Tag Archives: erotica

They Laughed When I Said My Teenage Sex Stories Had Political And Cultural Resonance

Who’s laughing now? Remind me to never run for Supreme Court.

As soon as I got to the party, I saw her. Chrissie. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a tiny little frame. She was almost 16, a sophomore, and I was 17, a junior. All day I’d seen her swimming in the pool and I just couldn’t get her out of my mind for some reason.

“Like, ” she was saying to her friend, as she flipped her hair and rolled her eyes. She looked just so delicious, it made me want to bite her ear lobe or even just sniff her hair. I had to think of a plan to get her alone, I thought, as I took another sip of this terrible tasting beer. Why do adults drink this crap anyway? …

“A Vickstrom” on Hipster Racist

Don’t you see that he’s playing mind games with you? You are attempting to have a historical debate with a man who writes BDSM porn and publishes it on his blog. Men with Hipster’s kink have very unique, and easily recognizable, personalities. Men do not normally write / read about sex since we are visual creatures (a picture is worth a thousand words, as they say). His interest in that specific kink and his desire to write about it indicates an exceptional imagination combined with a high IQ and a high sex drive: aka he’s more aggressive than average and thinks in a different way than 95% of straight men.

Have you ever noticed that he uses a Jew (Don Adams of the series Get Smart) as his avatar? That in itself is quite a giveaway into how his mind works. HR is playing mind games on a level that most straight men don’t comprehend. That’s why he calls himself a ‘hipster racist’ – he is a race conscious liberal man and as such is using a different set of tactics.

It’s also likely that he has ties to – or intimate knowledge – of intelligence agencies. Men like him are drawn to those things like moths to a flame so at the very least he has studied counter intelligence & espionage tactics. His knowledge of neocon tactics also hints at this.

You are not going to get him to make concrete statements on historical subjects (or to even show interest in them). That’s not how people like him operate.

— “A Vickstrom” Holocausting the Holocaust the Andrew Joyce Way

“No one has ever had a fantasy about being tied to a bed and sexually ravished by someone dressed as a liberal” — P. J. O’Rourke

The difference between getting what you want, and what they want, is nuance,
So listen baby girl, put your boots on, here’s something to chew on …

KFlay, Doctor Don’t Know

Owning, Spanking, and Tickling Women

Jim at http://blog.jim.com recently wrote an ignorant, deceitful, and completely bullshit article about 9/11. The commenters suggested that someone put him up to it. It’s likely a fair assumption he’s lying because he has to – he’s clearly not stupid enough to believe any of it.

But Jim has some things very right, especially on women. He writes constantly about spanking women, even beating women, and the nature of women and “Pauline marriage” – i.e., the Christian ideal of marriage that was commonplace until maybe 75 years ago.

I can’t help but be partial to a man who understands wife spanking as well as he does – and nothing is funnier to me than reading the comments of men shocked – SHOCKED I tell you – that a man would ever spank his wife, or otherwise dominate her in any way.



We brand cattle and otherwise mark our property, and if you won’t brand your woman, say, tattoo your name on her ass, she’s like to do something awful like cutting herself. Don’t people realize that regular maintenance spankings take care of this? If they don’t get it in real life, they will read 50 Shades of Grey and Twilight and fantasize about it, or make up pornographic Fraternity Rape fantasies like that woman that Rolling Stone wrote about.

I remember the first time a girl told me she was going to kill herself because I never fucked her. We made out a lot, but never went all the way, for various reasons. So after I stopped paying much attention to her, she called me up one night and told me she had swallowed a bunch of pills because she couldn’t live anymore. I had to call her mom, who of course rushed her to the hospital. Trust me – it was a downer.

Then there was the virgin who after a few months of rogering in the back of her daddy’s SUV, told me what she really wanted was for me to tie her up, blindfolded, and rape her. Look folks – she came from a loving family with a doting step-dad (hmm… well she had never met her biological father. Um, never mind.) She was well-adjusted. My parents loved her and wanted us to get married. She was 16 – and at 16 she was already fantasizing about handcuffs and blindfolds. Sure, I did it, but my heart wasn’t in it – I just didn’t get it.

