Posts Tagged ‘porno’

Heart of Dentist Too(th)

Tuesday, 26 February 2008

Click for the original post.

I wake up unhappy, don’t eat and go to the dentist’s office.

Lying in the chair with a fairly attractive Asian probing my
mouth, I think about how I’ve never seen a porno that takes
place in a dentist’s office, probably because no one believes
anything pleasurable happens there.

As the woman works away with hooks and drills I once
again imagine the sewer pipes under the building, draining
the sludge of blood, gum tissue and tooth (fairy) dust to
Hell for sinners to drink.

I get the vibe the pretty Asian might be Interested, but I’m
not. I’m already heartsick and have no idea why it’s
important my teeth be in good order; ideas for suicide don’t
involve anything that leaves ID only by the teeth.

The dentist is a Good Old Florida Cracker. There are fillings
to be done and the syringe has a shiny silver ring for his
thumb. Oh shit.

The needle pierces my gums, pain lighting up the nerves
racing up the length of my jawline. By the 5th time the
needle strikes, I’m used to it, the monstrous pain of the
white hot needle, a cum-squirt of hot Novocain and WHOOF,
the pain vanishes like a match being blown out. The
horrible needle delivers the cure for itself.

As Dr. Cracker finishes with the shots I tell him, “This is why
I could never be a spy.”

Ha ha ha ha.

Fairly Pretty Asian cleans some more. I’m led to another
chair for the fillings.

A White girl, age unknown, wears a cloth mask over her
mouth and a full facial visor over that. Her smock is
brown and neither her tits or ass leap out as extraordinary.
I love her anyway. She sets up the tools of the trade on
the little tray. Hyperactive squirrels outside the window
distract her. Uh oh.

Dr. Cracker joins her when all is ready. Even with the left
half of my face numb, the drill feels like one from a hardware store. My
mind is both keenly focused and racing. I wonder why
there have never been tooth-shaped birthday cakes, why
everything is a disaster to the unhappy mind. A line from
Bukowski: People’s mouths are uglier than their assholes. I
try not to laugh aloud, there are four hands in my mouth
wielding all manner of sharps and I’m drowning in my own
saliva. I wonder if the girl is a dental student. I love her
even though I haven’t seen her face. Is this how poor
Muslim men go through life? Wondering what’s under there?

No wonder they pray to Allah. No, girl, don’t look at the Muslim squirrels holding their nuts, concentrate on this.

She hold a blue light over the filling goo. Beep….beeep.

It is finished.

I sit in the raised chair like the Buddha, the stupid beaded chain with alligator clips holding a blue napkin on my chest. Horrible pain brings a powerful ability to focus. When Dr. Cracker was shooting me with Novocain, I wished he would’ve flipped out and stabbed me in the heart. It would probably be a fine way to die, the heart stopping as if batteries had been removed but instead of cold death, warmth and beautiful numbness.

The bill is $285 for 3 fillings and a partial cleaning. I’m in the wrong line of work and of questionable sanity, as is everyone who visits a dentist of their own free will.

Advertisements

Marc and Me: a love/hate rant

Sunday, 11 November 2007

Way back in the early 90s, the four major Cocks of the Compass were Peter North, Marc Wallice, Tom Byron and TT Boy. Of course even then there were many other fellows (and hundreds more now thanks to the web and Cialis) but back in my Time of Pre-jaculatory Innocence it was possible to be familiar with every major starlet’s work and know the names of all the main cocksmen without being Rain Man.

As anyone who’s seen more than one porn movie knows, only the female faces change, a fact “mostly true” even today.

Though I look and “act” nothing like him, over time I “came” to identify with Marc Wallice the most. Wallice’s sexual adventures served as surrogate for my absent, nonexistent ones. I never liked him and still don’t, but as a familiar face in an ever-changing world of cunt, Wallice became sort of a “comfort cock”, exposed to as wide a variety of vaginas as a master chef’s menu.

Chalk it up to inevitability that Wallice as well as the other three aforementioned cocksmen fucked my personal favorite porn starlet several times over the years, leaving me with a permanent welt of blasphemy and loss.

(Aside: When a girl I knew described her feelings about the dudes in porn as “watching someone’s Jewish Dad”, I knew she meant either Wallice or Randy West).

It was already the 21st century when an acquaintance I’d met mentioned he once read an interview where Wallice described being in early morning LA traffic, smirking and gleeful that all the poor slobs around him had to go to some shit job while he was going to get laid and paid.

Whether or not that anecdote is true, I was the last to know that six years earlier, karma visited Wallice with extreme prejudice: he was discovered to be HIV+ and suspected of taking 6 or 7 pornettes down with him, making him a permanent porn pariah (though as late as 2003, it’s rumored he’s been directing/editing with his name off the credits).

My favorite line of the Wallice bio:

Sexually, Wallice cast himself out, and spent much of his time masturbating to magazines and past porn dalliances.

To this day I cannot say, “Past porn dalliances” without blasting the room with hard laughter. (Googling the above emboldened quote you can access Wallice’s personal story on Google Groups).

Over the years my pathetic life has been witness to Wallice’s many conquests, sadly lived vicariously through him; that the pornettes eternally spread their legs only for money is irrelevant. I was amazed and saddened to learn of the end of Wallice’s active career…without him I am alone, adrift on the treacherous sickening seas of present porn without his (Peter?) North Star to sail by.

I was also, of course, filled with only the finest schadenfreude that Wallice, lanky, hook-nosed, pony-tailed bi-sexual fuck machine was cast out of the pornosphere at last, as if now I somehow have a chance of catching up to the 1000s of vaginas and rectums his hooked horn has dipped inside.

What a truly pathetic and non-gay love/hate letter to a man I’ll never meet or want to meet.

Advertisements