Tragedy

This is reprinted with permission from the Passional Myspace account:

The Plight of Jade
Sunday night, a friend, Jade Vixen, and her boyfriend came home from dinner, where an angry stalker shot her boyfriend. That same individual, a fetish client not unknown to the Dominant women of New York and Philly, then kidnapped her at gunpoint drove her around in his car and molested her. Only by using her charm and wits was she able to convince him to let her escape with her life after four hours of a car ride through hell.

But none of these incidents compare to the rape she is now experiencing in the news media, especially here in Philadelphia.

I first learned of the incident on Monday afternoon, before anyone knew that killer David Kreig had finally taken his own life. It was already a sad day as I learned of the death of a friend just minutes before learning about what happened to Jade. I didn't want to make the trauma public out of respect to Jade. What could I (or anyone) do?

On Tuesday, the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a small non-inflammatory piece about the incident, which was a huge relief to me. Having a violent stalker is every woman's nightmare, and the mainstream world is often unkind to women who work in the adult industry. So I was prematurely relieved that the news had kindly overlooked the sensational aspects of Jade's life and loves. But now the episode has gone public at high speed.

The Daily News didn't even break the story until after the New York Post plastered Jade on the cover yesterday. Today's story manipulated her tale into a B-movie plot line where femme fatale "Jade Vixen" plays a villainess who destroyed the lives of two (innocent?) men. Masturbatory embellishments regarding "sissy-slut training" and descriptions of photos featuring her (in a jumpsuit) "squatting with her legs spread," left an especially foul taste in my mouth. Killer David Kreig was described as having "seemed like a nice guy" after several paragraphs detailing Jade's sexual proclivities.

As if the print copy weren't inflammatory enough, Philly News ran online slide show of copyrighted photographs from photographers who are clearly not on the Daily News payroll alongside anonymous racist, sexist and personal comments (including the Jade's cell phone number) in what seems to me an almost criminal encouragement of future harassment and attacks. Thankfully, some of the most offensive comments, including her now-disconnected phone number have been deleted, but the damage is done.

To know Jade is to love her. She is an intelligent, generous and kind person, which is very likely what sent David Kraig into a fit of obsession. Her only crime was having treating this disturbed man with compassion after repeated episodes of harassment.

The crimes of the news are more numerous and more severe.

Jade has donated her modeling services and dozens of hours of her time to several independent artists, designers, retailers and charitable causes yet the Daily News didn't see fit to balance this information against salacious and potentially disturbing details about her sexuality found on the internet.

Right now, it unfortunately seems as though any online fantasy post about Jade is going to become part of a public feeding frenzy of quasi-pornographic publishing masquerading as news. I can't imagine its going to be very much fun for a woman who has just lost a lover at the hands of a lunatic.

Please keep Jade in your thoughts and prayers.

LIve from Cupid's Arcade

When I started this blog I had some notion of daily posts. Then I got busy and that went out the door.
But every now and then I do get out and explore the greater world of kinkdom. Such as today, where I ended up at Cupid's Arcade, just due west of Kutztown, PA.
You might think a place called Cupid's would, at very least, be cute. Guess again, Porky. This place is a scumatorium of the most refined sort. In my travels, I haven't witnessed such a hole-in-the-wall since visiting the worst places in the Midwest, twenty years ago. Holy Mother Of Harlots, this place has to be experienced.
To start off with, Cupid's is located in a rural area. It is near Allentown and Kutztown University. I would gather it's one of the few places rural kinksters can visit to pick up giant silicone dongs. Probably because it is so remote from anything, the locals don't mind it being there. The establishment did have that long-term look. Here's a clue for finding it: it's located right next to a big red barn and I am not making this up.
What it resembles on the outside is a two story cinder block building. In fact, it is a two story cinder block building which just happens to sell porn. No windows I could see and, although the main entrance was to the side, the parking was mostly in the back, safely away from the traffic on the main road next to it. There appeared to be a small residence further to the back. It looked to have been remodeled at some point in the past with mobile homes. But it didn't appear to be in use from what I could tell. My suspicion is the rear home/trailer park once upon a time had other uses connected with the bookstore.
Once inside I was confronted with the famous peg-board and purple shelving of porn stores of the past. Most of the adult toy supplies were the generic "Doc Johnson" type. A central island was manned by a nice clerk, but it also held a TV tuned to the SciFi channel. The bookshelves no longer contained books but DVD's. Cupid's seems to have been around a long time and I bet once they even sold books there.
Ah, but to the action: one row of video arcades in a dark corridor on the bottom floor. There were some people watching the videos, but most, in spite of a sign warning against loitering, were just hanging out in between the booths. Some of the patrons were even chatting to each other, something I don't think I've ever seen in an ABS.
But the real destination of your intrepid explorer was the movie rooms. This I had heard about over the years and was anxious to see what they resembled. $12.00 purchased my admission to this area.
First was the downstairs "movie room": one dark room with many benches facing a dim TV screen showing straight porn. There was only one movie-goer there and he looked bored. Up stairs took me to another movie room with identical benches facing a TV screen, this time showing gay porn. Oh, I get it. Two movie rooms, one for the straights, another for the gays.
Not much action there either, but I was there around noon and it was a weekday. There did seem to be some dark alcoves which were probably put to use whenever possible and rolls of paper towels on the wall.
The effect was a cross between a church and a rest stop.
It didn't seem too dirty and no one hassled me. Neither movie room was my idea of an erotic encounter space, but I suppose you take what you can get for $12.00.
All-in-all, Cupid's is a throw-back to the days of the erotic book store bunkers which used to ring major cities with blue laws. The sort of place where you would read about a city councilman arrested for boffing some minister in public. It doesn't appear to have ever been a legitimate theatre, which is usually the case for porn stores in near-by Philly. I'm sure it can get pretty intense in those movie rooms on Saturday night, but I don't think it would be the place to take a date.

