Why yes, I guess it is.

Debra Hyde just posted this essay in which she makes the point that the Culture War is back on, and sex blogs are in it whether we like it or not.

And I realized that she’s right. In fact, Debra reminded me that I had said as much the other day in email, to a gentleman who asked for a link. I had to refuse him, regretfully, because his site was all broken. Clicking any of his links took me to some sort of nasty ActiveX or JavaScript pop-up box with an “I Agree” button. There was some sort of waiver or disclaimer in eight parts, all about promising to be an adult and that I live somewhere where it’s legal to look at dirty pictures.

I didn’t click, and I didn’t link. I just won’t go there. You may have noticed that ErosBlog rarely links to a warning page, even a simple html one. If I can’t link to the content, I usually won’t link at all. But I hadn’t thought much about why. Partly it’s because warning pages are, from a technical standpoint, cruft – a useless excrescence that interferes with the natural linkage from one web resource to another.

But mostly, it’s political. When my correspondent wrote back he explained that he only wanted to protect surfers and webmasters. He mentioned that some surfers live where they could go to jail for surfing to a dirty picture. He mentioned that some people work for companies where a dirty picture on their screens can get them fired. He spoke of laws against letting minors see dirty pictures. He mentioned avoiding the possibility of his own arrest when traveling to repressive foreign lands. And last but not least, he mentioned Ashcroft and his rumored new team of crusading anti-porn prosecutors. Finally, he inquired what my proposal was for dealing with all these risks, if I didn’t like his solution.

This is an excerpt from my lengthy rant response:

It’s getting to the point where even the Saudi princes can’t forbid all access to the internet, because it’s economically essential. By keeping adult material in locked ghettos at the fringes of the web, we make their repression easier — not something I wish to encourage or cooperate with.
…
Most of the folks who share your concerns use a simple entry page, with appropriate warnings, and links deeper into their sites. This demonstrates your good faith to any prosecutor, while allowing hardcases like me to link directly to the “meat” of your site and ignore the warning page.
…
If that doesn’t seem secure enough for you, I don’t know what I can say. Each of us decides which battles are worth fighting. I’ve decided this one is worth fighting, and I take what opportunities I can to encourage other people to fight it with me. You might have good reasons why you can’t take what I see as a very small risk, and that’s your business. But when your web resources won’t load in my browser, I’m not going to link to ’em.
…
Meanwhile, I’ll carrying on linking to the folks whose sites are visible, and who are (given the nature of the sites I link to) helping me fight the culture war I’m trying to help fight.

Thanks, Debra, for reminding me of having written that.

Brand new blog. All of three posts up. One of them is this:

A woman probably in her mid thirties sat next to me on the bus today. She had blonde hair, body was that of someone’s mom. She probably has one or two kids. She had that look in her eyes like she needed something in her life, something to complete it. Ever meet a total stranger and feel some sort of chemistry? I sort of got that feeling from her. I should have at least struck some dumb conversation with her. What would I say? “Hey, are you busy later?” I don’t think so.

Think so. Think so. I’ve spent my life going “She wouldn’t want to talk to me” — and being lonely. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she would. You never know. But I do know this: In the last six months I’ve “struck some dumb conversation” more times than probably in all my life previous. And it’s been fun.

So, I do think so.

One of the best things that comes with the job of being Bacchus is the close association with a fine assortment of woodland nymphs. What’s not to like about lovely women whose favorite pastime is frolicking nude in the forest, and who are (by virtue of their assigned role in the extremely traditional mythos) properly observant of the prerogatives of the god of wine and wild partying?

Ok, daydream over, everybody get back on your heads.

2012 Update: I now have tools for sourcing images that weren’t available back in 2003. It turns out this one comes from Met Art, so I’ve linked the old 320-pixel thumb to a larger view. And here are some more of these nymphs:

Darling at Pussy Ranch writes:

If I ever design a bra, I will call it “The Yum-Yum Holster” and it will have a charming center panel that says “Your Dick Here” in helpful embroidery.

Speaking on behalf of most of the men on the planet, this woman really needs to be a lingerie designer.

You’ve got to love any story that ends like this:

“The old guy died a few weeks later. And I never washed the truncheon. I wonder if he got to smell that wonder smell of female cum before he died? I hope so.”

[Later:] The link went very dead, so here’s the whole story:

So I worked for this old guy, he was about 86, and in his bedroom he had a truncheon. Hehe… I’d been eyeing it up for some time. This particular day I was feeling extra horny, and thought “fuck it.”

I went in to the bathroom, slipped off my pants, and sat on the edge of the bath. I was soo wet at the thought of this, so it slipped into my tight cunt nice and easy. I tell you the wooden hardness of it felt fucking amazing. I was fucking myself nice and hard with it and rubbing my clit with my other hand. It didn’t take long before I was ready for a screaming come, and then… I hear footsteps coming up the stairs! “Fuck it,” I thought, “he is deaf, he won’t hear me.” LOL… Well that was it. The thought of getting caught, blew me the fuck away and I think I made more noise than I ever have in my life. Pulls pants back on quick and he is just reaching the top of the stairs. Phew! I didn’t even lock the door.

The old guy died a few weeks later. And I never washed the truncheon. I wonder if he got to smell that wonder smell of female cum before he died? I hope so.

Awwwwwwww fuck… I should have stole that truncheon!

From another of the summer’s crop of hot new sex blogs, Bloggin’ Bitch [now defunct], comes this anecdote of supportive male conversation:

I just had a conversation with my man about swingers parties. Well I just had to ask. I really really want to go to one. Especially after reading some of the things over at Naked Loft Party. The reply: You really are a nympho little bitch aren’t you?

Yah baby, that’s the way to encourage your woman to share her fantasies with you!

Oh yes you are, or you would be if you got chained to a stone wall and given this sort of special attention:

[Cue sound of evil laughter]

Via alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime.