At least it’s the men that are the victims of fashion this time. See for yourself:

I think I’d be squeezing my cheeks tight too if the Tinman’s pointy hat was about to plumb my asspucker.

Real fashion show picture grabbed from the fug girls portion of Show and Talk. (Don’t tell my mom I read them and I won’t tell yours you read us, m’kay?)

Generally when I post vintage photos, I have to delete half a dozen comments bitching about body hair. Kids these days, you’d think their fashions were some sort of natural law. (Anyway, my solution to that is to post more vintage photographs; eventually maybe the lesson will soak in that fashions change, and that history is not automatically gross. Never mind the more subtle truth that fashions in body hair vary along demographic lines, even today. In short, your mom may have more pussy hair than your favorite waxed-and-plucked porn starlet, and your dad still thinks your mom is hot. Exercise coping skills.)

Moving rapidly along: but what is a body to do when the notable vintage hairdos in question are on heads?

For help in pondering that, I offer up this taxonomy of hairdos from a 70’s Ebony magazine. Enjoy!

Subbie Bunnie has something to say about erotic pain, starting with a practical tip:

you have a subbie that goes stoic? you have a girl that doesn’t cry out? i swear to god, this will fix it. take one normal ordinary chopstick. gently and sweetly take your bottom’s hand. place the chopstick across the nailbed (the root end, not the tip end). now, get ready, and press. HARD. and don’t stop pressing.. and listen to your subbie scream and scream and SCREAM. omigodpain. holy cow, holy shit, ow ow ow pain.

now, i should have taken it as a bad sign that his own slave (who takes a blade to her skin with barely a cry and the whip too) hold your head carefully in her lap and advises, “just scream. there’s really nothing else for it.”

…

i forget how the pain feels. i forget, and i need to feel it again. i’m addicted to it, to the heady spacey feeling of almost too much, of the breaths caught so hard my lungs rebel against the sharpness of the air. i long for the grey-sparkly blur of my vision when the whitehot flash of cane, or whip, or electric spark erases everything except for the heat in my pussy, the burn in my blood, the words on my lips, begging pleading for the almost otherwordly and almost equally agonizing burst of pleasure. like jumping in the deep end of the pool, when it’s not quite warm enough to swim yet, and the water is ice, and the shock is all you feel, all you can register, until your feet hit bottom , and bring you back, pushing, fighting, to the surface, and break out, gasping, into the glittering, blinding reality that is suddenly so much brighter.

hurt me again…

Reader Serge sent in a link to Le site de Camille, which is chock full of goodies like this:

I hate to just dump a picture post, so here’s a picture to make you think:

The interesting question is, what does it make you think? Discuss among yourselves.

For me, it raises all sorts of questions. Is it supposed to be funny, in a mock-heroic Great White Hunter sort of way? (Obviously not very* funny, but I think I found it on Urod.ru, where the humor tends to run low. You can’t entirely blame those low-brow Russki misogynists, though, because that truck is an American classic or I’ll eat the hood ornament.)

Or is it supposed to be a deep feminist commentary on the treatment of women in porn? Or on the treatment of women, in general?

Or, contrariwise, might it be a direct reminder message from the Patriarchy on the supposed equation between women and meat?

We might know more if we knew who the photographer was. Which says a lot, all by itself, about the difficulty of finding meaning in a context-less photograph.

Have fun, but be nice.

A sensationalist blog title, to be sure. But Violet Blue, who does a lot of sex writing, has discovered that Microsoft Word is squeamish about suggesting sex-related words when she mis-types them, even though those words evidently are in its database:

I’ve noticed that Word is reluctant to suggest some sex words as spelling alternatives when it doesn’t recognize what I wrote. For instance, if I write “Windoze” and spell-check it, the program will suggest “Windows” and a few other alternate words. If I insist on my spelling and click “ignore” it tells me I picked a word not in the dictionary, and am I sure I want to continue?

But with some sex words, it behaves differently. Here’s an example I’m running into repeatedly tonight: in my draft, I typed dildo as “didlo” a couple of times. Word’s spell-check caught it as a mistake and suggested the following words: dido, idol, dodo and dado. But when I corrected the spelling to “dildo” it unhighlighted (what it does with correct spellings), and when I clicked “ignore” it didn’t tell me I was using a word outside the dictionary or if I was sure I wanted to continue.

So, it knows how to spell “dildo”. Why won’t it offer me the correct suggestion in the list?

I have two reactions to this. The first is a sort of mild humorous derision, which Microsoft earns and shares broadly with the entire sex-phobic corporate world.

More seriously, though, it seems worrisome in a minor way that a company with so much influence over the “means of production” of written English has the ability to disfavor and deprecate entire vocabularies. Words are what people use to think with. Influence — even subtle influence — over the inventory of available words is real power.

Who knew a girl could have so much fun with just a bit of string?