I Only Have Eyes for You

A classic song of love recorded by dozens of artists. Written by Harry Warren and Al Dubin for the 1934 Busby Berkeley film, Dames, the performance includes a visually bedazzling "Berkeley Girls" sequence and comprises over ten minutes of film time.

Original version on YouTube  

As for versions that have followed, I think this one from 1959 is tops:

The Flamingos

The 25 Worst Passwords for 2012

Courtesy of THE WEEK

Aligning Alexandria with the Sun

Ancient Egypt City Aligned With Sun on King's Birthday

The Egyptian city of Alexandria, home to one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, may have been built to align with the rising sun on the day of Alexander the Great's birth, a new study finds.

The Macedonian king, who commanded an empire that stretched from Greece to Egypt to the Indus River in what is now India, founded the city of Alexandria in 331 B.C.

Read the rest with graphics at LiveScience

XTC - Wrapped in Grey

A musical invitation to create something, from album NONSUCH

63 Vintage Ads for Alt-Rock Classics

Courtesy of BUZZFEED

JJ Say 101212

This Jardonn story will be a Kindle book in a week or two. Here's a scene where an older guy sprawls on a mattress, surrending himself so his wet-behind-the-ears partner can practice the fine art of body worship.

“You’ve sure got hairy legs.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Like everywhere else I’d been, John’s body hairs were made darker with my painting tongue, his dried sweat replaced by my spit. Both shins, both calves, both knees and both thighs, I spared nothing until reaching his golden V where two delectable balls lay waiting.

“What the hell are you... a man or a bull?”

“Just a dog, Jason. That’s all I am.” And just as a dog does when sunning his belly in afternoon rays, John drew up his knees and spread his legs into a butterfly. His nuts were fully exposed.

Here is where my master’s thesis was written, for here is where a man is won or lost. His gonads, so sensitive, require great skill to properly stimulate without threatening discomfort, but once conquered, the man is completely under control. My control. From then on, I can do just about whatever I want to do with him.

I took my time learning how to love John’s nuts. I practiced with my fingertips, delicately scratching, pinching and twisting. I tested with my lips, gently kissing, pinching sensitive flesh while tugging on testicle hairs. I scored high marks with my tongue, slavishly flicking and licking, and by the time I’d graduated this course, John’s penis frantically bounced on his belly in an erotic ballet of syrup-oozing delight. By the time I was finished with what I needed to know, John had nothing more to say other than mesmerized groans of happiness and pitiful moans of wanting me to finish him.

“Well, John, you know that I’m certainly no expert on the matter, but damn, that dick of yours sure is handsome.”

“Um hm... mm.”

That was not much of an answer, but it was an invitation to continue. Because John had so recently shot me full of his semen, he wouldn't be getting off again anytime soon. I was allowed plenty of time for learning. Time for mastering my sucking skills.

“Give me that beautiful piece of equipment,” I demanded upon snatching his cock with my lips. My first move was to engulf the entire thing. Get it nice and wet. From there, I trained myself. Experiments graded by his tones of voice. John’s grunts, moans and groans, high-pitched, low-pitched, medium-pitched, told me what worked and how well. Such a generous teacher was John that he suffered countless near-orgasms while I filled my head with knowledge. I did eventually catch on as to how I was torturing him. I came to the realization that when he tensed up and his balls shrunk to peanuts it was rather cruel of me to change tactics and try a new technique. Bad timing? Perhaps, but even after I knew what I was doing I kept doing it because I now had good reason. John was no longer in control. I was. This was my classroom, John my guinea pig.

When I finally let John blow his load, this hard-assed tough guy whimpered like a baby. But I will say that for a man forty-something years old, his second coming that came an hour after his first was quite impressive. Thanks to me by my way of thinking, by my way of doing. My hour with a surrendered John taught me how to properly stimulate every body part necessary for good orgasm. I’d also made great strides in becoming what I now knew I wished to be – a professional cock sucker. The best ever.

That’s all John wanted from me. He wanted me to be my best – for myself, and for him.

10 Great Performances in Truly Terrible Movies

Good narratives and trailer clips for each, courtesy of Flavorwire

Graham Chapman via Elisa Rolle

Graham Arthur Chapman (8 January 1941 – 4 October 1989) was an English comedian, writer, actor, and one of the six members of the surreal comedy group Monty Python.

Chapman was born at the Stoneygate Nursing Home, Stoneygate, Leicester.

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

JJ Said 100112

Imagine yourself a female citizen living in the Roman Empire before punishment by crucifixion was outlawed. By foot, you're traveling the countryside from point A to point B on one of the stone-paved highways, and you come upon three naked men hanging from their crosses. Strangely, no guards are in sight. No people of any sort are anywhere near. The prisoners are abandoned, their dicks hard, and a ladder lies nearby.

You have access to three, defenseless, fully-erect men. Would you be tempted? Would such a rape be legitimate? 

The scene is set for a snippet from one of three tales in Jasper's book, Phallicacies. 

I admire the magnificent forms of three crucified men. I absorb their beauty, for there is nothing more glorious than a naked male suspended from the cross -- his muscular chest, arms, and belly flexing and straining against his torture, his phallus unnaturally inflated with blood, majestically piercing the air. Sad to think of it, such opposites of emotions, for even though his defiant struggle is a sight for lustful eyes, his pain and lingering death is a tragedy beyond compare. It causes the witness to wish natural law could be temporarily halted, to wish beauty such as this could be enjoyed without the pain and suffering that comes with it, without the inevitable and horrific end that awaits a crucified man.

But it is not to be. Natural law suspended would create chaos. No gravity to keep humans and all they have built clinging to the ground. No rotation of earth to generate oxygen for all creatures to breathe. No retribution for those who do evil under the guise of good.

We must have all of it or none of it, and so, these three men -- despite their beauty, despite their purety of heart and honor and duty to Empire -- these three men will be tortured and they will die. I do not want these men to die, but natural law says it must be so. Nothing can change this, but something can work with natural law to hasten an end to their suffering.

Taking that broken ladder, I prop its longer, four-step end to the vertical stipes of the centered cross. From my travel pouch I retrieve a coin, and three steps bring my face to the chest of my soldier.

"Here, loyal citizen, mighty warrior. Open your mouth and lift your tongue. It is for Charon, the ferryman, he will take you across the river for eternal rest."

My soldier takes his coin as I raise myself one more step to kiss his lips. "You are a true Roman. The gods will welcome you; your fellow citizens will remember you; I will honor you."

As I descend one step at a time, I linger where I can reach to kiss his sweat-drenched and heaving chest, peck his horrifically stretched nipples with my lips, lick his tightly flattened and hard-muscled belly with my tongue. One step up, I raise my gown and impale myself on his engorged penis. I take his full length to the back of my vaginal wall, crush him there while wrapping my arms around his back. My hands slide up his shoulder blades. My fingers clutch his trapeziums and I step off the ladder.

He shudders, my soldier does, his body taking my full weight as I rapidly and repeatedly slam my pelvis to his. He groans in agony and ecstasy. His body, further stretched, quickly weakens. His chest and diaphragm lose their battle to fill his lungs with oxygen, and as his testicles contract to jettison his semen from his penis into my vagina, I send my loyal soldier on his way. He orgasms. He expires. He takes Charon's coin with him, leaving his magnificent seed with me.

(end of excerpt)

Phallicacies is three erotic tales in praise of the penis, and made for the KINDLE READER at AMAZON.