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The Sex Blog Of Record
Saturday, December 23rd, 2023 -- by Bacchus
This Christmas card to everyone’s favorite underappreciated sex workers appeared in the December 1972 issue of Playboy:
The poem, credited to Judith Wax, reads:
To A “Masseuse”
Season’s greetings, dearest heart,
They’ve been slandering your art.
You who serve our nerve and muscle —
Who days say you stoop to hustle?
What an outrage… what a snub.
You’re just too handy — there’s the rub!
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Sunday, December 25th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
I don’t have a good link to go with this photo or much context, so I choose to believe what we’ve got going on here is a luxury bed-and-breakfast inn (perhaps not quite the most reputable, but very swank) whose owner refuses to countenance the idea that any guest visiting alone over the holidays could possibly want to sleep alone. It’s theoretically possible to refuse the turn-down-and-tuck-in service but these ladies will pout most powerfully. You wouldn’t want that, would you?
Merry Christmas!
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Friday, December 24th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
It’s Christmas Eve! How is your holiday decorating going?
Photos are from the December 1961 issue of Sun Magazine: The International Journal of Nudism.
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Tuesday, December 25th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
When she likes your gift and can’t wait to model it for you… Merry Christmas!
Artwork is by Georges Léonnec; via Biblio Curiosa on Twitter.
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Saturday, December 23rd, 2017 -- by Bacchus
Honcho magazine: making Yule time gay since at least 1983:
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Friday, December 15th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
I know that hanging a stocking by the chimney is traditional. But there’s this rumor going around that if you hang just the right pair of pantyhose, Santa will fill them up with Marilyn Monroe. Of course, that assumes that you aren’t on the naughty list this year:
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Friday, December 23rd, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Lately, The Nymph has been in something of a frenzy to get all the Christmas decorations up at our house. It’s a whirlwind of illuminated garlandry, but I am exempt from the melee except when my height or strength are required, which is rarely. So, mostly it’s just fun to watch, especially when she gets so wrapped up in her work that it becomes hard to distinguish her from the tree:
This artwork is by pinup artist and illustrator Bill Randall, and originally graced a December 1955 calendar page from his popular “Date Book” series.
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Tuesday, December 25th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
For just a fleeting moment — before the full visual impact of the extra pornstar lip-collagen kicked in — I thought this was Penny from the Big Bang Theory (actress Kaley Cuoco). OMG, did Leonard build Penny a Sybian-style female masturbation machine for Christmas? Just how kinky is this show going to get?
In fact, the sex-toy-riding girl is Courtney Taylor, which is a lot more obvious from this angle. But she’s clearly enjoying the fancy sex machine she found under her Christmas tree!
Pictures are from the Christmas Day special shoot at Fucking Machines, a Kink Unlimited channel. Merry Christmas!
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Saturday, December 25th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
If Santa’s a little slow getting to your house this year, it’s possible Gawker had his address in their database:
If his mailbag looks anything like the ErosBlog inbox now, for every real letter he’s got about four thousand people trying to sell him PEN1S P1LLS FROM BEST PHARMA.
Friday, December 25th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
There’s a family legend that a great-grandfather of mine relocated his family from Pennsylvania to California during the snowy month of January in a pair of brand new 1926 Hudson automobiles. And what a long cold drive that must have been!
Supposedly, he made a snap decision to move after listening to the radio announcers describing the warm California weather during the Rose Bowl parade. Or, at least that’s what he told his young daughter; you’ve got to figure he had a better reason to get out of town in a hurry. But let’s take the story as a parable for the inspirational power of warm weather on a cold winter’s day, and let that be the theme of this year’s Merry Christmas message:
Here’s hoping the big Christmas snowstorm of 2009 hasn’t messed up your holiday plans. If you’re shoveling snow today, try to keep in a Hawaii frame of mind. And Merry Christmas to all!
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Monday, December 21st, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Evil Santa has more fun than Nice Santa, I do believe:
Saturday, December 19th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
There I was, trying to create myself a nice Christmas elf using 3D SexVilla for a post to be published (maybe, if it comes out right) next week. But I just couldn’t get her to make the facial expressions I was looking for. The character editor has many undocumented options and although the level of control is amazing, getting the precise “look” you want is not always easy. And meanwhile, while I tinkered, my elf-girl kept repeating “PLAY with me!” over and over, in a most demanding fashion. A jolly elf, she is not:
So, I got frustrated and added a ball gag. Blissful silence! Plus, no more snotty expression:
Note: To a sharply limited extent, this ball gag trick also works in real life. (Your mileage may vary.)
I do regret that the official 3D SexVilla gag, like early Ford automobiles, is available only in black. No festive Christmas colors!
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Friday, December 4th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always been a sucker for double and triple entendre. The completely deniable filthy joke (“Only the dirtiest-minded person could possibly think I meant that!”) is the best.
Which is why I am delighted by this excellent shirt design:
The words, alone, might be a bit obnoxious. But with the clouds and rain? Why, it’s a simple celebration of His guiding hand behind every natural phenomenon. A pastor’s daughter known for her environmental consciousness (and who has a deep streak of mischief) could wear it with aplomb, and nobody (but her father, of course) would dare to say “Boo!” to her about it.
I love it.
And then there’s this holiday gem, perfect for every cookie-baking mother you know:
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Wednesday, December 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Going to the mall would be so much more fun if this were the norm in charity bell-ringers:
Merry Christmas!
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Thursday, December 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
With her under your tree, your Christmas ought to be merry indeed:
I can’t arrange that, but for a few bucks, you can arrange to have her stripping on your Windows desktop in HD. If you can settle for (very high resolution) still pictures, they are free here.
Thursday, December 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I am not making this up. Mexican Playboy did a photo shoot of Maria Florencia Onori as the Virgin Mary, and the result was a bunch of pissed-off Mexican Catholics.
I myself think Maria is beautiful, and don’t have a lot of time for Christians who despise female beauty to the point where they freak out when it’s associated, however indirectly, with their holy figures:
I got this from Violet Blue, who has many more details.
