Saturday, December 31, 2011

Johnnie Phelps via Elisa Rolle

Johnnie Phelps (1922 - December 30, 1997)

Joining the first WAAC battalion during WWII, Johnnie Phelps first served in the South Pacific and later under the occupation forces in Germany under Eisenhower. Wounded in action, she received the Purple Heart, awarded to soldiers injured due to enemy action.

She was counselor/board President for the Alcoholism Center for ...

Read more about this pioneering woman at...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Charley Parkhurst via Elisa Rolle

Here's a biography of one extremely fascinating character I'll bet you've never heard about. I know I hadn't until now. Here's a small bit...

Charlie Darkey Parkhurst, often Charlie/Charlene/Charlotte or Parkurst, born Mary Parkhurst (1812–1879), was an American stagecoach driver and early California settler. Born female, Parkhurst lived as a man for most of his life and may have been the first biological female to vote in California.

Parkhurst, also known as One Eyed Charley or Six-Horse Charley, was born Mary Parkhurst in 1812...

Read it all, see pictures, and find references for more material on Charley at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Green River Review

Lisa at Top2Bottom Reviews has read and written about my 1938-set, ghostly mansex tale, Green River. Here's a snippet from her review:

"This is the story of their budding attraction to each other, not in the romantic aspect but in the primal draw they feel to each other’s masculinity. These are simple, plain spoken men whose lust ultimately led to a relationship that spanned nearly four decades."

More about the short story Green River is at the Jardonn's Erotic Tales book page.

Lisa's full review is at Top2Bottom Reviews.

Monday, December 26, 2011

William Haines via Elisa Rolle

Charles William "Billy" Haines (January 2, 1900 – December 26, 1973) was an American film actor and interior designer. He was a star of the silent era until the 1930s, when Haines' career was cut short by MGM Studios due to his refusal to deny his homosexuality. Haines never returned to film and instead started a successful ...

read the remainder of this well-researched biography which includes many pictures from his film roles and interior designs... here's your link...

Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal Site.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

The Gallery of Hairy Beasts

This refers to photo sets I posted at Jardonn's Erotic Tales featuring fascinating furry creatures of the male variety.

Okay, I'll tell you straight... it's pictures of cavemen, burly men, majestic men, all carpeted with varying degrees of hair. I call it...

The Gallery of Hairy Beasts. Here's one for example:

John Pizzarelli

Fast-fingered John Pizzarelli and his band smoke a holiday number on Conan's show, jazz-guitar style.


Thursday, December 22, 2011

Jasper Say 122111

Some people want to be leaders, not because they have an important message to share, but because they want to feel important. Their ego is their agenda.

Christmas Crabs

Looks to me like these two grouches have had their fill of holiday hullabaloo.

As observed on THE HAIR HALL OF FAME.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Bill Tull's Economy Holiday Tips

Making the most out of Coffee Filters

Touchless Love

My first audio excerpt from this book, Jardonn's The Good Shepherd features two guys in a Nazi POW camp who must make due with the facilities available to them.

I call my ten-minute audio, TOUCHLESS LOVE. You'll find the mp3 link under the Theater of the Erotically Absurd banner.

Conan Clip 122111

I love when a rock band knows its instruments and clearly enjoys playing them.


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Ralph MacDonald, R. I. P.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Ralph MacDonald, R. I. P.: NY Daily News : Ralph MacDonald, the Grammy-winning writer, producer and percussionist who worked with everyone from Luther Vandross to Amy ...

Sunday, December 18, 2011

The Good Shepherd 1

Today, December 18, is release day for Jardonn's WWII ebook story, The Good Shepherd, and this is the cover created by its publisher, MLR Press.

As promised, here is the third excerpt. Harold and Frank exit the latrine and walk the yard inside their POW camp, trying to figure reasons for a particular guard dog's unusual behavior.

* * * * *

We didn't talk inside. I peed a little, and the only reason I stayed with Harold was in case other guys started asking him questions about us being singled out. The Nazis frequently put plants amongst us prisoners. Germans acting like Americans hoping to hear useful information, and I didn't want Harold to go it alone if he was accused by the prisoners of being such. Fortunately, nobody said a word to either of us.

"What do you think about that dog?" I pondered as we exited the building. "What confused him?"

We drifted about the yard walking slowly to nowhere in particular. "I don't think he was confused." Harold seemed to have limbered up from his soreness, moved with more ease. "The dog's eyes told me he wants out of here. Like he knows the Nazis's days are numbered."

"His eyes?"

"Sure. Animals have expressions same as we do."

"Hmm. Guess I've never noticed."

"Well, I have. Growing up on a farm, you get to know what animals are thinking. Or at least tell whether they're happy or sad. Or angry, which comes in handy when you're dealing with a thousand pounds of Hereford bull."

"I'll be damned. So, you think this dog's ready to abandon ship?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then, why did he approach us? Any ideas on that?"

"Don't know. Maybe he felt sorry for us. Knew they'd take us into a well-heated room for a search and we could warm up."

I laughed at that one. First time in many a week. "If that's the case, I hope he stops by to see us every day."

"Me, too."

We came to a spot where down a corridor between buildings we could see the kennels. The dogs, all males, had their own fenced yard and wooden houses for shelter. Harold stopped, grabbed my arm. "Do you see what I think I see?"

The Germans had a dog on a leash attacking a man protected by a helmet and face mask, plus padded coverings roped to his limbs and torso. "Looks like a training session."

"Or retraining," Harold knudged me with his elbow. "Can we get closer without getting shot at?"

"Sure, but let's not go between buildings. Follow me." I circled back to an open area where we could view the fenced pen without drawing attention, caddy-corner and about twenty feet away. "Think it's him?"

"I'd put money on it. The Nazis are afraid he's lost his nerve. No longer aggressive."

"Guess they're wrong. He'd eat that man alive if he could get at him."

"If I could get a better look at his tail, I'd know for sure."

I took a few baby steps closer. "His tail?"

"Yep," Harold craned his neck. "His black turns gold on top before ending at the tip. Usually it's black all the way." He inched a bit closer, a few steps ahead of me. "That's him. I guarantee it."

"Good. He's proving himself so he can stay." I grabbed Harold's sleeve, tugged him back. "We better go. Don't want to get him in trouble. I'd hate to lose the only Nazi who's ever been friendly to me."

"Ex-Nazi, Frank."

* * * * *

The Good Shepherd is now available in ebook formats at MLR PRESS.COM

Saturday, December 17, 2011

The Good Shepherd 2

What say we start at the beginning of the story? This excerpt nearly leads to yesterday's posted piece.

* * * * *

You belong to me, Harold Tripp, and you are beautiful.

On the day Harold's plane went down, Lady howled all night long. Made sense. Animal sense, you know, like when all the beasts ran for the hills hours before the Indian Ocean tsunami crashed ashore.