CB3000 Mishap

From my old live journal:

"OK, in light of last night's bad experience I am going to be retiring the CB3000 for now. Let me tell you this tale of horror:

I was locked in yesterday morning after taking the cage off for cleaning. For most of the day I didn't have a problem; it was more of an inconvenience than anything else. The problem started later. I'd urinated with it on several times and made the important discovery that you really need to be sitting down on the toiler for this action. So I went ahead and wore it to work, mindful that Goddess had the only key to it and she would be getting home before me.

About 8 PM (I work nights for several hours on a computer), I decided to go to the toilet. I sat down and started to urinate when I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see blood in the CB3000! My cock was in severe pain, although the bleeding quickly ceased. Because I'd made the error of not having a back-up emergency key, I was unable to get the thing off. After assuring myself that I would not need to be take to a doctor, I cleaned the CB3000 the best I could and returned to work.

Upon arriving at home around 11 PM, I told Goddess I needed the CB3000 key immediately and went upstairs to unlock myself. The blood had dried on the inside of the device, but I was able to clean it quickly in the sink. Further urination produced a brief discoloration with some pain. I checked the head of my cock and it appears it was shoved into a bad position against the wall of the CB3000 when I'd started to urinate earlier. I think the sudden flow tore the opening slightly, causing the intense pain.

There has been no obvious blood in my urine for the rest of the day. No burning while urinating, but some discomfort while thinking about the injury. Thank my lucky stars no further injury has been sustained.

So, until I can figure out what happened, the CB3000 goes back into the box.

Anyone have similar problems using this thing?"

S&Man (2006)

Here's a little documentary which treads the line between horror and arousal.
If you've spent any time going to the various horror movie conventions in the US (Monster Mania, Chiller Theater, etc.) you will notice a fair number of indie movie producers who've set up shop hawking their latest slasher/monster/whatever film. They always have some hot chickee in tow to promote the flick because, as we all know, horror film buffs are overwhelmingly male. Getting their picture taken with some aspiring starlet in a skimpy costume may be the only female action some of these guys are ever going to get.
S&Man focuses on the rise of the indie stalker voyeur film. It has a number of interviews with the filmmakers themselves. There's also several interviews with the "scream queens" who star in them. Also, some discussion about the kind of person who watches these videos. There's even two sex doctors who are interviewed for it.
Most disturbing is the dude who creates fake snuff movies for his adoring fans. He hires a model, videos her daily life from a concealed angle, then kills her. All of this is staged, of course, and he even shows how to fake the final death scene. But you do have to wonder: what kind of person pays money to watch these things? And he's not the only one who makes these type of movies.
I was seriously creeped-out listening to "Bill Zebub" describe the murder scenes in his productions as "stroke material". Nor was my mental state improved by hearing the director of August Underground (a "found" video where you get to watch a serial killer at work) talk about all the people who want to be the victim in his latest production.
An interesting, if disturbing, look at the thin line between sex and death.

What's The Matter With California?

