Jane and Dick #5

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Note: Jane and Dick was a free zine that was distributed throughout the
      Seattle area.  The printed version contains a lot of sexy
      graphical layout that isn't present in this text-only version.

      The publishers may be reached at galaxy@scn.org.

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     _  ____ ____   ____     ____ ____   _ | |   _   \ \ _  ____| |  _ 
    | |/ _  |  _ \ / _  )   / _  |  _ \ / || |  | |   | | |/ ___) | / )
 ___| ( ( | | | | ( (/ /   ( ( | | | | ( (_| |  | |__/ /| ( (___| |< ( 
(____/ \_||_|_| |_|\____)   \_||_|_| |_|\____|  |_____/ |_|\____)_| \_)
  Volume I, Issue 5             - - -                       free smut

August/September 1997           - - -                      All over ya!

            **** a little thing for the big girls ****

Next one due out after we return 
from our Pan-European Lust Tour. 
Let me know if you want it...

"... and apparently the only thing that separates the heroes from 
the whores is knowing which tapes to erase, and which 
ones to release." 
-- Suck's E.L. Skinner.

Hey, Jane and Dick is in no way responsible for 
any perverted acts or ideas you cook up on your 
own after reading this publication. 

Plus... all the rights to this stuff revert to 
the creators upon publication. 

Pluuussss.... Please copy and distribute freely, 
but when you do, be kind enough to give credit, 
and send me a copy!

----->                                      post-Freudian rocksex

HOT babes:
Lisa S., Kenny M., Julie W, Susan S., 
Jon P., me (Pepper), Anna C, Adam G.,
and that's it.

cover art: Quacky
images: Rex Chambers, 

send me your stuff and submit to me
Write to:

Jane And Dick
P.O. Box 12437
Seattle WA98111-3437

Without Jane, there is no Dick.

1. Wet Cave of Lust
2. Altar of Love


***Pepper, Quacky and bunch.
Loved your masturbation tips in the last issue 
and I wanted to share some of mine with you. 

Use mirrors.  I have a whole set up where I 
sit with my back against the edge of my bed 
and prop up seven mirrors in various positions 
around me.  That way I can see every part of 
my cunt and how it changes as I get aroused and 
finally orgasm.  It's wildly exciting.

Listen to your housemates have sex.  I have a 
couple housemates who I know have great sex 'cause 
I can hear everything that's going on.  Thing is 
I discovered this can be extremely arousing.  I 
don't know if it stimulates me on some primitive 
biological level, or if it just helps me to picture 
people having sex in my mind and that makes me horny.  
Who cares, it works.

Hey, also I've heard of guys that can suck their own 
cocks, but never girls that can lick their own clits.  
Ever heard of this?

PS Please send me the next issue.  Thanks

Wonderful advice! We're thinking about putting together 
a couple of theme issues after we return from Europe. 
Would you be interested in putting some more stuff together 
for a "Masturbation Extravaganza" issue?


***HI, Folks!
A friend forwarded me the two issues of Jane & Dick & 
I've really enjoyed them - I'm a performance artist & 
writer & I writer & perform lots and lots about sex.  
Why?  Because it's almost as fun to talk about it as to 
do it, especially when it makes other people uncomfortable 
- so hats off to you folks for all the stuff in your 'zine.  
I'd love to submit a story or essay to you - should I just 
send something along for you to take a look at?

Thanks & keep up the good work!
Wet kisses, 
-Susan "Nice Kitty" Scotto

"Girls are always getting 
mad at each other and they 
tell their hairdresser to 
purposely mess up another 
girl's hair."
- Tasha

From THE WISDOM OF SUPERMODELS as told to Patsy and Edina

***Howdy!  Thanks for writing.  I loved your message, 
and would love to read your work. Send anything you'd 
like.  We print poems, prose, short stories, essays, 
you name it. {Susan sent two stories!! One is here, 
the other will be in next issue.}

-Heart.  Pepper

3. Coot
4. Temple of Low Men
5. Box

**** I'd like to reply to a letter we received, expressing concerns ****
**** regarding the use of BD/SM  images in Jane and Dick, ****
**** specifically women who are bound in some manner.  ****

I'm not reprinting the letter itself, because it was not written 
in a manner one would expect an adult, arguing a theoretical 
standpoint, to produce.  I did address more issues in my personal 
reply, which is waiting for Stephanie at general delivery.

Thank you for your letter.  Believe it or not, we welcome debate 
about what we do and our feminist theories.  It makes us take a 
closer look at our belief systems and why they exist.  I'd like to 
address the issue you set forth regarding images of women being tied 
and gagged.  I believe your arguments can be represented by two main 

1) women being tied up does not portray sex, but shows women being 
humiliated etc.

The answer to the first statement has to be twofold.  First and 
foremost, women being tied and gagged is a portrayal of sex for 
some people, myself included.  Some women enjoy bondage and discipline 
as a sexual practice.  Saying it is not "feminist" to portray a woman 
in this manner, is negating the validity of my (and other B&D womens) 
sexuality.  Stating an image, which portrays our sexual practices, is 
wrong or bad, in effect, silences us.  It pushes us back to an age where 
we could not talk about what turns us on, where we had to hide our sexual 
practices.  It is another woman telling us we should feel ashamed and 
guilty about what excites us.  It is feminist to show an image of bondage 
in practice, because by this we are saying, "It's OK to get turned on in 
this manner, we support you."

2) women's mouths being taped up symbolizes women being trapped or forced 
to be silent.

I think context is the issue here.  Some images of women tied up would be
offensive to us.  Example:  If I was to open a hunting magazine and saw an
ad for a rifle with a bound woman, portrayed as the "catch", I would be
offended.  I would consider this as representing a woman being trapped or
forced in some manner.  One has to consider the context of the picture. 
This zine is about erotica and pornography.  The main factor in pornotica
is fantasy.  These are pictures representing another woman's bondage
fantasy.  In B&D, both partners are willing participants.  No one is being
forced to do anything they don't want to do.  Perhaps I should have this
explanation by the pictures, but I assume when someone picks up porn they
realize the photos are models portraying someone's fantasy. 

