Mask Off

“I wish you all had one neck” (Gaius Caligula)

Massive election loss finally forced Donald Trump to show his true colours. What had been an article of faith to many for a long time has finally become a fact so glaringly obvious that it can only missed by those with their vision impaired by having upended buckets on their heads.

At at the end of World War Two, Hitler imposed a “scorched earth” policy of the land that would soon be conquered by the allies. To this end, crops were burned, bridges and factories blown up. When Hitler’s generals told him that this would result in mass starvation and amount to genocide of his own people, Hitler’s reply was that the German people had proved insufficiently strong and that they deserved whatever they got. Some weeks later when even Hitler’s superhuman powers of denying the obvious failed, fate forced the nasty creature’s hand, and, while the Soviets were kicking in the front door of the bunker, Hitler hid in his office and summoned up the courage to finally let go of his delusions.

The similarities between this story and the current disgrace playing out in American politics are, to my mind, lambently obvious. In the same way that Donald Trump won the last election by “A lot” (of imaginary votes), Hitler believed till the very end that imaginary troops could turn the Russian advance from the very gates of Berlin and throw them back across the Vistula. To achieve anything, you have to have a strong will. Sometimes the line between will and septic fantasy is as thin as the paper with an “enabling Act” drafted onto it.

It is worth remembering that Hitler was a democratically elected leader and simply manoeuvred himself into the position of dictator with luck and the right help from his super-rich backers in exactly the way that Trump could be seen to be setting himself up for – but with markedly less success. But now that the penny has finally dropped in Trump’s head, he’s happy to leave the American people – who did not vote for him, ”enough” to die of a virus which he appears to have only just noticed. And since he refuses to sign the assistance package – gives them the option to starve to death first.

Seem familiar?

stop press Trump has signed the bill, which is, in my opinion, roughly equivalent to Hitler poisoning his dog Blondie; we must now wait for his final concession to reality. The speech where he finally takes the metaphorical bullet and concedes to Joe Biden, admitting to what just about everyone else has known for many months, that he is politics personified all bluster and lies, held together by a skin of vindictive self-interest in an unsightly ambulatory body disguised in an expensive suit paid for with other people’s money.

(c) Alex Rieneck Dec 2020 All Rights Reserved

Princesa:(2001) Review

Film Review

This is an Italian film and probably the best film I have ever seen on the subject of transexuality/gender issues. It is the story of a Brazilian girl who goes to Milan in Italy to become a street sex worker so that she can get herself a sex change, and finalize her change to becoming Princesa, her ideal of the perfect woman.

To cut a long story short, she lives the life, falls in tempestous love with a man who appears perfect, and then opens her eyes to herself and finds love and family in the last place that she expects it. As, in some way or other, we all do.

The film is not porno, it is a love story and a story of someone growing up and becoming the person that they are, rather than either of the people that the world thinks that they should be. 

I found this film while I was in Rome, in the window of a closed video shop in the middle of the night, while I was walking home from a bunch of extremely interesting ruins. I came back and bought it the next day. My copy is in Italian, with Italian subtitles. Since I speak not more that five words of Italian, it has become one of my minor hobbies to watch the film, and attempt simultaneously learn the language and divine the finer nuances of the plot by the actor’s body language. 

An odd hobby I will admit. Not a bad one, though. While doing this I gradually came to the conclusion that the film easily ranks with “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” “Personal Services” and “Just like a Woman” as among the very best of trannie cinema, and also as one of my favourite films.

The film is now available on Amazon. Not a word of being in Italian. Guess I’ll be buying it, again. I wonder if knowing what the actors are actually saying will improve it? I think so. 


12-bore ReIncarnation

Nembutal is slower 

And you can vomit it up.

Smack’ll do the trick if the NarCan man is slow that day. But there’s no cure for painting the wall

With your mind and putting your everything into it, a blossoming rose of forget-me-not that has forgotten everything 

It ever


© Alex Rieneck 2019 All Rights Reserved.

Treasures: “The Ballad of Cabel Hogue

“The Ballad of Cable Hogue”

A truly wonderful film few people have ever heard of.
Directed by Sam Peckinpah, (under the influence of Sergio Leone,) this film stars Jason Robards, Stella Stevens, David Warner,Slim Pickens and Strother Martin. The story concerns Cable Hogue , a grizzled no-account who is abandoned in the desert by his two treacherous homosexual companions. After long days, or perhaps weeks of wandering the desert he finds water! The water gives him life, but more importantly, the water gives him Alife.-one that he had never dreamed of. Over the decades, the water (and the desert that surrounds it, give him everything.He lives a long and happy life and at the end of the film, he, and the audience are transfigured.
I watched it again last night, for at least the tenth time, and I cried my eyes out at the end, as I always do.
A Real Classic. If you’ve seen it before, watch it again.
ReviewCopyright(C)2020 Alex Rieneck All Rights Reserved


Pornhub( is probably the largest porn site on the a fit of amazing decency they have provided stats as to theirsite usage and search terms. it makes forsome fascinating reading and draws a interesting thumbnail of a part of our socirtynthat is rarely discussed (except at election times 🙂

Pornhub’s Sexual Wellness Center

This page copyright: (9C) 2020 Alex Rieneck

Short Story

Impeccable Provenance

He’d made an appointment, all nice and legit, his people to my people, and he’d checked out so I’d okayed it. Of course everything had changed with reality and we hadn’t been in the Presidential at Musk City Mars after a no doubt triumphant show on the “Cabaret” tour. Instead I was stuck on Earth of all places, with the tour all over the shop, the Luna gigs cancelled because of the bloody Plague. Instead of being orally serviced at a post gig drug wallow on Mars, I was being orally serviced at a post gig drug wallow on Earth. The gig had been vintage, the drugs were A-Grade, and the oral servicing, from a girl called Louise was Primo too; but the gravity, my gods the gravity was fucked. I was almost struggling to fill my lungs at each breath. The couch was soft kid leather but I could feel creases in the material grinding into my skin.

I’d cheated in the Gig, I sang both sets, all seven songs from a barstool centre-front stage next to the keyboard – a genuine white grand piano, over two hundred years old! The manager, a Mr. Toad of Toad Hall was very proud of it. It was a unique instrument he said. It had been played by both Liberace and later, by Freddie Mercury, he said. “Was it in tune?” I said – It was. Lovely machine! I gave him the first bit of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” by way of a nod to history, and to Mr. Mercury in particular. Its a wonderful song, and it gives me a chance to really stretch my voice. I could see him desperate to rush off home to Toad Hall and tell all his little toad-poles of his incredible day. Talent does have its rewards, some of them are paltry, but when the plague is sweeping the Solar System and literally decimating the population, you have to take your fun where you can get it.

As I said, I cheated at the show. I didn’t play, I sat beside the piano in my Sally Bowles costume and sang. The black velvet of the shorts looked great against my blue skin, I could tell that the crowd strongly approved and that every time I crossed my legs I was filling the meme-verse with terabytes of pictures of my snatch.
I sing better when I’’m horny.
Which brings me to the Prime Minister’s suite of the Kirribilli House Hotel. Nice view. Black as a coal mine outside. The sky the deepest blue, almost purple. The stars reflecting off the harbour, waters as still as a millpond. Silence, except for Claudius, down the hall, approaching orgasm, and the occasional quiet slurp produced by miss Louise in my crotch. Aside from the gravity, this were pretty good.
“Miss Ganymede? Miss Ganymede? Are you decent?” It was Jacqueline. Jakksi is my P.A and knows I love her enough that she can push her luck quite a long way.
“J – you know I’m not – you let her in. What do you want? You’d better have thought this through.”
At least she hadn’t turned the lights on. She’d done that once and it seemed she’d learned her lesson. Now she wore night-vision goggles.
“It’s that guy, he has an appointment”
“How the fuck can anyone have an appointment for now? I should be on Mars!”

