, spit a gob of ink on his little quill and stroked faster. We both watched the jetty fluid oozing from between his pumping fingers, smearing across his knuckles.

I was getting hot—hot to trot right over to my keyboard and writhe, I mean write. The raunchy little raconteur inside me began to tremble. I wanted Muse’s hot jizz to conjugate and punctuate and catenate me. And his grizzled sneer told me Muse knew it.

“Nouns, adverbs, adjectives.”

“Muse, please stop. You know that sentence is incomplete.”

“Then fix it, Angela. You know you can’t resist.” His breath, smelling of parchment and indigo, blew across my fevered face. “Get your panties off and get your horny fingers over to that fucking computer and diddle with that fragment.”

“But…”

“I know, baby. I’ll make it good. Remember the old days? When we did it on everything? Index cards, notebooks, legal pads, steno pads and even napkins. Remember how you liked being bent over that Underwood you found at the yard sale?”

“Okay, Muse. Damn it, you’re right. Do me. Bend me like a bitch over that keyboard and make me your whore. Shove that fragment in front of my face and have your way with me. Use me like the pencil-pushing slut (virgule) strumpet (virgule) tramp (virgule) harlot that I am.”

“I knew you’d give it up,” Muse sniggered as he positioned me in front of the computer. “Now, you filthy little ink-slinging Pandora, listen to this.”

Hunched over the keyboard I opened wide as he started pumping it into me: “Participles, linking verbs, superlative adjectives… You want more?”

“Give it to me, Muse. Give it to me fast and hard and dirty.”

“Grammar, punctuation, conjunctions, interjections, gerunds…”

“Oh, yes! That’s it. Do me. Pound it in to me.”

“Factitive verbs, predicate nominatives, indefinite pronouns, past participles, appositive phrases …”

Muse had me where he wanted me. He knew the dirty truth about the both of us: That I am his whore and he is my whoremonger. It’s been that way since I first picked up a pen. And so I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. Until his profane solicitations became the rhythmic movement of my sticky little fingers across the keyboard and once again, as he always does, the Muse had his way with me.

***

I wrote this piece for my semi-regular column at Sex Kitten.  As I noted a while back, it stirred up some positive attention, which made this little FemDom PhoneSex Wanna Be Writer Girl mighty happy.  But I suspect some of you have had neither the opportunity nor inclination to track it down.   Personally, it’s a fav of mine and so I thought I’d put it out there today for you stragglers.  Not to mention if frees up the time I would have spent writing a blog entry today for somewhat nastier pursuits.

I hope you like it. 

xo, Angela

Dear Friend:  we
   Are operating at capacity
and cannot
   supply a green and grassy spot
for your tomb,
   as there is no more room. 

Instead, you are invited to entrust
   your dust
To our space-age morticians, who seal
   in stainless steel
(thanks to post-Newtonian science)
   our clients. 

Whereupon you
   (and all your shiny loved ones, too)
shall ascend
   via chartered rocketship, to spend
eternity
   very near where Heaven used to be.

***

Ms. Taylor’s website.

You Can Keep Good Man Down

At least sometimes.

While we will be getting to Romantic Humiliation presently, let’s start here: If you’re not familiar with Erotic Humiliation as a subdivision of Female Domination, well you just might be missing something. Remember the Golden Rule of Kink: He who fucks with glass condoms shouldn’t throw stones. (Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it. Or even if you have.)

Before you get yourself worked into some superior kink-tizzy, let me tell you something: I did not come to Erotic Humiliation easily nor with any willingness to even learn about it. Even lil’ me has been rejected by a lover or two and I just couldn’t get my head or heart around inflicting (what I perceived as) emotional pain upon another human being. This was not domination to my then way of thinking–this was some warped version of meritless and pointless abuse; a bizarre, convoluted circumstance of reverse misogyny.

But a most interesting thing began happening with my gentlemen submissives. Their fantasies were evolving. For while they still craved and appreciated my tried and true verbal counsel to take my strap-on up their asses, worship my cunt, suck large cocks, wear my panties, submit to cuckolding, and so much more, they now wanted me to escalate the rush with name calling, sneering, spitting and even public embarrassment. They wanted to HEAR their domination and many times even yearned for others to witness it.

And guess what? Once I tried it, I was hooked. I fell in love with the entire game of it. After all I am and always have been since I was knee high to a grasshopper, first and foremost, a woman of words. So I jumped right into the filthy world of FemDom Mud Slinging, where the Goddess, interestingly enough, always stays spotless. Since then, I’ve been–with that specialized group of callers–dishing out verbal venom in spades and even clubs, hearts and diamonds.

In fact, I’ve been so enthusiastic and defensive in regard to these particular fantasies that I was tapped by Gracie Passette to write about them (Erotic Humiliation is not an Oxymoron) for Sex Kitten Presents the BDSM Issue. (Mention this article the next time we talk –Month of May, 2007 ONLY, 15 MINUTE MINIMUM– and I will send you a complimentary copy. Or just bite the bullet and buy the book already. Geeze!)

So everything was fine. I was hissing and insulting and smirking and mocking and ridiculing and dragging all their (small, always small) dicks through the mud when a new species of humiliation junkies began emerging from the primordial swill. Evolution, once again, dontcha know?

First a smattering: one here or there, then two, then three, four…Then more: Showing up on the doorstep of my virtual dungeon with their submissive tails between their legs, BUT with their hearts on their sleeves, stars in their eyes and bearing chocolates, flower bouquets, diamond rings and even wedding bands. They wanted to be loved and adored and treasured and cherished by–and many times even married to–the very same girl who was going to kick their psychological asses.

And who better for the task? Giggle.

Make no mistake about it: Erotic Humiliation and Romantic Humiliation are not one and the same. Erotic humiliation is edgier, crueler and inflicted in a cold, even haughty, manner. The Mistress or Princess or Goddess usually exhibits very little emotional connection to her victim. If she does reveal any affection, it is more along the lines of what someone would show toward a favorite pet. This occurs more often with the Princess type of Erotic Humiliation fantasies, which is perfectly understandable if you consider the obvious dynamics involved when an oft-times older man is obeisant to a young and usually immature but charmingly bratty Princess.

With Romantic Humiliation there is commonly a deep love and respect shared by the Dominant and Submissive. The wife or girlfriend values and even cherishes her loved one’s intelligence, sense of humor, devotion and other redeeming, even desired, qualities. Unfortunately, despite their emotional commitment to each other, the man just cannot deliver the goods when it comes to the sexual part of their relationship.

And being his best buddy and soul mate, this woman has no choice but to continually, yet very gently and lovingly, remind him of his inadequacy. Otherwise he might forget or pretend differently, which could cause him all sorts of problems. And, after all, honesty is the best policy–particularly between two people who love each other. Right?

Ahem.

Some examples? Sure, why not?

• Darling Frank. Please Honey. Don’t try to rub that flaccid thing on me. You know you can’t sustain an erection for any length of time and you’ll just end up frustrated. And I hate seeing you like that.. Why don’t you put it away for now?
• Now what are you doing? Looking at pornography again? Baby, what do you plan on doing with that little hard-on? There is no possible way you can satisfy me or any woman with your little wee wee. We’ve discussed it time an again, Aaron. Why look at those huge cocks servicing all those beautiful girls? It will just upset you. Now come over to the chair and I’ll let you rub it on my foot for a little bit. That will make you feel better.
• Carl, darling. Come sit by me; I have something to talk to you about. This isn’t going to be easy, Angel, and I want you to know that I say it because I love you with all of my heart. Remember when the pool boy was here the other day? And he had on those tight spandex shorts? You were watching him through the window and all of a sudden you got an erection. And I have to say, my love, that it was stiffer than any erection you’ve ever had when you were fucking me. You do know that, don’t you? You wanted to suck his cock, didn’t you?
• Oh, Joseph, do you need to ejaculate again? How can those little peanuts of yours fill up so fast? I guess because they’re so tiny. When I think about Tyson and how full and hard those big black balls get right before he pumps his load into me… Well, there simply is no comparison. Go get your cum cup and I’ll jerk you off into it. Okay? Would you like that, sweetie? Then we can go out to dinner and a movie.
• Honey, you can hump me through my panties, but hurry up. You know that Sarah and I are going shopping for shoes. It’s so cute when you squirt your little goo goo on them. While you are doing that, I am going to call Sarah. You just go right ahead. Hello, Sarah? Of course you can come over now. Robert was just, well, you know! I’ll hurry him up. It never takes him long anyway. Just a little squirt and he’s done.

So, do you kinda-sorta get the picture?

If you’re an intrigued female just dying to give this a whirl, I would advise that you don’t try this at home, unless your lover/husband/boyfriend has been forewarned–because while it can be extremely hot, all parties need to know the game rules. And guess what? I do believe there is a very real chance that said loved one might actually surprise you with his enthusiasm.

And if you’re a guy reading this who’s suddenly found the room sweltering and you had to loosen your collar? Silly Wabbit, what are you waiting for? Give me a call, why dontcha?

xo, Angela