Another girlfriend – who was literally a sex machine that wanted to do it multiple times a day – she would push and push and push until I grabbed her and held her down and raped her – which usually ended with her smiling and humming to herself as she made us dinner afterwards. I may have had all sorts of second-thoughts and complicated emotional reactions about how I treated her, but she sure as hell didn’t. That relationship ended when I stopped – I just didn’t have the energy into dominating her all the time, and so she basicall wandered off. I was pissed, but instead of dragging her by the hair back to my place, I just sort of started ignoring her and we just sort of drifted apart. The after-break-up sex lasted a few more months but the spell had been broken.

Then there was the waitress who matter of factly told me to put my hands around her throat and stop her from breathing when I was fucking her. Not a lot, just a little. She didn’t want me to kill her or anything. She just needed to be immobilized to the point where she couldn’t even breathe, and that was enough to make her orgasm.

And spanking? Good lord. That even barely counts as kinky. That’s just run of the mill routine. Hair pulling? Holding her wrists down? They show stuff like that on prime-time television, it’s so commonplace.

I – of course – was writing about this stuff since before this blog, and it was a regular feature on this blog since the beginning, and I used to get hassled by the “BDSM community” for pointing out how politically incorrect – not to mention anti-feminist – this stuff really is. It points to an impulse, one that comes from millions of years of evolution, that both hard core feminists – and fake “Christian” Male Church Ladies want to pretend doesn’t exist.

50 Shades, of course, but back ten years ago it was “Secretary” – oh, man, you should have seen the ink spilled about that movie. It was hugely popular among the Fashionable Liberal Women set who watches indie films, but it was just so “problematic” they had to write about it over, and over, and over again.

Go back even more and it’s the Story of O. The literary types were adamant it was written by a man, but of course it was written by a woman – ONLY a woman could have written the story of O.

Hitting your woman with a stick

Jim may sometimes exaggerate to make a point, but the point remains. Women aren’t men. They don’t think like men, they don’t fuck like men, they don’t react the way men do. And most men don’t understand them.

The only time I ever lost a woman was because I *didn’t* rough her up, I *didn’t* take ownership, I *didn’t* claim her as my property. Women don’t want a boyfriend or a fuck buddy, they want an owner. Sure – lots of women would rather be owned by her boss rather than her husband, but Boss and Secretary is basically their second most common sexual fantasy, just after “kidnapped by a rival gang/warrior, and enslaved in the harem of a slightly but not too exotic foreign chief, where she fucks/births her way to the top of the harem.

Jim’s also right about race, which makes his cucking over 9/11 so much more disappointing, but I guess you can’t win them all.


Will they follow the path of the genius Hipster Racist? [check him out, the man is a God]

Will they follow the path of the genius Hipster Racist? [check him out, the man is a God]

So says DisenchantedScholar, and who am I to argue? The lady is some sort of super-genius academic.


It’s mostly brown men who refuse to ‘settle’ for their own, ugly women. It’s brown men who feel entitled, racially obsessed with defiling white ‘whores’

I don’t write much “manosphere” stuff anymore, because they banned me from reddit.com’s TheRedPill (and TheBluePill, and PurplePillDebate, and …)

I was banned for some of my more, er, “controversial” statements … one being, it’s pretty lame to spend all your time on line bitching about women … oh, and not being a self-hating white man.

So take it from DisenchantedScholar, folks!

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Kinky Sex Fetish: A Manhattan Murder Mystery 13

Before Tinder, it was Craigslist.

Look – young people from all over the country move to New York to work at prestigious companies for a lot of money. Everyone is working all the time. The gals are not interested in settling down and having babies. The men are focused, lazer like, on making money.

So what do you think horny young 20 somethings do?

They “hook up.”

And back in 2001, it was Craigslist. Craigslist was still virtually unknown outside of a few cities like New York, Chicago, and San Francisco. The only people that used Craigslist were 20 something hipsters from the city. So back then, women would still put up personal ads and sometimes even post a picture. It wasn’t “private” exactly but the audience was small and exclusive.

Her ad said “No Time To Date” and it was a litany of “small town gal in the big city.” Works all the time, never gets to meet guys. Looking for this and that, something. Loves this. Whatever.

