Private Parts (3 page)

"You were feeling sexy with her," I said. "Nothing wrong with that -- don't feel bad about that."

"Well, it was really strange. And, as it turned out..."

"Wait, wait. Slow this down," I said. "So this happens -- now where did you two go?"

"Well, what happened was I went into the bathroom and I looked around the place -- there were things going on," she said.

"Like there were people makin' out and stuff -- girls?" I asked.

"Right. And when I went into the bathroom I didn't realize, 'cause I've never been in one of these places, but there were regular stalls to go to the bathroom, and then there were longer stalls -- and they have those loungers in them. And they're not the kind that fold down -- they're just straight, like beds, and they're curved a little."

"You mean you can lay down with another girl?" I was beside myself.

"Isn't that incredible?" she laughed.

"And when you walked in, you saw two girls gettin' it on in the bathroom?"

"Well, they're behind the stalls, but there're big gaps, so you could definitely see in. They were going wild, and I could not believe how turned on I got," she said.

"It's like individual hump parlors," I marveled. "And you got really hot?"

"Well, I'm sure the alcohol had a little to do with it..."

"Right, and you were getting turned on. You said to yourself, 'I want this,'" I said.

"And all of a sudden she came in behind me, and cupped me from behind. Do you know what I mean? And I just turned around, and at that point she kissed me."

"She started to kiss you with her tongue?" I asked.

"Oh, mmm-hmm," she moaned.

"Fred, come over here and cup me. C'mon, man. C'mon, gimme a break, pal."

"You
know
this is a great story," Jackie said, "because Fred stopped eating."

"So she cupped you and you turned around and you started kissing. Then what happened? She started to disrobe you in the bathroom?" I prodded.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Did you go to one o' those little parlors?"

"Yeah."

"And she started to remove all your clothing?"

"Yeah."

"And then did you undress her?"

"Yeah."

"And then you had full lesbian passion?"

"We did everything. We did it all," she said. "It was really wonderful, I must say. I don't know that I ever thought that this would have ever happened to me, but -- "

"And she had a hot body?" I asked.

"Yeah, she was really, really gorgeous."

"What happened to the meeting with her friend, though?" Robin asked.

"Screw the friend -- she's in the bathroom. Imagine the stink in there, too! Oh, man, what's goin' on? Like, aren't girls goin' in there and takin' dumps and stuff?" I asked.

"Well, you know something? I don't know. I didn't pay attention to anything else that was going on."

"What did you do first?"

"Well, I didn't know what to do, so she had to teach me. She started tugging at my shirt but it wouldn't come down because my breasts are so big."

"How big?"

"My breasts are so full. They even look bigger because my stomach is so fiat and hard."

"And your hips are really narrow, too, right?" I said.

"Yes. She started ripping at my shirt, kissing me on my cleavage. I was getting really excited."

"You were turned on?"

"Yeah, my nipples were so hard and I got this really achy feeling all over my body."

"Where? In your most private of places?"

"Yes, I could barely stand up. She pushed me back on the couch. I was on the couch and I pulled my shirt off, exposing my breasts."

"Did your breasts fall to the sides?"

"No, they're really firm and full. They stood straight up."

"So they're not sloppy. Hey guys, they're not sloppy!" Fred lay unconscious in the corner. Jackie's big toe, I know, was up his asshole. He was a gymnast in high school. "Then what happened?"

"She played with me and caressed me and I was getting more and more excited."

"What about your thigh-high pantyhose?"

"I have really long, thin legs and I was wearing long, spiky high heels. She took off my shoes and she stripped me of my pantyhose and before I knew it, she was sucking... on my feet."

"Did that turn you on?"

"I loved it. No guy had ever done that to me."

"So did you do anything to her?"

"At first, no."

"What was she wearing?"

"She had no bra on. She just untied her top and her breasts just fell out. They were incredible. She rubbed them against my legs as she sucked my toes. She kept her miniskirt on, but she wasn't wearing any underwear."

