Notes of a Literary Nature About Cocks
The following are some notes about and taken from classics of erotica literature.
I would appreciate if you could send me links to copyright free (public domain) of other works not quoted herein for my reading and study. At the same time I'd like to invite you to comment on the text with suggestions and even photographs/texts of your favourite cocks. Grazie!
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Did you ever notice, while reading a novel, how the language changes suddenly when of sex matters? Firstly you read about the pudenda, also called genitalia, and then goes into the member virilis or vulva and other so-called academic terms. Suddenly a vulva and vagina turns to a coint, and a penis is a cock and a dick, the testicles are balls, and so on, when any kind of descriptive thought or sexual innuendo and intercourse starts to happen? I am always aware of that, and even someone like Péter Nádas and Jonathan Littell follow this habit. Is it because they, as I, consider sex acts vulgar to be called by common names, or is it just that the writing, before, avid of precociousness, turns to an indulgence of 'let it go' and more guttural expression as sex should and could be? Is sex power so strong that when writing about it one turns visceral and the better terms to express one's feelings are the most current in spoken daily language?
The other side I am considering is if any reader takes offence by the on the page written cock or dick, or cunt or teats, but not with vulva and testicles? What is the power and use of changing the method in describing the same thing, and not just for the bettering of the text and avoiding of repetitions?
"The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cock's wattles. An ill starched dicky jutted up and with a rude gesture he thrust it back into his waistcoat." What is going on here, in the preceding two sentences? Did someone put a cock inside a coat? A neck like wrinkled testicles? Ask James Joyce, it is his phrases. I might confess that it doesn't titillate me at all, somehow a 'ill starched dick' means not having an erection? Out of context, of course you can write whatever you want, as I just did. As surreal and slightly erotic is the following, by the same author:
"Did not: no, no: believe: Lidlyd. With a cock with a carra.
Black. Deepsounding. Do, Ben, do.
Wait while you wait. Hee hee. Wait while you hee.
But wait!
Low in dark middle earth. Embedded ore.
Naminedamine. Preacher is he:
All gone. All fallen.
Tiny, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair.
Amen! He gnashed in fury.
Fro. To, fro. A baton cool protruding.
Bronzelydia by Minagold.
By bronze, by gold, in oceangreen of shadow. Bloom. Old Bloom.
One rapped, one tapped, with a carra, with a cock.
Pray for him! Pray, good people!
His gouty fingers nakkering.
Big Benaben. Big Benben!
In a work with a so cryptic absence of sex (or enigmatic or not understandable at all) is surprising that Joyce used the word 'cock' eighty times (check it), and one knows he used as inspiration and copied (yes!) parts of 'Venus in Furs'? That sexed thing called Satyricon uses the word cock too, many times, but it is a cockerel, not a penis! Contradictions of Petronius and Joyce and Ritter von Leopold Sacher-Masoch (you cannot find a cock in 'Venis in Furs')?
This is just for fun, but when is it that a cock is not a penis in a novel? And I write now about cocks as an example, and because I like them too! If erotica, erotic or porn novels use the term cock but meaning not a penis, makes me confused, and obviously they have an array of substitutes for it. So I spent this afternoon looking for cocks in novels, but my achy eyes retired me of the subject pretty quick.
Another curiosity was to check the terms used for describe the erogenous organs, and if, in different languages they are the same, excusing, of course, that I only consulted works in or translated to English, which might make the terms more homogeneous (not homo of sexual, evidently!) Do you need to write in slang to arouse your readers? Is J. K. Huysmans right when he says: "I do not object to the latrine; hospital; and workshop vocabulary of naturalism. For one thing, the subject matter requires some such diction." Does sex have to be dirty and s**tological? Does it really matter if one reader delights in jargon, or slang or prude prose or verse?
In my quick research for unknown, to me, works of erotica, I discovered a work by Johann Wolfgang Goethe that I never heard of, and obviously my curiosity won, and I spent a few hours reading this 'Erotica Romana'! It started well, and in the first paragraph we have a sex God, Priapus:
"You, stand here at my side, good Priapus -albeit from thieves I've
Nothing to fear. Freely pluck, whosoever would eat."
This is a very enigmatic work, as the verses of Erotica Romana doesn't have any cock or phallus, at all! " Then shall only one temple, AMOR's temple alone, take the initiate in. Rome, thou art a whole world, it is true, and yet without love this world would not be the world, Rome would cease to be Rome." Much poetry and beauty this Roman Erotic verses contain, but nothing lascivious or of a sex nature, which disappointed me, being light of head, I was expecting a rump of debauchery and profanity, carnality and perversions, but no. It was my head, and only it, that could expect something written by Goethe to be sexy, and we only could wish. Wouldn't be great that someone discovers a raunchy work by him? That seems to be an impossibility. And I amuse myself. "Water dashed on the coals suddenly smothers their glow." Of course, if you tell me that you like very much 'One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom' by the divine Marquis I know you are and like dirt, dirt person, dirty reading, and I do not care about it, at all; though that work doesn't arouse me at all, bought it, almost read it in its completeness but had to give it up, too dirty and repetitious.
I have to quote the remains of J. K. Huysmans' sentence above, in his work 'Là-bas' (Down There) from 1891, as follows: "For one thing, the subject matter requires some such diction. Again, Zola, in "L'Assommoir", has shown that a heavy-handed artist can slap words together hit-or-miss and give an effect of tremendous power. I do not really care how the naturalists maltreat language, but I do strenuously object to the earthiness of their ideas. They have made our literature the incarnation of materialism - and they glorify the democracy of art! [...] They deny wonder and reject the extra-sensual. I don't believe they would know what you meant if you told them that artistic curiosity begins at the very point where the senses leave off. [...] The only impression that remains is one of surprise that a man can write three or four hundred pages when he has absolutely nothing to reveal to us--nothing to say "
The skimming, or the fast reading of this work made me stop many times to think, as I am a novelist and in the act of writing one, he arouse many valid questions about what is Literature, Writing and the Novel, something that preoccupies me in a strong manner, as I am conscious for long, and Language problems entertain me, I'd like to find a proper, mine, way of writing my stories. Thus the questions raised above, which the author puts magnificently: "If possible the novel ought to be compounded of two elements, that of the soul and that of the body, and these ought to be inextricably bound together as in life. Their inter-reactions, their conflicts, their reconciliation, ought to furnish the dramatic interest." So, if I follow this line of thought I need to write about sex and its delights and problems, as they are intrinsic to human life and behaviour. Though extremely interesting a work describing bells, black magic and using historical figures it doesn't contain any phalluses or cocks aspersing sex rites of any kind, which is a pity too. A good read for secret French history and the rumination of literary concerns.
If I look for 'cock' in novels, is only in the manner of trying to understand the evolution of the description of sex in Literature. If you would like to follow this interest, there is nothing better than to start with 'My Secret Life' (1888) by, guess whom, Anonymous. In the novel's overture the cock is immediately present, in the very first paragraph, a cock delight of a book it seems, and the narrator has his prick on the maid's hand when he is nothing but a little boy... At eleven: " The next thing I clearly recollected, was one of my male cousins stopping with us, we walked out and when piddling together against a hedge, his saying: "show me your cock, Walter, and I will show you mine." We stood and examined each others cocks, and for the first time, I became conscious, that I could not get my foreskin easily back, like other boys. I pulled his backwards and forwards. He hurt me, laughed and sneered at me, another boy came and I think another, we all compared cocks, and mine was the only one which would not unskin, they jeered me, I burst into tears, and went away, thinking there was something wrong with me, and was ashamed to show my cock again, then I set to work earnestly to try to pull the foreskin back, but always desisted fearing the pain, for I was very sensitive. [...]I used to look at my prick with a sense of shame, and pull the prepuce up and down, as far as I could constantly, to loosen it, and would treat other boys' cocks in the same way, if they would let me, without expecting me to make a return; but the time was approaching when I was to learn much more." There is a lot of 'cunt' in it too. In the first dozens of pages Walter, the narrator, describes his curiosity about vaginas (and his delight in hearing and watching them urinate) and his own penis and his cousin Fred: " My father had refused to take me to the public baths. Disregarding this, Fred and I paid our six pence each, and in we went with our friend; we did not bathe, but amused ourselves with seeing others, and the pricks of the men. None, as far as I can recollect, wore drawers in those days, they used to walk about hiding their prides generally, with their hands, but not always. I was astonished at the size of some of them, and at the dark hair about them, and on other parts of their bodies. I wondered also at seeing one or two, with the red tip showing fully, so different from mine. All this was much talked over by us afterwards, it was to me an insight into the male make and form. Fred told me, he had often seen men's pricks in their fields, and in those days, living in the country as he did, I dare say it was true, but I don't recollect ever having seen the pricks of full grown men, or a naked man before in my life."
"Out he pulled his prick, then out I pulled mine; he tried to pull my skin back, and could only half do it, he frigged (masturbated) himself successfully, but I could not. He had a very small prick compared with mine. How I envied him the ease with which he covered and uncovered the red tip. I frigged that boy one day, but finding my cock was becoming a talk among our set, I shrunk from going to their frigging parties, which I have seen even take place in a field, boys sitting at the edge of a ditch, whilst one stood up to watch if anyone approached. When they were frigging in the privy, a boy always stood in the open door on the watch, and his time for frigging came afterwards."
The language used in this novel is barely readable so simple and basic it is, but it is endearing and tender to read the description of a boy growing to be a man, and his troubles with his too tight foreskin, his innocence towards the world and the captivity that sex behold on the youngster. Obviously, Walter has a big penis. "With many harlots of both high and low class I had talked about size; each told me of men who had big pricks, rarely of those who had small ones. Experience has since taught me that harlots like talking about big pricks, for size affects their imagination agreeably. Of ridiculously small ones they make mention for a laugh, the average sizes pass without their notice. I used to ask them how mine compared with the big ones they spoke of, and got at last into my head the erroneous opinion about my own machine. At times I would produce it with an apologetic remark. "My prick's not a very big one, is it?"--and was much pleased when the woman's reply was complimentary. I know now from the inspection of many men's, that mine compares very favorably with the average, and is larger than most; but for many years I was of a very different opinion, and at times was almost ashamed of my prick, so much so that when a woman said it was as large as most, and many said that. I did not believe them, still less did I believe them when they said it was a handsome prick; then I thought they were hum-bugging me.
