ErosBlog

October 16th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Erotica On Amazon #Pornocalypse, 2015 Edition

Erotica author Selena Kitt is the one who first brought the term #Pornocalypse to my attention, back in 2013. Then and now, her beat is Amazon’s bizarre blunderings in the realm of trying to pretend for investors and the public that they don’t have books about sex, even while books about sex remain a huge seller for them. Selena’s latest:

Pornocalypse 2015 is upon us!

It’s a far too complicated and inside-baseball story for me to summarize well, but the gist is that Amazon has started dumping entire publisher catalogs into the “erotica” category (which gets no search visibility on the site and is thus the kiss of death) if the publisher in question publishes any erotica. Cookbooks, horror, sci-fi, doesn’t matter. This should give you the flavor of the piece:

In my conversation with the Amazon customer service representative about this situation, I was told, “We are improving our ability to identify erotic content, so you’ll see more books put into erotica going forward.”

Me: Just going forward?

CS: No, we’ll also be identifying other content and moving it into the erotica categories.

Me: How will you be identifying this content?

CS: I can’t tell you that.

Me: How can we get our books out of erotica?

CS: You can change the content and resubmit it.

Me: How would we know what to change?

CS: …

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October 15th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

All She Needs Is Julio, The Doll

The Guardian recently unearthed an odd little 1937 short story by Daphne du Maurier. Whether it’s horror (which seems to have been the intent) or just the world’s worst romance, I leave for the reader to decide. Either way, it features a woman who can’t be pried away from her beloved life-size male doll whose degree of anatomical precision is never specified. The doll has his own room, and a name: Julio. Our narrator is himself a creepy stalkerish sort:

She was dressed in brown, some sort of velvet I think, with a red scarf round her neck.

Her throat was very long and thin, like a swan’s. I remember thinking how easy it would be to tighten the scarf and strangle her. I imagined her face when dying — her lips parted, and the enquiring look in her eyes — they would show white, but she would not be afraid. All this in the space of a moment, and while she was talking to me.

There’s a lot of this sort of thing, and one good kiss, and a conversation about sadism, and then our narrator drops into stalker mode for what feels like the dozenth time:

I don’t know how I got to her flat. Seconds seemed to flash by, and I was standing outside in the street, gazing up at the windows.

I persuaded the night porter to let me in, he was half asleep and he let me pass upstairs. I listened outside her door — not a sound came from within. It might have been the entrance to a tomb.

I put my hand on the door knob, and turned it slowly. To my surprise it was not locked — Rebecca must have forgotten to turn the key after I left.

I stepped inside, everything was in darkness. “Rebecca”, I called softly, “Rebecca”. No answer.

The door of her bedroom was open, there was no one inside.

Then I went into the kitchen and the bathroom, both were empty.

Then I knew. Something gripped my heart, cold, clammy fear.

I looked towards that other room — his room — Julio’s room.

I knew that Rebecca was in there, with the doll — with Julio.

After he bursts in on her, she dumps him hard, though no harder than he surely deserved:

Her voice was cold — apart — unearthly.

“And you expect me to love you. Don’t you see that I can’t — I can’t? How can I care for you, or any man? Go away, leave me. I loathe you. I loathe you all. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”

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October 14th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Of Course You Do, You Asshole

Women’s health has a fluffy little bit of over-monetized clickbait (I got served two different fully-screen-obscuring advertising pitches that had to be clicked away in non-standard ways) consisting of five short anecdotes about when saying “I love you” went disastrously wrong. My “favorite” — which is to say, the most horrifying — is this one:

“I told him that I loved him, and he replied ‘I love me, too’ and laughed.”

–Gloria M.

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October 14th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Breeding A Captured Centauress

I have to share this just to remind everyone of the sheer glorious unrestrained weirdness that is hentai. Although I predict this poor centauress being used as unwilling breedstock would cavil at my use of the word “unrestrained”:

breeding an unwilling captive centaur woman

The art is 遅ればせながら (machine translates to “Belated”) by 仲村レグラ (Nakamura Regla).

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October 12th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Goodbye Playmates

According to the BBC Newsday show currently playing on my radio, Hugh Hefner has approved a redesign of Playboy magazine that will remove all the nude photography, as part of a major repositioning of Playboy as a “lifestyle” brand.

Younger readers of this blog will be like “So?” And the very youngest will be like “Magazine? What’s that?” But for a lot of readers of my own generation, a Playboy was probably the first nude image we saw. No more nudes in Playboy is like no more sports on ESPN. It’s big weird news that reminds us that the 21st century is deeply odd and getting odder fast.

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October 12th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Nude Outing For Ice Cream

It’s just another day in San Francisco! Marie decides to take a naked scamper down the street to buy a waffle cone, but along the way, she meets a huge friendly dog and makes a new friend: