More Patriarchal BDSM Porn (Not)

From Usenet:

Update: Added sardonic “not” to the post title because people were not catching the sarcasm.

Dancing, Idleness, And Anal Sex

Two tidbits today from the vast and tasty smorgasbord that is Panties Panties Panties. First, the anal sex. There’s a recent post called “Ass: The Gateway Drug“. The post combines plenty of prurient detail with an anal sex tip that’s not always found in those dry how-to articles; namely, that good humor is at least as important as the standard “use oceans of lube” advice. But it’s the title that amused me most. It reminded me of the ancient joke: “Why don’t [insert your favorite moralistic prigs here] have sex standing up? Because it could lead to dancing!”

Tidbit the second, nonsexual: In a spiritual echo of my recent slam against office work, Hiromi posted about idleness and wage slavery and included a vignette about soul-crushing commutes:

Today I was stuck in Austin rush hour traffic. Grey-faced, prune-lipped, baggy-eyed commuters with cell phones grafted to their heads crammed in their metal hutches inching along in the 105 degree heat. And for what?

Werk. Jaabs. Wage slavery.

Folks, the horrifying thing about all of this is that it’s voluntary; there are ways out of the rat race, but you have to look hard and perhaps be willing to give up (at least temporarily) some of the excellent pellets they feed you.

Bondage Porn, Hold The Patriarchy

After having wallowed in BDSM-and-porn hatred in the last couple of posts, it’s time for some good old fashioned unapologetic girl-on-girl bondage porn, with some toilet dunking to push a few more buttons:

From Wired Pussy. And there’s nary a patriarch (nor even a dick!) in sight. (Unless, of course, you count the electrified stainless steel butt plugs in the shoot this picture came from.)

Another Country Heard From

I don’t think there’s much chance I have anything philosphically in common with the woman who writes Den of the Biting Beaver. Indeed, her views strike me as horrifying and repressive; she hates pornography, reveres Andrea Dworkin, and slammed her own 14-year old son for having the temerity to suggest that fighting and dying in a war might be worse than being raped during one. (In her own words: “I stomped out that little glimmer of Patriarchal nonsense before it had taken a real root in his tender little psyche.” Nice parenting, yo.) Worse yet, she actually believes in thought crime; she’s got a detailed theory of why it’s wrong and bad to fantasize about things you shouldn’t or wouldn’t actually do.

So why the attention? In a word, quality. Her posts are entertaining-tending-toward-rants, well-written, considered in the sense of acknowledging and addressing obvious counter-arguments, and fun to read. If everybody in this multi-sided culture war we’re fighting came to battle in the same spirit as she does, we would all be having a lot more fun.

Paging Andrea Dworkin

Via Bondage Blog comes this link to an interesting discourse on advertising images of women. But I was amazed by the casual one-sentence dismissal of kinky people, in a line that calls an image of a “‘woman-in-pain-but-she-loves-it-really” “misogynist iconography”.

There is, of course, a vast community of women who enjoy bondage and/or pain, plus the people who love those women. So now all these people (a huge chunk of the BDSM community) are misogynists? I’ve read that passage several times, and I just can’t see any way to read it that doesn’t attribute misogyny to all BDSM erotica with female subjects. I thought those sorts of baseless generalizations went out of fashion when civilized people started laughing at Andrea Dworkin.

Here’s the “misogynist iconography” in question:

What grosses me out about that image is that it appears to be one of those advertising images where they’ve used Photoshop as a “digital rack” to stretch the model, so that she appears unnaturally long in the torso and limbs. That’s gotta hurt.

A Real Street Blowjob

I’m a small town boy at heart. Setting aside the sometimes-amusing literary conceits of porn sites like Street Blowjobs (sorry, boys, but the young ladies sucking on “Bob Incognito’s” prong are recruited in the usual porn industry fashion and they know they are on camera), I would normally assume that even low-end commercial sex transactions are unlikely to occur in broad sunlight within feet of beer-swigging pedestrians. And so, it’s possible this photograph is not what it looks like:

Although that posture is hard to explain, it’s possible he’s just trying to give her a discreet hit on his device for incinerating illicit chemicals. Heck, maybe she’s trying to help untie the tangled knots of his friendship bracelets, using her teeth to worry the strings loose. It’s possible….

But then, it’s also possible (and perhaps more likely) that more things happen on the mean streets of the big city than I’d previously imagined.

