Sexual Content Policy

When Linda and I were talking about the page, she mentioned that the only advertising she considered, which is the little Google ads, she decided against because the ad contract demands a level of decency I adopt only under duress. For example, when I am talking to somebody with a lot of muscle adhesions in the coccyx. Note that coccyx can be bandied about with impunity, while cock sex, phonetically identical, is frowned on. As George Carlin observed, "You can prick your finger but you can't finger your prick."

As I understand it, there are robots which read the site material and because robots can't really judge the artistic merit of anything, all they can do is screen for language. So, if you spell fuck, "f-u-c-k," instead of using some little symbols called (by me anyway), "sniggers," you will likely trip the filter. With enough f@&king "sniggering" you can convey all the forbidden words as forbidden words, and avoid contact with even the most benign level of sophistication.

The problem you then run into is that you have conveyed forbidden words, sometimes across staid lines.

Oh where can that fishy be?

In other words, there's enough trouble with conveying meaning without hiding words behind sniggers in order to avoid the porn filters. A total absence of earthy language is as boring as nothing but earthy language.

It was the great lover and singer, Sailor Ripley, who said, "This snakeskin jacket is a symbol of my individuality and my belief in personal freedom."

"Sailor Ripley, you really pay attention ..."

It's not easy to wear that jacket. Before David Lynch gave it to Nicholas Cage for that scene in "Wild at Heart," the last time I saw it was on Marlon Brando, in the film version of Orpheus Descending, by Tennessee Williams. The movie was called, "The Fugitive Kind." It was a long time ago that I saw it but I remember Lady getting angry and yelling at Val because of the way he walked. "Slue foot! Slue foot!" She didn't know what was bothering her so much, really. His unbound coccyx was calling up her sexuality and because that wasn't allowed out, it came out as a kind of neurotic rage.

When one looks at the field of psychology, the shadow of the Freudian school is undoubtedly Wilhelm Reich. He was the one who decided that neurosis is caused by muscle constrictions around the coccyx, which are reset by an orgasm. Dr. Reich did not recommend just a climax. He was talking about a full orgasm that would break loose the habitual tightening of the muscles restricting energetic flow in the pelvic basin through inhibition. It wasn't the frequency of sex that was stressed, but the quality and duration of the orgasm.

Sometimes the problem is in the coccyx, and sometimes this combines with the problem of ego inflation and deflation, reflected in the body language, such as I encountered recently when I unexpectedly got an erection while reading the Italian erotic classic, "Pinocchio Goes Caving."

At first I thought it was an ordinary erection, as it reached only nine inches and developed no more circumference than a bottle of beer. But then it began to grow.

I read the caution on the Viagra. "It you have an erection that gets away from you, talk to it in a calm, reassuring voice while backing out the door. Use caution so that you don't get the erection wedged in an alcove or stairwell. Once you are outside face away from the building but not toward the street, as no good can come of that. Either you will snarl traffic, die of sudden blood loss, or both. Direct the erection down along the sidewalk and sit down to avoid permanent damage in the muscles of the pelvic basin. Take deep, yogic breaths and think about baseball."

Just to be safe I went outside, which was fortuitous because had I waited another five minutes I would have been stuck in the house. As it was I had to call the old Chinese lady out of the restaurant for help. She immediately grasped the situation. The length of my cock had expanded painfully down my leg and was wedged by the fabric of my Levis, the head protruding out and chaffing painfully on the pavement. With a deft hand the old woman slit the fabric from stem to stern, whereupon my cock, engorged with unfettered imagination and unrepentant lust, sprang upward in defiance of the laws of physics and gravity, not to mention the local penal codes, and began to snuffle along the street like a blind snake sniffing out mice.

Paper doll women, crazed with fear of being ripped asunder raced out in origami pajamas patterned with pink paisley, some of them were screaming with fear and others were in the throes of a religious ecstasy as the giant snake moved down the sidewalk north toward Judah, and, I realized with horror, the MUNI TRACKS!

Clang clang went the trolly. Ding ding ding went the bell.

It was too late to turn around and there was no way to turn a corner without one of those side curves one sees in dicks which have been whanged in the direction of the dominant hand so many times they look like you could play horseshoes with them. No, this one is straight and true .. well, straight anyway ... well ... big. Yes, definitely a swollen member on the loose, on the prowl, I was howling with a crazy mixture of fear and wonder.

The automaticity in my right arm when I lost consciousness and dropped to the floor in a neurotic fit on Tuesday should have been a warning. It was autoerotic masturbation beyond my conscious control. Now I don't know what will become of me, but I imagine it will have some relationship to the court system and possibly mandatory counseling.

Clang clang clang went the trolly. Ding ding ding went the bell.

The roar of the N Judah blended with my shriek of terror as the sleek Italian train approached the giant sausage that had blocked the tracks. Thank god it stops at 12th Street. All of the passengers had to get off and help move my erection off the tracks. I was delirious with excitement, as you might imagine. The orgasm knocked me back on my ass like a rhesus monkey firing off a ten gauge shotgun. The explosion fired a stream of semen into Golden Gate Park that slimed a palm tree and ruined the paint job on a Mercury sedan that was illegally parked. Serves them right. A lot of people are flaunting the parking regulations in this town.

All I could do was surrender to the vibration in my coccyx as the inhibitory patterns in the muscles tore free and reset themselves. There was a horrific rending noise followed by the sound of a match scraping on the pavement and a soft, contented humming of "Delia's Gone."

Afterwards I felt remarkably neurosis free. I called Linda and told her she made the right decision. "I'm just a man with prurient interests, peanut ..."

Posted: Mon - April 16, 2007 at 03:26 PM