Giggling Into the Pillow Read online

  GIGGLING INTO THE PILLOW

  By Chris Bridges

  Much of the contents herein previously appeared, in various forms, on HootIsland.com, CleanSheets.com, and Erotic-Readers.com.

  “Chapter and Perverse” previously appeared in “From Porn to Poetry: Clean Sheets Celebrates the Erotic Mind,” Samba Mountain Press, 2001.

  “Are You and Your Genitals Sexually Compatible?” originally appeared in the August 2000 issue of Xtreme Magazine.

  Survey questions used in “Hey Kids, Sex Survey!” reprinted from The New Good Vibrations Guide to Sex by Anne Semans and Cathy Winks, copyright 2002, with permission of Cleis Press.

  Cover illustrations by Chris Bridges

  Copyright 1999-2007 Chris Bridges. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 543 Howard Street, 5th Floor, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.

  PRAISE FOR “GIGGLING INTO THE PILLOW,” ACQUIRED WITH HARDLY ANY BEGGING AT ALL

  “Finally--a book about sex that's funny on purpose. Chris Bridges' twisted take on erotica, sex surveys, and sexual self-help is a hoot!”

  -- Cathy Winks, co-author of The New Good Vibrations Guide to Sex

  “There's just one word for Chris Bridges's work: brilliant … no, 'fantastic' is better… well, not that either, how about 'incredible' … not quite there, how about 'genius' … no, not quite enough … what about 'delicious? ' … nah, too fattening … Wonderful? Great? Elegant? Beautiful? Just read the book and see how erotic writing should be done and pick your own word.”

  -- M. Christian, author of Speaking Parts: Provocative Lesbian Erotica

  “Giggling Into the Pillow is... not only a particularly funny collection of stories, parodies, and articles about sex but is also the most honest erotica I've read.”

  -- Jason Toney, ScarletLetters.com

  “An excellent book which will allow you to use the phrase 'Rabelaisian wit' in casual conversation.”

  -- Phil Foglio, xXxenophile, Girl Genius

  “...Chris Bridges' book, Giggling into the Pillow, isn't a short story collection or a novel. It isn't intelligent discourse via nonfiction. It's more like what you'd get if Mad magazine was published by a nudist colony headed by Mel Brooks.”

  -- Debra Hyde, PursedLips.com

  “Let him put a smile on your face, and on your lover's too - nothing says, “I love you,” like a giggle.”

  -- Erotica Readers and Writers Association

  “In Monty-Python-meets-Deep-Throat style, Chris Bridges strings a series of sexual non sequiturs together to create “Giggling into the Pillow.” In it, what ought to make us squirm makes us laugh, and what ought to turn us on, well, makes us laugh. As strange as the tales are, they're closer to reality than standard erotic fare. I'll take Chris's reality any day.”

  -- Sage Vivant, customeroticasource.com

  “Don't let any of your right-wing acquaintances see this book: they might get the idea that sex is supposed to be fun, and God only knows what would happen then. This book sucks! (And if you think that's an insult, you really need to read the book.)”

  --Hanne Blank, author of Shameless: Women's Best Erotica

  For Teresa, because everything is for Teresa, just not everybody knows it yet.

  My ex-girlfriend was very sexy. She reminded me of the Sphinx because she was very mysterious and eternal and solid and her nose was shot off by French soldiers.

  —Emo Philips

  Table of Contents

  Forward

  Introduction: What the fu…

  Found: One Dildo

  Are You Sexy Enough?

  How Was Your Service?

  An Unsigned Love Letter Stuffed in a Locker

  Make Mine Vanilla

  Self-Paced Course

  ASK MISS DILDO

  Sex in the Suburbs

  Valentine’s For One

  Sex au Jus

  How to Bag a Supermodel

  POV

  Chapter and Perverse

  Jim Jackson, Clitoris Hunter

  MOOP BEEP BEEP, My Baby

  6 Nights of CRRRRRRAPPY Sex

  Do You Want to Play “Questions?”

  Happy Fucking Easter

  Are You and Your Genitals Sexually Compatible?

  Truth in Seduction

  Gender Bending

  You May Now Kiss the Brides

  Motel Fun, or Norman Bates Was Just Getting Started

  Take the Bukkake Challenge!

  Stop Saying “Sucks”

  Boutique Encounter, or Why I Hate Writing in Second Person

  The Perils of Being a Sex Writer

  A Tall Tail

  World’s Greatest Gang Bang IV

  MY PENIS IS…

  Guess Your Fetish

  Porn Drinking Game

  All We Want for Christmas Is…

  Hey Kids! Sex Survey!

  My New Year's Resolutions

  What It Was, Was Porno

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  About this edition

  This e-book is being offered for free, gratis, no-charge, for a couple of reasons. First, because I like free stuff and I’m guessing other people do, too. Second, because I’m hoping that people will read my stories for free and like them enough to pay cash money for print versions for themselves or to inflict upon hapless friends and family. If you’re interested, and you know you are, search for “Giggling Into the Pillow” at amazon.com or barnesandnoble.com and pick up a few copies. Thanks!