“I know – you have a flexible schedule. His appointment is for two hours after the evening gig on the seventeenth of Juli – I think he has a case.”
“Fuck – you mean he’s so keen he’s made a ninety day flight for this meeting? Should I be flattered?”
“You can be flattered if you want, but I think he’s from here – the Shen Zhen University of Honolulu; he’s brought the object, as agreed.”
“Double Fuck. Jakksi, would you please drape a rug over Ms Louise and I? Mr_ ?”_
“Mr Tanagawa may not share our showbiz morals and I am loathe to offend.”
Jakksi said nothing. A king-size bed coverlet landed on top of us. I flailed around until Louise was wholly covered and only my head protruded into the cooler, fresher air of the room.
“Miss Ganymede, I am honoured – I have been a very great fan since I was a young man.”
Considering that Mr Tanagawa was demonstrably no longer young, I took the compliment gingerly; and surely he would know that, no matter how good his Japanese genes, I would, barring accidents, outlive him by at least fifty years.
“Mister Tanagawa I am pleased to make your acquaintance – even in this most informal situation. I am sure that my assistant Ms.Jacqueline Ryder can arrange some complimentary tickets to an upcoming show that is convenient.”
“Will do, Boss.”
“You are too kind great Lady Ganymede!!”
“I am sure you are a worthy recipient of such a paltry generosity. -now-“
“To business!”
To give Mr Tanagawa credit, he seemed relieved that he would soon be able to stop ignoring the fact that my feet seemed to be upside down, and the wrong colour.
Like all Japanese businessmen since feudal times, Mr Tanagawa had his thin, ‘samsonite’ briefcase with him. Said briefcase contained one sheet of A4 typewritten paper, a thumb-drive and small oblong package wrapped in brown paper and sealed in a small zip-lock plastic bag.
Mr Tanagawa started talking, rapidly wheedlingly. “Object in airtight plastic bag, in neutral atmosphere. After original collection object immediately pickled in grain alcohol for several weeks, then frozen. Frozen for many years, first in kitchen cold room on aircraft-carrier then on land in facility in Maryland United States. All documentation in Pdfs on thumb-drive”

“Very good.I am impressed with your work on thus matter.”

“Also contained in this R.O.M memory is Tr00 provided vision of the original collection of the item. Ancillary Locus(C) costs included in item sale price to you.”
I nodded, picked up the package, reached into the bag. The object was soft, heavy. The paper crackled in reaction to my grip. I shivered with pleasure.
“Before I get ahead of myself; “ I coughed in a ladylike manner and unrolled the paper from around the object. It looked like a small sausage that had been burned crisp; which, in fact, it was.

“Jakksi -would you please feed the vision on the memory stick into the screen here so that we can see it?”

The deck of a an aircraft carrier, All of the anti-aircraft guns are firing, the flight deck is an inferno of fire and flying lead. It is world war two in the pacific in Locus 8K vision. In perfect slow motion a zero dive bombs directly into the deck. The Locus is unmoved by the titanic explosion.
Mr Tanagawa speaks, “The plane impacted next to the number 7 5” anti-aircraft gun. The impact killed 50 sailors instantly. The damage crews immediately set about dousing the flames and tending the wounded. As can be seen from this documentation, the fire took some 25 minutes to extinguish.”
He paused and the people in the vision scrabbled madly, speeded up at 5 times normal speed stopping almost instantly when the fire was out. The vision returned to normal speed and panned the ring of gaped jawed sailors staring at the wreck. Almost by some hidden signal, they simultaneously closed on the mangled plane and started rending and tearing at it. Brawny sailors hands tore pieces of thin aluminium skin from the plane’s wings. The souvenir hunt had started. The Locus camera followed a single sailor as he walks directly to the cockpit. His white singlet is filthy, stained with black grease and less identifiable stains. AsHe reaches down into the cockpit, a knife flashes in his hands. He straightens. Mr Tanagawa spoke “there you have it. Impeccable provenance.”

