This week’s Pillowbook has a few words about a man with a hair fetish. Including a variant hair sex practice that may surprise even you, the sex blog readers who have seen it all:

let me briefly share with you an observation on the kinkiest hair sex i’ve had. so far.

it’s not really about pubic hair, but i still think it’s worth mentioning.

i had this guy once (well, quite a few times, actually), who was so besotted with my hair (head hair) that he wanted me to get on all fours over him and use it to stroke him to full erection, every single time we fucked. all over his body i’d stroke him, like he was a billiard table and i was sweeping him prior to a game or something. i would have to sweep him like that for however long it took for his cock to be standing fully to attention. which was usually about ten seconds, but could go on for a lot longer, depending on whether or not he wanted me to bypass penetration altogether and hair-sweep him to orgasm, as he sometimes did. then he’d shoot his load into my hair, and i’d have to go to sleep with a wet spot next to my cheek…

but that’s not the kinky part. that’s just normal.

you and your partner probly did that very thing last night.

no, the kinky part was when he wanted me to peel back his foreskin, take a single strand of living, still-attached hair, wrap it around his glans in a spiral from the base, roll the foreskin back over it, and then – ever so gently so that the hair didn’t break – pull away from him, dragging the hair out from beneath his foreskin like a rock climber’s line playing out of his ropebag.

the thing was, my hair is so fine that sometimes it *would* break, and then things would turn ugly.

let’s not go there.

but, if it didn’t break, he would end up so aroused that, when i tried to then mount him for penetration, he’d usually have come in my hand while i was still trying to place him against my slit.

we did that so often that my head hair was well and truly fetishised. i’d be sitting in a sidewalk cafe with him and the wind would riffle my fringe onto my face, and, when i went to brush it away with my hand, i could tell that he was boning up beneath his latte.

Via Boing Boing comes one of the better (worse) badly-translated menus I’ve seen in awhile. Sure to be a big hit with the ladies are the cowboy meat dishes. Yes, really; the menu offers both “Cowboy Leg Beautiful Pole” and “Big Bowl Gold Mushroom Cowboy Meat”.

Also don’t miss the “Ginger Bumping Milk (hot)”, which sounds like something you’d get served over at Figging.com if you were incautious.

Here are a few words from Chelsea Girl about the prospect of a threesome:

This is the story of being the girlmeat in a boybread sandwich.

…

In the grand spirit of nothing exceeding like excess, the threesome promises a surfeit of pleasures. More hands, more mouths, more flesh, more limbs, and, in this case, more cocks. I’d had the girl/boy/girl threesome a couple of times–and in fact the week after my boy/girl/boy threesome I’d have another g/b/g one–but I’d never been with two boys at once, and I liked the idea.

I liked the idea of being the warm womanly center of the all male maelstrom. I liked too the idea of being doubly objectified, doubly penetrated, doubly used and doubly pleasured. I liked the idea of having a cock in my mouth while a mouth was at my pussy, and while that scenario is obviously open to the g/b/g threesome, I liked the idea that I could then be fucked by the cock belonging to the mouth that was at my pussy.

I didn’t really think a lot about the boys kissing, touching or whatever together. It would be exciting–I like hot boy-on-boy action as much as the next sexually progressive chick–but it hadn’t really entered into my fantasy extensively, to be honest. Mostly this fantasy centered on me, my body, and those two boys who would in tandem be doing their utmost to pleasure it.

Of course, as is the way of things, the reality was a little different than the anticipation.

More naked women, wrestling. How does this ever get old?

From Ultimate Surrender. Isis Love and Tory Lane.

Over at It’s Fun Being A Bastard, LoveableBastard talks about planting his seed:

Blowjobs are great. For me, they are a wonderful prelude before I start the main course. It dawned on me recently why it is that I rarely cum from a blowjob.

It has to do with planting my seed. I am wired not just to fuck and cum, I need to want to plant my seed.

And then I realized why some encounters are better for me than others. I can be with the most beautiful woman and, if there’s no connection, I don’t really get into things. To get that connection I must feel the need to possess and plant myself in her. To mark her with my cum. To plant my hot seed not in the sense of making babies. To plant my seed as an animal staking my territory. To claim that which is mine. To be with a woman who makes me want to possess her.
…
Now I know why I want the women I want – because being with them makes me want to do more than just rub my cock in them or against them and spurt with an orgasm. I want to plant my seed.

I think I filled out the application right yesterday!

A while back I mocked a sex spam missive that began “Has your cum ever dribbled and you wish it had shot out?” I wondered:

Nobody expects very much from spam. But most of it makes at least a certain sort of sense. Bigger penis? Sure, there’s a market. Harder penis? Why not? Breast enlargements? Cheaper mortgages? Debt reduction? Fake Rolex watches? I probably know somebody who wants each of these things.

But an increased ejaculate volume? Who do I know that worries about their inability to make a big enough mess during sex? No, on second thought, don’t tell me.

The comments then were sufficient to suggest to me that this particular sexual anxiety is out there, even though it had never crossed my own mind during the course of a long and anxious life. Now comes Perge Modo addressing the same question with actual sensible suggestions, as opposed to dubious herbal solutions. He offers up the possibility of engaging in temporary and strategic abstinence to build up a metaphorical head of steam, and further suggests prostate manipulation and/or interruption of ejaculation as possible approaches. A flavor of his sophisticated prose:

Have you tried having your prostate manipulated while preparing to shoot? Most guys who want to stick a finger up your butt have no idea what they are looking for. They are as rude as firemen hatcheting their way into a burning house without so much as a pause at the door. (“Hey! It’s not locked, you jerks, just turn the handle.”) Every so often though, you’ll encounter an expert who can find your prostate and apply just the right amount of coaxing pressure to send you into a state of total and subjegated disarmament that will enhance the finale.

I guess that’s further proof (if the spam were not enough) that some guys really do worry about this.