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  Acknowledgements

  No book is written by just one person, no matter how much everyone else involved wants to forget it ever happened. Besides, I need to get my accusations in early in order to establish my future legal position, so I’d like to publicly thank the following people:

  The visitors and virtual residents of HootIsland.com, for humoring me by coming back, week after week and year after year, to see just what silly shit I’m up to this time.

  Heather Corinna, for friendship, constant encouragement, great websites, and nekkid pictures (which were pretty damn encouraging all by themselves).

  Jane and Jim, Todd and Debbie, Anne and Cathy, Jen and Dave, and the incredible Asia Carrera, for helping Hoot Island get on the map way back when, and for being pretty cool URLfriends besides.

  The good people of the Erotica-Readers.com listserv for catching many of my bonehead mistakes and literary felonies before they got out and hurt innocent people.

  The fun-loving folks at CleanSheets.com, for putting up with my amateur editoring for a year.

  Hanne Blank, Spider Robinson, Phil Foglio, Robert B. Parker, Jennifer Crusie, John Varley, Christopher Moore, Brian Michael Bendis, William Goldman, Kevin Smith, Terry Moore, and many other people I’ve never met, for writing things I couldn’t stop reading and thus helping me avoid actually writing anything myself.

  Dave, Shasta, Dan, and other unnamed friends, for unconditional support and for selflessly sacrificing their own diets to make sure I didn’t accidentally eat too much Chinese food by myself.

  And, always, Teresa, Tony, and Jamie, for being Teresa, Tony, and Jamie.

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  Foreword by Heather Corinna

  Apparently, there are some folks out there who don’t think sex is very funny.

  Some think sex must at all times be serious, treated with the sort of forced silence of Mass on Sunday, or dinner at your grandmother’s house with the relatives. Others feel that laughing during or about sex means something is terribly wrong; that a penis is too small, a bottom too c
urvaceous. Others still cannot trust even a smile, mistaking it for a mocking grin, an untold secret, or perhaps a case of gas.

  Thankfully, for all of us, Chris Bridges isn’t one of those people. Like the Chink in Robbins’ Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, his mantra is simple and to the point: “Ha ha ho ho and hee hee.” It may sound somewhat unfamiliar at first, but we know we’ve heard it somewhere before. And we really need to hear it again. Thankfully, we have people like Chris out there who realize that all of our anatomy—including our funny bones—can be sexual organs; that realize that what happens when we laugh and what happens when we orgasm, are pretty damned similar and when combined can be a fabulous uproar.And if sex isn’t a fabulous uproar,why bother? Our sex lives should be a roll in the park on a sunny day, not an obligational hour spent on a creaky treadmill.

  If we are made nervous by a partner laughing or grinning, if we cannot possibly find sex or our sexual selves funny (unless we’re a character in an Anne Rice novel—then we may be excused), if we can’t find the comedy in sex itself, if we don’t recognize that an earnest smile, laugh, giggle or guffaw from a partner is one of the best responses we could hope for, then somewhere along the line, we simply must have forgotten that sex is supposed to be joyful. And if that is the case, as a culture, we are sexually ill.

  If there is a doctor suited to help us with this malady, the best one I know of is Chris Bridges. Chris’ humor is accessible—neither highbrow nor lowbrow—it is simply real, sincere and not at all forced. It, in fact, comes as naturally to him as breathing—something the rest of us may have trouble doing while reading his work. It isn’t at anyone’s expense, and is grounded in daily life, in sexual politics, in personal history and in a spirit of elation with a few giddy hits of nitrous oxide tossed in for good measure. You can adjust your dosage accordingly: read a few passages one day, a few more the next, or, for serious emergencies, take it all in at once until your sides hurt and you feel the insistent need to make a Jabba the Hut costume just so you can show your partner what he really would have done to Leia if he had the chance.

  Laughter is powerful and essential. Laughter can shake shame senseless, can remind us of our humanity, can force us to be as real as we are, it can refresh intimacy, it can transform our sex lives: hey, this is no laughing matter—the stuff is serious medicine. And there is, in Chris Bridges, a doctor in the house.

  At least, that’s why I think he walks around in that white coat.

  Heather Corinna is the founder of ScarletLetters.com and Scarleteen.com, and is one of the most foreword people I know.

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  2009 Introduction to the Introduction: Where the fu…

  Once upon a time, I had an adult website. It was called HootIsland.com, named after an especially odd construct built in the original Commodore 64 version of Sim City.

  It was unlike most other adult websites I saw, which is why I did it. Hoot Island was based on the groundbreaking principle that sex was funny and fun, and that women were people. Oddly, even many of the adult websites run by women had problems with this simple attitude.

  The motto and mission statement was “Silly sex, for silly people,” and I held tightly to that vision for 10 years. I posted cartoons and reviews and stories and poems and songs and lots and lots of pictures. And those pictures had a single restriction: the people in them, naked though they may be, had to be visibly enjoying themselves. Not the fake, the-photographer-told-them-to-look-sexy-and-now-they-look-like-they-have-sort-some-of-severe-gastrointestinal-disorder kind of enjoyment, but sincerely smiling and laughing and having a good time.