(c) Ale Rieneck, September 2020 all rights reserved.


I’ll cheerfully admit it, I’ve watched the film “Caligula” more than ten times, and right after that I’ll say that its a bit of a flawed fuckup of a film. This is not the slightest bit surprising. What is surprising is that through the thick cludgy layer of fuckup, a very decent, and rather powerful film lies waiting for those willing to look past the obvious and see the real.

“Caligula” started in the mind of Bob Guccione, publisher of Penthouse magazine (a somewhat racier version of “Playboy”) when porn was printed on paper and the internet didn’t exist. Put bluntly, “Penthouse” was making money like crazy and Guccione was looking to expand into a new market. He decided that an erotic film that had the credibility to play in mainstream theatres could bring in money the way that “Deep Throat” or “Behind the Green Door” had – and “Deep Throat” had been the Mafia’s biggest earner the year of its release. He thought a lot and decide that Ancient Rome was the perfect “frame” for his film; being historical it had credibility and gravitas, and anyway none other than Federico Fellini had recently made an “Adult” film about Rome which had received high praise and Guccione thought it could have been made far ruder – after all, why should the public have to use their imaginations? Wasn’t that what erotic literature like “Penthouse” was all about anyway?

And so, like some mutant ‘Frankenstien’, “Caligula” was born. Who would direct? Fellini, the maker of “Satyricon” was in his eighties, very strong – minded and insulted by the approach. The second choice was Tinto Brass, he was Italian and credible, with a big portfolio of “naughty Italian romp” films in his back catalog, also being far less successful than “Il Maestro” he couldn’t afford to be picky. And so it was, the film went ahead, bankrolled by Penthouse, to be directed by Tinto Brass who, Guccione thought, “had gotten the idea.”

Penthouse magazine spruiked the coming film for literally months, until anticipation ran at fever pitch. Then the film arrived and the shit hit the fan. “It wasn’t any good!” howled the critics. It wasn’t even “dirty” moaned eveyrone else who’d been primed to expect the greatest porn extravaganza, since, well, ever. Bob Guccione was hopping mad. The magazine’s cash reserves were gone and he had doodly squat to show for it, and it was all the fault of that wop, Tinto Brass who’d gone off to make the “Gone with the Wind“ of porn – and forgotten to put the porn in. Guccione used his magazine to howl down curses on the Italian director – who simply responded that he did not make shit. If Guccione wanted shit, he said, he should make it himself – he was doing a fine job with his shitty magazine, he said; and the newspapers, who loved a nice public fight, printed it. Guccione responded with some unprinted but imaginable oath, and shot hard core porno sequences, which he cut into the film, making something closer to what he’d wanted all along. Tinto Brass just about shit a brick, very loudly and very publicly. The media went into another frenzy. ‘Current Affairs’ shows like “Willesee at Seven” conducted interviews with exiting patrons – the new version won the grudging support of people who’d seen both. It won my support too. The original film was truthfully pretty dull, but jazzed up with racy bits, it fairly bounced along from one moment of outrage at the decline of modern civilisation to another, and, amid all the hoo-ha it seemed that very few people noticed the solid script, great cast and thundering performance of Peter O’Toole as Tiberius. In fact if you’re enough of an adult not to have an attack of the vapours at the rude bits, “Caligula” is a rare gem, and to be treasured.

