Comix Experience: The Stuff

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Dear Forum...
May, 2001

I had the best of intentions with this one, I really did. It was my plan to craft something that would draw a parallel between speculator driven comics publications and bad pornography; namely, the absurdity resulting from the objectification and fetishization of the subject of desire.

What I got instead was the quasi-official title"Jeff, the Horny Fanboy" around the shop. I suppose I shouldn't even be surprised...

Fanboy Rampage
by Jeff Lester

As you’re probably aware, from time to time, I cover the feedback Fanboy Rampage gets and, as you’re probably just as aware, most of this feedback consists of silent indifference, chain letters forwarded by Stan Lee ("I rapaciously recommend you send twenty dollars to the person who forwarded this mystic missive to you, oh solvent one, then forward this letter to five other people. Those who have continued this chain not only get their investment returned fivefold, but have gone on to get their own Internet empire and the chance to recreate DC’s most famous icons. But those who have broken the chain—in some cases because they addressed the envelopes after one vodka gimlet too many (as if there could be such a thing!) and mailed a copy to themselves, but then decided not sending money to themselves would in no way renege on the chaotic clauses of the calamitous contract—have lost their own Internet empire, and had to crib Wonder Woman’s origin from the origin of Thor! By the demonic dens of Defaulta, don’t let this happen to you! Excelsior!"), frivolous lawsuits (a group calling itself "The Aquaman Anti-Defamation League" is suing me in small claims court), occasional notes from the one of the all-too-many Onomatopoeia subscribers serving time in a California penitentiary ("Dear Mr. Rampage: I wanted to wright and let you know that I two had a crush on Aquaman when I was young and so feel that you and I share a specail bond. Although I am currently incarcerated, I hope to be released fairely shortly and was wondering if we could get together soemtime and disscus this bond. Or, even better, move in together as I have nowere to go and it may take soem time for me to find a job that will not will vilate the conditions of my highly restrictive parole. Also, please give the inclosed order form to Brain."), and a flier for free confidential counseling. But recently I received a voicemail message that deeply touched me and that I wanted to share with you:

"Jeff Lester, I am wondering just what all this smut in the newsletter is. What is this about Halle Berry’s nipples and Kirsten Dunst’s pouting nether lips and jello shots and all this stuff? This is so out of control! Brian’s going to have to change the name to Obscenomatopoeia! Okay, talk to you later. Bye."

As I said, this touched me deeply and brought up what I consider to be a serious subject very close to my heart: smut. Obviously, there’s just not enough of it here in CEO, and, just as obviously, there’s a very great and vocal demand for it. And so in the interests of pleasing the loyal readership, I thought I would share with you a fragment from a letter I’ve been working on for the latest issue of Wizard Forum. As you know, Wizard Forum is the all-letters offspring of Wizard Magazine, in which readers can write and share true stories which run adjacent to pictures of vulpinary pin-ups rigorously photographed in the exact same manner; soft-focus, big hair, bad make-up, pearls, furs, veils and stockings set against the dilapidation of antediluvian architecture, as if the photographer could imagine nothing more erotically charged than growing up myopic in a Czechoslovakian bordello in the early 1970’s. It is my hope that you will find what follows truly worthy of such a magazine, to say nothing of the adjective smutty.

Dear Wizard Forum:

I always thought the letters in your magazine were made up but just recently something happened to me that I just had to write to you about.

I’m a mild-mannered word processor who lives in San Francisco. Recently, I found myself out at Baker Beach, a notorious "clothing-optional" beach, on a beautiful summer day (62 degrees!) and some time on my hands. Since I was alone and kinda bored, I thought I would take out my new copy of Wizard Forum and start reading it. I was a little embarrassed, but it was a clothing-optional beach and I figured that nobody would pay it any mind. People in San Francisco should be pretty blasé about that sort of thing, you’d think.

Anyway, I had just started to read a really hot story when I heard a giggle. I looked up and there was a stunning redhead, completely and staggeringly naked, grinning wickedly at me.

"Is that the latest Wizard Forum you’re reading?" She asked in a throaty purr.

"Oh, uh, this?" I stammered. "Well, you see…"

"I read that magazine all the time," she whispered, and then licked her lips. "I have a complete run."

