Monthly Archives: August 2012

Why Is So Much “Literature” So Dull?

31 Friday Aug 2012

Posted by in literature

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Cheesy novels are often the best…

I wonder why so much of “literature” is so boring. Once I read Moby Dick. This is considered to be one the greatest novels ever written. Yet halfway through the novel I had to put it down due to the strain of perpetual boredom. About six months later I took it up again and finally finished, although I was left wondering why so many academics and critics experience squirting ejaculations while reading this work. Melville takes so many digressions from his story to give us a National Geographic like, detailed account of whaling that I nearly impaled myself on whatever instrument resembling a harpoon I came across, which fortunately was none. Still, I found little pleasure in reading this book, except for a few passages here and there.

I once read Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs and found it utterly enthralling, entertaining and delightful. It was a complete contrast to the dull and ponderous Melville. So this made me wonder why so many of the “great works of literature” are so completely dull and difficult to read, while those of the more popular sort are so much more delightful to read.

I really do not know, and admit this is a completely subjective view. There are plenty of others who enjoy reading these things. However, when it comes to reading fiction, there is one small fact that needs to be addressed, and it is this:

Most statistics show that about 80% of all readers of novels are women. This is true for today, and was most likely similar in the past, although there are no statistics to back this up. We often hear of the criticism in the Nineteenth century about women being corrupted by their Victorian novels. So it is true that women have always made up a large if not great majority of the reading public.

But also in the past, as I have written before, there was a large industry of pulp magazines that appealed directly to male readers. Vigorous and flourishing throughout the first half of the twentieth century, this industry no longer exists. It always fascinates me today that there was once this real and tangible phenomenon, the pulp magazine geared towards men, and that a substantial readership of men existed at one time for fiction, and which has now for the most part faded away. It reveals how men once read for entertainment. Today, with televised sports, video games, and porn, and other avenues for entertainment, this no longer seems to be the case. Sure, there will always be some sort of  male readership for fiction, but I would place bets on its small and dwindling numbers. As a matter of fact, if you browse the fiction section of any bookstore, of those that are left, you will see the vast majority of the novels are geared towards women. And I think different desires motivate men and women when it comes to reading fiction.

Men want action. Men want adventure. Men want to be transplanted to strange, heroic, dangerous places where a character can test his limits. Men enjoy reading about unsavory, filthy and amoral characters. Men like violence. Men like sex. Men like beautiful women. These used to be the staple of the old pulp magazines. The girly themes that dominant most modern literature will naturally be devoid of theses qualities.

But I ask myself, why is it that so many of the so called great works of literature in past are often so dull and boring and tedious to read? I think one of the reasons is the academic class that has arisen in the past fifty years or so which dictates to the rest of us what is good and what is not good literature. As Mickey Spillane says, in response to the critics hating his best selling, hard hitting detective novels, “If people like you, your good.” I myself find Spillane a thousand times more enjoyable to read than Melville. The academic class of critics, buttressed by the prestige and aura of Universities, adorned with different degrees, titles and awards, see themselves as the gatekeepers to what is true and honorable in literature. They define for us what is literature. They tell us what we should be reading. They are in the fact that ones who turned reading fiction and stories as a simple source of enjoyment into the more ponderous and obtuse thing called “literature”.

Such images were common in the old Pulp magazines…

How many young people in high school or colleges have been forever turned away from reading fiction because they had to endure the endless drudgery of reading works that are utterly boring and tedious. There are fewer things more painful than having to read something you find dull and boring. And then, to be told that they are wrong because they find these things boring, and question their value, simply because the priestly class of critics have forever determined that certain works are valuable, while others are not. I simply cannot tell you how many novels I have read that I found utterly dull and boring, but which are considered great and important works of art, while at the same time I have read many novels that, while despised by the critics, I found to be absorbing, entertaining, and very well written, artistic in their own way.

I am not trying to make any sort of definitive statement on these matters, as I said above, each one has his own taste. There are many great and recognized works of literature that are pleasure to read, that are entertaining and engrossing, and plenty of entertaining works of popular fiction that are devoid of artistic merits. But once again my own tastes makes me realize that in reading, as in religion, in the end I need to go with my own instincts, and pursue the things that I enjoy, and not let others define for me what is good, proper and respectable. For me, too much of good, proper and respectable “literature”, the type you might read in a classroom, or promoted by high minded critics, is utterly devoid of excitement and entertainment.

Did Hitler Survive the War?

27 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in culture

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No shit? Really?

Recently I was reading a few items speculating on whether Hitler escaped the last days of the Third Reich or not. In my opinion, as uninformed as it is, he did not. The suicide stories, where he and his mistress-wife Eva Braun killed themselves on April 30, 1945, while Soviet troops were closing in on his bunker in Berlin, are most likely what happened.

