Airport Hotel

Yes, if we do end up meeting up I will write about it and everyone - at least everyone who reads this blog - will know.

Video Killed The Porno Star

Video killed the radio star.

Not sure what that meant when they first starting singing that in the '80s but now it's clear - a different mode of engagement changed the music business, changed what music was made and what could be sold. 

When you were in front of your TV screen who had time to listen to the radio?

It also happened to movies and now it's happened to pornography.  The internet killed professional porn.

Back in the old fogey days I had to go to a movie theatre and buy a ticket to sit in front of a large 30-foot-high screen showing naked people fucking (and next to a dozen guys in the rows next to me jacking off along with me).  It cost money to distribute 35mm films and only real filmmakers could play. 

Then I got the VHSs delivered to my door and the rise of shot-on-video made plot superfluous and the selection overwhelming.

There was a lot of junk out there.  Professional porn companies tried to hire the most beautiful, nastiest women to get attention but when the tube sites such as YouPorn and Pornhub began to show me the good scenes there was no longer any need to buy the DVDs.

Pop will eat itself.  When it was up on 100s of websites for free, who needed to buy it?  Some companies tried to increase production values and make classy and expensive porn epics with extras like those "Pirates" films but those were soon stolen and online for free as well. 

True adult features like the ones Henry Paris made for sitting in a theatre (1966 -1978) made way for the kind Cecil Howard made (1976-1985), better for home video and fast-forwarding in scene-sized chunks, to the wall-to-wall of John Stagliano (1984 - present) that never get viewed in one sitting. 

The pieces are more important than the whole.  And now that the means of production are in the hands of the amateurs we've all turned their back on the pros.  Amateurs can make more real, hot, weird and sexy porn in our own bedrooms, backyards and office cubicles than all the fake tits and HD cameras Elegant Angel can scare up.  When the pros try to do something it just gets ripped within 24 hours and anyone can sample "Iron Man xxx Parody" for free.  But have you seen that couple fucking on BART?

You can jerk off to xhamster or yuvutube for a whole year and never see the same clip twice. 

It used to be the concert tours would advertise the records and help their sales.  Now the music is used to advertise the concert tours.  Groups give the music away for free to charge $100 a ticket and another $35 for the shirt. 

Now the pros are throwing their best stuff up on the tube sites as well, to keep their brands alive.  I see Brazzer clips all the time everywhere, with their posed HD come-ons.

Some porn fans DO still buy DVDs, but it's usually at Las Vegas conventions where they can have them signed by their favorite porn stars, and she'll sell you a pair of her panties for $40 personally signed. If you want them personally something-else you'll pay a lot more.

So the clips have become ads for smelly panties.  We've gone full circle.  The old classy high-production features I grew up with are a nostalgia act.  Now porn is about webcams and the clutter on the counter behind you.  When you're in front of your screen who needs professionals?

A Quick One While He's Away

More Of The Same

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Reading Visual Streams, One Drip at a Time - an academic article

Maybe my academic training got the best of me.

I wrote a long 10,000 word survey/analysis of self-shot masturbation videos about 2 years ago when I was going to school in the great Northwest and posted it on Wordpress as an annex to this site.

Not many people saw that.  Then, Wordpress recently deleted the blog - citing inappropriate content (which is correct) and suddenly all my viewing, writing, and wanking for research had to be restored.

Thanks to the Internet Archive's Way-back machine I was able to save the text but the pix and videos had to be recreated.  Thing was, a good 20% of them had since been taken down or changed so I had to find them under their new names (they never really go away for good) or find alternates.

The revision/redo is done, and lives at http://redpussyhairannex.blogspot.com/.

The Annex is intended as a repository for excessive and extra materials that don't properly or quite live comfortably here.  Longer more difficult pieces, less sexy pix.  The footnotes.  Let me know what you think.

(I have a fantasy that I am able to present this as a paper with a powerpoint at an international conference one day about sexuality online/virtual fucking.  If you are programming any such conference be in touch.)

Next Door on the Driveway

Drive Bottomless

Drove back down to LA yesterday, along the 300-mile stretch of the 5 down CA.

 

Some truckers drove by in their elevated cabs.

I didn't hide for them.

Were you one of the 100+ drivers who saw me driving on Monday?

Adventure of Craigslist

Dear Craigslist casual encounter,

This is the first time I've done this so here goes - I'm lonely and horny tonight, and my wife is out of town. I don't know how to go out and find a woman of my own anymore (out of practice for 15 years) and don't get laid anymore but I used to be good in bed (so they all said).  I thought I might see if there are any loose, horny crazy 40-something hot MILFS out there trolling CL for casual hookups with guys they don't know, guys they haven't met, and for some reason don't know how to go out and meet guys of their own either. You know, by simply going into a bar and winking cause guys'll fuck anyone who shows the least bit of interest.

