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The Sex Blog Of Record
Wednesday, November 24th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
Back in 2002, Roboho: The Robotica Erotica XXX Game utterly failed to take the world by storm. Which is a pity, because it had some cool art featuring Roboho, the “sexual service machine”:
She was a sophisticated sex machine, we’ve got to give her that much:
Since those innocent days, w’eve had at least two different waves of moral panic over sexbots and so-called “robot sex workers”. But we haven’t seen all that much actual innovation in mechanical gynoid (or android) sexbots. The tech really hasn’t advanced all that very much beyond the RealDoll, which had already been around for half a decade when the Roboho game was made. So we’ll have to just enjoy the conceptual art, I guess.
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Wednesday, October 28th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
What do you do with a life-sized (and heavy) sex doll that you borrowed for a photo shoot, when it turns out the owners don’t want it back? Hauling it around wrapped in trash bags when you move is hella inconvenient and makes the neighbors nervous. Sharon Marie Wright faced this very problem. Her highly practical solution? Skin it, dismember it, and keep the body parts in a storage tub for future hijinks:
What the hell do I do with this thing? I’m stuck again.
I don’t want to wrap her up in trash bags again and stash her in the garage. I can’t throw her in the trash, she wouldn’t fit any way. I can’t just set her out on the curb – I really like our neighborhood and would like to continue to live here without being looked at as “the freaky neighbors”. I’m sure as hell not going to put her on Craigslist and invite people over to examine her wares.
I’ll just skin the bitch.
That’s a logical solution.
There are lots of wonderful creepy pictures. It’s awesome.
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Sunday, September 30th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Next Wednesday (October 3) will mark the first day of the eleventh year of operations here at ErosBlog. So it looks like this will the last of the “10 Years of Sex Blogging” retrospectives. That’s OK — covering the first five years has a decent symmetry to it. Without further ado, here’s 2006:
- My micro-rant on why lap dances in strip clubs are “DO NOT WANT” territory for me, plus somebody else’s tips for getting a good one: How To Get A Killer Lapdance
- I found possibly the best happy-exhibitionist photo I’ve ever seen: Half-Naked And Happy To Be There
- Of all the things I’ve ever written on ErosBlog, this essay on joy and BDSM acceptance is perhaps the post I’m most proud of: Two Smiles
- Remember that shower gel commercial with the tagline “How dirty girls get clean?” Yeah, me neither; or I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t managed to associate it in my mind with this memorable photo: Girl Washing
- I can’t recall laughing harder or longer over a web thing (unless maybe it was the immortal Dogs in Elk waaay back in the last century) than I did over this cybersex transcript that didn’t quite go the way the dude expected it to: And Who Shall Be Master?
- I don’t often lose myself in consumerist fantasies, but I confess I did the first time I saw this product for sale. It’s still for sale, but sadly, I still don’t have any: Leather Sheets
- I’ve softened my stance on the virtues of color blindness over the years (having been exposed to possibly-better arguments) but I haven’t come close to abandoning it. Here’s one of the places it got me griped at, especially in the comments: Nude Women, Skin Color, Huh?
- This post and its comments was one of the places I’ve tried to expound on the foolishness and impossibility of imposing our personal interpretations of art (here, pulpy sex comics) onto other people. Of course it got me snarled at, as it generally does: Whipped With A Hat On
- What’s going on when women dress themselves to be looked at, and then appear to resent the looks they get? I had a theory: On Looking At Women
- I think every sex blogger has taken a go at mocking the contents of sex spam. Here’s one of mine: Sex Spam Subject Lines
- This I still believe: “If you can’t see a person without having a racial classification for them pop into your head, you’re part of the problem.” Not Ignorant, Adamant
- Even a cartoon ’70s metrosexual (before they called them that) understood that a fist in her hair can make the blowjob better: Hair Pulling Blowjob
- In which I stand up for the proposition that not all men are dicks: No Gentlemen, No Sex Pictures
- I had forgotten until just now this back-and-forth with Susie Bright about the reasons for the gender imbalance in the sex blogging world: Sex Bias In Blogging
- I still want to know what happened to this sex doll: Sex Doll Accident
- I still don’t think Violet is wrong about a word of this: Public Submission Ritual
- Another effort on my part to demonstrate that the sexy elements in art are (and ought to be) available to the viewer no matter how reprehensible the artist, his motives, or his historical context: Male Soldiers Fucking
- My irritation with a certain class of creepy comments, it overfloweth: Flashing From A Window
- My opinion on fake boobs, followed by an opinion that arguably matters quite a bit more: Big Fake Boobs
- I still laugh every time I see this: Bill Versus The Penguin
- The topic of what it does (did) to our society to have porn go from “hard to get” to “available on all screens” is fascinating to me, and has been for a long time: Internet Porn For The Greater Good
- Title speaks for itself: Dirty Owl-Fucker!
- “Who wants to find herself covered with Winnie-the-Pooh BandAids after sex?” There’s always somebody: But Gardens Do Differ
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Friday, February 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Susie Bright has posted an interview with author Sera Gamble that touches on why Real Dolls are creepy:
As for grown women with doll collections – while I didn’t look at them and think, “This woman is perverse,” I do have a reaction. I look at the dolls and wonder why this woman is collecting legions of fake babies. In the end, my response is a visceral one. Dolls are creepy because they so closely resemble real children — pretty, well-dressed, frozen children. Those “Real Dolls” creep me out because they look a little too much like a real woman. Specifically, a staring, motionless, dead woman.
I used to be in a kickboxing class that used a plastic dummy that looked like a man. We would practice aiming kicks at various body parts. Punching a dummy feels different than punching a bag. There’s a strange feeling that you’re almost doing something wrong. Like you’re beating someone up who has to just stand there defenseless. Like you’re doing violence with no accountability. Then came the day when someone put a clown wig and lipstick on the dummy. Now we were humiliating him, too! It was funny, but I felt like underneath, we were indulging some ever-so-slightly dark impulses. God only knows what we would have done to him if he was anatomically correct.
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