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The Sex Blog Of Record
Monday, November 11th, 2024 -- by Bacchus
After last month’s photo essay of a landlady collecting her rent in the form of kinky sex, this cartoon of a similar mutually-enthusiastic arrangement seems apropos.
It comes from the 1960 Adam Annual magazine.
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Saturday, October 5th, 2024 -- by Bacchus
Did you see the story last week about the giant (43 feet tall) naked statue of Donald Trump that got installed beside the highway near Las Vegas by some art activists? The artwork is titled “Naked And Obscene.” Some of the usual MAGA suspects are quoted as claiming that the artists are “demons”, that the statue “is designed to incite violence”, and that Trump, if/when reelected, “should jail” everyone involved.
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Tuesday, November 28th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
It’s good to have yacht bunnies who are committed to the naked life at sea, even when things get so chilly that she needs a warm fuzzy hat while she delivers your coffee.
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Saturday, November 11th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
Speaking as we just were about people who need a frosting management strategy, this happy nude couple cutting their wedding cake have it pretty easy. No matter how much cake they rub on their bodies, cleanup is a simple matter of lips and tongues!
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Tuesday, November 7th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
There’s a scene in The Princess Bride where the Dread Pirate Roberts has just bested Fezzic the giant in hand-to-hand combat. He tells the unconscious Fezzik “Sleep well, and dream of large women.” As if we don’t all have those dreams?
One of the things I really like about having been (at least tangentially) in the porn business for a couple of decades now is all the ways it has gotten better, or at least somewhat less toxic. Porn stars were all super-skinny once, or they were very large women indeed, described by offensive keywords not fit to print in this space, and treated as hyper-niche fetish material.
Progress, however, does happen. Nowadays there’s a considerable array of different body types we can see in porn, and we also have words like “thick” (or “thicc”) that can be, and routinely are, used to describe bigger-than-cocaine-chic bodies with unfettered admiration. It’s hard to explain how refreshing that is, or how utterly absent from our discourses about beauty such words used to be.
It’s good to live in a time when nude thick women like the ones in this post are as easy to find online as any other body type. I’m not saying the porn industry is uniformly kind to models who diverge from the petite old-school norms, because I’m sure that’s not true. But using words of admiration to categorize them on a porn site is a huge improvement from the days when the only available keywords and descriptors were deliberately judgmental and offensive.
Here on ErosBlog I have something of a knee-jerk reaction that usually prevents me from lumping women (porn models or not) into subjective keyword categories. If, as here, I take a set of images from a site that describes them all as “thick”, that’s one thing; but doing it myself feels like an objectification too far. I won’t look at a photo of a darker-skinned woman and try to ascribe to her an ethnicity or racial category based on her appearance, either, although I may well transcribe and report such categorizations that others have attempted. It’s just not a job I’m good at, or comfortable attempting. But more importantly, it’s not a job that ever feels very important to me. I suppose you might say that I prefer to enjoy female beauty without feeling the need to box it up and lump it into a category.
Models in the photos, from top to bottom, are: Dee Siren, Lexie, Lorna Blu, Arianna Sinn, Syntia, and Zafiro Herrera.
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Tuesday, August 1st, 2023 -- by Bacchus
Don’t get me wrong: a roaring gas fire feels like a miracle when it’s installed in a chilly room in some old house that was designed without central heat. It’s better to have it than not have it, for sure. And if it means views like this for the person still lounging snug in bed, so much the better!
Via Kinky Delight.
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Thursday, June 8th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
We can forgive her the body stocking, I think:
Via Kinky Delight, this is Maureen O’Hara filming a scene for the 1955 movie Lady Godiva of Coventry. Here’s the movie poster:
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Wednesday, April 12th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
In August of 1973 this uncredited cartoon appeared in California Girl magazine. It blends the legend of William Tell with the vaudevillian tradition of having a pretty girl way too fucking close to the action when demonstrating feats of accuracy for entertainment purposes:
The caption reads “You want to shoot an apple off my WHAT?”
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Monday, April 10th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
This naked rock band is from an illustrated fantasy in the March 1977 High Society magazine:
Rock on!
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Friday, May 27th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
The old house down on Dunes Road looks a little weather-beaten. Or, OK, maybe a lot weather-beaten. Certainly it needs some shingles and a coat of paint. But when she saw it, she had to buy it, because it’s really handy to the nude beach:
The shot is by photographer Scott Church.
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Wednesday, May 25th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
Fifty years ago, this photograph was considered pretty scandalous:
Some sources say it was the first nude photo ever to appear in Sports Illustrated. I don’t know if that’s true, but this photo of Olympian and US National Champion gymnast Cathy Rigby absolutely did appear in the August 21, 1972 issue, illustrating a story titled Sugar And Spice — And Iron. The photographer Jerry Cooke took the shot as part of his Bodies In Motion series, celebrating Olympic athletes as the epitome of perfect bodies in sports. I’d say Cathy was a great choice!
P.S. ErosBlog readers are always advised to click on images that appear here. Very often the images are linked to additional information — sometimes a gallery of similar photos, sometimes a larger and less-cropped version that offers additional context. In this case, you will see a hand-lettered caption by the photographer that says “Look but don’t touch!”
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Sunday, December 26th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
It’s the correct time of year for polar bear plunges and skinny-dipping cooldowns at sauna parties. And if that gives her a chance to show off the prettiest ass in the district, so much the better! The undignified dash for towel and clothes is always a temptation, but sometimes one must slow down and deliver the spectacle by which one was blessed by nature:
Via Kinky Delight.
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Wednesday, December 8th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fine vintage photo for all whose fetish enthusiasms include an appreciation of the classic rubber swimming cap. Although there’s much else to appreciate in this photograph:
Via Kinky Delight.
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Friday, September 24th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
I don’t suppose it’s fair to suggest that four naked ladies having a drinking and gaming party are necessarily lesbians. It could be that they are just extremely comfortable:
Art is by Underrock, who has a Patreon.
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Friday, September 17th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
Don’t you just love those bright spring days when the sunshine warms the air, but the snow is still heavy on the ground? Our snow angel here surely does!
From a long-ago tumblr.
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Sunday, August 22nd, 2021 -- by Bacchus
These catty wives aren’t happy with the enterprising nude who is monopolizing their husbands’ attention. But do you see them doing anything to compete? You do not!
Cartoon is from a 1957 issue of After Hours magazine. The signature appears to be that of Cal Massey, perhaps most famous for his comic book art.
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Sunday, July 25th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
The #Pornocalypse comes for us all — even mild-mannered gardeners!
No lesser source than the Associated Press reported out this sad tale of a New York state gardening group that was put at risk of deletion by too many automatic robot-moderation flags for the word “hoe”, which Facebook apparently thinks means the same thing as “ho”.
Moderating a Facebook gardening group in western New York is not without challenges. There are complaints of wooly bugs, inclement weather and the novice members who insist on using dish detergent on their plants.
And then there’s the word “hoe.”
Facebook’s algorithms sometimes flag this particular word as “violating community standards,” apparently referring to a different word, one without an “e” at the end that is nonetheless often misspelled as the garden tool.
Normally, Facebook’s automated systems will flag posts with offending material and delete them. But if a group’s members — or worse, administrators — violate the rules too many times, the entire group can get shut down.
Elizabeth Licata, one of the group’s moderators, was worried about this.
…
When a group member commented “Push pull hoe!” on a post asking for “your most loved & indispensable weeding tool,” Facebook sent a notification that said “We reviewed this comment and found it goes against our standards for harassment and bullying.”
…
“And so I contacted Facebook, which was useless. How do you do that?” she said. “You know, I said this is a gardening group, a hoe is gardening tool.”
Licata said she never heard from a person and Facebook, and found navigating the social network’s system of surveys and ways to try to set the record straight was futile.
Contacted by The Associated Press, a Facebook representative said in an email this week that the company found the group and corrected the mistaken enforcements. It also put an extra check in place, meaning that someone — an actual person — will check offending posts before the group is considered for deletion.
“We have plans to build out better customer support for our products and to provide the public with even more information about our policies and how we enforce them,” Facebook said in a statement in response to Licata’s complaints.
Note, however, that Facebook did not promise a better way to get in touch than to have an Associated Press reporter make phone calls.
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Saturday, July 17th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
When you’re a pinup artist like Norman Pett, pretty girls soaking up some sun on a warm beach make very practical subjects:
From Pett’s Annual (1944).
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Friday, June 25th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
If I am not mistaken, the modern motorized Lady Godiva is Gilda Texter, in the 1971 movie Vanishing Point:
Although Gilder Texter appeared in several movies, Wikipedia has her principal occupation as “costume designer”. Which makes it, I think, hilarious and ironic that she’s totally nude (except for sandals) in this movie!
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Saturday, April 10th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
An early post on ErosBlog was titled He Send His Wife To Get Firewood and that means the obvious joke about getting wood is no longer available to caption this amateur erotic photo with:
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Sunday, December 13th, 2020 -- by Bacchus
You know it’s bad when you’re playing strip roulette and the casino cuts you off:
That small-print caption reads “I regret to say, Madame, that our credit department must draw the line somewhere.” Cartoon is from the May 1957 issue of Cabaret magazine. If I’m reading that artist signature correctly, the cartoonist is probably Jack Bonestell.
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Monday, September 14th, 2020 -- by Bacchus
Music fans aren’t what they used to be, are they?
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Sunday, August 23rd, 2020 -- by Bacchus
The juxtaposition of nudity and skeletons is an old theme in art and photography. A bunch of people seemed to have thought they were saying something profound about mortality, youth, love, and so forth. I’m not sure they ever really pulled it off, but at least it brought us this pretty naked lady on the same couch as a skeleton:
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Friday, November 2nd, 2018 -- by Bacchus
I have long been aware that in the early history of the Mormon church they were the target of an enormous amount of anti-Mormon propaganda, but it was not until I saw some of the text in the 1883 book from which the following illustration is taken that I was aware how much it was bound up with sexual panic and charges of licentiousness:
The above fairly harmless drawing is captioned “Anointing Communicants In The Endowment House (Representing The Ceremony As Performed By The Mormons At Nauvoo)” but the accompanying prose is considerably over the top:
In the administration of the endowment ceremonies, males and females were compelled to subordinate any native modesty they might have. The women repaired to a chamber where their clothing was all removed; they then passed in nude condition to the anointing room, where a priestess received them; they were there baptized in a tub, and then anointed with olive oil until their flesh was as slick as a Guinea negro’s. Those who know of the secret practices of the priesthood declare that Smith and his colleagues had a peephole made in the side of this endowment room, through which they studied the physical attributes of female communicants, so as to inform themselves fully concerning the desirableness of new spiritual wives. This ceremonial proceeding led to beastiality with all naturalness…
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Thursday, August 2nd, 2018 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure if this vintage art photo postcard by Irina Ionesco is intended to suggest a woman on her death bed, but something about the scattered playing cards and the transparent shroud speak to me of a lifetime of utterly unrepentant hedonism:
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Saturday, April 14th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
Meet Sandy! In 1975, when this full-color French-language Terrificolor: Les pions maudits horror comic was published by Elvifrance, an impetuously-naked blonde like her could only have one fate. And thus, or “inévitablement” as the comic lettering has it, she does in the end get her head cut off by a haunted set of empty armor. But not before we get to enjoy her nakedness in several more perky panels:
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Saturday, April 7th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
The traditional slang for an informal open-handed fight between women — especially one where, at least in the male imagination, clothing is lost or removed — is a “catfight”, presumably because of the assumption that fingernails will be deployed and that scratching is likely. There’s a lot of sexism built into the notion of a catfight (cf. “hits like a girl”) but it goes deep in a culture where at least some boys are taught to make a fist and throw a punch while, perhaps, their sisters are not.
Be all that as it may, the topless female fighting in the September 1986 edition of Les drolesses #19: Sans dessus dessous from Elvifrance is just a bit more formal, taking place in a ring as a public entertainment with at least a verbal nod toward an Asian martial art:
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Tuesday, April 3rd, 2018 -- by Bacchus
Sure. Yeah. Why not? I’d pay a drachma on a hot day to sit in the shade and watch pretty topless girls play leapfrog with pissed-off bulls. I mean, as long as the girls were good at it; I wouldn’t really want to see anybody get hurt. And if this was all just the warm-up to some fancypants shithead coming out with a sword to do some bull-murdering, then, no:
Artwork is from the cover of the January 1952 Fate magazine, advertising a story headlined The Bull Leapers of Crete. I blogged a chunk of this art ten years ago from a modern source, perhaps a CD cover, which had repurposed it without attribution.
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Tuesday, February 27th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
I am in receipt of the “all bodies are beautiful” memorandum, oh yes, and mostly I appreciate its sentiments. But we remain who we are, and who am I? I am a man who, upon seeing a woman beyond a certain degree of slimness, cannot resist the urge to imagine that she might be waiting for me to hand her a toasted sandwich. This 1918 photograph of Georgia O’Keeffe, taken by Alfred Stieglitz, definitely triggers that impulse:
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Tuesday, February 6th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
When the Fairy Queen says “Awake! Arise!” well, I guess you’d better wake and rise:
The artwork is signed somewhat indistinctly (see the larger size for a better view of the signature) but I believe the signature is “Frank T. Merrill” for American illustrator Frank Thayer Merrill. The art comes from the version of “Queen Mab” found within this 1904 edition of The Complete Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley. It seems to illustrate these lines from the poem:
From her celestial car
The Fairy Queen descended,
And thrice she waved her wand
Circled with wreaths of amaranth:
Her thin and misty form
Moved with the moving air.
And the clear silver tones,
As thus she spoke, were such
As are unheard by all but gifted ear.
…
Soul of Ianthe!
Awake ! arise !
Sudden arose
Ianthe’s Soul; it stood
All beautiful in naked purity.
The perfect semblance of its bodily frame.
Instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace.
Each stain of earthliness
Had passed away, it reassumed
Its native dignity, and stood
Immortal amid ruin.
Upon the couch the body lay
Wrapt in the depth of slumber…
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Wednesday, December 20th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure why you would bother with a scarf when neglecting so much other clothing and essential motorcycle safety gear, but in the world of pulp cover art, it’s all about the image, is it not so?
This one is from the cover of Hypersexy #20.
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Wednesday, November 29th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
This is not Maurice Sendak illustrating A Good Time Among The Wild Pagans; in fact the images are from from a medieval illuminated manuscript in the Hague, about which I can’t tell you much more because the database links there are broken and don’t lead anywhere. From context and some of the other captions, I’m guessing these are Roman pagan revels as imagined by sneering medieval churchmen, but I could be eight kinds of wrong. Looks like reasonably good partying to me!
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Monday, October 30th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
I came across this topless boxing cutie while researching the faux-vintage pumpkin flapper photos yesterday. Our boxing babe, I think, may genuinely be vintage in her origins.
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Tuesday, February 7th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
As all know, handing out bubble wands is a great way to liven up any kind of party:
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Wednesday, February 1st, 2017 -- by Bacchus
The guards are supposed to be imperturbable, but I think this one is, at the least, a mite distracted:
No good source on this, but I strongly suspect it comes from a 1960s British men’s magazine.
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Monday, September 19th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
A return to classical (lack of) costumes ought to be the major innovation of the Olympic Games in the 21st century. It would surely do wonders to restore the flagging viewership:
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Wednesday, August 3rd, 2016 -- by Bacchus
She’s wearing a helmet, from which we may conclude she’s not completely unconscious of motorcycle safety issues. Yet I think the very first item of safety gear I would choose for mostly-naked cycling would be some sort of shoes:
Found at Vintage Cuties; the model may be Lois Mitchel.
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Sunday, April 10th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Do you suppose he found her on (sing it with me, you’ve seen the TV commercials!) Farmers Only Dot Com?
Photo is called Mowing The Garden Of Eden and is by photographer Dan Still.
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Monday, March 7th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
The American women I have known who belly dance as hobbyists (and I’ve known several) have each had a quirky thing in common. At the drop of a sequin, or at the first hint of a risqué comment, or sometimes with no provocation whatsoever, any of them would deliver a stiff-necked and puritanical little speech about the venerable art of belly dance.
Belly dancing, they would proclaim, is an utterly non-sexual practice. What’s more, they would have you know, belly dance “in its proper cultural and historical context” has nothing whatsoever to do with stripping, and even less than nothing to do with any of the more intimate models of sex-work. (These were 1990s women, though, so they didn’t say “sex work.” They said “prostitution”, loading each syllable with disgust.)
Festooned with their coin belts and sequined bras and tasseled shawls and fringed wraps and at least the proverbial seven layers of veils, any of these women could almost sell you this load of sex-negative codswallop. But when they’d go back out on the dance floor and start to shimmy, the spell would break. Whatever its “proper historical and cultural context” may be, belly dance with all of its artifices and accouterments is manifestly a time-tested and well-honed technology for raising and hardening the penises of men.
If you require further evidence of this straightforward proposition, I offer you the photographs illustrating this post. Our belly dancing model goes by the unlikely name of Kissa Sins, and as her photos make clear, she definitely does not view belly dancing as an art that’s in any way distinct from its power to arouse!
You can find Kissa’s belly dance seduction and blowjob performance as the second-to-last scene on Happy Endings Volume 2 from Brazzers Studios.
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Tuesday, January 12th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
She’s all grown up, but she’s not so grown up she can’t slide down the banister when she thinks nobody is looking:
Photo is by RSH Photography.
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Monday, October 12th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
It’s just another day in San Francisco! Marie decides to take a naked scamper down the street to buy a waffle cone, but along the way, she meets a huge friendly dog and makes a new friend:
Photos are from Nude In San Francisco.
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Monday, September 28th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
I like how she slyly kneels out of the “line of fire” when she realizes he’s about ready to shoot his load:
Another Gracy Gimp creation, this one titled Un peu de douceur. (That means something like “a little sweetness” according to Google Translate.)
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Friday, September 11th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
Who says cleaning has to be drudgery?
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Sunday, July 26th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
Jacqomo is in a very special prison. Sorry, I don’t think they are selling tickets for visitors:
From The Life Erotic.
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Friday, July 24th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been spending more time in my garden this year because, well, fresh tomatoes are ten thousand times better than anything I can buy in a store here in red-state Heck. But now, via Bondage Blog, I learn of a garden accessory that could reduce my workload while improving the quality of the time I spend out there. Clearly I need one or more of these:
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Sunday, July 12th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
This is all over Tumblr and Pinterest with versions of the same caption: “Audrey Hepburn getting ready for an outdoor bath while vacationing at Côte d’Azur 1956.” I want to believe, and so do you:
My problem is twofold. First of all, posing nude would have been out of character for what I know of Aubrey Hepburn. (And despite several random internet captions suggesting this was a paparazzi shot, it’s posed or I’ll eat that fine lady’s bath beads.) Second, whenever I spot essentially the same caption on a hundred different social media instances of an image, I smell a rat.
Finally, I’ve found a counter-provenance that seems more plausible. The same photo appears here in a collection of nudes (models not identified) attributed to photographer André de Dienes.
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Monday, April 20th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
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Saturday, April 18th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
“So by the time we found our way out of those caves, we were way the hell-and-gone on the other side of the mountain from where we sat down for the picnic. I swear, we never did find our clothes, or the picnic basket!
What’s that? Oh, hell yeah, of course. What do you think? I married her!”
Photo is from a vintage French stereoview card that was for sale on eBay.
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Wednesday, March 25th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
Did you know they had competitive rowing events at nudist camps? Me neither:
Via Kinky Delight.
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Sunday, March 15th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
You know those dreams where you’re on stage about to make some public speech or performance? Only, you don’t have any pants? It can actually happen:
Pictures found here. But the best explanation I could discover comes from here, and I hope you’ll blame Google for the uncertainties of the machine translation:
Japan set up a college band naked woman
According to friends broke the news recently, a group of Internet widespread naked woman is said to be in a college band in Japan pictures. The group picture shows, this university is naked girl band performances, the audience packed. But there are knowledgeable users claimed that this group of pictures actually director for Japan Morikawa Kei Japanese AV Actress composed by the so-called “Stark Naked Orchestra”, not what college woman orchestra!
Japanese publicity stunt for an AV idol sounds about right to me. Although a genuine naked orchestra might not be a bad way to sell classical music to the masses!
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Wednesday, December 10th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
This looks like fun, but I’m not sure these nudist fencers are wearing enough safety equipment:
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Friday, December 5th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
From now on whenever I see four women in a boat I am gonna assume this is what they are planning on doing just as soon as they reach a secluded cove:
Update: Commenter Hug has offered links leading to a nice color version of this artwork by Harald Slott-Møller:
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Wednesday, December 3rd, 2014 -- by Bacchus
Kinky Delight brings us this detail from a vintage erotic stereo card of a nun baring her breasts to the breezes on a hot day a long time ago:
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Monday, November 3rd, 2014 -- by Bacchus
It’s been trendy for some years now to offer feminist critiques of the way women are depicted wearing armor in fantasy settings. But apparently the problem is not all that new:
Photo is from Wicked Knickers, but it must have a context. That this context is unknown to me? A source of unreasoning angst so great that I may yet be devoured by it.
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Friday, October 31st, 2014 -- by Bacchus
This sort of thing is why I usually stay in on All Hallows Eve:
All I know about this image is that I found it here.
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Friday, October 24th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
It’s just a friendly game of naked table tennis. But I think she digs him.
From the photographic style, I’d say this is from one of the many nudist/naturist magazines that used to be available.
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Sunday, July 6th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
Back in the day, when bicycles were tall and riding outfits extra-skimpy:
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Thursday, July 3rd, 2014 -- by Bacchus
There’s a sport in much of the southern United States called noodling. It usually involves shoving your bare hand into a submerged hole and then grabbing whichever of Gollum’s friends you find living there, right after said nasty slithery beast has just bitten you defensively. As for me, I have avoided the sport. Then, too, my understanding is that the dress code runs mostly to cut-off overalls and armless undershirts. But now I have some new data:
Now I may have to take it up.
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Sunday, March 16th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
When Dr. Faustus commented on the previous post by observing “All very interesting, but I’m waiting to see a U-boat on these premises” I took it as a challenge. Even treating “U-boat” as a generic signifier for submarines (which is cheating) this turned out to be a surprisingly difficult request, presumably because submarines are expensive military equipment and navies of the world take a dim view of naked female shenanigans involving them. Nonetheless, I finally hit pay dirt in the form of an unattributed ImageFap gallery (hostile javascript warning, back button disabled) featuring numerous photos of three pretty women in and out of uniforms and inside what looks to be a mothballed museum sub:
There’s just the hint of sign visible in one photo that makes me think the sub in question may be the USS Marlin, currently on display in Omaha, Nebraska:
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Thursday, September 12th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Naked pictures of Brigitte Bardot are not all that hard to find. But the “come hither” look she’s displaying in this one from 1962? Priceless:
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Tuesday, August 27th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Awesome nude beach ball move:
Found at Fifi’s place.
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Saturday, June 15th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
They don’t make pants (or fashion photography) like they used to!
Confronted with pants so majestic and terrifying and fabulous, I guess a person’s only choices would be fleeing abjectly, or what these ladies chose: stripping off all your clothes and kneeling in submission.
This is from a 1976 magazine fashion shoot with several similar photos. Bondage Blog has the details.
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Friday, March 8th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a visual guide to losing at strip poker — with style! She’s still got her shoes, her watch, and her hair ribbon; after those go, she’ll have to start paying in forfeits.
She may be losing the poker game, but I think she’s winning at the game she’s actually playing.
From Issue #30 of Spree: The Big Magazine For The Virile Man (1962).
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Friday, February 8th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Mind the nipple!
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Monday, January 21st, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Of course it’s for art:
I found it on one of Dr. Faustus’s proliferating Tumblrs, but I failed utterly at finding an original sourcing credit.
Thursday, October 11th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
This is from an old Janus spanking magazine, which explains the kinky prose that I found accompanying it:
“I imagine that Debby Harry, Farrah Fawcet-Majors, or some such character is sent to live with her cruel aunt and uncle in some secluded country house to be taught the meaning of discipline and obedience. Her life there is a strict regime. Most of the week is relatively free of punishment, although she has to do most of the housework. Sunday is reserved for punishment…”
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Saturday, October 6th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Art is by Ilio Giannaccini.
Monday, July 16th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
I hope she’s watching out for that barbed wire!
It’s a scan from an old Black Gold magazine.
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Tuesday, May 8th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Apparently in Romania, you can ride a motorcycle nude … except you still need a helmet:
A woman riding on the back of a motorbike stark naked was pulled over by police – because she wasn’t wearing her helmet.
…
After pulling the motorbike over in Romania, officers let the modern day Lady Godiva off with just a warning and a ticket for not donning a helmet.
The cheeky rider then hopped back on the bike, nude but for a crash helmet, and sped off – giving fellow motorists plenty of photo opportunities.
One disbelieving witness said: ‘The officer was a traffic cop and the only traffic offence she’d committed was in not wearing a helmet.
‘So he gave her a warning and a ticket and told her and her companion to ride on.’
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Friday, April 13th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Just what it says on the tin: rope jumping, in the nude, against a stunning ocean beach scenery backdrop.
Friday, September 23rd, 2011 -- by Bacchus
The pool itself is showing signs of decline — check out the cracked cinder blocks top center — but the company is fine:
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Wednesday, July 20th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Fuck Yeah Karl Elvis has been accumulating pictures of pretty girls in bathrooms, lately:
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Thursday, April 7th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Via Erectus.
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Wednesday, March 9th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
I suppose I’d rather see this at my local multiplex than the usual idiots sending and receiving 300 text messages:
Sunday, February 27th, 2011 -- by Dr. Faustus
I got and read a copy of John Gilmore’s L.A. Despair: A Landscape of Crimes & Bad Times in the course of trying to learn more about the tragic story of actress Barbara Payton, one of whose characters is prominent in a post over at my other blog home. I was a little surprised when I found the first plate was one of porn actor John Holmes, in a scene of almost primal innocence. It’s a striking image — I’m sorry I don’t know the name of the actress.
After innocence, the fall. It’s well known that the lives of porn actors sometimes do not end well.
Also the lives of bus drivers, tax accountants, and housewives. Remember that.
