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The Sex Blog Of Record
Thursday, August 20th, 2020 -- by Bacchus
The phrase “a fate worse than death” seems to have enjoyed a sort of curious semantic shift on its way to quaint historical irrelevancy. At one time — in melodramatic fiction at least — it was a euphemism for rape, specifically. But melodrama has a logic all its own, and one doesn’t have to scratch Victorian fiction very hard to find instances of the term referring to sex in general, or perhaps only to a young woman’s first sexual experience. All this at a time when the fashion — for polite ladies of fiction anyway — was to acknowledge no hint of pleasure in association with one’s “family duties”. Over time, the usage seems to have become more generally ironic, acknowledging its inherent melodrama. I hereby nominate this cartoon from 1959 as the apotheosis of the ironic usage:
Since 1959, of course, the phrase has pretty much fallen into a pretty complete disuse. Which is fine with me. It’s just another part of the sex-negative cultural background noise that this blog was founded to oppose.
Cartoon is from the November 1959 issue of Adam.
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Wednesday, June 6th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
If ErosBlog were the sort of billionaire’s hobby that meant we had purpose-built premises, and commissioned art to put in the colonnaded lobby, this right here is the sort of art I would want to commission to put in it:
If startled ingénues in short dresses, tall shoes, and summery hats suddenly inherit a new set of ancient Mediterranean erotic dreams and obsessions, well, what harm in that?
It would delight me to learn from some student of art history that this is a representation of an actual famous statue that exists in the world (Vatican library, anybody?) but until so informed, I must sadly assume it exists only in the fevered imagination of artist Giovanni Romanini. Let’s just look at the statuary detail, shall we?
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Friday, October 30th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
All her friends agree that Monica’s favorite piece of dungeon/playroom furniture is creepy as hell. But none of the young men she knows ever refuse an invitation to her Halloween “costume optional” sex parties:
Artist not known.
Sunday, October 25th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
Angie Rowntree’s Sssh.com “erotica for women” site has been on my radar here at ErosBlog since 2004, when my erstwhile co-blogger Aphrodite discovered it and mentioned it warmly on several occasions. Recently Angie asked me to take a look at her newest movie, which is a 35-minute “featurette” called Gone: A Story Of Love And Courage that’s also a moving and affecting erotic musing on the role sex plays in grief and loss.
That may sound like a bummer, but it’s really not. Gone is an authentically erotic movie, but more than that, it is real cinema, a film that engages your viewing attention with story and character even more than with the sex. The woman at the heart of the film (Rebecca, played by Madeline Blue) is strong and sympathetic; the first words we hear from her are:
“They say that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Well, I don’t know who they think they are, but I say that’s bullshit.”
If normalization of kink matters to you, you’ll grin at another of Rebecca’s narrations early in the movie:
“We married right out of college, and bought a house. It was perfect. A white picket fence, surrounded by trees, a dungeon in the basement. We were living the real American Dream, we joked.”
I very much liked how the BDSM in their relationship is shown to be a low-key element of their sex life together, rather than an over-fetishized definition of their relationship. If you’re not too keen on BDSM, don’t worry; this is the kind of “movie BDSM” in which the riding crop is on screen for sixteen seconds caressing her naked body before it slaps her, softly, just twice.
Although we don’t learn until the end of the movie precisely what has become of Rebecca’s husband and of her marriage, the bulk of the action takes place in her mind, as she remembers her husband and struggles with the fact that he’s, ah, gone. There’s nice use of music throughout, and sometimes it’s rather clever. For instance, in a sequence where Rebecca and her husband are making out on the bed watching the New Years Eve ball drop, we can hear drunken revelers singing Auld Lang Syne on the unseen television. As the scene shifts in her mind from the mundane (clothes on, fast food boxes in the bed) to the idealized (fully naked, better lighting, clutter of daily life no longer visible), the sound of the rough TV singing fades and is replaced by an unaccompanied female vocalist singing Auld Lang Syne in a haunting ethereal voice, reminding us that these are literally scenes from “days gone by”.
It’s an emotionally compelling movie, and if it’s porn for women, it works for men too. Or at least it works for me. What’s more, there are nice visual details throughout. For instance, in a very hot closeup blowjob scene near the end of the movie, Madeline Blue’s oral work is complimented by the visual of a pretty blue amethyst or sapphire pendent, bouncing fetchingly off her chest as she bobs up and down:
As far as I know, the Gone movie/featurette is only available for viewing to members of Sssh.com. You can see a trailer here.
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Tuesday, September 22nd, 2015 -- by Bacchus
The 1934 Motion Picture Production Code (usually called the Hays code) took a lot of the edgy sexy fun out of the movie industry. Here’s a famous photo shot by legendary Columbia Pictures “stills man” A.L. “Whitey” Schafer to protest the new rules. You’ll like it:
And here’s a different reproduction with better visual contrast, although as it’s a photo of an old print, the price is some distressed detail due to wear-and-tear.
Oddly, none of the sources I consulted about this photo identified the model.
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Friday, November 7th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
Bondage Blog asks what seems like an easy question: “Some light bondage and a friendly birching is a great way to heat up an afternoon of rough sex, don’t you think?”
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Thursday, November 28th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
A post yesterday at Erotic Scribes (which is the house blog for Sssh.com) examined in some detail the limited potential for Thanksgiving to be a sexy holiday. The Puritans of the Plymouth Colony, of course, did not have much truck with sexytimes; or at least, that was official policy. I was therefore amused that Erotic Scribes came up with a rather salacious account of a Puritan orgy in what sounds like an otherwise fairly dry history, a book called Plymouth Colony: Its History and Its People, 1620-1691. Here’s how it (they) all went down:
Hands-down one of the wildest accounts involved a sex party with one babe, four dudes — and lots of complications. The scene was Hatch house where young miss Lydia Hatch seemed to be the instigator, with her brother Jonathan there for fun too. Joining them were Edward Mitchell, Edward Preston and John Keene.
The only woman with a party of four men — including her brother, Lydia Hatch’s secret party hit a hitch. One guy snitched.
First, Lydia wanted Ed Mitchell to “abuse her body,” but he was up for “lude and sodomiticall practices” with Ed Preston. Meanwhile, Ed Preston was “pressing” John Keene for some action. So Lydia first ended up in bed with her brother Jon while Ed Mitchell got it on with Ed Preston who gave up on John Keene “because he resisted the temptacon.” Finally, Lydia got to do her deed with Ed Mitchell. For participating in what wase the only Puritan orgy (at least the only one found out) the partiers ended up getting a run-of-the-mill whipping — all except for John Keene, who had ratted them all out, but was found “faulty” for watching it all.
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Tuesday, October 15th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
This is from a promotional poster by Marek. Via Kinky Delight.
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Tuesday, December 18th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
No, really, it’s the title of this man’s actual sermon:
Dan Savage found the story in Chicago Magazine:
In July 2010, an hour into the “Polished Shaft” sermon–in a church packed with thousands of teenagers there for a youth conference–Schaap went further. He lifted a stick in his left hand and a silver cloth in his right. He moved the bottom of the stick near his groin and angled it away from himself. Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth gaping, he began rubbing the shaft rapidly with the cloth, up and down, up and down…. What he was doing was unmistakable: simulating masturbation, in front of thousands of children, in the middle of a church service. A row of white-coated high-ranking churchmen seated behind Schaap watched in silence.
If you’re thinking that demonstrates a dangerous level of hypersexualization in a Baptist pastor, you’d be right:
Last September, Schaap, 54, a married father of two, pleaded guilty to taking a 16-year-old girl he was counseling at First Baptist across state lines to have sex. Denied bond, he awaits sentencing in the Porter County Jail; the minimum term is ten years.
Folks, we see the pattern over and over. Folks who preach hard and heavily against sex (of whatever kind, it doesn’t matter) are almost always talking to themselves first and foremost. So whenever you hear a sermon (religious or secular, again it doesn’t matter) against sex of any kind, you might, as Dan Savage says, “wanna keep your kids the hell away.”
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Thursday, March 22nd, 2012 -- by Bacchus
This comes from a humor bit on Cracked about respecting the experience of your elders:
All the things we look forward to doing, they’ve already mastered and filed away. It’s hard to imagine your grandmother mastering things like blowjobs, but make no mistake, she did. And you have to respect her for that.
Wait, what did you think I meant? Seriously, though, when those things pop, that whole area is going to smell like dick.
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Monday, November 21st, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Franklin Veaux has set off on a bold stroll through the minefields of sex positivity, with this post that mostly expounds on what sex positivity is not. As somebody who has long used the term, I found his disquisition useful. I didn’t quite agree with his one paragraph on what “sex positive” actually is, though:
Sex positivity at its core is simply the recognition that there is more than one “right” way to have sexual relationships. It is an acknowledgement that human sexuality is incredibly diverse, that different people have different tastes and relate to sexuality in different ways, and that as long as everyone is having sex with consenting adult partners, there is nothing intrinsically wrong with sex, regardless of the way people relate to it. In short, it’s a deliberate refusal to place one’s own sexuality on a pedestal and proclaim it the “right” way to have sex.
My thought upon reading that was that I’d just boil that down to “Sex positivity is about being non-judgmental about consensual sexual choices.” But upon reflection, I decided that’s not enough.
Franklin’s paragraph, and my sentence, are statements that establish a space by bounding it and excluding things from it. In my sentence, the word “non-judgmental” is key; “acknowledgment that … there is nothing wrong” and “deliberate refusal” are key phrases in his paragraph.
At best, we’re describing a lack of sex-negativity with phrases like these. I think being genuinely sex-positive requires something more. Franklin’s post details many specific things sex positivity is not; mostly, these are specific sexual propositions or arguments that have been claimed to underlie, and be necessary to, the sex-positive position. And I agree with him that none of these, individually, are necessary to sex-positivity.
However, I do think you can’t be sex-positive without — risking tautology here — being positive about some sex. Being “not negative” doesn’t quite get you there. Being “not negative” probably suffices to unsubscribe you from the armies of the anti-sex culture warriors, but you’ve got to take a positive position and celebrate sexuality in some way, I’d argue, to be sex-positive.
Do you have to celebrate all the sex? Of course not. If you’re like most people with pronounced tastes and opinions, some of the sexual propositions and subcultures out there will strike you as boring, frightening, risible, or worse. No matter. Sometimes being non-judgmental doesn’t require much more from you than keeping your mouth firmly shut. “It’s not for me” doesn’t make you judgmental, but if you examine your motives for expressing that sentiment, there’s usually a parcel of judgment to be found. Sex positive people, I’ve found, spend a lot of time celebrating what they are into, and waste very few words talking about the sex that doesn’t appeal.
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Saturday, January 22nd, 2011 -- by Bacchus
I don’t know how much longer her legs are going to hold her up in that position:
From alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.anime.
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Wednesday, January 5th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
There’s a very strange article about sex and porn in The Atlantic, which I cannot decide quite how to respond to. On the one hand it strikes me as wrongheaded and sad, especially in author Natasha Vargas-Cooper’s apparent opinion that male sexuality is essentially brutal and violent and, in her word, “extreme”. On the other hand, she has a clearer-than-usual view that men and women are different, and that the modern batch of anti-porn crusaders seem to want a “pygmy race of sexually neutered males” that is not achievable and wouldn’t be “all that enticing” even if it were. It would be easy to pull paragraphs and sentences out of this article and mock them, but on balance, I think I shan’t. Instead, it’s thoughtful enough — and such an intricate piece of interlocking arguments, each needing to be considered with the buttresses of its supporting paragraphs — that I shall simply point you there, with fair warning that it may piss you off if you don’t already have a somewhat negative view of male sexuality.
However, there was an amusing personal anecdote from the article that stands easily on its own while also, I think, serving quite handily to illustrate why I think Vargas-Cooper has somewhat bizarre ideas about male sexuality:
At the heart of human sexuality, at least human sexuality involving men, lies what Freud identified in Totem and Taboo as “emotional ambivalence”–the simultaneous love and hate of the object of one’s sexual affection. From that ambivalence springs the aggressive, hostile, and humiliating components of male sexual arousal.
Never was this made plainer to me than during a one-night stand with a man I had actually known for quite a while. A polite, educated fellow with a beautiful Lower East Side apartment invited me to a perfunctory dinner right after his long-term girlfriend had left him. We quickly progressed to his bed, and things did not go well. He couldn’t stay aroused. Over the course of the tryst, I trotted out every parlor trick and sexual persona I knew. I was coquettish then submissive, vocal then silent, aggressive then downright commandeering; in a moment of exasperation, he asked if we could have anal sex. I asked why, seeing as how any straight man who has had experience with anal sex knows that it’s a big production and usually has a lot of false starts and abrupt stops. He answered, almost without thought, “Because that’s the only thing that will make you uncomfortable.” This was, perhaps, the greatest moment of sexual honesty I’ve ever experienced–and without hesitation, I complied. This encounter proves an unpleasant fact that does not fit the feminist script on sexuality: pleasure and displeasure wrap around each other like two snakes.
And as for our “honest” man, I think he’d have saved himself a deal of trouble and psychodrama by investing in a good pair of nipple clamps.
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Tuesday, November 16th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Whatever they pay Emily Nagoski to be a sex educator, it’s not enough.
She starts with a definition: sex is “an evolutionarily adaptive reproduction strategy involving the recombination of two individuals’ genes.”
Friends, and I’m telling you straight: present that definition to me and I WOULD NOT CLICK THE LINK. Fuck no. Boring city.
But she unpacks it, explains it, walks it through gametes and peafowl and Alfred Kinsey and busy bonobo apes and her own beloved twin sister until she’s completely explained it, not only how that dry biology definition is sex, but why it’s the definition that explains not only romantic love but also every kind of kink you ever heard of:
And thus humans come with our ball gags, golden showers, foot fetishes, Catholic school girl fantasies, whips, cages, breath play, sensation play, group sex, monogamy, polygymy, polyandry, jealousy, gays and lesbians and bisexuals and asexuals and queer folks and folks who don’t claim any identity and transfolks, and LOVE ITSELF — and also assault, abuse, rape, pedophilia, and wide and daunting array of harmful uses to which we put sex, all the dazzling and heartbreaking variety we witness in humanity — vast, limitless. As Kinsey said, “The only unnatural sex act is one you can not perform.”
It’s the joyful work of a skilled professional. You really ought to go go see.
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Thursday, August 19th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
In a longer piece, Julie Meadows writes:
A woman has natural power in this world. She is a potent source of sexuality and life. It is a gift, but as with all gifts, it is also a curse because men and women will always hate her for knowing her own power.
That is why she is called a whore. She knows it, she uses it, and it scares people who want it or wish they had it, even if her choices have nothing to do with those people. Sex work can be safe and healthy, or it can be illegal and dangerous. We should be protecting all members of our society, including the beautiful and powerful women. A sex worker – properly trained for sex work – can be an educator and source of liberation for others. A friend of mine told me that as a young man, he picked the female with the most sexual experience and had her teach him everything. He had successful relationships after that because he acquired skill through mindfulness that many men never learn because they don’t pay attention. But more than that, a compassionate sex worker can provide emotional and mental soothing for clients, or teach couples things they can do together through instruction. I spent many hours as an escort just talking to clients, listening to their problems and assuring them that the stresses of their daily life are common and that they shouldn’t be too hard on themselves. With an education in therapy and counseling, coupled with the confidence that comes with providing a legal service, I could have thrived as someone capable of physical and mental and emotional therapy. They are all important.
What’s wrong with being a whore? The people who strip her humanity away from her and tape her mouth closed. Other than that, nothing.
Emphasis, on those first three sentences, added by me.
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Tuesday, June 8th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I don’t write about religion much on ErosBlog. It’s a sex blog, not a religion blog nor yet a politics blog. But when talking about sex, religion is often the 800lb gorilla in the bedroom, which is probably why I get “you’ll burn in hell” emails on a regular basis.
Here’s college sex educator Emily Nagoski in what she calls her most offensive post yet:
Religion is bad for your sex life. I don’t mean it doesn’t help, I mean it’s actively destructive.
There are exceptions. I had a good friend in grad school who was a religious conservative. Her faith community strongly supporter her decisions around her sexuality and everything seems to have worked out fine for her. No irreparable harm done, to my knowledge.
But globally speaking, religion is bad both at the individual level and at the cultural level. Individually, it results in inhibitions, shame, fear, guilt, bias against others, and acceptance of gender-based stereotypes. Culturally it results in the oppression of women and sexual minorities, the spread of disease (stigma is as much a vehicle of transmission as any bodily fluid), and the obstruction of the scientific study of sexuality.
There I said it.
Go ahead and comment about how some religion or other isn’t like that. Tell me all about how your faith tells you to celebrate god’s gift of the body. I know. Whatever. You’re trying to make your religion work for you. Good luck with that.
I’d say “don’t yell at me, yell at her” except that would be cowardly. I’m not a sex educator nor nor any other kind of credentialed sex expert, but I agree with what she’s saying. It matches all of my reading and observations.
That’s what makes her post pertinent for ErosBlog. Well, plus this little pair of paragraphs from much later in her post:
None of this is aided by the fact that most of the work I do related to religion involves trying to untangle the knots religion has knit into a person’s sexuality. In my experience, in 90% or more cases religion has caused some form of damage to a person’s sexuality. Sometimes it’s indirect — like, a person has to learn that in fact gay people are completely fine — and sometimes it’s as direct as it gets — like the person is in recovery from child sexual abuse perpetrated by their church leader.
To say nothing of the systematic oppression of women, the violence justified by the fairy tales of idiots and madmen (teams of virgins in heaven, awaiting the arrival of a suicide bomber), and the devastating public health consequences of “morality.”
Now, I’m going to indulge myself. Because, however true the above blockquotes may be, they’re not why Emily’s post made me want to shout “Amen, Sister, preach it Baby PREACH it!” Nope, that happened when she got into why religion is absent from her own life. First sentence emphasis added by me:
But the worst thing about religion is that it makes it okay to just believe shit because you want to. No religion, no matter how liberal, escapes that.
I acknowledge a basic bias. For a variety of reasons not immediately relevant to this blog, I think faith/religiosity is an innate part of human psychology. I think human belief in an invisible family in the sky is either product or byproduct of evolution. However, it is, for no apparent reason, NOT an innate part of MY psychology. I had the capacity for faith (in the absence of any particular religion) when I was an adolescent, but the more my prefrontal cortex developed, the more impossible it became for me to believe in ghosts, fairies, invisible friends, etc. It was utterly gone by the time I was 25.
So I’m biased.
I know that the experience of faith is both real and important for lots of people, and I know it offends them when I discuss faith as a form of self-delusion, but I genuinely don’t understand, plain old don’t understand (like, imagine a terrier watching its owners have sex), how a person can CHOOSE to believe in something.
They choose to believe it because it makes them feel good. And I think this characterizes MOST people. I think MOST people are able to believe more or less anything they like the sound of. Indeed we’ve made a virtue of it. Just BELIEVE. It’s The Secret, ya know.
Well, shit, dude. If I could choose to believe whatever I wanted, I too would stop believing in global warming and start believing in angels. But I can’t. I can’t choose to believe anything; I believe what appears to be, given evidence and experience, true. As evidence and experience change, so does what I believe.
Just so.
I, too, lack the ability to “decide” to believe in something. I’ve never had it. I’ve never understood it. Like Emily, I don’t comprehend it. This. Does. Not. Compute.
All my life, people of faith have been urging me to join them. “Just BELIEVE”, they tell me, and all will be peachy.
“Just assemble the jigsaw puzzle”, they might as well be saying, “and when it’s all done and the picture clear and beautiful on your coffee table, the puzzle pieces will magically arrive in the mail.”
Like Emily, I can’t do that. I don’t know how to put the puzzle together before the pieces arrive. Don’t have the ability. At one time, around age 10 when all my friends were evangelical Christians, I wanted to have it; but I didn’t have it. And now, I don’t want it if I could get it. It’s not okay to just believe shit because you want to.
The reasons it’s bad for sexuality, Emily has covered. The other reasons it’s not okay are mostly beyond the scope of a sex blog. But it’s just not.
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Sunday, February 7th, 2010 -- by Dr. Faustus
I’m fighting off a nasty old cold this week but that doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy myself. My particular mode of enjoying myself hsa been reading Elizabeth Pisani’s The Wisdom of Whores: Bureaucrats, Brothels, and the Business of AIDS. Pisani, a journalist turned intrepid epidemiologist, has done some remarkable fieldwork in Southeast Asia which she writes about with great candor and wit. I’m only part of the way through (this cold medicine makes me dopey, or perhaps just dopier than usual), but already I’ve found a passage that’s to cherish. In it, Pisani reflects on how badly neat analytical categories, presumably mapped out by World Health Organization officials in offices in Geneva, fail to map onto the complex sexual realities of the real world.
A brief bit of explanation might help. Pisani refers to a kind of person called a “waria” in the passage below. In case you’re not familiar with that, a waria is a third-gender category, a biological male who lives as a woman, and an often-encountered sort of individual in Pisani’s account of sexual life in Jakarta.
One of the first people we spoke to was Fuad, a twenty-one-year-old lad who occasionally worked as a truck driver’s assistant and who bought sex from waria. Fuad’s girlfriend lived in Bandung, a university town in the cool hills west of Jakarta. Because his truck work was intermittent, he occasionally supplemented his income by giving blow-jobs or selling anal sex to men who cruised in one of Jakarta’s few parks, outside the Finance Ministry beneath the bulging thighs of the monumental, bare-chested Papuan who was symbolically breaking free of the shackles of Dutch colonialism. Sex with men was just a cash thing. Fuad was straight. To remind himself of that, he might occasionally want someone to give hi ma blow-job. But that’s not something you can ask of a ‘nice girl’; Fuad shared a common perception that oral sex is insulting to women, including to female sex workers. So he went to a waria, also known less politely as a banci (pronounced banchee).
‘If I go to a banci, well it’s that I’m thinking of my girlfriend,’ Fuad told our research team. ‘I’m 100 per cent into women. Don’t think that because I go to a banci I’m a fag. I’m not into that at all.’
Fuad’s girlfriend was doubtless a nice girl. She also worked the streets of Bandung at night. So here we have a self-proclaimed heterosexual who has unpaid sex with a woman who sells sex to other men, while himself also selling sex to other men and buying it from transsexual sex workers. He pushed a lot of ‘high risk’ buttons for HIV infection, yet he wasn’t a female sex-worker, a client, a drug injector, a gay man or a student. He didn’t fit into a single one of our questionnaire boxes.
And then the payoff:
The truth is, real people don’t have sex in boxes.
Quite so. I hope for a fuller review of the book here at ErosBlog soon. In the meantime, you can visit the website for the book.
Thursday, January 14th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
One doesn’t have to look very deep into American pulp fiction to find all manner of lurid mistreatments of American Indian imagery. These steamy details from the back cover of a thirty-five-cent pulp novel (Savage Cavalier) don’t even match the jacket copy, much less, I am sure, the deathless prose inside:
She stood in the firelight, her coppery, moon-breasted body bared to his unbelieving eyes. She was Princess Adiawando of the warring Senecas. He was Lt. Jeff Wyatt, her prisoner. But Wyatt had been spared torture and death — for a night. Spurred by her hot, primitive desires, the Princess had chosen Wyatt as her partner in the weirdest love rite known to history…
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Friday, November 27th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Via Kinky Delight we have this old mineral water advertisement, which I somehow suspect was for European publication only:
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Saturday, November 14th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Here at ErosBlog we’ve had some spirited discussions surrounding the use of religious imagery and its intersection with eroticism. Although it can be hard to distinguish genuine religious hostility to sexuality from its much-more-common companion, culturally-conservative hostility as expressed by religionists who aren’t interested in clarifying the distinction, there can be little doubt that conflating sex and religion is a handy (even lazy) method for culture warriors on both sides to generate a lot of noise and heat with minimum expenditure of effort.
The ErosBlog editorial line is opposed to sex-negative cultural conservatives and warily neutral about organized religionists. Religious objection to erotic expression is most often risible, but if the expression in question seems mostly aimed at poking thumbs in eyes to generate cheap outrage, my sympathy for it does sometimes wane.
And that strikes me as the spirit behind the photographs linked from Spanking Blog, in which the photographer invaded a working-but-unattended church and arrayed schoolgirl-attired models in a variety of naughty poses, even unto the extremity of conducting simulated lesbian sex on the altar:
I suppose I would be untroubled by this if the artist had laboriously simulated the background for these photos in his studio. But I’ve enough of a respecter of property and civility to be sympathetic to the annoyed priest who took umbrage at this. An enormous amount of sweat and treasure went into the preparation of that altar as a space sacred to those parishioners, and it seems pretty dickish to disregard that so utterly in the pursuit of some artistic and sexy photographs.
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Monday, October 5th, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
As part of my life-quest to learn more stuff I have recently been reading Why Women Have Sex by UT Austi psychologists Cindy Meston and David Buss. The book is a popularization that grows out of a research program represented by a paper called “Why Humans Have Sex.” (PDF here.) (The transition from “humans” in the academic version to “women” for the larger audience shows that the authors, even if they are professors, understand something about marketing.)
There’s a great deal of interest here, since the authors are able to draw on a massive database of anonymized responses to questionnaires from (mostly) sexually active women. But one thing in particular caught my eye on first reading.
In mid-book there is a discussion of a phenomenon known as the Coolidge effect: male animals of many species will achieve sexual arousal much more rapidly in the presence of a novel female than in that of one with which they have just mated. As Meston and Buss put it:
…if you drop a male rat into a cage with a willing female rat, he engages in enthusiastic copulation. He will mount her repeatedly until he is completely tired out and ready for the rhetorical post-ejaculatory “cigarette and nap.” But if you replace his former sexual mate with another willing female, he becomes randy all over again. In fact, every time you replace the female with a new female, the male show shows renewed vigor and begins copulating afresh. He will keep going and going with new females until he nearly dies of exhaustion.
(The basis for the name “Coolidge effect” is, by the way, a (or perhaps “the only”) charming story about Calvin Coolidge, which I won’t retell here because Bacchus has already blogged about it before.)
Now of course one is inclined to ask whether this intriguing effect applies to human beings. It’s not an obvious leap; men are not rats (usually). Before discussing the matter like the responsible scientists they are, Meston and Buss have this to say:
To test the Coolidge effect in humans, most universities would not allow researchers to run an experiment to see how many times a person can get aroused and have sex with different people…
And of course I had two immediate reactions.
1. Silly universities! Don’t they realize that the advance of science requires committment and sacrifice?
2. Most universities? Doesn’t that imply that there are at least some universities that are willing to have the volunteers lining up outside the door for this sort of critical research? Which ones? O Meston and Buss, please tell us which ones they are! Or at least, please tell the appropriate journalistic authority to incorporate this critical information into their rankings.
We all thank you in advance.
Wednesday, September 16th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
This lustily-illuminated letter C looks as if it might come from the long era when anti-clerical propaganda and lurid pornography were combined in one unified genre throughout the Protestant world:
However, from the “gourari.jpg” filename this image had when I found it, and from some supporting Google results that aren’t quite linkworthy, I suspect that the artist is one Liliane Gourari, whose illustrations appeared in at least one mid-twentieth-century edition of the Marquis de Sade’s “Justine”.
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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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Sunday, May 17th, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
I wish to take critical notice of, and commend to the attention of ErosBlog readers, David P. Barash and Judith Eve Lipton’s new How Women Got Their Curves and Other Evolutionary Just-So Stories (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), which I have just recently finished reading. If you have any interests in the state of our scientific understanding of sex, it’s a book for you.
Barash and Lipton face a set of intriguing conundra when trying to understand why human women are built they way they are. If you think of a woman (a man also, but that’s a subject for another time) primarily in terms of designing working animal plumbing and wiring, you’re going to be in for some rather remarkable surprises once you meet any actual women. Other mammalian females occasionally break down and replace their uterine linings, but only adult human women do so in such a metabolically costly way every month. Why? Most other female mammals openly advertise (at least to other members of their own species) their fertile periods and sexually receptive only then, but for the most part even human women themselves are unsure of when they are fertile. Why? Few other animal species have anything more than traces of female orgasm (and most do not have even that), but in human women orgasm is a gloriously common fact of sexual life. Why? Other female mammals manage to suckle their young just fine without carrying around large adipose deposits around their milk glands all their adult lives. Human women have breasts. Why? Finally, there seems to be no metabolic why an animal’s fertility should cease when it has decades left to live, but any woman who lives long enough will undergo menopause. Again and always, why?
Now refreshingly Barash and Lipton come out right up front and admit they don’t have the answers to any of these questions. They admit that they are collecting conjectures — informed speculations (unless you’re Desmond Morris, in which case, silly speculations) on the questions I’ve laid out above. And on all of these questions there is a lot of conjecture — there’s a little text-box in every chapter for each of them, and in most cases the box has at least ten items. This is fine. Science necessarily begins in conjecture; it is then in careful gathering of data and the willingness to allow your beautiful hypotheses be slain by ugly facts that it distinguishes itself from other, less-reputable forms of epistemic activity.
One notable feature of the conjectures on offer here is that a discerning reader may see the emergence of an increasing number of conjectures having to do with signaling and screening, rather than just plumbing and wiring, as to why women are made the way they are. An example: back when I was a student in high school (the dark ages, I know) the best my biology teacher could come up with for why women have orgasms was a variant of the inelegantly-named “uterine upsuck” hypothesis: female orgasm had something to do somehow with helping sperm get up to eggs and do their baby-making work. The evidence for this conjecture is very weak: it’s basis in physiological data is very thin, and in any event anorgasmic women seem to be just as fertile as orgasmic ones. A much more promising conjecture is that female orgasm is a screening device, something that evolved to help women discriminate between desirable and undesirable mates. (The exposition of this particular conjecture got a favorable notice from economist Robin Hanson, who perhaps deserves the title of Dean of Signaling, over at Overcoming Bias.)
Likewise, female breasts might be signals (whose evolutionary development subsequently got a boost from runaway sexual selection). Since human men provide at least some resources to their offspring (usually) it pays them to be at least a little bit choosy in mate selection. Any human female can say things like “I am young and healthy and therefore a good mate,” whether it’s true or not. But it’s much harder to fake the ability to accumulate and carry around a lot of extra healthy-looking fat, unless you really are young and healthy and therefore a good mate: breasts would therefore be a good example of a costly signal in evolutionary terms, rather like the peacock’s tail.
I cannot help but note another conjecture offered by Barash and Lipton. Obviously I cannot say whether it’s true or not, but I must say it certainly resonates with me. This is a conjecture about concealed ovulation: the fact that usually even women themselves do not know whether they are in a fertile period. This might be called the Consciousness Conjecture, and it was advanced originally by a biologist named Nancy Burley. It runs something like this: sex is fun, pregnancy is not. Pregnancy is especially no fun if you’re a hunter-gatherer on the move much of the time, and what is more, for most of human existence, childbirth was at once excruciatingly painful and often fatal. Women (or proto-women) were conscious and observant and took note of all these facts and would avoid having sex when pregnancy would be likely to result. Concealed ovulation emerged in an evolutionary move that allowed genes to propagate themselves because women wouldn’t know when they were fertile — in short, it evolved out of a conflict between women and their own genes. (Thus an early example of what psychologist Keith Stanovich calls The Robot’s Rebellion.)
A brief review can’t really do justice to all the charms of this little book. Columbia University Press has made an extended excerpt available on the book’s web-page here and the full chapter from which it comes in PDF format here. I would be remiss in reviewing for ErosBlog without including a picture or two. After all, what book on sex and science would be complete without a picture of lions mating? Not this one, clearly.
Kudos to you if you can guess the conjecture about human female sexuality this picture is offered in illustration of!
And naturally, no discussion of women and their curves would be complete without one of those breathtaking south Indian sculptures of Parvati. Barash and Lipton of course offer one (though not exactly this one):
(And if you look up neurologist V.S. Ramachandran’s Reith lecture on the origins of art in the human brain which Barash and Lipton are referencing there, you’ll be rewarded with yet another one.)
I realize of course that a book of biological conjecture about human female sexuality might not be everyone’s cup of tea. “Those silly scientists,” some might say, “they can’t figure out even the commonest things.” But I for one take a different view. Books like this one are evidence that science is nowhere near its end, and that even in the most ordinary (if intimate things), there remain fascinating and deep puzzles to solve.
And I submit that, my dear readers, really is sexy.
Friday, May 8th, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
As today, May 8, is VE day, it seemed only appropriate to contribute a timely ErosBlog post.