Copyright(C) Alex Rieneck 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Short Story

Class Warfare

Max was curled up in the tiny corner in the hallway where the bottoms of the French doors almost met the thin carpet. It was an artfully chosen spot and it must be said one of his many afternoon favourites. The curtains were burgundy red and covered the whole length of the glass panelled doors, except for a height of perhaps an inch-and-a-half at the bottom. In this space Max could only be seen, or perhaps guessed at, as a darker patch of shadow, but only then by those who looked closely, and those who looked closely might be rewarded with the realisation that the small dimple in the bottom-edge of the curtain and the small grey shape that caused it, was in fact the grey furry ear of Max the cat protruding into the North hallway to give warning of the approach of those who might cause disturbance to the delicate territorial boundaries of a meditative cat.

In this case the warning system seemed to have failed due either to encroaching deafness on the ear of an adult tabby cat in the prime of his life or some other unquantified at failing that, had it been put into words would perhaps have reflected poorly on the character of the cat in question.
“Yes, Lady Burbage?” One front paw projected from under the curtain when it reached full stretch, it gave a politely short quiver of pleasure and then retracted far enough that the personage who owned it might consider putting weight on it. Unlike the paws of many (perhaps the majority) of cats called “tabby” this paw featured no white at all. In fact none of Max’s feet had white ‘socks’ – where “God had run out of paint”. Instead, all his feet were brown grey tabby – the same colouration, as it happened, of a standard issue mouse, but with black stripes though this similarity of colouration as had benefitted no member of the rodent species since Max, though well fed by his human acolytes, took pleasure in keeping the larder, the kitchen, the wine cellar and the library free of those he termed “little scuttlers”, a mission in life that earned him a position in Lady Burbage’s retinue somewhere between highly-valued retainer and the kind of long-term houseguest who had their regular place at table for meals.

After a long moment, three further paws, each of similar colouration protruded from under the curtain, stretched taut, toes and claws splayed, quivered and relaxed. After a further small disturbance behind the curtain Max’s sleek feline head appeared, eyes slitted as the lower edge of the curtain passed across them, and as his upper whisker array bent down and popped back up. His spine made a small dimple in the curtain as he passed under it and a larger one as his mostly vertical tail popped through. Max walked several steps into the hallway, looked up at his human and slitted his eyes slightly in pleasure and greeting. Lady Burbage flitted her eyes slightly in return. Max almost quivered in joy. Lady Burbage’s understanding of the protocols of the dance of life – apparently innate – set her aside from the vast ruck of humans, who could only try.

“Good Afternoon Maxwell, I trust the day is treating you pleasantly?”
“It is Mam, that it is, as a matter of fact that is a very pleasant spot, just enough sun through the glass to keep the topside warm, while the gentle cool breeze from the gap underneath the door provides both pleasant fresh air from the garden and a cool waft up the fur offset by the warmth of the sun. Also, at this time of year the sun is at the correct angle to refract through the bevelling of the window pane and cast the most delightful rainbows on the white inner lining of the curtains. Quite wonderfully thought provoking!”
“Oh. I had rather thought you were asleep!”
“Lady Burbage if there is one thing I hope you have learnt from me is that all sentient beings do most of their thinking while they are asleep – the most important stuff anyway.
“Surely that means that there is then, at least half the time, being the waking hours left to think?”
“In my experience ma’m the waking hours are devoted to thought all too rarely indeed.”
“Judging by the quality of the conversation tendered by my last few luncheon guests, I can but agree.”

Max stretched his front paws forward, sunk his claws into the Axminster, and pulled hard against the resistance of the rest of his body, the effort made his tail arch upwards and the fur on his rump stand on end. When he spoke, it was with difficulty. “Precisely. I’ve been thinking you ought to draw the catchment area for your guest list rather wider than available local churchmen.”

“Be fair Maxwell.” They’re the only people in the area who can be relied on to be even slightly educated. For the most part the county is very rural and reading is regarded as a suspicious new invention.”
“Yes and in the village the comparing of phlegmy noises is regarded as conversation.”
‘I know what you mean.”
“It’s doubly disturbing when you travel as close to the ground as I do.”
“And in an odd kind of way Max, that brings the subject of conversation around to my reason for seeking you out and awakening you.”

