From part one of a two part article on Tantric sex in a South African publication called Women24, this handy tip for delaying male ejaculation:

At the point where you feel you might be reaching your peak, press your tongue against the top of your palate. “By tensing muscles in your mouth, you move blood away from your groin, giving you a chance to recover,” Sampson says. “Don’t feel embarrassed, though – it’s unlikely to cause too much of a distraction for your partner.”

From part two, instructions for the Thrust of the Phoenix:

Perhaps the most widely known tantric technique, this little winner can be used with any position. When you start thrusting, go in shallow (around two centimetres) for nine strokes, then one deep, then eight shallow, then one deep, working your way down to one shallow. “This has been known to give women who claim to never orgasm their first taste of the big ‘O’,” says Johnson. “Building slowly up to a big crescendo will have her willing you to reach the climax.”

This fellow obviously has an extreme case of some loathsome disease. So why is he smiling?

“Hey babe…nice bike!”

In an oddly banal report, The Spectator describes an English farm wife who went “on the game” (as the Brits apparently say) to support the posh lifestyle to which her family had become accustomed before the hoof-and-mouth police came around and slaughtered the family herds. Hubby was surprisingly supportive:

“Mike and I talked about it for days. Neither of us had ever done anything like this before. At the beginning we worked as a team. We would do sex displays and threesomes, and it was perhaps a way of making it easier for him to accept what was happening. Then, after a while, I just started doing it on my own.”

To the delight of British accountants, this woman’s tale is not that uncommon:

“That’s how I met my accountant. He has three working girls on his books, and I don’t know about the arrangements he has with the others, but I pay him in kind and he seems quite happy.”

It’s been a busy weekend at ErosBlog headquarters, which explains the dearth of blog entries:

As you can see from the picture, the ErosBlog pre-Thanksgiving party got a little wild. What with one thing and another, production suffered. (Bacchus, on the other hand, did not suffer.)

The hard working staff nymphs who do much of the work around here put down their tools and loudly demanded quality time with Bacchus. Attempts were made to restore order, brisk spankings were delivered, and stern admonitions were made…all to no avail. The nymphs would not be denied, and in the end, the bacchanalia could not be averted.

If you believe all that, you have a promising future in Arizona oceanfront real estate. This much only is true: your humble scribe did in fact go for a pleasant hike with an actual unattached and not-obviously-crazy woman.

In one minor respect, the Gor books are like Scientologists. That is, there exist folks who object to any mention of them, unless it be a rousing and completely unequivocal denunciation.

It has been pointed out that the use of the word “yummy” in the previous entry disqualifies that entry from the “unequivocal” category. Accordingly, as a gesture of placation, please accept this link to a web classic, the ancient and notorious (but viciously accurate) parody: Houseplants of Gor.

An excerpt for flavor:

Borin picked up the watering can, and muchly watered the plant. The plant cried out. “No, Master! Do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. “Please, Master,” begged the plant, “do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. It was plant. It could be watered at will.

There is a new Gor book out. By John Norman. Published in August, 2002. Available on Amazon. In hardcover, no less. All 717 pages of it.

It’s called Witness of Gor:

The Amazon review begins:

Deep within the cells of Treve, a glorious and mysterious city at the center of Gor’s struggle for supremacy, awakens a nameless slave girl who will witness events about which others will only dare to whisper.

This Gor phenomenon…mere words are inadequate. Slave girls. Yum, yes. Bad writing. Also yes. Ouch ouch ouch please make the pain stop it hurts to read this broken limestone gravel prose ouch. Yes. Ouch.

“Please, no, Master!” I wept. Then I felt the lash. I stumbled back in agony, turned about, and fell to the carpet. There the leather once more informed me of the displeasure of my master. I screamed, miserable. Then another blow like lightning was on my back and I sobbed at his feet, on my belly on the rug.

More slave girls. Has the slave girl concept been adequately reinforced? Gorean slave girls get whipped a lot, and either like it and “juice” for master, or don’t like it but “juice” anyway. Did bad writing get mentioned?

It goes without saying — nope, wait, it’s too late for that — that Gor is politically incorrect, and the National Organization of Women will take away your membership card if you admit to liking this sort of thing.

Oh yes, don’t forget the slave girls. They are generally pretty yummy. Also pretty much naked and in chains, or leather cuffs, or binding fiber, or whatever else Tarl Cabot and his fellow hulking brutes have handy for the restraint and entertainment of naked slave girls.

If you are a fan of the Gor books, you needed to know about the new book. If you don’t like them, you probably rolled your eyes and groaned when you saw this blog entry. If you never heard of Gor…well, you are either incredibly lucky or astoundingly unlucky, depending on the extent to which badly written (but much whipped and very juicy) slave girls float your boat.