I’m sorry about the unrelieved text the last few days. We’re sorely in need of a dirty picture to lighten things up. How about a random anime girl in chains?

Aaah. That’s just the thing.

The Yeti presents (in exchange for pies) some theories about why women are attracted to assholes. (This is pretty much an eternal mystery to us guys who work at being nice fellows, and who are consequently richly rewarded by the friendship of numerous women who would never dream of sleeping with us.)

One of the Yeti’s theories, which I think has merit, goes like this:

Women want a MAN. Someone who makes decisions, follows their own course, isn’t afraid to speak his mind, has a purpose in life, protects his family and friends and country, and treats other people with respect when they deserve it. They can not stand a pansy. When confronted with the choice of an asshole or a pansy, they will always go to the asshole because at least they have a shot at tempering his rough edges. It is impossible to install a spine in a pansy.

Interestingly, in the comments someone points out the obvious – that it’s possible “to NOT be a wimp and simultaneously NOT be an asshole” – whereupon one of the pie suppliers makes it clear why this is a bad idea. I’ve never seen a woman admit this before:

And those other breeds you speak of–the unwimps and unassholes–they’re called “friends”. I could singlehandedly corrupt every stinkin’ one of them, but I choose not to.

Well, that settles it. Anybody got a copy of “The Nice Guy’s Compleat Guide to Becoming An Asshole Overnight In Order To Attract Women?”

Note to the humor impaired: I am kidding. There is a better way, the trick to which Halley has documented extensively.

There has been talk here before about the excellent tastes and smells of a woman. Although some women worry (needlessly) about how they taste and smell, thankfully others know better:

And for that matter, I’m not pleased with men who do not enjoy my taste. I know what I taste like, and I taste good, clean and crisp and sexy. I am unimpressed by a man who does not enjoy my taste. And really there is no faking it. If you are only willing to touch my pussy with the tip of your tongue I notice and am immediately turned off. There is more to my pussy than my clit for your tongue and my vagina for your cock. And actually while we’re at it the whole nether region is an erogenous zone feel free to explore. I suspect it’s no different for men, but I know that it is not enough for one to have technique; I want to think you are enjoying licking my pussy too. Nothing turns me on more than when a man sticks two or three fingers in my drenched pussy and then sucks the juices off.

Thus spake the Vanilla Sex Goddess.

Here’s a recommendation for consumer electronics manufacturers, in the guise of a haiku from deep in the archives at Girls In the Bag:

cute little cell phone
if you vibrated stronger
they would sell more phones.

Here’s an amusing anecdote about one of the reasons young ladies sometimes make out with each other:

One evening my closest school friend and I were ineffectively trying to get these two guys to come drink with us. They, being Amherst Men, could not drag themselves away from their dip and Nintendo. The night had already involved some girl-on-girl action and we suddenly hatched a foolproof scheme to get the boys to play with us. After we made out in their doorway
for mere moments they were turning off the TV and running to the bathroom to spit out their plugs. I still don’t know what they thought was in store for them, but we got what we wanted: the four of us playing Go Fish, drinking beers late into the night. This story highlights one of the most common reasons straight girls kiss other girls: to get men’s attention.

Amherst men? Figures. Ladies, unless things have changed in the last ten or fifteen years, I’m sure you’d be much happier with some Ephs.

The folks at Eros Boutique have a blog now. Mostly they are flogging their goodies (hmm, sounds like fun) but they do have some funny stories from the sex toy selling biz. Like this one:

This guy calls up, asking if we sell extra keys for the CB3000. (*for those of you unfamiliar with the CB3000, its the cream of the crop in male chastity devices. Pyrex. Padlock. If you’re a guy who wants to lock your cock up, this is the way to go.)

But I digress…
…
So “mike” calls.

Do we sell extra keys.

So Lucy tells him we don’t have any extra keys in stock, but he might want to call the CB3000 people and see what the deal is. “But,” she asks, “doesn’t the CB3000 come with 2 extra keys? What happened to them?”

So Mike says:

“You see, the woman who put this device on me isn’t my wife, and now she’s out of town for a few days, and I just don’t find it funny anymore.”

“Oh.” Lucy says. “Well, sir, that’s what you get for letting a strange woman put something on your penis.”

There’s more – Lucy’s not as heartless as she sounds. But that’s a classic line.

You think showering is just an efficient way to get clean? You’re missing out on a lot. Here’s how civilized people take a shower:

He crouches and I spread my legs allowing him access to wash me from my hips to my feet, giggling as he tickles my soles and my toes.

When he’s done with my feet, I again turn around so I am facing him. He removes the gloves &amp puts more soap on his hands. I put one foot up on the safety rail. He takes a step forward and slips one hand to my pussy while the other hand slides around my hips to my backside. He twiddles his soapy fingers in, on and around my bijou, being sure to clean every nook and cranny, until I am shuddering with orgasm after orgasm. His other hand has not been idle. He slides one slippery finger into my asshole and in conjunction with his first hand sends me climbing to ever-higher heights of orgasmic bliss until I slump into his arms &amp he must steady me to keep me from falling.
…
I rub the suds into his hair, cupping his balls in one hand and gripping his swelling shaft with the other. I slide my hand to the head of his cock and then back again, holding the foreskin back so that his glans is exposed and I can rub my soapy fingers and palm around its crown. As his cock grows, it becomes easier and easier to wash – less wrinkles! – and he moans with pleasure and leans against the shower wall, sometimes twitching as I touch a more sensitive spot. Back and forth I rub my hands over and around and under his cock and balls, being sure that every bit of it is clean. Finally he rinses – but has he gotten all the soap off? Only one way to tell! I take his cock into my mouth for a “soap check”; I must be 100% certain that everything is soap-free before we can get out of the shower.