An Erudite Perv's Reading Journal Part I From New Orleans


by Subedar

Below is an excerpt from T. E. Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom. It really doesn't do that much for the perv: a) It involves a whipping, and whips don't do that much for me. (I'm a cane, paddle, hand kinda perv.)At one point, he is whipped in the groin, and I'm strictly an ass and hand kinda perv. b) The violence is just a bit too intense to be a turn on for me, but it may be of interest to some MMSA Stories readers.

Lawrence (of Lawrence of Arabia fame)was captured by the Turks who whipped and raped him. The rape occurs at a point when Lawrence taken prisoner as a possible spy refuses the advances of a Turkish commander who "half whispered to the corporal to take me out and teach me everything. To keep my mind in control I numbered the blows of the whip but after twenty lost count, and I could feel only the shapeless weight of pain, not tearing claws, for which I had prepared but a gradual cracking apart of my whole being by some too-great force whose waves rolled up my spine till they were pent within my brain, to clash terribly together. Somewhere in the place, a cheap clock ticked loudly, and it distressed me that their beating was not in its time. I writhed and twisted, but was held so tightly that my struggles were useless. After the corporal ceased, the men took up, very deliberately, giving me so many, and then an interval, during which they would squabble for the next turn, ease themselves, and play unspeakably with me. This was repeated often, for what may have been more than ten minutes.

At last, when I was completely broken, they seemed satisfied. Somehow I found myself off the bench, lying on my back on the dirty floor, where I snuggled down, dazed, panting for breath, but vaguely comfortable. I had strung myself to learn all pain until I died, and no longer actor, but spectator, thought not to care how my body jerked and squealed. Yet I knew or imagined what passed about me.

I remember the corporal kicking with his nailed boot to get me up; and this was true, for the next day my right side was dark and lacerated. I remembered smiling idly at him, for a delicious warmth, probably _s_e_x_ual, was swelling through me; and then he flung up his arm and hacked with the full length of his whip into my groin. This doubled me half-over, screaming, or rather trying impotently to scream, only shuddering through my open mouth. One giggled with amusement. A voice cried,'Shame, you've killed him!' Another slash followed. A roaring, and my eyes went black; while within me the core of life seemed to heave slowly up through the rending nerves expelled from my body by the last indescribable pang."

In one of my earlier journal entries from New Orleans, I was waxing enthusiastic about The Corner Pocket. My one gripe about the gay clubs here is that there are no black dancers, and I have a fetish for black guys. Finally, in despair, I went into Cajun Dale's a male strip club designed mainly for cunt, and despite the frustration of having to sit in the back row behind tables of screaming, coy females, there was the most delicious assortment of chocolate: a) Romeo, small and dark chocolate, with a heart rending smile. Gleaming white death in that dark, dark face with a little black beard. b) Caramel. Caramel colored. Twenty one, though he looks like sixteen. Petite and boyish, my thing. Beautiful little baby face, with lightish eyes. (Creole?) Not as bright as Romeo, but given my fetish for black speech, my heart and _c_o_c_k_ melts when he says to me, "Having a good time?" and when I knod, declares "Ahight, ahight." I find it so _s_e_x_y the way that nothing resembling an "l" can be found in a truly dinge rendering of "all right, all right." c) Babyboy: sweet, lighter chocolate than Romeo but not as light as Caramel, delicate boyish face, though he's actually not as babyish as Caramel. One evening someone had pinched his cash from his dressing room, and he was deeply upset, raging about how one of his friends during the day had sold him out, etc. In my unpleasant pervie way, I couldn't concentrate on his complaints because I was so enamoured by what his pain was doing to his pretty little boyish features. (It also gave me the excuse to solicitously squeeze his big soft black hand.) d) Mignon: Dark dark chocolate, boyish body. Not as pretty as some of the others, but that dark chocolate is a real turn on.

With all of them, of course, I would be hungrily thrusting dollar bills down their ass cracks, together with sharp painful hand smacks. Unfortuntately, to maintain their attraction to the cunts, and because they all claim, of course, to be pure breeders, though I suspect they are really pan_s_e_x_ual (as are we all), they resolutely refuse to kiss or too much hugging. Kissing is a big thing for me, so that was a bit of a disappointment. But still a small disappointment. I haven't said anything about dick size because even though I know that most Americans associate blacks with big dicks that's not the big turn on for me. But certainly they seemed well endowed, and that seemed the main draw to the tiresome would be Scarlet O Hara's thrusting dollar bills down their crotches.

New Orleans is famous for its bread pudding, but for me, I will always associate the city with warm glowing chocolate buns, the best dessert of all. Hell the best dessert and main course of all.


More stories by Subedar