I can't host cause the the kids. No hotel room - I'd never be able to explain the cost on the CC bill.  I can't pay you because I don't have any money of my own.  Please reply with where we can meet (must be near my work) and a picture of your pussy.  Looks not important, just be white, thin, buff, sexy, a redhead, good at giving head and please no drama.  I'm not picky.

If you're a bot and send me a link to a pay website I'll delete you, after looking carefully at the fake nude you send and trying to convince myself this once, maybe you might really be real and it's only $19.99 to join what could it hurt?  Look, now I'm writing to the bots.

Anyway respond with "I'm as desperate as you" in the subject line.  Your face pic gets my cock pic.

No guys - I'm not interested, even though you say you'll suck my dick better than any woman can.  Let me know where you are and maybe I'll consider it - 'cause fuck.

Circle of Life

Not the only reason, but one of the reasons, why I got married was that I would have more access to that pussy I loved.  I loved her, I loved making love to her, and she lived in this house!

Infinite pussy!

Don't even stop me because I already know you heard this one.  It doesn't work out like that.

Besides real life, beside the dishes and the money that never quite paid for the lifestyle in which we wanted to become accustomed.  It was the years together which changed our habits and expectations (many for the good make no mistake).  And it was the kids.

Having children stole a piece of my wife that was never to return.  It permanently altered her focus, her identity, her willingness to listen that didn't involve school, food, clothes or bandaids. It stole the part of her that would say, "Do you want to stick it in my butt?"

We still have a good and satisfying sex life, if increasingly infrequent, a trend not likely to reverse.  We manage to fuck about once a week, make love every 3 weeks (you know the difference).  I have to initiate it pretty much every time because she's never in the mood.  I can get her in the mood and there's usually a happy ending, but now it just takes so much more effort.

Is there time?  Are the kids busy?  Do you have the towel?  The dishes done?  Are we expecting a call from the realtor tonight?

So I find myself, in order to not go crazy, or to find myself begging like a pitiful dog, jerking off at least a couple times a week.  Sometimes just to get the edge off, sometimes to go full-bore into a 45-minute session, just to "go there" for a while with myself.  To make some music in the absence of a duet partner.

Who would have thought I'd be here now in my life?  I'm over 40 and I'm married and I'm still jerking off more times than I'm getting laid?  That didn't get old by now?

But then I'm discovering that there are a lot of guys like me.  Hetero, older, and finding the safest (and only) way to get satisfaction is to jerk off, and they're doing it online for each other because at least someone is interested in what they're doing.

There's a whole community out there, on hangouts and certain Yahoo groups and chatrandom doing it for each other, complaining the whole time how they don't get enough and complementing each other's dicks.

Hey, you get it where you can.

The Devil You Know

My first girl friend was a type, a certain kind of shy girl who knew how to get what she wanted by not asking.   By waiting for you to offer it. If she accepted, then you knew (or guessed) that you were getting somewhere.

Of course you never had actual verification from her.  And she never gave up the pussy, which would have been strong circumstantial evidence that she really liked me.

She kind of obsessed me during my high school years, even after I said something wrong and she slapped me and wanted nothing more to do with me.

My first wife was of the same type.  Demure, quiet but with a fire in her eyes. She never told you exactly what she wanted you to do and I had to guess, predict, offer things over and different, whether it was a new kind of restaurant, going out on an work night to a new neighborhood, get a new job, try a new position in bed.  She wouldn't let me know I was on the right track until I was far along, too late even to back out ("You know, I never really liked Thai"), at the edge of the gangplank and having to plead to be let back on the boat.

Everything I learned about her likes and dislikes were an accident.  A perverse but addictive kind of unraveling mystery she savored.  And that I did too.  Her measured reluctance to participate in the decision-making process was its own kind of decision making - she had me wrapped around her finger, hopelessly under the thumb of her unspoken whims.  Out of my mind to please - and whipped.

A girlfriend in there later lasted only 3 months, and there she was again.  I pursued her and she smiled and said if you want and I thought every decision was golddust. And I wasn't standing on any real ground.  The path ahead was shrouded in fog.

It was all the same co-dependent neediness, trying to be in charge but at the mercy of someone else, something impossible to control or know, movement without purpose.

We repeat our own bad habits because we're comfortable with them, we know the hurt and we know how to nurse the hangover the next morning.  Who wants to go find a new unexpected kind of damage?  They made me feel good, they made me feel wanted, they gave me something to live for (and to worry about).  I made love to them well too.