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Fun With A Penis Pump

I’ve always wondered what the deal was with those clear plastic penis pumps — they are advertised as a penis enlargement tool, but what good is a huge penis that’s inside a hard plastic vacuum chamber? Here’s someone who set out to find out:

So last week Juicy Wife and I ordered some sex toys (one of which was a penis pump). Saturday evening, while Wife was out on the town, I got a chance to play around with said pump. The sole reason I got it was pure novelty — what would it be like to have a massive circus schlong for all of 8 seconds?

At first, it was quite enjoyable. I slipped the chamber over my (non-erect) self and began pumping away. With this model of penis pump, your cock rests inside this little sleeve at the base and as your dick expands, it gets slowly pulled upward through the sleeve — which was actually kind of pleasureable. (If you lube up first. Must use lube with this thing.) My favorite part was when the head finally popped through the sleeve and up into the chamber; it had grown fucking ENORMOUS. I kept pumping away, drawing my cock further north and swelling it to even larger proportions. I got this weird thrill, like I was a mad scientist bringing Frankenstein to life. IT’S ALIIIIVE!!

After that, things went downhill. The little sleeve is very, very tight and doesn’t actually expand along with your growing penis. So you’re left with one half of your cock looking gigantic and swollen, and the other half compressed within the tiny restrictive sleeve. This also makes it nearly impossible to remove … you literally have to fight your own penis to get it off. After wrestling with it for 3 minutes, I had nearly lost all my sex drive.

So I wouldn’t recommend the cock pump. Unless you have a very narrow penis that can rest comfortably in that sleeve.

He went there so you don’t have to.

Quit Your Job, Improve The Shape Of Your Ass

I’ve long preached to anyone who would listen that the old-fashioned “square” office job is deleterious to everyone’s health, welfare, liberty, human dignity, sweetness of breath, semen flavor, you name it. Now comes the unsuprising word from Just One Bite that it’s bad news for the shape of your ass, too:

Strangest result of not having an office job anymore: my ass is changing shape. Really! I have wide hips but small buttocks, which have gotten rounder and firmer since I stopped squashing them on a desk chair for 10-12 hours each day. Feel free to grab, pinch, or fondle at will.

Do You Need A New Hobby?

Under the I’m-not-making-this-up headline “The Twat Thickens“, advice columnist Sasha finds out and explains the secrets of making art molds of female naughty bits:

Hay begins with a plaster mould. She bought nine aluminum roasting pans, mixed six inches of plaster in them and had her shaven and Vaseline-slathered actresses squat into them. “You know it’s beginning to set when it starts getting hot,” she says. Keep your eye out for bubbles, but if you get some (and you will), soak the hardened plaster in warm water, then plug the holes with wet plaster.

Hay used beeswax to create her vaginas and they are exquisite. Actually, I believe Ellie Rae Hennessey’s is still kicking around Buddies if you want to have a look. Hay began with one layer of peachy-coloured beeswax (tinted with oil paint that comes in sticks), swooshed it around the mould, then after it dried, swooshed a layer of tinted red wax on top of it. This layering process gave the vaginas a life-like quality. “Don’t forget to put a release agent between the cast and the wax,” she says. A thin coat of Pam works just fine. None of the actresses Hay cast complained of any infections or problems afterwards, but do make sure you get all that Vaseline off.

One thing that can’t be stressed enough: make sure you are fully shaven — and that goes for your asshole as well — because prying off plaster or alginate embedded with your pubes hurts like a motherfucker.

Like the man said, the more you know….

The Manners Of Giving And Getting Head

OK, OK, so there’s like, a jillion oral sex guides out there on the internet. I fondly recall reading one back when I really needed one, back before there was a World Wide Web, when the best internet resources took the form of huge lovingly-crafted ASCII text files. After a few years of sex blogging, though, the oral sex guides all start to run together and feel the same.

Which is why this one is worth linking to: It’s not so much about technique as it is about etiquette, and it’s written in a fresh and entertaining voice:

Okay, pervs and pervettes. It’s time for Chow Yun Smut to step up and testify on the importance of manners. I don’t care which fork you use at the dinner table, I don’t care if you hold the door open for the ladies, I don’t care about the ongoing debate on who pays for a date. This is all about giving head.

DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a primer for technique…. Manners, folks. Etiquette. Because I was recently confronted with a person who has apparently been allowed to be sexually active with more than one person, and yet nobody has taken the time to inform this person of some very basic rules of engagement.

