Let’s see what happens when your host (me) has nothing to say, and instead it’s open mike night. Step right up, speak your mind, tell a story, sing a song, whatever.
2/22/2025
Anything goes #16
25 responses to “Anything goes #16”
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We read this at the Open Mic last night:
Old Folks Home Solutions
I was wondering recently if there are senior sex services for horny elderly people in old folks homes, in enlightened countries like Denmark for example, and how that would work:Nurse: Mr G, we’re here for your weekly hand job. This is J who will be assisting you today.
Mr G: I can’t tell if it’s a man or woman behind that gown, mask, and splashguard.
Nurse: Does it really matter Mr G?
Mr G: Ah, I guess not. I’m glad you came early in the morning, this is the only one I get these days.”
Nurse: Yes, first thing is our best shot for you, but we also have Viagra for other times of the day.
Mr G: Oh I’m a little scared of that, my heart condition you know.
Nurse: Oh come on, you’re practically a vegetable anyway, and what a way to go, right?
Mr G: Yeah I guess. If I can’t tell who that is it may as well be a robot.
Nurse: We can arrange that.
Mr G: Okay, you were a little late and I was worried and thinking ‘Who ya gotta blow to get a hand job these days?’
Nurse: Would you like a blowjob Mr G?
Mr G: Sure! So do you diddle the little old ladies here too?
Nurse: Some of our elderly female clients are also in the program, they paid for the premium package as did you.”
Mr G: So it all comes down to money?
Nurse: I’m afraid so Mr G.
Mr G: What about our famous socialized medicine?
Nurse: Everyone gets as much free lube as they want.
Mr G: Do you think I could have a little hands-on fun with one of the ladies here?
Nurse: Yes, you can upgrade to our match-making package if you’d like.
Mr G: When would you send her over?
Nurse: Oh Mr G, first you meet for coffee.
Mr G: Of course!
Nurse: Would you like to sign up for our Ultimate Sexual Experience Package?
Mr G: Yes!
Nurse: Very well. Miss J, please bring in the strap-on.
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This is probably my favorite dialog:
Fantasies
He: I can’t believe what I told my girlfriend!Friend: What this time? I swear you’re always getting in trouble with your mouth.
He: I told her that I usually have a fantasy when getting a blowjob.
Friend: Oops! Great move. So now…?
He: Yup, I’ll probably never get another.
Friend: Why did you tell her that? It’s not smart to tell a lover about other fantasies.
He: She begged me. I was reading her my journal and I tried to skip over a page but she noticed. She wanted to know everything.
Friend: So why do you always have fantasies?
He: Maybe because I was a hermit for years. I became an expert with fantasies. Doesn’t everyone have them?
Friend: Yes, but not to talk about.
(Later)
She: So you usually have a fantasy? Why is that? It seems very odd to me.He: Well it does help put the orgasm over the top. I think it’s a sexual dysfunction.
She: Oh? My husband will be glad to hear that.
He: Yeah. Actually it can be more work to get a blowjob. I have to concentrate on the fantasy. Of course the orgasm can be very electric.
She : So who were you fantasizing about last night?
He: Umm…That waitress down at The Ola Rica restaurant.
She: You bastard!
He: Well you asked.
(Later, she is giving him a blowjob)
She: So who are you fantasizing about now ?
He: No one! I don’t have a fantasy!
She: Well, get one!
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My sister has been institutionalized for almost 50 years, and got kicked out of a couple of places for consensual sensuality with the other invalids. Sex is unwelcome at American nursing homes. My with was in America’s worst rehab center for six months after an infected amputation, and if they offered such professional services it would probably come with secondary infections.
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Sara Story
Last night I told her that it was time for me to leave, that we’ve gone as far as we could: sleeping together a week, 1000 kisses, 500 hugs, and about 3.5 seconds of sex sans coming. She’s going to pee on a stick today to see if I have some Mighty Sperm indeed.
It seems like a good segue: if I leave manana on New Years I can just arrive back to Mexico in time to see my ex from ten years ago, Maria, who my friends insist I’m still in love with. I’m not but who knows, maybe I just don’t realize it?
