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The Sex Blog Of Record
Wednesday, May 11th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
At this very moment somebody in official Washington is reading this blog, looking the “Top Secret” tattoo on the woman’s ass, and thinking “Oh, if only it were that easy!”
The cartoon is by Brian Savage, from a 1970s Playboy.
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Wednesday, June 24th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
From a manga called (at least in translation) “Happy Clinic”.
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Sunday, June 9th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
One of the funnest things about looking at sex toy advertising is that it’s a literature full of joyful absurdity. Case in point: A sex ball called the Rough Rider. Remember those bouncing ball toys with handles that are for riding?
They are not unheard of for use in porn as well:
(Yes, folks, that’s the infamous Bat Pussy!)
Back to the Rough Rider. You just know you’ll look like a rough rider indeed when you’re bouncing on one of these:
Yes, my friends, if personal dignity is not on your agenda (and anyway, who really has dignity while they have a dildo up their ass?) you can use one of these to fuck yourself in the butt with extra bouncy-bouncy action!
Frankly I’m surprised that the world is not full of femdom porn where men are humiliated by being forced to bounce around the dungeon on one of these while being whipped by dominatrices. Yes, I looked (cursorily). No, I did not find any. Perhaps you’ll do better.
Pro-Tip: If your local sex ball seller is out of stock, you could always get you a robust suction-cup-attached sex toy to improve the bouncy ball you can buy at a regular toy store.
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Tuesday, August 23rd, 2011 -- by Bacchus
If you’re not…inspired…by the buns of the girl on the left, you’re not alive. Or so I maintain:
Via Usenet. (Yes, it still exists.)
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Friday, January 21st, 2011 -- by Bacchus
I’ve got a special kinky edition of the Why Rich Men Buy Boats series for you, courtesy of Kinky Delight:
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Monday, December 13th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
No red-blooded man in America could resist:
That’s Mary Louise Parker as she appeared in the August 2009 issue of Esquire magazine.
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Wednesday, November 11th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
The shooting conditions and model treatment during the production of kinky porn has been a recurrent topic of discussion here at Eros Blog. From severe European caning videos (here and here) to purest San Francisco kink (here and here), what it’s like to be the “done unto” model is always interesting to hear about.
Thus I viewed with fascination a cautionary video published by Kink.com last month about an Everything Butt shoot that featured a ginger figging. The ginger plug vanished up the model’s butt (Figging.com says they may have carved it wrong) and we get to see how they handled it, with narration by the model.
It’s all very calm and professional, although the visuals may raise your hair — at one point in the video, they’ve got a huge metal anal-retractor device in her bottom and it put me in mind of that immortal lyric from the end of Big Bad John by Jimmy Dean:
“With jacks and timbers they started back down,
Then came a rumble, way down in the ground.
Smoke and gas belched out of that mine
and everybody knew it was the end of the line
for Big John.”
Fig-carving art is from the Figging.com blog post about the incident, which also has a lot of details from the video.
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Monday, July 27th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
In which Jessica Alba swims with the fishes, in a very small bikini:
Screengrabbed from some nature show that went by on TNT.
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Wednesday, July 8th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
I confess I’m not quite sure what the scenario is that explains a young lady with a near-perfect butt taking a bath while wearing panties. But sometimes in this world, you just don’t gotta ask those hard questions:
From Amateur Hi-Def.
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Saturday, June 20th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
By now I’ve got something of a history of announcing new sites from Kink.com, so why stop now? The next in the pipeline is an ass-themed site called Everything Butt, which is already “up” with several shoots even though it won’t be formally open and live for a few more days. The site’s marketing copy makes it sound like a full buffet of fetish fun for anybody who enjoys playing with butts:
Everything Butt celebrates ass play in all its forms. Spanking, enemas, fisting, fucking, licking, and sniffing are performed by experienced porn stars and anal virgins too. These beautiful naked women all come to enjoy the smorgasbord of extreme anal antics under the skilled supervision of bondage master Lochai. It’s an exhilarating festival of analingus, Klismaphilia, and no-holds-barred buggery, scientifically designed to induce your expectant salivation. Do you “Yum!” for bum? Then dive in!
In looking over the new site the first thing that struck me was a delightful still photo from the preliminary “model interview” part of one of the shoots:
That’s the lovely and talented Bobbi Starr looking sanguine about those very large implements — and I use the word “talented” in a most considered fashion. (You’ll have to take my word for it unless you join the site or buy the shoot, but it’s true; for now, let me just say…they fit.)
Sadly the usual free sample galleries are not yet live, but I snagged a few pictures of a shower scene to share here. We begin with Aiden Starr and Flower Tucci taking an innocent shower together:
Note the scrunchy-thing! I always thought those were some sort of shower fungus that’s symbiotic with women, because they started accumulating in my bathroom (the scrunchy things, that is, not women) right after The Nymph moved in with me. But apparently, it’s for washing with. Who knew?
Moving on, the ladies decide to put on a little display of soapy bottoms:
And then we move on to the double-enema portion of our program. Apparently if you want to get really clean, showering together just isn’t enough any more:
And here’s the Everything Butt logo:
Nice, eh?
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Friday, June 5th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Anybody out there who is fond of latex? Because Madison Young is looking shiny and fine in this red and black number:
From this Men In Pain shoot.
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Thursday, December 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Poor Cinderella, given nothing but rags to wear as she is forced to scrub the endless castle stairs with her bare hands and a bucket of ice-cold water:
Do you think her prince will ever come?
As Beavis and Butthead would say: “Heh, heh. Yah. He’ll come, all right. On her face!”
Of course that’s not actually Cinderella, it’s Sabrina Fox, finishing up her advanced slave training at The Training Of O.
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Saturday, December 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
So I was reading a modest rant (title: The Horrors of Porn) over at The Twisted Monk and it was going like this:
A common trend in porn would be body art, I know what you are going to say tattoos are as old as civilization so this is not a new development, I agree, but since most porn focuses primarily on the “point of contact”, ie the wet, pink bits, as they thrust away more and more talent are opting to get tattoos on their hips, asses and even genitals in order to retain some level of uniquely identifying marks, lest they get lost in the sea of shaved wangs and oddly tanned taints.
And I thought: “Aha!” For, I knew where this was going.
And I was right:
So when I noticed the female model sporting what at first glance looked to be…ahem… well how shall I put it, a stain on her pink bits? No, more of discolored ring around her asshole. I was naturally taken aback. Surely this site has the budget for some hand-wipes and a videographer with the brains to know that he will soon be shooting this girls bottom in hi-def so it would be in his best interest to make sure that he has a, shall we say tidy pallet from which to paint his jizz stained masterpiece.
No, no on second glance it was not a stain but rather a tattoo. Yes, dear readers a tattoo on that most taboo ring of muscle.
Like passing a highway fatality involving a bus full of crippled nuns colliding with a tanker truck carrying sulfuric acid, I had to stop and stare. What the hell would you posses you to get tattooed there?! Can you imagine that tattoo session? Can you say ouch? I don’t even want to think about the post ink healing process. 4 weeks of scabbing and itching anyone? How do you keep it sterile? Fuck that, how hell do you take a crap?! Gah! The mind reels. Sadly, or possibly thankfully, the series of images in question chose to opt against using the ULTRA zoom lens and show a close-up of said tattoo as it was taking on the business end of her co-star so I still have no idea exactly what she chose to have permanently etched upon the ring of her ass.
Fortunately, some of his commenters guided him to ErosBlog and thus, to enlightenment.
(Monk’s post also links to a different photograph of the tattoo in question, for those of you whose fascination with the topic is not yet fully satiated.)
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Monday, November 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
All I can really tell about the rowdy men mooning the camera in this photo is that they appear to be wearing old-fashioned military uniforms. But this got emailed to me with a “soviet soldiers” filename, so I’ll go with that — from the bad color balance (cheap East German snapshot film, ugh!) to the flat and endless forested horizon, it’s Soviet enough for me:
Somebody out there wants more buttock, so here’s the zoom cut:
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Saturday, October 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a lot of extreme closeup shots to be seen at the gyno/medical fetish site Exclusive Club, but as usual for me, I found myself more entertained by some of the establishing shots. Does the doctor really need such a firm hold on her chin to look at her tonsils? Or is he, like, planning to anoint them?
And I also like this next shot (below), chaste though it is despite the schmear of KY jelly on her butt. I can just hear the doctor booming “We are done, thou well-greased wench! Begone from my exam table!”
(Upon mature reflection, it’s probably just as well I didn’t pursue a medical career.)
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Friday, October 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s an old folk song out there, sung by the Kingston Trio and many others, that goes a little bit like this:
We came to town to see
that old tattooed lady.
She was a sight to see,
tattooed from head to knee.
My uncle Ned was there.
He came to gape and stare.
“I’ve never!” he declared
“seen such a freak so fair.
And on her jaw
was the Royal Flying Corp
and on her back
was the Union Jack,
now could you ask for more?
All up and down her spine
marched the Queen’s own guards in line
and all around her hips
sailed a fleet of battleships.
And over her left kidney
was a bird’s eye view of Sidney
but what we liked best
was upon her chest:
My little home in Waikiki!
And which point a voice shouts in surprise “What did you say?” And the whole song starts over. You can sing it all day if you like.
If you’ve heard the song, you’ll recognize the mental voice in which I thought “What?” when I saw a mention on Fleshbot of a woman with a ring of writing tattooed around her anus.
“What did he say?”
Also: Ouch.
Apparently the writing does not, as has been suggested elsewhere, say (in Elvish runes or otherwise): “One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.”
Aside: I know a guy who would fall over dead from sheer nerd joy if he had a girlfriend who (a) liked anal and (b) had that tattooed around her rosebud.
Sadly, no; what porn star Adrenalynn actually has tattooed on her asshole is (reportedly) the phrase “Jarrod’s Little Fuckdoll.”
Jarrod is her husband, and I heartily hope the tender sentiment has the same effect on him as the runes would have on your average 19-year-old anal-loving Tolkien fan.
For the curious, there’s a fairly clear view of Adrenalynn’s anal tattoo in the twelfth picture from this gallery. The last ten seconds of the fourth video clip here also gives you several good views, if you’re fast with the pause button. Adrenalynn is pretty cute, so your time won’t be wasted!
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Saturday, October 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I don’t care if it is made from chrome-plated spring steel, you can’t rightly call this thing a chastity belt:
Lest you remain in any doubt about how this thing works, the uniquely Japanese anatomical cut-away drawing in the next panel will clear things right up for you:
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Monday, September 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
You know what they say. Sometimes, you get the bear. Sometimes, the bear gets you. And sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference!
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Thursday, September 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I am not sure what this girl is saying as she smiles back over her shoulder, but out of sympathy for Mr. Asterisk, I am hoping it’s something like “Would you please pass the butter?”
Found this bit of pegging art on Usenet.
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Monday, September 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
“Google Suggest” Ignores Adult Search Preference Cookies
Google, as all sex blog readers probably know, filters porn (they call it “explicit sexual content”) out of your search results by default. They call this “Safe Search”, and you can turn if off by letting Google set a cookie in your browser. (Most ErosBlog readers have, presumably, done this.) No worries, it’s been like this for years. We’re used to it, and in many contexts it’s useful to have the filtered option.
Recently, however, Google introduced a dynamic on-the-fly search suggestion feature called Google Suggest. When you type Britney Spears into the search box, a drop-down appears with what Google calls “relevant suggested search terms” in real time:
Nerd response: Cool!
Sex blogger response: Hey, wait a minute! Isn’t something missing from that search box? Wouldn’t you expect to see “Britney Spears nude” on that list?
Let’s check. The list changes with every character you type, so let’s go “britney spears nu” and see if it fills in the suggestion:
Suspicious, but maybe all those “number one” sites are just crowding it out? Let’s make this impossible to miss, let’s try “britney spears nud”:
Whoa! Is that the sound of crickets I’m hearing? “Mom, Google Suggest won’t come out and play with me any more!”
At this point I hit the “Preferences” link and went to check my Safe Search setting; it forgets the “Do not filter my search results” setting every time I clean out all my cookies, and resetting it is the first thing I do after that. Nope, “Do not filter my search results” is checked! That’s not the problem.
And make no mistake, this is a problem, and not just for feelthy perverts like me. This is the sort of thing that sets mild-mannered eyeglasses-wearing librarians sputtering with rage, because once you start filtering out words, like “nude”, that do double duty as erotic signifiers and, you know, plain old information tags, you begin to muck up basic research of the sort that any high school civics class might legitimately be doing. Allow me to illustrate.
Does anybody remember John Ashcroft, and his infamous prudery that had him covering up fine art at the Department of Justice because the bare breasts offended him? Imagine you were trying to write a high school essay about public art and needed to reference that incident. If you actually Google John Ashcroft nude (shudder) you’ll get 39,000-ish results. But start typing that request into Google, and you’ll learn that while John Ashcroft singing “Let The Eagle Soar” might be relevant to your search request (with 10,500 results), “John Ashcroft nude” could not possibly be, even though there are four times as many potential results out there:
Again, we need to check to make sure it didn’t just get choked by having to select between too many potentially relevant suggestions. We can do that by typing more letters; “john ashcroft n” gets me “john ashcroft news” as the sole suggestion, and with “john ashcroft nu” we’re back to the sound of crickets. Sorry, seeker after knowledge, nothing with “nude” in it could possibly be relevant to your search, EVER.
That’s search engine prudery right there, and it’s as stupid and mindless as automated mechanical prudery always is.
Of course, I’m not dealing with search results filtering, what I’m complaining about is search suggestions filtering. But that’s a distinction without a difference, a nit only a lawyer could enjoy picking. Google already has a cookie on my computer telling them that I don’t want them to protect me from the pollution of my vital essences that is the adult internet; what earthly reason could they have for ignoring that preference in determining which searches to show me in the suggestion box?
Just to show the full ridiculousness that is Mrs Grundy as played by The Mechanical Turk, let’s search for dear old Jenna, once said to be the most-searched woman on the internet:
That settles it. The Mechanical Turk “knows” damned well who I’m searching for, knows when I’m two characters into her last name, but it can’t mechanically imagine that “jenna jameson nude” (with nearly half a million search results out there) might be at least as relevant as “jenna jameson neck tattoo”? Sorry my friends, but inside the amazing Mechanical Turk there sits a very human prude.
Again, it’s easy to imagine lots of good business reasons why Google might want to filter even the mildest adult topics out of its search suggestion tool. That’s not my point.
My point is that for many people, Google is only useful if they can get the unfiltered version. Google knows this. Google makes it easy to set the “don’t filter me” button. But what good is that, if they then silently ignore the setting?
OK, now let’s have some fun looking at all the things Google Suggest refuses to suggest.
How about a good spanking? That’s only about as kinky as six inches of your average garden hose these days, plus there’s the whole universe of information out there about why you shouldn’t do it to your kids. Surely Google Suggest has something for the spanking searcher?
Google Suggest says: No spankings for you!
How about porn? If I type “por” into my search bar, you think maybe “porn” might be a relevant search to suggest?
Duh, no, silly me.
Ok, would you like to look at some fine rubber nipples? Or, you know, buy some, for your baby’s bottle or for your plumbing supply store? Sorry, you’re shit outta luck — Google Suggest can offer you “nippleplay” (presumably because the guy writing the filter didn’t get warned against it), but the Mechanical Prude has never heard of a nipple that was relevant to anybody:
That’s enough for now, although readers are invited to find other, especially laughable “never relevant” stop words that choke Google Suggest. Have fun teasing the Mechanical Prude!
Monday, September 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This happy bit of lovingly-drawn prostate stimulation is in honor of Violet Blue’s pegging post and column from last week:
From Usenet.
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Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I found this florid description of mutual oral sex in Sadopaideia, so called because most of the 1907 book involves whipping and spanking. (The subtitle is “Being the experiences of Cecil Prendergast, undergraduate of the University of Oxford, shewing how he was led through the pleasant paths of Masochism to the supreme joys of Sadism.”) But, for that sort of thing, you often need an initial seduction, and in this passage that’s going swimmingly:
I felt her right arm round my waist and her left hand began to unbutton my fly from the top. Before she had time to undo the last button John Thomas leapt forth ready and eager, but she slapped it and pushed it in again and undid the last button and fumbled for my balls and gently drew them out. I drew back a little from her and lifted her petticoat right up, disclosing the daintiest of black silk openwork stockings with pale green satin garters, and above them filmy lawn drawers with beautiful lace and insertion, through which the fair satin skin of her thighs gleamed most provokingly. At the top there appeared just between the opening of the drawers the most fascinating brown curls imaginable.
I feasted my eyes on this lovely sight, undoing my braces and slipping my trousers down. Her hand immediately left my balls and began to fondle my bottom, stroking and pinching the cheeks while she murmured, “You darling boy, oh, what a lovely bottom.”
I was eager to be in her, but the brown curls fascinated me so much that I could not resist the temptation to stoop down and kiss them. I was rather shy of doing this, as I had never done it before, and though I knew it was usual with tarts, I was not sure if it would be welcome here. Judge of my surprise, then, when I felt Mrs. Harcourt’s hand on my head gently pressing it down and heard her saying, “How did you guess I wanted that?”
She opened her legs wider, disclosing the most adorable pussy, with pouting lips just slightly opening and showing the bright coral inner lips, which seemed to ask for my kisses. I buried my head in the soft curls, and with eager tongue explored every part of her mossy grot. She squirmed and wriggled with pleasure, opening her legs quite wide and twisting them round me. I followed all her movements, backing away on my knees as she slipped off the chair, until at last, when she drenched my lips with love, she slipped on the hearth rug. Then, as I could scarcely reach her with my tongue in that position, and didn’t wish to lose a drop of the maddening juice, I disengaged my legs from hers and knelt down to one side so that my head could dive right between her legs. This naturally presented my naked bottom and thighs to her gaze.
“You rude naughty boy,” she said, smacking me gently, “to show me this bare bottom. I’m shocked at you.”
Her hands again fondled my balls and bottom, and I had all I could do to prevent John Thomas from showing conclusively what he had in store for her.
I had no intention of wasting good material, however, and was just about to change my position so that I could arrive at the desired summit of joy when I felt her trying to pull my right leg towards her. I let myself go and she eventually succeeded in lifting it right over, so that I was straddling right across her, and we were in the position I knew quite well from photographs, known as sixty-nine.
My heart beat high. Was it possible I was to experience this supreme pleasure of which I had heard so much? I buried my head between her thighs, my tongue redoubled its efforts, searching out every corner and nook it could find, and just as it was rewarded by another flow of warm life I felt round my own weapon, not the fondling of her hand, but something softer, more clinging, and then unmistakably the tip of a velvet tongue from the top right down to the balls and back again, and then I felt the lips close round it and the gentle nip of teeth. This was too much, John Thomas could restrain himself no longer, and as I seized her bottom with both hands and sucked the whole of her pussy into my mouth, he spurted forth with convulsive jerks his hidden treasure. When the spasm was over I collapsed limply on her, my lips still straining her life.
Link via Spanking Blog.
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Tuesday, August 12th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Everybody, I’d like to apologize for the fact that some of you were getting popups or security alerts when visiting ErosBlog yesterday. Details are still unclear, but it seems our server suffered some sort of code injection attack, meaning that ErosBlog may have been trying to load hostile iframes that in turn were offering downloads of a sort you don’t want to download.
Server/hosting tech support is on the case, they say they have rooted out the hostile code but they are still on the case of finding out how it got there. Which means, we can’t be certain (yet!) that the problem won’t recur.
If you are still getting alerts when visiting ErosBlog, please do two things for me. First, clear your cache (in FireFox, this is under Tools: Clear Private Data; in Internet Explorer, it’s under Tools: Internet Options, on the “General” tab, “delete” button under “Browsing History”, then Tempory Internet Files: Delete Files button) so that you’re sure you don’t have a cached copy of the hacked ErosBlog files on your local machine, and then double check. If you’re still getting ErosBlog alerts after clearing your cache, post in the comments to this post to let me know, so I can pass it on to technical support.
Once again, my fullest apologies. For six long years of blogging here, I have striven as hard as I know how to avoid serving anything here that contributes to the nightmare of popups and hostile code that pervades the internet. I am horrified by this attack and am working as hard as I know how to make sure it’s put down with silver bullets, ashwood stakes, and as much holy water as can be imported via local ports and pipelines.
Saturday, August 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I know this is supposed to be a sex blog and not a porn industry blog, dammit, but I’ve published ErosBlog for long enough to put me in the porn industry if you look at things just right, and this is where I blog. Anyway, I’m sharing this porn industry link for its sad sad comedy value. What happened is that a self-described “independent film maker” with “friends who work in your industry” posted a long rambling article to the leading adult webmaster board entitled “Porner’s Manifesto: How To Fix Your Industry“.
