Morning Ritual

me: Judy, when did you realize that you were getting older?

judy: Well, let me see, my husband and I used to have a morning ritual when we were younger --I'd wake up on Sunday morn and give him his weekly blow-job/hand job with his Sunday paper. Forty years later, the only thing that's hot and glazed around our house on Sunday mornings are the dozen donuts we eat instead. Contrary to popular belief and every edition of Cosmopolitan magazine ( which is really just the same magazine for 30 years), a really good donut is a viable option to sex, according to the Oprah 'ragzine. Trust me, Oprah's had a lot of sex and a lot of donuts.

me: How's your husband taking it?

judy: Not too bad. If he pokes his thing through about six maple frosted donuts, I might be tempted to go near it.

me: Wow Judy, you're a strong and powerful woman. I'm honored to be your sidekick. 

Nice Girls Do it!

Me: I just saw Abhimaan (1973) and I was surprised at how much I liked the movie --it would make a great remake now that everything old is new again. The movie felt fresh and didn't overstay its welcome. And there were three very funny scenes where Jaya( after the wedding of course) shows up at her husband's bedside and gives him the international "Give Me Big Indian Penis Now" look of desperation.  I recognized the look because I've seen the same zonked out GoD Am I Ever Going to Get It expression on my own face and some of my not so popular girlfriends. On screen, Jaya briefly pretends to resist so she doesn't come off as slutty and then quickly shimmies out of frame without bending at the knees ( I had no idea she was so flexible). The what me? expression on her face told me all I needed to know    --she was about to give her man "the gift." I don't know what he did to deserve the Blow Job. It was the 70's and people weren't giving them away like today where the BJ has replaced the handshake and the getting to know you butt sniff.  On screen, Jaya and Amit do their jobs too well and craft a rosy picture of married life that promises wall to wall sex at all hours of the day. Back when the movie opened, couples probably ran out of the theatre ripping at each other's clothes. And who knows how many reluctant young people gave into their scheming parents and got married just for the family approved sex that was the focus of the film. The movie actually had the nerve to make marriage the ultimate sexual fantasy, not the stuff the rest of the world had graduated to like pre-approved rapes and fisting (for the truly bored). Propaganda or not, Jaya's BJ ends with her head stuck in a huge patch of Amit B's chest hairs and a last call at the whore house grope that was hysterical but oddly sexxxy for a G-rated family flick. 

  Judy: Gee thanks, I'll put it on my Netflix, right behind Throw Mama From The Train. You know how I can't take a movie seriously if Jacqueline Bisset is not in it. The Deep, Rich and Famous, and Class, --now those aren't just movies, they're films. If I kick the bucket and Lifetime wants to make my life story, promise me that only Jacqueline Bisset gets to play me in the movie, and please, ---no Barbara Hershey, no matter now much "Boxcar Bertha" begs. That dried up old Naveen Andrews' dating cougar can forget it."

I Was Hoping the Sheer Power of My

 Love Would Draw Him To Me.

I know this girl who's still in love with an ex-boyfriend even though it's been 20 years since the breakup. They dated in high school and she was convinced he was the one ---even though he dumped her for another, and stayed away from her at all cost except when she was nearby and desperate for attention and he was desperate for a free yank or a blow-job  --and only if other women were scarce. It was obvious to everyone but her that he didn't give a rats ass about her.

After a big chunk of time and a lot of turnover in the cast of Saturday Night Live, she got married and divorced, went through a million hookups and hours of cyber sex, but still kept her love for this guy alive. One day, out of the blue, she read in the paper that the guy's father had passed away and that the funeral was on that very day. Sensing a great opportunity to throw herself at the guy and show her respect for the dead  at the same time she decided to go to the funeral.

At his father's funeral, she got what she wanted --her ex, overcome with grief over the death of a parent, finally saw her as a human being, --he talked to her, stood by her side and leaned on her solid twenty year old love for him all through the service. He needed a shoulder to cry on and she was so happy that it was hers. She saw the funeral as a great turn in her luck and even told him that they should get together before he leaves ---promising more with her eyes and her body then she could say over a casket --it finally seemed that 20 years later, there was a small hole in his love life for her to burrow into, to dig in for the long haul, and be there when he was ready to deal with her love. No matter how lame it all sounded or how many self help books she read that told her to run for her life, she was ready to wait for him till the end of time in the love bunker of her mind. 

She left the funeral full of hope and decided to test the fates and her love. She remembered this one spot that they had shared on a date a thousand years ago,  a tacky community Gazebo by the beach that was all concrete, dog piss and bad lighting. For some reason she felt possessed by the desire to go there and wait for him even though nothing had happened between them for her to think that he would be there --neither one of them made any plans. At the Gazebo she waited and waited,  hours went by and finally she gave up and went home, sad and alone again. She had his number, she could have called him, she could have followed him home from the service. Why she was suddenly struck with the notion that he would mysteriously show up at a Gazebo he barely remembered is beyond me. 