Why would these things be considered feminist?  I know women who are
straight, queer, practice "vanilla" sex, B&D, S&M, watersports, role
playing, who are anti-porn and who are pro-porn.  All these women are
feminists and they all deserve respectful and non-judgmental
representation.  Feminism has become a broad spectrum of beliefs and
practices.  The cool thing is, we all don't have to agree on everything. 
It's OK to have differences of opinion.  You don't have

to agree with every aspect of feminist theory, and I would argue it is
patriarchal to see only one line of "correct" thought, instead of the
whole continuum.  I can respect peoples opinions, even when they don't
agree with mine.  Wouldn't it be elitist for us to think zines should only
be produced if they jive with our own personal beliefs?  Of course it
would, and it would take us back to an era where we still had to fight for
our right to free expression. 

6. Mom's Homemade Slit Pie
7. Trim
8. Poor Man's Blessing

After the last issue of J&D came out, my friend Julie called 
me up to share some thoughtful insights into the relationship 
between women and sex.  Here they are:

        She said it wasn't so much about women being uncomfortable 
with sex, as women just not spending the time to really 
think about sex, itself.  They spend time thinking about 
their sexual partners and having sex with them, but how 
many women take time to seriously explore their own bodies 
and how sex effects them. How do their bodies respond to 
different touches in different places?  Is there a certain 
spot on their body that drives them mad?  You get the picture.  
How many women spend a Friday night at home alone, candles lit, 
music on, maybe a porn or a mag, and have sex with themselves 
for hours?  I'm talking marathon sex.  Exploring everything.  
Well, I think everyone should do it, and make a regular practice 
of it.  I'm always amazed how awesome sex with yourself can be.

        So, we're off to Europe, there will be another J&D 
(the European tour)  when we get back, and then, starting the 
new year, we'll be exploring a new frontiers.  J&D will start 
coming out quarterly, and each issue will have a theme.  We're 
going to have to start limiting the number of copies we put out, 
so if you want to subscribe, it will now be an option.  Write 
to us for more information.

        Hey, thank you to everyone who sent letters with positive 
feedback.  Makes getting the negative ones a helluva lot easier. 
Super Duper appreciate ya'll.  Adios. 

9. Manhole
10. Rose
11. Cockpit

4 Selections by Edward

  @@@     Was it the liquor, was it laying around the pool,
 @@@@     was it the warm Phoenix night, or all of the above.
@@@!!     I don't know what caused it, but I know it was lust.  
  !@!     We were splashing around the pool like children,
  @!@     teasing each other.  You cornered me on the stairs,
  !@!     and the kiss you laid upon me made my penis swell
  !!:     like a balloon.  We twisted together, I felt your
  :!:     penis grow on my leg.  We worked our way out of the
  :::     pool and our trunks, laying on the cool concrete by
   ::     the water.  We were kissing like animals, holding 
          each others cocks.  I kissed your neck, down your chest, 
around your balls, then down your full cock.  I licked around
the head, sucked down to the base, back up to the top, sliding
up and down, yourdick became my popsicle.  I felt your penis
swell once, twice, then I got to taste you.  Warm, goopy, salty,
I pushed to the base to swallow you all.  I was so hard and 
aching.  I kissed you, giving your cum back.  Your hand grabbed
my cock, a tingle enclosed my body.  The warmth of your mouth
on my cock drove me to ecstasy.  We glowed in pleasure watching
the night sky and the stars.  

	We laid around the pool for a couple minutes, although it
 seemed like hours.  You got up and headed into the bathroom, me
 into the kitchen for some water.  I found you sitting on the couch,
 your legs apart, looking sexy with your cock half hard.  I made my
 way through the moonlight and shadows.  I bent down and kissed you,
 running my hands over your body, our erect cocks touching. My ass
 started to ache for you.  You entered me from behind, starting
 slowly, a little at a time.  Once you were in, you pulled out
 quickly.  A teasing sensation shivered across my body.  You plunged
 back in, deeper and deeper.  Your cock, all the way up my ass,
 swelled with excitement.  I thought I was going to explode.  In and
 out you thrusted, reaching down to stroke my dick.  Resting my head
 in my hands, I felt the release and shot all over the floor.  I
 pulled your hand to my mouth and licked my cum off your fingers.  I
 felt you swell inside me, and after one hard thrust I received the
 warmth of your emission.  We fell to the floor, moaning.  I felt
 your cock start to shrink in my ass.  You rolled over and wiped the
 sweat form my face.

	We both got up and moved to the shower.  The water beat down
 and as we washed each other our cocks got hard again.  You turned
 and bent over, against the wall, beneath the shower head.  I entered
 you, the water flowing between us. Your ass was so tight around my
 cock.  I slowly gyrated, pushing to the base of my cock, pulling out
 to the ridge of my head, and back again.  I reached around with one
 hand and rubbed your swelling cock, my other rubbing your balls.  As
 the water turned cold, I gabbed at your cock, squeezing the head, you
 came.  I started thrusting faster and harder, feeling your muscle
 loosen to take me in, I shot deep within you , almost loosing my 
 balance.  You turned the hot water up and we scrubbed each other off.
 Out of the shower, I rubbed your body in lotion and we fell together
 on the bed, exhausted.

  @@@@@@     The purr of the engine between my legs rings in my ears.
 @@@@@@@@    Lights on the southbound viaduct hypnotize my brain.  Images
      @@@    of you, our sex, the taste of your cunt, fill my thoughts.
     @!@     My body becomes light, and feels exotic.  The vibrations
    !!@      of the motorcycle tickle my balls, I tuck and lean down.
   !!:       My cock quickly hardens.  Running over the turtles brings
  !:!        me back into focus.  I sit up a little, but the vibrations
 :!:         still dance around.  Straightening up a little more, but
 :: :::::    holding on tightly with my legs, I manage to fish my cock 
 :: : :::    out of my pants.  Doing my best to steer straight while I
             stroke my penis, I wonder if the people up ahead at the
Starbucks know what I'm doing.  The sensation, from the engine, increases
as I tickle the head of my cock.  My stroking more rapid, my cock swells,
then orgasms.  Some gets on the gas tank, while the wind blows the rest
on my pants and jacket.  I clean up at the light, savoring the rush.