Some of the guy’s points are sort of obvious “how to do business” advice, but all mixed up with the unsolicited business advice were angry off-topic ranty bits about how porn stars should be more willing to sleep with their fans. I’ve excerpted heavily and taken liberties with paragraph order:
I know its hard but try to care about your fans. Afterall, if you did not have them, where would you be other than in some club trying to get noticed? Give something back to those who pay your bills and I am not talking about the director or producer. They get laid enough. You want to make a difference, try laying one of your fans. Get passed the fact that they do not look like your normal porn partners. So what? In a few years, you will not be as hot as the chick they will be supporting with their hard earned cash then. Build for your future. Ensure a fan for life. I promise you, one day your current fame or vision of fame will fade and what will you be?
Let’s get one thing straight. You have sex for money. Pure and simple. While I would agree this is an art form, it what it is. The only difference between a porn star and an escort is there is a camera involved. Yet, many of these stars tend to smoke the diva hash pipe. These so called stars are hot the day they arrive but once they have been around for awhile, a new girl comes right in to replace you. It doesn’t mean to get an attitude.
I overheard this porn chick one day at Starbucks in LA. Her and her agent were talking about how to increase her popularity and you can imagine the same bullshit. Go on KSex, web sites, radio, etc… So I mention the same things I just did above and the porner looked back at me and said and I quote: “Are you fucking stupid? Why would I ever want to fuck any of my fans? Have you ever seen my fans? They are fucking gross and fat. Why do you think they have to jerk off to me? The day I fuck my fans is the day I become a whore.â€? Now imagine that. I simply replied, you fuck for money, youre a whore.
Seriously, I have never seen an industry that ignores their fans the way porn stars do. Not to mention, these same stars are the ones who think they should be immune to the down times by charging the same rates to producers. I am unsure if anyone has tried to sit them down and explain that what they do isn’t that difficult to find someone else to do. Unless you shoot fireworks out of your vagina, you have sex on camera. It’s not something you went to college for. You do not need a special degree for it. You lay down, you have sex, and then take a brick in the mouth. But to listen to some girls, you would think they are curing world hunger or cancer. The only cancer they may be preventing is prostate cancer but thats still open to debate.
Anybody want to take odds that this guy has (or had) himself in mind as one of the fans “the talent” should be fucking for free? No, too easy? OK, what are the odds he’s actually tried, and failed miserably, to seduce a porn girl? (For “seduce” you could read “make a crude and lazy pass at” with, I suspect, great accuracy.)
Friday, June 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
For most of us the needle in the butt is just one of those medical indignities to be suffered. But, for some it’s a highly charged fetish situation. This injection scene is from a detailed and explicit medical fetish shoot in Taboo Magazine:
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Sunday, June 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is how you win at the internets. You post an article called The 11 Most Scorching-Hot Female Cosplayers Ever and justify it with illustrative photographs:
- Post article.
- Get a zillion links and a metric buttload of traffic.
- ???
- Profit!
Link via Sexoteric.
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Tuesday, May 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s no excuse for this. It’s like the closing segment of the old Man Show — it’s pure, old-fashioned, mostly-harmless lechery. “Cheerleader” (not really, but she’ll pass) Angel Woods shows us her panties:
And then we transition rapidly to the gratuitous rear view. At this junction, no gentleman would be thinking thoughts containing phrases like “surprise buttsex”:
Finally, after cartwheels and handstands not shown here, it’s time for the cheerleader moment you’ve been waiting for ever since high school. I refer, of course, to: panty failure!
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Thursday, May 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The other day Bondage Blog ran some pictures that look like somebody’s sordid fantasy of an East German enema clinic, circa 1972. But (butt?) there was one picture that cried out for a LOL-treatment:
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Thursday, May 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
One thing I like about writing a sex blog, in this era of increasing porn saturation, is that as the competition heats up, and production values increase, I’m seeing more and more porn that looks like art, especially from the high-quality porn producers like Kink.com or (for your non-kinky examples) Femjoy or Domai.
It used to be that a shot like this one, of Candice Nicole enjoying an enforced contemplative post-ejaculatory moment during a Sex And Submission shoot, would have come only from the studio of one of the “arty” guys like Craig Morey or Richard Kern:
My problem with erotic art photography is that, historically, it has tended to strike me as self-conscious and defensive, and in its defensiveness, it often grew boring. In its worst form, we get that endless flood of semi-abstract nudes that congest web galleries and college sophomore life photography classes. You know what I’m talking about: the curve of a buttock or breast, usually upside down or at an odd angle, often pressed against some random implausible texture like old roofing tin, presented in black and white with funky lighting so as to make the whole project safely non-sexual.)
Luckily, as the standards and technology of porn photography get better, I’m seeing a best-of-both-worlds convergence, with your favorite subscription porn shack pumping out art-quality photos of a volume and diversity and unapologetic lustful sexuality that even the best “erotic art” photographers never seemed to manage. And I love it!
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Thursday, May 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is a little bit gross (OK, it’s a lot gross) so I think I’ll just link you. Beware of festering zombie dick!
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Tuesday, April 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here is yet another one of the many pictures out there that do appear to depict California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger as a young(er) party animal of the first rank. In this photo, he (if indeed, it is he) seems to have developed an exceedingly firm and deliberate two-handed grasp on a happy woman’s right buttock and, uh, personal area:
I can see Arnold’s left pinky finger, but let’s look at the closeup: where exactly has the finger next to it gone?
Where has it gone? It’s gone exploring, I’d say!
As Bill Maher would say, “I kid the governor, but it’s out of love”. (Of course, Bill’s usually lying when he says that; I’m sorta not.) For all the governor’s many faults (he’s a politician now, which makes enumerating them redundant) it’s nice to see someone in the public eye who hasn’t spent his whole life in timorous avoidance of adult fun because of (imagine this being said in the voice of the high school debate club member you liked least) “how it will look when I run for office someday.”
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Friday, April 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
A spam that made it through my filters today made me smile with the sheer excess of the offer in the subject line:
Hogtied Amateur Vacuum Tortured On Butt Hardcore
Gracious me, I sure wouldn’t want to settle for softcore vacuum torturing on the butts of hogtied amateurs!
The pitch inside the spam email was softened just a bit: “Brunette Bdsm Slave Vacuum Tortured Hardcore” and a link.
It’s possible they actually wanted to sell me some hogtied amateur brunettes, but I doubt it. Reputable porn sites eschew spam as a marketing method, because spam creates blind rage that tends to be an insurmountable marketing barrier. Plus, it’s illegal in the United States. Sometime I’ll get spam (not this one) that seems to be selling a porn site I know about, but it’s usually a form of social proof; if you think you’re familiar with the pitched product, you’re more likely to click through into unsuspected spyware browser-hijacking hell.
Anyway, I’ll never know for sure what this particular spam was selling, because I lacked the courage or foolhardiness to click the link. The domain had certain famous small fuzzy toy keywords in it (maybe so it would look safe?) and a .cn domain extension. Those Chinese domain names are notorious these days because spammers can buy them in bulk for cheap, which means that they can use them for hostile and malicious spam campaigns that lead directly to aggressive malware installers, browser hacks, and the like. Once the domain gets widely banned, or even deactivated, just move on to a new one!
The return email address looked like the email for some poor guy’s AT&T cell phone. That’s easily spoofed and was probably pure fiction, but it made me wonder. Is this yet another bad thing that can happen to you when you get your cell phone stolen?
Now, start your vacuum cleaners!
Wednesday, April 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a French comic strip starring the never-ending sexual adventures of Titi Fricoteur. Here Titi is spying on the baker’s wife, who is in her garden collecting vegetables for a stuffing. The stuffing follows hard upon the collecting:
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Friday, March 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember Leda And The Buttsecks Swan? Well, here’s a more typical nude Leda from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage:
Tuesday, March 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Camping in the desert with fetish model Adriana Sage is not like any camping you’ve ever seen. It’s getting dark when she gets to camp, so she pitches her tent, half-wearing a fetching rubber number:
In the morning, it’s time to haul some water. Nipple clamps are for style, we assume:
Then it’s out onto the sand for the day’s entertainment, with horsey tail buttplug and saliva-lubricated crystal dildo:
From the August 2004 edition of Taboo magazine.
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Monday, March 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From an interview story in the April 2008 Esquire magazine:
I realize that I’ve spent a couple of hours showing Clooney sites about Clooney, but I haven’t asked him, Does he ever go on the Internet?
“I go on YouTube when somebody says to look something up,” he answers. “There was one a few years ago that killed me. Look up ‘monkey smells butt.’ ”
I type it in. Up pops a video of a chimp sticking his finger up his butt, smelling it, then promptly passing out.
Clooney roars with laughter. “He just smells it and goes woooah and flops off the side. That always kills me.”
At this point, I make a segue that seemed relevant at the time but in retrospect was probably a very bad idea. “You know,” I tell him, “I asked the guy who does the Esquire Web site what I should show George Clooney, and he said, ‘Show him 2 Girls 1 Cup.’ ”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the most disturbing video in the history of videos.”
“Show it to me.”
“Really? I don’t know.”
“I can take it,” Clooney says. “I’m a grown-up. We’re all grown-ups.”
“It’s scarring. It’ll scar you forever.”
“Is it long?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him, “but it’s so disturbing. I saw it once and can never get it out of my mind. I can’t watch it again.”
“I want to see it.”
Well, he asked. After a bit of searching, I find the link. I click it.
After several seconds: “It’s not so bad,” he says.
Three seconds later: “Oh.”
Another two seconds: “Oh, my GOD! Oh, my God!! Oh, my God!”
Clooney puts his hand over his mouth like he’s going to throw up. He bolts from his chair and walks out of the room.
Clooney’s longtime PR guy, Stan Rosenfield, wants to know what the fuss is about. Clooney tells him he just watched the most repulsive video he’s ever seen. Rosenfield wants to see it.
“I want to go at least one second more than George.”
“I’ve got to watch Stan watch it,” Clooney says, recomposing himself. “It’s like the rodeo — see how long you can last.”
Rosenfield lasts three full seconds before walking out.
Clooney, having regarded himself all morning, now just watches, doubled over with laughter.
Warning to mercifully innocent readers: Don’t try this at home. Or, at all.
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Thursday, March 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Greta Christina has a good essay up on the Blowfish Blog on sexual perspective and the reasons we aren’t very accepting as a culture of other people’s sexual tastes:
So unless you’re pathologically stubborn, you eventually learn perspective. You figure out that, as much as you may personally dislike broccoli or blue cheese, Wagner or Western Swing, people who eat it/ listen to it are not mentally deranged. (Or the reverse: that as much as you may personally enjoy these delights, people who don’t like them are not pathologically cut off from the one true source of pleasure and meaning.) People still do sometimes make personal judgments about others based on their tastes in food and music; but those judgments don’t usually result in people being sent to the county jail or the loony bin.
But when it comes to sex, most of us don’t get that kind of training. People don’t come back to work on Mondays and chat about how they tried spanking over the weekend, they way they’ll chat about how they tried a new Moroccan restaurant or went to see a German funk band their brother told them about. They don’t go to parties and share a funny story about the new buttplug they just bought, the way they’ll tell a funny story about trying to make a salmon souffle for their in-laws or the weird harpist who opened for Radiohead. (Well, they sometimes do at my parties . . . but you know what I mean.) Most of us haven’t been regaled with myriad and varied stories about exactly what kinds of sex other people like, and why exactly they like it.
It’s better now than it once was, by a long shot. The amount of sexual information that’s easily available today far surpasses anything I had when I was young. But most of us still don’t get exposed to a widely varied range of sexual tastes . . . not the way we get exposed to a barrage of different tastes in music and food, simply as part of everyday life.
And I think that casual barrage is exactly what we need to break through the intensely personal, intensely visceral nature of our sensual experience and give us perspective on it. It’s what we need to teach us that other people really and truly feel differently about sex than we do.
I have to agree with this as a matter of personal anecdote. Although I considered myself a fairly free-thinking and tolerant guy when I started this sex blog more than five years ago, some of the distancing remarks in my old archived posts (like this one, where I was obviously anxious to express my distaste for bukkake) make me wince in embarrassment now, so clear is it to me that I was uncomfortable with the sexual diversity I was reporting on. But the constant barrage of sexual information that I’ve processed in the course of writing this blog has given me much of the perspective Greta is writing about. The most unusual sexual practices now typically strike me as no more problematic than a taste for live grubs or pickled beets — I’d strongly prefer not to have any, thanks, but I’m not disturbed or surprised (ok, still a little surprised, sometimes) that somebody else finds enjoyment there.
Saturday, March 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
You don’t see too many fictional accounts of rimming, and this is the first I’ve ever seen that has a little funny twist at the end. It’s from this story by Vinnie Tesla:
Impulsively, I bury my face in an armpit, and drink in her sharp animal smell. She’s moaning and laughing at once as my beard tickles her delicate skin. I lick along the line of her shoulder blade, the muscles there flexing as she struggles playfully. I throw her tee-shirt to the ground, and push her against one of the basement’s grimy cinderblock walls. I pin her arms above her head, and give the other armpit a more thorough treatment.
She starts out laughing and twitching, but this gives way to quiet moans, that get louder when I bite. I release her arms and run my lips over the pale, freckled flesh above her bra. Impatiently I pull the bra up over her tits, and fix my mouth over one of her nipples, crinkled tight in the basement’s chill air. My hands find the catch of her bra, and it joins her tee shirt on the floor. Once again she grabs my head and holds it tightly as I worry and suck at her fat little bud. I hold her other breast in my hand. The flesh is breathtakingly soft, and fever-hot. I pull the nipple roughly, stretching the crinkles smooth. “Yeah,” she whispers in my ear, her hot breath sending shivers down my spine, “yeah.”
Still cradling my head with one hand, her other strokes the front of my jeans, and cups my cock with her open palm. “Mmm, nice,” she purrs.
“You like it?” I ask, my hands kneading her breasts, “soon it’s going to be buried in your cunt.”
She looks me in the eye teasingly. “Just my cunt?”
I open and close my mouth several times like a goldfish. So much for my attempt at the suave dirty-talker.
Molly laughs at my expression and begins struggling to get the legs of her overalls over her boots. Watching her breasts sway as she works, bent over, is irresistible. She tugs the overalls down her thighs, and sits on the floor to pull them off. Then, with a yelp, she’s up off the cold, damp concrete again, rubbing her chilled ass.
“Here, let me help with that,” I volunteer, and squat behind her. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“Molly, you have got an amazing ass.” Broader than I expected, exquisitely round and smooth. Dusted with pale freckles. Flawless, so far as I can see. Groaning, I grab her hips and bury my face in that exquisite butt, licking and biting at the smooth, taut flesh. She presses back against me, and wiggles her hips slowly and sexily, enjoying the attention. Eventually, though: “Weren’t you gonna help me get my clothes off?”
“I got sidetracked,” I admit, and jerk her panties down to her knees before resuming my feast.
She begins skeptically, “That’s not a whole lot of– oooh, that feels good.” I’m kneading her cheeks hard with my hands now, while licking teasingly around the top of her crack.
“Bend over,” I tell her.
“Yes, sir!” she says sarcastically, but does so, resting her hands against the wall, and spreading her legs as much as her bunched clothes will allow. I stroke her ass lightly
“You want me to?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, almost inaudibly.
I pull at one of her cheeks, exposing her hidden parts. The skin of her anus is surprisingly dark, and fringed with wispy reddish hair. Below, the lips of her cunt are fat and swollen. She flinches a little when the wet handiwipe from my pocket touches the sensitive flesh of her asshole. I run it over the surface a few times, and then drop it onto the floor. My hands spread her cheeks, and I begin running my tongue along the skin just above her anus. Then I move down, and lick at her perineum, drawing a gasp from Molly. Finally I bring my tongue to her clenched little orifice, and rub against it with gentle pressure.
She lets a little shriek escape, followed by a low moan. I feel goosepimples rise on her muscular thighs, as she reaches down and cups her cunt in one hand. I’m alternating broad, spiraling licks with tighter, more aggressive ones, loving the feel of her soft flesh against my face. She’s slowly undulating her hips; each breath out is a long quiet moan.
The rocking of her hips accelerates; her voice rises in pitch. I (teasing bastard) rise to my feet and draw her up too. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus again, and then I’m seized in a bruising hug. “Oh, wow,” she says dreamily, “Oh, that was really nice. I haven’t done that before.”
“My *pleasure*,” I say emphatically. “But I’m a little confused. You said you wanted me to rim you, right?”
She grins. “I wanted you to *spank* me, you twit.” Before the blood can stop roaring in my ears, she continues: “Now help me get these off!”
Of course she does eventually get her spanking, which is how (via Spanking Blog) I came upon this story.
Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I knew at an intuitive level that there was something lame and false about the recent “scientific” news from Italy, where researchers supposedly determined that some women don’t have G-spots. I said nothing, counting on the fact that Violet Blue, author of The Smart Girl’s Guide to the G-Spot, would be along eventually to set things straight. Which she now has done. It turns out, the Italian dudes were a bit confused, and were using what Violet calls the “two-hands-and-a-flashlight” research method:
News flash to news outlets: The vagina ceased to be a mystery at least 40 years ago. The G-spot is a real, tangible thing, and you can even see it if you have a bio-vagina, or know someone who will let you take a G-peep. It is a real place inside the body, and you don’t need ultrasound to find it. And again, I’ll contradict the reporting and say that yes, some women find it to be incredible for orgasms, while others don’t like the sensation so much. It isn’t a “magic button” for all girls: But that in no way means a woman cannot have, enjoy, or break windows all the way down to Twin Peaks and back screaming in joy from vaginal orgasms.
Myths about the G-spot you’re seeing in these mainstream news sources:
* Not every woman has one.
* Every woman likes G-spot stimulation.
* There’s a test to find it, and only one “right” way to touch it.
* Touching it will make you incontinent, and female ejaculation is urine. (It is not.)
* Any other orgasms are inferior to a G-spot orgasm.
If you’re squeamish about female anatomy, skip the next two paragraphs, but if you want to know what the hell a G-spot is or why anyone wants to find one, read on…
Friday, February 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m not a comics guy, so I don’t know much about fumetti comics except that the vintage ones I keep stumbling over tend to be Italian and feature sex and violence combined in shocking and politically incorrect ways.
Lately I have several times run across the Groovy Age of Horror blog while doing Google image searches. It’s a resource for all manner of vintage pulpy wonderfulness, but the excerpted fumetti comics (complete with high quality scans of every panel) are one of the best features of the site. Example: all the good parts from Macho #3 as reprinted in Pecatti #1. You really need to follow the link, because while I’m “borrowing” Jaakko’s dry commentary in the block-quoting below, I’m only reprinting cropped and reduced details from a few panels of the artwork; the commentary-plus-complete-panels is a much more vivid experience. As Jaakko tells the story:
It’s called Il Clan Dei Centurioni (The Clan of Centurions), and it teaches us a new, fun way of defusing a stick of dynamite stuffed into a bodily orifice. Watch and learn, kids! First the bad guys chain Macho to the roof. Then they rape him, much to his delight. Then they stick a dynamite stick up his butt. Fortunately Macho is bisexual, and his girlfriend soon rushes to help him.
Wait a minute, what the hell?
Apparently this girl really loves using her mouth.
And thus, when Macho’s gay friends arrive, they find a horrifying sight: Macho is getting a blow-job… from a woman. Oh, the humanity! The End.
Sunday, November 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here on ErosBlog I ignored, as I tend to, the annual frenzy of “concerned” journalists fretting about how Halloween has morphed into “Dress Like A Slut” day, ohnoes! To me, the phenomenon is obviously just a manifestation (on Halloween, how appropriate!) of the ghosts of Saturnalia and Carnival, which we in the Puritan Protestancies had taken out and shot centuries ago. I approve, as I do, of all liberating influences. Hell, I approve of nekkedness in general, so how could I glower all dour at skimpy costumes?
Surprised I therefore was to find ChelseaGirl from Pretty Dumb Things fretting on the same topic, although I’ll cheerfully grant that she did it with more thoughtfulness and nuance than any print journalist I’ve ever seen tackle the subject. Most interesting and useful in her post, I thought, was her description of a memetic landscape she calls Strip Nation:
Because this trend … also speaks to the seduction of what I’ve come to call Strip Nation.
Strip Nation is the place where little girls wear body glitter for fun, where pole dancing is a fitness pursuit, where chicks have standing appointments for monthly Brazilians, and weekly tans, French manicures and matching pedicures. It’s the place where women purposefully show bra straps and g-strings. It’s where average women have the lower-back tattoo, body piercings, and t-shirts that read “Diva” It’s the where women get breast implants, labiaplasty and anal bleaching. It’s a place where family restaurants have waitresses wearing orange short-shorts, and where drag-queen restaurants have banana deep-throat contests, and where eighteen year-old girls win them.
