Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

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Richard Pacheco and I go back a long way. We first crossed paths years ago at the Adult Industry Awards. He was on stage receiving an award for best X-rated films and I was in the audience. Standing behind the podium, Richard was making strange movements that turned out to be taking off his black jockey shorts. After he put his pants back on, he gave me a fabulous tribute about the important contribution I’d made to the field of human sexuality without ever getting any awards. Then he threw his black jockey shorts as far as he could into the audience and asked folks to pass them back to me. I was standing midway in the room.  When they finally reached me, I held them to my face and breathed in his scent amidst howls of laughter. That was the best award I’ve ever received.

Since then we have supported one another to get our sexual memoirs published. I think he’s a terrific writer with a great sense of humor. He thinks the same about me. He’s been working on his book for 23 years and I’ve been writing and shopping mine for 27 years. I’ve offered Richard to join me with an e-book that we can sell from dodsonandross. Here’s one of his chapters followed by my answer to his question:

Chapter Five

The Wonder of It All

Awe. A pair of breasts walked into a crowded room the other day. Men gasped. The other body parts of the woman who owned them were largely undistinguished, but her breasts were truly exemplary. Normally, I'm not moved to exotic poetry by tits. I'm sure I've already mentioned that it's the female ass that usually awakens all my calls to romance.

T & A, tits and ass, it's the two-party system of male sexuality. Women generally don't like it when men talk like this, I know my wife doesn't. There's a certain brutish tone to it that they find offensive. Besides that, most prefer the term of "breasts" to "tits" and women are largely resistant to being discussed in terms of their body parts. They just don't understand the beast of male lust. Not that men particularly do either, but we have to live with it. We have to nurture it, speak its language, and get used to its ways. We're actually the victims here, too!

We can be anywhere, sweating in the gym, sunning at the beach, walking down the sidewalk, and a pair of breasts like that shows up and we're reduced to jelly. They can come at us from almost anywhere. What I'm saying, ladies, is that there are breasts out there, clothed or unclothed, that can give us temporary insanity. They are secondary sexual characteristics that can make our mouths water. They lock in our gaze and make us nervous. They jiggle, jiggle, and we cry, "oh, be still my nervous heart!" Well, that may be an exaggeration, just a bit of fun, I suppose, because the heart is most likely not the organ being most profoundly affected.

As men, it's disconcerting that we live in a world where we just can't walk up to those breasts and worship them! I mean, come on! Sometimes they're just so fucking amazing! And it's not always about the size, either. Not even remotely! There are angles and dangles to be considered. They have attitudes, y'know, breasts can have their own attitudes. They can have limitless dimension of all kinds. Some can take our breath away. They can make us dumb and stupid. It's clear that this whole chapter is obvious testimony.

In a Male Fantasyland, we could walk up to the owner of such a fine pair and say, "May I?" And, of course, she'd know exactly what we were talking about. And, of course, she'd be flattered... and she'd have the time... and, of course, she'd say, "Yes, you may, go right ahead..."

And we'd reach out and touch. We'd squeeze, fondle and caress. Oh, we'd do nothing too untoward as we'd gratefully satisfy this driven curiosity of Nature. We'd remain the perfect gentleman....and she'd be the perfect lady...in this Male Fantasyland. Maybe we'd both even shudder a bit during the touching. Maybe we'd look into each other's eyes or maybe we wouldn't. Maybe a relationship would be born from such a moment ...or... maybe not.

Maybe we'd just say, "Thank-you, thank-you so very much!"

What's the equivalent experience in Female Fantasyland?  by Betty Dodson

I too appreciate T & A (tits and ass) and C & B (cocks and balls). My interest is not a fantasy but a real part of my life. However, when it comes to C & B, women will agree it's not fair that men's baskets rarely show. Their cock and balls are tucked into jock straps that seem like a form of genital bondage. Or they are hanging freely inside boxer shorts covered by loose pants that have extra pleats in front that hide their three piece set. Finally Calvin Klein gave us gals a thrill with his tight little skivvies and jeans that showed whether a dude dressed left or right. His ads are glorious. Closet thing to porn you can see on a billboard driving into Manhattan.

