It’s never good when the harem girls get out of control:

It’s like they say, there’s never a eunuch with a whip around when you need one.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Harem Girls Are Tasty
• A Treasure Trove Hareem
• Harem Girls On Trampolines
• Veil Dancer

I found this posted without an author credit on an adult webmaster board. It was presented as if it were supposed to be funny, and acclaimed as such by a chunk of the online-pornographer audience. Me, I didn’t find it so — it encapsulates a lot of the reasons I never could find much value in the strip club experience. Of course I know of folks in the blog community who’ve stripped (or who are still stripping) and who present a much more nuanced view of the profession. But still. Strong and unpleasant stuff, it seems to me:

1) Hey you over there, holding that one dollar bill in your hand with a death grip and waving it around at me like it’s the fucking deed to Trump Towers… what the fuck do you want me to do, grow another pussy?!? It’s a fuckin’ dollar, put it down on the tiprail and blow my world away already.

2) You losers that come into the club for a lapdance with NO underwear or boxers and thin-ass, nylon shorts, so we slip and slide on your hard-on (which always feel like a sharpie pen ~ fine point)…fuck you.

3) You with the thick-ass jeans, this was an impromptu visit, eh?

4) Don’t pull my thong up during a dance and ask me if it felt good. IT DOES NOT FEEL GOOD.

5) Hey you, Loser, the one counting out the 20 bucks in one dollar increments, rubbing your fingers between each one to make sure you are giving me just that one dollar. Yes, you.

6) No I will not just let you “slip it in real quick” for $50 more bucks.

7) Yeah, my tits are real. As real as my affection for you.

8)If you cum in your pants, you have to tip me an extra $100 for being a lame-ass who can cum in their pants from a lapdance.

9) Stop asking me out. You’re a smelly, fat loser and the only reason I’m smiling and cooing at you is because I want your money. Outside of the club I wouldn’t even fart your way.

11) Stop bitching at me about the goddamn two drink minimum. First of all, your breath ranks (what’d you have for dinner, garlic and shit?), you’re about 172 lbs. overweight, and you look like Jay Leno. More importantly: I don’t give a shit.

12) Don’t bitch at me about the $10 non-alchoholic beer either. Hide a bottle of Jack in your coat pocket next time like everyone else does.

13) My horniness is in direct proportion to your income.

14) No, you CAN’T SMOKE. Dumb. Ass.

15 )Boys, don’t sit in the front row with your “homies” and act all engrossed in some deep conversation during a girls performance because you want to look like you’re too “cool” to notice the hot, naked girl in front of you. It’s a clear sign that you ain’t getting any.

16) DON’T SIT IN THE FRONT ROW IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TIP. Fer chrissakes!!!!!!!!!!!

17) “So what do you guys do when you’re on your period?” Answer: I lap dance with guys in dark pants.

18) STOP trying to grab my tits!!!!!!! That’s extra.

19) SHOWER FIRST, you nasty fuck!

20) I had a feeling you weren’t going to tip me, so I took extra care to rub my lip gloss on your collar and wear extra glitter lotion and obnoxious perfume before our dance.

21) Hey cheapasses: please don’t come to my work. Just stay home and jack off to “Desperate Housewives” instead. It will save us a both a lot of unpleasantry.

22) Stop asking me why I do this job and try to get all psychologically analytical on me. For the money, you moron, that’s why.

23) No seriously, my real name is Sparkle.

24) NO, I will not take a dime sac for payment. I can tell it’s oregano anyway you stupid mutherfucker!

25) Sorry, I don’t do that. Ask the ugly girl at the bar with the black roots and overbite.

26) I can see it’s your first time at a strip club. Let me explain the dynamics to you. If you want a fuck or a blow-job, go to the ugly chicks. Hot girls don’t have to do “extra services.” I can give you some recommendations for a small fee.

27) It is not okay for you to bounce me on your cock like a baby on a knee. Not okay.

28) Stop complaining about how short the song was. It felt like the fucking maxi-single to me.

29)Yes I will fuck you, but only for 10 grand. More if you’re ugly. So basically, more.

30) DO NOT come into the club looking for a girlfriend/date. It’s like me going to PETA looking for a steak.

31) Girls–what’s with the pole smell? Can we do a little hygiene check? Nothing than worse than twirling around the pole and getting a whiff of stale pussy.

32) Girls–stop lip-syncing to the song you’re dancing to on stage. Especially if you don’t know all the words.

33) Girls–if your toes curl and hang over your platform shoes a la’ Fred Flinstone, you need to go up a size.

34) Girls–drowning yourself in Angel perfume is just as bad if not worse than the BO you’re trying to cover. Take a goddamn shower, you smell like lapdance funk.

35) Hey DJ! You suck!

36)Girls–may I suggest complete sobriety before getting tatted up? Tattoos should be meaningful, or at least semi-meaningful, or at least semi semi-meaningful. That fucking dancing llama on your ass is so lame.