Lady was Harold's dog more than mine. He picked her out from a litter of four pups. He named her, and from her puppy years to full-grown, she followed him everywhere. Lady and I got along fine, too, until Harold joined the Air Force and shipped out to Korea. During Harold's tour of duty, Lady had very little to do with me. Kept her distance. Staked herself out a spot in our yard thirty feet from the house where a barbed wire fence bordered our west pasture. At feeding time, she'd stand by the fence watching me while I filled her bowl on the back porch. Calling her did no good. Only after I'd gone back inside would she approach the house and eat.

The dog shelter Harold and I built for her sat near our house, but she never used it after Harold left, and so as winter approached I loaded the damned thing into the pickup's bed and moved it out to her spot. Couldn't bear the thought of her shivering in the Illinois cold, and my gesture worked. She slept in her dog house. Crawled inside when she needed to warm herself or get in from the rain, but otherwise most of her time was spent sitting by the fence and looking west, toward Korea and Harold. Understanding her need, feeling it myself, I turned her house so her doorway faced west.

Through the winter of 1950, I rarely saw Lady. It was almost as though she thought I'd done something to Harold. Taken him away so she could never see him again. I sympathized, because in actuality Harold had taken himself away from me and from her.

After we both returned safely from Europe and our service during World War II, Harold and I enjoyed five years together. Five glorious years, no doubt, but when news broke that the communist north had invaded the south of Korea, I knew he'd be joining in the new fight. Nothing could keep Harold grounded. Not Lady. Not our southern Illinois farm and home. Not me.

Harold Tripp grew up on a farm but was born to soar. After eighty-two missions of piloting B-17's over Nazi-occupied territory, all successful save one, Harold itched to be back in the air for a worthy cause. I needed him to be happy. How could I possibly hold him back and expect our love to be the same as before? Doesn't work. Misery of one partner infects the other until hatred consumes both. Besides, Harold and I had both seen our share of misery.

I like to say Harold was my Christmas gift, delivered to me December 15, 1944.

When the Germans dragged Harold into our seventeen-man Stalag barracks, I took notice like never before. In my three-plus months as a prisoner of the Nazis, I'd seen several downed airmen brought in to join us, but Harold affected me differently. Could have been pity more than infatuation. He'd been roughed up pretty good. Lacerations marred his face, hands and arms. Purple bruises colored his left eye socket.

After his two-man-German-guard escort unceremoniously pushed him through the door and slammed it shut, several airmen rushed to his aid. Guided him to his bed, a two-feet-wide plank of wood with a two-inch-thick mattress recently vacated by a man dead from dysentery. They removed his prison-issued shoes. Laid him down. Tucked him under a thin grey blanket of wool, and then the entire gang, all Americans from downed B-17's, surrounded him.

end excerpt from The Good Shepherd by Jardonn Smith. My MLR Press holiday story is scheduled for release this coming Sunday, December 18.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Bibrary Book Lust: REVIEW: Best Bondage Erotica 2012 edited by Rache...

Bibrary Book Lust: REVIEW: Best Bondage Erotica 2012 edited by Rache...: I must say, the good folks at Cleis Press have really spoiled me this year. First it was the five-star transgender collection,  Take Me Ther...

The Good Shepherd 3

Frank Jenkins says Harold Tripp was his Christmas present, delivered to him December 15, 1944. Unfortunately, both men were in a Nazi POW camp at the time. My fictional U.S. airmen arrived at different times after having survived the downing of their B-17 bombers. Their friendship is instant. Their relationship with a Nazi attack dog is highly unusual.

The Good Shepherd is scheduled for release by MLR Press on December 18th. That's three days away, and so I'm posting one excerpt per day until the ebook's release. I made this cover photo. MLR Press will make their own cover, which I will also post on release day. Here is today's snippet, as Frank and Harold get acquainted.


I strolled to my bed while gazing down at him. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. Arms outside the blanket, hands folded atop his chest.

"Needing a snooze?" I asked, taking a seat on my bed to his left.

"Probably," he sighed, forcing a half-hearted grin. "Doubt if I can, though."

"Yep. I know the feeling. Too much thinking about how things could turn so bad so quick." I stood over him, extended my hand. "Sergeant Frank Jenkins. Turret gunner on the Lucy Lu out of Cheshunt."

His grip was stronger than mine. "Lieutenant Harold Tripp, pilot of the Yankee Pride out of Nuthampstead."

I sat on my bed, scrutinized his cut-up face. "Tell you what, Lieutenant Tripp..."

"Harold," he gave me permission.

"Sure, sure. Call me Frank. Are you thirsty?"

"Very," he gingerly drew back his blanket.

"No. You stay put. I'll get it." I dropped to a knee, reached under his bed, pulled out his washpan with a tin cup, bar of soap, toothpaste and brush, shaving razor, and a towel inside, his one-week supply, courtesy of the Red Cross. "I'll be right back," I said with cup in hand. Upon my return, he greedily gulped while I supported the back of his head with my palm. "Want another?"

He wiped his mouth with his fingers. "No, thank you. That will do."

"All right, Harold," I put his cup into the pan and pushed it under. "Try to rest. That's what I'll be doing right here next to you."

"Can do, Frank. Thanks again."

True to my word, I laid down and kept quiet, but only for a minute or two. That's when Harold rolled onto his side and faced me. "Frank?"


"Every man here is skinny as a rail. I'm guessing you didn't come in that way."

"True." I turned onto my side so I could see his reaction to what I had to say. "They're starving us, Harold. Slowly but surely. We get water in the morning. Soup and a chunk of black sawdust bread for supper. We call it that because there's more sawdust in it than flour. Most men don't eat it. Those that do get stomach cramps something awful. Soup is a rutabaga boiled in water. Every now and then we get a potato, but either way each man gets about ten swallows of soup, one tiny piece of vegetable."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since September. I'm guessing I've lost thirty pounds or better. There's no man here who's been in camp more than a year. They're all dead. Dysentery or starvation, take your pick." I waited, taking his silence to mean he wanted to hear more. "Some of the officers and enlisted men who were in bad shape got shipped down to Luft 3 last spring. That's Goehring's quality camp for airmen, or so I'm told. The one the Germans show off to the outside world so they'll think all prisoners are in a good place. This camp here, Harold, is not a good place. I don't even know why it's called a Luft. Only Luftwaffe I've seen is the Commandant. Rest are regular Army or SS." I reached for the corner post of my bed. "See this?"


"Been sawed off. These used to all be tripled-decker bunks. This was once a forty-eight man barrack, according to Jack."

"You mean the barrack's rep?"

"That's him. He's been here since May, and he said that's when the Germans came in and cut off all the top bunks. Chopped them into firewood for their stoves. Officer's quarters and soldier's barracks."

Harold stared blankly toward the floor, and then locked eyes with mine. "Think the guys here can make it another month or two?"

"Yeah. I heard you telling them our men are in Belgium and the east side of France."

"Some are saying we'll be inside Germany by first of the year."

"Well, I know it's getting rough on the Nazis. Our portions of grub shrink every day. I mean, how desperate are they? Can't even spare a few rutabagas for their prisoners. Tell you something else I've noticed."

"What's that?"

"Fewer guards. Like they're taking soldiers out of here to be used somewhere else."

"Maybe east. The Russians are closing in, too."

"Could be. All I know is, if I see a way out of here, I'm running. Hell, before long I'll be too weak to stand. I'd rather take my chances roaming the countryside than to stay here and starve."

"Hmm... I don't know, Frank. This camp might be liberated by New Year's. Can you hold out a few more weeks? No use getting shot when the end is so near."

"Well, Lieutenant, you know more about it than I do, so I'll hang with you for now. All right?"

"Sure, sure. We'll stick together."

Funny how he made it sound as though we needed each other on equal terms. After all, I was the three-month veteran of prison life. Of course, that also meant he was stronger than I by three months. Guess it all evened out.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Conan Clip


Don't know which is more funny - the songs and schmaltzy singer, Brian LaFontaine, or the prizes given out by Andy. The industrial painter is worth a look, regardless.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Today's Western Movie Poster

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Today's Western Movie Poster

Mary Renault via Elisa Rolle

Mary Renault (pronounced /rɛnoʊlt/ Ren-olt) (4 September 1905 – 13 December 1983) born Eileen Mary Challans, was an English writer best known for her historical novels set in Ancient Greece. In addition to vivid fictional portrayals of Theseus, Socrates, Plato and Alexander the Great, she wrote ...

Read the rest with pics at Elisa Rolle's LJ site.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Tallulah Bankhead via Elisa Rolle

Tallulah Brockman Bankhead (January 31, 1902 – December 12, 1968) was an award-winning American actress of the stage and screen, talk-show host, and bonne vivante. Bankhead was also known for her deep voice, flamboyant ...

read the rest with pics at Elisa Rolle's LJ site.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Emanuel Goldenberg 1893-1973

He would be 108 today. There's no need to get into the lengthy biography of this man who appeared in well over 100 films. Just know that he was born December 12, 1893 in Romania, came to the United States as a child and learned his craft in the New York Theater.

I suggest you get his excellent autobiography, nearly finished before his death and published posthumously in 1973. It's titled "All My Yesterdays" and covers every aspect of his fascinating life, including his amazing collection of fine artwork he was forced to sell in a divorce proceeding, as well as his unwarranted blacklisting during the McCarthy witch hunts. Here is a link to the book at Amazon: All My Yesterdays.

Initially, Emanuel Goldenberg hated Hollywood and felt movies paled in comparison to theater as a medium for artistic expression, but with the exhorbitant amounts of money offered him, only a fool would turn it down. So, he commuted for several years, working in limited film roles between stage appearances in New York Theater runs.

That all changed in 1931 when he was cast as Rico in Little Caesar. This 5'5" snarling little actor defined the role of gangster not only for himself but for all others who came after him. Tough nut with a gun, Edward G. Robinson's Rico would just as soon shoot you as look at you, and although he would reprise similar characters in countless Warner Brothers films, the leverage gained from this success allowed him to demand other roles as well.

Robinson soon learned, however, that elements of theater did not work well on film. Stage acting is far too bombastic for a camera lens. One fine example of an early EGR film where he demanded a theatrical scene that failed miserably is 1932's Two Seconds. An otherwise fine performance is made comical with the ending scene of a convicted man's plea for mercy before a judge preparing to pass upon him a sentence for murder. Lesson learned, he rarely if ever again interfered with a director's vision for his films.

There's a fine line between dominating a scene and commanding it. Robinson did the latter regardless of whether he was playing lead or support, and in the process he elevated the actors around him. Given a mediocre script, he salvaged the scenes from disaster; given a meaty script, he sank his teeth into it and transformed words into fine art. Like the paintings and cigars he collected, his acting skills increased in value with age, and I cannot name one film I've seen where the presence of Edward G. Robinson didn't improve the product. I'll try to cull my favorites down to a workable number and explain why I love this actor in each.

Bullets or Ballots (1936) - Tricky role in which EGR plays good cop turned bad cop who's really still a good cop gone undercover. The goal is to bust a gang led by Barton MacLane with Humphrey Bogart his strong man. EGR infiltrates the mob, and does so in such convincing fashion that he not only fools the bad guys, but the viewer as well. Five Star Final (1931) - He plays editor of a newspaper faced with a tough decision: ruin the marriage of common girl to socialite man by exposing past crimes of girl's mother, or bury it and let some other newspaper print the scoop. He goes with the story, and the girl's mother commits suicide. Robinson maintains his tough demeanor, but just beneath the surface is his disgust with the industry, its need for tabloid sensationalism and resulting tragedy, all symbolized by Robinson washing his hands in office lavoratory. Confessions of a Nazi Spy (1939) and The Stranger (1946) - Similar roles as Nazi hunter, but the first is pre-war while the second post. Cool, calm and calculating, EGR meticulously gathers his information before out-foxing the foxes. His subtle underplaying convinces both his adversaries and viewers of the film that he might not be quite smart enough to foil the plots, so when he does the drama explodes on screen. Orson Welles stars in and directs the latter film.

Speaking of meticulously coy, EGR's role as insurance adjuster Barton Keyes in 1944's Double Indemnity epitomizes playing stupid to catch the smart. His persistent nagging of Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck in regards to her husband's supposed suicide is a classic performance in a classic film of noir. The questions he asks seem to be easily answered and accepted, but all the while he's adding up the particulars towards murder without ever giving away his process to the criminal minds, or ours.

A man spiraling towards insanity marks two of my favorite EGR roles. First is The Red House (1947) where as Pete Morgan, EGR tries to protect his adopted daughter Meg from learning of his horrible past. It all took place in the now-abandoned Red House, and as Meg and her new boyfriend get closer to the answers, Pete's fear drives him to measures ever-increasingly desperate. This film is frightening, thanks to EGR, who, performing as though he walks on wooden leg, begins as a loving father, but gradually deteriorates into a raving madman. The Sea Wolf (1941) features EGR as Wolf Larsen, captain of a ghost ship, a pirate ship whose captain is so obsessed with control of his crew that his cruelty knows no bounds. He loves to read and analyze, is an intelligent man but self-taught and highly resentful of those with formal education. Worsening his bitterness is the fact he's slowly going blind. EGR skillfully portrays this difficult character, deftly shifting between a man thoughtful and introspective to one of intense sadism and vindictiveness, until his hatred destroys both him and all around him.

Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945) is Edward G. Robinson at his most poignant. A Norwegian farmer in WWII Wisconsin, the love he shows for his daughter Selma, seven-year-old Margaret O'Brien, is ably and repeatedly displayed. In fact, the film is comprised of one scene after another with Robinson heaping affection on her without spoiling her. Finally, I must list The Cincinnati Kid (1965 with Steve McQueen and Karl Malden) as the quintessential film on poker. All these wannabees on the countless television poker (Texas Hold'em?) contests would do well to take lessons from Mr. Robinson and subtleties of the face. No sunglasses or goofy costumes of intimidation are needed here, as EGR's Lancy Howard keeps us guessing until the final card is turned. He's old and tired, challenged by the upstart youngster McQueen in a high-stakes game of five-card stud for serious money, but is he in trouble? To think that such drama could be built around a simple card game is hard to fathom, but not in the hands of these two capable actors.

These examples merely scratch the surface of an incredible film career. Tough guy? Sure, but he's so much more. Edward G. Robinson is one of the finest actors to ever grace the screen, and I challenge you to watch some of these films without being moved.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Rainbow Awards Winners Announced

This year was really HUGE! more than 300 books, more than 100 judges, all over the world (even for the first time Australia), and many, many submissions, from indie publishers, from mainstream publishers and a lot of self-published authors. I loved it, and I know the judges

Read it all at Elisa Rolle's LJ site.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Jardonn Christmas Tale Giveaway

Want to get a free PDF copy of this book?

Top2Bottom Reviews is helping me gift my short story, Furlough Bridge, set in the U.S. homefront of December, 1944.

All you have to do is read the post featuring the story's main character, Forrest Barton, at the Top2Bottom Reviews site, and follow the directions at the end of the post.

Shore Leave

A very special, Navy-related picture from the Hair Hall of Fame

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

frequently felt*: Lame Porn from the 70s

frequently felt*: Lame Porn from the 70s: Actress Thora Birch (you may remember her from movies like American Beauty , and Ghost World ) is the daughter of two former porn stars: bu...

Aaron Copland via Elisa Rolle

Aaron Copland (November 14, 1900 – December 2, 1990) was an American composer, composition teacher, writer, and later in his career a conductor of his own and other American music. He was instrumental in forging a distinctly American style of composition, and is often referred to as ...

Read the rest at Elisa Rolle's LJ site.

frequently felt*: The Xmas Tuggie

frequently felt*: The Xmas Tuggie: XMas Tuggie. Yes, it’s a Snuggie for his c**k! So he can keep his hands free and his nuts toasty while watching “A Christmas Story.” Brill...

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Judy Lewis, R. I. P.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Judy Lewis, R. I. P.: : Her mother was Loretta Young. Her father was Clark Gable. Yet Judy Lewis spent her first 19 months in hideaways and orphanage...

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Peter Cameron via Elisa Rolle

Peter Cameron (born 29 November 1959 in Pompton Plains, New Jersey) is an American novelist and writer living in New York, NY. He is best known for his novels Andorra, The Weekend and The City of Your Final Destination.

Cameron grew up in Pompton Plains, New Jersey, and in London, England. He spent two years attending the progressive...

Read the rest at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal site.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Edmund Teske via Elisa Rolle

Edmund Teske (b. 1911 Chicago, d. 1996 Los Angeles) was an American photographer noted for his experimental techniques and work with the architect Frank Lloyd Wright.

Teske taught at the...

Read the rest with pictures at Elisa Rolle's LJ site.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Marcel Proust via Elisa Rolle

Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust (10 July 1871 – 18 November 1922) was a French novelist, critic, and essayist best known for his monumental À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time; earlier translated as Remembrance of Things Past). It was published in seven parts between 1913 and 1927.

Proust was born in Auteuil (the southern sector of Paris' then-rustic...

Read the rest with pics at Elisa Rolle's LJ site.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Top2Bottom Takes on Danube Divide

Lisa over at Top2Bottom Reviews plowed her way through my heavy historical tale, Danube Divide. Set in Rome's Eastern Empire, Lisa read about war, religion, torture, man-on-man sex, and (gasp) romance, and she lived to tell about it. Better yet, she wrote a very useful review and I like what she thinks.

Danube Divide by Jardonn Smith is the link if you're curious.

Friday, November 18, 2011

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art - Round 4

This time, 100 covers all together. See them and vote for your favs at

Elisa Rolle - Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest.

Martin Greif via Elisa Rolle

Martin Joel Greif (February 4, 1938, The Bronx, New York City - November 17, 1996, Cork, Ireland) was an American editor, lecturer, publisher and writer. He is the uncle of heavy metal music personality and lawyer Eric Greif.

Son of an immigrant Harlem grocery store owner, Martin Greif graduated from Stuyvesant High School and was further educated at ...

read more with pics and links to books at Elisa Rolle's LJ site.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: And Keep Off Her Lawn!

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: And Keep Off Her Lawn!: Brave Grandma Arrests Robber With His Penis A Ghanaian grandmother has arrested a Nigerian armed robbery suspect by grabbing his ball.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: History’s 9 Most Notorious Crimes of Passion

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: History’s 9 Most Notorious Crimes of Passion: History’s 9 Most Notorious Crimes of Passion

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Friday, November 11, 2011

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art (3) III

Round 3 slot 2 is toast. New covers for slot 3 are posted. View and vote at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal Site - Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest.

Peter Gabriel Concert

After his appearance on David Letterman Wednesday night, Peter Gabriel gave a one-hour concert at the Ed Sullivan Theater.

Aside from the fact his lyrical messages from 30 years ago are relevant today, his voice remains mostly the same as it was on those albums I bought 30 years ago. Pretty amazing stuff for free from the CBS web site... Go watch and listen.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Simply Sexy Stories: This Week's Hottie Is...

Simply Sexy Stories: This Week's Hottie Is...: Jamie Foxx! He's mad talented... Acting... Singing... and He's got the laughs! Jamie Foxx has got charisma and style... ...

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

George Quaintance via Elisa Rolle

George Quaintance (June 3, 1902 – November 8, 1957) was an American artist famous for his "idealized, strongly homoerotic" depictions of men in physique magazines.

His first art assignments were anonymous advertising work, but by 1934 he ...

read the rest with pics at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Reese Palmer, R. I. P.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Reese Palmer, R. I. P.: The Washington Post : Reese Palmer, the leader of the Washington-based doo-wop group the Marquees, which in the late 1950s featured singer M...

Monday, October 31, 2011

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Richard Hall via Elisa Rolle

In his novels and short stories, plays, and critical writings, Richard Hall focused almost exclusively on issues of gay identity and community.

Hall was born Richard Hirshfeld in New York City on November 26, 1926, into an extended family of transplanted Southern Jews. In 1934, his immediate family moved ...

read the rest with pictures at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal site.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Arkham House – Weird Fiction since 1939

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Arkham House – Weird Fiction since 1939: Arkham House – Weird Fiction since 1939 : When it comes to championing 'weird fiction,' Arkham House leads the way. Founded in tiny Sauk Cit...

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Guilty Indulgence: Storm's Heart....Humpday Hello!

Guilty Indulgence: Storm's Heart....Humpday Hello!: Greetings and salutations Humpty humpers - raise your hand (or glass) if you too are so flippin thankful to be on the downhill slope of thi...

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Mabel Hampton via Elisa Rolle

Mabel Hampton (May 2, 1902-October 26, 1989) was an American lesbian activist, a dancer during the Harlem Renaissance, and a philanthropist for both black and lesbian/gay organizations.

Born in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, on...

Read more with pics at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal site.

Melvin Dixon via Elisa Rolle

Melvin Dixon (1950-October 26, 1992) was an American Professor of Literature, and an author, poet and translator. He wrote about black gay men.

Born in Stamford, Connecticut, he ...