  @@@@@@     The ceiling fan is spinning clockwise, I think.  Blowing
  @@@@@@@    a nice breeze down upon me.  Crack!  The brief intensity. 
      @@@    Trying to focus on the individual blade on the fan.  Crack!
      @!@    Deeper and deeper, I fall into a drunken state, but I'm sober.
  @!@!!@     Crack!  I can see the blade.  Crack!  Spinning so fast.  Round
  !!@!@!     and round.  Crack!  Stay focused.  Must think of the fan spinning.
      !!:    Crack!  Spinning.  Counter clockwise or - was it clockwise.
      :!:    Crack!  I mustn't get hard.  Crack!  Remember what you said, "I'll
  :: ::::    stop once you get hard."  Crack!  I try to think of other matters.
   : : :     Job, money, the crack of the whip.  Must not think of that.  Half
             hard I focus on - crack!- what it must look like to a third party.

Crack!  Me, hanging from the ceiling in a G-string made of chain.  Crack! 
You, in your Sunday school attire.  Crack!  The gray and black striped
skirt.  Crack! 

Matching vest.  Crack!  The beating has increased.  Crack!  The pleasure
too much.  Crack!  The blood rushing.  Crack!  The penis swelling.  Crack! 
You gloat in your success.  I'm finally hard. 

      @@@   It was the usual evening.  Dinner out, wine and dine, small
     @@@@    talk back and forth.  Trying to make the event more exciting. 
    @@!@!    We both knew what was to come, but strive to prolong the
   !@!!@!   inevitable.  A stroll through the park and up to your door.
  @!! @!!    I gave you a kiss good-bye, the passion flared and grew. 
 !!!  !@!   We separated briefly, then you pulled me close and our tongues
 :!!:!:!!:   entwined, our bodies pressed together.  I could feel the 
 !:::!!:::  firmness of your breasts next to my chest.  You set your leg
      :::    in-between mine and lifted up to press against my balls.  
      :::   We pushed away, collected ourselves, "Spend the night?" you asked.  
The candle light dances shadows across your beautiful body.  I crawl into 
bed and we lay together, kissing.  Caressing each other, I kiss your neck, 
your nipples become hard.  Down your stomach, I kiss your shaven pussy.  
Licking around your clitoris, down your labia, I press my tongue hard into 
your hole.  Back up to your clit, I circle around, back and forth.  I can 
taste your excitement build, and feel your orgasm.  My cock is hard against 
your leg, I almost explode.  Kissing my way back up, I reach your lips.  I 
slide my cock into your wetness, a warm haven for my aching skin.  Sliding 
in and out, deeper and deeper.  Our faces pull away, gasping for air.  We 
roll over so you're on top.  You slide up and down slowly, then a little 
faster.  My cock stretches, it's all I can do to hold in my cum.  The 
pressure builds.  I let out a yell as I drive deep inside of you.  We 
collapse, holding each other, panting.  Then silently fall asleep, nestled 
in a ball holding each other.

12. Sportsman's Gap
13. Stank
14. Pie
15. Hair Pie

The Porn Store Extravaganza 
Quacky and I took off to explore the world of porn. Here's what we found:

---------------------Toys in Babeland.
Pepper: This is one of my personal favorites. They have a small
selection, but, in my opinion, it's quality, not quantity that
counts. They seem to cover the full range of tastes and fetishes.
Definitely the best selection of lesbian porn in town. I love 
their how-to section (how to be a swinger, how to have a female 
ejaculation), and someone from their staff was nice enough to 
review all the videos and write a little blurb up for each one.

Quacky: Too small. OK, very admirable selection, but I'm not 
sure if there's anything at TiB that couldn't be found at the 
Really Big Store. OK, maybe the 'real dyke' stuff is unique, but 
so far, I haven't developed a big taste for that yet. The best 
thing they've got going, in my book is the helpful reviews on each
box. But I can get much more of that from Blowfish, online or in
their catalog, and there's no pressure to decide right now.

--------------------------Taboo Video.
Pepper: Boring, standard, boring. Crack whores in LA? What the fuck?

Quacky: I'm trusting Pepper on this one. She wouldn't even take me there.

---------------------------Blue video.
Pepper: This gets the award for looking the most like 
Blockbuster. Everything is organized by production company, 
and they have a helpful computer to track specific titles. 
They have a great classic porn section (I gotta admit that's 
my favorite, most of them require a couple hundred dollar deposit), 
and a substantial amateur section (my second fave). There are so 
many videos here, I can't imagine anyone wouldn't be able to find
something to suite their fancy.

Quacky: What's with this trend of playing 80s nostalgia pop in 
porn stores? It's kinda helpful to hear 'She-Bop' or 
'I'll Tumble 4 Ya' when picking out porn, but Mike and the 
Mechanics really put me in a down mood. If you wish renting 
porn was like going to Target, Blue Video's got what it takes. 
Except Target doesn't have nearly as comprehensive a selection. 
It's very helpful to know what you're looking for, since things 
are arranged by production company. Blue Video is definitely for 
the gal who's totally into, say Anabolic, and has to see each and 
every one of the 17 Nasty Nymphos tapes. I didn't like the computer
thing so much, because once again, if you don't know the title 
you're looking for, there's no way to say "I want ultra hardcore 
Dutch fisting" and get a list of recommendations. I guess the 
staff would make recommendations...

-----------------------Scarecrow Video.
Pepper: Like everything else at Scarecrow, they have obscure, 
'alternative' adult videos. They must have every Russ Meyers 
film, or choose from your other cult favorites. 

Quacky: Scarecrow has helped me find my next obsession: 
exploitation/trash tapes from Something Wierd Video. There's 
not really much in the way of 'Industry Porn' at Scarecrow, 
and what there is is stuck in some hard-to-browse binders in 
a kiosk downstairs. I guess they've got a reputation to uphold 
or something. Pretty well selected, but sparse, and sort of 
behind the times. 

My own little excursion into White Center porn (Pepper): 

----------------------Your Choice Video. 
This place has the best selection of BDSM porn I've seen. 
They seem to have a more amateur and low-fi feel to them. 
The first time we rented this awesome Japanese SM porn 
where they did things I've never even dreamed of (and I 
spend a lot of time dreaming), but when I went back to get 
another, they were gone! So, I settled for an alternative 
Japanese porn. Still satisfying.

