For our Sundae Matinee this morning, Dorothy and I presented our eighth Amsterdam-style live act of the Summer Series 2007. In 84 degree weather, in the living room, under the skylight, with the fireplace ablaze behind us, Mother and I cavorted in the slippery sweaty nude on the antique circular bed, while 7 couples and two unattached girls huddled close to watch a 47 year old man service his undyingly glamorous 69 year old mother with the love, ardor, devotion and artistry worthy of the best in professional ballet.

Mother wore her own mother's diamond pendant earrings -- the so symbollic ones she wore when first we fucked 13 years ago on her birthday. She wore a diamond choker, a silver bellychain, gaudy rings on six fingers, silver forearm bracelets, silver ankle bells, and "Eau de Pew", my favorite scent: her own patina of sweat. Mother's thick boufant hair was gathered up "for business", up from the neck, swirled and piled high, shining newly tinted goth black. Her nails -- fingers and toes - were flame red to match her Loreal Infallible lustrous lips, the same smear-resistent product lavishly applied and glistening along the plumpy fillet edges of her labia minora and decorating the clustered pearl-like tissues circling the mouth of her vagina.

The effect was that of a regal earth goddess who had surfaced from another time, a nether land. Dorothy, the Drama Queen, was a cross between "Demeter", the Mother Archetype, and "Aphrodite", The goddess of love and beauty, the creative one. And, of course, my beautiful and vain mother was more. She was the juicy Crone, as if Jocasta, the sinful mother of Greek mythology who sexed with her son Oedipus and produced two sons and two daughters via oedipal sperm, had been reincarnated in Coalinga, California as Dororthy Lucille Steward, and had charted her life to perpetuate and transform the ancient crime of incest into a life-affirming pagaent of sexual ecstacy and entitlement. Dorothy, dear Fans, is that dramatic, that into it, and that convincing.

Her son was the anti-peacock. I came to her as naked and unadorned as the moment I was born. And in my summer performance mode, my genitals bore no sign of ever having experienced puberty -- hairwise, that is.

Our act lasts about twenty minutes. It is choreagraphed, designed, and rehearsed to satisfy and satiate our guests, the attending voyeurs', every imaginable sweetly wholesome and lewd spectacle, and deeply taboo nasty expectation they might harbor within them, and then to reinforce it, leaving them primed for more. To a Celine Dionne soundtrack, Mother and I move through an erotic gamut of postitions. Mother is always arranged as the hotpoint focus -- I am her stud, her aging boytoy who never has EFD, never loses his hardon, or his hardwired desire to sex his Creatrix, or his sustainable resources of semen to splatter through her sweet maternal innards. To love her up and fuck her and love her up some more, until the dear woman collapses in a puddle of her own spent emotions and fluids -- her gasping admirers spellbound. That is what we are all about, dear Fans.

My Zodiac Aquarius in this month's in "Vanity Fair" magazine: "When Saturn occupies an exalted position in your solar horoscope, as it is doing now, you can expect to come face-to-face with your shadow personality -- the individual who perfectly mirrors all your desires. The irony: it's usually the one person you can never possess". Ah, but once again my star-crossed Mother and I are the odds-breakers, the outlaws. Once again we defy the rules, we follow our true natures, and we make delicious bliss-bombs go off in our throbbing hearts and sticky-glue wedded sex organs. All this we do to the applause of our believing supporters, our Fans..  

Bobby Liles