When a writer using the byline of Annalee Hardison wrote about her first experience of oral sex, at Gasm, I was struck by the erotic fiction tropes and stylistic similarities between this ostensibly non-fiction account and the paid-by-the-word “sex letters” columns that used to appear as filler in porn magazines. I typically don’t worry much about the literal truth of the sexual accounts that get blogged about here, and I don’t propose to start worrying today. I just think the stylistic accomplishment is worth noting before we get to the good stuff:

I don’t want to write anything disparaging about Eric because he wasn’t a bad kisser or anything like that, I just expected something different, something more intimate, romantic and certainly something more intense. Well, that all changed the minute we both got completely naked and I let him go down on me! It kind of took me by surprise at first; the sensation was very pleasurable, but totally unique. It was so warm, slippery and exquisite! I had never felt anything like it before and the feeling of his tongue and lips on my vagina was incredible. This far surpassed anything I had ever done in my young, inexperienced life.

My body began involuntarily trembling with tiny spasms of excitement and pleasure. My breath quickened and I was moaning, gasping and running my hands through his hair and feeling the side of his face as his jaw moved up and down while he made love to my vagina with his mouth. My nipples were rock hard and my entire body felt electrified. The intensity that had been missing from our PG-13 make-out sessions was obliterated by this full-on orgasmic sensation of pure lust and carnality! I no longer cared if he didn’t think I was pretty (he did) or if I technically wasn’t his girlfriend (I wasn’t). I didn’t care that my parents would absolutely kill me if they found out I was making out with a 21-year old guy that had gone to high school with my older sister. A guy that I had a crush on since I was in the 7th grade! I didn’t care if he thought I was silly or that I had a bit of stubble in my armpits. I just knew that I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted this incredible sensation to LAST FOREVER.

I was shaking uncontrollably and gasping for breath. I kept saying “Oh god Eric, oh god, OH GOD!” And then, he looked up while still lapping and gently inserted his middle finger into my drenched and throbbing vagina. I had never known such absolute pleasure in all my life. The old “one-two” trick of using fingers while going down on a woman has to be the BEST INVENTION EVER! After he started easing his finger into me, I was delirious with ecstasy! A thin mist of sweat had broken out over my entire naked body and I was shaking so hard I was surprised my teeth weren’t chattering as I writhed in delicious perfection. I was convulsing with pre-orgasmic bliss as he rhythmically fingered me and brought me closer and closer to climax. I was so wet that my thighs were slippery and his face was drenched in my lady lubrication. A strong sensation overtook me and suddenly I was buckling under him as I shook with feverish delight. Wave after wave of orgasm broke over me as I came again and again. I was not in control, and I convulsed with excited spasms a few more times until it almost began to actually hurt. I felt exhilarated and light-headed, like I was going to faint and blast off into space at the same time. He came up from between my thighs and held me as I quivered in his arms. I couldn’t speak and my head was spinning.

She continues in this enthusiastic vein when it gets to be his turn:

I kissed and licked his chest and nipples, making my way down to his stomach where I undid his zipper and tore off his pants in one fell swoop. His briefs were bulging with an enormous erection. I had never seen one that up-close before and was stunned that it didn’t look anything like I imagined. It certainly didn’t look like anything we were taught about in health class. It was fully erect and curved at a slight angle, like it was pointing to something right over his head. It was meaty, vein-y and throbbing. It was pulsating with Eric’s heartbeat and for a moment the sight of it mesmerized me…

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The pulp art is from one of those long-ago men’s magazines. A scary asshole with a vial of acid threatens Our Fair Heroine:

If you’ve ever looked at old pulp art and tried to figure out how to parse it so that you can enjoy whatever in it may be sexy without having to internalize all the fucked-up misogyny and sexism that got baked into all those vintage magazines for men, perhaps the BDSM Tumblr’s take on it will help:

BDSM isn’t vials of fuming acid in a madman’s stone dungeon. But it is fantasies without limit…

Here’s a wider view of the artwork:

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The whole “girl locked in a tower who lets down her hair to aid her rescuer” theme was a favorite centuries before the Brothers Grimm wrote it down in a book of uptight German fairy tales, from whence it was eventually dragooned into Disney’s memetic stable. It draws on parental anxieties about the burgeoning sexuality of their daughters, and it encodes the true-but-unwelcome message that there’s absolutely no way you can effectively lock that sexy daughter up and keep her “safe” because she’s ultimately going to conspire with her suitors to defeat all parental precautions so that they can carry on in the way that young people always do. (Luckily for our perpetuation as a species.) Fortunately for insecure parents everywhere, most versions of the story do not get quite this explicit about what happens once Rapunzel decides to let her hair down:

Art is by Liquidshadow, via Kinky Delight.

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[What follows is a guest post by Molly Ren. There’s a sense in which you could read it as a stylish advertisement for her erotic ebook Gummy Bears, and I’m perfectly fine with that. Why? Because it’s also a rare celebration of minority erotic sentiments and hard-to-satisfy erotic urges. And finally, it illustrates many of the points Dr. Faustus argued so persuasively in his seven-part epic series on making your own porn. — Bacchus]

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Porn for Peculiar People:
by Molly Ren
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Recently, at a geek convention, I found myself sitting in front of a demonstration of a card game a friend of mine was very excited about. All of the cards depicted different versions of a slim-waisted naked woman, joyously decked out in ribbons, sparkles, and delicate crowns. She looked as if she’d just descended from space to either bury your face in her boobs or vaporize you with her astral power.

“I love fanservice,” my friend gushed as he showed off the cards. He went on to talk about how naked people added a bit of extra joy to what was already an interesting game, and suddenly I was sad.  

“I want fanservice,” I said.

Another friend patted me on the back consolingly. “For you,” he said, “that would be more difficult.”

For the past seven years, I’ve known that I was into what’s often called “feederism” or, more lately, “feedism” — a fetish that revolves around eating, weight gain, and fat. I’m either very rare, or a very hard sell in a fat-phobic culture–though anecdotal evidence says it’s probably the latter, as someone has to be giving my stories thousands of views. But, in practice, what this means is that porn is very seldom being made for me,

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to simply have porn — so much porn that it could range in quality from something as slickly finished as a fashion shoot to as cheap as a pair of fluffy handcuffs. I dream about meltingly soft boys decked out in ribbons and delicate crowns — much in the same vein as those fanservice cards, only with big, grippable love handles. Or about glorious queers wandering through a pleasure garden where everything just happens to be edible, and yet at any moment they could meet a cleverly camouflaged beast that could devour them in turn. I fantasize about seal maidens, as soft-bodied as their animal forms, leading handsome arctic explorers closer and closer to the ocean until they trick them into devouring raw flesh and becoming seals themselves. And other times I just want the simplicity of a well-described sushi feast — the gleaming roe and transparent pink ginger slices, the look of his lips as they wrap themselves around yet another morsel of rice and crab, and the way in which he swallows.

Unfortunately, what I actually find is often very different. That isn’t to say that there is nothing for me to wank to — Rule 34 is always enforced. But many of the feederism stories I find on the web cater to the same strict gender essentialism that I last remember encountering at my grandparents’ rural church.

Women are often the objects in these stories, having the secondary sexual characteristics that are thought to gain (heh) the most from exaggeration, and the stories often have a bizarre moral edge. There’s revenge fic, where the snobby, conventionally hot girl falls to the freshman fifteen, or to a boyfriend who secretly augments her diet with cream or lard. It’s all so very middle class, oh so very “naughty” (as if fat were something to be ashamed of or hidden away), and oh so very hetero. I read these stories and pine for queers and femme boys and tender long-term poly threeways… and so, finally, I’ve decided to make some.

