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Archive for August, 2011

One day while looking for inspiration about something to write in this blog, I thought it would be amusing to author a semi-autobiographical fable based upon some historical person bearing my family name, Petrillo. A cursory exploration of the internet revealed, as would be expected of an Italian-American surname, a number of criminals and minor mafia members.

My research also led me to review the execution records of several states in the Northeastern portion of the US which produced at least one Petrillo executed for murder.

It appears, from those records, that those states eventually ran out of Indians to execute or free black men (In the case of the black men, primarily for sleeping with white women which appeared to be a capital crime at that time.) So, starting in about 1860, the number of yearly executions not only increased markedly but the executioner moved on to a strong run of people with Italian surnames. This continued until about the middle of the Twentieth Century when blacks took over again (the Indians I assume all having been eliminated), not so much for just sleeping with white women but now for everything else as well, including even things they did not do. I am sure other sections of the country featured other minorities from time to time that similarly heard the executioners song.

There were also the notorious Petrillo brothers from Connecticut, tried, convicted and executed for a scheme of insuring individuals who they subsequently murdered to collect the insurance money.

Now all of these showed promise for a story or two. But sensitive as I am about the stereotypes of Italian-Americans, I continued my search in hopes of finding a more positive model to use.

I could only turn up three.

One was Sophia Petrillo who was played by Estelle Getty in “The Golden Girls” television series. Sophia was the Bea Arthur character’s mother. Unfortunately, she was a fictional character and anyway she was reputed to have burned down the retirement home before moving to Miami to live with her daughter and friends. (There also was an August Petrillo who, at the time the show was popular, was the racist mayor of Mount Vernon NY, a city I lived in briefly, but he was also not the role model I had in mind.)

Then there was James Caesar Petrillo, the head of the International Union of Musicians from the 1930s until the 60’s. There was a band shell in Chicago named for him. That had some promise. A story about a young musician and son of an immigrant who with the usual combination of guile and intimidation worked his way up to become one of the undisputed leaders in the American trade union movement and eventually played a well-publicized duet with then President Harry S. Truman; James on his trumpet and the President on the piano, had a certain American success story ring to it.

There was also some guy named Petrillo from Pennsylvania who wrote a book called “The Ghost Towns of North Mountain.” I could see a reality series on the SiFi network coming out of it.

But for some reason that day, none of those stories really appealed to me.

Then I discovered that in the sixteenth or seventeenth century there was a famously pretty young male musician named Petrillo that was the plaything of the Prince of Tuscany, a Medici no less. Unfortunately, I don’t do costume dramas.

On the other hand, I thought I could possibly revise his story to make it more contemporary.

In that case, forgetting my temerity about stereotypes, the story I imagined, might go something like this:

Ferdinando, “Freddy Megs” Medici, the dissolute son of Vincent, “Vinnie the Hump” Medici a well-known Mafiosi, one day decided that he wanted to be a producer and manager of rock bands and using his father’s money started doing so.

Francis “Franny” Petrillo was the backup Bass guitarist of the band “Pepperoni Suicide” that was managed by Freddy Megs. Franny was the product of a series of abusive foster parent situations. He was also an exceptionally pretty boy and Freddy Megs fell for him, hard.They began an affair.

Since the homophobic mafioso leadership frowned on such things,  Freddy Megs kept his dalliance with Franny very secret. He also had very public affairs with women that convinced most of those that knew him that Megs was no finocchio.  Anyway, he was not yet a made man so something like this, if it did get out, could always be considered just a youthful indiscretion.

Freddy Megs promised Franny that one day he would have his own band.

Unbeknownst to Franny, Freddy Megs was also having an affair with a transsexual drummer in a punk grunge Dyke band called The Bloody Rags, also managed by Megs. The drummer’s name was Melanie.

When Franny found out about Melanie he became very jealous and decided to do away with her. He rigged up her drums to burst into flames when Melanie struck them in a certain way.

And so, at the concert where the Bloody Rags were performing, Melanie’s drums burst into flames on cue. Unfortunately for Franny, Melanie escaped without a scratch and the pyrotechnics were so well received by the audience that the Bloody Rags incorporated it into their act and as a result became famous.