When she told the story she explained her actions without a bit of irony or a laugh track . "I was hoping the sheer power of my love would draw him toward me." Those 14 words were the funniest I'd heard outside of an episode of Dynasty but the girl was serious. It sounded more like something Crystal Carrington's would say if her private jet crash landed over Aspen, hoping her love for Blake would draw him and the search party towards the wreckage --but in the real world, the declaration of love seemed really strange.

"Judy, what's wrong with her? Why does she let this happen to her?

"Well," Judy answered me ,"sometimes you see a face or you hear a voice and it connects with a memory in your head, in that place where you keep your secret diary with the rainbows and unicorns and the names and pictures off every boy  you ever wanted. If you meet a guy who triggers a memory here, it's going to end with you acting retarded unless the other person feels the same way--kind of like Andrew Stevens and Morgan Fairchild in The Last Seduction. 

"I hate Morgan Fairchild, she spends half that movie in a hot tub and her hair never gets wet."

"Don't hate on Morgan, her career is going on four decades, you're lucky if you have her career.

"Okay fine, I love Morgan Fairchild."

"Anyway, Andrew loves Morgan's character so much in the movie, he can't see how crazy he's getting. In his mind his love is so pure he knows that Morgan will understand."

"He's pretty creepy, yuk."

"So is your girl friend,  There are probably lots of people in her life that she could love that are just as great as this one dude from her past." 

"But Judy, you don't get it, sometimes you fall in love with a face and you go nuts, you don't even know the person but you are convinced that the sheer power of your love will draw him to you, ohh FUCK! now I'm saying it, man that's retarded, and pretty damn lame."

"See what I mean."

"I get it, Judy, you're the best. Ahh Judy, can you set me up with your son Lawrence?"

"Back off Scarlet, Lawrence is straight, married and with children. Get your ass to Nobb Hill and the bottomless boys who get paid to have you oggle them before you do something as silly as fall in love with someone who doesn't know you exist."

"----but if he only knew how much I Lov-"

"If you say one more word, I will never talk to you again."

"Okay fine.

" Don't make me turn into Suzy Orman, she will tell you what a pathetic loser you are and you will run out of here crying."

Bachelor #18, Mr.Plantain who likes it furry.

Okay, Judy, so I was outside of room 17 in this really cheap motel by the airport run by some nosy Indian dudes who kept eyeing me as I stood by the door to the room unable to make up my mind about what I should do. Inside was this Cuban guy from Chicago who kept calling me Papi. I met him a year before and we had talked on the phone and all of the sudden, he showed up and was acting really horny. I was pretty desperate for some TLC so I agreed to meet him.

"Papi want this dick in his ass, Papi want some rice and beans," he said. Everything was Papi this and Papi that. 

He said I was pretty . "I love your cinnamony skin," he said, over and over again, in his broken English --heavy on the Cuban, easy on the English. I wanted to believe it but I knew that he just wanted to get at my hairy ass ---probably the only reason we got together. I fit some weird little idea in his head of what got him going --dark, hairy and foreign --of which, hairy was the most important. I assured him long before that I had at least a level 4 amount of hair on my body --Robin Williams being level 5, and that the hair was all over.

"It's all over you body right?" he had asked a few weeks before on the phone, in a not too sexy whisper, like he had his thing out as he talked.

"Yes."

"Don't trim it, or shave please," he demanded.

"Okay."

"Especially your ass. I can't wait to eat your hairy ass."

"Gross, but sure," I said picturing his teeth filled with my ass hairs.

"I can't wait. Your hairy shoulders are going to make me very horny. You got hairy shoulders right?

"Yes, the shoulders are hairy, we've been through this a hundred times."

When I walked inside the room and we finally met, he turned out to be way older than he said he was and smelled like one of those greasy Cinnibon muffins you get at airports --the kind with the extra dollop of butter creme melting all over.  I had made an excuse and walked out to get a drink hit with serious doubts about going back in and doing it with this older more (45 than 29) guy who wanted to rub up against something brown and hairy. But I felt bad that he had flown out and he had been wanting to do it for over a year so I  just pushed away all the weirdness and went inside again.

 It also started to rain and the crazy Indian dudes from the front desk we on my tip --now watching  my every move so I told myself I had no choice.

The Cuban didn't waste any time and showed me his little friend as soon as I stepped back into room 17. He took it out of his grey track pants and bang, when it was out in the open, it really felt like a whole other person joined us. Suddenly the old guy wasn't so bad I said to myself as I locked eyes with his manhood.  

