SEXIS WRONG

When they thought of themselves, those Averagemen, they
saw themselves with women with fine bodies and big, bouncy
tits. They saw themselves with muscles and a waist and a
dick that had somehow miraculously taken on some impressive
dimensions. But all of that was okay, because they were
exactly Mr. Averageman…just like the beholders.
They had a long list of don’ts, headed by “non-human bodies,”
described as steroid freaks. Also, no body piercings,
no visible marks of any sort. No scars, no body sculpting,
no birthmarks, no tattoos. No exotic, fashionable, or seasonable
people…just ordinary, everyday Mr. Averageman. And,
much to my surprise, they singled out smoking cigarettes…in
1966…as being very offensive to them and an intrusion upon
their reading, viewing, or intimately involved enjoyment.
The writers of the heterosexual novels were required to focus
upon the penis at all times. Regardless of what was ongoing
in the narrative, within the central character’s head—locked
by reader identification with the reader—all of his thoughts—
therefore, the reader’s—were always to be centered on his
penis. This was to help maintain the essential reason for the
novel: to get it up, keep it up, and exercise it regularly or as
prescribed by the family physician except in states where prohibited
by law and common decency and don’t forget to lave
sus manos.
Then, by way of reminding the writers of reality, we quoted
the immortal D.H. Lawrence, who said, “What is pornography
to one man is the laughter of genius to another.”
(Because of this, we issued immediate instructions to all model
agencies, photographers, etc. working for us that all those
things, especially tattoos, were forbidden in the future. Similar
instructions went to the writers regarding the use of cigarettes
and smoking by the characters in their books. We were years
ahead of the times in producing “no smoking” books.)
We used those results to formulate
what became the basic background
formula for all our sleaze paperbacks
and visual publications.
In the novels they wanted to read about people exactly like
themselves, doing the same things they really wanted to be
doing but for some reason weren’t getting anywhere close
to, not within blocks, and with them living in the middle of the
hottest hooker marketplace in town. They wanted real people
in real situations with things like bills and responsibilities that
they could somehow set aside for a bit, just long enough to
escape into a fantasy of steamy, smelly sex and lurid expectations
that ended, inevitably, with splurts of blessed relief,
thank you, Jesus!
I am very glad that I accepted Don Gilmore’s offer to back
his study of the effects of certain sexual stimuli on the test
subjects. We used those results to formulate what became
the basic background formula for all our sleaze paperbacks
and visual publications.
There was one more overriding criteria, of
course, the legal one. Every time there was a
new ruling in a major First Amendment court
proceeding, we received new legal guidelines
from our guiding light, Stanley Fleishman, who
knew the route better than any other man.
Then, with those constantly changing legal guidelines overlaying
the basic formula, our paperbacks and skin magazines
were ready to do their duty as none other had ever done before.
The result of the moves made to accommodate Dr. Gilmore’s
psychological and sexual studies within our manuscripts, and
within our naked people magazines, was incredible. The sales
proved the worth of the studies several times over and never
stopped proving it until the whole merry-go-round broke
down about fifteen years later.
We gave the writers new guidelines stressing the need to
write down to the lowest possible common denominator. We
encouraged them to use stock clichés and to never strive for
a new way of doing or describing the same old thing. “Built
like a brick shithouse” served well enough.
We asked for a certain amount of tease and anticipation, almost
like foreplay, before the foreplay began, and to at least
let the characters say something to each other before the first
blowjob ends and the money shot splewies all over her nicely
made-up face.
At times, the tease can be much better than the final resolution.
Scattered within the debris and beneath the hooves of those
brightly painted and exquisitely carved carousel horses were
the remains of millions of copies of disintegrating pulp paperbacks.
They were all that remained of the 5,000 novels and
uncountable skin magazines produced by Greenleaf under
my direction, and the additional thousands that followed after
that. Fading into dust, disappearing into the past, and becoming
all too quickly extinct.
And at the same time, for an increasingly large number of devoted
sleaze-book collectors, they are the single most sought
after and expensive (hundreds of dollars for single copies)
masturbatory aids ever created for the ultimate blessed erotic
benefit of all mankind….
236 EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT SEX IS WRONG