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Sex Blogging, Gratuitous Nudity, Kinky Sex, Sundry Sensuality
Archive for February, 2003
Friday, February 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It turns out that “God is a masturbator.”
These people appear to be serious. But then again, so did the Landover Baptists, once upon a more innocent net age. We report, you decide.
Wednesday, February 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Anarchist Boone over at Nolo Consentire has a nightmare vision about how the LA cops are going to figure out who is cruising for hookers:
Is there going to be a roadside tumescence test, or what?
“I’m sorry sir, but you have been seen driving around this block looking at women and transvestites. Please step out of the car and remove your clothing so we can attach this device to your genitals…..”
Friday, February 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Group Captain has his own satellite photos of naked peace protesters. These ones seem to be pursuing a sort of reverse Lysistrata peace strategy….
Friday, February 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This picture is in honor of the recently completed Yukon Quest sled dog race.
Tuesday, February 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The above picture makes Bacchus thirsty. It also puts him in mind of the following extremely explicit but wildly implausible passage about anal sex and ripe oranges, from the book Captive by Aishling Morgan. Don’t read on if you are likely to be offended by this sort of thing:
Aisla sighed as the warm grease from the roast duck touched her bottom hole, then gave a little gasp as her anus was penetrated. Yarath began to wriggle his finger about in her rectum, exploring her and greasing her ring, then feeling the shape of the tangerines through the membrane between vagina and rectum. Aisla pushed her bottom back, eager for buggery, but was given a gentle slap for her trouble. Yareth’s finger pulled from her anus and something replaced it, not his cock, but another tangerine.Â
With her eyes and mouth wide in shock, Aisla struggled to accept the fruit in her back passage. She felt her ring stretch and a complaining stab of pain, but even as she cried out her anus gave and the fruit had popped inside. She accepted it with a long groan. Juice had splashed between her buttocks and was trickling down her thighs, showing that the tangerine had burst as it went up her. Sulitea giggled again as another fruit was pressed to Aisla’s anus, again stretching, hurting and popping inside just when she thought she could not take it. A third followed, leaving both vagina and rectum bloated and straining, while she felt an urgent need to evacuate herself.
Only then did Yarath take her by the hips, and she realised she was to be buggered with the tangerines still in her rectum. His cock went in slowly, forcing the fruit aside and increasing the straining feeling in her bowels. By the time he was in her to the hilt she was panting and struggling for breath, overwhelmed by the bloated sensation in her gut and up her vagina.
Yarath began to bugger her, with the fruit rolling and bumping in her rectum with each push. Aisla’s control went quickly, and as Sulitea came to stroke her hair, she panted and grunted her way through the sodomy. Her hands were locked hard on the table top at first, gripped tight in a futile attempt to control herself. Soon they slipped, first back to her buttocks to stretch them open, then beneath herself to find her clitoris and start on the climb to orgasm.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, February 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Daze we are linked to a nice story about the lusty February holiday that the church flagellated into the submissive modern and chaste St. Valentine’s Day. And what a holiday it was, that old Lupercalia! Complete with a sex lottery:
And all the young lasses in the city would place their names in a large urn, and the city’s eligible bachelors would choose a name out of the urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman, often resulting in marriage. You know, sort of like the Mormons. Only with actual sex. And booze. And without the creepy undergarments.
Frankly, that sounds like a social custom of real utility!
Sunday, February 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“…and get into the enemy’s rear, which means get into where all his soft assets are….”
Who says the soldier boys and their media catamites aren’t enjoying all this?
Sunday, February 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a really odd article on Christian porn. The odd thing is that the author of the article seems to be really offended by the stuff. Debbi Does Sodom is an “appalling artifact of contemporary decadence”:
Take a peek at Debbi Does Sodom, a 35-minute VHS opus distributed by Saviour Video, complete with a rendering of the “Christian” fish on the logo.
Debbi, played by Tanya Yorke, is an American tourist in the city of Sodom who goes to a bistro, where she meets several men who invite her to a private party at their clubhouse. Debbi accepts and relocates to a seedy ballroom where techno music is throbbing relentlessly. She takes a tablet of Ecstasy and falls into a drugged trance, dancing seductively to the music, then having wild sex with four men at the same time as the copulating group undulates in rhythm with the music.
