Ditto Head , by J.D. Coltrane
copyright 2001

Away in another time and another place, the clock struck 1:00 a.m. on the west coast of America. Over a private frequency, a very private pay-per-listen  frequency processed and relayed by an unlisted satellite, came the sound of a snare drum striking a hard downbeat just as a thumping bass began a slow, banging riff. A guitar joined them and they beat out an anthem anticipated and hungered for by millions of listeners, all of them sitting beside their bedroom radios, all of them smiling and tingling in unspoken glee.

Exactly twenty seconds after the music began, the voice, his voice, rose above all other sounds and took possession of the airwaves.

“Greetings conversationalists across the fruited plains, it is I, Crush Limbo, the voice of relief and pleasure, coming to you with talent on loan from the Spirit of John Holmes, with half my penis tied behind my back, speaking to all you people from the long, thick phallic CIP building in downtown Las Vegas.”

The voice paused and lets the music drift lower behind him before he continued.

“Yes, it is I, your savior of lust to bring to you the words of release, words to free you from the bonds of repression, the shackles of shit, the rope of the  dope, the keeper of the keys. Yes, I am here, my friends, to turn loose that sexual animal living deep inside your vanilla soul.”

Millions of listening genitalia shivered at his words. They had heard it all before, the introduction to lust, the introduction to release, the introduction to a new life they all craved.

“When we were last together, my friends, we were talking about Sally in Portland and her need to be  fucked from behind. I was stuck by her, saddened in my heart, yes, even my cock ached for her need. Why, we all ask, why? Why won’t that goofus of a husband Sally is stuck with just slide his cock inside her from behind and fuck her into the glorious light? 

“Remember?” he went on, “Remember? Remember how she said her husband thought it was animalistic to fuck her from behind? How he’d read a western novel that mentioned something about men who loved horses and who they enjoyed fucking their women like that?”

His voice grew heavy with the sadness he was projecting.

“But I was relieved, my friends, yes, relieved to learn that Sally in Portland had found her own ways to address her desires. But seriously, I do hope her dildo never slips off the doorknob in her bedroom. It could be embarrassing to be stuck with a doorknob in
your twat, having to wait for the kids to come home from school so they can call 911.” 
The sound of his fingers drumming on the table in front of him filled the silence as he transitioned to his topic for the evening.

“Well, good luck to you Sally in Portland. The combined energy of our Collective Lust reaches out to you and wishes you well.

“But tonight I have something else on my mind, yes.  Tonight is the night for us to discuss the art of giving head. Not just giving head in the commonly understood sense, no. It is about giving Ditto Head.  Yes, the special kind of head giving recommended by
your honorable host here at the hugely successful Cock In Pussy Network.

“So, without further delay, let’s go to the phones. 

“Janice in Phoenix, are you there?”

“Yes, Crush, I’m here. Oh, I am so honored to speak to you. Thank you so much for taking my call. Did you know that you make me come sometimes just by clearing your throat? Why, Crush, I think…”

“Thank you, Janice,” Crush interrupted, “But let’s get on with your call. I believe you have a question about giving Ditto Head?”

“Yes, Crush, you hot toddy body you, I do have some questions. I’ve tried giving Ditto Head just like you wrote about in your second book, you remember, ‘Let the Cum Come,’ a great book, anyway, I tried the techniques but I just couldn’t get them.”

“Okay, Janice,” Crush crooned, “What seemed to be the problem? Your husband or boy friend didn’t like your efforts?”

“Well, Crush,” Janice began, “I don’t exactly have a boy friend or a husband. See, I tried doing the techniques on my vibrator. Closest thing I’ve ever had to a real cock.”

“Let me get this straight,” Crush said sternly, “You’ve never had a real cock? A real man?”

“No,” Janice admitted. “Never. But I’m holding out, Crush. And I’m trying. In fact, if there are any men out there between the ages of 18 and 72 who’d like to fuck me unconsciously, they can call, 636-722-8…”

“That’s it!” shouted the host. “You’re gone, you loser, no friggin’ phone numbers! I am not, I repeat, NOT running any dating service here. Jeeezus H. Christopher. Belinda Snerdly, your job as call screener may just be ending tonight, honey bunny.

“Don’t you have any calls lined up from any experienced Ditto Head giving women?” Crush paused and sipped Diet Coke while listening to his headset and letting his rapt listening audience wonder if he was scratching his balls on the air like he had done
the week before. “Line four? Okay, okay. Her name is what? Wimz Cicle? What kind of friggin’ name is that anyway? Albanian, Sudanese, or what? Okay, okay.

“Wimz Cicle from Moosepoop, Ontario, HELLO!”

“Hi, Crush,” the sexy voiced Canadian began. “You are wanting to talk about giving head, right? Special head? Like Ditto Head?”

“Yes, Dear, please enlighten us.”

“Well, Crush, Honey, it’s all in the moisture, and the variations.”

“Variations?”

“Yes, Baby, the variations. You have to understand that a man’s cock needs changes not just a bobbing head and a bored look.”

“I like your approach,” Crush blurted, “Yes, I do.”

“Well, thank you, Crush,” the Canadian vamp continued, “I’m sure you’d really like my approach if you ever really experienced, if you get my drift, but anyway,  giving Ditto Head is a progressive work, an endeavor of love and art and craft.

“Personally,” she went on, “I like to get the shaft good and wet so I can stroke it while I hold the head in my mouth. That wet shaft lets my hand twist around it as I go up and down. All the while I get to lick the underside of the head and suck at various intensities. Any of that make sense, Crush? Any of it sound good?”

“Damn, Wimz Whatever,” Crush groaned, “Make sense, hell, it sounds terrific! Would you mind if we add your comments and description to our website?”

“I’d be honored, Crush Baby,” the Canadian cooed.

“And one more thing,” Crush added quickly, “Would you be my guest for dinner tomorrow night in Las Vegas?  Let my private plane fly to whatever city is close and pick you up? We could consult on Ditto Head techniques, we could.”

The Canadian’s chuckle hung on the radio like the battle call of the Lone Ranger.

“Why I’d love to, you horny old fart,” she said.

“Belinda!” Crush shouted, “Put this woman on hold and get her location. Send my jet, send money, send anything. Get her here!”

Crush rose from his chair and slipped off his headphones before adding a thought into the Golden Microphone.

“Okay, you people out there, I’m going to the john to jerk off. You people talk amongst yourselves or something until I get back.”

Music burst over the airwaves as Crush ran toward the restroom, trying desperately to unzip his pants along the way.

Somewhere in Canada, a Canadian woman was smiling to herself and typing steadily onto her computer.

“Phone sex with a talk show host is overrated,” she began.

The smile never left her face.


copyright 2001 All right reserved.
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