New Orleans, circa 1890
Dickie Longerboner woke up at 4 a.m. and had a rather stiff erection. He loved waking up with erections and as usual, he had to pee. He laid in bed contemplating his erection and the difficulty it would be to get it to point south, so that he could aim into the piss pot without splattering pee all over the walls, toilet and floor, as he usually did.
Male animals tend to do that, no way around it except to sit, and nobody ever does.
Dickie Longerboner was blessed with a rather large cock. It measured about 7.6 inches when he last measured, however it was three inches in diameter. If he laid on his back with his legs in the air, and tried to measure it from the base of the anus, it was much longer, in fact, it was enormous. In short, Dickie Longerboner’s boner was not all that long, but it was rather stout and fat. His testicles were enormous and his parents called him ‘cowbells’ when he was just a baby.
So he laid there thinking about the pee, and he started pinching the tip of his penis, gently with his fingernails. He massaged the head trying to stimulate a bit of tease, and slow down the impulse to pee. That erection turned his attention inward to fantasy, and the fact that he had to urinate so badly, caused him to become more aroused. When the urge to piss his pizzle slowed, he began massaging his testicles, noticed a rather large bump on the side with his finger, which may have been a cyst, or a rather enlarged pore. Either which way, he could not see it. It was just to the outside lower portion of his left testicle wedged, on the side there. He had nearly had a wet dream in the middle of the night, tried to force it by rubbing his penis on the bed sheets, but he was too sleepy to ejaculate. And now he was glad he waited until dawn when he could enjoy the whole process more thoroughly.
He began rolling his testicles gently between his thumb and fingers while cupping the base of his scrotum with his other hand, brushing upwards, and thus created a rather euphoric sensation. Just as he started to incorporate his other hand, his eyes rolled back in his head and he went into a masturbatory trance. Pre-ejaculatory fluid began to ooze from his head and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. The fluid helped to increase the tickling sensation between the glans and his foreskin.
After about five to ten minutes of stroking his peen, he started to quiver, shake and moan. He trembled his hand quickly up and down the shaft of his penis, fast and furious at first, and then slowly, while holding the tip closed, and all at once, let loose an ejaculation of orgasmic proportions. Because he held the tip of his foreskin closed, the sensation was riveting and caused him to spasm about. Oh God. Oh my god, oh…he moaned loudly, and he quivered and spurt for a good two minutes. His friends had witnessed his orgasms during male pissing contests as a teenager, and gave him the nick-name, ‘Pee pee’.
When the quiver was over, he laid back on his pillow, exhausted. He farted a bit, the wind passing through his anus in spurts, bubbles and flutters. He was conscious of the fact that it was a wet fart. The inside of his ass was generally funky and odorous, to begin with. He reached around with his right hand, inspecting the damage, and then satisfied, wiped his hand through the crack of his ass, scratching and rubbing a bit. And then, as males will do, brought the side of his hand and fingers to his nose and inhaled of the fragrance thereupon his digits. Another five or ten minutes went by and then he dragged his smelly ass out of bed and headed for the commode and sat down whereupon he let loose a river of piss, three elongated farts that went thwarrrrp and thbubbbt. The farts were globulous and exited his rear end like water balloons, followed by a rather bulbous and volumous stream of shit.
Dickie sat there, enjoying his morning escapade and relaxed a bit on the commode, stinking up the entire bathroom while waiting to see what might happen next. His inner thighs itched all the way up to his nut sack, and he assumed he had another rash. It was a rather warm and muggy morning, and the day was certain to grow swampy.
This particular morning he was extremely excited because it was 1895 and just outside of the colonial French Quarter, Louisiana had just legalized prostitution and there was to be an afternoon parade of whores and luxurious creatures that Dickie simply couldn’t wait to get his hands upon. That man, named Story, had set up a district and Dickie had been reading about the blue books and menus with guidelines of proper instruction and services offered. Prior to this, he risked dens in back alleys and down private stairs, dark and often dangerous, the excitement grew.
Just the other day, he had seen Mrs. Frieda A. Tasse’s menu which stated:
Mrs. F.A. Tasse, Having opened Capricious Capsulation Parlors at Conti near Basin, requests your patronage of the fast, smart & slow set.
The following are a few of our specialties:
French fashion with Finger in asshole $3.50
Common Old fashioned fuck $2.50
Diddling on the edge of the bed with one foot on the floor $1.75
Fucking the breast, with tits tight $1.25 cents
Blowing in the asshole, new style with lick $2.20
Finger fucking, with juice 50 cents
Dickie read that luscious menu and as he did, drool formed in the corners of his mouth. He had a small savings account, money stashed under his mattress that he had saved up for a rainy day. Now it seemed that rainy day had come in the form of sunshine and a parade. While the ‘common old fashioned’ looked good, he thought that finger fucking with juice might be fun, too… for only fifty cents more. For three dollars, he thought he could enjoy the entire afternoon and take some of the scent home with him, perhaps to enjoy the next morning when he had to pee.
