December 15th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Pastry Brush Musings
Is it bad, that when I see this picture at Kinky Delight, I immediately conceive of wrong things to do with the handle of that pastry brush?
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December 14th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
An Old-Fashioned Lube
Every year I get older, the generational gap turns into more and more of a void. Case in point:
If you’re old enough, you remember an era when STDs typically weren’t fatal, when latex barriers weren’t the sine qua non of safer sex, and, thus, when “lube” meant anything slippery and handy.
I just about fell out of my rocking chair and swallowed my choppers when I saw the comment on this post:
“I never knew Crisco could be used a lubrication but I can see that it would be give a nice slippery coat. However, one is told never to use Crisco if you are going to use a condom.”
Somebody got the necessary safety info, but not an ounce of the cultural context that went with it.
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December 13th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
“I was helpless…I had to follow her.”
No red-blooded man in America could resist:
That’s Mary Louise Parker as she appeared in the August 2009 issue of Esquire magazine.
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December 12th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
More Vintage Fetish Fuel
Sure a vintage photograph like this will be fetish fuel for somebody. And if not, at least it’s proof that people have been doing, and taking pictures of, some kinky shit, for a long time. What we have here is the cropped version of a photo from the 1930s featuring a woman in a skin-tight latex outfit from which the nipple area has been removed:
If you click for the uncropped version, of course she’s wearing high heels, too.
Was it originally supposed to be art, or porn? I have no idea.
Update: Possibly a photo of Yva Richards.
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December 12th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Sand And Wild Roses
This is Sand And Wild Roses from 1909, by photographer Alice Boughton, as seen in the collection of the musée d’Orsay in Paris.
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December 11th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Gay Panic: The Mental Movies?
When I was a much younger man, I spent a few years living in San Francisco. My social crowd was students, mostly from out-of-town like me, and I knew a lot of people who were (in that benighted era) if not openly homophobic, at least deeply uncomfortable with San Francisco’s status as a gay Mecca. I’ll never forget the look of horror on one male friend’s face when the two of us were approached at a crosswalk and accosted with “you two are such a lovely couple … won’t you please sign this petition for [gay cause]?”
I myself didn’t go into many bars, due to lack of funds; but I heard a lot of talk about the bar scene from my wealthier friends. And as they discussed the bar scene, one common theme quickly became clear: they lived in horror of accidentally walking into a gay bar.
Now, that’s a mistake I made myself, on several occasions; most notably, when I heard the strains of country music coming out of a place called the Wagon Wheel II down on Mission Street. I was all “A country bar? In San Francisco? This I got to see!” So I walked in, saw a lot of chaps wearing assless chaps, and said to myself “Friend, tonight’s goal of meeting a lonely heterosexual woman is not going to be achieved in this place.” And then I walked out again. Miraculously, I was unharmed by the experience.
Thus, it was never entirely clear to me what my friends were afraid of, precisely. I gathered there was some sort of social stigma or faux pas associated with the error, but they acted more like they expected to be hustled into the back and duct taped into a gunny sack with a little hole kept open for the mouth.
I thought of all this when I saw a couple of galleries from the newish gay bondage site Bound In Public. Except for the fact that these models are having way too much fun, I think I’ve finally found photographic illustrations of what my friends were afraid would happen to them if they walked into the wrong gay bars:
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