Saturday, February 12th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
You know you have been looking for this:
It’s from the back cover of a book called Burt Reynolds Hotline: The Letters I Get … And Write!
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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Tuesday, December 7th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
My mother was one of these parents who was inherently suspicious of the entertainments devised by other families. The usual pattern would be, we’d ask for permission, she’d say “Oh, hell no!”, the rejoinder would be some whiny form of “But Mom, everybody else is doing it…” and then she got to deliver her favorite line:
“If everybody else was jumping off the end of the dock, would you?”
Well, actually, Mom…
Tuesday, November 9th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
These days, the stereotype is of a bunch of bloggers sitting around word-processing in their pajamas. But what did people do before the invention of modern conveniences like word processors and zippered fleece footie-pajamas?
I’m not sure, but I’m betting it was cold and inconvenient, like this:
Monday, October 18th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
And meanwhile, somewhere in Europe, a pretty girl tries to brighten up a gray and otherwise pointless day:
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Monday, October 11th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I used to live in a tourist destination town, and it was not uncommon to encounter European backpacker types naked in the laundromat while they washed all their clothes. The impression we got from attitude and body language was that this was considered normal practice for travelers on a budget, and that considerations of more modest local custom were beneath contempt. So, basically: Suck it, you American prudes.
Thus it is with some irony that I have encountered this porn made by a U.S. porn company featuring a BDSM slavegirl being forced to launder her clothes in a public fountain in a European city (Berlin, I think):
Although the locals are probably rather less bothered by all this than they would be in the U.S., I’m sure there are some ancient moralists whose feelings were ruffled during the making of this pornography. And to them I say, in all good humor: Suck it, you European prudes.
Images credit: Public Disgrace.
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Monday, October 11th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Maybe it’s because I grew up in the Frozen North myself, but I’m really enjoying the Snow Bunnies tumblr. Polar Bear Clubs (where people band together to cut holes in the ice to bathe in the Arctic Ocean at astronomically significant times, like midnight on the winter solstice) really do exist; and all I can imagine is that this is a scene from one of them. In my imagination, there was a small office somewhere in Barrow or Deadhorse, maybe something to do with oilfield services or borough government, where they each pledged twenty bucks for a worthy charity, and then drew lots to see which one of them would be the naked sacrifice to the Arctic Ocean…
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Monday, September 27th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
It’s a tough job, but she’s just the woman to do it:
Via Usenet.
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Thursday, September 23rd, 2010 -- by Bacchus
“All right boys, here’s how we’re going to take this fucking kremlin. Natasha, take off everything but your boots. Yes, everything. Yeah, I know it’s fucking cold. Just shut up and do it. Now here’s what we do. Natasha, you’re going to go up to that guard and distract the fuck out of him, give him some sob story about bandits. Doesn’t really matter, he’ll be so busy looking at your tits we’ll be able to cover the open ground behind him and get to the wall…”
Picture via Snow Bunnies.
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Monday, September 20th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Camping is always fun. Camping with her? Even more fun. Very important to stay hydrated:
Via Fuck Yeah Karl Elvis.
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Wednesday, September 8th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I know that relaxed poly relationships are all the rage these days among the sexual illuminati. But old-fashioned sleeping-with-another-woman’s husband — you know, without asking first — still happens. And sometimes, that’s not such a good idea:
I’m not condoning violence, mind you. I’m just saying, be careful out there.
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Friday, August 20th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I’m not at all sure what’s going on here. But naked people having fun is always relevant to my interests:
Tuesday, August 10th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
It’s hard to be the pharaoh, but somebody has to do it:
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Thursday, July 1st, 2010 -- by Bacchus
My new personal trainer says stretching exercises are important before our workout. I think I’m gonna like working with this one:
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Thursday, April 22nd, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Here’s one of the more enthusiastic naked hitchhiker photos I’ve ever encountered. It’s all in the stance, it’s all in the stance!
Via Radioactive Lingerie — and doesn’t that explain a lot?
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Wednesday, April 21st, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I guess this is the retro version of the German tourists who sometimes get discovered buck naked at the laundromat while they cheerfully launder all of their clothes:
From alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.vintage.
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Sunday, March 7th, 2010 -- by Dr. Faustus
Historic Rahway, New Jersey may bear the distinction of being the boyhood home of Milton Friedman, but the libertarian principles that eminent economist spent his life espousing might be a little wan these days in his hometown.
It seems that Eliza Gonzalez and family decided to take advantage of recent snowy weather in the Northeast United States to make a Venus de Milo-esque snow sculpture on their front yard, which apparently most of the neighbors liked, at least according to this TV news report. But someone, of course, had to ruin the fun by making an anonymous complaint to the police, who in turn complained to Ms. Gonzalez, who responded by covering the sculpture up with a bikini top and a sarong.
The irony of the situation, as Ms. Gonzalez told the BBC (oh, grand, now the Brits and the whole world get to snicker at us prudish Americans again) is that the sculpture looked “more objectified and sexualized” than before the cops showed up.
I’m afraid I agree. Hat tip to Jerry Coyne.
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Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Something about the hippy-style body paint in a drawing with Nazis made me think this was from some sort of alternate-history where the Nazis won, only to be suborned from within, a generation later, by free love and LSD. But no, it’s just hippy-era adventure-magazine art, looking irreverently backwards:
Illustration, via http://drakecaperton.tumblr.com/“>Drake’s Way, is from the December 1967 issue of Men, from an article by the most excellent name of “Free the Girls of Love Captive Stalag”. Oh, yes, do let’s!
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Friday, February 26th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
From a French book cover:
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Thursday, February 25th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
You always gotta love flexi girls, even vintage ones:
From Vintage Lust.
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Wednesday, January 13th, 2010 -- by Dr. Faustus
Seeing the positive response created by my post containing James Montgomery Flagg’s “The Fencer” (or perhaps, as one commenter suggested, “Puss in Boots”) I thought it only fair to include an image of another, slightly different naked person with a sword for those who enjoy that sort of thing. I should hope that it will please those for whom “The Fencer” might not have been quite what they were looking for in a swordsman, as well as those of expansive tastes.
The character is named Roger Hawke, and he was painted by Barb Rausch (1941-2001), appearing on the back cover of Wimmen’s Comix #16. Eat your heart out, Flagg!
Saturday, September 26th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Monday, March 30th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
There used to be at least one:
That’s a scene from Florencio’s Men’s Salon in Los Angeles, as portrayed in the September 1964 Gent magazine, via Vintage Scans. One can only imagine how much time they had to spend brushing the hairs off themselves with those little hogs-bristle brushes.
Tuesday, December 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Much as I enjoyed (re)publishing the naked pictures of Sophia Loren’s boobies from her 1950s French-movie semi-nude harem scene, the truth of the woman is that she could be seductive wearing a gunny sack. Or, in this case, a black corset and pearls:
I’m told (and why have I never seen this movie?) that this is a scene from The Millionairess, in which she spends the whole flick failing to seduce a character played by Peter Sellers. (Details here; thanks to Silent Porn Star for the link.) Youtube has the scene:
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Tuesday, December 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The post about topless Japanese pearl diver women prompted a reader to rummage through his dead-tree books, resulting in this gem of an image:
The book he found it in (Eros In Hell: Sex, Blood, and Madness in Japanese Cinema) speaks of an entire genre of Japanese nude flicks based around this theme:
Glimpses of straightforward screen nudity were not uncommon even in the 1950s…. The trend was sneakily initiated by Shintoho Studios in the mid-’50s with a new genre, the “girl diver” movie. Girls were shown wet-bloused, then later topless, then later even naked as they dived for pearls in such films as Onna Shinjuo No Fukushu (Revenge Of The Pearl Queen) and Ama No Bakemono Yashiki (Haunted House Of Ama aka Girl Divers Of Spook Mansion). … More recent entries in the persistent “girl diver” sub-genre include Atsushi Fujiura’s Yobai Ama (Nasty diver, 1977) and Shikijo Ama (Lusty Diver, 1981).
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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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Tuesday, November 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Since I wrote last week about Google’s Secret Sexual No-Fly List, Tony Comstock has been doing some more digging into the perversities of Google’s various admitted and secret adult keyword filters. He’s been blogging up a storm about it, with posts like this:
In that last one, Tony shared the startling discovery that Google’s SafeSearch algorithm returns thirty three million “safe” results for [penis], but not a single one for [clitoris]. On top of all the other problems, Google’s filters are sexist! Tony expounded on this in his subsequent post, Dragged into Google’s Sex Ghetto, Kicking and Screaming:
As mentioned previously, I had been working on a post tentatively entitled “Does the Googlebot have Asperger’s Syndrome?” but I realize now that the analogy is too generous. People with Asperger’s see and understand the world differently from “normal” people, but I’ve never read anything about Asperger’s that suggests that Aspies are especially lazy or malfeasant.
The way that Google’s SafeSearch filter handles returns for [penis] vs. the way it handles them for [clitoris] isn’t a product of seeing things differently. It’s just plain lazy. Somewhere inside of Google, an engineer was tasked with filtering “adult” sites from returning under “strict filtering” searches. Somehow he (I’m going to have to assume this engineer is a man,) when confronted with the vagaries English language, was able to write an algorithm that allowed 30 million “safe” returns for [penis]. But when faced with the same problem for [clitoris] he found it easier to simply put clitoris on a list of banned words.
That’s not Aspie-ish, that’s just lazy and sexiest.
[Erotic] was too much trouble for him, so it got banned too. [Nude] and [naked] were too much trouble, so they were out. His algorithm couldn’t tell the difference between a nursery rhyme rooster and a raging hard-on, so [cock] got banned. Is this webpage talking about kitty-cats or cunts? His algorithm couldn’t tell, so [pussy] went on to the list, along with [bastard] and [anus]. For some reason his algorithm could find 4.7 million “safe” returns for [glans] and 2.5 million “safe” returns for [testicle], but not a single “safe” return for [fellatio] or [cunnilingus], so they went on the list as well.
That’s not the product of a odd blind spot to social interaction, that’s just lazy and ass-covering; not to mention laughable coming from a company that touts its “advance proprietary technology.” (I’ll leave it to someone else to decide whether or not it’s [evil].)
Now Susie Bright has gotten her teeth into the sexist implications of the penis versus clitoris filtering, and has written, in “Clitoris” on Google’s Banned Word List:
I recall the 1970s abortion rights poster that read “If men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament.” The sexism of the Internet infrastructure is the same joke. There is no way that men would consider “prostate cancer” an inappropriate search or conversation item. They would never for a moment consider that their “penis” was a word that couldn’t be allowed in a respectable business or learning environment.
But women’s bodies? Oh, you’re familiar with the filthy and unspeakable territory those will lead you into. It’s in the Bible, right?
Let’s stop coddling Internet censorship as if it were an etiquette or a “children’s” issue. The people suffering from being firewalled and banned aren’t commercial porn-makers with some gonzo to pitch – they’re educators, healthcare professionals, midwives, nurses, doctors, researchers, artists, writers, filmmakers, political activists, critics and analysts– all of whom find their interest in women’s lives to be shrouded in the great Internet burqa of “safeness.”
Look. I write a blog with “sex” right up in the title, and I make part of a living at it. So it’s no surprise that I’ve always hated the lame and weak approach to filtering that Google (well, all the search engines, but who else matters?) uses to disrupt and marginalize the great internet conversation about sex. It’s also no surprise that I can’t talk about this without some mental genius popping up in my comments to suggest that I wouldn’t care about this if I didn’t want more visitors to my blog. Happens, I’ve got six years of blog posts that prove I care passionately about the free exchange of sexual ideas, so I don’t let the nattering slow me down much. All of which is preface to my point, which is that I’m freaking delighted to see the beginnings of a noisy conversation about this.
Is there any hope that the sex bloggers of America can shame Google into being less shame-faced about the sexual contents of its search index? Given the massively overwhelming numerical superiority of the prudish majority to whom Google is catering with searches “safe” from female sexuality, probably not. But it’s important to remember that the actual people at Google are unlikely to be all that prudish or sexist; they are just, as Tony has pointed out so well, taking the lazy way out when attempting to do something (catering to sexist prudes) that they’d probably rather not be doing anyway, but for their perception (or perhaps assumption?) that it’s a corporate necessity.
Thus, I see at least a faint hope that if the mockery of their weak and lame filtering shortcuts is loud enough, they’ll have to improve their filtering systems out of a mix of professional pride and a sense of public relations necessity. If we can just disrupt their comfortable assumption that all sexual discussion is acceptable collateral damage, to be readily sacrificed in their (very difficult and endless) war against spammy porn sites, that alone would be a worthwhile step in the right direction.
Tuesday, November 4th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
Maybe today will be. I’m not convinced of that, no matter who wins. Instead, today I want to celebrate the approaching end of the Bush era…..and this image, from Satan’s Laundromat, captures it well.
Comments Off on The End Of An Era?
Wednesday, October 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I believe this vintage photograph of six naked men may date from the 1930s. I found it on Usenet and it came with a filename suggesting that these were military men getting some R&R:
As I sometimes do when I have an attractive and somewhat unusual image available in fairly high resolution, I cropped and uploaded a couple of versions in sizes suitable for use as Windows wallpaper:
Six Nude Men (800×600)
Six Nude Men (1024×768)
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Saturday, September 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The last time I drooled over Annie Cruz here on Erosblog, I called her “painfully beautiful”, in part because she was in dominatrix mode. But I really do think she’s a whole lot of hotness in a not-very-big package.
Which is why I cannot resist sharing some of the more modest scenes from this girl-girl nude wrestling match (conducted at Ultimate Surrender) in which Annie Cruz loses catastrophically to Samantha Sin.
Cruz (right) starts out looking confident and disdainful:
But it’s not long before she’s the first to lose her underwear, to the delight of the audience:
And she just can’t seem to avoid being woman-handled by the stronger Ms. Sin:
By this point, she doesn’t have much fight left in her:
Which means, she’s about to start “enjoying” the “surrender” part of the evening’s program.
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Saturday, September 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From an old magazine, I think:
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Sunday, September 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
When the party has progressed beyond a certain point of general inebriation, there comes that time when dancing on the bar turns into naked dancing on the bar. And when that happens, sometimes you see naked people who — how best to say this gently and without being body-judgmental? — were not first on your list of people you were waiting to see naked.
The truly fun thing, though, is that if the party’s going well enough, nobody cares, and it’s a good time anyway:
This rough-hewn nude table dancer is from an illustration by French illustrator Albert Dubout.
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Wednesday, September 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Cleaning out my inbox this morning — an Augean Stables if there ever was one — I found an email, most of a year old, from Neil. It featured this link, to the story of TV producer Mary Walsh, trying to emulate Spencer Tunick. She hoped for 500 bare asses on the windblown dock in Newfoundland, but she got fifty. In December, air temperature, 12 degrees (-11 C):
Shiver.
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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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Sunday, August 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
An alert reader sent me this link to a Craigslist post featuring what looks like a semi-nude (one boob) shot of vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin in her beauty queen days, complete with huge 1980s hair.
The nude picture was found in company with this pageant bikini-contest shot:
Is this Palin? I dunno. It could be a random brunette with “Alaska” photoshopped onto the banner. It could be her. I just dunno.
Moving along to the nude picture you’ve all been waiting for:
Now, understand, I’m terrible with faces. My face recognizer is so bad that I don’t recognize my friends at the grocery store, half the time. And to me, this grainy black-and-white face doesn’t jump out as “obviously” Sarah Palin — either the current mother of five or the pageant beauty we saw yesterday. It’s just some random brunette showing a breast.
But if we believe the bikini shot…
It’s a clever sort of misdirection. Similar backgrounds, same white drape, similar hair. But to my eye, the face is much more bland. I can’t say it’s the same girl; I don’t think it’s the same girl. But, you know, it maybe could be, if a guy wanted to believe badly enough.
While still trying to decide whether I had a picture worth showing you, I moved my attention to the awesome hot leather miniskirt photo in the same Craigslist post. I was suspicious of that one; Palin is not that tall and her legs aren’t quite that thunderous. Final nail in the coffin: The Museum of Hoaxes has the source photo that Palin’s headshot was chopped from.
From there, I followed links through a ValleyWag story to this photoshop contest page, where, hey guess what? They have the nude picture already! It turns out to be an old internet photo widely circulated as being a nude photo of some celebrity I’ve never heard of, one Julia Louis Dreyfus. And even then, the majority of the sites showing it advertise it as a fake — so it may not even be Ms. Dreyfus.
I deem it unlikely that a nude photograph of Sarah Palin has been circulating for years on the internet, being deliberately mis-labeled as a Julia Louis Dreyfus nude. I guess it’s a theoretical possibility, but if I were you I’d be more worried about flying monkeys shooting out of John McCain’s ass.
Bottom line, folks: You can’t believe just anything you see on the internet. This will not be the last “nude Sarah Palin” picture we see. It may not even be the last nude Sarah Palin photo you see on ErosBlog. But the next time you see one, it would be good to remain skeptical.
To be honest, the most interesting photo to me is the bikini one of the girl with the “Alaska” sash. Is that Palin? Finding it in company with Photoshops makes me skeptical, but it’s an attractive photo (actually, video screen capture I believe) and I’d enjoy having it confirmed.
As always when Photoshop enters a discussion on ErosBlog, commenters need to remember that I am ruthless about deleting expressions of insupportable certitude. Opinions and arguments are welcome, but absolute claims and excessive certainty (“that’s obviously fake”, “Of course that’s real”) are rude and foolish and will be moderated away.
Monday, August 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Famed physicist Richard Feynman was notorious for doing some of his better thinking about physics in strip clubs, no doubt inspired by his observations of heavenly bodies. (I’m sure I’m only like, the ten zillionth person to make that tired joke.) So I was amused to see this blog post linking stripping and neuroanatomy, with bonus paragraphs about the history of naked ladies in London:
It’s hard to start a paragraph with “I was strolling through London’s red light district the other evening…” without seeming a little dubious, but it’s the truth, so I shall have to begin by sounding suspect.
If your suspicions have already been raised, I doubt that if I say that I became interested in one of London’s biggest strip clubs for its importance in the history of neuroanatomy that I will seem at all convincing. But it was also the case, so I shall I have to also begin by sounding a little implausible.
The photo on the left depicts the neon drenched Windmill Theatre, the first venue in London to have risqué shows displaying the naked bodies of young women to breathless crowds of young men.
In the 1930s the owners realised there was a loophole in the law, and that if the naked girls stood still, they weren’t acting and so weren’t subject to legislation banning nude actors. Decades of titillating ‘living statue’ shows followed, using increasingly inventive ways of presenting the spectacle of the unclothed and unmoving girl.
Thanks to Violet Blue for the link.
Thursday, August 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
When I lived in San Francisco, the only nudity I saw was the late-night hookers flashing for passing drivers. But then again, I didn’t get out as much as I should have. Here’s Marie, out for a naked stroll on Lombard Street, courtesy of Nude In San Francisco:
Wednesday, August 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If this sort of thing were seen more often, it would go a long way toward improving our nation’s physical fitness:
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Monday, July 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
As every red-blooded American guy knows, there’s an entire genre of “women in prison” movies featuring, in varying degrees, bondage, nudity, sex, and soapy lesbian shower scenes. Most of these movies ultimately deliver less of all four than they advertise in the trailer, although rare (and inevitably hard to find) counter-examples do exist. Still and all, if there’s a guy out there who hasn’t been disappointed by a “WIP” flick, I haven’t met him.
Pornographers, fortunately, are not constrained by the legalities and customs appurtenant to theatrical distribution. For anybody who has a credit card, it’s now possible to remedy the almost-forgotten adolescent dissatisfaction with the six short seconds of grainy naked boobies that were the highlight of the (only) shower scene in “South American Chain Gang Girls” on Cinemax at 2:00AM in 1988. I’m thinking the Captive Slut movie and photo shoot is what somebody at Whipped Ass thinks South American Chain Gang Girls should have looked like, back in 1988, or maybe 1974:
The getting-rapidly-cleaner model with the expressively worried-looking face is Clare Dames. As mentioned above, the move/shoot is called Captive Slut.
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Sunday, July 6th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
If the name of this place referred to who eats there regularly or what it serves, I’d be there for every meal. Hell, I’d probably start craving snacks!
Found in Gareth Williams’s Flickr photostream.
Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Continuing the flood of summery nakedness, I offer this vintage beach nude:
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Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
As I am feeling disheartened just now by the spectacle of big-name bloggers I’ve admired for many years acting like poo-flinging monkeys with respect to other big-name bloggers I’ve admired for many years, I might just spend a few days clearing out my backlog of pretty pictures:
Actually, there’s no chance of “clearing” the backlog, because it’s like, ten thousand images big. But we’ve got a US holiday coming up, maybe I should focus on the pretty naked girls.
If I had a picture of pretty naked girls rolling around in that canned cherry topping you put on Fourth Of July cherry cheesecakes, I would post it on the Fourth. Maybe somebody out there can help me out?
Tuesday, June 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
She seems peaceable enough, but this woman squatting against a wall seems to have just attracted the attention of the (previously oblivious?) riot police:
From Naked Protesters.
Wednesday, May 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This story is interesting — an Israeli woman in New Zealand took offense at the wolf whistles from some construction workers, so she shut them up by stripping off all her clothes before going about her business at an ATM machine.
The interesting part is that she’s the one who got a trip to the police station. Apparently in New Zealand, harassing women on the street is considered normal and acceptable by the cops, but being naked is not:
“She was taken back to the police station and spoken to and told that was inappropriate (behavior) in New Zealand,â€? Police Sgt. Peter Masters said.
I’m not slamming New Zealand here; I can easily imagine this same reaction in many a U.S. town. But it does seem a touch old-fashioned, no?
Story via Naked Protesters.
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Wednesday, May 21st, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
I’ve read alot about absinthe and its mind-altering effects, but since I’m not much of a drinker I haven’t been too keen to try it. This artistic rendering of its effects may change my mind:
Image from New Scientist’s Short Sharp Science blog.
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Wednesday, May 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This naked cowboy is from the cover of a Greenleaf Classic gay pulp novel called One To Share by Dallas Kovar:
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Monday, May 12th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This astonished nude is from the cover of an old album called “Good Buddies”, as seen in the book Cover Story:
Friday, May 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve commented before that anything can be a fetish, and that one of the things I like best about sex blogging is reading people try to explain why certain things turn them on, that we’d not usually expect would do so. Needless to say, this ring fingering thing from Chelsea at Pretty Dumb Things made my day:
Marriage is a contract that I may never make, and yet I like being fingered by men with wedding rings. It’s not that I can feel the ring. Wedding rings tend toward the slim and the flat. I’ve never had the experienced the interior wriggling of a finger with a ring rococo as Liberace’s , a skull bauble thick as Keith Richard’s, a chunk of metal clunky as Robert Lee Morris’s Superman. The rings that have been inside me have been modest, prudent, utilitarian bands signaling commitment.
There have been three of them in reality and one in my imagination.
…
Clearly, when the finger is diddling me, I can’t see the ring. I can’t even feel the ring. So the pleasure of the ring comes neither from the visual nor from the sensual. It’s a purely imaginative power. It’s a pleasure that rests in the seat of all pleasure–my pinky-grey and corrugated brain.
It’s difficult for me to put my finger on the exact spot of that imaginary pleasure. I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that part is powered by the shock of the illicit thrill, if indeed the finger belonging to the man fingering me is infidel. Like almost every other human, I do feel pleasure in transgression, and crossing this boundary, like all the strange others that for one reason or another give me the good down-low tingle, nudges whatever purely physical pleasure there is into electrically-charged territory. But the illicitness isn’t it in and of itself.
I know that it’s not because the man, the imagined man, the one without the ring, the one whose ring I imagined and in imagining it found great delight, was Donny, my now-X and then erstwhile fiancé. It was his imagined not-ring that prodded me to gyrate indecorously one sunny August afternoon, his naked fingers twisting and turning inside me. My mind furnished his finger with a ring. It bedighted his third finger on his left hand with a ring, and though neither the ring nor even possibly that exact finger was rubbing the walls of my pussy like a magic lamp, it was real enough to me, and I came from the concept as much as from the reality.
Which all leads me to believe it’s not the cheating that I like. It’s the abstract concept of commitment. It’s the symbolism of the ring, this piece of metal that our culture uses to denote those of us who have made a pact with another human from those of us who haven’t. It doesn’t matter whether the man has committed to me–though clearly my fetishization of the ring in general and my somatic response to Donny’s fictive ring in specific suggests that a commitment to me would be ideal–it’s that this man has committed, for good, bad, or ugly to someone.
It’s all very strange, though. Just as a gentlemen is advised to remove his socks before sexual congress with a woman, wouldn’t the usual rules of etiquette demand that he remove his wedding ring before fingering a woman not his wife? I’m not sure Emily Post ever covered that nuance.
Wednesday, May 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here are a few photos (of the lovely Angel Woods) that are (almost) like being a hidden camera in the girl’s gym. You know, that secret gym where the young ladies go when they want to exercise naked:
Sadly, fellows, I think membership in that gym costs extra.
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Tuesday, May 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Long ago, when dinosaurs walked the earth, cell phones were bigger than popsicles, and P2P file sharing had just been invented, I was testing out the original Napster, or maybe it was an early version of Gnutella, and this balloon swallowing video (.flv format) was one of the first video files I downloaded.
I was reminded of this when I found yet another vintage photo that had to be shared. There’s just something about those balloons:
Sunday, April 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember my post Crapping All Over Beauty? I wrote then:
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 herâ€? and the other guys all say “No, man, she’s a pig, she’s got a huge assâ€? 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.
I was reminded of this when I saw a trollish comment set reproduced on Naked Protesters, consisting of 35 mostly-ugly comments left by the same commenter in the course of fifty short minutes. Here are just three of them:
“I don’t know who the hell she is but somebody please put a shirt on her! ooo, she gross.”
“Oh crap Lesbians! Old ugly lesbians. RUUUUUUNNN”
“What a pic. A boob that is close to dragging the ground. More armpit hair than a lumberjack. And get a load of the tatooed thing behind her. Where do you have to go to find such strangeness?”
Where, indeed?