Now as I add these few words written years after the foregoing, and after having seen some dozens of pricks, both languid and erect, I know what they said was true, and I know that there is a size, a form, a curve, and a colour in pricks which makes some handsomer than others."
I can identify myself in his voyage of self-discovery, so much so that he refers to Fanny Hill! "Just then a friend lent me Fanny Hill, how well I recollect that day, it was a sunshiny afternoon, I devoured the book and its luscious pictures, and although I never contemplated masturbation, lost all command of myself, frigged, and spent over a picture as it lay before me. I did not know how to clean the book and the table-cover. Fascinated although annoyed with myself, I repeated the act till not a drop of sperm would come; and the skin of my prick was sore. The next day I had a splitting headache but read at intervals, and again frigged; and did this for a week, till my eyes were all but dropping into my head. In a fever and worn out; the doctor said I was growing too fast, and ordered strong nourishment; but I used to take the infernal book with me to bed, and lay reading it, twiddling my prick, and fearing to consummate, knowing the state I was in. It was indeed almost impossible to do it, and when emission came, it was accompanied by a fearful aching in my testicles."
In 'Memoirs Of Fanny Hill', by John Cleland there are many names given to the male member, but the best one is the cockpit! This novel, the first erotica I placed my eyes on, suffers from what all novels sin, that one way or the other depicts sexual intercourse: men genitals are stupendous and gigantic: "Curious then, and eager to unfold so alarming a mystery, playing, as it were, with his buttons, which were bursting ripe from the active force within, those of his waistband and fore-flap flew open at a touch, when out IT started; and now, disengaged from the shirt, I saw, with wonder and surprise, what? not the play thing of a boy, not the weapon of a man, but a Maypole, of so enormous a standard, that had proportions been observed, it must have belonged to a young giant. Yet I could not, without pleasure, behold, and even venture to feel, such a length, such a breadth of animated ivory! perfectly well turned and fashioned, the proud stiffness of which distented its skin, whose smooth polish and velvet softness might vie with that of the most delicate of our sex, and whose exquisite whiteness was not a little set off by a sprout of black curling hair round the root: through the jetty springs of which the fair skin shewed as in a fine evening you may have remarked the clear light through the branchwork of distant trees over-topping the summit of a hill: then the broad of blueish-casted incarnate of the head, and blue serpentines of its veins, altogether composed the most striking assemblage of figure and colours in nature. In short, it stood an object of terror and delight." Sometimes its gigantism unfolds wrongly: "By my direction, however, the head of his unwieldy machine was so critically pointed, that, feeling him fore-right against the tender opening, a favourable motion from me met his timely thrust, by which the lips of it, strenuously dilated, gave way to his thus assisted impetuosity, so that we might both feel that he had gained a lodgment. Pursuing then his point, he soon, by violent, and, to me, most painful piercing thrusts, wedges himself at length so far in, as to be now tolerably secure of his entrance: here he stuck, and I now felt such a mixture of pleasure and pain, as there is no giving a definition of. I dreaded alike his splitting me farther up, or his withdrawing; I could not bear either to keep or part with him. The sense of pain, however, prevailing, from his prodigious size and stiffness, acting upon me in those continued rapid thrusts, with which he furiously pursued his penetration, made me cry out gently: "Oh, my dear, you hurt me!" This was enough to check the tender respectful boy even in his mid-career; and he immediately drew out the sweet cause of my complaint, whilst his eyes eloquently expressed, at once, his grief for hurting me, and his reluctance at dislodging from quarters, of which the warmth and closeness had given him a gust of pleasure, that he was now desire mad to satisfy, and yet too much a novice not to be afraid of my withholding his relief, on account of the pain he had put me to."
It was in this first erotic novel that I read about sex between men, boys in this case, and my world opened widely, for the excitement and ejaculation of it, the novelty and the teachings I absorbed avidly. On this passage I learned too, or just confirmed the old stigma and discrimination gay people have, and it is an ancient story of hatred and misunderstanding.
"The eldest might be, on my nearest guess, towards nineteen, a tall comely young man, in a white fustian frock, with a green velvet cape, and cut bob-wig.
The youngest could not be above s*******n, fair, ruddy, completely well made, and to say the truth, a sweet pretty stripling: he was too, I fancy, a country lad, by his dress, which was a green plush frock, and breeches of the same, white waistcoat and stockings, a jockey cap, with his fellowish hair, long and loose, in natural curls.
But after a look of circumspection, which I saw the eldest cast every way round the room, probably in too much hurry and heat not to overlook the very small opening I was posted at, especially at the height it was, whilst my eye close to it kept the light from shining through and betraying it, he said something to his companion that presently changed the face of things.
For now the elder began to embrace, to press and kiss the younger, to put his hands into his bosom, and give him such manifest signs of an amorous intention, as made me conclude the other to be a girl in disguise: a mistake that nature kept me in countenance for, for she had certainly made one, when she gave him the made stamp.
In the rashness then of their age, and bent as they were to accomplish their project of preposterous pleasure, at the risk of the very worst of consequences, where a discovery was nothing less than improbable, they now proceeded to such lengths as soon satisfied me what they were.