Read more at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Frederick Rolfe via Elisa Rolle

Frederick William Rolfe, better known as Baron Corvo, and also calling himself 'Frederick William Serafino Austin Lewis Mary Rolfe', (July 22, 1860 - October 25, 1913), was an English writer, artist, photographer and eccentric. His heavily autobiographical fictions are milestones in the history of life-writing, and literary historians have begun to acknowledge these works as among the precursors of modernism.

Rolfe was born in Cheapside, London, the son of ...

Read the rest with pics at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal site.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Ned Rorem via Elisa Rolle

Ned Rorem (born October 23, 1923) is a Pulitzer prize-winning American composer and diarist. He is best known and most praised for his song settings.

He was born in Richmond, Indiana and ...

Read the rest at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal.

Charles Demuth via Elisa Rolle

Charles Demuth (November 8, 1883 – October 23, 1935) was an American watercolorist who turned to oils late in his career, developing a style of painting known as Precisionism. (Picture: Charles Demuth, Self-Portrait, 1907)

"Search the history of American art," wrote Ken Johnson in the New York Times, "and you will discover few watercolors more beautiful than those of...

Read the rest and see pictures at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: The Consummata -- Mickey Spillane & Max Allan Coll...

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: The Consummata -- Mickey Spillane & Max Allan Coll...: Those of you who've been following along will recall that back in January, Max Allan Collins wrote about the completion of this novel and a...

Andrew Kopkind via Elisa Rolle

Andrew Kopkind (August 24, 1935 – October 23, 1994) was an American journalist. He was renowned for his reporting during the tumultuous years of the late 1960s; he wrote about the anti-Vietnam War protests, American Civil Rights Movement, Student Nonviolent Coordinating ...

Read the rest at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Plethora of Art (2) V

Slot 4 of Round 2 has its winners, and now a new set of covers are posted for viewing and voting. It's Slot 5 of the Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Top2Bottom and Free Jardonn Ebook

Lisa over at the book review site, Top2Bottom Reviews got a major overdose of Jardonn on Sunday, Oct. 9th.

First, there's my first-ever interview, where I answer questions about storytelling, my books, my characters, and a few about me.

Nearby, you'll find Lisa's review of my M/M/M, WWII short story, Furlough Bridge, and I must say she gleaned some interesting bits from the story that in my opinion were spot on.

Finally, but certainly most importantly, there's a small post which allows you to register for a free copy of my short story ebook, Green River. All you have to do is click on Green River link here, go to the Top2Bottom site, and leave a comment. Any comment will do, from "hello, Jardonn" to "who the hell is Jardonn?" and then email to let me know you've left a comment. I'll select two from whoever comments by the time stated at Top2Bottom, and email YOU a free PDF copy of Green River.

That's all there is to it, so stop by the Top2Bottom Reviews site, get your own overdose of me, and take your chance at a free Jardonn ebook.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Radiohead Performs "Give Up the Ghost" - Music - Late Night with Jimmy Fallon

Radiohead Performs "Give Up the Ghost" - Music - Late Night with Jimmy Fallon

If you listen to this, don't blame me if one or more of the melody lines pesters you all day. Blame Yorke and Greenwood of Radiohead. It happened to me, and I enjoyed the pestering... still am, actually. Jasper

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Forgotten Films: Shane

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Forgotten Films: Shane: You haven't forgotten Shane , you say? I'd expect most readers of this blog to remember it, but I wonder how many people these days remembe...

frequently felt*: Food for Thought

frequently felt*: Food for Thought: Both of these pictures are from ilisten2u2.tumblr The link leads to the oldest page with some blogs it helps to start at the beginning. Lo...

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Boyd McDonald via Elisa Rolle

Born in 1925 in South Dakota, Boyd McDonald entered Harvard as a high-school dropout after serving in the army in World War II: "I was a pioneer high school dropout," he writes, "leaving school to play badly ...

Read the rest and see pics at Elisa's site.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Today's Western Movie Poster

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Today's Western Movie Poster

Robert Patrick via Elisa Rolle

Robert Patrick (born September 27, 1937) is a gay American playwright, poet, lyricist, and short-story writer and novelist. He was born Robert Patrick O'Connor in Kilgore, Texas.

Patrick was born to migrant workers in Texas. Because his parents ...
READ THE REST at Elisa Rolle's Site.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

JJ Said 092111

“Cecil, there's only one snake to be concerned with in the Missouri Ozarks. That's the Copperhead, and he don't like to swim much. There's a timber rattler, but he's a scaredy-cat and you hardly ever see him. Cottonmouths like the water, but they're mostly in the southeast part of the state. See? I know my snakes. These yokels from around here must think we're big-city sophisticates or something.”

“Not me. I'm just a Kansas dirt farmer, but the dirt's all gone.”

“And I'm just a Missouri factory worker, but the factory's closed.”


Newly arrived to a WPA camp in 1938, Cecil and Ernie get acquainted while skinny-dipping the Gasconade River... from Jardonn's GREEN RIVER, available in ebook formats at MLR PRESS, or for the AMAZON KINDLE.

Conan Clip 091911

It's from Monday's show and it made me laugh, so here.

Fan Correction - Conan in the Korean War

Monday, September 19, 2011

Alice Moore Dunbar Nelson via Elisa Rolle

Alice Ruth Moore Dunbar Nelson (July 19, 1875 - September 18, 1935) was an American poet, journalist and political activist. Among the first generation born free in the South after the Civil War, she was one of the prominent African Americans involved...

Read the rest and see pictures at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Friday, September 16, 2011

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art (2) I

The winner is up for the last round of slot 1, and now Elisa begins Round 2. The first group of book covers is posted for viewing and voting here...

Elisa Rolle -- Rainbow Awards Cover Contest

frequently felt*: Make A Nice Salad?

frequently felt*: Make A Nice Salad?: This is the first image google coughs up when searching ‘rococo’ It's true, I checked, weird. via Limoncello

Plethora of Art - Round One Winners

Yes, the first round of the Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest has ended with six finalists selected. You can see them at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal Site.

Round Two will begin later today (Friday) with a new set of book covers. I will post page links here when Elisa has them up for viewing and voting.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

George Hoyningen-Huene via Elisa Rolle

Here's some history researched and presented by Elisa Rolle that begins...

Baron George Hoyningen-Huene (1900 - 1968) was a seminal fashion photographer of the 1920s and 1930s. He was born in Russia to Baltic German and American parents and spent his working life in France, England and...

Read the rest at Elisa's Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings, pictures included.

Monday, September 12, 2011

frequently felt*: Happy Picture

frequently felt*: Happy Picture: Nice little story: “I was photographed on Broadway, two days before a double mastectomy.” - Karen. In the book I never comment on anyone...

Friday, September 9, 2011

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Suspicious Diagnosis Reviewed

Want to know what helps an author get better? An honest review, that's what.

Sally Sapphire at Bibrary Book Lust tells about her highs, lows, and in-betweens while reading my book, Suspicious Diagnosis.

With so many gushy book reviews on the web which really say nothing more than a rewording of the blurb, it's interesting to read a review detailing the actual opinions and emotions formed by the reviewer while reading the stories.