Sunday, December 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
It’s true! True at my house, anyway. I try hard not to junk up this blog with commercial messages, but when holiday deadlines loom, making a sex toys order is too much fun to pass up.
Coal and Switches: For lumps of coal, you’re on your own. But if she (or he) has been naughty, and it’s too much trouble to go out and cut some switches, how about letting them find the festive red handle of a short red riding crop sticking out of their Christmas morning stocking?
Get a Grip: In extreme cases, where naughtiness is not yet accompanied by contrition, you may find that you also need the matching red leather leash and collar:
Christmas Crackdown: Unfortunately, the leather riding crop may prove too gentle (and fun!) to deal with the sort of serious Christmas trouble you’ve got. If it’s just not stern enough to meet your needs, there’s a more severe, but still festive, alternative: the candy-red silicone Lolly Crop ought to fix you right up.
Exeunt: My work here is done. Ho ho ho!
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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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Saturday, December 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I notice that Mistress Matisse has made an interesting blogging choice — she’s turned off her blog comments, and she explains why:
So, you may have noticed that the comment box has gone away. I made a vague remark a few days ago suggesting it was a technical issue, but in fact, I took the comments box off myself, because I was the one having issues.
…
I have become aware, lately, that my writing here has gotten really…careful. Almost defensive. When I considered it, I realized that it was due to my thinking too much about what people were going to post in the comments. When I first started blogging, I loved getting comments. At some point, that changed. Naturally it’s always been nice to have people say how much they liked this or that. I’m human, I like praise. But getting strokes can’t be the entire goal of the blog. Monk told me how Pete Townsend once remarked that people always talk about how musicians influence their listeners, but that the reverse was also true: fan feedback influences musicians. That’s true for me as well, and I feel it’s been detrimental to my writing here. When I took the comments off ten days ago, it was an experiment to see how I felt. And what I felt was an immediate sense of being freed from a constraint. Thus, I will not be having comments here anymore.
Even as I write this, I’m feeling the urge to bring up and pro-actively address all the various protests and arguments that I think you, the reader, might make. Defensive. But as with everything in my life — and in yours too — my choice to remove comments is influenced by a number of factors, both large and small. Some of my reasons I have shared with you here, but there are others I’m not going into, either because they are too complex or too personal. Without the comments box hanging over my head, I feel freer to write what I want, without lengthy justification.
I suppose it’s possible the silence will get to me after a while and I’ll put them back up, but not any time in the foreseeable future. You can, of course, email me with your comments, and I will probably post and publicly respond to selected ones.
I’ve got a fairly complex reaction to that. Before any of you start busting my balls the way some of you did over my post about deleting blog archives (and “here I go again!” with the defensive writing Matisse is talking about) I’m not going to question her decision, merely share my reaction to it and speculate about whether the very real benefits will outweigh what I see as a significant downside.
Like Matisse, I love getting comments. Unlike her, that hasn’t changed for me. But the proactive, defensive urge is very strong. My readers and fans (and I treasure you all) are a joy to hear from, but on the internet, there’s always a thundering brigade of trollish folk whose entire joy in life seems (judging by their behavior) to derive from attempts to “score” by going out on the internet and posting criticisms, rude comments, sarcastic put-downs, contradictions, and abrasively dismissive arguments. For these minor predators, the game of blog commenting seems to consist entirely of finding ways to piss in other people’s Cheerios.
It’s bad enough for me, who blogs from behind a shield of anonymity and (this being the bigger deal) puts very little of my actual life into the blog. These bloggers who, like Matisse, share considerable detail about their business, personal, social, and erotic lives, have a great deal more skin in the game. And it’s all food for the thundering brigade. Frankly I am often astonished at how open other sex bloggers leave themselves, and I do wonder where they find the mental energy to resist or endure the horde of nibbling predators.
After minimizing my exposure, I manage the thundering brigade by giving myself free and guiltless license to moderate with extreme ruthlessness. I demand civility, and not just in an icy may-it-please-the-court technical sense; comments that don’t come across as open-handedly friendly (no matter how critical they may or may not be) tend not to survive the moderation process. It’s not that the thundering brigade doesn’t visit here, it’s just that I don’t provide them with shelter, beer, or skittles.
That said, I still struggle with the self-censoring defensive urge Matisse is talking about. When I notice it, I try to resist it. Sometimes, I forbid myself to “bring up and pro-actively address” various inevitable criticisms, telling myself that (a) the rude versions won’t make it through moderation, and (b) if one of my valued, friendly commenters raises the issue, I can address it reactively. But, too often, I simply reword the blog post to avoid the objection. Sometimes this makes for better writing, but other times, it just makes things more bland. Without comments, I’m sure I’d be far more provocative.
That said, comments fill a social connectivity gap that email simply cannot replace. Sending an email automatically assigns a private communicative weight to whatever you say in it. You don’t do it if what you’re saying is below a certain level of triviality. But that same trivial remark may be perfect in a blog comment, because when you comment on a blog, it’s like saying something to a small and friendly audience, such as a cluster of friends at a cocktail party. You don’t say it to communicate, you say it to entertain and interact with the group. A private email cannot hope to replace that function.
By turning off blog comments, it seems to me that Matisse has blocked off an important avenue of social connectivity with her blog audience. In her context — which includes a meatspace life so rich in social connectivity that she clearly has to juggle furiously to maintain it all) — this may well be a perfectly sensible thing to do. But I know I would feel a terrible pang if I had to do that here at ErosBlog. If I had to do it, it would feel like saying “The party in my living room is over. From now on, when I want to talk to you, I’ll come out on the front porch and read from a prepared statement.”
I actually do think my “prepared statements” (my blog posts) would be a little bit better — more provocative, less defensive, fewer disclaimers and weaselly explanatory phrases. But, though my writing might be better, my blog would be worse, if that distinction makes any sense.
And another good thing about comments. They let me ask questions like this: What do you think?
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Monday, December 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Merry Christmas to all!
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Sunday, December 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here’s what I want for Christmas:
No, no, you bunch of silly heads.
Not the girl.
“No thanks, I’ve already got one! She’s verra naahce.”
At this point the women in the audience are looking puzzled. But a few of the men are with me.