Sometimes, being told to just “make your own” can be close to an insult, but in times like these, it’s a necessity. So I’ve started, for the first time in many years, to write stories about rock stars binging on jewel-colored gummy bears for the gratification of their soft-spoken girlfriends. Or of a clever, femme boy with lots of time on his hands and nothing to do but create all kinds of deliciously tormenting machines that pump sweetness into one hole and probe into the other. Or, someday, a 400-pound genius lady, so powerful that she has been able to bend her whole life towards her every comfort, whose dogsbody assistant is sent into hysterics over the thought of losing one of her gifts.

My friend suggested that I publish them under the name “Apocalypse Bear Productions”, as some people might be terrified of some of my scenarios. But once you read them, you’ll never look at erotica the same way again.

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It takes a longer unit and a skillful partner to pull off this tit job plus tip-licking procedure in real life, but that’s no barrier for an artist as talented as Bill Ward:

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This is Violet Blue’s story, and all I know about it is contained in this tweet by her:

Today Google started disabling goo.gl links (without warning) for gay adult business Naked Sword. Is this happening to anyone else?

— violet blue ® (@violetblue) June 17, 2014

I hope and imagine that once she’s done the reporting, it will form the basis of one of her excellent columns for ZDnet.

However, I have some observations.

First, I don’t like shortlinks, never have. They always struck me as a bad idea because they obscure the link target. Every click on a shortened link is a leap into the unknown.

Shortlinks, if you didn’t know, are online services that take a long link and translate it into a much shorter one. Then they maintain a database of the translations and when anybody hits the short link, they are directed to the service, which provides the long link and forwards the surfer onward to that long link destination.

But what happens if the shortener service goes bankrupt, is acquired and shut down, is destroyed by circumstances beyond its control, decides to stop faithfully forwarding some or all links, or is compelled by judicial process or shadowy official menace to stop faithfully forwarding links?

These problems — at least one of which is inevitable in the fullness of time — are behind my second and third objections to link shorteners.

In the long enough run, every shortened link will be broken, even if the site that used it and the site it pointed to are both still there by some miracle. The connection will be lost to history, and lots of broken links in web archives and such will be obscure that would not be obscure if the original, long, somewhat informative link had been used instead. This is a big enough problem that Jason Scot’s Archive Team maintains an always-on spidering project that’s attempting to preserve the destinations of as many shortened links as possible.

More immediately and more urgently, you have to trust link-shortening services, but there’s no reason for them to be inherently trustworthy. Most are free services, so you’re not even a customer they would need to care about protecting to the limited extent that corporations care about individual customers these days. They have the power to redirect a shortened link anywhere they want, or to simply break it, and they can do this on a link-by-link basis, on the basis of disliking certain link destinations (as appears may be the case with the story behind Violet Blue’s tweet), or they could do it to all of the links they’ve shortened. Nothing stops them from doing any of this, and nobody has the right to demand they behave differently or better when they do it.

That’s a lot of power-over-your-communications to give away to a third party in exchange for a little convenience. I’ve never really understood why people do it. As a blanket proposition, I would argue that link shorteners suck.

This thread in the appropriate Google support forum dates to 2011, and a close reading shows that Google’s link shortener sucks a little bit more than most because they’ve long been in the habit of letting an automated algorithm declare certain link targets to be “spam” and then disabling the shortened links to them. That thread is full of legitimate users complaining that their shortened links (often the ones in places like sent email newsletters where the person who created the short link has no editing power to replace it with a working one) are broken. In typical Google fashion, these users are left crying into the wind; there is no recourse and scant hope of ever gaining human attention, mercy, or correction of the “error”.

My speculation and prediction is that Google would claim (will claim, if they can ever be induced to respond at all) that Naked Sword was not targeted specifically; rather, the notion would be that the Naked Sword shortlinks were determined to be spam by the implacable and unaccountable software machine. My own gloss on that is that Google’s rolling #Pornocalypse sweeps all porn before it. The company is so hostile to porn that it increasingly treats all porn as spam. (Anybody who has watched the decline in quality of porn-oriented searches on Google knows what I mean by this.)

