ErosBlog

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August 30th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

Swabbing It Out After Sex: Ouch

From this article about the history of the condom, some pre-condom efforts at venereal disease prevention that I hadn’t heard about before:

In 1905, in an effort to combat common infections like gonorrhea and syphilis, the Navy implemented the first trial system of chemical prophylaxis dispensed by staff doctors. Though the treatment was strictly post-intercourse, its results impressed Navy brass enough that the procedure became standard on all ships by 1909. However, one of the system’s major flaws was its dependence on self-reporting to a doctor, so the following year prophylactic kits or “pro-kits,” were distributed to soldiers for self administration. This was highly preferred to an exam, and though still painful, the pro-kits protected many recruits from being court martialed for contracting VD.

post-sex prophylactic goop

During World War I, American soldiers weren’t issued condoms; instead they were given a “Dough Boy Prophylactic Kit.” The idea behind these kits was that soldiers who “went out on a weekend furlough and had sexual contact would then clean themselves up afterwards with antiseptics and urethral syringes and so forth.” Edmonson points out that this method was like “closing the gate after the horse is out of the barn; not very effective.”

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August 29th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

Avoidance Of “Pinkish Chemical Ooze”

Sex toy reviewing here at ErosBlog has followed a curious arc. In the early days of the blog, when traffic was bigger and sex blogs were more rare (this was before Fleshbot, mostly) I got a lot of unsolicited sex toys in the mail. I typically reviewed only the favorites, and I was always clear with folks that stuff would have to impress me a lot (code for “be expensive, nifty, and useful”) in order for me to stir my lazy ass enough to write a review.

Then sex blogging took off and got commercial. Potential places to get reviews became numerous. And sex toy sellers figured out that guaranteed reviews from smaller blogs were more valuable than potential reviews at ErosBlog that might or might not happen. The no-strings-attached stuff in the mail trickled off, but the offers with strings exploded. I don’t play those games; I’m not going to promise a review, return your toys after review (yuck), promise your preferred anchor text in my review links, none of it. Mostly I ignore those emails as spam; sometimes, if the offer is about a toy I’d actually like to see, I’ll respond with my “send it if you want, no promises” disclaimer. Sometimes this leads to amusing exchanges with huffy and offended sex toy purveyors who think I should be drooling to get free toys; less often, it leads to stuff in the mail. A surprising number of times it results in promises to send stuff that never arrives; apparently, too many sex toy companies have drop shippers that can’t handle shipping to post office boxes or discrete packaging and labeling. What with one thing and another, it’s been years since ErosBlog got stuff in the mail that was nifty enough to try out and quality enough to actually review. That’s just how it goes.

However, reviewers for more prominent outlets apparently got (still get?) a lot more, and more amazing, stuff. Here’s Gram Ponante:

I would review sex toys, often securing the assistance of willing female friends to give their honest impressions of non-organic objects I would scientifically insert into their bodies.

“Don’t worry, Baby,” I would say. “It’s for a blog.”

Each month I’d get boxes and boxes of dildos and vibrators — some of them heavy and elegant pieces of practical art — that would disappear into the purses and vaginas of various friends. And that’s great because I didn’t need them back.

But then came the male-oriented sex toys: the masturbation sleeves, the disembodied molded vaginas and anuses of people like Carmen Luvana, Joanna Angel, Jada Fire, and others, made of phthalate-rich rubbery material with names like “Cyberskin” and “TrueFlesh.” It was very difficult to give this stuff away. When April Flores’ “Realistic Pussy & Ass” arrived, we had great fun just slapping it around the office; it did feel like the ass of a delighted BBW vixen, but I couldn’t find anyone to fuck it, ditto the rubberized moneymakers of any of the other porn stars.

What’s more, when I would place April Flores’ Realistic Pussy & Ass on a co-worker’s chair as a joke, I was mortified to find it left residue. Were April Flores herself to sit her naked pussy and ass on an office chair, the next tenant would only sense that something wonderful had happened there, not be unnerved by some pinkish chemical ooze.

Just so, just so. That chair, you could probably sell on eBay. Meanwhile, I’m pleased to report nobody ever tried to mail me any disembodied phthalate-oozing pussies or asses.

