Erotic by Matthew Cooke

It’s all right there!  Is this just not one of the sexiest photos you’ve ever seen?  Proving once again that less is, indeed, so much more.

I found this via Lady Julia of The Entranced Realm, where she says: 

"To me, being a Domme means being able to very gently, very persuasively stroke his mind, stirring his wants and needs to such a frenzy that he is begging to give me exactly what I want and leaving him surprised to find that what I want is what he wants also."

I like the way she thinks, don’t you?

She has a nice little sampling of FREE erotic hypnosis MP3s, also.  So be sure to check her out.

xo, Angela

PS.  If anybody can find information on the photographer, please let me know.  I am seriously interested in featuring his work at Literate Smut.

For those of you who didn’t notice or could care less, this blog, Zen Fetish, was down for around three days — give or take a few hours — this past week, which caused quite a kerfuffle with my regular and devoted ones.   Nothing to worry about; I was just moving to a new server and I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was, so it didn’t go as smoothly nor as quickly as I’d planned.  So the boo boo is all better now (though your still welcome to kiss it) and we are back to our irregularly scheduled blogging. 

It’s Saturday night as I write this.  The kink-0-phone is on and I’m taking calls, writing here in between.  Tease and Denial is the kink du jeur  this evening it seems.  And I am loving it.  Nothing like making a guy beg and plead and moan and groan.   

A couple of new callers have shown up.   One hung up when he got the big O … after telling me how absolutely wonderful and fabulous and sexy and hot and creative I was.  Hmmph!  Another just wanted to serve with low-key public training.  It was sooo much fun and he was a perfect gentleman, saying goodbye and thank you before disappearing.  I sent him five free minutes for his next call.  He earned my generosity.  As did a new cross-dressing caller who was such a bad boy-girl for me!  

Yesterday I bought a new car, the process (car salespeople are brutal fucks) swallowing up my entire day — which ended with me driving home in my simply divine PT Cruiser in the middle of a serious snow storm.  I didn’t walk into my door until well after 10 pm.  And after a hot bath I went straight to bed; I was drained.  So I wasn’t around for calls, but should be the rest of this week. 

While I’m thinking about it, a heads up:  PQS sent me a new installment of Lingerie on the Razor Wire, which I will most likely  be publishing in the next few days.  As usual, his writing is superb and outrageous and edgy and downright hillarious.  So all you fans:  stay tuned. 

I am in the middle of writing a piece for my column at Sex Kitten, which is tentatively called SCUNTS (I’ll let you know when it’s published), based upon my theory/postulation that Spammers are Scunts!  On reason I’ve been moved to rant and moan about these VILEST of Internet Predators is that more and more are sneaking through spam filters by altering the spelling of words just enough that the filters can’t detect nor stop them; yet leaving enough of the correct spelling in place so that the receiver gets the point.  Three examples:  1) Outdoor dog-f: uc-king  2) Perefct nautral 36d szied tiits  3) Yum’my laitna fucekd and gets jzized.  Now if the dumb fucks could just figure out how to send their slop to someone who cares.   

And last but certainly not least, this from my sister, Bethany: 

A woman and a man are involved in a car accident on a snowy, cold Monday morning; it’s a bad one. Both of their cars are totally demolished but amazingly neither of them are hurt. God works in mysterious ways.

Flattered, the man replies, "Oh yes, I agree with you completely; this must be a sign from God! But you’re still at fault. Women shouldn’t be allowed to drive!"

The woman continues, "And look at this, here’s another miracle.  My car is completely demolished but this bottle of wine didn’t break. Surely God wants us to drink this wine and celebrate our good fortune."

Then she hands the bottle to the man. The man nods his head in agreement, opens it and drinks half the bottle and then hands it back to the woman.  The woman takes the bottle and immediately puts the cap back on, and hands It back to the man.

The man asks, "Aren’t you having any?"

MORAL OF THE STORY:  Women are clever, evil bitches!

xo, Angela

Well, there’s my way to do it, which includes writing dirty stories, talking dirty on the phone and featuring hot writers such as Jerotic,  Pervert Savant, Sabrina Morgan, The Provocateur, Submissive Savant and Porno Person.   