Let’s zoom in:
That’s right. I purely do admire that authentic vintage Allis-Chalmers tractor sign, there in the background, on the dungeon wall. I’m not really a tractor buff, but antique machinery ads are always fun. And that one’s probably been hanging there (on the wall of the San Francisco armory, I’m guessing) for decades.
Ah, well, we don’t always get what we want. How about, for consolation, another shot of the girl (Princess Donna) looking outraged at her (collared to a post and standing on a spiked plank) circumstances?
Somebody get the lady a candy cane to suck on!
Pictures are courtesy of Device Bondage.
Sunday, December 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
If you’ve ever lusted after Holly Hunter, this post from Bondage Blog is all the Christmas present you’ll need.
Sunday, December 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Last night I saw three television commercials in a row starring women in cute-but-slutty red elf costumes. When I remarked to the Nymph, she looked at me like I was mentally slow, and said “Well, it’s that time of year, dear.”
I suppose it is. So here I am, jumping on the bandwagon, and here’s your woman in (half of) an elf costume:
I found it on Usenet, where the original file name suggested a possible initial publication in an early men’s magazine called Monsieur.
Saturday, December 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve got to share this vignette from Mistress Matisse’s much longer article about the ups and downs of sex work around Christmas time. I simply can’t read these paragraphs without cracking up:
It was midafternoon on Christmas Eve. The client and I had never met before, but I showed up at his house at the appointed time, and he quickly ushered me inside. The man of the house was thin and pale, with faded blond hair, and he looked nervous. I could understand why: There’s a reason married guys rarely have whores come to their homes.
How could I tell he was married? Well, the fact that the house was decorated in a nauseatingly cutesy-country-crafty style was a big tip-off. Not just decorated–the place was stuffed full of ruffled chintz and gingham, designer teddy bears and American primitive wooden plaques with bunnies and angels and hearts burned on them. There was a flowered platter of homemade iced cookies sitting on the hall table. And there were a lot of family portraits on the foyer wall, with Mom, Dad, and three little rug rats.
“So you can be gone by six, right?” he asked.
“Sweetie, I’ll leave whenever you want,” I replied.
I paused before asking the obvious question.
“Is your wife coming home?”
He nodded jerkily. “She and the kids are at church.”
I couldn’t believe it. This guy had a hooker come to his house on Christmas Eve while his wife and kids were at church? He is so going to hell for this, I thought, and I’ll undoubtedly see him there.
“Well, let’s not waste playtime,” I said, moving toward the stairs. “Where would you like to…?”
“No, not upstairs!” he said, practically panicking. “I don’t want to mess up the bed. Let’s just–do it in the living room.”
Easier said than done. We edged around the eight-foot Christmas tree that dominated the room and sat down on the powder-blue couch. He handed me an envelope with the cash in it. I tucked it into my purse and then looked at him, waiting for him to give me some sign of how he wanted to proceed. But he just stared at me like a trapped rabbit. The room was dim, and the lights from the tree threw alternating red and green splotches on his face. The effect made him look like he had some kind of facial tic, and I doubted that it was enhancing my complexion, either.
“Okay,” I thought to myself, “if I have to be gone soon, I am going to have to take control of this fuck.”
I stripped down to my tarty black lace lingerie and stockings, got his pants around his knees, and started unrolling a condom onto his dick with my mouth. He moaned and leaned back on the couch–and then we both gasped and jumped as the tinkling strains of “White Christmas” suddenly rose into the air. He looked wildly around the room for a moment, then relaxed and said, “Oh, wait, it’s this pillow. It’s got a music box in it, when you lean on it, it plays…” He fished a red-and-green throw pillow from behind his back and tossed it away. It played on for a minute, before ceasing abruptly with a mechanical click.
He lay back again, but it seemed that our musical interruption had made his little Saint Nick unhappy. Or maybe it’s this house, I thought, as I sucked him. It’s completely antisexual. Interior decor as visual saltpeter.
I stood up, pulled off my panties, and bent over the couch. I knew I should give him some dirty verbal encouragement, but my vast repertoire of porn talk had deserted me, and the best I could manage was a come-hither expression that felt as painted-on as the faces of the knee-high nutcrackers flanking the fireplace. I watched him maneuver into position behind me in the gilt-framed, holly-draped mirror over the mantel. In my black bra and stockings, I was jarringly out of place in the room, an affront to the relentless, smothering cozy cuteness. It was hard to even breathe. As he fumbled around behind me, the bowls of cloyingly sweet potpourri that sat on both end tables began to make my eyes water and my nose itch. I was going to start sneezing uncontrollably in a minute, I thought, and my mascara was going to run down my face in black streaks. It was like a Stephen King Christmas house, where it looks all sweet, but if you don’t behave, it kills you.
At first impression, this story is sad. But the more I read it, the funnier it gets. This guy was a fool (“I pity the fool!”) but he was also a rebel. What, he couldn’t sneak out and rent a room where he didn’t have to worry about the sheets? No, he was in rebellion. His wife had made his house uninhabitable (trust me, ladies, there’s only so much chintz and gingham we can tolerate, and those stanky bowls of boiled flower petals are nasty!) for him, and this was his way of trying to reclaim it, if only for forty minutes.
Friday, December 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I was pretty entertained to discover that somebody went and used Photoshop to update and modernize (whilst leaving unchanged the essence of) a hairy old folk tradition that’s long been near and dear to ErosBlog:
Notice they are stripping him. Imagine a chorus of high female voices like you’d hear in Castle Anthrax: “But Santa! But Santa! It’s so warm and sunny here! We must get you out of that horrid fur and make you more comfortable! Much more comfortable…”
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Wednesday, December 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I mentioned last week that The Nymph always fails her saving throws against pink — a weakness I sometimes use to my ruthless advantage and to our mutual enjoyment. With your lady, though, the doomed saving throw might be different. Is her weakness, perhaps, pearl-like objects, or shiny things from Swarovsky?
If so, you might just need the Pearl Collar And Leash from Wild In Secret (matching pearl handcuffs and, for the especially daring, pearl thong, optional):
No need to be sexist about all this, though — I’m sure there’s a man out there wearing these and looking cute as hell. In fact, if he’s your man, and you have pictures, I’d consider publishing them.
