In concluding a funny post about cooking, drinking, and anal sex, Brett from Panties Panties Panties Panties Panties Panties Panties writes:

Then we came home, cooked, and committed a venal sin with relish. Sodomy is a venal sin, isn’t it?

And all I can think is “Relish? Seems like that would be lumpy. And sting.”

I don’t normally swoon over stars. But Tasty Trixie dialed me in with her comments on Ed Harris:

Oh . . . FUCK me, Ed Harris!! I recently read that most men would rather be impotent than be bald. STUPID. Bald is beautiful. Ed. Harris. I don’t usually think of blue-eyed blondes as my “type”, but Ed Harris moves me to panty-wetting excitement.

Oh yes, bald IS beautiful. For anyone getting moist at the thought of Ed Harris, Trixie’s entry includes a very sexy photo, in which his mouth looks so kissable that I think I might swoon if I think about it too much. And Trixie, I agree, Ed wins over Viggo by miles. (I’m also in the Sean-Astin-as-sex-stud-of-LOTR camp.)

I know the lusts of the ErosBlog female readers haven’t been slaked with naked guy pictures lately, so here’s an attempt to make up for that. I’m not really qualified to judge male attractiveness, but these guys look pretty well put together:

From Usenet.

Patty’s account of her fishing trip with her husband reads like a fisherman’s fantasy, but she assures me it’s all true:

You keep driving another fifteen minutes, and then turn the wheels to face the surf. “This will do I think?”

“Good!” I smile. It’s only when I climb out and pull open the extended cab to get the chairs and towels that I really realize how alone we are. There are no tire tracks in the sand, suggesting that there are no fishermen or picnickers further up the beach, and I know we are more than two miles from the spot where we saw the last intrepid souls parked. “Nobody’s out this far.”

“That’s the plan.” You tell me with a very evil smile.

Your evil grin immediately wakes the deepest parts of me to the plans you’ve kept to yourself.

“Put the chairs in the surf, get the rods and bait…and strip.”

Ya gotta be careful with all that hedonism, though; it can lead to taking naked pictures amongst the dunes, spanking, and even *gasp* sex.

Since I haven’t gotten everyone in my life trained not to include me on their endless treadmill of stale circulating email jokes, every now and then I get a shaggy dog story that’s actually new to me, and funny. In fact, I think this one would make an excellent short film:

A prosperous old dairy farmer from someplace cold finally sold out to the local agribusiness giant and retired to Florida. Being a farmer, he liked owning lots of land, so he had to buy a big place with a large pond down near the swamp. He fixed up the pond a bit, dumped a few truckloads of sand to make a little beach, and kept a small swimming area cleared of weeds and scum. Nearby he had some picnic tables, horseshoe pits, and a stone barbeque. Shading it all was a mixed grove of fruit trees.

One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond to check his fruit trees, so he grabbed a five gallon bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee. As he came closer he saw it was a bunch of pretty young women skinny-dipping in his pond.

As soon as they noticed him standing there watching, they all shrieked and went deeper into the pond. One of the women shouted to him, “We’re not coming out until you leave, you dirty old man!”

The old man thought for a moment, and then said “I didn’t come down here to watch you ladies swim naked or to make you get out of the pond naked.” Holding the bucket up, he said “I’m just here to feed the alligators.”

If you’re anything like me, at some point in your life you’ve wondered “What in the hell is up with all the tranny porn? What’s the market for this stuff, anyway?”

Now, “tranny porn” in this sense is a politically incorrect marketing label, roughly synonymous with the more descriptive if no more euphonious “chicks with dicks”. And it’s a big porn genre in its own right, not (apparently, and judging by the shelving arrangements at your average video store) some odd little subgenre in the gay porn section. We’re not talking about something you can only buy under a rainbow flag in the Casto District. No, you’ll find plenty of this stuff in the plywood building with no windows, the one that’s two blocks down County 99 past the travel plaza, just before you get to the grain elevators.

So who’s watching it?

Can’t say. In all my life, I never yet came across anybody who admitted to watching the stuff or being attracted to pretty women with “the meat between the legs”. Until now: Yeah, I like transsexuals, what are you gonna do about it?

I don’t quote often from Naked Loft Party, entertaining though it often is. As sex blogs go, it’s always struck me as rather surreal. I don’t disbelieve what I read there (well, no more than I disbelieve anything I read on the Internet) but the urban, stylish, clubbing, partying, multipartnered lifestyle too far outside my experience for easy self-identification. However, any good sex blog will have moments of recognizable truth, like this one:

When we finally stumble into our apartment Les and I are too drunk to screw. I sit bolt upright in my office chair until the world stops spinning and then join Leslie in bed. When our hangovers finally subside early Sunday evening we have supremely lazy, sweaty sex — sweaty only because I hadn’t bothered to install the air conditioner. We started halfway through Crossing Jordan and now we’re both craning our necks to catch the dramatic conclusion. It’s the kind of sex that only someone who loves you lets you get away with.

Love that last line! Who hasn’t been there?