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The Sex Blog Of Record
Thursday, July 4th, 2024 -- by Bacchus
How’s your 4th of July picnic going this afternoon? Because everybody at this one is having a gay old time!
Photo is from BJ’s 2023 patriotic greetings. See also this year’s!
Query: Did you notice the telltale teardrop-shaped discoloration on this photo? (Hint: from his navel, below and to the left.) And are you old enough to recognize what it is?
If not, I’ll tell you. That translucent whitish discoloration is most likely the spot where this page in the porn magazine got stuck to the previous page after somebody jerked it (carelessly) and splattered a smear of jizz on the page before putting the magazine away. Back in the day, porn magazines (especially transgressive ones) could be expensive and hard to find. It wasn’t at all rare to find trace indications that someone else had previously appreciated them.
Sunday, March 24th, 2024 -- by Bacchus
According to the May 1964 issue of Swank magazine, Trish O’Brien is a fresh air fiend who “enjoys taking baths with all the windows wide open.” How socially generous of her!
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Saturday, November 18th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
Earlier this year I posted a perhaps-too-personal essay about one of the relationship follies of my youth. The sad tale couldn’t be told without me touching on the romantic significance of zipping sleeping bags together (or not) while couples-camping in the great outdoors. Of course my notions on that subject might be idiosyncratic, but I am vindicated, I think, by this explanatory photo essay that I found in a nudity-friendly outdoor camping gear catalog from 1980:
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Saturday, December 24th, 2011 -- by Dr. Faustus
The student of erotica gets so much pleasure out of unearthing ver subject’s obscure history, and I’ve just come up with another example.
First someone invented a camera, then got someone to take ver clothes off in front of it. And shortly after that, no doubt, having sex in front of it. And the same certainly applies to motion pictures, which have the added advantage that you could show bodies, well, moving, which is what people do when having sex. The earliest examples that I can find documented by scholars indicate that sex and nudity began appearing on film right around the turn of the century, with the first American sex film for which we have a title (either A Free Ride or A Grass Sandwich and involving “a man, two women, and a Model-T Ford…and…probably shot in New Jersey”) dating from 1915, although because of records of police seizures, still earlier examples are believed to exist.
The reference to the police is material, because of course shortly after anyone actually tried to show people having sex on film, the pokenoses of the world got busy with their eternal project of suppressing Sexuality We Hate.
And they were fairly successful at it, for several decades anyway. By the early 1930s there was a Production Code in place to suppress any excess (or indeed, even minimal) erotic exuberance in the movies, of which there were at least glimmerings through the start of the talkies, and that Code held more or less right through the 1960s. During these decades stag films existed and they could be displayed in venues where their enjoyment could be limited to audiences of relatively wealthy and powerful men. Police and prosecutors would wink at this, as they generally do at the illegalities of those high in status (under-color-of-law beatdowns being reserved for the lowly). For the rest of the movie-going world, erotic experience would be purged, or at best deeply sublimated. This system would start to break down when film makers working outside the system began to push the boundaries of what sex and nudity could be depicted, an event perhaps datable from Russ Meyer’s release of The Immoral Mr. Teas in 1959. By the 1970s, the emergence of porn — with gay porn blazing the trail others would follow — would change the cinematic world forever.
Or so it seemed to me, anyway. It turns out that even before Mr. Teas there was an earlier outsider world of exploitation cinema, of cheapo independent producers making movies on shoestring budgets and publicly exhibiting them, albeit in ways that often that seemed to resemble carnival acts more than film distribution as it is or was conventionally understood. I (like millions of others on hundreds of topics) can thank Susie Bright for the enlightenment, specifically for her interviewing film historian Eric Sheafer and specifically his book “Bold! Daring! Shocking! True” A History of Exploitation Cinema 1919-1959. Shaefer did amazing research to uncover a twilit world of definitely-not-up-to-code movies that you might have actually have had a chance to see if you lived in mid-twentieth century America. These were movies that dealt with crime, violence, drug use, and of course, nudity and sex.
A showman might come to town — even if your town was an inconsiderable place no one in Hollywood had ever heard of — with his movie and you could go see it. It wouldn’t be like an ordinary movie showing. There might be a pitchman and truly lurid posters outside. The showings might have been segregated by sex or age. Inside there might be nurses (or at least, women costumed as nurses) for the sake of rendering aid to patrons overly shocked by the content of the movie.