However, the myth of Hitler surviving, escaping, and living until the 1960’s is out there. One of the fodders for this myth is the fact that no body was ever really recovered. The charred remains of two bodies were discovered outside the bunker by Soviet troops. These are often assumed to be the bodies of Hitler and Eva Braun. But the evidence is inconclusive. A skull fragment from those remains which were later stored in the Soviet archives and recently examined for the first time by scientists, previously thought to be Hitler’s, turns out to be a woman’s. It could be Braun’s, but there is a bullet hole in the skull, and there is no story that Braun committed suicide by gun, but rather, by poison. But who knows. Maybe Hitler shot her.

The actual facts of Hitler’s death are sketchy. As I just mentioned, shortly after the war the Soviets claimed they found his charred remains of Hitler and Braun in a shallow grave outside his Berlin bunker and then buried them in Madgeburg Germany (which was in former Soviet controlled East Germany). Then, worried the grave sight might become a shrine for neo-Nazis, the bodies were exhumed them in the early 70’s, cremated and the ashes scattered. Perhaps this is the truth. But the fact that we are basing all our evidence on what the Soviet government said is a natural cause for suspicion. And out of suspicion arise the escape and survival stories. The most common is that Hitler escaped to South America, along with many other high level Nazis known to have escaped there. Other stories have him escaping to Indonesia, even Antarctica.

Der Fuehrer relaxing in his post-War tropical retirement.

A few photos of Hitler alive after the War are out there. Recently I found this one. Hitler liked to tan his ass. After all, there was a large contingent of gay Nazis, and the subtle homoeroticism of Nazi imagery is a well studied subject. Too bad this is so obviously a fake. It is too good.

Nazi theme porn was produced in Israel. Seriously.

Oh, and one other strange fact of the post war years, apparently there was an abundance of Nazi themed porn produced in Israel in the early 60’s. The themes usually involved SS dominatrices abusing American or British POW’s. Strange stuff. I think today there still might be strong Nazi theme in Israel porn, but I am not sure. I know the Nazi theme is common in other porn genres.

The Alien Apocalypse: What Would Really Happen?

23 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by in culture

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If aliens should actually invade the Earth, this would be the fate of mankind: we would be totally fucked.

Whenever I see some movie, such as Independence Day, which depicts an alien invasion of Earth, with the Earth winning, I can’t help but laugh. Why do people make such stupid movies? Instead of seeing a sort of feel good fantasy of how the Earthlings will defeat the Aliens, usually led by the United States, I want to see a real depiction of what would really happen if aliens decided to colonize the Earth, or harvest humans for whatever reasons. I wish someone would make such a movie, a movie which would show the total annihilation of mankind if aliens did in fact decide to destroy us.

The bottom line is this: if aliens have the technology to travel millions of light years just to get here, we would be fucked. There would be no contest. Any civilization out there with such overwhelming technological superiority would overwhelm us with that technology. They would laugh at our puny little weapons and unsophisticated machines. We would stand no chance. In the end, we would be like cattle herded into a slaughterhouse. Why else would any other civilization travel the immense distances of space to come here, except to get something from us? I doubt such an encounter would be a friendly one.

I often marvel at how vast and unknown the universe is. It is right there, all around us, above our heads in the sky. At night we can see the innumerable stars from different parts of that strange, vast world of space. What is out there? What exactly is the universe? Despite the fact that we know it exists, no one really understands it, how to came to be, where it ends, if it ends, and what is out there. The vastness of the universe shows how infinitesimally puny and ignorant we really are. We still don’t even understand something as basic as gravity. It is all quite humbling, really. So if any other beings out there have the intelligence and ability to travel those vast distances to get here, to find this small speck of rock in the vastness of space, and if their intentions were hostile, that would be the end of mankind.

I wish someone would make a movie of this nature: the end of mankind after an alien invasion, without any hope, and how people would act and behave in that situation. It is probably too dark for a Hollywood movie; after all, who would want to see it? In the end, the need for hope is part of our human nature. We like to think we could overcome such odds. Hollywood likes happy endings.

But I think a dark, completely hopeless alien invasion film would be an interesting piece of entertainment.

More Ginger Loveliness

19 Sunday Aug 2012

Posted by in beauty

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Another lovely ginger…

Here is just a small bit of ginger loveliness for tonight. What can be said about her? In addition to all her exquisite attributes, she shows how hot freckles can be. When I see such a photo I think of beauty and loveliness, my desire for aesthetic stimulation is satisfied. She is a lovely creature. We men enjoy such sights. We need such sights. Such sights makes our lives a little nicer, a little sunnier. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, her breasts, they all seem perfect. There can be much beauty in the world, and this is a good example of that.

No matter what happens in life, I never tire of beauty, especially feminine beauty.