Strip Nation is where we live now. It’s not a bad place to live. Strip Nation gives us Carmen Electra and body butter. Strip Nation lets us shake our booty with abandon. Hell, Strip Nation, combined with Hip-Hop Nation–it’s a unified country of dual principalities–has given us the word “booty”. Without Strip Nation, we’d still be pogoing and wearing flat shoes and high-waisted pleated pants.
Strip Nation can be a lot of fun, but it’s a deeply problematic kind of fun. I am proud to have been a stripper, but I know that stripping is best kept in the strip club because stripping is about serving up a fantasy based on the most simplistic heterosexual male’s formulation of an uncomplicated woman. Most simply, Strip Nation provides a dreamscape based on a model of a two-dimensional woman and men’s desire for them. And while that is all well and fine for an eight-hour strip shift, it has major issues when it goes rampant, out into the streets, and disseminates like a virus into the culture at large.
I wonder how much women choosing to dress like a stripper for Halloween–whatever the flavor of the specific fantasy–isn’t centered on an unquestioning slide into the happy amnesia of Strip Nation: a place where men will be men, women will be girls, and no one need have a thought cross their untrammeled brows. I wonder how much the Naughty Nurse, the Sassy Satan, the Wanton Witch, the Reform School Drop Out, the Pirate Wench, and all the heaving bosom, exposed thigh rest, has more to with the prefeminist nostalgia that Strip Nation embodies. I wonder how much the naughty Halloween costume hasn’t less to do with getting one’s freak on as it does with doing so in a way that feels like you don’t have to think about it when you do.
Tomorrow, Halloween will just be a bunch of garbled stories and memories, gone for another year, But we’ll still be living in Strip Nation. Look around you, it’s everywhere. Fun, yes. But at what cost?
I think the description of Strip Nation is spot on, but I’m having trouble parsing out the objection. It seems to be something in the nature of “real life is more complicated than that”, but every cultural expression we have is idealized in one way or another; Strip Nation is a fantasy space almost by definition, and it seems odd to me to ask “at what cost?” when the full achievement of the fantasy lies as much out of our reach as do the golden shores of Brigadoon.
“You wouldn’t like to eat nothing but candy and ice cream”, warned our mothers, and we didn’t believe them. If we really lived in Strip Nation, we probably wouldn’t enjoy that either; a steady diet of oversimplified sex is probably not much better than a steady diet of high fructose corn syrup. But what’s really going on here is a whole bunch of cultural expressions reaching toward Strip Nation, but which are counterbalanced by so many other cultural anchors and drags that we’ll never reach the Strip Nation Shangri La, nor indeed get anywhere close to there. We don’t live in Strip Nation; we don’t even live next door to Strip Nation. All we do is live in a place where we can, sometimes, get away with acting as if we do live in Strip Nation.
If you grant that, is it really fair to ask “at what cost?” The only cost I see is to the competing memetic landscapes that are losing mindshare in competition with Strip Nation. I’m talking Burqa Nation, Chador and Hajib Nation, Barefoot And Pregnant Nation, Nice Girls Don’t Nation, It’s Dirty Down There Nation, Leave The Lights Off Nation, Twin Beds Nation, Save It For Marriage Nation, the entire constellation of memetic spaces in which skin must be covered, dancing must be restricted because it could lead to shagging, sex is strictly controlled, and women are (in one sense or another) chattel, not free to make their own sexual decisions.
Here in the brave new century, Strip Nation is out-competing all of those memetic spaces. Is it perfect? Heck no. Is it better? I can’t see how it isn’t. At what cost? I, for one, don’t much care, unless the cost is higher than the rolling human tragedy of the repressive memetic spaces Strip Nation is competing with and struggling to displace.
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Monday, October 8th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Remember the infamous kitchen fisting scene in the movie Caligula? The scene with the crock of butter, Rome not having yet invented Crisco?
Sure you do:
From Butter Lubed.
Friday, October 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
He thinks he’s sooo smooth. Hell, he probably thinks he invented the old “I’ll show you how to ride a bicycle as an excuse to run my fingers all over your pretty butt” routine.
Meanwhile, she has him exactly where she wants him.
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Wednesday, October 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Ladies and gentlemen and faithful readers and visitors, I’m pleased to announce that today marks the fifth anniversary of ErosBlog’s first post.
I’m rather proud to have been in continuous publication for half a decade. 1,853 posts spread over 1,825 days averages to 1.015 posts per day. Of course it wasn’t that regular — there are a couple of posting gaps that stretch close to a month in length. But a daily post has always been the goal, and if I never managed that much, I’ll settle for that 1.015 posts-per-day average.
When I started this thing, internet diaries had been around for at least as long as the web, and some of them (especially the BDSM lifestyle ones) had a lot of adult content. Blogs (known by that name, or by its then-still-in-use linguistic ancestor, “weblogs”) were a few years old, but had exploded in popularity and visibility just in the previous year. Sex blogs — as a genre — were unheard of. There was Daze Reader, there was World Sex News, there was BJ’s Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings. There were pretty pictures every day at Sensual Liberation Army and some other places. Lots of proto-sex-blogs, but none that had adopted that characterization of themselves. So, as far as I know, Eros Blog was the first internet thing to claim that description.
I can’t claim to have invented the idea of a sex blog — whomever registered sexblog.com, before I tried to, can prove that — and I can’t claim to have invented the act of sex blogging, which was all over LiveJournal before I ever heard of blogging. But I think I was the first person, to think of it, do it, and call it by the name.
One possible exception — a sex blogger who was there before me by a few months, doing what I’d consider the first recognizable sex blog and conceptualizing her work in roughly that way, was Susannah Breslin. She did a blog called The Reverse Cowgirl, she was well connected with web heavyweights and early blogging gurus, and she blogged pretty exclusively about sex and culture. It was nice stuff, she was kind enough to link me early, but I simply cannot remember if she ever called her project a sex blog. She might have; certainly she could have, because that’s what it was.
Unfortunately it was from Susannah that I first learned to hate the destruction wrought by blog vandalism. She was linked all over the web, she was getting a lot of media attention, and then one day without a word of explanation her blog was gone and links all over the blogosphere were 404ing. Then a while later she had another project up, very artistic and overdesigned but having many bloglike features; it too vanished. After that I lost track, but there have been more; she’s got another “Reverse Cowgirl” blog going at the moment, with archives going all the way back to 2006, but not a single link to any of her earlier projects (presumably because they are all gone). I owe Susannah a considerable debt for inspiration and early traffic, but she’s also the one who taught me to be wary of folks who treat the web like a rented space for temporary performance art.
So! Five years. Two hosts. Three blog software platforms. At least half a dozen different templates. A metric buttload of spam and raging idiocy moderated out of the comments. Two web interviews, perhaps half a dozen press inquiries (ignored because I still enjoy psuedonymous posting). One hell of a lot of fun.
One of the fun things for me is to look at how my posts (and me) have changed over five years. When I started, writing about sexual stuff was very hard for me (even in my usual detached “look at those people over there and what they say they are doing” style). I was stilted and awkward. I was afraid that to write about a thing meant people would think I liked it. Worse yet, I cared about that, and would include horrid little disclaimers. Bacchus wrote about Bacchus in the third person for eight long months. I remain indebted to Eugene Volokh for providing me, a day too late, with the vocabulary word for that literary atrocity. Thanks to him, I now understand that I Am No Longer An Illeist.
As for me, when I started this blog I was single, lonely, and underemployed by my own choice due to increasing disillusionment with my profession (a little) and with the demands of the job culture (a lot). Now I’ve got The Nymph, we’re ridiculously happy together, and my adult web projects support me better than a job ever did, with me working only when it suits me. And it does suit me! I used to read in the business magazines about successful power suit types who would wake up in the morning full of enthusiasm for getting into the office to do whatever they did, and I’d boggle at that alien worldview. Now, I wake up in the morning, often as not, with an idea for tweaking or improving one of my websites, and I’m full of enthusiasm for the idea of getting up and tinkering with it. Life has never been better.
I couldn’t hope to thank properly all the other bloggers who deserve it, for providing me with support, encouragement, linkage, ideas, material, inspiration… but to list even the first fraction of them would require listing half my blog roll. All I can say is, thanks to you all. And thanks — even more thanks! — to the thousands of loyal readers who come back every day to see my blather and follow my links.
I owe special thanks to my regular guest blogger, Aphrodite, who has been backing me up and providing the woman’s touch around here for more than three years. Although her posts have never been frequent, she’s provided considerable invisible assistance, especially with comment spam filtering before we got it as automated as it tends to be today. I remain delighted and honored to have her help.
What about the future? Will there be a “Ten Candles” post on October 3, 2012?
At the speed technology, culture, and politics are changing in this crazy world, it’s hard to know for sure, but I truly do hope so! I love doing this blog and I can’t imagine stopping voluntarily. Five years ago it was still possible to claim that blogs were a fad. Five years from now, it’s possible we’ll all be considered impossibly old-fashioned, like paper magazines and network television and phones that plug into the wall. But this is about the sex, baby! And people don’t get bored with that, so I should still have an audience.
I’ll conclude with a list of some of my forgotten favorites — an even dozen sex blog posts I enjoyed writing and still enjoy reading, posts that seemed important to me, or posts that other people seemed particularly to enjoy.
Saturday, September 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Will someone please stop me from browsing through sex toy websites? Just when I think I’ve seen it all, they come up with something like the Anal Ring Toss game:
The Anal Ring Toss game is a new twist on a traditional ring toss game.
The designated “goalie” inserts the anal plug with the attached scoring pole into the butt. The players then attempt to throw one of the 3 plastic rings onto the pole. You score when your yellow ring successfully lands around the scoring pole in the goalie’s bum.
There are no set rules to this game. A fun set of instructions is included, but players are encouraged to make their own rules. Should the goalie move and shake the ass, or stay perfectly still? It is entirely up to the ring toss players.
What does the winner get? The goalie? It is entirely up to the players.
Please toss anal rings responsibly and have fun!
That’s right, please toss anal rings responsibly!
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Wednesday, September 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Always Aroused Girl got asked, essentially, “why in the hell…?” More specifically, “why would a woman need anal sex, when she’s got a vagina, the ideal self-lubrified device that mother nature specially crafted for the purpose?”
She responded, in part:
Sometimes we do things not because we need to, but because we want to. Because we really REALLY want to. Because for months or even years, we’ve wanted to. Because something deep inside our tiny reptilian brains screams out in a voice that cannot be ignored, “Penetrate my bottom!”
And if you are wise, if you love your ass (and why wouldn’t you love your ass?) you will listen to that part of your brain, because (and this is the secret) ass sex feels really great to some people. It feels really great to some men and some women. It feels really great to some straight folks and some not-straight folks.
It doesn’t feel better than vaginal sex, nor does it feel worst than vaginal sex. It just feels different. It feels different in the same way that oral sex feels different than vaginal sex. It feels different in the same way that blue looks different from red. It feels different in the same way that lasagna tastes different from steak.
None of those things are intrinsically better or worse. They are just different.
If you are among those folks for whom anal sex feels really great, you’ll know what I mean, Annie. You’ll know exactly why it’s worth the effort to prepare your ass (and your mind) for anal sex. You’ll know exactly why you devote the time to working with your partner toward anal sex.
You do it because buttsex feels really great, and it feels really great to share that really great feeling with your partner.
And the only way you’ll know if you are one of the folks who loves anal sex is if you try anal sex.
But Annie, please don’t have anal sex until you know you want to try. When you are ready to try, a small voice in your head will start begging. You’ll be enjoying your traditional sexual activities when suddenly you’ll hear, “Play with me, please!”
And you’ll discover that it’s your ass begging for attention. If that happens, consider exploring buttsex.
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Monday, August 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Gentlemen, if you’ve got a modicum of self-confidence about your skillz with teh butt secks and you’re pretty sure you’re not hurtin’ the lady or anything, yet she still seems unduly and persistently reluctant, it may help to remember that women, or at least Always Aroused Girl, sometimes worry about odd things at odd times:
For all the apparent confidence I might seem to have about buttsex, there have been times that it has completely terrified me.
Not because of the pain aspect. It’s never felt painful. Instead, I worry about poo.
Rationally, I know my bottom is simply confused. It’s so conditioned to interpreting that particular sensation as needing to use the facilities that I get panicky when I’m first entered. I worry that poo will make an appearance, even though I know there’s none there. I worry even though I know that my partner would still like me even if we had a minor poo-tastrophe.
I know those things, and yet I do more than my share of panicking. However, the longer I have successful buttsex, the more my confidence grows.
Not directly related to the above point, but I’m going to quote from later in the same post just for fun:
I gushed, and then I came in earnest. It was one of those orgasms that froze me in place and clenched every muscle in my pelvis. Apparently it felt pretty good to my friend too, because he wrapped his hand around my throat, clamped his teeth on my earlobe and moaned hard.
I nearly lost an earlobe and an eardrum but I didn’t care.
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Tuesday, July 31st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Why do people pay for porn on the internet, when you can get so much for free?
It’s a fair question. But before you can answer it, it’s important to understand that there are two different kinds of pay-for-porn sites on the internet.
The first kind, the kind that I find most interesting, is the kind that has exclusive, unique content. These sites either shoot their own pictures and video to get the stuff they want to sell, or they work with a producer who is willing to sell porn to them (and them only) for the paysite’s exclusive use.
Paying for that kind of porn is pretty much a no-brainer, if it’s the kind of porn you like. It only comes from one place, and if you pay, you get it fresh and served up complete, at the best available resolutions, properly labeled and with any supporting prose that may come with it. Sure, all that content will be everywhere on the internets next week, but you’ll have to hunt it down piecemeal, deal with short clips and incomplete photosets and generally have a lower quality experience. Lots of folks have the money to get what they want, when they want it, in the best available format. Subscriptions make sense for that, and that’s the target market for the paysite ads and affiliate links you’ll usually find some of on ErosBlog.
And then there’s the other kind of paysite, the cookie cutter kind. There are a metric buttload of these out there. These sites buy non-exclusive photos and video from all kinds of porn distributors, throw them up behind three or four custom “tour” pages, and start selling subscriptions. These sites may or may not ever get updated, but your credit card rebills will continue until you cancel (not always a smooth and easy process).
Why do people sign up for these? Really, two answers. The first is instant gratification — they generally do have a small pile of porn behind the pay gate that matches what’s on the tour. If you just want to see that, your seven dollar trial is no different than buying a magazine based on liking the cover. Assuming you are good about canceling after the trial, it could make sense.
The second answer, of course, is lack of market sophistication. You could be confusing the cookie cutter sites with the “real thing” — and hope, or imagine, that you’ll find an updated supply of quality porn inside once you’ve ponied up. A lot of the cookie cutter sites market themselves very aggressively, and there’s real potential for market confusion.
The purpose of this post is to share with my readers a revealing Ebay auction, which is marketing the remnants of an adult webmaster business featuring those cookie cutter sites. (If you don’t have access to the adult areas on Ebay, the seller references “full details” on the adult webmaster boards, and a quick search turns up this alternate link.)
Basically, what’s for sale is an affiliate program and the mostly empty shell of fourteen cookie-cutter paysites, only one of which is being sold with the dirty pictures that make it a going concern. The real assets are the domains (mostly pretty poor quality from an investment standpoint, like hungarianxxx.com), the email lists (emails of former and current customers, emails of former and current affiliates), the traffic to the domains, and a flow of “rebills” from existing customers.
What makes this auction interesting to me is the implicit admission in several places that the sites themselves are worthless shit. The quotes below give you the flavor:
Here’s some info about EZA Cash. After a decade in the business, I want to get out of owning adult sites and focus on my freelance writing and other ventures. I’m not looking for a fortune for these sites. The exclusive content that comes with CumFacedAsians cost around $10k to shoot and the design of that site was another $2k by one of the top designers in the biz at the time (Michael Alden/Zaynee Creations). It converts very nicely when the tour is updated regularly.
[I believe that’s code for “If the tour pages are changed regularly so that folks don’t realize this is the same site they harvested all the dirty pictures from four months ago.” — Bacchus]
EZA Cash is a CCBill affiliate program that was opened in 2003 with the launch of CumFacedAsians. More sites were added on a regular basis until the current lineup of 14 paysites was reached. The affiliate program currently has over 3,000 webmasters signed up, and we haven’t e-mailed these affiliates with hosted galleries or encouraged them to send traffic since 2005. Still, there is plenty of affiliate traffic coming to the sites and that would greatly increase with a couple of mailings and some fresh promo material. CumFacedAsians, the flaship site, has 10 exclusive 30 minute bj videos and 10 exclusive photo sets (all of the content used in the design elements of the tour is exclusive, so this site wouldn’t need redesigned to be usable).
[The guy has been operating for four years with just five hours of video and ten photosets. Such a value for members! — Bacchus]
The rest of the paysites on EZA Cash are non-exclusive and I do not have the rights to transfer that content, nor do I wish to try to negotiate those rights. I am selling the domains and traffic ONLY, no content or designs. To summarize, the only designs included with this auction are CumFacedAsians and ezacash.com. You do not get designs or content for any of the other paysite domains I’m including. The buyer will have to use their own content and designs to quickly throw up new hosted galleries and paysites on these domains in order to keep from losing traffic.
[Translation: Any old shit will do, that’s all that’s ever been there. — Bacchus]
There are 70 active members on the CCBill account right now rebilling at $19.95-24.95 a month, plus new members still sign up on a daily basis. The retention of these new members is very low (most cancel their trials), so a new members area should increase revenue by quite a large margin.
Gross sales (not including upsells, ads in the members area, cross-sales, pop-ups, etc. – base CCBill memberships only):
2007 Sales – $13,508.70 (so far)
2006 – $36,057.40
2005 – $50,548.30 (Stopped updating and working on the sites in 2005)
2004 – $65,388.11
2003 – $50,935.71 (Year the sites were opened)
Basically, you are buying some nice domains, some traffic, a CCBill account with rebilling members, 10 exclusive Asian videos and photo sets, and a nice amount of existing affiliates.
I find the economics fascinating. Stopped all work on the sites two years ago, still has seventy poor suckers whose credit cards are rebilling monthly, still gets new suckers signing up every day, but the cookie cutter sites are so obviously stale and dead that most cancel immediately.
And yet, this is funny, too, because of the small-scale thinking. It’s not dishonest or a scam, exactly, but it’s a line of work akin to direct mail advertising; sell something cheap and almost worthless for quite a bit more than it’s worth, pocket profits, work like hell to find new suckers because none of your one-time customers turn into regular customers, which as every businessman knows is where the money is. In that kind of business you have to swim hard just to stay even, and if you ever stop swimming (rounding up new suckers) you sink like a rock. Real paysites, with real exclusive quality content, make money on an entirely different scale.
Note that the owner is getting out of the business to “focus on his freelance writing.” Which is the employment equivalent of a federal cabinet member resigning “to spend more time with my family” or a pretty girl turning you down for dinner on Friday night because she “has to wash her hair.”
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Sunday, July 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is like that hoary old story about the girl and the dog and the basement. Only, presumably true. (Because why would Dominatrix Next Door make this up?)
Yesterday a client asked me to smother him with peanut butter.
This was bewildering, but it was not objectionable, either. I gamely put on a pair of gloves, smeared peanut butter on my palms, and clamped them over his mouth.
He squirmed a lot and carried on some vague, muffled roleplay about punishment and begging. “Can’t hear you! No one’s going to help you! You’re just going to have to take it,â€? I declared, refreshing the peanut butter whenever it looked like it was melting down his chin.
He seemed happy. I couldn’t understand what he was on about, but I’m never too worried about a man whose hands are both free to jerk off.
Reprinted here as a reminder. You don’t have to understand a kink to be sanguine about it.
I’m never too worried about anybody whose hands are both free to jerk off.
Thanks to Spanking Blog for the link.
Thursday, June 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
There’s an interesting “urban legend” quality to the story surround this photograph of a hot model whose belly button has been photoshopped away by evil villains unknown:
If you google around, you can find the photo in dozens of places. Source links, when given, all seem to lead back to here. And nobody knows anything except the oddly-specific-yet-completely-unsourced text there:
Can you believe that?! This brazilian model “lost” her belly button as the Playboy magazine editors were retouching her body curves. The mistake went unnoticed, and the magazine sold 605,000 copies that month… lots of readers got pissed off when they realized they were wasting money on fake pictures.
I wonder why they put so much effort on photoshopping their girls, when most of them need no retouching at all!
