COLUMN 116, APRIL 1, 2005
(Copyright © 2003 The Blacklisted Journalist)
WARNING! FOR ADULTS ONLY! PERSONS NOT YET 18 YEARS OF AGE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO READ THIS STORY.
[Tsaurah Litzky is a poet and writer of fiction, non fiction and erotica. We call her America's queen of erotic literature. Susie Bright, editor of the yearly Best American Erotica books, calls her "Miss Dirty Stories." Tsaurah's work has appeared in Best American Erotica 95, 97, 99, 2001, 2002 and 2003. She has also been published in Penthouse, LONGSHOT, The Unbearables, Crimes of the Beats, Appearances, Downtown Poets, The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, Pink Pages, Beet and many other books and periodicals. Her poetry books include Kamikaze Lover (Appearances 1999), Good Bye Beautiful Mother (Low Tech Press 2001) and Baby on the Water (Longshot, 2003). Formerly a columnist for the now defunct New York arts weekly Downtown, she now teaches erotic writing and literature at the New School University.
"But I'm not a pig,?
"Yes, you are," he told
me, "You are a pig for me."
It was true. All day when he was at work, I hungered for his cock, at night I feasted on it. With my mouth I sucked and nibbled it, with my cunt I swallowed it up again and again. After we split, I did not want his cock meat or any other part of him; or so I told myself. Still, four years later, I find myself dreaming that he is moving inside me, then in the morning I wake with my hands between my legs.
When I ran into him last
Friday on Broadway in front of Dean and De Luca's, he didn't look like a
farm boy. I hadn't seen him since he moved to back to Canada. He was wearing a
black leather jacket that had to be expensive and black velvet slacks. I
wondered if he was dealing drugs again, but I wasn't going to ask.
His first question to me
was, "Are you still with Fred?
I told him, "Yes, of
course," lying like Pinocchio, and then I quickly changed the subject.
"What brings you down
here?? I asked.
"I have a show coming up
at Castelli's," he answered. I wondered if he was making the show up to
impress me, but I didn't ask him the dates or any of the particulars. I was
distracted because my nipples had suddenly hardened into sharp little spikes. He
still had that effect on me.
"You and Fred happy??
"Ecstatic," I answered.
I didn't ell him how I had taught Fred to replicate all his farmboy moves.
Then my ex went on:
"I heard your novel was
published. Am I in it??
I told him, "Absolutely
not, It's a fantasy, total fantasy."
The truth was he was on
"Listen," he said, "If you're not in a hurry, let's
have a drink, for old-time's sake. We
Fanelli's. Is Larry still
"No thanks, why should I
have a drink with you, " I said, "and Larry's been gone for ages."
I started to walk away. He
came after me.
"Come on, what are you
frightened of?? he asked. I was walking a shaky tightrope suspended over a
bottomless pit. I fell.
"O.k.," I said.
Fanelli's was packed,
four deep at the bar. Many of the patrons were already looped, talking loudly,
'the Evil Empire is upon
us," bellowed an old gent with bushy gray hair.
"Yeah, sure, but Luke
Skywalker is dead," cried his friend, a too-skinny guy wearing dark glasses.
My ex made it to the bar
and got drinks. We pushed our way to the back of the room where we found a
narrow place to stand by the long counter opposite the bathroom.
We put down our drinks and
stood facing each other. The crowd
pressed in on us, forcing me so close to him our bodies were touching. His
jacket was open and my tits brushed against his chest. My nipples were still
hard, so hard I wondered if he could feel them through the fabric of his shirt.
My body always speaks true at the same time that it betrays me.
We drank our beers and
looked at each other. A big brunette came out of the bathroom, wearing a low cut
scoop neck sweater. The tops of her fleshy white knockers were visible down to
the rosy nipple. He did not even glance at her titties; he was looking so
intently at me, his mouth open slightly. I could see his thick pink tongue
glistening, the tongue that had licked my every inch, even between my toes, even
my stinky little back hole.
