First published in 2015 by IMC / Eroto~ Contact: [email protected] Produced by IMC / Eroto~ Designed by R.C. Hörsch Photographs and title graphic by R.C. Hörsch Edited by S.E. Stokowski All images and entire contents © 2015 by R.C. Hörsch and IMC / Eroto~ All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system nor transmitted in any form nor by any means whatsoever without prior consent. The asterisk in the title image is based on Kurt Vonegut’s “Asshole” drawing first published in Breakfast of Champions, Delacorte Press (1973). Reproduced with permission. “Shit Patois” by Tom Wolfe is from I am Charlotte Simmons, Picador, 2004. Reproduced with permission. The complete body of R.C. Hörsch.’s work can be viewed at: eroto.com

This volume is part of a limited, signed and numbered edition of two thousand five hundred copies.

This is ccopy ______.

______Certified by: S.E. Stokowski, publisher “Naomi’s Netherworld” Contents Images Commentary 3 “Naomi’s Netherworld” 6 The Final Taboo: Assholes as Art (Ariel Hart) 5 ”Rectoscopy” 8 Brain Farts (S.E. Stokowski) 7 “Flower” 12 An Erogenous Zone Reborn (Betty Ann Dodson) 9 “Worship Me” 18 The Very First Time... (Samantha Sweet) 11 “Xyla and Friend” “Sarah” 20 Ass To Mouth (Saundra Kurtz) 13 “Sarah” 24 The Rectum (Mark Epstein, MD) 15 “Pheromones” 26 Shit Patois (Tom Wolfe) 17 “Malady’s Heart” 28 My Asshole (Lucy) 19 “Gabriella’s Blue Moon” 30 How to Get on Top By Using Your Bottom (Catherine Tavel) 21 “42” 40 Eden’s Ass (Tomas S. Roche) 23 “Dessert” 48 Training Day (S.W. Mathewson) 25 “Dark Chocolate” 50 Assholes (R.C. Hörsch) 27 “Silk Panties” 58 Brain Farts Continued... (S.E. Stokowski) 29 “Charlotte’” 60 Contributors 31 “Ariana” 33 “Natalie” 35 “China and Annette” 37 “Svyatoslava” 39 “Corinne’” 41 “Mania” 43 “Muses” 45 “Lyssa” 47 “Two Old Men” 49 “Gladiator” 51 “Tammy” 53 “Rachel” 55 “Jody” 57 “Samantha” 59 “Nancy” 61 “Portrait of the Artist” ”Rectoscopy” The Final Taboo: Assholes as Art Observation by Ariel Hart

The anus’s time is ripe. There, I said it. The long-forbidden vaginae have had more than their fifteen minutes of fame, artistically speaking. There have been a number of photo- graphic studies like I’ll Show You Mine, 101 Vagina and The Big Book of Pussy, depicting women’s private parts up close and personal. And guess what? It turns out, they’re not so scary after all; they’re beautiful, fleshy Georgia O’Keeffe flowers, each one as different as a fingerprint or a snowflake. But flashback to 1866. It all began with Courbet’s “L’Origine du Monde,” unveiling, perhaps the first “wide open beaver” in art. Due to Courbet’s great skill and refined color scheme, most critics agree that the painting narrowly escapes being pornographic yet others are troubled its voyeuristic implications. Almost 150 years later, many still find Courbet’s image startling. It’s like that for the asshole in art today. Artist/author/sex educator Betty Dodson put vaginas on the map, so to speak. Her 1974 book Liberating Masturbation was followed with her groundbreaking masturbation manifesto Sex for One: The Joy of Selfloving (1987). With vaginas tackled, Dodson has joined forces with photographer R.C. Hörsch to take on the asshole. Yes, now it’s the time of the area bounded by the anal sphincter. As Hörsch so aptly phrased it, “Asshole is the new pussy!” Like vaginas, assholes are necessary for our survival. Without one, we’d die, drowning in our own poison. But why are they so scary? Why are they still taboo? Why has no one dared depict them artistically, until now? Let’s be honest, if a photographer did a visual study of another orifice, like mouths or nostrils, for example, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. It would probably be ignored. But present a book of tastefully photographed bungholes and no publisher will touch it. Distributors shy away. Even with a blank cover. Yet, assholes are everywhere. In his 1973 novel Breakfast of Champi- ons, Kurt Vonnegut included a drawing of an asshole—a cute, crude asterisk. Artist Allison Sciulla, reports that her best-selling piece depicts butt-licking. The images here are no less gorgeous and important than Mappletho- rpe’s, which succeeded in elevating fisting to an art form. Today, his works grace museums across the globe. Now it’s Dodson and Hörsch’s turn. The words accompanying the images are just as diverse as they are controversial: a microbiologist’s treatise on fecal microbes, lusty backdoor memories, a porn-set recol- lection, a cautionary tale, Tom Wolfe’s musings… Assholes as sex organs? Objects of beauty and desire? Objects of worship? You decide. Dodson and Hörsch feel it’s high time to celebrate the beauty of the asshole in images and words. Starting now. Turn the page...

6 “Flower” Brain Farts

Musings by S.E. Stokowski

Penises... dispense waste fluid and half of the equation of life itself. Through the same tube. From the same opening. They are organs of pleasure. Sometimes great pleasure. However, they are regarded as filthy and obscene and must always be covered and obscured. They should never be acknowledged or discussed. Especially in front of children or women. They are not a fit object for prose or poetry or artistic investigation. They are what they are.

Vaginas... the wonderous cavity behind the vulva through which babies exit the womb and adjacent the urethra that dispenses waste fluid. It is the gateway to the womb where sperm and ova, the wonderous components of life are nurtured and grown. They are also organs of great pleasure. But they, too, are regarded as filthy and obscene. and must always be covered and obscured. They, too, should never be acknowledged or discussed. They are not a fit object for prose or poetry or artistic investigation. They are what they are.

Assholes... dispense solid waste and have no other biological function. No redeeming qualities although most mammals find creative ways to utilize them for pleasure. Even more than penises and vaganias, they are regarded filthy and obscene and must always be covered and obscured. They, too, should never be acknowledged or discussed. They, too, are not a fit object for prose or poetry or artistic investigation. They are what they are.

This is a book of photographs... centered on the area of human anatomy bounded by the anal sphincter or asshole. All are by photographer R.C. Hörsch and were shot over a period of almost thirty years. Some are abstract, some are explicit and some are grotesquely explicit. None obscure their subject matter in fuzzy

8 “Worship Me” metaphor. Some are in color and some are in more “artistic” monochrome. Some depict sexual activity that is a felony in many places. A few may even rise to the level of fine art. They are what they are. * * * * * Here’s a thought... your reaction to these images likely says more about you than it does about the images themselves. Are you titillated? Shocked? Disgusted? Aroused? Is your interest (if any) clinical? Artistic? Prurient? Are you in the mainstream of Western society that views the human body as somehow dirty, shameful and disgusting? Do you believe that the mechanics surrounding the creation of life are not fit for poetry or prose or artistic exploration? Do you simultaneously believe, for example, that your god created humans in his own image but that the unadorned result of that creation is shameful and obscene? Are you sophomoric, one-dimensional and childish in your view of sex and sexual images and representations? Or are you sophisti- cated and blasé? Do you see beauty in these images? Whatever. But somehow, I would be very surprised to find that you are bored. * * * * * So be shocked or enlightened. Praise or condemn. Tolerate or destroy. See beauty or filth. Be aroused or disgusted. And if you masturbate, try not to get the pages stuck together. You are what you are.

10 “Xyla and Friend” An Erogenous Zone Reborn

By Betty Ann Dodson

I’ll be the first to admit my life has been extraordinary but also difficult. Nothing that’s really important is ever that simple and there’s a price to pay for breaking society’s iron clad rules of propriety. My first transgression was to dare bring up the importance of a sexual practice for adults that most pretended they never do— masturbate. Well, perhaps masturbation was accepted for little kids who hadn’t been properly taught not to touch themselves “down there.” In the process of liberating masturbation I included drawings of vulvas to help women accept this important part of their bodies, the seat of female power as women birth the next generation. Now FINALLY we have the opportunity to see and enjoy the vast range, variety and beauty of our last hidden body part— the anus. Owning and enjoying our assholes instead of demeaning a person by calling them one, will surely help bring a few peaceful feelings to mankind that are badly needed. Imagine the word becoming a term of endearment; “You Darling Asshole!” Finally recognizing and honoring this debased body part that we all have in common and could never live without; hopefully it will also improve people’s sexuality or at least add some sociability to benefit repressed Americans. Even Jesus had an asshole as did all the other wise prophets along with goddesses who once ruled. Let this be the age when we liberate Assholes to improve our health, happiness and sexuality. So how could I be so bold as to discuss this openly? I had the good fortune of being raised by an orgasmic mother who thought masturbation was a natural activity for chil- dren. She too had played with herself while sitting on the butter churn growing up on a poor dirt farm in Kansas. Her mother died from tuberculosis when she was five years old, so she was raised by her three older sisters with minimum supervision. This in contrast to today’s overbearing and obsessive parental guidance that ends up stifling children’s development, curiosity, and the desire to explore and be creative. The next label for another important body part took place during an enema for a serious case of constipation. Mother put Vaseline on what she called, “My cute little butty hole” and then gently penetrated me with the black nozzle at- tached to a red rubber syringe full of warm water. The entire experience was quite pleasurable, especially as it unblocked

12 “Sarah” the dry turd holding back a complete bowel movement. Ah yes! That special wonderful relief we all know but never mention. I must have been around seven when “Butty Hole” joined “Tickle” to give me a perfect start in the life I would eventually lead. However, puberty would dampen my positive childhood memories. First off, I didn’t menstruate until I was sixteen which was late. My other girlfriends had their periods with budding boobs as early as eleven and twelve. That was also when I discovered I was “genially deformed.” Getting a mirror and sitting on the floor under my bedroom window, I discovered my dangling inner lips looked like a chicken’s wattle. Immediately I knew it was from too much childhood masturbation. I promised God I’d stop playing with myself. On second thought, I cut a deal. I’d masturbate on the other side until they evened up and then stop forever. It didn’t work— so much for God and symmetry. My “Tickle” might be deformed but “Butty Hole” was okay except for the occasional round of constipation. Besides I could never see it. Then in my twenties, my boyfriend “ac- cidentally” penetrated my virginal Butty Hole without any preparation. The painful burning sensation meant no one EVER got near my asshole again…..until I was in my forties! I was in Amsterdam at a group sex party when Heinz, a kinky Englishman, fingered Butty Hole with just a bit of penetration while I was very turned on. He then had the nerve to put said finger directly under my nose. Shocked, I pushed his hand away, but moments later, I pulled his finger back to re-consider this different, but interesting scent. Okay, now I have to confess: I’ve always enjoyed the scent of my farts— just mine, not yours! I always go under the covers and deeply inhale what Butty Hole releases, always fascinated. Sometimes I think it might reveal some mean- ingful truth like observing every bowel movement. Still, anal penetration was put off until I was in my late thirties with my black lover who had a massively large dick. Romiel was sweet and very gentle. After a delightful session of fuck- ing with me on top, after we’d both climaxed, I remained there resting. When I felt his penis throb ever so slightly, I was instantly turned on again. For some mysterious reason; I began to stuff his semi-hard dick inside Butty Hole. Wildly aroused, it seemed like Butty Hole was gobbling his black dick up with a great hunger. While I sat there fully impaled, I felt his giant member slowly swell into a full blown erec- tion inside my virginal asshole while I played with Miss

14 “Pheromones” Clitty. Our simultaneous orgasms seemed to shake all twelve floors of my apartment building. This next statement can only be explained by an advanced case of “pleasure anxiety” because it would be years before I had full blown anal sex at the age of sixty-nine. Yes, there were the occasional times Butty Hole got some attention, but always randomly. However during the decade of my seventies, double penetration was on our sex menu con- sistently. My young lover would slowly penetrate Darling Butty Hole with a seven inch dildo and then with his seven inch perfectly erect penis, he’d fuck me vaginally. Every time he pressed into my backside with me in doggie position, the anal dildo would move in just a bit, a sensation that dominated even though I held my vibrator on Miss Clitty. These orgasms were all howlers, full and delicious. Excuse me for getting carried away! I meant to discuss how drawing the many different vulvas styles I included in my first self-published book to help women understand we were all quite different and beautiful. Just like our sex organs come with long, short and medium inner lips as well as a clitoris that can be the size of a tiny seed pearl to a major sized gem. They all work just fine with approximately eight thousand nerve endings. After all, the clitoral glans is only the tip of a woman’s elaborate sex organ that continues inside with nearly as much erectile tissue as men. Now that I have a portrait of my Dear Sweet Butty Hole, who knows where it will lead? Perhaps there will be a renaissance of anal sex once people are willing to more fully embrace the intimacy of anal sex done with style and lots of lubrication.

16 “Malady’s Heart” The Very First Time...

By Samantha Sweet

Surprise! A porn set in Simi Valley, California in 1993 is a wonderful, friendly place! I am a newbie and everybody is going out of their way to make me comfortable. They make me feel at home. I am constantly being escorted to the donut table with somebody’s arm affectionately around my shoulder or their hand on my ass. I have to think of ways to politely refuse the five thousand calorie Crispy Kremes. I’m going to do an aggressive, athletic scene with a fiendishly hand- some black man named Flex Gamble, who has one of those one-in-a- million slim yet muscular absolutely perfect bodies and he takes time to work out the details of our scene with me. He shows me how to posi- tion myself for a “pile-driver” shot which can be uncomfortable and hard on my neck. He’s a former wrestler and he knows the importance of choreography. My boyfriend is on the set with me and he will be doing a scene with Nina Hartley later in the day. I introduce him to the man I will be fucking on camera and they have this philosophical discussion about how making porn is performance art and not really sex at all. They both smile and put their arms around me and I become the meat in a warm, affectionate sandwich. I kiss first one, then the other. But I am still nervous. I am very nervous. I look down at my partner’s beautiful purple and brown penis. It is huge. He is hung like a horse and I will be doing my first anal with him. I had heard many horror stories about anal sex. Stories about excru- ciating pain and torn and bleeding sphincter muscles. My boyfriend and I had tried it a couple times but, as he too is rather big, we never managed to pull it off. We tried Anbesol to numb me and all manner of lube to no avail. But here I was with car payments and rent and all the usual yuppie obligations and there was no question of my backing out. It was then that Mania, an Italian porn star famous for her fantastic anal performances, took me aside. I found out later that it was a conspiracy and that she had been elected to clue me in even though her English was about as good as my Italian. She told me that an asshole was a very elastic thing and demonstrated by inserting a liter sized plastic Coke bottle all the way into her rectum. And then she told me the secret which was simply to relax and enjoy it and not fight it because by resisting the muscles contracted and that was what caused the pain. That and a lot of lube, of course. The rest is history!

18 “Gabriella’s Blue Moon” Ass To Mouth

By Saundra Kurtz, Microbiologist

Perception and reality rarely coincide. For example, in the bathroom, the toilet seat is famously almost always the cleanest surface and your hands, by far, the dirtiest. Some factoids: 1. Urine is essentially sterile. You can bathe in it and drink as much as you wish with little risk. It does, however, vary greatly in taste depending on many factors, such as the donor’s diet. 2. Shit is not quite so sterile but it is still, by far, not the evil collection of pathogenic germs that most of us imagine Basically, it contains a sampling of the 100 trillion or so microorganisms present in the intestines. These organisms are what digest food and without them you would quickly starve to death no matter how much you ate. (They also play an important role in synthesiz- ing vitamin B and vitamin K as well as metabolising bile acids, sterols and xenobiotics.) Not only are they harmless, they are essential to life. 3. The make-up of intestinal organisms varies greatly from person to person and from culture to culture. We all tolerate our own collection but some- times (not always) get a belly ache from ingesting those of somebody else. 4. The perceived bogeyman, the thing that causes rampant panic and terror, is Escherichia coli, commonly referred to as E. coli. Most E. coli strains are harmless, but some can cause serious problems in their hosts and are occasionally responsible for the recall of contami- nated food and the closing of beaches.The harmless strains are part of the normal flora of the digestive tract and benefit their hosts in many ways but, most importantly, prevent the colonization of the intestine with more pathogenic organisms. 5. The most common bacteria found in feces is Bacteroides fragilis, along with a very heterogeneous collection of anaerobic bacteria that die in the presence of oxygen and only thrive in places where there is no oxygen such as the large intestine. So for the most part, you don’t have to worry about the majority of the bacteria that come out of the anus. Furthermore, even

20 “42” though E. coli is commonly associated with disease, it doesn’t mean that that the E. coli you got from your lover’s ass is going to kill you. Only certain types of E. coli produce disease, and to get the disease you’d have to ingest large amounts of shit and be immunosuppressed for it to actually cause big problems. 6. Intestinal parasites (tapeworms)and other organisms can also be carried in feces but the risk of parasitic transmission generally exists only if transmit- ted from an infected person directly to the mouth of an uninfected person. * * * * * So here’s the bottom line. You can get sick and, under certain conditions, even die from eating massive amounts of shit but a kiss and a lick and a taste is probably not the biggest sexual risk you are likely to encounter. Think HIV, AIDS, Hepatitis, Syphilis, Gon- orrhea, Chlamydia and other nasty STDs. Moderation and caution is the key. Even if there are initial problems, mutual immunity will usually develop. In a very real way, ass-to-mouth (ATM) is a kind-of compatibility test when getting to know a new lover. Start with a small taste and build from there. If all is well, then fall in love!

22 “Dessert” The Rectum

What you always wanted to know but were afraid to ask! By Mark Epstein, MD

The rectum consists of the final 10-12 cm of the large intestine and, in an empty state, is about the size of a 1/4 pound hot dog. It’s primary function is to store feces prior to egestation. However many mammals (including humans) have found interesting additional uses for the organ. It connects the sigmoid colon to the anal canal. It begins just inside the perineum (gut) cavity and ends at the concentric circular muscle groups called anal sphincters. It may be subdivided into three basic parts: The upper part lies intra- peritoneally (inside the gut cavity), the middle third retroperitoneally (below the lower gut membrane) and the lower third lies extraperitone- ally under the pelvic diaphragm. It has two flexures or bends. The sacral flexure (dorsal bend) results from the concave form of the tail bone (sacrum) at the base of the spine and the perineal flexure (ventral bend) results from the encirclement of the rectum by the levator ani muscle group. It terminates at the point of transition to the anal canal (anorectal junction) as defined by the anal sphincter or asshole. The rectum is similar to the rest of the large intestine except that it is smoother and does not have taeniae, haustra, appendices, epiploicae and semilunar folds that cause the lumpy appearance of the colon itself. Similar to the colon, the rectum allows continued absorption of electrolytes (sodium and potassium chloride) and indigestible food ingredients are further decomposed by anaerobic bacteria. Also, the stool is thickened through water absorption and mixed with mucus. The rectal ampulla (the central section) is quite stretchable and serves as a reservoir prior to defecation. The walls of the rectum expand as it fills with feces causing stretch receptors to send signals to the brain that create an urge to egest or defecate. These receptors also seem to have the ability to communicate with other areas of the brain involving esoteric things such as sexual pleasure. In men, the thin wall of the rectum allows almost direct stimulation of the prostate gland while in women, it allows stimulation of many internal parts of the vagina. When the rectum is full, it pulls apart the walls of the anal cavity and begins to shorten. The feces are then pushed out by peristalsis or rhythmic muscular contractions. Finally, the sphincter muscles pull the anus up and over the feces, causing them to be expelled from the body. So now you know!

24 “Dark Chocolate” Shit Patois

By Tom Wolfe From “I am Charlotte Simmons,” Picador, 2004. Reproduced with permission.

...possessions (“Where’s your shit?”), lies or misleading explanations (“Are you shitting me?” “We need a shit detector.”), drunk (“shit-faced”), trouble (“in deep shit”), ineptitude (“couldn’t play point guard for shit”), care about (“give a shit”), rude, thoughtless, disloyal (“really shitty thing to do”), not kidding (“No shit?”), obnoxiously unpleasant (“He’s a real shit”), mindless conversation (“talking shit,” “shooting the shit”), confusing story (“or some such shit”), drugs (“You bring the shit?”), to egest (“take a shit”), to fart in such a way that it becomes partly egestation (“shart”), a trivial matter (“a piece of shit”), unpleasantly surprised (He about shit a brick.”), ignorance (“He don’t know shit.”), pompous man (“the big shit,” “that shitcake”), hopeless situation (“up shit creek”), disappointment (“Oh, shit!”), startling (“Holy shit!”), unacceptable, inedible (“shit on a shingle”), strategy (oh, that shit again”), feces, literally (“shit”), slum (“some shithook neighborhood”), meaningless (“That don’t mean shit.”), et cetera (“...and massages and shit”), self-important (“He thinks he’s some shit.”), predictably (“sure as shit”), very (“mean as shit”), verbal abuse (“gave me shit”), violence (“before the shit hit the fan,” “don’t start no shit”).

