This morning’s quickie: complete scans of Girl Watcher magazines from 1959.

Sorry about the lack of blogging yesterday; just as I took my first sip of coffee and sat down to blog, The Nymph woke up and I got a better offer.

If you had this fetish, what in the name of Jupiter’s Swollen Schwang would possess you to allow anyone to take a picture?

Do you suppose he has a pet name for his plastic penguin?

Picture courtesy of B0G.

Hormones out of control do some terrifying things. Case in point, from Smitten:

These hormones I’m taking have reduced me to being a girl who coos incessantly over puppies. Dreams about puppies. Wants to make puppies. Somehow, the more normal desire in a 27-year-old girl to make babies has taken a wrongful detour in my body and transformed itself into a desire to start a little puppy family.

Fortunately, Alex is also obsessed with dogs. We went over names for our future puppy this weekend the way other couples choose baby names.
…
Of course, we don’t actually live together. Nor do we have the time needed to devote to a puppy. Nor do we want the expense of a dog-walker. Nor are we going to get one for a while because it’s not practical. But, details. The Pill wants a puppy.

The other morning I pounced on him and energetically licked his face while he was sleeping. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for a puppy?! Are you sure?!!’ I yipped breathily, eagerly tapping my hind foot on the bed. Tap-tap, tap-tap-tap. ‘Do you need to be walked?’ he said sleepily, ‘Should I get your leash?’ ‘You’re so funny’ I said as I nudged my nose into his chest, arm, stomach, and made whimpering noises. Nudge-nudge, nudge-nudge-nudge. Lick-lick-slobber. Tap-tap-tap. ‘All right, that’s it!‘ he said and flipped me over.

Ah, doggies.

Of course, sometimes terrifying is also cute.

Although I am not privy to the general run of circulating email funnies, and have gone to great lengths to ensure that none of my friends include me in those ever-widening spirals of insanity, I do appreciate the occasional gem that someone sends to me (me, specifically) when they think I’ll enjoy it. Thanks therefore to Sarah, who sent me the following image which has apparently been circulating in email under the caption “A desperate attempt to revive a flagging career.”

However, I believe that caption fails to accurately characterize the true reason for Miss Piggie’s desperation. In reality, I believe she’s jealous of the bunny.

Speaking of vibration, the fine folks at Eros Boutique sent along a box the other day with a couple of vibrators. (Yes, Virginia, Bacchus is always happy to accept free sex toys in exchange for a review.) Although they have a lot of excellent goodies for sale, The Nymph and I were disappointed in these two items.

First: Spice Incognito Nail Polish Vibe. Powered by included watch batteries, this vibe looks like a bottle of nail polish and is very discrete. So discrete, in fact, that at first I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on. I finally figured out that I had turned it on, but the vibration was so faint I had to stand completely still and concentrate in order to detect it humming in my hand. Nifty if that’s what you like, but as a guy I’m in the “more power” camp and the Nymph doesn’t appear to disagree. When they sell a vibrator with a built-in cold-fusion reactor so the neighborhood lights don’t dim when it starts up, I’ll probably want one.

Second: I Kit – The Pocket Rocket Complete Kit. No complaints about the base vibrating unit on this model; it buzzes quite vigorously and made The Nymph happy. However, the attachments don’t stay attached very well; even the slightest sideways pressure and they pop off. Since the attachments are small, this raises the spectre of one disappearing into an orifice – which is never sexy unless you have a medical fetish. Also, the attachments are apparently supposed to be flavored (the box advertises availability in “three blissful flavors” including strawberry, blueberry, and grape) but in fact they have a very strong odor and flavor of PVC plasticisers — you know, that vinyl air-mattress smell. You can tell (sort of) that there’s a hint of fruit smell blended into the mix, but it’s overwhelmed by the vinyl smell. Great for folks with a vinyl fetish!

This is pure porn, but it’s new and different: Aquafan: Underwater Sex. Pictures are pure sex, but arty too:

Blub blub!

Last Man Dancing writes regarding the perils of too much vibration. Real fun with a vibrator:

You see, if I love doing one thing in sex, that’s playing my lover’s body like a keyboard. I had picked out my five worst ties and had her firmly tied to the four corners of the bed. On my hand, I had one of those Swedish massagers that straps to the back of the hand. I looked down at her tied to the bed and decided that she looked good enough to eat. I bent down and grabbed a mouthful of her breast and twirled her stiffening nipple with my hot wet tounge. She wiggled and leaned toward me moaning softly as I sucked her breast further into her mouth. As I slid over to suck on her other nipple I gently trace her aerola with the very tip of my saliva slick finger tip. I switched the massager on and grabbed her nipple between my vibrating fingers and squeezed. The little fucker swelled up like a fucking cherry and the Bitch went nuts. She’s lying there moaning and writhing against her ties, fucking the air with her cunt. So I stopped.

You stopped!

What are you fucking nuts?

Yeah, I fucking stopped. Nobody told her she could cum yet.

So I take my buzzy little fingers and go on a little adventure. I slid my vibrating digits and traced a windy road to her mound. Briefly, barely, I gave her clit a brief taste of what was yet to come and made a sharp right down her legs to the bottoms of her feet.

I kept this up for about a half an hour and when I finally got to her pussy, she was so dripping wet that two of my fingers just slid right in and I just squeezed and massaged her g-spot. I reached down and turned the dial up as far as it would go and palpatated The Perfect Bitch goes into what could best be described as a seizure. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She stopped breathing and her body lept about two feet into the air and stayed there as she did a wrestler’s bridge off the bed for a good 20 seconds. She then released, let out 5 or 6 loud “Oh-Oh-OH’s”, and an “uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh” when I asked her if she was okay. She then went stiff and locked up again for another 15 seconds. She comes down and she’s screaming like a banshee fucking my hand. I’m getting a little worried at this point so as ask her “More?” and she keeps nodding and pantiing and jerking her hips whispering “more, more, fuck me more, more, more.” I’ve got 4 meaty fingers up inside of her and she tightens up one last time and she’s writhing and screaming on the bed and her cunt is just squeezing the shit out of my hand in spasm after spasm.

Finally, she just passes out on the bed. She just laid there and didn’t move a muscle. She scared the shit out of me, I had to check if she was still breathing. I untied her. She had pulled so tightly against the restraints she had bruised her wrists. She’d live.

I threw a blanket over her and let her sleep.

A few hours later she woke up and tried to get out of bed to go take a piss. As she tried to stand, her legs gave out from underneath her. I fucking cracked up as she went “baloop, bump” on her naked ass. Her legs were numb and her knees were so weak she couldn’t stand. She complained that she had no feelings below her waist whatsoever. I helped her to the bathroom and she was okay after she started walking around a bit.

Christ, it took me almost an entire week to relearn how to just hold a pencil.