The Punany Experience:
The War Between Tops & Bottoms,
Not Your Average Down Low Story

Take an unhappy husband with a spoiled and suspicious wife, an androgynous businesswoman with a knack for inflicting pain, an executive assistant with no shame, then add a passive-aggressive lesbian pillow princess to the scene and you have just started The War Between Tops and Bottoms.

The Punany Experience: The War Between Tops and Bottoms is not the average down low story.  Jessica Holter’s first erotic novel eloquently blurs the lines
Excerpt: The Virgin Files: Stormy in the House of the Lord

Saturday morning Stormy woke up extra early so she could leave the house before her mother woke up.  Stormy was only fourteen.  Too smart, her mother said, for her own good and too young to be wearing black stockings with a seam up the back.  Her mother had told her to throw them away when she bought them at the liquor store on Sunday.  But she liked the way her legs looked in them.  They made her legs look just like the ones on the package.  So instead of tossing them, she stuffed them into her purse and had been posing in them in the mirror all week long; sitting on her dresser, legs crossed, toes pointed, stomach sucked in, budding breasts forward, silently laughing and touching fingertips to her chest, she practiced being grown up in them.  Her dress was short enough to show them off as she walked to the bus stop.  The bus driver noticed them with a bright golden grin.  The old ladies, with huffs and snubs, noticed the grown up legs on the teenage girl.  Stormy silently hoped for a more favorable reaction from Marcel Samuels, as she crossed her ankles and turned her face away from the women.
Stormy and Melissa, the soprano that stood next to her in the choir stand, had been jabbing each other in the thigh during rehearsal in girlish competition for the young director’s attention.  Melissa, he said, had a voice like Tramaine Hawkins, so he offered her the lead on “When You Pray”.  Stormy was sulking in defeat as Melissa melted in the sultry attention of the director, whose hands manipulated their way from her shoulders to her diaphragm, compelling the young vocalist to push the song out.  Melissa giggled when Brother Samuels told Stormy that her voice was shaky and compromised his entire choir, but she swallowed her laughter whole when Brother Samuels offered Stormy some personal assistance after rehearsal.
Saturday afternoon, when choir rehearsal was over and all of the good Christians were gone, Stormy lay cradling herself on the floor, where young Brother Samuels had abandoned her wilted body, with her virginity bleeding slowly down her thighs in the Pastor’s Study.
Stormy didn’t know how he got her pretty black stockings off.   She had only wanted to kiss him.  She had only wanted to see what kissing his special mouth would be like.  That first kiss was the sweetest thing she had ever felt.  Everything else happened so quickly she couldn’t think straight.  Her face was stinging, there was something around her neck, his salty hand was over her mouth and nose, and she couldn’t breathe.  Then she was on the floor with her hair being pulled back so far she thought her neck would snap.  Her fists pounded the flesh and muscles of his big, strong back and someone was screaming “no” and “stop” and “it hurts” and “please Jesus, stop him.”  Things in her stomach were being pushed around as her bones seemed to split and give way to a digging inside of her and everything between her legs was throbbing, aching and bruising.  Then time was still and she left the room and floated into space and looked for Jesus.  She was calling His name and looking and calling and looking, but she couldn’t find Him anywhere.  She found a quiet place, laid down and waited, unsure of what she was waiting for.
Suddenly, there was a loud grunt in her ear, and then panting, squeezing, shaking and breathing and then… he was soft again, kissing her with his special mouth. 
“Now that’s some pussy that can make a brother sing,” he said, kissing her again.  Stormy didn’t say anything.  She just stared at the cross on the wall behind him where Jesus hung. “Hey, are you in there?”  Brother Samuels knocked on her head with his knuckles.  She turned her empty eyes to him.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “It won’t hurt the next time.” 
He stood up over her.  She saw his dick; the first one she had ever seen.  It had blood and white stuff on it.  She felt her stomach retching and thought she would throw up until she swallowed hard and looked away, at the cross again.
Brother Samuels picked her dress up off the floor and wiped his dick with it.  “You ain’t never even seen one before today, huh?”
Stormy laid there.  She did not answer.  She did not cry.  She kind of lay numb and wondering.  What had she done wrong?  Why was God punishing her?  Was this what she had to look forward to with men?  If God is everywhere, she thought, why couldn’t He hear my prayers from inside a Pastor’s Study?  Her eyes were fixated on that cross, where a hippy looking white man hung with nails in his hands and feet.  Her Sunday school teacher said Jesus was a carpenter. Maybe he built his own cross too, she thought.  Jesus, where were you when I was looking for you?
She shivered.
“Are you cold?” Brother Samuels asked.  “Here, put your dress back on.”  He tossed the dress onto her body, but she didn’t move a muscle.
For a moment, there was tenderness in his voice that Stormy appreciated.  Even when he wasn’t singing, praising God with his tenor tone, his voice sounded like a song.  Are you cold?  Even in the aftermath of him stealing her virginity, Stormy was drawn to his voice and waited for him to say something that would make her feel better. 