26 “Silk Panties” My Asshole

By Lucy

I was thirty-three when I had my first orgasm and it had nothing to do with my pussy. All my life, I masturbated by touching my clitoris both alone and during intercourse with various boyfriends and two husbands. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Oh, the sensa- tion was pleasurable enough and I enjoyed myself and all that but I never got the elusive and mythical big “O.” And that could have been the end of it. The sad, unfulfilled story of my life. But what happened was that I was seeing this older man. Way older, more than twice my age. Okay. Skip ahead a few months. I woke up in our room in San Juan after getting totally shitfaced the night before and he was licking my asshole. And kissing it. And sticking his tongue inside. Maybe he even had a finger in my front but I didn’t notice. He had a monster woodie and was stroking himself and moaning and me, I was starting to feel things I didn’t know existed. And as he kissed and worshiped my asshole, it started to build. Like an old-time train pulling out of the station. Cue the orchestra! No exaggeration. No metaphor too corny. No cliché too trite. It just got better and better and I fucking exploded. The aftershocks went on and on. I turned into a quivering puddle of goo. You know, fireworks. All that and more. I don’t think I was able to move for at least a couple days. So that’s it. The secret that took me thirty-three years to learn: my asshole is the most erotically sensitive part of my whole, entire body. Not my tits or my clit but my wonderful, rosy pink asshole!

28 “Charlotte’” How to Get on Top By Using Your Bottom

By Catherine Tavel Adapted from the short story “Claudia’s Cheeks” (Herotica 2, Plume, 1992)

I have a problem. Some women might not consider it a problem, but I certainly do. You see, I have a beautiful ass: a big, bouncy, beautiful ass. And everywhere I go, people want to fuck me in my big, bouncy, beautiful ass. Delivery men say lascivious things to my rear end as it innocently crosses the street. Gray-haired dykes have an overwhelming desire to spank my bottom. Whenever I meet people for the first time, it’s the first thing they notice—my plump, pretty posterior. There are drawbacks to having such a juicy, jangly behind. I hate wearing panties, but whenever I don’t, I cause a commotion. There’s never a doubt in anyone’s mind that I’m panty-less under even the loosest of skirts. My ass enjoys the freedom and insists upon jumping out in all directions. Strange men smile, follow me, and tell me to have a nice day. Even the constriction of control-top pantyhose does no good in quelling the allure of my sweet cheeks. And a garter belt? It greatly enhances my already-dangerous curves. Tight stretch pants, which other women seem to wear with no problem, result in minor traffic disturbances when I wear them outdoors. I don’t know exactly how to take the praise which is lavished upon my rump. I like it when men look at me, even when the spittle collects in the corner of their mouths. I think random erections are the greatest compliment a man can give a woman. But to be labeled and lusted after solely for my pear-shaped ass? There’s so much more to me than that. All too often, men don’t take the time to get acquainted with the rest of me. A few licks, a few pokes, a few fondles and they want to dig their fingers into my butthole, flip me over like a pancake and dive into my derriere. Or else they want to fuck me doggy- style so they can at least gaze at my glorious orbs, jiggling with each stroke. Then they can play with my cheeks, knead them like warm dough and grapple with them to their heart’s content. Sometimes they even pretend to fall out of my pussy then try to put it back in my ass, thinking I won’t notice. But I know all of their tricks. Few men know the significance of my butt-fucking aversion. Whenever I try to relate what a terrible experience the first time was, instead of feeling sorry for me, guys get incredibly turned on. You see, when I was eighteen, I dated a man named Mike McCall, who was ten years older than me. There was an edge of nastiness to him which turned me on and we always seemed to have hot, rough sex. Maybe he liked the fact that he was only my second lover. Maybe this is why he fucked me so hard. Or maybe he just had a mean streak. But I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I think Mike acted the way he did because he was afraid of falling in love: the rougher he fucked, the less it felt like love. Mike and I worked at the same newspaper, him driving a truck and me behind a typewriter. On occasion, he’d dry-hump me against a nearby mailbox. One time, he even lured me into the back of his panel truck and had me suck his cock. It was wintertime and it was freezing so it took a minute to find Mike’s shriveled little sausage

30 “Ar iana” buried in his long johns. Eventually, I did and slurped at it until he got big and hard and came in my mouth. One day, when we were at his place, Mike said to me, “I’m going to fuck you in the ass.” I didn’t feel strongly about this one way or the other. I had never given much thought to my anus. It was a bodypart I pretty much ignored. But that night, I told Mike it was okay because I figured it was about time to give my butthole a test drive. Maybe it would even make him fall in love with me. What happened next was somewhat foggy, especially since my back was turned during most of it. I seem to recall a jar of Vaseline on the floor. Whether it was ever uncapped or actually used remained a mystery. Was it only there as a prop? There was little in the way of anal foreplay. I didn’t even recall Mike sticking a finger up my behind. The next thing I knew, his stumpy, chubby dick was wedged up my rear end. Or at least it was trying its best to get up there. Another thing I remembered—it hurt like hell. Mike hadn’t been the least bit considerate. Both of us were on our knees on the floor. He pressed my face against the daybed’s mattress so I could hardly breathe. This upset me to some extent. Breathing is an extremely important function to me, especially during sex. As I struggled to get out from under Mike’s iron grip, I was almost crying as he tore at my virgin orifice. Yet somewhere behind the pain, somewhere behind his lack of respect for me, it felt almost good. Then came the sensation that I had to shit. Bad. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I told Mike. “No you don’t,” he said. “That’s the way it’s supposed to feel.” I wanted to ask him how he knew this tidbit. Had he ever been fucked up the ass? But whether it was supposed to feel that way or not, one thing was for sure: I had to poop. “No, you don’t,” Mike insisted, still pumping my posterior without missing a beat. Then I started to cry. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll shit all over you.” But Mike wouldn’t listen. The more I begged and struggled, the harder and faster he thrust into my tushie. “I swear…,” I sobbed. But Mike didn’t seem to hear. He was lost in a tight, dark, ribbed tunnel otherwise known as my asshole. I dug my elbow into Mike’s chest. I cursed and cried some more, but nothing seemed to work. He only stopped reaming me to pull out and shoot cum all over my bare bottom. Then he collapsed on top of me and sighed, “Oh baby,” in a soft voice. I couldn’t shit for three days. Most men had the same reaction when I finished telling them this sad tale concerning the ravaging of my rosebud. Instead of it being a deterrent, they wanted to bang me in the butt even more. It wasn’t that they were cruel or heartless, but that I was being un- intentionally titillating. I guess it was the way I told the story that got them so aroused. The sorrowful saga describing how Mike McCall squeezed between my cheeks always gave listeners blistering erections, which they tried to mask with their fists. Instead of the story illustrating how carefully one must approach an anal encounter, it made guys want to tear at my heinie, and then some. My friend Jerry had a slightly different reaction, however. Jerry was a porno actor and