I have always admired Paul Fussell as one of our most elegant writers on war. An infantryman gravely wounded in France in March 1945 who went on to become a Professor of English, Fussell has given us three magnificent books on the British and American experience in the First and Second World Wars: The Great War and Modern Memory (about the First World War), Wartime: Understanding and Behavior in the Second World War, and Fussell’s own memoir of his experiences as a soldier and after, Doing Battle: The Making of a Skeptic.
Wartime contains a chapter entitled “Drinking Far Too Much, Copulating Far Too Little,” which might be of especial interest to ErosBlog readers. Fussell comments on the sparseness of erotic material available in the British and American world of the 1940s:
“Now, when the urban newsstand flaunts its pornographic wares which, if not heady enough, can be eked out with materials available at the nearest Adult Bookshop, and when your local X-rated film theatre routinely and legally depicts scenes formerly viewable only at stag parties, it is impossible to realize that things were once quite otherwise….There was no Playboy_ or Penthouse or Hustler and certainly no Squeeze, Rapture, or Adult American Dreambook. The sexiest magazine generally available was probably Esquire, with its drawings by “Petty” and “Varga” [sic?] of languorous girls with immensely long legs — thought more exciting then than now — and precisely delineated breasts.”
One wonders how our boys in uniform got through the war at all. Fussell goes on to say:
“Throughout the war the London Daily News ran a comic strip depicting a scantily-clad ‘Jane,’ much relished by the troops. Only on VE-Day did she go so far as to take off everything. This created a sensation, and many were not sure what they thought about it.”
I’ve often wondered about this particular May 8, 1945 strip. You can find some stuff on the Internet about Jane, but my casual search didn’t turn up the strip to which Fussell was referring. I had always imagined some sort of erotic payoff for the victors.
In a sense this turned out to be true, but not as I had imagined. Recently I acquired a book that contained the strip as part of its center plates, right adjacent to a portrait of a smiling Clement Atlee. (The book is Peter Clarke’s The Last Thousand Days of the British Empire.)
Jane prepares to celebrate VE-Day.
This leads to an unfortunate scene…
..that concludes with a joke in dubious taste.
Echoing a sentiments found in Clarke and Fussell, I must say that there seems to have been quite a shift in social mores between then and now. Or even between then and 1970. In 1945, a Playboy pictorial would have been beyond the pale. But something that looks suspiciously like a group assault on a young woman was the occasion for a joke in a widely-read newspaper.
Sunday, February 15th, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
I mount the pulpit again for another Sunday sermon.
There is a common accusation cast against pornography, indeed against erotic arts of any kind, indeed against anything resembling a hedonistic theory of value, that it encourages people to be passive, to be mere consumers, couch potatoes even. I am in the pulpit this week to tell you that this is not true.
I’ll coin a term to cover the broad concept I need: neophorics, the bearing of the new — to represent together invention, creation, discovery, innovation — that lie at the heart of progress, whether in the sciences or the arts or in engineering. And I shall use an older word — hedonics — to represent the art of achieving enjoyment (and correspondingly avoiding suffering) in sentient experience. That the erotic arts and practices are a big part of hedonics I doubt many readers of ErosBlog will deny.
The key to understanding here is that hedonics and neophorics are intimately connected, as entwined with each other as the coupling snakes seen by Teiresias of old. Each needs and drives the other, and would wither without the other.
Hedonics needs neophorics. A simple thought experiment should make this clear. Take your favorite fantasy, the thing that makes you really hot, your best personal X in the language of earlier sermons. Eliezer Yudkowsky at one point offered “living in your volcano lair with a bevy of sexy (and presumably eager, skilled, and willing) catgirls” as an example of one that someone might have (it’s not my X and I don’t think it’s Eliezer’s X either, but it’s a good example). Now ask yourself: is that all you would want to do with the rest of your life? Or if the fond wishes of transhumanism are realized and you become effectively immortal, is that all you would want to do for the next thousand years? The next million? Wouldn’t there come a point at which you would get bored? Feel a lack of achievement? Wouldn’t your life be much better — even in purely hedonic terms — if you could be surprised by things at some point? Get outside your lair and meet something or someone that wasn’t a catgirl? There will always come a point for the sort of beings that we are at which something new will be needed in our lives. That’s one reason why I urge people who can to get busy in the arts and create new erotica.
But what’s more, hedonics drives neophorics. The quest for pleasure is a mighty force for innovation. I cannot think of any artistic medium aside from absolute music (and maybe not even that) that has not been pushed forward by the drive for erotic satisfaction. As soon as the Greeks figured out how to paint on vases they were painting amazing orgy scenes on them. As soon as the camera was invented someone took his clothes off in front of one. The Internet really is for porn, like the song says, and certainly wouldn’t have been built out as fast as it was had people not wanted to look at naughty pictures or share naughty stories.
And it’s not just erotic pleasures that drive achievement. Centuries ago there were great voyages of exploration motivated by…the search for fisheries? The quest for new fields in which to plant barley? No, by search for cheaper and better ways to get pleasure commodities, silk and spices. No one ever perished for want of the taste of cinnamon or the touch of silk, but many men nonetheless risked their lives to get these things. And out of these voyages grew mighty forms of commerce,not just in silk and spices, but in other tangible forms of enjoyment: coffee, tea, chocolate, tobacco, sugar, wine, spirits, and lets face it, opium and other drugs.
And the neophorics will go on and on, driven by hedonics. Right now we are just scratching the surface with new media like video games. Immersive virtual reality is probably yet to come. And who knows? Maybe someday some clever bioengineer will actually deliver up a catgirl.
The lesson to take away? There is nothing passive about porn. It is an engine of progress.
Sunday, February 15th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Although I have it as a policy not to blog for the boring purpose of explaining or apologizing for my frequent lapses in blogging, I don’t mind saying the paltry and image-heavy posts I’ve made this past week are in part due to a standard and crashingly dull winter cold. When I’m zonked on cold meds, I tend to play lots of computer games and neglect my long-suffering ErosBlog readers, or fob off on you various barely-explained images from my hard drive.
That said, last night I took a TV break, during which I watched D.L. Hughley interview some nominally-hip pastor from Seattle who is said to preach good sex (for married people only) from his pulpit. Of course, when D.L. turned to topic to porn, we got a concerned face and a hasty “D.L., porn’s all bad” or some similar short dismissive statement.
Thus it was with great glee that I learned, upon waking up this morning, that ErosBlog readers will soon (it should be up within an hour) be able to read another Sunday Sermon in defense of porn from our new guest blogger Faustus. This one has … wait for it … cat girls!
Are you all enjoying these sermons as much as I am?
Thursday, January 15th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Wicked star Stormy Daniels tells you what not to say:
10. You’re too pretty to do porn. (So, you’re saying you would prefer to watch ugly people fuck?)
9. Your vagina must be really worn out. (Mine isn’t nearly as bad as your mother’s after pushing such a giant idiot like you out of it.)
8. I would never watch porn. I think it is degrading to women. (Then how did you know my name? And my measurements? And my astrological sign? And my birthdate?)
7. How do I get my girlfriend/wife to do ________? (Ask her, not me. By the way, talking to me in the first place is not helping your cause.)
6. Wow! You’re so much prettier/younger/thinner in your photos. (Obviously your mother didn’t teach you anything and it is called Photoshop.)
5. I pleasured myself to you 10 times this week! (OK, I didn’t need to know precisely how pathetic you are. And stop trying to shake my hand. I now unfortunately know exactly where it has been.)
4. I could do porn. (No, you couldn’t. If you could, you already would be … and no, I will NOT audition you!)
3. Are those yours? (Well, I paid for them.)
2. Do you think you are going to hell? (Discussing religion with a porn star will get you as far as discussing porn with your grandmother … just don’t try it.)
1. I wanna take you out on a “real” date. ( I did not realize all my other ones were imaginary.)
The items on this list don’t really surprise me; the fact that the world is full of people who are just sort of … broken … when it comes to their ideas about sex and porn is one of the primary motivating factors behind this blog. But if we take this list as evidence that people say these things fairly often to people like Stormy, it does surprise me in one sense. Don’t these people have any verbal filters? It’s one thing to be full of screwed-up attitudes, but how do you get that comfortable with ’em?
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Thursday, January 1st, 2009 -- by Bacchus
I was fascinated by this report that the CIA has been winning friends and influencing people in Afghanistan by providing, in select cases, little blue Viagra pills to aging warlords who are struggling to keep up with (I almost wrote “stay on top of”) the Koranic maximum four wives:
The Afghan chieftain looked older than his 60-odd years, and his bearded face bore the creases of a man burdened with duties as tribal patriarch and husband to four younger women. His visitor, a CIA officer, saw an opportunity, and reached into his bag for a small gift.
Four blue pills. Viagra.
“Take one of these. You’ll love it,” the officer said. Compliments of Uncle Sam.
The enticement worked. The officer, who described the encounter, returned four days later to an enthusiastic reception. The grinning chief offered up a bonanza of information about Taliban movements and supply routes — followed by a request for more pills.
What struck me, though, was the evidence that globalisation is not as much of a two-way street as I’d thought. These warlords are neither poor (can you afford four wives?) nor disconnected from the global pharmaceutical economy; indeed, many of them are involved in the production of much of the world’s heroin. India, the source of a great deal of “generic” Viagra (sildenafil citrate in a no-brand tablet), is just two borders away, one of them famously porous. So, why aren’t these many-wived warlords already popping Viagra like it was candy?
If the Washington Post is to be believed, it appears to be due to an information gap, possibly due to age and possibly due to a culture which makes discussing sexual matters tricky:
Two veteran officers familiar with such practices said Viagra was offered rarely, and only to older tribal officials for whom the drug would hold special appeal. While such sexual performance drugs are generally unavailable in the remote areas where the agency’s teams operated, they have been sold in some Kabul street markets since at least 2003 and were known by reputation elsewhere.
“You didn’t hand it out to younger guys, but it could be a silver bullet to make connections to the older ones,” said one retired operative familiar with the drug’s use in Afghanistan. Afghan tribal leaders often had four wives — the maximum number allowed by the Koran — and aging village patriarchs were easily sold on the utility of a pill that could “put them back in an authoritative position,” the official said.
…
Not everyone in Afghanistan’s hinterlands had heard of the drug, leading to some awkward encounters when Americans delicately attempted to explain its effects, taking care not to offend their hosts’ religious sensitivities.
Such was the case with the 60-year-old chieftain who received the four pills from a U.S. operative. According to the retired operative who was there, the man was a clan leader in southern Afghanistan who had been wary of Americans — neither supportive nor actively opposed. The man had extensive knowledge of the region and his village controlled key passages through the area. U.S. forces needed his cooperation and worked hard to win it, the retired operative said.
After a long conversation through an interpreter, the retired operator began to probe for ways to win the man’s loyalty. A discussion of the man’s family and many wives provided inspiration. Once it was established that the man was in good health, the pills were offered and accepted.
Four days later, when the Americans returned, the gift had worked its magic, the operative recalled.
“He came up to us beaming,” the official said. “He said, ‘You are a great man.’ ”
“And after that we could do whatever we wanted in his area.”
It almost seems a travesty to call this “soft diplomacy.”
Sunday, December 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Another reader contribution. The artist is Moriguchi and it comes via a scan from a book called L’imaginaire Erotique Au Japon by Agnes Giard:
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Friday, December 26th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Penny Flame, in this picture, could pass as the very model of a 1950s pinup girl. Could she not?
However, this is the twenty-first century, and Penny’s apparently a twenty-first century sort of girl. For instance, you never got to see the 1950s pinups enjoy a spot of husband-spanking:
And this sort of thing? It would have been right out:
And as for pinup-girl blowjobs? Or ride-em cowboy kinky bondage sex? Nope, sorry. For that, you need a thoroughly modern pinup girl.
The pictures are courtesy of Men In Pain.
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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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Saturday, December 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Blogs and mainstream media alike are exploding with encomia for the late great Bettie Page. Seeing as how she was, and always will be, a visual icon, it seems to me her memory is best celebrated in pictures:
Friday, December 12th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
How could I resist pointing you all at Danae’s account of her first sexual encounter with a woman? She opens with the first meeting:
My first relationship and experiences with a woman were when I was a freshman in college. I met a beautiful girl the first day of orientation by running into her. I was juggling books – looking for the piece of paper that told me where to go next and I literally ran into her…a beautiful girl with long wavy red hair, pale skin with freckles and green eyes. She was one of those people that walks in a room and the whole room stops talking and looks — she was that beautiful.
I of course wanted to sink into the crack of the sidewalk and melt way as I was totally embarrassed. But she was so nice. And made me feel at ease telling me not to worry about it as she remembered what it was like trying navigate the campus for the first time. She introduced herself….Morgan. We stood there and talked for a bit. And before we parted she insisted on trading info so that she could check in on me make sure I was finding everything.
Heh. Purely altruistic, I’m sure.
Jumping way forward in the story, and skipping the preliminary seduction, though you should not:
But on to the first time we had sex….It was hot too with her pushing me up against a stall of a bathroom in a club. We were dancing, kissing and touching and she lead me to the bathroom – into a stall and pushed me against the wall of the stall and pushed my shirt up and pull my tits above my bra and sucked and unzipped my jeans and worked her fingers into me. She told me to beg her to “let me orgasm.” The place was a club – grimy but it just made it even that much better. I begged and she brought me close many times but would always stop. Finally she stopped and told me I only got an orgasm at home where I would undress for her. I had been being shy to this point not wanting her to “see” me. So she worked me up so much that of course got what she wanted. Because she brought that slut side out – I wanted to do anything she asked and was willing to spread my legs or whatever she wanted me to do because I was so turned on. We went home and I undressed for her…
Thursday, December 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Poor Cinderella, given nothing but rags to wear as she is forced to scrub the endless castle stairs with her bare hands and a bucket of ice-cold water:
Do you think her prince will ever come?
As Beavis and Butthead would say: “Heh, heh. Yah. He’ll come, all right. On her face!”
Of course that’s not actually Cinderella, it’s Sabrina Fox, finishing up her advanced slave training at The Training Of O.
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Wednesday, December 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Fun in the forest:
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Tuesday, December 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Jessica Alba is tasty. She does not need airbrushing, even when she gets it:
Keep nasty airbrush in pants! Do not take away bits of Jessica! All bits appreciated! DO NOT WANT Jessica-stealing!
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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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Thursday, December 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This, presumably, falls into the category of “Be careful what you wish for.” Apparently muscleman Rosario Faria fell into the trap of telling Dante “Kiss my ass” or something close to it. Which can be a mistake, no matter how rough and tough you are, when you’re all tied up. Dante’s kissing it all right, but unless I’m misinterpreting those red finger marks, he hauled off and smacked it a few times first:
From Bound Gods.
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Wednesday, December 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
An excellent blog post by Neil Gaiman on why it’s worth defending freedom of speech, even when the speech in question may strike you as creepy or dangerous.
In this case you obviously have read lolicon, and I haven’t. … [Y]ou seem to want lolicon banned, and people prosecuted for owning it, and I don’t. You ask, What makes it worth defending? and the only answer I can give is this: Freedom to write, freedom to read, freedom to own material that you believe is worth defending means you’re going to have to stand up for stuff you don’t believe is worth defending, even stuff you find actively distasteful, because laws are big blunt instruments that do not differentiate between what you like and what you don’t, because prosecutors are humans and bear grudges and fight for re-election, because one person’s obscenity is another person’s art.
Because if you don’t stand up for the stuff you don’t like, when they come for the stuff you do like, you’ve already lost.
Monday, December 1st, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
Canada sure is hot for a place so far north. Sexy stars such as Keifer Sutherland and Jennifer Tilly hail from the Great White North, and according to a map I recently found online, it’s brimming with erotic-named places. Here’s a sample:
Bacchus must be really happy that Nymph Point is so close to Mate Islands and Easy Inlet.
Yes, gentle reader, your eyes do not deceive you: there are more, many more such names across the country! Geist magazine created the original map in PDF, and Bacchus created a JPG version.
All that remains is to change the old SCTV insult to “Take off, you fucker!” What a road trip, eh?
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Saturday, November 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
A chance conversation with a friend about the Ama of Japan (women who dove, partially nude, for pearls, kelp, sponges, and the like) led to a Google search that led, in turn, to a page of spectacular photographs (dating from the 1930s to the 1960s) by Japanese photographer Iwase Yoshiyuke. This gallery of cropped details doesn’t begin to do justice to the often-panoramic scenery of the photographs, which are well worth a visit:
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Friday, November 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Some of you like to pull hair. Some of you enjoy having it pulled. Thus, it should follow, some of you may enjoy this picture from the 1956 magazine Glamour Photography #4, as found on alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage:
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Wednesday, November 26th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
Since Google has decided ‘most all sex is bad, I wonder how long it will be before threat levels will be assigned to adult content. Someone came up with a graphic for the FCC from way back when, that’s okay for now:
(A happy Thanksgiving to our American readers, too!)
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.
Monday, November 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Consider Raoul. He works hard, for less money than you’d think. It can get kinda dull:
Ah, but imagine if you could see Raoul’s inner life! Here’s how his day is going, in the rich pageantry that’s running on the big theater screen in his head. It helps him get through a long day:
The longer the day, the wilder it gets, inside Raoul’s head…
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Monday, November 24th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
Who could possibly want global warming when it might mean the end of the cockbergs? Or…..maybe this is proof the abominable snowman is real….he fought with a yeti and the yeti obviously got the best of him.
There’s gotta be a way to rig that so that it would periodically shoot “a load”…..any engineers in the audience?
Welcome to winter, Erosblog-style!
Friday, November 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Business Week reports that during the height of the mortgage boom, bank employees would sometimes swap sexual favors to mortgage brokers in exchange for their lucrative portfolio of potential borrowers:
[N]ot long ago the mortgage industry was turning ordinary people into millionaires. One of them was Sharmen Lane, a high school dropout who, like many other young women during the boom, found her way into an obscure banking job with the clunky title “mortgage wholesaler.” … The wholesaler’s job is to buy loan applications from independent mortgage brokers so that lenders can turn them into loans. Wholesalers are paid on commission: the more loans they generate, the more money they make.
…
As the housing bubble inflated, wholesalers–though hidden from public view–became high-earning superstars. Lane, a manicurist before joining now-defunct subprime lender New Century Mortgage in 1997, says she brought home $1 million in 2002 and $1.2 million in 2003.
Eventually the deal-making turned frenetic. Multiple wholesalers began inundating mortgage brokers with offers for the same applications. Some brokers chose to exercise their power by asking for something extra in exchange for their business: sex.
Dozens of former brokers and wholesalers say the trading of sexual favors was so common that it came to be expected. Lane recalls one visit to a mortgage brokerage near San Jose (Calif.) in which the manager lewdly propositioned her in his office. She says she declined the advance, and he didn’t sell her any applications. But other female wholesalers didn’t have the same qualms about crossing the line. “Women who had sex for loans were known very quickly,” says Lane, who left New Century before it failed in 2007 and now works as a $200-an-hour life coach and motivational speaker in New York. “I didn’t want to be a mortgage slut.”
Thursday, November 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Dude, you might as well take off your glasses.
Monday, November 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Just what it says on the label, from Usenet:
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Friday, November 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember my post from September on what I called Google’s Mechanical Prude? About how their search autofill appeared to be filtering out a huge volume of adult keywords, even if you’d set your “Safesearch” preference cookie to prevent adult filtering?
Well, Tony Comstock got to looking at this over the last couple of days, and he appears to have figured out the mechanism better than I did. It’s apparently not filtering by keywords at all. Rather, there appears to be a sort of sexual “no fly-list” of websites (Eros Blog is on it), and if a given keyword or set of keywords would generate search results in which those websites appear prominently, the keyword is excluded from the autofill process.
Tony explains it better than I can: Are You On Google’s Secret List?
The annoying and disgusting part is that this appears to be a pure sex filter; other websites you’d think would be considered at least as offensive as sex sites, like neo-Nazi sites, don’t get filtered out.
Amber Rhea has been investigating also, and guess what? No sex education in the auto-fill for you!
And now it gets interesting. In this comment, Tony mentions that he got, and blogged, a response from the public face of Google Search, Matt Cutts. Tony provided this URL, which is currently 404:
http://www.comstockfilms.com/blog/tony/2008/11/14/googles-matt-cutts-responds/
Why is it 404? For that, I had to do some Twitter sleuthing. Tony has a Twitter: “Matt expressed dismay that I used his e-mail without telling him first. My bad. I took it down and haven’t replaced the URL.”
So, apparently the reaction that Tony got from Matt wasn’t something Matt was willing to stand behind in public. Perhaps that’s good news, considering that Amber, who saw it while it was up, called it “very frustrating.” Tony’s nicer than I would have been; until Google has something public to say about this, I don’t think it’s cricket to be making private responses and then “expressing dismay” when they go public.
As for ErosBlog, we get more than 500 “navigational searches” a day. These are visitors who type [erosblog] or [eros blog] or [erosblog.com] into a Google search box, knowing they want to come here and looking for the fastest way to get here. Google’s search data, which tracks which website (this one) these searchers select from the results, is fully briefed on what these searchers are looking for. So why is it that Google Suggest draws a blank when somebody types an e, an r, and an o into the searchbox? Erosblog, erotica, eroticism, erotomania, is there really NOTHING in the Google search results to suggest to an [ero] searcher?
We know there is, because you’re reading it. And Google knows too, because they have the data. It’s clear that Google is actively choosing not to provide the best search experience it could provide, when the search topic is sexual. What’s not clear is why.
Google’s mission statement: “Google’s mission is to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful.”
Unless the information in question is sexual information, apparently.
Update: Tony has blogged again, mentioning but not detailing his communications with Matt Cutts.
Friday, November 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Britni’s comment expressing enthusiasm for sexual face-slapping reminded me of a picture I remember seeing. After tugging at the corners of my brain, I eventually found it:
Turns out it went by on Spanking Blog, and comes originally from The Training Of O. That’s Adrianna Nicole leaning into the support of his other hand.
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Monday, November 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
All I can really tell about the rowdy men mooning the camera in this photo is that they appear to be wearing old-fashioned military uniforms. But this got emailed to me with a “soviet soldiers” filename, so I’ll go with that — from the bad color balance (cheap East German snapshot film, ugh!) to the flat and endless forested horizon, it’s Soviet enough for me:
Somebody out there wants more buttock, so here’s the zoom cut:
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Friday, November 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From Models Tied, we have the lovely pirates Tasha Marley and Jenna Hoskins doing labor-management negotiations:
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Thursday, November 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is a panel from the graphic novel version of the Kama Sutra, as drawn by the artist Hugdebert:
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Wednesday, November 5th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
It’s kind of amazing that the concept underlying (sorry, I had to say that) the push-up bra hasn’t been used for men’s underwear before now. But Calvin Klein has gone there, with a line of “body boost” underwear:
On the page showcasing those briefs, a helpful schematic and some amusing text explains the “trophy case” system that gives a man a bigger bulge.
So now, in addition to being told that 6 inches is really 8, those of us who lust for cock can wonder “Is it real or is it WonderPants?”
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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?
Tuesday, November 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Y’all know ErosBlog isn’t political. But, risking understatement in the saying, there’s an important presidential election happening here in the USA today. And yesterday, Bondage Blog published a get-out-the-vote poster that’s suitable for an adult audience:
Like the man says, you know what to do.
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Saturday, November 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I was going to call this “Cute, Cuter, Cutest” but then I couldn’t decide what order I should put Bunnie’s faces in:
All three Bunnie faces are cropped from photos in this Whipped Ass photoshoot.
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Friday, October 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I love the way our pretty young witch has taken off her “withered hag” mask and hung it beside the cauldron:
Happy Halloween!
(Sadly I don’t know the source of this artwork; I think it’s one of the classic vintage pinup artists, but I’m not sure.)
Wednesday, October 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This dreamy harem dancer is a panel detail from the Dutch comic Rooie Oortjes:
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Saturday, October 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure what’s more remarkable in this picture from ALS Scan:
My choice is between model Faye’s complete set of “leg laces” tattoos, or her plan and intention for that large pepper:
Either way: remarkable.
Friday, October 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If you’re a regular sex blog reader or writer, you’re probably aware of EdenFantasys.com (Eden Fantasys). They’re one of the many companies competing for your internet sex toy dollar, and they are more prominent than many because they spread a fair amount of money (and sex toys) around the blogging community in exchange for reviews and attention. They never impressed me much — despite advertising briefly on ErosBlog — because their store front and inventory always seemed hopelessly “more of the same” to me, with nothing to distinguish the brand. But, probably, that’s just me.
One of the smart things they did was to hire AAG (formerly “Always Aroused Girl”), whose sex blogger credentials and contacts were (and are) very good, to do PR and outreach for them. And she did it well.
The not smart thing? When their business relationship with her went sour, they refused, she says, to pay her for work performed. Apparently they forgot the first rule of business, which is that your PR professional remains a PR professional even after she stops being your PR professional.
My own many years of doing business over the internet have taught me something that serious businessmen already knew — namely, that business is all about trust, and especially about character. I’ve quoted J.P. Morgan before: “A man I do not trust could not get money from me on all the bonds in Christendom.” Thus, in my opinion, a person, or a company, that fails to resolve its business disputes on the labor side, is also the sort of outfit that can’t be trusted to fairly resolve its disputes on the customer side. Whatever the details of AAG’s dispute with EdenFantasys.com, I know her well enough to know that she’s not unreasonable. If they failed to resolve their dispute with her, I personally don’t trust them to resolve their dispute with you, if you should be unhappy with your results after playing the big internet gambling game that is forking over your credit card and ordering merchandise from Hera-only-knows-where.
Hence, this warning.
There are plenty of sex toy stores on the internet. You don’t need to take a risk on an outfit that treats its contract employees unfairly.
One final note: Eden Fantasys is currently sending out spammy form letters to sex bloggers, seeking to arrange link exchanges, toy reviews, and the like. If you get (or have gotten) any of these, you might consider responding with a suggestion that they resolve their dispute with AAG. I’m sure she would appreciate the support.
Thursday, October 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
No, you don’t need to cover your eyes, it’s not as bad as it sounds from the title:
What’s that noise?
Why, it appears to be the ladies (and a select few gentlemen) grabbing their mushroom baskets and rushing out into the forests!
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Tuesday, October 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember last month when I wrote about what I called “unusual romantic understandings”?” As I said then:
People … are willing and able to make the most astonishing compromises and bargains (physical, emotional, financial) in order to get the love, affection, validation (and, yes, sex!) that they need.
I was reminded of this by a stellar example from the pages of the New Yorker, in a review of a book about John Stuart Mill:
Mill said that he had always been a feminist, but there isn’t any doubt that the engine of his feminism was his friend, love, collaborator, and eventual wife, Harriet Taylor. They met at her home, in Finsbury, in the summer of 1830, over dinner among liberal friends. Harriet, a year younger than Mill, was married, to a slow-witted, well-meaning pharmacist named John Taylor; they had two children. She was smart and pretty–”a small head, a swan-like throat, and a complexion like a pearl,” the daughter of someone present at the momentous dinner wrote later–and already oppressed by her very unequal marriage. If you see her pictures, and make allowances for the cosmetic conventions of the portraiture of the time, she still looks pretty wonderful: big Natalie Portman eyes and that fine long neck. She and Mill fell for each other quickly….
For the rest of the decade, theirs was a complicated lobster quadrille of love. If the lovers were just a touch less fierce-looking, Mill and Taylor would make as good a Victorian love story as Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett. They were seen everywhere together. Carlyle’s wife, Jane, gossiped that “Mrs. Taylor, tho’ encumbered with a husband and children, has ogled John Mill so successfully that he was desperately in love.” After years of intrigue, the Taylors finally decided on a separation. To test Mill’s love, Harriet went to Paris, and invited him to spend six weeks with her there. The interlude was splendid–but then Harriet, with a rather sweet imperiousness, allowed her husband to come to Paris for his own audition. Harriet ultimately decided–with mingled propriety, uncertainty, and something like flirtatiousness–that they could share her, on an alternating schedule, at the Taylor house, her husband entertaining guests with her on some days, and Mill on others. Taylor paid the bills, while Mill stocked the wine cellar.
Monday, October 20th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
Sad but true…..no more worst dressed lists. I think if Mr. Blackwell had seen this show, he would work over the designer and the models. The whole show (as shown in that post) has a “Bride of Frankenstein” air to it. And, what’s this?
That sure looks like a nip slip to me. The full picture shows it a little clearer, plus other features of the dress. Wacky fashion.
Sunday, October 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
One of the nicer perks of publishing a long-running sex blog is that sometimes I get the most amazing stuff in the mail from people who hope I’ll blog about it. This strategy has mixed results at best, because I’m terrible about actually doing product reviews. However, if the swag impresses me enough, I will sometimes write about it.
The latest “blow me away” box of goodies was a HUGE pile of dirty manga (close to thirty titles) from Icarus Publishing. (Their motto: “Keeping the ‘manga is porn’ stereotype alive”.) These turn out to be way better (for an ugly American like me) than the stuff I can download a few random pages at a time from 4chan or Usenet. Icarus Publishing puts out well-printed publications that are nicely translated and (the ones I’ve looked at, anyway) completely uncensored — no pixelations or stupid little black lines. All in all, I found shuffling through these titles to be a premium manga porn viewing experience.
Given the ongoing financial meltdown, the first title I pulled out of the box was something called “The Spirit of Capitalism.” It’s a fitting title in these trying economic times, especially since it features office workers getting fucked:
Icarus Publishing (aka Icarus Comics) has some sample pages from The Spirit of Capitalism online for your viewing pleasure, and a deep web catalog that’s well worth your time.
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Saturday, October 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a lot of extreme closeup shots to be seen at the gyno/medical fetish site Exclusive Club, but as usual for me, I found myself more entertained by some of the establishing shots. Does the doctor really need such a firm hold on her chin to look at her tonsils? Or is he, like, planning to anoint them?
And I also like this next shot (below), chaste though it is despite the schmear of KY jelly on her butt. I can just hear the doctor booming “We are done, thou well-greased wench! Begone from my exam table!”
(Upon mature reflection, it’s probably just as well I didn’t pursue a medical career.)
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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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Monday, October 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a new fetish map out there, and Franklin Veaux, its creator, says:
Some time ago, a person named Katharine Gates designed a map of human sexuality. … My first impression upon seeing this fetish map was that it was woefully incomplete. … I wanted to try my hand at designing a fetish map that would be a bit more complete than Ms. Gates’, and I thought, why not do it as an actual map? One of the ideas I wanted to convey was how small most folks’ sexual experience is, how small most folks’ conception of the whole range of sexual expression is, and how vast the actual range of sexual expression is. And, I thought, a map of an imaginary world might be a way to do that.
And how! The map is huge and well worth perusing. Here’s just one tiny detail:
Thanks to Violet Blue for the link.
Saturday, October 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I don’t do very many pure “go buy some shit” blog posts, because it’s very easy for sex blogs to go overboard that way. But sometimes I see something that’s just too deliciously bizarre not to point out.
Anyway, last night I went surfing to see what was new in sex toys, and what I discovered instead was new sexy stuff in the masks and BDSM hoods areas.
What caught my eyes in particular were these expensive, spectacular, and surreal leather bunny hoods, in black or white:
(Sadly the carrot dildo is not included.)
Continuing in the animal vein, check out this scary-but-very-handsome zippered dog-face hood:
You may or may not find these sexy, but you’ve got to admit they catch the eye!
Thursday, October 9th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
That’s the only explanation I’ve come up with for the negative reaction to this very nice photo of Lily Cole, which is the cover of October’s French Playboy:
Go here to see a full-size picture, from Anorak.
The blog post kicks off with, “LILY Cole dresses like a nine-year-old on the cover of Playboy,” and asks readers if it’s perverted to look at women dressed as schoolgirls. Some say that it is……but, chaps, is she not in fact rather more undressed than most nine-year-olds would be? She is obviously lusciously curvy too, something most girls that young are not.
I thought Europeans were less squeamish about most kinds of roleplaying in sex…..and surely the schoolgirl look on a fullgrown woman is closer to kink than it is crime. I don’t go all cross-eyed and breathless over these kinds of pictures, but it’s still a great picture of a gorgeous woman and I’m just not seeing where all the fussing comes in.
Thursday, October 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Any time you are tempted to believe the bland assurances that government wiretapping (or any other broad surveillance) is strictly for purposes of national security, think about this story and remember that government employees are the same kind of monkeys the rest of us are — snoopy, gossipy, voyeuristic, and inclined to disregard “the rules” whenever it seems likely that we’ll get away with it. Which means, they will listen to your phone sex if you let them listen to anything that they don’t have to justify (individually, specifically, each and every time) to a skeptical judge:
Despite pledges by President George W. Bush and American intelligence officials to the contrary, hundreds of US citizens overseas have been eavesdropped on as they called friends and family back home, according to two former military intercept operators who worked at the giant National Security Agency (NSA) center in Fort Gordon, Georgia.
