Outer-Limits Porn

I’m thinking of writing porn.  Everyone’s doing it.  But mine would be “outer-limits” porn.  My movie would have canned goods (But absolutely NO can openers!), Brillo pads, coffee filters, extension cords (naughty, eh?), and the entire cast, except for me, would be ninety years old – excluding my grandmother – how dare you imagine that I would allow my grandma to be in such filth!  You might have guessed that I cooked up (cooked up – ha!) this idea while in my kitchen.

I watched a snippet of Don Juan DeMarco with Johnny Depp, Marlon Brando and Faye Dunaway.  Marlon Brando and Faye Dunaway are old in it and they’re married.  There’s a scene with them in bed.  They kissed.  It got me horny.  That’s right — I think old people are hot — forget y’all!  I was mad they didn’t get butt naked.

I’ve written about my WWII veteran friend who’s one sexy bastid.  He’s eighty-six.  He raps, old school, and he killed bad people.  You can’t touch that.

I respect him too much so he can’t be in my movie even though he’s muy hotto and I know he would blow it up.  I just can’t see pimping him like that.  Plus he’s too young.  But I’ll interview some of his friends and some people from the Hebrew Home for the Aged at Riverdale – that’s where grandma is.  And I know oldsters who visit the gallery where I work.

It’ll be a problem if they don’t want to get naked.  But there won’t be animals in this movie for those of you into that kind of thing – blech!  I’ll keep you posted if I decide to do it or not.  Oh yeah, and no oxygen tanks because I’m using blow torches.

Hip Hop from the 1940s

Warning:  the content below, as relayed by my 86 year old friend M, may be considered offensive.

“The dozens ain’t my game but the way I f**k your ma is a goddamned shame.”

“I took your father in my car, and I beat your ma.  Now you know who you are my son, my son.”

I’ve written about M before.  We’re friends.  He visits the botanical garden where I work.  He was in WWII.  I had asked if he had PTSD from the war, from killing people.  M’s Jewish.  He says to me, “I tried to kill as many of those motherfuckers as I could!”  I asked him to stop right there because he was getting me hot.  Some of you may have heard me say that I have been turned on by a 90 year old man.  This is him, though he’s really 86.  I like extremes so I round it off.  He has soft hands and likes to touch my face – don’t say il!  He has good genes.  He’s spry, cute, funny as hell, he exercises, and still has sex.  He says it wipes him out for days after however.  He comes to the botanical garden where I work with different women – cute, 70 something year olds with nice shapes.  I don’t get jealous.  I just hope they’re not jealous of me, because he comes to see me in the gallery to tell me different things.

He told me those lyrics above yesterday.  I said, “That’s hip hop M!”  “Yeah well, where do you think hip hop came from?”  He says.  He went to school in the South Bronx in the 1940s.  The school he went to was half black and white.  I was surprised, although I did see a dead relative’s year book with half black and white people from back then.  Wow.  M had black friends.  He told me stories yesterday from the days of yore, and how he learned those lyrics up there.  He used to get into a lot of fights too.  I am totally crushing on M.

I Tried to Kill as Many of Those Motherf**kers as I Could

I think I’m letting my pushing-90-year-old friend “Artie” go too far.  Yesterday he stood half an inch from me to describe his love-making technique.  He says, sotto voce, “First, I touch her face.”  He takes his wrinkly hand and strokes the side of my face and I says to myself, hmmm.  “Then I move my hand down past her shoulders,” he says.  I say to myself, okay.  “Then, I move my hands underneath her breasts,” he says, but then his buddy from the old folks club yelled across the room to say he was ready to leave.  I’m standing there smiling ear to ear.  “Artie” grabs me and we kiss in the mouth as he holds me real close.  I’m thinking, He’s not a pervert, not a pervert, not a pervert.

You see I think it’d be novel…to…you know…  And I need to stop it with that shit.  ‘cause see, I’d fuck him just to tell people that I fucked a 90 year man.  Word!   Well, if that is possible.  “Artie” is one of those really youthful, blessed with good genes old people who still has a sex life.  He told me he got a blow job in Florida and had an old bitch on his jock.  Word!  “Oh yeah, she’s loaded.  She has a condo in Miami he tells me.”  “Are, you still…you know…able to have sex?”  I say.  “Oh yeah but it was hard.  I was out of commission for two days afterward.”   He says he went down there to Florida and spent time with his sister and four or five of her friends.  “Old broads” he called them.  They all went out to a restaurant.  The waiter asks him, as he’s the only gent, if he’s escorting all the women.  “I’m their pimp,” my boy Artie says to the waiter.

He’s an engaging, interesting fellow, who tells some really good stories, the ones from waaaaaaaaay back when.  He was in WWII, yep.  “Did you kill anyone?”  “Yeah, sure I did,” he says.  “Don’t you have flashbacks?  Do you feel bad?”  I ask.  “Artie” is Jewish.  He saw the devastation of the concentration camps.  He says to me, “Hell no!  I tried to kill as many of those motherfuckers as I could.” “Oooo, stop you’re getting me hot,” I tell him.

Initially, I’m thinking I could flirt aggressively with someone this age without having to “pay up.”  But I don’t know, “Artie’s” is pretty hot.  And he’s describing his ‘moves’ and everything.  Artie turns me on.