Thank you, Sally!

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Christopher Cox via Elisa Rolle

An in-depth bio by Elisa Rolle begins like this:

Christopher Cox (1949-1990), an editor, author, actor, director, and producer, was born August 27, 1949, in Gadsden, Alabama, to Howard R. Cox, a prominent banker, and Dorothy Trusler Cox. His birth name was Howard Raymond Cox Jr., and his family and childhood friends called him Ray throughout his life. He graduated from Emma Sansom High School, as did his...

Read the rest at Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

JJ Said 090711

Otto, the Little Bull

I was naked when Bernard's men captured me. Naked when they tortured me. Frankly, I don't know why they bothered. I didn't have any information and they didn't need any, but they had figured out I was the man who destroyed the bridge, so I guess it was just a way for them to get revenge against me... before my execution. That is why they brought in Bernard's daughter to watch. It is also the moment I knew there was a chance for me.

She violently attacked me, as I laid helplessly bound to their stretch rack. Their rack was simple in comparison to ours... our beloved Steps to Purgatory... their rack was just a narrow, horizontal table with axles at both ends and plenty of rope wound around each of them. Both of their axles had hand cranks. One man turned its head end one direction while another turned its foot end the opposite.

Bernard's daughter, Elsa her name, entered the room in a rage. She pounded my chest with her fists, screaming of how I had killed her father and how she would enjoy watching me suffer. And I did suffer. I thanked the heavens for the muscles provided me, for only they could keep my body together.

Despite Elsa's ferocious demeanor, I saw in her eyes a softness for me. As she leaned over me with her pounding fists, flailing away on my helpless mass, her eyes scanned my body from face to feet and the severity of her fist-blows lessened. She probably didn't realize it, but I did.

So, when the men resumed my stretching and I grunted and groaned and flexed to resist the ropes, my mind focused on you, Peter. I hardly knew you at the time, but still, my mind thought only of you. I imagined myself with you, Peter, and the only weapon available to me was used against her because of you, Peter. When Elsa saw my penis rise and flip onto my belly, despite my stretching, despite the ungodly pain racking my body, I knew she was mine.

Elsa is the one who demanded my execution take place immediately, and they released me from the rack. Took me to an open courtyard inside their castle walls and roped me to a cross of wood, the same kind the Romans used... the same kind Frederick slobbers over. Once I was vertical, a new kind of pain racked my body. The pressure of my own weight bearing on my arms was ungodly. It was all I could do to breathe, but I held on, and I waited until everyone became bored and I was all alone.

And when Elsa arrived, secretly, her head covered by an oversized hood, my cock was ready. Thanks again to you, Peter.

There's no way to describe the sensation of oral stimulation on my dick as I hung from the cross. My brain being deprived of oxygen perhaps put me into a sort of dream state, but this I do know: Elsa was overwhelmed by what the gods bestowed on me. Once she had tasted me, sucked on me, and drained me, Elsa could not bear the thought of destroying me. My cock is the reason she arranged my escape, which in reality was my rescue, which allowed me to find my way back to you, Peter.

Face it, my friend, you will never be rid of your Little Bull.

This paperback book contains two novella-length stories, and is wrapped in my favorite of my self-made covers. Not gloating, just saying. If you care to further investigate this story (Bishop) and the book itself, go to my Jardonn's Erotic Tales site, Jardonn's Book Page and slide over to LET'S GET MEDIEVAL - The Bishop of Grunewald & The Tortured Secutor.

You'll find links to more text excerpts, audio snippets, and the complete audio version of The Tortured Secutor free for the listening.

frequently felt*: Jocks

frequently felt*: Jocks: I suppose Italian jocks? Get some pride, boys...Ahem, I guess they have it already! via Average Joe

frequently felt*: Be Very Careful, Ouch!

frequently felt*: Be Very Careful, Ouch!: BDSM on the new york subway via Erotic Pursuits

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Tom Tryon via Elisa Rolle

Elisa has researched and posted about actor Tom Tryon. Here's the beginning...

Tom Tryon (January 14, 1926 – September 4, 1991) was an American film and television actor, best-known for playing the title role in the film The Cardinal (1963) and the Walt Disney television...

READ THE REST at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal Site.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

JJ Said 090311

Still, we know the history of it. Our parents made sure of that. Told us plenty of stories about the sacrifices made on behalf of the working man before there were any unions to help him -- back when a dollar a day was considered too much to pay, back when greedy barons could work pre-teen children for cents a day, back in the 1800's when they could work men, women and children in 100-plus-degree woolen mills with windows shut so none of their precious threads might accidentally get caught in a breeze and cut into their profits.

The image that flashed in my mind, and I'm sure in the mind of Thomas as well, was of a black and white photograph framed and prominently displayed on the fireplace mantle in his home. It was of Thomas's grandfather, vintage 1937 and given to his family by the newspaper man who snapped it. Trails of dried and still-flowing blood covered his face, the result of an altercation at the picket line where steel workers were striking for anything that resembled a living wage. A caravan of trucks loaded with scabs attempted to break the line and when the picketers blocked the entry gates of the steel mill, cops moved in with night sticks and billy clubs to split open as many heads as they could, including the head belonging to one of my heroes -- Thomas's grandfather. He was a young man then, but it wasn't the first or last time he would take a beating for me.

For all of us.


Taken from the Jardonn story, The Thomas Coleman Full Nelson.

It's one of four in the MLR Press four-author collection, Hard Working Men, and I think we're about to need a new generation of men like Thomas's grandfather. The excerpt at bottom of MLR's page is erotic and mine.

Happy Labor Day!

Friday, September 2, 2011

Frothing Authors: Plethora of Art XIX

Frothing Authors: Plethora of Art XIX: Slot 18 has a winner. New covers are posted for Slot 19. Time to view and vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Marsden Hartley via Elisa Rolle

This is a fascinating, well-researched post at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal Site which includes numerous pictures of the man's artwork.

Marsden Hartley (January 4, 1877 - September 2, 1943) was an American Modernist painter, poet, and essayist of the early 20th century. Hartley was born in Lewiston, Maine, USA, where his English parents had settled. He began his art training...


Jasper Say 090211

I believe I'm going to live forever... somewhere. If I'm wrong, I won't know it. If I'm right, there's no need of me stressing over some problem of the now. Now is just a blip on my radar, because I'm going to live forever... somewhere.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

frequently felt*: Music is Sexy

frequently felt*: Music is Sexy: Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps

Love how the guitarists get on their knees and submit to him. And how 'bout the leather and one glov...

meine kleine fabrik: All How You Look At It

meine kleine fabrik: All How You Look At It

Persistent Voices: Leslie Feinberg

From Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal site:

Leslie Feinberg (b. September 1, 1949, in Kansas City, Missouri) is a transgender lesbian and communist activist, speaker, and author. Feinberg's first novel Stone Butch Blues is widely considered ...


Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Elisa Reviews Furlough Bridge

ELISA ROLLE has read and reviewed my World War II Christmas manlove tale, Furlough Bridge.

Here's part of what she has to say:

It's a wonderful and tragic tale, an old fashioned holiday tale that had me almost in tears... READ THE REST.

Thank you, Elisa, for reading my book and sharing your thoughts.


JJ Said 083011

As the tenth blow pulverized the man's belly, Queen Miscreantia and her entourage of six female attendants and four male guards descended the stairs. Balstok ordered all torture stopped as he and his men stood in deference to her.

She looked and listened. She saw Davidius horrendously stretched and heard the groaning and gasping of a tortured man. Circling the slab to inspect the heaving chest and belly of her prisoner, her gloriously defiant victim with his powerful muscles flexed to capacity, their skin covering bathed in manly sweat from his heroic efforts of resistance, the queen reached down with finger and scooped a sample of his liquid from out of his navel. She licked her finger. She tasted the man. Tasted his suffering, tasted his incredible strength, and she fought the temptation to admire Davidius, to pity him, to fling herself atop his racked body and comfort him, beg him to give in, plead with him to tell his story true or false just so he would suffer no more.

That, however, would defeat her purpose. After all, the man whose whereabouts she needed to know fully intended to kill her. The man stretched before her would do the same if given the chance, and so with a return to reality, a suppression of the tingling between her legs, and a renewed purpose to extract necessary information, the queen composed herself and reassumed her superiority.

"I finally heard screaming, Balstok. Has he talked?"

"No, your majesty."

"Well, ask him again."

In this story, Davidius suffers first the tortures of pain, and then tortures of the painfully erotic. The book is electronic. The author-read audio is free for the listening. Links to all can be found on my book page at Jardonn's Erotic Tales.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

frequently felt*: Kneeling at the Altar

frequently felt*: Kneeling at the Altar: A blow job requires so much more than mere skill She takes me into her mouth like a sacrament Transfixed with adoration, elevated, worship...

Monday, August 29, 2011

Jasper Say 082911

Recalculate, rejuvenate, regenerate: a necessary, daily fix to elevate life's adventure.

frequently felt*: What a fabulous slut

frequently felt*: What a fabulous slut: I didn't credit the post pic below, so I'm posting another from libraryvixen , a fabulous slut in her own right. She's got it all, the ca...

Friday, August 26, 2011

Jasper Say 082611

Does it work? Prove it by doing it. If not, you can try something else. Doing nothing proves nothing.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Jasper Say 082411

Much of the Bible uses parables to teach spiritual truth. Many abuse the Bible to their own personal advantage by presenting parables as facts.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Jasper Say 082311

A miracle is a possibility which has always been there. We just didn't know about it.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

frequently felt*: The Pittsburgh Kid

frequently felt*: The Pittsburgh Kid: Pittsburgh native Billy Conn first boxed professionally in 1935 at age 16. He lost that one and a couple more, but by 1937 had developed...

Saturday, August 20, 2011

JJ Said 082011

Jasper's the pen name I use when writing hetero fiction with female dominants. In my tale from the old American West, The Black Pouch Crusader, Pete Radcliffe spends a good deal of the story roped naked to a stretch rack while lustful women try to loosen his tongue with torments painfully erotic.

In this vanilla scene however, Pete and his detective partner, Jack Hutch, are getting a bath, courtesy of their new client and long-time, former prostitute friend, Marjean Hoodenpyle. The tub's in adjoining hotel rooms in Franklin, Idaho Territory, 1880.


"Yes, indeed." Marjean moved her sponge onto Jack's chest, as both men sat naked in hot water at opposite ends of the tub, legs drawn up and feet flat. "My, my, wasn't I lucky?" she bubbled. "Catching you here? Getting both of you naked so I could bathe you like you're my baby boys?"

"We're making the circuit," Pete gave a straight answer. "I left Bear Lake this fine Thursday morning with our two mules, headed for Paris (Idaho)and Toothless Frank's. Got what we needed, packed 'em up and came here. While I's doing that..."

"I came straight here today myself," Jack finished. "With our donkey Albert and horse Annie. Needed to get Annie new shoes and we like the blacksmith here. The one in Paris ain't very talented. Besides, there's no available females in Paris. Every woman's spoken for."

"Yep. Mormons snatched 'em all up. It's just not fair when one man's hoarding a dozen workable women all to himself."

"Praise Jesus!" Marjean exclaimed while sponging Pete's slightly-submerged crotch and more-than-slightly erect cock. "That's quite a religion they got going."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack agreed. "Any other man'd be arrested. So anyways, Marjean, we met here, put our animals up in the stable, checked for mail..."

"Of which there was none," Pete interjected.

"Right. And we planned on heading back for Bear Lake in the morning."

"But not now," Pete grinned while holding up his foot for Marjean's sponge. "Got us a damsel in distress."

"And a change of plans." Jack held up his foot for equal treatment.

"Looks like Betsy's got the tub in 24 ready to go. Right, Betsy?" Pete hollered to get her attention, door between the rooms unashamedly open.

"Yes, Mr. Radcliffe," she answered while making no effort to avert her eyes from the shenanigans in Room 22.

"Thank you, Betsy. We'll call you when both tubs are ready for dumping."

And with that, Pete and Jack stood to proudly display their matching hard-ons. "Towels, please."

"She's cute," Marjean observed with two towels in hand.

"How do you like that, Pete? Here's two fine-looking men standing naked before her and she pays compliments to Betsy."

"Guess we're losing our touch, Jack."

"Guess we'll just have to show her we ain't lost a damned thing. Get your tight ass in that tub, Miss Hoodenpyle."

"Ooh, Jack," she giggled. "Since when are you so feisty?"

"Since right now. Scoot!"

They took their towels and patted themselves dry, dropping both onto the floor before stepping out of water. One minute later Pete and Jack were double sponging Marjean Hoodenpyle in Room 24. Half an hour after that they laid upon the bed in Room 24, Jack's bed, with Jack flat on his back, Marjean sitting on his thighs hand-rubbing his belly, and Pete knelt behind her outside Jack's knees, his hands on her breasts, his lips on the back of her neck.

"Oh, Jack," she cooed. "How come I never got a feel of this handsome pecker you got on you?"

"Because you were too busy with me," Pete whispered. "See what you missed?"

"Well, I'm not going to let that happen again." She took Jack's penis in her hand, squeezed on it, stroked its entire length -- a nine-incher, a fine complement to his nearly-six-foot and lanky frame with lots of black fur -- maybe a few silvers if you looked real hard. "Goodness gracious, you beautiful man, you." She positioned his corona to her portal, her vaginal walls excitedly dripping plenty of lubrication.

"How old you think he is, Marjean?"

"Who cares?" She lowered herself, forced his mushroom inside her.

"Go ahead and guess. Bet you're way off."

"Ugh... ah, yes!" Half his nine inches impaled her, as she let go with her hand, controlled him with her vaginal muscles. "Thirty-seven?"


"Aw, Jack... you are looking fine, indeed." Her pelvis met his. She took all of him. Full penetration.

"Mmm, hmm..." Jack reacted. "You're looking mighty good yourself, ma'am. You can ride on me to your heart's content."

