“You know why God is a man? Because if God were a woman she would have made sperm taste like chocolate.” — Comedian Carrie Snow

From a 1974 profile of Brian Eno, found via Bondage Blog:

His voice trails off as he spies a copy of Search magazine. He leafs through it with obvious pleasure, but the gleam in his eyes softens, and sadly he shakes his head, “It’s a burning shame that most people want to keep pornography under cover when it’s such a highly developed art form — which is one of the reasons that I started collecting pornographic playing cards I’ve got about 50 packs which feature on all my record covers for the astute observer.

“There’s something about pornography which has a similarity to rock music. A pornographic photographer aims his camera absolutely directly, at the centre of sexual attention. He’s not interested in the environment of the room.

“I hate the sort of photography in Penthouse and Playboy which is such a compromise between something to give you a hard-on and something which pretends to be artistic. The straight pornographers aim right there where it’s at.

“Which is analogous to so many other situations where somebody thinks one thing is important, so they focus completely on that and don’t realize they’re unconsciously organizing everything else around it as well. I have such beautiful pornography – I’ll show you my collection sometime.

The last guy invited me up to see his etchings.

“One theory is that black-and-white photography is always more sexy than colour photography. The reason for this is provided by Marshall McLuhan, who points out that if a thing is ‘high definition,’ which colour photography is, it provides more information and doesn’t require participation as much as if it is ‘low definition’.” I.e. a horror play on the radio is always very, very frightening because the imagery is always your own. If youUre choosing your own imagery, you’ll always choose the most frightening, or in the case of pornography, the most sexual.

“The idea of things being low definition has always interested me a lot – of being unspecific – another thing which is a key-point of my lyrics. They must be ‘low definition’ so that they don’t say anything at all direct. I think the masters of that were Lou Reed and Bob Dylan (on “Blonde on Blonde”). The lyrics are so inviting.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT ‘burning shame’ is by the way? It’s a pornographic term for a deviation involving candles.

“Ouch!”

“Very popular in Japanese pornography. They’re always using lit candles because Japanese pornography is very sadistic, partly because of the Japanese view of women, which is a mixture of resentment and pure animal lust.

“In the traditional view, a woman is still expected to be at the beck and call of her husband, so that manifests itself in that kind of pornography. Of which I have a few examples, of course.

“Mexican pornography is an interesting island of thought because they seem to be heavily into excretory functions. The traditional American view is that anything issued from the body is dirty. It’s incredibly puritanical and it resents bodily fluids, so if one is trying to debase a woman, you cover them with that and hence you get the fabulous term ‘Golden Showers’ — the term for pissing on someone, which some well-known rock musicians are said to be very involved in…

“Here come the warm jets?”

“That’s certainly a reference.”

No, not that kind of “O”; or, at least, I don’t imagine so. This looks more like an “Oh shit, what’s he doing?” face, or perhaps an “Omigod, I had no idea it was possible to experience that sensation!”

Perhaps we could blame the weighted nipple clamps, but they’re padded and the weights look to be resting on the floor. However, observe that our intent man in charge has got a power cord running over her knee to whatever electrical appliance he’s deploying between her legs in the vicinity of her nether regions. Since this is not a government photograph, we can assume the device is not a soldering iron. So, what’s he got?

My money’s on a violet wand, or perhaps a powerful vibrator.

From Hogtied.com.

He moves so well. How did he learn, I wondered. Did he go to school for sex? If so, he’d have a post-graduate degree in fucking. Did he have a coach, someone who coolly looked over his shoulder, critiquing his performance until it was perfect?

From our dear Always Aroused Girl. Her words made me remember some past lovers. One guy that was geeky and clumsy, hitting my head with his elbow and stuff, but he still got me off and had me coming back for more. Another guy might have been Dr. Fucker, the most educated best trained lovemaker around. But for all his great technique, it felt like fucking a machine. There was no spark between us. (I cried afterward, sad and very disappointed.)

Is good technique better than enthusiasm and a less than topnotch technique? Does good chemistry make all the rest unimportant?

I think for me the answer to the second question is yes.

The thing about erotic story repositories on the internet that makes them so interesting is that they are structurally noncommercial. Which is to say, for the most part, they accumulate the sort of erotic fiction that nobody wants to be in the business of selling in print.

It would be easy to say more generally that amateur erotic fiction isn’t of commercial quality, but that’s a cop-out; it’s so hard to make money selling erotic fiction that, strictly speaking, virtually all of it that exists isn’t “commercial quality” if you define that as “you could sell enough of this to be worth publishing it.” No, I’m talking about thematic elements that would, at the very least, complicate any commercial distribution, themes and scenarios that make business people nervous and/or queasy. Rape, incest, sex at any age, bestiality, rare fetishes, social taboos, and every imaginable combination thereof: “I caught my teacher fucking her dog and blackmailed her with the photos, I made her wear sweaty rubber boots, call me Master, and suck my cock in the supply closet — and then I made her take my little brother and his Nintendo buddies on a field trip to the petting zoo!”

