November 23rd, 2013 -- by Bacchus
LA Strip Club, 1975
And not, I think, the fancier sort of place:
The Sex Blog Of Record
November 22nd, 2013 -- by Bacchus
The Kink Conversation
It’s not easy figuring out exactly how to disclose your kinky desires to someone you’d like to realize them with. Here’s a potential opener that sounds fairly hopeful:
“I want to do things to you that I’m afraid you may not like.”
There are certainly worse ways to handle it!
Found at Bondage Blog.
November 22nd, 2013 -- by Bacchus
A Not-So-Private Screening
That screen to protect your privacy at the doctor’s office, it isn’t good for much if you go to a Dirty Doctor who has surveillance cams in the ceiling:
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November 21st, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Rape Fantasies And Their Criminal Expression
One small part of the greater cultural war over sexual freedoms has always involved porn and the many attempts to control or suppress it by legislation. Being a resident of the United States, I tend to pay scant attention to legislative outrages against porn (or, as I might prefer to put it, outrages against the freedom of sexual speech) that happen in other jurisdictions. We porn-positive, pro-free-speech people have got enough legal troubles of our own right here at home, without obsessing about the changing rules in even-more-repressive jurisdictions.
But scant attention does not mean no attention. And thus I’ve been peripherally aware for awhile now that in the United Kingdom, which has long been pretty whiffy about heavy kink in its porn, there’s a currently-ascendent series of efforts to make some kinky porn even more illegal than it already is. I’m not really qualified to comprehend or discuss the politics of another nation, but Molly lives there, and she’s written a lengthy post about their latest scheme to criminalize “rape porn” — whatever the hell that might be.
She introduces it by talking about her rape fantasies:
I confess that I have a rape fantasy.
In fact I have more than one. They all differ slightly, there is darkened rooms, shadowy faces, slow exposure, examination and then a calm but purposeful deflowering. Other times it is one person, gloved hands over my face, manhandling, knives, whispered threats to behave or else, a lifting of my skirt, an unzipping of his fly…. just writing those few random words is making me wet. These fantasies change, little parts of them become hotter to me than others, sometimes I will daydream a whole one through and other times I just replay little snippets in a loop in my head. Weeks or months will go by without me giving them a thought, at other times they will crowd my horny dark little brain for hours on end.
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November 20th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Forbidden Nudity
Nudism is forbidden in Naxos, naturally. But outlaws are everywhere:
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November 19th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Kiss A Riot Cop
It’s a sweet photo and a nifty tactic of nonviolent resistance. Have you kissed a riot policeman today?
Spotted at Naked Protesters.
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November 18th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
The Infernal Wonders Of Baalberith
I am pleased to introduce to the ErosBlog readership one of Dr. Faustus’s newest web projects:
Infernal Wonders: Where Iago Faustus does squick or squee year-round
The site is devoted to horrific (or otherwise disturbing) imagery that is also erotic. If you’ve wondered how that is possible, Faustus has a theory that could double as a manifesto:
I have long known about a capacity to find erotic stimulation in certain kinds of horrific imagery. Many other people do as well. There are various cute theories as to why this should be the case, for example psychoanalytic explanations that I am reliving and revenging some sort of infantile rage at perceived insufficiency of maternal love or polemical feminist insistence that I am gratifying some deep misogynist urge which they are proposing to eradicate from society. I place little stock in any of that. My own best guess as to what is going on here has to do with the workings of the brain. We are not the Cartesian egos of philosophical fancy. We are a bunch of neural systems that mechanically carry out their functions, functions which sometimes cross or contradict each other. Show me a picture of a naked woman nailed to a cross and old, deep structures somewhere in that brain of mine are going to start reacting to the emotional shock — rage, fear, pity it may not matter all that specifically what — and pump out an interesting cascade of neurotransmitters like epinephrine and various endorphins which had the function from back in distant evolutionary time of helping my ancestors deal with whatever hideous crises their lives threw up. Meanwhile, some more recently-evolved neural assembly elsewhere in my brain is carrying out a common and important (if often underappreciated) cognitive operation known as “distinguishing fantasy from reality,” reviewing prevailing neural inputs from my immediate environment and producing the reassuring conclusion that “it’s only a picture (story, movie, etc.)” Having come to this conclusion (it all happens very quickly) I now can act differently. Instead of doing what I might do if I had in reality come across a crucified woman in the woods (dialing 911, perhaps), I can simply ride the neurotransmitter wave for pleasure, and release.
I feel no shame about this reaction or this practice, feminist shaming and finger-wagging moralism notwithstanding. The whole dynamic that make this whole cascading experience possible is critically dependent on being able to distinguish fantasy from reality. Making that distinction continuously makes it entirely possible for me to function as a (reasonably) civilized individual in actual social life. Just as people who attend performances of King Lear are very rarely inspired to go around looking to put out the eyes of English noblemen, I do not nail women to crosses in the moonlit woods and feel no inclination to. We are accountable for our behavior, but inside our minds Eros is and ought to be an incorrigible outlaw.
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