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Wednesday, December 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The Christmas Shopping Season is upon us, and I’ve begun to realize it’s time and past time to make my online shopping orders. The Nymph having an automatic “it’s pink? squeeee!” reaction that impairs her saving throws against my evil plans, I surfed over to The Twisted Monk to see if the long-awaited pink bondage rope ever made it into his permanent inventory. (Answer: yes. My evil plan is complete, muah ha ha!)
However much fun we might have with the Monk’s custom ropes (and you’ve got to love a bondage rope merchant who includes a free pair of emergency shears with every order) I have to admit that a shortage of bondage ropes (or any other sex toy goodies, for that matter) is not the biggest problem at Casa Bacchus. No, the biggest problem is that sex toys come rattling out from under the couch when a guest sits down on it, or there’s a leather paddle that came in the review mail sitting on the coffee table when somebody’s aunt shows up unannounced. In a word, I can never have enough discrete toyboxes, toy bags, and the like. Plus, I love wooden boxes, and old-fashioned containers of all kinds. (Sometimes I’m tempted to start a distillery, just so I can have all those lovely oak barrels.) So, naturally enough, the Twisted Monk 2007 Holiday Gift Box caught my eye. It’s a pine box with a lid (semi-discreet, in that it’s branded with the Twisted Monk bondage logo) that comes with a rope kit and a DVD of Monk’s instructional bondage videos. Monk calls them “boxes of potential orgasms”, especially after his customers started writing in and ordering other merchandise (bondage books, naughty undies) to be included in the gift boxes before shipping.
What, you think that sounds like good service? That’s nothing, nothing I tell you! You should read about the customer who wanted the Twisted Monk Boyshorts, but only if Monk would “maybe step on the panties” with his “sexy boots”. Result: one sexy (because the customer is always right) boot print:
And to think, I was just looking for a pretty bit of rope!
Monday, November 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I admit it, it’s a fool’s errand trying to understand fetishes not your own. Too often it’s a hard-wiring issue: a fetish is a fetish and that’s that, no explanation possible or required.
That said, some fetishes are more mysterious to me than others. Take, for instance, the humble straight jacket:
Outside the world inhabited by violent inmates, the point of this garment sort of eludes me. Sure, it’s a bondage thing, a helplessness and (unless you’re Harry Houdini) hard-to-escape kink. But, sexual-fetish-wise, what’s the point of getting somebody all tied up if, once you’ve done it, you can’t hardly get at them?
And that’s where the implacable march of technology comes in. The world’s more intrepid sexual adventurers have invented what they are calling The Bolero Straitjacket:
Sez the catalog copy:
Sexy. Sensuous. Functional. What more could you ask for in a straitjacket? How about stylish, innovative and chic?
The Bolero Straitjacket is all of these and more in a cropped strait jacket made of high quality, light and medium weight garment leather, latigo belting and nickel-plated hardware.
Like a traditional straitjacket, it has a buckling collar and back closures in addition to the extra long glove-like sleeves that extend beyond the fingertips. The sleeves end with a small rectangular ring on one and a strap on the other.
The features that make it unique are its cropped length and the vertically and horizontally adjustable chest strap which leave nearly the entire chest and back exposed. The proper positioning assured by the cropped feature and the adjustable chest strap makes the traditional crotch strap unnecessary without sacrificing functionality as a restraint.
And just like that, boom! Problem solved. Erotic bondage will never be the same. Available in no less than four sizes for your binding pleasure.
(Sultry brunette not included.)
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Sunday, December 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s Christmas Eve of course, and so many folks will be leaving milk and cookies out for Santa Clause. If you should accidentally spill the milk, make sure not to let it go to waste:
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Friday, December 22nd, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
I’ve been kind of depressed about being by myself this Christmas. Being with my family last weekend was nice but remembering fun Christmases past got me lonely. That is, I was feeling sorry for myself until I read Steff’s good advice:
Being single’s hard, and I’m as human as you are, and sometimes I wish I weren’t a party of one. But the days when I roll out the red carpet and treat myself like the royalty I deserve to be, well, being single’s feeling pretty fucking fab those days.
So why not Christmas, too? I’ll have eggnog, great food, do something special for myself. GayBoy will probably come by and misbehave a little in the late, late hours, and that’s just fine, too.
Point is, Christmas looms. Are you alone and hating it? Fucking do something for yourself. Do something you love. Plan it out. Put the plan in action. Anticipate it.
I’m not gonna find a sexy Santa like this guy under my tree this year…..well, because I don’t have a tree.
But I’m going to get one, and I’m going to get some eggnog and rum. On Christmas day, I’m going to light a fire in my fireplace, get all cozy in front of it with some spiked eggnog, and read stories at Sssh.com until I’m so hot I can’t take any more. Whatever happens after that will be fun, guaranteed. Merry Christmas everybody!
And here’s a special present for the PhotoShop spotters that drop by – a whole page full of holiday-modded art. Most are nice, but some are naughty!
Wednesday, December 20th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
The wedding is history at last, and my shiny green dress and red earrings have already been tossed in the trash. (Can I make a motion that any December bride that thinks it’ll be pretty and festive to dress her attendants all Christmassy can be shot?) Thanks to hippie-girl sister, I had a very interesting time.
I have teeny tits compared to most chicks. Not exactly pubescent girl size, but close. And the dress that my other sister, the bride, chose is of a style that requires a decent rack to look good. Even after some serious tailoring, the dress didn’t look good on me. Hippie-sis to the rescue! We went bra shopping, and she convinced me to buy a basic push up bra, like this one:
She said it would make the dress look good on me.
Well, it did more than that. My little boobies, all pushed together to give the illusion of cleavage, got me all kinds of male attention! Lucky for me, the guy that took me back to his hotel after the reception was tipsy enough not to notice the difference between advertised and actual goods.
I thought that the flirting and all was mostly because of the happy mood at the wedding. So I decided to wear the bra again today, to see if it made any difference to the guys at the oil change place I use. They know me, so I thought my blossomed bosom wouldn’t be noticed.