Reading between the lines it means “busy career gal, haven’t been laid in months, looking for a man to fuck me silly all weekend then leave me alone.”

For me, this was my bread and butter pretty much, because, hey, I was in the same situation. I did have a girlfriend, but she lived all the way across the country in California and it’s not cheating if you’re in a different state.

Whatever, I never claimed to be a “good person.”

So this was like textbook. We had met for drinks on Wednesday at the dive bar near the towers. Aisha would flirt with me when I had some girl there, to help me out. She was a sweetheart. Aisha wasn’t interested in me at all but she liked me hanging around so she’d help out when she could. So this girl – I don’t remember her name – she’s about 27, a few years older than me. Cute, slender, long hair, dressed real nice. I forgot what she did. We have three drinks, I tell her I’ll walk her to the subway around the corner. She turns to say goodbye so I kiss her, we make plans to meet on Monday, after she gets back from whatever she’s doing on the weekend.

On Monday, god, I could barely concentrate at work. I had half a hard on all day thinking about fucking this girl tonight. At lunch, my bosses, Jimmy and Richie, took me and a few of the guys out to some fancy Thai place at the World Financial Center a few blocks away. Jimmy is bitching and bitching about the power downs. It didn’t make any damn sense. Why would both buildings have all of their power – including emergency power – shut off over the weekend? Everyone had been working late backing up all of the systems, making sure we could bring them back up without any problems. This did not make Jimmy happy at all.

Jimmy was probably 40 something, blonde hair, blue eyes, looked like a grown up boy scout but cursed like a sailor. He actually came across as rather relaxed and informal but the man was responsible for billions of dollars flowing through the company on a daily basis, yet he never broke a sweat. And the power down thing did not please him at all. He had been working on some roll out for months then, all a sudden, without any warning, the building management told everyone they had to prepare for two weekends of power downs, in both towers. “Upgrading the internet” or “fixing the electricity” or something, and that was why Jimmy was bitching about it so much.

Anyway he was a cool guy and it was nice of him to take us peons out for lunch with the big bosses. You know, older guys, they love to show off to the younger men. As I was like 24, just out of college working my first job, I never paid for lunch, or drinks after work. Guys like Jimmy and Richie, they loved to pull out hundred dollar bills and give outrageous tips to the bartenders and waitresses. I suspect both of them were loaded far beyond the kind of money I could imagine.

Of course, for me, 24 year old kid from the suburbs, I was making fucking bank. I’d pull out twenty dollar bills to tip the girls at the bar but it came from the same place honestly.

So we’re all chomping away on $40 entrees while Jimmy and Richie are having a cussing contest talking about the power downs. I’m pretending to pay attention but all I can think about is this chick I’m meeting later that night.


You know, thinking back on it, I figured it was just a regular job. I had pulled my one string to get this job, some kid I knew in college worked for one of the banks and knew Richie and had gotten me an interview. I wasn’t an employee, I was a consultant, working on a small team with a contract. Now I figured, sure, some of these guys had probably worked at NSA and the like, and I knew some of the guys from the DC office worked down in Maryland and had security clearances, but how was I to know, some kid, how connected finance is to the spook industry?

So I’m guessing, and it’s just a guess, that one of the guys on our team was assigned to this company for reasons a bit more complex than just a salary. LOL, I was surrounded by these people but I didn’t have a fucking clue.

But whatever – all I can think about is meeting Hot Chick uptown later than night, around nine. Meeting for drinks at nine basically means you’ve already scored, as long as you don’t fuck it up.

So that’s why I was uptown. We meet over at a bar close to her place, lubricate ourselves with a shot of whiskey each and two glasses of wine, then hop in a cab back to her place. I was basically raping her in the back of the cab. The driver says, “no please don’t touch her. Not here, no please.”

I swear, if I was the conspiracy theory type, I’d say the cab driver was Osama Bin Laden himself. Full bushy beard, some kind of tablecloth on his head, the whole nine yards. Of course Osama Bin Laden was on the news every once in a while but you know, we had no idea of what was coming.

So all night long I’m fucking this girl. We just walk into her apartment, she starts to get a bottle of wine by I’m just kissing all over her and just drag her into the bedroom. Two horny strangers just needing some attention and to get off. Well she wakes me up around seven and I’m hustling to get to work. No time to go back to my place but I have a change of clothes at the office for just this sort of thing. So I shower and put on last night’s clothes, which smell like smoke and whiskey. Frankly I look like shit, unshaven, but hell it was worth it.

So I walk blocks to the subway and get onto the train. This train is always fucking crowded. Miraculously, I get a seat and start reading my Wall Street Journal (best newspaper in America, at least back in those days.) Hey, I work in finance so it’s what you’re supposed to read.

I’m almost at my stop, but then, the train stops and all the lights go out. “Shit,” I’m thinking, “I’m going to be late. Jimmy is going to chew my ass out.” We sit there for five minutes – it seems like forever. The light comes on for like two seconds, then go back off. You could hear everyone on the train groaning, cursing under their breath and sighing. The announcer comes on and says, “there’s a delay.” Well, no shit, I thought. Five more minutes.

Finally, the train starts moving, but it’s going backwards. Now people are whining real loud, but it keeps going backwards. We go all the way back to the previous stop, and the announcer says, “there’s been an accident at the World Trade Center. Everyone must exit the train here. Everyone must exit.” People are mumbling, but the lights come on at the station, the doors open, and we all get off the train. The announcer says everyone must exit the station too. This sucks, but we all line up and start walking up the stairs.

I look at my watch, it’s already nine o’clock. I’m thinking, “shit I’m going to be so late.” Well I finally make it up the stairs to ground level and there’s a huge crowd standing in front of one of the buildings. Everyone is pointing and staring, some people even have video cameras out. I’m thinking what the hell is going on? So I look over to where everyone is looking and – let me tell you – I couldn’t fucking believe what I saw.


I can’t stand it I know you planned it
I’m gonna set it straight, this watergate
I can’t stand rocking when I’m in here
Because your crystal ball ain’t so crystal clear
So while you sit back and wonder why
I got this fucking thorn in my side
Oh my God, it’s a mirage
I’m tellin’ y’all it’s sabotage

Church Lady

So I’m sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for her to drive me home. I’m going to get changed and she is taking me to church.

No, I’m not lying. To church. After our hookup. It makes sense if you think about it.

I’m basically hung over and the bright sunlight is not helping. So we had snuck out to her car, but she was waylaid by her neighbor, this middle aged woman. So this woman is giving her shit, essentially.

She goes, “yeah I’m not sure what it was last night. Did you hear it? There was this banging. Over and over again. Like something repeatedly hitting the wall. Bang bang bang bang! It went on for what seemed like hours! Do you know what it was?”

So this girl was just playing along. “Oh I’m not sure.”

The women just would not shut up about it. “Oh yeah, bang bang bang over and over all night long. I couldn’t sleep it was so loud.” So the woman takes a good look at me, in the passenger seat, wearing sunglasses, nursing a hangover.

“Yeah, bang bang bang all night long! I couldn’t sleep!” she says again. She keeps eyeing me suspiciously.

This girl just stays blank. What a trooper.

Now I do not remember how I met this girl, but I’m guessing it was one of these charity events. So, I was slumming it with the “anti-facists” types as they had great drugs and we always involved in these various left-wing sorts of causes, and there was an uninterrupted supply of easy pussy that would volunteer at these sorts of charity events. You see, girls need to feel like they are doing good, and as most girls are masochists in some way, “helping the poor” or “feeding the homeless” or “protesting against injustice” provides them moral cover for what they are really doing – stalking moody, troubled boys into some “cause.”

So this girl – I don’t remember her name – I only fucked her the one time. She paraded me around her church the next day. Now she wasn’t the best looking girl in the world – but her body? Fucking prime grade A+++. Holy fucking god this girl had a body that would not quit. Great rack, smooth, perfect, milky white skin. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Her ass – holy fucking fuck.

So when we are in her bed naked, I’m feeling her up – holy uuuuh fuck. So wonderful, perfect. So I’m fucking her hard and fast and she’s moaning and into it. The head board of her bed just keeps smacking the wall and making a really loud noise. So she would stop me and say “oh we’ll wake the neighbors” and I’d slow down, but a minute later she is back to moaning and rocking her hips back and forth so I start going faster and bang goes the headboard again.