Or perhaps two or more movies. Because the showman would have at least two reels, on to show if the cops showed up and another one if they didn’t. And if you were lucky and the cops didn’t show up, you might actually see a glimpse of nudity of the sort the Hays Office would never have approved. In some cases, you might even have seen full-frontal. Shaefer, who seems to have watched many of these movies very carefully, comes up with an example (sadly low in resolution).
That’s from Girls of Loma-Loma (or Forbidden Daughters) which Shaefer dates to the 1930s but which IMDB appears to date to 1927. That’s unsurprising, given that these movie makers didn’t necessarily keep terribly accurate business records, much less register their work with the Copyright Office.
More evidence, as if any were really needed, that porn will find a way.
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Tuesday, February 22nd, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Obviously there is more to this whole Bollywood business than I had previously realized. Apparently this is a didn’t-make-it-into-the-movie scene from a 1970s Bollywood movie called Five Rifles:
Wednesday, December 1st, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I’m in debt to reader “MB” for sending along this link to a trove of Australian pulp covers. Apparently American pulp magazines were banned from Australia in 1939, leading to a boom in domestic Australian pulp output in the postwar period. The result is a lot of stuff that’s every bit as delicious as American pulp, but not as familiar:
You’re looking at a detail from a classic “Japanese POW Camp” genre cover, from a book called Escape From The Hell Camp; I find it notable because it’s got a naked man and a naked woman, in a show of egalitarian nudity that the U.S. pulps rarely managed.
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Friday, November 5th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I’m liking Roger Ebert the blogger way more than I ever liked Roger Ebert the TV movie reviewer. Apparently after last week’s blog about Playboy (which I mentioned here), he got a lot of flak because he (horrors!) included a Playmate photo in the blog post and didn’t include a NSFW warning for timorous puritans.
Well, his most recent blog post begins as a spirited defense of his posting the photo without an NSFW warning:
As a writer, it would have offended me to preface my article with a NSFW warning. It was unsightly — a typographical offense. It would contradict the point I was making. But others wrote me about strict rules at their companies. They faced discipline or dismissal. Co-workers seeing an offensive picture on their monitor might complain of sexual harassment, and so on. But what about the context of the photo? I wondered. Context didn’t matter. A nude was a nude. The assumption was that some people might be offended by all nudes.
I heard what they were saying. I went in and resized the photo, reducing it by 2/3, so that it was postage-stamp 100 pixel size (above) and no passer-by was likely to notice it. This created a stylistic abomination on the page, but no matter. I had acted prudently. Then I realized: I’d still left it possible for the photo to be enlarged by clicking! An unsuspecting reader might suddenly find Miss June 1975 regarding him from his entire monitor! I jumped in again and disabled that command.
This left me feeling more responsible, but less idealistic. I knew there might be people offended by the sight of a Playmate. I disagreed with them. I understood that there were places where a nude photo was inappropriate, and indeed agree that porn has no place in the workplace. But I didn’t consider the photograph pornographic.
He goes on to contrast our puritanical American attitudes about nudity with more relaxed standards prevailing in Europe, and to make a favorable comparison of the artistic merits of the photo with various bits of classical fine art that would have raised no eyebrows. The only weirdness about the piece is, after essentially defending the photo and his publication of it without a warning tag, and gently ridiculing at length the poke-noses who complained, he wraps the whole article up with two unexplained sentences in which he apologizes and says he won’t do it again:
In the future I will avoid NSFW content in general, and label it when appropriate. What a long way around I’ve taken to say I apologize.
What a long way indeed, Roger — and nothing in your blog post prepared us for that jarring and inconsistent conclusion to an otherwise fine if somewhat rambling blog. Is that something the Chicago Sun-Times told you they wanted to hear you say?
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Sunday, October 11th, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
One of the first rather nasty movies I got by accident as a teenager came from a very straightlaced video store in my very straightlaced Midwestern home town. (I grew up somewhere that was nowhere near as remote as where Bacchus grew up but still, Paris it wasn’t.) The video sleeve (we’re talking the heyday of VHS here) was only mildly lurid looking. The title was The Emerald Jungle. I half suspect my local video store proprietors may have confused with with The Emerald Forest which, by comparison, was a rather innocuous adventure movie.
Innocuous this video release was anything but. It was an off-the-deep-end movie, filled with gratuitous sadism, nudity, religious insanity, and rape. But these almost seem like a sideshow compared with the central theme of the film, which was cannibalism. Yes, I had in fact stumbled on an obscure U.S. release of Umberto Lenzi’s Mangiati Vivi. (Literally, “Eaten Alive.”) A core member of the canon of the Italian jungle cannibal genre, in which pretty much everything goes, as long as it’s exploitative.
(Subsidiary bleg: if anyone knows why, exactly, the Italian film industry produced not just a few movies, but a whole damn genre devoted to jungle cannibalism, I’d love to know why.)
One actress in Mangiati Viv I’ve had in my head, Me Me Lai. She shows up in a few jungle cannibal movies, often in fairly bizarre scenes. For example here she plays a young widow, forced by the leader of a religious cult to copulate with her late husband’s three brothers, “in order that the marital bond should be broken, leaving her free to marry again.” (No, I don’t understand it either.)
In the end, her character is captured by cannibals, killed and eaten. Don’t watch that scene anywhere near lunch.
In a similar movie, Ultimo Mondo Cannibale, this time directed by Ruggerio Deodata , she plays a native girl abused and dominated by oil prospector Robert Harper, played by the Italian actor perhaps best known for dubbing Darth Vader into Italian.
In the end, her character is captured by cannibals, killed and eaten. These jungle cannibal movies do get repetitive. In fact, I’m pretty sure the footage was taken directly from a different jungle cannibal movie.
Of course, Me Me Lai didn’t just appear in jungle cannibal movies. I remember her also from a movie called Crucible of Terror. There is, I suppose, a certain ASFR appeal here, as her character, instead of being killed and eaten, is made into a bronze statue in about the most horrible way you can imagine.
But unless you’re really into Me Me Lai or ASFR completism, I’d give this one a miss if I were you. In the hands of an Umberto Lenzi or better yet, a Lucio Fulci this one might have pivoted off its premise and been a minor horror classic. As it is, one might as well just called it Crucible of Terribleness. Unlike many of the movies that it has been my pleasure to blog about here, this one really lacks the courage of its demented convictions.
But I still think about Me Me Lai. She must have been a real trooper, especially in those jungle movies, where she’s naked or nearly so for much of her screen time, and acting amidst heat and humidity and insects — I’ve been to some of the places where her movies were shot, and believe me, it can be exhausting just to take a walk there. She comes across as quite the professional.
But little seems to be available about her, except that she was born in 1952 to an English father and a Burmese mother. After appearing in Lars von Trier’s The Element of Crime in 1984, she stopped acting and, as far as I can tell, disappeared from the public eye.
Hence the bleg: does anyone know what became of her?
Wednesday, August 26th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Supposedly this is Henri Matisse with a model, circa 1939:
Via Bravo Sierra Whiskey.
Monday, June 22nd, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
Okay, I promise no more octopuses for a while, unless there’s popular demand. A gill-man might be in the future, though.
Instead, inspired by Bacchus’s post of a fetching smiling showgirl a few months back, I’ve decided to go rummaging around deep in the history of movies to see what might be interesting. Unsurprisingly, there was some pretty racy stuff in the early era of talkies, it turns out, before the pokenoses got the upper hand in 1934 and imposed the Production Code, sometimes known as the “Hays Code,” after its author Will H. Hays, who had previously achieved distinction as a national luminary as the chairman of the Republican Party and campaign manager for Warren G. Harding.
This post’s subject is Murder at the Vanities (1934). The core plot isn’t anything special: murder, blackmail, horny cops, lovebirds threatened by a dark secret, etc. All a pretty normal day at the office if you work in New York. But what makes this movie especially entertaining is that the plot plays out backstage during a Broadway musical, which gives the moviemakers all the excuse they need to put on a long series of musical production numbers.
Musical production numbers filled with scantily-clad showgirls, of course, as the tableau vivant in the opening number “Where do They Come From (and Where Do They Go)?” makes clear (click image for larger version):
The “girls in boxes” image in the background makes me wonder whether this movie doesn’t deserve a shout-out in the ASFR community. [Bacchus: ASFR…wuzzat?]