Melanie and the band, now insanely popular, promptly hired a more successful manager then Megs and took off for a tour of Europe, leaving Megs pissed off and Franny temporarily happy.

Freddy Megs soon grew tired of the music business, sold off his bands, told Franny it was over between them and joined an artist community in Taos.

Franny distraught and hoping to punish Megs with guilt, then hung himself from a telephone pole by the E-string of his favorite guitar, right outside the door of Freddy Megs house .

Unbeknownst to Franny, Freddy Megs had already moved to New Mexico and had sold the house to Franny’s father, a mega-millionaire who had made his money as Bernie Madoff’s silent partner. Franny’s father spent his life making money and feeling guilty for abandoning Franny when he was an infant. He had recently tracked Franny down and was planning to reveal himself to his long-lost son.

His father, coming out of his house in the morning to meet with his lawyers because he was under indictment for his association with Madoff, seeing Franny hanging there promptly dies of a heart attack leaving all his money to Franny. Since Franny is already dead the money goes to the alternative beneficiary in the will, a non-profit dedicated to reprogramming gay artists.

Eat your heart out Charlie Dickens wherever you are.

Ciao.

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Last afternoon of the Geriatric Knights in which the Knights Get Down to Business (Cont.).

The virile member, to please women, must have at most a length of the breadth of twelve fingers, or three handbreadths, and at least six fingers, or a hand and a half breadth.

There are men with members of twelve fingers, or three hand-breadths; others of ten fingers, or two and a half hands. And others measure eight fingers, or two hands. A man whose member is of less dimensions cannot please women.
The Perfumed Garden, Richard Burton, trans.

Giufa Comes Home.

So, Giufa, fortified with the “Blue Pill,” a “Gold Pill”, Density’s magic Chinese “Black Pill” and a testosterone shot, felt he was more than ready for the celebration of the festival of coitus.

So, that day he reserved one of the “Love Temples” located off of the pool room at the Kennel Club and took Selma with him into the room to assist him with the rites.

They began with the customary removal of clothing and proceeded to the ritual of the “Fondling and Kissing of the Nipples”. This was then followed by the ceremonial “pee-pee” by each of them. The shower service followed with the formal “Soaping and Washing of the Genitals.” Thereafter they entered upon the “Altar of the Bed” and proceeded to the “Laying Out of the Condom on the Nightstand” ceremony. Then following completion of the liturgical foreplay, they performed THE SACRED SHTUP that ended with Giufa shouting “Oh God” as proscribed in the literature.

After the completion of the ritual during which they attempted to exchange bodily fluids in every orifice they could imagine and after a brief period of rest, they commenced to perform the rituals in reverse, to unwind, so to speak, the completed ceremony; first the shower, then the pee-pee, the final “Fondling and Kissing of the Nipples” and the donning of the clothing. At last there was the obligatory wait while she put on her make-up.

They left the quiet of the temple and emerged into the raucous noise of the pool room. Density and Harvey looked up from their game of pool with several of the “Ladies-in waiting” smiled and nodded to Giufa.

Giufa now sanctified, threw back his shoulders, smiled, nodded and passed out from the Kennel Club and into the sunlight, eager to begin his quest.

Next issue, “Harvey gets his wish”.

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Last Afternoon of the Geriatric Knights in which the Knights Get Down to Business (Cont.).
“The impossibility of performing the coitus, owing to the absence of stiffness in the member, is also due to other causes. It will happen, for instance, that a man with his verge in erection will find it getting flaccid just when he is on the point of introducing it between the thighs of the woman. He thinks this is impotence, while it is simply the result, may be, of an exaggerated respect for the woman, may be of a misplaced bashfulness, may be because one has observed something disagreeable, or on account of an unpleasant odor; finally, owing to a feeling of jealousy, inspired by the reflection that the woman is no longer a virgin, and has served the pleasures of other men.”
The Perfumed Garden, Richard Burton Trans.
Giufa Finds his Groove again.
Now on that last afternoon of their fellowship before departing on their individual quests,  several of the Knights were gathered at the Oval Table eager for one final shtup in celebration. Although the Knights were not particularly inclined to be religious they were committed to perform their duties religiously, for as the old Arab wrote so long ago,”Do you not know that women’s religion is in their vulvas?”
Spy’s girlfriend, the Princess Oy arrived. She is being played by Joan Chen. (I know, I know what I said about Asian woman celebrities unwillingness to appear in a production like this, but then again, I warned you to never trust the storyteller.) This cheered Spy up a lot. After a drink or two they, made their round of the table saying their farewells to anyone within range of an air-kiss. They left, probably to have dinner somewhere then off for some trolling to find a Waiting Lady willing to join them for the night. Tomorrow morning Spy will disappear into the Indonesian jungle for three months or so as a knight-errant  assuring safe forests for the Resource Lords. Will he stumble across the Magic Vulva in those benighted wilds. The remaining Knights thought not.
A short while after Spy’s departure Density and Harvey announced that they were going to explore the other rooms to see if they could find the Waiting Lady of their afternoon’s desire.
“What are you looking for” inquired Giufa.
“I’m looking for a woman who can rapid fire her ass like a Brazilian dick milker”, responded Density. “I may however have to wait until I get to the Philippines to find one of those. Meanwhile, I just saw the greatest screamer and squirter in Pattaya go into the other room, Maybe I can get her together with Harvey”.
And so they went off leaving Giufa alone at the Oval Table like the cheese in the nursery rhyme. Well not alone exactly, Selma was busily applying hand and ample butt to his physical rehabilitation.
The previous evening Giufa contemplated the next day’s celebration anxiously, he did not want to fail at this important event. So, he consulted the writings of the Old Arab for help.
The Old Arab suggested, “The virile member, rubbed with ass’s milk, will become uncommonly strong and vigorous. ” But  he was sure that asses milk not something one would typically find in a Thai supermarket. He would have to send away for it and that would take too long.
Further on he came across  the suggestion that one should, ” wash the member in water until it becomes red, and enters into erection. Then take a piece of soft leather, upon which spread hot pitch, and envelop the member with it. It will not be long before the member raises its head, trembling with passion. The leather is to be left on until the pitch grows cold, and the member is again in a state of repose. This operation, several times repeated, will have the effect of making the member strong and thick.”
 This however, while tempting, was a bit much for him to contemplate besides where could he find some hot pitch at this time of night. So instead he took out a pill given to him by Density supposedly obtained from China that promised to work like magic. Giufa suspected that  the pill contained the ground up remains of some endangered species thought to induce super-human virility by sympathetic magic. But he was desperate. He also took out a big blue pill that has become the drug of choice for men everywhere today and the source of untold wealth for the company that owns its patent.
These he placed, carefully on his nightstand like sacramental offerings to be consumed tomorrow before departing for the Kennel Club. He then went to sleep and dreamed of two men with the same first name, Abou, who had consumed sacred foods before embarking on their labor:
“The member of Abou el Heïloukh has remained erect 
For thirty days without a break, because he did eat onions. 
Abou el Heïdja has deflowered in one night 
Once eighty virgins, and he did not eat or drink between, 
Because he’d surfeited himself first with chick-peas, 
And had drunk camel’s milk with honey mixed. “
“Maybe onions and honey” he thought as he dreamed, “I have them around here somewhere.”
To be continued as, “Giufa Comes Home.”