I wanted her naked but she refused so I turned my back, sulked some, then made the plan to leave. I turned back to her and told her, then asked for one more naked hug.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We won’t have sex, I’m scared of pregnancy too, pregnancy in such a complicated situation.”
We had some delicious naked hugs, then talked for hours, about her plans, her future, and we tried to figure out how she could drop some of her jobs and still make it, feed the kids, pay the rent. I told her I would be going back to Mexico to see Maria. We hugged and kissed–she’s gotten what she wanted, someone who could match her kiss for juicy kiss.
I told her what a beautiful woman she was, inside and out, that I wondered if she knew that, wondered if she realized she was deserving. I really wanted her to climb down and suck me off but she showed no inclination. We can’t have sex, just hug and kiss deliciously: time to go. (Sometimes she tries to jerk me off with saliva on her fingers but I tell her that trick never works.)
In the morning I turned to her and she held me, first in front then in back. It was warm and delicious and I asked, “How can I leave these sweet hugs?” Her legs draped around mine, her hair in my face, her fun bags in my hands.
“How can I leave this warm woman?” I thought, here in the cold Blue Ridge Mountains.
I went down to pee and thought, “I’d like to ask her why she doesn’t give me a blow job when she must know I want it more than anything just now.” I brought my lube back upstairs in case she got any more ideas about the saliva cure to blue balls.
Back in bed she was on me again, our bodies warm and tight against one another. I worked a finger, then hand between her legs and opened up the always warm and wet wonder between them. I rubbed and penetrated with my fingers as we kissed under the covers in the cold Carolina morning. Then wonder of wonders she kissed my neck, then my chest–she was going down! She kissed then took me into her mouth, settled on a good angle and began to suck. Within a minute I was coming exquisitely in her mouth, sighing, moaning, whimpering.
She finished and I lay back, sated. “So that’s my goodbye kiss? Now I really better go.”
We hugged and kissed and I suggested she “finish herself off” as is her wont. She moved her hand down between her legs, I crawled mine onto hers then finger fucked her some. I replaced my hand on her breast with my lips and sucked her pink nipple hard and beyond. I sucked and kissed and licked as she got into her masturbatory groove.
“Its taking awhile,” she said.
“Here, I’ll give you some space,” and I turned my back to her.
Soon her movements became more pronounced and she was rocketing in the bed, riding her fingers into a symphony of moans and sighs. Red faced she finished and relaxed on the bed.
We hugged and kissed some more. “Well I guess you did all the work again, for both of us.”
She bounded out of bed, “I’ve got to take a shower! Pick up the kids!”
“Look! I actually brought up the lube this time. When are you coming back? I’d like to sleep in.”
“Two hours. I have to food shop.”
“Don’t forget to buy the pregnancy stick!”-
Naked hugs can be nice. That’s how me and Dean started getting along better. Gotta write about that soon…
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They have to beat the hell out of naked ambition, especially in TrumpWorld.
jtb
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It’s an ugly place. Some nakedness would help.
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Did you see my story Naked Scenes?
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In the AVA a few weeks ago? Skinny-dipping and naked volleyball and naked interviews?
I remember thinking, how come this guy takes his pants off for everyone in California, when I’ve only been skinny-dipping alone in the bathtub and never done much of anything nude with anyone else unless occasional sex counts?
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Make-up Sex Is Real
we sat on the bed talking and holding hands.
We kissed a little more- did I detect a thaw?
We were warm to each other and talked more
about our terrible fights ten days ago,
even had a few laughs about it.
I told her I was sorry I hurt her and
she gave me the most amazing kiss,
her lips softly folding into mine.
It was getting warm so I took off my pants,
what the hell my shirt too, and told her
I wanted to make love.
she said she did too but she was afraid.
I took her pants off- we embraced on the bed.
I took off our underwear and the embraces
got hotter.
I got on top of her and she took off her shirt
then we were naked, together.
I was ready to make love to her,
her pussy was glistening with wetness
but I sensed she wasn’t ready.
I rolled off her, we continued embracing,
and she motioned me back on to her.
I slid in her for the first time in ten days.
She moved me to the side, halfway off her,
and we made love, moving slowly.
I let her lead the way to the most glorious
feeling after all those days without her.
We climaxed together, the absolutely most
pleasurable sensation I have ever experienced.
She came two or three times.-
Parental guidance! Reads like poetry.
Is this Sara, or another entry from your database of love?
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Maria, the German, best sex of my life…
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Did you see my story Naked Scenes?
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Yup, but only the once.
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Holy fucking shit,
Doug Holland just did something no editor, writer, or reader of this paper would ever attempt, in the name of journalistic exploration, when he acted out his fake homeless routine on the streets of Seattle a couple weeks ago.
What a guy, what a story, can we just change the name of this paper to “The Holland Gazette,” and be done with it? Conversely, the guy has nowhere to go but down after his “Bum Like Me” story of homeless tourism showed up in the pages of the AVA today.
Is the guy certifiable, or what? Yes he is a little touched, his own brand of “crazy,” and I have first-hand knowledge of this: I spent months last Winter and Spring nagging and begging the guy to retire and start taking his well earned Social Security, which he had paid into for thirty years. He had one bullshit excuse after another why he wouldn’t sign up, why he would rather work his shitty jobs that usually just lasted a few weeks, if not a few days.
At one point he said he wouldn’t sign up because he “didn’t want to be treated like a trained circus animal,” to which I replied, “Dude, you’re being a trained circus animal earning your keep with all those shitty office jobs you keep telling us all about!”
Finally I told him, “Just do it for ME, I need a win,” and after other friends also tried to reason with him he finally entered glorious retirement, gets his checks, and is now sleeping in the weeds with hundreds of bugs finding refuge in his famous folds of fat. (I met him a year ago, he’s really not that fat…)
So what will he do next? Frankly, in my book he can ride this one into the sunset, unless any of us readers have a new challenge for him for his homemade “reality shows.” (I want him to visit a massage parlor and give us a report, but Mr Holland is as squeaky clean as the editor of this paper, and has never paid for it.)
Now that he’s retired and sucking on the govt teat (like an untrained circus animal) his social activity is limited, he has less to write about in his blog, with his limited gallivanting around town, and so I will be shocked and amazed if he can come up with anything approaching this latest antic.
As for me, I now feel small, very small, scribbling in my notebooks, yet I am too soft to follow his lead into the bushes of gonzo journalism, like the rest of us.
All Hail Doug Holland! (Hunter S Thompson gives a thumbs up.)-
That’s embarrassing but familiar, it’s the letter you write to the AVA when they republished my Bum Like Me several months ago. I think I either replied or almost replied, “If you want a blow job, just ask!”
But I do appreciate the kind remarks. It’s always better than “Fuck you.”
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Letter to Doug
Damn, you are an extreme man of honor, you will not eat a little shit to get paid, even if you have nothing to hide in your bank account you don’t want “The Man” looking in there. You’re an admirable fool, Mr Holland, if I can coin a term, but wait, it could be moot, a non-issue, and you won’t need SSI because you may qualify for Social Security (SSA), the real deal, as you must have paid into it over the years, right? As a working man you must have paid in way more than I, scammer scum, who paid in for twenty years and now get about $900 a month back, before they subtract $150 for Medicare.
And Medicaid? You don’t need no stinkin’ Medicaid, you probably qualify for the real senior deal Medicare! For a PC-lefty without-a-pause, fucking you can appreciate the one true socialism available: free fucking healthcare!
As someone who apologizes on the front page of your zine for occupying Native American cyberspace and probably tells every stranger you meet everyday that you have a rescue cat (and twice on Sunday to your annoying mother), you have got to love everything Medicare will give you absolutely free, then again, as a burger guy with a big belly, all health bets are probably off.-
And this is one of your hectoring emails from, when, a year ago?, that successfully talked me into filling out the damned paperwork for Social Security. Thanks again, man.
Nope, I don’t qualify for Medicaid, and nope, I’m not paying for Medicare, which I think is $174 p/month. But I’m enjoying the Social Security for as long as it takes Musk and Trump to end it.
