I’ve tried reading porn on my computer, but getting hot and bothered in my desk chair is not conducive to maintaining the leather.   Besides, most of the internet porn I was reading wasn’t that good.  I decided I needed something more portable.  Conveniently enough, I discovered “Under the Roofs of Paris” by Henry Miller.  Part of the reason I like Henry Miller is his reputation.  In the 30’s and 40’s  his books were banned and deemed obscene.  He was a literary rebel.  He also used words like cunt and cock and whore, sandwiched between some multi-syllabolic SAT words.

I was taking  a short trip from LA to Denver and didn’t want to dive into a novel.  As I perused Barnes and Nobles, I saw a collection of Henry Miller short stories and thought it might be a perfect way to pass the time at 32,000 feet.    I had no idea what was to be found inside.

I had a middle seat, but it was at the bulk head so it wasn’t too bad.  To my right was a businessman, (not cute) and to my left, a nun.  She was wearing a full habit and smiled at me when I squeezed into my seat.  I get a little motion sickness so I decided to wait until the “fasten seatbelt” light went off before diving into my book.

The first short story was about a whore watching a father inappropriately touch his young daughter.  Incest, child pornography and an illegal (in most states) profession, all before Page 3.   The fact that I was sitting next to a nun didn’t help, and I kept wondering if she was reading over my shoulder.  I was curious about how much more depraved Henry could get.  Turns out, a lot.

Now I have no desire to fuck a midget (little person) or have a drunk Frenchman piss up my ass, but there was some good fucking in between the lines.   And that’s what I focused on.  So it should be a shocker that I was getting turned on.  I looked to my left, and the nun smiled at me.   I blushed.  Yes, Lynn blushes sometimes.  But the immortality started to get to me and after a few more pages, I had to put it back in my bag. I promised myself I’d never read it again.

Some promises are meant to be broken.  Since then, “Under The Roof’s of Paris” has been my go to porn book for around 10 years, hidden in the back of my nightstand.  When I tell people I masturbate reading Henry Miller, they think I’m cool.  Obviously they haven’t actually read much Henry Miller.

Moral of the story, after writing this post, I think I need some new late night reading material….