Inner Lives

Riffle found some rather surprising similarities between O’Reilly’s alleged phone porn and a hot and steamy shower scene in his hot and steamy novel:

Here are some snippets of O’Reilly’s [alleged] phone sex technique from the (real) lawsuit

O’Reilly: Well, if I took you down there I’d want to take a shower with you right away, that would be the first thing Id do… yeah, we’d check into the room, and we would order some room service and uh [….]

You would basically be in the shower and then I would come in and I’d join you and you would have your back to me and I would take that little loofa thing and kinda’ soap up your back.. rub it all over you, get you to relax, hot water [….]

[….] and then with my other hand I would start to massage your boobs, get your nipples really hard … ‘cuz I like that and you have really spectacular boobs….

So anyway I’d be rubbing your big boobs and getting your nipples really hard, kinda kissing your neck from behind ….

And here’s a bit from O’Reilly’s novel, Those Who Trespass:

The spray felt great against her skin as she ducked her head underneath the nozzle. Closing her eyes she concentrated on the tingling sensation of water flowing against her body. Suddenly another sensation entered, Ashley felt two large hands wrap themselves around her breasts and hot breathe on the back of her neck. She opened her eyes wide and giggled, “I thought you drowned out there snorkel man.”

Tommy O’Malley was naked and at attention. “Drowning is not an option”, he said, “unless of course you beg me to perform unnatural acts – right here in this shower.”

Who knew that Big Bill was so obsessed with erotic fantasy? (And, furthermore, who ever wanted to?)

Speaking of bodice ripping soft core fiction, considering the events of today, perhaps it’s time to revisit Lynne Cheney’s 1981 paeon to the love that dare not speak its name:

The women who embraced in the wagon were Adam and Eve crossing a dark cathedral stage — no, Eve and Eve, loving one another as they would not be able to once they ate of the fruit and knew themselves as they truly were. She felt curiously moved, curiously envious of them. She had never to this moment thought Eden a particularly attractive paradise, based as it was on naiveté, but she saw that the women in the cart had a passionate, loving intimacy forever closed to her. How strong it made them. What comfort it gave.

The young woman was heavily powdered, but quite attractive, a curvesome creature, rounded at bosom and cheek. When she smiled, even her teeth seemed puffed and rounded, like tiny ivory pillows.

Let us go away together, away from the anger and imperatives of men. We shall find ourselves a secluded bower where they dare not venture. There will be only the two of us, and we shall linger through long afternoons of sweet retirement. In the evenings I shall read to you while you work your cross-stitch in the firelight. And then we shall go to bed, our bed, my dearest girl.

You can understand why a younger, lubricious Lynne would have fantasized about getting away from the “anger and imperatives of men” and write adolescent novels about lovely young women. She was, after all, married to Dick Cheney. Sadly, she seems to have lost that adventurous turn of mind and decided to become an angry hypocrite instead. Too bad. She might have been worth knowing once.