So it’s hilarious. She runs the youth group at her church – this church is one of those old time White Anglo-Saxon Protestant churches that barely even pretended to be religious or Christian anymore. It was strictly a social club for the “right people” with the “correct opinions.” Essentially, it was a big tax write off and they ran a bunch of charities around town. So she actually invites me to two events to show me off. I happily obliged her. The first was before I fucked her, to a sort of weekly meeting for 20 somethings at the church. The dudes there were all geeky, not particularly attractive but very well employed in the tech industry types. Their girlfriends were essentially the female equivalents – quite better looking than their boyfriends, just as smart but not as geeky-obsessive, and patiently waiting for a promotion so he would get on with it, buy a ring, and get her pregnant.

I had a feeling that every boy had fucked every girl in the place, that they had all known each other in this church since they were teenagers, and after a few years of partner swapping everyone had settled with someone and were now all looking to take it to the next level. There were some uncomfortable jokes about that sort of thing.

I had a feeling that my girl was still swinging, so to speak. She was likely only fucking me to make one of these boys jealous so he’d get on with it and propose, or whatever.

So we party with these types and have all sorts of “serious” conversations about “issues.” You see, that is what made up superior to typical upper middle class whites. While regular people would go to parties and the guys would talk about football and the stock market, and the gals would gossip about their kids and social circle, we talked about “serious issues.” We all knew exactly what the correct opinions were, and you got points if you were one step ahead of the game and knew about the latest trend in intersectionality of sexism and racism, or some such. Of course, everyone is as white as can be. Helping the Negro is what you do when you are showing off, no one is actually going to invite a colored to their party.

Oh, right, so I’m fucking this Unitarian-Universalist girl. Bang bang bang bang! The headboard is hitting the wall, she is moaning and totally getting off on it. I’m putting my back into it – I’m doing my best. You see, I’m a very generous lover and I always try my hardest to get them off.

Well, it’s about that time, so I flip her over and just start wailing on her perfectly shaped, perfectly smooth, perfectly round white ass. It’s like a sculpture. I mean, you could take a picture and frame it, it was that perfectly shaped. This girl’s body – I mean you cannot exaggerate. From the neck down, at least, she was Venus herself.

So she’s up on her knees, her face in the pillow, moaning, and I am just going to fucking town. I’ve got my hand on her leg, just sort of feeling her up, how soft her skin is, how perfectly shaped her body is.

Bang bang bang!

Ninth Grade Physics: A Thought Experiment

Which falls first, and how fast?

It ain’t rocket science, folks. This is ninth grade physics, you don’t need a PhD, or any fancy sort of education. This only requires high school level physics.

All the rest of the bullshit is just that – bullshit.

So, look around. Ask yourself, who is pulling your leg? Who is trying to get you to believe bullshit?

“Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.” — Voltaire.




Jews & Faggots

I’ve never had any problem “naming the Jew.” Here’s the deal – mainstream Jewish culture in America and Europe is anti-White. Anti-White, anti-Christian, and anti-European. Like Kevin MacDonald, David Duke, and Greg Johnson, I consider Organized Jewry to be the most formidable opponent of White interests. One only has to read what Jews write and watch what Jews do to realize they are anti-White. No matter what White country they are in, the organized Jewish community promotes race-replacing immigration, demonizing European peoples – then do the exact opposite in their country, Israel.

Jews are very, very powerful in America. They have lots of money and essentially run Hollywood. They are quite prominent in finance – they do not dominate finance as much as many White Nationalists believe, but they punch way above their weight.

I’ve never particularly cared much about gays. Like most men, I think male homosexuality is basically gross, but I’ve known a few gay dudes and I’m not the hateful type. I think “gay” “marriage” is basically a joke and it’s really an attack on the institution of marriage itself. I’m not above telling a fag joke now and again, however.