37)Girls–some songs just should not be stripped to. Please. No Disney soundtracks (you know who you are, you fucking weirdo), Sade, Boys II Men, or Bjork. For the love of God, Please.

By the way, if this was ripped from a blog or website and you know the original source, please drop me an email so I can credit it properly. No links in the comments, please.

J and I both have the whole weekend off, yippeeee! The weather’s supposed to be good, so I told him I’d come over and help with a big project of his (he’s the friend I mentioned here). You know I’ll be doing my best to work on my “big project” too, which is his lovely cock. So far J’s been a darling, pretty much what I said I wanted, so it’s more than just good great sex.

And that’s the thing. I’m ready to move beyond the regular sex, I want to experiment some, I want his eyes to roll back in his head and to hear him say “That was amazing!” What I don’t want to hear, or for him to think, is “What a slut.” Like Steff said in a post on titty fucking:

There’s an interesting dichotomy in the sexual world. One aspect is the woman who enjoys almost any sexual act. She’s often portrayed as lewd, slutty, easy, or loose, just because she’s an enthusiast. And that’s bullshit, my friends. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the activities you enjoy surrounding sex should not judge who you are as a person.

But then there’s the flipside. If you’re hesitant to do some of the so-called edgier/pornified things, you get painted a bit as a vanilla lover, or someone who’s “conservative” in the bedroom, which is also bullshit, my friends.

How do you find that happy in between? Can somebody who’s a sexblogger avoid the slut tag?

J’s still going through the divorce dance, so it’s too early to say what will happen between us. I don’t want to rush him but I do want to explore some sex stuff. God, what a minefield this is!

More…… J just sent me some beautiful flowers! They’re those curvey tulips with the pointy petals, and the card says “Looking forward to bucking rivets – and more – with you!” Keep your fingers crossed for me!

From time to time in porn towards the gonzo end of the spectrum you’ll see someone reach forward from behind the performer and hook his fingers into the corners of her mouth, pulling it into a grimace. This is called “fish-hooking” and its intended erotic significance is opaque to me.

Fingers are one thing. Feet are another. Here now from Wired Pussy comes a photograph that takes fish-hooking to a whole new toe-fetish level:

As my father used to say, I don’t know too much and I don’t understand all I know.

Here’s a bit of midweek blasphemy from Hot Action:

Safe to say that at a certain point in my life, I started to have some serious philosophical issues with the Christian religion.

“So if you can’t have sex, what do you do in Heaven all day?”

“There is no such thing as day or night in Heaven.”

“…So what do you do in Heaven all eternity?”

“You glorify God.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Hmmm.

Sorry homie, I think I might respectfully decline the invitation to this party.

There’s something that really freaks me out about Heaven, and it can be summed up in two words: infant mortality.

It’s not just that God is a smug bastard who causes beautiful innocent babies to die. It’s the fact that these babies, being free of sin, all get a free ticket to Heaven. Every one of them.

Can you imagine showing up to the Afterlife and there’s millions and millions of babies everywhere?

All of them gurgling and cooing and crawling all over you with their perfect little baby bodies.

This does not sound like my idea of a bachelor’s paradise.

It gets worse. Some believers in Christianity are opposed to contraception because they believe it murders billions of tiny souls. “Every sperm is sacred” and so on.

Maybe it explains how the Pearly Gates got their name. Although “Pearly Floodgates” might be more appropriate. I’ve probably sent a few million souls up to the glorification of God myself. I’ve probably sent a few million up today.

“Welcome to Heaven. The good news is the streets are paved with gold. The bad news is, ALL THE STREETS ARE FLOODED WITH COME.”

Watch your step!

Anybody else queasy from Bacchus’s last two postings? I found just the thing to settle my stomach.

Notice it isn’t only authentic cock soup, it’s spicy too!

Now where did I put my Cock O’lada?

The Girl With A One Track Mind says that good sex is all in the chemistry:

You see, of the men I have slept with — that made my fire burn from the chemistry — not all, even many, of them were that skilled in the sack. But they still made my pants soaked and enabled me to climax — repeatedly — when I was with them.

Given the choice between the most skilled lover in the world and one that is clumsy with his hands, but who — when he whispers in my ear “god you’ve got me so turned on” — makes me drip in anticipation of his touch, I know who I would pick, and it wouldn’t be Mr Loverlover. I’m of the opinion that every man can be taught (if necessary) how to please a woman well; but if there’s no chemistry there to begin with? Forget it.

This might sound harsh — “ladies, get rid of him if he doesn’t make your pants wet before he touches you” — but, fuck it, it’s true. Every good lover I have had was someone I had chemistry with; the ones I didn’t (and yes, there’ve been many of those too) — even with all the best technique in the world — didn’t make me come (as hard, as much, or even, at all).