December 20th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
“The Patriarchy Has Whips”
Spanking Blog: “Virgin warriors, it turns out, offend the patriarchy. And the patriarchy has whips.”
Ain’t that the truth in a nutshell?
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The Sex Blog Of Record
December 20th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Assless Dolly Parton Pants
Oh, tell me please why this assless-pants style never caught on?
Found on Paperversion.
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December 19th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Fucking Turtles, Fossilized
We all know that turtles are slow. But did you know they fuck so slowly they can get captured by geology, and turn up 47 million years later as fossils?
You’re looking at one of nine pairs of Eocene-epoch fucking-turtle fossils discovered in Germany. According to NBC News (as pointed out in a rare post by my old old sex-blog-friend Daze) these are the only examples of copulating vertebrates known in the fossil record. And even turtles don’t normally fuck so slowly as to be captured by accumulating sediments; it’s thought that these turtles were in a lake with toxic depths, so that as they sank-while-fucking, they would unexpectedly die. Whoops!
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December 19th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Tumblr Complaint Of The Day
Found here:
“Animal Planet got two teams of experts helping these dumbass tigers fuck so the species won’t die but not one of y’all lazy fucks can FedEx me a lesbian?”
December 18th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
The Polished Shaft: A Sermon
No, really, it’s the title of this man’s actual sermon:
Dan Savage found the story in Chicago Magazine:
In July 2010, an hour into the “Polished Shaft” sermon–in a church packed with thousands of teenagers there for a youth conference–Schaap went further. He lifted a stick in his left hand and a silver cloth in his right. He moved the bottom of the stick near his groin and angled it away from himself. Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth gaping, he began rubbing the shaft rapidly with the cloth, up and down, up and down…. What he was doing was unmistakable: simulating masturbation, in front of thousands of children, in the middle of a church service. A row of white-coated high-ranking churchmen seated behind Schaap watched in silence.
If you’re thinking that demonstrates a dangerous level of hypersexualization in a Baptist pastor, you’d be right:
Last September, Schaap, 54, a married father of two, pleaded guilty to taking a 16-year-old girl he was counseling at First Baptist across state lines to have sex. Denied bond, he awaits sentencing in the Porter County Jail; the minimum term is ten years.
Folks, we see the pattern over and over. Folks who preach hard and heavily against sex (of whatever kind, it doesn’t matter) are almost always talking to themselves first and foremost. So whenever you hear a sermon (religious or secular, again it doesn’t matter) against sex of any kind, you might, as Dan Savage says, “wanna keep your kids the hell away.”
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December 17th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Her Reason For Having A Threesome
I was both touched and fascinated by Kristine Shaw’s explanation of her reason for seeking out a threesome, as detailed in Salon:
A single woman with a trusting, wide-open heart spells disaster in our casual hookup culture.
My problem was this: I fell in love with all of them.
I fell in love with the ones who declared that they wanted to screw me senseless. I fell in love with the ones who declared that they loved someone else. I fell in love with the ones who lived thousands of miles away and fed me tequila shots in dank basement bars in strange European cities. I even fell in love with those I chose specifically because they were not appropriate to fall in love with.
Subconsciously holding onto my childhood ideals of loving purely and being loved in return, I emotionally latched onto every man who shared my bed, however fleetingly. I could not help myself. I could not stop myself. My vagina suffered from Stockholm syndrome.
Inevitably, I would run into these former lovers on the subway, at parties, in record shops, in grocery stores, and my thumping, traitor heart would leap into my throat. If I could manage to hide in throngs of people or cross the street in order to avoid them, I would. But hiding or running away would do little to quell aftershocks of perspiration and nausea, the inconvenient corporeal byproducts of seeing somebody you once loved who didn’t love you back.
There had to be another way. There had to be some way for a perpetually, achingly single woman to derive sexual pleasure and skin-on-skin contact and affection without consistently breaking her own heart.
I decided that I had to try something new, because what I was doing — what I have always done — was not exactly working out.
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