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!
They were extra nice to me…..and their eyes kept wandering south. That’s never happened to me before.
And now I can’t decide if I want to buy six more of these damn things or toss this one in the trash with the dress.
Tuesday, December 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
For me, a Christmas stocking just isn’t a proper Christmas stocking if it doesn’t have some kind of sexy toy in it. Not even if it’s vinyl and has a heel:
So anyway, I had high hopes of doing a substantial and official ErosBlog sex toy Christmas Guide this year. But, sadly for my grand plan, I found myself responsible for some unanticipated family care-giving this December, and the big sex toy blogging plans have suffered. Suddenly I discover it’s December 19, I haven’t done any Christmas shopping at all, and the ship-in-time-for-Christmas dates have passed at almost all of my favorite online sex toy emporia. Drat!
However, all is not lost. My favorite online purveyor of sex toys ships so fast that there’s still plenty of time, if you don’t dawdle. Better yet, every year they have a “SeXmas” sale. It’s always got good discounts, too.
You can (of course) go kinky if you want to — how about a satin blindfold in Santa Claus Red?
But kinky is not required. They have every imaginable sex toy to tickle your fancy (or hers, or his).
Kinky not required, I said. But if it’s kinky you want, this place is the undisputed king of kinky. Forget crops and whips and leather cuffs. Did you ever imagine what you’d get if you took one of those paper Chinese finger trap toys and re-engineered it, using stainless steel wire, as a device for imprisoning penises?
Of course you did. Or maybe not. They think of these things so you won’t have to.
Anyway, behold! The Wire Cock Trap:
That’s not something everybody with a penis to play with is gonna want, no. But it would fit nicely in a stocking. And think of the the fun when he pulls it out and holds it up, all puzzled, and says “What’s this thing, and what’s it for?”
“Hold still, dear, and I’ll show you.”
Fair warning: you might wind up late for Christmas dinner at dear old Grandma’s house. And aren’t happy delays like that the best Christmas present of all?
Tuesday, December 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s getting along toward Christmas, so I think I’ll break out a few holiday images I’ve found this year. This one — featuring the lovely Janet Pilgrim of 1950s Playboy fame — shows the kind of presents-opening party we all enjoy:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, December 14th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Dear Santa or Buddha or Whoever,
Forget the rocket and pony and all the other material crap. This is what I want for Christmas:
If he isn’t available, something close will work just as well.
Thank you,
Aphrodite
(Found at Nick Ash Photography.)
Thursday, December 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s the first day of Christmas at Kaya’s house, and she’s lit the first Christmas candle.
Festive!
Monday, October 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes commentary is genuinely superfluous:
Hot frosting facial, anybody?
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Friday, December 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a good Christmas ball for you, artist unknown but suspected to be the ubiquitous Zimmerman:
Wednesday, December 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody come right out and argue for the merits of online porn memberships as Christmas presents before. Sex toys? Sure, every major web publication seems to have a sex toy buying guide. But sex toys are way last week in the gifting universe; getting hard goods in your hands (…um) at this late date is gonna be a neat trick. As Spanking Blog points out, porn memberships are virtual goods that are perfect for last-minute shopping:
All it takes is a credit card and two minutes, and you can write the password and userID on a nice hand-made certificate and put it in a stocking. Instant delivery, no hassle, no muss, no fuss. What’s not to like?
…
What’s more, giving the gift of porn makes a strong statement to your mate that you love them, that you feel secure in their affections, and that you want their erotic fancies to be tickled to the fullest. Of course, giving the gift of spanking porn (especially to a spanker) may also be hazardous to the smoothness of your unspoiled derriere. But what’s life without a little delicious risk?
One more benefit: when choosing a porn site to give as a gift, you get to conduct “research” behind a closed door, and when your spousal equivalent asks what’s going on, you can say in all truthfulness “Just some last minute online Christmas shopping, Honey, give me a minute to hide my windows before you come in here, OK?”
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
After being away for a while, I finally got it through my stupid head that I won’t have something better to say here until I finish the R story. It wasn’t easy to do, and it isn’t very pretty, but here it is, behind the “more” link. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the third part of the story includes links to the first two parts.
R and I spent Christmas on a skiing trip that was awesome and horrible. I liked learning how to ski, and even made it down the hill once or twice without falling on my ass. The mountains were beautiful, and while we were in public R was his attentive, charming self. He told me to pack for a sexy cold trip…..I thought he meant the cold would be outside. But it was inside too. He told me we’d be together…..except that he never slept with me. In his house, in all the hotels we stayed in, R never stayed with me in bed all night. At first, at his house, I thought it was to give me some privacy, but since he constantly walked into the room I used without knocking whenever he wanted, I don’t think it was for that. At the hotels, we stayed in the same room, but always in seperate beds. But I’m getting ahead of things already.
That first night, at R’s house, was very different from our fun at Thanksgiving. He was formal, like he was trying to decide if he should hire me for a job or something. R welcomed me warmly, but it didn’t seem very sincere, more like it was what he had been taught to do and say to a woman that would be staying with him. He didn’t seem to like it if I touched him first, I found out quickly. After dinner, which was focused mostly on eating and small talk about family and high school friends, he said that he was tired from working so much and that the next night he’d give me a proper welcome. I offered to rub his back, the way I used to, but he said no, and said I should probably sleep too as jetlag would catch up with me and make learning to ski in the mountains harder. He walked me to the room where I’d put my bags, which I thought was his bedroom, barely kissed me, said goodnight and walked down the hall to his room.
I wasn’t expecting a romantic candle light bath, or rose petals all over the bed, but after the hot sex we had at Thanksgiving, this was a real shock. He wasn’t even going to sleep with me! One of the things I hate about being single is not having a nice-smelling man to snuggle with. Here I was with a guy that used to make my knees weak, I thought I did the same to him, and he barely touched me all evening! I went to bed thinking What the fuck?!