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You probably do qualify for medicaid or whatever they call it in Wa…
Maybe you don’t if you make an outrageous amount of SS, like 2 or 3 grand
but that seems high…
What actual fact makes you think you don’t qualify? (Uh oh, hector alert…)-
Nope, I scoped it out a few months back at the ‘AppleCore’ or whatever it’s called website, state of Washington’s Medicaid. My meager monthly Social Security check is about fifty bucks above the threshold to qualify for Medicaid.
As for Medicare, it’s $174 p/month, which would vanish my discretionary budget — half a dozen meals out and 3-4 movies monthly. I’d be in my recliner for the rest of my life.
So my plan is to continue being uninsured, and when I get sick I’ll jump off a bridge.
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Did you see my story Naked Scenes?
The one about make up sex was when I was
writing in verse and rhyming for a while,
doing a “rap” (2 minutes) on a radio show…-
This is reminding me of texts from my mom. She asks the same question over and over and then it’s “Why haven’t you answered?” Sorry, man. I check the comments once or twice daily is all…
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1. A concentration camp in all but name in Guantanamo, 2. the military lawyers, the watchdogs (Inspectors Generals), and any government oversight agency fired, gutted, and/or shuttered, 3. A literal nazi firing huge swaths of government employees, 4. Women’s rights to vote being curtailed. 5. LGBTQIA rights being eroded, 6. Healthcare being further eroded, 7. Threats of judges being jailed, 8. A woman dragged out of a political town hall by her wrists for calling out corruption 10. National park employees fired to make way for corporations to come in and steal public resources
just to name a few…
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What amazes me most of all is that *everyone* I know in the real world has nothing to say about any of this, unless I bring it up. When I do, the response is either that it’s cool, or it’s bad but whatayagonnado and let’s go to Applebee’s.
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Well, ava rejected this one today, my best of the week,
which proves once again, people censor the best lines:Dirty Dancing
***Dancing: There was a band playing at The Iguana in Redway, but not very many people, and then a couple of women materialized on the dance floor and that was all it took. I danced near them, then when they took their seats I went over to their table and asked the lively one if she wanted to dance some more. We went back out there and she was intense: her eyes, her body, she was a dancer, she kept reminding me.
We held hands, we held waists, we held each other grinding our hips together. It was
like we were having sex on the dance floor and the bartender came over and told us to cool it. We went out to the patio and sat under the stars with our drinks.
“So now do we go back to my place and have meaningless sex?” I asked.
***Austin Strippers: I was looking for a place to live outside Austin to be with this woman (the one who taught me, at 38, how to properly pleasure her), who I’d been having a long-distance relationship with for the past year, since we’d met on a folk art buying trip to Mexico.
My needs were specific: I wanted an older place out in the country, with no lease or reference requirements, which I found through my caver connection. Like most things in life someone else wanted it also but this time I got it because I had turned the landlady on to a sweet joint of Mendo Mello.
A week later she came by with her friend and they were all tarted up with lots of makeup, sexy revealing clothes, and big smiles.
“We’re going into Austin to try to get jobs as strippers,” she said. “Want to come along?”
***Bag Lady: Sometimes in the middle of winter I would get so bored, depressed, and lonely that I’d visit this crazy woman in her ratty rented room uptown. It was crowded with all her bags of fabrics, she got thrift store rejects by the garbage bag for some future art or theatre project, and sometimes I drove the bags to her house at the edge of town by the cemetery.
I pushed aside a few piles of clothes and sat on her bed.
“Will you massage my ass?” she said
When I was done I said, “Well, now what do I get?”
“You just got to massage a hot girl’s ass,” she said.-
And again, I’ve been shortchanged by life — never once have I massaged a hot lady’s ass. Squeezed, yes. Pulled apart and pushed together. Wiped several times, because that’s what you do when your wife is sick. Never massaged an ass, though. I’m not an ass man.
Here’s a literary question for you: What’s the longest you’ve gone without sex? From your stories I get the idea the answer is days, maybe weeks.
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