The next time I’m at the beach and find a handy sand ledge, I want to excavate one of these:

So much more fun than carving a sand castle!

What is it about beer in plastic cups that leads to all these entertaining party girl photos?

Up for some Flirty Fishing, anyone?

Ouch, where exactly did the point of that fish hook go?

It seems that the religious organization (“cult”, to its detractors, but then every small marginal religion is a cult to its detractors) known as “The Children of God” or “The Family” used to practice a modern form of temple prostitution, both to gain new adherents and to earn revenue for the organization. They called this practice “Flirty Fishing”:

Flirty Fishing (FFing) was a form of religious prostitution practiced by the Children of God/The Family cult from 1974 until it was officially discontinued in 1987 (due, in part, to the AIDS scare). Its etymology can be traced to Matthew 4:19 where Jesus says “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

Flirty Fishing was a subset of The Family’s love bombing activities and involved the use of sexual attraction and intercourse to win converts and favors. Female members were told to be “God’s whores” and “hookers for Jesus”, and soon after its launch as a method of witnessing, sex was given to complete strangers in combination with a request for a “donation”, or for a required fee in line with Escort Servicing (ESing) or freelance ESing.

There’s nothing new about fishing for converts using loving, available women as bait. But these people didn’t shrink from their metaphor:

Ouch, again. The text is explicit about this piercing business:

Art thou willing to become my bait? Then yield thyself therefore to be pierced through by many sorrows!

For the bait is placed again and again on the hook and pierced many times ere it is finally devoured, that it may catch many for my kingdom!

The bait is taken:

Make no mistake, though; this was not a joyous nor a sex-positive operation. Dig the text from the tract (my emphasis added):

“Art thou willing to kiss many with My kiss of life? Through thy death to thyself thou shalt bring life to many that would devour thee and feast upon thy flesh. You flirt to entice them that they may be caught!”

There are a great many more of these well-illustrated True Komix tracts on various subjects — apparently tract sales were another source of revenue — and sexual imagery was prevalent, and often very attractively presented:

But the whole sex / piercing / death theme is never very far away:

Did I say “Ouch” yet?

Given that we live in a world where popular religions are either actively hostile to sex (the sex people actually have all the time, I mean, not the limited subset involving marriage and procreation), or are (at best) tolerant of it, it’s a bit mind-warping to find religious advertising that makes graphic use of sexual imagery. Doubtless they got a lot of attention for themselves using these seductive tactics. But I think the “big-nail-driven-into-her-pussy” image says all we really need to know about the role of women in that church. Ugh.

I imagine that tickling girls is probably the first experience most little boys get with anything remotely like power exchange or BDSM. Annoying critters like big sisters, powerful people like mom, those fascinating but dangerous girl-creatures at school — sometimes they can be disarmed, discombobulated, annoyed, whatever, it doesn’t matter, they are affected by a tickle, by just a little half-innocent touch. The result can be out of all proportion to the strength of the touch, and what’s more, the “victims” often laugh and seem to enjoy themselves, even as they are powerless to resist or ignore. Heady stuff!

Of course tickling is a fetish in its own right for some people, with commercial tickling porn and everything. But I sometimes have trouble imagining that the pro bondage pornographers (who usually seem to produce oh-so-serious tableaux featuring anguished faces, strained positions, and whistling whips) don’t tickle their models now and again, if only to produce a smile when they need one.

And, indeed, they do tickle, if this tickle-bondage photo from Hogtied.com is any indication:

That’s the lovely Veronica Jett getting tickled in her ropes, and you can see more of her here.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Are You Ticklish, Girl?
• Are You Ticklish?

When I first saw this picture, I thought it was the weirdest dildo I’ve ever seen. What’s up with those open ends, and why isn’t it ribbed all over?

But then I read the email that it was attached to, and the mystery of the strange dildo was solved.

If they have this much fun during the ritual feeding of the cake at the wedding, just imagine how much fun they’ll have in privacy with whipped cream and honey:

Although, judging by the not-entirely-pleased look on her face, he may have to be punished first.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Wedding Night Surprise
• Start As You Mean To Continue
• Divine Bitches: They Have Cake!
• Bridesmaid Riding
• Happy Sex: Bride Or Ballerina?
• Modern Fertility Rituals

One sentence from the following caught my attention. To me, and perhaps to you, this sentence stripped from context seems almost absurd the first time you see it:

“It was garden variety whipping, a knife and sex as far as that goes.”

Whipping, a knife, sex. Garden variety. Picture me dressed as a Capital One barbarian growling “What’s in your garden?

It’s the “garden variety” that got me. I’m hard to surprise; that people mix whips and knives and sex is neither news to me, nor in the least dismaying. (But it’s not for me; I was raised in a place without much in the way of doctors and nurses and antibiotics, so I’m wired to react to knife wounds, even superficial ones, as minor emergencies requiring immediate application of disinfectant and bandages. Sure, you could have sadistic fun if you used a good old fashioned disinfectant — iodine, anyone? — but getting all those little bandage packages opened would kill the erotic flow, and who wants to find herself covered with Winnie-the-Pooh BandAids after sex?)

When you’re used to thinking of a kink as a point of departure, a “thing” that some other people do for sexual fun, it’s illuminating to be reminded that the “thing” is not just one experience oft repeated — it’s an activity like any other, with the full range of variety and differential experience and days when it’s wild and days when it’s mild and days when it works better than other days. Which means, some days it’s wild and some days it’s “garden variety.”

Now for the full quote, from this post at Magdala’s Submission:

“Are you too tired to hurt me?” I asked in a very small voice.

I don’t think the words had stopped being spoken before He was out of bed, the lights were back on and I was face down on my belly in the middle of the bed.

Apparently He was not too tired for that.

…

I think it was a whip. I think it was two, one after the other, front and back. I know it was the knife. I know the knife was not the blissful out of body experience it usually is. The knife was mean that night. It scratched and hurt me over and over again. It was blissful in a different way. I don’t know how long He whipped me first. I know He stopped several times and drew His finger along some part of my body. Following, I assume, a mark He had left upon me.

I cannot recall any words He spoke to me but I know He did. I know He said things, I know I answered Him. I do not know what those things were. I do know that the whip marked me and left it’s sweet, sweet kisses everywhere. I remember Him having me reach behind me and spread my ass cheeks wide for His whip. The damned whip that insistently struck me again and again in the same sensitive spot and not only did I accept it, but I held myself wide open for Him and truth be told, I desired it.

I remember the order things happened. Whip, knife, sex. I think. I think I came with His hand deep inside my cunt, His fist plunging in and out of me the same way His cock does. I do know that it never ceases to amaze me that each time He fills me with His cock it feels like the first time and each time, I am filled with wonder and happiness that He is a part of me. That it just feels so damn good. That it feels so good, so wonderful each and every time that my world suddenly seems manageable again. That everything just seems right when He slides His cock inside me. I think I sigh with contentment when He does.

I do know He whipped me hard, that He used me hard and rough. That His knife was hard, that His use of it rough. There was nothing spectacular, nothing elaborate. No dramatic restraints, no meticulous plans followed. It was garden variety whipping, a knife and sex as far as that goes. But something about it made it so very wonderful. If I were more arrogant I would say that asking to be hurt helped fuel a fire already burning. I know He does not need an excuse to hurt me or even a reason. It may have possibly added to that though.

Who would have thought that one little sentence would be so very difficult to say? Or that saying it would have such blissfully wonderful results?