…
“These were just really everyday, average, ordinary Americans who happened to be in the Middle East, in our area of intercept and happened to be making these phone calls on satellite phones,” said Adrienne Kinne, a 31-year old US Army Reserves Arab linguist assigned to a special military program at the NSA’s Back Hall at Fort Gordon from November 2001 to 2003.
Kinne described the contents of the calls as “personal, private things with Americans who are not in any way, shape or form associated with anything to do with terrorism.”
She said US military officers, American journalists and American aid workers were routinely intercepted and “collected on” as they called their offices or homes in the United States.
…
Another intercept operator, former Navy Arab linguist, David Murfee Faulk, 39, said he and his fellow intercept operators listened into hundreds of Americans picked up using phones in Baghdad’s Green Zone from late 2003 to November 2007.
“Calling home to the United States, talking to their spouses, sometimes their girlfriends, sometimes one phone call following another,” said Faulk.
The accounts of the two former intercept operators, who have never met and did not know of the other’s allegations, provide the first inside look at the day to day operations of the huge and controversial US terrorist surveillance program.
…
Faulk says he and others in his section of the NSA facility at Fort Gordon routinely shared salacious or tantalizing phone calls that had been intercepted, alerting office mates to certain time codes of “cuts” that were available on each operator’s computer.
“Hey, check this out,” Faulk says he would be told, “there’s good phone sex or there’s some pillow talk, pull up this call, it’s really funny, go check it out. It would be some colonel making pillow talk and we would say, ‘Wow, this was crazy’,” Faulk told ABC News.
Wednesday, October 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Spotted at Jezebel:
The National Enquirer is reporting that Jamie Lynn Spears is with child again because she thought she couldn’t get pregnant while breast feeding. This is from the National Enquirer, so proverbial grain of salt, but they were right about that Edwards thing…
And we still have people in this country who think there’s too much sex education?
Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
He looks like he thinks this is the best tackle he’s ever made:
Sunday, October 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember the huge pinup series by Art Frahm, the one that featured girls whose panties had fallen down around their ankles at the most embarrassing moment possible? I blogged about it here (more than five years ago, urk) and linked to James Lilek’s definitive essay on the subject. I see a certain stylistic sympathy to Frahm’s lost lingerie oeuvre in this photograph of a woman whose skirt has just headed south:
There’s a larger version of this picture where I found it, at Silent Porn Star.
Saturday, October 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I don’t care if it is made from chrome-plated spring steel, you can’t rightly call this thing a chastity belt:
Lest you remain in any doubt about how this thing works, the uniquely Japanese anatomical cut-away drawing in the next panel will clear things right up for you:
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Thursday, October 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I freely admit to being wholly ignorant about the anatomical details of human lactation, knowing only that, under appropriate circumstances, there can be milk, and that glands and ducts are involved. As a guy who has never been a father, I figure the details are not my department.
That said, when I stumbled over this fetish lactation picture among the cover art on a Japanese DVD, I was somewhat startled to note that in this picture (and in every other picture on the box) milk was being expressed in numerous divergent streams:
What’s up with that? I guess I always assumed, you know, basic bilateral symmetry, two boobs, two nipples, two ducts, two quirts of milk, two cups of coffee. That hard-working right nipple up there is pumping out, what, four squirts and a dribble?
I could Google it, but it’s easier and more fun just to say something ignorant on the internets and wait for all the helpful people to come along and set me straight…
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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?
Tuesday, September 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I found this stylish depiction of a bit of street prostitution at Fluffy Lychees. (Well, to be accurate, I found it in a postage-stamp size on my hard drive; but then when I went looking for a better larger version, I found it in a whole portfolio of etchings that Fluffy Lychees published last year.) It’s by Ernst Gerhard:
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Monday, September 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
You know what they say. Sometimes, you get the bear. Sometimes, the bear gets you. And sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference!
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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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Thursday, September 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I am not sure what this girl is saying as she smiles back over her shoulder, but out of sympathy for Mr. Asterisk, I am hoping it’s something like “Would you please pass the butter?”
Found this bit of pegging art on Usenet.
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Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I was reminded, Sunday night, of the strange way in which there’s no one truth about love or lust or romance or about anything else interesting to humans. The Nymph and I went to see Vicki Christina Barcelona, the latest Woody Allen movie. I enjoyed it right well — and Penelope Cruz is just brilliant in her role — but it also gave me a modest insight of sorts.
In the movie, there’s a love triangle that is brief, implausible, and complex. (“Complex” is my eighty-cent college word; my blue collar brother-in-law would be content to say “fucked up”, in a tone of voice suggesting an unacceptable depth of complexity but without any connotation of condemnation.) And yet, just as I was marveling at the very implausibility of the arrangement, I was startled to realize “no, this is just remarkable for being in a movie; it’s not the least bit more complicated than a thousand unusual romantic understandings I’ve seen people reach in the real world, or describe on their personal blogs.” People, real people even more so than scripted people, are willing and able to make the most astonishing compromises and bargains (physical, emotional, financial) in order to get the love, affection, validation (and, yes, sex!) that they need.
Hardly a deep or original insight, but then, I never claimed different. Still, it served to remind me of what I love about the sex blog genre (and to a lesser extent, blogs in general) — namely, that they provide a relatively unfiltered window into the inner romantic and emotional lives of a great many more people than we would normally know well enough (in meat space) to know on that level. And that’s just interesting.
Today’s example is an excerpt from Bitchy Jone’s Diary, in which she is talking about the big strong man she enjoys hurting, and the reasons he enjoys being hurt by her. That’s one of the categories of sexual bargains that usually overstrains the limited capacities my empathic sexual imagination; and so — despite bearing firmly in mind that an explanation of what’s going on for these people may not speak with authority about any other people — I found it fascinating and instructive:
I live in a small, papery ordinary house. I have radiators, I have chairs and tables, but these things are all built practicality, not practical evil. I do not have access to one of those fortresses built out of rusty steel columns where they make the kinky porno. I do not have a room with red walls. The only thing I can really tie Jack to and not have him killcrushdestroy (killcrushdestroy my soft nest of an IKEA catalogue interior that is) is other parts of himself.
‘Cause the trouble is, with him, resistance is fertile.
For all I try and say that submission and masculinity work with each other not against each other: that the whole world has got it wrong with its stupid prevailing ideology about which way round bondage goes. But, no one listens to Cassandra Jones, the world of people-tied-up is built for tying up women. Every guide book, every instructional video is about tying up women, pretty much. Bondage for sex means bondage for being penetrated. So what of me? I like it tough and scary. I like the great big man brought down, down, down. Works brilliantly in my head. In real life: hard work.
Because I like to feel a huge rush of power over a conquered kingdom of a man. But because I reach so high it’s so much harder to bring the thing down low.
Sometimes he feels unscaleable and more often *unbreakable*. And broken is a wonderful state. But so much harder to achieve when starting with an unbreakable thing.
There is that little moment when I hurt him. Right at the start. He makes it very obvious: He assesses what I’m doing and works out if he can deal with it. And he always can — always finds a place to put it — but right before that you see the tiny panic before he *knows* that he can. I’m happiest right there. The moment before either of us remember that he is unbreakable.
Not that I am not in love with that brave thing. That self sacrifice. Once I said to him, ‘I want to him you on the backs of your thighs with a metal ruler.’
And he said, ‘Fine.’ He said ‘fine’ like I’d said ‘I want to go make a cup of tea.’
So I said — more fierce, but more fierce for me just means my jaw sets a little hard — ‘And I want you to hate it.’
He’s rolled over ready for me by now, so he’s looking back over his shoulder. ‘Well I don’t expect I’m going to like it very much.’
And I swoon, there, at the stoic and the brave and the acceptance of me and the things that I need. But I still pine for something more fragile. For more doubt and fear.
I make him fake it. Make him ask for it to stop. Make him ask me not to hurt him. But that’s a level up on the unreality game. And I know that if I wanted it the other way he’d ask me *to* do it too. He doesn’t like pain. He likes being brave. I honestly don’t know where his desire to feel brave would end. Where rationality would take over. I’d like to find out — let the bravery drive us, let it set the pace, decide when we stop – but it’s a frightening place I might end up.
Monday, September 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
“Google Suggest” Ignores Adult Search Preference Cookies
Google, as all sex blog readers probably know, filters porn (they call it “explicit sexual content”) out of your search results by default. They call this “Safe Search”, and you can turn if off by letting Google set a cookie in your browser. (Most ErosBlog readers have, presumably, done this.) No worries, it’s been like this for years. We’re used to it, and in many contexts it’s useful to have the filtered option.
Recently, however, Google introduced a dynamic on-the-fly search suggestion feature called Google Suggest. When you type Britney Spears into the search box, a drop-down appears with what Google calls “relevant suggested search terms” in real time:
Nerd response: Cool!
Sex blogger response: Hey, wait a minute! Isn’t something missing from that search box? Wouldn’t you expect to see “Britney Spears nude” on that list?
Let’s check. The list changes with every character you type, so let’s go “britney spears nu” and see if it fills in the suggestion:
Suspicious, but maybe all those “number one” sites are just crowding it out? Let’s make this impossible to miss, let’s try “britney spears nud”:
Whoa! Is that the sound of crickets I’m hearing? “Mom, Google Suggest won’t come out and play with me any more!”
At this point I hit the “Preferences” link and went to check my Safe Search setting; it forgets the “Do not filter my search results” setting every time I clean out all my cookies, and resetting it is the first thing I do after that. Nope, “Do not filter my search results” is checked! That’s not the problem.
And make no mistake, this is a problem, and not just for feelthy perverts like me. This is the sort of thing that sets mild-mannered eyeglasses-wearing librarians sputtering with rage, because once you start filtering out words, like “nude”, that do double duty as erotic signifiers and, you know, plain old information tags, you begin to muck up basic research of the sort that any high school civics class might legitimately be doing. Allow me to illustrate.
Does anybody remember John Ashcroft, and his infamous prudery that had him covering up fine art at the Department of Justice because the bare breasts offended him? Imagine you were trying to write a high school essay about public art and needed to reference that incident. If you actually Google John Ashcroft nude (shudder) you’ll get 39,000-ish results. But start typing that request into Google, and you’ll learn that while John Ashcroft singing “Let The Eagle Soar” might be relevant to your search request (with 10,500 results), “John Ashcroft nude” could not possibly be, even though there are four times as many potential results out there:
Again, we need to check to make sure it didn’t just get choked by having to select between too many potentially relevant suggestions. We can do that by typing more letters; “john ashcroft n” gets me “john ashcroft news” as the sole suggestion, and with “john ashcroft nu” we’re back to the sound of crickets. Sorry, seeker after knowledge, nothing with “nude” in it could possibly be relevant to your search, EVER.
That’s search engine prudery right there, and it’s as stupid and mindless as automated mechanical prudery always is.
Of course, I’m not dealing with search results filtering, what I’m complaining about is search suggestions filtering. But that’s a distinction without a difference, a nit only a lawyer could enjoy picking. Google already has a cookie on my computer telling them that I don’t want them to protect me from the pollution of my vital essences that is the adult internet; what earthly reason could they have for ignoring that preference in determining which searches to show me in the suggestion box?
Just to show the full ridiculousness that is Mrs Grundy as played by The Mechanical Turk, let’s search for dear old Jenna, once said to be the most-searched woman on the internet:
That settles it. The Mechanical Turk “knows” damned well who I’m searching for, knows when I’m two characters into her last name, but it can’t mechanically imagine that “jenna jameson nude” (with nearly half a million search results out there) might be at least as relevant as “jenna jameson neck tattoo”? Sorry my friends, but inside the amazing Mechanical Turk there sits a very human prude.
Again, it’s easy to imagine lots of good business reasons why Google might want to filter even the mildest adult topics out of its search suggestion tool. That’s not my point.
My point is that for many people, Google is only useful if they can get the unfiltered version. Google knows this. Google makes it easy to set the “don’t filter me” button. But what good is that, if they then silently ignore the setting?
OK, now let’s have some fun looking at all the things Google Suggest refuses to suggest.
How about a good spanking? That’s only about as kinky as six inches of your average garden hose these days, plus there’s the whole universe of information out there about why you shouldn’t do it to your kids. Surely Google Suggest has something for the spanking searcher?
Google Suggest says: No spankings for you!
How about porn? If I type “por” into my search bar, you think maybe “porn” might be a relevant search to suggest?
Duh, no, silly me.
Ok, would you like to look at some fine rubber nipples? Or, you know, buy some, for your baby’s bottle or for your plumbing supply store? Sorry, you’re shit outta luck — Google Suggest can offer you “nippleplay” (presumably because the guy writing the filter didn’t get warned against it), but the Mechanical Prude has never heard of a nipple that was relevant to anybody:
That’s enough for now, although readers are invited to find other, especially laughable “never relevant” stop words that choke Google Suggest. Have fun teasing the Mechanical Prude!
Friday, September 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember a year ago, when I blogged about George Clooney and his sex pillow? Well, I finally got in to see Burn After Reading, the movie he was making when that picture was taken.
It’s a passably decent movie with some great character acting, made me laugh quite a bit, worth the price of the ticket. But the second-best part was watching George make a dramatic exit that was all about taking his sex pillow with him, in the best “I’m taking my marbles and going home” fashion.
Did I say second-best? Yes. The best part was watching him show his new internet hookup/date the secret device he built in his basement with stuff from the home improvement store. But that, you’ll have to see for yourself.
Wednesday, September 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Bondage Blog, which can be trusted to stay on top of important developments in the kinky porn department, reports here on the newest project from Kink.com. It’s a public bondage extravaganza by the name of Public Disgrace, and it’s going to make a lot of you think you’re not living in the right cities:
Site goes live on October 1, but there’s a preview shoot you can buy if you just can’t wait.
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Tuesday, September 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If you haven’t been to the Fail Blog, you’re missing a treat. Today a reader sent me this gem from there:
Monday, September 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Many’s the man who could not say no to this, even if they did notice the scaly coils lurking below:
You’re looking at The Fisherman and the Syren by Frederic Leighton.
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Saturday, September 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From an old magazine, I think:
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Thursday, September 11th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
The New York fashion shows are going on and that’s a really good escape for me right now. I was astonished that the Fug Girls had nothing to say about this starlet wearing a dress so short that her panties would be visible when she sat.
Given their usual vigilance on the matter of unintentionally showing ladybits, I’m blaming their slip on the partying. Now back to gazing at that lovely lacy triangle…….
Tuesday, September 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
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Monday, September 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This happy bit of lovingly-drawn prostate stimulation is in honor of Violet Blue’s pegging post and column from last week:
From Usenet.
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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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Friday, September 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is another fine demonstration of that ancient truism that, if you take the world’s horrors and turn them over to the artists and pornographers to play with, they’ll improve on them and turn them into something fun. (At least, they will if you’ve got a sufficiently flexible definition of “fun”.) For an example, consider this dank and anonymous prison “stress position” as implemented by the clever pornographers at Bound Gods:
Considering the helpless exposure of the position, it might also be a snapshot from the secret fears (or, maybe, fantasies?) of that boorish guy you know, the one who is always making stupid and nervous jokes about not dropping the soap, whenever the topic of somebody going to prison comes up in conversation. Show him this kind of gay porn? There’s no telling what he’ll do.
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Thursday, September 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fanciful re-imagining of the Sphinx:
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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.
Friday, August 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m crediting Wonkette with establishing the “GILF” meme back when Governor Sarah Palin of Alaska got sworn in:
She’s a former Miss Alaska contestant (Miss Wasilla 1984), and so you’ll see this old beauty contest mugshot being widely circulated:
Now that the cable news networks are reporting that she’s been tapped by John McCain as his vice presidential running mate, it’s time to remind the world that there’s a persistent rumor of a Sarah Palin nude photo “out there”. If it’s real, and it’s out there, and you have it, please send it along to ErosBlog, would ya?
The rumor surfaced during Palin’s gubernatorial campaign, when allegations flew around Alaska (and even reached my tender ears, the Internet being what it is) that such a photo was being circulated by her political opponents as part of a dirty tricks campaign. Although the story was not much reported by responsible press outlets, I got emails asking me if I knew where to get the photo, so I know the rumors were real; and there’s a shadow of them in the cesspools you find wherever newspapers publish “blogs” and then leave the comments open and unmoderated. (Ask Violet Blue how much to trust the stuff people write when they are fingerpainting in that sewage, though; she’ll give you an earful.)
I’d be more dubious about the whole story if not for the fact that one of my email correspondents claims to have seen the nude photo of Palin. Admittedly, the provenance on this story is so bad it’s classic: he says a guy in a bar showed him the printout of the email that was circulating. And, you know, it was a bar; the light was bad.
Since Governor Palin’s wild teen years were (if they happened at all) in the early 1980s, before the advent of digital photography, I’m pretty skeptical about the whole “nude photo” story. If the alleged shot ever surfaces, I’d expect it to be a photoshop of one of her beauty pageant pictures. She was a pretty girl in 1984, and she’s still – as they used to say in more delicate times and bad western movies — a fine figure of a woman.
Her husband, by the way, is a commercial fisherman (think Deadliest Catch), oilfield worker (think “drill rig at forty below zero”), and endurance snowmobile racer. He’s perfectly capable of kicking your ass, or mine, so be nice.
Wednesday, August 27th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
My sister is a big fan of the Olympics and sent me this picture during the Chinese games:
All she said in the email is that it’s the world’s largest penis and it is somewhere in China. If that’s true, my question is why is it a circumcised one? I thought automatic chopping was just an American thing (fetish, mutilation, whatever).
Since Bacchus is grooving on the medical drawings this week, here’s a fun, older post on penis evolution from Pharyngula. Some of the comments are pretty funny.
(B., I asked my GYN once about that fingers-in-and-pushing-down-with-the-outside-hand action……she said it was to feel how big the uterus is. Soooo. Sexy. NOT!!)
Wednesday, August 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Aphrodite didn’t like the “icky speculum”, so maybe fingers will serve better?
I must confess to some puzzlement, however. WTF is the anchor doing in this diagram?
Update: Source found: Married To The Sea webcomic, direct link.
Tuesday, August 26th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m not entirely sure what the underlying reason is for this instructional illustration, but hey, here it it anyway:
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Sunday, August 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
We’ve talked about towels (towel post, towel post) a lot lately. So I thought it was only fair to show you a bathing booty that needs careful and intensive toweling, with fullest attention to detail:
The image is from an old Cloud Nine magazine and since I have it in ridiculously high resolution, I thought I’d also crop it horizontally and offer you a couple of versions to use for wallpaper on your computer:
Bathing Booty 1024×768
Bathing Booty 1280×1060
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Saturday, August 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Summer’s not quite over. Does this picture make anybody want to go camping?
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Friday, August 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If you haven’t had your spankings lately, you might vicariously enjoy this very sexy account of a spanking. Excerpt:
I felt the hard plastic of my flat paddle brush against the crease of my ass and thighs, wide enough to get plenty of thud on both parts of my body. He’d occasionally stop and drag the bristles across my sore, red bottom; or use it on my pussy, raking it against my clit and swollen cunt. I’d shudder every time he raked my pussy, my legs buckling against the sensation—but not falling on my heels again lest he decide to add 10 more. I just wanted to drop to my knees and suck his cock. With a pussy so wet, how could he deny me a cock suck at this point? I was beyond horny, just dripping with lust, sex, lewdness. I wanted to be fucked and prodded.
When he noticed that I moved my pussy against the bristles of the hairbrush, he said, “So you like this, Slut? You like feeling your ass on fire? You enjoy getting a hairbrush used on your slutty little pussy?â€?
I turned my face to the side facing him, “Yes, Sir,â€? I breathed out heavily and groaned, almost crying with lust, “Please.â€?
“Please, what?â€?
“Please let me suck your cock.â€?
It’s on Spanking Blog, of course.
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 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I can hear the body artist pitching this paint job as if I were there: “But seriously! If you let me do this, you can be nude in public and nobody will ever see you! Just go to the party, stand where I tell you, remain very still, and nobody will know you are there. It’s a fancy party in a fancy space, you’ll blend right in!”
From this gallery featuring the body painting art of Emma Hicks.
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Tuesday, August 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Way back in the dark ages, when computer games were something that came on floppy disks that mostly weren’t actually floppy, it was not unheard of for a man to spend too much time playing his computer games, nor for his woman to complain about the amount of his time and attention she didn’t enjoy because of it. (Sometimes the gender arrow pointed the other way, but numerically, not often.)
Then came the internet, and massively addictive massively multiplayer online games, and the situation only got worse. As early as the late 1990s, the “EverQuest widow” phenomenon was getting widely remarked upon. Once World of Warcraft exploded on the MMORPG scene and increased the U.S. MMORPG playerbase to many millions, the “problem” became a widely-understood social phenomenon. (The gendered nature of “the problem” also diminished a little more.)
In geek male circles, it was common and easy to say “Dude, you’ve got an actual live girl in your house, and she’s mad at you because you’re playing with us and not with her? What’s wrong with you? LOG THE HELL OFF!”
But in practice, that doesn’t always happen. My own gaming policy has always been to attempt to prioritize “real life people” above my games. Phone rings? Answer it. Relative wants a hand? Log off and give it. The Nymph walks into the room to show me the panties she bought? Give her my full attention; the raid (the fleet, the gang, the quest, the mobs, the squad, the enemies, the targets, the loot) they are eternal, they will always be there when I get back. The panties? They are gonna walk out of the room, and it won’t take them very long, either.
But, it’s not always that simple.
Early on, it became clear to me that the type of game mattered. Shooting games weren’t quite as bad, because (although addictive) it’s a lot easier to drop in and out of fast-paced shooting games where deaths and respawns are common and mostly painless. But the immersive multiplayer games where you accumulate stuff, and getting the best stuff requires coordination between many different players? The people in those games are also “real life people”, and some of them become your friends, and you make commitments to them just as you would your meatspace friends, and those commitments have power. And that’s very very hard to explain to someone in your life who thinks you spend too much time “typing at that silly box” and cannot comprehend that it can take thirty seconds, or twenty minutes, to resolve in-game affairs to the point where you can safely avert your eyes from the screen.
Obviously living with a gamer helps, although sometime it just means it’s you who’s getting the “not tonight, I promised Malathion_69 that I’d help camp for dragon armor” treatment.
I eventually, and fairly recently, realized that the “I prioritize the real people in my life over my computer games” rule-of-thumb (perhaps call it an aspiration, as it’s not always an easy rule to follow) was a little bit broken. My gaming buddies, after all, are people too, and it’s rude, socially broken, possibly even a teeny bit sociopathic, to tell anyone, by word or deed, “you’re always my lowest priority.”
That said, what’s the real challenge? As always, we need to meet our social obligations, and when you share a house and a life and a bed with someone, they have a legitimate claim to a high-priority interrupt on whatever it is you do to fill your idle hours. But “high-priority” is not the same as “absolute”, nor is it the same as “immediate”. An enlightened balance is the ideal, and how Buddhist does that sound?
I was reminded of my developing thinking on this subject by a sad memory AAG recounts:
Wrapped in a blanket to keep off the cold and armed with tea, I’d take to the porch with a book and a tiny reading light. It was a lovely retreat, and most days I was at least moderately content to spend a few hours out there reading while my husband worked or played computer games.
But on the chilliest Friday something was different. Was it hormones? An extra-hard dose of child-inspired loneliness? Too long since our last attempt at sex? I don’t know, but on that Friday night I needed the comfort and warmth of the man who I’d hoped would be my partner forever. I suggested it to him as he headed off to his work and computer. “Can we have some time alone this weekend? Maybe tonight? Or tomorrow?” I asked, attempting the lowest-pressure sell possible.
“I’m not going to have the time,” he answered. “I really need to finish that project for work, and I need to organize everyone’s fantasy football picks by Monday. Maybe early next week?”
And then he scooted off, leaving me with book and tea on the desk.
It was the first of many moments of clarity I experienced over the state of our relationship. I cried, book and tea forgotten…
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Monday, August 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Since we seem to be focused on cleanliness technology, another boring picture of a towel for you:
From Usenet.
Sunday, August 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Oh, yeah. I want one:
What?
You think there’s some ambiguity in what I say?
Go ahead. Try me.
Offer me the car, or the girl. See which one I pick.
Mr. George “Hotter Than A Two Dollar Pistol” Jones can just bite me.
Saturday, August 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Is it just me, or does she look almost insufferably smug about having so thoroughly captured this young man’s rapt attention?
Has no one explained to her about fish, and rainbarrels?
Thursday, August 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I won’t go so far as to claim this image (big version here) is before towels precisely, but it does depict the era when they considered a bronze scraper (strigel) superior to a wash rag, for getting clean:
Thanks to Josh for the link.
Wednesday, August 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Recently somebody sent me a pair of vintage towel ads which I thought were just wonderful. It’s all about freshly showered American housewives, luxuriating in their shrines to the glory of consumer textiles:
I am picturing the living room conversation over these magazine ads.
Wife: “Honey, look at this! I want a bathroom just like that!”
Husband (spoken): “Yes, dear.”
Husband (unspoken): “Me too, if it means you’ll be dressed just like that.”
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Monday, August 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This could be coincidence, or I could be seeing similarities where none were intended. But I think one of Kink.com’s photographers remembers his art classes, and is laughing his ass off about getting this picture into a photoset (spotted at Spanking Blog) for the The Training Of O slave-training website:
Maya Matthews and Mona Lisa, separated at birth?
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Saturday, August 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This drawing by Almery Lobel Riche is having quite a lot of fun mixing the symbol sets of religion with the symbol sets of sex:
A religious experience, indeed!
Friday, August 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m one of these people who studiously avoided all non-mandatory art classes during my formal education, because so much that is considered great in art struck (and still strikes) me as immensely dull. Tell me again why we are looking at a cracked oil painting of some not-very-tasty-looking apples in a bowl?
If somebody had explained to me that the good artists spent half their lives painting flowers and the backs of their hands so they could learn to paint convincing nekkid pictures, I might have been more interested. As it is, it took the internet to introduce me to all sorts of long-dead illustrators and artists whose works I could have started enjoying at a much younger age.
Case in point: Auguste Leroux. This is titled “The Mirror”:
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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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Tuesday, August 5th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
These days getting inside a lady’s bra isn’t quite crossing the Rubicon, but when I was a sexed-up teen it did seem like a big deal to let a boy’s hand wander inside……and taking it off was a pretty big step, too. The “Rubicon” connection is what came to mind when I first saw a recent XKCD cartoon:
But I’ve had plenty of dates that treat a bra clasp exactly like it’s a Rubik’s cube too! I’ve meant to ask about that……how is it that guys can work on the most delicate pieces of machinery with great skill, but when it comes to a simple clasp, their fingers turn all fumbly? Does a bit of that youthful thrill remain? Or is it because most of his blood is elsewhere?
This is one of the great mysteries of mankind.
Monday, August 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
When Colonel X was authorized to detach one soldier to serve as his personal aide, I’m pretty sure his chain of command did not have Isis Love in mind. Nor, I think, was this the sort of military assistance they felt he needed:
More camouflaged faux-military shenanigans in can be found here, courtesy of Hogtied.com.
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Saturday, August 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I know this is supposed to be a sex blog and not a porn industry blog, dammit, but I’ve published ErosBlog for long enough to put me in the porn industry if you look at things just right, and this is where I blog. Anyway, I’m sharing this porn industry link for its sad sad comedy value. What happened is that a self-described “independent film maker” with “friends who work in your industry” posted a long rambling article to the leading adult webmaster board entitled “Porner’s Manifesto: How To Fix Your Industry“.
Some of the guy’s points are sort of obvious “how to do business” advice, but all mixed up with the unsolicited business advice were angry off-topic ranty bits about how porn stars should be more willing to sleep with their fans. I’ve excerpted heavily and taken liberties with paragraph order:
I know its hard but try to care about your fans. Afterall, if you did not have them, where would you be other than in some club trying to get noticed? Give something back to those who pay your bills and I am not talking about the director or producer. They get laid enough. You want to make a difference, try laying one of your fans. Get passed the fact that they do not look like your normal porn partners. So what? In a few years, you will not be as hot as the chick they will be supporting with their hard earned cash then. Build for your future. Ensure a fan for life. I promise you, one day your current fame or vision of fame will fade and what will you be?
Let’s get one thing straight. You have sex for money. Pure and simple. While I would agree this is an art form, it what it is. The only difference between a porn star and an escort is there is a camera involved. Yet, many of these stars tend to smoke the diva hash pipe. These so called stars are hot the day they arrive but once they have been around for awhile, a new girl comes right in to replace you. It doesn’t mean to get an attitude.
I overheard this porn chick one day at Starbucks in LA. Her and her agent were talking about how to increase her popularity and you can imagine the same bullshit. Go on KSex, web sites, radio, etc… So I mention the same things I just did above and the porner looked back at me and said and I quote: “Are you fucking stupid? Why would I ever want to fuck any of my fans? Have you ever seen my fans? They are fucking gross and fat. Why do you think they have to jerk off to me? The day I fuck my fans is the day I become a whore.â€? Now imagine that. I simply replied, you fuck for money, youre a whore.
Seriously, I have never seen an industry that ignores their fans the way porn stars do. Not to mention, these same stars are the ones who think they should be immune to the down times by charging the same rates to producers. I am unsure if anyone has tried to sit them down and explain that what they do isn’t that difficult to find someone else to do. Unless you shoot fireworks out of your vagina, you have sex on camera. It’s not something you went to college for. You do not need a special degree for it. You lay down, you have sex, and then take a brick in the mouth. But to listen to some girls, you would think they are curing world hunger or cancer. The only cancer they may be preventing is prostate cancer but thats still open to debate.
Anybody want to take odds that this guy has (or had) himself in mind as one of the fans “the talent” should be fucking for free? No, too easy? OK, what are the odds he’s actually tried, and failed miserably, to seduce a porn girl? (For “seduce” you could read “make a crude and lazy pass at” with, I suspect, great accuracy.)
Friday, August 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If I had to guess, I’d guess that this photograph is of a nudist, from the era when porn was pretty dangerous to publish. Publications featuring pictures of the “sunshine and health” lifestyle sold as well as you’d expect, but they were so gosh-darn wholesome that blue-nosed prosecutors found them difficult to suppress:
Like most of the vintage photos you’ll see on ErosBlog, I found this on alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage.
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Thursday, July 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m sure it’s never been easy being the girlfriend of a stage magician — if you’re not double careful, before you know it you’re chained in a glass box wearing a thong and two pasties, being sawed in half in front of an audience of strangers. But unexpected sexual practices? In a word, yes.
In the July issue of Harper’s magazine, professional magician Alex Stone has a long article about his trip to the World Championship of Magic, where he competed in the “Olympics of Magic” against the best stage magicians in the world. Earlier in the article, he mentions his new girlfriend Rachel, whose frequent attentions kept him from practicing his routine as much as he perhaps ought to have. Then, he begins to describe his own competition routine, and gets to talking about the practice of palming coins:
After the vanish, I press the coin with the middle and index fingers into the center of my palm, where it’s held in place by a slight contraction of the muscles. This is the Classic Palm, the most important concealment in all of coin magic. Read the coin worker’s bible, J. B. Bobo’s Modern Coin Magic: “This is one of the most difficult of all concealments to master but one of magic’s finest secrets. The layman cannot imagine it possible to conceal a coin in this way.”
…
Part of mastering a palm involves learning to conceal objects while the hands are otherwise engaged. Following the advice of the masters, I go through much of my daily life with coins classic-palmed in both hands — on the subway, at dinner parties, and even during sex.
Emphasis added.
As I said, it must be a challenge to be a magician’s girlfriend. Some women, you come to bed with a dollar in each hand, they aren’t going to take it kindly. I’m just sayin’.
Wednesday, July 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Porn from the days when furs were still popular:
From Eye Candy Blog.
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Tuesday, July 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is from a French-language comic called Anna: Innocente Pervertie, by Stragmalia:
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Sunday, July 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Today’s news in my mailbox from Kink.com is the announcement of their new gay male BDSM site, Bound Gods. Although the new site does not go live until Friday, the first shoot is available now. From my initial look, I’d say the new site may not just be for gay men, but could also prove popular with those of you ladies who enjoy hunky men in bondage, but don’t want the distraction of a sneering dominatrix in every photograph and video frame. I repeat, hunky men in bondage, entirely free of girl-cooties:
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Sunday, July 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This, apparently, is an ancient version of the boastful “so big he needs a forklift to move it” sort of joke, found in the ruins of Pompeii:
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Friday, July 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
These are from an erotic comic called The College Of Erotic Science by Ferocius:
I have heard guys scoff — in theory, as these opportunities arise rarely outside of porn and your better class of orgies — at this sort of woman-sharing. Usually they proclaim, loudly, that they’d never do such a thing because your dick would be, like, almost touching another guy’s dick. Too close for comfort, anyway; if you’d do that, you’d have to be gay.
Yes, they say this like it’s a bad thing.
Word of advice to those guys: Like Ron White says, we’re all a little bit gay anyways. Grow up, nut up, and get over it. You’re still stuck in your high school locker room, while the grownups — the Men with a capital M — are out seizing the day and eating the oysters and, yup, laughing at you.
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Thursday, July 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
A while back there a jokey “Porn For Women” book that came out, full of handsome SNAGs (Sensitive New Age Guys) doing stuff like laundry while captioned as saying “As soon as I finish the laundry, I’ll go grocery shopping. And I’ll take the kids with me, so you can relax.”
Some of it was mildly funny, but the stereotypes were so tiring that I never bothered to link.
And then I stumbled over this picture, which was, like, the same thing — only better:
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Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
When an anime girl is having a hard time overcoming her reluctance to give a man a blowjob, there’s nothing like having a couple of her most persuasive friends on hand:
Seeing as how it’s a cartoon and all, I suppose we shouldn’t worry too much about why the man’s penis is a radically different color than his hands?
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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.”
Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Satyrs and Fauns (to the extent they are distinguishable) are of course notorious for their drunken sexual frolics. Here’s an interesting drawing by Marcantoine Raimondi from the 1500s showing that, in the artistic imagination of that time, those frolics included sexual spanking:
I find ancient (no scholarly quibbles please, I’m using ancient here to mean simply “centuries old”) depictions of sexual practices interesting because so much of the modern war against sex is based on repressive notions of what “proper” sex consists of. Examples from history and art demonstrate that “modern perversions” are anything but modern, which strikes at the core of the conservative delusion that proper “old-fashioned” sex consists solely of the missionary position, between spouses, in the dark.
With regard to this specific piece, it’s interesting because in many of the older depictions of BDSM-ish activities, the erotic context is only implied. In this piece, the spanking faun’s urgent erection leaves no room for trying to explain away the sexual nature of the spanking.
Thanks to Spanking Blog for the image.
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Monday, July 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Violet Blue (who provides more context) I can link you to the Ten Commandments Of Smut, which is after being some excellent basic erotica-writing advice by M. Christian. Just one commandment for flavor:
II. Thou Shalt Not Own a Thesaurus
An exaggeration, of course (to get that vicious Roget off my case). The need to change a descriptive word after every sentence or paragraph is the clear sign of an amateur. Example: ‘cock’ in the first paragraph of the sex scene, becomes ‘rod’ in the second, ‘staff’ in the third, ‘pole’ in the forth … and you get my gist. The same goes for the silly need to be ‘polite’ in describing either a sex scene or various body parts. Unless you’re writing a Victorian homage (or pastiche), women don’t have a ‘sex’ between their legs, and a ‘member’ doesn’t live in a man’s trousers. If you can’t write ‘penis’, ‘clit’, ‘cock’, ‘cunt’, or the rest of the words you can’t say on television then find another job – or just write for television.
Sunday, July 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Wouldn’t you like to go swimming with Sophie, and maybe on a picnic with her, after?
No? Are you sure? Because she looks hungry:
From ALS Scan.
Saturday, July 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m really not old enough to remember the era when smoking cigarettes was supposed to be sexy. I’m thankful for that; my reaction to cigarettes is revulsion in varying degrees depending on proximity. I’ve always been one of those people for whom the idea of kissing a smoker is like the thought of licking out an ashtray — which is to say, retch-inducing even in the imagination.
Given that, images like this always strike me as particularly jarring:
Sometimes I wonder: if the tobacco industry spent a century and untold billions selling the notion that people who smoke are sexier than people who don’t, why hasn’t ADM and the rest of the modern mechanized processed-foods industry managed to use its advertising billions to convince people that a physique born of corn syrup and white flour, deep fried in canola oil, is sexy? If you’ve see the people in WALL*E, you’ll know what I’m asking — why isn’t that future here now, being reinforced throughout our popular culture the way smoking was in 1950?
(Please don’t misunderstand — although I’m personally closer to the WALL*E vision than I am to the sammich-deprived fashion-industry ideal of good looks, I wouldn’t approve of the food industry winning that propaganda war any more than I approve of the way the tobacco industry won theirs for many decades. I’m just curious why they don’t seem to be fighting it, when they’ve got the deep pockets and the profit motive and the utter lack of conscience that would let ’em do it.)
Thursday, July 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been having a lot of fun with my collection of vintage skin magazines lately, but some of the things you find in them are absolutely astonishing cultural artifacts. Of course it’s no surprise that pornographers, like fashion photographers, tend to have a warped idea of what constitutes “chubby” in a woman. But I was still astonished to find this photograph as the illustration, in a 1962 Mood magazine, for an article about “chubby girls”:
The article itself is an amazing compilation of wild stereotypes and unreconstructed male smugness:
HIGH WIDE AND HANDSOME
Chubby Chums Are Grateful Girls!
By George Pesante
The trouble with this country is not smog or juvenile delinquency or even TV commercials. The trouble with this country is, that it’s getting so hard to find a fat girl.
Oh, sure, they still exist, and a good thing too, because if they ever do disappear from view, we’re going to have to raise them in special herds like the vanishing buffalo.
But what with all this diet talk and reducing salons springing up to replace the corner pool room, and what with cars getting smaller, lower, the fat girl is being driven out of fashion.
This is too bad. Any man who has played parlor hockey with a fat girl knows that here is a wonderful fund of fun, frolic and felicity.
Unlike slim girls who are the darlings of modern fashion, fat girls get little attention. That means that when a man does bestow his favors upon them, they react like a St. Bernard in a sausage factory.
They laugh, they giggle, they respond to your attentions with happy shrieks. In short, they just lap it up. What’s more, they don’t need to be persuaded. Simply give them the nod and they’re off to the races. And once a fat girl gets herself in motion, she’s awfully hard to stop.
Incidentally, the old belief that fat girls are necessarily jolly girls is only sometimes true. There are plenty of fat girls who are so frustrated by their lack of male attention that they are foul-tempered, mean and sullen.
The majority of them are sunny though, and even the grumpy lumpies will respond much more quickly to a little warmth than the average slim-waisted woman.
Some girls are fat, of course, because they have glandular deficiencies and these are generally to be avoided. Frequently they have moustaches and evil tempers and are so fat as to cause topographical confusion.
On the other hand, a girl who is generously plump, simply because the good Lord made her that way, a girl who likes to eat and drink and have herself a good time — this girl is worth solid gold, all 180 pounds of her.
Another fallacy about fat girls is that they are light on their feet. This isn’t true, most of them are as heavy as all get-out. But it’s pretty easy to get them off their feet. And that’s what really counts.
A fat girl is used to the notiion that people can’t lift her up and toss her around as if she were a ballerina. Consequently, she won’t force you to go through those gymnastics. She’ll arrange herself in such a way as to spare you the grunt and groan preliminaries.
Generally speaking, fat girls have one trait in common which their slimmer sisters do not always enjoy. They tend to have skins as smooth as foam rubber and twice as bouncy.
They cost less to feed than slim girls because they go in heavy for bread and mashed potatoes and show a marked preference for beer.
Because fat girls do not get the rush that slim girls do, they don’t expect to be taken out to fancy places. They don’t expect filet mignon and champagne. The back seat of a car and a pile of sandwiches will do nicely, especially if both the sandwiches and the back seat are big.
Fat girls tend to live alone more often than slim girls. They need more room around them and also, they are embarrassed by their slimmer roommates. This makes it much easier to date a fat girl, and what’s more, to make the date pay off.
Needless to say, fat girls are a joy in the wintertime, because there’s nothing more comforting than to find yourself enfolded by great mounds of curvy girl. They are equally delightful in the summer time, however, because they like nothing on but the electric fan. And, after all, what could be more fun than that?
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Wednesday, July 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There is no sex in this post — it’s a post about the business of blogging. Feel free to skip it.
Short version: this is a warning to my fellow adult bloggers about a very dubious pitch you may have received recently. Etology.com is sending out spammy emails to adult bloggers in which the company feigns an interest in buying ads, only to abandon that pretense once you answer the email. Without further ado, having confirmed your interest in selling ads, they begin giving the hard sell for ad brokerage services — not buying any ads at all, but rather, offering your ad space to their network of potential advertisers. Classic bait-and-switch: first the false offer (the bait) to get your attention, then the switch to the real offer. Illegal in some jurisdictions, scummy everywhere.
Long version follows.
On Monday, I received a curious email:
Subject: I want to Buy Ad Space on erosblog.com
Greetings,
I would like to buy advertising space on your website erosblog.com. Do you have anything available? Please let me know.
Best Regards,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
Emails like this are not uncommon. What made this one curious is that Etology.com is an advertising broker; they act as a middleman between web publishers and web advertisers, collecting a commission on all the advertising transactions they touch, and helping to facilitate those transactions. I would expect them to be making a pitch to broker any available ad space ErosBlog might have, but buying advertising space here? It didn’t make sense. The “spam or con job” hairs on the back of my neck went up.
No matter; they got one of my standard responses, the low-effort one I save for leads I don’t think will amount to anything:
Hi, Tai. Ad space on Erosblog is available through the Blogads “advertise on ErosBlog” links in the ErosBlog sidebars. Prices and availability are visible when you follow those links.
Thanks for your interest!
I will confess to sending the above in a spirit of modest mischief. Even if Etology.com had a genuine interest in buying advertising space on ErosBlog, the idea that they might wish to do so via the services of a competing ad brokerage service (BlogAds) is, perhaps, implausible.
When I sent the above email, my “send-and-receive” email operation brought an identically worded email addressed to another one of my sites, with the only word of difference being the domain name. Asking about buying ad space via bulk email? Really? The unlikely inquiry now began to seem downright implausible.
And sure enough, my next communique from Etology.com was strangely silent about the ad space they wanted to buy just three hours and twenty-seven minutes previously:
Thank you for your quick response. I just want to mention that we are the largest adult advertising network and we have great relationships with big advertisers like rude.com, redtube.com, youporn.com, and many others. We offer the highest industry publisher payouts and I would like the opportunity to help you better monetize your ad space. I’m very interested in working with you and your website, please contact me so that we can see if we are a good fit.
Regards,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
That’s a form letter, an email macro, and it contains the standard ad brokerage sales pitch: “to help you better monetize your ad space.” Which, it may surprise you to learn, I am not against. Monetization buys me beer and bacon and dinners out with The Nymph. But there’s the little matter of the bait and switch, which is so offensively blatant and dishonest that it has — not to put too fine a point on things — righteously pissed me off. What, am I supposed to be too stupid to notice that the bait has been yanked away?
More serious than me being pissed off is the issue of trust. Ad brokers, like affiliate programs, are notorious for collecting services from webmasters (in this case, ad inventory, page views for web ads) and then being slow to pay, or finding some lame excuse (“bad traffic” is the vague classic) not to pay at all, or simply getting behind on payments and then going out of business without paying anybody. It happens all the time.
Which means, of course, that if you do business on the web, business that involves collecting, holding, and transmitting money on behalf of webmasters, you need to be (or at least to look) as trustworthy as a bank. Your fundamental business challenge is to convince webmasters to trust you with their money. And that’s not easy. Webmasters who have been been repeatedly burned are a hostile and suspicious lot, when it comes to trying the next great new program. We’ve heard all the monetization promises before, and been burned by too many of them.
One way in which you do NOT gain a reputation for being trustworthy is to lie to your potential business associates in your very first freaking email to them. As J.P. Morgan once famously said, “A man I do not trust could not get money from me on all the bonds in Christendom.” Thus, my interest in pursuing Etology’s offer to broker my ad inventory, an interest that was never very high, is now … how shall I put this delicately? … very low.
Nonetheless, I was fascinated by the blatant nature of the initial deception, and amused by the slight dissonance resulting from the macro/form-letter nature of their brokerage pitch. In response to my response, they sent me a standard brokerage marketing pitch with out-of-place “please contact me” phrasing. Let’s ask about that, aggressively:
Er, I’m confused. I just DID contact you in response to a request from you to buy ad space. Why are you asking me to contact you a second time? Was your first email just a bait-and-switch spam to advertise your ad brokerage service? If so, that’s an exceptionally dubious business practice that’s not encouraging me to explore doing business with you.
In all honesty, I never expected to hear from them again. I was forgetting that it never pays to underestimate the tenacity, or overestimate the chutzpah, of a commissioned salesperson:
I apologize for the confusion. I just wanted to see if there was any interest in me helping you monetize your ad space on your website. Like I said before we are the largest adult advertising network and we have the highest industry publisher payouts. My intention is to help pair up our advertisers with publishers that have great sites like yours. Please let me know if there is any interest.
Thank you for your time,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
Well, there we have it — a bare apology (for my confusion, natch, not for anything Tai actually did) and the sales pitch a second time. At least it’s now fairly clear that Tai never had any interest in buying ad space; the deceptive intent in the first email is now confirmed.
Sometimes the devil gets in me, and I write challenging emails to people. This was one of those times:
I’m sorry, Tailynn, but I’m still not sure I understand what’s going on here. The first email from you had the following subject line: “I want to Buy Ad Space on erosblog.com.” The first sentence of that email was “I would like to buy advertising space on your website erosblog.com.”
You are now saying “I just wanted to see if there was any interest in me helping you monetize your ad space.” That’s really quite different, and not, I think, a matter of “confusion” if your only interest is in brokering sales of ad space on behalf of third-party advertisers. That would not be confusion on my part, but rather, deception on yours.
So, which is it? Was your initial inquiry in respect to buying ad space, or brokering it?
I note with interest that I am now receiving queries identical to your first at some of my other blog properties. Right now it looks very much to me like you are engaging in deceptive spam practices, unless there’s some aspect to our communications which I am misunderstanding. I hope you can clear this up for me?
At this point, Tai’s best plan would have been to fess up to the deception, apologize for it, wish me a nice day, and move on, hoping I would forget all about it and never mention it to anyone.
What I got was the first two things in eight words, a miraculous verbal economy. This full and fair but extremely sparse apology was followed by — you guessed it! — more sales pitch. First sentence: I’m sorry I lied to you. Next seven sentences: now let me tell you how great it’s going to be doing business with you!
I apologize for being misleading in my inquiries. Let me start over. My company Etology.com is an adult advertising network that helps pair up advertisers with publishers like yourself that have great sites. We’ve developed extensive relationships with big advertisers like youporn, rude.com, and redtube to name a few. We also have a large selection of network ads. My offering to you is to place advertising on your site to help monetize your ad space, thus helping you make money from your site. The types of ads available to you are GTBs, text, banner, commercial breaks, and in-video XML. Please let me know if you have any questions.
Best Regards,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
Astonishing. Shorter Tai: “I lied, I’m sorry, but I don’t see why we can’t still do business.”
I decided to decline the invitation to let Tai start over. Churlish of me, I suppose. Instead, I offered Tai the short lecture on business ethics, along with modest foreshadowing as to why it’s not smart to lie to bloggers on behalf of your internet company:
Tailynn, thank you for being — on your fourth try — straightforward with me. I’ll try to be as straightforward with you.
As it happens, I am interested in finding another ad broker. I had previously looked at Etology, but your website contains no information suggesting that it is an adult-advertising friendly network, so I had dismissed it as a possibility.
However, your initial contact with me was, as you have now admitted, a deliberate lie. You are spamming bloggers with a false and misleading inquiry in an attempt to get attention, and then you are baiting and switching, disclaiming any interest in buying ad space and instead offering your brokerage services.
Not only is that unconscionable as a spamming technique, it is laughably stupid. It establishes you and your company as untrustworthy, which is a very poor basis for attracting new publishers to your network. A publisher has to trust an ad broker with collection and remission of funds. How on earth could I trust your company with my money, when your initial business contact with me consisted of a blatant and deliberate lie?
I am planning to complain publicly about your mendacious business practices to provide warning to the blogging community, but before I do so, I’d like to give someone in a position of higher authority in your organization an opportunity to comment on whether this sort of mendacious business practice is consistent with your corporate policies. Do you have any suggestions as to whom I should forward my complaint and request for corporate comment? Or shall I simply start with your abuse and support emails and work from there?
That one was sent after close of business Monday. A couple of hours into Tuesday’s business day, there was no response. As I was indeed planning to make this blog post, it seemed only fair to Etology to give them at least one shot to spin this their way. So I sent the following email to support@, abuse@, Tai, and to Brock Purpura, Etology CEO, whose email I deduced from press releases and from the Etology.com standard email conventions:
Subject: Complaint And Request For Corporate Comment
Hello. I have a complaint about Etology’s email marketing practices. Specifically, one of your Account Managers is spamming adult bloggers with a deceptive come-on, claiming that Etology wants to “buy” ad space and then, once this lie gets a blogger response, switching over to the standard “we’d like to help you monetize your ad space” broker sales pitch. As you are in the brokerage business, there can be no doubt that your sales managers know the difference between “buy” and “help monetize”, so the initial email appears to be an obvious and deliberate lie.
I consider lying to prospective customers to be an abusive and deceptive marketing practice that reflects extremely badly on Etology.com. I will, for whatever little it may be worth, be making my disgust at this marketing practice public, on my blog, tomorrow morning.
However, I am conscious that in a competitive sales environment, sales personnel sometimes do things that are not in accord with company policy. Accordingly, I have decided to hold off on making my complaint public until tomorrow morning, and to send this email in the interim. Please forward this email to whomever in your company might wish to comment on whether lying to generate sales leads comports with Etology’s accepted business ethics and policies.
The “abuse” email address bounced, no such address. None of the others bounced. Thirty six minutes later, I had my answer. There is a {snip} in the middle; I have elided (for brevity) four more paragraphs of sales pitch about Etology’s ad brokerage services:
I know that you are upset and I apologize for the choice of words that were used in the emails below. Tailynn is fairly new and may have overstepped with her first few emails.
I would like to provide an explanation of what Etology does. We are an online ad network that pairs up advertisers and publishers. Simple as that. We broker the ads and pay the publishers 75% of all the earnings. We pay our internally managed publishers twice a month, as opposed to net 30, like other ad networks.
{snip}
I apologize again, but hope I have cleared up any misunderstandings about our service and practices. I will be here to answer any questions or address concerns that you have about our service and practices. Feel free to contact me through instant message if that is easier for you. Thank you.
Jeff Sue
Account Manager
www.etology.com
This is standard PR smoothing, consisting of an acknowledging my aggrieved status followed by a non-apology apology. The “choice of words” is apologized for, but the underlying deception? Nope. This was a matter of unfortunate phrasing, nothing more, now let me tell you how we are going to get rich together!
Those of you in the adult industry will also recognize, and be laughing at, that phrase “Tailynn is fairly new.” Whenever an adult industry company is caught spamming, shaving, stealing web page designs, or doing anything else unsavory, the standard PR response is that “it was a new employee, and we didn’t know about the behavior.” It’s such a predictable response that it’s become something of an inside joke.
To be fair, in this case I wouldn’t be surprised if the bog-standard excuse also turned out to be actually true. The bait-and-switch deception is such a phenomenally bad idea from a business standpoint that it very well might be the act of a new employee desperate and eager to make a tough sales quota. But in that case, shouldn’t I be hearing an unequivocal disavowal of the practice, and an apology for something more substantial than “choice of words”? No, Jeff said “Tailynn … may have overstepped with her first few emails.” Or maybe not; for Jeff, it’s a wobbler. Maybe we really do approve of lying to sales leads? Jeff doesn’t know; Jeff can’t say.
Of course you know I had to write back to him:
Jeff, I appreciate your email, and I’ll be including the pertinent paragraphs in the blog post I make about this matter. Unfortunately, I find your reaction to this problem to show a disturbing lack of concern.
This is not a “choice of words” issue. One of your people is *lying* to prospective business contacts. Your response fails to indicate whether Etology condones that behavior; when you say she “may have overstepped” you leave open that she may *not* have. I’m looking for an unequivocal response from Etology.com as to whether, as a matter of corporate policy, she did.
Let me be explicit. Like everyone who does business on the internet, I prioritize my email responses. Spammish emails offering me business services like your ad brokerage receive attention at a much lower priority than requests to purchase advertising. By sending a fraudulent request to buy advertising, your person is deliberately exploiting this difference in priorities — lying to get to the head of the line. Obviously, when the lie is discovered, it creates anger and resentment, along with a fundamental lack of trust that — one would think — is a problem for a company that’s expected to collect and remit funds to its publisher customers.
I used to work in an office where salesmen would lie to our receptionist, claiming to be clients, in order to get their sales calls forwarded to my desk. Obviously, they and their companies went on my permanent blacklist for this behavior. My current complaint — and my reaction to it — is analogous. But, now that we live in the era of blogs and Google, I can more easily “share my blacklist” (and the reasons for it) with the world, in the interest of making this sort of behavior off limits for reputable companies.
Accordingly, I think it would be in Etology’s best interest to disavow this marketing practice in unequivocal words.
Thanks for your time.
Writing that email forced me to figure out why I care as much about this as I do. We live in an attention economy these days, and prioritizing our attention is vital to business success. I (well, me and my filters) sort four or five thousand emails a day, most of them spam and most of the rest, bacn. Sorting out the tiny but significant fraction of business email from people who actually want to send me money? That’s a vital business function that takes a lot of time and effort. Lying to me in an effort to subvert my vital business functions? Way to piss me off.
Lying for attention is theft of attention, and it’s not just a minor offense. Time is money, and stealing one is as bad as stealing the other. If the corporate culture at Etology.com is honestly supportive of this type of deception, they are not a company I’d enjoy having to trust for a monthly check.
Jeff’s response, this morning:
I am very concerned about all customers of Etology/AVN. Without our customers being happy and satisfied, we would not exist as the largest adult ad network.
As I mentioned Tailynn is fairly new here. It was not that she was lying, it’s just that she took the wrong approach and didn’t explain herself properly (as we do offer to buy adspace out right for a flat rate). I’m sure you can understand how issues happen when you are new on a job. Regardless, the lack of information resulted in your time used on deciphering, which ultimately led to mistrust. Again, I apologize for that.
We have addressed the issue with Tailynn and management and offer our customer support to your questions and concerns.
Jeff Sue
Account Manager
www.etology.com
So there you have it, another non-apology apology, apologizing for my reaction and my “mistrust” rather than for the actual wrong done. No, wait, I forgot, Jeff says “I would like to buy advertising space” was not a lie, even though the person writing it had no intention of buying advertising space, because the company more broadly does sometimes (but not this time) “offer to buy adspace.” Sorry, Jeff, but Tailynn herself told me “I just wanted to see if there was any interest in me helping you monetize your ad space.” Tailynn herself said “I apologize for being misleading in my inquiries.” If there was ever any intention to “buy” ad space on Erosblog, I gave Tailynn three chances to say so. She never did. If Etology.com cannot recognize the deliberately deceptive bait-and-switch, and acknowledge that it was problematic, Etology.com is not a safe company to do business with.
If any other webmasters have received dishonest solicitations from Etology.com, I’d be interested in hearing about it in the comments. And especially, if there’s any adult blogger from whom Etology.com has actually bought advertising space outright (as opposed to brokering it through their network) I’d like to hear about it.
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 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From London comes word (link via Bondage Blog) of an unfortunate fellow who had to be cut out of a titanium (!) chastity device at great difficulty by the local fire brigade:
Firefighters had to cut a man out of a titanium chastity belt intended for sex games last week.
Crews from Kingston fire station were called to the red-faced man’s home in Ham at about 11pm on June 27 after he had spent all day trying to free himself from the device.
It took about 45 minutes for firefighters to release the man, believed to be in his 40s, from the structure.
…
Crew manager Brennan Healey, from the fire station, said the man, of average build, had put the two-piece device on in the morning but then realised he did not have a key to open it.
…
“The man had lots of swelling in his genital area,” said Mr Healey. “It took a long time to release him because he was in a lot of pain, and we needed to give him oxygen.
“Firefighter Simon Mitchell did a great job and was especially ‘hands on’. When the man was released we called the London Ambulance Service who took him to hospital, but he seemed much better by then.
A sad story to be sure, but it got me to thinking. I don’t know how things are in Kingston or in Ham, but if this story had happened in San Francisco, I think our “hands on” fireman would suddenly be getting a lot of friendly personal calls.
Sunday, July 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Friday, July 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Today’s water nymph is Chris Starr, as seen in the May 1968 issue of Adam magazine:
Thursday, July 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Returning to the summery image flood, here’s Lisa St. Clair from an old issue of ACE magazine:
Thursday, July 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Whatever you hope will happen after you pay the megabucks for two of the girls to join you in the Champaigne Room, what’s actually going to happen probably looks a lot more like this:
Big fun, oh yeah.
Wednesday, July 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The French retro science instruments site this comes from is not much help:
They call this item “INJECTOR A PEAR”, described as “Very beautiful small injecting with pear with pipe out of rubber and ivory nozzle.”
To me, it looks like a douching system from the days when nobody had any water pressure.
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Tuesday, July 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is a detail from an 1880 painting called “The Serpent Charmer” by Jean-Leon Gerome:
Tuesday, July 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The postcard from an exotic location, featuring the bare breasts of the ladies in those parts, is a tradition at least as old as photography, and quite likely older:
Monday, July 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The filename on this vintage nude suggests that it dates from 1967:
Monday, July 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m pretty sure this one is by Frank Frazetta:
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Sunday, July 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
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Saturday, July 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
A problem with the ErosBlog summer image flood is that I’ve got a ton of nice pictures that I don’t have sources for. Somewhere out there, there’s a photographer who deserves an image credit for this. If you’re that photographer, or know that photographer’s work and recognize it here, the standing request in these situations is that you use the comments to help me rectify the problem.
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Friday, July 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I hope your Fourth of July celebrations today will include some refreshing pool time:
Remember, garters and hose are always strictly optional in the backyard wading pool!
Thursday, July 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Continuing the holiday flood of summery nudes. I think I grabbed this one from an eBay auction a long time ago:
Thursday, July 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
When they told you at the front desk that the room came with all the amenities, you never imagined the amenities included this welcoming pair of ALS girls:
Something to be said for luxury accomodations!
Thursday, July 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The teddy looks a little impractical for the terrain, but it sure is cute!
Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
How come we don’t see more beach outfits like this one?
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
Pretty girls flashing their breasts in the sunshine, what could be more summery than this?
The model is Karen from ALS.
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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, July 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
We have treaded before on the well-trod ground of Leda and her excessively friendly swan. But this circa 1740 painting attributed to François Boucher puts things in a more sexually vivid (not to mention, better shaved) perspective than we had formerly seen here on ErosBlog:
(Click the image for a larger and uncropped version.)
By the way, if you were so inclined you could use this bit of art to mock all the people who complain about the “modern trend” to show hairless pussies in porn.
Monday, June 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
It’s been a long time since I posted about the hoary old perverse preference many “nice guys” have observed that women have for bad men — it’s one of those debates that generates much more heat than light. But now there’s an article in New Science discussing scientific proof that bad guys really do get the girls:
NICE guys knew it, now two studies have confirmed it: bad boys get the most girls. The finding may help explain why a nasty suite of antisocial personality traits known as the “dark triad” persists in the human population, despite their potentially grave cultural costs.
The traits are the self-obsession of narcissism; the impulsive, thrill-seeking and callous behaviour of psychopaths; and the deceitful and exploitative nature of Machiavellianism. At their extreme, these traits would be highly detrimental for life in traditional human societies. People with these personalities risk being shunned by others and shut out of relationships, leaving them without a mate, hungry and vulnerable to predators.
But being just slightly evil could have an upside: a prolific sex life, says Peter Jonason at New Mexico State University in Las Cruces. “We have some evidence that the three traits are really the same thing and may represent a successful evolutionary strategy.”
Jonason and his colleagues subjected 200 college students to personality tests designed to rank them for each of the dark triad traits. They also asked about their attitudes to sexual relationships and about their sex lives, including how many partners they’d had and whether they were seeking brief affairs.
The study found that those who scored higher on the dark triad personality traits tended to have more partners and more desire for short-term relationships, Jonason reported at the Human Behavior and Evolution Society meeting in Kyoto, Japan, earlier this month. But the correlation only held in males.
Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.
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Sunday, June 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Violet Blue and others have been noting over the weekend that every mention of her name has recently disappeared from the archived posts at Boing Boing, for reasons unknown. Violet herself quite charitably maintains the notion that we may yet hear news of “termites in the servers”, and I hope that turns out to be so.
Links and commentary: Violet herself, Vox, Valleywag, Buntz, Tomorrow Museum.
ErosBlog never having been deemed Boingable, I can’t use myself to test my first wild theory: that creeping Federated Media corporatism has forced an archive cleanup to remove all the smutty stuff (not a result one would expect from FM or the Boingers in any case). However, Google still shows me 593 results for Boing Boing mentions of the once and future Reverse Cowgirl, Susannah Breslin, so there seems not to have been a general push to excise sex from the Boing Boing archives.
I am on record against the capricious deletion of blog archives, and my reasons are ones I’d expect to be shared by the sort of folks who Boing at Boing Boing. That’s the last blog on the internet that I’d expect would start purging archives, of anything. So, like Violet, I continue to hope that the coming week brings word of hungry termites.
7/1/08 Update: It’s official, Boing Boing vandalized its own archives for reasons that will remain private:
A blogger named Violet Blue noticed that we unpublished some posts related to her. Some people wanted to know why.
Bottom line is that those posts … were removed from public view a year ago. Violet behaved in a way that made us reconsider whether we wanted to lend her any credibility or associate with her. It’s our blog and so we made an editorial decision, like we do every single day.
…
We hope you’ll respect our choice to keep the reasons behind this private. We do understand the confusion this caused for some, especially since we fight hard for openness and transparency. We were trying to do the right thing quietly and respectfully, without embarrassing the parties involved.
Violet, meanwhile, says she doesn’t have the first clue what brought this on:
“I’ve been wracking my brain thinking of what issues I might’ve come down on the wrong side of. There’s been no argument, there’s been no disagreement, no flame war, none of the usual things. I haven’t blogged positively about anyone they hate. I haven’t decided that DRM is awesome. I’m not totally pro-AT&T wiretapping. I’m just trying to figure it out. If there’s an issue they have with me, they haven’t told me.”
As somebody who’s been linking to both parties for more than half a decade, I find the whole thing very distressing. I thought better of Boing Boing, I really did.
Another update: I’m starting to get really heartsick about what’s going on at Boing Boing — even though I know none of these people personally, it’s like I’m losing respected friends. First Xeni comes this close to calling Violet Blue a pile of shit:
The “unpublishing” versus “deleting” issue is this: the posts were removed from public view while an evaluation of what to do took place. We didn’t want to pay to host them on our blog anymore. This is also why we remove hateful, ad hominem attack comments from public view, too: this is our home, we are proud of the home we built and the guests who visit here with us, and we like spending time here ourselves — so we don’t like to leave piles of shit lying around on the floor.
But don’t look for it now, because the tackiness has been edited away. The same comment now reads:
The “unpublishing” versus “deleting” issue is this: the posts were removed from public view while an evaluation of what to do took place. We didn’t want to pay to host them on our blog anymore. This is also why we remove hateful, ad hominem attack comments from public view, too: this is our home, we are proud of the home we built and the guests who visit here with us, and we like spending time here ourselves.
Yuck.
Friday, June 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Erosblog has an official position on topless women’s soccer: “We approve of your program and wish to subscribe to your newsletter.”
Austria drew first blood early today when their topless women’s football team beat Germany 10-5.
The traditional swapping of shirts afterwards was not an option as the six-a-side teams wore nothing but thongs, with the national colours painted on to their bare skin.
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Thursday, June 26th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I just discovered that Kink.com has a “free hardcore kink” thumbnails page [update: used to have] where you get get a sort of running view of all the recent updates they’ve done across all their sites, with direct links into a bunch of the free sample galleries like the ones I sometimes link to here. Clicking around on that page got me this “fun with leather belts” image that I thought was visually very striking. But then again, I’ve always been fond of fine old leather:
From Whipped Ass. The full LeiLani shoot has a larger version of the photo.
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Tuesday, June 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Look out! I think it’s gonna blow!
Saturday, June 21st, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
Sorry, no “dirty” pictures here, just a rant from a girl that’s tired of all this intellectual property crap. Scroll down on the homepage if that’s what you want, and I’ll take my rant into the back room so it doesn’t clutter up Bacchus’s more delightful content. (more…)
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Friday, June 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
As any woodworker can tell you, it’s always important to keep a firm grasp on your work. This vintage photograph (which I found on alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. spanking) demonstrates the principle in the context of private education:
Declining educational standards are everywhere, I tell you! Surely Paris Hilton and Britney Spears didn’t have tutors who were this enthusiastic and involved?
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Thursday, June 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Susie Bright has a wide-ranging essay up about marriage and weddings, straight and gay (yay, California!). Impossible to summarize but worth your time. A couple of random excerpts:
This time, even Arnold Schwarzenegger, our improbable governor, cannot put on the pretense that he gives a shit about the Haters. (This is a guy who gave Oui Magazine an interview in 1977, his weightlifting prime, boasting that American men were too uptight about getting their dicks sucked by other guys; that it’s not such a big deal in Austria… really!)
And:
Weddings make your long-lost friends come out of the woodwork. There are people in my life, miles away, who I miss terribly, and yet the only time they travel to California is when some high school pal is getting married. I could fucking give birth to a chicken and it wouldn’t inspire them to budge an inch. Only weddings get their ass on the tarmac.
Wednesday, June 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Mistress Matisse addresses the ancient question of what to do about emergent diversity of sexual tastes within marriage:
I can just lay out your options as I see them…
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this, stop asking, and not get this desire met.
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this, but ask her to go see a couple’s therapist with you to talk about your sex life.
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this and tell her that you’re going to get the need met elsewhere. (And deal with her response to that.)
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this and get the need met elsewhere without telling her about it.
Note that all these options begin with you accepting that your wife isn’t currently into this. I don’t know of any magic way of getting people to like what they don’t like, sexually. If I did, I would not be keeping it a secret. I’d write a book, sell a ton of copies, and be on Oprah, because mismatched sexual desires of all kinds are a huge issue in a society that claims to prize sexual monogamy.
I get reader letters too, and although I don’t tend to engage very much with the ones seeking advice the way Matisse sometimes does, I can confirm from my own mail that this sort of question is a big deal for a lot of people out there.
Monday, June 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If you have a dirty mind:
Thanks to Dave for sending the pic.
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Sunday, June 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always loved street signs that get modified in transgressive ways. This one, snapped and sent in by Leslie (thank you!) more than a year ago, made me laugh a lot:
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Sunday, June 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is not surprising news, but it is interesting: rich people, and especially rich women, who have access to private jets, do indeed fuck in them. And why not, really?
According to a survey … by Prince & Associates … which polled nearly 600 men and women with net worths of more than $30 million and a mean net worth of $89 million … 63 percent of the men and 88 percent of the women said wealth gave them better sex. The most surprising result found that nearly three-quarters of the women surveyed said they had had affairs, compared with 50 percent of the men. They were also more than twice as likely as men (72 percent-33 percent) to be members of the “mile high club” – probably made a lot easier because all the folks surveyed own jets or shares in jets.
Link via Armed Liberal.
Friday, June 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
For most of us the needle in the butt is just one of those medical indignities to be suffered. But, for some it’s a highly charged fetish situation. This injection scene is from a detailed and explicit medical fetish shoot in Taboo Magazine:
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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.
Monday, June 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Poor Zoe. I know it’s rough out there on the dating sites, but she had to hear from this goon?
Dear Lord. Now you’re not only looking for an “intellectual,” but a poet laureate as well. A sex blog? You do realize that you’re asking for trouble there, considering what’s probably in store for you.
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re on the wrong site if that’s your thrill. Most of the guys on this site are only capable of thinking with the head that does not encapsulate the brain. Do you know the difference between morons and idiots? The morons go too slow while the idiots go too fast.
Seriously, contrary to your idealistic theory, a good sex blog writer does not translate into a good f*#! The guys (and gals) on this site just want to get laid (sorry, that doesn’t sound so intellectual)so you might want to consider [again] changing your criteria. It’s all in the name, right? F-L-I-N-G. Sorry, the “I” doesn’t stand for “intellectual.”
O.K., enough of the verbal diahhrea. I see that you checked out my profile yesterday but never replied to my message. Guess I’m not smart enough, eh? Ha, ha, ha … Again, you can email me at p——-@verizon.net or call me during the day at 617———. Considering that most guys wouldn’t even take the time to correspond in depth (and attempt to rearrange your priorities), you might at least have the decency to reply in kind (a few meager words). Don’t worry, I won’t bite and, at the risk of sounding snobbish/jerky, I’d venture to say that I have had many more years of “writing” and being intellectual than you. Be brave. Phil
… and you want “real” stories. You would be naive to think that these guys are going to be able to deliver anything but the mindless smut they will undoubtedly plagarize from their under-the-bed collection of Penthouse Forums. The moral of the story, Miss Originality, is that it’s better to make your own stories. Hey, are you doing your school thesis on cyberspace sex or something? LOL
I see that you’re back up and running here. You were a bad girl and Fling put you on probation? Enough cyberspace blather already. Can you just call me atb617——— (M-F 9-6)? Phil
In what universe is this guy going to get laid using this technique? What did he do, read a few pickup-artist manuals and utterly misconstrue the already-dubious and highly situational advice about the purported value of deft, funny “negative hits”?
(Plus, is it just me, or is asking to receive your online booty phone calls during regular business hours only a sign that you’re married and bored in your cubicle?)
Sunday, June 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is how you win at the internets. You post an article called The 11 Most Scorching-Hot Female Cosplayers Ever and justify it with illustrative photographs:
- Post article.
- Get a zillion links and a metric buttload of traffic.
- ???
- Profit!
Link via Sexoteric.
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Friday, June 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is one of those old snapshots that grown children sometimes worry about finding in a shoe box in the attic. It was back when the kids were babies, in that first crackerbox of a house over in that little neighborhood about three blocks from the tracks, and after Mom saved enough green stamps to get Dad a camera and darkroom kit for his birthday, how could she refuse to model for him in the garden?
Found on Usenet.
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Wednesday, June 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Lumberjacks. Sweaty ones:
From this trove of gay art. Enjoy!
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
In making this post, I feel like some guy in 1996 going “there’s this little website called eBay, it’s like an auction but it’s all over the world at once, right now it’s just got a few old lunchboxes and some busted electronics, but I think it could be huge someday!”
First, some background. Nobody I know of is happy with the current search monopoly situation. You search one place because they have the best results, nobody else even comes close. But when those results suck, what can you do? Nothing.
This problem is particularly acute with adult blogs, which often perform poorly in the search engines despite having some of the most detailed textual discussions extant of many sexual issues. There’s presumably a complex of reasons for this, the biggest of which is probably spam. So many porn spammers attempt to game the search engines to promote their sex sites, that the search engine “immune systems” (filters and controls) are quick to kick in when adult search terms are present. There’s also some evidence (endlessly blogged about elsewhere) that the search engines, being corporate, are fairly hostile to sexual material, or at best indifferent to the quality of adult searches.
Anyway, what can be done? The paradigm of automatic crawling plus automated anti-spam filters yields a functional index, but in adult areas the subjective quality of the results often seems low. And, in my experience, the more I know about a search term, the worse the results look to me — there are too many “where is that site, it should be here?” and “that site is just a slick-looking front end for spammy scraped-and-morphed RSS” moments.
Enter Jimmy Wales, the guy (love him or hate him) who was instrumental in making Wikipedia what it is today. He’s been working for quite awhile on using wiki-style user interaction to create better search results than anything available today. It’s an insanely ambitious concept, because the easier you make it for folks to “improve” search results, the easier you make it for them to game them, spam them, and crap all over them in wild orgies of sheerest vandalism. Is it possible for the crowdsourced wiki magic to overwhelm the forces of spam, or at least to fight them to a useful draw? Right now, it seems unlikely. But everybody thought Wikipedia could never be useful, either. That turned out to be dead wrong; for all its manifest flaws, Wikipedia is insanely useful on many topics.
If — please join me in my pipe dream — if only the new Wikia Search (re-released today in open Alpha with, for the first time, useful user-editing features) could produce a user experience that’s competitive with the current search behemoth, wouldn’t that be awesome? It doesn’t have to win or be better — it just needs a fan base and an integer percentage of total search volume, enough to trigger some concern and competition from the corporate search providers. We all know that internet users search for adult stuff (including, but not limited to, porn) a whole lot. Right now, those search outcomes are poor, and nobody in corporate America seems much interested in improving them.
I am hoping that Wikia Search offers a way forward. Why not check it out, play around with the very intuitive tools for improving the results of the searches that you do, see if it isn’t fun to use and fun to improve? (I got sucked in on my first visit; before I knew it, I’d deleted tons of spammy results from several searches and fixed the ugly “snippets” for several favorite sites. I even added a few worthy sites that weren’t showing up. It’s addictively fun, and much easier than working on a Wikipedia article.)
We know the spammers — including the porn spammers — are going to be all over this if it gets any traction. In my (metaphorical) pipe dream, I’m imagining the non-spammy adult web people getting there first, to help build and defend useful search results for adult terms. Idealistic, I know, and pointless if this turns out to be a failed experiment. But imagine the fun if it succeeds!
Here’s the TechCrunch article where I learned of today’s relaunch, and there’s also a short video there explaining how to use the user-modification tools to improve the search results:
Today, Wikia Search is beginning to suck a lot less. It has only indexed 30 million Websites, but it is finally rolling out a set of editing features that lets searchers reorder, add, remove, rate, annotate, and comment on results. It also makes it easier for anyone to try to game the search results. Although, as with Wikipedia, an spammers can be banned by the community. We should see some fierce edit wars on this one.
Here’s Jimmy himself, in Forbes:
Participation in Wikia search has the same incentive as anything online–it’s something people enjoy doing. People edit wikis not because it’s a charity, but because they have common interests and because it’s fun. Also, we’re making the barriers to participation very, very low. If you search for something and find a result that’s not relevant, it’s gone with a single click, and you’ve made the search results a little better.
…
Right now search is a closed box, and there are some plausible reasons for that, like preventing people from gaming the algorithm for commercial gain and keeping out malicious players. But can we create something that’s as open and transparent as possible and publicly accountable? That’s what we’re shooting for.
Two years from now, people may point at this post and go “LOL, whut?” But I’m hoping, instead, that everybody goes “You mean, search used to be done by brainless robots trying to follow clever rules? Wow, that must have really sucked.”
Because, it does.
Sunday, June 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Reproduced exactly as it appeared this morning in my moderation queue, here’s a comment spam that made me laugh hard:
I FOUND RUBBING KY GELLY WARMING GEL IN THE PENIS AND STROTOM SECTION DAILY HELP INCREASE MY SEXUAL DESIRE,BLOOD FLOW.I GOT THIS REMEDY FROM A DOCTOR IN DETRIOT,MICHIGAN.AT FIRST I WAS SKEPTICAL BUT AFTER ONLY A FEW WEEKS ALONG WITH A DAILY WORKOUT SAW IMPROVEMENTS.SO FELLOWS OUT GIVE IT A TRY!!!
It was linked, of course, to a page selling fake penis pills.
Saturday, May 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I still remember thinking in my naive pre-internet youth that “kinky stuff” had to be a purely male thing, that “no woman would want that sort of thing”. And of course, from there it would follow that male kinkiness was a sort of dangerous perversion, if it could have no expression with willing partners.
Ah, how little I knew!
Of course, these days anybody who reads sex blogs written by women (as are a large majority of the ones that have, you know, actual words) knows better.
As pointless as it can be for a man to speculate or generalize about the complex mental machineries of female arousal, you ladies should be aware that we still do it. I’m not sure we could refrain from doing it, to be honest; if anything’s hardwired into male behavior, modeling and attempting to game female sexual arousal is probably that thing. And one outcome of all the speculating and generalizing, for me, has been a partial theory of what women enjoy about rough kinky sex, bondage, and BDSM — really, that whole spectrum of sexuality that doesn’t quite fit the traditional hearts-and-flowers romance model.
I haven’t got time for a thousand words, so how about a picture?
It’s from Sex And Submission, and the rest of the shoot has plenty of ropes and gags and whips and toys and power-tool vibrators and bondage blowjobs and complex rigging with pulleys and all of the other overcomplicated gadgetry that men bring to the hobbies they really enjoy. But this one picture, I think, captures the essence of what’s in it for the ladies. Sometimes (maybe often, but I’m still trying not to overgeneralize here) women want to feel like a strong man like Mark Davis wants them, wants them so intensely that his own “better impulses” and socially-conditioned docility are just overwhelmed by his desire and lust for them. And they enjoy the idea, perhaps embodied in the photo above, that such a man will simply grab them and do what he will — because for the woman, that outcome is the ultimate proof of her own irresistible sexual attraction and desirability.
Where fantasy and reality differ, of course, is that a strong man who lacks that much self-control is dangerous — he cannot safely be allowed within about thirty miles of any human settlement. But a trustworthy man who can still project that aura of dangerous uncontrolled lust? He, it turns out, is a popular fellow indeed.
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Friday, May 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Ladies, you want beefcake?
I’ll give you beefcake, with ropes:
Shamelessly stolen from Bondage Blog.
Thursday, May 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m really not sure what I can say that would be useful about this vintage margarine advertisement. Except of course, the obvious: When I see the phrase “taste the sweeter flavor a woman makes”, I’m not thinking about margarine. My guess is, even in ninteen-fifty-whatever, neither was Mr. Filbert, who was probably laughing his ass off for the entire time this ad was in national distribution:
Via Vintage Ads.
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Tuesday, May 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s no excuse for this. It’s like the closing segment of the old Man Show — it’s pure, old-fashioned, mostly-harmless lechery. “Cheerleader” (not really, but she’ll pass) Angel Woods shows us her panties:
And then we transition rapidly to the gratuitous rear view. At this junction, no gentleman would be thinking thoughts containing phrases like “surprise buttsex”:
Finally, after cartwheels and handstands not shown here, it’s time for the cheerleader moment you’ve been waiting for ever since high school. I refer, of course, to: panty failure!
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Sunday, May 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If I had one of these, I think I’d display it proudly among my tchochkes and tell anybody who asked that it’s a medicine flask. Interested aunties would get some theory about the design being “to keep the cork from drying out because you always have to stow it cork-down” and non-squares would get the deadpan “it’s for ladies to sneak whiskey into movie theaters with” explanation. Behold, the “Dutch Milkmaid” dildo from Studio Oooms:
Thanks to Always Aroused Girl, writing for JanesGuide. May she never again be thirsty in a movie theater.
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Friday, May 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
A nice vintage nudie photograph, starring a model with an unusual facial expression:
Thursday, May 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The other day Bondage Blog ran some pictures that look like somebody’s sordid fantasy of an East German enema clinic, circa 1972. But (butt?) there was one picture that cried out for a LOL-treatment:
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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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Tuesday, May 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Now you can have your very own pole dancer, powered by your computer and sliding up and down her pole to the tunes on your iPod:
Technology, she is a wonder.
Monday, May 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
One of the first strong porn brands on the web was an outfit called ALS Scan, who, in the middle-late 1990s, pioneered a then-new aesthetic: the girl next door, pretty and fresh and freshly shaved all over, in a brightly-lit photoshoot with vibrant colors, doing astonishingly dirty deeds with whatever fruits, vegetables, or household objects are handy, all with a big come-hither smile. It’s not that other pornographers haven’t done the same thing before or since; it’s that ALS has always done it better than anybody else, for certain values of better.
Take Amy Lee:
She’s a pretty girl. She’s just as pretty with her shirt on (in a photo that proves she actually has arms) especially if you appreciate a girl who can cook:
So far, she’s just like a zillion other pretty internet ladies who prance around in and out of some cute undies, maybe flashing some pink at the end of the photoshoot so you don’t feel cheated out of the price of your subscription. You’ve seen it before, you’ve seen it all, ho hum.
What you’re not expecting — what nobody was expecting until ALS Scan pretty much invented the genre — is that this cute young model (who has not yet starred in half a dozen movies with names like Anal Ass-Bangers #22, and is not yet staring at the looming end of her porn career) will lick her lips with an excellent facsimile of honest lust, tuck her ankles cheerfully in behind her ears, look you straight in the eye, and use four fingers to stretch her pussy open until you’ve got a distinctly gynecological view of her assets. And yet, that’s exactly what she does.
It can be an eye-opener. And, for me at least, it makes every visit to ALS Scan a memorable one.
Saturday, May 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another old magazine advertisement to fire your weekend’s fantasies:
Thursday, May 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
One thing I like about writing a sex blog, in this era of increasing porn saturation, is that as the competition heats up, and production values increase, I’m seeing more and more porn that looks like art, especially from the high-quality porn producers like Kink.com or (for your non-kinky examples) Femjoy or Domai.
It used to be that a shot like this one, of Candice Nicole enjoying an enforced contemplative post-ejaculatory moment during a Sex And Submission shoot, would have come only from the studio of one of the “arty” guys like Craig Morey or Richard Kern:
My problem with erotic art photography is that, historically, it has tended to strike me as self-conscious and defensive, and in its defensiveness, it often grew boring. In its worst form, we get that endless flood of semi-abstract nudes that congest web galleries and college sophomore life photography classes. You know what I’m talking about: the curve of a buttock or breast, usually upside down or at an odd angle, often pressed against some random implausible texture like old roofing tin, presented in black and white with funky lighting so as to make the whole project safely non-sexual.)
Luckily, as the standards and technology of porn photography get better, I’m seeing a best-of-both-worlds convergence, with your favorite subscription porn shack pumping out art-quality photos of a volume and diversity and unapologetic lustful sexuality that even the best “erotic art” photographers never seemed to manage. And I love it!
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Tuesday, May 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Some time back, whilst discussing The Great Craigslist Sex Personals Massacre Of 2006 (don’t forget to pronounce it “mass-uh-cree” like Arlo Guthrie Jr. does) I wrote:
Speaking to all men, let me say this: Mailing a potential female sex partner an unsolicited picture of your dick is not appropriate, it’s not smart, it doesn’t work, it brands you as a vulgar idiot, and it makes all men look bad by gender association with your fucked-up self. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. I repeat, don’t do it. Man law, got it?
Now, via Viviane, here’s a link to Junkbuzzed, a sharp-tongued blog named after this dumb-assed behavior and devoted to exposing “the grime, grit, humiliation, and degradation that goes into trying to find someone to fuck you online.” They have a LOLcat:
And they have stuff to say:
Yes, on to the man-junk. Look. We know you like the sex. The sex is the bomb. We understand this. I myself am a big fan of it. But a little discretion goes a long way. Put the man-junk away unless it is specifically asked for. Pictures of man-junk are like Vienna sausages at a 4-star restaurant: it only gets served on special request.
Then this very same Junkbuzzed post moves quickly along to another vital bit of advice, which can be summarized briefly as “write like a human being, you moron!”
I have, In The Name Of Science, dutifully read through many a day’s postings from the men to the women. After the first 10 or so posts, it all starts to read like LOLcats….
“o hai! lick mai taint plz i gots 12in srsly 420 kewlâ€?
This is not the phrase one employs in the pursuit of True Love (or To Blave). It is not the phrase one employs even if one is trying to get one’s taint licked (South Carolina, I’m looking at you).
Having a sense of humor helps. Displaying a sense of humor is even better. And not in a “I broke my last girlfriend’s jaw cuz she was a bitch lolâ€? sort of way, either. The ladies, they don’t go for that sort of thing. Just trust me on this one. Ain’t gonna play.
Lots of fun, and that post is #3 in a series.
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:
Sunday, May 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to a commenter, I realized that the last post was a quite unfortunate thing to have at the top of the page on Mother’s Day. So I quickly cast around for something to put up, and I chanced upon this old magazine illustration, which does a much better job of illustrating how you should be treating the mother of your children, today and probably every day:
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Saturday, May 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
My first thought on seeing this photo (via Lunatico) was that the flower selling dude is an idiot:
My second thought, however, was that maybe he knows stuff we don’t know about the demographic, attitudes, and inclinations of his target market among the men in his neighborhood.
Is he a marketing idiot or a marketing genius? We’ll never know.
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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.
Thursday, May 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
…and some days, you’re the one wearing the bananas, that’s just how it goes:
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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:
Monday, May 5th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
A great cartoon, and the title on the original reads, “Oh, I think this word might mean ‘Crisco’!” I don’t know if the author of XKCD takes requests, but he can treat this as my vote for more sex cartoons.
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Sunday, May 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Reader KingTaco writes in with some choice sex spam. I didn’t want it in the comment thread where KingTaco put it, but I fully concur with the urge to share it with the broader world. KingTaco says:
I’ve just received what I consider to be the holy grail of porn spam. It’s easily the most impressive piece of all-text advertising I’ve ever seen. I hope it’s not in bad taste of me to post it in it’s near entirety here (near in the sense that I’ve removed the linked porn site because it’s not my intention to try and advertise for them using the Eros Blog comments as a free ride):
“You could be thinking to yourself, how did an exotic Oriental fetish such as bukkake could become so widespread. It’s pretty simple, really. It’s all about traditional, conservative values. And what can be more accepted or conservative than openly humiliating women who cheat on their husbands by dragging them into the public square, binding them tightly with ropes and having every able-bodied male in town shoot hot loads of thick, burbling man-sap into the offending wenches’ pleading, upturned faces?
Nowadays, bukkake isn’t a punishment… it’s a way of life! Modern, liberated young women of all races, colors and creed have awoken to the sexual potentials of this practice, and today, you cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a gal who loves it right up on the face, or right down the throat, or in the eyes, or all over their heads, whatever way they can get it, really.
If you desire your models charming, your content exclusive and your facials hardcore, then (link removed) is certainly what you have been looking for.”
Such a prose poem to the glories of facial spooge almost cries out for a picture, so I went and found one for you:
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Friday, May 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is something I saw on eBay many years ago. I thought then, and still think, that the artwork was unusually attractive:
What’s bizarre to me is that this artifact appears to be, and appears from the corrosion patterns to have been used as, an ashtray. Who really stubs out their cigarettes (cigars?) on pretty brass girls who are licking each other?
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Thursday, May 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is a little bit gross (OK, it’s a lot gross) so I think I’ll just link you. Beware of festering zombie dick!
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Wednesday, April 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a tame dirty joke, perhaps rising to the level of an anecdote, about president Calvin Coolidge and his wife:
President Coolidge and his wife were touring a farm. While the President was elsewhere, the farmer proudly showed Mrs. Coolidge a rooster that “could copulate with hens all day long, day after day.” Mrs. Coolidge coyly suggested that the farmer tell that to Mr. Coolidge, which he did.
The President thought for a moment and then inquired, “With the same hen?”
“No, sir,” replied the farmer.
“Tell that to Mrs. Coolidge,” retorted the President.
Via Sexoteric.
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Tuesday, April 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here is yet another one of the many pictures out there that do appear to depict California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger as a young(er) party animal of the first rank. In this photo, he (if indeed, it is he) seems to have developed an exceedingly firm and deliberate two-handed grasp on a happy woman’s right buttock and, uh, personal area:
I can see Arnold’s left pinky finger, but let’s look at the closeup: where exactly has the finger next to it gone?
Where has it gone? It’s gone exploring, I’d say!
As Bill Maher would say, “I kid the governor, but it’s out of love”. (Of course, Bill’s usually lying when he says that; I’m sorta not.) For all the governor’s many faults (he’s a politician now, which makes enumerating them redundant) it’s nice to see someone in the public eye who hasn’t spent his whole life in timorous avoidance of adult fun because of (imagine this being said in the voice of the high school debate club member you liked least) “how it will look when I run for office someday.”
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Monday, April 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I have seen this understated “couple having sex” artwork in quite a few different places over the years, but never did I imagine it was once available on sterling silver cuff links. But here it is, as advertised in the October, 1959 issue of Ace magazine:
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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?
Saturday, April 26th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This intent raven-haired beauty was originally drawn, I believe, in the pages of an Italian fumetti comic called Pig:
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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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Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I never was up on the whole Monica Lewinsky / scarlet woman / terrible hussy bandwagon, and I never thought too highly of all the jokes at her expense that had punchlines translating to “Beavis, you said blowjob, heh heh”. But I do think she was, righteously, a somewhat comic figure, for choosing to fool around with the one married man in America whose indiscretions had ZERO chance of remaining private. Girl, what were you thinking? For that reason, I always enjoyed the jokes at her expense that didn’t unduly demonize her or call her a slut just because her philandering boyfriend was as famous as it gets. This cartoon made me laugh when it fell into my email:
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Monday, April 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
What, has it really been three whole weeks since I posted something from my Usenet files? Why, I believe it has:
For the curious, here’s what the image looked like when I found it:
More artifact than image, really, in its found-in-the-wild form.
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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.
Friday, April 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m never sure when this sort of story might be a hangover from the first of April, but whatever — it’s a cool image and you might soon see it proudly displayed at a ski shop near you. Yup, it’s Playboy Bunny snowboard time:
From here, link via Jezebel.
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.
Tuesday, April 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I don’t really know how much of this to believe, even if it is a Reuters story. But I’d watch the film:
A 15-minute film of Marilyn Monroe engaging in an oral sex act with an unidentified man will be kept from public view by a New York businessman who has bought it for $1.5 million, the broker of the deal said today.
Memorabilia collector Keya Morgan said he recently arranged the sale of the silent, black-and-white film from the son of a dead FBI informant who possessed it to a wealthy Manhattan businessman who wants to protect Monroe’s privacy.
“The gentleman who bought it said out respect for Marilyn he’s not going to make a joke of it and put it on the internet and try to exploit her,” said Morgan.
“That’s not his intention and I would never get my name involved if that were to happen.”
Monroe is clothed and the man’s head remains out of the frame for the entire 15 minutes of the film, said Morgan, who viewed the footage.
Monroe was rumoured to have had an affair with former US President John F Kennedy, and Morgan said former FBI director J Edgar Hoover, a Kennedy rival, went to great lengths to try to prove it was Kennedy in the film.
One of Monroe’s ex-husbands, the late baseball great Joe DiMaggio, once tried to buy it from the collector for $25,000 (£12,500) but “he would not part with it”, according to declassified FBI files provided by Morgan.
Morgan is a well-known collector who owns memorabilia from the estates of Monroe and DiMaggio and said he was friends with Monroe’s other two husbands, Jim Dougherty and Arthur Miller.
He said he learned of the existence of the film while working on a documentary about Monroe, who died in August 1962 at age 36. A former FBI agent told him about it, and Morgan said he confirmed it by tracking down the son of the FBI informant, who had provided a copy to the FBI.
The late informant’s son had the original while the copy remains classified in the FBI files, said Morgan, whose deal was first reported by the New York Post today.
“The FBI agent that I interviewed said J Edgar Hoover was completely obsessed. A team of nine individuals were analysing the tape inside a lab. J Edgar Hoover brought in a few prostitutes who allegedly had been with President Kennedy and they tried to … see if that was really President Kennedy.”
Lots of folks would love to watch Marilyn Monroe giving a blowjob, it’s true. But a good great many would like to get a look at John F. Kennedy’s dick, too, even if they could never be quite sure.
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Saturday, April 12th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Despite recent blowback against the meme that diamonds have special utility (to men) in moderating the interactions of men and women, there’s no doubt of the meme’s venerability. Here’s the cover of True Life Secrets #23, from 1954:
It’s a little bit blurry, but she’s asking “And just what must I do to get those?”
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Friday, April 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Well, you always knew they were fond of each other:
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Thursday, April 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Wearing a rope harness in public has its perils, as Red explains:
It’s funny, I would have thought that the rope harness peaking out from under my black halter-top dress would have made me blush deeply if seen in public, but for some reason it wasn’t phasing me. No, instead my attention was focused on the rope ends dangling down the inside of my legs, cresting just below the short hem of my dress. Every time they grazed across my skin, I was sure my jolt and my smile were obvious to anyone watching.
The coffee shop closed, so we left. Monk finished his coffee with a flourish — how he did it so damned quickly was beyond me. I continued to nurse mine as we drove down the road. This leg of the car ride was particularly difficult – not only was I steadying a hot cup of coffee, I was trying to stabilize my wiggles and movements as the car went over bumps, doing my best to stop the rope drawn tight between my legs from making me yelp *too* much. I’m pretty sure I only partially succeeded.
The space was quite busy when we arrived, but we found a spot quickly nonetheless. I watched intently as he prepared for the scene ahead, taking it in, letting my imagination get ahead of itself as I did so. Finally, he looked at me with eyes that spoke their intent very clearly. We were about to begin.
“Better make a pit stop,” he told me, “Cause once we start…”
Visions of my crotch rope danced before my eyes. It’s like he could tell what flew through my mind, because he looked at me with terribly amused eyes and said “I guess you’d better be careful.”
I no doubt flushed red, as my embarrassment burned in my cheeks before channeling down my spine, making me ache deep within. As I fumbled with the rope, trying desperately (and successfully) not to pee on it, I blushed deeper. My sex throbbed deeply against the line of hemp drawn across its core, calling for more struggles and more friction. More more more…
I doubt that the blushing had subsided before I was back before him, but I didn’t care. His eyes smiled as he drew the rope through his hands.
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Wednesday, April 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Hey, when you’re a wooden boy and your father is a woodcarver, isn’t it only natural that you’d just chisel out the woman of your dreams?
From the cover of a Screw magazine from 1979.
Tuesday, April 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
BJ from BJ’s Gay Porno-crazed Ramblings is one of the very few people on my blogroll who have been doing this sex blog thing longer than I have. He appears to have a vintage gay porn collection of enormous depth and scope, bits of which he sometimes blogs about when he offers them (the bits) for sale on eBay. It is, however, exceedingly rare for BJ to mention anything that might involve the risk of girl-cooties, which makes this description doubly hilarious:
WARNING! DANGER!
I can only hope you read the warning! danger! before clicking for the clip. It’s from my all-time favorite (porno) film, BUT it involves a chick. To my closest friends who know me as a Kinsey 8, the fact that I can not only watch, but actually enjoy this scene is bewildering. Roy Garrett goes to the local porno shop (in rural Montana in 1982 – willing suspension of disbelief, anyone?) and winds up feeding dollars to Jolene (wonderfully portrayed by Suzanne Tyson, who you no doubt remember form the 1981 classic, Wanda Whips Wall Street, but I digress…) and doing terrible, disgusting, sickening things – meaning he touches “it”, she touches her own “it”, he even… oh, I can’t even type it… but there’s also these two other guys watching, and watching each other. It’s not about gaysex, it’s about Male Bonding (with a vengeance, as the video box says).
I —– JUST —– LOVE IT!
He’s talking about a film called Heatstroke, and he’s kindly included a link to a ten minute clip.
Monday, April 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is one of the Hogtied.com models, limbering up before a shoot. I think she’s trying to taunt the guy with the ropes, to make sure he does an extra good job tying her up:
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Sunday, April 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Overheard by The Barmaid:
Chick #1: I just can’t believe Spitzer paid that girl four thousand dollars for one night. I’m totally in the wrong line of work.
Chick #2: I don’t know… you probably wouldn’t get to choose who you have sex with. Spitzer’s an ugly motherfucker.
Chick #1: I don’t choose what ad accounts I work on, either! And I hate some of those assholes.
Chick #2: Yeah, but the guy kept his socks on. That’s so weird.
Chick #1: Honey, for four grand a night, he can dress up as Kermit and call me Piggy.
The scary thing is, I knew a girl in college who probably would have liked that, she was Miss Piggy’s biggest fan. Perhaps fortunately, I was her “go cry on his shoulder” guy, so it never came up.
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, April 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
A spam that made it through my filters today made me smile with the sheer excess of the offer in the subject line:
Hogtied Amateur Vacuum Tortured On Butt Hardcore
Gracious me, I sure wouldn’t want to settle for softcore vacuum torturing on the butts of hogtied amateurs!
The pitch inside the spam email was softened just a bit: “Brunette Bdsm Slave Vacuum Tortured Hardcore” and a link.
It’s possible they actually wanted to sell me some hogtied amateur brunettes, but I doubt it. Reputable porn sites eschew spam as a marketing method, because spam creates blind rage that tends to be an insurmountable marketing barrier. Plus, it’s illegal in the United States. Sometime I’ll get spam (not this one) that seems to be selling a porn site I know about, but it’s usually a form of social proof; if you think you’re familiar with the pitched product, you’re more likely to click through into unsuspected spyware browser-hijacking hell.