For presently the eldest unbuttoned the other's breeches, and removing the linen barrier, brought out to view a white shaft, middle sized, and scarce fledged, when after handling and playing with it a little, with other dalliance, all received by the boy without other opposition than certain wayward coyness, ten times-more alluring than repulsive, he got him so turned round, with his face from him, to a chair that stood hard by; when knowing, I suppose, his office, the Ganymede now obsequiously leaned his head against the back of it, and projecting his body, made a fair mark, still covered with his shirt. As he thus stood in a side view to me, but fronting his companion, who, presently unmasking his battery, produced an engine that certainly deserved to be put to a better use, and very fit to confirm me in my disbelief of the possibility of things; being pushed to odious extremities, which I had built on the disproportion of parts; but this disbelief I was now cured of, as by my consent all young men should likewise be, that their innocence may not be betrayed into such snares, for want of knowing the extent of their danger: for nothing is more certain than that ignorance of advice is by no means a guard against it.
Slipping, then, aside the young lad's shirt, and tucking it up under his clothes behind, he shewed to the open air those globular fleshy eminences that compose the Mount Peasants of Rome, and which now, with all the narrow vale that intersects them, stood displayed and exposed to his attack; nor could I without a shudder behold the dispositions he made for it. First, then, moistening well with spittle his instrument, obviously to make it glib, he pointed, he introduced it, as I could plainly discern, not only from its direction and my losing sight of it, but by the writhing, twisting and soft murmured complaints of the young sufferer; but at length, the first straits of entrance being pretty well go through, every thing seemed to move and go pretty currently on, as on a carpet road, without much rub or resistance; and now, passing one hand round his minions' hips, he got hold of his red-topped ivory toy, that stood perfectly stiff, and shewed, that if he was like his mother behind, he was like his father before; this he diverted himself with, whilst, with the other he wantoned with his hair, and leaning forward over his back, drew his face, from which the boy shook the loose curls that fell over it, in the posture he stood him in, and brought him towards his, so as to receive a long breathed kiss; after which, renewing his driving, and thus continuing to harass his rear, the height of the fist came on with its usual symptoms, and dismissed the action.
The criminal scene they acted, I had the patience to see to an end, purely that I might gather more facts and certainty against them in my design to do their deserts instant justice; and accordingly, when they had re-adjusted themselves; and were preparing to go out, burning as I was with rage and indignation, I jumped down from the chair, in order to raise the house upon them, but with such an unlucky impetuosity, that some nail or ruggedness in the floor caught my foot, and flung me on my face with such v******e, that I fell senseless on the ground, and lay there some time before any one came to my relief: so that they, alarmed, I suppose, by the noise of my fall, had more than the necessary time to make a safe retreat. This they effected, as I learnt, with a precipitation nobody could account for, until, when come to myself, and composed enough to speak, I acquainted those of the house with the whole transaction I had been evidence to.
When I came home again, and told Mrs. Cole this adventure, she very sensibly observed to me, that "there was no doubt of the due vengeance one time or other overtaking these miscreants, however they might escape for the present; and that, had I been the temporal instrument of it, I should have been put to a great deal more trouble and confusion than I imagined; that, as to the thing itself, the less said of it was the better; but that though she might be suspected of partiality, from its being the common cause of womankind, out of whose mouths this practice tended to take something more than bread, yet she protested against any mixture of passion, with a declaration extorted from her by pure regard to truth; which was, that whatever effect this infamous passion had in other ages and other countries, it seemed a peculiar blessing on our air and climate, that there was a plague spot visibly imprinted on all that are tainted with it, in this nation at least, for that among numbers of that stamp whom she had known, or at least were universally under the scandalous suspicion of it, she would not name an exception hardly to one of them, whose character was not, in all other respects, the most worthless and despicable that could be; stript of all the manly virtues of their own sex, and filled up with only the worst vices and follies of ours; that, in fine, they were scarce less execrable than ridiculous in their monstrous inconsistence, of loathing and contemning women, and at the same time apeing all their manners, airs, lisps, scuttle, and, in general, all their little modes of affectation, which become them at least better, than they do these unsexed, male misses."
'Forbidden Fruit, Luscious And Exciting Story And More Forbidden Fruit Or Master Percy's Progress In And Beyond The Domestic Circle' is the title of a Victorian novel, by, who else, an Anonymous, and the longitude of the title prickled my curiosity, and I just read until my eyes complained. With a title like that I presumed there will be a lot of cocks. Yes, the first one I found was the following, and I quote: "...she kissed and sucked my lips in the most lascivious manner, keeping my cock tightly imprisoned in her tight fitting sheath..." Well, there it was, it is a man after my own peasantry heart, that calls a cock a cock! The second finding did have a prick (with capital P, which ingratiated me enormously), a cunt too, ""And how I love to fuck you, Mamma. My prick is all for you heavenly Cunt; am I pleasing you, darling mother? Have I learned to fuck properly? May I dress up in your chemise and drawers again? Do I make a pretty girl?" And I went on, making my Prick revel in that swimming cunt, till the floodgates of love opened and a rush of my sperm assuaged her burning lust for the time. Still she wanted to take my cock in her mouth, but as it was limp, I tucked it away between my legs, laughingly pretending to be a girl, as I really knew I had done enough for that day at least." I must confess that the third cock referred in the text was used to fornicate his own mother, not my manner of taste (and the next was his sister... and a auntie, ""Oh, my, Charlie, but it is a grand one though, and you win. Oh, how funny handling such a fine stiff affair makes me feel; I quiver all over.") Too much for me, so I gave up.
I would appreciate if you could send me links to copyright free (public domain) of other works not quoted herein for my reading and study. At the same time I'd like to invite you to comment on the text with suggestions and even photographs/texts of your favourite cocks. Grazie!
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Did you ever notice, while reading a novel, how the language changes suddenly when of sex matters? Firstly you read about the pudenda, also called genitalia, and then goes into the member virilis or vulva and other so-called academic terms. Suddenly a vulva and vagina turns to a coint, and a penis is a cock and a dick, the testicles are balls, and so on, when any kind of descriptive thought or sexual innuendo and intercourse starts to happen? I am always aware of that, and even someone like Péter Nádas and Jonathan Littell follow this habit. Is it because they, as I, consider sex acts vulgar to be called by common names, or is it just that the writing, before, avid of precociousness, turns to an indulgence of 'let it go' and more guttural expression as sex should and could be? Is sex power so strong that when writing about it one turns visceral and the better terms to express one's feelings are the most current in spoken daily language?
The other side I am considering is if any reader takes offence by the on the page written cock or dick, or cunt or teats, but not with vulva and testicles? What is the power and use of changing the method in describing the same thing, and not just for the bettering of the text and avoiding of repetitions?
"The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cock's wattles. An ill starched dicky jutted up and with a rude gesture he thrust it back into his waistcoat." What is going on here, in the preceding two sentences? Did someone put a cock inside a coat? A neck like wrinkled testicles? Ask James Joyce, it is his phrases. I might confess that it doesn't titillate me at all, somehow a 'ill starched dick' means not having an erection? Out of context, of course you can write whatever you want, as I just did. As surreal and slightly erotic is the following, by the same author:
"Did not: no, no: believe: Lidlyd. With a cock with a carra.
Black. Deepsounding. Do, Ben, do.
Wait while you wait. Hee hee. Wait while you hee.
But wait!
Low in dark middle earth. Embedded ore.
Naminedamine. Preacher is he:
All gone. All fallen.
Tiny, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair.
Amen! He gnashed in fury.
Fro. To, fro. A baton cool protruding.
Bronzelydia by Minagold.
By bronze, by gold, in oceangreen of shadow. Bloom. Old Bloom.
One rapped, one tapped, with a carra, with a cock.
Pray for him! Pray, good people!
His gouty fingers nakkering.
Big Benaben. Big Benben!
In a work with a so cryptic absence of sex (or enigmatic or not understandable at all) is surprising that Joyce used the word 'cock' eighty times (check it), and one knows he used as inspiration and copied (yes!) parts of 'Venus in Furs'? That sexed thing called Satyricon uses the word cock too, many times, but it is a cockerel, not a penis! Contradictions of Petronius and Joyce and Ritter von Leopold Sacher-Masoch (you cannot find a cock in 'Venis in Furs')?
This is just for fun, but when is it that a cock is not a penis in a novel? And I write now about cocks as an example, and because I like them too! If erotica, erotic or porn novels use the term cock but meaning not a penis, makes me confused, and obviously they have an array of substitutes for it. So I spent this afternoon looking for cocks in novels, but my achy eyes retired me of the subject pretty quick.
Another curiosity was to check the terms used for describe the erogenous organs, and if, in different languages they are the same, excusing, of course, that I only consulted works in or translated to English, which might make the terms more homogeneous (not homo of sexual, evidently!) Do you need to write in slang to arouse your readers? Is J. K. Huysmans right when he says: "I do not object to the latrine; hospital; and workshop vocabulary of naturalism. For one thing, the subject matter requires some such diction." Does sex have to be dirty and s**tological? Does it really matter if one reader delights in jargon, or slang or prude prose or verse?
In my quick research for unknown, to me, works of erotica, I discovered a work by Johann Wolfgang Goethe that I never heard of, and obviously my curiosity won, and I spent a few hours reading this 'Erotica Romana'! It started well, and in the first paragraph we have a sex God, Priapus:
"You, stand here at my side, good Priapus -albeit from thieves I've
Nothing to fear. Freely pluck, whosoever would eat."
This is a very enigmatic work, as the verses of Erotica Romana doesn't have any cock or phallus, at all! " Then shall only one temple, AMOR's temple alone, take the initiate in. Rome, thou art a whole world, it is true, and yet without love this world would not be the world, Rome would cease to be Rome." Much poetry and beauty this Roman Erotic verses contain, but nothing lascivious or of a sex nature, which disappointed me, being light of head, I was expecting a rump of debauchery and profanity, carnality and perversions, but no. It was my head, and only it, that could expect something written by Goethe to be sexy, and we only could wish. Wouldn't be great that someone discovers a raunchy work by him? That seems to be an impossibility. And I amuse myself. "Water dashed on the coals suddenly smothers their glow." Of course, if you tell me that you like very much 'One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom' by the divine Marquis I know you are and like dirt, dirt person, dirty reading, and I do not care about it, at all; though that work doesn't arouse me at all, bought it, almost read it in its completeness but had to give it up, too dirty and repetitious.
