Hello, I’m James Taylor, and welcome to Afternoon Delight—the show that’s all about you and your sex-fetish inquiries. As you know, each week I’m joined by a guest host, selected from an endless pool of talented 1970s singer songwriters, and together we do our best to address your fetishistic concerns. Whether your gag ball got stuck somewhere it didn’t belong or you’re just looking for an inside line on a pair of assless chaps, we can help.
Caller: Hi, James. Big fan. It’s an honor. O.K. Here’s my question: My wife and I have been married for 25 years and enjoy a good amount of role play. But last week, during a hot wax nipple session, she distinctly ignored my safe word. Since then, I just haven’t felt safe being submissive. Am I wrong? And, Oh! My safe word is “Sweet Baby James.” You rule!
Well, thank you, caller. I always love to hear when my music has found a place into the hearts of lovers and their dirty sex play. Let me say that ignoring a submissive’s safe word is never cool. I remember once in ’77, I was backstage at a Cat Stevens concert with a groupie and my favorite vaginal speculum. I was just about to increase the dilation a click, when she cried out, “Banapple Gas!” But I didn’t stop. I thought she was shouting out a song request for Cat. You see, by a horrible coincidence “Banapple Gas” was also her safe word, and I’d forgotten. Which is understandable because I was mainlining heroin at the time. Anyway, not long after, Cat rode the “Peace Train” out for an encore, and all was forgiven. But that doesn’t change what I did. Safe words are sacred, man. You keep your nipples to yourself until you get that straight with your lady.
Caller: Hi, James. I’m 42 years old, and throughout my life only two things have gotten me off: the smooth and insightful music of singer-songwriters from the 70s and infantilism. I found a lady who loves me and who has no problem changing my diaper, but she can’t stand my music collection. Godley & Creme, Seals & Crofts, Loggins & Messina. She hates it all, and, somehow, sitting in my own diapered filth just isn’t satisfying unless I can listen to Leo Sayer’s “When I Need Love” at the same time. You know what I mean? Any ideas?
O.K. Tough question. I think this might be a good time to bring out this week’s co-host. You might know him best for penning the theme song to The Golden Girls, but before that, he had a massive hit in 1976 with “Lonely Boy.” Please welcome talented singer-songwriter and deviant sex enthusiast, Andrew Gold. Andrew, think you can help our caller?
But no 1970s tunes? That’s a dealbreaker, man. I don’t even want to think about trying to achieve orgasm without “Summer Breeze” playing in the background. Stay strong, man. You’ll find the lady that’s right for you.
All right. Good advice. I think we have time for one more call here at Afternoon Delight. Caller, are you there?
Caller: Hey there, J.T. Longtime fan. First-time caller.
First-time caller my ass! I’d recognize that rugged yet sensitive voice anywhere! Ladies and Gentleman, on the phone I believe we have consummate singer-songwriter and last week’s co-host, Jackson Browne. Jackson, is that you?
Remember? Of course, I do. We played our blend of introspective acoustic emotion in the aftermath of Three Mile Island, and helped stop the proliferation of nuclear power, man. And then you got violated in ways that I still can’t fully comprehend. That was a special time. But no luck, Jackson. Carly picked up a diamond-encrusted designer paddle in SoHo that night so details are still kind of a blur. I don’t have the number.
Great. Another happy customer. Well, that about rounds out our show. I want to thank my callers and my co-host, and I hope to see you next week. And remember, when it comes to finding someone to give the best advice and information on the dark and deviant, you’ve got a friend here at Afternoon Delight.