So, anyway, a few years ago the guy from Majority Rights did an interview where they discussed Hunter Wallace of Occidental Dissent. The interviewer said that Wallace had a “troll aesthetic.” Trolling is a very interesting phenomenon. It goes back to the earliest days of the internet. You essentially say something controversial just to see who will take the bait.

Me? Um, yeah, it should be obvious that I share that “troll aesthetic.”

So, anyway, the Daily Stormer – which clearly also shares that “troll aesthetic” – recently had two articles about one of the most famous internet trolls, Weev. Reading Weev’s story is interesting, but as usual with him, it’s hard to tell how serious he is. Weev now claims he’s a Neo-Nazi.

But, see, the thing is – Weev used to write long articles about how he supported the Westboro Baptist Church – the infamous “God Hates Fags” group. Of course, Weev admitted that “his gay friends” were “in on the joke.”

Reading the comments on Daily Stormer is almost as funny as the articles themselves. One commenter – who used to comment here – went and attacked a few of us on Aryan Skynet. She said we were all “white supremacists” and that we hated gay people.

So, it was somewhat of a surprise to see this same commenter on Daily Stormer – accusing various WN bloggers of being gay and making fag jokes.

You see, gay marriage was an unpopular idea just a decade ago. But after a major media campaign featuring the Westboro Baptist Church – perhaps the most offensive religious group imaginable to the average American – the people that protested at the funerals of US soldiers – well, the entire opposition to gay marriage was tainted by association.

Of course, Nazis, Hitler – the most hated group of people in history. Rightly, or wrongly it hardly matters – if white interests are associated with Nazi fetishists, it makes most normal white people shy away from the cause. And if I was a Jew, I would certainly pretend to be a Nazi.

So, I’m just wondering – who is trolling who, here?

It seems kind of related. I figured out a while back that, as much as I like flirting with women online, it will get me far more readers to do the manosphere stuff. So, you know, I write really overtly sexual stuff. I figured, hey, I’d lose a few women readers, but gain a lot of men.

But it’s so weird, and I just can’t figure it out. The women just won’t stop reading. Reading, then they come on to here to tell me what a dirty, dirty boy I am. Plus, they keep on saying I must be a Jew because I’m writing “porn.” But that is so weird for me, because – I can assure you – reading and writing these stories does not get me sexually aroused.

I have been told, however, by more than a few women readers that some of my stories are “erotic.” In fact, one even admitted she masturbated to it.

So these women saying I’m writing “Jewish porn” – I mean, for them to think that it’s porn, they must be getting aroused. But how can that be, considering these are good Christian women?

It’s a mystery I guess. I’m starting to think there are a lot of people that are not quite on the level here.

50 Pounds of Heidi

Originally published here: http://eradica.wordpress.com/50-pounds-of-heidi

In France they call it a "Royale with cheese."
In France they call it a “Royale with cheese.”

“That asshole Morris never knocks,” Heidi thought, as she locked the office door. She went back to her desk, sat down, grabbed the computer’s mouse, and clicked “Next.”

Dear Heidi,

Thanks for all you do fighting racism and oppression. As a strong Black woman, I can’t believe that here it is in 2013 and we still have ignorant hateful racists. Just last month while driving south to Florida I stopped at an All American Convenience Store on I-95, and was reminded yet again of how far we have to go in this country. There was a white man, about 6 foot 3, muscular, with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a Confederate flag on his muscle shirt! I couldn’t believe it. He glanced at me, and immediately I froze. I felt his micro-aggressions all over my body. I felt as disempowered as a slave girl cowering in front of mean Mr. Charlie, while he leers at me, whip in hand, as if I was his property. As if he owned me.

He glanced at my body, his eyes moving from my legs to my eyes, and he spoke: “Howdy, ma’am.” His accent made it sound like “Howdy, mammy” and I felt ashamed, reminded of the legacy of slavery and my lack of power and privilege. I felt invisible, desexualized, as if I was just an Aunt Jemimah, stereotyped as a non-sexual being. As if we needed any more proof that racism continues to divide us and keeps us from coming together.


Tanisha Jackson

But come back later after we close.

Heidi was unimpressed. The reality was so different than her early ideas of what fighting racism would be like. She had imagined Ku Klux Klansmen, three at a time, riding up on their horses, snatching her up, and ravishing her in the woods; that moment when the robes came off – but the hoods stayed on (the hoods ALWAYS stayed on!)