-----------------Sam's Adult Superstore. 
Along with all the standards, they have cool Japanese adult
animation, sizable amateur selections, and I got the feeling
they specialize in take-offs of mainstream movies (like
Edward Penis-hands and Beavers and Butthole) So, I'm scanning
the vids and then staring me in the face are the Faces Of
Death movies. Disturbing. Is this the special serial killer
section? I just cannot justify putting these in with porn. 
They might as well label the section snuff flicks. Am I wrong
on this one? Or is that going too far?

16. Furbox
17. Yum-Yum
18. Venus Highway
19. Magpie's Nest


OK so there's some machine out there, at one of the 
pay-for-porno websites that's churning out this weird, 
almost poetic porn prose-poetry. I found it when I was 
looking to see if J&D's URL was coming up in the search
engines [our URL: http://members.tripod.com/~quacky/].

I have the feeling there's tons of this stuff out there,
it's something referred to as 'index spam'. Wha? Well ya
gotta figure, it's pretty futile to index the text of a 
site that's mostly spreads and facials and low-rez videos,
because the only real text inside the thing is basically
the same for all of them. "Free Trial, Members Only, Click
Here for Free Pics, The Best!," yadda yadda blah blah blah.
So to an index, all these sites look basically like the same
thing, and so sites have come up with some pretty creative
ways of boosting their index ratings.

Of course the indexing professionals of the world don't 
really appreciate efforts to mess with their really really
smart indexing robots. Right, they want everything to be
true and accurate and fair? Well, I guess it's gonna be
an ongoing battle. Every time the index people figure out
a way to purify their indexing to present the "real" Web,
the crafty devils who want their sites to be FIRST DAMMIT,
will trick their way up to the top of the lists. Frankly,
this is pretty cool. It's just baffling to me that the folks
who made this piece, and so many others, HIDE it all by coding
the pages to be black words on a black background. All you
can really see is a click bar for the main site where they
try to hook you into paying $9.95 for 5 minutes of live video.

I say let the words show, and tell us what kind of robot you've
got that creates this lovely strange mash of writing! Be proud
horny trickster, you caught me!

The following can be found at 

You can probably find more like this by searching for 
"jane and dick" in any of the big search engines, 
like altavista.digital.com or www.hotbot.com (my favorite!).

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20. Manhole
21. Pipe Cleaner
22. Niche


I have fantasies about snakes, and one in 
particular about a boa constrictor:

I take my snake from its cage and bring him to my bed. 
I  lay down  naked,  stretched  out  on  my back. I 
encourage  him  to  lay  upon  me. I  have  taken 
care  of  him  for years.  I trust him, but my 
heart skips a beat when I feel  his  weight, 
his smoothness  against my skin. His tail is 
wrapping tightly  around my   ankle. His head 
inching curiously toward my face. As his thick 
body slides,   rubbing against my hips, I tense. 
He  senses  this and is still  for a  moment. I 
move my hips up to him, increasing the contact 
with the scales of his under belly. His body 
contracts  against  mine,  I gasp,  My eyes 
close, feeling every inch of his serpentine 
movement. His head slithers over my breast. 
I long for tongue and teeth on my nipple. 
My back aches,   I lift my head off the 
pillow, legs  wrapped around his body. 
In a split second he glides himself 
around  my neck and exerts  the 
slightest   pressure.   The 
constriction of his body 
causes me to undulate, 
coming  against his 
pressure     on 
my      neck, 
my  breasts, 
my thighs.

=============    White House Macho Sluts     ===============
=========    (with apologies to Pat Califia)     ===========
=============        by Susan Scotto         ===============

"Fuck you, Tipper!" Hilary spoke the words, even though she 
was alone. She'd sequestered herself in her secret, East 
Wing office and was now reviewing what she had in store 
for her meeting with Tipper later that morning. 

Her eyes surveyed the maroon, leathered-covered walls 
and the two matching leather armchairs that faced her 
oak desk with its padded, black leather top. Hilary had 
drawn the dark green curtains. The only light in the room 
came from the dim bulbs glowing beneath the green glass 
shades of the four wall lamps. 

Hilary ran the toe of her shoe across the zebraskin rug 
that lay between the desk and the chairs. Tipper, Hilary
mused. The number one problem in the Administration, as 
far as she was concerned. It infuriated her. All she'd heard
after the Convention was how Tipper had energized the 
crowd, how everyone had found her smile warm and sincere.
Nothing even remotely resembling a smile graced the First
Lady's face now. "I'll give them sincere," Hilary hissed.
She picked up her china teacup and threw it against the 
leather-padded door. It shattered, but Hilary remained unsatisfied
- the leather and thick carpet had muffled the sound of the
breaking cup. Why, oh why, were they fooled by Tipper's 
Little-Miss-Perfect act? Couldn't they see, Hilary was the 
intelligent one, the one with the vision, the direction? How 
could they expect her, to pander to them with a smile and a 
gushy, fake warmth? They should accept her, revere her for 
the power she wielded. 

What Hilary couldn't undestand, what she could never accept 
was that all of it really did seem genuine coming from Tipper. 
Hilary didn't know how she pulled it off. 

A soft knock sounded on the door. 

"Come in," Hilary called out. 

Tipper entered the room and let the door slowly shut behind
her. Hilary leaned back against her desk and looked Tipper 
up and down, studying her periwinkle blue skirt and jacket. 
Beneath the jacket she glimpsed an ivory silk blouse. Tipper's 
shoes, like Hilary's, were black patent, only the heels were 3 
inches lower. 

Tipper spoke first. "Nice," she said, stretching out a hand 
to touch Hilary's black bodysuit. "Is that lycra?" 

"Latex," Hilary responded. "Don't ask to borrow it." 

Tipper smiled. "Those purple fishnets would fit me, though. 
They'd go with my outfit, don't you think?" 

"Oh, please!" Hilary snorted. "How dare you think that anything 
of mine could go with anything of yours? I use the finest designers 
in Arkansas, and what do you wear?" She gestured rudely at Tipper's 
outfit. "Some crap off the rack." 