Do you notice how much in common this has with an urban legend? There are curiously specific details in a story which has no verifiable source information whatsoever. No date for the magazine in which this photo supposedly appeared despite oddly specific sales figures, no link to a photo gallery, and nary a one of those “pissed off readers” identified.
Now, photoshop flails do happen, as ErosBlog has been documenting since the beginning. And it’s entirely possible that this story is real. But my suspicious mind tells me that the photoshopping in question — and the construction of that plausible-but-unsourced story — may be the work of a clever link baiter.
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Friday, June 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This has to be a troll / prank post. It has to be. Please, nobody could be so stupid, it has to be.
Please?
If it were real, it would be the ultimate answer to that “why are men always chasing those dumb bimbos, the ones so dumb they can’t breathe without reminders” complaint you sometimes hear from smart women:
I have a really flat butt. My boyfriend read that anal sex will help make it bigger, but only if he shoots his sperm deep inside. We used to have anal sex sometimes. He always wore a condom before. Now we have anal sex and he shoots really deep inside me and i keep it there.
I think I like this even if it doesn’t make my butt biggerer. He says my butt does look bigger, but I can’t tell. Has anyone else heard of thjis? Will his sperms in my butt make it bigger?
Via Sexoteric.
Sunday, June 10th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
If your grasp of mythology is sub-par like mine, you might sometimes wonder “What is it with all these images of naked women and swans?”
For all the answers you might want, there’s an extended discussion (with many many images) at Silent Porn Star.
All you’re going to get for an answer here is a Yeats poem and a strangely menacing rear-entry swan:
Leda And The Swan, by William Butler Yeats, 1928
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
Monday, May 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
For your viewing pleasure, the United States Bureau of Prisons presents its training video for strip searches.
Including several phrases you never want to hear from a government employee: “Bend forward for me please, and spread your buttocks.”
Link via Sensible Erection.
Friday, April 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From Journey Into Submission, a conversation on what happens when you attempt to economize on sex toys:
Somehow the conversation veered way off track.
“Butt plug and ball gag?” someone asked, echoing the last person’s statement.
“How about a butt plug ball gag?” another person asked.
“Ewwww! That’s gross!” a third chimed in.
I tried to hide my face in my hand and ignore the flush rising to my cheeks. Mr Stern looked down at me kneeling at his feet, taking in the banter.
“A butt plug ball gag. Hmmm…” he said, tapping my forehead with his finger. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Two nights before I had been laying naked on his bed, tied wrists to thighs, with Rachel on one side and Mr Stern on the other…
“Did I tell you what I did to her a few weeks ago?” Mr Stern asked Rachel. I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see but I assume she shook her head.
“I sent her to the grocery store with a butt plug in her cunt,” he said. Rachel laughed.
“Did she keep it in the whole time or did it fall out at the store?” she asked.
“Tell her, slut. Open your eyes, look at Rachel, and tell her if it stayed in the whole time,” he ordered, pulling my hair to force my head back. I swallowed hard, tried to focus and suppressed a giggle that suddenly threatened to bubble up.
“It stayed in the whole time,” I said, meeting her eyes. She nodded wisely. I’m sure I was blushing fiercely at the crudeness of the conversation.
“Which one was it, slut? Was it this one?” Mr Stern asked after a minute, climbing back onto the bed. I shifted my gaze back to him and saw the black butt plug in his hand.
“Yes, Mr Stern, that’s it,” I said. He reached over and pressed it against my lips. I instinctively opened my mouth and he slid it in. Since I had been the one to clean it, I was as sure as I could be that it was clean. Besides, Mr Stern is a self proclaimed germophobe, he was not liable to do anything that actually exposed me to yickiness.
“Have you been practicing deep throating your dildos so you can take my whole cock in?” he asked as the toy went past my tongue.
I shook my head no, unable to speak with the butt plug deep in my throat. It was just small enough to fit in my mouth but there was no room to talk.
“Slut, you need to practice. Let’s see what you can do with this. I’m going to fuck your face with it,” he said, forcing it to the back of my throat. I tilted my head back to allow deeper access. The flared end of the plug rested against my lips and Mr Stern held it with his fingertips. I moaned as he shoved it in and out.
“Does that turn you on, you fucking slut?” he asked. He loomed over me, watching my reaction.
I nodded as well as I could considering my position.
“I bet she’s imagining it’s my cock. That gets her wetter than anything else,” Mr Stern told Rachel. “Is that what you’re doing, slut?”
I nodded again. It was that very idea – of his cock in my mouth – that was turning me on. I wanted to deep throat his cock the way I was letting the plug slide all the way in. I stuck my tongue out a little further, wrapping it around the widest part of the plug.
Mr Stern started telling Rachel how much he enjoys it when I suck his cock, about how I do something with my tongue that is just perfect, and how I was showing off now in hopes of enticing him into putting his cock in my mouth. I concentrated on not gagging and making my display look good, for exactly the reason he had guessed.
Saturday, April 14th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Rosario Dawson and Rose McGowan may not be starlets any more, but they’ve been making the “almost-naked-starlets” round of the “lad mags” (you, know, Cosmo-for-men titles like Maxim and FHM) for quite awhile now. They were very watchable in Grindhouse and they don’t hurt the eyes on the cover of Rolling Stone, either:
I find it funny that Rosario Dawson asked her brother whether she was hot enough to pose almost-nude:
Dawson admits she checked with her brother, who DJs at a strip club, before agreeing to bare all for the publication: “He was like, ‘Well, you know, I saw you (naked) in ALEXANDER (and) you’re pretty fit, so that’s alright.”
“You’re pretty fit”, I’m laughing my butt off. Well, I guess that’s as close as a loyal brother can come to saying “You’re hot as hell and everybody wants to see your naked ass on the cover of Rolling Stone.”
Thanks to World Sex News for the link.
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Wednesday, January 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A while back I noticed a Bondage Blog post called Hanging Like Ripe Fruit. The post (illustrated by some bondage porn from Hogtied.com) featured a suspension tie reminiscent of a scene from The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, a famous BDSM novel by Ann Rice. Unfortunately Bondage Blog only posted one picture, so in a moment of boredom, I went back to Anne Rice to help flesh it out:
“Double her, for punishment,” said Lord Gregory. “I think a real punishment is in order.”
Princess Lizetta gave several high-pitched groans. They seemed both anger and protest. She seemed not to have bargained for this, and as she was carried ahead of Beauty and Lord Gregory into the Hall of Punishments, the Pages quickly affixed leather cuffs to her wrists and ankles, each cuff with a heavy metal hook imbedded in it.
Now she was raised, struggling, to a great low beam that spanned the room, her wrists hung from a hook above her head and then her legs brought straight up in front of her so that her ankles were fixed to the same hook. The was, in fact, bent double. Her head was then forced between her calves, so that Beauty could see her face clearly. And a leather strap was bound around here, securely pressing her upturned legs against her torso.
But the most cruel and frightening aspect of it for Beauty was the exposure of the Princess’s secret parts, for she was hung so that anyone could see her full sex with its pink lips and its dark hair even to the tiny brown orifice between her buttocks. And all this just below her scarlet face. Beauty could imagine no worse exposure and she looked down timidly, glancing up again and again to the girl whose suspended body moved slightly as with a current in the air, the leather links at her wrists and ankles creaking.
…
The man in velvet had begun to stroke Princess LIzetta’s sex with a small instrument that was, as so much here, covered in smooth black leather. This was a three-pronged rod that somewhat resembled a hand, and as soon as he teased the helpless Princess, she began to struggle in her bonds.
Beauty understood at once what was happening. The Princess’s pink sex, terrifying to Beauty as it hung so unprotected, appeared to swell, to ripen. Beauty could see tiny droplets of moisture appear on it.
…
“Lord Gregory,” the Lady said, “you must think of something special.” Then to Beauty’s horror, the lady reached out delicately and fastidiously and pinched Princess LIzetta’s pubic lips hard so that they exuded moisture. Then she pinched the right lip and the left, and the girl winced with pain and misery.
Lord Gregory had meantime snapped his fingers for the Lord with the iron clawlike hand, and whispered something Beauty could not hear. “It will strengthen her punishment.”
And now the Lord appeared with a little pot and a brush and as the Lady stepped back, he took the brush and bathed Princess LIzetta’s naked organ in a heavy syrup. A few droplets fell to the floor, and the princess again made known her misery. She sobbed softly behind her gag, but the Lady only smiled rather innocently and shook her head. “It will attract any flies we have about,” Lord Gregory said, “and if we have none it shall produce its inevitable itching as it dries. It is quite uncomfortable.”
The Lady did not seem satisfied. Her pretty and innocent face was smooth however and she sighed. “I suppose it will do for now, but I wish she were bound with her legs apart to a stake in the garden. Then let the flies and the little insects of the air find her honeyed mouth. She deserves it.”
Although there are no dramatically better views in the short trailer and sample views visible for free without whipping out your credit card, a membership will get you rather a lot more!
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Tuesday, December 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In my Bacchus persona as well as in real life, it’s fair to say I don’t know much about art. But I know what I like:
And if it isn’t pretty girls frolicking naked in the sunshine, I don’t know what it might be. Art, I tell you, art! And the artist is one Charles Joseph Frederic Soulacroix. Here’s a slightly larger version.
Now, who brought the butter?
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Sunday, December 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This anecdote from The Butterfly Temptress gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “buttering her up”:
His kisses became more insistent and soon we were naked in the moonlight. He’s not big on foreplay but just being close to him was doing enough to warm me up. I laid against him and stroked his hard cock, wishing for all I was worth that I could have him inside of me but I knew it couldn’t happen. He’d never go for making love in my parents house.
He whispered into my ear “I want to be in you. I need to be in your ass.”
I thought I misheard him. I giggled and moved to put my mouth on him. Oral sex wasn’t intercourse, so it didn’t count as sex, right? Yeah right. I was willing to tell myself anything to keep from feeling guilty for being such a hot little whore.
“Get the lube out of the suitcase and hurry up.”
I let his cock slip from my lips and I mumbled something about not packing it because he told me not to worry about it. He pulled me up where I could repeat it again. Then I mentioned that there might be Vaseline in the bathroom in an attempt to keep him in the mood while I thought of something else.
“Go look then come back. I want to fuck your ass so bad.”
I wrapped a blanket around me sarong style and tiptoed into the bathroom. On my hands and knees I rummaged under the sink without success. The medicine cabinet was also without Vaseline or anything that would have worked as lubricant. Knowing full well that I was out of luck, I dashed back to the bedroom to report in.
“There wasn’t anything? Not even baby oil?” he asked in a tone that told me he was quickly losing patience.
I giggled for a minute then replied, “We could always use butter. Or vegetable oil. Maybe even Crisco shortening.” I collapsed against him in a fit of full out laughter. The thought of fucking with baking supplies cracked me up.
“Go get some. Butter or vegetable oil, I don’t care. I’m going to fuck your ass.”
I didn’t believe him until he swatted me on the ass. Then I dressed in my pajama shirt and went to the kitchen. It was quiet as a tomb and I was sure that Mama would appear any minute and ask what I was doing with my hand in her butter bowl. I scooped a rather large amount onto a paper towel then scampered back to our room. For the love of God, I knew right then and there that I was going to hell.
Not only was I about to fornicate in my parents house, I was unmarried. To top it all off, I was about to have unmarried butt sex in my parents house. Now you tell me how the world I was going to answer for that on Judgment Day?
He kissed me full on the mouth and took the paper towel from my hand. My cunt was dripping wet and I wanted him more than ever. I needed him.
He urged me onto all fours and situated himself between my legs. I felt the slippery coolness of the Blue Bonnet at my opening as he fingered my ass. Doing something so shameless made me hotter than I’d been in a long time and he knew it. His breathing was as erratic as mine and I knew that once he had his beautifully buttered cock in my ass he would fill me to overflowing in no time.
With minimal thrusting his cock was in me. Though it was odd, the knowledge that I was having buttered butt sex, it was more comfortable than anal sex had ever been. I felt every twitch, every pulse of him as he worked his manhood in and out of me.
In a matter of seconds we were both on the edge. I felt his slippery fingers slide against my clit and my cunt began to milk his cock in earnest. Moments later he came harder than I can ever remember him coming before.
He laid beside me as I cleaned his now relaxed cock. My body was on fire and my heart was full of love for the man who had just once again helped me check off yet another item on my “To Do Before I Die” list. As he pulled me onto his chest and we drifted off to sleep I couldn’t help but wonder how many other people had intimate and literal knowledge of being buttered up.
Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.
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Saturday, September 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In which Monmouth demonstrates the fine art of gift-giving:
For her 40th birthday, I gave Betty a belated present: A shiny, black hand-poured silicone buttplug, tapered in shape, with a generous bell end at the bottom, just above the recess.
It was destined to fit snugly into her tight, pink anus.
…
I smeared some lube on the puckered opening of her ass, and buried my cock again in the wet depths of her pussy. Betty pressed back against me, driving herself onto my hard shaft, and I slid my thumb experimentally into the lubricated tightness. She let out a deep groan.
“Fuck…” she muttered, and I pulled my thumb out to reach for the plug. Teasing her, I slid it down the slippery crack of her ass, down to the waiting anus, and began to massage her with it, gently. With one hand on her hip, I kept her still, just the tip of my cock still inside her, and pressed the tapered smoothness of the buttplug against the resisting muscle.
“Open up,” I purred. “Show me how you take it in your ass.”
Thursday, September 7th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Anybody in the blogging world is by now familiar with the tired old newspaper column written by a journalist who’s decided it’s time to say “I don’t get blogging, blogs are dull / stupid / inane / written by geeks.” Well, now a British journalist has trotted out that weary formula and plugged in “sex blog” instead of “blog”, writing Sex Blogs: Why Bother? A few sample paragraphs:
I can always just go and pick another of the thousands upon thousands of sex blogs that seem to be girding their loins and penetrating the blogosphere; because let’s face it, they all read the same. It’s all “tensed muscles” this and “moist undercarriage” that: graphic details of the precise curl of some anonyknobber’s merkin and five hundred variants on the concept of “sweaty”.
…
Other personal bloggers choose to write about tube trains and cats and cheese sandwiches; why shouldn’t you write about your own – and I apologise for this in advance – rides, pussies and yes, the contents of your very own lunchbox? Especially, and this must be said, especially when, for a bunch of geeks, you all seem to have rather unbounded sexual proclivities.
Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps I just can’t stand to read because I’m jealous. I’m jealous that a growing community of bloggers want to stand on a table, face the world and shout “Look at me! I’ve got a stiffy!”. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say in return, except perhaps “Well, good for you.”
Sometimes I’m tempted to start up my own anti-sex-blog-blog. None of these glistening thighs and unbelievable multiple orgasms that go on for hours, pits that smell like flowers and sex that never goes wrong – it’ll be called “Fanny-Farts and the Jackhammer Rhythm” – and be a group blog full of tales of bloated post-takeaway sex, grumpy come-on-we’re-supposed-to-be-at-my-mum’s-by-now sex, and sex that you regret as soon as the first button is shucked but do it anyway.
Because what the world needs is more bad sex, described by people whose sexual proclivities are safely and boringly “bounded”. Capital idea!
Thursday, August 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I guffawed (yes, I did, and when was the last time you heard a good old-fashioned guffaw?) when reading A Henchwoman’s Survivalists Guide to Laying Down the Hardline in the Bedroom:
Here are some examples of “unsavoryâ€? male behaviors, questions, and criticisms, and suggested ways to combat them. Take note, I have found a great deal of success using these modes of combat in the sexual battlefield.
Penis-bearing overlord: “Honey, I would really like to do/try anal sex.â€?
Upstart female: “Really? Me too! Why don’t you assume the position, I will be right back with the toys and lube / bar of butter and a broom handle. You’re going to want to relax, babe.â€?
…
Penis-bearing overlord: “I wish you had bigger tits.â€?
Upstart Female: “Well, I wish you had smaller tits and a bigger cock, but I don’t make a big deal about it now, do I?â€?
…
Penis-bearing overlord: “You don’t cook/clean as well as my mom.â€?
Upstart female: “I am sure I don’t suck dick as well as she does either.â€?
Thanks to Mistress Matisse for the link.
Wednesday, August 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fun article that may be of use to a number of you ladies: Miss Vanilla’s Guide to Being A Mistress. It’s a sort of Intro To Femdom 101:
I call it “Miss Vanilla’s” guide because I really want to give people who don’t consider themselves kinky a chance to enjoy this. When I first started getting into it, I was awfully confused and intimidated by the idea of being “dominant.” Would I lose my femininity? Would it make my man less masculine? Would it sour our non-sexual relationship? I will approach all of this from the perspective of someone beginning anew, as best as I can.
…
Techniques! What are some fun ways to let your man know that you’re in control?
“Bondage”. One of the easiest ways to get started is by tying him up. Pros: He’s physically helpless, so you get to focus on breaking his will with your sexiness. Cons: His hands aren’t free, so you have to take a very active role – you can’t easily kill time telling him to pleasure you with his hands!
…
“Pleasure overload.” Let’s face it: Your man thinks you’re hot. Now you’re going to use that to your utter advantage! Make him DESPERATE. Caress his entire body – with your fingers, your tongue, or your feet! Trace your fingertips up his inner thighs. Trace spirals around his penis but don’t touch it yet. Tease his butt, if you’re into that kind of thing (more on that later). Lick, suck and bite his nipples. Tease his dick with your mouth. Exhale deeply into his ear, and suck his earlobes. Be sexy, and he WILL be yours!
Tuesday, August 22nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I do so love porn that tells a story, don’t you? Here’s the lovely bondage model Star, looking at a Hogtied.com photographer with what can only be described as gentle scepticism. I imagine he’s telling her what they are going to do on today’s shoot:
Fast forward several steps — hey, look at porn your own self if you want the whole story — and we find lovely Star on a soft bed in her ball gag and head harness. Very peaceful, very calm, only… does it look to you like she might be a little wide-eyed? Is that a bunny-in-the-road look, would you say?
It turns out, she has good reason to stay very still.
There’s a rope, you see. (Could this be bondage porn without a rope?) One end’s tied to the back of her head harness. The other? Well, turns out it’s tied to, um, er… well, I’m afraid there’s really no way to put this gently. It’s tied to a stainless steel butt hook. Which goes… exactly where you are afraid it goes. See for yourself. See?
So now, a great many of us can go on about our daily duties while knowing more about the depths of human kinkiness and perversity than we knew when we woke up this morning. And if you get bored sitting at your desk today, just nod your head a little bit and try to imagine how it would feel at the other end of the rope.
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Tuesday, August 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It has been, by all reports, hot in New York City this summer. Or as Chelsea Girl puts it:
Step outside and it feels as if you’ve entered a hot, wet oven. You’re the pat of butter on the baked potato that is Gotham. It’s hot, hot, hot heat, wet and hot, and it cleaves to you, sweat-pressing your skin and enervating you with its doughy-moist succubus embrace.
You need to go somewhere the sun don’t shine. You need to find your place in the shade. You need to embrace your inner arctic. You need to stick an ice cube up your ass.
Yes, of course. My very first thought. Only, somehow, not.
Anyway, being a woman, she has to do it in the bathtub.
Which means she has to clean the tub first. Foreplay, I guess.
Nine paragraphs later (!) she gets to the good part:
You take a cube, you rest it against your asshole and you feel the immediate pucker of the asskiss, that quick inward convulsion, that wrinkle-crinkle in and up. And then with a deep breath, surely, remorselessly, unmercifully you use your index and middle fingers to push the ice cube into your ass.
The shock of the ice. Silver sliver ice-nine-esque core radiating. Like the plunge into a mountain stream from the inside. A swift round shot of pleasure/pain/pleasure.
Your breath inhales ragged-like. You imagine it’s not unlike the sensation of crack, only pure body.
Tuesday, July 25th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
ErosBlog is not the only place where the puppy girl fetish has been mentioned; although I haven’t seen too many web resources devoted to canine roleplaying, there’s enough collars and leashes sold to people with no dogs to suggest it’s a fairly popular game. Does your human puppy (I suppose puppyboys are just as likely) need a waggable rubber buttplug dog tail?
The sales copy seems aimed at eager-to-please doggies:
Show your Master you are pleased by wagging your Wiggly Rubber Dog Tail. A perfect tail for puppy play, this anal plug is made out firm yet wiggly black rubber, with a 4″ insertable oval shaped plug and about 8″ of tail to wag. Quality rubber craftsmen designed this plug to stay put and be worn for hours. This well made dog tail compliments any human dog behind. Wear it and be sure to get lots of treats.
Woof!
2021 update: These toys are long unavailable, but there’s a similar tail in this puppy play set.