His "johnson" was huge --it kind of reminded me of one of those old Air India metal planes I used to play with as a kid, the one with a thousand double D batteries. I had never seen one this big in real life, only in the trashy movies. It was literally the size of two coke cans or one monster plantain. It had a smell  --a good one, like vanilla-- like he had rubbed it in frosting just moments before. How did he know my weakness was sugar and butter? Just the smell of it made me want to dip it in a tall glass of milk and take a huge bite. 

Instead, I inhaled deeply and the whole room smelled like a mexican bakery.

"I rub it with Jessica Simpson brand Body Lotion just for you, --sugar cookie," he said.

"You went all out, thanks," I said, with appreciation, putting aside the picture I got of the cut out bin at a noisy, messy  SuperMarshall's or T-J Maxx in the hood with the now deeply discounted Jessica Simpson Skin Care crap.

"I do that for my man," he added, "I know how to make myself real clean and smell good," he confirmed, doing the  best impression of a neanderthal I'll ever see without a time machine.

"Clean is good."

"No it isn't, Indian men don't clean up for the ass sex, I have to tell them to take a shower and  brush they asshole with a tooth brush and to use the anal rinse."

"Great, I am clean but I did not douche, because this whole meeting was so sudden and because I am not putting that thing inside me,  I will die," I said without looking up from his penis. 

I was also a little afraid of the kind of Indian guys he had been with, the one's with the dirty holes.

"Why not, you don't want a Macho top?" he asked sadly as he quickly glanced at a monster sized tube of astrocreme butt lube laying innocently on the night stand, waiting to be opened.  He was prepared, I'll give him that."I had no idea it even got that big, I've only done it with Indian guys up to this point and they were averageing about 6 inches at the most."

"Well so what? We can't do it Papi?"

"How about I play with it a little and then I get on the bed and you can stick it in between my balls, in the back, so that your dick can kind of rub on my ass cheeks and into the back of my thing," I said serious as can be, the last thing I needed was reconstructive surgery for my behind. 

He looked pissed off but thankfully settled for the frotage.

For the next two hours he played with all the hair on my body and then banged the back of my nuts with what felt like a two liter bottle of Coke. The whole time he was pretend fucking me he said stuff like, "Ohh Papi, that feels so good, and you like that Papi, you want this every night, you can have this every night, I give you this every day, I treat my man good, and get you a house on the beach in Havana."  

It never fails, in between the in and out and before the spooge, that's when a guy feels the most, and promises the world --or beach front property. Afterwards, I'd be lucky if I got dinner at Applebee's or a Denny's Grand Slam.

In the end, I had to finally jack him off with both hands cranking like a gymnast.  The whole enterprise made my hands so tired that I took a 15 minute break to watch Reno 911 and catch my breath. I couldn't imagine having to do this every day -- for eternity.   

I finally asked my internal Judy Blume and she confirmed what I had been feeling. " You learned a very important lesson --when it's as big as a plantain it's fun to look at but it takes a lot of effort, and if you don't have a lot of upper body strength, or have a weak grip etc, I say skip it for something more manageable."

"Thanks Judy, you're the best, can I interest you in adult adoption? --everyone's doing it and you could start with me." 

Blubber

I actually wrote to Judy Blume years ago and asked her if I could

do the movie version of Blubber, my all time favorite of her books for teens. There were two scenes that really got me excited, one with a kid in class picking his nose and saving his boogers on little scraps of paper, and another one where the young heroine has to rake up all these leaves for bad behavior and is forced to pee out in the woods because she isn't near a bathroom. As a kid, reading about other  kids picking their noses and peeing in the great outdoors was irresistible, especially in a book you could get right next to Moby Dick and A Seperate Peace. Judy legitimized bad behavior in her award winning books -- I didn't have to feel so bad when I acted up . The antics seem innocent now and by today's standards a kid would have to pick another kid's nose and eat it in front of the student body for anyone to notice. 

     To my surprise, Judy answered me in a brief and nice email thanking me for my support and was really sorry to inform me that her grown son Larry was going to make the movie. I can't tell you how bad I wanted to switch places with Larry. I had no idea what he looked like or what his life was like but being squeezed through Judy's gateway to the earth was enough.  As far as I can tell the movie never got made, that happens, even Judy Blume, with her huge audience of new and aging fans probably has a hard time selling her ideas --she's probably got to add some vampires and more heavy petting to her fun morality plays to get them made today.

  I searched my internal Judy and lucky for me, she answered ---Judy was always there, when I need her.  "Listen, honey, Lawrance Blume is my son, so he gets all the breaks, that's just life. You'll understand when you have children. Anyway, we're working on something right now for Disney, maybe Deenie, so just wait darling and you can add Deenie to you DVD or Blue Ray collection, anyway I got to go, my rather fulfilling life is calling."