No, not quite what you think:

We went back to my apartment, and sat on my bed talking for hours. I’m great at getting girls onto my bed, but notoriously chicken about making the first move. We talked about sex to the point that I was squirming. I gave her a tour of my sex-toy drawer. It was obvious to me that we both wanted to do something but I just couldn’t.

By 5 am, we were naked in the dark, tucked under the covers in my big, soft, bed; still chaste, but so hot. The phone rang, and it was my boyfriend, calling me after his date, wanting to know about mine. I asked him all the questions I usually ask him after a playdate: Did you have fun? Did you fuck her? Did she suck your cock? Is she prettier than I am? And I answered his questions: Yes, it’s been a fun night. No, we haven’t kissed yet. Yes, she’s completely adorable and I really, really want to.

I felt her hand slide across my belly and up onto my breast. Her fingertips grazed my nipple and pulled. I arched up into her, smiled, and sighed with relief and pent up lust. “Nothing’s happened so far, but she just tweaked my nipple, so I’m taking that as a very good sign,” I told him. He and I talked for about 5 more minutes, with her hands roaming freely over my body. I guess she didn’t really know if it was okay for us to play until she heard exactly how okay it was with my lover, or maybe she just thought it was hot to distract me as I was talking. At any rate, she made the impossible first move and I was so happy that she did. I told him I loved him, hung up the phone, and we practically leaped on each other.

We kissed, touched, and squirmed, with our legs intertwined and hands everywhere. Neither of us vied for dominance; it was a sweet, exploratory makeout. She reached for my pussy and touched me tenatively, gently, and intuitively. I gasped to feel how wet I was. I knew that I would be, but that initial moment of discovery– the moment of finding just how swollen, slick and sensitive my cunt was, literally took my breath away.

From Suburban Sexpot.

I have nothing to say about this perfectly innocent picture except that I found it at Tuckle Rori.

From clean to dirty, a natural progression:

The naked man is “Enrico” from the October 1988 issue of Stallion magazine, courtesy of BJ.

When I first saw this picture from Water Bondage, a thought leaped, unbidden, into my brain: “Forget that shower gel from the commercials, THIS is how dirty girls get clean.”

However dirty she may once have been, bondage model Harmony is looking squeaky clean in this picture.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Sit And Spin With The Grownups
• Astonishing Underwater Bondage Photo
• Wet And Happy
• Me Tarzan, Jane Not Happy
• Water Bondage: "Splish, Splash I Was Taking a Bath...."

I try not to play the “funny search terms” game too much — it was old before I started blogging — but today on a whim I clicked through to the very last page of search terms in my stats. Somebody somewhere found ErosBlog by searching on Google for:

vibrator balls exploded

Ouchies.

One feature of vintage pornography, now mostly vanished, is the anti-clerical, anti-papist depictions of Catholic clergy. Early erotic novels, which mostly tended to be contraband anyway, were chock-full of priests, nuns, and monks run sexually amok in orgiastic golcondas of kinky sex, rape, and flagellation involving each other, whatever innocent children they could seduce or kidnap from their flocks, and sundry nearby farm animals. One doesn’t see so much of that in modern pornography, but there was a bit of it remaining in the hardcore porn of the 1960s and 1970s, which this appears to be:

One could almost surmise, from the hopefully expectant expressions on the nuns’ faces, that they are praying for (and working for) a sudden shower of manna. Nun bukkake, anyone?

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Sixty-Nine Lesbian Nuns
• Anal Sex With A Nun

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.