[DISCLAIMER: The following story deals with sex in a graphic way. It contains several of George Carlin's Seven Dirty Words, so if you are a minor, or offended by stories that use graphic language to depict sexual situations, please navigate ELSEWHERE before reading any further. Thank you!]
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Hiya, friends:
Just checking in right now — decided to hook myself up to this sex machine trip today for whatever part of it works. I dropped some fantastic acid a while ago and now I'm up in my private little loft space, see? No one goes here, 'cept me ... and whom I see fit to let in on a particular day, hear? Today it's just me and my cuuuute li'l electric toothbrush.
"Sex machine." Not so alien a concept. We are all sexual. We are all little heartbeat machines. And just like any good machine, I know when it's time to take care of myself. Depress the off-switch. Nap-time.
But then, at some point, I must emerge from my nap-time. Pass along whatever sacred, secret truths that some poor schmuck is always trying to make buck off of borrowing from me. I sure don't know what those secrets are. But, as the heavens know, there are rare and gifted, inspirational individuals among us who always manage to give more than they get. They are certainly not schmucks. Maybe you're one of them.
So it is with the grrrreatest of pleasure that I share with you today the secret truths I have been shown by the Ordenta Corporation.
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The Ordenta Corporation manufactures exactly one product -- the Ordenta. Its alleged purpose is to clean your teeth. Don't be fooled.
"What keeps all these people smiling?" pose the ads. "Ordenta!" Ahh, but if they only knew what was going on behind this special little device. The unique one that won't be confined by so limiting a label as "electric toothbrush." The name "Ordenta" stands alone, unsupported by adjectives and nouns, as proof of its timeless, utilitarian invincibility.
I was given this little gift by my very sexy dentist (okay, so I paid for it—at the low, low price of just $79.95) because I was suffering from periodontal disease. Not very sexy. But, after a year, my teeth and gums have never been better, so I'm sold on the Ordenta.
Ordenta.
Reorganize the letters a bit, and it becomes "adentro." Spanish for "inside." A clue? Most definitely. Come, let's see what's inside...
"Use me as a toothbrush," it states, just a bit too officiously on the package.
"Use me...."
As if. Sure, you could also use it on a nipple, a succulent clit, an angrily flared crown of swelling, captive dickbulb perhaps lashed to the mattress. But would you? Could you?
Sometimes I think that the greatest absurdity of human existence is our need to put each item into its appropriate category, department, box, drawer. All assignment of proportion to things.
When the potential of the sensual realm is infinite....
But let's start with the teeth, shall we?
One miraculous feature of this lovely device-that-refuses-to-be-called-just-a-lowly-electric-toothbrush is that it gets the damn things clean. I never feel ready to get it on until my teeth are clean. Clean teeth are very sexy, don't you think?
Fast-forward back to the loft. I've cleaned my teeth, I feel sexy. The cool and sticky feel of the 0.4% Stable Stannous Fluoride Gel on my cock is a delight, as always. I pick up the Ordenta, and with that ritual glimmering gesture, I foreshadow all that is to come.
The whirring of the little engine, repetitive massaging of little infinite universes all exploding in on each other and blossoming outward into an electric orgasm of paralytic ecstatic friggin' ecstasy. Prayer.
I really do like the whirring engine, but basically, it's a cheap job. I mean, it's great as far as the dental market, but it's pretty lightweight as far as the pro-vibro stuff goes. In other words, this ain't no Hitachi Magic Wand. Then again, maybe it's all in how you examine (or de-examine) lust. Here goes:
whirrrrrrr...........
The dick is hard. The handle feels good in my palm. I've put on the special "braces" attachment. Forgot to mention that -- this thing has about four different tips, but you can't really tell the difference on the flesh.
Grasping my cock firmly at its base, I slowly move it toward the Ordenta. I flinch momentarily, always worried that I'll be shocked at the roughness of the bristles. I'm not. But my cock has amnesia. It feels good, moving up and down the veins of my shaft, a bit ticklish around the crown of my cock, very ticklish across the piss-slit and down the dickhead.
Now I put it first on the right nipple, then on the more sensitive left one. It makes me laugh because the centrifugal force of the device always grabs my nipple and sends it spinning around the tip, over and over. Wind-up nipples? It feels good, but it looks pretty fucking silly. Especially when I'm stoned on acid. I'm glad no one can see me right now. I think about the time that Mom walked in on me wailing away on my pole when I was sixteen. Very close call.
And I think about how we're all basically looking for the same exact thing.
All trying to find mother Nature, mother Comfort, mother Superior, mother MOTHER a place to let go of your cheap flesh long enough to enjoy it and purrrrr like this little engine little dental machine goes for a while puuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr......