I could not resist the dark
force of desire growing within me. I
reached my hand out, grabbed the waistband of his pants and just pulled him
behind me the few steps right into the bathroom. I turned and locked the door.
The small bathroom was designed for one person at a time with only a commode and
I stood in front of the
sink, took off my coat and dropped it on the floor. I bent over, hiked my skirt
up in the back. It was he who pulled my tights and panties down to my knees.
"Bend over, bend over
more," he said. I grabbed the sink for balance, bent over more and shut my
eyes. I heard the sound of a zipper opening, then his hands were on my ass,
cradling, stoking, showing me he remembered ass play always drove me wild. Then
one hand moved down and around, until his fingers found my clit and circled it,
milking it twisting it. His other hand went to my nether lips, pulling them
wide. And then he was inside; it was the perfect fit, like always the hog and
Like the little oinker I
am, I started to squeal and came immediately.
"Can I let go inside
you?? he asked "I don't have a condom."
Neither did I. I felt just
like saying go ahead, so much did I want his white fire inside me, but then he
said, "No, I better pull out, we have to protect Fred."
Good old Fred, I thought. I
felt the hog twitch and swell deep in my belly; maybe he was going to come
inside me anyway. He was grunting hard, uh, uh, uh, but he slid out just in time
and shot all over my ass. He rubbed it in with his big hands. It felt like
I stood, pulled up my
panties and tights. I opened my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror, my hair
was all standing up as if I had been electrocuted.
There was a loud pounding
on the door.
"What are you doing in
there?? a shrill voice called
out. "No getting high in the bathroom."
I put my coat back on and
he put himself back into his pants and zipped up. When we went out, the three
women standing on line looked at us furiously.
Our beer mugs, now nearly
empty, were still on the counter. Let me get us a refill, " he said.
"No," I told him, " I
better get home."
"Home," he echoed in a
bitter tone, "home."
"Well, um good luck with
your show." I said. I turned
quickly. I couldn't bear to look at him, and made my way through the crowd and
out the door. ##
FOR AS LONG AS PEOPLE KEEP LISTENING TO BOB DYLAN AND THE BEATLES, PEOPLE WILL WANT THIS BOOK
"A masterpiece!" --- SALLY GROSSMAN, widow of Bob Dylan's brilliant original manager, Albert Grossman.
"This book is a must-read for all rock 'n roll aficionados!"---EAR CANDY
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"Required Reading for anyone and everyone who considers themselves fans, followers, students, or those just plain curious of the Golden Age of Popular Music"---GARY PIG GOLD, FUFKIN.COM.
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". . .perfect for our times."---WOODSTOCK TIMES
Duritz (he's the lead singer and writer for the famed
". . .a must read for anyone who loves, music, loves life, loves rock and roll."---TSAURAH LITZKY, author of The Motion of the Ocean, Baby on the Water, and Goodbye Beautiful Mother.
"I recommend it."---DOUGLAS HOLDER, IBBETSON STREET PRESS.
. .It is a fascinating, insightful read. You are such a wonderful
writer."---STEPHANIE LEDGIN, Music
"I could not put this book of yours down for a minute."---ED GALING, POET LAUREATE OF HATBORO, PA.
"Quite simply, Al Aronowitz is a living legend"---JOHN FORTUNATO, THE AQUARIAN.
"Every student and fan of The Beat Generation, Bob Dylan, The Beatles and The Rolling Stones will want to read this book"---RON WHITEHEAD, POET
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BOB DYLAN AND THE BEATLES, VOLUME ONE OF THE BEST OF THE BLACKLISTED JOURNALIST
The sometimes scattered chronicles of
the rock journalist's friendship with a few of the most recognizable music icons
in rock and pop history.
certainly takes a bit of hubris to say that "the '60s wouldn't have been
the same without me."
But coming from Al Aronowitz, the former music columnist for the New York
Post who was often called "the godfather of rock journalism," such
sentiment is perhaps justified.
Here, in a compilation of many of his unpublished manuscripts, Aronowitz
describes in candid yet affectionate detail his friendships with Bob Dylan and
the Beatles. As
a music writer and fan who recognized the musicians' limitless potential early
in their careers, Aronowitz decided to bring them together for the first time,
in a New York City hotel in 1964, a meeting that also involved the Beatles'
introduction to marijuana. His prescience was soon bolstered by the 1965
releases of Dylan's Highway 61
the Beatles' Rubber Soul, both seminal albums that altered the landscape
of pop music. This
landmark moment is just one of Aronowitz's colorful memories and musings of
being a hanger-on with these legends and their associates, including The Band,
Beatles manager Brian Epstein, poet Allen Ginsberg, deejay Murray the K and
provocative are the accounts of Dylan's erratic behavior and short temper, which
often led to fitful confrontations and even the ending of friendships, including
that between Dylan and the author.
It's also evident that Aronowitz was particularly fond of George
Harrison, and the two remained friends until Harrison's death in 2001.
Most remarkable is the close proximity he maintained to these gods,
whether he was at their homes, hoteI rooms, recording studios, or concerts.
Though his personal life certainly had its share of woes (particularly
bankruptcy and his wife's death), Aronowitz exhibits a marked sense of
pride---and rightly so---for playing a key role in music history,
An enticing backstage pass to the meeting of arguably the two most influential acts in rock history.
"BOB DYLAN AND THE BEATLES: Volume One Of The Best Of The Blacklisted Journalist is a golden stash box of Al's You-Are-There history of two thirds of rock's Holy Troika"---MICHAEL SIMMONS, LA WEEKLY.
". . .Amazing stories in this book" ---JAY LUSTIG, NEWARK STAR LEDGER
". . .Aronowitz has a place in the annals of history that nothing can erase"---DAVID DANKWA, GAZETTE LEADER
". . .Aronowitz has a simple, straightforward writing style that makes the reading go fast. . ."---JEFFERY LINDHOLM, DIRTY LINEN
"Aronowitz. . .witnessed things that most rock fanswould give an arm and a leg to see"---REGIS BEHE, PITTSBURGH TRIBUNE REVIEW
"The best of Aronowitz's writing. . . offer riotous and rambling time capsules comprising detailed vignettes and told in a voice that's direct, disarming and self-deprecating"---MIKE MILIARD, BOSTON PHOENIX
". . .Addictive reading" ---GOLDMINE MAGAZINE
you are truly interested in the 'behind
the scenes' events of people who spawned an entirely new direction in the time
we identify as the sixties, this book is truly for you!"---JOHN
IN THIS 615-PAGE PAPERBACK, AL ARONOWITZ, ACCLAIMED AS THE "GODFATHER OF ROCK JOURNALISM," TELLS YOU MORE ABOUT BOB DYLAN AND THE BEATLES THAN ANY OTHER WRITER CAN TELL YOU BECAUSE NO OTHER WRITER WAS THERE AT THE TIME. AS THE MAN WHO INTRODUCED ALLEN GINSBERG TO BOB DYLAN, BOB DYLAN TO THE BEATLES AND THE BEATLES TO MARIJUANA, ARONOWITZ BOASTS, "THE '60S WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN THE SAME WITHOUT ME."
AND HERE'S ANOTHER BOOK BY AL ARONOWITZ!
THE MOVIE WAS FICTION. THE TRUE STORY IS STRANGER THAN FICTION: FOR MOST OF HIS SHORT BUT SPECTACULAR LIFE, BOBBY DARIN UNKNOWINGLY LIVED A LIE
". . .A highly entertaining and informative read"--HAMMOND GUTHRIE, THE THIRD PAGE
". . .Its 43 chapters provide snapshots of Darin's brief, sensational life>" ---GOLDMINE MAGAZINE
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