Thursday, July 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The reason Erosblog doesn’t cover more mooning stories is that available photography usually features normal guys with semi-hairy butts — not a particular erotic trigger for your humble reporter, nor indeed, so far as I know, for any appreciable and identifiable fraction of the blog readership. However, I must admit that the Moon Amtrak website features one nice side view of a well-turned female bottom:
Thanks to Functional Ambivalent for the link.
Thursday, July 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Via Boing Boing comes a modern work of art commemorating a historical incident in which female transportee prisoners conducted a mass mooning of a prison official:
As the story goes:
“…on a sudden the three hundred women turned right round and at one impulse pulled up their clothes shewing their naked posteriors which they simultaneously smacked with their hands making a loud and not very musical noise.”
Sunday, July 9th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Wegglywoo is not sure she’s happy about this, but I think it’s kinda cute:
when i woke up in the morning, all the buttons were undone.
that was funny, i thought. i’m sure i buttoned those up last night.
the next night, the same thing. i securely buttoned myseln up, and woke up in the morning unbuttoned.
the third night, callan got clumsy, and woke me up as he was unbuttoning me.
i pretended to be asleep still.
his hands moved slowly over the fabric, like warm spiders. he took an age to undo each of the buttons, timing his movements to coincide with my (faked) sleep-breathing, so as not to wake me.
once he had all the buttons undone, he snuggled more deeply into me and went to sleep.
Thursday, June 22nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The last time the subject of female ejaculation came up on this blog, I had to take firm measures with the delete button to prevent the comments from deteriorating into what I called “sexual ignorance and doubt”. So I’m delighted to present Susie Bright’s findings, from when she was asked by AVN to provide her expert opinion:
Holy Hellcat! Yes, this is real. It is also extraordinary. These women are on a mission, and they keep themselves pumped up, pulsating their clits and masturbating with “no fake about it” intensity, coming again and again and again and again. And again.
…
Their clits are so engorged that their whole pelvic area swells up with definition. The room is soaked. They roar like lions and shoot like geysers. Camille Paglia with her “arc of transcendence” notion about male pissing contests really needs to see this.
There’s much, much more.
Wednesday, May 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Let’s be honest. Usually when a sex toy seller sends me a product for review, the best reaction I can find is a profound shrug. (It can be worse; I actually had one outfit send me a pair of size four stripper shoes, complete with transparent acrylic spike heels. The only person I know who would enjoy these just turned thirteen without outgrowing her princess complex, and I can’t figure out how to get them into her possession without her parents thinking I’m some sort of horrid creep, so that’s right out.)
Generally it’s: Oh, look, yet another vibrator, only this one smells like vinyl apricots and falls apart when you press it against…anything. Whatever. Batteries not included? Trashcan.
So I’ll confess to some skepticism when I got a package from Wild In Secret. But I like opening packages, so what the hell. It’s free stuff, how bad can it be?
Ask rather: How good?
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the first vibrator I ever saw that makes me feel the way all men feel when they first acquire a fine high-quality power tool. Behold, the Phantasy Sinnflut:
This is honest-to-God German engineering in a sex toy. First impression: Pretty! Nice color, friendly shape, nubbins on the end are kinda erotic-looking:
Second impression: Feels nice! The shape fits easily in the hand, and the texture (medical-grade silicone) feels more like flesh than the usual hard plastic or vinyl.
Third impression: Whoa! Is that a charging base? Is this thing rechargable, like my trusty Black & Decker electric screwdriver that I bought in 1997 and still use every week? Muah-ha-ha-hah!
Sure enough. No batteries, never again! Wheeee! And hey, the prong that fits in the charging base doesn’t have any exposed contacts, it must use inductance the way the fancy new electric toothbrushes do. Does that mean the Sinnflut is waterproof? Lemme check: Yup, the website says it is, although, sensibly enough, the user instructions (in four languages) are very clear about keeping the charging base out of the bathroom and away from water. Duh, that part plugs into the wall.
Now let’s fiddle with it. (Alas, The Nymph is out of town, so I can’t subject the Sinnflut — or The Nymph, for that matter — to full operational field testing.) OK, that little button is the on-off switch, nice buzz, but just one speed? That can’t be right. (Fiddle fiddle.) Aha! The nubbin that goes in the charge is also a speed control. Press it sideways and this thing goes from zzz to buzz to BZZZZZZ to “ARGH, I should stop pressing it against my face because my teeth are buzzing and my fillings are shaking loose.” This thing goes to eleven. (And past, it turns out — there are a couple of intermittent vibration modes you get if you press the stud again once it’s at max power.) Bottom line: way more powerful than a typical battery vibe, feels more like a hand-held plugin “electric massager”. But dials way down to a gentle hum if you like that sort of thing.
I’ve gotten some nifty free swag in the mail since starting this blog, but right now I think the Phantasy Sinnflut may be the coolest sex toy ever sent to me for review. Once The Nymph gets home, I’ll try to update my first impressions with some useability reports.
Friday, May 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Mistress Matisse’s latest column offers instruction on The Gentle Art of Girl Fisting:
I vividly recall the first time I ever had my whole hand inside a woman’s pussy. I was 19, and my girlfriend was a sexy butch woman with an appetite for deep penetration. One night — we were on the living room floor, I believe — I had all four fingers inside her and was fucking her as hard as I could, trying to match the tempo of her fast-pumping hips. In our thrashing tangle of limbs, my hand pivoted from the usual thumb-to-the-clit position to a diagonal approach. I instinctively pressed my thumb against my palm so my fingernail wouldn’t jab her. As I did, she thrust herself against me like a roller-derby queen butting aside a competitor, and to my surprise and momentary alarm, I felt my whole hand slide into her.
“Baby, are you okay?”
“Don’t fucking stop!”
So I didn’t.
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Tuesday, May 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been accumulating a little file of the oddest and most disturbing spam subject lines from amongst the zillion porn spams a day that I get. It’s time to share:
Olga gets butt hole rammed and facial blasted
Ouch! Poor Olga! Is she a porn model or a very unfortunate quarry worker?
barely legal perverts gangbanged by wild bears
Zoophilia with bears? Gangbanging bears? Who’s the target demographic here?
watch hot chicks get smacked around
Uh, no thanks. Also, please die.
correct penis oil
Important to get this right, because incorrect penis oil makes your dick fall off.
lesbians piss and smoke
They do? Why yes, I suppose some of them do. Your point is?
Urgent Notification #34419569771119606167
Er, if you’ve already sent out 34 quintillion notifications, you’ve been at it quite awhile. How urgent can this one really be?
Do you want killing sweet viirgin girls ?
That would be a big negatory, Bob. Geez, what a waste of sweet virgin girls. A few other useful projects for them I can think of, if they’re of age and willing, but killing them? Piss off.
Wait, are you the same guy who wrote to me about smacking hot chicks around? You must not have got the memo about women and sex. You know, sex, the fun stuff? Where nobody gets hurt unless they asks very nicely?
Ultra Allure Pheromones will kill her
I guess they don’t work so good then. Have you considered toxic waste disposal rather than direct email sales? Wait, did you buy this stuff from the guy who claims his penis oil is correct?
Jasmine burn anal pumped and cum blasted
Does she work with Olga? Has anybody thought to call OSHA?
Young Bitches so refined and charming!
Which is it? Are they bitches? Or charming? I don’t think I’ve ever met a charming bitch. For that matter, I mostly try to avoid bitches. Don’t you think you’d get better response if you omitted the “bitch” descriptor from your advertising for these refined and charming young women?
Thursday, April 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here we see a sex blog writer (a mature male specimen of Bloggis Sexualis) hard at work in his natural habitat:
No, ladies and gentlemen, that’s not me — it came to me as a circulating email funny. I have only two more words to say:
WAFFLE BUTT!
Saturday, March 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes I have to link to an article (like this one on playing with anal toys) as much for the post title as for the content. How can you not read an article entitled A Spy In The House Of Ass?
My girl’s eyes grow wide as I remove the fatter butt plug from its packaging and brandish it before her. “You wanna put that in me?”
“C’mon, it’s not that big. I had mine in for like half an hour.”
She relents. I watch, fascinated, as her little asshole expands to accommodate the plug at its widest cross-section and then collapses around the narrow neck above the base, locking the toy into position. Leslie sighs. I pull her to the edge of the mattress, push her legs against her chest and plunge into her cunt. “Now you have both holes filled, you little slut!”
And when she comes the butt plug shoots out of her, bouncing off the wooden floor like a rubber ball. We both giggle. I switch holes — if the butt plug won’t keep her rear-end occupied I will — and it’s not long before I burst inside her, my knees threatening to buckle.
Monday, March 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A while back I mocked a sex spam missive that began “Has your cum ever dribbled and you wish it had shot out?” I wondered:
Nobody expects very much from spam. But most of it makes at least a certain sort of sense. Bigger penis? Sure, there’s a market. Harder penis? Why not? Breast enlargements? Cheaper mortgages? Debt reduction? Fake Rolex watches? I probably know somebody who wants each of these things.
But an increased ejaculate volume? Who do I know that worries about their inability to make a big enough mess during sex? No, on second thought, don’t tell me.
The comments then were sufficient to suggest to me that this particular sexual anxiety is out there, even though it had never crossed my own mind during the course of a long and anxious life. Now comes Perge Modo addressing the same question with actual sensible suggestions, as opposed to dubious herbal solutions. He offers up the possibility of engaging in temporary and strategic abstinence to build up a metaphorical head of steam, and further suggests prostate manipulation and/or interruption of ejaculation as possible approaches. A flavor of his sophisticated prose:
Have you tried having your prostate manipulated while preparing to shoot? Most guys who want to stick a finger up your butt have no idea what they are looking for. They are as rude as firemen hatcheting their way into a burning house without so much as a pause at the door. (“Hey! It’s not locked, you jerks, just turn the handle.”) Every so often though, you’ll encounter an expert who can find your prostate and apply just the right amount of coaxing pressure to send you into a state of total and subjegated disarmament that will enhance the finale.
I guess that’s further proof (if the spam were not enough) that some guys really do worry about this.
Saturday, February 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This is a post about two smiles:
Those are the two smiles of the lovely Sarah Blake, who does bondage modeling for Hogtied.com. I want you to look at those smiles and study the differences between them. No matter if you’re kinky or vanilla (but especially if you’re vanilla) I want you to remember those smiles the next time you hear a preacher or a politician ranting and raving against the evils of sadomasochism, sexual depravity, and sadistic abuse. He’s talking about Sarah and her delicious, joyful smile.
All the pictures in this post come from this shoot, which you can view for yourself if you want to see Sarah tied up and, er, entertained, in some astonishing ways. I’m not going to reproduce those pictures here, although I will be describing the entertainment. All I’m showing you are her smiles (and one gasp of ecstasy.)
Let’s start with the first smile:
This is the “before” picture, taken at the beginning of the photo shoot. It’s a pretty smile — Sarah’s a pretty woman — but it’s a professional model’s smile. A little bit forced, a lot posed, and as artificial as a flower arrangement. This could be the yearbook photo, the portfolio photo, even the drivers license photo. This smile started when Sarah was young, and you can still see in it the obedient girl who learned what to do when the nice man behind the camera told her to smile.
Sarah covers a lot of kinky miles between that smile and the next one.
If you view more of the shoot, you’ll see Sarah with her ankles crossed and tied in front of her chin. Her miniskirt has puddled around her hips, but her panties are still on, so it’s a fairly innocent bondage image. Sarah’s wild ride is just beginning.
Moving rapidly along, we soon see her in the same pose without her undies, with a glass vacuum jar firmly secured to her tenderest bits. The ride accelerates; in another view, she’s on her knees wearing a heavy wooden set of stocks, with her pony tail tied back to — is there a nicer word for this device? — a butt hook that’s securely hooked in (you guessed it) her butt. The rear view of the same scene shows some welts where she’s been caned.
Moving along. In the next view, she’s been stood up, and a metal-pipe-and-ball-gag arrangement has been affixed to her wooden stocks to complicate her life. Some nipple clips with heavy round lead fishing weights are being clamped onto her nipples. When the cameraman steps back, we can see that she’s balanced on tiptoes, with a pole-and-dildo arrangement to encourage her to stay there.
The next couple of photos show a new scene, with Sarah on her stomach in a tight hogtie on two butcher-block tables. Her hands and feet are pressed and tied together, there’s a suspension rope around her elbows pulling her up in what have to be uncomfortable ways, and she’s wearing a red ball gag in a harness that’s making her drool.
*CLICK* Now she’s on her side, in rope bondage, with clothespins on her nipples and a big vibrator working her tender bits.
*CLICK* Now she’s in suspension — an astonishing upside-down posture that looks like gymnastics, only much sexier. Still with clothespins on her nipples.
Moving on. The website describes and explains the next scene thusly:
Sarah also has a tragic secret, she cannot stop cumming if she is stuck on a vibrator. So viewers, be warned! The last scene is a long intense forced orgasm scene until Sarah is vibrated senseless.
What we see is a hard wooden chair with a big vibrator duct-taped to it. Sarah’s strapped onto the chair (and the vibrator) with some well-worn and very-impressive-looking leather belts. She’s clearly enjoying herself, if a bit lost in the sensation:
So what’s been the point of all this lurid description? Quite simply this. Unless you’re a serious bondage fiend, someone who plays hard and invests serious time and money into your dungeon equipment, I’ve probably described more than you’re comfortable with. If you’ve got no interest in bondage, if you’ve never even seen a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, you might be pretty horrified by most of what I’ve described. If you’ve played at bedroom bondage, own one pair of cuffs and a riding crop, you might be fascinated by some of the pictures but scared or repelled by others of them. If you’re seriously kinky and have a home dungeon of your own, you might appreciate most or all the photos, but even then there’s probably something that’s not quite your cup of tea, or that’s too risky or troublesome to be worth trying in your book. But, whereever you fall on that spectrum, and however sincerely you might say of one of the depicted activities “that’s not for me”, I want you to focus on the last picture in the photoset, Sarah wearing nothing but her rope marks. Here’s Sarah’s exhausted-but-exhilarated second smile:
That’s not just a smile, it’s a grin. There’s more joy and enthusiasm and life in that photo than there is in a dozen of the professional smiles we saw at the top. Sarah, despite having suffered through some intensely uncomfortable bondage positions, has had a wonderful time.
And that visible joy, my friends, is what the Grundies want to kill when they rail against “sadism, masochism, and abuse.” I suppose they don’t even know about the joy — they may honestly think it’s all about objectification and degradation and money and feelthy perverts — but I don’t want you, dear readers, to have the same excuse. You’ve seen the two smiles. Now you know.
The next time you hear somebody railing against the feelthy perverts, you’re to remember the smiles. Even if the specific activity under discussion grosses you out, because it’s not your kink and you can’t understand why it could be anyone’s, remember the smiles. Remember Sarah’s visible joy. We don’t need to understand or appreciate a kink to understand that smile.
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Friday, January 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s the ultimate (no, wait, make that the penultimate) in model service. The sexy-and-she-knows-it Terry Lightspeed strikes a pose, and then, knowing that if you were there, you wouldn’t be able to resist running your hand over her ass for a good squeeze, does it for you. How thoughtful is that?
Thursday, December 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I have received via email from The Girl an entertaining set of instructions for properly and accurately measuring a penis. The instructions for measuring won’t offer much that’s new to anyone who ever attended a quantitative methods class, or, for that matter, who showed up in pre-school on the day they handed out the little plastic rulers. No indeed, the best parts of the article are the sardonic illustrated instructions on how not to do it:
Figure 2: Outer Limits Method
Incorrect
In this view from behind, notice how the starting and ending points of the measure again give a false
impression of the usable portion of the penis itself.
The penis
is never supposed to be measured to the geographic center of the ass pucker.
|
Thursday, December 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
No, not literally crapping; this isn’t that sort of website.
Over on Figleaf’s Real Adult Sex, Figleaf posted a long entry about folks who come to blogs where there are nekkid pictures, only to leave strongly derisive comments about the nekkid pictures in question. He likened such folks to trolls, and suggested deleting the body-critical comments plus the standard troll cure: ignoring them.
I posted a long comment over there, which this post mostly duplicates, not because I disagree with the prescription (I don’t) but because I don’t think the nasty body-critical comments are really deliberate trolling behavior. A true troll knows he’s a troll; these guys (and they are always guys) are just bringing to the internet their “normal” obnoxious behavior from daily life.
Here at ErosBlog, I’ve always been ruthless about deleting anything that attempts to drag down my attempt at maintaining a body-positive, sex-positive, kink-friendly editorial tone. For example, awhile back I posted some public nude shots of Kirsten Dunst, and attracted a whole host of folks commenting on how ugly her breasts supposedly are. She’s pretty by any reasonable measure, so what’s up with that? I dunno, but the ugly comments I had to delete far outnumbered the ones that remain.
What I’ve learned running a sex blog is that there are a whole host of guys whose only mode of discourse about bodily appearance is to make a negative comment. I think perhaps it originates in adolescent one-upsmanship; one guy says “Sally’s hot, I’d like to do her” and the other guys all say “No, man, she’s a pig, she’s got a huge ass” as a way of belittling the first guy. However it started, the result is a fairly large class of guys whose reflex response whenever they see an erotic picture is to say something mean and ugly about the body depicted.
It’s clearly an act of emotional aggression, some sort of attempt to establish superiority by expressing contempt for that which other people consider beautiful. An extreme form of this (which I’ve seen in various places on the internet) is the “It’s a tranny” game. The way the “game” is played is to post a picture of an unknown but pretty woman, and then wait until other men admit that the woman shown is lustworthy. Then the trap springs, as the original poster (or others) assert “It’s a tranny!” It doesn’t have to be true; the point is merely to score points by belittling another man’s opinions about sexual attractiveness.
I guess the point of all this is to suggest to other bloggers that they not take it quite so personally. If you post your boobs or butt on your blog and some nasty guy makes a rude comment, it’s possible that he doesn’t hate you specifically and didn’t stop by your blog to cause trouble specifically for you. More likely, he’s just a boorish lout who says “fat ass!” by reflex whenever he sees a pretty butt. It’s not aimed at you at all; it’s male posturing aimed at the other men who are admiring your ass.
Sure, delete his comment, just the way you’d evict a stinky drunk who stumbled into your living room from the street. But don’t take the comments so much to heart, any more than you’d worry about the good opinion of the drunk.
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Saturday, November 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Wow. I just got the new video iPod. Of course I didn’t get it just for viewing porn, but I’ve got a sex blog thing going on here, so I had to try that out.
Unfortunately, the iTunes store doesn’t sell any worthy porn. No worries; like lots of folks, I’ve got a ton of accumulated little porn clips on my hard drive that I’ve downloaded over the years. Lots of it is 320×240 (the dreaded “postage stamp” size) and doesn’t look like much on a computer screen viewed from twenty-four inches away, but on the stunningly vivid iPod screen held a comfortable distance in front of your face, it ought to look real good. So I’ll just bung my video clips into my iTunes library and get busy viewing, right?
Alas, no. There’s a slight flaw in that plan — video formats. The iPod accepts only two formats; video on the PC comes in many different flavors, virtually none of which match what the iPod wants. You want a good explanation for that, talk to a video geek; I don’t pretend to understand it. There are ways to convert, but they don’t sound easy. I Googled the problem and the “best” solution seemed to be to buy expensive conversion software and then expect to wait a long time as each bit of video gets converted properly. Sorry, but I don’t want it that bad.
So how am I gonna get porn for my iPod?
Fortunately, inspiration struck. You’ll have noticed I’m always posting pictures here that I downloaded from the alt.binaries erotica newsgroups on Usenet; the service I use for that is GUBA, a cheap and friendly sort of search appliance for the Usenet visual content that’s otherwise very difficult to find and download. (If you know how to download dirty movies from Usenet without GUBA, you probably already know how to convert all your files into iPod-friendly formats too, while baking a savory peach pie with your other hand.) Maybe GUBA (I thought hopefully) would have some iPod-friendly dirty movies?
Ding ding ding ding ding! Jackpot. It turns out that GUBA is riding the crest of the iPod porn wave; they have recently added a filter that converts almost all of the video on Usenet into iPod-friendly format, so if it’s been posted to Usenet in the last couple of weeks, you can download it iPod-ready. That’s a LOT of porn, folks; the bigger groups (like alt.binaries.multimedia.erotica) can have 2,500 or more video clips (or even whole movies) at any one time. And there are a metric buttload of different porn groups — one for every imaginable fetish.
When it comes to finding and downloading, nothing could be easier. Just pick your flavor (say, nude celebrities from alt.binaries.multimedia.nude.celebrities) and browse the videos — they make it easy with full-screen “contact sheet” style previews, or you can watch online with a nifty streaming Flash application. Here’s a clip of Halle Berry getting naked and nasty (in a good way) in Monster’s Ball (members-only link, will expire in a couple of weeks):
All you have to do is hit the “iPod Download” button. Once the file’s on your hard drive, import it into iTunes and it will be added to your iPod the next time you synch up. Easy as pie!