Lady Burbage sank herself onto the green velvet upholstered red cedar occasional chair that stood in the hall, mainly for riders who needed help removing their boots and looked down expectantly at Max. Max took two steps and sprung into the hammock of her lap.
Lady Burbage had fat warm thighs and favoured long skirts and Max loved her for it. He arched his neck and daintily touched the tip of her nose with his. His nose was cool and polite.
“Yes, your Ladyship?”
“Max there’s not really polite way to broach this rather delicate subject-“
“But Max did you – ah –mess in Mr Wymss’ shoes?” Lady Burbage very gently stroked the top of Max’s head, all the way down his spine so delicately that his fur was scarcely compressed to his body.
Max arched slightly with approval, Lady Burbage was about the only human permitted such liberties.
“Yes Ma’m I must confess that I did.”
“Why on Earth would you commit such a barbarous and uncouth act Max? And on Mr Wymss, too, our esteemed under butler!”
“Well Lady Burbage, not to tell tales out of school, I must say that my revolutionary activities were undertaken by way of revenge.”
“Revenge on Mr. Wymss? For what?”
“Well, the night before last, Monday I think people call it, I’d decided to go hunting in the wine cellar. There’d been a delivery of a couple of barrels and changes in the environment usually put the scuttlers off centre. So I sneaked in as the cellar men took the cart away and I started hunting. Within an hour or two I’d caught eight. I only ate the heads; I like the crunch and because if I’m too full I can’t hunt and pounce properly.”
Lady Burbage queasily considered how close Max’s mouth had just been to hers.
“Anyway I was starting to think that eight was enough or perhaps even more than enough when I realised that what I wanted more than dead squeakers was a nice chair somewhere upstairs and a bit of a think. So in the crack under the cellar door I see a light moving. Its a hand-held lamp and keys are jingling. Its Wymss doing his lock up round. So I wait till he’s right outside the door and I shout, “Hey Wymss! I’m stuck in here! Let me out!”
“And he didn’t hear you?”
“Oh no he heard me alright – he replied, and I quote; ‘Fuck you cat! always sneaking around where you aren’t supposed to be, you want to be in there? You can spend the night!’ And he walks off. The mice are all jumping up and down and taunting me and laughing while I tried to think.”
His voice became a fair imitation of a mouse squeak;
“Cat! Cat! You keel my mother! Cat! Cat! You keel my seester! Cat! We poisons your foods! Cat! Hey Cat! Cat! We poisons your meelky-weelky! All night. Sometimes they even ran over my tail and interrupted my thoughts. Ned opened the outside door about four AM for a small cask of Malmsey; I was out of there like a rocket, and straight to Wymss’ room. Did you know he leaves his shoes outside his room for the maid he’s seeing to clean? Charlotte? No? Anyway it was too easy, I had a bowel full of mostly digested mouse-heads and I’d been dreaming of my target all night. So: I confess and throw myself of the mercy of the court.”

(c) Alex Rieneck

Treasure Trove repository of cinematic Perfection

“The Ballad of Cable Hogue”

A truly wonderful film few people have ever heard of.
Directed by Sam Peckinpah, (under the influence of Sergio Leone, this film stars Jason Robards, Stella Stevens, David Warner and bySlim Pickens Strother Martin. The story concerns Cable Hogue , a grizzled no-account who is abandoned in the desert by his two treacherous companions After long days, or perhaps weeks of wandering the desert he finds water! The water gives him life, but more importantly, the water gives him Alife-one that he had never dreamed of. Over the decades, the water (and the desert that surrounds it, give him everything.He lives a long and happy life and at the end of the film, he, and the audience are transfigured.
I watched it again last night, for at least the tenth time, and I cried my eyes out at the end, as I always do.
A Real Classic. If you’ve seen it before, watch it again.
ReviewCopyright(C)2020 Alex Rieneck All Rights Reserved