It is reliably reported (er, in People Magazine) that Spice Girl Mel B likes a good sex spanking. Her ex-boyfriend, who reportedly is a bit peeved that she violated their mutual confidences, tells all:

“She particularly liked to be spanked on the bottom in the middle of it. She loved to talk dirty and learnt lots of dirty words in Icelandic and would shout them out when we had sex.”

And Mel loved the thrill of sex outdoors. Fjolnir said: “We made a point of doing it outdoors in the famous Blue Lagoon hot springs in Iceland.”

“We also joined the Mile High Club on a flight to America. We sneaked into the toilets and were at it for probably 10 minutes. She was moaning so much I put my hand over her mouth.”When we came out a stewardess gave us a knowing smile. Mel didn’t care and shared it all with the other Spice Girls when we saw them next.”

I once knew a woman who seemingly didn’t know that hands could contribute to this most worthwhile of projects. I was too young and dumb to even consider trying something so sensible as actual sexual communication, so she carried on, when we carried on, with her soft mouth ministrations that felt great but were far too gentle to actually ever get the job done this way. Eventually she traded me in for a married guy she met on the internet. But that’s a story for another day.

Anyway, Shell knows better:

I suck on the head and the first few inches, using my hand on the rest of the shaft (which is already well lubricated with saliva). I take his balls in my other hand, lightly flicking my nails through the hair, cupping them reverently, perhaps squeezing or tugging gently if I know he likes it. I vary the amount of suction, keep my tongue moving. If he wants to set the pace, then I comply, letting him use his hands to move my head at the rate he chooses. I love the feeling of having my mouth fucked. But if he prefers to let me remain in charge, then I am happy to continue worshipping him with my lips and tongue, continue squeezing and caressing his shaft with one hand, continue using the other hand to tease and tickle whatever parts of his body I can reach. I like to run it over the top of his mscular thigh, feel the place where it meets his hips, travel up across his torso to feel his chest, shoulders, neck. Then his face.

I touch his lips. My own lips are stretched wetly around him, moving up and down, sucking his shaft in and out, my tongue acting as a textured carpet. If he starts kissing and licking my fingertips, I go crazy with lust. If he sucks on my fingers, I usually come. Sometimes he’s so into the moment that he doesn’t pay any attention to my fingertips, and that’s okay too. I’ll just drag them down his body again and plan on getting my turn later.

When I sense he’s close to climax, I remove my hand and let him go deeper into my mouth. I grab his ass with both hands and suck hard, suck wet, suck until I feel him jerk and pulse on my tongue.

I give him as much time as he needs to finish, then I slowly pull off and kiss his penis adoringly. I sink into a pleasantly exhausted slump against his thigh, sometimes kissing and nuzzling the object of my worship, the tool that gives me so much pleasure, my lover’s penis.

Somewhere, right now, some lucky young man is benefiting in a very personal way from the communications miracle that is the internet.

From the BBC, a pathetic tale:

An Israeli couple are preparing to divorce after the man summoned a prostitute to his hotel room only to discover she was his daughter. The tale of family turmoil began some months ago when the father, a businessman based in the city of Haifa, was sent by his company to a course in the resort of Eilat for four days.

The Israeli newspaper Ma’ariv reports that the man took advantage of the visit to summon a call girl to his room on his first night there.

And that was when everything started to go horribly wrong….

The Fusilier Pundit has discovered “a heretofore unknown aphrodisiac for married women.” The recipe, like all love potions, is tricky and complex and requires ingredients some of which are not easily obtained

The most powerful aphrodisiac for a married woman is, strangely enough, a trusted babysitter, or family of babysitters, that will look after the children for a whole weekend. Then leave town for, say, Laramie.

Add two Bombay martinis and a digital camera, and shake. The erotic effects may last well into the following week if you cook dinner and get the kids to bed on time.

Does it work? I can’t say — I don’t know any married women who are willing to let me test it out on them.

…now where is that gym again?

Folks, your humble host, like his namesake, is fond of his imbibables, and his edibles for that matter. The bacchanalia, run properly, would provide suitable high-calorie workouts, but the damn nymphs appear to have all kippered off again. So it’s time for Bacchus to hit the gym.

I maintain that the prospect would be far more attractive if only I could find the right gym.

From Reuters via ABC:

Reproductive physiologist Roger Short, from the University of Melbourne’s obstetrics department, said a few drops of lemon juice can be a cheap, easy-to-use solution to protect women from both HIV and pregnancy.

The juice should be squeezed onto a piece of sponge or cotton wool and placed into the vagina before sex, he said.

“Tequila!”

The loquacious Fred on Everything advises young men that marriage is overrated:

As you ponder snuggling forever with Moon Pie, compare the lives of your bachelor and your married friends. The bachelors come and go as the mood strikes them, order their apartments with squalid abandon, drive Miatas or Harleys if they choose, and live in such pleasant dissolution as is consonant with continued employment. The married guy lives in a vast echoing mortgage beyond his means, drives sensible cars he doesn’t like, and loses his old friends because he isn’t allowed to hang out with them.

Self-help books to the contrary, marriage does not rest on compromises, but on concessions. You will make all of them. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be this way. But it is this way.

Moon Pie has only one reason for marriage: to get her legal hooks into you. She doesn’t think of it in these terms, yet, and she has no evil intentions. She just wants a nice quiet home in the remote suburbs where she can live uneventfully, raise progeny, and keep her eye on you.