Anyway, I’ll never know for sure what this particular spam was selling, because I lacked the courage or foolhardiness to click the link. The domain had certain famous small fuzzy toy keywords in it (maybe so it would look safe?) and a .cn domain extension. Those Chinese domain names are notorious these days because spammers can buy them in bulk for cheap, which means that they can use them for hostile and malicious spam campaigns that lead directly to aggressive malware installers, browser hacks, and the like. Once the domain gets widely banned, or even deactivated, just move on to a new one!
The return email address looked like the email for some poor guy’s AT&T cell phone. That’s easily spoofed and was probably pure fiction, but it made me wonder. Is this yet another bad thing that can happen to you when you get your cell phone stolen?
Now, start your vacuum cleaners!
Thursday, April 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
One of the things I like about reading a diversity of sex blogs is that you get sexual accounts that are written in historic, rather than fictive, voice. Commercial porn is most often told in the voices we reserve for telling tales. Sex blogs, by contrast, are often written in the voices we use to retell our lives and histories. It can be refreshingly different, because it allows for real moments that would usually be edited out of the smooth story arc of competent fiction, but which are really the heart and soul and flavor of a good history.
Today’s example: Always Aroused Girl writing about what got up her nose.
“I want to come on your face.”
My head already hung half-way over the edge of the bed, so I quickly swiveled under him. “Give it to me,” I demanded, and I didn’t have to wait long. Before I could hoist my tits into what I thought would be the most attractive position, hot come splashed over me.
And then it obeyed the call of gravity, as fluids are wont to do. If I’d have moved I would have destroyed the tail end of his orgasm and possibly run head first into his nut-sack. So I laid still, but I couldn’t control my laughter as the come found its way into my hair.
And into my eyes. And up my nose.
He came to from the pleasure and noticed the state of my face. Immediately a stream of apologies shot forth from his mouth. I assured him that I loved – nay, lived for – being covered in come. “Can I get you a towel?” he asked, heading toward the bathroom.
“Yes please, and a nasal aspirator, if you have one.”
Wednesday, April 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a French comic strip starring the never-ending sexual adventures of Titi Fricoteur. Here Titi is spying on the baker’s wife, who is in her garden collecting vegetables for a stuffing. The stuffing follows hard upon the collecting:
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Monday, March 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I can’t seem to stay away from the vintage:
Look at her face, boys, look at her face. Make eye contact. Smile. You know the drill!
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Sunday, March 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Holly from The Pervocracy writes:
I have to stop reading radical feminist writing. … I go nuts when I read stuff like this:
“In a patriarchy, the cornerstone of which is a paradigm of male dominance and female submission, women do not enjoy the same degree of personal sovereignty that men do. This oppressed condition obtains a priori to all other conditions, and nullifies any presumption of fully human status on the part of women. A woman, therefore, cannot freely “consent,â€? because her will is obviated by her status as a subhuman.”
I don’t know what kind of women-in-chains Gor crazyworld this author is coming from, but I’m pretty damn sure that no means no, yes means yes, and throwing up your hands and screaming “we’re so oppressed we can’t even make decisions!” is not actually advancing the cause of female strength and independence.
In fact, it’s an example of something I’ve seen a few times in radfem thought–going so far that they actually come full circle. You see statements like “women aren’t able to give consent” and “women just want love, but men exploit it for sex,” and you might as well be on the Abstinence Warriors forum–it’s the same stereotyping of both men and women and unreasonable fear of sex.
Amen, sister!
I’ve always been surprised to hear so-called “feminist” arguments that are founded in claims of female incapacity or inability to consent, or to discover and to know their own best interest.
(I say “so called”, and use scare quotes, because I’m on record: when feminists stop standing up for the choices women make, I stop recognizing them as feminists.)
Holly may wonder what sort of “women-in-chains Gor crazyworld” these arguments are coming from, but I’m more concerned with the people-in-chains world these arguments are aimed at creating. I’ve said it before in a post defending the, uh, “fully human status” of porn performers, and I’m sure I’ll say it again: once you stop respecting people’s choices, you’ve embraced the ideology of enslavement:
Built right into the postulate that people can’t know what’s good for themselves is the idea that somebody else knows better, and should therefore have the right to control the poor people who can’t tell their own good. A nasty and foul rhetorical trick to justify political power over others, and I reject it categorically.
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Saturday, March 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Everybody knows that red-blooded American boys aren’t ashamed to show their faces when they drop trou for a good mooning. The fashionable thing in this era of “Freedom Fries” would be to cast European aspersions on these timid callipygian terrorists, but I try never to do the fashionable thing, especially when it’s mostly just fashionable with folks who think the Dixie Chicks are insufficiently patriotic. So, who is to blame for this display of fundaments?
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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.
Thursday, March 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Some long while ago, when I was a young and bookish and entirely virgin lad, I stumbled across the old truism “all brides are beautiful.” Being a literal sort, my first reaction was “that’s nonsense!” I’m not sure I’d ever even been to a wedding at that point in my life, but I was confident I’d seen unattractive women who would surely marry. However, as I grew older and wiser and more experienced, I came to appreciate the logic of the thing, especially its similarity to that hoary old chestnut and maxim of firearms safety: “There’s no such thing as an unloaded firearm.”
With a particular bride or a particular firearm, it might be possible to raise a literal objection; there are, in a literal sense, firearms with empty chambers, and there might be, in a literal sense, brides whose beauty cannot be limned by describing their physical attributes. But the social utility of the claim, in either case, must entirely overwhelm and sweep away any crabbed literal objections; and the man who cannot understand this, ought not to be allowed near a firearm or a woman, either one.
Having reached that stage in my moral and social development, the notion then struck me: Why do we limit this maxim of beauty to brides alone? No obvious reason presenting itself, I resolved that there must, indeed, be no such thing as an ugly woman. And for the most part, I’ve found it to be true.
Which brings me now to the latest barrage launched by Violet Blue against the tirelessly undead troll armies of the Internet. I’d hate to have people think that I’m just YAVBF (that would be Yet Another Violet Blue Fanboy, and yes, I have been accused of this by my own small half-platoon of trolls), but I am often in awe of her unique brand of combative courage. This time she takes on all the morons who enjoy what I’ve called crapping all over beauty, and she pulls no punches:
Every woman on the Internet gets called slutty and ugly and fat (to put it lightly) no matter what; all we have to be is female. In dinner conversation, my friend Lori reminded me of the Oscar Wilde quote, “Give a man a mask, and he’ll tell you the truth.” I restated it for the Internet, replying, “Give a man a mask, and he’ll slit your throat.” The application here is, “Give a man (or a woman) an anonymous account, and he’ll eviscerate your self-esteem.”
The problem is, with so many women I talk to, the trolling is effective. The number of times I’ve talked down a crying girlfriend after she’s been trolled in her comments about being fat, ugly, skanky, slutty or stupid is higher than I can count (no matter what she writes about). Trolls watch too much mainstream porn and TV, and believe stereotypes are real; they slap us with it and then we believe it, too. We compare ourselves to overly thin models, actresses, and porn stars, and it messes with our self-image and our ability to express ourselves sexually, and especially to enjoy sex.
She also quotes Margaret Cho:
In Margaret Cho’s “Beautiful” tour, she talks about recently being on a radio show and having the host ask her point-blank, live, on the air, “What if you woke up one day, and you were beautiful?” When asked, he defined beautiful as blonde, thin, large-breasted, a porno stereotype. Cho says, “Just think of what life is like for this poor guy. There’s beauty all around him in the world, and he can only see the most narrow definition of it.”
Poor guy, indeed. Has he not seen the way Margaret Cho can fill a leather jumpsuit? I’m no LOLcat, but I known a NOM NOM NOM scenario when I see one.
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Tuesday, March 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the commercial backlash against shaved keyholes:
The marketing prose reads:
Now! It can have fur around it!
Tired of groping under a darkened dashboard, trying to find that elusive ignition lock? With this genuine mink keyhole cover, you can find it in a flash, every time! Made from the same precious skins used in $5,000 fur coats… it’s sure to dress up the interior of any car.
All righty, then.
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Monday, March 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
OK, so there’s been a long string of vintage and classic erotica around here lately. Is it time for something nice and modern and filthy?
Why, yes, I think it might be. Will an anal fisting “cartoon” do the trick, do you suppose?
Found this one at Spank Slaves: The Blog.
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Sunday, March 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Have you ever seen an explicit image of a female satyr? I’m not sure I ever had, until now. But when I saw these 16th century etchings by Marcantonia Riamondi at Sexoteric, I remembered that I had the whole set somewhere on my hard drive. And after much searching, I managed to dig them up. This one is called Le Satire Et Sa Femme:
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:
Thursday, March 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been stewing, on and off, about this remark by Mistress Matisse on the Elliot Spitzer scandal:
I’m amused, in a rather cynical way, how much more outraged people who aren’t sex workers have been over the Eliot Spitzer issue than those of us who are. I’m hearing a lot about the hypocrisy!
Yeah, that’s true. But that’s the way the game is played, you know? I don’t expect any different from a politician and an officer of the court.
I won’t flatter myself that Matisse had my particular outrage in mind when she wrote that. But I realized that I do expect — or more precisely, demand, since only a fool would expect it — a better standard of behavior from people whose political power, when abused, lets them destroy lives.
Upon reflection, it’s Spitzer’s habit of prosecuting people for selling the same illicit services he himself was enjoying as a buyer that strikes me as evidence of a substantial and public evil, out of all proportion to whatever hypocrisy may be present when Joe Citizen takes a day off from his wife to let Matisse smack his balls with a stick.
Although I don’t often discuss or encourage the discussion of politics on this blog, it would be wrong to conclude that I’m not interested in political power, and its abuses. And it’s important to remember that prosecutors, in particular, are invested with enormous discretion to pick and choose which crimes they will prosecute.
Spitzer’s enjoyment of prostitution I do not hold against him. But to me it proves, conclusively, that he does not consider prostitution to be a social evil of any great importance. Which proves, in turn, that when he exercised his discretion to prosecute people in the flesh trades, he was doing so purely for political convenience and advantage. He put people in jail who did not, by his own moral compass, need to go there, and he did it to advance his career.
That is hypocrisy, sure. But it’s not the hypocrisy I’m condemning, not directly. What I condemn is locking people up for your personal convenience. “Sorry, chaps, nothing personal, it’s not that I disagree with anything you did, it’s just that I’m on the fast track to the Governor’s mansion, and it will be easier for me to get there if you suffer. So, suffer, peons!”
That, I consider evil. Joe Citizen cheating on his wife? He’s just being a schmuck. There’s a big difference, and it has something to do with the fact that Joe Citizen doesn’t have cops and prison guards with guns to do his dirty work for him.
Wednesday, March 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
It’s the King of The Robots, about to get a passionate kiss from a woman:
Found at Urod.ru under the caption Старые фото о главном, which translates to “Old photos of {blank}”, where {blank} is a word I don’t know and which Google Translate renders unhelpfully as “main”.
Wednesday, March 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
It’s hard to say for sure what the headband and the wires and the radio controller handset are for in this Bill Ward cartoon, but my money’s on some sort of super mad-scientist mind control unit — being used for nefarious erotic purposes, of course:
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Tuesday, March 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Camping in the desert with fetish model Adriana Sage is not like any camping you’ve ever seen. It’s getting dark when she gets to camp, so she pitches her tent, half-wearing a fetching rubber number:
In the morning, it’s time to haul some water. Nipple clamps are for style, we assume:
Then it’s out onto the sand for the day’s entertainment, with horsey tail buttplug and saliva-lubricated crystal dildo:
From the August 2004 edition of Taboo magazine.
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Sunday, March 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is an oil-on-copper work by an artist (Adam Johan Braun) who lived between 1748 and 1827, so it’s from at least 180 years ago, minimum. If the artist painted this work before he turned sixty, it’s a cool two centuries old. Talk about kinky themes being timeless:
Found by a Spanking Blog reader in a European auction catalog. Details here.
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Friday, March 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From Vintage Lust:
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Thursday, March 13th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Greta Christina has a good essay up on the Blowfish Blog on sexual perspective and the reasons we aren’t very accepting as a culture of other people’s sexual tastes:
So unless you’re pathologically stubborn, you eventually learn perspective. You figure out that, as much as you may personally dislike broccoli or blue cheese, Wagner or Western Swing, people who eat it/ listen to it are not mentally deranged. (Or the reverse: that as much as you may personally enjoy these delights, people who don’t like them are not pathologically cut off from the one true source of pleasure and meaning.) People still do sometimes make personal judgments about others based on their tastes in food and music; but those judgments don’t usually result in people being sent to the county jail or the loony bin.
But when it comes to sex, most of us don’t get that kind of training. People don’t come back to work on Mondays and chat about how they tried spanking over the weekend, they way they’ll chat about how they tried a new Moroccan restaurant or went to see a German funk band their brother told them about. They don’t go to parties and share a funny story about the new buttplug they just bought, the way they’ll tell a funny story about trying to make a salmon souffle for their in-laws or the weird harpist who opened for Radiohead. (Well, they sometimes do at my parties . . . but you know what I mean.) Most of us haven’t been regaled with myriad and varied stories about exactly what kinds of sex other people like, and why exactly they like it.
It’s better now than it once was, by a long shot. The amount of sexual information that’s easily available today far surpasses anything I had when I was young. But most of us still don’t get exposed to a widely varied range of sexual tastes . . . not the way we get exposed to a barrage of different tastes in music and food, simply as part of everyday life.
And I think that casual barrage is exactly what we need to break through the intensely personal, intensely visceral nature of our sensual experience and give us perspective on it. It’s what we need to teach us that other people really and truly feel differently about sex than we do.
I have to agree with this as a matter of personal anecdote. Although I considered myself a fairly free-thinking and tolerant guy when I started this sex blog more than five years ago, some of the distancing remarks in my old archived posts (like this one, where I was obviously anxious to express my distaste for bukkake) make me wince in embarrassment now, so clear is it to me that I was uncomfortable with the sexual diversity I was reporting on. But the constant barrage of sexual information that I’ve processed in the course of writing this blog has given me much of the perspective Greta is writing about. The most unusual sexual practices now typically strike me as no more problematic than a taste for live grubs or pickled beets — I’d strongly prefer not to have any, thanks, but I’m not disturbed or surprised (ok, still a little surprised, sometimes) that somebody else finds enjoyment there.
Wednesday, March 12th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
While hitching rides in Germany, that is:
I can see how this would work for the young lady. But I should think her two boyfriends and their trashbag luggage would be slowing her down.
Update: I’m sorry to report that I’ve had to delete at least four comments from people who managed to be rude or superior or condescending about pointing out that this image was photoshopped from a non-nude scene in a movie. However, I’m quite grateful for the information, and especially for the original image provided by Azi in a comment that nicely avoided all the “ZOMG! Internet points for me!” attitudes I was busily moderating away. Thanks, Azi!
Anyway, here’s the unmodified real deal, which I like every bit as much:
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Tuesday, March 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
We don’t do unicorn chasers here at Eros Blog, but I’ve got the next best thing to cleanse your mental palate after that last post. What have I got?
I’ve got the the Governor of California as a young man, ripped and oiled and giving a lift to a lady, the two of them not wearing enough clothes between ’em to make up one good Austrian flag:
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Monday, March 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This just in from the New York Times:
Gov. Eliot Spitzer has been caught on a federal wiretap arranging to meet with a high-priced prostitute at a Washington hotel last month, according to a person briefed on the federal investigation.
The wiretap recording, made during an investigation of a prostitution ring called Emperors Club VIP, captured a man identified as Client 9 on a telephone call confirming plans to have a woman travel from New York to Washington, where he had reserved a room. The person briefed on the case identified Mr. Spitzer as Client 9.
…
The man described as Client 9 in court papers arranged to meet with a prostitute who was part of the ring, Emperors Club VIP, on the night of Feb. 13. Mr. Spitzer traveled to Washington that evening, according to a person told of his travel arrangements.
Classy guy, screwing around on his wife the night before Valentine’s day, eh?
Here’s a nice photo of the family man with his wife and three daughters:
(I found that photo on an adult webmaster board along with the cruel-but-funny caption: “Daddy’s been banging some prostitutes, girls, so let’s all go to church!”)
I’ll leave the detailed analysis to Susie Bright, who really enjoys tearing into the sexual hypocrisy of conservative old white male politicians (into which camp Spitzer, though a Democrat, surely falls, thanks to his reputation as an aggressive, even rabid, law-and-order prosecutor). I’ll just say there surely must be a special circle in hell for prosecutors who enjoy a particular vice while denouncing that same vice and sending people to jail for it:
Mr. Spitzer gained national attention when he served as attorney general with his relentless pursuit of Wall Street wrongdoing. As attorney general, he also had prosecuted at least two prostitution rings as head of the state’s organized crime task force.
In one such case in 2004, Mr. Spitzer spoke with revulsion and anger after announcing the arrest of 16 people for operating a high-end prostitution ring out of Staten Island.
“This was a sophisticated and lucrative operation with a multitiered management structure,” Mr. Spitzer said at the time. â€?It was, however, nothing more than a prostitution ring.â€?
Update, courtesy Jay Leno: “In the governor’s defense, he was bringing prostitution to its knees… one woman at a time.”
Second update: Susie’s take, as anticipated.
Monday, March 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I cannot begin to explain my recent interest in the non-explicit photographs found in explicit porn galleries. But explain it or not, here are some before and after portraits of model Samantha Sin:
In between these pictures, Samantha gets tied up and quite roughly used in this bondage sex shoot for Sex and Submission.
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Sunday, March 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Just in case you missed it, Violet Blue did a talk at the big Etech 2008 shindig, a talk that ranges widely across the big topic of sexual identity online and how we construct it, shape it, and especially, defend it (and ourselves, where there’s a difference) from online trolls, stalkers, and haters of all sorts. Here’s Violet Blue about her talk, here’s the transcript.
It’s juicy chewy idea-rich media, the sort of thing that makes me worry about the decline in printed magazines, because I like to buy printed magazines with this sort of info-dense article in them (Wired used to do a lot of this) to read when I’m traveling and have a lot of time to read and think. Just pulling out a random useful and true paragraph:
I’ve been a blogger and occasional full-time editor at Fleshbot.com almost since its inception, a job when full time requires me to scour the internets for explicit sexual content of reasonable quality. We endeavor to cover a wide range of sexual expression and all genders and orientations; one of our regular features is the Sex Blog Roundup. When I did it weekly, I had upwards of 300 text-only sex blogs written by individuals worldwide in my RSS reader — outside the 50 or so usual suspects of variety sex blogs, mainstream media news, linkdumps and sex news blogs. Every week I’d have to cull for new blogs to add to my feeds because invariably a handful of sex bloggers who were blogging “anonymously” had to quit blogging — meaning they were for one reason or another, no longer anonymous. It was such a regular occurrence I developed a snarky attitude toward the anonymous sex blogger, even though they often offered up the juiciest and most explicit posts about sex. Time and again, they are a sure bet for being outed or discovered, have the shortest life span, and are the least reliable for following as a human narrative.
(That paragraph is also nostalgic for me, because I compiled the first of Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundups, and immensely enjoyed doing them until I ran out of time to keep up with the extra work. Sadly, I don’t think I understood the full power of RSS back then, or I might be doing them yet.)
One thing that struck me about Violet’s talk, however, was that it describes a dangerous-sounding online world for sex bloggers, full of hatred and weird jealousies and stalker trolls and malevolent creeps, so much so that she’s got an entire array of procedures and tactics for defending herself and returning the fight to her attackers. And that’s bizarre to me; in more the five years of blogging, the worst I’ve seen from that list is ranting commenters who are deeply threatened by a world — the world I advocate — in which no sexuality is condemned or forcibly closeted or judged by any standard other than who gets hurt. Death threats she gets? It’s been months since I so much as got one of those “you’re going to burn in hell” invitations to attend church services.
So, why the difference? I trust Violet innately — as far as I’m concerned, she’s one of the most honest voices on the Internet — so she’s not exaggerating or being oversensitive or doing anything else from the “there there, little lady, don’t be hysterical” laundry list of excuses for men to ignore surprising and unwelcome female narratives. Of course, she is a woman and I’m not. And equally of course, she’s got ten thousand times more skin in the game, literally and figuratively. She doesn’t use a pseudonym, she’s active in print and broadcast media, she lives and works visibly in a vital and media-connected city, she talks about her real and actual life, she gives people handles by which to grab for her, and she bares experiences online that actually matter to her, stuff her enemies can use against her.
Whereas, I sit in my undisclosed location in Red-State America and upload an endless stream of pointers to, and scanty commentary on, sexually entertaining stuff that’s happening somewhere else in the vast internet information ecology. When I started this blog, I didn’t even have a personal sex life to blog about. I was temporarily unemployed and sitting in a studio apartment sharing badly microwaved nachos with an unsympathetic parrot who perched on my shoulder and chewed holes in my undershirt while I blogged. (I know that sounds sad, but I was actually enjoying life quite a lot, apart from the “no girlfriend” thing.) By the time I fell in with The Nymph, I was comfortable with my pattern; sex blogging is something I do about other people, using information they’ve already made public. It makes things much safer and more comfortable, and (combined with the male versus female thing) explains a great deal of the difference between Violet’s and my experiences of the sex-blogging life.
So, that’s a lot of the explanation, but is it all of it? While pondering the matter, and reading reactions to Violet’s talk, I found Ethan Zuckerman’s blog and especially, his notes from his own Etech talk on The Cute Cat Theory Of Digital Activism. He was apparently at Tripod back in those dark ages where most folks needed a service like Tripod in order to “have a web page”, and he formulated the theory that
Any sufficiently advanced read/write technology will get used for two purposes: pornography and activism. Porn is a weak test for the success of participatory media – it’s like tapping a mike and asking, “Is it on?” If you’re not getting porn in your system, it doesn’t work. Activism is a stronger test – if activists are using your tools, it’s a pretty good indication that your tools are useful and usable.
Reading that paragraph was an “ah-ha!” moment for me. Because another huge difference between Violet and me is that, although we are both sex bloggers by any reasonable definition, I’m more of a pornographer and she’s more of an activist.
We both do stuff that blurs the lines, of course; sometimes I make posts that have at least a whiff of activist sentiment in them, and often she links to pretty pr0n pictures. But at any given blogging moment, my first thought is “will this amuse, entertain, or turn somebody on?” And, while I can’t speak for what happens in Violet’s thoughts, she’s clearly got causes — like sex education, to name just one — that animate and drive her blogging, her published writing, her public appearances, whole swathes of her professional life.
Perversely, I think her activism makes her sex blogging even more interesting and entertaining than my detached approach, so it’s not like there’s a sharp division between entertainer and activist. It’s just that — and this is the not-very-startling hypothesis you’ve waded through many long paragraphs to hear about — activists are more threatening than entertainers. They upset more apple carts, gore more oxen, get more done, make more enemies because they threat more status quos. Activists piss people off. Their fans and enemies alike are more animated and engaged.
And that, maybe, is why Violet Blue needs police contacts at the SFPD, while I make do with a lightly tweaked comment moderation plugin for my WordPress install.
Saturday, March 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If I ran the zoo:
Forget buckets, she HAZ A TUBZ!
From Usenet.
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Saturday, March 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
You don’t see too many fictional accounts of rimming, and this is the first I’ve ever seen that has a little funny twist at the end. It’s from this story by Vinnie Tesla:
Impulsively, I bury my face in an armpit, and drink in her sharp animal smell. She’s moaning and laughing at once as my beard tickles her delicate skin. I lick along the line of her shoulder blade, the muscles there flexing as she struggles playfully. I throw her tee-shirt to the ground, and push her against one of the basement’s grimy cinderblock walls. I pin her arms above her head, and give the other armpit a more thorough treatment.
She starts out laughing and twitching, but this gives way to quiet moans, that get louder when I bite. I release her arms and run my lips over the pale, freckled flesh above her bra. Impatiently I pull the bra up over her tits, and fix my mouth over one of her nipples, crinkled tight in the basement’s chill air. My hands find the catch of her bra, and it joins her tee shirt on the floor. Once again she grabs my head and holds it tightly as I worry and suck at her fat little bud. I hold her other breast in my hand. The flesh is breathtakingly soft, and fever-hot. I pull the nipple roughly, stretching the crinkles smooth. “Yeah,” she whispers in my ear, her hot breath sending shivers down my spine, “yeah.”
Still cradling my head with one hand, her other strokes the front of my jeans, and cups my cock with her open palm. “Mmm, nice,” she purrs.
“You like it?” I ask, my hands kneading her breasts, “soon it’s going to be buried in your cunt.”
She looks me in the eye teasingly. “Just my cunt?”
I open and close my mouth several times like a goldfish. So much for my attempt at the suave dirty-talker.
Molly laughs at my expression and begins struggling to get the legs of her overalls over her boots. Watching her breasts sway as she works, bent over, is irresistible. She tugs the overalls down her thighs, and sits on the floor to pull them off. Then, with a yelp, she’s up off the cold, damp concrete again, rubbing her chilled ass.
“Here, let me help with that,” I volunteer, and squat behind her. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“Molly, you have got an amazing ass.” Broader than I expected, exquisitely round and smooth. Dusted with pale freckles. Flawless, so far as I can see. Groaning, I grab her hips and bury my face in that exquisite butt, licking and biting at the smooth, taut flesh. She presses back against me, and wiggles her hips slowly and sexily, enjoying the attention. Eventually, though: “Weren’t you gonna help me get my clothes off?”
“I got sidetracked,” I admit, and jerk her panties down to her knees before resuming my feast.
She begins skeptically, “That’s not a whole lot of– oooh, that feels good.” I’m kneading her cheeks hard with my hands now, while licking teasingly around the top of her crack.
“Bend over,” I tell her.
“Yes, sir!” she says sarcastically, but does so, resting her hands against the wall, and spreading her legs as much as her bunched clothes will allow. I stroke her ass lightly
“You want me to?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, almost inaudibly.
I pull at one of her cheeks, exposing her hidden parts. The skin of her anus is surprisingly dark, and fringed with wispy reddish hair. Below, the lips of her cunt are fat and swollen. She flinches a little when the wet handiwipe from my pocket touches the sensitive flesh of her asshole. I run it over the surface a few times, and then drop it onto the floor. My hands spread her cheeks, and I begin running my tongue along the skin just above her anus. Then I move down, and lick at her perineum, drawing a gasp from Molly. Finally I bring my tongue to her clenched little orifice, and rub against it with gentle pressure.
She lets a little shriek escape, followed by a low moan. I feel goosepimples rise on her muscular thighs, as she reaches down and cups her cunt in one hand. I’m alternating broad, spiraling licks with tighter, more aggressive ones, loving the feel of her soft flesh against my face. She’s slowly undulating her hips; each breath out is a long quiet moan.
The rocking of her hips accelerates; her voice rises in pitch. I (teasing bastard) rise to my feet and draw her up too. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus again, and then I’m seized in a bruising hug. “Oh, wow,” she says dreamily, “Oh, that was really nice. I haven’t done that before.”
“My *pleasure*,” I say emphatically. “But I’m a little confused. You said you wanted me to rim you, right?”
She grins. “I wanted you to *spank* me, you twit.” Before the blood can stop roaring in my ears, she continues: “Now help me get these off!”
Of course she does eventually get her spanking, which is how (via Spanking Blog) I came upon this story.
Thursday, March 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is as posed as any other porn, but it’s at least a couple of decades old and the couple seems (to my eye, at least) do be doing a better-than-usual job of simulating passion:
I can’t shake the sense that these are bigger-name porn stars, so if you recognize them, please chime in!
Via alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. pornstar.
Monday, March 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I am enamored of the concept of electric lingerie, in the best high-Victorian quack medical style of course. These garments probably did not have the beneficial effects advertised, but I have no doubt they delivered one hell of a jolt! That’s how you could tell they were “working”:
From the Electrosex Blog.
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Sunday, March 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Everybody loves a sweater girl, especially when the sweater comes off:
Friday, February 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This has got to be absolutely the tamest / cutest photoset I’ve ever seen in the pages of Taboo magazine, which has been happily notorious for explicit bondage sex photography since well before anybody (well, it was Kink.com, actually) dared to do it on the web. But not in this photoset! Nope, this is just a fine lady and her maid, prepping for another hard day of languishing around the manor in outfits of loosely-arranged lace:
“Why, you careless hussy! You caught a tangle and hurt my pretty head! I ought to…”
The remonstrances continue: “You indolent wench! I’ll rip off your lingerie and slap some sense into your silly head!”
“Bah, slapping isn’t enough for course slatterns like you! Bend over, I’ll pretend to spank you with my silver hand mirror while secretly using it to peer at your pussy!”
And, then, inevitably, there has to be the kissing on the ear and the whispering of sweet nothings:
How else are they going to segue into the inevitable hot-and-sweaty lesbian makeup sex?
Pictures are from the August 2004 edition of Taboo magazine.
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Thursday, February 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Apologies to those who find this too graphic, but there’s so much censored manga out there, it’s almost refreshing to find some so explicitly uncensored:
Via alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime.
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Wednesday, February 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve long felt that public fears (mostly among folks who aren’t particularly computer-literate) about internet sex predators were mostly press-fueled frenzy — the normal sensationalism that we get served with any new technology, where the press tries to “sell papers” (or whatever it is they are selling these days) by taking a tiny tiny handful of crimes that involve the new technology and turning that tiny handful into an endless parade of breathless handwringing and fear-mongering. All of which is eagerly devoured by the sort of casual Luddites who don’t much like the new technology and sort of wish it didn’t exist because then they wouldn’t have to deal with.
Well, it turns out I was right. Research by sociologists at the Crimes against Children Research Center, University of New Hampshire in Durham has debunked several widely-believed myths:
Myth: Internet predators are driving up child sex crime rates.
Reality: Sex assaults on teens fell 52 percent from 1993 to 2005, according to the Justice Department’s National Crime Victimization Survey, the best measure of U.S. crime trends. “The Internet may not be as risky as a lot of other things that parents do without concern, such as driving kids to the mall and leaving them there for two hours,” Wolak said.
Myth: Internet predators are pedophiles.
Reality: Internet predators don’t hit on the prepubescent children whom pedophiles target. They target adolescents, who have more access to computers, more privacy and more interest in sex and romance, Wolak’s team determined from interviews with investigators.
Myth: Internet predators represent a new dimension of child sexual abuse.
Reality: The means of communication is new, according to Wolak, but most Internet-linked offenses are essentially statutory rape: nonforcible sex crimes against minors too young to consent to sexual relationships with adults.
Myth: Internet predators trick or abduct their victims.
Reality: Most victims meet online offenders face-to-face and go to those meetings expecting to engage in sex. Nearly three-quarters have sex with partners they met on the Internet more than once.
Myth: Internet predators meet their victims by posing online as other teens.
Reality: Only 5 percent of predators did that, according to the survey of investigators.
Myth: Online interactions with strangers are risky.
Reality: Many teens interact online all the time with people they don’t know. What’s risky, according to Wolak, is giving out names, phone numbers and pictures to strangers and talking online with them about sex.
Myth: Internet predators go after any child.
Reality: Usually their targets are adolescent girls or adolescent boys of uncertain sexual orientation, according to Wolak. Youths with histories of sexual abuse, sexual orientation concerns and patterns of off- and online risk-taking are especially at risk.
Thanks to Bruce Schneier for the link.
Tuesday, February 26th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Duck penis? Boy, I’d hate to meet the duck to whom this penis belonged, because he’s BIG and I’m sure he’s pissed!
Ok, OK, I’ve had my fun. What you’re really looking at is a freshly-harvested Geoduck, a large edible mollusk, said to be tasty (by the folks who like to eat giant penis-shaped mollusks, anyway).
Sunday, February 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Does anybody remember Pussy Ranch, the original Diablo Cody blog from back when she was a stripper and phone sex worker? It was an early ErosBlog favorite, when she still called herself “Darling” and long before she took up writing Oscar-winning screenplays for genuinely excellent movies with great if quirky music.
Sadly, Cody was also one of the people who was an early and influential progenitor of my distaste for blog vandals. The original Pussy Ranch vanished overnight, and subsequent projects (for awhile she had a blog-like thing in one of those “city newspaper” community sites, there was a more recent blogspot blog, and she does MySpace now) haven’t resurrected any of her old posts. I haven’t checked the archive sites, but it’s possible ErosBlog is now the only place you can read what she wrote about her 2003 engagement:
On Friday, Jonny presented me with a saucy new ensemble from Wet Seal (the man has some seriously excellent taste) and told me I should wear it for a “surprise date” on Saturday. But of course! I adore surprises.