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He who boils asparagus and then fries them in fat, and then pours upon them the yolks of eggs with pounded condiments, and eats every day of this dish, will grow very strong for the coitus, and find in it a stimulant for his amorous desires.
The Perfumed Garden, Richard Burton, Trans.
Fabula Interruptus
Now I know that in my most recent issue I promised to continue with the Last Afternoon of the Geriatric Knights in which the Knights Get Down to Business, but as any reader of fiction knows, you can never trust the storyteller.
I thought it would be a good idea to break in here now, because I was worried that the reader may see the individual Knights as mere shadow figures around which to build a tale. While that may be true, I thought it would help the narrative if we put a little flesh onto their bones, so to speak.
Not a back story, for that would be irrelevant even to the Knights themselves. Instead I thought it would be helpful to the reader for me to provide an insight into the essence, if you will, of each Knights character.
We will begin (as we usually seem to do) with Jerome, who prefers to be known as Horace, because he is the least interesting and because of that also the most compelling of the Knights. The reason for this apparent conundrum is  that  to some people Jerome, who prefers to be known as Horace, seems to have no soul. As a result, of all the Knights of the Round Table (upon which our tales are very loosely based) he seems most like Galahad, the most boring and soulless Knight at Camelot. What Galahad did have going for him however is that he gave off a strange light that really freaked everyone out. Consequently no one wanted much to do with him and so compared to the other of King Arthur’s Knights we know next to nothing about him.
Now our Jerome, who prefers to be known as Horace, lacks the freaky light. In fact, for him it is sort of the opposite. Instead of giving out light he appears to be where light goes to die and so he is easily the most fascinating of the Geriatric Knights because he can be all things and nothing depending on the storyteller’s mood.
Density on the other hand is certainly the strongest and most knowledgable about practical things. But beneath that tough seeming hard-nosed, sagacious exterior beats the heart of an incurable romantic and he knows it and it worries him.He knows sooner or later he is going to fuck up. In this he  most resembles  Lancelot du Lac, the peerless and dread Knight of the Round Table, dauntless in war and strategy and prudent in all things except for his need to dick half the women in England.  When he finally got around to playing hide the salami with the King’s wife, Guinevere, the shit hit the fan.
Our Harvey on the other hand, is not romantic at all. True, he is optimistic and a good companion. In that he is a lot like Sir Gawain, ever optimistic and always running off to somewhere or other for a good time. But, Gawain was a constant screw-up. Not our Harvey though. Harvey is more cautious. For an example of that feature, one has to turn to another set of tales about a brotherhood, the Merrie Men of Robin Hood. There we find that old Friar Tuck bears a similar cautious trait to our Harvey. If one reads the tales closely, one realizes that Tuck never completely bought into the bullshit of Robin of Locksley. Sure, if there was good food, tasty wine and a roll in the hay now and then, he was happy to join in the fun, just as long as it did not get him into too much trouble.
Now Spy, he most reminds me of Parsifal, who no matter how badly he fucks-up always comes out smelling like he just fell into a vat of the world’s most expensive perfume. You can be assured that, among all the Knights, he will be the one to stumble across the Magic Vulva and probably not recognize it. But, not to worry, like Parsifal he undoubtedly will end up chosen to guard it, either that or in charge of renting it out.
Giufa is the opposite of Parsifal, he is the eternal Kingfish. No matter what high hopes he begins with, it will turn to shit in the end and he will be lucky if he escapes with his limbs intact. In this he most resembles Merlin minus the magic and the dress (He kept the funny hat though). As I am sure you recall, no matter what Merlin starts, it all falls to pieces in the end. Take the Sword in the Stone, it begins pretty well but everyone soon ends up dead at the Battle of Camiann and the Sword gets tossed into a lake like a crushed beer can. Merlin even ends up imprisoned in a block of ice or something, deep under some mountain somewhere, his magic gone along with all his money, taken by his girlfriend who runs off with it so that she can fuck her brains out with Mordred and his Golden Armor.
Now this may all sound pretty squalid and depressing but that is not so. Like Camelot, the story of the Geriatric Knights is a tale of hope in the face of the inevitable.
When we were  young with our peers about us, we dreamed and hoped for that which we had not yet experienced. Now in our old age we dream and hope for one last chance at  that which we will soon no longer have.
Symmetry is a beautiful thing.

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HOW GOD TRIED BUT STILL COULDN’T GET THINGS 
RIGHT

1. Well, after resting for a day GOD went 
walking in his garden and came upon Adam who 
appeared unhappy and God said onto Adam,
“Hey, my man Adam, wasp? Why so glum chum?”

2. And Adam answered, “It’s Lilith, you know, 
she always wants to be on top, and goes around 
renaming things that I already named and 
things like that and I think she’s sleeping 
around. I don’t know what to do about it anymore.”

3. “That bad is it?”, said GOD. “Normally I don’t 
like to involve my-selves in domestic matters, 
but seeing as how unhappy you are on this 
glorious first day after I created everything, 
I’ll see what I can do,” and so God called 
Lilith in for a little talk.

4. “Lilith,” said GOD, “Whats this about you not 
listening to Adam and going around naming things 
yourself?”

