Some pictures just can’t be improved by commentary:

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Before there were French postcards — hell, before there were nude photographs — there were daguerreotypes, and of course those early daguerrotypists, being French, pointed their metal plates coated with stinky chemicals at the nude ladies. (Well, perhaps not ladies in the social sense of the word.) With results of a surprisingly modern character:

The image is from a large French daguerrotype from the mid 1850s, currently to be found in the collection of the J. Paul Getty Museum, and titled (by them) Nude Study of a Black Woman. A bit of erudite commentary can be found here:

I do not recall how I first came to find her image, but I knew instantly that it was rare and important. It was stored in a box all by itself, and I would probably never have found it had I not worked in the museum that owned it. She was extraordinary — a young black woman in France almost 140 years ago, naked and displayed and open and touching herself and reclining and smiling. The lace coverlet on which she is posed reminds me fondly, sweetly of my own grandmother’s linens, while her frankness and sexuality remind me of everything that is not my grandmother. Through all of my research I have never seen another piece of 19th century photo erotica quite like this. The daguerreotype plate is of an impressive size, and I wonder what was so extraordinary about this model to merit such special treatment, since by the mid 1850s, when this was made, the popularity of daguerreotypes in France was waning in favor of simpler positive/negative processes. Moreover, I am intrigued by what could possibly be the connection between this photographer’s model, perhaps a prostitute, a continent and a culture and a century and a half away, and me.

She is completely bare except for her head wrapped in the fashion of West Indian women. Ironically, despite her complete exposure, this small cultural marker is the only real clue as to who she might have been. She is positioned awkwardly, expressly for the act of being viewed, and we seem to see every inch of her except for her lower legs and feet. The focal point of the image, her open crotch, is coyly out of focus, yet with the explicit placement of her fingers she invites us to look, simultaneously avoiding the viewer with her gaze. Either in modesty or carnal complicity, the medium obscures her sex in murkiness.

From Journey Into Submission, a conversation on what happens when you attempt to economize on sex toys:

Somehow the conversation veered way off track.

“Butt plug and ball gag?” someone asked, echoing the last person’s statement.

“How about a butt plug ball gag?” another person asked.

“Ewwww! That’s gross!” a third chimed in.

I tried to hide my face in my hand and ignore the flush rising to my cheeks. Mr Stern looked down at me kneeling at his feet, taking in the banter.

“A butt plug ball gag. Hmmm…” he said, tapping my forehead with his finger. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Two nights before I had been laying naked on his bed, tied wrists to thighs, with Rachel on one side and Mr Stern on the other…

“Did I tell you what I did to her a few weeks ago?” Mr Stern asked Rachel. I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see but I assume she shook her head.

“I sent her to the grocery store with a butt plug in her cunt,” he said. Rachel laughed.

“Did she keep it in the whole time or did it fall out at the store?” she asked.

“Tell her, slut. Open your eyes, look at Rachel, and tell her if it stayed in the whole time,” he ordered, pulling my hair to force my head back. I swallowed hard, tried to focus and suppressed a giggle that suddenly threatened to bubble up.

“It stayed in the whole time,” I said, meeting her eyes. She nodded wisely. I’m sure I was blushing fiercely at the crudeness of the conversation.

“Which one was it, slut? Was it this one?” Mr Stern asked after a minute, climbing back onto the bed. I shifted my gaze back to him and saw the black butt plug in his hand.

“Yes, Mr Stern, that’s it,” I said. He reached over and pressed it against my lips. I instinctively opened my mouth and he slid it in. Since I had been the one to clean it, I was as sure as I could be that it was clean. Besides, Mr Stern is a self proclaimed germophobe, he was not liable to do anything that actually exposed me to yickiness.

“Have you been practicing deep throating your dildos so you can take my whole cock in?” he asked as the toy went past my tongue.

I shook my head no, unable to speak with the butt plug deep in my throat. It was just small enough to fit in my mouth but there was no room to talk.

“Slut, you need to practice. Let’s see what you can do with this. I’m going to fuck your face with it,” he said, forcing it to the back of my throat. I tilted my head back to allow deeper access. The flared end of the plug rested against my lips and Mr Stern held it with his fingertips. I moaned as he shoved it in and out.

“Does that turn you on, you fucking slut?” he asked. He loomed over me, watching my reaction.

I nodded as well as I could considering my position.

“I bet she’s imagining it’s my cock. That gets her wetter than anything else,” Mr Stern told Rachel. “Is that what you’re doing, slut?”

I nodded again. It was that very idea – of his cock in my mouth – that was turning me on. I wanted to deep throat his cock the way I was letting the plug slide all the way in. I stuck my tongue out a little further, wrapping it around the widest part of the plug.

Mr Stern started telling Rachel how much he enjoys it when I suck his cock, about how I do something with my tongue that is just perfect, and how I was showing off now in hopes of enticing him into putting his cock in my mouth. I concentrated on not gagging and making my display look good, for exactly the reason he had guessed.

A bit of real “folk art” cock sucking, found in a men’s room (not by me) and posted on Flickr:

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It’s nice to know that some of today’s young people are studying and practicing for their adult responsibilities. From a tabloid:

A Romanian teenager had to have emergency surgery after swallowing a toothbrush while she practised performing oral sex.

Andreea Vlad, 16, from Falticeni in eastern Romania, initially told doctors she had slipped and swallowed the seven inch toothbrush.

But when medical staff carried out examinations they realised she had no scratches or cuts on her throat backing up her claim she had fallen.

When questioned further she admitted she and some friends had been watching a pornographic movie and that she had swallowed the brush afterwards while practicing the technique for oral sex and imitating the women in the film.

A spokesman for the county hospital in Suceava where she was treated said: ‘This girl is very lucky. She did not suffer any internal damage because of the toothbrush, but things could have been much worse for her.’

At first it seems like a bit of shame that somebody vandalized this bit of folk art. Until you realize that to take offense, you have to be bothered by the idea of somebody putting graffiti … on graffiti.

But I’d still rather they hadn’t.

From Titty Blog.

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In a MMORPG forum I frequent, there was the usual bitching about unfixed game bugs, and the usual tired “I can’t wait until [Hot New Game] comes out so I can put this crap game behind me” complaint.

To which one fellow responded:

Just like breaking up with a girlfriend for the little things. The next girl will have the same problems. {laughing}

I liked the response from the next poster:

Euch! The next one’s gonna smell of cheese and have a hairy chest too?