Then there’s the kind of Smut Slinging which is downright nasty and makes me glad after all that I’m not famous — that I’m just here in my own little corner of the Internet, doing my own quiet, little thing my own dirty little way:

Writers on other Writers

“I have tried lately to read Shakespeare, and found it so intolerably dull that it nauseated me." − Charles Darwin

"Jonathan Swift was a monster gibbering shrieks, and gnashing imprecations against mankind, …" − William Thackeray

"Longfellow is to poetry what the barrel organ is to music" − William Thackeray

"Shelley should not be read, but inhaled through a gas pipe" − Lionel Trilling

"This awful Whitman. This post-mortem poet . . . with the private soul leaking out of him all the time." − Lionel Trilling

"[Ulysses is] the work of a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples." − Virginia Wolff

"[Henry James was] one of the nicest old ladies I ever met." − William Faulkner

"Reading Proust is like bathing in someone else’s dirty water." − Alexander Woollcott

"[Dylan Thomas was] an outstandingly unpleasant man, one who cheated and stole from his friends and peed on their carpets." − Kingsley Amis

"[George Orwell] would not blow his nose without moralizing on the conditions in the handkerchief industry." − Cyril Connolly

"[Hemingway had] a literary style of wearing false hair on the chest" − Max Eastman

"[Gertrude Stein] was a past master in making nothing happen very slowly" − Clifton Fadiman

"[Auden was] an engaging, bookish, American talent, too verbose to be memorable and too intellectual to be moving" − Philip Larken

"That’s not writing, that’s typing" − Truman Capote on Jack Kerouac

"It is only fair to Allen Ginsberg to remark on the utter lack of decorum of any kind in this dreadful little volume" − John Hollander on Howl

"[Alexander Solzhenitsyn] is a bad novelist and a fool" − Gore Vidal

"[Writers are ] schmucks with Underwoods" − Jack Warner

"[Rod McKuen’s] poetry is not even trash" − Karl Shapiro

"A sausage machine, a perfect sausage machine." − Agatha Christie on Agatha Christie

And thanks to PQS for hooking me up.  Although you’ve been known to criticize my prose and poetry time or two, you always do it just between you and me … and with much adoration and affection.  Which is probably smart of you.  (*wink*)

xo, Angela

Ron Jeremy:  Catholic Pervert or Porn Star Super Hero?

(OR MAYBE JUST AN EVERYDAY JOE)

I don’t think there is anybody on the face of this planet who is immune to the rascally charm of Ron Jeremy.  He has that Christopher Walken thing going on, wherein no matter what type of bad-boy persona he is momentarily inhabiting, the twinkle in his eye tells you it’s all in good fun and you’re welcome to join in.

It makes you just want to hug him up and shower him with presents.  Here, Ron, I made you this nice cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream on the top.  How about a full body massage, Ron?  Take all my jewelry; don’t forget the diamond earrings.  Take it, Ron, take it all:  Exclusive access to my  virgin anus, frankinscense and myrrh, my someday first born child.  Even the Internet is more-or-less Ron Jeremy’s bitch.  His ability to have fun with, and even cash in on, his public persona in such a friendly, gleeful way has a lot of us going ga-ga over him.  

I get such a kick out of finding him here and there and everywhere, always seeming to have the time of his life.  I’ve never actually seen a bona fide Ron Jeremy PORN flick.  His reign as the Porn Prince with the Perpetually Erect Prick was a bit before my time.   But I have seen the documentary,  Porn Star:  The Legend of Ron Jeremy, which I highly recommend, because you owe it to yourself to see the humanity behind the legend.  

Because the truth of Mr. Jeremy’s life is that, even with his Porn Star legendary status, he just isn’t that much different than you or me; he really is the quintessential everyman.  Like most of us (and I so identify with this), he had a general plan for his life which he expected to fulfill.  But life had something a bit different in mind.  And that is how life is, isn’t it?  We think we’re headed over there, but end up over here.  You can spend the rest of your days whining, screaming, pouting, complaining and blaming.  Or you can get comfortable where you are, throw a big party and invite the world.  Cocktails at seven.  Hors doevres at eight.  Black tie, or even pants, optional.