 

I Love A Good Old Fashioned Coke Bottle

15 Wednesday Aug 2012

Posted by in culture

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The traditional Coke bottle is a thing of beauty…

Recently I bought a six pack of Coke bottles. After drinking a few Cokes from this six pack, I was reminded once again that there is no bottle, anywhere in the world, which has the feel of a Coke bottle. Originally designed in 1915 by Earl. R. Dean, the goal was to create a unique and instantly recognizable bottle, both in sight and touch. To quote Wikipedia:

In 1915, the Coca-Cola Company launched a competition among its bottle suppliers to create a new bottle for their beverage that would distinguish it from other beverage bottles, “a bottle which a person could recognize even if they felt it in the dark, and so shaped that, even if broken, a person could tell at a glance what it was.”

This bottle has gone through slight modifications throughout the years, but the basic form and feel has remained the same. Dean actually came up with the idea for the bottle shape by trying to imitate a coco pod, although he had never actually handled one. So after seeing some photos of coco pods, he came up with the idea for the Coke bottle design. The end result was that he created the most recognizable bottle in all history.

Whatever the origins of the design, I find that there is certain kind of feminine charm to the bottle. The bottle has perfectly proportioned curves, as well as a smooth texture.  I find the curvature to resemble more a breast-waist-hip proportion than anything else. The green glass adds a somewhat exotic tinge. All in all, it is really something of a work of art. Perhaps it is hard to believe that something which is merely the product of a company attempting to sell a product can reach an artistic level, but in this instance, Coca Cola achieved something quite unique. The fact that this bottle has been part of Americana for a century now, is another factor in its cultural value. It is deeply imbedded into the American psyche, even the world psyche. After all, Coca Cola is the most recognizable brand in all of human history.

But most of all it is simply the feel of the bottle that I enjoy the most. There is something special to drinking a Coke from a bottle. Coke bottles are not common these days. The can and the plastic bottle make up most of the product today. You have to look to find Coke in a bottle. But when I find a Coke bottle and drink from it on a hot summer day, well, it can be an almost transcendent experience.

Wrestling with Faith and God

12 Sunday Aug 2012

Posted by in religion, spirituality

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Despite my own doubts and struggles, I still need to believe…

So what is this pull of spirituality and religion? For many months now I have been estranged from organized religion, disgusted at the hatred and hypocrisy I see in so many organized bodies of believers.  A great deal of the history of Christianity in particular has disturbed me. I wonder, why do I belong and believe in something that so many have used and still continue to use for what seem to be narrow and ultimately destructive ends? The ignorance and hostility towards certain groups of people by Christians is embarrassing. The recent nonsense with Chic-Fil-A and the notion of “Biblically” based ideas on marriage are a recent example. Now, people are free to believe whatever they want, but when someone invokes the Bible as source of what is right and what is wrong in marriage, it is clear that the Bible itself has all sorts of different types of marriage. Polygamy and concubinage were common in the Old Testament. People might say, “Well, that is the Old Testament, and we don’t follow that anymore.” But why? If you are going to invoke the Bible to support modern day laws against homosexuality, then why not invoke the Bible to support polygamy? Or prostitution? Furthermore, the Bible supports slavery. In the nineteenth century many a Christian pastor, especially in the Old South, quoted the Bible quite often to defend slavery. It is this sort of mindless adherence to the Bible by so many fundamentalist Christians which often turns me away from Christianity.

And yet, despite all this, despite what I see as so much anger and hatred coming out from so many Christian communities, I still feel that powerful pull of the divine. I struggle with faith. I struggle with God. I ask too many questions. I doubt. I find many Christians quite distasteful. But, despite these issues, I know there is something more powerful than myself, something greater and benevolent and wonderful, the creator of the world and the universe, and I feel drawn to this. When I pray, I am happier. When I attend Church, I am happier. When I seek peace, I feel more peaceful. All of the different religious traditions of the world, despite their constant bickering and fighting and even hatred of one another, can at least attest to the positive and life affirming effects of prayer, meditation, and seeking God. They can all attest to the power of spirituality. Perhaps some people cannot understand this? Or perhaps some people will ridicule this? Who knows. But religion is part of our genetic DNA, it has existed in every society since the dawn of man, for whatever reasons, and most of us need some sort of sense of the divine to help us through life. Perhaps it is merely a coping mechanism developed over millions of years to help us deal with our own mortality. We are, after all, the only species on Earth that understands death and our own life limits. Or perhaps there really is a God out there who is calling us to closer union with Him. There is no real way of knowing, which is why faith is what it is, a trusting, a letting reason and common sense go to believe in something we cannot see or feel or hear or smell but something which we know still exists. As with the body, we can also see and feel and touch and smell with our souls, with the inner eyes and ears and fingers of our being, and this brings us comfort and stability in the realm of the spirit and divine.