Thursday, April 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Hobo Stripper is always good at providing a level-headed view of life “behind the scenes” in small-town strip clubs. This post has more info than usual about money, and how she makes it. But I’ll start with my dude, WTF? moment in the post:
I realised on my way here that I wasn’t going to make it in time to get a stripper license, so I slowed down. Cooked liver and onions, played with Bro. Why rush? I got into town just after dark, and established myself in a good parking spot at the local truckstop. Since I’m probably going to be here for a while, I just payed the money for a month of wi-fi at the truckstop, and then I settled into the back of my van and got a bunch of writing and web stuff done.
…
[The next day] I got a free shower at the truckstop (friends who network with truckers), and went to get my stripper license. They were really cool about it here, as opposed to the last few places I’ve gotten them, where the clerks have stared at me like, “whore!!!,â€? the whole time. The cop who fingerprinted me was even nice.”
Something about the concept of “stripper license” is making my little head hurt. Is this like, a revenue measure, a way to tax the itinerant and untaxable? But if it were about money, why the fingerprints?
I honestly had no idea that there was any place in what we used to call “the land of the free” without irony, where you had to be licensed and fingerprinted in order to dance and take your clothes off for money. My mind is expanded, and not in a good way.
And speaking of “for money”, here’s what I found to be the real interesting meat of the post:
Five minutes later I was prancing around their mostly empty club half naked when my hardcore ho friend walked in. We did the girly shreek and ran to each other. We did it totally ironically. Harcore ho (HCH from here on out) is an incredible hustler. Unlike most incredible hustlers, she wants to spread the knowledge, and I’ve learned so much from working with her all over the country in the last few years. She filled me in on the prices. Like most clubs, it was twenty a dance, but like in most clubs HCH was charging more for a “betterâ€? dance.
…
Using HCH’s method I was able to mostly get fifty dollars a dance, although there were a few twenty dollar ones. She pulled me in on one double dance, I pulled her in on another. We hustle good together cause I’m all subtle with the neurolinguistic programming and she’s all in your face with doing dances.
This is a pure booty shaking in your face sexuality-not-sensuality kind of club. There is none of the seduction, none of the sweetness, no cuddlers, none of what I usually love about dancing. But I don’t seem to mind. I am engaged in pure capitalism, and it feels good after being broke for the last couple weeks. You want more? You want this? More money. You want that? Hell no, but I bet you really want this. The cash just stacked up. Like always when I’m in a new place I was very conscious of my boundaries, how I felt and what I was okay with. If I have learned anything from stripping it’s that we have an absolute responsibility to ourselves not to do anything we don’t want to, and that there is no excuse (other than force) for doing something we don’t want.
I was suprised halfway through the night to find myself doing more contact than I’ve done probably since I was fifteen, working at crazy little bars that would hire a fifteen year old who pretended to be sixteen. I kept double checking, am I really okay with this? I really was.
…
It’s almost the end of the night when I see him. You know, that magic customer that you have great chemistry with who also has tons of money. I hear violins and see money signs over his head. He’s there with his wife. She’s bi, and he promises she’s not jealous. We bring her some drinks and head straight for the couches. After a few dances he goes to the ATM for more money, and I grab HCH and drag her over to him. “Look, isn’t she hot! Don’t you want both of us in your lap? Get double the money out and you can have us both!â€?
Of course he did, and when we ran through that money we went back to the ATM again. By the third ATM trip he was a little reluctant and I would have lost him, but HCH works her magic. “Let’s do another… that sounds good… yes, let’s do another… mmm, we’re having so much fun… yes… that sounds good…â€? she repeats, nodding, until he gets more cash. It’s like magic.
Three trips to the ATM sounds like a bad day at the casino, to me. I had one of those, once, when I was younger and more foolish, and I’ll never forget that terrible stupid/screwed feeling I had the next morning. This is no slam on the strippers, of course, nor my casino either; there’s no censure to be found in tempting grownups to spend their money. It’s just interesting to hear what the transaction “feels like” from the seller’s end.
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Wednesday, April 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Somewhere out there in the ErosBlog readership, there’s bound to be somebody for whom this naked, abundantly-facial-haired man on a white horse is the ultimate fantasy image. Whoever you are, this picture’s for you:
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Saturday, April 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a first for ErosBlog, only a few years behind the times: an embedded flash movie, hosted on my own server so it won’t go away.
One of the big reasons I don’t usually embed YouTube videos and the like is that they have a terrible habit of not being there a year later. Link rot is bad enough, but blog posts with nothing to see are far far worse; we hates them, our precious, yesssss we does.
The occasion for this blessed event is the sharing of a stag video, said (as discussed in this post) by some to feature Marilyn Monroe. I’m quite skeptical, but not 100% convinced either way. No matter; old stag films are so much fun (did dildos really used to come packaged in boxes?) that it’s a worthy use of bandwidth anyway.
Maryilyn.flv
Thanks to commenter BJ for finding the movie for us.
Thursday, April 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Folk erotic art from the battlefield is hardly unheard of — remember nose art on bombers? Here’s a sample from an even more unlikely place to find beauty, namely, the latrines at Ali Al Salem Air Base, near Kuwait City:
In the best tradition of comic folk erotica, our latrine siren is ready and willing; the speech bubble appears to say “any hole”.
From The Walrus.
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Wednesday, April 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
So of course, my skepticism of yesterday’s Marilyn Monroe blowjob movie report was shared by others, some of whom now claim to be “debunking” the “hoax”. To me, the “debunking” sounds like skeptical experts explaining why skepticism is in order, but you can’t really establish “hoax” unless you have evidence or a confession, which the skeptical experts do not (yet) appear to have. It wouldn’t be fair for us to expect debunkers to do the impossible (“Prove that the movie doesn’t exist!) but it’s still cheating for them to engage in their informed arm-waving and then claim that’s the same as if they did prove the movie doesn’t exist. I’ll chalk this up to Defamer’s over-hyperbolic headline writing, and wait to see what else develops.
Meanwhile, there’s much internet talk of a tame old porno loop called The Apple, Knockers, and the Coke Bottle, starring Arline (or Arlene?) Hunter, who (some people say) looks a bit like Marilyn. If anybody out there is treasuring that loop in a format suitable for emailing, ErosBlog stands ready to share it with a broader public. My Google-Fu is weak today, and has so far yielded only this:
Source is a Marilyn Monroe fan site with this to say:
The actress in this film is named Arlene Hunter who was a 1954 playmate for Playboy magazine. In it Miss Hunter removes her clothes, rolls an apple around her breasts, and then provocatively sips from a Coke Bottle.
I can’t believe that people are making money off of this stag film by ripping off unsuspecting fans. I personally don’t even see how someone could mistake the two women, Arlene Hunter has a faint resemblence to Norma Jeane but is certainly no look alike.
Interestingly, there may be another stag film out there that’s commonly claimed to feature Marilyn. This site is adamant that it’s not the Apple/Coke Bottle movie, and has the best compilation I found of stills, links to magazine coverage, and the like. I myself don’t find the stills to be all that compelling:
Open season:
I hereby declare that the usual Erosblog rules against the “Is it real? Is it fake? Is it Photoshop?” game in the comments DO NOT APPLY to this post, or to the previous one. Hell, for this story, that’s got to be at least half the fun. Go wild, but remember this — unless you are the photographer of one of the images in question and want to share your first hand knowledge, your opinion is not fact and should not be presented as such, or with unwarranted certitude.
Saturday, April 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
All politics aside, I think it’s pretty cool that there’s a state governor out there who got elected notwithstanding his history of posing for naked pictures:
Of course, when a woman with a pictorial past gets elected without her nudie pics becoming a matter of national controversy, then we’ll know we’re making progress.
This bit of nude Arnold Schwarzenegger beefcake was originally published in After Dark magazine in 1977, and appears here after being shamelessly “borrowed” from OMG! Blog.
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Friday, March 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The lady’s dramatic carriage impresses me:
But why is she striding away in such a snit?
Look for it. If you process images like me, it will take you a second or third or fourth look before you spot the likely reason.
The artist is Eric Von Gotha, from a collection called Journal De Sartine.
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:
Saturday, February 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I pretty much ignored the sad story of Zoey Zane’s disappearance when it happened, because the press treatment was so disgusting and I didn’t have any useful insight on the story. However, I was pleased to see some hints of porn positivity in this article by Alan Scherstuhl in the Kansas City Pitch:
Here’s the victim in happier times. She’s spread across a beige bed in a beige room in what must be a beige apartment complex off a frontage road someplace. She wears a pink mesh top and black knee-highs but is otherwise exposed, with one leg scissored up and the other spread wide with gynecological bluntness. This is the point of the photo, of course, the only reason that it exists.
But that’s not what makes it arresting.
She’s grinning. She has slipped off her panties with a cheerful flourish, is waving them high above her head. The air blooms in them. There’s a blooming in her face, too, a look wholly unlike what we expect from women who make sex a performance or a business. [That’s a sad commentary on your expectations — Bacchus.] She looks pleased and surprised, the way you might if you somehow managed to yank away a tablecloth without disturbing the place settings.
She looks the way any of us look when we’re naked and goofy with someone we trust. Except better, of course. She looks better.
What? Porn girls can be happy? And the news has reached Kansas?
Sander’s death is shocking. But what isn’t is the fact that, in America Gone Wild, a “sweet, good kid” – as her grandfather described her to ABC – might take her clothes off for money and post her naked photos online. For half a century now, Hef’s Girls Next Door have been leaning nude on hay bales and stirring lemonade topless. Playboy bush is a perfect timeline of both the country’s increasing comfort with pornography and pornography’s corresponding discomfort with the natural. Before ’69, the magazine hid the bush entirely. When it appeared, it immediately began to thin, becoming less unruly every year – a patch, then a tuft, then a Velcro strip, then a sharp-lined eyebrow. And then, finally, to keep up with Penthouse and strippers and former Mouseketeer starlets, nothing at all.
The women changed elsewhere, too. Now they’re glazed over, poreless, their flesh like the caramel dripping in a candy-bar commercial. Breast implants are so common that a couple of times a year, Playboy publishes Natural Beauties as a sort of event: “real” as a fetish.
As the Girl Next Door goes, so – to an extent – goes the girl next door. Sander was shaved and tattooed, professionally tanned and pierced through the lip. But she still was “natural,” both in the categorical sense and in that real-girl essence that is the selling point of online amateurs. She looked real because that’s what she was: a real young woman trying – like so many of her peers – to look like a porn star.
The day-night writers prefer to think of Zoey Zane as someone separate from Emily Sander. But such real feeling pulses in that photograph of her grinning in that beige bedroom that it’s dishonest not to ask the hard questions. What if this is simply who she is? Who we are? At what point does pornography become documentary?
The article goes on to detail some of the tasteless internet “humor” that’s sprung up around Zoey Zane’s death, explaining it thusly: “Check any message board where Sander is discussed, and you’ll find yourself staring hard into an ugly truth: Many users of porn despise the women who turn them on.” Which may indeed be true; at least, it’s a theory we’ve discussed here in connection with ugly porn marketing tactics.
However, there’s still an obvious and gaping void between dead tree newspapers and the internet culture they sometimes try to report on. One might wish that Scherstuhl had seen this article in Wired Magazine, especially this bit:
If there’s one thing, though, that all these factions seem to agree on, it’s the philosophy summed up in a regularly invoked catchphrase: “The Internet is serious business.”
Look it up in the Encyclopedia Dramatica (a wikified lexicon of all things /b/) and you’ll find it defined as: “a phrase used to remind [the reader] that being mocked on the Internets is, in fact, the end of the world.” In short, “the Internet is serious business” means exactly the opposite of what it says. It encodes two truths held as self-evident by Goons and /b/tards alike – that nothing on the Internet is so serious it can’t be laughed at, and that nothing is so laughable as people who think otherwise.
To see the philosophy in action, skim the pages of Something Awful or Encyclopedia Dramatica, where it seems every pocket of the Web harbors objects of ridicule. Vampire goths with MySpace pages, white supremacist bloggers, self-diagnosed Asperger’s sufferers coming out to share their struggles with the online world – all these and many others have been found guilty of taking themselves seriously and condemned to crude but hilarious derision.
It’s certainly true enough that the folks abusing Zoe Zane’s memory don’t respect her. But what’s apparently not evident in Kansas is that they don’t respect anybody. There’s a whole internet subculture, prominent and youthful, that is aimed at self-importance and sacred cows and social propriety and any other sort of stuffed-shirtness they can find. They live for outrage, they think outrage is funny, and they don’t care what they have to tread on to get it. They are as distinctive in their online social presentation as, say, Goths are in their clothing. (Really, they are that distinctively easy to spot. Last night I dropped into a Team Fortress Two server they were infesting, and I could tell who was there by the offensive usernames and by the sound clips they were playing incessantly and in violation of that game’s social norms. Within two minutes, one of them had cried “The internet is serious business!” over his mike in response to somebody’s complaint about his behavior.)
Whatever you may think of the Serious Business Brigade (if you couldn’t tell, I don’t like them much because I treasure civility, which they tend to spit on) it’s pretty ignorant for a newspaper writer to Google up their spoors and write about them as generic internet users without, apparently, being aware that they exist as a distinct subculture.
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Saturday, February 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a video up at Atlanta Bondage under the title Can’t A Girl Pee In Peace? (Backup link.) I’m not going to re-publish it here, because it’s not, to my eye, erotic, nor funny either. However, it has some interesting social implications that aren’t likely to get mentioned anywhere else, there not being very many places that combine occasional social analysis with comfort in referencing a video clip featuring bare boobies and mildly kinky porn.
The “girl” in question is pretty clearly, to my eye at least, a model for one of the many porn sites that cater to the public urination fetish (subfetish category: women squatting to pee in the public streets). This model is bare breasted, smiling, and squatted-down right in the middle of some sort of street or public way (perhaps a wharf, or pedestrian mall). Here’s a cropped still from the beginning of the clip, in which I’ve highlighted the villain of the piece, to whom I am semi-arbitrarily assigning a male pronoun:
In the clip, he strides forward and kicks our incontinent heroine solidly in the ass, nearly knocking her over. The remainder of the clip shows her steadying herself with a hand, then turning and standing up to confront her attacker.
So, what’s going on here, and why is it interesting?
As it happens, I just read a piece by Chuck Klosterman in Esquire magazine about declining interest in professional boxing. As Klosterman explains it, people have lost interest in the sport of boxing because they no longer have a visceral relationship with the idea of hitting people or getting hit. A fine theory about which I have little opinion, never having been a fan myself of hitting people or being hit or watching big burly dudes do either one. But I was fascinated by Klosterman’s next line of speculation:
Now, I realize all of this is (obviously) more good than bad. I’m happy that avoiding physical confrontation has become so easy that I don’t even have to think about it. But I wonder: If the decline of boxing is the product of civilization’s detachment from physical fear, what is the accompanying downside? I think one possible answer might be a depressing brand of social overconfidence.
It is impossible to deny that the culture is coarsening. Everyone concedes this — even the people who are happy about it. It is now acceptable to say almost anything, about almost anyone, in a public space, and for no reason whatsoever. There is no line to step over, because such lines no longer exist. And I think those boundaries disappeared the moment people really, truly lost the fear of getting punched in the face. Americans have understood this intellectually for decades, but I don’t think we accepted it in totality until now. Adults are now so insulated by technology (and so protected by modernity) that the possibility of a physical consequence for any action is a psychological nonfactor. We have removed interpersonal fear from day-to-day behavior. Today, boxers are the only people who get hit for fucking up.
So, what does this have to do with our punted piddle-princess? Everything! His foot hitting her ass is a classic example of generation-gapped cultural conflict.
By my own lights, the peeing porn starlet was misbehaving. People who enjoy seeing girls peeing in public have a fetish, a modestly rare one. Most everybody else doesn’t want to see it, and they surely don’t want to step in it, or walk around it. At best, it’s horribly rude and socially transgressive to be doing what she was doing. Responsible pornographers would secure a movie set and provide sufficient extras to achieve the same visual effect without imposing their fetish on unwilling passers-by. And they would hire a dude with a mop, to clean up after.
I think it’s fair to speculate further that she and her photographer knew she was violating the social contract, but were sanguine about getting away with it. They probably worried about police intervention — perhaps they had a spotter watching for cops and ready to call a warning — but I suspect that it never occurred to her that any of the passers-by upon whom she was imposing her bare breasts and pussy and urine stream would take physical action against her to interrupt or to punish the imposition. People of her generation, or mine, just don’t do that sort of thing.
But our man (and I do think it’s a man, but I’m not sure) with the crazed white Einstein hair and the armload of files is not from our generation. He’s from a generation in which people cared a lot more about public propriety, and frequently took it upon themselves to enforce it with direct action. Doubtless he was offended by some half-naked [four letter term of derision] pissing in his path. Doubtless he considered he was doing a public service by applying a swift kick in the ass to both interrupt and punish the breach of the social contract. I have no doubt he felt good about doing it, and the way he stops and squares his stance after the kick suggests that he was ready to do it again if need be, or to stay and defend his actions otherwise. If we had an audio track, we’d be hearing somebody getting a piece of his mind about now.
So, who is really the villain of the piece? The pisser, or the kicker?
I’d like to weasel out with “a pox on both their houses”, but I need to acknowledge that it’s really not quite that simple. The trouble with enforcing social contracts with fists and feet is that social contracts aren’t really contracts, and they tend to get made up on the spot by cultural bigots and then enforced on people who never consented to them. (Don’t believe me? Ask Matthew Shepard.) I don’t really want people in my society feeling free to piss on my toes for profit, but I’m a lot more worried about living in a society where disagreements about appropriate public behavior get “settled” by sudden assault.
So, I guess my bottom line is, ix-nay on the ass-kicking. But I do agree with Klosterman that by creating a world where the ass-kicking is improbable, we’ve also created a world full of people who feel free to (metaphorically, most days) pee on your toes and tell you to go fuck yourself. That’s good more often than it’s bad, but it’s definitely a mixed blessing.
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Saturday, February 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a great picture I found at Wired Pussy, but I’m not linking to any specific gallery or anything because this was “just” one of the establishing shots they take before and after the shoots to show that the models are happy to be there:
If my mother were there (better for everyone that she not be) I could imagine her saying “Girls! Stop horsing around! You need to get back to work.”
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Wednesday, January 30th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
The artist that did the Britney giving birth statue is at it again. This time he created a golden sarcophagus of Oprah Winfry:
I can totally see her as an ancient Egyptian fertility goddess.
(Seen at The Daily Mail.)
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Monday, January 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
It sounds like the Girl With A One Track Mind has been getting some of the same emails ErosBlog gets, trying to promote some of the porn I try not to promote:
During the four years I have been writing this blog I have regularly received emails from one particular contingent of the internet. It doesn’t take much guessing who: porn sites who want me to link, plug and promote their products. Usually I just scan these emails and deposit them straight into my spam folder. Why? I’ll explain, using an email I received last night as a good example.
“Dear Abby,” it begins, “Like you, I am very interested in getting discussion of sex, naughtiness ad [sic] all things deeed [sic] taboo by the Great British public [sic] into the wide world.”
Even given the atrocious spelling, this sounded promising.
However, the email then continued and asked me to plug a certain satellite television station where there would be “lezzed-up action,” “two girls will get seriously hardcore,” and where the show would include “full-frontal bean-flicking, boob bouncing, cunt lapping fun.”
As soon as I read that the email got junked, along with all the other offers to extend the size of my penis or buy generic viagra.
Yeah, you can bet I get mail like this every day. The Girl has a variety of issues with it, but I pick up here with her third issue, which I endorse wholeheartedly:
I might be willing to plug some porn, if the stuff recommended to me wasn’t so dreadfully offensive and insulting to my sex. Clicking on the link the porn webmaster (and yes, besides wonderful people like Ms Naughty, there are very few porn webmistresses) sent me, I found the following titles:
“Hotel Bitches”
“Bitch in a box”
“Cunt suckers”
“Babe spotting”
“Dirty pig”
And this is a sample that is relatively pleasant; there’s also the usual labelling of women as sluts or whores, alongside the bitches, babes, cunts and nymphos. Whichever it is, it’s the same thing overall: if there is sex onscreen, it’s likely to be focussed on the women, and those women have to be insulted and degraded (in words and/or perhaps actions) in some way. To my mind, this is just as offensive to men as it is to women – suggesting that men can not get off on explicit imagery that is not disrespecting women. Excuse me, but I think that is utter bollocks. Naked people fucking are naked people fucking and it’s hot to watch – so why bring in the sexist and misogynist titles?
It’s this position that most porn defaults to, that I find so offensive. And, let me be frank, a turn off too. There’s nothing like a bit of sexism (and racism) to put a girl off her stroke – and this girl likes her stroke very fucking much, thanks, hence why I am so particular about the porn I consume.
I’ve called this the “bitch-cunt-slut” porn marketing syndrome, and frankly it baffles me. Who enjoys that? Obviously some pornographers think that’s what heats up their male market, but are they right? Who are these men supposedly buying this stuff? The men I know love women. Yeah, some of them have old fashioned redneck attitudes and don’t really respect women as equals, but they still love them.
They don’t want a “bitch in a box” — even in a bondage fantasy, they want a hot babe in a box.
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Wednesday, January 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Hypothetical question: if a fellow had a maid who looked and cleaned like this, would he even need a girlfriend?
There’s a business model in there somewhere, but it might turn out to be legal only in rural Nevada.
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Friday, January 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Just another one of the perks of being a doctor, as imagined in 1950s-vintage lad-magazine cartoonery:
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Thursday, January 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This ancient engraving comes from an early edition of the report on Perry’s first expedition to Japan:
Here’s the large version.
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Sunday, November 25th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A sunny lawn, a smooth surface, a bottle of oil, two naked ladies, a wrestling match — does summer fun get any more sublime than this?
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Thursday, October 11th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It’s been a while since I’ve linked to Naked Jen, but she remains one of my favorite web nudists. Looking at this picture, I have to ask: Why haven’t hennaed breasts become universally fashionable?
Thursday, September 27th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In the movies and the stories and the fantasies, if you order up a stranger off the internet for perverted sex, and meet for perverted sex, then the story is about perverted sex. Predictably, and sometimes boringly, so.
What I love about sex blogging is that down here on earth in real life, sometimes other stuff happens too, which makes for a more varied and interesting narrative.
For instance, when Bitchy Jones whistled up a submissive feller off the internet so she could do mean stuff to him, there was indeed some perverted sex, but not without a hitch you’ll never see in a dirty movie:
Just before Jack was due to arrive one of my next door neighbours came and told me they had seen my cat limping in the street. I went out to look for cat but there was no sign. I called Pan in a panic. I told him to turn around and come home so he could care for cat. It started to rain. I was standing in the street looking for the cat when Jack arrived.
Jack was all, ‘Hey are you standing in the street waiting for me?‘ And also all, ‘Hey, here I am. I have arrived for perverted sex.‘
And I was all, ‘No. Perverted sex is canceled. We must find lost injured cat ZOMGZ!‘
We found the cat. (Sorry if that stressed you — I probably should have warned at the top for mild cat peril.) I called Pan and told him I thought the cat would be okay until morning and that he should not come home after all.
Then Jack cooked. I kissed him quite a lot — endangering cooking. We did some painful things too. (Painful for him.) Some naked things. (Naked for him.) Some kneeling things. (Kneeling… (oh, get with it.))
I don’t know if his tongue stud felt so very different on my cunt — but on my nipples it was incredible. Bliss of death.
I love it. “Perverted sex is canceled!”
Tuesday, September 25th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Enlightened men these days know better than to expect a woman to do their laundry. (Although, I must confess, The Nymph is so horrified by my “if it didn’t survive the hot cycle with my other clothes, I didn’t need to own it anyway” laundry philosophy that she doesn’t let me touch so much as a dirty sock these days.)
“Expect” is one thing. “Appreciate” is quite another:
From FEMJOY.
Monday, September 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
OK, ladies and select gentlemen: you owe me for this one. OMG Blog calls this the “infamous two-fisting hooker scene”:
Yes, that’s Gerard Depardieu and Robert De Niro the both of them, nekkid as jaybirds and getting simultaneous handjobs from a multi-tasking hooker. Celebrities would not be nearly as entertaining if they didn’t all have a “I was young and broke and unknown and naked” phase!
The movie was something called Novocento, back in 1976. OMG Blog has more, including a video clip.
Saturday, September 8th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This could only come from Spanking Blog: a vintage sex picture featuring two naked people and a whip, where everybody’s having fun:
Friday, August 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The naked man wrestling seemed to be a big hit, so here’s some more, only this also has women in it and erect penises and a prodigious ejaculation. Don’t see how I could possibly go wrong with a modest orgy in a vineyard:
I don’t know a thing about the art or the artist or the context, but I think it’s safe to say it’s old and French. (I say French because it’s a detail from this, which has French words on it.)
Tuesday, August 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This should fulfill your monthly quota of hunky naked man-wrestling:
It’s from Dante and Virgil In Hell by William Bouguereau.
Wednesday, August 15th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I don’t point y’all very often at the free promo galleries for glamor nude photographers. Partly this is because after awhile, all those nineteen year old blondes start to look the same. And partly it’s because there are so darned many — enough to populate a thousand “babe blogs” with automated scripts that post hundreds of free sample photos every day. How can he compete, an old-fashioned meatware blogger like myself, who rivets each post together by hand using nothing but a cold chisel, a rock, Microsoft Notepad, and a bucket of hot tar?
And yet, unlike a scripted babe log robot, I am human, and I am male. Which means that sometimes a random blonde in the firm hands of a capable photographer can make me catch my breath and think “Hmmm. Have that one bathed and sent to my tent.” Or, in this case: “Maybe I should reconsider that whole not-being-a-farmer career decision.”
Meet Lia. You know you’d like to:
She’s a model for FemJoy. You can see quite a lot more of her for free in this sample gallery.
I’ll give you one more look here. I’m thinking an ambitious young man with a spare sweater and a bottle of insect repellent cream (not spray, ye daft bugger!) could make a wonderful new friend:
Pictures courtesy of FemJoy.
Thursday, July 26th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Ah, the long hot days of summer, the picnics, the lounging in the shade, the naked girls tickling each other with bits of foilage:
From the newish and very pretty Eye Candy Blog.