I have to quote the remains of J. K. Huysmans' sentence above, in his work 'Là-bas' (Down There) from 1891, as follows: "For one thing, the subject matter requires some such diction. Again, Zola, in "L'Assommoir", has shown that a heavy-handed artist can slap words together hit-or-miss and give an effect of tremendous power. I do not really care how the naturalists maltreat language, but I do strenuously object to the earthiness of their ideas. They have made our literature the incarnation of materialism - and they glorify the democracy of art! [...] They deny wonder and reject the extra-sensual. I don't believe they would know what you meant if you told them that artistic curiosity begins at the very point where the senses leave off. [...] The only impression that remains is one of surprise that a man can write three or four hundred pages when he has absolutely nothing to reveal to us--nothing to say "
The skimming, or the fast reading of this work made me stop many times to think, as I am a novelist and in the act of writing one, he arouse many valid questions about what is Literature, Writing and the Novel, something that preoccupies me in a strong manner, as I am conscious for long, and Language problems entertain me, I'd like to find a proper, mine, way of writing my stories. Thus the questions raised above, which the author puts magnificently: "If possible the novel ought to be compounded of two elements, that of the soul and that of the body, and these ought to be inextricably bound together as in life. Their inter-reactions, their conflicts, their reconciliation, ought to furnish the dramatic interest." So, if I follow this line of thought I need to write about sex and its delights and problems, as they are intrinsic to human life and behaviour. Though extremely interesting a work describing bells, black magic and using historical figures it doesn't contain any phalluses or cocks aspersing sex rites of any kind, which is a pity too. A good read for secret French history and the rumination of literary concerns.
If I look for 'cock' in novels, is only in the manner of trying to understand the evolution of the description of sex in Literature. If you would like to follow this interest, there is nothing better than to start with 'My Secret Life' (1888) by, guess whom, Anonymous. In the novel's overture the cock is immediately present, in the very first paragraph, a cock delight of a book it seems, and the narrator has his prick on the maid's hand when he is nothing but a little boy... At eleven: " The next thing I clearly recollected, was one of my male cousins stopping with us, we walked out and when piddling together against a hedge, his saying: "show me your cock, Walter, and I will show you mine." We stood and examined each others cocks, and for the first time, I became conscious, that I could not get my foreskin easily back, like other boys. I pulled his backwards and forwards. He hurt me, laughed and sneered at me, another boy came and I think another, we all compared cocks, and mine was the only one which would not unskin, they jeered me, I burst into tears, and went away, thinking there was something wrong with me, and was ashamed to show my cock again, then I set to work earnestly to try to pull the foreskin back, but always desisted fearing the pain, for I was very sensitive. [...]I used to look at my prick with a sense of shame, and pull the prepuce up and down, as far as I could constantly, to loosen it, and would treat other boys' cocks in the same way, if they would let me, without expecting me to make a return; but the time was approaching when I was to learn much more." There is a lot of 'cunt' in it too. In the first dozens of pages Walter, the narrator, describes his curiosity about vaginas (and his delight in hearing and watching them urinate) and his own penis and his cousin Fred: " My father had refused to take me to the public baths. Disregarding this, Fred and I paid our six pence each, and in we went with our friend; we did not bathe, but amused ourselves with seeing others, and the pricks of the men. None, as far as I can recollect, wore drawers in those days, they used to walk about hiding their prides generally, with their hands, but not always. I was astonished at the size of some of them, and at the dark hair about them, and on other parts of their bodies. I wondered also at seeing one or two, with the red tip showing fully, so different from mine. All this was much talked over by us afterwards, it was to me an insight into the male make and form. Fred told me, he had often seen men's pricks in their fields, and in those days, living in the country as he did, I dare say it was true, but I don't recollect ever having seen the pricks of full grown men, or a naked man before in my life."
"Out he pulled his prick, then out I pulled mine; he tried to pull my skin back, and could only half do it, he frigged (masturbated) himself successfully, but I could not. He had a very small prick compared with mine. How I envied him the ease with which he covered and uncovered the red tip. I frigged that boy one day, but finding my cock was becoming a talk among our set, I shrunk from going to their frigging parties, which I have seen even take place in a field, boys sitting at the edge of a ditch, whilst one stood up to watch if anyone approached. When they were frigging in the privy, a boy always stood in the open door on the watch, and his time for frigging came afterwards."
The language used in this novel is barely readable so simple and basic it is, but it is endearing and tender to read the description of a boy growing to be a man, and his troubles with his too tight foreskin, his innocence towards the world and the captivity that sex behold on the youngster. Obviously, Walter has a big penis. "With many harlots of both high and low class I had talked about size; each told me of men who had big pricks, rarely of those who had small ones. Experience has since taught me that harlots like talking about big pricks, for size affects their imagination agreeably. Of ridiculously small ones they make mention for a laugh, the average sizes pass without their notice. I used to ask them how mine compared with the big ones they spoke of, and got at last into my head the erroneous opinion about my own machine. At times I would produce it with an apologetic remark. "My prick's not a very big one, is it?"--and was much pleased when the woman's reply was complimentary. I know now from the inspection of many men's, that mine compares very favorably with the average, and is larger than most; but for many years I was of a very different opinion, and at times was almost ashamed of my prick, so much so that when a woman said it was as large as most, and many said that. I did not believe them, still less did I believe them when they said it was a handsome prick; then I thought they were hum-bugging me.
Now as I add these few words written years after the foregoing, and after having seen some dozens of pricks, both languid and erect, I know what they said was true, and I know that there is a size, a form, a curve, and a colour in pricks which makes some handsomer than others."