When I see and hear so much of the hatred and bigotry and ignorance from so many Christians, this is my reaction…

So, despite my recent posts of how much I have been turned off from religion, I still believe, and have come to understand even better my own personal need for spirituality, redemption and salvation. My own particular tradition is Christian, and Catholic. I know I could never leave these to join another faith or religion. With Christians, there are many holy, orthodox believers out there who have attacked me with great venom for writing about my own beliefs and questions. My writing about spirituality and eroticism in particular has labeled me a non-Christian, a heathen, a sinner who is destined for hell. I admit, these holy and orthodox Christians do bother me. But I just need to ignore them. Out of all the religions of the world, Christians can be the most hateful, bigoted and oppressive (I suppose Islam is a good competitor with Christianity for the honor of having the most hate filled members). Such is life, and human nature. I cannot let this distract me from my own spiritual quest and edification. My need for God is too important.

In the end, I can’t help but believe. I need to believe. It is just part of my nature. I need the beauty of faith and spirituality in my life. Faith is too important to ignore. God is too great to reject.

Summer Delights

10 Friday Aug 2012

Posted by in beauty, women

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One of the delights of summer…

There is a scene in one of my favorite movies, City Slickers, where the Billy Crystal lead character is talking with his one time nemesis-turned friend, the crusty old cowboy, Curly, played brilliantly by Jake Palance (he won an academy award for his role). In the scene, Crystal asks Palance if he has ever been in love. Palance answers that, yes, one time he was in love. He was in love with a women he saw one day years ago while on a cattle drive, standing far off, wearing nothing but a cotton dress in the hot summer sun, and the sun was illuminating the shape of her body through the fabric of her dress. That vision was all that Palance needed. He never bothered to meet her and just kept the memory of that moment afterward. It was his one true love. “I figured, it does not get any better than that,” he said, or something to that effect.

Seeing the outline of a woman’s body through her dress is one of the special delights of summer. It is one of those special surprises, a hidden and unexpected joy amid the hustle and bustle of a busy and often crass world. When I am fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of a woman’s legs or even more though the fabric of her dress, I indeed thank God for allowing me to see something beautiful, although transitory and ultimately unattainable. Such experiences makes each day a little better. Beauty comes in many forms, and hidden and sudden and unexpected visions of beauty are often the most precious.

Jack Palance as Curly. The American cowboy was always a great appreciator of beautiful women.

Curly, that great old cowboy, understood this.

The Preacher and the Purity Belt

06 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in fiction

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As he entered the new town, inflamed with the desire to save countless souls, inspired by the words and actions of the holy prophets of ancient Israel, the preacher decided he needed some sort of relaxation. He was in town to give a fiery sermon on the proliferation of all the various vices of the modern world. This was a popular topic, guaranteed to draw big, enthusiastic crowds of moral crusaders, so a big audience was expected, and he knew this would tax his strength. Although a tall, strong man, and in his late thirties, his body was tired from the long journey through different towns, the endless evenings of sermonizing, shaking hands, baptizing, healing troubled souls, and bearing the entire burden of heaven’s mandate upon his shoulders. He was convinced he was one of the last true hopes for the world; without him and other purity warriors like him the future of mankind was bleak.

But first he needed rest. And he needed to feel some sense of release. In this mid size but bustling northern city, he was sure he could find some sort of entertainment. So, once in his hotel, he began to flip through the yellow pages of the local phonebook and there, among the various advertisements for dentists and doctors, he found a page filled with notices for escorts. Yes, these were souls that needed his saving grace the most. They were the sickest souls in need of the most diligent spiritual physician. So he searched for what seemed to be the most fertile area. He found those agencies listed under “Incall only”, and one add in particular struck his eye: The Good Girls Club. The advertisement featured a photo of a wonderfully innocent, girl next door type, with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her smile was infectious. Although he felt some ambivalence towards this endeavor, he also felt the call of the Lord strong within him to save these souls, to bring the Gospel message of purity to them. He struggled for a few moments, but he quickly overcame his doubts and ambivalence, picked up the phone and made an appointment that night. He knew this city well, so finding this particular establishment was easy. It was only a few blocks down the road from his hotel.

After showering and a change of clothes, he walked out into the crisp, cool autumnal night. The city was bustling with lights, people, laughter and amusement. Soon, after walking a few blocks illuminated by diners, movies theaters and bars, he noticed a rather inconspicuous brownstone building, an ancient monument in this modern, growing city, but one that was totally inconspicuous. The preacher, as a man deeply involved in the elimination of vice, knew what this meant and, after feeling and then overcoming another strain of doubt and confusion, he continued his mission. He stood a few feet away from the building, contemplating its existence. This was a place of the worst kind of vice, the kind of vice that can destroy entire families, neighborhoods, cities, and countries. It was the vice of sexual sin. He had seen these places throughout his journey of righteousness. He had visited many in an attempt to bring the Gospel of love and purity to those who clearly were lacking such virtues. He felt that all his experience had gained him some sort of special expertise in saving these types of sinful souls. But he also knew the possible dangers of such a place, his own weaknesses, and what that could lead to. Still, he knew that souls needed to be saved, at all risks to himself, even the worst kind of sinful souls: whores.

