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Apple Pie

How subliminal messaging introduced oral sex to some, and shaped the course of history for others…

“Cum for me, Baby,” the overly amorous young man whispered, as his one hand groped under his date’s cardigan, while his other curled its fingers past her wet panties and inside her tight, slippery snatch.


The poodle skirt wearing young lady trembled, cautiously panting in his ear while trying not to draw attention to their actions. There were, after all, sitting on one of the movie theatre’s love seats, so some lovebird frolicking was expected. Finger fucking was not. She tried focusing on the big screen, the Saturday afternoon showing of the Russian romantic musical, Silk Stocking, as was half the audience. The other half had their fingers sliding into their partner’s second base, with some already heading for third.


It was 1957. It was a different time, a hope-filled time, but still, a trusting time. The halcyon days of behavioral research were upon them. The past works from the likes of Skinner, Freud, and Pavlov were again in vogue. But there was a new kid on the block. A marketing researcher named James Vicary. History would prove that his cold war behavior modification and manipulation theories, in the burgeoning field of subliminal messaging, would prove to be as effective as Oppenheimer’s work splitting the atom. It was due to the efforts of the one widely regarded as the father of the atomic bomb, that many felt ended the second world war. Those same people eventually felt that some day, Vicary's research would have a similar impact.



Like most mid-summer Saturday afternoon and nights, theatres were filled with love struck virgin couples. Hollywood studios knew this and preyed upon the young malleable minds of that generation, filling her head with thoughts of romance and his full of pussy and tits. Not so cryptic messages could be seen, but not acknowleged by their mind’s eye, and obeyed completely by their subconscious.



Hollywood understood its power, better than anyone else, and they were fiercely profit motivated. Vicary’s research was enticing. He said, among other things, it would help them sell more Coca-Cola and popcorn. However, both parties knew that there was something innately stronger that would fill their cash registers. So they crafted a program, under the watchful eye of Vicary, which introduced an entire generation to subliminal messaging, and in less than a decade, ushered in a sexual revolution.


They first preyed on a young woman's insecurities, creating guilt, and then a call to action. Young women were made to feel that they had a duty. They had to please their men and if necessary, had to prepare to re-populate the world. McCarthyism was rampant. The Red Scare dominated the lexicon of western governments, and the young couples’ parents and grandparents. Bomb shelters were being constructed faster than babies were being produced. The threat of nuclear annihilation was real and to some, seemed imminent.


So Hollywood, with the help of Vicary, decided to change the narrative directed at their main revenue source – teens and young adults. They wanted them to make love, not war, and spend lots of money doing it. It eventually became the call sign of effective mind control, not peace and freedom, as many incorrectly believed.


As the young man with the Brylcreemed hair tried to undo his date’s bra, and his mouth again ravaged her neck, the same places where a trail of hickeys were covered by a pink chiffon neck scarf, her hand slowly moved towards his thigh. It was the first time she had felt the faded denim so close to his privates. The lump was hard and it moved with her first contact.



“Oh God,” she moaned as his fingers rubbed through her course, pubic hair, exciting her young clitoris, and the curled finger tips found an equally sensitive and engorged bump inside. She found herself both weakened by their actions and uncharacteristically motivated to do the right thing.


She first palmed his crotch, feeling its hardness through his jeans. Her fingers curled between his legs and she cupped his testicles, caressing the compressed heft of his firm, cum-filled balls. His hand had now popped out one of her fleshy breasts and she felt tingles as, as her mother called him, the nice young man, tugged and pinched her hard nipple. Her muffled moan and the on screen music hid the sound of his opening zipper.



Her fingers crawled inside his underwear and gripped his hardening cock, which had begged to be released since she entered his 1932 burgundy Ford hot rod. It startled her how wide, long, and hard it was. She couldn’t imagine something that large entering her vagina. But as his fingers rubbed her there, she convinced herself with each finger rub that it could fit.

She found the underwear opening and with some helpful hip adjustment, his cock escaped and stood straight up, like someone standing on their tip toes in the back row trying to see what was happening up front. It was excited. Her fingers wrapped around it, grasping it in a manner that felt as natural as holding a curling iron. She slowly stroked it to its fullest potential as she contemplated what she was about to publicly do with her mouth.




He lifted his arm to allow her head of peroxide hair to fall into his lap. He no longer had access to her breasts, but their pretzel position allowed him to keep his one hand up her skirt while his other hand now moved with her bobbing head. He had no idea if what she was doing was correct, neither did she, but he enjoyed it. It felt right. Her mouth and tongue slobbered over the smooth head of his cock, and repeatedly traveled up and down the length of his rigid shaft. Her mouth was warm and kind. He could not have imagined his first blow job being any better. Neither could she.

In a matter of moments, she felt his body tense, and then the first of several squirts of warm, salty sperm strike the back of her throat. The first blasts were deep in her mouth, so she had no choice but to swallow. She then gagged as his erupting cock continued to clog her air way. She sat up quickly, with eyes watering, and swallowed as much as she could to prevent her from spewing his semen on the back of the heads of the couple in front of them.


She did not realize it, but she nodded at the screen that she had. Many other girls in the audience were now doing the same. However, she did realize that her orgasm would have to wait until their next visit to the drive-in.