Wednesday, July 11th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Hey, don’t give me that skeptical look, I’m just passing along fun accounts I found on the internets.
Found Always Aroused Girl, to be precise:
In twenty-one hours, my friend came eight times. Yes, eight times. And he’s a decade-plus older than your humble narrator.
I came some very large multiple of eight times, although I could not tell you whether it was closer to 48 times or 968 times. I’m very very hoarse, extremely sore, and decidedly shaky. And for once, I do not feel even the slightest desire for more sex.
This account came complete with a logistical plan:
Want to organize such a day for yourselves? Follow the below rules and perhaps you’ll have great results too.
1. Choose a low-end hotel. Fancy is nice, but all you really need is a largish bed (or two) and a working bathroom. Anything else would be a distraction.
2. Don’t bother packing much. The clothes you wear upon arrival can also be worn for departure, as you won’t be wearing them while you are there. Furthermore, books, laptops, magazines, makeup and other assorted sundries will not be useful. Sex toys and condoms, however, will be needed in large quantities. Pack accordingly.
3. Ask for extra towels immediately upon check-in. Do your best to keep your eyes from going all shifty-like when you tell the clerk that you are “very sweatyâ€? and will be taking “extra showersâ€? overnight.
4. Discard clothing immediately upon entering the room. Waste no time on clothed polite chit-chat. Naked polite chit-chat is far nicer.
The rules continue through #20.
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Monday, July 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Fans of the leading edge porn from San Francisco’s Kink.com have been looking forward for weeks to today’s grand opening of the new “reality BDSM” site, The Training of O. According to the promo material, The Training of O documents real, gritty, multi-day training sessions with submissive models, who “earn their stripes in erotic servitude” and “prove their determination to train by enduring grueling tasks of initiation.”
“Grueling tasks”, indeed! I am delighted and amused to see an old BDSM print-fiction trope come alive: namely, the huge and pointless dirty job for the naked slavegirl to perform, an endless round of weary nude labor with no earthly hope of completion in time to avoid punishment. This is grit you would not be seeing in your typical San Fernando Valley “omigawd, I might break a fingernail” posed-and-phoney BDSM porn. Here’s the glamor shot (from this introductory shoot) of a poor naked girl who’s been handed a shovel and pointed at a very large pile of dirt somewhere in the bowels of the awesome Armory shooting location:
Indeed, I was so entertained by this earthmoving project that I grabbed a few screen captures from the video. Those white heels and frilly sock-stockings are never gonna make it through this day:
Adding insult to injury, our unfortunate submissive is being made to haul that dirt quite a ways, which is real work when you do it with a shovel, as any former day laborer knows:
But the life of a slave can always get worse! Now the poor thing has lost her shovel privileges (my guess would be for excessive whining):
Does she look sufficiently put-upon yet?
Try not to look so abject, m’dear. Cheer up, we haven’t even gotten to the chaining-and-caning part, starring about eighty pounds of steel chain and your pretty bottom! But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; a girl who gets that dirty has to be very thoroughly washed.
A detailed story at Xbiz.com sets out the new site concept in even greater detail:
“It’s a startling site,” director James Mogul told XBIZ. “It’s ‘reality BDSM’ so that elicits a lot of reactions, and I think the content is super-strong. I would say it’s realistic in terms of what you might expect to see in an actual BDSM exchange.”
The basic premise of the site involves models videotaped over a weeklong course in submission training. “I’ve actually developed a training program,” Mogul said. “We take applicants and interview them and develop a curriculum based on their experience. Some girls we worked with are very experienced and some girls are brand new and I think we’re hitting a wide range of the scope. We are going to mix it up. The plan is to go with about 75 percent fresh talent and about 25 percent of the content will be experienced, known talent that we can kind of push boundaries with a little bit.”
Shot at the company’s new production facility, the massive San Francisco Armory building, Mogul is able to utilize several different sets to create a gritty, authentic atmosphere.
The spaces are beautiful. The decay is beautiful. It’s like walking onto a movie set all made for you,” Mogul said. “There’s really nothing that needs to be done in terms of the aesthetics, but there is a lot that needs to be done in terms of making production practical and that’s coming together very, very quickly.”
As always, it’s the aesthetics of the production that will set The Training of O apart from what’s been done before. Just one more example: Here’s Sarah Jane Ceylon in the handiest-ever slavegirl head box, complete with portable glory hole and cork:
Just the thing for punishments or blowjobs, or even for providing the peace and quiet a weary slave needs after a hard day’s training.
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Sunday, July 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
If June is naked bride season, surely July must be the month for sexy honeymoon poses?
Wednesday, June 27th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
A familiar theme for this time of the year, nicely done:
This image brings to mind many questions, though. What’s she running away from, parents or the groom? And if this is her preferred way of dressing, what in Jupiter’s joystick has she filled two suitcases with?
(Sorry, I don’t know where I got this picture from.)
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Wednesday, June 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A progressive and modern view of gender relationships from Jem: The Magazine For Masterful Men:
And what does the half naked wife / maid / scullery wench on her knees with the scrub brush think about all this? Could we zoom in on her priceless facial expression, please?
Monday, June 18th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
Now this is something that looks like alot of fun! These pictures are of the naked bikers that lead the Fremont Solstice Parade each year. What color of boobies do you like best?
It’s cool to see people of all ages doing the nekkid ride:
And you can’t welcome summer without some sunshine, right?
I gotsta say that some of the best “WTF?” pictures are of naked bikers…..with helmets on. I think your head can handle contact with the asphalt better than your dangly bits!!!
All these pictures (and oh-so-many more!) from Flickr. Clicky the linky to get Fremont Parade search results.
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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?
Saturday, May 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes, in the middle of a noisy room, you’ll hear something fun. I overheard this at Naked Loft Party:
“Now that I’m getting married,â€? I was telling Porno Jim, “I need to have adult relationships. No more girlfriends for me – they’re my mistresses now. Doesn’t that sound so much more sophisticated?â€?
Wednesday, May 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In which Mistress Matisse risks minor puncture wounds (“ohnoes!”) for the pleasures of flustering a lab tech:
So I went into the lab area and sat down to get the draw. The tech was a good-looking young woman, maybe early twenties, and just slightly butch-of-center, who I strongly suspect was a lesbian. She gave me The Look, you see.
What’s The Look? It’s a look that straight women do not give other females. You only get it from women who are sexual with women. It’s usually just for a moment, unless she’s seriously cruising you, but it is, shall we say, an acknowledgement of sexual possibility. Usually it’s just the woman acknowledging it to herself, not to you, but if you watch closely, you’ll see it. The eyes widen for a minute when she looks at you, that’s always a tip-off.
Not seeing The Look doesn’t mean that a woman is heterosexual — she might just be very subtle, or just not in the headspace. But if you do get it, it definitely means the woman giving it to you is not 100% straight.
I got it from the tech. How nice. I don’t think she meant me to see it, I just think she’s just young and hasn’t yet learned how to school her expressions. So I gave it back to her, somewhat less subtly. And that seemed to completely throw her for a loop. Even nicer.
She began sort of fumbling around with syringes, stammering, and left the area — twice – to get various vials and labels and such that she needed. I just sat there smiling at her with one arched eyebrow, like she was a sweet but clumsy submissive.
It did occur to me that deliberately flustering someone who was about to jab me with a needle might not be the best idea. But I’ve actually been stuck with needles by some extremely mean people, and I handled that, so I figured I could deal with this. Because it was fun.
She dithered around a bit more, and then tied the rubber strap around my upper arm. “Um, is that – is that okay?â€?
“That’s just fine,â€? I said, slowly, holding her gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty easy to get blood from.â€?
“Um, great, okay…â€? She dropped her eyes. I watched her focus on the vein in the bend of my elbow and stick the needle in. She glanced up at me as she did so. I didn’t flinch. I smiled.
“Sorry,â€? she said, for no apparent reason. “I mean… it’s no fun getting stuck with a needle.â€?
I contemplated answers I might make to that, but my conscience spoke up. Matisse, don’t mess with the kid’s head anymore, unless you’re serious. And you’re not.
So I just said pleasantly, “It’s fine.â€? We both watched my dark red blood fill the three vials.
“You’re right,â€? she said. “You are easy to get blood from.â€?
I couldn’t resist. “I’m pretty good at taking it, too.â€?
She blinked uncertainly and was quiet for a moment. “Um, well, thank you for being so, uh, helpful.â€?
I think I was probably the opposite of helpful, but I sat silently and let her fuss with taping the cotton ball to my arm. Then I stood up and gave her The Look again, just because I’m bad that way.
“Goodbye,â€? I said with a meaningful half-smile, and stalked off down the hall.
And that’s flirtation in the naked city, twenty-first century style.
Friday, May 11th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I gotta quote Bitchy Jones again. Unlike most of the folks who love to hate the splendidly cheesy literary phenomenon that is Gor, she gets why those books sold about a zillion copies and still go for megabucks on eBay, gets it well enough that’s she’s moved to give it a complete “vertical flip” in her mental fantasy editing software:
Gor is easy to take the piss out of, but the real truth is that deep down in my heart I know that if I were a male dom I would fucking love Gor to tiny bits. I would be in those chat rooms wanking and sweating and wanking some more while some middle aged housewife going through an identity crisis talked about herself in third person whilst pretending to serve me a mythical drink.
Yeah, like every other person in the world who believes in equality but gets off on inequity, I have the insane conflicted love for a bit of gender supremacy fantasy and I secretly in my dark heart wish that we had something as ridiculously camp and ritualised and sprawling as Gor over on our side of the river.
…
So, basically, it’s all hot and dusty and badly written and stuff. Women live in big castles and are tough and sexy and mean. But fair and honourable. And, yeah, they’re sexy, but it’s no big deal, no one’s looking at them because:
OMG the hot slaves!
Literally and metaphorically hot. Built like Greek gods and covered in sweat (from doing hard *hard* labour).
Yes, the men are, like the women’s slaves. Oh a few aren’t, but they’re weird. But also hot if you capture them and make them be slaves. So although these not-slave men are freaks they are kind of useful when complicity gets dull ’cause they have to be all *forced* and broken and whipped to shit and stuff.
Gosh, isn’t *forced* a nice word.
Anyway, on upside down Gor slave men are traded — bought and sold. There are markets. Men who transgress are punished. Viciously, mercilessly and publicly. (Which is nice.) Or maybe just punished for entertainment. Such awful punishments, predicament bondage and heavily ritualised whipping and stocks and cages and stuff like that. Really dehumanising hot stuff.
Some of the poor things are just kicked around like dogs, or made to whore themselves on the streets, butchly pretty ones wear humiliating skimpy clothes and get prodded to perform bondagey semi-naked suggestive dances with whipping. While drunken women molest them. And they would have to do all this over elaborate honourific address stuff, please, ma’am, may this slave please have permission to…
Golly, I really do like ma’am in the right context. It’s the apostrophe. You can see where his voice cracks even when the word is written on the page.
Anyway, they better get that formal address stuff right or else more whipping. Yeah. Pretty much any excuse for the whipping. And the, you know, submissive positions to vocal commands, and the bondage and… did I already say the bondage? Well I should probably say it a few times because there is so much of it.
Oh, and the key thing is that by doing this they would come to realise that they had never felt more masculine or desirable than when, er, being whipped, and sexually used and whipped a bit more.
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Saturday, April 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
You’ve got to love any essay on kinky sex that starts out:
I didn’t just want to write a wank post. There are plenty of posts on the internet about how kinky sex is all whee and shiny and woah, just look at me go!
I. Win. At! Perverted! SEX!
I didn’t want to write one of those. But I wanted to write something that was as real and close and true as I could get it.
That’s from What it Feels Like to Hurt a Man Until it Makes You Have an Orgasm. (Thanks to Bondage Blog for the link.)
From the essay:
I rush the start. The shortest sharpest route to hurter and hurtee. Most often: hair pulling. I love hair pulling. It hurts, you can move the head around, it’s dehumanising. It has everything. It always seems to make the mouth go squooshy and limp. Open and aroused. That mouth thing again.
There is only one problem with hair pulling – aesthetically I love the shaved head look on a guy. It’s that stupid submissive+masculinity fetish I have. Imagine my dilemma. Oh, the quandary. Shaved-head vs pulling-hair. The trial of my life. Who’d be me?
Anyway, so if he has no hair or a super short crop (mmm, joy/frustration/joy), I’ll twist his nipples or find some other hair to pull. ‘Cause he’s naked, right, you knew that? I’m probably not naked, but probably not dressed. And certainly not *dressed* *up*.
Oh, and this stage is really *the* *best* if he is on a chair, in the cuffs and I am on his lap. *The* *best*. All interrogationy – and super hot to the power of motherfuck.
I like to kiss him while I hurt him. I love kissing. This type of kissing is compulsory. Some guys seem to like cold and calculated. Not actually visibly turned on. With me no kissing is a deal breaker. I mean that for real. I have stopped a thing before it started because he had a girlfriend who was fine with play but not kissing — or so he said — and that was probably a lucky escape.
Anyway that icy thing, that isn’t what you get with me. I get very turned on very fast. I am usually more turned on than the guy I am with from quite early on. And doing most of the panting and moaning.
…
I get a lot turned having d/s sex (that being mostly the reason why we are all here) on and when I am turned on I like to kiss. Mouth fetish. I like sticking things in men’s mouths. My tongue is my favourite of those things. These pain flavoured kisses while he’s *hurting* are the best kisses.
I like it when he screams into my mouth.
Like?
I *adore* it when he screams into my mouth
I often keep going with the hurting and kissing until he can’t hold it together to kiss me back anymore. Assuming he’s a submissive or a masochist he’s usually very hard at this point if he wasn’t already very hard, like, you know, when I met him at the railway station.
I often put clamps on him now and if he doesn’t scream really fucking loud, I take them off and put them on him again. And that’s really painful.
And then there’s the hitting:
The hitting, I think, is kind of the equivalent of your earth foreplay. It’s not instead of kissing or fingering or oral — ’cause I might do any or all of those things too. But it’s kind of like that. Another layer. Sometimes more than one body part is required — but most men have more than one body part.
This — I want to be clear — is where it is. This is the point where I know who I am and what I am with absolute abiding clarity. Whatever else I say. All my other fancies and frills. You could take them all if you left me this. I hurt a man and I feel the most intensely pleasurable sensations I think my body is capable of. There is no intrigued here. No one else could have made this of me. I live here. This is home. This I know.
I am a sadist. I get turned on hurting people.
I like pain. I like it quite simple. I don’t want to be distracted or have my concentration focused outside of my body. I don’t do anything flash. I’m generally uncoordinated and clumsy. I know there is little point in me trying to be all fancy with whips or anything too clever or hard to handle. I’m not dexterous. I can’t put on a show. I don’t insert things in his urethra or breathe fire. I don’t tap dance. I miss sometimes. The first ten are always practice. I lose my grip. My skill set is tiny. What I do is often unaesthetic and messy and awkward. But I’ve been doing this a while and what I do works. It hurts and it doesn’t rupture internal organs. It turns me on and I am now at point where I know that that is fine. That hurting men can be something that is decidedly not performance art and that is fucking damn okay. It’s sex, not cabaret.
Saturday, April 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Before there were French postcards — hell, before there were nude photographs — there were daguerreotypes, and of course those early daguerrotypists, being French, pointed their metal plates coated with stinky chemicals at the nude ladies. (Well, perhaps not ladies in the social sense of the word.) With results of a surprisingly modern character:
The image is from a large French daguerrotype from the mid 1850s, currently to be found in the collection of the J. Paul Getty Museum, and titled (by them) Nude Study of a Black Woman. A bit of erudite commentary can be found here:
I do not recall how I first came to find her image, but I knew instantly that it was rare and important. It was stored in a box all by itself, and I would probably never have found it had I not worked in the museum that owned it. She was extraordinary — a young black woman in France almost 140 years ago, naked and displayed and open and touching herself and reclining and smiling. The lace coverlet on which she is posed reminds me fondly, sweetly of my own grandmother’s linens, while her frankness and sexuality remind me of everything that is not my grandmother. Through all of my research I have never seen another piece of 19th century photo erotica quite like this. The daguerreotype plate is of an impressive size, and I wonder what was so extraordinary about this model to merit such special treatment, since by the mid 1850s, when this was made, the popularity of daguerreotypes in France was waning in favor of simpler positive/negative processes. Moreover, I am intrigued by what could possibly be the connection between this photographer’s model, perhaps a prostitute, a continent and a culture and a century and a half away, and me.
She is completely bare except for her head wrapped in the fashion of West Indian women. Ironically, despite her complete exposure, this small cultural marker is the only real clue as to who she might have been. She is positioned awkwardly, expressly for the act of being viewed, and we seem to see every inch of her except for her lower legs and feet. The focal point of the image, her open crotch, is coyly out of focus, yet with the explicit placement of her fingers she invites us to look, simultaneously avoiding the viewer with her gaze. Either in modesty or carnal complicity, the medium obscures her sex in murkiness.
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, April 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Remember what Red says: “If the women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.”
I rather suspect they find Monmouth to be both:
“With a little patience, you could probably get your whole hand in there.”
Audrey had invited me over for an afternoon of fun and games. Now she was lying back on a pile of pillows, legs spread, and her pussy dripping all over my fingers and tongue.
I pulled back and looked at her beautifully proportioned slit. Her pussy felt so small and tight around my two fingers. I had been licking and fingering her for a good while already, and I was in no rush. Carefully, I massaged around her pussy, stroking, licking and insinuating my way in with three, then four fingers, a bit of lube, and a lot of attention to her clit along the way.
Gradually, she opened up more and more.
After she had gotten accustomed to four fingers and most of my hand, it was time to get my thumb in. I pulled out part of the way and added more lube to everything. Her eyes, wide and glistening, followed the way I spread the lubricant all over my hand. She wanted, and yet…
My fingers formed a wedge, thumb pressed against the palm as tightly as possible. It was easier than I thought. The whole hand slid in. Suddenly, shockingly, I could cup her entire cervix in my palm.
Then I formed a fist.
Audrey let out a deep growl or groan or some other noise that came all the way from down below. She reached up to grab me by the neck and pulled me in for a wet, deep kiss, unbalancing me so that the weight of my body shifted on to the hand now fully buried inside her.
Staring into my eyes, hers wide, not quite focused. she let go of my neck. “Take a look…”
I pulled back and saw, incredibly, the naked lips of her pussy wrapped all the way around my wrist.
My hand was fully inside her. I moved it around, carefully, starting to fuck her with my clenched fist….
Wednesday, March 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Whenever you hear a story like this, it’s hard to know if you’re reading about somebody suffering a serious crisis of mental health, or whether (as we’d always prefer to believe) it’s someone living out a sexually adventurous fantasy. Add drugs to the mix and you’ve got an even fuzzier middle ground to worry about.
When I was in college, we had a young scholar who took too many magic mushrooms and was eventually picked up by campus security, naked, standing on the college president’s lawn, masturbating and shouting. I never heard what he was shouting about.
It’s possible that this story slides a little bit more toward the sexually adventurous side, but there’s no way to know for sure:
Masturbating trespasser booted from frat
By: Jessica Vosgerchian, Daily Staff Reporter (3/26/07)
Police have been unable to locate a woman who entered the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity house without permission on Thursday and began to masturbate on a couch.
While fraternity members were eating in the dining room, a woman entered the house’s living room, took off her clothes and started masturbating, said LSA junior Dan Nye, the president of the Washtenaw Avenue fraternity.
…
Fraternity members asked the woman to leave the house, but she refused and continued masturbating for about half an hour, Nye said.
When members asked the woman if she was all right, she casually replied that she was fine, he said. The woman was talking on her cell phone at one point, said LSA sophomore Adam Bayard, a member of the fraternity.
She walked out of the front door wearing only a thigh-length black coat after a fraternity member called the police, Nye said. When police arrived minutes later, the woman had already left.
According to a police report, the woman was between 20 and 30 years old, had short brown hair and appeared to be under the influence of drugs.
“Obviously, she was very disturbed,” Nye said. “It was not how a normal person would respond to people.”
The woman told fraternity members that her name was Melissa and she was a student at Eastern Michigan University, according to the police report.
Fraternity members said they will throw out two couches in the living room because of the incident, Nye said.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s that last line that makes the story. I’ve been in frat houses, and so the idea that frat boys (er, I mean young Greek gentlemen) would be grossed out by a single incidence of female masturbation on their furniture makes me howl with laughter.
I also like that “She’s been masturbating for half an hour, is it time to call the police yet?” sense of urgency.
Monday, March 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It’s Monday, so please allow me to brighten your day with some vintage girl-on-girl hippie action:
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Sunday, March 11th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
OK, so everybody agrees, Paris Hilton’s overexposed, in all senses of the word. But sending people naked bondage birthday invites? That’s worth one more picture:
Via Bondage Blog.
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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, January 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
OK, I used that title just so I could pick on it. But first, the vintage porn:
Now, what’s wrong with my title? In general, there’s a number of reasons why I don’t normally throw the word “lesbian” around loosely when characterizing what Rick Santorum might call “woman on woman” porn.
First of all, there’s the moron factor. Thirty years of greasy-idiot pornographers shouting “Hot Lesbo Fucking!” every time they get two naked ladies in the same photographic frame has sort of polluted the swimming pool.
At a deeper level, even when you’ve got two women actually doing sexual things to each other in a photograph, it’s never clear to me that you’ve got enough information to attach that “lesbian” label. Yeah, lesbian women have sex with each other (by all reports, anyway, I haven’t witnessed it with my own eyes) but even with my dim and primitive grasp of gender politics, I’m reasonably confident that there might be greater depth to lesbian identification. I don’t think you can reliably attach labels like that based on photographic evidence alone.
And finally, there’s the fundamental deceit present in all posed photographic art. Porn models tend to do what they’re paid to do, and it doesn’t say much about who they are. Calling a woman a lesbian because she poses sexually with another woman is like calling an author a Catholic because he writes a story with a priest in it.
Which is really my point about this picture. The suggestive touching is one thing, but I’m not seeing any enthusiasm in the faces of the models. Which would make this bad lesbian porn, if lesbian porn it were.
Over-analyze much? Why, yes thank you, I don’t mind if I do.
Wednesday, January 10th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Naked Twister is a perennial favorite here at ErosBlog, but I think I’ve found the largest-breasted exemplar yet seen in the wild. From the new-but-coming-along-fast Titty Blog comes this crouching nude twister-lady with a feral gleam in her eye and some notably pendulous breasts:
I’m not sure if she’s planning a fast transition to a game of leapfrog, or if she’s just spotted new prey and she’s poised to pounce.
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Friday, January 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
“Oh, her? That’s the cleaning lady.”
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 Bacchus
There’s something very festive about a snowball-wielding woman wearing nothing but a Santa hat:
Wednesday, December 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Some time ago I wrote a post called Crapping All Over Beauty in which I discussed the odd phenomenon of guys who run around the internet finding fault with every image of naked beauty. At that time I wrote:
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’m posting today to point at a concrete example of this “game” that showed up (or tried to) right here in the Erosblog comments. Remember the odd panties-down-but-we-have-beer-cups photo from yesterday? The girls are reasonably cute, but that notwithstanding, we got this attempted comment:
I dont think theyre women… arent you wondering what theyre holding in those cups?
No, dude. Are you? Interesting. Maybe you’re imagining what you wish were in there?
Anyway, crapping attempt: rejected.
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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Thursday, November 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s a feast day, what better picture than of a well-prepared feast?
Happy Thanksgiving!
Monday, November 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s been well over a year since I last linked to Naked Jen, and I’m not sure why I’ve let it go so long. Jen has one of those life blogs, I’d guess you’d call it; or, if you’re old fashioned, it might be considered an online journal or diary. Content: Jen, writing about what happens to Jen.
Except for the special sauce: every so often, Jen takes off her clothes in public and posts the picture. Frequently without any commentary at all, like it was the most ordinary thing. It’s really quite delightful.
Just fer instance, here’s Jen discovering damage to her Honda Element:
Luckily for us, she recently posted an uncharacteristically detailed account on the “Why naked Jen?” question, which I think is worth quoting in detail:
It was a really lovely party, a gathering of some folks who I already knew and many that I did not, with amazing food and laughter and beautiful children who were quite busy adorning themselves with sparkly things and glittery paint and just the right balloon animal.
At one point, Gwendomama mentioned to someone at the party that I was Nakedjen. As in THE Nakedjen. From the Internet. The one she talks about all the time. The one who just gets naked whenever. The one who got naked at the Mexican restaurant when she was there and she missed the opportunity!
That Nakedjen.
But then it didn’t stop there. She loaded this blog. On her very large flat screen monitor that was sitting right on the buffet table. There was a smorgasbord of food and behind it was me, upside down on a bed, naked. Well, I suppose it’s not a party until someone gets naked, as I always say, and it was probably a good thing that it was me.
Anyway, everyone was, as you might imagine, quite curious about exactly what it meant to be Nakedjen. Why I did it? What was the purpose? What was it all about?
So I happily explained that I am quite comfortable in my body. That being naked for me is a celebration of my body and of myself. I also explained that I was very tired of the distorted images of women that we are constantly fed by the media that make women feel that they are imperfect. Or not quite good enough. I was upset by a media that was constantly shoving the photo shopped perfected Barbie Doll images at us from the cover of magazines and television and billboards and was doing its best to create a very large population of women who absolutely hated everything about themselves.
I wanted to change that. And I was going to start with me.
So I started writing Nakedjen. It was my very subtle political platform. Because obviously I chose to be naked about my entire life, not just that particular agenda. Once I really started writing Nakedjen, I decided to write completely from my heart and soul. Bare it all. To be truly naked. And raw. And very real.
I also decided that I would post naked pictures of myself. That, I will admit, came more from my job at the time than from anything else. I was the product manager for an on-line sex chat community. Basically I was working in the porn industry. And I didn’t like what I was seeing at all. Because the women who were being served up to the men were not REAL. Men were paying lots of money for the fantasy of these women (and there’s nothing wrong with fantasy!), but I decided that I would give them a bona-fide, genuine, absolutely 100% real naked woman.