So I donned the beaded top, miniskirt and pink fishnet tights on Saturday evening (Jonny wore an extremely hot new outfit as well) and we headed out. It turned out he had made reservations at our favorite sushi restaurant. We ordered cocktails and nigiri and commenced a fabulous meal. After finishing, we decided we were still hungry and ordered a second round of sushi.
So you can imagine my shock when the waitress arrived with a tray not bearing spicy tuna rolls, but a white ring box. “Here’s your special roll,” she said, barely able to contain her glee. Jonny dropped to his knee as I began bawling my fool eyes out in front of many gawking diners, and popped the question.
I had a surprise planned too: See, we’d been talking about getting engaged a lot recently, and I had a hunch a proposal was forthcoming. So several days earlier (as it turns out, the exact day Jonny had purchased the ring), I had secretly had the word “yes” tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I’d hidden it with an AC/DC wristband and hoped my surprise wouldn’t be blown.
And it wasn’t; I whipped off the wristband and flashed Jonny my wrist. “Yes!” Onlookers applauded, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.
I wanted my answer to last forever, and now it will. (In fact, it’s healing nicely.)
We’ve also got her advice for guys who call phone sex lines, as well as a short discourse on punching men in the stomach for money. And let’s not forget what she said about poor Michelle Branch, who got so roughly used by Maxim’s art department!
Saturday, February 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From Bondage Blog. Commentary seems superfluous:
Friday, February 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m not a comics guy, so I don’t know much about fumetti comics except that the vintage ones I keep stumbling over tend to be Italian and feature sex and violence combined in shocking and politically incorrect ways.
Lately I have several times run across the Groovy Age of Horror blog while doing Google image searches. It’s a resource for all manner of vintage pulpy wonderfulness, but the excerpted fumetti comics (complete with high quality scans of every panel) are one of the best features of the site. Example: all the good parts from Macho #3 as reprinted in Pecatti #1. You really need to follow the link, because while I’m “borrowing” Jaakko’s dry commentary in the block-quoting below, I’m only reprinting cropped and reduced details from a few panels of the artwork; the commentary-plus-complete-panels is a much more vivid experience. As Jaakko tells the story:
It’s called Il Clan Dei Centurioni (The Clan of Centurions), and it teaches us a new, fun way of defusing a stick of dynamite stuffed into a bodily orifice. Watch and learn, kids! First the bad guys chain Macho to the roof. Then they rape him, much to his delight. Then they stick a dynamite stick up his butt. Fortunately Macho is bisexual, and his girlfriend soon rushes to help him.
Wait a minute, what the hell?
Apparently this girl really loves using her mouth.
And thus, when Macho’s gay friends arrive, they find a horrifying sight: Macho is getting a blow-job… from a woman. Oh, the humanity! The End.
Thursday, February 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
With a few notable exceptions, this sex blog generally stays away from the feminist porn wars, which always strike me as being in the nature of unhappy negotiations over the way political correctness ought to be defined by and among its most cutting-edge advocates and devotees.
Still, the wars continue, whether I blog about them or not. Case in point: this account from Audacia Ray, about some flack she took for allowing oppressive patriarchal semen to touch women’s bodies in a porn movie she made:
I was on a panel called “Good Porn for Good Girls” that featured some female porn directors. When I first found out about the panel, I was a little apprehensive — the idea of me being a good girl is kind of funny (to say the least), and it’s also annoying that despite the fact that I’ve never called The Bi Apple “porn for women,” other people enthusiastically slap that label on it. I’m a woman, and a self-identified feminist. Ergo, my porn must be for women.
Really, I find this tiresome — I made The Bi Apple for people who want to see a slightly different vision of sexual interaction, people who are queer or pansexual or just plain curious about people and bodies and fucking. Women are of course invited — but so is everyone.
…
Anyway … the panel quickly devolved into an argument about blowjobs. A few audience members questioned the prevalence of blowjobs in Erika Lust’s films and the extent to which giving a blowjob is a feminist act. Erika quickly said that she personally likes giving blowjobs, which is why they are in her films so much, and she personally is a feminist, so do the math. It definitely seemed like the crowd didn’t buy this explanation.
I’ve seen this happen too when people ask “Why do the men in your movie ejaculate on the women’s bodies?” and my answer “I asked the female performers where they wanted the cum, so it’s all up to them where it’s deposited” is often greeted with skepticism. This kind of skepticism is the stuff of “false consciousness” — or the belief that if only we (being Erika, me, and female porn performers who like getting cum on them) were radicalized to better understand our oppression, we would know that cocksucking and money shots are Bad For Women.
Wednesday, February 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The diversity of expressions on Sex And Submission model Charley Chase’s face in this shoot impressed me, so I thought it would be fun to whip up a matrix (bigger version here) showing just her expressive face:
Not shown: the one that’s mostly penis.
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Tuesday, February 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I love this audio clip from a TV show The Nymph watches. Dr. House is making his excuse to walk away from somebody:
– house.wav –
“There’s a lot of porn piling up on the internet. It doesn’t download itself!”
Monday, February 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is cover art from Harem Stud by David Lynn, cover copy: “The natives were restless…and shameless!”
Our supposedly downed flyer seems very happy in the company of his friendly Native American rescuers. What caught my eye among the general foolishness of this illustration, however, was the attitude of the crashed airplane in the background. A plane that augers in like that is not typically one the pilot walks away from. So our grinning hero would appear to enjoying his reward in the afterlife.
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Sunday, February 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From much the same era, or perhaps a bit earlier, in which Chairman Mao was trying to swap away ten million women, we have American Airlines grousing about people stealing its friendly stewardesses. The following was captioned “People keep stealing our stewardesses.”
And the explanation:
Within two years, most of our stewardesses will leave us for other men.
This isn’t surprising.
A girl who can smile for 5 and a half hours is hard to find.
Not to mention a wife who can remember what 124 people want for dinner.
(And tell you all about meteorology and jets, if that’s what you’re looking for in a woman.)
But these are not the things that brought on our problem.
It’s the kind of girl we hire. Being beautiful just isn’t enough.
(We don’t mean it isn’t important. We just mean it isn’t enough.)
So if there’s one thing we look for, it’s girls who like people. And you can’t do that and then tell them not to like people too much.
All you can do is put a new wing on your stewardess college to keep up with demand.
American Airlines
From Vintage Ads.
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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Thursday, February 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The Nymph and I celebrated early this year with a two-day excursion, spending a night in the big city in a nice hotel, getting a couple of good meals out in restaurants we enjoy, and going to some good movies.
For your Valentine’s card, how about this? It’s been my favorite twee Valentine’s Day image for at least a decade. I thought I had posted it some years ago, but I cannot find it anywhere in the archives, so, perhaps not.
I love it because it combines the usual over-sweet imagery of Victorian romantic love with just enough hint of pervery to cut through the sugar, like the squirt of lemon in your tea with honey:
(If this looks strangely familiar to you, take a second look at the ErosBlog logo.)
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Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
It will come as no surprise that men will lavish amazing amounts of money and attention on their rides. Still, my mind boggles at the amount of effort it must have taken for this car’s owner to train his girlfriend to do this:
(And now I have to run, The Nymph is chasing me with a couch cushion and yelling something about male pigs and dogs. I guess that means I’m not getting a topless car wash as a Valentine’s Day present?)
Monday, February 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
No idea where this naughty nun illustration comes from, sorry:
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Sunday, February 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember this vintage blowjob? Well, I’m pretty sure this picture from Vintage Lust is from the same series or photoset:
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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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Friday, February 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This kinky anime cartoon with LOLcats-styled caption from Spanking Blog (post and larger version here) made me laugh:
Hey, if cute animals can talk, why not cute cartoon girls?
Thursday, February 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
After linking to a pair of stories about beauty queens gone wild and thence to jail (Katie Reece aka Miss Nevada 2006, arrested for assaulting a police officer, and Kumari Fulbright aka Miss Pima County 2005 and Miss Desert Sun 2006, arrested for kidnapping, robbery, and assault), Jezebel asks which mugshot is prettier?
So, I thought I’d slap up a side-by-side, complete with numbers borrowed from the Beagle Brothers:
I’d have to give the nod to Katie Rees, if only because she’s managed to maintain her poise and perhaps even a sense of humor, despite having been substantially rumpled by the implacable machinery of justice. Whereas, Kumari Fulbright looks like she’s been pretty thoroughly crushed by her life and/or that same machinery of justice, making her a less comfortable target of hot-or-not mugshot fun.
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Wednesday, February 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
“Pessary” is one of those vocabulary words that I have been aware of since I was a kid. I’d see it in old books or older magazines, and somehow I gained the vague sense that it had something to do with, uh, “feminine hygiene”. Which meant, I really didn’t want to know.
Well, here’s a picture:
According to Accoucheur’s Antique Midwifery Fact Files (link via Bondage Blog, which in itself should tell you something):
Intrauterine Wishbones & Stem Plugs
It was illegal to sell or promote any form of contraceptives during early 1900s. These birth control devices were sold and advertised as pessaries. They were place in the cervix with the stem inside the uterine cavity. These pessaries were the forerunners of the modern day IUDs.
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Tuesday, February 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember this antique set of penis sheaths?
While, here’s another slightly different set, including cock rings and maybe even one-half of a set of ben-wa balls:
I’m not sure if these are made of carved horn, ivory, or Bakelite, but it’s obvious that they were carefully crafted and expensive sex toy sets.
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Monday, February 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I am in love with the idea that “upskirt” has become a word in its own right. Truly we live in a most photographic world, if we coin words that serve primarily to specify a camera angle for voyeurs.
That said, there’s something about the inadvertent exposure of flesh at wedding festivities that I really enjoy. Sex is close to the surface at weddings, closer than at most of the other fancy parties we throw and attend, with both caution and inhibitions handicapped even before the booze starts to flow. The result is pictures like this:
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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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Friday, February 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember this cheesy guy?
If you’re any sort of media consumer, you’ll have had a hard time missing the recent barrage of comical 1950s-style advertising for a product called “Enzyte”, which was supposed to offer “Natural Male Enhancement”. The ads were obviously for yet another worthless scam product, which you could tell by the fact that they never even claimed to have an active ingredient or mechanism of action, just like the worst half of the ever-changing array of “as seen on TV” diet pills. Anybody with a brain understood that you’d get a worthless sugar pill if you were dumb enough to place an order from these charlatans, it was inherent in their limited advertising claims.
Now, it turns out via an article in the Cincinnati Enquirer, the company and its senior management are facing federal fraud charges, and the first worm to turn is testifying, not only about the completely bogus nature of the product, but about the credit card shenanigans that turned this particular scam into a major money spinner:
James Teegarden Jr., the former vice president of operations at Berkeley Premium Nutraceuticals, explained Tuesday in U.S. District Court how he and others at the company made up much of the content that appeared in Enzyte ads.
He said employees of the Forest Park company created fictitious doctors to endorse the pills, fabricated a customer satisfaction survey and made up numbers to back up claims about Enzyte’s effectiveness.
So all this is a fiction?” Judge S. Arthur Spiegel asked about some of the claims.
That’s correct, your honor,” Teegarden said.
…
One spreadsheet purportedly showed how the pills increased penis size by an average of 24 percent, when in fact no customers had reported such results. Instead, Teegarden said, he made up the numbers.
Another report he created showed customer satisfaction ratings of 96 percent for Enzyte customers. But prosecutors showed jurors an e-mail from Warshak that they said asked Teegarden to fix the numbers.
“Here’s the spreadsheet you wanted,” Teegarden responded via e-mail. “Let me know if you want me to doctor it up some more.”
…
When customers ordered a product, the company’s goal was to keep charging their credit cards for as long as possible, Teegarden said.
He said first-time customers were automatically enrolled in a “continuity program” that sent Enzyte to their homes every month and charged their credit cards without authorization.
“Without continuity, the company wouldn’t exist,” Teegarden said. “It was the sole profit of the business.”
If customers complained, he said, employees were instructed to “make it as difficult as possible” for them to get their money back. In some cases, Teegarden said, Warshak required customers to produce a notarized statement from a doctor certifying Enzyte did not work.
“He said it was extremely unlikely someone would get anything notarized saying they had a small penis,” Teegarden said.
I’ve always assumed that the people who fall for these scams aren’t really as dumb as you would think they need to be; rather, I figure they’re thinking “it’s probably a scam, but what the hey, it only costs me forty bucks to find out!” The crucial mistake in that “reasoning” lies in forgetting that someone who will lie to you will also quite cheerfully steal from you, which they will find quite simple to do, once they have your credit card information:
Teegarden, however, said Warshak also tried to manipulate data that banks use to determine whether companies should be allowed to accept payment via credit cards.
He said Warshak artificially inflated total sales to offset the high number of customers who sought refunds from credit card companies, a process known as “charge backs.”
If more than 1 percent of its customers sought charge backs, Berkeley could have lost its ability to do business via credit cards.
To avoid that, Teegarden said, Berkeley began making small, unauthorized charges to thousands of customer credit cards. The charges were later refunded by the company, but they temporarily boosted total sales and reduced the percentage of charge backs.
Thursday, January 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is some of the prettiest “kicking the Kaiser in the teeth” propaganda that I’ve ever seen:
From Spanking Hitler.
Wednesday, January 30th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
By cracky, you know what? I think those new velocipedes may actually be catching on!
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Tuesday, January 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There are certain sights that convey more than they show. This one, for instance, shows Berlin and Madison Young kneeling attentively, and not overdressed. But what does it say?
It says “somebody is going to have a good weekend!”
Which, if you look at the rest of the shoot, turns out to be the case.
From The Training Of O.
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Tuesday, January 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Except for the script looking vaguely Arabic in appearance to my untrained eye, I know not a thing about the cultural provenance of this vintage-looking happy ring of sodomy:
I even found it on some malware-infested website published in some other alphabet I do not know, and it was in the company of a bunch of “borrowed” images there, so your guess is as good as mine.
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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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Sunday, January 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Back in my Everquest days we called this a “mis-tell” — the chat command was /tell and it was very easy to /tell the wrong thing to the wrong channel. The potential for humiliation was enormous:
Saturday, January 26th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I could be mistaken, but this looks like artwork from one of those old vintage woodcut illustrations that were printed up on Ex Libris bookplates for the very private lending libraries of wealthy and eccentric gentlemen:
Found on Usenet.
Friday, January 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Offered for discussion, an excerpt from “Nicole Gets An Education” by Vulgus. It (the excerpt, not the story, which is very long and somewhat tedious in the common manner of free internet sex fiction) is a short fictional account of a woman who has her best orgasm ever while being raped, so some of you may want to pass it by:
I am very aware, however, that the second best orgasm I ever had was when Bill Harris was making love to me. He held my hands over my head in one of his strong hands and I felt totally helpless. He stared into my eyes and I felt well and truly taken. He was large and strong and I felt overpowered. It was very exciting.
My best orgasm, however, was when I said “No” to Tom Phillips. We had gone out to dinner and spent a little time at a club. I had to get up early so we couldn’t stay too long. He grudgingly took me home and somehow wormed his way into my new apartment. It was my only experience with ‘date rape’. He took control as soon as my door closed. We had been dating for a month or so and we had sex a couple of times. Tonight, though, I was not in the mood. I was tired and a little pissed at him for being such an ass.
But he started pushing me toward my couch and pulling my clothes off. I was fighting him off, but not screaming or trying to hurt him. Finally he got tired of it and he used the cloth belt from my dress to tie my hands behind my back and he pulled my dress down to my elbows and pulled by bra up over my breasts and roughly mauled them while he held me close and forced his tongue into my mouth. I was struggling and begging him to stop, but he just ignored me.
Finally he pushed me to the floor and bent me over the sofa. He pulled my dress up in back and ripped my panties off violently. Then he held me down while he unbuckled his belt and slid it out of his belt loops.
As soon as it was free he doubled it over and started beating my ass. As he was beating me he was yelling at me, “Don’t you ever say no to be again, god damn it. You fucking tease, you bitches are all alike. You just use men to get what you want and send them home with blue balls and think that it is just great fun. Fucking bitch!”
I was crying hysterically, but he didn’t care, he must have beat my ass for several minutes before he pulled his pants off and raped me from behind.
I knelt there helplessly, my hands tied behind my back, his hand holding my hair in his firm grip and pulling my head up so that he could see my face while he fucked me. His other hand kept moving under me and squeezing and pinching my by breasts and my nipples. It was horrible. And I came harder than I had ever come in my life! Over and over. I lost track of how many times I came. I had never been so aroused in my life. Some of those rape stories I read on the internet flashed through my mind as Tom violently raped me and I screamed in pleasure.
Tom finally came in me. He stood up and wiped his cock clean in my hair. Then he dressed and left without ever saying another word. It took me almost fifteen minutes to get my hands free!
I sat on my dress on the floor for a long time sobbing and sad and furious and confused.
Finally I got up and took a shower and as I washed my sore body I pictured what had happened tonight in my mind and as I washed my sore pussy I was on the edge of another orgasm. Well, I had no reason to disappoint me, so I rubbed myself until I came again. But then I was mad at myself for doing it.
This excerpt is a fairly stark and unequivocal example of a blindingly common meme — the meme of the woman who is overpowered by brute male force, raped with a modicum of violence, and, on a sexual level at least, enjoys it.
There are plenty of controversies swirling around this meme. Many men, for example, enjoy pointing out that it’s a predominantly female fantasy, at least measured by sales dollars — because, lightly prettied up, it’s at the heart (or somewhere lower) of an entire genre of commercial fiction marketed to and mostly consumed by women. In certain feminist circles, this fused grenado gets lit and tossed back over the wall by means of various arguments to the effect that the fantasy is thrust upon women or defensively adopted by them in response to the miscellaneous oppressive mechanisms of patriarchy.
But my interest is not in the question of whether the meme is prevalent — for it surely is — or whether it is popular with women — for it surely is that, also. Readers of this blog will know by now that I am predictable to this extent: memes expressed in erotic fiction, consumed and enjoyed as such, will attract no condemnation from me.
No, my question is: What do you think is the propagandistic effect, if any, of the meme? Do you think expressions of it are intended to convince (or, regardless of intent, do have the effect of convincing) anyone (male or female) that real world rapes are less evil or pernicious than they actually are? In other words, does fiction like this have the intent or effect of reducing the power of “No”?
Of course the forces of censorship — against which ErosBlog lives in opposition — are quick to say yes, and to assume that a “yes” should end the conversation. I think erotic expression is important enough to defend even in the face of real-world negative consequences, could they be established, so I will doubtless continue to oppose censorious impulses. But it remains an important question. Is there danger in the expression of such fantasies? And if so, what’s the appropriate reaction, given the toxic sexual pressure cooker environment you get when a society chooses repression and censorship?
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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Tuesday, January 22nd, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
It was just a matter of time before somebody figured out that the handy, information-dense Wiki style could be applied to sexy people. I give you Chickipedia, a place to find information, pictures, and video of your favorite sexy chick. It seems to be pretty new so there isn’t alot there…..but it should quickly fill out.
Here’s a picture I like, from Helena Bonham Carter’s page:
I don’t think a male version is going to happen soon, because Dickipedia is already taken….and they aren’t doing dicks the way I want to see dicks. Bummer.
Tuesday, January 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a surreal old French postcard, featuring the very flower of beautiful nude womanhood:
From Vintage Lust.
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Monday, January 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The idea of a Batman squirtgun? I can live with that.
The unfortunate position of the trigger? Well, it follows from the design. I guess I can live with that, too.
But the anal refill hole?
That’s a bored toy designer seeing just how far he can take the joke before his bosses notice and fire his ass. Somewhere out there he’s saying (probably in Chinese) “I still can’t believe they actually made it, and shipped thirty thousand units!”
Sunday, January 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Apparently there was just a big porn convention in Vegas, and Gawker Media was there. You may know Gawker Media for its several stylish blog titles, but it’s Fleshbot you’ll be most familiar with as an ErosBlog reader. Well, now I’ve been introduced to one of their newer titles, which also looks very promising indeed. Here now via Jezebel is Jezebel editor Tracie “Slut Machine” Egan’s Last Night I Boned An AVN Award Nominee, complete with “pictures or STFU” proof in the form of her triumphal hickie photograph:
They had this dude — the one I blew for a little bit in the bathroom — who was very easy to convince to come back to my hotel with me.
…
Back in the hotel, I decided I could use another drink (I really didn’t need it at all), and the dude I brought back with me said he wanted french fries, so we went to the Grand Lux Cafe (which is like the same thing as Cheesecake Factory) in the casino of the Venetian. We didn’t even touch what we ordered. We just drunkenly made out hardcore in the booth, and then I put my hand under the napkin on his lap and started jerking him off. Nobody blinked an eye. People weren’t even looking at us. When I remembered for a minute that I was in public and came up for air, I looked around and saw that people were too immersed in their own 3 AM dramas played out over extra large servings of fried food. One lady was crying next to a tight-jawed man, who was looking anywhere but at her face. The middle-aged gay couple next to us were arguing over whether to share or get their own meals. And the waiters were just happy that we weren’t bothering them with requests.
The dude put his dick back in his pants, we got the check and went back up to my room. (I’m sharing it with Jonno and Dash from Fleshbot.) We have an awesome suite; there are two beds and a sofa bed. Since I was the last one home, I got the sofa bed in the living room area, but that was fine for my purposes. Me and the dude went into the bathroom (I don’t have a picture of it, but it’s pretty grand) and just went at it. He lifted me onto the marble counter top. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, koala-bear style, and he fucked the shit out of me. He ruled and his dick was nice. I told him that he should maybe consider working in front of the camera instead of behind it.
We stayed in there for a little bit more and he finger banged me. I ended up squirting all over the damn place — which hasn’t happened to me in what seems like ages. It was shooting out sideways and shit, getting on both of our legs. I’m always a little afraid for that to happen in front of dudes, ’cause it’s such a fucking mess sometimes, but he seemed to be really into it.
Then we went to the sofa bed and I had every intention of falling asleep and not fooling around (the boys were just like 10 or 20 feet away), but he kept kissing me, and he was really too cute to turn down. I ended up blowing him again, and then he came on my tits. What the hay! We’re in Vegas!
We passed out, but I think I was only sleeping for like an hour before I felt his boner pressing up on my ass again. I pushed back, and before I knew it, we were spoon-fucking. Seriously, this guy is more of a machine than I am. I woke up in the morning with this:
I was kinda pissed about it. I’m not thirteen, you know. But Jonno put it into perspective for me when he said, “Consider yourself lucky that you fucked someone at the porn convention and all you got was a hickey.”
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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Wednesday, January 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
In case you ever wanted to see someone manually stimulate a root vegetable:
And then there’s after:
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Tuesday, January 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If you ever needed to lure The Nymph into an abandoned alley for some nefarious purpose, this would be the perfect way to go about it:
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Monday, January 14th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
More lurid cover art, hilariously phallic in this case:
And, yes, it’s OK to enjoy this sort of artwork without having “a problem” that you need to “do something about”. Shouldn’t have to be said, but apparently it does.
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Friday, January 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I have a boundless appreciation for the lurid cover art from the old detective and adventure magazines:
This grabbed girl is from the cover of an old Private Detective magazine, from Faustling’s photos on Flickr.
Thursday, January 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m afraid Kelly Brook is another one of these celebrity names that I’ve never even heard before. But I do approve of topless beaches and pretty girls who frequent them, and I’ve got just enough voyeur in me to enjoy the grainy quality of a good long telephoto shot. And that’s enough reason to publish this picture of Kelly Brook sunbathing with no top on in St. Barts, one of many such photos found on The Superficial:
[Update: Photos vanished from the original links when they broke, but a working backup link is here.]
Thursday, January 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I suppose it’s only fair. I’ve never missed an opportunity to show y’all a flexible young lady, so why should I miss this chance to share a flexible aging male workout guru? Especially when he’s showing the world his package straining in his tighty whities?
The image is 666 pixels tall. Coincidence?
Via Dlisted.
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Tuesday, January 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
When was the last time you saw a porn star wearing overalls? Here’s Eddy the Plumber, looking a lot like one of the Mario Brothers in trouble:
“Jessica” clearly isn’t willing to accept an inferior plumbing experience. “Eddy, your work is shoddy, and now it has broken, so you must be punished”:
At least now Eddy’s nice and clean for the rest of his punishment:
You can see the rest of this TS Seduction photo story here. Don’t worry, a lot of plumbing gets done and Eddy goes away happy.
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Monday, January 7th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
I’m pretty sure that picture is a photoshop job (remember, we don’t play the Photoshop game here, kthx). But I found it last night as I was looking through my folder of naughty pictures and it fit my mood.
The end of 2007 sucked. J and I broke up, for good this time. My mother is sick and I moved back home to help take care of her. Home is a small town in a part of the US where good girls don’t have sex, much less kinky sex, and there aren’t many good guys available anyway. I’m getting older and it’s starting to show, I have some gray hair and wrinkles around my eyes. Not many chicks can rock that look.
So I saw this picture last night and I guess because I’m feeling sorry for myself I thought, “I’ll never stand at that corner again.” I hope that isn’t true, I’d like my last time having sex to be way better than it was. But it could happen. That got me thinking about what I would do different if I knew a session would be my last time having sex.
1. It wouldn’t be a pity fuck.
2. It would need to be somebody I care about, no anonymous pickups or drunk fucks.
3. I would try harder, to make sure I had fun and that my partner did too.
4. I would try to make sure it was as hot as possible for both of us (like, being outside or maybe some bondage, whatever my partner and I both like and want to do or try).
My list isn’t very flattering on me, but thinking about it will hopefully make me a better sexual partner, if I get another chance.
What would you want to do for your last time having sex?
Sunday, January 6th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Looks like this happy couple pulled off the road, jumped out their car, and got busy just as soon as the church vanished from their rear-view mirror:
If anybody knows who the artist is, I’d enjoy hearing about it in the comments.
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Saturday, January 5th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Random cute party photo:
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Thursday, January 3rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I stumbled over these vintage shots of Ginger Lynn [update: or not] in a collection of old porn magazine scans. I thought her “orgasm faces” were pretty and fun and worth sharing:
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Monday, December 31st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I hope you’re preparing to do something fun tonight, the way this young lady is:
The Nymph was trying to pull together a small family-and-friends party at our house tonight, but some last minute waffling by various people and a babysitter bailing on one invitee has made her wonder whether anybody will show up. I told her not to worry, we’ve got three bottles of bubbly, and there are toys Santa brought us that we haven’t played with yet. We can’t lose!
Picture credit: Whipped Ass.
Saturday, December 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I notice that Mistress Matisse has made an interesting blogging choice — she’s turned off her blog comments, and she explains why:
So, you may have noticed that the comment box has gone away. I made a vague remark a few days ago suggesting it was a technical issue, but in fact, I took the comments box off myself, because I was the one having issues.
…
I have become aware, lately, that my writing here has gotten really…careful. Almost defensive. When I considered it, I realized that it was due to my thinking too much about what people were going to post in the comments. When I first started blogging, I loved getting comments. At some point, that changed. Naturally it’s always been nice to have people say how much they liked this or that. I’m human, I like praise. But getting strokes can’t be the entire goal of the blog. Monk told me how Pete Townsend once remarked that people always talk about how musicians influence their listeners, but that the reverse was also true: fan feedback influences musicians. That’s true for me as well, and I feel it’s been detrimental to my writing here. When I took the comments off ten days ago, it was an experiment to see how I felt. And what I felt was an immediate sense of being freed from a constraint. Thus, I will not be having comments here anymore.
Even as I write this, I’m feeling the urge to bring up and pro-actively address all the various protests and arguments that I think you, the reader, might make. Defensive. But as with everything in my life — and in yours too — my choice to remove comments is influenced by a number of factors, both large and small. Some of my reasons I have shared with you here, but there are others I’m not going into, either because they are too complex or too personal. Without the comments box hanging over my head, I feel freer to write what I want, without lengthy justification.
I suppose it’s possible the silence will get to me after a while and I’ll put them back up, but not any time in the foreseeable future. You can, of course, email me with your comments, and I will probably post and publicly respond to selected ones.
I’ve got a fairly complex reaction to that. Before any of you start busting my balls the way some of you did over my post about deleting blog archives (and “here I go again!” with the defensive writing Matisse is talking about) I’m not going to question her decision, merely share my reaction to it and speculate about whether the very real benefits will outweigh what I see as a significant downside.
Like Matisse, I love getting comments. Unlike her, that hasn’t changed for me. But the proactive, defensive urge is very strong. My readers and fans (and I treasure you all) are a joy to hear from, but on the internet, there’s always a thundering brigade of trollish folk whose entire joy in life seems (judging by their behavior) to derive from attempts to “score” by going out on the internet and posting criticisms, rude comments, sarcastic put-downs, contradictions, and abrasively dismissive arguments. For these minor predators, the game of blog commenting seems to consist entirely of finding ways to piss in other people’s Cheerios.
It’s bad enough for me, who blogs from behind a shield of anonymity and (this being the bigger deal) puts very little of my actual life into the blog. These bloggers who, like Matisse, share considerable detail about their business, personal, social, and erotic lives, have a great deal more skin in the game. And it’s all food for the thundering brigade. Frankly I am often astonished at how open other sex bloggers leave themselves, and I do wonder where they find the mental energy to resist or endure the horde of nibbling predators.
After minimizing my exposure, I manage the thundering brigade by giving myself free and guiltless license to moderate with extreme ruthlessness. I demand civility, and not just in an icy may-it-please-the-court technical sense; comments that don’t come across as open-handedly friendly (no matter how critical they may or may not be) tend not to survive the moderation process. It’s not that the thundering brigade doesn’t visit here, it’s just that I don’t provide them with shelter, beer, or skittles.
That said, I still struggle with the self-censoring defensive urge Matisse is talking about. When I notice it, I try to resist it. Sometimes, I forbid myself to “bring up and pro-actively address” various inevitable criticisms, telling myself that (a) the rude versions won’t make it through moderation, and (b) if one of my valued, friendly commenters raises the issue, I can address it reactively. But, too often, I simply reword the blog post to avoid the objection. Sometimes this makes for better writing, but other times, it just makes things more bland. Without comments, I’m sure I’d be far more provocative.
That said, comments fill a social connectivity gap that email simply cannot replace. Sending an email automatically assigns a private communicative weight to whatever you say in it. You don’t do it if what you’re saying is below a certain level of triviality. But that same trivial remark may be perfect in a blog comment, because when you comment on a blog, it’s like saying something to a small and friendly audience, such as a cluster of friends at a cocktail party. You don’t say it to communicate, you say it to entertain and interact with the group. A private email cannot hope to replace that function.
By turning off blog comments, it seems to me that Matisse has blocked off an important avenue of social connectivity with her blog audience. In her context — which includes a meatspace life so rich in social connectivity that she clearly has to juggle furiously to maintain it all) — this may well be a perfectly sensible thing to do. But I know I would feel a terrible pang if I had to do that here at ErosBlog. If I had to do it, it would feel like saying “The party in my living room is over. From now on, when I want to talk to you, I’ll come out on the front porch and read from a prepared statement.”
I actually do think my “prepared statements” (my blog posts) would be a little bit better — more provocative, less defensive, fewer disclaimers and weaselly explanatory phrases. But, though my writing might be better, my blog would be worse, if that distinction makes any sense.
And another good thing about comments. They let me ask questions like this: What do you think?
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Friday, December 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Just what it says on the package:
Wednesday, December 26th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Is there anal fisting in the Sistine Chapel? If not, did there used to be? Art historians (amateur or otherwise) are invited to weigh in!
Here’s the image:
And here’s the attribution: (via)
Michelangelo’s Punishment of Sodomy. Detail of the Last Judgement from the Sistine Chapel, 1536-1541. Source: Erotica Universalis by Gilles Néret, p. 102. Copy by Witkowski, Gustave-Joseph-Alphonse (1844-1923)
So, this image is said to be a copy by a relatively modern artist. But, a copy of what, exactly?
I’ve studied available online images of the Last Judgment as it appears in the Sistine Chapel, and no detail like this is immediately apparent. However, I know that Michelangelo made many sketches and drawings before climbing his scaffold, and I know the church has had a habit over the years of altering details of religious artworks it found inconvenient. See, e.g., the bronze underwear I blogged about when this sex blog was impossibly new.
So, is this fisting image really a copy of something Michelangelo drew or painted? And if so, does such a Michelangelo fisting image really appear in the Sistine Chapel? Inquiring minds want to know.
As it happens, I’ve got a copy of Erotica Universalis, but it’s in impossibly deep storage, and it wouldn’t help further anyway. Being essentially a catalog of ancient pornographic curiousities, its attributions cannot be expected to be unduly rigid.
My own theory is that this Witowski character actually drew a deliberately pornographic parody of Michelangelo’s sinners, rather than a copy. But there were strange things done in the history of religious art, and I’d be delighted to find out I was wrong.
