I found this stylish depiction of a bit of street prostitution at Fluffy Lychees. (Well, to be accurate, I found it in a postage-stamp size on my hard drive; but then when I went looking for a better larger version, I found it in a whole portfolio of etchings that Fluffy Lychees published last year.) It’s by Ernst Gerhard:

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You know what they say. Sometimes, you get the bear. Sometimes, the bear gets you. And sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference!

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The last time I drooled over Annie Cruz here on Erosblog, I called her “painfully beautiful”, in part because she was in dominatrix mode. But I really do think she’s a whole lot of hotness in a not-very-big package.

Which is why I cannot resist sharing some of the more modest scenes from this girl-girl nude wrestling match (conducted at Ultimate Surrender) in which Annie Cruz loses catastrophically to Samantha Sin.

Cruz (right) starts out looking confident and disdainful:

But it’s not long before she’s the first to lose her underwear, to the delight of the audience:

And she just can’t seem to avoid being woman-handled by the stronger Ms. Sin:

By this point, she doesn’t have much fight left in her:

Which means, she’s about to start “enjoying” the “surrender” part of the evening’s program.

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I am not sure what this girl is saying as she smiles back over her shoulder, but out of sympathy for Mr. Asterisk, I am hoping it’s something like “Would you please pass the butter?”

Found this bit of pegging art on Usenet.

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I was reminded, Sunday night, of the strange way in which there’s no one truth about love or lust or romance or about anything else interesting to humans. The Nymph and I went to see Vicki Christina Barcelona, the latest Woody Allen movie. I enjoyed it right well — and Penelope Cruz is just brilliant in her role — but it also gave me a modest insight of sorts.

In the movie, there’s a love triangle that is brief, implausible, and complex. (“Complex” is my eighty-cent college word; my blue collar brother-in-law would be content to say “fucked up”, in a tone of voice suggesting an unacceptable depth of complexity but without any connotation of condemnation.) And yet, just as I was marveling at the very implausibility of the arrangement, I was startled to realize “no, this is just remarkable for being in a movie; it’s not the least bit more complicated than a thousand unusual romantic understandings I’ve seen people reach in the real world, or describe on their personal blogs.” People, real people even more so than scripted people, are willing and able to make the most astonishing compromises and bargains (physical, emotional, financial) in order to get the love, affection, validation (and, yes, sex!) that they need.

Hardly a deep or original insight, but then, I never claimed different. Still, it served to remind me of what I love about the sex blog genre (and to a lesser extent, blogs in general) — namely, that they provide a relatively unfiltered window into the inner romantic and emotional lives of a great many more people than we would normally know well enough (in meat space) to know on that level. And that’s just interesting.

Today’s example is an excerpt from Bitchy Jone’s Diary, in which she is talking about the big strong man she enjoys hurting, and the reasons he enjoys being hurt by her. That’s one of the categories of sexual bargains that usually overstrains the limited capacities my empathic sexual imagination; and so — despite bearing firmly in mind that an explanation of what’s going on for these people may not speak with authority about any other people — I found it fascinating and instructive:

I live in a small, papery ordinary house. I have radiators, I have chairs and tables, but these things are all built practicality, not practical evil. I do not have access to one of those fortresses built out of rusty steel columns where they make the kinky porno. I do not have a room with red walls. The only thing I can really tie Jack to and not have him killcrushdestroy (killcrushdestroy my soft nest of an IKEA catalogue interior that is) is other parts of himself.

‘Cause the trouble is, with him, resistance is fertile.

For all I try and say that submission and masculinity work with each other not against each other: that the whole world has got it wrong with its stupid prevailing ideology about which way round bondage goes. But, no one listens to Cassandra Jones, the world of people-tied-up is built for tying up women. Every guide book, every instructional video is about tying up women, pretty much. Bondage for sex means bondage for being penetrated. So what of me? I like it tough and scary. I like the great big man brought down, down, down. Works brilliantly in my head. In real life: hard work.

Because I like to feel a huge rush of power over a conquered kingdom of a man. But because I reach so high it’s so much harder to bring the thing down low.

Sometimes he feels unscaleable and more often *unbreakable*. And broken is a wonderful state. But so much harder to achieve when starting with an unbreakable thing.

There is that little moment when I hurt him. Right at the start. He makes it very obvious: He assesses what I’m doing and works out if he can deal with it. And he always can — always finds a place to put it — but right before that you see the tiny panic before he *knows* that he can. I’m happiest right there. The moment before either of us remember that he is unbreakable.

Not that I am not in love with that brave thing. That self sacrifice. Once I said to him, ‘I want to him you on the backs of your thighs with a metal ruler.’

And he said, ‘Fine.’ He said ‘fine’ like I’d said ‘I want to go make a cup of tea.’

So I said — more fierce, but more fierce for me just means my jaw sets a little hard — ‘And I want you to hate it.’

He’s rolled over ready for me by now, so he’s looking back over his shoulder. ‘Well I don’t expect I’m going to like it very much.’

And I swoon, there, at the stoic and the brave and the acceptance of me and the things that I need. But I still pine for something more fragile. For more doubt and fear.

I make him fake it. Make him ask for it to stop. Make him ask me not to hurt him. But that’s a level up on the unreality game. And I know that if I wanted it the other way he’d ask me *to* do it too. He doesn’t like pain. He likes being brave. I honestly don’t know where his desire to feel brave would end. Where rationality would take over. I’d like to find out — let the bravery drive us, let it set the pace, decide when we stop – but it’s a frightening place I might end up.