Of course, I didn’t find this first; I found the link over at Fleshbot, where the skilled professional sex bloggers tend to find all the goodies before I do. But hey, Violet Blue did write the book on oral sex (well, two of them, actually) and so if she recommends it, it’s surely worth your time.

Sally Lane With A Whip

Time for another gem from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage:

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Sex Graffiti

Via anonymous email, we have this folk art rendering of a woman having a spot of masturbation fun with an aerosol cologne container:

Nerve Sex News Blog

I’ve been an on-again off-again fan of Nerve.com for what feels like forever. Certainly, it’s been for long enough that I can still remember when they started putting their best photography behind a paywall, back when that was still a novel and extremely unwelcome innovation among online magazine sites. For awhile I maintained a silent one-man boycott; my attitude was then, and largely remains, that there’s more free media on the web than I can consume before I die, so why pay for any? And why reward online content producers with my eyeballs, if they aren’t smart enough to understand that their target demographic is already flooded with quality free media?

Ah, well, but there’s quality and then there’s quality. Much of Nerve’s content has always been both free and of unusually high quality, so gradually and sporadically I’ve drifted back. For the first year of Erosblog’s existence, I even kept a link to Nerve somewhere among my lists of links to quality non-blog sex sites. I purged it, somewhen, for reasons I don’t fully remember. Most likely, it was because I hate to provide free traffic to moneymaking operations that won’t send me either money or traffic in return; and until recently, Nerve didn’t link out to anybody in the blogging community.

Suddenly, however, I see that’s changed. I noticed in my referrals that they are now operating a blog called Breaking News, subtitled “No weather. No traffic. Just sex.” And, although like many corporate bloggers they don’t quite fully get this blogging thing (what’s with only showing seven entries on the main page, when the default page height would support five times as many and is now four-fifths blank?), the sex news entries are entertaining and (importantly) they’ve linked to Eros Blog under a “Nerve Recommends” header. Thanks, and welcome back to the blogroll!

How To Be Your Own Sex Therapist (In 1976)

Here’s one of sixteen oh-so-tasteful sex photos from a 1976 book called “Be Your Own Sex Therapist”:

From Making Love In 1976 at The Nonist.

The Helpful Man

I suppose this image could be used to support a tendentious joke about managed health care. But I prefer to look at it as a cross-gender gesture of helpfulness and support:

Fellows, remember the immortal words of Red Green: “If the women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy!”

Test Riding A Fucking Machine

Long ago I blogged about fucking machines, but in the years since, this post by Audacia Ray at Waking Vixen is the first detailed account I’ve seen from a woman who has gamely taken one of the machines for a good test ride:

Dacia vs. The Machine

or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Robocock

So in the quest to make my life experience increasingly peculiar, last night I had an, um, encounter with a fucking machine. How, you may ask, would this come about? Well, I was contacted a while ago by a photographer who is interested in the intersection between sexuality and machines… an interesting conversation resulted and the revelation that said photographer is in possession of a fucking machine (you know, one of these things). Was I intrigued? Well, considering that I was already intrigued by his project, yes I certainly was.

So, fast forward to last night, when I filled my suitcase with clothes, shoes and sex toys and made my way to the studio we were shooting in. We started out with some still pics for a bit of warm up and utilized my very red wardrobe and collection of high heels. I was amused to find that it’s becoming much easier to walk in 5 inch stilettos; when I put on my platforms I felt almost like I was wearing sneakers, they were so easy to move around in. Hey, strutting in 5 inch heels is a useful life skill for me.

After a while, the photographer took out the fucking machine for me to admire and ponder. It was basically a metal suitcase like the kind you see carrying millions of dollars in those gangster movies. Except inside of it was the metal that makes the hump possible, and it had a metal pole sticking out of it. It came with a collection of dildos (the icky flesh colored, veiny jelly rubber ones) but I was delighted to find out that my favorite silicone dildo happened to have a hollowed out space perfectly sized for said metal attachment. Well then. We turned the machine on its end so the dildo was pointing skywards, twisted its control on, and watched mesmerized as it pumped at the ceiling. Another twist of the knob and it pumped faster.

The photographer turned to me and said, “So what do you think?”

My eyes still locked on the machine, I responded, “Well, it’s kind of scary. But the noises it makes are less terrifying than I thought they’d be; I thought it would sound more like a jackhammer. Let’s do it.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and said, “You’ll be the first to have a go with it. Other models have been curious about it, but everyone’s been too afraid of it to actually use it.”