If Tipper was insulted, she didn't show it. She slipped off her 
jacket, then walked up to Hilary. Taking the First Lady's hand, 
she laid it on her silk-covered breast. "Is that the way 'crap' 
feels, Hilary?" she inquired softly. 

Snatching her hand away, Hilary walked briskly around to the 
other side of the desk. There she pretended to look through a 
stack of papers while she contemplated the sensation of Tipper's 
breast beneath her palm. 

"So, Hilary," Tipper asked after a moment, a smile on her 
lips, "what are we here to talk about today?" 

"Image, Tipper," Hilary replied, looking up at her once more. 
"It's time to work on your image." 

Tipper settled into one of the leather armchairs and crossed her 
legs to reveal the cream-colored garter belt holding up her shimmering 
stockings. For a split second, Hillary caught herself looking at 
Tipper's thighs, and what was worse, she knew that Tipper had 
caught her looking. Hilary could see it in her eyes. 

Tipper could have left at that moment. She stayed, knowing that 
the drama had to be played out. Hilary could have stopped it 
too - if she wanted. The two women regarded each silently, each 
giving her consent to the stuggle that was about to take place. 

"Yes, well, about your image, You need to dress more...
conservatively," Hilary continued. She was standing in front
of Tipper now. "Take this blouse. It's far too provocative. 
not that anyone would ever really look at you - you're far too 
heavy for anyone to be interested... " She paused momentarily 
to gauge Tipper's reaction, but there was none, other than the 
little smile that still played on her lips. 

"And the fabric is too ... sensuous. No, you should go for cotton
or polyester, and with a less fitted jacket. This jacket calls 
too much attention to your thick waist and the way your hips 
balloon out. And of course, a hemline just at mid-knee would hide
the bulge in your legs right above the knee." She paused again 
and peered closely at Tipper's face. "Surely you see what I mean?" 

"Anything else?" Tipper asked, bobbing her foot up and down slightly. 

"Yes. The hair. Much too blonde for a woman of your position. Dye 
it darker and wear it pulled back. Such a fluffy hairdo implies a 
sexual availability that simply isn't appropriate for your age. You 
want to give the impression of serious attention to business and 
not..., and not... and not of a woman who thinks nothing of shaking
her big fat ass in a tight ball gown in front of the entire Arkansas 
delegation at the Inaugural Ball!!" Hilary scowled at Tipper, then 
forced her face back into a strained quarter-smile. 

"You've never forgiven me for that, have you Hilary," Tipper said, 
rising to her feet. "But while we're dispensing advice here, might
I offer a couple of suggestions of my own?" 

Hilary's eyes narrowed. "Certainly," she replied curtly. "What?" 

"First of all, you need to relax. Your muscles are so tense, 
especially back here." She slowly reached around and kneaded 
Hilary's buttocks. "You're such a tight-ass!" 

Hilary's lips parted in shock. 

"What you really need," Tipper whispered, her face inches
from Hilary's, "is a good fuck!" Tipper raised her eyebrows
for emphasis and turned to leave, but Hilary caught her by
the wrist and spun her around. 

"You bitch!" Hilary snarled, then slapped Tipper's cheek with
her free hand. "Everyone likes you, they think you're cuter
than I am, nicer than I am, more sincere than I am. They think
you have the perfect marriage, that your husband doesn't sleep
around. Your daughters are beautiful, mine looks like a horse. 
Well, I've had enough of it!" 

"What are you going to do?" Tipper asked calmly, "throw acid 
in my face?" 

Hilary wasn't listening. Her eyes were focused on Tipper's chest,
watching as it rose and fell. Suddenly she reached out and ripped
Tipper's blouse open. 

"I hate you!" she screamed at Tipper. "Why do they love you?
They should love me!" She raised her fist to bring it down
on Tipper's chest, but Tipper intercepted the blow with a 
hard forearm, then grabbed both of Hilary's wrists and held
them in an iron grip. 

"Why do they love me?" Tipper queried, squeezing Hilary's 
wrists harder until the First lady winced. "Because I'm hot.
Because when I shake my 'big fat ass' I can get a rise even 
out of the living dead." 

Tipper dug her her nails a little deeper into Hilary's flesh,
"But you. Even in that getup you look about as sexy as you 
would in a chenille bathrobe. All you do is think. About your 
projects. About your career. About why people hate you for being
such a bitch to everyone. Loosen up. Take it up the ass once 
in a while." 

Hilary's arms went limp for a moment, and when Tipper released
them, she could feel little glowing points of pain where
Tipper's nails had dug into her wrists. "Who are you to tell
me about sex, you Tennessee hillbilly?" 

"Want to talk Hillbillies? You're the one who married one, 
and from what I hear, he knows one hell of a lot about sex." 
Hillary hauled back to punch Tipper in her fat face, but 
Tipper grabbed her arm, put her into a hammerlock, and pushed
Hillary face down onto the desk. Hillary tried to drive a 
steel-tipped heel into the toe of Tipper's shoe; Tipper only 
increased the pressure on Hillary's arm, forcing her to submit.
The position was new to her, and somehow exciting. 

Hillary could feel the padded leather against her cheek. Its 
smell filled her nostrils. With her free hand, Tipper unsnapped 
the crotch of Hilary's bodysuit and began doing things with her 
clit. All Hilary could do was grit her teeth and close her eyes.
As hard as she fought it, she couldn't help herself: the smell
of the leather and Tipper's relentless fingers moved her to an
orgasm of blinding intensity. 

For a few moments, Hilary lay still, recovering, breathing hard;
but then, suddenly, as the anger rose inside her, she found the 
strength to push Tipper off her. 

"Goddamn you!" she shouted. She wrestled Tipper to the floor, 
atop the zebraskin rug. "You think you can make me come and get
away with it? I'll show you!" 

Sitting astride Tipper now, Hilary roughly pulled Tipper's blouse
open the rest of the way. Then she slipped a knife out of her belt
and cut open Tipper's bra. 

"You slut!" Hilary whispered. "Only sluts have pierced nipples!" 

Tipper laughed in her face. "Oh, yeah? Well, Bill likes it." 