This, of course, is a specific instance of the general case, the root nature of the internet that makes it so wonderful and terrible. No matter how narrow your interest, you can get anything you want, but you’ll find it cheek-by-jowl with a million things that will raise your eyebrows until they ache.

Doubt me? Go have a look at The Kristen Archives. If there’s a better place on the internet to find sex stories, I haven’t seen it. But you simply must be adult about it. Skim the summaries; if a story’s not for you, don’t read it. For extra credit and true advancement toward mastery, cultivate the ability to appreciate what’s hot about a story while disregarding the elements (stylistic or thematic) that aren’t.

Your example for the day is Screwed, featuring an amoral attorney who’s clearly more excited by the financial screwing he gives his client than he is by the blowjob he enjoys from her. If you’re a professional of any kind, you might find yourself too outraged to enjoy the story. Which would be a shame, because there’s no law that says villains can’t be funny in the conduct of their villainy:

I wound my hand in her hair and jerked her head back and forth, each time forcing more of my dick into her mouth until she was almost choking, but she never pulled back. When she reached between her legs and began playing with her pussy as I roughly jerked her head onto my cock, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was getting off on the rough treatment. I would like to have experimented more, but the tremendous mental and physical stimulation pushed me over the top, and with almost painful jets, I shot a copious load of jism down her throat, my cock unbelievably huge and purple looking, the orgasm without a doubt the best I’d ever experienced in a woman’s mouth, making it feel even better.

I collapsed backward onto my elbows, basking in the after-glow, my cock still twitching in her hand as she licked her lips and swallowed the remains of my wad. Then, squeezing up the length of my cock, she forced up a final dollop of sperm, and looking at me, and squeezing the huge drip onto her tongue, she let me watch her spread it around her mouth and slowly and with a sensuous grin, swallowed the entire thing. Then, as though not yet satisfied, she sucked my cock clean of every last drop of cum, kissed my balls tenderly and sat back in her chair with a brilliant smile, rearranging her skirt, giving me a shot of her unpantied beaver before dropping the skirt primly into place.

I let my head drop back onto the desk, eyes closed, trying to regain my strength. I’d never had a head shot like that. The woman was a vampire — she positively loved cum. I glanced at the clock and with a shock realized that she’d sucked me for almost 20 minutes, and that we were almost through the lunch hour. Quickly, I refigured her bill. I’d need to get paid for that extra hour now, and — what the hell — she’d just had her lunch on me! I tacked $50.00 dollars onto her bill. That would make it $350.00. But then I realized that she’d probably dicker with me, so I threw on another $100.00 to give me something to work with, for a total of $450.00 less her discount. I’d just gotten paid $150.00 for blowing my wad down my client’s throat!

As I watched her repair her lipstick, I thought about the glimpse of her hairy cooze I’d gotten as she’d pulled the skirt down. I was still excited and the thought of fucking this ‘respectable’ mother of two made my cock start to stand up again. I didn’t bother to put it away.

“Well, Karen, that was great — you certainly have talent — but now there’s the matter of your bill.”

Well, of course, she’d expected that the entire bill would be forgiven based on her performance, but I gave her a lecture on overhead travel fees, etc., then made my pitch for the discount. But before I did it, a perverse streak caused me to quote her $550.00 as my bill to see what she’d say. She seemed taken aback, but I pointed out that I’d done a lot of research before we’d gone to court. I gently explained to her that just because she’d assumed that I’d dismiss the whole bill didn’t constitute a contract because we’d had no discussion beforehand. Then I asked her what she thought her services had been worth. Just as I thought, she undervalued them-obviously low self esteem-and dubiously quoted $100.00. I could have backed her down, but I had another plan in mind. I accepted her offer, and generously knocked off another $50.00 to show good faith. That term always gets them, even though it meant nothing in this case. Now we were down to $400.00.

She had brightened appreciably. I then offered her a chance to knock the bill down another $50.00 if I could fuck her — and I said it just like that. She acted as though the very words turned her on. But, believe it or not, she was getting bolder, and came back with $100.00. We finally settled on $75.00. I was on a roll, and I could have gotten her down to $50.00 — but, what the hell, I’m not totally devoid of conscience!

This is just an amazing piece of nude art:

It’s The Woman In The Waves by Gustave Courbet, from 1868.

That would be The Prelude du Fornication.

Thank you, Bad Example!