  Unsurprisingly (to me, anyway) this caught on. I had a lot of fun with Hoot Island, venting and being silly and getting to look at lots of nekkid pictures as a hobby. A hobby that more or less paid for itself, even. I met lots of wonderful people who also believed sex was fun. I got to interview porn stars, go to awards shows, and review odd little rubber devices I got in the mail. Who says America isn’t the land of opportunity?

  But finally I let the site wind down. Life intervened. Different interests bickered for my attention. Searching out more smiling nekkid wimmen was becoming a chore (I know!). And sites like Fleshbot.com were covering the silly sex news much more thoroughly than I was. Also, hosting an adult site is expensive, and with the not-a-recession going on, well… Hoot Island settled down to a simmer, the stories got moved to hootisland.livejournal.com, and I went about my life.

  Only…

  I like writing silly smut. I miss it. And I’m still not seeing enough of it about. So I’m bringing “Giggling” back out to play, and bringing HootIsland.com back to host more stories, and working on another collection to be published soon called “Yodeling Into the Gulley.” Look for it!

  Oh, and here’s what I wrote last time:

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  Introduction: What the fu…

  If sex isn’t a joke, what is? –Nella Larson

  The unrelenting pressure has been building, building, and you feel as if you’ll die if you don’t find release and soon. Your stomach muscles crunch, your thighs lock, your jaw is clenched like a weight lifter with previously-unsuspected dysentery and still you can feel the sensation coming, as uncontrollable and unstoppable as a tidal wave. You suck in air to tighten your control but you might as well use one of those little paper drink umbrellas to hold back the sea, because the release is far beyond any hope of containment and it sucks you over the edge like an electrical rip tide into a gut-wrenching…

  Orgasm? Laughing fit? They share a lot in common, these things, and not just because you can receive either one from watching your lover naked. Both laughter and sexual climax release you from tension, often explosively, and anything that can ease your tension and is legal besides is a Good Thing. Both experiences can be achieved alone or in company, both can make you cry out, and both can result in you suddenly needing a dry change of clothes. One of them is slightly less scandalous in public (depending on the situation), the other more polite at orgies (depending on the orgy), but I’d never turn down either one. If you can manage to experience both simultaneously, at least once in your lifetime, you’ll be sure that God likes you best. If you survive.

  This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you all about how important laughter is to a healthy human and a healthy sex life, how it can improve your health and your life and your gas mileage and your relationships with friends and lovers and public health officials, and why it is vitally important to be able to laugh at everything in life. I believe I’m also expected to quote Desmond Morris and Susie Bright and Freud and Masters & Johnson and The Discovery Channel and Animal Planet and whomever the hot evolutionary theorists are these days, but I’d just be cutting and pasting a lot of stuff that you’d just have to skip over so let’s just assume that I’ve said something terribly wise regarding humor and sex that justifies your buying this book (“See? It’s not pornography, it’s social science!”) and we’ll just skip to the smut.

  Most of what you’re about to read came from my work on HootIsland.com, a website I began in 1996 as, essentially, a very public filing cabinet (or trash can, depending on your opinion of my work). It hasn’t fundamentally changed since then, although it has gotten a lot bigger. Hoot Island’s motto is “silly sex, for silly people” and I’m proud to say that we’ve never once wavered from that lofty goal. And I’ve met an awful lot of awfully silly people, who do a fair bit of wavering themselves.

  These are the sorts of things that they like, the freaks.

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  FOUND: One Dildo

  There was a dildo in the middle of the road.

  I drove over it and about 300 feet past it before it fully registered, and by then I was far enough along that turning around to investigate seemed silly. All I had was a faint mental snapshot of pink skin in a familiar-looking shape. Nahhh, couldn't be.

  I pulled into the driveway and hauled the groceries into the hous
e where Teres was waiting, reasonably patiently. “Hey babe,” I said. “There's a penis in the road.”

  “I know,” she said, still watching television. “I ran over it an hour ago when I dropped the kids off.”

  “Not interested?”

  “Nah. There's plenty more around if I need one. You?”

  “No, I'm good. Not the sort of thing I'd expect to find around here, though.” I dumped the bags on the kitchen counter and started rooting through them. It was true. We lived at the end of a dirt road in the sticks. Ten minutes drive brought us all the pleasures of the city, mostly in the form of restaurants and bookstores, but as soon as your car turned onto our area you were in deep, deep woods. Upon seeing it, your first impression would be that some drunken partier had somehow gotten hold of a bulldozer and had taken it upon him- or herself to make a neighborhood, stopping every few blocks to shoot up. The few houses along the thin, twisty, muddy roads were huddled together where the builders flang them, like big square mushrooms. Our own house was at the end of a minor cul-de-sac that we were pretty sure was going to cause the county problems if and when they finally got around to paving our roads.