32 “Natalie” had performed unsafe sex with the best of them. Although I bet Jerry wouldn’t have minded bopping me in the buttocks either, at least he could be a bit more objective. Jerry burst out laughing at my anal sex story. “That’ll teach you to let a guy named Mike McColon near your asshole.” The episode with Mr. McCall left me with a memorable souvenir—hemorrhoids. Once upon a time, my bunghole was a cute, puckered, winking, little thing, but now it was slightly deformed. Even when I told my admirers about this misfortune, they still didn’t care. They still wanted to boink me in the bottom. Since anal sex seemed to have such a fan-club following, I decided to try it again, this time with a gentler man named Charlie. Charlie didn’t particularly like assholes. “It’s dirty up there,” he told me with a grimace. “I know,” I said, “but so many people like to fuck them, they must have some sort of c h ar m .” Reluctantly, Charlie lay on his back while I positioned myself above him. I lowered my ass cheeks onto his stiff pole. It went in fairly easily and it hurt less than it had with Mike McCall, but it still couldn’t be called a pleasant sensation. And just when I was getting the hang of it, I looked at Charlie’s face. It was all scrunched up, as though someone were forcing him to eat raw liver. I stopped pumping. I felt like an anal rapist. After I scrubbed Charlie’s dick with Ivory soap and a blue washcloth, I gave him a blow job. He seemed much happier then. Following Charlie, I embarked on an undaunted quest to broaden my hinder horizons. I read about women who masturbated with broomsticks and chair legs up their rectums and couldn’t understand why. A liberated kind of Millennial gal, I tried getting off a new way. With the middle finger and forefinger of my right hand, I made a fleshy V and invaded both my pussy and my posterior at the same time. It felt… interesting. I was especially intrigued by being able to feel both digits moving through the thin membrane of skin between. Feeling adventurous, I also got my thumb into the act and rubbed my clit. A confusing configuration, to say the least. I felt like a circus juggler, but did manage to have an explosive orgasm. My clit was wiggling. My pussy was spasming. My asshole was twitching. It was a well-coordinated effort, but not something I could enjoy as a steady diet. More than anything, I wanted one special man, but there was no one. It was a never- ending odyssey. I was becoming tired of guys only wanting to fuck me in the ass. I continued to meet new men who wanted the same old thing. I was tired of having to tell the Mike McCall story over and over again. I was tired of being recognized by former boyfriends from the rear. Although I had the perky kind of behind which women sought to achieve through ruthless repetitions of Booty Camp workout tapes, I didn’t see myself as fortunate or blessed. Beneath my bouncy dream butt, there was a warm, loving lady. But no one could ever see past my posterial protrusion. There were many other things about me which were pretty wonderful, but men often ignored these numerous niceties. I was tired of being judged solely by one beautiful body part. But I never gave up hope. One evening after work, I went to a neighborhood pub to relax with a white wine spritzer. I imagine that the bar stool framed my butt alluringly because an entire softball team seated at the table behind me gasped in adoration

34 “China and Annette” every time I moved. This didn’t upset me. Just the opposite. I squirmed in my seat as often as I could just to torment them. I now realized the power I possessed in my cheeks. I had something other people wanted, and it was powerful. Before I was halfway through my spritzer, a handsome man walked into the establishment and sat a few stools away. From his seat, he couldn’t even see my buns nestled snugly on the vinyl. All he could see was my top half. Very politely, the man introduced himself as Raul. Very soon, Raul and I were engaged in friendly conversa- tion which touched upon everything from Hemingway to dolphins to Billie Holiday. I refused a second drink, but couldn’t decline the invitation to an impromptu dinner next door at East China. Slithering from my bar stool, I took note of the expression on Raul’s face when he saw my ass for the first time. It was a look of surprise and delight. But instead of feeling angry or hurt, this time, I felt proud. After pungent mu shu pork and curried shrimp that tickled my tongue, I took Raul home with me. His kisses tasted faintly of jasmine tea. It had been a very lovely eve- ning and a very long time since I had been with a man. I lured Raul into bed. When I peeled off my sensible businesswoman’s skirt to reveal black lace G-string panties, Raul sighed loudly. Then he said, “Wow.” “Wow is right,” I told him. We kissed and groped hungrily. Raul palmed my nether cheeks as though they were fleshy basketballs. “Mmmmm,” said Raul. “Do you like my ass?” I asked. And before Raul could answer, I was stroking it. He watched with a thin smile on his lips. I rested on one side, a pensive Cleopatra, taunt- ing him with my motions, with my words. “Touch it some more,” I cooed. He did. “Spank it.” He didn’t. “I don’t like hitting people,” Raul explained. “But I’m asking you,” I emphasized. “Telling you.” Raul still didn’t move, so I spanked myself. It didn’t hurt, but sort of tickled. Red blotches stained the meaty surface and I could decipher palm prints. “Don’t you like to watch it jiggle?” I asked. And Raul nodded. “Kiss my ass,” I whispered to him. “It’s beautiful.” “It is,” Raul agreed. “But I’ve never been a ‘butt boy.’” “You will be,” I said. “Starting tonight.” I drew myself onto my knees like a lace-clad kitten. I cupped one warm, firm globe in my hand and traced a feathery circle onto the skin. It felt very nice indeed. “Come on, kiss it,” I told Raul. The commanding, yet gentle tone of my voice surprised even me. Raul’s eyes were glazed with lust as he listened. He seemed almost hypnotized, and did just as I said. Raul took each of my hips in his hands and drew my ass toward his face. His kisses were feather-light, yet they penetrated me to the core. I felt a sea of goose bumps rising on my flesh. Raul softly spread apart my cheeks. Soon, my chocolaty sphincter muscle was winking around his tongue. A few moments of this made my pussy hairs very damp. “Don’t you want to fuck me?” I asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Raul answered anyway: with a grunt into my rosebud. From the nightstand drawer, I pulled a string of condoms and ripped

36 “Svyatoslava” off one with my teeth. (I was horny, but I wasn’t stupid.) Raul’s dick was rock hard with anticipation. I rolled the lime green rubber onto his long, slim rod, careful not to snag his pubes. With my legs spread wide apart, I offered Raul my milky, white globes. Instead, he slid into my pussy. “No. Up here,” I said, gesturing to my tongue-moistened crack. Raul bit my neck. “I’ve never done that before,” he confessed. “Do you want to?” I wondered. He was tugging on my nipples now. “Yes,” he answered, but it was more like a gasp. “Then I’ll show you how.” I carefully backed onto Raul’s sheathed prick. For a mo- ment, I almost laughed, feeling like a truck backing into a tight parking space, but the wave of pleasure, intensity, and almost-pain stopped me. It tingled and tickled and twitched. Raul didn’t move. He just groaned and made small gurgling noises, his hands still at his sides. I moved my rump up and down on his cock. Slowly. Deliberately. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was doing the fucking and not getting fucked. And I liked it. I liked it a lot. Every so often, a droplet of Raul’s sweat plunked onto my back. He reached around and stroked my clit, taking it between two fingers, almost jerking it off like a tiny cock. Then a strange thing happened: I came. While gasping and sobbing and collapsing onto my belly, I somehow managed to wiggle a finger into my pussy. I felt it throb and contract. I also felt Raul’s friendly dick through the membrane of my perineum. And do you know what it felt like? It felt like power. You see, I had finally learned how to get on top by using my bottom.