Now, let me reiterate that for me it wasn’t about being sexual. That honestly has never been my intention. I’m just me. I realize on an intellectual level that there are plenty of men (and women) out there that find my naked body attractive. Or even, gasp, HOT as they like to tell me. But for me, it honestly was just about saying, “Look, here I am! Nakedjen! This is my body. I love every inch of it and think it’s beautiful. And I think your naked body is absolutely perfect and beautiful, too!”
Thanks, Jen!
(Previous links: Naked Jen Goes To Washington and Naked At Disney World.)
Friday, October 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
If it’s possible to talk about big fake boobs without condemning anybody’s choices or tastes, I’ll kick off by admitting that I do not like them, Sam I am. I’ve said this before here on my humble little sex blog.
It’s rather a strong preference. I don’t like the way they look in naked pictures, I don’t like the way they sometimes jut out in bad directions and look like lost sports equipment buried under overtaxed skin, and I imagine I wouldn’t like the way they feel, though I reserve the right to change my mind if I ever actually get my hands on any (not very likely, given predictable objections The Nymph might have). They are, simply put, not to my taste.
But more than that, I don’t like the opportunity cost they represent. Wrapped around every fake boob is the residual flesh of — it seemeth to me — a mutilated boob, one that I, or somebody else, might have liked, but will never get to see.
Of course, it’s important to remember: they weren’t, they aren’t, my boobs. Nothing “lost” that I had any say about, none of my business, et cetera. One man’s mutilation is another woman’s joyful body modification, and of course it’s her body. Body modification, however extreme, is clearly well within the self-ownership rights of every free being, no matter how much it may squick me. And so forth.
None of which prevents me from feeling, in a visceral way, bewildered every time I see them. “What was she thinking?” I wonder. “How could she?” “Why, o great but diminished gods of Olympus, why?”
Pretty Dumb Things to the rescue! Chelsea Girl says why:
I am for myself a fan of the big breasts. However, that preference is merely for my own; I find other women’s breasts beautiful in all sizes and shapes. I have found myself equally attracted to women who burgeoned with double-scooped sundaes of breasts and to whose who were flat as a grey-glass sea. I am an equal-opportunity bisexual when it comes to other women’s breasts. But for myself, I’ve always liked myself best as a big-breasted chick.
Always. Even when I was somewhere in between an A and a B cup, the size that my genetics gave me. My breasts grew suddenly, one night when I was twelve. It felt as if one day I had those telltale puffy areolas of nascent pubescence and the next morning I had a gently cupped palm full of breast. Which would have been fine, except that in addition to growing my fresh spanky shiny boobs, I had also grown blighted bright red stretch marks that emanated out from my mallowmar areolas like ugly stringy weedy flowers.
That night when I was twelve and finally grew my boobs, when I woke that morning to find them, like stingy treats from a cranky titfairy, I felt severely cheated. From having grown up with fresh-air loving, naked-in-the-rain-dancing hippie parents and grown up around my mother’s brothers and their 60s and 70s-era Playboy and Penthouse magazines, I knew full fucking well what boobs were supposed to look like, and I knew these striped things on my chest weren’t it.
Moreover, I had, from the time I was very young, known that great big American breasts were my birthright. When I played grown up with my little friends, and we all shoved socks into our tanktops or bathing suits, I always stuck three or four pairs against each flat brown nipple, stretching my top out to tent-strained excess, and then I would stand back and admire my body. Growing up, I thought Raquel Welch, Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield owned the body that I myself would grow to inhabit.
My own breasts, the ones my DNA gave me, were a mystifying disappointment.
Of course she’s just getting going when I stop quoting, there’s much more. Enlightening and useful, even if, at the end of the day, we must fall back upon the ancient wisdom: de gustibus non disputandem.
Sunday, October 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The previously-moribund Naked Protesters site appears to be rising from the dead; they’ve begun posting some of the recent crop of nude activist photos, such as this one:
Friday, October 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Ah, and now — after my link tip post below — the fruits of one of the triggering tips. Frank from OMG Blog sent me a Helena Christensen nude spread tip. Turns out Helena Christensen is not (presumably) his girlfriend; she’s a “former supermodel”. Whatever, she’s pretty and she’s nude:
Thanks, Frank!
Friday, September 22nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
You can feel the autumn in the air where I am, and winter will be here before we know it. And that, of course, means frolicking in the snow! But there’s too much cold steel in this picture for my taste:
At least he’s wearing a sock!
Wednesday, September 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
When I was a kid, I learned very young not to go near my mother’s garden on warm sunny days, unless I made a lot of noise along the way, or unless I wanted to see a whole lot more of her than I normally did. She was no hippie — not by the standards of the day, anyway — but she believed in “back to the land”, organic gardening, and Mother Earth News. And, apparently, in gardening in the nude, weather permitting. This photo (it’s from Hippie Goddess, and no, it’s not my mother, that’d be too weird) reminded me of those days I’d have to sing and clatter when I was going to the garden:
Saturday, September 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Writes Susie Bright:
0h, sodomy. . . It doesn’t come as naturally as the puritans would like to fear. We stumble and fumble and watch dirty movies for tips, but there’s a lot to the details that doesn’t get talked about.
Ah, but they do get talked about, at least when Susie’s around. And that’s a good thing.
In this case, she’s using the word sodomy in the American-legal-system sense, where the word encompasses not just your traditional penis-in-anus buggery, but all manner of transgressive sex that doesn’t lead directly to babies. And she’s specifically referring to that bugbear of the clueless male hetero idiot, the aggressive answer to the unimaginative whiner who asks of lesbianism “But what is it that two women could possibly do?” In fine, she’s talking about fisting:
Unlike some women whose favorite fisting movement is a slow clenching and unclenching, Donna preferred circular, massage motions. She showed me where to put extra lubrication around my gloved hand. When we got closer to our trial run, I suggested she bring her lover, Carrie, for bedside reassurance. Our rehearsal went smooth as silk.
The next afternoon, sixty women crammed into an airless room for the Vaginal Fisting Workshop. The tension was so thick you could have wired your home with it. I passed out my rubber gloves, condoms and dams, with a few words on safe sex techniques. Rubber or vinyl gloves are really superior for fisting over naked hands. They grease up better and give a smoother surface going in.
…
Another woman brought up that the peril isn’t necessarily for the fistee, it’s for the fister. She once had a lover orgasm while her hand was curled up inside, and the contractions broke a small bone in her hand.
Her experience prompted a lot of handy hints on how to get out of a woman’s vagina in a hurry when your hand is caught in a vacuum.
Methods include: pressing gently on her lower abdomen, or using a finger on your free hand to pull a little on the vaginal opening, thereby breaking the suction.
Simply relaxing, until her muscles loosen, is the simplest method. Don’t panic, or you’ll have a funny time telling people why your hand is in a splint.
I’m the squeamish type when it comes to public situations of potential awkwardness — a platoon of naked harem girls holding bottles of forty year old Scotch couldn’t lure me to any sort of public sex workshop or demonstration. Wild horses? Couldn’t even find me, much less drag me to it. But I’m all in favor of good sex information and education, and brave folk like Susie have done a lot of amazing stuff in that cause.
Saturday, August 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It had to happen. As the War on Moisture intensifies and becomes permanent, one of the worst-affected airlines has begun to fight back on behalf of its shareholders and would-be moist passengers. In a chilling foreshadowing of the War On Moisture endgame (what, you think we won’t see people stripsearched at gates and loaded on planes wearing nothing but clear vinyl TSA straightjackets, if mass air travel survives that long?), Ryanair has published this “humorous” photo, under the caption “New Airport Security Procedures Put Fun Back In Flying“:
As Boing Boing puts it: “The war on moisture is bad, but it’s nothing compared to the inevitable war on body cavities.”
Friday, August 11th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Old postcard nudes are a favorite of mine, but this one from Rare Erotica is just about the prettiest I’ve ever seen:
Monday, July 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Dominant women smoking cigarettes (and doing mean, mean things with them) are a frequent theme in “femdom” porn, especially from places like Japan where smoking seems to remain a bit more “cool” than it has become in the United States. Here’s a fragment from a manga comic panel featuring a vulnerably posed naked man and a domina poised to extinguish her smoke:
You can see the whole panel here, but don’t click unless you’re prepared to wince and shudder.
Found in the alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. cartoons newsgroup on Usenet.
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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.”
Saturday, June 17th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another lesson from Naked Loft Party on the intricacies of complex seduction situations:
Les excused herself to go find the restroom. In the meantime I practiced leaning back in my barstool and appearing nonchalant. The raven-haired beauty turned around and smiled at me across the expanse of Leslie’s vacant seat. I immediately recognized her as the very same woman who’d smiled at me shortly after we’d arrived at the bar. I returned the favor, nodding slightly as if to say: “Your move, babe.”
She inched closer, leaning over the stool between us. “So is she your girlfriend or what?”
For the monogamous man the answer is straightforward: you decline the beautiful stranger’s invitation and then titter nervously, quietly cursing yourself over never having been approached by beautiful women when you were single. But for those of us who tempt fate the answer to this simple question is fraught with complications. If you answer “yes” without qualification she’ll likely assume the door is closed. If, on the other hand, you immediately launch into a discussion concerning the particulars of your dating life you risk coming across as a threesome-obsessed sleazebag. Which is not to say that I’m not a threesome-obsesses sleazebag, but there’s a time and place for everything.
And so, feeling a little bit like a time-traveler trying to explain my strange customs to the ancients, I took the latter route. “Well yes,” I said, “but we also see other people.”
Friday, June 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a man who got a chance to moon an entire continent, and so he took it:
KATHMANDU (Reuters) – The head of the Nepal Mountaineering Association urged the government Saturday to take action against a sherpa who reportedly stripped on top of Mount Everest.
The Himalayan Times had reported Friday that the Nepali climbing guide, whose name it gave as Lakpa Tharke, stood naked for three minutes in freezing conditions on the 29,035-foot summit of the world’s highest peak.
If confirmed, he would be the first person known to have stripped atop Everest, considered by Nepali Buddhists as a god.
Ang Tshering Sherpa, head of Nepal’s top mountaineering body, said he could not confirm that the incident had happened.
“But if he did it, it is very shocking because Sagarmatha is the goddess mother,” he said, using the mountain’s Nepali name.
Awesome.
Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.
Tuesday, June 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We all know that frying bacon in the nude is an adventure, but these ladies seem to be scrambling eggs, which is safer. Is somebody getting breakfast in bed?
Vintage photo is from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage.
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Monday, June 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve heard of being so out of clean clothes that one is naked in the laundromat, waiting for the wash to get done. But this soapy young thing is taking it to the next level:
Do you suppose she’s planning to ride in the dryer, too?
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Sunday, May 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Yes, ladies, you really can wash too much:
Coco was naked. Her dark skin glistened with sweat as she stretched out on the bed and pushed my head away from her crotch.
“Stop, please…” she laughed, weakly. She loves oral – she can come repeatedly, in waves upon waves of growing intensity, until she’s sitting in a puddle of her own juices. Which is why I put a towel under her arse before I tied her wrists to the headboard and dove down between her thighs.
I stayed there for a long time.
Coco is very clean. To the point of neurotic over-washing, trimming, shaving and deodorizing – but whatever. What would I gain by objecting? She smells nice. And I mean the underlying smell of her, the real breathing, sweating, self-lubricating woman that she is.
Whatever Coco thinks, she is delicious.
But fortunately, you can’t wash away the delicious.
Saturday, May 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Sounds like Lex had a really good day, even for him:
It’s been said there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob. This is surely a lie. Anyone who makes this claim has never squirmed under a row of sharp teeth, nor suffered friction burns at the hands of a partner who just wants to get it over with, nor endured the lazy manipulations of a mouth that would rather be wrapped around something — anything — else.
There really isn’t such a thing as a bad double blow job, however. For one, any girl who teams up with a playmate to work you over is arguably well acquainted with the act of fellatio. And neither girl wants to look bad in front of the other, so they both bring their A games to the, er, court. If having two women at once is like winning the lottery, then having two women worship the knobbed idol of your masculinity is like winning the lottery and the Nobel Prize on the same afternoon.
Leslie and Peggy. Each one, in her own right, an accomplished flautist in the skin section of the orchestra; Leslie with her soft, silky lips and Peggy with her tongue ring and talented fingers. Both of them with their little tricks — a slight flick of the wrist or curl of the tongue. Both of them only too happy to fish Mr. Penis out of my trousers. Unprompted, naturally.
I kneeled and they had me together….
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Saturday, April 29th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
“Watch the game? No, I don’t think you’ll be watching the game tonight.”
Friday, April 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I found this posted without an author credit on an adult webmaster board. It was presented as if it were supposed to be funny, and acclaimed as such by a chunk of the online-pornographer audience. Me, I didn’t find it so — it encapsulates a lot of the reasons I never could find much value in the strip club experience. Of course I know of folks in the blog community who’ve stripped (or who are still stripping) and who present a much more nuanced view of the profession. But still. Strong and unpleasant stuff, it seems to me:
1) Hey you over there, holding that one dollar bill in your hand with a death grip and waving it around at me like it’s the fucking deed to Trump Towers… what the fuck do you want me to do, grow another pussy?!? It’s a fuckin’ dollar, put it down on the tiprail and blow my world away already.
2) You losers that come into the club for a lapdance with NO underwear or boxers and thin-ass, nylon shorts, so we slip and slide on your hard-on (which always feel like a sharpie pen ~ fine point)…fuck you.
3) You with the thick-ass jeans, this was an impromptu visit, eh?
4) Don’t pull my thong up during a dance and ask me if it felt good. IT DOES NOT FEEL GOOD.
5) Hey you, Loser, the one counting out the 20 bucks in one dollar increments, rubbing your fingers between each one to make sure you are giving me just that one dollar. Yes, you.
6) No I will not just let you “slip it in real quick” for $50 more bucks.
7) Yeah, my tits are real. As real as my affection for you.
8)If you cum in your pants, you have to tip me an extra $100 for being a lame-ass who can cum in their pants from a lapdance.
9) Stop asking me out. You’re a smelly, fat loser and the only reason I’m smiling and cooing at you is because I want your money. Outside of the club I wouldn’t even fart your way.
11) Stop bitching at me about the goddamn two drink minimum. First of all, your breath ranks (what’d you have for dinner, garlic and shit?), you’re about 172 lbs. overweight, and you look like Jay Leno. More importantly: I don’t give a shit.
12) Don’t bitch at me about the $10 non-alchoholic beer either. Hide a bottle of Jack in your coat pocket next time like everyone else does.
13) My horniness is in direct proportion to your income.
14) No, you CAN’T SMOKE. Dumb. Ass.
15 )Boys, don’t sit in the front row with your “homies” and act all engrossed in some deep conversation during a girls performance because you want to look like you’re too “cool” to notice the hot, naked girl in front of you. It’s a clear sign that you ain’t getting any.
16) DON’T SIT IN THE FRONT ROW IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TIP. Fer chrissakes!!!!!!!!!!!
17) “So what do you guys do when you’re on your period?” Answer: I lap dance with guys in dark pants.
18) STOP trying to grab my tits!!!!!!! That’s extra.
19) SHOWER FIRST, you nasty fuck!
20) I had a feeling you weren’t going to tip me, so I took extra care to rub my lip gloss on your collar and wear extra glitter lotion and obnoxious perfume before our dance.
21) Hey cheapasses: please don’t come to my work. Just stay home and jack off to “Desperate Housewives” instead. It will save us a both a lot of unpleasantry.
22) Stop asking me why I do this job and try to get all psychologically analytical on me. For the money, you moron, that’s why.
23) No seriously, my real name is Sparkle.
24) NO, I will not take a dime sac for payment. I can tell it’s oregano anyway you stupid mutherfucker!
25) Sorry, I don’t do that. Ask the ugly girl at the bar with the black roots and overbite.
26) I can see it’s your first time at a strip club. Let me explain the dynamics to you. If you want a fuck or a blow-job, go to the ugly chicks. Hot girls don’t have to do “extra services.” I can give you some recommendations for a small fee.
27) It is not okay for you to bounce me on your cock like a baby on a knee. Not okay.
28) Stop complaining about how short the song was. It felt like the fucking maxi-single to me.
29)Yes I will fuck you, but only for 10 grand. More if you’re ugly. So basically, more.
30) DO NOT come into the club looking for a girlfriend/date. It’s like me going to PETA looking for a steak.
31) Girls–what’s with the pole smell? Can we do a little hygiene check? Nothing than worse than twirling around the pole and getting a whiff of stale pussy.
32) Girls–stop lip-syncing to the song you’re dancing to on stage. Especially if you don’t know all the words.
33) Girls–if your toes curl and hang over your platform shoes a la’ Fred Flinstone, you need to go up a size.
34) Girls–drowning yourself in Angel perfume is just as bad if not worse than the BO you’re trying to cover. Take a goddamn shower, you smell like lapdance funk.
35) Hey DJ! You suck!
36)Girls–may I suggest complete sobriety before getting tatted up? Tattoos should be meaningful, or at least semi-meaningful, or at least semi semi-meaningful. That fucking dancing llama on your ass is so lame.
37)Girls–some songs just should not be stripped to. Please. No Disney soundtracks (you know who you are, you fucking weirdo), Sade, Boys II Men, or Bjork. For the love of God, Please.
By the way, if this was ripped from a blog or website and you know the original source, please drop me an email so I can credit it properly. No links in the comments, please.
Sunday, April 9th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Although I linked early to Ethnorotica because of its general high style and because it’s the not-so-secret project of Lex from the excellent Naked Loft Party, I’m not fundamentally sympathetic to its “shine a light on the best in ethnic erotica” mission. I guess I’m still old-fashioned enough to dream of a world where a pretty naked woman is judged not by the color of her skin, but by the contents of her birthday suit. When it comes to ethnicity in porn, I myself am frequently oblivious; I’ve posted pretty pictures on this blog and been taken aback by comments that mentioned the color of the models, because that was not one of the features I noticed. Frankly, people who do notice make me a little nervous; I have a hard time imagining benign reasons for categorizing people by color in any context.
All of which is by way of lengthy introduction to this vintage postcard beauty, which may not be exactly the sort of ethnorotica Lex has in mind:
This postcard (which is probably pre-1970s, judging from the scalloped edges) appears to be a fairly late entry in the 120-year-old category of “ethnic nude” postcard photography. I’m not generally inclined to post these vintage postcard pictures, because their focus on “ethnic” identity strikes me as a poor reason to take or display nude photos. But beauty is beauty, and sometimes good art (or good porn) happens for bad reasons. I find this young woman’s picture just too pretty not to share.
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Tuesday, April 4th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
I don’t know who the “experts” are talking about when they say girls don’t get as turned on by seeing naked bodies as guys do. That definately doesn’t describe me! Even though I’m kind of in a relationship, I still love to look at penises. Hard, soft, cut, uncut, smooth, veiny, these hunks of living sculpture amaze me with what their hydraulics can do……and do to me. Every time I see a nice one I think of how it might feel and smell and taste, and how I might try to please its owner…..and by the time I wake up from my daydream I’m always moist and wiggly, wanting some action. A guy can do lots of things to make a girl happy, but what counts most with me is how he uses his cock. Some guys have been surprised or embarassed when I’ve taken a long time and enjoyed looking at them, but they all end up not caring because they find out that I want to enjoy their penis as much as they do.
So anyway, I was looking for some good pictures and tumbled into cock heaven. This fine specimen is ready for a slow slide into someone.
You can find many more inspiring pictures at the Documentary of Free Penis Pictures. Their pictures and survey responses show alot of variety in cocks and their owners, and I really like why the site was built:
Our purpose for creating this site is to allow people to see penises in many different forms WITHOUT being subject to any unnecessary subject matter such as homosexual sex pictures, heterosexual sex pics, or any other type of sexual activity. We feel this is a necessary project because there are thousands of companies that are trying to convince men that their penises are not the right size, they are somehow abnormal in shape, or their ejaculations are not good enough. There are too many advertisements on the Internet today that try to convey the message that every man needs a huge penis in an effort to sell a scam. This is simply not true. Hopefully we can dispel some myths about penis size and shape. In addition, we also hope to show that the picture angle and position of the penis can cause a man to “look” bigger or smaller. The truth should be known — Penises come in many different sizes, shapes, and colors. Ejaculation amounts normally range from a few drops to over a tablespoon and can range in consistency from a thin clear liquid to a white or dark yellow jelly-like substance. All are normal and functional human variations.
So here’s to dick, in all his glory!
Friday, March 31st, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
It’s a grand day when a guy is so confident of what he wants that he can say to a naked woman;
Honey, you’re beautiful and sexy, but I need a bigger box.
Wombat amusingly elaborates over at Kiss & Blog. Makes sense to me.
Sunday, March 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In which the heroine of Pillowbook utterly demolishes the serenity of a stuffy “naturist” camp with straight talk, direct action, and showering without a towel. An example of the straight talk:
The second thing I realised was that I had that familiar wet feeling between my thighs.
Well, all right, no point being bashful: not between my thighs, exactly, but between my cunt lips, and slick down my perineum to my arse.
Saturday, March 25th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here are a couple of photographs of a life-sized statue of Britney Spears giving birth. Questionable taste? Who cares, it’s Britney Spears naked!
Of course all art is political and this statue is assuredly no exception. For the backstory and the blah blah blah and the link credits and the source website with the popups, go see the story on Boing Boing.
See also: Britney Spears Pregnant: The Rear View
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Thursday, March 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
So, there was this girlfriend once. I took her tent camping to a spectacular place in a fairly cool climate, and I made sure we had two new sleeping bags that zipped together into one big one. My first hint that the relationship was in trouble was when she refused to let me zip them together. It was all downhill from there.
Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be cool (metaphorically or otherwise) in this tent tonight:
Picture is from Usenet.
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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.
Thursday, March 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Judging by the hair and the beads and the vintage tones of the color photography, this happy scene from Usenet might date all the way back to the original Summer Of Love. No matter, it’s clearly a summer of love:
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Wednesday, March 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
No, not quite what you think:
We went back to my apartment, and sat on my bed talking for hours. I’m great at getting girls onto my bed, but notoriously chicken about making the first move. We talked about sex to the point that I was squirming. I gave her a tour of my sex-toy drawer. It was obvious to me that we both wanted to do something but I just couldn’t.
By 5 am, we were naked in the dark, tucked under the covers in my big, soft, bed; still chaste, but so hot. The phone rang, and it was my boyfriend, calling me after his date, wanting to know about mine. I asked him all the questions I usually ask him after a playdate: Did you have fun? Did you fuck her? Did she suck your cock? Is she prettier than I am? And I answered his questions: Yes, it’s been a fun night. No, we haven’t kissed yet. Yes, she’s completely adorable and I really, really want to.
I felt her hand slide across my belly and up onto my breast. Her fingertips grazed my nipple and pulled. I arched up into her, smiled, and sighed with relief and pent up lust. “Nothing’s happened so far, but she just tweaked my nipple, so I’m taking that as a very good sign,” I told him. He and I talked for about 5 more minutes, with her hands roaming freely over my body. I guess she didn’t really know if it was okay for us to play until she heard exactly how okay it was with my lover, or maybe she just thought it was hot to distract me as I was talking. At any rate, she made the impossible first move and I was so happy that she did. I told him I loved him, hung up the phone, and we practically leaped on each other.
We kissed, touched, and squirmed, with our legs intertwined and hands everywhere. Neither of us vied for dominance; it was a sweet, exploratory makeout. She reached for my pussy and touched me tenatively, gently, and intuitively. I gasped to feel how wet I was. I knew that I would be, but that initial moment of discovery– the moment of finding just how swollen, slick and sensitive my cunt was, literally took my breath away.
From Suburban Sexpot.
Tuesday, March 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From clean to dirty, a natural progression:
The naked man is “Enrico” from the October 1988 issue of Stallion magazine, courtesy of BJ.
Monday, March 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
More naked women, wrestling. How does this ever get old?
From Ultimate Surrender. Isis Love and Tory Lane.
Tuesday, February 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
An odd mixture of cleaning and playtime at Annie’s Blog:
I…unknowingly made myself an ingredient in the menacing mix of man, naked woman and power tool which can lead to only one end: Fun With Suction. It feels really wierd to have one’s nipple sucked into the end of a vaccuum cleaner hose, yanno? Set on high it damn near sucks the hair off balls, too. I’m still trying to figure out if Robert’s “EEEEEAAAAHHHHHH!” was a good thing.
Wednesday, February 8th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
If my dentist used one of these on me, it would probably work:
A male one would work better, except I’d probably be trying to lick its cock, which would not make the dentist’s job any easier.
I found this at clube dos Malandros. I don’t understand a lick of Spanish, nor can I tell Spanish from Portuguese, but I like a lot of his pictures!
Monday, February 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Dan Savage recently published a collection of letters in his Savage Love column, reporting on some real bad “how I lost my virginity” stories. This one poor girl says she got electrocuted, thrown naked into the street, sunk (naked) in a lake, had to walk home naked again, and more:
We first tried at his house. We thought the shower would be a “sexy” place to do it and that the rushing water would also be a nice cover for any strange noises. In this particular tropical country, showerheads are often electric and some fool had made theirs out of metal. I touched the showerhead briefly and was shocked so severely that I fell and spun out across the floor. At that point his host mother barged in, dragged me out of the house by my feet (buck naked, mind you), called me a ”whore,” and kicked me to the curb.
We came up with another brilliant idea: We would borrow something similar to a rowboat from a friend, paddle out onto the local lake, and get the deed done. This boat was something like 20 feet long, about 1 foot deep, and about 4 feet wide, and made of wood. We brought the necessary items: a bottle of liquor, a joint, and a condom. We paddled out and were almost instantly naked. I stuffed our clothes under the seat in the front of the boat. After one slug of the booze and one puff off the joint, we commenced to clumsily roll around in the bottom of the boat. We were about to do the deed when I told him my ass was getting wet.
“That’s supposed to happen,” he said.
A little lesson in boats: They sink slowly until they’re about half full of water, then they go down like lead weights….
My favorite part: “That’s supposed to happen,” quoth young Lothario. Blub blub.
Thursday, February 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
If you’ve ever imagined that it might be fun and handy to have a scullery maid, to wipe all your dishes and, er, polish your candlesticks, here’s a photographic hint of what it might be like:
From Hustler’s Taboo.