Suddenly this exceptionally erotic tableau is shattered by the appearance of a police assault team, which bursts through the doors with guns drawn. Debbi’s paramours are brutally beaten, and she is marched nude from the clubhouse into a waiting van. There she encounters two “Christian” evangelists who do their best to help Debbi regain the road to righteousness, by preaching to her and quoting Scripture as the van speeds away through the night. The film ends with Debbi, who has been saved and is now a born-again “Christian,” wearing a choir robe and plastered with lots of cosmetics, singing the glories of Jesus.
Unless Bacchus is misremembering his literary history, this is nothing more or less than a classic morality play, updated for modern viewers and recorded for broader distribution. It’s a video tract with a bit of flesh to draw and keep the eye. In poor taste, perhaps, as is much of the rest of the “body” of popular evangelical artistic and literary material throughout history. But “appalling artifact of contemporary decadence”? Someone is missing the point.
Update: Daniel Radosh kindly wrote in to point out that this article appears to be a fraud of some sort or a badly failed attempt at humor. He reports that Googling the mentioned personages is fruitless, which strongly suggests they do not exist. Thanks to Daniel for the info, and apologies all around for the gullibility that Bacchus substitutes for actual reportage.
Thursday, February 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Acme Labs for the custom heart generator.
Tuesday, February 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
When the first picture above was first displayed in this space, there was some concern (and correspondence with other bloggers) that it might be a Photoshop job. It’s hard to imagine the logistics of taking that picture without causing a public stir and/or having words with local law enforcement agencies.
And, indeed, as you can now see that the second picture looks to be the source material for creating the first one. Oh, well, a work of art is a work of art, whatever the medium.
Monday, February 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Over at Moxie’s place they are swapping pickup lines from the War on Terror:
“The UN passed resolution 69 which clearly states I get some ass this weekend. If I don’t, the terrorists win.”
“I’m not afraid to take unilateral action, but nookie of this caliber is best done by a multilateral coalition . . . of you and me.”
“I’d like to do things to you that even the French would veto.”
And more.
Monday, February 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This story about a console game that ships with a “trance vibrator” attachment is old news, apparently, but the link from Mt. Molelog is fresh.
What’s topical for ErosBlog is the, er, cooperative potential:
We sat side my side on our makeshift couch, I with the trance vibrator and Justin with the controller. As the levels got more advanced, so did the vibrations… revving up to an intense pulsing throbbing…
[later]
“But don’t you think this trance vibrator extension is so your girlfriend can get off while you’re playing the game? Or so a girl gamer can get off while she’s playing the game?”
“It was a bit odd,” said Justin, “my fingers were working the controls, but they were also kind of working you.”
Sunday, February 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The hooligani who publish The Exile have attitude, and they’ll never be accused of political correctness. Frankly, it’s hard to believe that they really are as depraved as they pretend to be. But in Moscow, where depravity is cheap and flows as freely as vodka, it’s possible, or at least plausible.
Be that as it may, they publish some sex writing that’s as fresh and honest as it is politically incorrect. For example, this article (purporting to be the first of a regular series) in which prostitutes are interviewed for their stories — before the interviewer gets down to business.
“Oh bozhe moi! Hell yes! My first john was a young guy. A young bandit. I was literally shaking when I went over. I couldn’t help it. I sat there trembling. He was very gentle. He poured me a lot of vodka. I got completely drunk and calmed down. Then it was all right.” She laughed. “I’m blushing, aren’t I?”
Sunday, February 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
How to Use a Vagina and a Penis — a funny couple of bits, if the gratuitous misogyny and misandry don’t get in your way. To wit:
The most important thing to remember is that the penis was specially designed by God to make your vagina feel good. Unfortunately, God did a shitty design job and he attached the penis to a man – so the chances of a penis making you feel good are infinitesimal.
Thanks to Random-Abstract for the link.