"Oh, my god... it's been so long since I've had a real man inside me." She slowly raised herself to the top of his pole, crushed his cockhead in her warm, wet vise, and then began her torturous glide back down his entire length. Pete's hot breath on her neck and rough fingers on her nipples, coupled with Jack's hot woody splitting her open nearly made her blood boil. She reached up and behind her with both hands, grabbed Pete's head and pressed him close to her. "Oh, Pete... get up here so I can see you, too."

He followed her orders. Stood on the mattress. Stood in front of her, his feet on either side of Jack's flanks. She took his cock in her hand -- a seven-incher, a perfect complement to his brown-fur-covered, 5'10" hard-muscled frame.

"Give me a pose," she drooled. "You beautiful son of a buck."

He clasped his hands to his butt, did some belly flexing as she put her lips to his cock-head, licked on him, praised him between licks, "How on earth... mmm... ohmigod... did you get a... (slurp)... body... ahmum... so... uhmah..."

"Rocks," Jack butted in. "He's always digging up big ol' rocks. Got 'em strung out all over the cabin grounds. Spends half the day every day lifting the damned things."

"Then I swim the lake, no matter how cold the water."

"Screw me," she slobbered. "Both of you... poke holes in me... (slurp, slurp)... both of you." She slavishly sucked on Pete. Took him to the back of her throat and crushed him there while riding up and down Jack's impaling pole. She double-screwed herself -- skull-fucked by Pete, pussy-fucked by Jack, her hands clutching the backs of Pete's thighs, her knees straddling Jack's hips. She did it to herself. Took what she wanted when she wanted. All they had to do was keep themselves nice and rigid. Not a problem for either man.

"So, Jack, I'm thinking it best if I catch the northbound in the morning, while you take the animals and supplies home to Bear Lake."

"Yep. That's the only way. Then I'll do a turnaround with Annie, stay here overnight and catch the Saturday northbound."

"I suspect Marjean will travel with me."

"Makes sense, Pete. We'll check with her when she's finished."

"Are you getting close, Jack?"

"About half way."

"Me, too. Let's shut up and enjoy this."

"Gladly. I'll hold off until Marjean's got off. You hear that, pretty lady? I'm gonna wait for you to spill it. Yes, darling. Ride that big ol' pony. Squeeze the hell out of me, you beautiful female, you."

"Uh, Jack?"

"Yes, Pete."

"Thought you agreed to shut up."

"Just wanted to let Marjean know how good she is at..."

"Shut up!"


The Black Pouch Crusader is a stand-alone ebook with my (see above) self-made cover, sold exclusively at 1EroticaEbooks, where a kinkier excerpt awaits you.

Black Pouch is also part of my three-story collection, The Crux of It, Erotic Tales of Men on the Cross and the Women Who Put Them There. I made these covers, too.

Print paperback (left) is at Amazon Books.

or here's the cover (below) for electronic version:

Made for the Amazon Kindle.


All of my books -- Jardonn, Jasper, gay, straight and in between, can be seen at my web site, Jardonn's Erotic, along with links to more audio and text excerpts for each.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Jasper Say 081911

Now (and always) is a good time to clean accumulated junk from your closet. Mental junk. Little animosities that set you off chasing things of no importance, rather than pursuing goals of great benefit.

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Thursday, August 18, 2011

frequently felt*: Disturbed

frequently felt*: Disturbed: A disturbed childhood awaits this young man. Look at this poor baby. Frozen in fear at the proximity of that massive “thing” next to...

frequently felt*: School

frequently felt*: School: Bus driver had to make a little stop

via Mohikdaifuku

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

frequently felt*: Times Square Exposure

frequently felt*: Times Square Exposure: "Once, Times Square was the seedy underbelly of New York - now, it’s an amusement park where you hardly ever see a topless woman showing her..."

frequently felt*: Carnal Tunnel Syndrome

frequently felt*: Carnal Tunnel Syndrome: "From the Urban Dictionary : Carnal Tunnel Syndrome - A tingling or numbness or a sharp, piercing pain shooting through the wrist as a di..."

Saturday, August 13, 2011

JJ Say 081311

Sorry for my absence the past few days. Took a little vacation time from webbing. Maybe this will make it up to you. A snippet from the next chapter of my ongoing serial, Gender Bent & Heaven Sent.

First story is called On the Y, and chapters 1 & 2 are posted at the Jardonn site. Here's a bit from upcoming Chapter 3:

As the four stepped aside and let me evaluate my situation, I strained my neck and raised my head. Peered over my elevated chest and down my sunken belly. My pecker rested dormant atop my nuts, my nuts precariously close to the edge of the square where my thighs split apart. With each ankle strapped to a plank, my legs laid flat. Three feet of air separated my heels, with the soles of my feet nearly vertical and inches away from the ends of the boards.

Looking right, I got my reflected image, a full-bodied side view ten feet away in the mirrored glass. My chest rose high into the air. My abdomen flat, dropping like a cliff from sternum to pelvis. "Damn!" I thought. "Is that really me?" I tugged on my chains, flexed my muscles, confirmed the mirrored image was indeed mine. "Holy crap! Those fly's and bench presses really get results."

Too bad Stanky had to interrupt my train of thought. He appeared on my left as Burt and the masks exited the room.

“Where are they going?” I wondered.

“To freshen up a bit. Bathroom break. Whatever.”

“Good for them.”

Standing near my middle, Stanky's belt buckle hovered just above the table, his hideous gut inches from my left flank. He rested his hands on my belly, keeping his one index finger in the air, the smarmy asshole.

"So, Mr. Higgins, how do you like my little bondage table?"

"What's to like?"

"I'm quite proud of it. Did you see the hinges beneath your buttocks?"

"No," I snorted with frustration. "Or hell, maybe I did. Who cares? I was kind of busy at the time."

"Well, you will see all the amenities soon enough, unless you have something you'd like to tell me."

"Look, Stanky, I already told you. I don't know what the hell you're talking about. You've got the wrong guy. Don't you get it?"

"No, I don't get it, but you will. Apparently you enjoy pain, but it saddens me to think about it. Since I abhor violence, I won't ask Burt what he plans on doing with you."

"Wish I could get my hands around your fat throat," I snarled at him, my arms straining against my chains. "I'd show you some real violence."

"You are in no position to make threats, Mr. Higgins," his palms lightly pressed my belly, his dry, rubbery skin copping a feel of my flattened mid-section. "Your best play would be to give me the code before you get hurt." Rhythmic thuds of boot heels on metal floor signaled Burt's return. "Ah, there you are," Stanky greeted his henchman. "It looks as though Mr. Higgins will need further convincing."

"So I figured," growled the hairy beast, as he locked his fingers together and bent them back, cracking his knuckles.

The masked goons entered and Stanky stepped aside. "Well, he's all yours. Have fun!" and with that, Stanky exited the room.

Jasper Say 081311

The more you read about diseases and ailments, or pay attention to the barrage of TV ads telling you you're not normal if there's not something wrong with you, the more likely it is you'll come down with one or more of these maladies.