The musical contains an “island fantasy” scene as well, complete with a chorus of scantily-clad nereids.
And watching this scene, I kept thinking of an audience, in some local movie palace in Bridgeport or Kalamazoo or Duluth, really getting its money worth for a few hours away from the Depression and the small-town grind. More specifically, I thought of an imagined fifteen year-old boy in the audience, desperately hoping that it’s dark enough because, well, you know why.
Enjoy this while it lasts, kid. It’s 1934. Mr. Hays and his Code are coming down. Probably you’re not going to see anything this sexy on a movie screen for another thirty years.
But the number that really struck me was a “Mexican fantasy” scene, with a song called “Sweet Marihuana.”
Another tableau vivant, this one with topless, albeit chastely-posed, chorines representing cactus flowers, I guess. Might we have a closer look? Well, of course.
The lyrics to the song:
Soothe me with your caress,
Sweet marihuana, marihuana.
Help me, in my distress
Sweet marihuana, please do.
You alone can bring my lover back to me.
Even though I know it’s all a fantasy.
And then, put me to sleep.
Sweet marihuana, marihauna.
As the late, great Anna Russell would say, “I’m not making this up, you know.”
Bonus attraction: Duke Ellington himself, and his orchestra. They get a number in which they run the white boys right off the stage.
I bet Mr. Hays really didn’t like that either.
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Sunday, May 31st, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
Having had the pleasure of recently posting on real octopus sex, my naughty mind naturally turned to the question of what else I might be able to post on in the “sexy female invertebrates who kill their mates.” And that of course, takes me right back to my beloved domain of weird cinema, in this case to Invasion of the Bee Girls, released thirty-six years ago this Monday.
As tireless (but never tiresome) weird movie web reviewer El Santo so aptly puts it, we have in this strange movie evidence that the popular culture of the early 1970s was completely out of its mind. A mad scientist is abducting the women of a small town and running them though a bizarre procedure involving radiation and lots and lots of bees. The women then turn into “bee girls,” who in turn kill men through sexual exhaustion.
One twist: the mad scientist is a beautiful woman, played by Anitra Ford.
Now there’s a great deal of gratuitous nudity, sex, and violence packed into this flick’s 85-minute runtime, as well as a great deal that simply beggars belief. I won’t review it in detail since I think El Santo (among many others) does a bang-up job doing so already. But I did want to at least show a bit of its main bee-girl transformation scene, because this in particular is a jaw-dropper.
Mad Scientist Lady and her crew kidnap the wife of a corporate scientist. (The wife is played by Anna Aries.) After sedating her and stripping her naked, they dose her with radiation:
A process which our victim seems to find not unpleasant, actually.
They then proceed to cover her in some sort of honey-like goop…
And place her in a chamber with (all you insect fetishists, prepare to be delighted) an awful lot of bees, who enclose her in a cocoon.
After all this and a bit of fun penetrating radiation treatment, our victim emerges, astonished and transformed, and a newly-made bee girl (note compound eyes). Mad Scientist Lady seems quite pleased.
I’ve watched this scene any number of times and still marvel that someone obviously went to a lot of trouble to script it, set it up, and shoot it. I wish I could have watched that being planned (“Okay, next we’ll put her in a chamber full of bees! Yea, that’s it!”)
We get bonus cheesecake later on when Mad Scientist Lady attempts to subject Miss September 1967 Victoria Vetri to the same treatment.
But unfortunately for science a Government Agent Hero Guy played by former Marlboro Man William Smith bursts in and rescues her, killing Mad Scientist Lady and her coven of Bee Girls in the process. Which is too bad. I was rooting for the Bee Girls.
I am hard pressed to think of any other piece of soft-sci-fi sexploitation that has the same utter courage of its demented convictions as this movie does, and I wonder (and in fact, sort of regret) that there aren’t more like it. Speculation and suggestions for further related viewing are welcome in the comments.
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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 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This photo was originally captioned “‘Fraulein Meets Robot’, a popular strip club act.”