Better still, every newsgroup on GUBA has a nifty “subscribe to Feed in iTunes” button at the top of the page:  When I clicked that, I downloaded a .pcast file that loads into iTunes and sets it up to download new movies from the selected group as fast as they appear (bandwidth permitting, and you can eat a lot of it this way). An endless gusher of porn, shooting from the hose faster than you could ever hope to consume it. (I could dirty up that metaphor if you liked.)
None of which would matter much, except for the fact that (just like everyone says) watching video on the iPod is an unexpectedly pleasurable experience. The screen is bright and vivid, the details are sharp, and when the iPod’s in your hand, it naturally gravitates to your most comfortable viewing distance. In many cases, it’s actually quite a lot better than watching the same movies on your computer screen. Plus, you can take the iPod somewhere more comfortable (or more private) than your computer desk, if you are so inclined….
I bought my video iPod to have an iPod, thinking the video would be a mostly-worthless gimmick. Boy, was I wrong. The Nymph (who loves music videos) took one look over my shoulder and began pleading with me to let her play with it — the video is that pretty. At this rate, I may have to buy her a second one!
Update from the future: Apple invented smartphones, killing video iPods deader than the Dodo bird. Meanwhile GUBA pulled a #pornocalypse and got rid of all its porn, trying to compete with YouTube; it was dead and gone in eighteen months. Now this post is nothing but a quaint historical artifact. But The Nymph enjoyed that video iPod for many years, in truth.
Thursday, November 24th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
What could be sexier today than a pretty woman, not overdressed, brushing warm butter onto the Thanksgiving Turkey?
I think I could help her with her task. Admittedly, if I had the butter brush in my hand, there’s a couple of places I’d like to brush that wouldn’t be going in the oven later….
Perhaps that sort of thinking is why The Nymph is always throwing me out of her kitchen.
Which reminds me, I’m under strict instructions to remember to wake The Nymph in time for her to get our turkey in the oven. I’d better go do that now.
Life is good!
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Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s a heck of a rantish sex essay over at Rollertrain, covering many sexual topics, but this little bit jumped out:
Every straight guy has a magic cum button: That amazing little spot tucked just inside the most feared orifice of mankind. If I was the boss of Sexyland, I’d start an ad campaign:
Prostate as Male Clitoris; No Longer Just a Dude’s G(ay) Spot.
Have your lover get a manicure, lube up a finger, massage your sphincter and gently penetrate that scary place, one millimeter at a time. Ask them to bend their finger into the famous “come hither” curve until they feel the firm bump of your prostate. Let and feel them tease it till your man-clitoris get bigger and harder, which leads me to the campaign’s tagline:
It works kind of like your boner! And feels just as good.
Ask them to suck your cock while they’re at it. This tip leads to the customer benefit points:
Orgasm is a physical inevitability when you mix prostate stimulation with fellatio.
There are three key issues to deal with before you grant ass access to your lover’s pointer finger. First, shit. Second, wash. Third, stop being so fucking gay. The more afraid you are, the more you’re going to love it, and the sooner you should figure out how to try it. Prostate play feels too good to pass off as something that shouldn’t be enjoyed. Life is short, gentlemen. Get over your ass. Encourage your lovers to do the same thing.
Monday, October 3rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s a little-remarked fact that phone sex hasn’t been the same since pagers and cell phones started being equipped to vibrate instead of ringing. (A friend of mine used to tease his wife, by inquiring, in public, whether she’d set her phone to “thrill mode”.) I have long suspected that the incorporation of cameras into telephone devices has only accelerated the evolution of phone sex.
Now, from Pillow Book, we have a sophisticated exposition of what modern phone sex can look like:
I … messaged back that indeed i did have condoms. I also asked why he wanted to know.
put your phone inside the condom
put the phone inside you set to vibrate
i ring you
He was obviously excited by this whole idea. His punctuation was suffering.
I opened one of the Chekmate packets and took out the condom. Like all its brethren it had that familiar rubbery smell. I hoped that the smell wouldn’t linger on my mobile. I placed the reservoir tip on the top of my phone and carefully rolled it down the full ten centimetre length of my Telstra prepaid sex toy. Then I unrolled the condom the rest of the way, squeezed as much air out of it as I could, and knotted it off.
I held the condomed phone up by its knot and considered my handiwork. I was about to begin the task of inserting it when it started to vibrate and ring.
Too quick. En’t that just like a man?
So I pressed the ignore button, to let him know that it would take a while longer to get it inside me.
It occured to me what a great addition to the male anatomy an ignore button would be.
Wednesday, September 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
After having wallowed in BDSM-and-porn hatred in the last couple of posts, it’s time for some good old fashioned unapologetic girl-on-girl bondage porn, with some toilet dunking to push a few more buttons:
From Wired Pussy. And there’s nary a patriarch (nor even a dick!) in sight. (Unless, of course, you count the electrified stainless steel butt plugs in the shoot this picture came from.)
Tuesday, September 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’ve long preached to anyone who would listen that the old-fashioned “square” office job is deleterious to everyone’s health, welfare, liberty, human dignity, sweetness of breath, semen flavor, you name it. Now comes the unsuprising word from Just One Bite that it’s bad news for the shape of your ass, too:
Strangest result of not having an office job anymore: my ass is changing shape. Really! I have wide hips but small buttocks, which have gotten rounder and firmer since I stopped squashing them on a desk chair for 10-12 hours each day. Feel free to grab, pinch, or fondle at will.
Wednesday, September 7th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’m very impressed by the quoted portion of this article:
It’s time someone praised and defended reckless teenage girls and young women who behave badly, dress provocatively, engage in risky sex, and get pregnant. They are the normal ones. The rest of us are the deviants. They are behaving in the most natural way. The rest of us are mutants.
There is nothing wrong with pelvic display, push-up bras, Gosford miniskirts, spray-on jeans, low-cut tops, bare legs, bare arms, bare ankles, G-strings or even buttock cleavage, providing the displayer is young enough to get away with it. A woman’s body is at its fertility peak between the ages of 17 and 23. So when young women advertise or flaunt their sexuality they are being driven by a force far stronger than the Judeo-Christian ethic. They are driven by the power of peak fertility and a million years of evolutionary biology. Nature has programmed them for pregnancy, genetic diversity and keeping the species going. A big job.
Sexually active teenage girls, and sexually promiscuous women of any age, carry the greatest social burden of judgements, punishments, restrictions and risks because we haven’t got the child-care equation right. These women are just doing their job. They are real, while the rest of the equation is artificial. Society is the collective weight of traditions, conventions, laws, habits, fears, tribes, taboos and technologies, permeated by a Judeo-Christian ethic dominated by men and designed to curb female sexual power. Our norms are also dominated by the ideology of materialism that is moving women further and further towards unnatural behaviour, pressuring them to have babies later rather than sooner.
This is society’s real problem. Teenage pregnancy is trivial by comparison to suppressed pregnancy.
In other words, it’s not those damned horny kids who have the problem, it’s us grownups, who’ve built a society where you have to study and train and work your way up for far too many years, before you finally gain the economic power necessary to have children responsibly without depending on anybody else.
Sunday, September 4th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Waking Vixen for her report from the front lines in the war on terror, aka the dreaded New York Subway random bag searches:
Yesterday, the bag search finally happened to me. As luck would have it, I was carrying a bag full of dildos, butt plugs, lube, condoms, a strap on harness and spiky high heels. I got pulled aside and the cop asked me to open my (black! suspicious!) bag. I obliged, and the collection of silicone toys was right on top, with a stiletto poking straight up in the air. The cop didn’t even bat an eye, just nodded and waved me through the turnstile.
Monday, June 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Have you ever wondered how all those guys in the old stories had sex with mermaids? Deadprogrammer has the answer — namely, there was once supposed to be a bawdy two-tailed mermaid called a melusine:
If she looks familiar, it’s because you’ve seen her thousands of times before. She’s in the Starbucks logo, although over time she’s been sanitized, sterilized, covered up, de-belly-buttoned, liposuctioned, and (the ultimate indignity) ruthlessly cropped.
Thursday, June 9th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
A feller by the name of DangerSpouse wrote this hugely long comic essay on his wife’s bout with whooping cough (and other family tribulations). This man could retell the Book of Job and make it funny. Of particular interest to sex blog readers is this bit:
Back on the homefront, NewWifey(tm) was feeling better by her second day on meds. I know she was feeling better because even though she was still coughing with almost every single breath, when I walked in the door her first words to me were “Let’s fuck!”
Now, I had been spending my nights since her arrival on a futon in the room farthest from her bedroom, in an attempt to insulate myself from her WMD breath.
But…
“OK!”
Needless to say, with NewWifey(tm) coughing explosively every 4 or 5 seconds, one of her three orifices was effectively off limits unless I wanted to be blown up like a balloon through a very short valve. So that left two gaping Survivor finalists.
Decisions, decisions….
It finally came down to Face Time. As in, I didn’t want any.
So, “Bite the Pillow” it was.
AND IT WAS GREAT!
Here, let me show you:
Jam your thumb up your butt, and then cough. Hard. Repeatedly.
IS THAT AWESOME, OR WHAT?
Of course, I wasn’t using my thumb. Or own butt. Which made it EVEN BETTER.
(You were. So that makes you gay.)
Lemme tell you, the next three or four days were some of the happiest of my life.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, April 29th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It takes only the most minimal exposure to Japanese porn to understand that the Japanese sexual culture is very unusual to non-Japanese eyes. You may not understand much else, but you’ll understand that much very quickly.
Other little hints present themselves from time to time. Example: Japanese Kids Are Perverted. Excerpt:
Let me introduce you to a game Japanese kids like to play called “Kancho.”
Actually, it’s not so much a “game” as it is kids clasping their hands together, sticking out their first fingers, and shoving them up your butt. I’m really not joking.
You know, before we come to Japan, they tell us a lot of ultimately useless stuff. What kind of computer to bring, if our DVD’s will work, clothing sizes, that kind of nonsense. Nowhere, and I mean nowhere, in the 3-4 months of orientations did anyone ever mention that at some point, a Japanese kid may try to stick their fingers up our butt. That’s something I would have liked to know, personally.
It’s called Kancho, and just about any kid can be a Kancho Assassin. Even the sweetest little girl may be prone to jam her fingers up your ass the second you turn around. This happened to one of my friends, which just goes to show – don’t trust anyone. I’d say the little girls are the most dangerous cause they have natural ways of lowering your defenses.
Wednesday, April 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Jon says Guys Are Not Crafty. Perhaps some of my female readers would argue, but this summary matches my own experience pretty closely:
The things we say don’t have secret meanings. Guys do one of three things. We either say what we mean, flat out lie or say nothing at all. There is no hidden meaning. We really are not that deep.
Here is an example. If a guy says “I am not horny tonight” it means one of two things:
1) “I am not horny tonight.”
2) “I am horny but I am lying just because sometimes guys are stupid and lie for no reason.”
Now to make sense of the difference, lets look at what a woman might mean:
1) “I am not horny tonight.”
2) “We are in a fight so I am cutting you off.”
3) “I know you will still try something and I want you to do all the work tonight.”
4) “I will tease you with sex until you promise to buy that necklace we saw today.”
5) “I am going to call my ex, I just went out with you for the free dinner.”
6) “I was horny until you kissed me with the same mouth that ate the peanut butter and mustard sandwich that disgusts me so much.”
Saturday, April 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
And how is that possible, you ask?
I hear you asking.
Or is that crickets?
Anyway:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, April 3rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
After that post last week featuring frat boy buttocks, it only seems fair to give equal time to the callipygean delights that sorority girls (or, at least, the young ladies who masquerade as sorority girls while making soft-core pornography) have to offer. This fetching tableau spotted over at Spanking Blog ought to do nicely:
Cute cute cute!
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Saturday, March 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Since Aphrodite wasn’t here this week to give you your dose of phallus, I can only assume that the folks who come here to see male parts are going away disappointed. I’d like to do what I can, but there’s only so much isolated dick your average straight fellow can bear to look at. Will you settle for buttock?
You’d better settle, because this week it’s buttock or nothing.
The theme is frat boys gone wrong. First we have the stereotypical paddling:
Next up is bare buttock being hauled down the street wrapped in duct tape. If you like your male buttock neatly packaged, here ya go:
Sheesh! The things I do for my readers.
Sunday, January 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I spent seven years feeling this way, once, so I can vouch for this:
Men approach even highly familiar women with the same dread really old people have of computers: Touch one wrong button and life will never be the same.
From The Neurotic Gentleman’s Guide to Bringing Up Spanking with Your Wife or Significant Other; or C’mon, Honey, You Know I Was Only Kidding! at Functional Ambivalent.
One of the many reasons I love The Nymph is that she doesn’t make me feel this way. If I were, metaphorically speaking, to show up at her bedroom door with four leather belts and a gallon of blueberry syrup, the worst reaction I can imagine would be some laughing version of “In your dreams, Buster!” Far more likely: “What? No whipped cream?”
Monday, January 17th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I love visiting Corset Dreams. There’s always alot of beautiful items there…..some are too frilly to appeal to me, but others stop me in my tracks. Here’s one I saw recently that hit all my buttons:
Simple, sexy corset…..vintage styling…..and made of leather. Hot stuff! The lady looks good enough to be a RetroRaunch pinup, too.
Wednesday, January 5th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Bacchus’ post on increased-ejaculate spam and concerns prompted a pleasant stroll down memory lane for me, with an interesting twist–I compared my experiences with various lovers, with the hope of coming up with something helpful from a female perspective. Don’t know that I’ve accomplished that, but I’ll still share my thoughts.
Bacchus is dead right that what goes on inside can be, er, hard to measure. But if a lady is tight enough, and paying sufficient attention, she can feel something that correlates, apparently, to the force of her partner’s ejaculation. At least I can….or could. (Not having a steady sex life, partner-wise, I’ve lost some muscle tone. :( ) I’m sure I’m not alone in having that ability.
Where it might become more of an issue is externally-oriented play, as some commenters focused on. While shooting a huge load is probably highly desirable for bukkake, and sometimes on other occasions, there are definitely times when a gal doesn’t want to have to be concerned about telltale white streaks on skin, clothing, or in her hair. (But then again, there are definitely times when it’s part of the lingering fun after sex to wonder if anybody can put the clues together and figure out that you’ve just had some naughty fun!)
Where I’ve noticed volume the most is in fellatio, no surprise there. I’ve had gushers and dribblers, and you know what? The amount of the ejaculate never seems directly tied to how much my partner seems to be enjoying himself. That’s even true for those male actors out there who like to give the impression that every sex act is the ultimate thrill, never to be topped [big yawn].
What really gets me off is knowing I’m getting him off–genuine pleasure, not the going-for-the-Oscar type stuff. The slow, subtle increase in muscle tension in his abs, thighs, and butt muscles…..the pelvic thrusts (if he’s in a position that allows ’em)….the changes in his breathing…especially the ragged breathing as he gets close to coming…oh my, is it getting warm in here? Hearing that breathing gets me going so much that I don’t care about load and velocity, I just want the explosion!!!
And last, I do enjoy giving prostate stimulation–only from the outside so far for me, no heavy-duty milking–to guys who aren’t hung up about being touched there. It seems to always add to the intensity of his orgasm, whether or not it increases his ejaculate. And if it’s better for him, it’s better for me! :D
Saturday, December 18th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
In case you missed it, there is a set of funny conversation transcripts on the forums at Bondage.com that are making the rounds of the blogs. A kinky man gets surreal phone calls from his mother after she finds out about his kink, and begins to explore her own:
Mom — I mean it. We went out last night and he said it twice!
Me — Where did you go?
Mom — Well, just upstairs. But still.
Me — Did you like it?
Mom — It made me smile. But I think I was blushing.
Me — From that? Why?
Mom — Because I didn’t know how deep to go.
Me — You’re losin’ me. What?
Mom — You know, with my finger.
Me — Ummmmm, Uhh. Well� (Why do I bother? I don’t *have* to answer the phone.)
Mom — Well? I never did that before. I wasn’t sure if I would hurt him.
Me — Poop finger. (System shock is an ugly thing.)
Mom — What?
Me — You gave the poor guy the poop finger. Christ.
Mom — We’re experimenting. Isn’t your mother allowed to experiment??
Me — Exactly what did I do to deserve this?
Mom — Just tell me how far in I can do that.
Me — You really put your finger in his butt, huh? (Nothing surprises me anymore.)
Mom — Only a little ways. I was too embarrassed. I wanted to keep going.
Me — You won’t hurt him. Just buy some Astro Glide.
Mom — I brought a case home.
Me — Good fuckin’ god! You going to put a safety deposit box inside him? (Ok, I lied. Things still surprise me.)
Mom — Will you be serious?
Me — I am! That’s a lot of goop!
Mom — I have to get going, he’ll be back in a few minutes.
Me — Ok ok. He’ll know when it’s too far. Got a safe word?
Mom — It’s ‘Jingle.’
Me — Good enough. Love you. Don’t call back mkay?
Mom — Rotten kid.
Me — (Click)
Obviously this is one of those internet things to be taken with a grain of salt — this could easily be quality comic fiction. But remember, there’s no way to know for sure. Saying you are sure with too much certainty only makes you look like a bear of little brain.
Found via Bondage Blog.
Friday, December 10th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Is it kinky Friday? It must be! Here are some kinky links for you all:
First: That relative rarity, a male/female fisting pic. From a series on this page.
Second: A Harry Potter slash story. Harry-slash-Draco. With spanking. And figging. Found via Figging.com.
Third: A gallery of vintage (or at least black and white) enema pictures.
ErosBlog, your infallible source (today only!) of links about butt.
Thursday, November 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Earlier this year, I posted this post and this other post linking to sites covering the alleged joys of figging and electrical stimulation, respectively. Little did I imagine that somewhere out there, people were combining the two.
Pause to imagine that for a moment. Then unclench your wabbly bits, and read on!
Sure enough. In the comments to this post at Spanking Blog, one “mrstimm” writes:
There is another slick way to do it: there’s a company here in England which makes essential essence oils (including ginger and hot chili) which can be inserted in the anus or rubbed on a freshly thrashed bottom. And if you are exceptionally wicked and into electrosex as well you can coat the stainless steel electrode with the oil, insert that in the anus, turn the power on, and cane the subbie whilst restrained.
…
I have to say the figging oils are so much more convenient when you want to combine either buttplugs or electrosex probes with spanking/caning or severe judicial punishments which I prefer. Ten times more effective.
I say, old chap, that’s just not nice!
Saturday, November 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Wow. More than two years ago (how time flies!) I posted this rant (and this follow-up) about how lying Bardex lawyers were sending bogus demand letters around the net in an attempt to suppress discussion of the sexual uses of the Bardex balloon catheter.
Can you believe those donkey-raping smegma-sniffers are still at it?
Wednesday, November 17th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I don’t recall ever linking to a description of fisting before, which is enough reason to do it now. (There’s also the faint hope of getting risible letters from the trained attack lawyers of the J.M. Smucker Company.) From Diary of a Slut (November 7 entry):
Ealain got out her big strap-on and harness and some high heeled boots. Her dick is so much bigger than mine or any guy I know, and it never gets limp. That boy can take some buttloving, with me just kinda playing with his nips while Ealain fucked the daylights out of him. Now he had told us that he enjoyed fisting, and told me I could sit in after she was done, so I gloved up, stuck a few more Crisco balls in his bomb bay doors, and covered my gloves with silicon lube. His butt was really inviting, and it was fun to put a few fingers in the back door to play with the prostate from the inside while I was putting a couple of fingers of the other hand in through the scrotum to play with the prostate from the outside, and apparently that was a new experience for him. Yippie kay yay!
Crisco balls? Oh my! I guess it’s not just for biscuits any more.
Thanks to Karl Elvis for the link.
Tuesday, September 7th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I forgot it was the Labor Day weekend! I’ve been busy the past few days getting the place squared away before fall’s chill begins kissing the land — it happens early where I live. I also took the opportunity to freshen up my bedroom. I painted it a deep blushing-pink almost-red shade, and it’s gorgeous. It looks like a spectacular sunset all the time (and when the sun does come into my room, in the late afternoon and evening, it’s all the more dazzling).
Seeing the paint going on and drying, and being even prettier than I had hoped when I selected the shade, got me thinking about what an even nicer love-making nest this room will be in its new color scheme. And that got me to thinking back on past good times … and the best time I’ve had, sexually speaking, so far.
