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“Secret Sex, A Book Alive Online,” written and lived by John Scott G.
Chapter 17 – ‘Secret Sex.’
When my family moved to Los Angeles, my dad went to work for a drink tank. No, that’s not right. Think tank. Yeah, that’s what I meant. Not a fake one like the Cato Institute or the Heritage Foundation. Those are ersatz “research” groups funded by the Koch brothers. Fortunately, my dad worked at an actual think tank.
I’m not going to name the think tank because my attorneys tell me that we should avoid using real names whenever possible (although apparently even lawyers are okay with pointing out that Charles and David Koch are perpetrating a scam on the American public) so let’s just say that my dad went to work for The Bland Corporation.
People sometimes asked me, “What does ‘Bland’ mean?”
I would tell them “Bland stands for Beautiful Logical Answers Needing Discussion.”
“Okay, I’m kidding. It really means Blindmen Leading All Nincompoops Downward.”
“That can’t be true.”
“There’s no putting one over on you,” I’d tell them. “You’re right. It actually stands for Bourgeois Lapdogs Are Not Denied.”
“How about Belief in Large and Numerous Denominations?”
“I don’t think so.”
“They get their funding from the government, so that last one could very well be correct,” I pointed out to them.
“Okay, okay, okay, try this: Big Loud Ants Neatly Dressed. Hey, come back, I’ve got more!”
The Five Branches of Government
Let me tell you a little something about the Bland people. I mean the good folks at Bland. They performed research for the Armed Forces. Which means they were working for the fifth branch of government. (The 5 branches of government are the Military, Industry, Congress, Judiciary, and the Presidency, and pretty much in that order of importance).
One of the Bland projects was monitoring how much plutonium should be created each day. Y’know, so we’d have enough for our bomb production. And also enough to sell to other countries. And, of course, Bland then monitored what the other countries were doing with the plutonium we sold them. And, again of course, Bland then came up with recommendations about influencing the other countries about the way they used the plutonium we sold them. Most especially, Bland outlined methods of preventing the other nations from developing their own bombs.
And by “outlined methods” I mean they helped our government hatch schemes, plots, scenarios, tactics, plans, strategies, counter-strategies, counter-counter strategies, and a whole lot more stuff involving tactical weapons, troop deployment, logistics and supply, communications, firepower, clandestine operations, secret agents, kill-ratios, and such like.
All of this cost the taxpayers a metric ton of money every nanosecond, but hey, it’s the patriotic thing to spend it on, right?
It has come to our attention that John Scott G is venturing into areas of a sensitive nature and the publishers of this volume can bear no responsibility for the opinions, views, conjectures, statements, thoughts, deeds, or actions of Mr. G whether they occur on this planet or throughout the known and unknown universe now or at any point in the future for all eternity. Take that.
Yes, I realize that some of my views, statements, etc. are not politically proper or socially soothing. But I am attempting to present you with the Truth. Or at least the Truth Well Told.
The management would like to remind everyone that the distance between the “Truth Well Told” and outright fabrication is often no more than the skin of a very gentle hiccup.
Stop that damn commentary in my book!
You mean that you’re —
— going to keep interrupting, yes.
And you’re also going to keep —
— completing your sentences.
Damn it! Well, okay. Look, why don’t I move to the part of the story that is promised in the title.
We’re not interested.
But it’s what people want. And you’re interfering.
My heart bleeds.
Hey, you hold this stuff back too long and it creates a very painful situation.
Look, it’s an important part of people’s lives. Statistics that I’ve actually looked up on the Internet suggest that more than ninety percent of all males perform it. And at least seventy percent of all females. And the rest of the people are, how shall I put this. . . ?
Yes, exactly. They’re lying if they deny doing it. Everybody with a pulse does it.
People do not want to discuss this in polite society.
We’re not in polite society. We’re not in any kind of society. This is a book. It’s a one-on-one thing. It’s private. You know, unless you’re reading it out loud at work. Or on a pad in school. Or in church. (Author’s Note: We’re going to see about offering a free Secret Sex t-shirt to anyone who reads a chapter while in any religiosity building. Photo of yourself inside the edifice with a portion of “Secret Sex” on the screen must be provided.)
A great many people think this topic should be off limits.
Wait, which topic? The church thing or the titular subject of the book?
Oh, very clever. Yes, Mr. Scribbler, the titular subject.
I prefer Mr. Scrivener. But yeah, I get it. This stuff isn’t discussed openly. Well, except for stand-up comedians, who are apparently allowed to talk about anything. But secret sex is a topic that can be healthy to examine. It’s not something we should keep to ourselves. So to speak.
Yes, yes, yes. Fine. So, you’re talking about onanism?
Oooh, look who’s been using the Thesaurus! But you are correct. Onanism.
Also called self-abuse.
Right, or playing with yourself, wanking, jerking or jacking off, auto-eroticism, manual stimulation, hand job, masturbation . . .
Are you done?
So, let me get this straight. . .
So to speak.
Oh knock it off. Let me understand something: back there in the previous chapter you’re having kicky sex backstage with that girl, so why would you need secret sex?
Not “kicky” sex. Kinky sex. Although it was a kick.
Whatever. So what need do you have to play with yourself?
Good question. Why do we all seek more pleasure?
Well. . . (long pause) . . . pleasure’s good. . .
Yes. Yes it is.