As the culture war starts to go hot again, it appears the land of smogberries and Hollywood will be on the front line. I usually stay away from politics on this blog, because doing so will offend someone and I haven't offended enough people. Yet.
So, fans, what's my take on Prop. 8? For or against? Against. And also against the whole monosexual mindset that is rallying the troops to stop it. To put matters bluntly: I will sign on to the gay marriage drive when the gay marriage people sign on to poly relationships. Any combination of adults over the age of 18 up to twelve in number.
And why no more than twelve? Because that's where it gets absurdly complicated. Although I can see some special cases where more than twelve would be justifiable.
I think making polyfidelidity state-sanctioned would also take the wind out of the Mormon church's sails. Let's face it, the real reason the MoMo's are against Bruce and David is having to give up polygamy. Let them have all those wives once again, they'll go back to being happy bicyclists. Start burning down their churches and you are going to see a range war of an epic scale.
So, yes I'm all in favor of state recognition of Ellen and Stephanie if you are for the same right given to Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice.
And to those of you who whine "But this is about two people!", I have this to say:
Fascist!
And now, back to our regularly schduled kink.

Toys Are Not For Children (1972)

My nominee for the Feel-Bad Sex movie of the 20th century. Produced, directed and starring people who did few movies before or after. Released through a booking company which specialized in grindhouse films. Found in many 16mm rental catalogs over the years. And finally, unleashed on DVD as part of a "sexy seventies shockers series". In other words, a movie you have to really, really seek out.
Poor little Jamie (Marcia Forbes, who seems to have acted in this one movie) has a problem. Her father abandoned her while she was a little girl. Her mother is the Bitch From Hell who constantly screams at her. Jamie's only solace is playing and sleeping with the toys her estranged father continues to send her year after year. She finds a job in a toy store where she gets to be around the things she loves. Soon, she's a model employee ("She makes the toys come alive!" the store owner exclaims), but attracts the attention of a coworker, Charlie (Harlan Poe). She also makes the aquatintence of a woman who comes into the store and turns out to be a call girl with a sleazy pimp boyfriend. When her mother discovers her new friend is the very woman who lured daddy astray, she kicks Jamie out of the house. Jamie relunctantly agrees to marry Charlie, but he discovers on their wedding night that she just wants tucked into bed. Bummer. Charlie soons abandons his new bride for the hot babes at a local bar and Jamie takes up with the call girl. In a strange turn of events, Jamie becomes a sex worker specializing in fantasy scenes. But it all comes to a tragic end when, spurned by her new protege, the call girl sends Jamie to a special client: her very own father.
Editied into a non-linear story, it can be a little hard to follow. The marriage of Jamie and Charlie, for instance, occurs at the beginning of the film, as does it's dissolution. But you don't see his courtship of her until the half-way mark. It would seem the director wanted the inevitablity of the ending pounded into the audience. Again, I can only imagine what the stroke-daddies who went to see this painfest must have resembled when the credits rolled.
Watching Toys are Not for Children can only be compared to reading a short story by Charles Birkin. A master of the cruel tale, Birkin was alway great for running anything good about your day. Billed as a sexy movie, Toys is anything but. Imagine an Oliver Twist where everybody wants to fuck the orphan and he gets tossed out on the street.
This is not to say we have an art film here. This movie looks to have been lensed on cheap stock. The actors are OK, but not oscar material. Even the sets look left over from an educational film. I'm sure there is a story waiting to be told as to how this thing ever got made.
A perfect antidote to all those Swedish erotica movies.

The Shop Down the Street

I live in a small town outside Philadelphia. It's quiet, we even got rid of the few bars some years ago. No industry to speak of and the boundaries are pretty static. There's been some attempts to revitalize things, but everyone pretty much gets along. We like it like that.
It's not all apple pie. I have a few friends in "The Scene" who live some streets away, but they interact with their select playmates and I'm not offended when I don't get invited. I would guess more than a few houses have rooms dedicated to pleasure among adults.
And now we have a lingerie shop in town.
I stopped in the other night because I noticed a "Grand Opening" sign over a store front which had been vacant (most are). It's run by a dancer at some of the strip/gentleman's clubs in the area and she seems to be catering her garments to other dancers. In the back room there's even a brass pole to practice your spins. I looked at most of her stock, but I will say it didn't impress me. It looks like she has very few vendors, but this isn't unusual in a new business.
I wish her all the best. She seems like a sincere woman with some drive. I just hope it doesn't bring out the blue noses who frequent the churches hereabout.
And she did have enough intelligence not to put the store's sign out on the street. I can't seem to remember what the store name was, but it did have "Erotic" in it. I'm sure that would've been the topic of much discussion at the local Burger King.