But then I sought out a different companion and it was a new and unfamiliar path. When things went wrong, she took part of the blame.  And she warned me ahead of time when she didn't like something.  And when she did.  If we traveled too far together she didn't pull the rug out from under me.   

If I fell she caught me.  Even thought I might want to crash on the rocks below in self-immolating defeat.

Let's Put On A Show!

Found this here on the HorrorSleazeTrash blog.  And I love it.

It works my exhibitionist perv, my girl singer perv, my hairy pussy jones.

Anyone know who or from what this is/from?  I'm resisting the fantasy that it's an outtake from The Voice.  If anyone can tell me I'll repay your media savvy and kindness with a personal pic of my cock.

Cleaning Up

So lately I'm going through the back reaches of this blog, rediscovering where I've been and what I wrote.  A diverse and head-spinning collection of thoughts and rants.  It's been 5 years.

I'm also finding out a certain amount of pictures (especially earlier) are missing now with that Google giant negative sign on it.

Deleted or reported by someone?  Is it possible there was a minor digital catastrophe a couple years back in which my Picassa album got moved?  Or renamed?  Is this Google+'s fault?

So I'm trying to replace those images (please have patience) by first figuring out what I had, seeing if they are in the bowels of my albums and worth reposting - or hell, just deleting the old post and being done with it.

I'm sure I had some good stuff I'll never find again.  There's a picture I spent about 2 weeks trying to find last month.  It was in my head but I didn't know where it was or how it was indexed/named.

Got it. (How could you find this without specific information? Google "ass phone fuck."  101 million hits.)

An unsolvable mystery is why the pictures here are now gone and the ones above and below are apparently fine.  It's not that only the hardcore ones are disappearing.  I get most of the pics from the internet to illustrate my points.  Everyone likes looking at pictures.  It's a way to get your attention.  Sometimes I'm clever and the picture actually makes its own point, beyond just posting another beautiful redhead with her legs open.

I actually suspect some rightsholder reports the image wherever they find it and Google deletes it across its entire platform, everywhere it appears, automatically by image recognition software.  No human intervention needed.

How all this stuff in connected behind the scenes is increasingly making me (and many) nervous about what we're really sharing online.  Unhappy surprises are often reported on how much Google or Facebook is collecting from us.  This panic is the reason for the initial success of Snapchat.  Self-deletes in 2 days.  If you're into that.

There's a tension between wanting to reach out and not doing something stupid.  I try to be pretty cautious about what I reveal online (yeah, except my dick).  But in reality there's nothing social about social networks.

They're not in person, you don't "talk" with all the body language or the hints or the cues in real space you're both in.  "Hey, listen to that."  There are no smells, or the nuance of a whisper beyond the mere words, uncaptured by a text, a Skype, a hang-out.  No matter how much I show you you still don't really know me.

You don't get my best.

Not that I don't try.  This place here is my documentation, my journal of the road trip.  It's a rather one-sided commentary but it's motivated by a yearning to talk with you.  To validate what I feel and ask, do you feel it too?  Does this get you hot?  Ever do this?  Am I crazy or are we all in this together?

I really appreciate those of you who have given me a kind word through the years.  A thumbs-up in the comments or a personal email means a lot.  Others have found me in more clever ways.  We're all anonymous, even if a name or an avatar gets tagged, accidentally or on purpose, to your comment.  The occasional feedback makes it all worthwhile.

They can delete my pictures but I got your attention in other ways.

This Weekend's Party

At the party this weekend there were 15 couples, all as old as us.  Maybe 20.  It was at an outdoor venue, with a patio and three different stations for finger food and drinks.

All married, all bored, all out for the night with friends, and all looking for the hosted bar.  The wives were wrapped in expensive dresses that were too tight at the wrong places, emphasizing rather than disguising heavy thighs and the freckled tops of their breasts.

The kids were in the other room inside, dancing to the DJ.  The men had $100 shirts on but couldn't hide the fact that their pants were tight under their guts, their hair thinning or thinned at the back.

We laughed together and nodded at the trophy wives, and flirted with each other.  We'd all been around the block, most of us were on our second wives or third husbands.  No one was single anymore.

High-heels were kicked off and the Absolut loosened tongues.

Husbands told their best jokes on their friends's wives, who had never heard them and placed hands on their shoulders appreciating the attention.  Wives giggled in the back about the one who had become a partner recently, and was never home to take his wife out, always busy taking clients to dinners in Tahoe.

The hot wives on the wrong side of 40 got a thin layer of sweat on their faces under the wire patio heaters at each table. Husbands loosened their ties and danced for the first time in 20 years.  Have you tried it with tequila?  Hey, that is a good drink.  And you said he couldn't dance.