So put on your party hat and let’s have some fun with Ron:

• A scholar (buy the above film to see what I mean) and a gentleman, Mr. Jeremy takes the newly-divorced Kathy Griffith out on the town and offers sage dating advice. 
• Get your freak on with Ron.  Show those lumps, honey.
• Have a Pina Colada with Ron.  (And you thought men couldn’t fake it.)
• One on one with Ron.  Size ten shoe!  You know what that means.  And I bet you can’t do what he can do.
• And let me tell you, brothers and sisters, Britney has nothing on the Hedgehog.
• Did you know Mr. Jeremy has his own little Mini me?  No, not that!  It’s definitely not "mini."
• And then ala Being John Malkovich, there’s Being Ron Jeremy, which I hear is an absolute hoot and includes a lot of other goodies as well, such as outtakes and INSIDE THE PORN ACTORS STUDIO.
• There is also a well-received book, Ron Jeremy:  The Hardest (working) Man in Showbiz.
• 49, 205 friends at MySpace?  Wow Wee Wow!  Now that’s a party!
• And wouldn’t you brag if you sucked Ron Jeremy’s cock?  My friend, Libby, did. 
• Did you know he’s also a Cartoon Super Porn Hero?  (that is his voice behind the animation)

See what I mean?  How can you not like this guy?  If you don’t, there has got to be something seriously wrong with you.  Me? I am obviously and deliriously smitten.  Deal with it.

Now, fess up:  How many of you out there have seen a Ron Jeremy film or two?  Come one, don’t be shy.  I want to know all the naughty details.  Can he really kiss  his "schmeckle" and is it really that big?  Do you have a collection of his DVDs?   And if not, why not?  I’m thinking I need to get a collection started.  I mean shouldn’t every red-blooded, dirty-girl blogger do the right thing for the Man with the Golden Shlong?

xo, Angela

Bottom on Top:  Richard and the Caning

Okay, I gotta tell ya, I've been saving this picture forever, because I think it is just awesomely sexy, speaking to possibilities.  Possibilities?  How can that be, Angela?  After all, there are no naked girls or boys; nor is there anything remotely sexual happening.  And I say to you:  EXACTLY!    The sexual landscape is bare, except for a cane on a nondescript couch.  That's where it starts, where everything begins.  

Can you imagine entering a woman's apartment with her after a first date to see that lying there, so innocently, yet so titillating?  Or being in a submissive relationship and finding that as you walk in the door one night?  What if you were being puppy trained and you crawled into your Mistress's living room to see this?

Now you get it, don't you?  I'm sure you do. 

Well it used to be that Richard, our resident Submissive Savant, would have agreed with any of the three submissive perspectives I just described.  And I'm sure he still would, really, when you get right down to it.  But, my oh my, is he in a mood for experimentation these days, noting in a recent entry that he has separate profiles up at Collar Me … one submissive and one dominant. 

In just such a mood he wrote a most erotic piece…

I dreamt of you last night. More honestly I stroked my cock while I thought of you.

There you were with you wrists bound above your head. My canes cut into your buttocks. First the wooden cane, then the acrylic and lastly the metal one. Your flinched, your breath became ragged but you wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t beg me to stop.

With the metal cane only I moved down to the back of your thighs. Your twitches told me that each stroke hurt. Still there were no tears. Again you wouldn’t beg. I felt like I was eating you. At least eating your pain. Finally I stopped. Sitting on a tall stool I sat near you and let my hands roam across your body. I licked some of your welts hoping to taste what I’d done to your flesh.

I yanked you around. My cane cut into the front of your thighs. You spasmed, you whimpered. Selfishly you never asked for mercy. Tiring I sat before you and planned my triumph.

I thrust my tongue down your throat. I burned with love for your strength as much as I wanted to conquer it.

Your face assumed so many beautiful expressions of anguish when my cane cut into your nipples. But no tears flowed.

Finally I released you. But had you kneel one more time before me. My fingers rifled your hair. I treasured the shudders that still racked your body and your seeming indestructibility.

Finally I raised you up as friend and equal and hugged you tightly to me.

I think I love the last line best of all.  Which is probably what I love about Richard best of all.  His beautiful humanity.

xo, Angela