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hot action ~ 8/31/2003 Listen, we're outta here... Get yourself over to hotaction.ca. ~ 7/31/2003 ~ Alcohol is classified as a depressant. Here's how that works: every week at the Marquee Club, drunken women throw themselves at me and sit on my lap and tell me they think I'm cute. And sometimes I see these same women on the sidewalk in the harsh light of afternoon sobriety, and they walk right past without acknowledging me. And that makes me depressed. ~ It's like there are two completely different people in one body--one brazen, one embarrassed (or possibly indifferent). I don't understand it, because I'm not like that. I strive for consistency. Actually I've gotten used to it by now. But it's made me cynical and I never trust anything a strange woman says when she's loaded. Hot women are brazen when they're sober. The rest of you are amateurs. ~ ~ "You asked me my sign before you even asked me my name," I said. "It's the most important thing about a person," she said. "More important than their name?" "Yes. It's the best way to learn something about someone." "Well can't you learn something about me by standing here talking to me?" "No," she said. "Ohhhh kay." "So anyway, what are you?" "Guess." "No, tell me." "If there's anything to this, you should be able to guess," I said. "Taurus!" I opened my eyes wide. "That's amazing," I said. "How could you tell?" "Whaaat, are you really a Taurus?" she said. "Ummm... isn't it obvious?" I said. "So does this mean we're incredibly sexually compatible or something?" She shook her head sadly. "No. I have to stay away from anyone who's a Taurus." "What a shame." ~ I still get asked my sign three or four times a week at the Marquee. It makes me wish that people would develop slightly more advanced ideas about the forces governing human psychology. For a while there I was getting pretty insulted: "Listen trixie, the stars don't determine my personality... I do." But in the words of Elvis Costello, "I used to be disgusted, now I try to be amused." ~ After the show last night a chick hopped up onstage and started talking to anything with a penis. ("You look just like my friend Dave!") When she got to me she started pulling the old "what's your sign" business. "I'm a Sagittorpio," I said. "What?" "I'm a Librini," I said. "Well when's your birthday?" "April first," Adrian interjected. "Yeah, that's right," I said. (God bless you Adrian). "April first. So that makes you... wait... no tell me, what are you?" "Guess." "Scorpio!" I opened my eyes wide. "That's amazing," I said. "How could you tell?" "Oh, I know all about these things," she said. "I'm a Virgo." I shook my head sadly. "That's too bad," I said. "All the Virgos I've met have been really mean people. Although they've also been super hot in bed." "I'm a nice person," she said. Wriggle, wriggle. ~ 7/24/2003 Thought of the day: "When young we are faithful to individuals, when older we grow more loyal to situations and to types. When we meet such specimens, we seem to know all about them in an instant (which is true) ..." -Palinurus, The Unquiet Grave ~ 7/9/2003 "In the few hours of sleep between our encounters in Halifax I had a great dream. You were going down on me in the dream, much like you had just been doing in your bed, but suddenly your whole body disappeared and your tongue grew to monstrous proportions. I rode your tongue until climax. I was very turned on when I woke up." I am pleased to report positive results from my latest invention--the Hot Action Remote Dream Receiver (HARDR). I've always considered it a tragedy that I can't have sex with every beautiful woman I know, every single night. Recently, however, it occurred to me that there is a way. Every night we experience a crazy alternate universe in our dreams. It is a world uninhibited and unfettered by conventional waking morality; a vibrant world that positively throbs with the potential for new experiences. If a woman has a dream that I'm fooling around with her, and becomes aroused as a result... are not her orgasms every bit as real as if I were present in waking life? Imagine if I could find a way to visit women in their sleep. I could travel around all around the globe at night and have lots of fantastic sex all over the place. Kind of like Santa Claus (except I only visit the bad girls). So I set about puttering in the Hot Action Laboratory to build a dream receiver. First I took all the barrettes, earrings and bobby pins that have been left on my bedroom floor in the past year and melted them down to a slag. I stirred in a couple squirts of K-Y, along with a stick of melted butter. To this mixture, I added a few precious fibres from Secret Agent Scarlet's sex-crazed orphan panties; plus a single long blonde hair that I found under my pillow. I poured the whole concoction into a mold made from a dozen empty condom boxes. I let the thing sit overnight and then plugged it into my computer. I'd equipped my laptop with passwords to several premium lesbian porno sites, as well as a lifetime subscription to the Daze Reader. I set the Internet for high-speed simmer. Four weeks later, I opened up the laptop and pressed "Control... Option... Enter." And this was the result:  This is HARDR... the Hot Action Remote Dream Receiver. It is the ticket to our new secret sex life. Instructions: stare at it for twenty seconds. Your brain-stem will do the rest. For best results, relax and try to clear your mind of all thoughts that aren't dirty. Gaze at the flickering colours and try to form a pleasing mental picture. For example, you might envision me slamming it into you from behind, while I pull your hair and force you to look into the mirror on your bedroom wall. That mirror is actually the portal to a parallel dimension. Picture yourself being drawn into it, sucked into the parallel dream world, as you murmur the words: "HARDR... HARDR." Tonight as you are falling asleep those words will reverberate throughout your subconscious. The dream receiver operates on a subliminal level, in order to penetrate deep into the subconscious mind. Soon I will appear to you as an eidetic image. You will be filled with a strange sensation, a feeling that you are floating and sinking at the same time. (Perhaps you will be floating hundreds of meters above the city of Halifax, while your pussy is sinking down onto my cock; and as you ride me in midair, you will place both of your hands on my chest to steer me through the sky like a flying fucking carpet.) You'll be able to tell if HARDR is functioning by sliding your fingers down the top of your jeans and checking for moisture. If you don't notice at first, keep checking, and checking. You'll know for sure when you raise your fingers to touch your mouth. See you tonight! ~ So how does it work? You will notice that HARDR has a bipartite structure, which reflects its dual functions: to trigger the sensory cortex, and to cue the hypothalamus to stimulate the release of nocturnal hormones. In short, the player is playing with your mind, and your mind is playing with your body. I hope you like it! Be sure to email me with your experiences. ~ 7/2/2003 It wasn't so much the tank top, or even the contents of the tank top. It was what the tank top revealed that got me going. Bare shoulders, sexy arms, long neck. Smooth, flat midriff. The evil clue of cleavage. We finally got each other alone. While I was making out with her I invented a little game for myself. I would only touch or kiss the exposed areas of skin. I wouldn't place my hands over or under any article of clothing. A fun game but a difficult one. Tried my best but before long I couldn't stand it. After the sheets were soaked with sweat we wound up on the bedroom floor. ~ Canada Day, early afternoon. She sits on the edge of her mattress and tries to get started on peeling an orange. I notice two small bruises, fresh and sexy, on her upper arm. The orange peel remains intact under the pressure of her fingernails. "I've almost made a dent in it," she says. I take the orange from her and sink my front teeth into the skin. Then I hand it back. "You're welcome," I say. "That must have been very satisfying for you," she says. "Yes, it was." ~ 6/30/2003 Travel is an important part of summer hot action. Sometimes, like last night, it involves somone's boyfriend "travelling" out of town. Sweet, sweaty summer slamming. OK, "he's wonderful", "he's a good challenge" and so on. I believe you. But on the other hand... "you're sexy" and "you're a nymphomaniac." ~ 6/28/2003 "Will you walk me home?" I interpreted this to mean, "Will you take me home and tie my hands behind my back and attack me with my vibrator?" So I did. "What are you going to do with that?" "Oh I don't know..." Perhaps "attack" isn't the right word. It was a slow attack. It was sexy chrome surgery. |
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