The Tower of Blood and the Graily Hole

Movement forwards still feels to me like no movement at all.

Yesterday I was prescribed V1agra, which - should I be lucky enough to pull, never mind find a partner - permits me four fucks a month. Four is better than none. Gift horse and all that.

The GP, a young English Indian woman called Neet1ka, kindly permitted me to have them despite my not being in a relationship of any kind. “When you start a relationship you’ll have them to hand. Take one an hour before you have intercourse”.

Which to me is like saying “this is the magic ring, put it on an hour before you find the Holy Grail". Or in my case, the Graily Hole.

So with my four little blue pills in my pocket, and the eventual intention to try one to make sure it works, I set off into Manchester full of a scratchy painful sore throat.

I thought – “Well no normal woman is even going to throw you a sympathy fuck at the moment, so if you’re going to test this you’re going to have to test it on your own before trying it with a living person. You’re going to have to see whether you can get a hard-on off a wank.

You’ll be better off with some new porn to get it going.”

So I went to Shude HiII Books and had a look at the DVDs available along the walls. Not the cheapest shop but I’m known to the owner, and I know he’s honest, so I’m not going to get ripped off.

The place is scruffy but well-themed and stuff is easy to find. At the front of the shop are secondhand books, On tables at the back are hoppers full of old softcore magazines, and round the walls are Hardcore DVDs running in themes organised from new releases, through anal, amateur girls, hardcore Milfs and Gilfs (Mums/Grans I’d Like To Fuck ie middle-aged and old women), ethnic women, particularly Russian, Japanese, Indians, women pissing, Spanking and Various Fetish, Transsexuals).

I knew exactly what I was looking for. Anything heavily anally oriented, with pretty women being bummed, gaping their arseholes, and having their arseholes eaten, particularly anything produced by The Evil Empire, anything by Rocco Siffredi or Belladonna, and anything by Max Hardcore. There was only one Belladonna video, made when she was pregnant, which wasn’t what I was looking for. Although I find Belladonna ugly, I enjoy that she’s one of the few women in porn who actually likes filth, and spends a lot of time with her fingers or tongue up other women’s arseholes, or having her own arsehole variously abused.

In the end I chose an old Ben Dover dvd because it featured a couple of models I used to like, Rocco Siffredi’s “Obsession With Supersluts” and Jules Jordan’s “Ass Stretchers P.O.V.” Nothing I find particularly exciting, but at least new to me and and in the my area of interest.

While I was paying, the owner told me his dad had died of a series of brain haemorrhages earlier in the morning. I said I was sorry to hear it. I’ve been there myself so I know how he feels.

As back up, I bought from a newsagents a back issue of Buttman I hadn’t previously seen, about a year old,

and book of hardcore photographs by Richard Kern from Waterstones.


I’ve given these a cursory look-through and despite my hopes and the money I’ve spent, I felt not turned on at all.

The problem is, I’ve not so much seen through porn, as seen past it. Mostly it just makes me feel sad now. The conjunction of flesh, the sight of flesh, does nothing for me, because it isn’t my flesh, and more than that it isn’t the flesh of somebody I want.

All it stands for now is the absence of what I long for.

Despite the money I’ve paid for it, I think I’ll have to rely on my benumbed imagination and hope the Viagra makes the blood flow south anyway.