Leave it to me to take the machine’s virginity and give it my robot love virginity in exchange.

To warm myself up for the machine, I did a bit of a strip tease with the video camera trained on me, unzipped my dress (hey, I’m a class act, what can I say?), sat down in a comfy chair and began to play with my pussy. I dipped my fingers in my mouth and then smeared the wetness on my freshly shaved labia. By this time I was distracted by the task at hand, so I forgot about being careful with my lipstick and probably fucked it all up, but who cares — I was getting ready to make sweet robot love. I lingered with my fingers pulling at my labia, mixing spit and cunt juices together, rubbing my clit into the awakened state that always makes my piercing jut at an odd angle. I reached beside my chair for my trusty lube and toys and started to use the mini slimline all over my vulva; its hard plastic occasionally chattering over my piercing. I felt my labia plump up and the area just above my pubic bone swell. I pressed down on it and slid the vibe inside me at an angle so that I’d touch my g-spot while also bearing down on it from above. Good, cross-eyed stuff. While keeping the vibe in place with one hand, I reached for my lumina wand with the other. I was ready for some harder g-spot banging. Chatter chatter chatter was the sound of the moment as the slimline collided with my piercing and the lumina wand, and sometimes both at once. I felt my juices start to drip out of me and expand down the insides of my thighs — I was ready for robot love. I tapered off with the vibrator and announced, “I’m ready for it.”

We shuffled things around a bit and tried to figure out the optimal position for machine fuckery. Since the floor was looking none too comfy for laying or kneeling on, we decided that it would be best if I stood over the machine, with it poking me from below. I had to take my fabulous stilettos off for this portion of the evening’s program so that I could balance better. I lubed up my dildo and inserted it before turning the machine on, and then slowly twisted the knob. With a click and a grind, the machine sprung to life, and on its first upward thrust popped out of my pussy. This much I can say — though the machine repetitively thrusts in the exact same way, it is still no easier to keep the cock-pussy connection going than it is with a real live cock. Or maybe I just need more machine-fucking practice.

After getting the hang of the machine for a while, we decided that I should turn around and angle the thing so that I would be getting fucked from behind, though still standing up. We put a stool in front of me for leaning against, and this position worked much better, partly due to the fact that I was no long looking directly at the machine and being fascinated by the hump mechanism (yes, that’s a technical term). I could concentrate more on the solid fucking the thing was administering once I was propped up on my elbows and pointing my ass at machine (and camera). I dropped my left hand down onto my clit and realized that my pussy was a sopping mess (in a good way).

I closed my eyes, listened to the steady hum of the machine behind me, and went to town on my clit. That dildo isn’t my favorite for nothing — its smooth swells rubbed my g-spot in just the right way, and the wide base stretched my cunt wide for a spilt second as the machine penetrated me to the hilt. Though at first I had been too concerned with the mechanics of the operation (and I’ll admit, a little self-conscious about being on camera) to think that I’d be able to make an orgasm happen, it was becoming a reality. I felt myself slip into my head and body a bit more, and I looked down to see my legs violently shaking.

The gears inside the suitcase groaned against my pulsing cunt muscles. It made a bit of a cranking noise and I wondered for a second if my orgasm was going to push the cock out (it didn’t), but then I got lost in the feeling of coming. With a soft sigh, my body began to go slack, and I slowed the machine to a stop. I disengaged, still shaking and a little flushed. The photographer watched me shaking subtly before him for a second, and then asked, “So, how was it?”

“It was… good. Interesting. I was able to get into it more when I wasn’t looking at the shiny metal of the machine.”

So, it wasn’t the most fearsome orgasm ever, and I didn’t go totally nuts about the machine, but I think given some practice and a different position (how about not standing up), my robot love skills could increase exponentially. Now there’s a useful life skill to have.

In Praise Of Female Sexuality

I’m very impressed by the quoted portion of this article:

It’s time someone praised and defended reckless teenage girls and young women who behave badly, dress provocatively, engage in risky sex, and get pregnant. They are the normal ones. The rest of us are the deviants. They are behaving in the most natural way. The rest of us are mutants.

There is nothing wrong with pelvic display, push-up bras, Gosford miniskirts, spray-on jeans, low-cut tops, bare legs, bare arms, bare ankles, G-strings or even buttock cleavage, providing the displayer is young enough to get away with it. A woman’s body is at its fertility peak between the ages of 17 and 23. So when young women advertise or flaunt their sexuality they are being driven by a force far stronger than the Judeo-Christian ethic. They are driven by the power of peak fertility and a million years of evolutionary biology. Nature has programmed them for pregnancy, genetic diversity and keeping the species going. A big job.