Hilary's eyes widened, then narrowed once more. With a deft 
movement she slipped her belt off and bound Tipper's wrists 
over her head. "Lie back, slut. I'll teach you to fuck my husband." 

She caressed Tipper's breasts with her mouth, her hands, and then
gave the steel ring that pierced Tipper's nipple a vicious twist.
Tipper gasped. Hilary didn't give her time to recover: unzipping
her bodysuit she leaned over and began rubbing Tipper's bare nipples
with her own. Climbing off, Hilary swiftly pulled up the Second
Lady's skirt, and slipped off her powder blue panties, leaving only
the garter belt in place. In a thrice, Bill Clinton's wife found
herself between the legs of Al Gore's wife, her tongue exploring 
regions Al himself knew well. In spite of herself, Tipper began to
respond, pushing against Hilary's eager mouth. 

It was at this moment of sororial bonding in the White House that 
the two wives heard the voices of Al and Bill themselves, as they 
entered Hilary's office. Of course the two women, lying on the zebra 
rug between the chairs and the desk, were not immediately visible in
the dimly lit room. 

"Hilary? You in here?" Bill inquired. 

"Tipper?" Al called out. "You girls having a meeting?" 

Tipper was disappointed that the mood had been spoiled, her imminent
orgasm scuttled by the impolitic arrival of her better half. On the
other hand, now she was on top, so to speak. The score was Tipper 
- one, Hilary - nothing! She began to sit up, intending to say hello
to her husband, when Hilary clapped a hand swiftly over her mouth and
pushed her to the floor once more. 

By now, Bill had walked over and pulled back the curtains, and the 
girls were instantly bathed in a flattering, natural light. 

"There you are," Bill said, gazing quizzically at his wife as he set
a giant bucket of Kentucky fried chicken on her desk. "So dark in
here, it's a wonder you could see anything!" 

Hilary jumped to her feet, zipping up her bodysuit and smoothing her 
hair. "You could have knocked," she stammered. 

"We did," Al told her. He smiled at Tipper, entranced by her stockinged
thighs. "Guess y'all didn't hear us." He held a hand out to Tipper and 
helped her up. She gave him a peck on the cheek, then began buttoning 
her blouse. 

"Tipper lost a contact lens," Hilary went on, nervously, "and we 
thought it might have fallen inside her clothing." 

"Or yours?" Bill asked, winking at Hilary. 

"You never know," Tipper replied coyly. Then, slipping her arm
 through her husband's, she whispered in his ear: 
"Can you slip away from the office for a bit, Albert? 

"But Bill and I just got the KFC, thought we'd all have lunch

Tipper just looked at her husband silently and shook her head. 

He nodded. "Oh, well, I see." He smiled a tiny smile, and turned 
to go. 

"But Tipper ..." Hilary said sharply, frowning. 

"Our regular time again next week?" Tipper asked. 

Hilary nodded, although she'd rather have finished their scene
right then. 

Tipper walked out, swishing her hips a little more than usual,
just because she knew the image would stay with Hilary all day
and night. As she and Al walked down the hall, Tipper heard 
Bill cajoling the First Lady: "Come on, Hilly, let's dig in. 
Here's some plates and forks. Gosh, things seem a little tense 
between you and Tipper. Pass the taters, will you, Honey? Hey, 
why can't you two just get along? Shit, don't let her get to you. 
You're a better lay than she is, anyway. What'you mean you're not
hungry? I mean, I'll bet you're a better lay ... Aw, Hilly, come 
on! You serious, you don't want any? You want to be alone? Okay, 
I'll go. I'll leave you a piece? Some coleslaw? No? All right. I'll
take it to the Oval Office. Have a little snack. Don't worry about

Tipper. I know her. She'll come around." 

23. Twitcher
24. Piece
25. Valley

So, I'm checking out Larry Flynt's new porn rag 
aimed at kids in  their twenties, Rage.  ("It's 
not your father's magazine")  And as I'm 
flipping through it, I'm kinda excited.  I see 
an article by Poppy Z. Brite (avec photos), a 
layout espousing the merits of legalizing 
marijuana, they've got ads for Victory Records, 
Third Rail,  the Red Aunts.  OK, things I may 
find interesting.  So I stop and take a closer 
look.  Hey! Wait! These naked chicks don't look 
anything like cute scenesters I've seen, or any 
other girl I might find attractive for that 
matter.  They're still the fake breasted, permed 
hair, tanning salon girls in all the other 
magazines, except they put them in a pair of Doc 
Martens and hip huggers.  Let down.  I mean,  I 
see what they're going for here, and it's really 
pretty good compared to other mags out there, but 
damn!  I want to see the Red Aunts naked!

26. Stank
27. Tube

If the Shoe Fits... 
Thoughts on Shoe and Foot Fetishism  by Anna Cox
The word 'fetish' is derived from the Portuguese 'feitico' meaning 
charmed, a name given to popular talismans in the middle ages.  
Originally, the word 'feitico' came from the Latin 'facticium', 
which meant artificial.  The Oxford English Dictionary gives the 
first known usage of 'fetish' in the English language in 1613, 
when  it was used to describe any object used by "The Peoples of 
the Guinea coast and neighborhood as an amulet or means of 
enchantment."  By the nineteenth century the term 'fetishism' 
had fully entered the English language, and was being popularly 
used to describe anything reverenced without due reason. 

Krafft-Ebing first used the term in 1886 to describe a 
criminal/sexual obsession;  Alfred Binet used the term in 1888 
with the sexual connotation now commonly understood to be 
'Freudian.'  Freud first defined 'psychiatric or pathological 
fetishism' in 1905, in Three Essays on Sexuality, as occurring 
"when the longing for the fetish passes beyond the point of being 
merely a necessary condition attached to the sexual object and 
actually takes the place of the normal aim, and, further when 
the fetish becomes detached from a particular individual and 
becomes the sole sexual object."  Ellis, in 1933, agreed, adding 
that "fetishes are, in a slight degree, entirely normal."  Paul 
Gebhard suggested that those degrees of fetishism can be 
conceptualized along "a continuum of intensities", with four 
different levels:

Level 1:  A slight preference exists for certain kinds of sex 
partners, sexual stimuli or sexual activity.  The term 'fetish' 
should not be used at this level.