Saturday, February 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Friday, February 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Rebecca is having a dessert fantasy:
“I am imagining the sheer desire and eroticism of laying in between the layers of a Boston Cream Pie slice. Slipping my naked body into the cool custard, feeling it coat my hardened nipples like a lover’s I-just-drank-some-cold-water tongue. Pinned down by cake and chocolate ganache, pressing my ass deeper into the custard until it parts my ruby lips, sending shivers up my spine. I wiggle. I moan. I lick my fingers and drift off into a hazy sugary sleep on a cold winter’s night.”
Thursday, February 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Your kink is not OK.
This guy says so. [Link died and was removed.]
The article is entitled “Fourteen Sexual Fantasies I just Don’t Understand” but when you read it, it’s a condemnation of anyone who does understand the fetishes in question.
Into watersports? You “nasty skank.” Older women? “Not sexy.” Like girls with body hair? “Bad news for you: you’re probably gay.” Foot Fetish? “Not even remotely affiliated with the sexual process.” Like shemales? “Just sick.” Wierd insertions? “Ain’t sexy.” Bestiality? “Not erotic.” “Excessive Bondage”? “Just not nice.” Female domination? Forget it — “It’s the role of the guy to be the dominator.” Cartoons? “Jerking off to a cartoon should be a last resort.” Pregnant women? You “sick fuck.”
Anyone reading the article is probably going to agree with some of these – certainly there are several of these fetishes that would send Bacchus screaming for the next county. But it’s unclear what is to be gained by condemning fetishes you don’t personally find sexy.
What a maroon. And on the evidence, a somewhat sexist and homophobic maroon to boot.
Wednesday, February 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This sort of thing might be able to convince even Bacchus that exercise can be fun.
It gets better. What are they doing, practicing Gorean slave girl postures?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, February 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
What she said!
She quotes loosely from a press release:
“One of our clients is a French doctor and plastic surgeon, who has an amazing new procedure: It involves injecting collagen into the G-spot to increase its surface area, thereby improving the occurrence and intensity of orgasms. It is a very quick and easy procedure that can be carried out at the [blah blah blah] clinic in [blah]. It has been brought over from Paris where it is all the rage. If you would like any other details, please get in touch.”
Now, Bacchus is not equipped with a G-Spot, but his most recent ex emphatically was, and presumably still is. Surface area was more than adequate, howbeit quite remarkably changeable in texture. This suggested “enhancement” sounds every bit as absurd as “enhancing” a pair of firm but deliciously malleable breasts by cutting the nipples mostly off and stuffing vinyl bags of salt water in through the holes until the skin is stretched so tight it begins to deform and…oh, wait. Never mind.
Tuesday, February 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tuesday, February 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This article [link gone] contains a chilling tale of Google Revenge by (who else?) a scorned woman:
Amanda created an alternate digital identity for her former boyfriend – a personal Web page that would, in all likelihood, be accessed only by those people Googling him by name. On this over-the-top Web page, the guy makes a series of mock confessions that, if taken seriously, would be toxic in any future dating situation. He “admits” to being untrustworthy, jobless, sneaky, a lousy lover, and, finally, a carrier of venereal disease. Hey, Mom, let me tell you a little bit about my new boyfriend.
Confession time. When Bacchus first read this article, it gave him an evil urge to go and do likewise to an arguably-deserving ex. The urge was quickly suppressed, after mere moments of consideration, on purely pragmatic grounds — she could, and would, do unto as done upon, and belike with an evil genius of even higher calibre. Best not to go there.
But Alina promptly leapt for, and attained, the moral high ground:
In the end, we each get what is coming to us in some shape or form– a natural consequence of our good or bad decisions. The most poetic justice is the kind that never shows its hand. So don’t bother. Vengeance sullies the soul of the bearer more than the soul of the intended target. Limit the collateral damage. Call it a day. Thank ex-man/woman for what he/she may have taught you about the world, about human relationships, and more importantly, about yourself.
But wait, don’t grab for your insulin yet! Alina may be high-minded, but she’s still human:
Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness prove far too beautiful and elegaic to be drowned in revenge fantasies. That said, it can never hurt to check the google galaxy for unfortunate slips. Picture me grinning.
Monday, February 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The site logs, which do not lie, tell us that many searchers are looking for “camel toes”. Far be it from ErosBlog to disappoint.
Monday, February 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Who said suburban living was bland and banal?
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