38 “Corinne’” Eden’s Ass

Memoir by Thomas S. Roche

Eden liked the idea of being submissive, but by nature, she wasn’t submissive at all —not in bed or in life or in anything. When I talked dirty for her, I could read her body language and adjust the details to suit her mounting arousal. I would read porn novels to her. “Then, when her Master has her tied down with her legs spread and her ass in the air... he lets his friends in. They touch her all over... grope her... they feel her up. They finger her pussy... they finger her ass...” That was always key to whatever fantasy I was spinning: The ass. Everything always got around to anal. She was really into the idea and it turned her on to hear about it. She was nervous-but-curious about actually doing it. One day, after wrestling her onto her belly and tying her wrists, I kissed my way down her back. I parted her smooth, white cheeks. Her hole was pink. I let the tip of my tongue circle her butthole. She moaned softly. I licked more urgently. She lifted her ass to meet me. I thrust my tongue in. She squealed. I backed off. She pushed her ass up against my face, harder. She started wiggling. I licked deeper. I shoved my tongue up into her. She rocked her hips back and forth. I put two fingers inside her pussy. She moaned and pushed onto my hand and tongue. I rotated my hand as best I could in order to hook my thumb down. I flicked the tip across her clit while I fingered her pussy and licked her ass deeply. She came like crazy. Her pussy spasmed around my fingers; her butthole rippled on my tongue. She humped up and back onto my hand and against my face. She wiggled her butt almost violently. She finally had to bite my pillow to keep herself from alert- ing my neighbors. She left a big giant drool spot. “Next time, don’t go easy on me,” she said when she’d finished her orgasm. “Huh?” I asked. “When we wrestle. Fight me harder.” “Yeah, you like that?” “Let’s find out,” she said. “Next time.” * * * * * So she struggled harder, and I tried not to “go easy” on her. “Go easy” was hardly the word for it. Eden was not physically large or especially strong, but she was a far better wrestler than me. Good thing it wasn’t a catfight. I rummaged in my brain for the few techniques I’d managed to retain from high school wrestling. But it didn’t much matter. With size on my side, I learned to domi- nate Eden by wrestling her onto her belly. Then I’d tie her wrists in the small of her back and lick my way down to her butt.

40 “Mania” She would go crazy, thrusting her ass wildly against my face as I worked my tongue into her, fingered her pussy and thumbed her clit. It became almost routine. “You can go further next time, if you want,” she said once. “Huh?” I said. “With my ass,” she said. “That would be hot, if you did it while I’m tied up. Just like that. Will you just try not to make it hurt?” “No promises,” I said, smirking. She smirked right back at me. “Big, bad man,” she said. * * * * * The next time she and I wrestled, I had a plan. I remembered Coach blathering on about “strategy,” telling us wrestling was the same as waging war on the Goths. This wasn’t that, but I did have a tube of KY stashed along the side of my mattress. The wrestling part was far from valorous; Eden was half my size. I certainly preferred wrestling her to wrestling guys. When she started playing feistily, I knew she was in the mood. She tried to grab my wrists. I reversed my grip and caught her wrists, then slipped to the side before she could recover. I flipped her onto her back and used my weight to hold her down with her wrists to the sides. She tried to kick. That’s called a guard, I think. I shifted forward and straddled her hips, so her kicks got nothing but air. That’s called a mount, I’m pretty sure... or not. Who knows? Whatever it’s called, it worked. I held Eden down while she struggled, giggling, quickly getting out of breath. We were both sweating by the time she said: “Holy shit, how did you get good at this?” “Roll over,” I growled, trying to sound dominant. “Make me,” she said. So I did. I grabbed her hair and one wrist. I rolled her over. The fight had mostly gone out of her, temporarily... conveniently enough, just long enough for me to get her flipped over and positioned on her belly. Holding her wrists in the small of her back, I grabbed an ancient and garish floral- print necktie. I pinned my knee firmly against her ass, holding her down while I tied her wrists. She squirmed beneath me. “Oh, you pervert! You’re a pervert!” But her voice was shaking. She was excited, but nervous. Me, too. I got the lube. She squirmed while I pulled her panties down. They were white cotton, and plain. They seemed almost innocent, in a kinky sort of way. She wore a tight white T-shirt

42 “Muses” that was almost see through and no bra. I let her keep it; it wouldn’t get in the way. With her wrists bound securely, I set to work on her ass. I kissed my way down her back and parted her cheeks. Her asshole smelled deep and musky. It was remarkably pink, its wrinkles outlined against her pale skin. I dipped my tongue down into her crack and began to swirl the tip of my tongue around her hole. I pushed into her. I thrust more aggressively than I had before. She seemed to like that. While I ate Eden’s ass, I again thrust two fingers into her pussy. She was incredibly wet, dripping all over my fingers. I thumbed her clit as I felt her pussy react to my caress. She writhed in pleasure. I pushed my tongue deeper into her. She raised her ass and pushed her butt against me, wiggling back and forth. I took the cap off my lube, greased up my finger and added a small dollop to her butthole. One of my fingers went in easily. Eden pushed up and back against me, even more urgently than she had when I’d started to finger her. She wanted more. I got two fingers in her. She arched her back. She bit my pillow. I was rock-hard. I pulled my jockey shorts down and applied a squirt of lube to my cockhead. I worked my cock up and down in her crack, settling against her butthole as she seemed to relax. I pressed firmly against her hole. “Take a deep breath,” I said. I don’t know why I said that. Eden knew what she was doing, even if she’d never done it before. I was just being an idiot, trying to sound like a caretaker, which was a guaranteed turn-off. It didn’t matter. She did as I said, which was kind of weird and unfamiliar. She took a deep breath. She let it out with a squeal as I pushed into her. I felt her asshole tighten around my cock as I pushed in. I held it in there, just barely inside, mot pulling out while I let her get used to it. I reached down and pulled her hair. Eden loved to have her hair pulled. Slowly, I felt her relax. I started pushing in deeper. Things became easier. I gave her gentle strokes, just an inch at a time to start with. I pushed deeper into her, feeling her tight asshole embrace my cock. She accepted it. Her body allowed me in. Her little moans of intense effort goaded me on. I began to fuck a little harder, pushing into her until I was in all the way. That was something unheard of with Eden and me; I could not go all-in to her pussy. It felt strange and delicious to have my cock embraced by her all the way, right down to the root. Her asshole felt completely different than her pussy. It felt deliciously, strangely, bizarrely unfamiliar. It took me some getting used to.

44 “Lyssa” My lousy tie-job had come undone; I’d been so distracted fucking her ass, I’d barely noticed. She was too polite -- and too hot -- to mention it. She just put her hand to her clit and started rubbing. I thrust more quickly. She held entirely still, except for her hand, which moved almost violently back and forth on her clit. Moments later, lipsticked mouth came open wide. I heard a soft, keening wail. I felt her asshole spasm around me. She climaxed loudly. She pushed herself onto me, her body undulating. I started thrusting. “I’m gonna cum,” I said. “Me, too, Baby,” she screamed. “Me too...!”