The rest of Gram’s article is worth reading for his take on male-oriented sex toys (mostly not worth the added complexity “unless the toy is for a part of your person you just can’t get at, like the prostate”) and for good lines like this: “The lapsed Catholic in me was fine with spilling my seed non-procreatively, but not on the ground; it had to be on a living face.”

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August 28th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

Epic Pole Dancing

One of the many many ways this blog is behind the times (as if being a “blog” weren’t bad enough in 2012) is that I post too little video. Mostly this is because I watch so little video. My attention span is too short to sit there for fifty seconds or seven minutes waiting for something to get to the point; if I can’t easily skim/skip ahead, I’m likely to say “fuckit” and move on.

All that is to explain why I almost never follow Youtube links. Most people don’t offer enough context with their links, and it takes a metric ton of promise (or reputation capital, which can substitute) before I’ll click and view. Annie Sprinkle worked both of those angles when she tweeted about this video “The most awesome, beautiful, artistic spiritual pole dancing EVER. I sure wish I could pole dance like this. Sexy too!” Indeed:

Remind me again why pole dancing isn’t an Olympic event?

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August 27th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

A Shirt With A Message

Not appropriate for all venues, but if (for instance) you had a slow-moving gentleman you wanted to to move (more rapidly) into the booty-call/friends-with-benefits zone, you could try showing up at his door wearing this, at some inappropriately late hour. “I heard you were interviewing?”

I\'m here about the blowjob

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August 26th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

The Future Of Warfare (If Only)

new recruit learns about the future of warfare

“Grandpa, what did you do, during the mud wars?”

I didn’t make this meme-pic, but I can’t source it accurately either.

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August 22nd, 2012 -- by Bacchus

Pens, For Her

There’s a real product (made by a real company) currently available on Amazon in a pack of 12. It’s the “BIC For Her Amber Medium Ballpoint Pen” and how do we know it’s “for her?” Why, it’s “designed to fit comfortably in a womans hand” (sic) and it’s got an “attractive barrel design available in pink and purple.”

Needless to say, the reviews are positive (and hilarious). Like this one:

This product cured my girly dyslexia.

Before I bought this product I couldn’t write but now I’m an engineer. Mind you, I only design pink, flowery bridges, motorways and sewers. Blue ones would be wrong wouldn’t they.

Or this one:

Sent from Heaven by the Angels

I could never write until now because I’m such a thick little Princess that I refused to. I just drew pictures of my pink little bike, with the lilac streamers. I thought I’d just grow up and let a big manly man come and marry/save me.

Now I’ve found this pen, I’ve learned to write. It’s so pretty, with its comfortable grip, not like the razor like surface on ordinary mens pens. It will help me list all my household chores and record my calorie consumption in my diary. Who knows? Maybe it will give me the confidence to take the stabilisers off my bike.

Or even this one, which makes the pen sound like something you’d find at Figging.com:

Such a useful little tool (and that’s not just a description of the man in charge of the marketing campaign)

How could I have missed my own deep inner need for such a product? It’s just perfect for ramming straight up the hogs’ eye of any sexist man I happen to be oppressed by – no more Tabasco-dipped nasty old medical catheters for the misogynists in my life!

There are many, many more. (Ain’t no fleshpile in the world like the piling-on a determinedly stupid product can get in the Amazon reviews.)

 
August 21st, 2012 -- by Bacchus

Some Thoughts By A Clit-Licking Wanker

From a column even smarter and saner than this paragraph:

My point is there’s nothing “dirty”, “perverse” or “deviant” about masturbation or clit-licking. A brain as powerful and sophisticated as mine can’t just be cold-booted in the morning, and masturbation is one of the best ways to fill the long minutes that elapse between the first signs of consciousness and the ability to crawl and signal basic emotions to others. Indeed, wanking is a powerful motivator — there’s only so long you can lie clutching a handful of your own sperm before disgust overwhelms laziness and forces you to the bathroom. Similarly, clit-licking is a relaxing and efficient pursuit that requires little more than lying on your back, letting a lady sit on your face, and trying to avoid suffocation.

That’s Martin Robbins, writing in New Statesman.

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