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ErosBlog: The Sex Blog

Sex Blogging, Gratuitous Nudity, Kinky Sex, Sundry Sensuality
July 15th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Champagne Room Bottle Party

This sort of carrying-on is pretty much the only way you could justify those exclusive-club bottle prices in the champagne room:


Art is by Milo Manara, from his Porte de Clichy erotic portfolio.

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July 12th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

She Gave Him A Sound Thrashing

A hundred and fifteen years ago, a drunken lout tried to pull a woman off her bicycle. She instead jumped off and administered a short and presumably unexpected tutorial on the merits of Llap-Goch scientific pugilism:


This has recently been all over Twitter and Tumblr, where of course it was without attribution. However I was able to find an abridged version of the story (sans illustration and some of the details, see center column “News And Notes” about nine items down) in the August 12, 1899 supplement to the Evening Post of Wellington, New Zealand. It remains unclear whether the “insulting remarks” that triggered the incident were of the general sort that women endure all too often, or whether they were specific to the quaint but once-common notion that women on bicycles were scandalous.

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July 11th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Roped And Buzzed

It shouldn’t take more than a minute or two of this sort of treatment to moisten her panties … if she happens to be wearing any. “Resistance is futile, my dear!” No question, that bit of bondage rope is going to be “hers” from now on:

tight crotch rope and a hitachi-style heavy personal massager makes her panties wet

From the most recent photoshoot in the members area at Sexually Broken.

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July 10th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Warren G. Harding’s Love Poetry

The New York Times has published excerpts from the salacious letters Warren G. Harding was in the habit of sending to his mistress before he became president. Among the letters was this rather heated poem of love and lust, from 1912:

I love your poise
Of perfect thighs
When they hold me
in paradise . . .

I love the rose
Your garden grows
Love seashell pink
That over it glows

I love to suck
Your breath away
I love to cling —
There long to stay . . .

I love you garb’d
But naked more
Love your beauty
To thus adore . . .

I love you when
You open eyes
And mouth and arms
And cradling thighs . . .

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July 9th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

We All Know This Girl

From Dirtbag John Milton:

Eve: do you want to make out
Satan: what
Eve: not to brag or anything but i’ve been told i’m pretty hot
so do you want to make out
Satan: don’t you have a husband
Eve: probably
i mean i have a lot of things
but i don’t have one here
in this orchard
i don’t have an orchard husband
do you want to make out or what
Satan: yeah okay

“I don’t have an orchard husband…” I do find this quite funny, and so I suppose the gender-traditional reaction would be for me as a man to yuk this up with wry bitterness as an illustration of the faithlessness of women. But my perspective is otherwise: I think we all, men and women alike, recognize that moment when our impulse (whether or not we act on it) is to look swiftly around the orchard and then answer “er, nope?”

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July 8th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Stripping Through The Boom

Susan Shepard spent sixteen weeks (at different times over seven years) stripping in oil boomtown Williston, North Dakota. And then she wrote Wildcatting: A Stripper’s Guide To The Modern American Boomtown, which is full of utterly delightful and erudite observations about rural America, the modern economy, and the lives of itinerant laborers.

The American worker has never been so efficient in terms of output over hours worked. At the same time, real wages and benefits have plummeted. Prospects are shitty for college graduates and non-graduates alike. Layoffs and cutbacks in previously solid industries protect the profits of an ever-smaller class at the expense of those who produce value. In stripper terms, here’s what that looks like: Lap dances in many places still start at $20, the same price they were in 1990. Customers expect ever-higher levels of contact and performance skill, meaning strippers work harder to earn the $20 or the dollar stage tip that is worth a lot less than it used to be. At the same time, clubs charge dancers higher stage fees and tipouts, especially as customer counts and tabs drop and dancers become a primary source of income for the clubs. There are no layoffs when your workers pay you, so instead of cutbacks, clubs hire more and more dancers, resulting in more competition for a smaller customer pool. Do more with less!

The one big advantage you have if you’re a stripper, though, is the ability to travel to greener pastures. If you would like to have a job in another town, as long as you look good enough for the club’s standards, you’re hired. So those who can, move. When the level of bullshit is too high or the earnings too low, they the hit the road. Same as the men who wind up traveling to work in the oil fields. If you can make $30,000 more a year driving heavy equipment in North Dakota instead of in Louisiana, and you need that money, you go. Is this the logical progression of a service economy? It looks like migrant labor.

What Shepard does not tell us (although you know it already if you know anybody employed at hard physical labor) is that the modern American laborer making any kind of decent wage wears Carhartts, a brand of tough work clothing. Whatever the merits of Carhartts as work attire, apparently they are not kind to the tender ass-skin of your local lapdance professional:

Bozeman, Montana, roughly marks where the plains turn into the mountains. It precisely marks the geographic spot where I return to myself on drives back from North Dakota. It’s seven hours from Williston, and that’s as much driving as I want to do in a day after a week of nine-hour shifts. So I would stop there and go through this routine after every trip to North Dakota: Check into a hotel or a sweet little vacation rental. Take two hours to put a mud mask on my face and my ass (those long hours of lap dancing on Carhartts are MURDER on it), scrub myself in a hot bath until my skin is red (Williston is the dustiest place I’ve ever been, and you feel like the dirt will be with you forever), wash my hair, moisturize, and go to one of the nice restaurants that live off of Big Sky vacationers and seasonal residents. They’ll have real glassware, attractive waitstaff, and good food. It makes me feel like I’m back in civilization, and I smile all through dinner thinking about how I’m here and not in Williston.

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July 7th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Prepare Your Anus

It doesn’t look to me like there’s adequate lube and preparation for this incipient penetration:


The artwork appears around the web with the French caption “La chose sa pressait contre le cratère de mon anus”, but no artist or source information is ready to hand.

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July 6th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Naked Lady On A Bicycle

Back in the day, when bicycles were tall and riding outfits extra-skimpy:


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July 5th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Zoom Zoom Boobies

July 4th, 2014 -- by Bacchus

Her Milkshake

Yes, it brings all the boys to her yard:


From a photoset appearing in Nuts magazine.

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