The wives smiled in a drunken haze, and imagined the hard rich cocks of the other husbands who didn't look at their wives anymore but talked animatedly with their hands and a close-mouthed smile.  Someone else's husband who could do something new for them, better than the dead bums they slept with.  Staying power longer than 120 seconds.

The men gazed in sneaky glances at the ripe milfs,  heavy and hairy between their legs, all stretched and wet and nipples brown, experts in cock-sucking, attached and realistic about no-strings and able to get to the point without the drama the babysitter would have caused.

In Case I Haven't Been Keeping Up With The Redhead Thing Here

Via Anna Mous.

Do You Like Being Watched?

This is a quick political statement, on a blog that generally is not political (except for personal politics, which in retrospect overlaps seriously with larger politics nowadays).

We're hearing about those new wearable computer glasses, from Google, Google Glass, which will talk in your ear, show ratings and addresses and etc. on the glass ahead of you, as well as recording everything you see.  Erosblog had a nice discussion yesterday about the ramifications of this.  No one has anymore privacy and Google now has all your information to index, sort through, collate and track.

Google Glass, for this reason alone, will not be happening.  MiKandi, an app store for adults, started working with the potential of truly personal porn with a new app, which Google immediately banned.  The best amateur POV sex ever will not be created with the help of Glassware.

But that's okay.  Google has been pushing against adult uses for their products hard the last couple of years (see Erosblog, again, for various other topics, including what no longer appears in search results (such as the word "clitoris" or any NSFW Tumblrs) as well as the insistence on "real names" on Google + and no naked people (making the best use of "hang-outs" useless and broken)).

I understand, in a cynical way, why Google wouldn't want all manner of our floppy bits being indexed for their search, ad and social services.  People seem to have a casual concern for their privacy on the internet, not sure what impact it has.  If they have your email contacts, that's to be expected ("looks like your friend also likes 'Priceline'").

But if you discovered they were indexing your pussy pix, there'd be an uproar and 1000s of people switching to Bing.  If nothing else I guess they're hiding their evil under their increasingly transparent skirt.

I Want You

I want you naked
I want you drunk

I want you a little bored

Confused

Wet

I want the windows open
I want the neighbors to be gone
I want the rope of cum dried on your stomach

The blood on your lip not your own

Dripping

I want the dishes undone
I want the pitcher half full
I want you to grab me
Suck me and turn over
I want my finger up your asshole

Sighing

Saying someone else's name

The Power of Pussy

They weren't dressed like this, but yesterday while I was walking home in Westwood I was a dozen feet behind two sorority-aged girls.  They were dressed to the 9s.

Well, maybe dressed to the 8s.  Finals week is near and they had on their short tight best to go to the club on the corner there.  And the sun hadn't even set yet.  Stockings that stopped here, a vest thing open to show the camisole underneath.  Hair this color.  Heels that were leather and strapped.

The one had these hip-hugger shorts that made me feel old and young at the same time.

Dressed to get attention alright.  They crossed to go into the club and a guy in a car honked at them in appreciation - or to get them to look his way.

They did, and both in unison flipped him off.

Without breaking a stride, it was like it was hardwired into them - we're not interested in any asshole who honks while we cross - "fuck you!" and the power relationship was flipped.  We're going in there.

By dressing that way they got what they wanted - attention - and by flipping him off they stepped on his dick a second later.  Showed who had the power. And wielding it at the same time.

Alone, Or With People

This blog, for those of you long-term readers, was not a lonely business.  It was a way to bring you in to my inner dreams, fantasies, memories and thoughts.

I was not alone, and I thank you for that.

Writing is the loneliest profession and the paucity of updates will be your best clue that I have moved on from this self-exposure, this sexual, provocative and overly honest exploration into what made me go, what made me tick, what made me hard, what you wanted to hear me say.  I've been exploring the written word and one of the topics, inevitably, will be sex with others.

Those missives will be under another name.  It will be up to you (or a casual drunken clue dropped here) to discover where Ryan Pillarsy has moved to in order to keep expressing himself.

And speaking of drunken, I compled a memoir last year about my heavier drinking years.  There was a period where - oh, never mind.  The book is mostly confessional, part therapy, 9/10ths exhibitionism, rude and politically incorrect.  It does not end with going into rehab or seeing the light or 6-month coins or any of that bullshit.  The years, for the record, have not ended.

Those of you who appreciated a broken turn of phrase, a thick layer of snark floating under the sharp phrase of truth, and like to see your gentle narrator immolate and embarrass himself will enjoy the tale, an obsessive tumble with impulse and desire that I only do alone - or with people.

Hmm.  A lot like this blog has been.  It has less sex but is not sex-free, nor is it safe for work.    Feel free to buy and comment on Amazon as you do.

Via Anna.