In for a penny, in for a pound. I’m going to chalk this up to the strange Japanese fetish for puppy dog girls, and move on:

Do you think she might want an, er, treat?

Busy weekend at Erosblog Central, which means that the nymphs were not as closely supervised as usual. This is the sort of thing that happens when Bacchus doesn’t keep ’em on a short leash:

Hey, did someone say “leash”? Now there’s an idea….

In a recent column by John Ross I stumbled across an amusing tale of his encounter with a predator-woman whose attentions he inadvertently managed to attract. Since she started by sizing up his wallet in full view of her date for the evening, he has a little fun with her:

“What do I look like I do for a living?” she asked, throwing it back at me. This was getting better. I considered the question, and made a point of looking her over. I thought of Miss Adelaide and the Hot Box Girls, the antithesis of this woman’s understated elegance.

“You’re a stripper.” (Understand that preposterous as my “guess” was, I delivered it with a straight face, and there are more than a dozen strip clubs within a half hour of where we were sitting.) Her jaw hit the floor. “So I guessed right, huh?”

“I’M A MOTHER! I have two children!”

“And stripping pays a lot better than being a receptionist, so you can work fewer hours and be with your kids more,” I said as I laid some bills on the bar to cover the cost of the chili. “That makes perfect sense to me. StripperMom,” I said, nodding. “I like the sound of that. See you later, Scott,” I said as I put on my coat. “Bye, StripperMom. It was nice to meet you and your boyfriend.” I stepped out into the damp air, jingling my car keys, feeling good, thinking of Jean Simmons, and wondering what eventualities I might have set in motion. I was certain I’d run into StripperMom again.

John plays hard, boys and girls, so wear appropriate safety gear if you try to follow along at home. Not for amateurs!

Here’s an image cropped from one of those old naughty postcards that were the first wave of mass market hard core visual pornography:

Her expression is ambiguous; she could be having fun or she could just be a good sport getting paid to be there. But the grin on his face is downright infectious! Porn would be three times as hot today if everybody in it could manage to look that happy.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Three-Ways Of Yore
• Vintage Blowjob Redux
• Popular Mechanics Comes Through Again

Ellie over at Girls In The Bag (which sounds sorta fun all by its own self) wonders:

it’s my fucking job that is killing me. all weekend i was a tattooed, belly hanging out, wind blown sexpot. now i am a dumpy office worker.

what the hell is up with that?

Damn fine question. Get enough people asking it and we’ll have a whole new economy, too.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Blogging For A Living And The Global Microbrand

Here’s Fairy Butch with some advice on choosing the right sized dildo:

Many times in my years as a sex toy salesperson has someone presented me with his or her partner and asked, “Which size dildo should we buy?” Ahem.

Now, Pumpkin, from gazing upon your partner I may be able to ascertain her race or her ethnicity, and if she’s wearing political buttons, I might even be able to get a handle on her creed, but you can bet your bottom dollar I won’t be able to judge a good fit for your girlfriend’s butt based on her taste in weekend wear.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Biggus Dickus (He Has A Wife, You Know)
• "What's A Dildo?"

One of the first neat things I discovered over at Her Desires was this entry linking to an advanced blowjob technique. It sounds both energetic and amazingly likely to work. Here’s a teaser:

As you begin, remember the mantra: Rhythm and moisture are crucial. So, if you’re afraid to get a little spit on your palms, exit stage left and thank you for playing.

Slobber him up form tip to nuts. Really get him juicy. A lot of tongue lathing along the base and slurping on the tip. Those of you who stock flavored oils would probably be well served to employ them here. Once he’s raging and messy, it’s time to start the music.