October 30, 2018

Teach me to sin –
In love’s forbidden ways,
For you can make all passion pure;
The magic lure of your sweet eyes
Each shape of sin makes virtue praise.

Alfred Bryan

Get some today

May 20, 2018

cum here

Orgasm Escapade

I read somewhere recently that at the moment of orgasm, certain areas of your brain, primarily the ones that control emotion, shut down; the area processing fear is deactivated and your ’vigilance for danger’ switch ceases to exist for the duration of said climax. I had this in mind yesterday afternoon, with 9 inches of a very expensive latex cock between my legs, when I took it upon myself to test this theory. It only occurred to me in the last five minutes that I had experienced any rational cerebration at all; my inhibitions had been incinerated; my ability to register dignity as a crucial emotion worth moral preservation, when taking into consideration the window cleaner who had adjudicated that particular moment in time a good one to absterge mine of sin, lay in small fragments of shame upon my bedroom floor, discarded and beaten to within an inch of their poor, metaphoric lives. I, of course, had been on the cusp of carnal bliss, writhing shamelessly about the bed in a state of which any woman can empathize, and quite aware of the intrusion but absolutely unable to do anything about it. I came to the oblique vision of a mortified young man in sodden overalls, and I can safely say that I didn’t give two fucks and a communist bohemian about it.

Velvet and Vulvas

Sweet as sin

February 27, 2018

He holds me in his mouth
and I think – for once –
my body is not an object.
He holds me in his hands,
pulling skin between fingers
and I think – I am
the goddess I was named for.
I have never before been
worshiped by a man and now
I feel his name echo
through the catacombs
of this once dead body
a thousand times over.
Sweet as sin, steady as prayer
tumbling past my lips
when he lays himself at my altar.


naked witches

December 9, 2017

Mine are the lusts of hoofs and horns,
Of the he-goat and the loon
And the naked witches that demons deflower
On the dark side of the moon.

No common sin may fire my eyes,
Glutted with excesses fell —
My lust is stained with the dung that stirs
On the stinking streets of Hell.

Robert E Howard
Letter to Tevis Clyde Smith September 1930

to seduce men

October 13, 2017

In childhood a female must be subject to her father, in youth to her husband, and when her lord is dead, to her sons; a woman must never be independent … It is the nature of women to seduce men in this world, for that reason the wise never remain unguarded in the company of females … Women, shudra (the lowest of four castes), dog and crow embody untruth, sin and darkness.

Kama Sutra

5th August

Being a writer does not make you more interesting or wiser than others. It doesn’t even make you more eloquent. No, the interesting thing is where a writer puts his or her soul on display for all to see – which is a rare virtue indeed now days, because writers, like everyone else, tend to practice a fake honesty. So much so, honesty has almost become an extinct value in art as in life. We exist in a world of skepticism where people live to consume – wealth is the gauge for all human actions, success or failure is dictated by the cash generated, the profit made. And while we consume, we in turn are consumed by doubt. There is little place left for honesty –


Should we float now, half in dream, from this house, my prison? Drift through the misty morning over the moor as far as the river? The river curves sleek as a snake. Looking back we will glimpse the roofs of the village, the cottages huddled together in claustrophobic patterns. Here at night no light can penetrate the dark. Here sin and excess live in silent secrecy –

The Sunday question

July 9, 2017


October 10, 2016


Teach me to sin –
In love’s forbidden ways,
For you can make all passion pure;
The magic lure of your sweet eyes
Each shape of sin makes virtue praise.

Teach me to sin –
Enslave me to your wanton charms,
Crush me in your velvet arms
And make me, make me love you.
Make me fire your blood with new desire,
And make me kiss you – lip and limb,
Till sense reel and pulses swim.
Aye! even if you hate me,
Teach me to sin.

Alfred Bryan


Diary 15th April

It began, I recall, with a slight swelling on her right shoulder. She went into hospital to have it excised – which the surgeon accomplished expertly, the incision small and neat and precise.

But the doctor told us afterwards my mother’s condition was terminal; she would soon be dead.

Mother had no idea. She wasn’t told. She believed her operation to have been a total success. ‘I want her to die at home,’ my father said. ‘I don’t want her to suffer any pain…’

‘How long?’ we asked.

‘Six months at most,’ the reply.

That year was a history of silences. Of journey’s to places she wished to visit along the coast, a desire blossoming, perhaps, from childhood memories of sandcastles and Punch and Judy shows on sundrenched beaches. Each successive trip proved more exhausting than its predecessor…

It’s now all a blur in my head. Sitting with ice cream cornets and watching gulls wheel overhead. The sound of the incoming tide sucking at pebbly beaches, everything light, bright, almost tropical in its brilliance. My wife heavily pregnant with our second child…

And then my mother died. Suddenly. Choking up blood one morning. An ambulance took her away and I never saw her conscious again. Never said goodbye.

By coincidence the ancient grandfather clock in the hall stopped that same day, never to go again. I missed its familiar tick-tock when the funeral cars arrived. Walking out in the grainy sepia air, I couldn’t look at the blonde-wood coffin in the back of the hearse.

Part of me didn’t accept her death. I imagined her alive still, but abroad with friends. Indolent and indulgent. Drinking Earl Grey tea with a chouquette lightly dipped in chocolate. Laughing with her ladies, and eyeing up the swarthy young men, potential toyboys everyone.

I even imagined their nightly regrouping, the crumpled sheets, the pursuer and pursued, naked as sin on some Mediterranean balcony. Yes, for such a one to die was an impossibility. She was born to immortality. Those vague muttered epitaphs were for some other, not for my mother…She continued to live disgracefully while her doll collection slowly gathered dust upstairs.


And it’s looking increasingly likely that our Universe is nothing but an enormous, fantastically complex simulation. What Peedeel has always suspected is now being investigated by top scientists!

James Gates, a physicist at the University of Maryland who discovered strange, error-correcting codes deep in the equations of supersymmetry; Zohreh Davoudi, a nuclear physicist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT); Max Tegmark, a cosmologist at MIT whose recent book probes the universe as mathematics; Lisa Randall, a physicist at Harvard University are just a few of those engaged in examining the true nature of the Universe.

“The more I learned about [reality], as a physicist, the more struck I was that, when you get deep down into how nature works, down into looking at all of [us] as a bunch of quarks and electrons […] if you look at how these quarks move around, the rules are entirely mathematical, as far as we can say. If [we] were a character in a video game or simulation, [we’d] begin to realize that the rules were rigid and mathematical in just that way,” Max Tegmark said.

So there we have it, boys and girls, that old Chinese parable of an emperor dreaming that he was a butterfly dreaming that he was an emperor was (probably) true! We are all part of a junior high school student’s science project! And that student, I have to say, is a bit bloody iffy!