He walked casually up the old, granite steps of the building and rang the doorbell. From the doorbell speaker a scratchy voice said, “Yes, can I help you?”

“I called about a half hour ago for an appointment, the name is Jim.”

“Oh yes, come on in please.” And with that the large oak door buzzed and he opened it and entered this world of vice. On the other side he was greeted by a rather plump, red headed woman with a broad smile. She was dressed in a bright rouge negligee. “How are doing tonight honey. What can I do for you.” Behind her was a lounge, with a bar and several men and scantily clad women mingling among the round tables and velvet couches. Soft music played in the background. Cigaret smoke clouded the neon lights. A preacher should not be seen in such a place, he thought, but he knew he needed to take risks for the sake of souls. A true spiritual warrior takes risks.

The preacher felt the small bible which he always carried with him in his coat pocket. “Well, mam, I would like to discuss the kingdom of God with you, or one of your girls.”

She laughed, hearty and throaty. “Oh well, yes, I can arrange a session for you. We love preachers here. The girls need to hear the message of love, you know. A girl with a good, pure soul is a priceless commodity in places like this.”

The preacher took his hand off his Bible, and found the wallet stuffed with cash in his other pocket. He handed a ten twenties to the madam. “Will this be enough for a short session? The Lord is always grateful for the opportunity for the word to be spread.”

“Why yes, this should be enough.” She took the money and put it between her breasts. “Now, let me call Maria for you. She was a good farm girl, brought up right, but recently she has been straying from the right path. I like my girls to remain on the straight and narrow. The clients love it. Thank you, Preacher.”

“Whatever I can do to save souls, sister.” He then sat at the bar, ordered a ginger ale, and waited for the soul that needed to be saved to arrive. He felt it was better to deal with souls on an individual basis in these sorts of situations. He ordered the ginger ale because he felt a man of his reputation should not be seen drinking liquor, that other great vice.

When he saw he Maria, a fair young thing with jet black hair modestly tied up in a bun, something which she did whenever she met a rather pious client, he felt that familiar bolt of forbidden passion pass through his bones. Yes, he thought, she needs to be saved. This is clearly a once pious, God fearing girl who now needs to be saved from her wicked sins. I can feel the heated temptation growing quickly within me, a temptation she has created.

She feigned shyness and modesty with him, greeting him with her deep brown eyes cast downward. “Hello Sir, how can I help you tonight.”

“Hello, sister. I am glad you came to me tonight. How are you?” The preacher appreciated her supple but soft body, especially the way her ample breasts were pressing against the fabric of her corset. The sins of the flesh, he thought, as he eyed her body. How terrible. He knew he had his work cut out for him with this girl. The temptations would be great, but the risk was worth saving another soul.

Her eyes met his. They were wonderfully round, doe like and captivating.

“I am fine sir, but perhaps I need some lessons in proper manners. I have lived a sinful life. I understand you are preacher, a man of God?”

“There are many sinners that need to be saved.” He took another sip of his ginger ale, then after appreciating the beauty of her body, a temple of the Holy Spirit which she had clearly been desecrating, he requested a private room with her. “The Lord’s work sometimes needs to be done in private, especially when the sin is grave.”

She smiled. “Oh, I agree. I know of a nice little room we can find salvation in.”
The room was small, with pink wall paper, colored with red flowers, and a round, large bed. The damask sheets appeared to be silk and the pillows stuffed with down. He sat on the bed while she stood before him.

“Have you been saved, sister? Do you know the Lord?”

“Oh yes, as a little girl my daddy used to bring me to church every Sunday. I was country girl, in a small country parish church. We listened to the preacher, sang hymns, and praised God. It was a wonderful time.”

“Praise the Lord, sister.” The preacher removed his coat. “But tell me, if you and yours were such good, church going people, if you were so devoted to God and his holy word, how did you end up in a place like this? Where did you take the wrong path, sister. Don’t be afraid to tell me, it is good to let these things out. God helps those who confess their sins and repent and seek a new path. I am offering you a new path, sister.”

She moved towards her dresser and poured herself a small glass of brandy. “Do you want one too?”

“A man of God should not be drinking. It is a sin.”

“Of course.” She took a small sip of the brandy. “I should have known. Sorry I asked. I hope it was not too great a temptation for you?”

“No sister, the Lord has given me the strength to overcome these worldly temptations.” He eyed the alluring liquid as he talked to her. He remembered that painful day so many years ago when he forsook liquor for the sake of the kingdom. “Now, tell me sister, where have you gone astray. Let the Lord into your life. He can cure all your ills.”

She took another sip of the brandy. “Is that why he has brought you into my life, to help cure me of my ills?” She smiled and as she did he noticed how soft and moist her lips seemed. He reached for his Bible stuffed so snugly into his coat pocket. He needed its strength.

“This is what the Lord would like for you. This is why he brought me here.” He showed her the Good Book. The leather binding was well worn, a bit cracked, but still in reasonably good condition. She did not look at it as she sat next to him on the bed.

“Oh dear preacher, I have seen plenty of those things my whole life. I used to see them all the time when I was younger. Well, when I was a young woman, just ready for marrying age, the preacher at our church used to show me his Bibles all the time. Rev. Williams was his name. He was a good man. He was holy and pure and filled with the spirit. He told me his Bibles would ward off sin too. I asked him what sin was though. I was confused and did not know. Such a young stupid thing I was, so young and innocent and inexperienced in the ways of the world.  But you know, he told me and then he showed me exactly what sin was, and what kind of sins people commit. He used to talk about sin all the time in the pulpit. The people listened and said, oh yes, yes, you are so right. Praise the Lord! How evil, we must stop this evil. But I really did not know what he was talking about until he showed me the different sinful things people do, being such a young and innocent farm girl after all. I am so glad he taught me exactly what all the different types of sin were, so I would know to avoid them.”

The preacher moved back on the bed, but not far enough to create any real distance between him and the girl. “Not all preachers are men of good morals. What he did was wrong. He was evil. He want too far and perverted his mission.”

“Was it so wrong, preacher?” She moved closer to him and he could feel the warmth of her breath upon his lips. “He taught me many things. These things I can use now, here, in this place. The men like it. He taught me how to be a woman. He was a good preacher. He taught me what real sin is. He taught me about pleasure. Yes, he taught me all those things in the church office late at night when no one was around. He told me God is present at night. He told me God is love and present in pleasure and love. But I feel I need to learn more. Yes, I do not know enough. I like the way the preachers teach me.” She put her shot glass of brandy on the night table beside the bed and looked closely into his eyes. “Will you teach me, Mr. Preacher. Will you, please, just like Rev. Williams used to teach me, God bless him.?”

Feeling a surge of indignation, as well as passion, feeling both repulsion and desire, hatred and lust, he raised his hand towards her. “How can you talk of such things, young lady. This is not God’s way. You cannot be saved by saying such things to me. I am a man of God. I am a agent of moral purity.” His hand remained raised, as if about to slap her across the face violently.

She looked down in shame. “I know, I am a bad girl. So bad. I need to be disciplined. I think only through discipline can a bad girl like me be saved. The Rev. William taught me that. I…I only thought you might be able to help me too, preacher…you know, show me the way, heal my soul and wash me clean.”

He reached for the shot glass of brandy on the small table and took a large sip. “How can you tempt me this way, with liquor and lust. I am a man of God. I know the Bible. I know God’s word and what sin is. I have been ordained. I have saved many souls. I am a man. Yes, a man. I am also a man. A married man too. I have wife and children.”

“Yes, you are a man. And I have been a bad girl and now I need to be disciplined, just like the old Reverend Williams used to discipline me.” She untied her hair from the back and let it cascade down her shoulders.

He was silent for a few moments. Her soft body, her smooth skin, her shiny hair filled his sight.  “And how was that? How did he help you?” He took another sip of brandy.

“I think you know. I think all the preachers know how to discipline those poor, slutty girls they must save. Poor, ignorant girls like myself. We need the help of strong men like yourself. Men of God. Men who are not afraid to man up and be men, holy and pure and chaste men.” She touched his hand.

“No…no, sin is bad. We must not sin.”

She sat closer to him, her hand now touching his forearm, her head leaning on his shoulder. “Oh, please help me, Reverend. Please, I need to be saved. I am so bad. I am such a bad girl.”

And the Reverend, after feeling the softness of her hair against his neck, after feeling the softness of her hand upon his forearm, after seeing the softness of her white breasts pouring out of her corset, suddenly felt a great explosion of passion and desire within him. He had tried to hold it back, but he could not. Yes, he was a man. This is wrong, he thought to himself, but she is so innocent, she is an innocent girl caught up in a wicked life and if I show her what true discipline is, she might be saved. Yes, she might turn to God if she felt true discipline. If she learns true submission she might learn the wickedness of her ways, and turn to God. She might learn to obey a husband some day. She might even have a husband and children and happy family. God wants all women to be married with children. Yes, it is my job to help her. I am a man. I am a man of God. I am a man. I am a strong man who can help her.

“You are a bad girl.” And with that, he stood up, took her by the arms, turned her around, and bent her over the bed. The red dress she was wearing was quickly hiked up, and he ripped off her lacy red panties. “You are a bad girl, and the preacher needs to discipline you.” And with a quick motion of his hand, he smacked her soft, white ass as firmly and vigorously as he could.

“Oh….yes.” She moaned. “Yes, I am a bad girl. Tell me how bad I am.”

“You are this bad.” Again he slapped her ass.

“Yes, I am a bad girl. Sinful too. A slut. Save me, preacher.”