I swiped it from Violet Blue, who in turn credits some broken Flickr link. (Not Violet’s fault; Flickr insists on taking even very mild nudity like this off the live internet by putting it behind links that are broken for people who don’t want to maintain a Yahoo ID.)
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Friday, December 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From time to time, I have posted to remind people that there’s no substitute for having your own server (not literally your own, but one that you pay the hosting bill for) before building anything of substance on the internet. It’s always struck me as insane to build stuff on “free” servers run by somebody else who hopes to monetize the traffic you generate, especially if you’re involved with sexual content that they might decide is icky. Either they will like you too much, and try to steal your traffic in various ways, or they like you too little, and kick you out (oh, and keep your traffic). You might hope to be Goldilocks, but hey, good luck with that.
Thus, posts like my:
Why Blogging Services Suck
Indecent Blog Hosting
Blogging Services Still Suck
I don’t remember posting again when Blogspot (now Blogger, a Google company) killed about half the sex blogs out there over a period of months, deleting many of them and putting many more behind ugly, traffic-killing warning pages. It struck me as inevitable, and I saw a lot of sex bloggers take my advice when it happened and get their own host and domain. Over the years, I’ve seen a lot more just vanish when their “free” hosting environment became toxic. This might even be the second most common reason (after “stopped posting”) why sex blogs die. So, I notice it.
But it’s important to remember, this is a broader principle of life and business on the internet. It’s not just blogs.
Remember way back in 2004, when an outfit called Ning announced (with great fanfare) that they were going to host social networks like MySpace, for free, so you could set up your own? I even (briefly and somewhat later) toyed with the idea of setting up a social network on Ning for my ErosBlog community of fans, but I wasn’t confident Ning would prove adult-friendly over the long haul.
Well, other people dove into it. And as of this week, all the folks who started social networks around porn, sexual nudity, or “fetishes” learned they were about to be royally screwed, with all their years of community-building effort flushed right down Ning’s toilet:
On Monday night we announced that we will no longer support adult networks on Ning beginning January 1st, 2009.
As it relates to the Ning Platform, adult networks include, but aren’t limited to pornography and depictions of sexual acts. To clarify the point, networks that contain or are focused on the following topics would clearly fall into the adult category include:
* Pornography or images of sexual acts
* Nudity intended to sexually arouse the viewer
* Graphic photos or videos
* Fetishes
To be fair, the original announcement cites practical and (to me) believable financial reasons why the adult networks are being evicted from Ning’s network. Some of these networks — and this is no surprise to me, given some of the toxic porn marketing I encounter daily — seem not to have been good tenants.
To their credit, Ning appears to have embraced open standards that may (I am far from certain) make it possible for these banished Ning communities to export at least their user lists, and possibly more of the network content. Maybe some of them will be able to reconstitute themselves on their own servers — is there free open-source social-networking software out there these days?
Anyway, I’m not saying the Ning people are being bad or evil. But the effect of their sweeping anti-adult business decision has been to wipe out an enormous amount of effort that users invested in their platform. It’s a pattern that repeats itself whenever people use “free hosting” of whatever kind. If you build your shit on somebody else’s land, they can, and they eventually will, either tear it down or tell you to haul it away (if you’re lucky). Nor does “upgrading” necessarily save you; Ning offers paid upgrades from its free advertising-supported service, but it appears that, upgraded or not, if you like teh fetishes or teh pornz, you’re still banished.
It’s not just blogging services that suck.
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Wednesday, October 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember about two weeks ago, when I mentioned the new public bondage site, coming from our kinky friends at Kink.com?
Well, Public Disgrace is now live, and looks to be living up to (some of) its promises.
About half the pictures in the sample galleries are close-in shots of hardcore bondage sex in what look to be protected, semi-outdoor spaces. To be honest, those aren’t terribly interesting to me, because I have a harder time with suspension of disbelief, and so there isn’t a lot of newness there. To me it’s “just porn”, with (by 21st century standards) no particularly transgressive edge.
