Most of this video is a review of a worthy-sounding book about modern fascism called The Player And The Played by Max Haiven. But what fell most heavily into my ears were a few short words about conservative/fascist hatred of trans people:

He says capitalism becomes gamified but the game is rigged and we all know it.

…

The cheated are seduced by a grandiose sense of entitlement that mobilizes resentment away from the oligarchs and leaders and towards scapegoats who are the truly loathsome cheaters:

Immigrants cheat the borders.

Minorities cheat through diversity and equity policies.

Feminists cheat men of their dignity.

Grade school teachers cheat parents out of total control over their kids.

College professors cheat students out of their inborn love for capitalism.

Or trans people cheat God by not following the gender rules and scrambling the desires of decent men.

I find that phrase “scrambling the desires of decent men” incredibly descriptive of trans panic. “I don’t desire her!!! Him? It? Shit! My pronouns just crashed and I’m mad about it! I don’t even know what that is! Double shit, so attractive! But OMG but I’m still confused about what they are, that’s scary! Fuck, why is this sexy freak even on my feed?!? That ought to be illegal!”

If he’s sex-positive and reasonably enlightened, an actually-decent man (unlike your neofascist bigots) can survive a bit of scrambled desire, surf the confusion, let the social media ocean spit him out onto the beach, and get on with his life, no harm done. But the usual suspects who explode across the internet (and our political landscape more generally) with outbursts of anti-trans bigotry don’t have enough emotional intelligence for that. When their desire gets scrambled, they move immediately to look outside themselves for someone to blame, and the obvious target is the trans people who “cheated” and scrambled their libidos.

I won’t soon forget the phrase “scrambling the desires of decent men” — it’s too descriptive, I think, of what the bigots are mad about.

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The rooms seemed totally fine when he rented them. But at night, when he’s asleep, they turn out to have a bit of an infestation problem. Should I use that word, truly? Maybe “infestation” is too harsh. Perhaps you would not choose it. But our man wakes up at least twice a night buried under a swarm of horny elf women:

Where they come from, where they go, it’s far from clear. The door has a robust lock on the inside. The landlord just laughs at him. A consulting wizard offered to swap rooms, if he could nail down a long-term lease.

He always awakes well-rested, despite the interruptions. He’s philosophical about it. He’s slept in worse places. It could be bugs or vermin. He will survive!

Artist is Calm, who has a Patreon.

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In a post last month, I quoted a comedian with a praise kink as saying

“I like it when men say nice things to me. But I have to call it a kink to get them to do it!”

A regular ErosBlog commenter just commented on that post:

I feel the same way about the so-called ‘breeding kink’.

If we are going to describe an attraction to sex that results in pregnancy as a fetish, it makes the entire conversation around sexual kinks absolutely meaningless.

This is literally the most obvious and mainstream desire for sex that exists.

And my answer is… I don’t know enough about breeding kink to give a good and complete answer. But I think it’s potentially way more complicated than that.

For one thing, I feel like, at least at a “playful banter and memes” level, there’s a lot of breeding kinkery in the LGBTQ+ community, among people whose preferred daily sexual activity isn’t going to result in babies. See also furries, people doing pet play… even the word “breeding” is borrowed from animal husbandry. It suggests a certain level of animal ferality. There’s a lot going on here.

From what I’ve seen, there’s a running joke among trans people, and also perhaps among some folk who enjoy fucking others with a strap-on dildo. “No matter how much I do this, I can’t seem to get you pregnant!” “It’s just a skills issue, try harder!”

There also may be an element, for some people, that’s a backlash against the latex-armored “safe sex” / “safer sex” decades of the late 20th century, when AIDS was an automatic death sentence and your only alternatives were layers of latex or trusting your hopefully-monogamous partner with your literal life. Any time the barriers come down, that might be a fetish trigger.

So yeah — I think there’s a lot going on with breeding kinkery.

Artist credit is CheeseCrumbles.

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One of my non-ErosBlog side gigs sometimes involves porn taxonomy; looking at erotic media, trying to itemize all the keywords that describe it, and writing short human-and machine-friendly descriptions of those keywords. So it amuses me beyond reason when I see other people making art or humor out of taxonomical challenges:

This is streamer CelisEris trying to be taxonomically specific about nerds and what they are good for.

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Gentle readers, is there anyone left in 2026 who recognizes the paleo-meme I’m encoding in my titles when I call a pretty bathing woman a “tub girl”? After all, it’s been just about a quarter century since the ever-so-scatological “tubgirl” shock photo used to circulate. Perhaps I need new jokes!

This pretty blonde tubgirl is Teri Morton, from the November 1978 issue of Mayfair magazine.

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A wise man knows: never ask a question you don’t really want to know the answer to. That goes double if you were expecting a lemon-flavored potion and Cluelo offers you a “yellow” potion instead:

Just shut up and drink it, soldier!

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I am one of those annoying persons who cares so little for sports that I will deliberately make vague references to “sportsball” to piss off my sports-obsessed friends. No power on earth can invest me with the desire to care about who wins a game I am not playing; I utterly lack whatever tribalistic acculturation seems to drive most of us to identify ourselves with a team we are not part of. About the only thing that catches my interest is the bodies of the athletes, and for that, naked sports isn’t as prevalent as I might prefer:

This study in nude volleyball poses comes from the August 1977 issue of Oui magazine.

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