On occasion, a young usher would peak into the theatre at the wrong time. He would notice that half the audience was seemingly watching the movie while the other half was bent over in the lap of those watching. As far as the eye could see, heads of bouffants and ribbons bobbed up and down, and the sloppy slobbering sounds underscored the movie's dialogue. It was quite possibly the start of the largest orgy since ancient times.

What the young usher witnessed was never spoken of, but he would find some privacy in the staff bathroom and tug hard and fast on his own tallywacker, to his fresh memory of the sights and sounds of all the Betty Lou's and Barbara Sue's going up and down on their dates.



The timing was impeccable. Hollywood told its theatre partners to expect to sell more Coca-Cola and popcorn at certain times during the showing of a particular movie. They said that they didn’t yet fully understand it, but they learned this would occur through their motion picture pre-release focus group research. Of course, the studios and Vicary knew better.

Immediately following the mass discharge of semen, the lobby filled with smiling young men, surreptitiously sniffing their fingers as they patiently waited in line to purchase the carbonated beverage their cummy-breathed dates requested. The ladies wanted to cleanse their palates. The popcorn was for the expended young men.

Not only did the implementation of Vicary’s research catapult Coca-Cola to number one, it also created lifelong positive associations with the couples’ first oral sex experiences. It also turned a generation of teen aged girls into horny, hot college messes that craved cock. This would serve the Vietnam War protests very well. But most importantly, the American cinematic experience subconsciously taught those same young men and women that blowjobs are as American as apple pie, and from this, the porn industry was born.

≈ ≈ ≈

Six years later, and over ten since her father was killed fighting the spread of the Soviet-influenced, Red Scare in Korea, that same poodle skirt wearing teen from 1957 was now the last person in the movie theatre. She remained seated, watching the credits scroll down the big screen.



She remained seated, as the ushers later reported, like she was mesmerized by what she had been reading. It was as if the screen was talking to her, they said. The ushers had to prepare the theatre for the next showing of, It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, and recalled that after turning up the house lights, they eventually had to ask the young woman to leave.

For the first time since her father’s death, she felt she had a true purpose. She always felt in, but never truly part of this society. Definitely, not like all of the others around her. She lacked their blind patriotism. She felt her father’s seemingly senseless death desensitized her to the American anti-communist propaganda. Until that moment, she had just been acting the part. She now knew what she had to do and caught the next flight to begin her preparation.



After the direct hit, the one-time army brat disassembled the rifle as taught, tucked it under her fall overcoat, calmly left her shady spot behind the sign on the grassy knoll, and escaped unscathed by joining the wave of horrified Dallas spectators on that fateful November afternoon in 1963.

≈ ≈ ≈

Over the next several decades, Vicary’s research further evolved and was strengthened by the rapid advancement in technology. It too became miniaturized, moving from the big screen and even drive-ins, arenas, and stadium high definition jumbotrons, to televisions, computer monitors, handheld video games, and ultimately, smart phones.

Subliminal messaging had changed the course of history, including previously thought democratically administered elections. No one on the planet was immune to its reach or influence. Specific people could now be cultivated for specific purposes, taking actions for those that programmed them.

When those in power and the rest of the world heard him boast to the paparazzi, his misogynistic behavior born from an idea which they had implanted decades earlier, they knew it not only had worked, but that they had their mark. What also helped was his widely known television screen addiction which could be measured in hours each day. He also had a particular fondness for Twitter.

World hostilities rose to a fevered pitch, with him instigating tensions in a nuclear-armed middle east, and with the boyish taunting of another of his kind, a looming nuclear battle with North Korea neared. To the relief of his communications team, The President moved toward the usage of dual teleprompters during speeches, which assisted him with staying on message.

On this night, with the world on the brink of Armageddon, it was paramount that he send a message of strength though calm. He decided to address the nation and the billions of people around the world from his desk in the Oval Office.

Some thought The President would address the sexual misconduct accusations and the unprecedented class action lawsuit filed against him as the sitting President. Others felt he would address the recent election tampering charges levied against him and his family by the Attorney General. While others thought he would resign, after some suspected that he plea bargained for his and his family’s immunity, in exchange for proof of a foreign power’s cyber attacks on their country's cherished democratic processes.

The President asked for some privacy prior to the broadcast. In what was thought to be solitary preparation, the perky young blonde intern playfully said, “I serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States,” before crawling under his desk, pulling in his chair, and taking his limp dick in her mouth. Many said she looked a lot like her poodle skirt wearing grandmother from a time and day gone by.

With the brashness of no one before him, he adjusted her head between his legs as she fellated him with, as he believed, American Exceptionalism. She was told that she was expected to covertly perform during the broadcast, before the nation and the world, but in abject secrecy. She dutifully agreed to his terms.


On his storied desk sat a warm piece of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream on top, which was slowly melting over the sides. On the plate was a family name engraved, not a Presidential, silver spoon. On the other side of his desk sat The President’s Emergency Satchel, also known as, the nuclear football. It was unlocked but remained unopened. The President then looked into the teleprompter on his left, which symbollically felt far left of his promised and elected extremist, self-serving, right-wing political agenda.



The sitting President of the United States then smugly looked into the camera with equal measures of arrogance and disdain. But before saying a word, he indulged himself with one final decadent bite. After the eager intern swallowed, and in anticipation of his opening remarks, the world collectively did the same, The President retrieved from the middle drawer, a gifted gold-plated Lebedev PL-15 with the initials V.P. engraved on the grip of the Russian-made pistol. He then placed the barrel’s muzzle in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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