I can identify myself in his voyage of self-discovery, so much so that he refers to Fanny Hill! "Just then a friend lent me Fanny Hill, how well I recollect that day, it was a sunshiny afternoon, I devoured the book and its luscious pictures, and although I never contemplated masturbation, lost all command of myself, frigged, and spent over a picture as it lay before me. I did not know how to clean the book and the table-cover. Fascinated although annoyed with myself, I repeated the act till not a drop of sperm would come; and the skin of my prick was sore. The next day I had a splitting headache but read at intervals, and again frigged; and did this for a week, till my eyes were all but dropping into my head. In a fever and worn out; the doctor said I was growing too fast, and ordered strong nourishment; but I used to take the infernal book with me to bed, and lay reading it, twiddling my prick, and fearing to consummate, knowing the state I was in. It was indeed almost impossible to do it, and when emission came, it was accompanied by a fearful aching in my testicles."
In 'Memoirs Of Fanny Hill', by John Cleland there are many names given to the male member, but the best one is the cockpit! This novel, the first erotica I placed my eyes on, suffers from what all novels sin, that one way or the other depicts sexual intercourse: men genitals are stupendous and gigantic: "Curious then, and eager to unfold so alarming a mystery, playing, as it were, with his buttons, which were bursting ripe from the active force within, those of his waistband and fore-flap flew open at a touch, when out IT started; and now, disengaged from the shirt, I saw, with wonder and surprise, what? not the play thing of a boy, not the weapon of a man, but a Maypole, of so enormous a standard, that had proportions been observed, it must have belonged to a young giant. Yet I could not, without pleasure, behold, and even venture to feel, such a length, such a breadth of animated ivory! perfectly well turned and fashioned, the proud stiffness of which distented its skin, whose smooth polish and velvet softness might vie with that of the most delicate of our sex, and whose exquisite whiteness was not a little set off by a sprout of black curling hair round the root: through the jetty springs of which the fair skin shewed as in a fine evening you may have remarked the clear light through the branchwork of distant trees over-topping the summit of a hill: then the broad of blueish-casted incarnate of the head, and blue serpentines of its veins, altogether composed the most striking assemblage of figure and colours in nature. In short, it stood an object of terror and delight." Sometimes its gigantism unfolds wrongly: "By my direction, however, the head of his unwieldy machine was so critically pointed, that, feeling him fore-right against the tender opening, a favourable motion from me met his timely thrust, by which the lips of it, strenuously dilated, gave way to his thus assisted impetuosity, so that we might both feel that he had gained a lodgment. Pursuing then his point, he soon, by violent, and, to me, most painful piercing thrusts, wedges himself at length so far in, as to be now tolerably secure of his entrance: here he stuck, and I now felt such a mixture of pleasure and pain, as there is no giving a definition of. I dreaded alike his splitting me farther up, or his withdrawing; I could not bear either to keep or part with him. The sense of pain, however, prevailing, from his prodigious size and stiffness, acting upon me in those continued rapid thrusts, with which he furiously pursued his penetration, made me cry out gently: "Oh, my dear, you hurt me!" This was enough to check the tender respectful boy even in his mid-career; and he immediately drew out the sweet cause of my complaint, whilst his eyes eloquently expressed, at once, his grief for hurting me, and his reluctance at dislodging from quarters, of which the warmth and closeness had given him a gust of pleasure, that he was now desire mad to satisfy, and yet too much a novice not to be afraid of my withholding his relief, on account of the pain he had put me to."
It was in this first erotic novel that I read about sex between men, boys in this case, and my world opened widely, for the excitement and ejaculation of it, the novelty and the teachings I absorbed avidly. On this passage I learned too, or just confirmed the old stigma and discrimination gay people have, and it is an ancient story of hatred and misunderstanding.
"The eldest might be, on my nearest guess, towards nineteen, a tall comely young man, in a white fustian frock, with a green velvet cape, and cut bob-wig.
The youngest could not be above s*******n, fair, ruddy, completely well made, and to say the truth, a sweet pretty stripling: he was too, I fancy, a country lad, by his dress, which was a green plush frock, and breeches of the same, white waistcoat and stockings, a jockey cap, with his fellowish hair, long and loose, in natural curls.
But after a look of circumspection, which I saw the eldest cast every way round the room, probably in too much hurry and heat not to overlook the very small opening I was posted at, especially at the height it was, whilst my eye close to it kept the light from shining through and betraying it, he said something to his companion that presently changed the face of things.
For now the elder began to embrace, to press and kiss the younger, to put his hands into his bosom, and give him such manifest signs of an amorous intention, as made me conclude the other to be a girl in disguise: a mistake that nature kept me in countenance for, for she had certainly made one, when she gave him the made stamp.
In the rashness then of their age, and bent as they were to accomplish their project of preposterous pleasure, at the risk of the very worst of consequences, where a discovery was nothing less than improbable, they now proceeded to such lengths as soon satisfied me what they were.