The bluebooks were guidelines to prostitution for the visitors of such places as Mrs. F. A. Tasse’s or otherwise. There was instruction on, How To Be Wise. Advice on how to be a thoroughbred, carry a certain amount of air and be a wise guy, no matter how painful. ‘If you don’t get a two in one shot, it ain’t the author’s fault. Follow your dreams and spend your coin wisely.’ and, 'Don’t be led astray, lewd women living according to the law.'
The sex district featured house services and specialties that were listed in those books and menus with prices, services and descriptions of the ladies inside.
The ladies of Mrs. Tasse‘s boarding house and brothel advertised:
Mad Maybelle and her ample bosom- Créole, white.Claudine Chifforobe and her tight box- Créole, Quadroon, nearly white.Albertine, desired for her luscious black skin.
Starlight Sateen who was known for her dry bob- Octoroon.
Delores Bleu, shy and full of sorrow- French Créole , society.
And Candy Sugartits, who’s name was self explanatory. She was pink and ditzy.
‘Don’t be a queer, come and enjoy the swell ladies we offer, here’.
While Dickie had plenty of cash for the cheap joints and negro cribs at fifty cents a pop, there were some elaborate houses that went as high as ten and twenty dollars. The queers and cripples in back alleys. Mrs. F.A. Tasse offered sweet and exotic girls and a fun afternoon for less than three or four dollars. Perhaps there would be less fleas and lice at a modest price.
Dickie was studying his wallet, and trying to figure out if he should shoot the wad all at once, or break it up a bit and enjoy a visit perhaps once a week, if he could afford it.
The inscription in the blue-book was:
"Order of the Garter: Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense which translated to, ‘Shame to him who evil thinks."
Dickie had read that Mrs. Tasse would be featuring ladies who were white, French Créole and Afro-Créoles. He imagined that the darker the skin, the darker the shame and thus, the more fun. He loved the ladies who were octoroon, quadroon or black, but white was fine, too. The dirtier the better, and Dickie was a dirty bird. Or so he thought. He wondered if the black ladies would be priced more or less, depending upon which way he thought about it: the darker the better- more expensive, or the less desired- cheaper.
At least cheaper was better for Dickie because that’s what he was used to.
Mrs. Tasse’s Capricious Capsulation Parlor was not far from the train station, and Dickie imagined that once the word got out, people would be clamoring over those tracks to get a bit of what they were lacking, now that it was legal.
People were used to the back-alley cat dens and they didn’t mind the sneak, but now that it was legal, it seemed a bit more sophisticated. Perhaps everyone would be going to the district now as a way of popular life and perhaps there would be more to see when Dickie took his stroll through the district at lunch hour, perhaps a bit of tit for free. At least he might get a peep at the courtesan, if he at the very least, could not afford them on a daily basis.
But what Dickie didn’t know was, despite its vital economic import in the antebellum era, New Orleans lay on the edge of the continent like a lethargic and dreamy concubine. And because of his languid nature he did not know the city was not trying to make prostitution more accessible, they were trying to contain it. To keep the scum and filth like Dickie inside an area where he could be watched more closely. Perhaps it might create an appeal, bring more visitors and consequently put cash in the hands of those in power. The city was simply banking on the idea of a nonjudgmental arena engrossed in sensual delights and sexual possibility.
A cesspool.
A perfect Sodom.
A wild party in heaven.
An exotic and erotic playground.
A hotspot.
The local city officials feigned a laissez-faire and permissive attitude towards the subject at hand, however money was in the forefront of their minds. The influential residents were troubled by the city’s reputation for prostitution and licentious behavior.
When questioned forcefully, the city leaders tried to deal with the issue by making prostitution less visible by creating a smaller or shrinking space during this period.
The city’s first comprehensive anti-prostitution measure, the 1857 Lorette Ordinance, essentially made prostitution legal in any part of the city as long as the ladies and merchants of madams avoided showing their wares and tits, indecent dress, disturbance or scandal on the city streets. Ordinances were passed through the end of the century to attend to prostitution and it’s ilk in a variety of ways. Circa 1898, there was an attempt to quarantine the plague of whores and remove it from the eyes of the decent who found it abhorrent.
The message from the city was clear, to:
Confine.
Control.
Profit.
Dickie cringed at the thought of competition, but thought that it might drive prices down. The more the merrier, the better the business and hopefully at lower the costs. Or so he hoped. At least the parade would be free, and Dickie was going to make certain to be at that parade early to catch a good view. That’s why he got up at 6 a.m. to get his work day out of the way, so he could see a bit of tit and pussy in the afternoon.
*end of part one.
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