Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz worked as a writer for porn for one year, after it became the only job she could land after she graduated from NYU. Her family's annual Holiday Newsletter had to be very carefully worded that year, but at least she got a book out of it: HOT TEEN SLUT, which is being re-issued by Write Bloody Publishing in Spring / Summer 2010. For more information on Cristin and the non-porn related writing she has since published, please visit her website at: www.aptowicz.com.
Three Poems (Issue 15.)
Three Poems (Issue 7.)
Three Poems (March 20, 2010. Issue 15. The DirtyDirty.)
Sass Manifesto
My pussy is tired of being wet.
I’m not talking the physical state,
people, believe me.
No, I’m talking about the slang word: wet.
How come men get all the cool words
for sexual arousal like:
Hard and Erect
and Rarin’ to ‘Splode.
And all we woman get is
wet
something which happens
to dogs and umbrellas.
And oh, what is this magical substance
causing us to get wet is called?
Oh that’s right, it’s called our
wetness.
How original. We are made wet
by our wetness.
When I first started working as a porn writer,
I thought I would encounter different
and far sexier terms for women use
than wet, but no! Everything’s wet!
And the synonyms I found for wetness
were even worse, if you can imagine,
than wetness. I am talking about
pussy juice, pussy sauce,
vaginal drippings,
and I kid you not,
feminine mucus.
But then I realized,
it’s not porn’s fault.
Because porn is like an 8-year-old boy,
and you’ll have to follow me on this one,
it just calls things what it’s heard
other people call them.
And that’s when I knew
it was up to me, up to me
to change the world,
or at least how the world refers
to things that come out of my pussy.
So I have done it here, people!
I have created a new female empowerment word
for “feminine wetness.”
And I’m doing my part.
I’m putting it in every porn story I write,
in every forum I monitor and
in every chatroom I’m forced to go into,
But it is not enough.
I need this to be a grassroots effort!
So, the next time you are making love to your lady,
or if you are a lady being made love to,
I need you to start using my new female empowerment word
for feminine wetness.
And that word is…
Sass.
That’s right.
Sass.
It’s a noun:
Lick my sass.
It’s a verb:
I’m getting all sassed up.
And it’s an adjective:
Is it me, or does empowering yourself
through vocabulary get you all sassy?
It’s short! It’s sweet!
It sounds great when grunted!
It’s empowering for women to use,
and easy to remember for guys,
because, come on guys,
it’s only two letters!
And also it rhymes with ass.
And I know that some people
think it’s silly to name something
as frivolous as sass,
but I don’t think women
are claiming their sexualities enough.
Men could fill up thesauruses
with nicknames for their balls,
but we, women, don’t even have
decent slang for our clits,
perhaps the most powerful organ
in the entire universe!
But if we are going to start anywhere,
let’s start where all good things start:
with a lot of sass.
Are you with me here, People?
Are you ready to bring
this sassifric revolution
to its feet?
Because I want every girl in America
Proud of her pussy.
Every man in America
know the name of what
he’s licking.
Every person in America
remember our motto:
If you want to make love
with pride and class,
remember it’s not wet anymore,
it’s sass!
Orgasm Haikus
oooh ahhh ooohh ahhh oooh
yes yes that’s right right there
oh oh oh oh aaaaah
don’t stop fucking me
with that big black cock of yours
sweet lord jesus yes
you like this you like
this oh baby I’m ready
I’m ready ooooh fuck
yes yes yes yes yes
oh yes yes yes yes yes yes
oh oh yes fuck shit
take it take it oh
man oh shit man watch out I’m
gonna fucking pop
here it comes here it
comes I’m ready oooooh oh um
aahh here it comes. squeak!
oh oh oh hell no
come on hit it hit that thing
oh fuck man. Mother!!
Ass Sex Sestina
A Pop-Up Ad Found Poem
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Table of Contents
Three Poems (July 20, 2009. Issue 7.)
Heavy Petting Zoo
You appeared like a dove,
then strutted like a peacock.
You preened like a panther,
but then pleaded like a puppy.
Turns out, you fucked like a stallion,
latching on tight as leeches.
But after, you turned like a tomcat,
and ran like thoroughbred.
Stuck to your pride like a lion,
your heart: a murder of crows.
You just disappeared: a giant squid,
like I wasn’t even sure you really existed.
Me? I feel dumb as a long-eared donkey.
Me? I’m an elephant. I can’t forget.
Crack Squirrels (first featured on the Indiefeed Performance Poetry podcast)
In the mid-1980s, New York City had a serious problem
and that problem was Crack Squirrels.
Crack Squirrels! the newspaper headlines read.
Crack Squirrels! The local news anchors intoned.
Crack Squirrels! Crack Squirrels!
In the mid-1980s, the Northern part of Central Park
had become infested with Crack Squirrels.
Wild-eyed, craven-mouthed, mad Crack Squirrels.
Jonesing, addicted, twitching Crack Squirrels.
Crack Squirrels who’d do anything for their next fix.
Crack Squirrels! How did this happen? The citizens
of New York City asked after hearing of joggers
being attacked, of bloody scratched up school children,
shaky home video footage of the swarming Crack Squirrels.
Who got these squirrels so addicted to crack!?
In the mid-1980s, the crack epidemic hit New York City hard.
The newly minted-addicts took their rocks to Central Park
to hit their high. When they were done, they left their trash
behind: crack vials, dosed aluminum foil, discarded pipes.
While scavenging for food, the jovial, fat and stupid squirrels
of Central Park – who had been, up to this point, straight-edge
vegans! – got curious and began sniffling the empty vials,
licking the pipes and foil, and they liked it. They liked it a lot.
They liked it too much. They became Crack Squirrels.
Crack squirrels, the police officers said, are becoming
a problem. The tourists don’t know any better. The injuries
are no joke. Squirrels can cause some serious damage,
especially Crack Squirrels.
We need to detox these squirrels! said the animal rights
activists. We need to sedate squirrels and bring them
to a crack-free environment!
No, what we need to do is kill these damn squirrels,
said the republicans. The last things the taxpayers
should be doing is paying for Crack Squirrels to go
to rehab. What we need to do is poison them.
Poison them with what, crack? said the cynics.
Hey, what if a hawk ate a crack squirrel,
said the paranoid hippies. Would it become
a crack hawk? Because that would be a bad scene, man.
No, look, said the zoologists. Squirrels can’t survive
on crack alone. These squirrels aren’t eating, they are
barely drinking, they are spending their days attacking
people for crack. These animals aren’t long for this world.
What everyone should be focused on is how to get humans
to stop taking crack, and once we’ve figured that out,
the squirrel problem will take care of itself.
Wait, wait, wait, what if a coyote eats a crack hawk,
asked the stoner college kids, would it become a crack coyote?
Seriously, I’ve heard there are coyotes like in the ramble,
and imagine if those coyotes become crack coyotes.
I would carry like a whole bunch of crack on me at all times,
and if a crack coyote would come after me, I’d toss the crack
in one direction, and run in the others, and I’d be like,
“Fooled your Crack Coyote!”And I’d be alive.
Nah man, said his stoner friend. I’d carry the carcass
of a crack hawk with me everywhere, because I don’t think
the crack coyote would even know what crack is, right?
Think about it.
Yeah well, said the stoner college kid, Good luck trying
to hunt and kill a crack hawk. Cause, if that’s your plan,
man, if that’s your solution to this whole thing,
That’s the dumbest fucking plan I’ve ever heard.
I’m serious. The dumbest.
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