The first time we had sex was the second day of the ski trip, up until then it was one lame-ass excuse after another. R was skiing with me down one of the bigger beginner runs, and when I fell for the jillionth time, he started laughing at me. He was close enough that I pulled him over too, and he fell on top of me. We were both laughing, then the next thing I knew he was kissing me, hard. A small clump of pine trees was close by, and he rolled us over into it, laughing and kissing me the whole time. There wasn’t much to hide behind, but there weren’t many other skiers. I undid my entire front down to the sexy thermal top I bought specially for the trip, but he stayed mostly dressed, just undoing enough to release his very hard, very hot cock and plow it into me. I don’t know and don’t care if anybody saw us, I was so glad to finally be getting fucked that I didn’t even think about it. Fast and furious and hot and cold…..I didn’t come, but it was still damn good.
That night at dinner R started to explain what he meant when he said he didn’t know if he could show me how he is now. The way he said it, I thought he was into rough sex, and since that’s not something I’ve done a lot of except fantasize about, I told him that I thought we could work up to some things. After I said that he relaxed, and was very sweet and more like the highschool boy I’d fallen for.
Remember, I didn’t tell R that I contribute to a sex blog. So as far as he knew, I was just some normal chick that was willing to try some kinky new things. Some were fun and really got me going, like these vibrating nipple clamps. Most of the time it seemed like he didn’t care if I would like something, and didn’t bother to even think about that. R didn’t seem to understand the need for lube with some toys, or going slow, so it ended up sometimes that his stuff hurt, it wasn’t sexy, and when we did have sex, it was like, just get it over with so I can go to sleep.
On our last night, after a very fun day just hanging out together, he decided to do a twat test. I needed to keep whatever he put in my pussy totally inside it, or he’d punish me however he wanted. The idea was he’d keep trying smaller things, but the first thing he put in me was so small and smooth that even clenching my tightest, it peeked out. I tried to tell R that it would be a good start for a teenage virgin, but not someone like me, but I got spanked for my “sauciness.” We both ended up frustrated and mad because his game wasn’t working. He said he was going to tie me up, and when I asked about a safe word, he said that he’d be able to tell if he was pushing me too hard and that stuff like that was for chickens. My questions made him madder, and he finally yelled that no slave of his was going to get away with talking to him like that.
That pushed me over the edge, because I never said I’d be his slave, and he never asked. I went to the room I was staying in, and R came after me, telling me that I was his for the entire trip and I’d better start behaving properly if I didn’t want to get seriously punished for my insolence. I didn’t want to do it, but I was so mad and so frustrated by his impossible demands and not having much sex that I started crying. R had been so sweet and affectionate whenever we were out in public anywhere, but when it was just the two of us alone all that vanished. I tried to tell R that if he had shown me just a little of that sweetness in his house, I’d probably be licking his shoes that very minute, but with his Jeckyll-Hyde thing going I didn’t know what to think, and I didn’t trust him to tie me up. He said he did care for me, and he knew that I just needed some good discipline to see that, and that after he gave it, I’d know I could trust him. I told him I didn’t work that way, I had to trust before ropes or cuffs came anywhere near me, and if he wasn’t okay with that then this was it. R didn’t seem to get anything I was saying, he didn’t seem to even understand the difference I saw in him going from public to private, so, since I was almost all packed anyway I grabbed my stuff and left. I told him not to bother calling me or returning my other stuff, and walked out.
He didn’t call or anything, until April. He had a business trip, he said, that required that the men have female companions with them. He told me I’d be perfect for the trip, that I’d love it, that he’d let me set the rules this time, if only I’d agree to go on the trip with him. He was so sweet and so persuasive that I almost said yes……but then I remembered how it was over the holidays, and how confused and awful I felt for alot of the time. I also started wondering exactly what this “business trip” was, and wondering if he had some kind of kinky thing worked out. So I said no, told him not to call me anymore, and hung up.
But his call made me start thinking about all we had done…..Thanksgiving, which was totally hot and fun…..Christmas and New Years’, which had some fun stuff but mostly was wierd and scary to me. Did I do something wrong to make it all so bad? Maybe I am more of a prude than I think…….but I don’t really think so. And now I don’t know if I’ll find someone else to try with….if I can trust a guy again. I don’t like being like that.
Monday, January 3rd, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Hi everyone! Didn’t mean to disappear from the world for as long as I did…but I think that turned out for the best. Got in yesterday from holiday-making with R, and am exhausted. There’s so much to tell, I don’t know where to begin…..or even if I should tell all. It was, um, intense in both good and bad ways. I think I should get another cup of coffee and more sleep before I try to say anything else about it all.
So for now, I’ll just say that I hope all of you had a happy solstice/Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa (did I leave anybody out?), and that your new year started with a bang. :hehe:
Saturday, December 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This was the second-nicest Christmas card I got this year, from Jordan Capri:
You can see the full sized version here.
(The first-nicest card, of course, was from The Nymph.)
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, December 21st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
A deep Christmas question from The Collar Purple:
“Do ponygirls get dressed up as reindeer in December? And what would you call them, Deergirls?”
I think this picture starts us down the road to answers.
Sunday, December 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There’s a rumor floating around via email, to the effect that Christmas has been cancelled for lack of interest. What’s more, this time there’s photographic proof:
Thursday, December 9th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
It took longer to iron out than I thought, but here’s the good news I mentioned yesterday–R and I are going on holiday together over Christmas. He’s being a bit mysterious about the details, but I’m flying out to meet up with him, then we’re going…somewhere. He won’t tell me where!! I’m excited and dying of curiosity. Now that it’s a done deal, I really have to get my ass in gear on work so that I don’t have to work while we’re…wherever. I’ll try to pop in as I’m able, and while we’re together.
Now for the tease….I’ve been following the adventures of Dirty Talkin Girl at Pussy Talk, and have become hooked. I really enjoy her posts in the Rodin series — the link goes to the most recent entry, from which you can click to each of the previous ones. Hot, hot stuff.