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Saturday, January 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The realist in me knows that most “public nudity” photos floating around the internet in places like alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. voyeurism are commercially produced porn; no matter how hard the photographer tries to sell “I just snapped this shot of my girlfriend being playful on the way to Dennys”, I’m generally not buying. But every now and then the pornographer’s art creates a shot that invites belief. Something about this girl’s absolutely brilliant smile makes me want to believe that she’s (a) having the time of her life and (b) more interested in the photographer’s arousal than in his checkbook.
Tuesday, January 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Friends, I grew up in the frozen north country, and I’ve seen some queer sites under the northern lights. But I never in all my days saw a naked snow angel before:
Monday, December 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I put together a Sex Blog Roundup for Fleshbot a week ago, but for some reason they didn’t publish it. So I thought I’d put it here for you to enjoy. Without further ado, here it is.
Feels Like Home from My Not So Secret Self:
“I tugged at my honey’s shorts and within moments he was naked, his cock–already hard from the warmth of my breasts rubbing and pressing against his flesh–was standing tall in the warm glow of the bedroom. I hesitated for a moment before stripping my own panties off and joining him in nakedness.”
Purple Silk Boxers from Urban Gypsy:
“He strides over to where I stand; lets his tongue bathe my lips and then nuzzles his face into my neck, licking that most sensitive area that seems hot wired directly to my clit, eliciting soft moans. A greater whimper escapes my lips as he grabs my hair at the roots, pushing me to my knees so that my mouth aligned with his cock which so insistently pushes the purple silk towards me. ‘Suck,’ he says simply.”
Head Hanging Over the Edge of the Bed from Always Aroused Girl:
“In the distant past, I had the pleasure of sharing the bed of a young man who (among many other things) loved to come all over my breasts. I think if I were a man, even for a few days, ‘come all over lover’s breasts’ would have to be on my list of Manly Things to Do.”
Fantasome from Emerging On The Other Side:
“Tonight, my husband made sweet passionate love to me. As did my lover and muse. Simultaneously. Except my husband was unaware of his presence, since a threesome involving two men and myself is not his idea of bliss. But it’s definitely one of mine.”
Storming The Fortress from Late Starter:
“When we got to the castle around midday it was fairly deserted, with probably no more than half a dozen visitors…. The room was dimly lit by daylight coming through a very small slit window…. We’d started to kiss passionately and to loosen one another’s clothing when we heard the couple from the floor above coming down the stone staircase. We hastily made ourselves as respectable as possible in the few seconds available, but we were both red-faced and breathing heavily when the couple reached the open doorway.”
Candy Cane For Des from Desireous:
“I sucked him and licked him and sucked his tasty freshly shaven balls. I had him moaning and squirming beneath me. I love that! Nothing like making a man moan, it?s one of my favorite things! He had his hands in my hair holding tight. I sucked him good. I know I had him pretty close to orgasm a few times but he held back and kind of distracted me, sneaky guy!”
Tranny Surprise from Bad Sex:
“I was at the Cat Club in San Francisco, I think it was Bondage-a-go-go that night, I was in latex, my first outfit. I think it was second or third time out in rubber. I was having an OK time, but not really getting any attention….”
Midwest As Seductress from Kiss and Blog:
“A month into living together, we acknowledged our sex life was stale as Noah’s doggie bagels and pledged to liven things up. One night, about an hour after we’d gone to sleep, I woke up with a plan to spark the embers. Rolling toward Nathan, I began lightly nibbling his ear. He swatted me away.”
Wednesday, December 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It seems to me that we’ve seen a lot more candid sex pictures since the invention of digital flash photography. Whatever festival parking lot these folks were caught in, I’ll bet it was dark and seemed private enough, until that brilliant flash went off:
From alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. voyeurism.
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Tuesday, December 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Via Bondage Blog, we find an astounding collection of vital data compiled in the Encyclopedia of Women In Prison Films. Including lots of yummy screen shots, like these from Sadomania in 1981:
Obsessive treasures like this are part of what makes the internet so great.
Monday, December 12th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
From Sexoteric, an oldie but goodie:
‘Twas noon when I, scorch’d with the double fire
Of the hot sun and my more hot desire,
Stretch’d on my downy couch at ease was laid,
Big with expectance of the lovely maid.
The curtains but half drawn, a light let in
Such as in shades of thickest groves is seen,
Such as remains when the sun flies away,
Or when night’s gone, and yet it is not day.
This light to modest maids must be allow’d,
Where shame may hope its guilty head to shroud.
And now my love Corinna did appear,
Loose on her neck fell her divided hair;
Loose as her flowing gown, that wanton’d in the air.
In such a garb, with such a grace and mien,
To her rich bed came the Assyrian queen;
So Lais looked when all the youth of Greece
With adoration did her charms confess.
Her envious gown to pull away I tried,
But she resisted still, and still denied;
But so resisted that she seem’d to be
Unwilling to obtain the victory;
So I at last an easy conquest had,
Whilst my fair combatant herself betray’d.
But when she naked stood before my eyes,
Gods, with what charms did she my soul surprise!
What snowy arms did I both see and feel!
With what rich globes did her soft bosom swell!
Plump as ripe clusters rose each glowing breast,
Courting the hand, and suing to be press’d!
What a smooth plain was on her belly spread,
Where thousand little loves and graces play’d!
What thighs! what legs ! but why strive I in vain,
Each limb, each grace, each feature to explain
One beauty did through her whole body shine;
I saw, admir’d, and press’d it close to mine
The rest who knows not? Thus entranc’d we lay,
Till in each other’s arms we died away;
0 give me such a noon, ye gods, to ev’ry day!
— by Ovid (translated by Richard Duke)
Tuesday, November 29th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s possible that this is the dirtiest picture I’ve ever put on Eros Blog. Mud bondage, anyone?
The picture is courtesy of Wired Pussy. Pretty naked girls playing in mud puddles, from this shoot. Good dirty fun.
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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.
Monday, November 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I don’t usually post pictures of nude celebrities that I stumble across, because (to be blunt about it) most celebrities are no more attractive (when they aren’t planning to be photographed) than is the common run of humanity. Plus, candid photos (of anybody) are rarely sexy.
But of course for every rule there is an exception or six, and in the case of naked celebs, there are a few actresses who would be sexy and beautiful if you pulled them out of a stock pond after a stampede. And Kirsten Dunst, I’d say, is one:
Oopsie:
Friday, November 18th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This looks like an artifact from that notorious decade before my time, when folks got naked a lot, smoked whatever they could find, drank hard, ate hard, laughed hard, and grasped life by the short and curlies without fearing the consequences. I’ve never been to a dinner party like the one shown in this vintage photograph, but it sure looks like fun!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, November 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
They know how to do greetings over at Sweetness Follows:
About 2, laying on the couch, watching a movie, idling playing with my cock, because, well, it’s there. Chelle walks in.
In a shocked tone: “Is that your boner?!?”
“Yes. Yes it is. It says hello to you.”
“Well, let me say hello to it then.”
At which point, I get pounced on majorly, my dick sucked till my eyes nearly roll all the way around in my sockets, followed by vague rough and urgent from behind action elsewhere.
Friday, October 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s been a long time since I teased Halley, but I have to tease her now about her Ten Reasons Women Aren’t Sleeping In The Nude. I know she’s trying to explain rather than excuse, but still. I once had a girlfriend who (as things began to sour) started coming to bed wearing a huge full-body “sleeper” (like the ones little kids get zipped into, only without the feet) made out of thick flannel. Then, once she’d settled on the new man, but before she’d bothered to tell me about him, she bought a special blanket made out of rough waffle weave fabric (like thermal underwear only scratchier) and she’d wrap herself up in a cocoon in the scratchy blanket.
It didn’t help when I started to tease her about “setting the anti-submarine nets” while she was wrapping herself in the blanket.
Halley’s reasons for not being nude in bed, summarized and assesed by me:
1) Body self-consciousness. Assessment: Lame. We’ve invited you into our bed, we like your body well enough.
2) Wearing fancy undies. Assessment: Acceptable. We’ll be happy to help you take them off, though.
3) Risk of kids jumping into bed. Assessment: Acceptable. But not strictly necessary. Lots of kids have no problem with the idea that Mommy and Daddy don’t wear clothes in their bedrooom.
4) Don’t want to be nude in case of disaster. Assessment: Lame. Odds are too low.
5) Too many random folks in sleeping environment. Assessment: Acceptable. But fix it already! Or move. Or go naked anyway; it’s possible they will move if it bothers them.
6) Clothes required to be cozy in bed. Assessment: Ultra-lame. Get better bedding.
7) Too much touching when sleeping naked. Assessment: Now the truth comes out. That’s not a bug, it’s a feature. That’s why you should sleep naked. And that’s why your man may object if you won’t. Why are you sleeping with someone you don’t want touching you, anyway?
8) “It’s hard to keep your own hands off yourself sometimes.” LOL — welcome to our world. See above for assessment.
9) Arms get cold. Assessment: Lame. Again, get better bedding. Or snuggle.
10) Feels too libertine for our Puritan heritage. Assessment: Hah, you know that’s lame. Dare!
See, wearing clothes in bed is almost as crazy as wearing clothes to go swimming. No, wait, everybody does that… I’m so confused now.
Tuesday, September 6th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s no suprise that nearly-naked catfighting is an old tradition, and not something they just dreamed up over at Ultimate Surrender. Still, I love this vintage 1960’s comic book cover approach to the genre:
Thanks to comics blogger Johnny Bacardi for the illustration.
Monday, September 5th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Columnist Emily Pepper writes about the TMI hazards of writing a sex column:
This is worse with family. My grandpa told me he once had anonymous anal intercourse with some Parisian guy — while married to my grandma, no less — because he was questioning his sexual identity, wanted to experiment, etc. And it all turns out for the best, in the end: As the Frenchman embraced him and whispered, “Je t’aime” into his ear, he realized he really preferred women, and, when the evening was over, politely bid Louis L’Amour goodnight and went trotting home. An interesting story. Not, however, one you want dropped on you out of the blue by your 80-something grandfather. It’s uncomfortable. Afterward, I beat my head against a drainpipe and sniffed glue trying to get the naked-grandpa images out of my head — sadly, all to no avail.
Sunday, September 4th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This has got to qualify as my wacky email of the week. Reproduced in its entirety, exactly as received:
hay i got an e-mail of garden gnome sex from what I can tell thier some thing going on with with ower frendly garden gnome’s and naked girls that have to much time
Er, thanks for the tip.
Sunday, July 31st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I apologize for the lack of detailed text-heavy posts lately; I’ve been out and about and doing summery stuff instead of sitting pasty-faced behind drawn curtains at my computer. And that’s not going to change any time soon; I plan to spend a good bit of August chasing The Nymph around in actual forests. You know, the kind with trees and bugs and stuff. Once or twice, there may even be cheese-filled hotdogs roasted over campfires on sticks. It should be a good time. But posting will continue to be light.
Meanwhile, here’s a picture that reflects well on where my head is at. It makes me want to feel cold slippery rocks between my toes. I’m nostalgic, if you will, for that special squint you have to do when you’re wading in bright sunshine and half-blind from all the reflections off every ripple. Fishing pole optional. Naked women, a substantial bonus:
Ah, the joys of summer. (Picture courtesy of Hippie Goddess.)
Tuesday, July 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes I miss San Francisco, even though the three years I lived there I was too young and callow and lonely and broke and chickenshit to take advantage of even five percent of its true charms. Despite being the most populous place I’ve ever resided, some of my better memories of SF are of its natural spaces; one vivid memory is the Halloween night I spent wandering in the moonlight on Ocean Beach, enjoying the surf air but lacking the social mojo to crash any of the bonfire parties scattered up and down the beach. I always did enjoy Golden Gate Park when my hikes took me over that way, and I often mourned the lack of frolicking naked people that my father reported were prevalent when he frequented the place some thirty years before me.
The great wheel turns, or I didn’t keep my eyes open wide enough, or the times they are a-changin’…again. Violet Blue knows how to run a picnic:
Then we meandered home, where we made afternoon cocktails and put all the produce and fresh bread into a picnic basket and headed off to Golden Gate Park. We spread out a packing blanket I stole a few SRL shows ago and sat in the trees, on grass and little tiny white flowers, along a secluded stretch of winding duck pond. For a few minutes a couple and a photographer wandered through out little corner of bliss, taking their engagement photos. We sipped Campari and soda with lemon, and nibbled on everything in and out of the picnic basket. At one point, I even took dessert in the form of a quick and nasty blowjob while Hornboy writhed on the blanket — a very daring thing for me, to do this in public. A first. Such a huge turn-on, too; but how can a girl resist seeing a nice hard knob in a pair of pants and not want to take a sample? A girl just can’t.
Tuesday, June 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s true that the drapes are finally off the Spirit of Justice’s perky aluminum boobies, but Homeland Security is still busily spending its budget to protect you and me from the pernicious effects of — wait for it — Naked Jen. Here she is in front of the Capitol — three cheers for good old fashioned American anti-authoritarianism — but she says the climate for nudity in D.C. ain’t what it used to be:
That picture I’ve shared is 100% genuine. I really wanted to take pictures with all the national monuments while I was in DC (especially the White House), but let me tell you that DC is a whole new place since 9/11. Gah. I have never seen so many special police officers in all my life. And the Washington Monument is “under renovation” and I couldn’t even get near it. Boo. I felt kind of sacrilegious taking a naked picture at the Lincoln Memorial as well as any of the War Veterans Memorials, but the Capitol. No problem, obviously. Although, as soon as we took this photo we noticed that the special police for the Capitol had taken notice of us and we abandoned our thoughts that taking a picture on the actual steps of the Capitol would be a good idea.
Funny thing, I can still remember living in an America that used to revile the sort of countries where a mischievous citizen had to worry about being noticed by the “special police”.
Thursday, June 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I know the lusts of the ErosBlog female readers haven’t been slaked with naked guy pictures lately, so here’s an attempt to make up for that. I’m not really qualified to judge male attractiveness, but these guys look pretty well put together:
From Usenet.
Thursday, June 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Patty’s account of her fishing trip with her husband reads like a fisherman’s fantasy, but she assures me it’s all true:
You keep driving another fifteen minutes, and then turn the wheels to face the surf. “This will do I think?”
“Good!” I smile. It’s only when I climb out and pull open the extended cab to get the chairs and towels that I really realize how alone we are. There are no tire tracks in the sand, suggesting that there are no fishermen or picnickers further up the beach, and I know we are more than two miles from the spot where we saw the last intrepid souls parked. “Nobody’s out this far.”
“That’s the plan.” You tell me with a very evil smile.
Your evil grin immediately wakes the deepest parts of me to the plans you’ve kept to yourself.
“Put the chairs in the surf, get the rods and bait…and strip.”
Ya gotta be careful with all that hedonism, though; it can lead to taking naked pictures amongst the dunes, spanking, and even *gasp* sex.
Wednesday, June 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Since I haven’t gotten everyone in my life trained not to include me on their endless treadmill of stale circulating email jokes, every now and then I get a shaggy dog story that’s actually new to me, and funny. In fact, I think this one would make an excellent short film:
A prosperous old dairy farmer from someplace cold finally sold out to the local agribusiness giant and retired to Florida. Being a farmer, he liked owning lots of land, so he had to buy a big place with a large pond down near the swamp. He fixed up the pond a bit, dumped a few truckloads of sand to make a little beach, and kept a small swimming area cleared of weeds and scum. Nearby he had some picnic tables, horseshoe pits, and a stone barbeque. Shading it all was a mixed grove of fruit trees.
One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond to check his fruit trees, so he grabbed a five gallon bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee. As he came closer he saw it was a bunch of pretty young women skinny-dipping in his pond.
As soon as they noticed him standing there watching, they all shrieked and went deeper into the pond. One of the women shouted to him, “We’re not coming out until you leave, you dirty old man!”
The old man thought for a moment, and then said “I didn’t come down here to watch you ladies swim naked or to make you get out of the pond naked.” Holding the bucket up, he said “I’m just here to feed the alligators.”
Tuesday, June 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I don’t quote often from Naked Loft Party, entertaining though it often is. As sex blogs go, it’s always struck me as rather surreal. I don’t disbelieve what I read there (well, no more than I disbelieve anything I read on the Internet) but the urban, stylish, clubbing, partying, multipartnered lifestyle too far outside my experience for easy self-identification. However, any good sex blog will have moments of recognizable truth, like this one:
When we finally stumble into our apartment Les and I are too drunk to screw. I sit bolt upright in my office chair until the world stops spinning and then join Leslie in bed. When our hangovers finally subside early Sunday evening we have supremely lazy, sweaty sex — sweaty only because I hadn’t bothered to install the air conditioner. We started halfway through Crossing Jordan and now we’re both craning our necks to catch the dramatic conclusion. It’s the kind of sex that only someone who loves you lets you get away with.
Love that last line! Who hasn’t been there?
Saturday, June 18th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s this Naked Jen, see. And she’s got a blog, see. And it’s your pretty regular sort of blog, see, except that now and then (fairly often; durn near every Friday, even) she posts a picture of herself naked — usually naked in a public place. Ya gotta know all that, before you read (and look at) her 10 Things To Know About Disney World post:
10. When attempting to take a naked picture lying on Mickey’s Bed, alarms will go off. There’s a reason that there is a do not cross sign there. His bedroom really is off limits. The minute you step into his bedroom, loud alarms sound and Disney cast members come running to see what all the commotion is about. They then will discover you standing there half in the room, half out of the room without your clothes on and they will not be PLEASED at all.
It is a far better idea to take your naked photos in Minnie Mouse’s house, which is right next-door. While there are loads of very small children traipsing through, there are no alarms and thus you have a far better chance of actually getting naked, having your niece snap a quick photo, and moving along to the next attraction without creating a spectacle!
There’s even a picture. Obviously photoshopped (well, the mouse ears are obviously photoshopped in, and Jen says the whole thing is a photoshop) but still funny as hell.
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
When I was in college, I saw a lot of “coed naked rugby” shirts, but so far as I know, that’s not how the rugby club actually played their games. However, this picture from Usenet shows that in New Zealand, things are different. According to the accompanying scanned newspaper clip, the game took place on Middle Beach somewhere in NZ and included at least one woman. New Zealand trounced England 15-0 in front of more than 200 spectators:
Wednesday, May 25th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This picture from Der Spiegal shows Miss Bulgaria 2001 protesting for peace outside the U.S. Embassy in Sophia, Bulgaria:
There’s always room on ErosBlog for half-naked beauty queens!
Sunday, May 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always enjoyed those old pulp covers showing nude ladies whose modesty is protected by strategically-placed strands of hair. This one comes from a wonderful pulp covers blog called The Planet of Sardines:
Perhaps in some far future, there will be nanobot-laden hair products that can achieve this effect deliberately? Don’t tell me women (and a great many men, for that matter) wouldn’t pay handsomely for nanotech that keeps each and every hair on their heads exactly where it’s programmed to be.
Thanks to Bondage Blog for the link.
Saturday, April 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, you knew the sex life of the Moonies had to be a bit eccentric, what with the mass arranged marriages in the stadiums and all. But I had no idea just how eccentric until I read this article from Nerve (link via Spanking Blog, because — I am not making this up — there’s a wedding spanking ritual). There’s an actual handbook for consummating the marriage (years after the wedding) and it’s got some very odd elements:
Two years after our wedding, I gathered our checklist of items for the Three Day Ceremony, the consummation of our marriage:
1) Two Holy Handkerchiefs. These were to wash our bodies prior to intimacy, then to collect the fluids produced by our final union in the ceremony; they were to be kept “eternally.” [Ewww! -ed.]
…
I pulled the pamphlet of instructions out of my bag. We showered separately, never having seen each other naked. After he emerged, I took my turn in the steamy bathroom, then put on my new underwear. Our undergarments had to be new for each day of the ceremony; black satin felt luxurious after the baggy cotton underpants I’d been slouching around in for years. I dressed in my ivory wedding gown, and over that my white holy robe. The sash of my robe was decorated with pink beads, Gabriel’s trim was green.
…
In the first part of the ceremony, the woman had to be on top, symbolizing the restoration of Eve’s act of love with Lucifer. After two minutes of foreplay, I guided him inside me. Instantly, I felt the emotional disconnect. It was the first time I had felt a man inside me for four years, and it felt good, but there was no holy passion, no divine ecstasy. I moved on top of him, concentrated on bringing him to an orgasm, then removed myself and lay next to him. Our ritualistic act of love was over in ten minutes. We wiped the fluids onto our Holy Handkerchiefs.
The official handbook said, “Go to sleep in peace. Sleep in pajamas and nightgown. Do not have a physical relationship outside of the content of the ceremony.” We lay on our backs next to each other, not touching, nor speaking.
Of course when reading accounts like this, it’s good to remember that there’s a long journalistic tradition of writing very loosely about the sexual practices of unpopular or unusual religions. (The technical term for this style of journalism is “making shit up”.) I’m not saying this account isn’t 100% accurate; I’m just saying that, like anything else you read on the internet, some healthy skepticism couldn’t hurt.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, March 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a surreal picture for you, from this naked catfighting gallery by Ultimate Surrender:
It’s hard to see much under that mask, but I think she has pretty lips….
Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I suspect “The Library” is rather different from any library I’ve ever visited:
This circa 1975 massage parlor ad comes from Naked Librarians, which is worth exploring.
Friday, February 18th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I think the sport of tennis would be far more entertaining if this became the standard uniform:
Picture is from Pretty Tight porn links.
Tuesday, February 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you thought Mel Gibson looked good all painted with woad and shouting “FREEDOM!”, you might approve of this picture just as much:
Personally, I think she’s a lot cuter than Mel Gibson.
From Naked Protesters.
Thursday, January 27th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Ewwwww, that spider picture totally squicks me! Thus, as a public service to everyone similarly afflicted, I push it farther downscreen with something much more appealing:
Whew! I don’t know what I’d do first, spank or lick that luscious bottom.
What? That’s not to your taste? Okay, then, how about this?
Sofia was found at the always-worth-a-visit Domai.com. The yummy man was found at naked-men.co.uk.
Thursday, January 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, since we are still in a compare-and-contrast mode from the last post, can anyone explain to me why it’s art when this woman “dances and acts” while 22 bottles of olive oil are poured over her naked body on a public stage, but it’s porn when these young ladies get into an inflatable swimming pool and pour a similar quantity of canola oil over each other?
Wednesday, January 12th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, so it’s a little unfair to criticize a defense lawyer for putting his client’s actions in the best possible light. But it’s not unfair, I maintain, for us to laugh our asses off when his attempts to do so are ludicrous. Which seems appropriate when the defense lawyer for an Abu Ghraib torturer tries to justify piling naked prisoners in pyramids, asking:
“Don’t cheerleaders all over America form pyramids six to eight times a year. Is that torture?”
Obviously that’s a question that requires careful research.
I don’t personally know any of the cheerleaders who form naked pyramids six or eight times a year. Darn! So I can’t ask them if it’s torture. Still, on available evidence, the girls in this pyramid seem happy enough. And the skilled young ladies who model for Lightspeed University always seem to have a smile on their faces, even when it’s just about all they have on:
(From this gallery.)
Now all we need to do is find some cheerleaders who can tell us what it’s like to make a naked pyramid in a dank concrete room at gunpoint in front of jeering soldiers and slavering guard dogs. Oh, wait … that’s different.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, January 11th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
[Continuing my story….. Here’s the first part, Unexpected Reunion, in case you haven’t read it.]
I awaken the next morning in a lingering, warm glow from R’s and my passion. I feel more rested and energized than I have in a long time….then I slip in to wondering what will happen next between us. Was that it–one night of hot sex–or is there more in store for us? If there is, what will it be like? Reliving the crazed teenage lust was fun, but that won’t–can’t–last.
As I’m sitting at the kitchen table, having a cup of coffee and talking with Mom, someone raps on the front door. It’s R.Mom knows some stuff about the unrequited feelings between R and me in school, and she’s been kind of charmed by him too. Now he stands at her door, well-dressed and smiling that smile, loosely holding two white roses in one hand. After they hug, he presents her with one rose, then sees me and his smile widens. R asks Mom for permission to see me, which she enthusiastically gives. He steps in to the kitchen and offers me the other rose. It’s exquisite in both appearance and heady scent.
In response to my mother’s questions regarding how he knew I was home, R coolly covers our chance meeting at the store. He makes the entire encounter sound totally innocent, as if his interest is solely in re-establishing friendship with a longlost bud…but there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye that I wonder if my mom sees. Talk then turns to catching up between them…..like any well-meaning mom, she’s probably thinking matchmaker thoughts and a lot of the talk focuses on what he’s doing, and how well he’s doing at it. Turns out he’s doing quite well as an executive for a fairly big tech company. Not Mr. Millionaire himself, but he’s well-paid and he has a lot of corporate perks available to him. As they talk, I observe…..and see that, while R’s being genuine, it’s also obvious he’s mastered a lot of people-handling skills.
R’s visit concludes with asking my mom to take some of the family’s already-limited time with me over the Thanksgiving weekend so that he and I can catch up. Utterly charmed, she says of course he can spend time with me. R turns to me, green eyes ablaze with impish sparks, and asks if I’d like to go for a walk with him tonight. I agree, and the date is set.
——-
What a “next move”! I think to myself afterward. I decide to try to ride the youthful-lust energy for one more night. When R appears precisely at the appointed time, he sees me in my best attempt to recapture my typical high-school appearance…..soft flannel shirt, tight jeans, my hair caught in a ponytail (much shorter than back then), even my old high-tops (thanks, Mom, for not throwing them out!)….a sharp intake of breath signals a momentary lapse in his poise. My composure is similarly thrown off. He hadn’t used the “wayback machine” like I did, but is just gorgeous in a simple white turtleneck sweater, light blue jeans, and black leather jacket.
As we stroll to the park, I notice that few people are out….it’s a cool night for the locals. R and I aren’t saying much–more general talk, filling in all those missing years–but he’s taken my hand, and caresses it as we walk. I sense real caring from R, and an undercurrent of passion, in both his touch and talk. Forgetting my decision to let him lead, I impetuously steer us to “The Wet Spot”….a small clearing in an overgrown corner of the park, long rumored to be a hot spot used by teens and grownups alike for furtive encounters.