The guy wasn’t a great love of my life; I can’t even really say that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. He was in a college class with me. One night I saw him at a bar, and he was the only guy I knew there so I started talking to him. We hooked up that night, and it was pretty good … but that’s all.
We got together occasionally, but our schedules never really lined up well to get together a lot. As it happened, our last time, toward the end of the semester, was far and away the best sex of my life …J and I always had fun together, joking and laughing, even during sex sometimes. I told him after class one day that I always seemed to have thoughts running through my head — not just consciousness of what I was doing, but “word-based stuff” in my head. I’d tried meditation to help clear my mind and focus it, but it hadn’t succeeded. That was hard for him to understand, and he declared he was making a project of helping me clear my mind. For weeks afterward, he’d do silly things to try to jolt my brain out of thinking. Nothing worked, but it was fun anyway.
On an early December Friday night, I was getting stressed out by projects and upcoming exams, and decided to go for a walk. My college town was small, and a short walk from the edge of campus was all it took to get to the farmers’ fields that surrounded the town. A half moon grinned through platinum ribbons of high cloud; a few corn canes clattered in the occasional push of chill air. My pace was slow as I soaked in the quiet and cold, both soothing my mind.
Having gone about a mile down the road, I was surprised to hear footsteps behind me — not hurried ones, but deliberate and measured, like mine. Glancing back, I recognized the gait as J’s, and slowed to allow him to catch up, if he wanted.
He did. We walked for a bit in amiable silence. Finally he murmured, “Getting away from it all too, huh?”, and I nodded. We approached one of my favorite spots on this walk — a small stand of trees that huddled together, cornered by a small stream and ancient fencing. J inclined his head, and I easily leapt a low spot in the barbed wire, the spot he’d indicated being one I frequented as well.
We lay on the ground, which was not yet as cold as the air. Even so, I was thankful for the long coat I’d chosen. J’s kiss was an intoxicating mix of cold lips and nose pressing to my face, and warm, sweet breath. My body responded immediately, its sensual desires having gone unfulfilled for weeks.
Rather than indulge those desires, J acted as if he hadn’t noticed. He returned to star-gazing.
I cuddled closer, pressing my breasts against his arm, thinking that would send an unmistakable signal.
Nothing from J.
What the fuck?! I thought. J had never been slow or shy before, so his lack of response was a total surprise. I decided to display my interest in a more obvious way.
Leaning over to return his kiss with a more ardent one, I swung a leg over his body and pressed close, feeling J’s erection. As he opened his lips slightly, I gyrated against him, tongue and pelvis matching rhythm. As the kiss ended, J reached up, gently stroked my hair, then firmly grasped my shoulder and pushed me down, reversing our positions.
Ignoring my hunger or oblivious to it, J langorously slid his fingers down my skin, unbuttoning my shirt and allowing the cold to sweep over my skin. My nipples, already taut, crinkled further, then even more as one received the warm attentions of his tongue, the other teasing flicks from his cold fingers. A long sigh of release and desire escaped my lips.
My attempt to return the favor was rebuffed; J gently but firmly pushed my hands down, then unbuttoned his shirt himself. The warmth of his chest against mine was brief, as J slid down to kiss and caress my breasts again. His other hand glided over my belly to unbutton my jeans.
Still impatient with his pace, I moved to help him pull my jeans down. Wordlessly, J again spurned my action and slowly pushed them down, leaving them as an awkward but effective restraint around my ankles. Finally understanding that J would only proceed as he liked and at the pace he wanted, I lay back and contented myself with teasing his nipples and seeing his growing excitement.
After what seemed an eternity of slow, tender kissing and stroking heightened by the contrast of chill air and warm skin, J removed his jeans and prepared to enter me. I was so wet I could have taken him all in one thrust, but his unhurried pace continued. I began to rock my hips in anticipation of the orgasm building within me, but J pulled out.
Understanding immediately, I ceased my motion, and after an agonizing delay he entered me again.
J’s uncharacteristic slowness focused my full attention on every movement, every touch. Slowly in, not quite fully, then slowly out … all the way out? No, thank god … and again … again … The caress of his hair on my cheek as he bent to kiss me, never altering his rhythm …
I felt suspended in near-rapture, perpetually on the edge of orgasm. Then a slight increase in J’s pace and erection signaled his impending orgasm, tumbling me over the edge in a slow-motion release. His full thrust into me as he came sent me off again … every nerve seemed to transmit my shuddering release. J blanketed me, holding me close as our orgasms finally subsided.
It wasn’t until long afterward, when we were walking back to campus, that I realized J had at last reached his goal of completely clearing my mind of words. Unfortunately, I never told him … and even more unfortunately for me, no other lover has come close to matching that amazing night with J.
Thursday, August 26th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
If “goatse.cx” doesn’t mean anything to you, proceed with caution.
A while back I linked to the Wikepedia article on goatse.cx. Now (please put away your sandwich) here’s an interview (including small but graphic photos) with a French guy who is a self-taught expert in that dubious art of extreme anal stretching:
When I first started, I was using small bottles of shampoo. After that, I tried small apples, and then bigger ones. At this point I’d put a year of stretching in, and bought myself a large dildo.
My method was to dilate my ass as often as I could — every day, even if just for a short while. Before starting it’s important to use a large dildo; use it to both warm up and clean your ass, so make sure you stick it up all the way. When you find that you can take this large dildo without any work-up or preparation, then you know that you’re ready to take it to the next step.
Then, in each session, to get your bottom prepared, put in a big cucumber. Soon you’ll arrive at a point where even the biggest cucumbers you can buy at the grocery fit easily in your ass. Now you’re ready to get serious. Buy a small Coke bottle, and use that in your ass. When that passes in and out easily, move on to bottles of wine. Once you can take wine bottles easily, you can move on to even bigger things.
Bigger things? Yup. There’s a whole paragraph on those big Coke bottles. Next stop: plastic playground balls.
A word of caution to the intrepid assventurer: Buy yourself a copy of “Anal Pleasure and Health” first. And whatever you do, please make sure you don’t wind up on the Rectal Foreign Bodies page.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, July 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Sorry it’s been so long since I posted — I’ll try to do better. Everything is good here, just the usual insanities of summertime.
You’ll never believe what I saw yesterday. Young lady with a sweet Playboy-Bunny-next-door face was wearing a short red plaid “schoolgirl” skirt (which she was young enough to wear in all innocence, had she been so inclined) with a pair of stereotypical hooker/dominatrix Hillary-Clinton-on-the-cover-of-Spy-Magazine black fishnet stockings. And a cute pink half-shirt that showed her belly button. You could hear the clashing symbolisms six blocks away.
Amazing.
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Diablo from Pussy Ranch has been doing working the phone sex lines lately, and she offers trenchant advice:
Note to callers: If you’re sharing an elaborate gay buttfuck fantasy with me, don’t randomly interject “Oh, and while the one guy is fucking me up the ass, I want Jennifer Love Hewitt to suck my dick.” I will bust a gut laughing, so don’t act all wounded about it.
And some etiquette as well, complete with grammar tips:
In an awkward attempt to transition to the action-packed phase of our interaction, I will say, “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
You always — always! — reply, “You.”
Excuse me while I heave with laughter. I’ve never heard anything quite so clever! Except, you know, the last four guys said the exact same thing.
Variations on this reply include “Green-eyed blondes,” “Hot chicks,” or, my personal favorite, “Watch girls suck my cock.”
Allow me to explain something: When I asked you what you like to do, I was using the implied imperfective tense of the verb. As in, “What do you like to do, as an ongoing thing, meaning something you have actually done.” I didn’t say “What would you like to do?” I didn’t say, “In a perfect world, where you look like Heath Ledger and don’t live with your mother, what might you enjoy doing?
Tuesday, June 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Don’t talk to me about the wisdom of the ancients:
“And it is absolutely NOT necessary for wives to move at all. For a women prevents and battles pregnancy if in her joy, she answers the man’s lovemaking with her buttocks, and her soft breasts billow forward and back; for she diverts the ploughshare out of the furrow and makes the seed miss its mark. Whores practice such movements for their own reasons, to avoid conception and pregnancy, and also to make the lovemaking more enjoyable for men, which obviously isn’t necessary for our wives.”
— Lucretius (60 B.C.)
Found via a link over on Tiny Nibbles.
Tuesday, May 11th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Over at The Orgy I found this tale of a threesome, no more remarkable than such tales always are, but entertaining nonetheless. It’s quoted here, however, for its illustration of the dynamics of a successful couple pickup. I especially like the two-handed handshake proffer:
Lauren and I sat at the table and talked, sobering up a little before we chanced the roads home.
From the crowd came a girl in a “demented schoolgirl” outfit. Short, with jet black hair that rested on her shoulders, this girl was wearing a black blouse, one button fastened around the mid-point of the shirt, a white bra, and a plaid schoolgirl skirt. White knee socks and Mary Janes rounded off the look. The girl was smoking hot, pale white skin with big, bright blue eyes. Her ears were pierced in a dozen places each, her eyebrow was pierced, her labret was pierced, and her belly button was pierced. She had a smile on her face as she walked over to our table and took a seat.
Lauren and I looked at each other, wondering who she was going to flirt with- she was eyeing Lauren pretty hard, and my bet was on her. Instead, she stuck her hands out, one to each of us, and said “I’m Anna. You two are a beautiful couple.”
We introduced ourselves, and there was some highly-charged conversation. After a few minutes, Anna slid under the table and came up on our side, pushing between the two of us. She rested her head on my shoulder and put her hand on Lauren’s bare knee, rubbing up towards her thigh. Anna whispered into my ear “Would you two like to take me home?”
Stylish.
Friday, April 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a quick digital snapshot of a portion of a Scotch whiskey ad from Forbes Magazine. Ignore the damned deer for a second. What’s your first impression? Pot stills? Or a vigorous butt-fucking?
There’s no way you can convince me the photographer didn’t frame this shot with lust in his heart.
Wednesday, March 31st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here are some photos from the 419 Eaters Trophy Room. These people make it their business to engage the Nigerian scammers and waste their time. For style points, they convince the Nigerians to pose with various objects and scurrilous signs, and post the resulting photographs in the trophy room. Some samples:
Sunday, March 14th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There is no intention that this sex blog should host a long parade of sexual medical mishaps. Nor yet do I want to tread upon the ground that has been so thoroughly and famously trodden by the infamous Rectal Foreign Bodies page. However, in response to the last item Dr_Spaz was kind enough to email this link:
An unexpected benefit of pre-emptive rectal analgesic administration: the “key” to postoperative analgesia.
Moving rapidly along….
Thursday, March 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This girl seems to think so.
But be careful clicking around over there. The link entitled “Buttpainting” on that site is emphatically not misleading. If the term “colonic artistry” doesn’t scare you off, the phrase “winking buttholes shooting colorful girl-goo” probably will. And if you clicked anyway after those fair warnings, don’t come whining to me.
Sunday, February 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Sasha responds in her Love Bites column to a question about playing with hot wax. After some quick practical advice (no beeswax, best to use small white candles you can get a precise grip on, that sort of thing), she begins to get creative:
I was also curious about the wax people use to do their bikini lines and legs. Hmmm… how would that feel dribbled on the ass cheeks and other delicate areas, then ripped off? Kind of a reverse spanking. Delicious! So I got out the Test Buttocks and the Andrea Warm Wax Kit and experimented to see what happens.
Three hours later: OK, seriously you guys, BEST GAME EVER. I don’t like to quantify things this way, but I am going to put this in my top 10 sex experiences of all time. Not only is the hot-wax-dripping part of this exciting (you get excellent control with the small spatulas provided, and the wax is a beautiful teal green that goes pearly when it dries), but the tearing is apparently, for those who like this kind of pain, perfection. Tips: put the pot of hot wax on a plate to avoid a mess, hold the plate above the victim and start the dripping from a high level to establish thresholds. The wax can also be reused, but you may find certain impressions it makes lovely mementoes.
You’ve just got to love a sex advice columnist who keeps a set of “Test Buttocks” handy.
Wednesday, January 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
When I first got an email from D about his new “Cock Under Lock” BlogSpot blog, my first thought was “eh, that’s about 180 degrees backwards for a sex blog, isn’t it?” But as it happens, the device appears to come off fairly frequently. Apparently D’s lady merely got tired of sharing him with his extensive porno collection. Except on her terms:
I was making a joke referencing a porno I owned, and that E found somewhat repulsive, called “Ass Cream Pies“. At one point describing the kind of cum eating some of the girls do in that movie (read the description if you want to know) . E was so abhorred by this, she said, “that’s it! I’m tying you up and making you drink a shotglass of your own cum. So you can know what it’s like”. I was both turned on by this but also knew that I would not want to drink it after I came. But I was mostly turned on, and looking forward to getting some sort of release.
True to her word, when we got home I was promptly tied down again. She then decided as part of my punishment I would have to watch the Porno in question whilst I was imobilized. This went on for about 45 minutes. I was excited but unable to do anything to further my enjoyment. While this was going on E just sat on the computer doing online shopping and emailing. Eventually she proceeded to unlock the chastity device. I was already semi-hard, but once freed, became almost instantly erect. She started teasing me with light strokes, making me increasingly more rigid. I was as swelled up as I’ve ever seen myself. If that wasn’t enough she inserted the “Tristan” butt plug into my ass. She left the room for a moment and returned with a glass….
Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’m a pop culture illiterate, so it doesn’t surprise me that I’ve never heard of Michelle Branch or her music. That notwithstanding, Diablo from Pussy Ranch made me howl with laughter when she wrote:
This month’s Maxim cover features a half-naked Michelle Branch shielding her tender young breasts from a Photoshopped pillar of leaping flames. “Barbecutie!” the cover cleverly blares. I’ll bet earnest little Michelle Branch never thought she’d be likened to a McRib on the cover of a lad mag. She can strum a D chord, after all! She’s better than this, ostensibly! She wrote the theme song to Sorority Life, not that I pay attention to such things!
…
However, either Michelle’s asscrack has been airbrushed into nonexistence by Maxim’s art department, or she is, in fact, lacking a cleft between her buttocks. If the latter scenario is true, then we can assume that Michelle Branch cannot pass solid waste. That’s sad. Imagine you’re in the studio, recording your latest opus, and those knob-twiddlers from Maverick are pestering you. And all you can think is: I need to crap so bad. I wish I hadn’t loaned my colostomy bag to Madonna.
I suppose it’s that kind of urgency that creates truly exquisite, D chord-driven albums.
Saturday, November 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Another nice sex blog pops up. Vixxie from Prurient Obscenities wrote in to call it to my attention. Just a couple excerpts from her Thanksgiving post will give you the yummy flavor:
Happy Thanksgiving Day! The food has been started, and so has TheGirl, much fun was had molesting her as she attempted to do the dishes. It’s absolutely wonderful to discover new things that she enjoys, like butt pinching. (Who knew?)
…
I am also very thankful that when I woke up this morning, TheBoy was on my left, TheGirl on my right, and I was warm, and happy, and much loved. That TheGirl got up, early for her, in order to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade with me. The the other night, when she was going to spend the night away, she ended up coming back to sleep here, “because it’s home”.
Tuesday, November 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
OK, this is pretty funny: Technical Virgin. They say:
But there is a way for youths to enjoy rich and satisfying sexual intimacy without risking unwanted pregnancy ANAL SEX! The anus, tighter than any vagina and tinged with the thrill of the taboo, is the perfect venue for modern teen lust.
Of course, the safest way for teens to avoid unwanted pregnancy while satisfying their carnal needs is to limit themselves to homoerotic encounters until they are ready for procreation. But many boys and girls are uncomfortable with the idea of same-sex encounters. Anal sex, however, can be fun for both sexes, and thanks to modern improvements in strap-on sex tools, girls can enjoy being in control of their own anal encounters.
So, teens, the next time you strip down for sex, remember the TechnicalVirgin motto “Everything Butt!”
A fine parody of the ridiculous “abstain from sex for the ten or twenty years between sexual maturity and the time you get married” message that’s being flogged as an alternative to sex education these days.
Sunday, November 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The irrepressible Vikki being politely bored by our nubile young cuties playing naked twister, she went trolling for something more interesting to her, and she found it: naked guys playing twister.
I figure if she liked them, she’ll like these boys even better. I’m not sure what game they are playing, but they seem to be having fun:
Who needs butt machines when you have a perfectly good candle?
All of which reminds me in a tangential sort of way of Chelle’s wise words on the irrelevance of most sexual identity panic:
“Unless you make my panties creamy I could care less what your sexual orientation is.”
Monday, November 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Isn’t this a pretty pair?
And look closely at the features of the women. Mother and daughter?
Sunday, October 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Vikki has just discovered Fucking Machines — and she’s fascinated. This is a porn site that’s taken “fun with power tools” to a whole new level. (They also have a site featuring guys using the same machines – the bluntly named Butt Machine Boys.)
Vikki, where were you when I first posted pictures of some of these fucking machines? Just think, if you had been a faithful ErosBlog reader back then you would have known about them seven whole months ago!
Not that the idea is new. I’m sure this steam powered model (complete with carefully filed rivet heads for her pleasure) was a big seller in the 1903 Sears Catalog:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, October 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Two responses so far to the question below. One correspondent assures me that cuffs (and paddles) are not like sex toys — as long as they are clean, she avers, a guy is safe to keep them and use them serially.
Another lady writes in with the sensible proposal that toys kept should be only those which were and are to be used on or in the person doing the keeping. If a guy had a buttplug that his last girlfriend used on him, and wanted her to carry on the tradtion, she wouldn’t freak; but if he had a vibrator that…well, I’ll let her speak for herself:
“But if he produced a vibrator that he’d used to insert into his previous girlfriend, would I want to have it inserted into me? Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! No thank you!!!!!!!! I don’t care
how many times you’ve washed it! Icky baggage!”
Just so. Unfortunately, this lady isn’t much help on the cuffs question and other toys where the distinction between his-n-hers is less clear. As she puts it: “Don’t ask me what to do with the sex sling. :-)”
Saturday, August 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
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.
Wednesday, July 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I didn’t make up that title; the article is here. A sample:
You can feel everything. Your asshole is very sensitive; a lot more sensitive than your cunt in fact, and of course a lot tighter. Every move, every nuance, every twist and turn of the finger or dildo or cock goes right through your ass and into your brain. It doesn’t take much to feel completely filled up, and it rarely leaves you feeling like you didn’t get enough.
…
Getting buttfucked also forces you to slow down, loosen up, and enjoy the moment. You can’t be too goal-oriented about it — it simply doesn’t work. You have to relax, mentally as well as physically, and you have to be willing to enjoy as much as you enjoy and not push yourself to take more than you can. If you approach getting assfucked like you’re training for a marathon, you’re going to wind up with an extremely sore asshole. For someone like me, an instant-gratification junkie who has to get there right now and wants to be at the next place as soon as she arrives, it’s very valuable to get fucked in a way that forces me to stay in the moment.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, July 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
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.
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Tuesday, July 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Gosh, Violet Blue’s Real Doll Fantasy (or as one potential sugar daddy venture capitalist calls it, her RDF) is getting more concrete by the day:
My mind has been absolutely in the gutter contemplating the possibilities. (Scroll down to the original 6/10 entry for my latest sex fantasy weirdness.) A big boy toy, all-silicone, all-man, and all-pliant. Glassy eyes, posable limbs, just begging for it. And a girl, too — a dense silicone sister to hump like an unblinking, horny little love monkey.
…
There would be lots of lube, and toys, too — how else will I pillage silicone boy’s village and storm his shores? First, I’d have to draw a bath to warm up my new guests, and then I’d enjoy toweling them off, oh yeah, baby. Then I’d drag their heavy bodies to my bedroom, sort of like Igor heading to the lab. Maybe then I’d have my helpful assistant jump in… Oh, it’s just too much to think about, but I can tell you that the fantasy ends with everyone covered in gallons of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, wrapped in at least twenty feet of rope, a popped and squashed inflatable St. Bernard, four melted vibrators, a silicone male Real Doll wearing a mullet wig and with “BITCH” tattooed on his ass, a female Real Doll with a big permanent silicone smile, one set each of soiled cheerleader, cop and Hot Dog On A Stick uniforms, and several visits from real officers due to concerned neighbors about the noise.
I swear, this needs to happen. The world needs to watch this video.
Monday, July 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tristan Taomino writes in The Village Voice:
“I’ve got a theory: The blowjob is the ultimate act of sexual dominance and submission. Forget bondage, ball gags, and buttfucking — sucking cock is pure power exchange.”
She’s also got makeup advice:
“Which reminds me of a story a makeup artist told me about the Barbara Walters-Monica Lewinsky interview. She said, “It was an important media appearance, and so much preparation went into how Monica would look: her clothes, her hair, her makeup. I was shocked to see that Monica’s lips were done up wet and shiny. It just called so much attention to them. You simply do not use gloss on the mouth of a woman known for the most famous blowjob in the world.”