"Was she shaved?"

"Completely!"

"He's completely anarchic, outside the establishment. He's bawdy, lewd, lustful. constantly attacking sacred cows. He's also genuinely funny."

--
Camille Paglia

Whore! Slut! Bitch! Lesbo! Radio sucks.... We had to cut off her story. It was getting too graphic.

I was going crazy. I tried to persuade her to come down to the studio and pose nude so we could paint her. I was going through my Van Gogh stage. But she was resistant. She claimed she was too busy at work.

"Oh, c'mon -- you do sales. You can screw off a little bit. You've had time to be in bathrooms with women!" I protested. She still claimed she was too busy to come in. I used a harmonizer to make my voice sound deep, like Satan's.

"Abandon everything! Now that you've had lesbianism, come to our studio and let us paint you! Let us paint you, my dear! You want to be naked in the room with me, Jackie, and Fred. Don't you wanna be painted and immortalized?"

"I must say that this is like the most bizarre thing that's ever happened to me," she said.

I kept trying, in my normal voice. "Hey, why don't you ask your lesbian to come on down with you? You guys can be in bathing suits, and we'll paint you while you guys get to know each other better. 'Cause I need nude models," I suggested.

"I know you do, I know you do. I'm not sure that I'd be into that," she said.

"All right." I gave up. "But I got Clapton tickets for you. That was a good story. Now I'm even more sexed up than I was fifteen minutes ago. Hey, do me a favor -- go meet another girl tonight and call us back tomorrow."

She hung up. I felt drained. Then Gary came into the studio.

"Can I tell you what a twisted world we live in?" he said. "We got a ton of phone calls from women, begging me for the name of the place, which we're not giving out. And I also got a call from a private investigator who wanted to know if we wanted to hire him to go in and videotape what's goin' on in there."

The Di
fferences Between the 80's and the 90's

"Congresswoman Felner, are you willing to admit your role in the S&L Fiasco
?"

In the 80's radio personality Larry King made it big in television.

"Congresswoman Felner, are you willing to admit that, despite being a lesbian, you find me attractive?"

In the 90's radio personality Howard Stern is making it big in television.

Hate Mail

Dear Mr. Stern,

I am writing in response to the insulting remarks you made about the Blessed Virgin Mary, lately. I am having a mass said for you, and Robin, for God to have mercy on you for the remarks you made about his mother.

I will keep you in my prayers, and ask you to cease offending people and the Mother of God, who is by extension, mother of us all.

This is a very old prayer card, but its so lovely, I wanted you to have it. I'm sorry it's torn. (Our Lady of Fatima-1917.)

Dear Mr. Stern:

Recently, you stated on the air that Chris Burke, the young man who plays "Corky" on "Life Goes On" is not an actor. You explained that he is not really acting because he has Down Syndrome, as does his character. In other words, because he is a retarded man and as such is limited to playing the roles of retarded young men, therefore, he is not a true actor. To this argument, I can only say: what an ignorant , moronic , asinine , infantile and, yes,
retarded
thing to say.

So lay off Chris Burke and his acting. And good luck with your acting career. I advise you, though, to change your character's name from Fartman to Fartbrain, although in either case you might be accused of not being a "real actor" because rude, flatulent behavior seems to follow you everywhere.

Dear Howard "the honky cracker kike" Stern,

You ought to be ashamed of yourself for criticizing a great black man like Spike Lee. You seem to have a problem with black people who are doing well in this country. People like Bill Cosby, Arsenio Hall, and David Dinkins. You're just pissed off because the brothers used to kick your ass when you lived in Roosevelt. Couldn't your kike father teach you how to fight you honky faggot. I'm sorry I forgot, kikes can't fight. I hope Lemrick Nelson Jr. comes down to your studio and carves you up like a Thanksgiving Turkey.