I stop in front of it and turn to face him with my question: “You ever make it with anybody here?” The unexpected challenge brings a lovely flush to his lightly-tanned face, and as he tries to stammer a reply I press on with, “Ya want to tonight?” and crawl in without waiting for his reply.
He follows immediately, surprising me with a bite on the ass as he does. I yip, then wheel around so that he can see my face as I peel off my clothes. The moonlight lends its soft glow to my skin, and R greedily drinks in the sight. At last I’m naked, cool but comfortable in the night air….and R finally breaks his spell with a murmur of something like, “You’re better than I dreamed …” Then his warm hands are upon me, stroking and exploring in a way that seems almost worshipful to me. Awed, I slip out of the teenage tart role and enjoy his attentions.
With a muffled growl, R abruptly changes the pace, pulling me to him hard, then kneading my ass as his tongue fills my mouth. His taste and scent fill my head…the heat of his erection warms my belly even through his jeans…..and we’re back in passion’s thrall, squeezing, sucking, tasting, teasing….exploring and riding the heat more fully than we did the previous night.
After getting my first taste of R’s cock and fluids, bringing him almost to orgasm with my teasing tongue, he pushes me down onto my hands and knees, then moves behind me for entry. We both groan at the immediate pleasure of filling and being filled….with just a few flicks to my clit and a couple of pumps, I’m shuddering with the intensity of my orgasm. R’s only a few moments behind me, gasping as my vagina squeezes around him. I collapse to the ground, R blanketing me, both lost in the twilight of pleasure.
Finally, R chuckles and pulls out. “You’re quite the sexpot, sweetie, but this carelessness really isn’t a good idea.” I laugh and agree, and we have the sex-history and protection talks. Even though tests taken during his marriage some years back indicated he has a low sperm count, we agree that tempting fate isn’t smart, and work out a contraceptive arrangement. Through the conversation our hands continue to explore each other’s bodies, ultimately causing our talk to falter.
R’s incessant pinching and teasing of my nipples is enough to bring me to another, small orgasm. I decide to reward him in kind, with a blow job….and end up in the most amazing 69 session I’ve had. R comes first, shooting a decent amount of fluid for having already come once. The lull in action while he orgasms serves only as a tortuous tease for me….so when R resumes his oral attentions I’m easily brought off again by his hot, deft tongue. He barely allows me to climax before rolling atop me and filling me again with his still-hard member, pounding me as wave after wave of pleasure pours through me…..finally ending in his orgasm.
Much later, as we’re walking back to my parents’ house, we agree to not get together the next day…..but it’s clearly understood that we’re both enjoying this….whatever it is, and want it to continue.
Saturday, January 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s January 1, my head hurts just a smidge, but life is stunningly good. The Nymph and I spent last night drinking bad champagne and marvelling at how great a year 2004 was for us, and marvelling again at just how bright 2005 is looking. Today we’re going to nap and eat — there’s a big turkey in the house, and somebody else is cooking it. So not much blog for you today!
Still, I couldn’t leave you entirely in the lurch. Will some naked girl/girl wrestling see you through the weekend? Here’s hoping!
Thanks to Ultimate Surrender for the picture.
Wednesday, October 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
You know those protests where PETA activists take off half their clothing, and then (usually) hide their resultant semi-nudity behind placards promoting the virtues of pleather made out of asparagus-flavored tofu? Or whatever; I suspect I’m not alone in getting distracted from the message by my attempts to find shots from a side or rear viewing angle. Assisting me in my voyeuristic efforts is this huge gallery of naked protest pictures. Trust Naked Protesters to have found the link.
Thursday, October 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Rarely has such delicious debauchery been so succinctly described. Just three sentences:
The last and only time I was at Exotic Erotic was when I snuck in with the Extra Action Marching Band in a Batgirl costume (carry a horn and act stoned). I got drunk and stole a wheelchair; band members took turns riding in it and giving/getting lap dances, we painted unibrows on all the guys. The band did their entire set in the men’s bathroom, and when the rubber chickens filled with blood came out, all bets were off and I found myself thrown out of Exotic Erotic around four in the morning with a bunch of very fucked up half-naked and bloody musicians.
Of course, it’s Violet Blue. Sounds like a good time — the only thing she left out was the peach preserves!
Monday, October 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Although it can make free-thinkers mutter about mindless puritanism, prudent folk will frequently exclude their pets from important personal business. It’s not about worrying that your cat will see you naked. No, there’s a practical side, as you will see when reading these excerpts from a long list of cat resolutions:
When my human is taking a bubble bath, the two pinkish-brown things sticking up out of the bubbles in her chest region are NOT to be played with!
I will cease my obsession with the box my humans keep their condoms in. This box is not for me. I will not knock it on the ground, I will not sit on it, I will not try to scratch it open. Especially when my humans are using the condoms.
I will not bat at my male human’s family jewels while he is engaged in the act of mating with my female human, no matter how tempting the danglies are. My humans get mad and I might get free flying lessons.
Wednesday, September 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From an anonymous poster on Craig’s List comes a rant styled as “TOP TEN REASONS WHY YOU CAN’T GET LAID (OR, NO NOOKIE FOR YOU, ASSHOLE!)”. The harridan author is full of vitriol in the following style:
YOU JUST DON’T GET IT. You haven’t a clue. You don’t understand women and don’t even want to try. You’d rather be bitter, misogynistic, lazy, sloppy, smelly, frustrated, selfish, mean, vain, crazy or just plain stupid than make an honest-to-God, real-live attempt to connect with the opposite sex. Enjoy your porn movies because that’s the only naked woman you are ever going to see.
And that’s only one of the top ten reasons. The author claims she has “a great social life with smart, confident, funny, and sexy men.” Picture me smiting my forehead with my palm and saying “What are they thinking?”
Sunday, August 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This next link is, I suppose, worthy on its own merits, especially if you like to see semi-naked young ladies slathering each other in salad oil. Thusly:
A half-bottle of vinegar and we’d have, what, undressed salad?
But seriously, folks, I was more entertained by the domain name. Nudeteem.com: what’s that supposed to be? Nude team? Nude teen, more likely.
It reminds me of Tom Lehrer’s immortal advice: “Don’t write naughty words on walls if you can’t spell.”
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, August 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From Naked Protesters, here’s a picture of today’s street theater in New York City:
Saturday, August 21st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
In case you are hungry, here’s a fetching photograph of the nude-woman-as-sushi-plate practice previously discussed here and here:
Picture via Usenet.
Sunday, August 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From Diary of A Porn Publisher, this made me laugh:
In the past, I have always eaten barbecued spareribs from the smooth belly of a naked slavegirl, using her thighs and breasts to wipe my messy hands. Tonight, for the first time, I ordered spareribs in a restaurant. I normally avoid eating any kind of finger foods in public because, well, I guess I’m too civilized. The ribs were delicious, though, and I gave them my full attention. When I finally did glance up from my plate, people were staring at me. I noted then that my hands were completely covered in barbecue sauce and gobbets of fat, encroaching up my wrists. I had to make do with napkins.
Saturday, July 31st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Some of these girls obviously paid attention on the cheerleading squad:
Now tell me: how come I never see anything like this happen at the beach?
I must frequent the wrong beaches.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, July 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The government porn trend continues. Now, according to the Toronto Sun, Canada is getting into the act, demanding the submission of naked pictures as part of immigration applications. It’s not quite as crazy as that summary makes it sound, but still:
Foreign strippers must supply nude photos to officials
TORONTO – Immigration officers are having to pore through naked pictures of hundreds of exotic dancers to keep imposters out of Canada, the Toronto Sun reported Tuesday.
Foreign strippers planning to table dance in clubs must now provide photos of themselves with no clothes on to qualify for a visa for Canada, said immigration officials.
“Stage photos during performances are required,” said Sergio Mercado, of the Canadian Embassy in Mexico.
…
The potential dancers have to prove they can dance in the nude, immigration lawyer Mendel Green said Monday.
“They can’t be partially nude,” he said. “If they don’t have pictures in the nude, they are not going to wiggle their bottoms in Canada.”
My question is, does Canada have a public information law similar to the Freedom Of Information Act? And if so, are these immigration applications public documents available to the public? Just think, free dirty pictures from the government, for the cost of a stamp!
Thanks to Boing Boing for the link.
Tuesday, July 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Looks like the PETA slogan needs updating. Seriously:
Friday, June 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Although uncut penises are just about as rare as real breasts in American porn, you have clamored and I have found one — by going overseas, of course. Coincidentally, several of you have reminded me of the National Penis Day recently celebrated in New Zealand. Naked Protesters has the pictures:
That’s a fellow named Alex Behan.
Tuesday, May 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Naked Loft Party has a whole new look, and it’s spiffy.
Fair warning, top entry at the moment is an item entitled “Kink” that starts:
I pace around the living room, my face twisted into a grimace. No more 256 ounce SuperValu fountain drinks for me.
I hear the bath running.
“What the fuck is she doing in there? I told her I have to go.”
“Go in then,” Leslie tells me.
May as well the girls never lock the door anyway. I find Nova in the tub, splashing about in three inches of bathwater and playing with herself. She’s grinning at me.
The rest of that story goes exactly where you think it does.
Sunday, April 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’m sure there is an entirely proper religious explanation for this sort of thing:
But I’m not sure I want to know what it is. Some things are more fun when you can just shake your head and ogle.
Thanks to Naked Protesters for the picture.
Friday, April 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There’s a new book out based on an undercover penetration (er, accidental word choice but I’m leaving it) of modern sorority life. And no, there isn’t an account of naked twister in there; I made that up. But the book does contain reports that the rampant sorority lesbianism (or, if you want to step back from the rough characterizations of male pornography and refer more to practices than orientations, we could call it “hot naked sorority girl-on-girl foolin’ around”) that features so largely in the lustful male imagination is, to an extent, real:
I really hadn’t expected to find the level of “Animal House” campiness that I did in some groups. They had a tradition called boob ranking where pledges had just a limited amount of time to strip off their shirt and bras to examine each other topless so that by the time the clock was up, they were basically lined up in order of chest size in order of the sisters to inspect. Some sororities hold what they call “naked parties,” during which after a few drinks sisters and pledges strip off their clothes and basically run around the house naked, some of them hooking up with each other before they let the boys in.
I must therefore deeply apologize for ever believing that the hard-working photographers who produce the LightSpeed Sorority site were doing anything but the most serious documentary work.
Friday, March 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
With due regard for the source (especially considering the harsh words said yesterday in this space about notorious British tabloids) this news story about the use of prostitutes to torment religious prisoners at Guantanamo is nonetheless rather eye-opening:
MY HELL IN CAMP X-RAY
A BRITISH captive freed from Guantanamo Bay today tells the world of its full horror – and reveals how prostitutes were taken into the camp to degrade Muslim inmates.
…
But Jamal’s most shocking disclosure centred on the use of vice girls to torment the most religiously devout detainees.
Prisoners who had never seen an “unveiled” woman before would be forced to watch as the hookers touched their own naked bodies.
The men would return distraught. One said an American girl had smeared menstrual blood across his face in an act of humiliation.
Jamal said: “I knew of this happening about 10 times. It always seemed to be those who were very young or known to be particularly religious who would be taken away.”
Friday, March 5th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Hoax, performance art, or protest? You be the judge:
“A love couple made love freely on the Sergels plaza in the absolute centre of the town to remind of that also homeless people do have a sexlife.”
Found at Naked Protesters.
Friday, March 5th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
For all the furor over the recent craze of eating sushi off a naked woman, it’s apparently not a new idea. Here’s a vintage Japanese art print depicting the practice, conducted in a most intimate fashion:
Now be careful with the wasabi!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, February 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Last Man Dancing writes regarding the perils of too much vibration. Real fun with a vibrator:
You see, if I love doing one thing in sex, that’s playing my lover’s body like a keyboard. I had picked out my five worst ties and had her firmly tied to the four corners of the bed. On my hand, I had one of those Swedish massagers that straps to the back of the hand. I looked down at her tied to the bed and decided that she looked good enough to eat. I bent down and grabbed a mouthful of her breast and twirled her stiffening nipple with my hot wet tounge. She wiggled and leaned toward me moaning softly as I sucked her breast further into her mouth. As I slid over to suck on her other nipple I gently trace her aerola with the very tip of my saliva slick finger tip. I switched the massager on and grabbed her nipple between my vibrating fingers and squeezed. The little fucker swelled up like a fucking cherry and the Bitch went nuts. She’s lying there moaning and writhing against her ties, fucking the air with her cunt. So I stopped.
You stopped!
What are you fucking nuts?
Yeah, I fucking stopped. Nobody told her she could cum yet.
So I take my buzzy little fingers and go on a little adventure. I slid my vibrating digits and traced a windy road to her mound. Briefly, barely, I gave her clit a brief taste of what was yet to come and made a sharp right down her legs to the bottoms of her feet.
I kept this up for about a half an hour and when I finally got to her pussy, she was so dripping wet that two of my fingers just slid right in and I just squeezed and massaged her g-spot. I reached down and turned the dial up as far as it would go and palpatated The Perfect Bitch goes into what could best be described as a seizure. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She stopped breathing and her body lept about two feet into the air and stayed there as she did a wrestler’s bridge off the bed for a good 20 seconds. She then released, let out 5 or 6 loud “Oh-Oh-OH’s”, and an “uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh” when I asked her if she was okay. She then went stiff and locked up again for another 15 seconds. She comes down and she’s screaming like a banshee fucking my hand. I’m getting a little worried at this point so as ask her “More?” and she keeps nodding and pantiing and jerking her hips whispering “more, more, fuck me more, more, more.” I’ve got 4 meaty fingers up inside of her and she tightens up one last time and she’s writhing and screaming on the bed and her cunt is just squeezing the shit out of my hand in spasm after spasm.
Finally, she just passes out on the bed. She just laid there and didn’t move a muscle. She scared the shit out of me, I had to check if she was still breathing. I untied her. She had pulled so tightly against the restraints she had bruised her wrists. She’d live.
I threw a blanket over her and let her sleep.
A few hours later she woke up and tried to get out of bed to go take a piss. As she tried to stand, her legs gave out from underneath her. I fucking cracked up as she went “baloop, bump” on her naked ass. Her legs were numb and her knees were so weak she couldn’t stand. She complained that she had no feelings below her waist whatsoever. I helped her to the bathroom and she was okay after she started walking around a bit.
Christ, it took me almost an entire week to relearn how to just hold a pencil.
Wednesday, February 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s just about the nicest endorsement a sex blog can hope to get, from over at Naughty Secrets:
I’ve noticed that when T reads naughty blogs, she gets all randy. She usually starts with Eros Blog, and hits all the links that he has on there. That usually gets her engine running and that ends usually ends up with ‘naked snuggles’. Lucky me.
So, this is a thank you to Bacchus and everyone on the list to the left. Thanks for helpin’ me get some.
You are most welcome!
Wednesday, January 21st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Although ErosBlog does not cover politics very much at all, I’ve long seen this sex blogging project as being my little contribution to a vital culture war. Because we are very sexual monkeys, control over sexual expression is one of the most important tools in the arsenal of the orcs who seek to govern and enslave us. (“Govern and enslave? Sorry, I repeat myself.”)
Daze and others have amply covered the case of Melissa Lincoln, the Nebraska lady who likes to get naked in public and enjoys making a buck when she does it. She’s been charged with public nudity, and faces actual jail time for it (although doubtless she’ll be offered a nice plea bargain that requires her to promise she’ll keep her pretty naked assets securely wrapped). After all, the point is to control sexual expression, remember? This isn’t about Melissa, it’s about reminding everyone that the orcs are watching and they will come for you if you don’t follow their rules.
Except that Melissa wants to fight. The liberty activists at the Liberty Round Table have been in touch with her, and it turns out that she doesn’t plan to knuckle under. She wants to fight this “all the way” and she doesn’t intend to plea bargain.
That’s a big ouchie, folks. A basic misdemeanor criminal defense starts at five grand, and that price assumes you’ll take any decent plea bargain. Appeals often cost thirty grand apiece, and you can need several.
The Knights of Nonaggression over at the Liberty Round Table have a list of what you can do to help, but the most obvious thing you can do is throw money. In Melissa’s case, the easiest way you can do that is to buy a membership at her web site. Sure, it’s commercial, but this is no “help me buy some fake boobs” bogus plea; the lady really does face jail time if she stands up for basic freedoms here. She will be under tremendous pressures to take a plea. As the LRT puts it:
For our part, we are not exhibitionists, but do believe that anything that de-mystifies sex, shows that good clean fun and healthy bodies are not ‘dirty’, is a very positive thing. There’s no end to the flood of misery produced by people’s twisted ideas about sex, love, and the human body, so we say: ‘Hurray for Melissa’s one woman war against benighted puritan attitudes!’ That Melissa’s site has a commercial side makes her work no less valuable — have not libertarians and objectivists always said that freedom is so valuable that there ought to be a way to promote it at a profit? We agree with Melissa; she has nothing to be ashamed of, not her body, not her pictures, not her profit.
…
It seems to me that there is no better way to show appreciation for an artist than to pay for her work; it has a better, cleaner feel than straight charity and allows her to be able to give some value in return for the help.
Indeed. And thanks to Don and Sunni at the Liberty Round Table for getting in touch with Melissa and publicizing her will to fight!
Tuesday, January 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a kooky joke from the new-to-me Northern European Sausage Factory:
Ethel was a bit of a demon in her wheelchair, and loved to charge around the nursing home, taking corners on one wheel and getting up to maximum speed on the long corridors. Because the poor woman was one sandwich short of a picnic, the other residents tolerated her, and some of the males actually joined in.
One day, Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Kooky Charlie stepped out with his arm outstretched. “STOP!”, he shouted in firm voice. Have you got a license for that thing?” Ethel fished around in her handbag and pulled out a Kit Kat wrapper and held it up to him. “OK” he said, and away Ethel sped down the hall.
As she took the corner near the TV lounge on one wheel, Weird Harold popped out in front of her and shouted, “STOP! Have you got proof of insurance?” Ethel dug into her handbag, pulled out a drink coaster and held it up to him. Harold nodded and said, “Carry on, ma’am.”
As Ethel neared the final corridor before the front door, Crazy Craig stepped out in front of her, stark naked, holding a very sizable erection in his hand. “Oh, Good Grief,” said Ethel, “Not the Breathalyzer again.”
Thursday, January 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From Boing Boing comes this news that Mattel has lost another round in its efforts to suppress Barbie parodies. Apparently the internet is once again safe for Food Chain Barbie as against the ravening depredations of Mattel’s lawyers:
 
(Long time readers will remember that abusing trademark law in bogus efforts to control the use of products in the stream of commerce after a manufacturer has sold them really piss me off.)
I wonder if this means that the thriving underground Bondage Barbie hobby is back in business?
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.
Sunday, December 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s hard to imagine a more embarrassing situation, especially given the impossibility of fleeing the scene:
A RANDY couple on a holiday jet were cheered by 250 passengers when they were exposed bonking in the loo.
The lovers sneaked into a tiny cubicle during a four-hour flight home from Tenerife.
When the 757’s cabin crew noticed it had been engaged for more than 15 minutes, a steward went to investigate.
After hearing grunts and groans through the door, he decided to unlock it from the outside and revealed the naked couple in mid-romp.
One passenger by the loo said: “There was a woman facing the wall and her companion standing behind with his trousers round his ankles.
“When they realised someone had opened the door, they just froze.
“And when it dawned on them that half the aeroplane was watching, their faces went beetroot red.
There were at least 60 of us in stitches. Even the three cabin staff burst out laughing.”
The couple in their late thirties then got a round of applause as they made their way back to their seats.
From The Sun via J. Orlin Grabbe.
Sunday, December 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a pretty image from a Brazilian protest against police brutality:
Something about the head scarf and veil makes this image more interesting than pure nudity would be.
Thanks to Naked Protesters for the picture.
Monday, December 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It seems she got a bodypaint job and went back down onto the farm for some bucolic grazing action:
Wednesday, December 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Aleksander at Naked Loft Party thinks there’s a more prosaic reason for the lack of male sex blogs:
I agree it is rather hard to find male sex blogs that don’t revolve around pornography, commentary, sexual frustration, or sucking up to women for the sake of getting dates. We men are poorly represented. But I think the explanation is more prosaic than Bacchus and Gillard realize. Women are socialized to take an interest in discussing sex and relationships, in the same way men are socialized to take an interest in sports or politics. Women are more likely to keep journals in the first place. They are more likely to be involved in sex work. They have no other outlet, seeing as female promiscuity is still viewed as aberrant. And finally there’s that ingrained notion that male sexuality is primitive, one-dimensional, not worthy of exploration; that men who talk about sex are pigs, which is only reinforced by attitudes such as Gillard’s.
He’s also got some interesting things to say about the pressures men face not to talk about sex. Thanks, Aleksander!
Thursday, November 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be out delight
‘Till by turning, turning we come round right.
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.”
Thursday, November 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Rupert the Wired Guy starts the most interesting conversations. His essay “Mistakes Women Make About Sex” has a number of amusing bits that had me nodding my head, such as the part about miscommunication:
“Don’t stay up too late” is often a simple expression of concern that we get enough sleep. “How soon are you coming to bed?” means “I want you there while I’m still awake.” Don’t say it if that isn’t what you mean.
Don’t make us think too hard about “codes” like this. “I’m going to turn in early” could mean you had a hard day and you’re legitimately exhausted. If you want us there too, you have to ask, “Are you coming?”
On second thought, screw subtlety. Just grab our dick. That’s unmistakable.
“If you want to.” When we say it, we genuinely care whether you want to. We know that sometimes you don’t, and sometimes we can’t tell. However, we always want to; we think it’s obvious that we want to; and we assume you are aware of that. So when you say “I will if you want to”, we think it can’t possibly be meant at face value: we think you’re really saying that you don’t really want to, that you’re going to endure it for our benefit, and that you’re setting us up for you not having any fun. So when it goes wrong (as it inevitably will, if you don’t want to), then it’s our fault. We hate that.
Of course, when he says “We always want to”, it’s in his context of a woman responding to a guy who has just asked. Obviously there are times guys don’t want to, but they tend not to be initiating sex at those times.
Lilith had an entertaining response to him, but I couldn’t agree with her when I saw it because on the one hand she’s much more committed to functional communication with her men than most women, and because on the other hand she missed that crucial point about context:
Uhm, men do this too. Miscommunication goes both ways, and in my experience, is far more likely to be a male fubar than a female one. Women (in general) seem to have a lot more experience and comfort level with verbal communication and social interaction than men (in general) do.
…
Oh please, that old “we always want to” line? Bullshit. There are always going to be occasional times when you’re simply not up to the task physically (due to injury or illness or exhaustion), or when you’re far too conflicted about something mentally or emotionally. And assuming anything is usually a piss-poor idea, especially when it comes to emotional chicks–best to tell us you madly desire our lusciously bodacious selves, in the most alluring way possible. Make me feel like a goddess, and I’ll be one for you.
Not bullshit. Truth – when we are asking, we want to. Never heard of an exception. Was never present for one. Can’t imagine being present for one.
Things start getting really interesting when Dalemar The Secondary Boyfriend (it’s complicated, you gotta read these people for awhile to imagine just how complicated) weighs in, confirming my impression about Lilith’s atypically communicative approach:
Uhm… Hah! Speaking as someone who has almost always lived with women, I beg to differ on that point. Fabritzio ladies such as yourself are far more well-adjusted and comfortable with verbal communication that the rest of the world, and a very rare breed at that. I have sat back many a time and watched in wonderment as the various ladies in my life have failed miserably in trying to convey a simple concept.
Take the EMC, for example: when going out to eat, she would often reply to the “where” question with “I don’t know, why don’t you pick one.” Simple, right? Wrong. What she really meant was “I really don’t care where we go, but I can’t understand why you would think I would actually let you pick the restaraunt,” and she would proceed to shoot down my next three suggestions before I would tell her to decide, which is all she wanted in the first place – and I had already given it to her. I sometimes had to stop the car until she chose.
Every straight guy I know at one point or another has come home to find a certain chill in the air and a lady who promptly replies “Nothing!” when asked “What seems to be the matter?” This is followed by several hours of the guy wracking his brain and questioning every move he’s made for the last week and cold-shoulder terse replies to all attempts at conversation until she finally tells him (at near the top of her lungs, and at length) about just what is wrong.
Now, had she merely told us at the beginning of the evening, we might have sorted things out in short order and gone back to enjoying each other’s company.
Not to say that guys don’t miscommunicate, only that we generally do so un-intentionally. I have noticed in the past that women will often put the worst possible spin on a man’s words and twist them into a completely different meaning. The poor bloke is left standing there with his hat in his hands wondering why she just burst into tears and fled, or worse, dodging flying crockery and running for his life, all the while thinking “all I said was ‘you look good in that dress’!”
Dalemar, it is clear, has been around the block, seen the elephant, and returned to tell the tale. He goes on to make the critical point about context:
You may have missed the real point on this one: when we ask “would you like to get naked and have wild weasel sex?” the proper answer is not “I will if you want to.” Since we have just asked you, there is good reason to believe we do indeed want you to tie us up and get out the whips; a “yes” or “no” is what we’re looking for. “I will if you want to.” is an open-ended response that may lead us to believe that you are doing it just to please us, and that you probably won’t be having much fun – thinking about this breaks our concentration and pretty much ensures that you won’t be getting there, and we end up dissappointed in ourselves. I’d rather you said no than put me through that.
Just so, just so. Of course Lilith has more to say, basically in the vein of “here’s why it’s obvious to me why I’m feeling like throwing crockery”:
Actually, what I think is closer to the truth is that I’m trying to get something accomplished and he gets in my way, or obliviously goes about having fun while I’m trying to do chores and whatnot that he said he’d take care of and totally spaced on repeatedly until I got sick of it and did it myself (instead of nagging). Or something along those lines. Or I worked at my job, ran errands, did housework and laundry and helped kids with homework or plans for their next day, basically had a busy day doing for everyone else…and he wants me to cater to him at the end of the day instead of veg out and have some destressing time to do whatever the hell I please?! Yeah right.