I think I started to stammer some more—I guess I don’t have as much experience talking to naked women as I’d like—when she brushed sand from her pinkly tumescent areolas, and said, "I have a beach house up these cliffs. I have a… special place where I like to… peruse my collection." She licked her lips. "Would you like to see it?"

Suddenly the beach felt much hotter than 62 degrees. "Yes," I gulped, "I’d love to see your special place." Only after I said it, did I realize how it sounded. I blushed, but she only smiled more lasciviously. She took my hand and helped me stand.

As we walked up the pathway to her beach house, she told me that her name was Tiffany and that she was a flight attendant for a major airline. "I travel a lot," she told me, "which gives me a lot of chances to…. add to my collection." I couldn’t help but stare in awe of her nubile body as we walked. She seemed entirely comfortable being utterly nude in front of me. We came to the gate of her beach house (closer in size and style to a small Italian villa) and as she stepped forward to reach up and unlatch the gate, I was startled by the perfect near-valentine of her flawless ass. She looked over a tan shoulder at me and winked at me. "You’re really going to like my collection."

She led me inside the villa, up some stairs (squeezing my hand in anticipation) and into the expansive bedroom. Above a heart-shaped bed, bay windows revealed the vast expanse of the ocean, where waves rolled and thrashed orgiastically. "I want you to close your eyes," she said from behind me.

My entire body pulsed in anticipation. "Cover your eyes," she whispered. "I don’t want you to peek."

The tremor in voice was distinct. "I won’t."

"Good," she said. "Okay, stud, now slowly turn around."

I complied.

"Now, then," and here her husky voice seemed even huskier, as if it had slipped below the range of hearing and was merely felt, on the skin and in the blood. But even at that level, the sound of her sensual satisfaction could not be missed. "Open them."

I removed my shaking hands, opened my eyes, and gasped audibly. "Oh my God!"

She lay splayed out before me, open and inviting, quivering with desire, on top of six open long boxes. She threw back her head rapturously as I dropped to my knees before her.

"This," I whispered, "is a near-mint copy of Miracleman #24." I pushed her lovely ankle to one side. "This looks like the entire run of Miracleman!"

She winked at me. "Is that a….hot title?"

I looked up, my face flush. "God, yes! It’s like I’ve died and gone to Neil Gaiman’s basement!"

She ran her fingers carressingly up the sides of the long boxes. "I’ve got hundreds of… hot titles here, but they need someone who really knows… how to handle them."

The trembling in my hands diminished as my passion grew. Assertively, my hands stroked the slick covers of her comics. "You picked the right man," I sneered at her. "I’m going to organize this collection until you’re begging me to stop!"

And so on, and like that; I’m still working on it. As you can imagine with a story this hot, I really have to take frequent breaks and let my blood pressure get back to normal. But for those of you who think there’s too much tease and not enough hardcore action, I offer the following excerpts:

"Oh, yes, my titles!" She gasped. "Sort my hot titles!"

"Don’t worry," I whispered, pushing against her. "I’ve been bagged and boarded."

She sighed as the mylar slid over snugly. "This way," I told her, "you don’t have to worry about excess moisture."

I forced her down onto the bed. She looked at me dazedly. My lips brushed against her ear. "The steady pressure of the mattresses will work the creases out of the cover," I assured her.

"Please, don’t," she whimpered hotly as I cruelly ran my thumb along the length of the spine. "You’re going to downgrade the value!"

I slowly worked my finger into the small hole at the end of her long box. I could see Tiffany trying not to cry out. "Please be careful! I’ve never packed it this tight!"

Amber, Tiffany’s younger sister, looked down, blushing. "I just feel so ashamed," she told me. "I’m not like my sister. All I have is a short box!"

"Now, now," I whispered, and put my hand on the smoldering heat of her shoulder. "A short box is just as sexy to the seasoned collector. In fact, " I whispered, "maybe even more so, if you think your titles are hot enough."

Amber looked up at me with naked desire. "They are!" She said fiercely. "My titles are so hot! Look at them! Look at them!"

Dear Forum... May, 2001

Dear Forum...
May, 2001