This pornographic piece is entitled, "Thumbs Up."
And the epigraph to it is from Shakespeare.
I have to prove that it has, what's the term,
redeeming literary value.
The epigraph is, get you to a nunnery.
Let's see if I can find the notes.
Thumbs up.
I really should have a costume for this.
You need a long, dark coat.
I had to pull down over your eyes
in a large pair of sunglasses in a seedy expression.
So you'll have to imagine that, I'll have to get my voice.
"Thumbs Up."
[LAUGHTER]
An an unfinished pornography.
Zip, zip, the cars went zipping by
and the bunny, it seemed the very hand of our Father
had withdrawn the last blessing that of love and consolation
from one's neighbor from her svelte form.
Like Job, she stood upon the highway, like Ahab,
faced a departure and yet it seemed there was
to be no going forth from sin.
It was with reluctance, but also relief
that she felt her left hand slipping under her skirt
and inching upward along her long tense thigh,
already her pubic hairs beaded with the ever more thickening
droplets of desire.
Her finger-- now she began to drool as her fingernails
found the pert little clitoris that nudged like a moles
nose, her fingers.
Ahhh, she said.
[LAUGHTER]
Ahh, ahh, ahh.
And a great roaring filled her ears.
But ever her tense right thumb pointed East
and now the cars began to slow and park around her.
Ahh, she cried shaking her tawny blond head.
Oh, Oh, cried the motorists.
Each from the middle class safety of his vehicle.
She imagined the fat hands of salesmen
digging into their woolly trousers
and emerging with great cocks like pistols in their palms.
Huh.
The sky was becoming dark with semen,
great fountains shooting from the windows of Nash's, shooting
from the windows of Nash's and Studebakers.
And the steady, and the steady drip
from the inner roofs of cars.
Should I be speak more of this scene which tells not of sin
but the Holy energy of young life throbbing and beating
to find salvation.
Her faithful friend, and I quote here, "The more I see of men,
the more I think of dogs."
Albert Payson Terhune.
Her faithful friend, Pompa the collie--
[LAUGHTER]
pushed his cold nose deep into her rectum.
Even at the moment of consummation
an act not of charity but love.
Like alongside the after dinner expansion of air
eased itself from her innards made the 20 mile journey
through the intestinal tract and emerged bathing
the colleague's face into limpidity.
[LAUGHTER]
For Pompa, this was reward enough.
But men, but men are not so easily pleased.
And the motors came forth from their cars
carrying their good time Charlies like ears
of corn in their hands.
Her head cleared and she saw them advance.
So again, it was to be the tribulation of the gang bang.
Pompa rubbed his tiny paws against his chest and spat
noisily into the air.
Her eyes followed that arc of mucus,
a high loft like the four weirdest of passes
over the heads of the multitude until it descended and came
to rest and the cap of one who smiled not in desire
but in good fellowship.
He was a young man of middling mental capacity, she noted.
Even as the first hands began to pull up her sweater,
not unlike her lost, lost clod, and she thought again
of that unfortunate boy who she had
been surprised to find in the ladies
room of the Polynesian village.
His prick jammed into a water faucet.
[LAUGHTER]
They had had to remove the plumbing.
Surely not the prick.
And she chuckled almost loudly at that thought
and thought briefly of what her father
would have thought if he had thought
she was thinking this now.
And she still remembered that first, first night, the feel
of the spigot deep within her.
Not unlike Claude, and was he to be her savior, this swarthy boy
chick who sat upon his motorcycle
even now rubbing it up as someone whispered,
"Got a cookie for a lookie at your nookie, Tina,"
into her dripping ear.
Then at the last moment, she heard
a roar and the clod like young man
was upon her, lifting her roaring through the assemblage
in a way.
At the first stoplight, the begoggled youth affectionately
patted all 600 horsepower of the machine beneath him
'Tis my hog, a boy's best friend,
he yodelled over his shoulder.
But bunny's drooping ears barely encupped this revelation.
She felt the cool leather seat between her thighs.
And as her head nodded into the blessedness of rest,
she saw the raised lettering on her benefactor's jacket
back, Hickory Dick, and then to sleep.
The circumstances of that was--
[APPLAUSE]
some friends and I who had some pretensions about, writer,
Ste--
no Steve was gone by then.
He graduated a year before the rest of us slower students.
We decided we wanted to write a novel just for the fun of it
and the only thing worth writing was a pornographic novel
that we thought we'd keep our interest up in.
But what happened was everybody got married instead.
So never developed.
A couple of people wrote a chapter.