The Poets Speak Loud open mic series continues at McGeary’s in downtown Albany on Monday, November 28, with featured reader Robb Smith.
Robb Smith is a writer. Now in his late 70s, he’s concentrating on fiction. His book Granny Porn, from which he’ll be reading, is a light-hearted, romantic mystery thriller set among the elderly in a retirement village. Robb is the author of more than a dozen published books on photography and co-author with Jwala of Sacred Sex: Ecstatic Techniques for Empowering Relationships, a handbook for tantric practice. He’s a non-theist, humanist pagan, which has influenced his science fiction novel in progress, The Kundalini Apocalypse, to be published next year. Meanwhile, he’s looking forward to publishing another novel, Tara’s Demon, in the next couple of months.
The Granny Porn Clips
These clips are from the novel Granny Porn, a light-hearted novel of mystery, romance, suspense, and much that elders never share with their grandchildren.
Clip 1: Going down on a memory
“Oh God,” Trudy mumbled, as she tried unsuccessfully to stop the cringe-inducing memory from coming back. She and Gerta had both been drunk enough to experiment, but that was okay. Gerta was sexy 50 years ago–big, loud and attractive.
It was that damned yeast infection of mine, she thought, and she felt an uncomfortable flush of shame flash over her face.
Trudy vividly recalled going down on Gerta first, licking her pussy until Gerta orgasmed, which thankfully didn’t take long. She remembered now that Gerta always did that easily. She claimed to have had an orgasm once while sitting in a concert listening to Ravi Shankar play the Sitar.
Trudy felt a pang of jealousy.
Then it was Gerta’s turn to go down on her. What was it Gerta said? Oh, “Damn little sister, you stink. You need a wash before I’ll go down on you.”
Oh God. Well, I’m clean now, for the nothing that’s worth. A clean old lady in the kingdom of the incontinent.
Clip 2: Old friends drink down the sun
“We were good friends once, weren’t we, Trudy,” Gerta asked?
“We were, but it was more than half a century ago, living across the hall from one another in married graduate student housing. It doesn’t feel so long ago.”
Trudy took a sip of whiskey and let her eyes rest on Gerta’s face. “I always meant to ask you, Gert, did you sleep with my husband?”
Gerta’s eyes went wide. “How could you ask such a thing?”
“Because I think you did. Your husband, Jim that was his name, Jim told me you did and that I should sleep with him for revenge.”
“No, he can’t have known,” said Gerta, the shock evident on her face. “He was out on that damned boat of his diving on some wreck in Long Island Sound. How could he ….”
“Got you, you hussy. You did sleep with my husband. Well, he slept around. So did I. A marriage made to melt away like ice cubes in whiskey.”
“Wait, did you sleep with my Jim?” Gerta asked.
“Of course not,” said Trudy. “You were always complaining about his snoring. Why would I want to sleep with him? We just had sex. And for the record, I understand why you left him. He was really lousy in bed. Just huff, puff and cum. No head for me. Nothing. Once was enough. How about you with my man?”
“Not bad. You trained him, didn’t you Trudy?”
Trudy gave her Mona Lisa smile and said nothing, took another sip of corn whiskey.
“Okay, I’ll admit your guy and I did it a few times, but I don’t see how Jim knew.”
“The time your husband and I had sex? You were across the hall doing it with my husband.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, Trudy. I had no idea.”
Trudy held her whiskey glass up to the dying light and contemplated the rich color. “It did kind of break up our friendship. I guess my revenge was never telling you why.”
Gerta took a slow sip of her whiskey. “How delightfully passive aggressive of you, my dear,” she said
Clip 3: Helping out the old folks
Sally put her spy cam pen where it could record a wide view of the room.
“ACTORS,” Eddie shouted, and Drooling John came out of the bathroom with Georgia on his arm. John was dressed as before, lace shirt with a black bow-tie and no pants. The girls who looked closely might have noticed that “Big Harold,” his long limp noodle of a penis, was a little thicker than usual. But it was 87-year-old Georgia who had undergone the real transformation. She wore a flowing kimono, a long, blond wig with black hair tips, long black stockings, a Victoria’s Secret strappy garter belt, and a stole made of black feathers.
There was lots of whistling and cheering.
“All right now, calm down,” Eddie shouted. “Georgia, you want to explain what’s going to happen here?”
“John here had a stroke, lost his prostate years ago, has diabetes, but he’s still needing sex. He just can’t get it up. I remember him when he was young, and whoo-whee, he sure did know how to use that humongous dick of his. He was a big star in his day. Now, the poor guy needs to get his ashes hauled in the worst way. He’s been begging me to help him ever since I got here.”
Anna, dressed in black leather strapping and a red-velvet jacket, added, “Men still want oldies like me and even older than old like my beautiful Georgia. Can’t help because it’s in the blood. We women got an aura, pulls them in like magnets”
Poets Speak Loud is Albany Poets’ long-running monthly open mic for poetry and spoken word with a featured poet hosted by local poet Mary Panza at McGeary’s (4 Clinton Square) in downtown Albany on the last Monday of each and every month.
Sign-up for the open mic is 7:00pm, we start around 8pm.
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