‘Oh god, this is the only way. This is the only way to save such sinful girls as yourself. You will never understand otherwise. You never do. I always have to use this method of salvation of sinful little sluts like yourself.”

“Teach me to be pure, preacher. I think I am so bad, I need special treatment”

“Special treatment?” The preacher took a step back. “Then I will have to use the purity belt.”

“The purity belt?” She paused and breathed a deep sigh. “Oh yes, I need the purity belt to help me with the battle for purity.”

He then removed his belt, tightened the leather around his hand, and slapped her ass with the rest of the length. She screamed as it stung. “Oh yes, slap me again. Do it, preacher man. Punish this disobedient little slut!”

“I have to use this on all the girls like you. I do, I do, I do. So many, God so many sinners who are not saved.” He looked at her lovely ass, now reddened from his discipline. As he did he felt himself growing harder.  “Oh God, forgive me.” He whipped her ass again with the belt. Again she screamed in pleasure. “All the little sluts like you who come to my church on Sunday need the purity belt. They need it for the battle for purity. I know they do, because they tell me all the things they do with their boyfriends the night before, all those wicked and evil acts of the flesh, and I have to seek forgiveness with them, but all I can think about after is how lovely and dirty they are and how much I would love to be doing with them what they and their boyfriends do. I try to remain and calm and dignified when they tell me of their sins, how they masturbate, look at porn, give blowjobs, fuck…and it is all I can do to remain calm when I hear their dirty little stories. But I want them to tell me more, and more and more. And they do, God bless them. Then when I go home and try to fuck my wife she refuses me, saying God does not want ut to do impure things, and I hate her for that and I jerk off thinking of all those pretty, innocent girls in my church confessing all their dirty sins to me and then when I travel I need to come here and see you. O God, forgive me.” He slapped her ass again with the belt. She moaned in even deeper pleasure.

“Oh yes, I am such a dirty, bad little slut, Punish me, preacher, punish me. Harder, please.”

“Why are you tempting me this way? You are a Jezebel! You are the devil. You are a daughter of Eve!”

She lay on the bed, her ass red and stinging from the spanking, her eyes watery from the punishment. The preacher could feel the sweat building on his forehead, his muscles tiring from the vigorous spanking.. As he looked at her, her naked, now reddened ass, her skirt hiked up to her waist, her jet black hair strewn across her neck and back, he could not but help appreciate how beautiful she seemed. He felt an even deeper pull and tug of sinfulness stir within his being. The allure of feminine flesh was a great source of weakness for most men–the Bible said so–and, although he often prided himself on being free from this particular vice, he was not completely immune, and he knew it.

He stared at her. The room was heavy with silence, broken only by her heavy panting. She then spoke, her words muffled as her face was still pressed against the mattress. “What are you going to do to me now, sir. In what ways are you going to punish this terrible sinner?”

“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you tempting me so?” He mumbled to himself as he began to unbuckle his pants. She looked so inviting. He knew he could not resist. “Why does the evil one have such powers over me. But I know the Lord is stronger. Yet I am a man. I am a man. Full of weakness and fleshly filth. Oh, how my wive would disapprove. My wife, the frigid, pious lady who love religion and hates sex. Oh, how she would hate me for this.”

She moaned and moved her ass up and down, just a bit and enough to stir his inflamed passions even that much more intensely. “I am such a bad girl. Oh yes, I am so bad. Punish me some more!”

His pants were now off and he stood behind her, as she lifted herself up on to her knees, offering herself to him all the more fully. Her vagina was wet and moist and he could smell the scent of her sex. “Oh, the devil is tempting me. Oh yes, the Lord will have to forgive me. Yes, I am a man. The Lord has forgiven me. I am saved. No matter what I do, I am saved by the blood of the Lamb and a place in heaven awaits me, no matter what I do. I am so weak. I am such a sinner.”

“Fuck me, preacher, please fuck me.”

“Oh God, what am I doing. I can’t. No, this is wrong. My wife…”

“Goddam it, fuck me now!”

“Oh God, yes!” He then grabbed her hips and entered her, his cock feeling the tight pleasure of her moist vagina and as he moved in and out, at first slowly and then more quickly, he felt himself losing all sense of decency and decorum, all sense of sin and the punishments of hell, and he began to give himself completely over to the pleasures of fucking. Within a few moments he was pounding her, lost in the animal delights of sex, and all thoughts of his wife or the Bible or what his congregation might think of him on Sunday if they knew about this slipped away from his cloudy and lust drenched mind. All he wanted was the pleasure. “Yes, oh yes, I want this.” Her moans and then screams of sensual pleasure only inflamed his passion that much more, only caused him to forget himself and who he was and his frigid wife and boring congregation that much more. She was beautiful, he thought, her ass so perfect, her hips curving so smoothly towards her waist as he looked down at her, her asshole so pretty, her back so porcelain, her hair so soft and shiny, her voice so filled with the same groans and moans and screams that Eve must have given out when she first led Adam astray. In total, she was too much for him, and he soon came inside her sinful pussy with a great fury.