All of my guy friends and lovers have come to accept that I love to feel and fondle their ball sack. I have also developed a habit that enhances my BAD reputation: I love to reach out and gently cup a man's cock and balls even if I don't know him at all or not that well. I feel them up, mind you, in the most gentle and appreciative manner like a big sister, a buddy or just a close friend- nothing all that salacious. (Well, maybe a little). Sometimes I seem in a trance when I move in close, slip my arm around some cute guy's waist and with my other hand casually reach down for a feel. Some men have screamed like sissy girls as they jump away from me horrified that I'd crossed over into their private crotch space. Others melt into my sweet genital embrace smiling. That's when I know they are a friend or brother. I actually prefer to feel male packages through a layer of soft cotton so my hand can glide over the contours as I imagine color, texture and shapes.

One of the best C & B moments are when a lover is nude lying on his side with his ball sack squished between his legs with his cock on the other side. This emphasizes the amazing shiny chicken skin stretched tight that shows an incredible network of veins ranging from red to purple. When I'm able to focus more closely on holding a lovers ball sack in my hand, the two glands that I can roll around inside are fascinating to feel. Some guys are way too touchy about their balls but others have been quite generous. One cute boyfriend asked if I could take his entire ball sack into my mouth. I could and I did. What a lovely mouthful.

Another time I was discussing the color of teeth at a dental lab. The technician, a middle-aged man sitting as I stood alongside him had a phenomenal bulge in his crotch with an outline of his cock that extended down his right pant leg. It had me transfixed. I was like a guy who couldn't take his gaze off a woman's tits and becomes embarrassed by his own helplessness to look at her face while she's speaking to him. I knew he'd seen me staring! As I stood their comparing color samples from a chart, I was having trouble concentrating. Finally he broke the ice. "See something you like?" he grinned as he looked down between his legs.

He had silver sideburns, maybe in his early-forties. We looked to be close to the same age. At that point I nodded yes and invited him to stop by my place after work so I could have a better look at his package that would be fun to play with. This was in the seventies when sexual mobility was natural to those of us who were taking advantage of it. My apartment was only a few blocks from his lab. He wrote down my address and showed up around 6pm. A married man of Italian decent he was thrilled to be an object of a sexually sophisticated woman's desire. Ten inches at least. I couldn't really fit him in comfortably so I exercised my manual skills. He was very happy as he laid there on my soft carpeted floor while I straddled him with massage oil covering my hands and his magnificent three piece set.

One time I enacted my revenge on a male chauvinist author who had slighted me in an article he'd written about the Sexual Revolution. He fancied himself an expert on all things sexual. The room was packed. He was standing at the bar when I pulled up alongside him. As I took a firm hold of his cock and balls, I put my mouth close to his ear in the noisy room and said, "Next time you leave me out, I won't be as gentle as I am right now." Tightening my grip ever so slightly, I then unhanded him smiling sweetly. The next time I saw him at a social gathering; he turned and quickly walked off in the opposite direction. I must admit that moment made me feel like Sheena, Queen of the Testicle Jungle.

Not long ago my dear friend Anna and I were talking about sex and discovered we both had a similar fascination with men's balls. We agreed they were so varied and different in size and texture and the best thing was how vulnerable testicles made men feel especially when exposed. Their sizes and shapes are as variable as our boobs and the length they hang down can change right before your eyes as the body automatically adjusts the AC to keep sperm vital. We still talk about creating a Book of Balls one day. I'm convinced our interest in balls is similar to men's interests in tits. Both are the one thing the opposite sex has that's so completely different. The same as guys doing T & A, I'll bet there are many closeted gals who are into C & B if only they would admit it.

Society makes sure men get to see women's titties while men hide their genitals- another double standard. Even the Cod piece that was once fashionable didn't really show that much. Unlike King Henry's court where breasts were smashed under a bodice with the remaining flesh pushed up under "My Ladies chin." Talk about push-up bras! These women were all jiggling titty flesh just above their nipples on up. We don't get anything like that in men's fashion except one Aboriginal tribe. The men cover their dicks with a gourd tied to a strap around their waist. Their balls hang out. That would be an ideal situation for Anna and me but Nat Geo blurs the images so we can't even enjoy the natives black balls. And what woman doesn't love a Scotsman when he sits with his legs apart while wearing a kilt? A photo made the rounds not long ago with a Darling young Scotsman sitting next to the Queen with the cutest C & B imaginable showing under his kilt- all pink and plump just perfect for fondling. Absolutely irresistible!