The leading avant-garde pornographer in the adult film industry in the Classic Period, 1982-86, was Kurt McDowell. He did bisexual films, and actually was planning to film some people felching the last time I saw him.

I admired the dead-end kids filming beyond the view of not only the world, but the x-rated world as well. I was never man enough to take it up the ass. No way man enough to felch.

Excuse me while I boogaloo.

I remember Nina Hartley from her first day on a porn set. (Porn films are shot mostly during the day.)

Her name was M, not mine to give, and she was a nurse in the SF Bay Area.

She had very short hair, wore a scarf around her neck, as porn ladies did for awhile there, for some reason, and when I first lay eyes on her, she was standing with her back to me in the dark. She watched them film a love scene, as they are notated in porn scripts, in case someone seizes one -- Adult Love Movies -- sounds right! I think she was to join them when called.

She looked as if she was shivering, either with nerves -- it was to be her first-ever scene -- or because she wore nothing but heels, hose, garter belt and bra. No panties, and her famous heart-shaped bottom was spectacular to me. I never was one to stare, but I did that time.

Her husband approached me and asked me if I would help her by going over and fondling her naked butt. What an offer! Porn is impossibly hospitable. Beautiful scene to be on.

As he asked, she looked over her shoulder at me, her body full of womanly love, her face that of a little girl lost. They were kind, to hold me between them like that.
I still feel blessed.

20 years. I don't remember how I felt yesterday morning, but I remember that afternoon. I remember having Thanksgiving dinner with them that year. Bay Area adult films was a small community. Made us feel connected, usually.

She came a long way from that shadow I saw her standing in. The famed writer Hunter Thompson ("Fear and Loathing" said, late in his life, that she was his hero.

Society has always followed the leadings of its "disorderly" people. Even as it makes life hard for them where it can. Fortunately, not many can even see, much less touch, that underground.

One night we shot an X film in downtown Oakland, CA, somewhere. I think it was a nightclub, hired for the evening, closed to consumers.

It was dark in there, a '70s kind of light-absorbing velvet, colored bulbs, indirect glow, dark corners. The sun was a moon was a disco ball with no light hitting it.

I enjoyed floating around the filming focus area, 40 or 50 feet back in the dark, just moving among the tables, walking slow, enjoying being one of this elect, who could hire nightclubs and empty them out in order to make pornographic films. Occasionally, I glanced at the naked ones, thrusting and moving sinuously together.

I loved them, but I could never get up the nerve to tell them, so I just glanced now and then.

Down in the dark of this good scene, which made my life interesting to me, I heard a sound, and was drawn down a black hall toward an exit light. Opening the door, I looked out on one of the only two downpours I saw the entire five years I lived in the Bay Area. Rain so hard, it was like someone was trying to make up for all the nights without rain. Kind of poignant. I could relate.

I stood there solid, watching the liquid, and from my left, through the air, came a cry: "Homeboy!!"

I looked that way, back toward the club area, and came a big man, striding toward me naked. Big head of hair. Very tall. Thin with muscle, and the silhouette of something long and strong, swinging between his legs.

I thought "Could it be?"

John Holmes came up to me out of the mystery hall with his hand upraised, and I raised mine and we slapped five, egyptian style. I said "Are you from Ohio?"

He said "Lorain" or "Chagrin Falls", I can never remember which, and I asked him how he had known about me, where I was from.

Smiling nice, he said "That interview you gave to one of the skin magazines."

I have never been able to remember ever giving an interview to any magazine, to this day. Love to read what I said when I was that high that I forgot myself entirely.

I showed him my rainstorm and we stood together in the doorway, watching the wall of water and saying "Damn!" and a little more. I don't remember much, but it was good to meet John while there was still time. 1984 or so. I could locate it by scoping the rain records, but I won't.

Maybe it wasn't really raining.

The Right Reverend jim jones, purveyor of fine Kool-Aid to 900 lost sheep, would lay in his wooden throne all day and all night, high as a high kite on everything his doctor could bring in, and drone into his sacred microphone.

He had it all taped, naturally, not wanting to lose a syllable of his holy grunting, but to pass his mess-age to the next fools.

One night he caught himself on tape saying "Father has been cursed with the largest penis in human history."

My burden is heavy, he might have said. I must pick up the pieces of my ass and continue.

He'd send his thugs, The Righteous, to fetch him various holes, and they would appear in some poor person's tent flap. "The Need is great on Father tonight. You will be allowed to serve." And off they would dog-trot with their captive holes. It was a belief thing. We wouldn't understand.

Think of the memories. Of course, all the containers for all those memories were destroyed.

When the Romans tried to overrun the Germanic people, they made off with a lot of Nordic blondes, including children and both sexes.

Taking them back to Rome, they were among the most expensive slaves ever sold. The black-haired people were mesmerized by the golden fleece and ice-blue eyes.

Even the Pope got him some of that, and said "I can see why they are called Angles. They look like angels!!"

When Rome was overthrown, there was payback to be made. Northern Italy has a fair percentage of blondes. Probably escapee colonies, or perhaps just a trading post.

Best-written sexy book ever: Marco Vassi's "xxxxxx Apocalypse".

I walked down the path he went, about 5 years after he did. Like reading prophecy to read of his times, but the prophet was referring to the past. Merlin was like that -- aging backward -- going from our future into our past, which was his future. That's why, in the movie "Excalibur", he was surprised by something and said "I didn't remember this!!!"

Maybe I'll quote passages from Vassi if people are interested.

And "Roman Orgy" from an Olympia Reader on sex is the greatest sex story and image from sexual history I've ever read.

I went to a doctor once because one of my balls hurt. I got whatever doctor was on duty, and she happened to be a voluptuous, very pretty woman about my age. We went into a little room with her nurse, and I told her what was going down.

She asked me to show her my balls and when I did, she cupped them in her hand and asked me to cough. Then she felt my balls all over carefully, so I could tell her how it feel.

She kept squeezing my balls and feeling my balls, mostly in silence. I noticed her nurse was watching her handle my balls and dick very closely.

Then she said something to me and sent the nurse out. Next thing I know, the nurse comes back with two other nurses, and now I got four women ogling my dick and balls while the one felt me up. I didn't feel any pain anymore.

Finally, she looked in my eyes and smiled the greatest smile. I smiled back and the nurses all smiled, too. It was nice. I didn't ever want to leave. I wonder if they still remember me, too?

I used to bike a lot and I wore short biker shorts to let my legs move freely. My shorts didn't have a jock built in. I saw a female counselor and a female case worker at that point, and at least six times each, I caught them looking between my legs during our sessions. Such sneaky looks on their faces!! I acted as if I was putting my face in my hands to think once and looked at what they were looking at and saw half of one of my balls jutting out, naked and not too hairy, but smooth with a few veins showing, and restiing on a bed of dark pubic hair.

I loved that. I let them get their eyes full every week.

The day before I met her, she was arrested for going into a shopping mall "in her underwear". It was the first thing I ever heard about her, after she approached and gave me her number the next night.

Night two I asked her why she'd done it. She said "I was not in my underwear. I was wearing a white bikini with white sandals, kind of high-heeled."

I said she must have looked very much as if she was shopping in bra, panties and high heels. She said the police had come and she had no idea what to tell them, either.

One time were walking in the dark and we saw a low window open about a foot. My wife went up, pulled up her sweater and stuck her tits in the window. In about 10 seconds, I heard a sound inside and she ran and I ran after her.