I’ve been ruminating upon my history regarding substances
lying up late at night. It started with watching my mum drink a bottle of
Babycham. I’ve just done a little buzzword research about the product and
discovered a few interesting facts, mainly because it used to be branded with a
blue ribbon. Targeted Individual, Holy
Spirit, etc. (this is what the ribbon signifies to me). Next came my mum
drinking vodka on her armchair. She’d do herself up and then sit there like a
bimbo showing her talents off slurping vodka with nowhere to go or no one to
share it with. Sad in a way, but I thought she emanated a powerful sexual magnetism.
She was a good-looking woman in her heyday. This may sound strange, but there
is a bona fide medical condition that exists if you have eyes for your own
mother, it’s named Oedipus complex.
Far more interesting, to me, is the Electra complex,
whereby a girl will have the hots for her father. I am searching for a girl
like this to interview. These complexes might be more prevalent than one might
think. I’ve never heard any stats about them. Incest is a taboo subject and
strictly off the school syllabus. We don’t even talk about that down the pub
with our mates.
Just as a matter of fact, I did actually hear about a
father figure who raped his own daughter to serve the Devil better in return of
special powers. He said that he wanted to make all his mates ‘jealous’ with his
evildoing. So he opted for the worst thing he could think of aside from asking
them all round for an orgy…
How lucky would she be, if she was Electra? Although rape
and consensual are two different puddings.
I could do with finding an Electra bird myself, as I am
now an overweight father figure with an unhealthy interest in the Anima Sola. Trustworthy,
approachable…but I don’t drive and I’ve hardly any money. It would help if they
were non-white, so the father figure bit was more believable. To be honest, I
only ever encountered a handful of non-white girls in three decades of
pornography, so what chance have I got in real life, when etching out a living
in a predominantly white area? A negro savage honeypie strutted by me
earlier, her skin the colour of fountain pen ink, one glance at each other and
we both momentarily acknowledged the black experience, how we have faired under the thumb of the white man (or the white
witch, as we call him, due to his
technology). In the industry,
black-on-black action is quite a rarity. I should be so lucky to get my hands
on some material.
I did do one time. It was called Smokin’ The Big Fellaz. Took
me months to put it down. 😉
There have been several moments in my life, usually in
inner city regions, when I have made eye contact with young black girls and
felt a rumbling shiver of recognition surge throughout my glands. I’ve only
ever dated two honeypies. One was in a car park with a twenty pound note handed
over to settle the bargain for bodily fluid exchange behind a bottle bin, if you
know what I happen to be on about. Second was much more romantic, as I walked
her around the cultural quarter as we window-shopped together. The only regret
is that I didn’t lean in for the kiss at the end of our hourly stroll.
I honestly believe that kisses are more intimate than penetrative
sex. Beaten only by boy-on-boy haircuts and beard trims.
I’m hesitant to write about my mum online https://piebald77.blogspot.com/2024/05/mum-on-fire.html
because we have a strange relationship. It’s deemed fair
that you can judge a man’s attitude towards the opposite sex by his
relationship with his mother. Every time I detect a blue moon I drop by and see
her. And almost every time I leave feeling disappointed that I tried to patch
things up. Sometimes she’ll make me some lamb chops and sometimes she’ll say
she’s busy and has no time to even chat at the door. I am due to go and see her
though, if I am able to man up about it. If anything happened to her I’d
consider our affairs unresolved. It would be also grand to see the kids.
My Oedipus complex has totally cleared up. Don’t worry if
you have it, because as your parents age and get ugly it will disperse. It’s
perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed about. Or is it? What do I know? I’m
just chatting bubbles to try and make you feel better.
The oldest dolly bird I ever fancied was 66 years. She was
in terrific shape and had a deep tan which hid the main imperfections. I draw
the line there, although this standardization was made when I was only a young
lad. As an older man, I’m trying to stay out of it all. I’ll never forget a
company called Barely Legal. They made films with proper young-looking chicks
on them, all aged only 18 years. I can imagine them to be extremely popular. With
me, I always wanted regular Mrs. Jones from next door, natural and voluptuous,
40 something, mature.
With plastic surgery/cosmetic enhancement who knows what
attractions are possible? I must admit that I do like the altered appearance of
a woman who has had a lot of work done under the knife. I crave odd dimensions
and offbeat lines. Not quite bizarre, because to me bizarre is scary, but
bordering on bizarre, maybe. One thing for sure, this lonely road of porn will
take you there, into the bugged out bizarre and further onwards. I can’t
believe where it took me. From sitting there one innocent evening thinking that
my mum looks quite adorable drinking Babycham, to middle-aged eventualities
which I am sorry to say have been quite satanic.
I’ve crossed first lesbian kiss (which was on Brookside
by the way), first interracial money shot, ten guys one girl, sex scene in a
boxing ring…pardon me, but I can’t think and I’m too embarrassed to list all
the types of material out there which I have navigated my way through, but you
can only just too well imagine how the rest of this list may pan out if I had
the gall to continue it.
It ended leeking into snuff movies, by accident, but I
couldn’t be sure what I was watching, I just feared their unwholesome content.
One male actor I was convinced was inserting drawing pins
into the girl secretly, for my own personal gratification. I never saw nothing
but I thunk it.
Another actor I believed ‘said’ he was into skinning the
girl when he was finished.
They didn’t half make me paranoid. I was repulsed but
couldn’t stop watching. If I’m absolutely really sincerely honest with myself,
I’d even allow the hypothetical accusation that some of this scheming illegal
naughtiness was in the business of turning me ‘more on’. But I wouldn’t admit
to that in a court of law.
How could these films be so tainted with wickedness? Wasn’t
it supposed to be a bit of harmless slap n tickle?
“You’ve being
watching dildoes and horses all night!” the general public would holler at
me the next day. Seriously. Some of the close ups reminded me of plastic
dildoes. One penis had the face from a Pringles tube on it. The veins in
another spelled troubling letters, like E FOR Evil. It was even underlined with
a vein. The girls would barter me into making a decision about which was my
favourite vein in the bloke’s big penis. Occasionally they’d slap a dock-off
stallion’s telescopic knob in shot for me there, and ask me to describe it. They
liked it when I described their cellulite as well. On ketamine, I could smell
the stables, with some kind of strange brain link I can’t understand. Everything
about everything to do with it, from faces and letters on real or whatnot
appendages, to creamy female faces grinning back with lipstick, sent me all up
in a whoosh of giddy feel-good hormones.
But deep underneath I suspected the girls were getting
murdered after the scene. And worse, I was getting framed for their endings.
Fortunately I’m now out of the ‘industry’.
Although I do
think about beautiful erotic actresses every single day.