And the conclusion of the series is supposed to be published tomorrow. I’m wet with anticipation! :D
Wednesday, December 1st, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Bacchus has already blogged about the relationship between buying a house and blowjob frequency. Celebration BJs are also a lamentably common occurrence. I don’t understand that, but in the interest of assisting those poor girls whose oral skills aren’t well-honed, here’s some advice from Santa Claus:
But those lonesome and lonely on Christmas who decide to sleep on the couch by the fireplace wishing for their White Christmas to be both sticky and on their face, well, I’ve got some tips for you:
- Brush your teeth and gargle before going to bed. There’s nothing worse than someone who’s had a whole plate of chicken wings and then gums your knob with hot sauce. It feels like I’ve just screwed a lit yule log.
- It doesn’t matter if you’ve been naughty or nice. Go down on Santa and you’ll get a present.
There’s more for your amusement where that came from, at Christmas is Full of Crap.
Friday, February 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Hmmm, apparently “historical” was a term I applied too quickly. Yahoo News reports:
Woman’s chastity belt set off airport security alarm
When a 40-year old British woman set off a metal detector alarm at Athens airport, bemused security staff found that it was caused by a chastity belt she was wearing.
“It happened a few days before Christmas. The metal detector went off and after a further check we found out she was wearing a chastity belt,” airport police official Dimitris Tzouvaras told AFP, confirming a report in the daily newspaper To Vima.
“The woman was allowed to fly on to London on the pilot’s responsibility,” Tzouvaras added Friday.
According to the press report, the woman told police officers her husband had forced her to put on the belt to make sure she had no extra-marital affair during a brief visit to Greece.
Friday, January 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
She gets here tomorrow night. Yay!
Waitaminnit, tomorrow? Ohmigawd, tomorrow? It’s time to freak out!
Only I’m not freaking out. I’m just excited. I should be all nervous and scared, but I’m not. I just can’t wait for her to get here.
Fair warning: blogging may be light during her visit. However, there’s reason to suspect quality will improve.
In other news, she and I are the subject of a Christmas fanfic. The Boss at The Collar Purple was inspired by the chained Christmas present and wrote “Christmas Presents” in our honor. And we are honored, although I’m not sure I could ever be this stern with a straight face:
He looked up at Nymph slowly, thunder in his eyes. “You opened the package, didn’t you?”
Struck dumb by the piercingly accurate accusation, she could only stammer, “W-what, what, I mean, why do you think ”
He interrupted her before she could complete the thought. “I warn you, the punishment for lying is much more severe than that for disobedience. Now I ask you again, Did you open your present?”
In a barely audible voice, she whispered, “Y-yes sir.”
“What was that, girl?”
She cleared her throat, but couldn’t raise her eyes to meet his. “Yes sir, I opened it.”
“Go to the table, bend over it, and grip the far side.” She hastened to comply with his order. Her palms were sweaty against the wood of the table and she fought down the urge to wipe them on her clothes.
My oh my, did it suddenly get warm in here?
Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I missed this at Christmas, but it’s too funny not to link up anyway. From Hoot Island, an essay on Christmas blowjobs:
Ladies, does this sound familiar?
You try and try to ask your man what he wants for Christmas. You hint and you wheedle and you watch for signs, but no matter how you ask he just shrugs and says some some smartass comment like “A blowjob, why?”
Isn’t that just like a guy? You ask him a serious question and he answers with some lame toss-off answer like that. Well, speaking for guys around the world, I’m here to reveal the sincere and honest truth:
We’re serious. We really do want a blowjob.
There follows a long and amusing list of arguments in favor of Christmas blowjobs, my favorite of which is: “Every time you swallow, an angel gets her wings.”
Friday, December 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Some wonderful orgasm faces in this hilarious musical vibrator advertisement. “O come, all ye faithful…“
2021 update: Flash is dead, long live Flash! View the old flash file via emulation at this Internet Archive page.
Friday, December 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Your first post-Christmas consumer purchasing tip: Luv Linen. “Luv Linen is a super absorbent, waterproof, reusable, washable pad designed to keep your sheets, bed, furniture and wherever else you may be clean and dry during sex.” The sales copy is entertaining:
Luv Linen is unique because it provides protection and peace of mind for love’s messy moments. It gives you permission to enjoy the wettest sex ever and let your love flow without hesitation.
But the product actually looks practical and useful, notwithstanding the moist prose being used to sell it.
Friday, December 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
And how! Yesterday while we are on the phone, suddenly she says “Ow! Hey! It’s stuck! Ow! I hurt my hand trying to pull it off!”
“What’s stuck? What’s wrong?”
“The chain! The chain from your present! I was playing with it, and somehow it got around my right wrist, and now the lock’s closed and it’s stuck!”
(This is technically known as the “Doctor, I don’t know how that got in there, I was holding it in my hand and then I slipped in the shower and fell on it” explanation.)
Of course I’m laughing so hard my teeth hurt. Also, I’m thinking fast. “Do you remember the combination?”
“No!” (This turns out, sadly, not to be true.)
I quickly tell her a combination. One digit removed from the actual. Visions of saying “Oh, gosh, you must have reset the combination while you were playing, now you’ll have to try all ten thousand with your left hand while I tease encourage you” begin to dance in my head. I envision hours of high quality family fun.
Alas, she was not listening to my misinformation.
“Oh, there it is! I got it off. Gosh, I was getting worried there for a minute. Good thing I remembered the… HEY! You gave me the wrong combination!!!”
God, that was fun.
But the real fun of the day was her confirming her tickets. January 10. Best Christmas present ever. Cannot wait.
Thursday, December 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
No, not unwrapping her, you horndogs, not yet anyway; that’s still on track for a much-anticipated day in January. Move along now, nothing to see here. Geez!
No, after Christmas Eve celebrations with family, I called to give her the combination to her tamper-resistant present. I’m sure the tender scene looked something like this:
Then I opened my present from her, and began to pull out…wait for it…socks. Yes, socks. I believe she will need a spanking for that. That, or I’ll have to start teasing her by calling her “Grandma”. Which do you suppose she’d prefer?
Although they are, in fact, very nice socks.
Fortunately, the socks were only packing material for a very nice bottle of usquebaugh, so I got a good laugh and then had a delicious drink. Thus was a good time had by all, and the merriest of Christmas Eves for me in many a year.
As for that other unwrapping: the wait is killing me.