Level 2:  A strong preference for certain kinds of sex partners, 
sexual stimuli or sexual activity.  (Lowest intensity of fetishism)

Level 3:  Specific stimuli are necessary for sexual arousal and 
sexual performance (Moderate intensity of fetishism)

Level 4:  Specific stimuli take the place of a sex partner. (High 
level fetishism)

In order to more clearly understand the phenomenon, I'd like to briefly
discuss the etiology of a fetish.  Freud's explanation is most common, and
concerns the transition of a boy from being mother-identified to
father-identified.  Freud argues the child is pushed toward
heterosexuality by the realization that the mother doesn't have a penis,
which is translated as her having been castrated by the powerful father
(whom the boy has wanted to kill because he disrupts the mother and baby
union).  The boy fears that the father will castrate him too, for wishing
him dead, and in rejection of the non-phallic mother, he turns to and
starts to identify with he father.  Freud theorizes the fetishist is
arrested at the stage of discovering the non-phallic mother.  The fetish
represents an attempt to deny sexual difference by reasserting a phallus
on the woman, thus the fetish is a stand-in for the mother's phallus. 
Ellis postulates that the first requirement is "a special predisposition,
no doubt usually of a neuropathic nature... and a strong impression by
which the object is poignantly presented to consciousness at a moment of
strong sexual excitement."  Krafft-Ebing agrees with Ellis, saying "in the
life of every fetishist there may be assumed to have been some event which
determined the association of lustful feeling with the single impression." 
(This hypothesis was indirectly tested by Rachamn and Hodgson, who found
that five of seven heterosexual men could be conditioned to respond with
erections to a slide of a fur-lined boot when paired with normal erotic
stimuli.)  In Epstein both the elements of the close mother-child
relationship and the association of an object and a moment of strong
emotion are interplayed.  He states the causative agent can be found in
"an unusually close relationship between the mother and the child, as well
as the suggestion that the maternal behavior is overly seductive."  The
child is unusually receptive and impressionable, and perceives the
maternal behavior as also rejecting.  This causes desertion anxiety, which
is discharged through the use of an object that is associated with the
mother.  The object is to become the fetish.  Epstein concludes, "In time
the fetish, which is originally equivalent to the mother's body, will, in
fantasy and dream, be worn or otherwise joined to the fetishist's own body
as a symbolic expression of the wish to completely posses, by being, the

The object that becomes the fetish is more likely to be one of a number of
common fetishes.  These include, among others:  legs, underwear (babies',
women's, men's), stockings, raincoats and macs (and anything else that's
rubber or rubberized), suspenders and suspender belts, dresses, skirts,
corsets and girdles, slips, pieces of silk, leather and leather jackets,
handkerchiefs, and footwear (especially high-heeled ladies' shoes and
men's boots).  Some common actions involving fetishes include gazing at
and fondling the fetish, watching someone else dressed in the fetish,
sucking the fetish, stealing the fetish, hoarding the fetish, rolling in,
burning, and cutting up the fetish, wearing the fetish, and, of course,
most common of all is masturbating to the fetish.  In Chalkley and
Powell's study, third behind clothing and rubber fetishes, and tying with
handkerchief fetishes, were feet and footwear fetishes. 

One of the most interesting historical examples of foot and shoe fetishism
on a culture-wide scale is Chinese foot-binding.  From the eleventh
century until the early 1900s the binding of woman's feet to produce the
three-inch long, two-inch wide 'lotus foot' was extremely common.  It was
a requirement to marry well (with the prospective bride's shoe being
exhibited to the young man's family), and so was borne by millions of

The binding process began between the ages of five and seven, because, at
this age, the bones of the feet are still malleable.  It was then possible
to form the highest arch, and thus the smallest foot.  This was not
achieved without great pain, as seen clearly in Ching-hua yuan, a Chinese
novel of travel written in 1825 by Li Ju-chen.  In this novel, two
characters from a foreign country are conversing about China, and its
strange customs, especially footbinding.  Minister Wu Chih-ho says:  "I
hear that in your esteemed country, the women's feet are bound.  When a
young girl's feet are being bound, the pain is sometimes terrible.  Their
skin is inflamed and the flesh decomposes smeared all over with blood.  At
this time they moan and cry, and can neither eat in daytime nor sleep at
night for the pain, and develop all kinds of sickness." The binding
process lasted four to six years, and was supervised by the girl's mother,
aunts, nurse, and older sisters.  The bandage, about two inches wide and
ten feet long, was wrapped to bend the four smaller toes under and to
bring the ball towards the heel of the foot.  This 'bowed' the foot,
creating an exaggeratedly high instep and arch.  This, of course, affected
the walk of the woman with bound feet. It was called the 'willow walk'
because the unsteadiness of balance caused the walker to sway like a
willow in the wind. 

The willow walk was purported to have some other effects as well .  Dr. 
Chang Hui-sheng, A Taiwanese doctor is quoted as saying, "When the
foot-bound woman went walking, the lower part of her body was in a state
of tension.  This caused the skin and flesh of her legs and also the skin
and flesh of her vagina to become tighter."  Sun Mu-hah, a
nineteenth-century ambassador to Russia, made a similar remark, stating,
"The smaller the woman's foot, the more wondrous become the folds of the
vagina... the only way is by footbinding, which concentrates development
in one place."  The Chinese man implicitly believed that the lotus foot,
because it altered the posture and the whole manner of walking, had a
magical effect on the erotic power of a woman's vagina. 

How did all this foot-mania begin?  The most popular legend starts in the
early eleventh century, when the Empress Taki was born with a club foot. 
In order to save her embarrassment, it was decreed that no woman could
claim true aristocracy or beauty without a small uniquely shaped foot like
that of the empress.  This could not be accomplished without footbinding,
so in order for the girls of families wishing to meet this decreed ideal,
the binding was begun. But this legend doesn't truly explain the long-term
popularity of the bound foot.  The most likely reason that footbinding
began was a legend surrounding a large troupe of beautiful female dancers
who were maintained by an eleventh-century emperor.  These dancers
epitomized female beauty at the time, they had (naturally) small and
delicate feet, and they often danced on a strewn arrangement of lotus
blossoms.  Other Chinese women, seeking to make a favorable appearance at
court, emulated these young women, and bound their feet to achieve the
dainty foot size and the graceful, feminine walk of the dancers.  Because
these dancers were considered the essence of femininity, the young women
who bound their feet to copy them were also considered feminine, and so
the lotus foot spread. 

The bound foot was a soft, fleshy foot because the skin on the bottom
wasn't allowed into contact with the ground.  This meant that the deep
crevice in the middle of the foot was akin to the vagina, and was often
used as such.  Chinese men derived ecstatic pleasure from fondling,
caressing, sucking, and biting the lotus foot.  It wasn't uncommon for the
woman to bathe her feet in a bowl of tea, just to give her lover the
pleasure of drinking it after she was done.  In fact, the lover often
willingly washed his beloved's feet, trimmed her toenails, and even ate
watermelon seeds and almonds placed between her toes. 

The era of the lotus foot ended, due to government intervention, in 1902. 
This thousand-year-old Chinese custom, which died a slow death despite the
Communists (underground foot-binding continued well into the 1930s with a
Village Administration Bureau of Shansi Province finding over 300,000
girls under fifteen and over one million women with bound feet), will
certainly go down in history as one of the strangest and most prolonged
culture-wide love affairs with the foot.  However, we westerners have been
in the throes of our own romance with the foot and the shoe for centuries.

The foot is a primary sense organ, richly endowed with nervous tissue that
keeps us well-supplied with information about the condition of the ground
under our feet.  This same sensitivity can cause a very strong response to
tactile stimulation, as anyone whose feet have been tickled or rubbed
recently can tell you.  Historic ladies often had their feet tickled or
rubbed to prepare them for love.  Queen Hatsheput (Egypt, 1600 B.C.) used
to have her feet rubbed with oil of ani until they glowed as though coated
with gold, then her feet were tickled with peacock feathers "to bring her
to a pitch of sexual readiness."

Czarina Anna Leopoldovna had a similar service performed for her by six
special eunuchs, who tickled her feet with feathers and special soft
artist's brushes, all the while singing obscene ballads and telling bawdy
stories.  All this tickling and touching was in aid of sexual arousal,
thus proving that the feet are a normal part of erotic play.  The reason
why feet are arousing for many fetishists isn't only the sensitivity, but
the sensuality of the fetish, usually emphasizing one of the senses.

When Weinberg et al interviewed 262 members of the Footwear Fraternity
(98% self-reported as homosexual, 2% as bisexual), approximately 50%
answered that the sensuality of the fetish was what made feet and footwear
arousing for them.  This covered the complete range of senses:  having
their feet caressed or tickled (many mentioned that an episode of tickling
or caressing during childhood and/or adolescence was the source of their
fetish); hearing, "The sound of footsteps sometimes arouses me;" taste
(intimately connected with smell), "I love the taste of hot, sweaty feet
dripping with moisture;" sight, "I have a sandal fetish because the vary
bare straps and thin soles act as a showcase for beautiful feet;" and the
most popular sense, smell, "The musk reminds me of the hot teenage feet I
knew in childhood," and "Male odor, manly and dominant."  This is not to
say that the respondents ignored arousal involving multiple senses, in
fact many responded as such;  "The feel-smell-taste-sight of another man's
masculine feet, socks, and footwear."  Although the sensuality of the
event was clearly important, this was mediated through or connected to
some symbolic meaning. 

In conclusion, I'd like to state that I found it odd that the overwhelming
number of cases were male.  The question of female fetishism is obviously
a valid one, and one that has been on the whole ignored by most of the
major writers in the literature (Freud, Ellis, Krafft-Ebing, etc.). 
Gosselin and Wilson offer some interesting explanations for this:  men are
more oriented towards attributes and activities, whereas women are more
interested in mood and atmosphere (these are difficult to quantify in
surveys);  some variations are distinctly sexual for men, but not for
women, like transvestitism; fetishism is frequently acted out by wearing
certain fabrics and women generally have a lot more freedom when it comes
to what fabrics they wear out in the open, or next to their skin.  In fact
it may be the 'peach out of reach' that keep these materials sexually
interesting to men.  Of course, as Gamman and Makien point out, many of
the definitions of fetishism are distinctly phallocentric.  Freud's
definition rests on castration anxiety, if a little girl doesn't have a
penis to lose, why should she fear losing it?  They further argue that
"the concept of 'penis envy' could itself be described as a fetish to
safeguard the value of phallocentrism with a patriarchal medical
discourse;  the male's obsessive fixation on his own signifying value
cannot allow a denial of its importance (or the unimportance of a 'lack'
within the feminine).  This strongly suggests that a re-interpretation of
the etiology of the fetish is needed in order to properly include women. 

New research utilizing non-clinical populations is going to be key in
discovering the hows and whys of fetishes and all manner of sexuality. 
Unfortunately, this is exactly the kind of research that it is next to
impossible to get funding for.  I have hope that the importance of the
relationship between sexual health and mind/body health is going to be
researched, understood, and supported. 

28. Mouth-that-Cannot-Bite

the last page

Turn-ons sent in by an anonymous reader. Send us yours too!!! galaxy@scn.org

Turn-ons                            Turn offs
----------------------------        -------------------------
stickshift                          automatic
good kissers                        mouth to mouth resuscitation
art attacks                         Heart attacks
big women wearing red               supermodels wearing chartreuse
Tito Fuente and Orchestra           The Macarena
Hersey Hawkins                      Charles Barkley
men who can dance                   men with no rhythm
public fondling                     public french kissing
sex bruises on my thighs            hickeys on my neck
tipsy                               blitzed
a great mix tape                    pre-recorded cassettes

Ghattita-The Grinding.  
While a man is doing 
to a woman what he 
likes best during 
congress, he 
make a 
point of 
pressing those 
parts of her body 
on which she turns her eyes."
-Kama Sutra

My latest obsession: legs, legs, legs

Anonymous   Quote:                   "...if that's all there 
"If  you  have the                      is then let's keep 
shower     massage                            dancing 
on    the    right                   let's break out the booze 
setting,       you                       and have a ball!"
don't need a man."                         - Peggy Lee

Turn on:  men who've had sex with a prostitute.

bon voyage!

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