what does the belly dancer do on her day off? wouldn't you like to know? only 25¢ to witness the in depth and personal, stereoscopic tale in 3D. you just fit your face into this occulus, put the quarter in here and wham! you see it's actually an early mod el of a viewmaster but we found that the children who tested it out couldn't tote it around very well seeing as how it weighs over six hundred pounds. you just pop your quarter in here and you are allowed into the sultry and exotic adventure of what the b elly dancer, what was her name? no name just "the belly dancer". well whatever, what she does on her day off.

this of course is exactly the nature of pornography. the hard on, real or imagined, occurs before the viewer looks into the occulus. the anticipation of bearing witness to the belly dancers intimate activities is more than one could ever hope to ask for in one's life, real or imagined. the actual act of viewing what the belly dancer does on her day off is so frightfully mundane, and perfectly obvious that three seconds into it one would immediately rather be back at work. for there at least one has the appearance of impropriety. at least there there is the element of true intrigue, of the vague possibility of being denied in an almost believable way. what the belly dancer does on her day off does claims to be improprietous but the claim is false. it gives you everything it has to give. it hits you with its foulest most obscene shot right in the auricles and it turns out not to be very bad at all.

there you are you want to become sick to your stomach with lust. you've been good for so long and now you want to see a man masturbate with his own entrails and you are in a public place because you have two kids at home who you want to bring up to be god fearing. there you are in front of that stereoscope proving to all your friends and not so friendly that you are not afraid to be seen creaming in your wool slacks. your face is flushed. the quarter drops, the program flicks on and you quickly realize th at the macy's white flower day sale ad insert could easily outsex this program. anafalectic shock could outsex this program.

at least at work you wouldn't be asking for it if you did get the "shame orgasm". here, you're asking for it and you don't get it. and that's the subtle heart of it. you think you have traditional values, you think you're heterosexual, you think you're mo nogamous. but in all actuality the reverse is true. you're actually practicing serial monogamy. you are monogamous with your partner but only for the time that you are with them, say two months, a night, seven years. you are in actuality practicing serial monogamy, which is like almost being pregnant. this serial monogamy is not really monogamy at all. the memories, the experiences, the viruses that you are collecting from these people is tantamount to a field study. you think you're a heterosexual but yo u have always had sex the same way with persons of the same sex. you're not a heterosexual you're a homogen-o-sexual. you're fully pasteurized and you're white. just as white as that belly dancer's mother's ankle covered by her black and wh ite striped bathing suit.

you find yourself fantasizing about her mother's awkward and bony ankle. jesus! just like the belly dancer on her day off, staring at you like an english mail order bride with her head down and her eyes cocked straight at you know who. then your eye drops to catch her ankle turned awkwardly as if it were broken. that stockinged ankle is really behind every gerbil f--k that goes on every night in babylon.

my friend charging up against me with her sandpaper jockey shorts are that ankle. my ex-lover skipping off to the east coast in her friend's pathfinder is that ankle. my sister's alcoholic roommates of so many years ago are that ankle. every dubbed chingaste' pelicula we can possibly force our girlfriends into for cocaine money or with an automatic weapon just off camera is that turned and painfully posed ankle. that's really it too. babylon doesn't even need to turn that woman's ankle like that it could be van de graph's eyebrow pencil in a puppy dish, for all she cares.

then it's over.

you try and comfort yourself by telling yourself that it was only a quarter. but you know it was much more than that.