Used-Up Sex Robot: Electronic Waste
Wednesday, June 16th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
This is just harsh. Surely a sex-bot this advanced ought to have been worth repairing?
Art is by Baalbuddy (BB), who has a Patreon.
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The Sex Blog Of Record
Flogging Vinyl
Monday, June 4th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
One of the things that makes vintage porn interesting is that the tropes had not yet hardened; since nobody knew what the hell they were doing, and (especially in the 1970s) everybody was doing a hell of a lot of drugs, they did all sorts of crazy stuff, and the porn we have today is what evolved out of those experiments.
What where they thinking when they were flogging a plastic blow-up sex doll in the movie Domination Blue? I have no fucking idea. None. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time? Anyway, huge thanks to the Rialto Report, whose publication of the complete archives of Flick Magazine allowed me to discover this images in the pages of the September 1976 issue.
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RealDoll, Dismembered
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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All She Needs Is Julio, The Doll
Thursday, October 15th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
The Guardian recently unearthed an odd little 1937 short story by Daphne du Maurier. Whether it’s horror (which seems to have been the intent) or just the world’s worst romance, I leave for the reader to decide. Either way, it features a woman who can’t be pried away from her beloved life-size male doll whose degree of anatomical precision is never specified. The doll has his own room, and a name: Julio. Our narrator is himself a creepy stalkerish sort:
She was dressed in brown, some sort of velvet I think, with a red scarf round her neck.
Her throat was very long and thin, like a swan’s. I remember thinking how easy it would be to tighten the scarf and strangle her. I imagined her face when dying — her lips parted, and the enquiring look in her eyes — they would show white, but she would not be afraid. All this in the space of a moment, and while she was talking to me.
There’s a lot of this sort of thing, and one good kiss, and a conversation about sadism, and then our narrator drops into stalker mode for what feels like the dozenth time:
I don’t know how I got to her flat. Seconds seemed to flash by, and I was standing outside in the street, gazing up at the windows.
I persuaded the night porter to let me in, he was half asleep and he let me pass upstairs. I listened outside her door — not a sound came from within. It might have been the entrance to a tomb.
I put my hand on the door knob, and turned it slowly. To my surprise it was not locked — Rebecca must have forgotten to turn the key after I left.
I stepped inside, everything was in darkness. “Rebecca”, I called softly, “Rebecca”. No answer.
The door of her bedroom was open, there was no one inside.
Then I went into the kitchen and the bathroom, both were empty.
Then I knew. Something gripped my heart, cold, clammy fear.
I looked towards that other room — his room — Julio’s room.
I knew that Rebecca was in there, with the doll — with Julio.
After he bursts in on her, she dumps him hard, though no harder than he surely deserved:
Her voice was cold — apart — unearthly.
“And you expect me to love you. Don’t you see that I can’t — I can’t? How can I care for you, or any man? Go away, leave me. I loathe you. I loathe you all. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”
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10 Years Of Sex Blogging: Best Of ErosBlog 2006
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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Unique Floatation Device
Monday, February 27th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
The blowup sex doll as a pool party novelty air mattress, I can understand. It’s been done. More than once. But what I don’t understand is: why does a rubber inflatable doll need a white rubber swimming cap?
No matter, it’s gotta be fetish fuel for somebody!
Via Usenet.
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Sex In A Rubber Catsuit
Saturday, October 16th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Always interested in descriptions of novel sexual sensations, I have this report from ThisGirl on what it feels like to have sex while wearing a heavy rubber catsuit. Not as detailed as we might want, perhaps, but it’s a start:
Having sex in skin tight latex is a lot of fun. It feels sort of like being trapped within someone or something else. It’s not really easy to describe without it sounding a bit like some sort of porn story…but if you’ve experienced similar yourself then you’ll get the idea. It was very erotic, though a little strange that there was very little skin to skin contact for a change.
This girl felt completely as though she was his sex doll, wrapped up in all that rubber. Controlled by him, orgasming at his command.
What else is there really to say about that? Who wants to read about sex, sweat and latex right? Because this girl really can’t articulate too well how it feels to have that much sex whilst wearing latex after being locked up in that bloody thing because it was just so erotic…so orgasmic…and just a little too intimate to go into too much graphic detail.
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Do-It-Yourself Sex Doll
Saturday, May 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This isn’t objectively gross or anything, but I don’t mind confessing that it creeps me out. All I can really say is “Ew!”
Thanks, I guess, to Violet Blue for the link.
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