46 “Two Old Men” Training Day

Advice by S.W. Mathewson

First of all, I’m going to assume that I’m talking to a sophisticated, intelligent audience. An audience that, for example, knows that the gerbil thing is bogus because even Dan Savage admits to having trouble getting the wet paper tube up his ass. So please don’t embarrass me! 1. Assholes and vaginas are remarkably elastic organs but they do have limitations. They are defined by muscle structure (their respective sphincters) and, like all muscles, they must be gradually trained to stretch and accommodate things like monster porn cocks, fists and champagne magnums. Just as it should be assumed that a certain amount of limbering-up might be needed before some among us can put their feet behind their head so that their lover can simultaneously fuck ass or pussy, suck face and kiss toes, so, too, it should be assumed that most sphincters will need such gradual stretching. So, Rule 1 is gradual (very gradual for most of us) and over an often protracted period of time. Days, weeks, months. Whatever it takes. 2. No matter how much the dominant, macho alpha-stud you are, you, as the fucker, must bottom to the newbie fist fuckee. Rule 2 is that you do not stick your dick (or whatever) into them, they back into or lower themselves onto you. At their own pace and speed. They decide, not you. A millimeter at a time. (The pile-driver porn position comes later!) 3. Rule 3: Anything that deadens sensation in the anus or pussy is not a good idea. This includes your favorite date rape drug, alcohol, poppers, numbing creams, valium, heroin, whatever. Bad idea. Very bad idea. This is because pain is nature’s way of telling us that some- thing isn’t right. Permanent damage can be done. Torn muscles require surgery. And the process of accommodation will be extended, not shortened. Did I say bad idea? That’s basically it. Relax! Remember, go very slowly, let the fuckee control the insertion and no numbing drugs. Oh, I almost forgot! Lotsa lube! At my crib, we use a commercial automotive overhead hose delivery system to dispense KY from a 55- gallon drum in the basement. And use opera-length rubber gloves available from most medical supply houses. And unless you and your partner are seriously into fecal material, do a Fleet rectal enema beforehand. Cheap, easy, polite! Rectal enema only! (Do not do full colon cleansing which does no good and can cause monumental harm to your digestive tract.) Oh, and remove the Super Bowl ring and the Rolex and trim your coke nail! Otherwise, anything goes! Graduated butt plugs, Ben-Wa balls, vibrat- ing eggs, assorted dildos. Whatever floats the boat!

48 “Gladiator” Assholes

A memoir by R.C. Horsch

Okay. So here’s the back-story... It’s 1966, not the worst of times but certainly not the best. Lyndon Johnson is busy with one hand expanding the war started by JFK and manipulating Congress into passing civil rights legislation with the other; Sergeant Wetzel down at the draft office is trying very persis- tently to send me to kill little Asian farmers; my wife and my girlfriend are constantly fighting; and Michelangelo Antonioni (who would later collect some of my photographs) makes “Blow Up,” a film that con- vinces me and a thousand other guys to become fashion photographers. So I give up engineering and technical shit to follow my muse and I start working freelance at a small soundstage studio on Philadelphia’s Main Line. I do catalog work for clients like RCA. Huge console TV sets arrive at one end of the building, are photographed with a couple gor- geous models and then pushed out the other end onto waiting trucks. A monotonous assembly line. But every once in a while, I get to do missionary with a bored Doris Day look-alike while she files her nails. Life is good, sort of. Then one day, a famous Czechoslovakian cinematographer arrives to do some AT&T commercials (in color for some strange reason) and with him are his two jailbait daughters (or nieces, I never knew which) named Myroslawa and Sophie. Myroslawa is maybe fifteen or sixteen with a semi-voluptuous but firm little body and long, dark hair and her sister is seventeen or eighteen, skinny and lithe with dirty blonde tresses. They dress in shapeless smocks and wear sensible shoes and no make-up. They are very shy and speak no English. More back story. Proctor and Gamble, with the help of television, has convinced all of America that everybody should bathe more than once a week and, above all, smell like anything but a human being. However, this movement has not yet reached Central Europe. Nor have the fetishes of women shaving their legs and under arms and bellies and pussys and ass cracks and using deodorant. So the girls were both a little furry and smelled pungently musky. Luckily, since I grew up on a farm and spent my childhood shoveling shit and watching animals fuck, none of that bothers me and I end up getting the job of babysitting and having them all to myself for two wonderful weeks. Did I say life is good? So, the next morning, I go to the Bellevue Hotel on Broad Street to pick them up. I park the Ferrari that I borrowed from a film director at a convenient fire plug and go up to their room. Lots of dirty looks

50 “Tammy” from the hotel staff because I’m kind-of scruffy with longish hair and a beard. I look like a Hippy or a Bohemian or a Bolshevik or whatever so it’s likely the Ferrari that keeps them at bay. I knock on the door and Sophie opens it. She is wearing a half-open bathrobe. I try to look at her face (I really do) but I can’t get past her cleavage. She leans forward on tip-toes and gives me a quick kiss. She catches me totally off guard. I try to kiss her back but she has already turned away. I follow her into the suite but am distracted when I pass the bath- room. The door is wide open and Myroslawa is sitting on the toilet completely naked. She asks me to hand her a roll of toilet paper that is just out of her reach. I stand two feet away, immobilized, as she wipes herself, stands and walks away, provocatively undulating her hips and displaying truly magnificent glutei maximi. I notice her very hairy bush and a line of fuzzy dark hair forming a trail from her pubes to her navel. I also notice her slightly protruding, rounded belly and really cute feet. She walks around, totally unselfconscious, leaving a wake of her gamey body odors behind her. Sophie is now also naked and sprawled on the huge bed. She looks up at me with a smug expression. She, too, is totally unselfconscious. They start talking to each other in Czech. I don’t understand a word of it but realize what is going on. It’s a conspiracy. An ambush. They intend to have their way with me. Perhaps even rape me. I think escape and look toward the door but, unfortunately, I am weak-willed and steal a glance back toward the bed. I can’t stop looking. They are kissing like the dirty, smelly, passionate, beautiful, feral little animals that they are. Sophie looks at me and says something incomprehensible and smiles. The smile I understand, or think I do. I trip over my pants getting them off. Flame-out. Crash and burn! They aren’t interested in me, only in each other. Eventually my cock brain takes over and I attempt to insinuate myself. I take liberties and touch and kiss and rub up against them and cum all over Sophie’s ass and thigh. Somehow, I manage to get my penis into Myroslawa’s tight little vaginal orifice and, later still, into Sophie’s. Neither of them seems to notice or react in any way to my fucking them but they also don’t complain or push me away. Half a loaf thing, right? After a couple hours, we end up spent, sated and exhausted in a tangled heap of sweat and cum and whatever secretion it is that gives vaginas their wonderful fishy odor. We get up and go looking for something to eat. We find a place on Chestnut Street that has a slightly European ambiance. We smell bad and get an entire section of the place to ourselves. Best of all, the waiter doesn’t hover and our food comes

52 “Rachel” out of the kitchen really quickly. I don’t remember what we eat. I only recall Myroslawa on her knees under the table sucking not me but her sister. The next day, Myroslava gets me alone and I allow her to have her way with me, to attack me and take whatever she wants to fulfill her carnal desires. Later that day or maybe the next, Sophie gets her way also. I don’t put up much of a fight with either one. I’m easy. I’m a slut. * * * * * But none of that is what this story is really about. On the third day (or maybe the fourth) I arrive at the suite. The door is not locked and I go in. Sophie is on the toilet backwards, partially standing and facing the wall, and her sister is on her knees behind her. Sophie urinates while Myroslawa places her mouth in the stream and drinks. The excess urine flows down her chin and over her breasts. She masturbates furiously. So do I. I am mesmerized. I am transfixed. I move closer. I feel a passion unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I kneel beside Myroslawa and kiss her so that I can taste Sophie’s bittersweet, pungent urine. I can’t help myself. I can’t stop myself. I finally understand helpless, hopeless compulsion. I understand fate. I understand kismet. I understand true love. I understand the mysteries of the universe. What I don’t understand is that what is happening is only the begin- ning. Just a prelude to the feast. The quite literal feast. * * * * * Sophie is standing there straddling the toilet. I notice that she has defecated but not flushed. I also notice that her beautiful asshole is dirty. She looks back expectantly first at Myroslawa and then at me. Myroslawa hands me a wad of toilet paper. It takes me a while to realize what they want me to do. But when it dawns on me, I feel a rush of some kind of euphoria mixed with fear and loathing and passion. A perfect storm of emotion. I take Myroslawa’s place behind Sophie. Her asshole is but inches from my face. It smells like shit, but shit somehow smells good. Her shit, at least. I make no conscious decision. I don’t think at all. My cock is throb- bing and purple but I don’t notice. I discard the toilet paper and burry my face and tongue in her filthy ass. I lick her clean. I suck and put my tongue as far inside as I can. Her asshole tastes sweet, like a chocolate truffle. I feel myself ejaculating and look down to see Myroslawa sucking my cock. I never noticed her or felt what she was doing. Nothing in the universe exists but Sophie’s glorious little pink anus. The Anvil Chorus is playing in my head. Or maybe it’s the theme from the Magnificent Seven. Whatever it is, it’s loud.