It was all over in a few minutes.

Soon, they were dressing, quietly and calmly. Maria pulled her dress back down around her shapely legs. The preacher lit up a cigaret. “Well,” she said, “don’t you know that a preacher should not smoke. It is bad for his reputation.”
He did not say anything, taking a long puff on his cigaret and looking at the floor with deep introspection. She wondered if he was feeling guilty, perhaps filled with regret at his weakness. As a minister of God he was used to deep thoughts. As a minister of God, saved by the blood of the Lamb, he was used to sin and sinful situations. He then shot a glance at her with his blue eyes, “Well, I guess there are many things that are bad for a preacher’s reputation. Please, just don’t tell my wife I smoked tonight. ”

They both burst out in laughter. “Oh, Reverend Williams, you were always so funny. I have missed you so, ever since you used to preach at our church all those years ago. It is good that a man remains steady in certain areas.” She then ran his hand along his crotch. “Especially in this way. You taught me so much, all those years ago when I was just a naive farm girl in that small white church, and here are you tonight, you are still teaching me. I do love it that you still come and visit me, after all these years. I look forward to seeing you here!”

“Yes, sister. And you have learned at lot, although you are still a sinner. But since we have both come to the Lord, and are saved, our sins are forgiven. We have both been washed by the blood of the Lamb!”

“Yes, you taught me that! Praise the Lord!”

They both chuckled. He buttoned his shirt and put on his jacket. “Yes, sister. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go. Tonight I have to meet with the Society for the Advancement of Moral Purity. They are starting a campaign to cleanse America of all her sins, restoring our country to its Christian roots, and eliminating homosexuality and sodomy. I must help them. I can’t keep a crowd of old ladies and sexually repressed men waiting. As we both know, we are the most degenerate nation since Sodom and Gomorrah. The sooner we clean this moral cess pool up, the better.”

They both laughed.

As he fumbled with his shirt, she helped him with the top button. “Well, when you come back to town, which I know you will do next month for the next meeting of whatever moral group you are courting, make sure you drop by, huh. I need to be taught more, being such a bad sinner.”

He kissed her gently on the cheek. “You know I will, as I have been doing now every month for the past few years. Your soul needs much work, young Lady.” He then walked towards the door, left three crisp hundred dollar bills on the dresser and turned to her. “And remember, please, if you happen to run into her, do not tell Mrs. William I took a smoke tonight. She would be shocked.”

She was sitting on the bed, pulling a black stocking up her leg. “Well, perhaps you should use the purity belt on her more often.”

“Like it would even make a difference,” he laughed as he walked out the door and returned to the degenerate world which needed to be saved and purified.

More Beauty…

06 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in art, beauty, erotica, women

≈ 1 Comment

Beauty is good for the soul…

This is a beautiful photo. What I like most is how soft and pale her skin is, her golden hair, her perfectly shaped breasts and overall lovely, alluring curves. The downward glance is evocative but also playful. This shows nudity as a happy experience.

Why do I post so many nudes on this blog? It is simply that I want show that depictions of nudity can be artistic, beautiful and uplifting. Too many in our world immediately label any kind of nude as “porn”, whereas in fact many nudes, whether in photography or painting or drawing, are expressions of deeper things. When it comes to “porn” vs. “erotica”, as I have said before, and what needs to be repeated again and again, is that most porn is pretty trashy. I don’t even like most porn. Most of the mainstream porn is vulgar, boring and overly artificial. However, this does not mean that all erotica is bad. I believe there is a place for good erotic depictions of life, that human sexuality in its entire spectrum can be legitimate and meaningful subject of artistic expression, and I enjoy showing those on this blog.

Beauty, human beauty, is actually a rare thing. Simply look at the world around you, and you will see very few people who could actually be considered physically beautiful. There are many reasons for this, perhaps the most important being that there is in fact a certain symmetry and balance that is required in the face and body for beauty. In addition, youth and healthy body type are also essential. While many people may have certain elements of these, most people lack them to the degree that is required for what has traditionally been considered “beauty”. Beauty is a high standard. It is almost an ideal. Like gold or diamonds, its rarity makes it all the more precious. This is why when we see beauty we find it aesthetically pleasing, for and in both men and women (how many women ogle David Beckham, and how many men actually look like him?).

So I like showing beautiful things. I like showing beautiful women. And even in my more explicit postings, I try to maintain the boundaries of beauty. A depiction of sex can be both hot and beautiful, although most porn is neither. Porn often has that dark, trashy side which I find distasteful (although I suppose it is precisely the forbidden darkness of porn that is part of the appeal: porn that is too “mainstream” has lost some of its power, i.e., it is a hidden, secret pleasure).

When it comes to beauty however, including erotic beauty, there is simply a mysterious pleasure in viewing which is hard to describe.