Which is pretty funny coming from a lady who is acknowledged by her men as being more communicative than your average woman. To Dalemar’s suggestion that men just want a yes-or-no answer, she rightly rejoins:
Uhm, wrong. It’s not a “yes” or “no” that men are looking for in this situation. An unqualified “yes” is what you’re looking for.
True! But Dalemar is right – an unqualified “no” is much preferable to a grudging yes. This is true despite Lilith’s other true observation:
Because the more common situation (though there certainly ARE exceptions) is that the man in a relationship wants to have sex more frequently than the woman does. And sooner or later, hearing her say no is going to get pretty damned tiresome and lead to him not asking much anymore, unless he’s a total pig. Then she thinks he doesn’t find her attractive because he’s not asking much, so she’s less willing to say yes when he does ask. Vicious circle commences, and the sex life goes out the window.
Uh, yeah. But saying no indirectly, or saying yes grudgingly (“if you want to” can be either one, depending on the guy and the girl and the moment) does not make this better. A “no” isn’t nicer because it’s said with four words, and there’s nothing more horrifying (to a decent guy, anyway) than realizing during sex that his lady’s heart isn’t in it. Which means “if you want to” must be processed as a “no” by any prudent man, with all the negative results Lilith mentions.
This has gotten way too long, and there are lots of wonderful points not quoted here. It’s worth reading through the whole conversation!
Thursday, November 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Daze linked to a now-removed Seattle Times story about the new naked sushi restaurant in Seattle that has all the anti-pleasure crew working their knickers into a frothy twist.
But I’ve got a scoop nobody else has got. The Seattle Times has a picture of the nude sushi serving lady all laid out in her plastic wrap and covered with delicious tidbits. But it’s not so pretty back in the food prep area, boys and girls. I know, I know, sushi gets made where the customers can watch. But the big seafood chunks have to get made into little seafood chunks somewhere, right? They don’t hack open sixty pounds of cephalopod in front of the customers. And here’s what it looks like in that back room:
Tuesday, November 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The site where I found this picture of nude young lovelies playing twister has already gone to the great happy bandwidth hunting ground in the sky. However, by a strange twist of internet serendipity, I’ve discovered the cheerleader porn gallery the pictures came from. And by gosh if it doesn’t turn out that naked twister is hard work! Here the poor girls are shown all tuckered out and resting:
Resting up, as it happens, before getting into the hot tub.
Thanks to LightSpeed Sorority for the photos and galleries.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, October 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Anybody up for a game of naked twister?
Update: The link went dead, but I found a better one.
Sunday, October 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A pretty picture:
Thanks to Naked Protesters for the picture.
Sunday, October 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
We at ErosBlog (that would be me, plus the woodland nymphs who are kind enough to inhabit my active fantasy life) are not above having some fun with images of dubious probability. Why, back in February I posted and got a lot of positive comment on a public bondage picture that was just too good to be true…and indeed, it wasn’t true.
Another example I’ve sometimes wondered about is a photo that’s been floating around the internet for ages. It’s usually entitled “Stumpy” and it features a naked quadruple amputee. I’ve always assumed it was a cruel Photoshop job, and felt a bit sorry for the model pictured.
It turns out I was right. This side-by-side shows the doctored photo beside the rather pedestrian porn picture that was used as source material. Presented (but not displayed unless you click) for your education, and as a reminder of the value of skepticism.
Friday, August 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Do you like strawberries and chocolate? Then you will lap this right up:
What a deliciously messy girl. Is it time for dessert yet?
Tuesday, August 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Radosh has the infamous nude photo of the next governor of California. Alas he’s not really my cuppa tea:
Wednesday, August 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From another of the summer’s crop of hot new sex blogs, Bloggin’ Bitch [now defunct], comes this anecdote of supportive male conversation:
I just had a conversation with my man about swingers parties. Well I just had to ask. I really really want to go to one. Especially after reading some of the things over at Naked Loft Party. The reply: You really are a nympho little bitch aren’t you?
Yah baby, that’s the way to encourage your woman to share her fantasies with you!
Monday, August 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
mr youse needn’t be so spry
concernin questions arty
each has his tastes but as for i
i likes a certain party
gimme the he-man’s solid bliss
for youse ideas i’ll match youse
a pretty girl who naked is
is worth a million statues
— e.e. cummings
Sunday, July 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an image of three fetchingly half-naked but intoxicated-looking young ladies standing around a men’s urinal, attempting (with marked lack of success) to use it from a range of about three feet out. Click through if you want to see — I’d hate for bathroom imagery to spoil anyone’s Sunday brunch.
Sunday, July 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Some time ago I posted a picture of this medal because of its vivid artwork of a woman on her knees and bound to a huge erect phallus. Now a reader has passed on the following information about the medal:
This medal was issued by the satirical medallist Karl Goetz entitled “Die Wacht am Rhein” (The watch on the Rhein). It is a protest against sending black colonial French troops to occupy the Rhein territory, and the sexual excesses which that brought about.
Rev: A naked woman tied to a phallus with a soldiers hat on top. Leg: Die Schwarze schande (The black shame) Dated 1920
It is interesting to note that the same medal was issued the following year with the woman tied to a post, with a baby lying at its base.
Thursday, July 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Some people will doubtless think this is sick, repulsive, or offensive. Fortunately, it is the firm editorial policy of this sex blog not to care about that. Besides, I think it’s cute and harmless:
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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.
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Thursday, July 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a huge page of links to tickling stories. [Er, it was here; now it’s gone.] Stories with scenes like this, from Sonja’s Tickle Torture:
Jake chuckled and began to dig in just beneath her toes. Sonja’s eyes opened wide and she screamed with laughter as her poor toes wiggled frantically trying to escape his tickling touch. She just couldn’t stand much more.
” Mercy!!!” She shouted!! “Please ahahahahah have mercy on meeeee!!” Sonja screamed.
A small hole had formed in the nylon fabric just below the struggling ticklish toes of her right foot, and taking advantage of that fact Jake made the hole a little bigger and snaked a finger into it and begun to scratch the sole of her foot.
Sonja went nuts, she squealed and squirmed and bit her lower lip and clasped and unclasped her tightly bound hands, she screwed her eyes shut and laughed and laughed. It was sheer torture for her.
I’m always amused by big collections of highly specialized fetish fiction. The writing is often horrid, but the enthusiasm is always enjoyable.
Wednesday, July 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Whilst surfing blogrolls I found the promisingly-named blog “Pussy Ranch” engaged in the ever-popular sport of berating the wierdos who generate some of the more, um, unusual search word combos in the log files. Pussy Rancher Jon had this to say:
To our friends searching “Amish Pussy” — good fucking luck. There are NO sites out there which feature nude photos of Amish girls. Quite what’s so fascinating about some woman named Jubal-Cain splaying naked in her log cabin I don’t know, but hey — neat that it gets you off. Try branching out — maybe Baptist girls? Hell, the Mennonites are even more likely to spread ’em on the internet than the Amish, they don’t have the anti-technology thing.
Er, Jon, I hate to burst your Minneapolitan bubble, but as the lieutenant said to the emperor, that turns out not to be the case. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” To wit: not just Amish pussy, but Amish bondage porn, complete with a menacingly brandished corn-cob.
Please, no quibbling about whether these models are “really” Amish. I doubt the original searcher was unduly concerned about the spiritual purity of the Amish pussy he was seeking….
Wednesday, May 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This is true:
Baycon is a very costume-based convention (or “cosplay” as the young, wide-eyed screaming anime fans are calling it). This means that everyone looks like a freak. Especially people like me, who don’t dress up. We look like the weirdest freaks ever. Even the hotel staff look like fairly normal freaks by comparison, because they’re dressed up in waiter and maid’s outfits.
And some people, look like incredible, dressed-like-Lara-Croft-only-with-chains-on semi-naked babelicious freaks. Not that I stare. Or even look, or think about them, or anything ever. I only know about their existence because when these people walk into a room, all the straight boys nearby give out this universal telepathic deflatory pained sigh. It’s like the sound of a wolf-whistle, only backwards, sucked in. Ooohhhhhh.
The sigh has a meaning. All my life, it says, I have been told by my superego that dressing like a Marvel superhero will not get me laid. And, here, here and now in this temporary saturnalia, surrounded by other males who are – at best – my equals in the ugly league division table: here is my perfect woman. But the world knows that this mad girl’s flickering eyes craves just one thing. A man dressed as Galactus, Eater of Worlds. And not only have I left my Galactus costume at home. I never made it. Worse, I threw those biro drawings of me in the Galactus helmet away the moment I’d drawn them, ashamed to show them even to (say) Dave. And now I know: I’m not a virgin because I’m a geek. I’m a virgin because I have pursued geekdom with a less than pure, directed gaze. I have faltered, and now I’m just another guy at Baycon. And some other guy in front of me will be Galahad with the Holy Grail because he spent two weeks measuring out huge papier-mache clamps to fit on the side of his head. And I did nothing but stare at my Lara Croft pull-out poster, in the belief that she was not real and that I could not ever meet her.
Pursue your enthusiasms. Because if you’re doing them right, you know exactly where they end.
Bacchus once went to Baycon, many years ago. Bacchus was a virgin at the time. Bacchus made this very noise. Repeatedly. It hurts a little bit when you make it, too.
Thanks to Danny O’Brien’s Oblomovka (drat that missing Russian-English dictionary!) for the excellent advice and to Cory Doctorow at Boing Boing for finding it.
Wednesday, May 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The news from Thailand:
SRISAKET (AFP): Five Thai women have agreed to pay compensation to a man they allegedly gang-raped on Songkhran Day, police said today.
Police said the women, aged between 20 and 40, admitted to plying the 47-year-old man from this northeastern Srisaket province with alcohol, tying him up and stripping him naked before taking turns having sex with him.
“All the women claimed that they were fed up by the man’s loud boasting about his sexual prowess,” said Pol Capt Gene Puangmala, of Khukhan district police station. “Some of the women were married,” he added.
He said the man complained to police of having a swollen and damaged organ after the incident, but after some negotiation agreed not to press charges in return for financial compensation. The agreed sum was 400 baht per woman.
Wednesday, May 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It seems that Bacchus no more gets invited to the good picnics than he does to the good costume parties. Here’s a tranquil scene, as the sun sets over the (mostly) abandoned picnic grounds covered in folding chairs, empty beer bottles and (oh yes!) someone’s drunk, passed out, topless wife or girlfriend.
Sunday, May 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes Bacchus cannot shake the feeling that he is not getting invitations to the really good costume parties. It’s odd, really. It’s impossible to say where that suspicion comes from, or why he feels that way:
Probably Bacchus is just being paranoid.
Wednesday, April 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Dixie Chicks, who took a lot of heat lately for speaking their minds, have apparently decided not to stop. This surely is a case where a (nekkid) picture is worth a hundred thousand words. From Yahoo:
As a PR move, it’s fucking brilliant. Anyone who just sees the magazine will know where they stand, without reading a word, except perhaps for the words written on their fair skins. It doesn’t matter what you think of their politics or their music; the genius on display here (along with all that yummy flesh) is pure public relations.
Brilliant. Beautiful. Proud. Naked. Bacchus is in love awe.
Saturday, April 19th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This post addressed Eugene Volokh’s provocative question about the seeming double standard by which women’s vibrators are considered fairly cool by reasonably enlightened, sex-positive members of society, while devices designed for male masturbation are not.
Here’s an article about one such device, the $895 Motorized Orgasmic Release Machine, which suggests that the tech just isn’t up to snuff:
Well, according to the instructions, you don’t have to be hard to enter the sleeve. That’s bullshit. I found that keeping my soft cock snugly inside the sleeve was nearly impossible, especially with all of that lube. But the next instruction concerned me: “Squeeze the suction ball and slip it back on the coupling at the end of the plastic tubing.” I glanced at my hands. They were covered with Wet.
Maybe I’m totally uncoordinated, but the ball kept slipping out of my hand, and I had to force it onto the tubing, and everything kept sliding, and meanwhile, my hard-on had turned into something like a greased eel and had fallen out of the sleeve and Fuck, what ever happened to good ol’ fashioned grabbing and jerking?
So I worked to regain my hard-on, stuffed it back into the sleeve and grabbed a towel. I wiped the lube off the ball, squeezed it and finally forced it onto the tube. When I released the ball, I was supposed to feel suction around my cock, something like Monica you-know-who giving me a blow job, and the suction was supposed to keep me snug in the sleeve, but I felt only a little bit of suction, certainly nothing like a real, live mouth. Not Monica’s mouth.
Thanks to Erotic Blog for the link.
Monday, April 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
An interesting line from an old Larry Niven story makes this point about the difference between nudity and nakedness:
“Nude is artistic. Naked is defenseless.”
Interesting that the story, which can be read as a polemic against anarchy, is carefully and disingenuously set in an artificial environment in which everyone has been rendered defenseless….
Saturday, April 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Breakfast is done. The sun is shining and birds are singing. It’s time to get on with the busy Bacchus day.
No, wait! What’s this in the backyard?
Never mind. As you were. Bacchus is going to go take a nap with the nymphs.
Friday, April 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This sort of naked abuse of official power is enough to make an anarchist out of a person.
Women motorists forced to strip by cops:
“A former police officer pleaded guilty to charges that he forced four women to strip after he pulled them over for traffic violations in New York. Prosecutors said Frank Wright, 36, forced one woman to walk home wearing only her underwear.”
Via Yahoo News [link gone dead]. [Edited to remove a title that too-lightly invoked an abusive practice in US prisons.]
Thursday, March 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Scary what some people get up to. Here’s some Harry Potter fanfic regarding a naked Quidditch match. Excerpt:
“Oy. Okay, so we all know we’re playing starkers. Letting it all hang out. Exposing our bits. Flaunting our glory… just to ensure we put those Slytherin gits to shame, anyone needing an ‘enhancement’ potion should let us know before the game. Well before the game. You’ll need a night’s rest and some practice to get used to the new balls, if you know what we’re meaning.
Also, Forge and I have gotten our hands on a small quantity of woad. Anyone care for the Pict-Quidd team? We think we’d all look dashing in blue. Especially Katie, Alicia and Angelina, eh ladies?”
There’s more. Ten long pages of more. Funny as hell.
Tuesday, March 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Making Light for spotting this .sig of the day, which is clearly in the spirit of John Norman parodies of the “Houseplants of Gor” ilk:
“I was kept naked on display in a cage for my Master’s pleasure. The steel band around my ankle told everyone who saw me that my role in life was to chew on his stiff cuttlebone.” — from Parakeets of Gor
Friday, March 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
…at a nude beach!
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Thursday, March 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
You sick puppies, here is your gross and sick hentai picture of the day. It involves the ill treatment of a winged naked female anime fairy. With a soda straw. You have been warned.
Wednesday, March 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Reuters reports that “O” Magazine (“The Art, the Fashion, The Fantasy”) has lost its lawsuit against Oprah, who “borrowed” the name for her magazine.
[The judge] said readers could not confuse Brockmeyer’s magazine containing photos of “whip-bearing, naked women engaged in sadomasochistic and lesbian acts” with Winfrey’s publication aimed at helping women improve their lives guided by the performer’s values.
…
“No ordinary prudent reader would view the contents of the magazines as similar and no reasonable reader seeking the contents of one magazine would turn to the other,” he said.
Playboy watch out! By this logic, the Boy Scouts of America could rename “Boy’s Life“, call it “Playboy”, and sell it with impunity.
Sunday, March 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Sex on Tuesday is running a list of 40 Mistakes Men Make While Having Sex With Women. Among the less obvious of these (at least, less obvious to this reporter) are:
12) UNDRESSING HER AWKWARDLY. Women hate looking stupid, but stupid she will look when naked at the waist with a sweater stuck over her head. Unwrap her like an elegant present, not a kid`s toy.
…
17) TAKING YOUR PANTS OFF FIRST. A man in socks and underpants is at his worst. Lose the socks first.
If women genuinely care about the order in which clothing is removed before sex, it’s just more proof (as if any more were needed) that they are an alien species that is just visiting us to “borrow” genetic material.
Update:The Wired Man has a point-by-point response to these fifty mistakes. Apropos #12 above:
Nonsense. You only think you look stupid because you can’t see yourselves as we see you. Women tangled in their clothes are indescribably cute. If you knew the effect it has on us, you’d do it every time.
What really looks stupid is a mostly-dressed woman saying “zip me?” It goes against everything we hold dear to help you put clothes on.
Tuesday, March 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Sharp-Eyed Shell spotted a Yahoo news story about the nude protest pictured so attractively below. However, when Shell spotted it the picture was the picture that illustrated the Yahoo story. Apparently they chickened out and decided the picture was just a little too provocative, because it’s nowhere to seen now.
Fortunately, Shell saved it for everyone’s delectation, and ErosBlog passes the savings along to you.
Friday, February 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Group Captain has his own satellite photos of naked peace protesters. These ones seem to be pursuing a sort of reverse Lysistrata peace strategy….
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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Friday, February 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Rebecca is having a dessert fantasy:
“I am imagining the sheer desire and eroticism of laying in between the layers of a Boston Cream Pie slice. Slipping my naked body into the cool custard, feeling it coat my hardened nipples like a lover’s I-just-drank-some-cold-water tongue. Pinned down by cake and chocolate ganache, pressing my ass deeper into the custard until it parts my ruby lips, sending shivers up my spine. I wiggle. I moan. I lick my fingers and drift off into a hazy sugary sleep on a cold winter’s night.”
Wednesday, February 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This sort of thing might be able to convince even Bacchus that exercise can be fun.
It gets better. What are they doing, practicing Gorean slave girl postures?
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Friday, December 20th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Ok, here’s one for all you ladies who were horsey girls when you were little, and never quite got over it. You know who you are: the girl who ate, slept, breathed, and dreamed horses, and filled her room with plastic ones if she couldn’t talk Daddy into paying for riding lessons. If you had a horse, you loved him more than life itself — and in your more heated private moments, you imagined, at least, riding him through the tall grasses, birds singing, clothing conveniently forgotten back at the stables, his warm heaving steaming flanks pressed firmly between your girlish thighs… et cetera. It seems to be a girl thing; every third twelve year old girl seems remarkably, even inexplicably, fond of horses, but rare indeed is the preteen boy who loves him his horsies quite that much (although, to be fair, stranger things have percolated up from the muck in the back pages of the search engines).
For all their manifest virtues, a horse is alas still just a horse. But a centaur, wouldn’t he be special? He could give you rides in the wildflower meadows and buy you diamonds too, and tinker on classic cars in the garage on weekends and live happily ever after. Pity they are mythical. But, a few photoshop artifacts aside, here’s what one (a very buff one) might look like:
Enjoy.
Wednesday, December 4th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Reuters via Yahoo reports:
Hundreds of women from drought-ravaged southern Australia plan to bare it all to the heavens in a bid to make it rain.
Inspired by a Nepalese drought-breaking tradition, the women from Ouyen in the far northwest of Victoria state will carry out a naked rain dance in the barren outback in early March, just ahead of the planting season for the next crop.
Hey, why not? Since it obviously works so well in Nepal….
Monday, December 2nd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
New addition to the sex blog list: Good Shit. It’s a graphics-heavy blog chock full of cheesecake, naked babes, and other sexy images like the one below.
Thursday, November 28th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
“Use the horse, Luke, use the horse!”
Er, maybe not.
The image had to be shared, so here it is:
The truly frightening thing, however, is that somebody, somewhere, is selling these shirts. What’s so scary about that, you may well ask? (You may, as long as you do it well.)
Simply this. If George Lucas’s lawyers catch them, they (the lawyers) will try to do to them (the sellers) what the horse is doing to the naked silhouette girl on the shirt.
Only probably with less lube.
Update: The Reverse Cowgirl says T-Shirt Hell sells the shirt. Why am I not surprised?
Friday, November 22nd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
There is a new Gor book out. By John Norman. Published in August, 2002. Available on Amazon. In hardcover, no less. All 717 pages of it.
It’s called Witness of Gor:
The Amazon review begins:
Deep within the cells of Treve, a glorious and mysterious city at the center of Gor’s struggle for supremacy, awakens a nameless slave girl who will witness events about which others will only dare to whisper.
This Gor phenomenon…mere words are inadequate. Slave girls. Yum, yes. Bad writing. Also yes. Ouch ouch ouch please make the pain stop it hurts to read this broken limestone gravel prose ouch. Yes. Ouch.
“Please, no, Master!” I wept. Then I felt the lash. I stumbled back in agony, turned about, and fell to the carpet. There the leather once more informed me of the displeasure of my master. I screamed, miserable. Then another blow like lightning was on my back and I sobbed at his feet, on my belly on the rug.
More slave girls. Has the slave girl concept been adequately reinforced? Gorean slave girls get whipped a lot, and either like it and “juice” for master, or don’t like it but “juice” anyway. Did bad writing get mentioned?
It goes without saying — nope, wait, it’s too late for that — that Gor is politically incorrect, and the National Organization of Women will take away your membership card if you admit to liking this sort of thing.
Oh yes, don’t forget the slave girls. They are generally pretty yummy. Also pretty much naked and in chains, or leather cuffs, or binding fiber, or whatever else Tarl Cabot and his fellow hulking brutes have handy for the restraint and entertainment of naked slave girls.
If you are a fan of the Gor books, you needed to know about the new book. If you don’t like them, you probably rolled your eyes and groaned when you saw this blog entry. If you never heard of Gor…well, you are either incredibly lucky or astoundingly unlucky, depending on the extent to which badly written (but much whipped and very juicy) slave girls float your boat.
Tuesday, November 12th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
From deep in the archives of I, Asshole, a sweet sweet story:
When I was a newlywed, my brand new husband and I used to play all sorts of little fun games together. One night we were laying in bed starkers and reading books, and I was also eating a box of jawbreakers. For his amusement (I always get into the most trouble when I do things for other people’s amusement), I started putting the jawbreakers one by one into my vagina. He laughed a little bit to humor me, and by the time I got up to about 18 or so he started ignoring me and went back to his book. Eventually, I fell asleep and he turned out the light. Suddenly, at about 2 am I woke up. I was uncovered and chilly; a moment later I realized I was also laying in a big wet puddle that seemed to have an epicenter under my ass.
“Oh God, I wet the bed.”
I considered my options. I could get a towel and cover it up; I could wake him up and inform him that his new wife of 4 months was a bedwetter; or I could smother him with a pillow so that no one would ever find out what happened. Being young and idealistic, I woke him and told him the truth, crying, and I have to say he took it very well. I couldn’t believe it was true; I’d NEVER been a bedwetter, and we hadn’t even been drinking or anything. Just before I ripped off the sheets, I caught a whiff of something… sweet. I bent down to smell the huge went spot and it smelled faintly sugary. Then I remembered the jawbreakers. I did a quick check to see if they were still when I deposited them before bed, and sure enough, they had completely dissolved.
The whole thing gave me a new appreciation for my vagina. If it could melt that much candy in four hours, what else could it do? Corrode steel? Turn lead into gold?
What in the name of Thor’s Tremendous Hammer was this “New Husband” feller thinking? “My lovely naked wife is putting candy up her whatsis for my amusement. What should I do? Should I ask her for a piece? Offer to get it myself? Hmm…what to do, what to do…I know! I’ll go back to reading my book!”
Somebody spent a little too much time on the short yellow bus as a child.
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Saturday, November 9th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
A report in The Scotsman claims that Uday Hussein is into pony girls. Well, sort of anyway:
A former security guard at Baghdad racecourse recently claimed that Uday and his friends would gather at the clubhouse where, after consuming prodigious amounts of whisky, they would force naked women to wear numbers and race around the track.
Now there’s an image sufficient to capture the mind’s eye…until brutal reality intrudes and reminds one of the terror that must come to these poor women when they are “invited” to go to one of Uday’s parties.
Saturday, November 9th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
We now join Babs as she flaunts her stuff for the edification of the teenage neighbor boy watching from the window across the way:
This afternoon, Babs and her lover were goofing off on the air mattress in their guest room. They were fully clothed and the blinds were open. After subjecting Babs to some killer tickles on her quadriceps, the Lover rolled over on top of her, presumably to keep her from running away after the affectionate torture session. At that moment, Babs gazed out the window to the apartment across the way. A teenage boy was sitting at his kitchen table having a snack and happened to glance up just in time to see Babs’ lover cop a feel.
The young lad then rotated his entire body to face the window and sat watching intently for about thirty seconds. Finally, Babs looked right at him and waved. The boy put one hand over his eyes and turned his back to the window. However, Babs knew that he was bound to look again, so she got on all fours and did a few donkey-style kicks toward the window. Then, her lover started to smack her rear to get her running around the room on all fours, which she did.
Before Babs had even reached full trot, the boy vacated the kitchen.
Bacchus is pleased to find a sister-in-spirit who blogs in the third person for no discernible reason.
Moving rapidly along, it’s only fair to point out that Babs claims to have been put up to it by her lovely and talented pen-pal, the Crazy Naked Neighbor Who Thinks She’s a Superhero.
Friday, November 1st, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Those damned lawyers mess up everything:
MBABANE, Swaziland – For centuries in this tiny African nation, the king of Swaziland, the supreme political leader and spiritual guide of the Swazi people, has taken his pick of young women each year to be his new wife.
…
The royal marriage practices are as old as the steep green mountains that ring this secluded country of sugar cane fields and cow pastures. Each year, the king has been allowed to choose one or more wives from thousands of young women who, naked from the waist up, parade before him during an annual springtime reed dance.
But now there is trouble in paradise. The king has chosen, the maid in question allegedly says “I’m going to make him the happiest man on Earth” — but she’s a year too young and her mom is pissed.
The king will be violating his own ban on sexual relations with female subjects younger than 19 if he marries Mahlangu. But it may not matter. When Mswati married another 18-year-old this year, he fined himself one cow for the violation – a small price for a monarch with hundreds of cattle to his name.
Tuesday, October 22nd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
It is rapidly becoming the custom of this blog to break up the bleak peach (or whatever color this background actually is — Bacchus thinks “goes with” is a female conspiracy to keep men in vilest subjugation) with gratuitous nekkid artwork every so often. So, without further ado, herewith a nymph with a minor bondage problem who bids fair to become monster snacks in the next panel:
Via Usenet.
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