Or Neo-Nazis, with their Hugo Boss uniforms and black boots, spanking her with their little leather whips, calling her a “dirty little jewess” and forcing her to say things, bad things. Naughty things no Jewish girl should say. Making her do things – want to do things! – things she had never even done with Tony the Italian boy who had lived near NYU. And she had done things with Tony she could never tell the rabbi! Ari just wouldn’t understand anyway.

But the last neo-nazi they found was a mild mannered accountant with a wife and kids. An accountant – like Uncle Abbie! That was not what she had in mind!

She clicked “Next.”

Dear Heidi,

I would like to draw your attention to a new form of virulent racism that is going under the radar of anti-hate activists. Hipster racism. Hipster racism is just like regular racism except it’s “ironic” but is still used to marginalize and isolate people of color, especially, women of color.

Last week in Brooklyn I was at the coffee shop with my friend from class, Andrew, who happens to be white. Two white girls he knows sat down with us. When a song by a white artist came on, they all seemed to know it. I just asked who it was, and one of the white girls said “Rihanna” and they all laughed. I felt humiliated. Andrew said, “oh don’t pay attention to them, they’re just hipsters” and they all laughed again. I felt excluded, turned into the “other” and reminded of my “place” and how “different” I am.


Maria Gomez

“Hipster racism?” Heidi thought. She had heard about “hipsters,” fashionable urban whites with exclusionary and elitist attitudes. Heidi leaned back, and imagined herself in Brooklyn, at a private, luxury aerobics studio. Her instructor, Mr. H., tall, thin, with lean muscles. Cocky enough, he was wearing glasses that she knew weren’t prescription, but the moustache! Narrower than a cop moustache, but just wide enough it wouldn’t arouse (ooh!) too much suspicion. But she knew! She wiggled in her seat and closed her eyes …

Hotter than a bad yenta's dream.
Hotter than a bad yenta’s dream.

She had been on the treadmill forever, she felt. Hours. Days. Time had lost all meaning. Her entire body ached, and soaked in sweat, her panties were even more moist under her sweatpants. She burned all over.

Smack! She felt his hand smack her ass, hard. Hard enough she let out an involutary moan. Her breath ragged, her voice hoarse, barely able to speak she begged softly, “please, I can’t! I have to stop!”

Smack! “Ooh, ow!” she shrieked.

Mr. H spoke. “You don’t stop until I say you stop.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied meekly.

“I own you, Heidi. You signed the contract. Until I get my 50 pounds, you are my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!”

“It’s not kosher to be a fat little piggy, now is it, Heidi?” Smack!

“Oh, no, I’m sorry Mr. H.”

Just when she could take no more, he turned off the treadmill. She stepped off, stumbled to him, and sank down to her knees, her zaftig figure jiggling as she hit the floor, hard.

“Well your next meal won’t be kosher either!”

“Yes, sir, yes please!” She moaned. She looked up into his prussian blue eyes. Opened mouth and drooling slightly, she reached up, unzipped his ridiculously skinny jeans, and fumbling around, finally felt the warmth of his fat, uncircumcized member. She wanted to devour him – she was hungry for him. She enveloped him with her lips, hungrily taking him into her famished mouth.

Heidi moaned at her desk. Squish squish.

“You like that, don’t you, Heido Ho!”

“Yes! Yes!” she cried out.

Fat Camp for Cutie
Fat Camp for Cutie

Squish squish.

The knock on the door startled her, but she was too far along to stop now.

“Mrs. Beirich, we’ve got that Aryan Brotherhood member in Corcoran Prison you wanted to interview, line two. The one with the facial tatoos?”

“Yes! OK, just a minute!”

Squish squish.


Forgetting Holly


What do you think I am, some sort of monster?


Hey, what’s the point of this? Oh hey
What’s your favorite song? Maybe we could hum along

Hey, maybe just a smile, oh hey, did you know
That I can dance? Could we talk for awhile?

I think you’re smart, you sweet thing
Tell me your name, I’m dying here

Got you where I want you
Got you where I want you