There are more and more of these situations in the world where we communicate using services provided by faceless and unaccountable corporate actors. There’s no recourse to be had when they decide that one person, one company, or one industry should no longer be heard. It’s not even censorship, it’s just silencing induced by corporate distaste. Less dramatically, there’s nothing to be done when they program their robots to not really give a damn whether a given porn-industry communication is an unwanted commercial solicitation (spam) or a desired and requested communication. The robots don’t give a damn because Google doesn’t give a damn; the concept of a “legitimate porn link” seems not even to be on their radar.

And thus does the #Pornocalypse come for shortened links.

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There’s an interesting interview and profile in Business Insider about Brian Sloan, a former lawyer turned sex toy manufacturer, who direct-sells sex toys for men. He makes a sort of blowjob machine called the Autoblow, an early version of which I blogged about obliquely and skeptically here. (Not this kind.) First Sloan got hooked by the easy money buying and selling antiques during those first golden years of the eBay boom, and then he got into the sex toy business because antiques don’t scale:

I began importing latex fetishwear from China during my time as an eBay seller. The reason was simple: going to auctions took a lot of time and effort and was not scalable. I needed high profit margin items I could buy from China, in quantity, to properly grow the business. I used Alibaba.com and connected with a latex factory in south China. I grew the business significantly by making custom sized rubber suits for larger people, and figuring out sub-niches of the latex fetish culture.

The key factor in the success of that business was clear: willingness to do whatever it took to grow the business, and not caring what other people thought of it. Once, I even had my mother videotape me and a friend walking through a shopping mall in Skokie, IL, wearing giant inflatable rubber suits!

At a certain point, the latex business also wasn’t scalable enough for me so I moved onto toys. I thought about a few other businesses and got close to launching brands of a few products, including anti-snoring devices and a teeth whitening system. I decided to stay in the adult industry as I had gained so much knowledge about it during my time selling latex.

The adult industry was particularly ripe to “disrupt” because of the combination of unusually high profit margins combined with industry-wide poor e-commerce knowledge. Only one brand of male toys and a few adult mega-stores had a high level of Internet marketing or online selling technology knowledge.
Ninety percent of adult toy brands only focused on high-volume manufacturing/sales solely to distributors. The breakdown of retail price allotted to manufactures in the adult industry is not pretty. I figured with what I learned about internet marketing from the latex business, and my location near factories in China, I could create internet-only brands and sell them for very competitive prices by cutting out the middlemen – distributors and retailers.

The most surprising people open up to him on airplanes about sex toy use:

Doing this kind of work, strangers sometimes feel its appropriate to open up to me on sexual topics that they would otherwise keep private. Once I was on a flight from Chicago to Qatar and met an oil executive who was working in the Middle East. The first part of our conversation centered around his role in his church in Oklahoma and some stories about his children who were Christian missionaries in Asia. To my surprise, when I told him what I did for a living, he told me that after his kids all left home and him and his wife had a lot of time on their hands — they bought their first sex toys!

And what is it like, actually trying to ramrod the manufacture of a complex mechanical sex toy in China?

I worked with a company in Taiwan whose normal business was manufacturing Wi-Fi whiteboards and commercial-grade air conditioning controllers. I thought that because they understood how to manufacture complex electronic devices, they could also manufacture my Autoblow 2. I was wrong. Their team lacked knowledge of ergonomics, had no experience working with TPE, the material that now comprises the interchangeable sleeves.

After working with them for 1.5 years, they managed to create a product that essentially collapsed upon itself when one tried to use it. It was a huge disappointment.

Basically you need a designer or two, a sourcing team to source the different components, and a few factories to work closely with to produce the main parts. Picking the right factory partners, and making sure that your main factory picks the right sub-factory partners is probably the most important aspect of the entire process. If one supplier factory is producing a sub-par component and your main factory doesn’t catch it, the whole project can fail.

It’s frankly not a very sexy process and involves talking with engineers, sometimes via a translator when things get technical, about things that make everyone in the room blush.

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