From Making Light, a bit of timeless poetry:

Senator Smoot (Republican, Ut.)
Is planning a ban on smut.
Oh, rooti-ti-toot for Smoot of Ut.
And his reverent occiput.
Smite, Smoot, smite for Ut.,
Grit your molars and do your dut.,
Gird up your l–ns,
Smite h-p and th-gh,
We’ll all be Kansas
By and by.

–Ogden Nash, “Invocation,” 1931

This is a bizarre little anecdote about a man’s discovery of the escort business — as told (I am not making this up) to a retail employee in a computer game store:

D: “At night, you want some company… You know what I did?”

J: “Uhh…”

D: “I opened up the yellow pages. They have all these ads, pictures of pretty girls, you know, escorts,… so I called and got this nice girl sent over to the motel. Her name was Mandy, tiny little girl, long hair…”

J: “… okay.”

D: “… she had just started doing that type of work. You know, these escorts, you can pay them for sex. It cost me two hundred dollars. I don’t know what something like that would cost me here, probably a lot more. I asked her why she didn’t go to a larger city. They have contracts and stuff. I tipped her twenty dollars and she asked me for more because she had to split the two hundred with her boss.”

J: “…”

D: “She was very cute when she was going down on me. Her little body, her tits. Can I touch those? Yes, you can Dan. I could bounce her around, she was so tiny. After the blowjob, she was finishing me off and she leaned back. This shot of cum went up into the air. I swear, about two feet through the air.”

It’s a little-remarked fact that phone sex hasn’t been the same since pagers and cell phones started being equipped to vibrate instead of ringing. (A friend of mine used to tease his wife, by inquiring, in public, whether she’d set her phone to “thrill mode”.) I have long suspected that the incorporation of cameras into telephone devices has only accelerated the evolution of phone sex.

Now, from Pillow Book, we have a sophisticated exposition of what modern phone sex can look like:

I … messaged back that indeed i did have condoms. I also asked why he wanted to know.

put your phone inside the condom

put the phone inside you set to vibrate

i ring you

He was obviously excited by this whole idea. His punctuation was suffering.

I opened one of the Chekmate packets and took out the condom. Like all its brethren it had that familiar rubbery smell. I hoped that the smell wouldn’t linger on my mobile. I placed the reservoir tip on the top of my phone and carefully rolled it down the full ten centimetre length of my Telstra prepaid sex toy. Then I unrolled the condom the rest of the way, squeezed as much air out of it as I could, and knotted it off.

I held the condomed phone up by its knot and considered my handiwork. I was about to begin the task of inserting it when it started to vibrate and ring.

Too quick. En’t that just like a man?

So I pressed the ignore button, to let him know that it would take a while longer to get it inside me.

It occured to me what a great addition to the male anatomy an ignore button would be.

This poster dates from the days of the women’s suffrage movement in Britain, and was published by an outfit called the National Women’s Social and Political Union at a time when prominent imprisoned suffragettes were being force fed in prison to defeat their hunger strike.

Ironic (to modern sensibilities, anyway) to see sensationalist imagery of the mistreatment of women being used to promote a progressive cause. At least the take-away message (“Vote Against The Government”) is good advice for any era.

From Usenet:

Update: Added sardonic “not” to the post title because people were not catching the sarcasm.

Two tidbits today from the vast and tasty smorgasbord that is Panties Panties Panties. First, the anal sex. There’s a recent post called “Ass: The Gateway Drug“. The post combines plenty of prurient detail with an anal sex tip that’s not always found in those dry how-to articles; namely, that good humor is at least as important as the standard “use oceans of lube” advice. But it’s the title that amused me most. It reminded me of the ancient joke: “Why don’t [insert your favorite moralistic prigs here] have sex standing up? Because it could lead to dancing!”

Tidbit the second, nonsexual: In a spiritual echo of my recent slam against office work, Hiromi posted about idleness and wage slavery and included a vignette about soul-crushing commutes:

Today I was stuck in Austin rush hour traffic. Grey-faced, prune-lipped, baggy-eyed commuters with cell phones grafted to their heads crammed in their metal hutches inching along in the 105 degree heat. And for what?

Werk. Jaabs. Wage slavery.

Folks, the horrifying thing about all of this is that it’s voluntary; there are ways out of the rat race, but you have to look hard and perhaps be willing to give up (at least temporarily) some of the excellent pellets they feed you.

After having wallowed in BDSM-and-porn hatred in the last couple of posts, it’s time for some good old fashioned unapologetic girl-on-girl bondage porn, with some toilet dunking to push a few more buttons:

From Wired Pussy. And there’s nary a patriarch (nor even a dick!) in sight. (Unless, of course, you count the electrified stainless steel butt plugs in the shoot this picture came from.)