5. And Lilith answered, “What! Has that little pencil 
dick gone complaining to you? Now see here, you made 
me out of the same stuff you made him and whatever 
he can do I can do and probably better.”

6. “Well,” God said “Maybe if you just let him get 
on top now and then he would feel better and not 
come complaining to me so often.”

7. “Screw you pops,” said Lilith. “You gave me 
this hole instead of a rod and I’m going to use 
it the way I like it best. What would you know 
about it anyway? Even with that three and a 
half-foot dong of yours you probably have not 
gotten laid since creation.”

8. And GOD began to get a bit peeved and said, 
“Ha, that’s how much you know. I’m quite in 
demand among the goddesses hereabout. In fact 
whenever old Zeus is out screwing that bull-dyke 
Europa, I’m right up on Olympus there giving 
Hera a bump or two. And I must be pretty good too 
because she never says ‘Oh Zeus’, no, it’s always 
‘Oh GOD, Oh my GOD, Yowee”. And with that he glared 
at Lilith with a smug expression.

9. “Ok,” said Lilith, “if you’re so good how 
about giving me a tumble GODY. I’m getting a 
little tired of old limp dick over there.”

10. And with that GOD jumped up and shouted, 
“Get thee gone hussy before I smite thee,” for 
if truth were known he had only slept with 
Word and Ghost since creation and was sorely 
embarrassed.

11. “OK” said Lilith. “Keep your drawers on. 
I’m happy to go. This place is getting on my 
nerves anyway with all that naming this and 
naming that. I think I’ll go find old Lucifer 
Morning Star, I hear he’s forming a hot band, 
all dressed in black vinyl with scarlet piping 
and horns and tails. That’s pretty hot. Not 
like your prancing nancy-boys in their sequined 
tights.” And, with that she bounced her knockers 
once or twice, turned and with a swish of her 
buttocks strode off.

12. After a while GOD went to Adam and said, 
Look here my boy, I am giving you a divorce. 
Yes I know you are not supposed to divorce, but 
Gods can do that sort of thing if they want to.”

13. And Adam began to cry and said, “But, I’ll 
be all alone and I was just getting the hang 
of it and those knockers…”

14. “OK. OK, I get your point. I’ll have the 
Creator make you another playmate.” And with 
that GOD put Adam to sleep and the Word reminded 
the Creator that Lilith felt she could boss Adam 
around because she was made from the same stuff 
as he was.

15. “I know,” said the Creator. "I’m thinking of 
taking part of Adam here and making his companion. 
In that way the idiot will always think that she 
is only a small part of him. I think I’ll take 
one of his ribs, I may have made too many of them 
originally anyway.”

16. And the Creator formed Adam’s companion out 
of his rib and as he was doing so he paused for 
a moment over her knockers and thought fondly of 
Lilith’s but then with a sigh made these a little 
smaller, well actually a lot smaller.

17. Then Adam awoke and GOD introduced him to 
her whom GOD called Eve just to piss everyone 
off who wanted him to call her Miriam.

18. And Adam saw her and said, “This at last 
is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she 
shall be called Woman, because she was taken out 
of Man.”

19. Than Adam said, “Thanks GOD. Is there anything 
I can do for you?”

20. And GOD said, “Yes in fact there is. Although 
you may freely eat of every tree of the garden; 
but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil 
you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of 
it you shall die.”

21. “Woah,” said Adam, “that’s pretty harsh. What 
do you call this place anyway?”

22. “Eden” said GOD.

23. A river flowed out of Eden to water the 
garden, and there it divided and became four 
rivers. The name of the first is Pishon; it 
is the one which flows around the whole land of 
Havilah, where there is gold; and the gold of 
that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are 
there. The name of the second river is Gihon; 
it is the one which flows around the whole land 
of Cush. And the name of the third river is Tigris, 
which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river 
is the Euphrates.

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“[A praiseworthy] man is liked and appreciated by women; this is because the woman loves the man only for the sake of coition. His member should, therefore, be of ample dimensions and length. Such a man ought to be broad in the chest, and heavy in the crupper; he should know how to regulate his emission, and be ready as to erection; his member should reach to the end of the canal of the female, and completely fill the same in all its parts. Such a one will be well beloved by women…”
The Perfumed Garden,
Richard Burton, trans.