“Is something wrong?” he asked her.  “Why are you just laying there staring up at that cross?
“Oh, so now you’re not talking. What happened to ‘Oh Brother Samuels, you sing so pretty?  And how old are you?  Hee hee hee; I saw ya’ll up there in the choir stand giggling.  I be seeing ya’ll all the time, talking about me.  Now that you have my attention, you can’t talk.  You all hurt.  Shit.”  He curled his lip in disgust at her.  “You know, you females make me sick, prancing around in front of dudes, dressing like little sluts, switching your little asses around, batting your eyelashes, flirting and shit. Then you have the nerve to cop an attitude when men want to fuck you; especially you young chicks.  Sometimes I think God be playing games. I mean, He be giving ass and titties, like the ones He gave to you, to kids, and expects a man not to want them.  It just don’t make sense.  It’s just wrong. That’s why I’m just in this church, playing the piano, singing and getting paid.  My pretty hands make seventy-five dollars every time they touch the keys on Sunday.  All this shit is fake.  You are hella fake.”  He kicked Stormy’s leg. “I’m going to give you some advice, young lady.  You would be smart to take it.  Don’t take this situation and try to use it to play victim.  You’ll only be fucking yourself up for later.  Pussy wasn’t created for anything but fucking and having babies.  So if you think I’ve done you wrong. Think again.  I just got you ready.”
He kneeled at her side, watching her lay still.  Young Brother Samuels spoke slow and deliberately to her.  “I know you are feeling kind of bad about it right now, going out like a ho and all; especially at church, and being only fourteen.  But I can see it in you.  You’re going to be one of those bitches who love to fuck.  Trust me.  So don’t worry about it right now.
“Hey,” he said, waving his hand in front of her eyes. “What are you doing?  What are you looking at?”  He followed her eyes to the cross on the wall behind him.  “What? Do you think He’s going to climb down off that cross and whip my ass?  Hey, my cousin said that Mary, you know, from the bible, Jesus’ mother, was around fourteen years old.  So I guess you’re in real good company.” 
Stormy just lay there, not responding.  He looked at the catatonic girl on the floor, laughed, and stood on his feet.
“Naw, for real though; that’s some real good pussy you got.  You were fighting me for a minute.  That’s something you can hold on to for sure, for your honor.  But I could feel you wanting to fuck me back.  I could feel you holding yourself back. You even got a couple of good pumps in there, didn’t you?”
Stormy turned her face away.  He reached for her chin and turned her face back over to him.  She closed her eyes. “Open your eyes.  I want you to look at me and remember me.  I want you to remember what I smelled like, what I tasted like, what I felt like, before all those other men come rushing up inside you.  You should do yourself a favor next time; don’t hold back.  You ain’t being raped if you’re fucking back.  Remember that.”
Stormy watched Brother Samuels as he walked away from her, shaking his head.  He checked his hair in the mirror by the coat rack, where the pastor’s robe, hat and coat hung, and continued to talk.
“Pussy ain’t all special like you females try to make it out to be.  That’s all I’m saying.  Men know what pussy is for.  We have to have it.  We would kill to get it.  We pay for it!  I mean, I don’t pay for it but some fools do.  Men are the ones that give it value; not women. Pussy ain’t worth anything; not really.  It’s just that men have a need for it.  So in the future, if any of these fine, upstanding church men want to run up in you, you need to get a little something for your college fund. You know what I’m saying? 
“Besides, fucking is in our nature. It’s something people do.  We’re all animals with urges to procreate and shit.  That means have babies,” he said, looking back at her on the floor.  Stormy was starting to look like she was going to cry.  “You need to get up off the floor, and stop feeling sorry for yourself.  You don’t even know.  I did you a big ass favor.” Brother Samuels pulled his arms through his choir robe and zipped it.  “I swear,” he said, “Females can be so unappreciative.” He walked toward the door.  “Every girl has got to become a woman some time.  It’s probably better that you became one in the house of the Lord, don’t you think?” In that moment a single tear crawled through the corner of Stormy’s eye.  She could feel a well of them rushing in to pity her.  He was almost out of the door.  She willed her tears away; she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Brother Samuels opened the door to the pastor’s study and was stepping through it when he had an afterthought.   “I know you don’t want to embarrass your momma with any of this.  With that cancer eating her up like it is already, you might kill her with foolishness.  I heard, back in the day, your momma knew what pussy was for too.”
With that, he disappeared behind the door.  Stormy could hear him, already humming his next musical gift to God as he shut the door and walked down the hall with her innocence still ripe on his dick, under his choir robe.
After a few minutes, when she could hear the organ flooding the sanctuary, Stormy stood up on her trembling legs.  She pulled her pretty stockings from around her neck and tossed them in the trash can by the pastor’s desk.   She picked her pink cotton panties up off the floor and stepped into them.  Then she put on the dress her mother had warned her was “too short for the church house” and folded her choir robe.  She could hear Brother Samuels on the organ in the sanctuary, singing…
“I find no fault in God; He’s wonderful. I find no fault in Him.”