Sexually active teenage girls, and sexually promiscuous women of any age, carry the greatest social burden of judgements, punishments, restrictions and risks because we haven’t got the child-care equation right. These women are just doing their job. They are real, while the rest of the equation is artificial. Society is the collective weight of traditions, conventions, laws, habits, fears, tribes, taboos and technologies, permeated by a Judeo-Christian ethic dominated by men and designed to curb female sexual power. Our norms are also dominated by the ideology of materialism that is moving women further and further towards unnatural behaviour, pressuring them to have babies later rather than sooner.

This is society’s real problem. Teenage pregnancy is trivial by comparison to suppressed pregnancy.

In other words, it’s not those damned horny kids who have the problem, it’s us grownups, who’ve built a society where you have to study and train and work your way up for far too many years, before you finally gain the economic power necessary to have children responsibly without depending on anybody else.

Italian Castle for the Amorously Adventurous

Want a castle for your sexcapades? This one, billed as a Wonderfull Castle In The Italian Countryside, has plenty of room, an “underground passage,” and much more. Check out the amenities, especially the second one in the third column. :)

Thanks, Evil Science Chick.

Comic Book Catfights

It’s no suprise that nearly-naked catfighting is an old tradition, and not something they just dreamed up over at Ultimate Surrender. Still, I love this vintage 1960’s comic book cover approach to the genre:

Thanks to comics blogger Johnny Bacardi for the illustration.

Yet Another Paranoid Blogger…

…shoots himself in the foot. Alternative title for this post: How To NOT Get 3,000 Hits from Fleshbot And A Spot On My Blogroll.

This time, the cutesy javascript said:

“As perverse as it is, you can’t have it.”

I didn’t want to “have it”, I wanted to share it. Some people just don’t play well with others, I guess.

Grandfather’s Sex Confessions

Columnist Emily Pepper writes about the TMI hazards of writing a sex column:

This is worse with family. My grandpa told me he once had anonymous anal intercourse with some Parisian guy — while married to my grandma, no less — because he was questioning his sexual identity, wanted to experiment, etc. And it all turns out for the best, in the end: As the Frenchman embraced him and whispered, “Je t’aime” into his ear, he realized he really preferred women, and, when the evening was over, politely bid Louis L’Amour goodnight and went trotting home. An interesting story. Not, however, one you want dropped on you out of the blue by your 80-something grandfather. It’s uncomfortable. Afterward, I beat my head against a drainpipe and sniffed glue trying to get the naked-grandpa images out of my head — sadly, all to no avail.

Dildoes In The Subway

Thanks to Waking Vixen for her report from the front lines in the war on terror, aka the dreaded New York Subway random bag searches:

Yesterday, the bag search finally happened to me. As luck would have it, I was carrying a bag full of dildos, butt plugs, lube, condoms, a strap on harness and spiky high heels. I got pulled aside and the cop asked me to open my (black! suspicious!) bag. I obliged, and the collection of silicone toys was right on top, with a stiletto poking straight up in the air. The cop didn’t even bat an eye, just nodded and waved me through the turnstile.

Garden Gnome Sex

This has got to qualify as my wacky email of the week. Reproduced in its entirety, exactly as received:

hay i got an e-mail of garden gnome sex from what I can tell thier some thing going on with with ower frendly garden gnome’s and naked girls that have to much time

Er, thanks for the tip.

Marilyn Monroe Talks About Enjoying An Enema

Sorry, folks. I know that enemas are not universally considered sexy. But they are a commonly fetishized activity. And if you don’t like the enema portion of these transcripts of Marilyn Monroe’s conversations with her therapist, there’s always her comments on orgasms or spanking to enjoy.

Marilyn on enemas:

“I don’t understand this big taboo about enemas. Most of the actresses I know use them, even some who won’t admit it. Mae West told me she is given an enema every day and she has at least one orgasm a day. Mae says her enemas and orgasms will keep her young until she is 100.

Peter Crawford says the Queen and noblemen of the court of Louis XIV were give frequent enemas by special servants called apothecaries. The purpose was to give them peaches and cream complexions. Something about intestinal toxins getting into your blood. So there you are. Those ladies were doing the intelligent thing.

Yes. I enjoy enemas, so what!”