On the other hand, I find the soft-core “pure” public bondage shots to be more interesting, because they seem to occur in genuinely public settings, complete with interested onlookers:
I will confess I find the branding for this new site a little confusing. If the goal is, to use their words, “unique street scenes of erotic humiliation”, what’s disgraceful about that? If the fantasy of a woman in chains is that she has to do what you make her do, I get that she may be embarrassed or humiliated by the public exposure, but I don’t see any disgrace in it; to me, disgrace connotes an aspect of guilt or sin or wrongdoing or bad behavior, and one of the essential transactions at the core of BDSM is that the submissive is liberated of responsibility for the things he or she is “made” to do. Hence, no disgrace. Unless the disgrace is supposed to be in the eye of the beholder, the putative onlooker shouting “that’s disgraceful!” or getting violent, like this guy?
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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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, July 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember Janet Jackson’s nipple?
How could you forget?
The FCC’s $550,000 fine for the half-second nippleshow made headlines back in 2004, and has had network TV busily bowdlerizing ever since. Only guess what? The fine has been overturned:
A panel of the 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled Monday that the FCC “acted arbitrarily and capriciously” in issuing the fine for the fleeting image of nudity.
…
The court said the FCC deviated from its nearly 30-year practice of fining indecent broadcast programming only when it was so “pervasive as to amount to ‘shock treatment’ for the audience.”
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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Monday, October 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a bit of fine art that seems appropriate for the upcoming Halloween holiday. Skeletal Death in a top hat, stripping a woman nude in public to show her that her beauty, too, is mortal? I’m not sure, but it’s just a wee bit creepy:
Friday, June 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Somebody got this photograph backwards. I’m sure there are a couple of guys out there who would shell out a few clams to see what the clam shells are covering:
And now you know the truth. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. In Japan, the women have enormous… clams.
From vintage alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. asian.
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Sunday, June 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Almost two years ago I posted my controversial opinion that blogging services suck, citing an incident where LiveJournal killed a vibrant vintage erotica resource and concluding:
Anything worth doing on the internet is worth doing at your own domain that you control.
I still feel this way. Latest evidence, from LiveJournal again: apparently they are threatening to suspend users who dare to display the dreaded nipple, even when it belongs to the Virgin Mary and is being suckled by none less holy than the Blessed Baby Jesus:
Picking to the bottom of a huge flapdoodle with many nuances, the bottom line is that LiveJournal recently changed a FAQ explaining its TOS; the TOS prohibits “inappropriate” imagery, and the FAQ change nerfed a “graphically sexual” interpretation of “inappropriate”, replacing it with a “nudity” interpretation. In short, the prudishness got kicked up several notches. Obviously, folks object to the idea that all nudity is inappropriate by definition, because it’s such a fundamentally silly and stupid idea.
LiveJournal owner Six Apart has issued the classic corporate non-apology, stating in effect (I’m paraphrasing, and not with sympathy) “We’re sorry our new no-nipple policy makes us look stupid and bad, but we’re really not stupid and bad, so we’re not sorry for doing stupid bad stuff to our users, and we’re gonna keep doing it, neener neener, thank you for your support.”
In the Making Light post cited above, a commenter offers up a potential explanation of the corporate business pressures that might be responsible for all this anti-nipple stupidity. He then concludes with a version of my point from two years ago:
But the one thing this whole debacle proves is, you should never trust a public corporation to hold your blog or social network, because they will always try to place the interests of their shareholders ahead of the desires of their customers.
Exactly. Get your own domain, and get it hosted by somebody smart who knows he’s selling bandwidth, and that you’re the customer. And if you want to show some nipple, make sure your host has customers who sell real pornography on their sites. I promise, a web host with customers selling Street Blowjobs or Cum Fiesta is just going to laugh like hell at anyone who emails to complain about your nipples, whether or not there’s a baby attached.
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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, 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”.
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.”
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.
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!
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, 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, 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.
Saturday, October 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
“Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, free at last!”
Ananova reports:
Italian restorers working in a Roman church have unveiled two bare-breasted sculptures which have been covered for almost 150 years.
They were designed by Gian Lorenzo Bernini but covered by bronze ‘corsets’ in 1863 because religious leaders thought they were offensive.
“The figures were particularly feminine in their faces, in their nudity, and very voluptuous,” Ms Negro said. “Religious authorities thought they were not quite suitable for a church.”
Thanks to Daze Reader for the link!
Thursday, October 3rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Can’t have a sex blog without some gratuitous public nudity:
Thanks Instapundit for the link!
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