Excerpt, The Punany Experience: The War Between Tops and Bottoms,
Not Your Average Downlow Story
by Jessica Holter, (Atria/Simon & Schuster)

The Punany Experience: The War Between Tops and Bottoms
is available at Amazon Kindle DOWNLOAD TODAY!
Jessica Holter, a.k.a Ghetto Girl Blue, is a writer, a poet, a gifted orator and an activist for sexual health and AIDS awareness. She is the author of The Punany Poets’ Verbal Penetration (Strebor Books) and Punany The Hip Hop Psalms. She founded the controversial theater company, The Punany Poets in 1995. You can find her on stages around the world performing theatrical adaptations of her literary works. She is the mother of one son and lives in Oakland, California.

Email Jessica Holter at ghettogirlblue@yahoo.com



From the Desk of New York Times
Best-Selling Author Zane...

Dear Reader:
Jessica Holter has mesmerized audiences for over a decade with her live performances exploring sensuality and sexuality—two totally different things—through poetic word and physical expression. She is undoubtedly a prolific poet. In The Punany Experience, she shows the
world how prolific she is as an author. Korea and Stormy had traumatic childhoods, like so many women, and end up becoming involved later on in life. But their relationship— their love—is not an easy journey. Both have different needs and desires, and both have a lot of emotional baggage and scars inflicted on them by men. They want the American dream; a nice home, financial
freedom, and true love. They have it, for a period of time but soon realize that it is not enough. That is the amazing thing about life. Once we achieve everything that we have ever wanted, we begin to yearn for something different. Why? Because all of the challenges and
hurdles have been overcome. That is human nature.
The Punany Experience is engaging, sensual, suspenseful, and a real eye-opener. This book is for anyone who wants to learn more about how people think, how they love, and how they cope. It is possible to
beat the odds, to repair damage, and find what it is that you truly seek.
Once Hartford enters the lives of Korea and Stormy, everything changes. Hartford is a complicated man, with unusual desires that his wife cannot fulfill. That is when “the war between tops and bottoms” begins.Thank you for giving this book a chance. I am sure that you will
enjoy it. Thank you for reading the books published by all of my Strebor authors. I try my best to bring you out-of-the-box titles that you will not find at other publishers. I have always been a risk-taker and believe that every good story has an audience. You can visit me online at Eroticanoir.com or join my online social network at PlanetZane.org.

Blessings,
Zane
Publisher
Strebor Books International
www.simonandschuster.com/streborbooks
of sexual identity, leaving readers boundless as they slide down this slippery tale of fluid sexuality that does not fit into a closet.

Stormy Talbert, a sexy house wife with a culinary gift and Korea Smith, are satisfied to live the American Dream as woman and wife until they decide to seduce Hartford Crow, a successful, married music executive who has everything he wants, until he gets it. And these ladies know just what to give to the man who has it all.

Product Details
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: Strebor Books (July 6, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1593091451
ISBN-13: 978-1593091453
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Schedule a Book Signing
with a Live Performance

Jessica Holter is a gifted and talented orator and playwrite who has created a 3 act stage play based on her book, The Punany Experience: The War Between tops and bottoms.  Holter has been a trend-setter in the literary arts since she created The Punany Poets in 1995 in answer to the budding epideic of HIV/AIDS among heterosexual black women who now comprise more than 70% of new infections. Now, in her debute erotic novel she blurs the lines of sexual identity in a study of human nature that will
gender-bend your mind.














ABOUT THE STAGE PLAY
The War Between Tops and Bottoms is not the average down low story.  Ripped from the pages of Jessica Holter’s first erotic novel this three act stage play will gender-bend your mind into 360 degrees of understanding about sexual identity vs. sexual practice, leaving audiences spellbound by the taboo truth about people who are only as straight as their options will allow them to be.

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