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1:10 p.m. - August 19, 2003
On newstands: Jason's Smut
If you recall, I'm an official pornographer or at least official, published writer of erotica. You know, smut stories. Correction: One smut story, but when talking about morals and integrity and overall qualities of upstandingness, a solo jaunt into the underworld isn't a blemish, it's pizza-face acne.

Well, I received the magazine today and this being the third time I've held a gay naked-men magazine in my hands (the first time a quick flip-through to confirm suspicion and when my body responded and my cheeks blazed, I feared discovery and so put it out of mind; the second is classical Jason and maybe I'll write about that soon), I was surprised by how . . . (non)trashy yet (very)trashy it is. And I flipped to my story and there it is under the most ridiculous byline, pseudonym, nom de plume (more like nom de shame), is my story with a huge graphic.

Indelible. On newstands (do they sell gay smut on newstands? Of course they do; I remember stealing glances at the porno corner of Tower Records on Queen Anne in Seattle even during college) and in brown wrapping, my smut has gone national. I'm half-embarrassed, half-tickled, and my savings account is thankful for the smut tastes of America. I think I'll write another one later on.

I'm looking at it right now on my desk and it is an utterly foreign paperweight.


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