Thanks to Daze for the link.
Monday, July 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Wow. It’s amazing what horny monkeys can get up to.
Here’s a new commercial sport for you: Hunting for Bambi. For a large sum of money, you can go out into the Nevada desert and hunt naked women with paint ball guns. (You get the guns; they get a pair of sneakers and a powerful financial incentive to try to avoid getting shot. They do not get protective gear.)
As expected, the chattering classes are not happy about this. Here’s some typical news coverage, complete with dire warnings from mental health professionals that this sort of silliness could turn someone into a serial killer. Yeah, right.
The players, meanwhile, appear to be having good old fashioned dirty American fun. Heck, the ladies who get paid to be naked prey even come back and do it again:
“I’ve done this three times,” says Nicole, one of the three women allowing themselves to be shot at. Two other women, Gidget and Skyler, claim they have done this seven times.
…
The woman begin stripping down to their tennis shoes and start running to dodge the paint balls that go buzzing by.
“We got a hit,” said George Evanthes, who just shot and hit one of the women in the behind. “It was sexy. Let’s put it that way,” said Evanthes.
Gidget is the one who took the paint ball shot to the rear. She says, “It hurt. It really hurt. I didn’t think it was going to be that bad.” When asked if she cried she says,”yeah, a little bit.”
So why do women agree to strip down and run around the desert dodging paint balls? Nicole says it’s good money. “I mean it’s $2,500 if you don’t get hit. You try desperately not to and it’s $1000 if you do,” said Nicole.
If you follow the link to the news story, they have video footage of the game, complete with very realistic squeals of pain when the paintballs hit tender areas. Of course all the nude scenes are pixellated, but one girl does reveal a buttock to show off her vivid bruise.
Update: There is increasing evidence that the events described were staged to sell videos, and that no paying hunts ever actually took place. I’m not sure that makes this a hoax for ErosBlog purposes, given that the naked women filmed running around in the desert were actually running around in the desert, but it does put the story in a different light.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, May 31st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s tres chic to criticize pornography; probably every literate person does at some time or another, despite the shooting-fish-in-a-rainbarrel nature of the enterprise. But few manage to do it with such elan:
I find almost all porn to be insufferable. The inflated breasts, the blond hair, the absence of the merest trace of thespian ability. But the thing that repulses me most of all, is the stupidity. I’m not talking about the inane dialogue that is written to give porn films a plausible scenario. I’m talking about the insipid direction, lighting, cinematography. The men’s gym-tits and deli-window dicks. The women’s gonfle tits, cookie-cutter measurements, greasy sheen. Their interchangable clonedness. The repetitive and unimaginative scenes in which the same buttons get pushed over and over and over and over again. It’s like a printing press that prints out the same newspaper day after day, and we’re supposed to be interested.
Thanks to Madame G.
By the way, anybody know what “gonfle tits” are? It sounds like a dessert to Bacchus….
Thursday, May 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an excerpt from Tiny Nibbles, a nifty blog written by a woman who (among other interesting things) writes for the very cool people at Good Vibrations. This bit illustrates the perils of sending rude emails to someone with access to all the sex toys plus the complete perv resources of the Greater Bay Area:
But what I really want to tell her is that she needs to be oiled up with a delicious aphrodisiac oil by six nubile and adoring male and female nymphs who blindfold her and drizzle warm maple syrup all over her sensitive parts and lick it all off while drinking some ancient bottle of sweet liqueur that makes them all hallucinate and writhe like a bunch of orgiastic snakes, all culminating with her much-needed introduction to a Hitachi Magic Wand Super Silicone G-Spotter Kit, the Tiny Buzzers nipple clamps, a Little Flirt butt plug and the iSurge, all at once. Then a sound spanking from the super-hot and very scrumptious Mistress Morgana. And a complete training on wifeliness by the dedicated wives of Whap! Magazine.
Bacchus can think of a couple of ladies (not to mention a guy or two) who would benefit from that treatment.
Saturday, April 19th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
EverQuest Porn? You betcha!
Setting the scene:
The morning in Kelethin was crisp as always. High in the treetops the temperature was much cooler than down on the forest floor. Sunshine speared it’s way into the lofty wooden structures in narrow rays and sharp angles. Bird chirps and wolf cries filled the air in a gentle cacophony.
And occasionally, a mysterious song could be heard.
It took skill to hear it; you could only listen for it among the other sounds of nature if you knew precisely what you were listening for. Visitors to the vast Faydark never gave a second thought to the melodic wailing which seemed to whisper through the trees on occasion, the quiet cry never lasting much more than a minute or two, and always blending as though it were nothing more than the call of an owl, or the howl of a wolf.
But the Elves knew the sound and when one of them listened carefully, paid very close attention, they would hear the infrequent melody. A quiet, high-pitched tune, different every time, like a long feminine sigh that varied it’s pitch just enough to distinguish itself as musical. Then they would smile knowingly and go about their business.
And then getting down to business:
“Take me ” she whispered. “I will warm you both ”
With only a few languid strokes, she felt them grow hard at her touch. She briefly wondered why Barbarians never seemed to freeze in the arctic when they nothing beneath their kilts, but the thoughts were wiped from her mind as she suddenly felt their hands upon her. Big, strong hands, grasping her bare shoulders, their huge palms and fingers nearly covering her entire upper arms. She felt herself laid on her side.
…
“AH!” she cried out. He was so huge, his cock filling her delicate elven body completely. He was as hard as wood, and glided easily within her moistness. Tremors of pleasure rippled through her body.
At the same time, she finally felt the warm, nude body of the second Barbarian pressed up behind her. Joe’s body nestled against her own, his warm chest finally covering her back, chasing away the chilling air. His thighs rested just beneath hers, warming her even more. His arm draped over her hip, holding her steady while Gregor rhythmically slid in and out of her, his thick cock stretching her nether lips tight around it. “Yes Yes ” she grunted with each of his thrusts. Behind her, she felt Joe’s finger slide further back along her bottom, gently spreading her wetness along her tender flesh, pressing gently between her buttocks, into her tender hole.
“OH . OH TUNARE!!!” she cried out as she felt Joe slide his finger gently inside her forbidden region. She felt so very filled by the both of them, and they moved in time now, in and out, in and out. Gregor’s cock from in front, Joe’s finger from behind. It felt so perfect, her body was awash with sensations, the nipping cold still stinging her skin wherever and whenever it was uncovered, the fiery warmth of the two strong Barbarians around her, the wonderful sensations coming from her filled wetness and her behind. Her body shifted with each stroke, moving in time with each of their thrusts, over and over, the pleasure inside her building, and building…
Saturday, March 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Hokay, so this post is about an honest-to-goodness porn site. Boys gone wild, if you like — adapting power tools to their highest and best use. That’s right, me hearties: we present Fucking Machines.
If you follow that link (no popups, which is generally a good sign in a porn site) and then click on “Machines” you’ll be presented with an amusing list of fucking machines:
The Intruder
The Monster
The Fucksall
The Crane
The Sybian
The Trespasser
The Probe
The Jetaime
The Double Jetaime
The Loving Chair
The Hammer
The Drilldo
The Double Crane
The Goat Milker
The Tit Sucker
The Snake
The Portafuck
The Cathedral
The Toolbox
The Crystal Palace
The Antique Intruder
The Twinserter
The Airstorm
The Lighthouse
The Concrete Vibrator
The Fucking Chair
The Predator
The Reactor
Complete with horsepower ratings.
But of course any dweeb in his basement can glue a dildo to a power tool and claim it’s a sex toy. Where the rubber meets the, er, road, however, is actually using them for sex, or at least a well-photographed facsimile thereof. And that’s what makes this a porn site. Lots and lots of good looking models playing with these toys and managing to look like they are having fun doing it.
And finally, for the guys out there who think such fine machinery is wasted on women, there is a sister site (brother site?) called, with all the subtlety of a brick: Butt Machine Boys. This may be the true target market for these ambitiously mechanical porn purveyors. After all, why let the girls play with the cool toys and spoil all that raw male power tool fun?
Tuesday, February 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The above picture makes Bacchus thirsty. It also puts him in mind of the following extremely explicit but wildly implausible passage about anal sex and ripe oranges, from the book Captive by Aishling Morgan. Don’t read on if you are likely to be offended by this sort of thing:
Aisla sighed as the warm grease from the roast duck touched her bottom hole, then gave a little gasp as her anus was penetrated. Yarath began to wriggle his finger about in her rectum, exploring her and greasing her ring, then feeling the shape of the tangerines through the membrane between vagina and rectum. Aisla pushed her bottom back, eager for buggery, but was given a gentle slap for her trouble. Yareth’s finger pulled from her anus and something replaced it, not his cock, but another tangerine.Â
With her eyes and mouth wide in shock, Aisla struggled to accept the fruit in her back passage. She felt her ring stretch and a complaining stab of pain, but even as she cried out her anus gave and the fruit had popped inside. She accepted it with a long groan. Juice had splashed between her buttocks and was trickling down her thighs, showing that the tangerine had burst as it went up her. Sulitea giggled again as another fruit was pressed to Aisla’s anus, again stretching, hurting and popping inside just when she thought she could not take it. A third followed, leaving both vagina and rectum bloated and straining, while she felt an urgent need to evacuate herself.
Only then did Yarath take her by the hips, and she realised she was to be buggered with the tangerines still in her rectum. His cock went in slowly, forcing the fruit aside and increasing the straining feeling in her bowels. By the time he was in her to the hilt she was panting and struggling for breath, overwhelmed by the bloated sensation in her gut and up her vagina.
Yarath began to bugger her, with the fruit rolling and bumping in her rectum with each push. Aisla’s control went quickly, and as Sulitea came to stroke her hair, she panted and grunted her way through the sodomy. Her hands were locked hard on the table top at first, gripped tight in a futile attempt to control herself. Soon they slipped, first back to her buttocks to stretch them open, then beneath herself to find her clitoris and start on the climb to orgasm.
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Wednesday, January 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Got a belly button fetish? You’ll like The Belly Button Page then. Heck, fetish or no fetish, you might like it anyway — some of them belly buttons is cute.
Monday, January 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
After the spot of adolescent fun taken with Armed Liberal’s benevolent prescription for Kenneth Branagh, he (that would be Armed Liberal, not Kenneth Branagh — someday we are going to hire a writer!) pointed out an old post of his about porn.
Turns out he’s agin it. In part because it makes us passive consumers of our lives instead of active participants. It’s better, he tells his sons, to “hold hands and smooch with a real girl than to jerk off to pictures of someone you’ll never meet, much less get to go to bed with.” Or, as he explains:
“So instead of buying p0rn[sic], go meet someone and ask them out. Instead of watching the NBA finals and tying your identity to a team of mercenaries, go down to the park and play some hoops.”
This is great advice, for normal folks. But it’s very exclusionary of the fringes of society — the folks who aren’t athletic enough to play hoops down at the park, or the guy who isn’t attractive enough to get a woman to go out with him. Do we say that professional basketball is bad because playing basketball at the park is more fun and better for you than watching hoops on television? If so, that’s pretty hard on Crutches Boy. “Basketball on television is bad, because it keeps you from getting so desperate for sports fix that you’ll go down to the park and try to play basket ball with the kids who can walk, even though they won’t pick you for their teams and you’ll go home humiliated and frustrated every damn time you try.” Great advice. Thanks. Crutches Boy will be back for more good advice later, bank on it.
On the sex side this problem is worse for younger people, who often don’t have the perspective or maturity to figure out exactly why they can’t get find anyone willing to touch them, much less have sex with them. Most people figure out how to get laid eventually, but it can take a while and a fair percent don’t manage it until fairly deep into adulthood. (There’s also the unfortunate percentage who have genuinely unfixable strikes against them, like general ugliness or unresponsive obesity, that make the project even longer and more painful than it is for the kids who are merely callow and clueless.)
Worse yet, we tell our young people, for lots of strong reasons, that for the first five to seven years after their bodies are sexually mature, there is absolutely no socially acceptable way for them to have an orgasm with another person. Is it really better, for that long span of time, to “kiss and cuddle” without orgasm, than to masturbate and fantasize, which is what porn is mostly about? Perhaps a balanced life has room for both.
In short, Bacchus thinks that there are a hell of a lot of people for whom porn makes the world a better, brighter, or at least more tolerable place than it otherwise would be. This is arguably quite sad — Bacchus finds women a lot more fun than porn, when he finds them — but it’s still true.
Sunday, January 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Armed Liberal has a benevolent prescription for rewarding an actor of exceptional skill:
“I don’t care that Kenneth Branagh is reduced to being Harry Potter’s foil; I hope he’s happy and healthy and being banged into insensibility by starlets every day for his incredible version of Prince Hal, in Henry V.”
It was a good performance to be sure. Don’t pay any attention to Beavis and Butthead as you replay this bit in your mind:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
Saturday, January 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
…and the world will beat a path away from your door.
Being perhaps readers of other blogs than this one, it’s likely that you my loyal readers have heard of the “Jackhammer Jesus” dildo, the “Baby Jesus” butt plug, and other similar religious-themed sex toys from Divine Interventions.
But this article from the San Francisco Bay Guardian profiles the inventor and promoter of this line, and follows him as he roams sex-positive San Francisco getting the cold shoulder from sex toy buyers.
Picking his way through the brightly lit displays of adult videos, cock rings, and calendars emblazoned with oiled and rippling pectorals, he greeted the bespectacled sales assistant, hoisted a large sports bag onto the counter, rummaged through the contents, and selected an item. When the guy behind the counter saw what the man, whom I shall call Nigel R., was pulling out of the bag, he gave a nervous little laugh and said one word: “Sacrilegious.”
As the home of storefront live-sex Halloween performances, magnificent transvestites, and guys with no qualms about showing off their ass cheeks in leather chaps, the Castro District has traditionally enjoyed a healthy disregard for the status quo. Yet when Nigel R. whipped out a seven-and-a-half-inch marble-white silicone Jackhammer Jesus dildo in the shape of Christ on the cross, the Castro Gulch sales assistant blanched.
Ironic to see that as cutting-edge a paper as the SFBG is still so stuck in the past that even when it prints a URL, it can’t (or won’t) make it an active link in the online edition. Old media, bah.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, December 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This tale of a snappy comeback was posted on an adult webmaster board by the famous Persian Kitty:
This was in the Washington Post… the title of the article was “Best Comeback Line Ever.”
In summary, the police arrested Patrick Lawrence, a 22-year-old white male, resident of Dacula, GA, in a pumpkin patch at 11:38 p.m. on Friday. Lawrence will be charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication at the Gwinnett County courthouse on Monday.
The suspect explained that as he was passing a pumpkin patch he decided to stop. “You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around here for miles. At least I thought there wasn’t,” he stated in a phone interview.
Lawrence went on to say that he pulled over to the side of the road, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his need. “I guess I was just really into it, you know?” he commented with evident embarrassment.
In the process, Lawrence apparently failed to notice a Gwinett County police car approaching and was unaware of his audience until officer Brenda Taylor approached him. “It was an unusual situation, that’s for sure,” said officer Taylor. “I walked up to (Lawrence) and he’s… just working away at this pumpkin.”
Taylor went on to describe what happened when she approached Lawrence. “I just went up and said, ‘Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?’ “He froze and was clearly very surprised that I was there, and then looked me straight in the face and said, “A pumpkin? Damn…is it midnight already?'”
Of course, it’s an urban legend. But still funny.
Friday, November 15th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The logs say y’all are visiting, but none of ya have left a comment in days. So it’s time for a brand spanking new policy. If you don’t leave some comments, Bacchus will be forced to turn this angry little bear loose on yer asses! Won’t you be sorry then? Oh, you betcha. You can’t begin to imagine — the comment enforcement bear is mean!
Monday, November 11th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Just in case anyone was having trouble visualizing the item (or its uses) under discussion in the Bardex rant below, a quick visit to Double Bardex will fix you right up. It appears to be a Japanese site, and consequently unlikely to be taken off the net by the Bardex lawyers. [And yet, it finally went away.] The site shows several pictures of an “anal retention catheter” as Debrah now must call them, including one shot of the device inflated whilst inside somebody’s hairy butt.
Monday, November 11th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The good news is: There’s a flash animation game (.swf file is here) allowing you political perverts out there to spank George Bush’s bare ass with a bare hand, a big old board with a hole in it, or what looks like a six-day-old mackerel fish.
The bad news is: eventually his bony butt gets all red looking, and then the game moves on to a whole new level: one is invited to send him his spanking via email, using suggested text which (if Bacchus is not confused) treads awfully close to violating that pesky law that makes it a felony to threaten physical violence against the august personages of our elected officials. Even in jest.
Whatever. All Bacchus wants to know is: Where can we find the Barbara Streisand version? Or better yet, Britney Spears? Or the Spice Girl of your choice?
Thursday, November 7th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
 Bacchus is pissed off. As a casual Google search reveals, there are lots of kinky people out there who enjoy giving each other sex enemas. And like any other kinky sex practice, it helps to have good tools. One brand of “anal retention catheter” (you know, a rubber tube for shoving up the ass, usually with one or more inflatable balloons to keep it there) is Bardex.
One would think that the maker of such devices would appreciate free publicity. One would be wrong. One must have failed to consider the kind of lawyers likely to be hired by people who make things to shove up your ass.
The result? Threatening letters to kinky folk on the web.
“By using BARDEX in connection with goods and services that do not originate with C.R. Bard, Inc., You are misrepresenting the source of these goods and services as well as deceiving the public. This use of BARDEX is likely to cause confusion as to origin of the products or services identified and dilute the value of our client’s registered mark in violation of the trademark laws. Furthermore, the manner in which you promote and advertise the products or services creates a negative image, damaging the reputation and goodwill associated with our client’s mark and products”.
The result? Some quality sites have been forced to revise their content — not because there’s any real risk that Bardex would win a lawsuit, but simply because the people involved can’t afford (in money, in time, or in energy) to fight.
What’s wrong with that? Well, as it happens, these lawyers are bluffing. The trademark law in question is the one that lets Nike shut down Ebay auctions for cheap Chinese knockoff shoes. References to bootleg goods really does “deceive the public” and “dilutes the value of the brand.”
The law does NOT let a brand owner decide how its products will be used. Nor does it allow the brand owner to stop people from talking about what they like to do with the product.
What Bardex is doing here — trying to stamp out web references to “non-medical” uses of its enema gear — is just plain old-fashioned cheap bullying. They don’t want their medical customers finding out (as if they didn’t already know) that people use their product to have a little anal fun. And they have learned that they can threaten folks who do that, to get them to shut up about it.
Alas, it doesn’t usually make sense to fight these assholes when they send their threatening letters. Although you could win in court, it could easily cost tens of thousands of dollars to get that victory. No little site about pervy sex has that kind of revenue, and even kinky folks have families to feed.
These guys know they don’t have a legal leg to stand on, but they know that when they send out their insupportable legalistic nastygrams, most folks will have no choice but to comply. Even by the ethical standards for which lawyers are already infamous, that’s just disgusting. Weasels Lawyers who lie, and know they are lying, and do it deliberately and with intent to intimidate, are just rotten. And so are the folks who hire them.
This site has yet to make a dime. Your host has no assets that can readily be attached. And your host’s host can be replaced, complete with a DNS update, in under 24 hours. So, Bardex, this is for you:
BARDEX is BEST
for kinky enema butt sex!
Deal with it.
Thursday, October 17th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
…to provide us with (via the Globe and Mail) a guide for finding a love hotel in Tokyo:
If you like window shopping, you’ll love looking for the perfect love hotel room. You can spot these hotels by the two prices (for a “rest” or a “stay”) marked outside, near the front door. Entering through a love hotel’s opaque glass sliding doors into its dimly lit, tasteful lobby, you’ll notice a wall with a panel with pictures of the different rooms on offer; if the picture is lit up, it’s available. You select a room by pressing the button underneath its photo, and pay the woman behind the partly obscured counter, who gives you your key. If you don’t see a room you like, check out the next establishment.
Some rules: Love hotels rent only to heterosexual couples. Threesomes aren’t welcome either, as we accidentally discovered earlier when three of our friends wandered into one love hotel and were greeted by a highly agitated woman exclaiming, “No three! No three!” Also, apparently, they’re only supposed to serve people who can speak Japanese, but we had no problem getting rooms. Love hotels are designed for discretion — some hide customers’ cars behind curtains to conceal their license plates, or strategically place walls to make it difficult to see directly into the hotel’s lobby. And while many of the rooms appeared booked, we didn’t see many patrons come or go, although we did spot couples holding hands wandering in the district, searching out the perfect love nest.
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