The Last Afternoon of the Knights.

Now it has always been, whether with the Fellowship of the Ring, The Knights of Camelot or the Mystic Knights of the Sea, that periodically the membership moves on to other things for a while. These voyages are sometimes referred to as quests. We really do not know for sure what they are looking for and for this reason the object of the search is often called the “Grail.” Now no-one knows what the hell a “Grail” is. Perhaps more ink has been spilled on explaining what it may be than anything save that which has been spilled on explaining “God.” I believe, however, that what men have explored the by-ways, and roads of the world and braved its oceans deserts and frigid wastes in search for is “The Magic Vulva.” As the poet said:

“The person who dreams of having seen the vulva of a woman will know that if he is in trouble God will free him of it; if he is in a perplexity he will soon get out of it; and lastly if he is in poverty he will soon become wealthy, because…[it] will mean the deliverance from evil. By analogy, if he wants a thing he will get it: if he has debts, they will be paid.”

So like the gathering of other brotherhoods prior to departing on their quests whether in “The Shire,” at “The Round Table” or in the “Lodge Hall,” the Geriatric Knights assembled at the Oval Table in the back room of “The Kennel Club” for a final get together before going their separate ways.

Jerome, who prefers to be called Horace, was not with them this evening. He had departed a few days before for the mountains and valleys of Nepal to find himself. This prompted one of the other Knights to comment, “He’s been groping himself for as long as I have known him. If he hasn’t found it by now he’s not going to find it on any mountain.”

He has been replaced this evening, by a Knight from south of Thailand beyond Indonesia who found himself that night at the Oval Table in the Kennel Club just like that other besotted Knight from the South who stumbled into Camelot and found himself seated at the Round Table diddling Guenivire. For that reason, we shall call him, Lance, played or course by the aged Robert Goulet.

Tomorrow, Spy will be leaving for the vermin infested jungles of Borneo for three months. He appeared subdued. He drank Coca-cola, not his usual gin and tonic and ignored the various ladies in waiting who tried to cheer him up by rubbing his crotch.

On the day after that, Harvey leaves to return to America to resume his life as “Sword for Hire” and Density travels to the Philippines in his ongoing quest for “the Perfect Yoni.”

“it has the splendid whiteness of a forehead,
In its dimensions it is like the moon,
The fire that radiates from it is like the sun’s,
And seems to burn the member which approaches;
Unless first moistened with saliva the member cannot enter,
The odor it emits is full of charms.”

A few days later, Giufa also will depart in his never ending search for redemption.

But those are other days and other nights, tonight at the Oval Table, the Ladies in Waiting were waiting.

Lance offers Miley-maliwan 100 baht to take off her bra and toss it on the table to get the festivities rolling.

Miley, now an experienced Lady in Waiting, removes her well padded bra without a hitch, revealing the breasts of an underdeveloped 11 year old underneath. In perfect English alliteration she announces to all at the table “I have tiny tits.”

The Knights heartily agreed with her observation.

Giufa, however, pointed out, “As the old Arab observed, ‘Don’t be too eager for round-breasted women’.”

Miley smiled at this comment, revealing a pair of canines larger then her ta-tas.

“Perhaps she is a vampire,” suggested Harvey soto voce.

At which point Selma mentioned, “Carmine said, ‘She may have tiny tits but she has a good heart’.”

“Let’s then drink to tiny tits and good hearts,” proposed Spy.

And everyone drank a toast to Miley’s tits and heart, which pleased her a lot.

… “Last Afternoon of the Knights” to be continued, ” In which the Knights Get Down to Business…”

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In order that a woman may be relished by men, she must have a perfect waist, and must be plump and lusty. Her hair will be black her forehead wide, she will have eyebrows of Ethiopian blackness, large black eyes, with the whites in them very limpid. With cheek of perfect oval, she will have an elegant nose and a graceful mouth; lips and tongue vermilion; her breath will be of pleasant odor, her throat long, her neck strong, her bust and her belly large; her breasts must be full and firm, her belly in good proportion, and her navel well-developed and marked; the lower part of the belly is to be large, the vulva projecting and fleshy, from the point where the hairs grow, to the buttocks; the conduit must be narrow and not moist, soft to the touch, and emitting a strong heat and no bad smell; she must have the thighs and buttocks hard, the hips large and full, a waist of fine shape, hands and feet of striking elegance, plump arms, and well-developed shoulders.
The Perfumed Garden, Richard Burton Trans.

Symposium Concerning Women Who Deserve to be Praised.

“Thai women are all sugar and spice and everything nice and smiles, we cannot forget the smiles, all wrapped around the heart of a thug,” commented Density one day to the other Geriatric Knights of the Oval Table.  

“That may be true,” said Giufa. “Last night I was reading some old Arab stuff and I wrote some of it down.” He then took out a small notebook. “The writer seemed to agree with you. it was his opinion that, ‘the stratagems of women are numerous and ingenious. Their tricks will deceive Satan himself, for God the Highest has said Koran, chapter xii, verse 28) that the deceptive faculties of women are great, and he has likewise said (Koran, chapter vi, verse 38) that the stratagems of Satan are weak. Comparing the word of God as to the ruses of Satan and woman, contained in those two verses, it is easy to see how great these latter ones are.'” 

“Nevertheless,” he continued, “later on that same writer pointed out, ‘When a meritorious man finds himself near to women, his member grows, gets strong, vigorous and hard; he is not quick to discharge, and after the trembling caused by the emission of the sperm, he is soon stiff again.'”

“Ain’t that the truth,” observed Harvey. “But I don’t get a hard on with every woman I run into.” “Some turn me on a lot and some not so much,” he added.

With that the discussion around the table turned to the diverse preferences in women’s physical attributes among the individual Knights.

It was quickly agreed by everyone that Density preferred what was described as “Tits on a stick”, skinny little women weighing no more that 95 pounds sopping wet of which a quarter of that weight was in her boobs.

Harvey on the other hand liked them a bit more stocky with a little heft in the hip. But he also conceded that he preferred them somewhat smaller in stature, no Valkyries need apply.

This prompted Giufa to look up from his gin and tonic, remove his arthritic hand from between Angelina’s thighs where it had been soaking up the warmth and quote again from the old Arab: “‘It has been observed that under all circumstances little women love coitus more and evince a stronger affection for the virile member than women of a large size. Only long and vigorous members suit them; in them they find the delight of their existence and of their couch.”

“So true,” the others agreed.

Harvey then continued on, “What I really look for in a woman is something different, a woman with short hair where all the others wear it long for example, or women with special talents like screamers or squirters.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Jerome who prefers to be called Horace and who had married the same women three times with the same results each time, “but all other things being equal, to me it is just a question of the lowest price.”

“What about you Giufa,” he said turning to Giufa, “What turns you on.”

“Well, I have been giving it some thought, and seeing as how Angelina looks a lot like of one of my several ex-wives, and given how all my affairs seem to end up, I would have to say that I am probably most turned on by someone who reminds me of one of my wives, constantly lies to me and steals all my money.”

“Well” laughed Density, “You certainly came to the right country.” 

“What about you Spy?” He asked turning towards Spy who was thoughtfully listening to the conversation.

“As you all know,” Spy responded, “I tend to like smaller woman also and while breast size is nice and all that, what is most important to me however, is her willingness to go out with me and pick up other woman so that I can watch them fuck and then join in.”

“Well I guess  what this all shows,” Density summed up, “is that all men have different tastes or we five here are pretty fucked up.”

“Tell us Giufa if your Arab friend has and thing to say about what woman look for in a man,” he inquired.

Giufa read from his notebook:

“The tale goes, that on a certain day, Abd-el-Melik ben Merouane, went to see Leilla, his mistress, and put various questions to her. Amongst other things, he asked her what were the qualities which women looked for in men.

Leilla answered him: ‘Oh, my master, they must have cheeks like ours.’ 

‘And what besides?’ said Ben Merouane. 

She continued: ‘And hairs like ours; finally they should be like to you, O prince of believers, for, surely, if a man is not strong and rich he will obtain nothing from women.'”

“In other words,” added Giufa, “as they say here in Thailand, no money, no honey.”

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