For presently the eldest unbuttoned the other's breeches, and removing the linen barrier, brought out to view a white shaft, middle sized, and scarce fledged, when after handling and playing with it a little, with other dalliance, all received by the boy without other opposition than certain wayward coyness, ten times-more alluring than repulsive, he got him so turned round, with his face from him, to a chair that stood hard by; when knowing, I suppose, his office, the Ganymede now obsequiously leaned his head against the back of it, and projecting his body, made a fair mark, still covered with his shirt. As he thus stood in a side view to me, but fronting his companion, who, presently unmasking his battery, produced an engine that certainly deserved to be put to a better use, and very fit to confirm me in my disbelief of the possibility of things; being pushed to odious extremities, which I had built on the disproportion of parts; but this disbelief I was now cured of, as by my consent all young men should likewise be, that their innocence may not be betrayed into such snares, for want of knowing the extent of their danger: for nothing is more certain than that ignorance of advice is by no means a guard against it.
Slipping, then, aside the young lad's shirt, and tucking it up under his clothes behind, he shewed to the open air those globular fleshy eminences that compose the Mount Peasants of Rome, and which now, with all the narrow vale that intersects them, stood displayed and exposed to his attack; nor could I without a shudder behold the dispositions he made for it. First, then, moistening well with spittle his instrument, obviously to make it glib, he pointed, he introduced it, as I could plainly discern, not only from its direction and my losing sight of it, but by the writhing, twisting and soft murmured complaints of the young sufferer; but at length, the first straits of entrance being pretty well go through, every thing seemed to move and go pretty currently on, as on a carpet road, without much rub or resistance; and now, passing one hand round his minions' hips, he got hold of his red-topped ivory toy, that stood perfectly stiff, and shewed, that if he was like his mother behind, he was like his father before; this he diverted himself with, whilst, with the other he wantoned with his hair, and leaning forward over his back, drew his face, from which the boy shook the loose curls that fell over it, in the posture he stood him in, and brought him towards his, so as to receive a long breathed kiss; after which, renewing his driving, and thus continuing to harass his rear, the height of the fist came on with its usual symptoms, and dismissed the action.
The criminal scene they acted, I had the patience to see to an end, purely that I might gather more facts and certainty against them in my design to do their deserts instant justice; and accordingly, when they had re-adjusted themselves; and were preparing to go out, burning as I was with rage and indignation, I jumped down from the chair, in order to raise the house upon them, but with such an unlucky impetuosity, that some nail or ruggedness in the floor caught my foot, and flung me on my face with such v******e, that I fell senseless on the ground, and lay there some time before any one came to my relief: so that they, alarmed, I suppose, by the noise of my fall, had more than the necessary time to make a safe retreat. This they effected, as I learnt, with a precipitation nobody could account for, until, when come to myself, and composed enough to speak, I acquainted those of the house with the whole transaction I had been evidence to.
When I came home again, and told Mrs. Cole this adventure, she very sensibly observed to me, that "there was no doubt of the due vengeance one time or other overtaking these miscreants, however they might escape for the present; and that, had I been the temporal instrument of it, I should have been put to a great deal more trouble and confusion than I imagined; that, as to the thing itself, the less said of it was the better; but that though she might be suspected of partiality, from its being the common cause of womankind, out of whose mouths this practice tended to take something more than bread, yet she protested against any mixture of passion, with a declaration extorted from her by pure regard to truth; which was, that whatever effect this infamous passion had in other ages and other countries, it seemed a peculiar blessing on our air and climate, that there was a plague spot visibly imprinted on all that are tainted with it, in this nation at least, for that among numbers of that stamp whom she had known, or at least were universally under the scandalous suspicion of it, she would not name an exception hardly to one of them, whose character was not, in all other respects, the most worthless and despicable that could be; stript of all the manly virtues of their own sex, and filled up with only the worst vices and follies of ours; that, in fine, they were scarce less execrable than ridiculous in their monstrous inconsistence, of loathing and contemning women, and at the same time apeing all their manners, airs, lisps, scuttle, and, in general, all their little modes of affectation, which become them at least better, than they do these unsexed, male misses."
'Forbidden Fruit, Luscious And Exciting Story And More Forbidden Fruit Or Master Percy's Progress In And Beyond The Domestic Circle' is the title of a Victorian novel, by, who else, an Anonymous, and the longitude of the title prickled my curiosity, and I just read until my eyes complained. With a title like that I presumed there will be a lot of cocks. Yes, the first one I found was the following, and I quote: "...she kissed and sucked my lips in the most lascivious manner, keeping my cock tightly imprisoned in her tight fitting sheath..." Well, there it was, it is a man after my own peasantry heart, that calls a cock a cock! The second finding did have a prick (with capital P, which ingratiated me enormously), a cunt too, ""And how I love to fuck you, Mamma. My prick is all for you heavenly Cunt; am I pleasing you, darling mother? Have I learned to fuck properly? May I dress up in your chemise and drawers again? Do I make a pretty girl?" And I went on, making my Prick revel in that swimming cunt, till the floodgates of love opened and a rush of my sperm assuaged her burning lust for the time. Still she wanted to take my cock in her mouth, but as it was limp, I tucked it away between my legs, laughingly pretending to be a girl, as I really knew I had done enough for that day at least." I must confess that the third cock referred in the text was used to fornicate his own mother, not my manner of taste (and the next was his sister... and a auntie, ""Oh, my, Charlie, but it is a grand one though, and you win. Oh, how funny handling such a fine stiff affair makes me feel; I quiver all over.") Too much for me, so I gave up.
9 years ago