Thursday, December 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s Christmas morning, snow is falling outside my window, and my thoughts are as pure as ever:
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Sarah at Submissive Reflections has some pertinent observations on relationships, wrapped up in an ironic anecdote. There’s more than this long quote, so read it all.
Christine’s husband, Dan, arrived and he kissed her and she fended him off, complaining about her makeup, he told her she looked beautiful and she told him not to be so silly. She complained about him being late and that everyone had had to wait for him, even though we were all still waiting on Mac. Dan mumbled an apology and stood off to his wife’s side like a chastised child.
Mac walked in a good ten minutes later, greeting everyone noisily and asking what they were waiting for. He put his hands on my waist, kissed my lips and told me I looked delicious. I grinned up at Him and said thankyou. I was wearing the dress He had suggested, a short black dress. I had added stockings, high heels and hadn’t bothered with panties. Mac knew without me having to tell Him. He boomed out an apology for being late and grabbed my hand and led everyone to the table. He made sure I was sitting beside Him.
I watched as Dan trailed along behind his wife and as she told him where to sit. Menus arrived and while everyone was reading Christine announced loudly to Dan that he had better not order anything to fattening, he had to watch his weight. She continued through the meal to make fun of Dan’s receding hair line, tell everyone he had not gotten the recent promotion that he had applied for which is why they couldn’t afford a new car and generally put him down every chance she got. I felt so sad for him but he didn’t react to it at all.
Mac was His usual boisterous self. He had the whole table in tears laughing at stories about Christmas at His parent’s house, keeping everyone entertained. His hand kept sneaking under the table and up my skirt to feel how wet I was, which of course only made me wetter. My hand kept sneaking under the table to feel how hard He was, which of course only made Him stay hard. He kept leaning into my ear to whisper wicked things about where He wanted His cock and I kept whispering back about what I would do to His cock when it was there. W/we were keeping each other close to the edge of orgasm.
After dinner I excused myself to go to the bathroom and Christine came with me. She was touching up her makeup when I went to wash my hands and she told me how lucky I was to have Mac, as He was so male. It was all I could do to bite my lip so I didn’t tell her that maybe Dan would be more male if she stopped treating him like a child. I just smiled and went back to the table and kissed Mac’s cheek.
…
I wish I could say that Christine and Dan are the only couple I know like this, but they are not. I see it often enough for it to bother me. You don’t have to be submissive to show your partner respect. You don’t need to lower your eyes or be a sexual slave to accept the gift of their compliments graciously and show them that you care about them.
You could swap the genders (and discount Sarah’s submissive perspective, if it bothered you) and this would still be wisdom.
Monday, December 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Is your Christmas season shaping up to be merry and, er, gay? If so, you won’t want to miss this Christmas greeting from BJ’s Gay Porno Crazed Ramblings.
Tuesday, December 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
As noted previously, The Nymph is a confessed present peeper. So I warned her that her Christmas present would come in tamper-resistant packaging. She got it yesterday:
She says she’s still laughing. I figure she’s madly trying all 9999 combinations, in order. We’ll see if she remembers to humor me by asking for the combination on Christmas day.
Tuesday, December 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Today’s my day for wrapping her present. This is a challenge, because she’s a confessed present-peeper. You know, the sort of girl who unwraps a corner of the package a week before Christmas to see what’s inside.
I have a plan. We’ll see if it works.
Tuesday, November 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Her Christmas present arrived yesterday. Now to get it wrapped and mailed.
Things are still going very well. The tally of hours spent on the phone would horrify you, but it just makes me smile.
The Nymph has a coworker who has been complicating the business of setting an exact date for the Nymph’s January visit. That does not make me smile. If it keeps up, we are going to have to arrange something like this for the coworker. Little she knows her peril!
Monday, October 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a recommendation for consumer electronics manufacturers, in the guise of a haiku from deep in the archives at Girls In the Bag:
cute little cell phone
if you vibrated stronger
they would sell more phones.
Thursday, December 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
So, Bacchus was awakened early on Christmas morning. This was unexpected, as Bacchus has no children. Still, there was a tugging at Bacchus’s…well, let’s just say there was a tugging.
“Bacchus! Bacchus! Wake up! It’s time to unwrap your present!”
“Present? I already unwrapped my presents last night.”
“Well, if you don’t want to….” [much pouting]
And that is the tale of how Bacchus did not wake up on Christmas morning. Ah, well, so much for fantasyland.
Tuesday, December 24th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
“Merry Christmas to All, and To All, a Good Night!”
Tuesday, December 17th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
A minor link from the Reverse Cowgirl to some of her more literate critics turned up this gem of an idea:
“People are always talking about how great this pornography is, I need to break down and purchase a pornograph so I get see what this is all about!”
Bacchus is all on board this excellent plan. Everyone should get a pornograph for Christmas. Joy to the World!
This post has been brought to you by Highland Mist, the cheap blended Scotch Whiskey that gives Scottish distilling a bad name. “Fine texture through the finish” indeed! (Assuming pumice is a fine texture….)
Wednesday, December 11th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Those cute and cuddly poo-eating bunnies over at Silflay Hraka started up with the mangled Christmas songs right after Thanksgiving, and, as the song goes, “it doesn’t show signs of stopping.” Now they’ve come along with a bastardized Christmas song about sex:
Noelle was an underclassman in my senior year, and as Christmas approached her life got worse and worse, from the dirty carols point of view.
The first Noelle, the angels did lay
Was with certain poor shepherds on rough bales of hay;
She was poor and she was cheap, and she had great big teats,
On a cold winter’s night she was better than sheep.
Noelle, Noelle, Noelle, Noelle,
At sexual congress she did excel!
These guys give doggerel a bad name. Go visit!
Thursday, November 21st, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Reuters via Yahoo reports that June and December are the months in which teens are most likely to lose their virginity. Apparently Christmas is romantic:
Levin and colleagues dubbed the December peak in coital activity “the holiday season effect,” and noted that this was when young females in romantic relationships were the most likely to have sex for the first time.
Or perhaps the teenage male youth of today have discovered the virtues of Bacardi 151 as an eggnog “flavoring.”
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