But where oh wherrrrrrrrrrr did we learn to eroticize the sound of our own million little whirring engines? All so independent? So self-contained? All still need, still feed on mother's milk. Electric juice. Animal or mechanical, we all need fuel.
Engines open me up to where our possibilities extend. Next. Little electric tongues, little muscles, little cocks, little cunts. Engines have been pushing the envelope for a long time now, and that envelope is sealed with bodily fluids. "Sex machine" is about the pelvic thrust, that evolutionary push to the next frigging good step.
The little machine, it feels so good upon the earlobe...secretly, that's the best spot. I know you'd rather hear a story about how great it feels on my dick, and how it made me squirt five times, but truthfully, the Ordenta gives me eargasms, not cockgasms. I love the little motor, whirring so close to my ear. Inside, my head is vibrating with sound ... my own little engine ... my brain is in flames. Ohhhhh.... moan.....whirrrrr.....purrrr.......Little dental Ordenta engines pillowing me to one feathery climax higher than the last. On little engines our loftiest (sleaziest) thoughts and wishes reach their express delivery potential ... love....
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Now I am in the bathroom with the Ordenta, chewing on its bristles, and somehow that feels erotic, too. Those sexy teeth. Chewing on the bristles ... how human that is, an animal urge ... always the fleshly attempt to convert the mechanical into the more beastly, eh?
Did I forget to mention how good the damn thing feels when applied to its RIGHTEOUS purpose? Indeed, it is the finest dental instrument I have seen. Like a good lover, the Ordenta is gentle yet insistent.
It's about ... what it all comes down to is this ... we can only appreciate anything in its truly finest, most elemental components, by chewing up its bristles — reducing it to its measliest bits.
Which will always be impossible.
We don't really want to know how things are constructed, we just want them to work. Examination is just a means to an end. What we want is the comfort of reliability — yes, damn it, we're cheap sluts — we'll even settle for the promise of comfort. Which is the tease that the electronic umbilical cord holds out to us, seemingly infinite. But we're a small planet, and our power supply only remains infinite as long as our ingenuity keeps up with new ways to harness it before it all runs out. If that should fail, then — COLLAPSE. Entropy. Orgasm. But isn't that inevitable? Things fall apart. Every story has an ending. The endless dance of constructo-destructo whirrrr. See, even the roots of those words: Constructo. Destructo. Tells you that since the Latin days, we haven't found a better way of saying it yet.
So what are we all waiting for this GODDAMNED DEMON, yes, ELECTRIC BEAST to deliver us from? What jaws of the inescapable unknown?
Demise. Now, techno-geeks were the first to eroticize machines. And as every geek knows, no matter how far your passion transports you, you must still remember to hit the "save" button so that all traces of your existence here today will not be lost. But is that all that matters? I think not. I like to think I exist in some component far beyond my electronic trace.
Whirrrrrrrr.....I love the motors and engines that go humming through my life. But when I am given one, as did this dentist mine (so kind, so kind), must I respect it, worship it? Put it only to its rightful use? But why? I'm a good consumer. I paid for it. Is it not mine? Do I not own it now? Did I not purchase the blasted thing with mine own seat? Mine own SWEAT, damn it? Is it not MINE yet?
Only as long as I pay the electric bill. Ownership is always conditional. And warranties always expire. No guarantee is infinite.
Still, the Ordenta is a lovely reminder that all of those nasty, painful trips to the dentist's chair couldn't have been so bad if he gave me such a nasty, delicious device!
The truth is that it's always you, baby. No matter what electronic dial, or device, or little comforting whirrrrrrr we can hook up in that elusive attempt to hang the goods somewhere else.
You are your own engine. This is what makes you respectable. Dangerous. Beautiful. Fiery.
Revel in your own glorious luminescence. And if that is enhanced for you by strapping on some device, you sure don't need my permission to go off and enjoy yourselves, OK?
That is what the little engines have taught me. Love is within. All the rest follows from that. Trust your own little internal engine. It's what keeps you ticking....
Love,
Bill
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Author's note: I wrote this story in 1997 for inclusion in an erotic anthology titled EROS EX MACHINA: Eroticizing the Mechanical (ed. M. Christian, Masquerade/Rhinoceros, 1-56333-593-X, March 1998), which was subsequently released in a somewhat altered form as SEX MACHINE (Venus Book Club, 0-7394-2356-X, 2002). Yes, I really did drop acid to write this. No animals or machines were harmed in the making of this work. Maybe some unnecessary brain cells.
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