Enlightenment

by Hugh Mungus

A lot of Christians wear crosses around their necks. You think when Jesus comes back he ever wants to see a fuckin' cross?

- Bill Hicks

"My husband cums in the first five minutes."

I needed to hear this about as much as Kojak needed hair ties.

"I've been married 18 years, and have never had an orgasm during intercourse."

Like 1400-DPI, color photos of one's colon, it was more info than I'd asked for. Even so, the naked woman beneath me clearly wanted to come clean - so to speak.

It was at that point I realized how imprisoned humans had become; how insane their mores were. A mandate created by some nameless control freak, at an undisclosed point in history, meant the undulant housewife currently in my presence couldn't leave her lover in order to shoot a decent load of girl cum?! *

* Hubby, in this scenario, had coordinated his wife's erotic encounter with me. I may be horny, but I'm not duplicitous.

Inserting myself, I pumped away. We reached the six minute mark, as old boundaries were obliterated.

Let's get something straight: I'm as appealing in bed as a Dutch oven. If it took a loser like me to make this woman orgasm, there was something seriously wrong regarding the paradigm in which we resided.

As years passed, I'd realize it was more than just one portion of the human endeavor that was out of whack. The entire system, to its core, was fucked. At this early stage, however, amid the glow of methane from a cow pasture adjacent this Motel Sex, it was apparent how irrational an institution like marriage was. Because someone wants to amass money from you - should you choose to divorce - you're obligated by a silly directive to remain unhappy and unsatisfied?

Pondering this slavery to an inscrutable master, I continued to pump away, and ostensibly faked orgasms one and two commenced.

At this point, I'd been with maybe a thousand women, and most of them declared the same thing: They felt trapped by the system.

What was this enigmatic order to which they alluded?

Who knew, but they'd been scared to contradict it. Hence hesitant to shatter the shackles of marriage - frightened of religious wrath, or fearful of satiating their inherent desires, and being deemed a slut. They'd bought into this scheme that was developed to engender anxiety, and thereby obtain control.

Feigned orgasms three, four and five.

I was glad I'd seen the fallacy of this system early, and refused to adhere to it. If I hadn't, I may have been married by now - beaten into submission by a wife and children I abhorred.

As I reached for lube, my ephemeral lover's orgasms were presently occurring every 60 seconds. I thanked myself for not falling prey to the lunacy so many around me had.

Bob Blake - as Baretta - shot some dude on the six channel Sony in fantastic Technicolor.

The plump blonde joined at my hip stopped for a minute, catching her breath and gulping the 32 ounce Screwdriver I'd mixed her - with a splash of orange juice for coloring.

Grainy shades of moonlight pierced her ample ass through curtains some obviously massive insect had been feasting on for years.

Although the encounter was as common for me as breakfast beer, this particular incident was a catalyst. The words I'd heard so often before - from so many women - placed me on a path for truth. If the marriage thing was a scam, what other lies were we being forced to deep throat?

Draggin' my TV out to the desert, I mercifully filled its workings with low-caliber bullets, and began to question everything. I embarked on a reading frenzy, and haven't stopped since. Comic books, warning labels, cryptic scratchings on matchbooks at interstate truck stops - all were fair game. When my filter for the fallacious began working at optimal speed, I'd metastasized 95% of what I'd digested, and honed in on the relevant.

The prognosis was bleak: Humans had been - and were being - fucked like a nymphomaniac porn actress.

The upside? Contrary to what we've been told by those causing our dilemmas, solutions are simple. Hence, peruse this publication with optimism. Shit may appear grim, but - like a two-piece puzzle - we can put things back together correctly in no time.

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