“Google Suggest” Ignores Adult Search Preference Cookies

Google, as all sex blog readers probably know, filters porn (they call it “explicit sexual content”) out of your search results by default. They call this “Safe Search”, and you can turn if off by letting Google set a cookie in your browser. (Most ErosBlog readers have, presumably, done this.) No worries, it’s been like this for years. We’re used to it, and in many contexts it’s useful to have the filtered option.

Recently, however, Google introduced a dynamic on-the-fly search suggestion feature called Google Suggest. When you type Britney Spears into the search box, a drop-down appears with what Google calls “relevant suggested search terms” in real time:

Nerd response: Cool!

Sex blogger response: Hey, wait a minute! Isn’t something missing from that search box? Wouldn’t you expect to see “Britney Spears nude” on that list?

Let’s check. The list changes with every character you type, so let’s go “britney spears nu” and see if it fills in the suggestion:

Suspicious, but maybe all those “number one” sites are just crowding it out? Let’s make this impossible to miss, let’s try “britney spears nud”:

Whoa! Is that the sound of crickets I’m hearing? “Mom, Google Suggest won’t come out and play with me any more!”

At this point I hit the “Preferences” link and went to check my Safe Search setting; it forgets the “Do not filter my search results” setting every time I clean out all my cookies, and resetting it is the first thing I do after that. Nope, “Do not filter my search results” is checked! That’s not the problem.

And make no mistake, this is a problem, and not just for feelthy perverts like me. This is the sort of thing that sets mild-mannered eyeglasses-wearing librarians sputtering with rage, because once you start filtering out words, like “nude”, that do double duty as erotic signifiers and, you know, plain old information tags, you begin to muck up basic research of the sort that any high school civics class might legitimately be doing. Allow me to illustrate.

Does anybody remember John Ashcroft, and his infamous prudery that had him covering up fine art at the Department of Justice because the bare breasts offended him? Imagine you were trying to write a high school essay about public art and needed to reference that incident. If you actually Google John Ashcroft nude (shudder) you’ll get 39,000-ish results. But start typing that request into Google, and you’ll learn that while John Ashcroft singing “Let The Eagle Soar” might be relevant to your search request (with 10,500 results), “John Ashcroft nude” could not possibly be, even though there are four times as many potential results out there:

Again, we need to check to make sure it didn’t just get choked by having to select between too many potentially relevant suggestions. We can do that by typing more letters; “john ashcroft n” gets me “john ashcroft news” as the sole suggestion, and with “john ashcroft nu” we’re back to the sound of crickets. Sorry, seeker after knowledge, nothing with “nude” in it could possibly be relevant to your search, EVER.

That’s search engine prudery right there, and it’s as stupid and mindless as automated mechanical prudery always is.

Of course, I’m not dealing with search results filtering, what I’m complaining about is search suggestions filtering. But that’s a distinction without a difference, a nit only a lawyer could enjoy picking. Google already has a cookie on my computer telling them that I don’t want them to protect me from the pollution of my vital essences that is the adult internet; what earthly reason could they have for ignoring that preference in determining which searches to show me in the suggestion box?

Just to show the full ridiculousness that is Mrs Grundy as played by The Mechanical Turk, let’s search for dear old Jenna, once said to be the most-searched woman on the internet:

That settles it. The Mechanical Turk “knows” damned well who I’m searching for, knows when I’m two characters into her last name, but it can’t mechanically imagine that “jenna jameson nude” (with nearly half a million search results out there) might be at least as relevant as “jenna jameson neck tattoo”? Sorry my friends, but inside the amazing Mechanical Turk there sits a very human prude.

Again, it’s easy to imagine lots of good business reasons why Google might want to filter even the mildest adult topics out of its search suggestion tool. That’s not my point.

My point is that for many people, Google is only useful if they can get the unfiltered version. Google knows this. Google makes it easy to set the “don’t filter me” button. But what good is that, if they then silently ignore the setting?

OK, now let’s have some fun looking at all the things Google Suggest refuses to suggest.

How about a good spanking? That’s only about as kinky as six inches of your average garden hose these days, plus there’s the whole universe of information out there about why you shouldn’t do it to your kids. Surely Google Suggest has something for the spanking searcher?

Google Suggest says: No spankings for you!

How about porn? If I type “por” into my search bar, you think maybe “porn” might be a relevant search to suggest?

Duh, no, silly me.

Ok, would you like to look at some fine rubber nipples? Or, you know, buy some, for your baby’s bottle or for your plumbing supply store? Sorry, you’re shit outta luck — Google Suggest can offer you “nippleplay” (presumably because the guy writing the filter didn’t get warned against it), but the Mechanical Prude has never heard of a nipple that was relevant to anybody:

That’s enough for now, although readers are invited to find other, especially laughable “never relevant” stop words that choke Google Suggest. Have fun teasing the Mechanical Prude!

Remember a year ago, when I blogged about George Clooney and his sex pillow? Well, I finally got in to see Burn After Reading, the movie he was making when that picture was taken.

It’s a passably decent movie with some great character acting, made me laugh quite a bit, worth the price of the ticket. But the second-best part was watching George make a dramatic exit that was all about taking his sex pillow with him, in the best “I’m taking my marbles and going home” fashion.

Did I say second-best? Yes. The best part was watching him show his new internet hookup/date the secret device he built in his basement with stuff from the home improvement store. But that, you’ll have to see for yourself.