Sincerely,

Angry Black Woman

It Was the Worst
of Times, It Was the
Worst of Times

The Ste
rn Family
Chapter
2

My family story is actually pretty tragic. It's story of how two children of immigrants united to give birth to an innocent son and then, through an assortment of ingenious tortures, both consciously and unconsciously motivated, managed to turn that son's life into an emotional shipwreck. Then, as if that wasn't enough, this poor man-child found a woman to share his life and she came complete with an additional set of parents and siblings to torment him. Yes, this is my story, A Tale of Two Dysfunctional Families.
It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times.

RAISED LIKE A VEAL

"Mrs. Stern, you have a really happy baby," the doctor said at my birth. "Howard's very smiley. He's as happy as a Mongoloid idiot." Who knew I'd grow up to be so miserable? Basically, my mother, Ray, raised me like a veal. It was like growing up in a box with no lights on. Sure I was tender -- because my mother would never allow me to do anything. She was constantly attentive, totally overbearing, and would always put fear in me. If I played sports, I'd get hurt. If, God forbid, I left the house without a coat on, I'd catch cold. I always had have rest periods to collect my energy. She had these kooky rules for everything. But it worked. To this day, I can't go out of the house for more than five minutes without worrying that something bad is going to happen to me. I live in fear of everything. I can't enjoy life so I sit in my house and vegetate. Under dim lights, of course.

I confess. I'm an obsessive-compulsive, anal-retentive, miserable neurotic because I was raised by a woman who ran her household with the intensity of Hitler. Now, let me clarify things. I love my mother. She had the best intentions. She's a very moral, upright person. In fact, my mother broke the world down into a battle between good and evil. And anything that didn't conform to her worldview was definitely evil. Man, did she put me on a permanent guilt trip. One time I was walking down the street with my wife, Alison, and I saw a wad of bills on the ground. I picked it up, started to walk away, and all of a sudden I heard my mother's annoying voice: "Don't pick it up! Don't pick it up! That belongs to someone else!" Idiot that I am, I felt bad for the poor slob who dropped it and had this lunatic idea that he was going to come back to look for it. So I ran back and put the money down exactly where I found it.

And boy, did this woman have wacky ideas and bizarre practices. First of all, I couldn't have any pets growing up. My mother was convinced that pets actually drain energy out of the humans who own them. To this day, I swear, if I'm feeling a little rundown, I walk around my house thinking that our cat is like Cujo or something.

At six months, drooling like a Mongoloid.

But some of the strangest of her practices centered around my underpants. My mother was obsessed with them. First of all, the minute she bought me underpants, she would have to sew big name tags into them. She was always concerned about me losing things. This I never understood. If I lost them, and someone else found them, what were they going to do? Drop them into the nearest mailbox? Who would even want to touch these dirty things?

Plus, my mother kept this up all through college. Can you imagine my embarrassment when I was in bed with some lady and she's taking off my underpants and she slips her hand beneath the elastic waistband and says, "What's this tag on the back?" My mother never stopped. She went on archaeological digs in the dirty clothes hamper. She was like a research scientist and my underpants were her petri dish. She could even tell what I'd eaten for lunch.

And God forbid she should find a little stain on a pair. She'd run upstairs to our only bathroom, run hot water in the sink, and rub soap into my underwear. The whole family would parade in and out to use the sink only to be stopped by the soaking underpants. You might as well have had a neon sign flashing: STAY AWAY FROM THE SINK. HOWARD HAD ANOTHER ACCIDENT. Was this total emasculation or what?

My mother had me so crazy that, in kindergarten, when I pooped in my pants, I was always afraid to come home. I would come home with a full metal jacket in my underpants, run up to my room, take off my underpants, and sneak out in the backyard to bury them. Somewhere in Roosevelt, Long Island, there's a BVD tree with some pretty fertile soil around it.

One time I ran out of underpants. So my mother told me to wear her panties to school. I actually put them on. They were huge and very soft, and as soon as she left the room I took them off, fished out the least crusty pair from the hamper, and wore them to school. Can you imagine the humiliation I would have faced changing for gym class? I might as well have moved out of state.