It is very difficult to control what turns you on. The subject doesn’t have to be carnal. If your body, brain, and soul respond positively to some stimuli, then that’s just the way things are. It probably won’t matter to you if someone says you’re nuts or disgusting or stupid for liking it.
Just as an example, if a person likes the puerile sounds spewed forth by Kenny G instead of, say, real music, pointing out to them how they are embarrassing themselves listening to it will just have one of three results: (1) It might make them keep quiet about it while they keep right on listening to it; (2) It might make them squawk louder about it while they keep right on listening to it; or (3) It might make them seek out others to listen together in a dank and dark and sad little club of music-haters.
But that’s not a sexual example. In fact, considering the Kenny G fans I’ve encountered, that would definitely be an asexual example. Fortunately, they are not going to reproduce and thus that sickly little problem will eventually die off. So let’s just deal with sensual dreams.
Books, dissertations, thesis papers, symposia, memoirs, movies, and talk shows have all delved into the erotic fancies of men and women. These investigations are important. These investigations are scholarly. These investigations are prurient (“Hey, we’re conducting genuine research here!”) and all have given us a whole bunch of “oh wow!” and “oh ick!” moments.
Bill Maher tried to sum things up in one sentence by noting that “Women’s fantasies bore men and men’s fantasies scare women.” But that’s okay and here’s why: The nifty-keen thing about fantasies is that you can keep them safely tucked inside your noggin and still enjoy them. They can work their magic on you whether or not you try to bring them to life.
Although sometimes the truth slips out. We’ve all had partners who wanted to discuss erotic fantasies. I’ve been involved with a bunch of sexual situations and I don’t pretend to understand much about any of them, but I do know one thing: when someone says they want to talk about sexual fantasies, the odds are very high that they want to see if you’re willing to act out one of their imagined scenarios.
Which is how some poor schmuck ends up with a bunch of crushed rose petals all over his bed sheets. On the other hand, that same guy may also get an hour of total ecstasy with his beloved wearing thigh-high boots, a garter belt, and not much else. Could be a fair trade if you know a good dry cleaner for those vegetation-stained sheets.
The one situation where you can indulge yourself in any kind of wild idea you want is when you’re taking care of your own pleasure. I should point out that there are differences between the sexual fantasies of a normal person and those of a writer. Huge differences. Well, one difference. We’re usually not writing during our sexual fantasies. Here, allow me to demonstrate. . .
There. See? No writing was taking place during that fabulous and refreshing reverie. Note to self: wow, I’m good!
Yes, this is a warning. You are now entering a section of the book that will bother some people. (You know who you are. No names need to be used, but let me just say: Veronica, I’m looking out for you in noting that this is where you should stop reading.)
While there are lots of self-pleasuring techniques and toys for women (see California Exotic Novelties and their 544-page catalog), there are not nearly as many for men. True, you can purchase latex vaginas but they are not terrific and they come with certain maintenance and clean-up issues. Or so I’ve been told. Anyway, we are now going to do something about this situation. As a public service. (Please note my restraint and good taste in not making a pun out of the word “public.” Or “service.”)
Wait, you’re going to explain a male masturbatory method in a chapter that mentions the Cato Institute?
Also the Koch brothers and Kenny G, but that’s not the point. We already covered those scabrous and disgusting entities and now we can move on to deal with something life-affirming and positive. And exciting. And uplifting. And —
Enough! Just get on with it.
Art of M
So, the recipe. Here it comes. So to speak.
First, the ingredients: one sock, lubrication of choice, and a thin rubber glove. For the sock, you’ll want a medium-thick fabric, not one of those wispy-thin nylon jobs. For the glove, you’ll want the disposable kind, not the working-around-the-house thick rubber kind. Can be latex or non-latex (Nitrile). Get ’em at glovenation(dot)com or a home supply center or even the supermarket.
Next, the preparation: fold the sock’s ankle part back on the rest of the sock so you have a double thickness. Insert the rubber glove and fold the top inch-and-a-half over the end of the sock. It should be fairly obvious that you now have a pleasure tube. Lube the tube or yourself or both.
Finally, the procedure: think of the most amazing sexual fantasy you have ever imagined. When ready, enter the tube. Closest thing to real you will ever encounter.
Option: place a towel on the bed or a pillow, lay yourself down on it and your own body weight will keep it in place for hands-free operation.
The good people over at FookMovie(dot)com demonstrated the preparation part of this in one of their music videos for a song called “Free Nude Photos.” You know it must be good because the video was immediately banned from YouTube and every other non-adult hosting site where it had been placed. Anyway, there’s a section in the middle of the video entitled “The Art of M.” The FookMovie folks have received e-mails saying things like “That saved my marriage, man!” and “I’ll never worry about striking out at a club again!” and “Dude, the Art of M love glove rocks!”
• To read the next chapter or pick up where you left off, visit the main index at: http://enewschannels.com/tag/secret-sex/ — or visit the Table of Contents for “Secret Sex” at: http://johnscottg.com/secret_CHAPTERS.htm
“Secret Sex, A Book Alive Online,” written and lived by John Scott G, is Copr. © 2011-2012 by JSG, all rights reserved under U.S. and international copyright conventions. Commercial use in any form is forbidden without express written permission of the author. Originally published on eNewsChannels.com with permission. Credits: Book cover design: Phil Hatten; Author Photo: Brian Forest.