54 “Jody” * * * * * That was the moment my life began. That was the moment when everything had meaning. When everything made sense. It was my second birth, my calling, my destiny, my epiphany. Sometimes, I sit in the bed with one on either side kissing first Sophie, then Myroslawa and then Sophie again. Sometimes they take turns performing cunnilingus and analingus and fellatio and I find myself wishing I were a reptile with two penises. Sometimes, we lay in bed crotch-to-mouth in a perverted ménage. They hold my cock while I pee. They sit on my face while they pee. In restaurants, we each fill goblets with urine and pass them around like fine wine. I lick their wonderfully smelly, dirty feet. They buy American clothes. Miniskirts that they wear with no underwear. We fuck and grope everywhere. In public bathrooms, in alleyways, in doorways and alcoves and in churches. Especially in churches. Especially in a confessional at St. Peter’s Cathedral on Logan Circle. But, in the end, it all comes back to their round, firm, hairy asses and delicious assholes. It’s all I dream or think about. All that I want or desire. I don’t care if I ever fuck again or eat pussy again or get blown again but the thought of going even an hour without being able to lick and taste and kiss and worship their beautiful, pungent little assholes is horrible. * * * * * Now for the epilogue. Everything, it seems, comes to an end. After thirteen days, they were gone. I never heard from them again. Never got to say good-bye. Amazingly, I never took a single photograph and now, many years later, I can’t even imagine their faces. We never had a conversation. We never exchanged dreams or ideas. We never planned and the future never existed. Only the moment. The intense, searing, wonderful moment. But I will never forget their smell and the taste of their sweet, tender, magnificently beautiful anal orifices. I am now a pervert and everybody knows we can never be cured.

56 “Samantha” Brain Farts Continued... (Afterword)

More musings from S.E. Stokowski

It’s a curious world where men and women spend billions and billions of dollars in order to appear sexually attractive yet complain about being treated as sex objects when their efforts are successful; where sex is called “making love” and then derided as filth and smut; where female nipples are nasty but male nipples are somehow not; where it is assumed that if children are kept ignorant of sex they somehow will not get pregnant or contract AIDS or other STDs; where many people who believe in a god that created man in his own image also believe that the naked result of that creation is shameful; where children are allowed unlimited exposure to violence, mayhem and bloodshed but must be protected from all depictions of procreation; where the wonderful source and magnificent mechanism of life itself is too vulgar for artistic or literary (or any other) examination and discussion; and where belief in all of the above is held to be a moral virtue.

* * * * * And, of course, if there is little understanding of sex itself, and almost none of nipples, penises, vaginas and vulvas, what possible hope is there for the beauty and pleasure of the anus?

* * * * * Maybe someday, somebody will kindly explain it to me. (But I’m not holding my breath.) [email protected]

58 “Nancy” Contributors

R.C. Hörsch is an Ameri- Samantha Sweet is a former can photographer, filmmaker, sex worker and porn performer writer, sculptor and musician currently working as a freelance known for controversial work paralegal. that blurs the distinction be- tween art and pornography. He is also known for his sociopath- ic tendencies and sado-masoch- istic lifestyle. His fifty-year body of work is diverse and ranges from quietly poetic to explicit and disturbing. He is cited aca- Lucy is a performance artist, porn demically as an example of an performer, actress, model and sex artist whose transgressive work is, nevertheless, unequivocally art. worker. Criticism of his work both praises his authenticity, sensitivity and masterful technique and condemns the presumed exploitation of his subjects. Alternately an artist, filmmaker, composer, writer, porn performer, drug smuggler, some-time political activist, art forger, counterfeiter, pot grower, air show pilot, army deserter, fugi- tive, sociopath, ex-convict and all-out villain, Hörsch’s life has been as colorful and obsessive as his art.

Saundra Kurtz is a microbi- Betty Ann Dodson is ologist working for a large pharmacu- an artist, author and PhD sex- tical research and testing laboratory. ologist. She’s been committed to liberating female sexuality while enjoying her own. Her life as a sex revolutionary began in 1968 when she mounted the first one- woman show of erotic art in NYC in a Madison Avenue gal- lery. Throughout America’s sex revolution; she enjoyed group S.E. Stokowski is a reclusive sex learning about sex by doing writer, philosopher and R. C. sex. She began her masturbation Hörsch’s longtime curator, publisher crusade so women could learn how to have authentic orgasms and and producer. stop faking pleasure during penetration sex. From artist to feminist activist to sexual revolutionary, Betty initiated her nude Bodysex workshops in 1973 where women learned to overcome negative body image and pleasure anxiety. That same year, she produced and presented the first vulva slide show for NOW’s Sexuality Confer- ence. Today she believes it’s time we have a slide show to honor the much-maligned asshole. Once society embraces our sex organs and the anal orifice next to them and acknowledges masturbation as the Thomas S. Roche is a widely foundation for human sexual activity, a vast range of sexual plea- published blogger, novelist and writer sures will become available which will lessen our violent natures. of zombie erotica, vintage noir, sex, science, fantasy, essays and political commentary as well as a sex-positive Catherine Tavel activist and an educator at San (aka Ariel Hart) is a Francisco Sex Information. His first writer of fiction, nonfiction novel, The Panama Laugh, was a finalist for the Bram Stoker Award and poetry. Her works have from the Horror Writers’ Association, appeared in publications like and his short story “Butterfly’s Kiss” Seventeen and Screw—and was a finalist for the John Preston Short Fiction Award from the everything else in between. National Leather Association. He is currently serving as Editor and Along with Robert “The Harrad Publisher at horror and erotica e-book publisher Deception Press. Experiment” Rimmer, she He lives in California. co­wrote two biographies for Prometheus Books: Mistress S.W. Mathewson (working under another, more famous Jacqueline’s Whips & Kisses and name) is a former porn performer, director and producer. Jerry Butler’s Raw Talent. Under a variety of noms de porn (like Mark Epstein, MD is a board certified proctologist and Ariel Hart and Pearl Chavez), her short stories have appeared in colo-rectal surgeon. erotic fiction anthologies, including Herotica and Sex Toy Tales. Dozens of her scripts have been made into straight and gay adult Tom Wolfe is an iconic American author and journalist. films for both distribution and cable television, most notable being The Swap, Bigger, Centerfold, Gangbang at the OK Corral and Kurt Vonegut, Jr. was unarguably the most influential Vivid Video’s Passages series. (Photo by Barbara Nitke) satyrical novelist of the twentieth century.

60 “Portrait of the Artist”