Monday, December 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Merry Christmas to all!
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Sunday, December 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here’s what I want for Christmas:
No, no, you bunch of silly heads.
Not the girl.
“No thanks, I’ve already got one! She’s verra naahce.”
At this point the women in the audience are looking puzzled. But a few of the men are with me.
Let’s zoom in:
That’s right. I purely do admire that authentic vintage Allis-Chalmers tractor sign, there in the background, on the dungeon wall. I’m not really a tractor buff, but antique machinery ads are always fun. And that one’s probably been hanging there (on the wall of the San Francisco armory, I’m guessing) for decades.
Ah, well, we don’t always get what we want. How about, for consolation, another shot of the girl (Princess Donna) looking outraged at her (collared to a post and standing on a spiked plank) circumstances?
Somebody get the lady a candy cane to suck on!
Pictures are courtesy of Device Bondage.
Sunday, December 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Last night I saw three television commercials in a row starring women in cute-but-slutty red elf costumes. When I remarked to the Nymph, she looked at me like I was mentally slow, and said “Well, it’s that time of year, dear.”
I suppose it is. So here I am, jumping on the bandwagon, and here’s your woman in (half of) an elf costume:
I found it on Usenet, where the original file name suggested a possible initial publication in an early men’s magazine called Monsieur.
Saturday, December 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve got to share this vignette from Mistress Matisse’s much longer article about the ups and downs of sex work around Christmas time. I simply can’t read these paragraphs without cracking up:
It was midafternoon on Christmas Eve. The client and I had never met before, but I showed up at his house at the appointed time, and he quickly ushered me inside. The man of the house was thin and pale, with faded blond hair, and he looked nervous. I could understand why: There’s a reason married guys rarely have whores come to their homes.
How could I tell he was married? Well, the fact that the house was decorated in a nauseatingly cutesy-country-crafty style was a big tip-off. Not just decorated–the place was stuffed full of ruffled chintz and gingham, designer teddy bears and American primitive wooden plaques with bunnies and angels and hearts burned on them. There was a flowered platter of homemade iced cookies sitting on the hall table. And there were a lot of family portraits on the foyer wall, with Mom, Dad, and three little rug rats.
“So you can be gone by six, right?” he asked.
“Sweetie, I’ll leave whenever you want,” I replied.
I paused before asking the obvious question.
“Is your wife coming home?”
He nodded jerkily. “She and the kids are at church.”
I couldn’t believe it. This guy had a hooker come to his house on Christmas Eve while his wife and kids were at church? He is so going to hell for this, I thought, and I’ll undoubtedly see him there.
“Well, let’s not waste playtime,” I said, moving toward the stairs. “Where would you like to…?”
“No, not upstairs!” he said, practically panicking. “I don’t want to mess up the bed. Let’s just–do it in the living room.”
Easier said than done. We edged around the eight-foot Christmas tree that dominated the room and sat down on the powder-blue couch. He handed me an envelope with the cash in it. I tucked it into my purse and then looked at him, waiting for him to give me some sign of how he wanted to proceed. But he just stared at me like a trapped rabbit. The room was dim, and the lights from the tree threw alternating red and green splotches on his face. The effect made him look like he had some kind of facial tic, and I doubted that it was enhancing my complexion, either.
“Okay,” I thought to myself, “if I have to be gone soon, I am going to have to take control of this fuck.”
I stripped down to my tarty black lace lingerie and stockings, got his pants around his knees, and started unrolling a condom onto his dick with my mouth. He moaned and leaned back on the couch–and then we both gasped and jumped as the tinkling strains of “White Christmas” suddenly rose into the air. He looked wildly around the room for a moment, then relaxed and said, “Oh, wait, it’s this pillow. It’s got a music box in it, when you lean on it, it plays…” He fished a red-and-green throw pillow from behind his back and tossed it away. It played on for a minute, before ceasing abruptly with a mechanical click.
He lay back again, but it seemed that our musical interruption had made his little Saint Nick unhappy. Or maybe it’s this house, I thought, as I sucked him. It’s completely antisexual. Interior decor as visual saltpeter.
I stood up, pulled off my panties, and bent over the couch. I knew I should give him some dirty verbal encouragement, but my vast repertoire of porn talk had deserted me, and the best I could manage was a come-hither expression that felt as painted-on as the faces of the knee-high nutcrackers flanking the fireplace. I watched him maneuver into position behind me in the gilt-framed, holly-draped mirror over the mantel. In my black bra and stockings, I was jarringly out of place in the room, an affront to the relentless, smothering cozy cuteness. It was hard to even breathe. As he fumbled around behind me, the bowls of cloyingly sweet potpourri that sat on both end tables began to make my eyes water and my nose itch. I was going to start sneezing uncontrollably in a minute, I thought, and my mascara was going to run down my face in black streaks. It was like a Stephen King Christmas house, where it looks all sweet, but if you don’t behave, it kills you.
At first impression, this story is sad. But the more I read it, the funnier it gets. This guy was a fool (“I pity the fool!”) but he was also a rebel. What, he couldn’t sneak out and rent a room where he didn’t have to worry about the sheets? No, he was in rebellion. His wife had made his house uninhabitable (trust me, ladies, there’s only so much chintz and gingham we can tolerate, and those stanky bowls of boiled flower petals are nasty!) for him, and this was his way of trying to reclaim it, if only for forty minutes.
Wednesday, December 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
OK, normally I try to keep the “schoolgirl” porn to a dull roar around here. But I admit it, I got sucked into this picture gallery. Who wouldn’t enjoy meeting this young lady on her way to class? Who wouldn’t offer to help her carry her books?
She seems very friendly:
If you’ve followed me this far in our voyage of pervery, you’ll not have failed to notice that her panties have a moist spot…
From Digital Desires.
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Wednesday, December 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In which Fifi fails to use her words, but Monmouth figures it out anyway:
Fifi pulled away and lunged for the toy box, pulling out a small, flexible vibrator and a lube dispenser. She put her hands around my neck and kissed me, still holding these things. Then, cocking her head in a faux coy manner she held up the vibe and smiled prettily.
“What? What do you want me to do with this?”
“Um, my arse?”
“You want me to put this in your ass?”
“Mmhmm,” she nodded, eyes wide, and got back on all fours, wiggling her bum at me in a most applealing manner.
I lubed the vibrator thoroughly, enjoying the view of her open and waiting like that, the glistening pink of her pussy waiting for my cock to return.
“Oh fuck… mmmm.” Fifi was impatient. My cock slid easily into the wet tightness of her cunt. I began to fuck her slowly. Then, when she seemed to start getting a little frustrated, I twisted the knob on the vibe to the lowest setting and placed it against the pouting circle of her ass.
Pushing the toy in slowly, carefully, I enjoyed the vibrating sensation traveling down to the base of my cock. Fifi was quiet, concentrating on the spreading, tightening, pressing sensation filling her pussy and arse at the same time with throbbing, vibrating pleasure.
The soft vibe was bendy enough to fit up her bum without getting in my way while I fucked her. Once it was in as far as it went, the fat base resting against the stretched rim of her anus, I dialed up the intensity of the vibration. Fifi moaned deeply, burying her face in the cushions and pressing back against me, taking my cock in as far as possible. Her orgasm was building, and I couldn’t hold back much longer with the twitching tightness of her cunt clutching my cock and the vibrations tickling me all along the top. It was too intense to last.
Suddenly Fifi reached back with her hand and grasped the base of the vibrator. Firmly, rhythmically she began to fuck herself with it, in time with the thrusting of my hips.
“Harder… fuckfuck…” she growled, letting go of the buzzing sex toy to allow me to pound into her with the full force of my weight. Her orgasm seemed to last and last, rolling on with moans and whimpers, gripping my cock with an irresistible invitation to let go and come inside her.
I withdrew very slowly, removing both my cock and the buzzing toy carefully.
On our backs, recovering, Fifi sighed. “When fucking, it’s incredible how difficult it is to just say the simplest things, don’t you think?”
Sunday, December 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This has got to be the most hilarious bit of sleazy 70s cover art I’ve ever seen:
“Meet Spanky Pants… a bed hoppin’, teeny boppin’ surfer girl!”
Thursday, December 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Although Vintage Lust is mostly about the hardcore man-and-woman sort of vintage sex, there’s a little something there for everyone:
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Wednesday, December 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I mentioned last week that The Nymph always fails her saving throws against pink — a weakness I sometimes use to my ruthless advantage and to our mutual enjoyment. With your lady, though, the doomed saving throw might be different. Is her weakness, perhaps, pearl-like objects, or shiny things from Swarovsky?
If so, you might just need the Pearl Collar And Leash from Wild In Secret (matching pearl handcuffs and, for the especially daring, pearl thong, optional):
No need to be sexist about all this, though — I’m sure there’s a man out there wearing these and looking cute as hell. In fact, if he’s your man, and you have pictures, I’d consider publishing them.
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Sunday, December 9th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
People collect the strangest things:
A few fetishists have not only delved deeply into this topic, but have actually assembled collections. One such gent, according to Shozo Saito, the head of the Odawara municipal library and researcher into things sexual, was a chap who went by the nom de plume of Takishima Kinkaran,
Kinkaran was born in Tokyo in 1893 and could often be found frequenting brothels in the Hakusan area, which was established in June 1912 as Tokyo’s newest licensed bordello district, not far from the University of Tokyo campus.
Kinkaran was said to be a man of great personal charm, and one of his pet projects was to persuade geisha to contribute their pubic hair, which, he would tell them, he was collecting in order to stuff a zabuton cushion. Alas, he died prematurely of a respiratory illness at the age of 37, and it is not known how far along his zabuton project ever progressed.
…
Historian Shimokawa introduces a gentleman named Takao Hanada, who is fondly remembered in the postwar period for being the first person to organize wife swapping in Japan, and later authored a book entitled “Exchange: a record of certain swapping encounters.”
After a swap session, Hanada would sort the pubic hairs collected from his female partners and tape them to the reverse sides of their husband’s business cards. Sex-reseacher Saito says he was able to view a collection of some 150 cards accumulated by Hanada over a period of 10 years.
Perusing the backs of these cards, he was able to appreciate the wonderful variety of lengths, shapes and textures of the hairs in Hanada’s collection.
Hanada had collaborated in his project with a chap named Zenkichi Nagano, who at that time the fiftyish director of a regional bank. After going around and soliciting women at local drinking establishments with little success, Nagano decided he would have to change his technique.
“He went to bars and cabarets and asked hostesses for samples,” Saito tells Shimokawa. “After plying them with a few drinks, he’d make his pitch, saying, ‘I want your pubic hair.'”
Too embarrassed to do this in places where he might be recognized, Nagano would take the train one or two hours to another town or into Tokyo. Offering a 10,000-yen tip as an incentive, the gals would excuse themselves, slip into the powder room, and return to the table and pass him the goodies.
“More than just receiving money, some women saw this as forming a personal relationship, so to speak,” says Saito. “Perhaps Nagano finally got used to being treated as eccentric, or perhaps once the women realized he was harmless, they became more cooperative, they warmed to his advances and the whole mood changed.
“Anyway, it got to the point that a few gals would even drop their panties right in front of him and allow him to harvest hairs from them on the spot.”
Nagano eventually obtained 200 specimens, which he wrapped in traditional Japanese “washi” paper and saved in photo albums, organized according to the locations from which he’d collected them.
Nagano was said to have remarked that he never managed to have sex even once with any of the “contributors.”
“Somehow, I initially felt a sense of regret over this point, but now it gives me a feeling of pride,” Nagano supposedly boasted.
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Friday, December 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I love the way this vintage salon almost-nude picture hints at bondage without quite daring to actually have or show any:
Via Eye Candy Blog by way of Bondage Blog.
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Wednesday, December 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The Christmas Shopping Season is upon us, and I’ve begun to realize it’s time and past time to make my online shopping orders. The Nymph having an automatic “it’s pink? squeeee!” reaction that impairs her saving throws against my evil plans, I surfed over to The Twisted Monk to see if the long-awaited pink bondage rope ever made it into his permanent inventory. (Answer: yes. My evil plan is complete, muah ha ha!)
However much fun we might have with the Monk’s custom ropes (and you’ve got to love a bondage rope merchant who includes a free pair of emergency shears with every order) I have to admit that a shortage of bondage ropes (or any other sex toy goodies, for that matter) is not the biggest problem at Casa Bacchus. No, the biggest problem is that sex toys come rattling out from under the couch when a guest sits down on it, or there’s a leather paddle that came in the review mail sitting on the coffee table when somebody’s aunt shows up unannounced. In a word, I can never have enough discrete toyboxes, toy bags, and the like. Plus, I love wooden boxes, and old-fashioned containers of all kinds. (Sometimes I’m tempted to start a distillery, just so I can have all those lovely oak barrels.) So, naturally enough, the Twisted Monk 2007 Holiday Gift Box caught my eye. It’s a pine box with a lid (semi-discreet, in that it’s branded with the Twisted Monk bondage logo) that comes with a rope kit and a DVD of Monk’s instructional bondage videos. Monk calls them “boxes of potential orgasms”, especially after his customers started writing in and ordering other merchandise (bondage books, naughty undies) to be included in the gift boxes before shipping.
What, you think that sounds like good service? That’s nothing, nothing I tell you! You should read about the customer who wanted the Twisted Monk Boyshorts, but only if Monk would “maybe step on the panties” with his “sexy boots”. Result: one sexy (because the customer is always right) boot print:
And to think, I was just looking for a pretty bit of rope!
Tuesday, December 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In 1898, no less?
You betcha:
It’s real: “the most offensive official Major League baseball document that we have ever seen.”
Let’s enumerate for the folks reading this via RSS:
-
You cock-sucking son of a bitch!
-
You prick-eating bastard!
-
You cunt-lapping dog!
-
Kiss my ass, you son of a bitch!
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A dog must have fucked your mother when she made you!
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I fucked your mother, your sister, your wife!
-
I’ll make you suck my ass!
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You cock-sucker!
Link via Boing Boing.
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Monday, December 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
ErosBlog is late, as usual, with the kinky celebrity sex news. But it doesn’t matter, because there’s no particular reason to actually believe these sorts of tabloid accounts:
Britney Spears’ Mulholland Drive mansion is equipped with a double-locked, X-rated “Fantasy Room” filled with ticklers, whips and fur-trimmed handcuffs hanging from the metal bedframe.
The second-floor room also features a mirrored ceiling, a glass jar containing spanking paddles and a closet full of kinky outfits, according to an “insider” who stumbled into the den of sin.
“She wears Catholic schoolgirl uniforms, a maid’s uniform and a Cinderella outfit,” claims the mole.
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Monday, December 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Although I’m not a huge erotic manga fan (the visual style tends to be too busy or explosive for me) I do find some of the individual panels to be quite striking:
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Saturday, December 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Remember my post about the finger V with licking guesture? Well, apropos of nothing, here’s an animated .gif of it that I stumbled across:
Friday, November 30th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a bit of artwork that looks like it might once have graced the cover of a BDSM strokebook. It came to me with the filename “Punished Wife”:
From Usenet.
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Thursday, November 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
How to choose, how to choose?
Or maybe: pray they haven’t all come for you at once. The one on the left looks pissed…
Via Alex Mizell.
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Tuesday, November 27th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Sex tourism in the modern world takes three forms. The first is a sort of legitimate jurisdictional arbitrage — traveling to a place where something (usually prostitution) is legal, from somewhere it isn’t. Amsterdam and rural Nevada are just two of the places that see this sort of sex tourism.
The second sort you could call “illegitimate jurisdictional arbitrage” — seeking out jurisdictions where illegal behavior is more likely to be overlooked. There’s some disgusting and terrible stuff in this category.
Third, and by far the most common, simply involves taking advantage of the fact that “money talks” in the game of sexual competition, by means of travel to jurisdictions that are relative poorer than one’s own. Many a prosperous young man traveling in Eastern Europe has had a babushka ask him if he needs a wife, or had a devushka in a club make a similar but more immediate proposition. Certain places in Central America are notorious among Norteamericano “players” — who’ve learned that, if they show up for a winter vacation flush and ready to party, it’s not hard to attract a stunning and friendly girlfriend for as many days as the party lasts. And so on. Friendly local girls coming out of the woodwork wherever a (relatively) wealthy traveler goes are, frankly, as old as travel itself.
Normally, however, one thinks of sexual tourists as being men. Which brings us to this Reuters report on women traveling to Kenya to enjoy the company of younger men:
MOMBASA, Kenya (Reuters) – Bethan, 56, lives in southern England on the same street as best friend Allie, 64.
They are on their first holiday to Kenya, a country they say is “just full of big young boys who like us older girls”.
Hard figures are difficult to come by, but local people on the coast estimate that as many as one in five single women visiting from rich countries are in search of sex.
Allie and Bethan — who both declined to give their full names — said they planned to spend a whole month touring Kenya’s palm-fringed beaches.
…
The white beaches of the Indian Ocean coast stretched before the friends as they both walked arm-in-arm with young African men, Allie resting her white haired-head on the shoulder of her companion, a six-foot-four 23-year-old from the Maasai tribe.
He wore new sunglasses he said were a gift from her.
“We both get something we want — where’s the negative?” Allie asked in a bar later, nursing a strong, golden cocktail.
She was still wearing her bikini top, having just pulled on a pair of jeans and a necklace of traditional African beads.
Bethan sipped the same local drink: a powerful mix of honey, fresh limes and vodka known locally as “Dawa”, or “medicine”.
She kept one eye on her date — a 20-year-old playing pool, a red bandana tying back dreadlocks and new-looking sports shoes on his feet.
He looked up and came to join her at the table, kissing her, then collecting more coins for the pool game.
…
Obvious in the bars and on the sand once the sun goes down are thousands of elderly white women hoping for romantic, and legal, encounters with much younger Kenyan men.
They go dining at fine restaurants, then dancing, and back to expensive hotel rooms overlooking the coast.
…
Many of the visitors are on the lookout for men like Joseph.
Flashing a dazzling smile and built like an Olympic basketball star, the 22-year-old said he has slept with more than 100 white women, most of them 30 years his senior.
“When I go into the clubs, those are the only women I look for now,” he told Reuters. “I get to live like the rich mzungus (white people) who come here from rich countries, staying in the best hotels and just having my fun.”
At one club, a group of about 25 dancing men — most of them Joseph look-alikes — edge closer and closer to a crowd of more than a dozen white women, all in their autumn years.
“It’s not love, obviously. I didn’t come here looking for a husband,” Bethan said over a pounding beat from the speakers.
“It’s a social arrangement. I buy him a nice shirt and we go out for dinner. For as long as he stays with me he doesn’t pay for anything, and I get what I want — a good time. How is that different from a man buying a young girl dinner?”
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, November 22nd, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
I’ve had this video for awhile now, just waiting to share it today, but I can’t upload it. Lucky for me I found a version online, and viewable online. It’s pretty much pure 1970’s cheese….and the guys aren’t so easy on the eyes, but once you’re past that the fun begins. Enjoy Apache, and Happy Thanksgiving to everybody!
Thursday, November 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Oh, what the hell, might as well surrender completely to the Thanksgiving Day foolishness:
I’d make another turkey stuffing joke, but sadly (for them) most smilies don’t come equipped with anything to stuff with.
Thursday, November 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Hey, turnabout is fair play, right?
Sometimes you stuff the turkey, sometimes the turkey stuffs you:
Cartoon is by Jamie Charteris.
Wednesday, November 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
So, it’s Thanksgiving Eve. Hopefully tomorrow will be for you a pleasant day of food, family, fun, and relaxation. Perhaps as you tuck into your turkey and stuffing and gravy, you can pause to wonder:
“What’s the stuff in stuffing, actually? Exactly what has been stuffed in my bird?”
Some photos to help you while you ponder:
Happy Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
What a magnificent pair of woman! Sorry about the wrinkles and creases on the photo; it looks like this was a much-treasured magazine centerfold poster that got folded and unfolded many times. Still, it’s Sophia Loren in all her bare-breasted semi-nude glory:
2013 update: I did some more research and found a better (bigger and not creased) version of this sexy photo, sourced it to the French version of an Italian movie, and (bonus!) found several more nude photos of Sophia Loren to share with you.
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Sunday, November 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From an interview in Playboy, kindly typed in by Hump Jones, this observation by the guru George Carlin:
It’s actually a weird time for sex. Sex is all over the place in this culture. It’s wide open. Compared with the 1960’s, when it was merely an aspect of youth culture — free love and all that –it’s a virtual sexual carnival right now. You’ve got the internet, strip clubs, porn stars on the radio. Even regular television is all cleavage and legs and asses and hot policewomen on CSI. You got into any hotel and you can buy movies in which the mailman shows up with a big hard-on and suddenly he’s fucking three women at a tupperware party — and it all goes straight to your hotel bill.
Friday, November 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
You’ve got to study this vintage orgy photograph pretty hard to make out all the details of what’s going on, but it’s worth the effort:
I suppose if you’re going to throw an orgy, you might as well do it up proud!
From Vintage Lust.
Thursday, November 15th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I am today announcing the availability of the ErosBlog Image Badge, which is a sort of widgety badge or banner that anyone can grab and put in their blog sidebars to display the most recent picture that’s on ErosBlog:
The idea, which feels a bit pretentious to me but which has been requested by a number of people, is to provide an easy (and hopefully attractive) way for owners and users of other sites to see at a glance when I’ve got new “dirty” pictures up.
The ErosBlog Image Badge won’t always show the most recent picture, because I’m going to try to limit these thumbs to the images that are attractive, soft-core, and friendly to the thumbnail format. But it should update with a new picture once or twice a week.
I’ve tried to make the Badges easy to use — it’s just a snippet of html to put in your blog sidebar (or wherever). Images come off my server and are updated automatically, so the Badges are zero maintenance for you.
If you want an ErosBlog Image Badge for your site, just follow this link and copy the code you see into your sidebar template code at the spot you want the Badge to appear. The badge needs a space at least 160 pixels wide; if you try to put it into a sidebar narrower than that, things could get ugly or broken. The badge will try to center itself in whatever space you put it; if that doesn’t work for you, you’ll need to tweak it.
If you’re a genuine glutton for punishment, this link gives you similar code for a much taller Badge showing the most recent three badge images:
Please feel free to ask questions in the comments. Enjoy!
Monday, November 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I admit it, it’s a fool’s errand trying to understand fetishes not your own. Too often it’s a hard-wiring issue: a fetish is a fetish and that’s that, no explanation possible or required.
That said, some fetishes are more mysterious to me than others. Take, for instance, the humble straight jacket:
Outside the world inhabited by violent inmates, the point of this garment sort of eludes me. Sure, it’s a bondage thing, a helplessness and (unless you’re Harry Houdini) hard-to-escape kink. But, sexual-fetish-wise, what’s the point of getting somebody all tied up if, once you’ve done it, you can’t hardly get at them?
And that’s where the implacable march of technology comes in. The world’s more intrepid sexual adventurers have invented what they are calling The Bolero Straitjacket:
Sez the catalog copy:
Sexy. Sensuous. Functional. What more could you ask for in a straitjacket? How about stylish, innovative and chic?
The Bolero Straitjacket is all of these and more in a cropped strait jacket made of high quality, light and medium weight garment leather, latigo belting and nickel-plated hardware.
Like a traditional straitjacket, it has a buckling collar and back closures in addition to the extra long glove-like sleeves that extend beyond the fingertips. The sleeves end with a small rectangular ring on one and a strap on the other.
The features that make it unique are its cropped length and the vertically and horizontally adjustable chest strap which leave nearly the entire chest and back exposed. The proper positioning assured by the cropped feature and the adjustable chest strap makes the traditional crotch strap unnecessary without sacrificing functionality as a restraint.
And just like that, boom! Problem solved. Erotic bondage will never be the same. Available in no less than four sizes for your binding pleasure.
(Sultry brunette not included.)
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Saturday, November 10th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Casual acquaintance, beach style:
“Hey guy, what you got in there for me?”
Thursday, November 8th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
Awhile ago I had a birthday, one of those “milestone” birthdays that everybody likes to make a big deal out of. Everybody was telling me that my ovaries would start twitching and I’d get baby fever. I’ve never wanted a baby so I think my biological clock is broken…..that didn’t change but I have noticed something different. I’ve started obsessing about sex and fantasizing about it, like, constantly. Any guy that’s halfway good looking that I see, I wonder about his wood. When I see a really hot guy I think, “I’d ride that.” I have wet dreams (are girls allowed to call their orgasm causing dreams wet dreams?) at least once a week.
When I was younger the horndogs made me mad. All they talked about were tits and ass, and trying to score. It seemed like all they thought about was sex. I didn’t understand that and I didn’t like it that they looked at me like I was only good for sex.
Well, now I understand. And around the big mouthfull of crow I’m chewing on, I want to say I’m sorry to all those guys.
(more…)
Thursday, November 8th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I can’t quite say why, but I guffawed aloud (for you kids: that’s how folks used to say “LOL” before we had internets) when I saw this picture of Hillary Clinton standing next to a delightful and happy young lady:
I think it’s the look of manic excitement on Hillary’s face that got me, actually.
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Wednesday, November 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This sign (from Bad Signs) gives the phrase “getting taken to the cleaners” a whole new meaning:
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Tuesday, November 6th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Bondage Blog published this photo about a month ago, calling it “a low-budget women’s prison”:
But, as commenter BrattyB points out:
It looks more like ancient sauna machines, that were supposed to make people lose weight really fast. They were all the rage around 1890.
I have long marveled at the medieval tortures women often subject themselves to in the name of beauty. (See, e.g., the references to anal bleaching in previous post.) I have also sometimes gotten in trouble for asserting that much of this voluntary self-torment is, despite the common wisdom, part of an intra-feminine status conflict that has little or nothing to do with male preference. (See, e.g., plastic fingernail overlays, aka “false nails”.) So I’m rather amused to see a beauty treatment that could easily pass for a penal imposition, or what would be just as ironic if Bondage Blog was right the first time, a penal imposition that could pass for a beauty treatment.
Sunday, November 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here on ErosBlog I ignored, as I tend to, the annual frenzy of “concerned” journalists fretting about how Halloween has morphed into “Dress Like A Slut” day, ohnoes! To me, the phenomenon is obviously just a manifestation (on Halloween, how appropriate!) of the ghosts of Saturnalia and Carnival, which we in the Puritan Protestancies had taken out and shot centuries ago. I approve, as I do, of all liberating influences. Hell, I approve of nekkedness in general, so how could I glower all dour at skimpy costumes?
Surprised I therefore was to find ChelseaGirl from Pretty Dumb Things fretting on the same topic, although I’ll cheerfully grant that she did it with more thoughtfulness and nuance than any print journalist I’ve ever seen tackle the subject. Most interesting and useful in her post, I thought, was her description of a memetic landscape she calls Strip Nation:
Because this trend … also speaks to the seduction of what I’ve come to call Strip Nation.
Strip Nation is the place where little girls wear body glitter for fun, where pole dancing is a fitness pursuit, where chicks have standing appointments for monthly Brazilians, and weekly tans, French manicures and matching pedicures. It’s the place where women purposefully show bra straps and g-strings. It’s where average women have the lower-back tattoo, body piercings, and t-shirts that read “Diva” It’s the where women get breast implants, labiaplasty and anal bleaching. It’s a place where family restaurants have waitresses wearing orange short-shorts, and where drag-queen restaurants have banana deep-throat contests, and where eighteen year-old girls win them.
Strip Nation is where we live now. It’s not a bad place to live. Strip Nation gives us Carmen Electra and body butter. Strip Nation lets us shake our booty with abandon. Hell, Strip Nation, combined with Hip-Hop Nation–it’s a unified country of dual principalities–has given us the word “booty”. Without Strip Nation, we’d still be pogoing and wearing flat shoes and high-waisted pleated pants.
Strip Nation can be a lot of fun, but it’s a deeply problematic kind of fun. I am proud to have been a stripper, but I know that stripping is best kept in the strip club because stripping is about serving up a fantasy based on the most simplistic heterosexual male’s formulation of an uncomplicated woman. Most simply, Strip Nation provides a dreamscape based on a model of a two-dimensional woman and men’s desire for them. And while that is all well and fine for an eight-hour strip shift, it has major issues when it goes rampant, out into the streets, and disseminates like a virus into the culture at large.
I wonder how much women choosing to dress like a stripper for Halloween–whatever the flavor of the specific fantasy–isn’t centered on an unquestioning slide into the happy amnesia of Strip Nation: a place where men will be men, women will be girls, and no one need have a thought cross their untrammeled brows. I wonder how much the Naughty Nurse, the Sassy Satan, the Wanton Witch, the Reform School Drop Out, the Pirate Wench, and all the heaving bosom, exposed thigh rest, has more to with the prefeminist nostalgia that Strip Nation embodies. I wonder how much the naughty Halloween costume hasn’t less to do with getting one’s freak on as it does with doing so in a way that feels like you don’t have to think about it when you do.
Tomorrow, Halloween will just be a bunch of garbled stories and memories, gone for another year, But we’ll still be living in Strip Nation. Look around you, it’s everywhere. Fun, yes. But at what cost?
I think the description of Strip Nation is spot on, but I’m having trouble parsing out the objection. It seems to be something in the nature of “real life is more complicated than that”, but every cultural expression we have is idealized in one way or another; Strip Nation is a fantasy space almost by definition, and it seems odd to me to ask “at what cost?” when the full achievement of the fantasy lies as much out of our reach as do the golden shores of Brigadoon.
“You wouldn’t like to eat nothing but candy and ice cream”, warned our mothers, and we didn’t believe them. If we really lived in Strip Nation, we probably wouldn’t enjoy that either; a steady diet of oversimplified sex is probably not much better than a steady diet of high fructose corn syrup. But what’s really going on here is a whole bunch of cultural expressions reaching toward Strip Nation, but which are counterbalanced by so many other cultural anchors and drags that we’ll never reach the Strip Nation Shangri La, nor indeed get anywhere close to there. We don’t live in Strip Nation; we don’t even live next door to Strip Nation. All we do is live in a place where we can, sometimes, get away with acting as if we do live in Strip Nation.
If you grant that, is it really fair to ask “at what cost?” The only cost I see is to the competing memetic landscapes that are losing mindshare in competition with Strip Nation. I’m talking Burqa Nation, Chador and Hajib Nation, Barefoot And Pregnant Nation, Nice Girls Don’t Nation, It’s Dirty Down There Nation, Leave The Lights Off Nation, Twin Beds Nation, Save It For Marriage Nation, the entire constellation of memetic spaces in which skin must be covered, dancing must be restricted because it could lead to shagging, sex is strictly controlled, and women are (in one sense or another) chattel, not free to make their own sexual decisions.
Here in the brave new century, Strip Nation is out-competing all of those memetic spaces. Is it perfect? Heck no. Is it better? I can’t see how it isn’t. At what cost? I, for one, don’t much care, unless the cost is higher than the rolling human tragedy of the repressive memetic spaces Strip Nation is competing with and struggling to displace.
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Friday, November 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Tentacle sex: it’s not just a Japanese thing, you know. Here’s the 1930s American pinup version, from the cover of the August 1936 Spicy Adventures magazine:
Via Poulpe Pulps.
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Wednesday, October 31st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
OK, it’s good to get invited to the sexy Halloween party with all the latex nuns, naughty schoolgirls, and sexy hookers in fishnet. But hey, not everybody is so lucky. Here’s a fellow who’s responding resourcefully:
Happy Halloween!
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Tuesday, October 30th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Remember the vintage “woman with skeleton” from last Halloween?
Well, the Stygian depths of my hard drive have spat up another vintage photo featuring the same skeleton prop. This one has been either hand tinted, or Photoshopped to resemble same, but unfortunately whatever editing has been done seems strong to my eye, and has eaten some of the photographic texture:
Larger version here.
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:
Sunday, October 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is a bit more convincing than the auto-cunnilingus artwork or the ancient darkroom magic version:
Via the pictures.erotica.vintage Usenet newsgroup.
Saturday, October 27th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In Amsterdam there lived a maid,
Mark well what I do say:
In Amsterdam there lived a maid
And she was the mistress of her trade…
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Friday, October 26th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The Nymph needs this on a pajama top:
Found at Kinkerbelle.
Sunday, October 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From a 1974 profile of Brian Eno, found via Bondage Blog:
His voice trails off as he spies a copy of Search magazine. He leafs through it with obvious pleasure, but the gleam in his eyes softens, and sadly he shakes his head, “It’s a burning shame that most people want to keep pornography under cover when it’s such a highly developed art form — which is one of the reasons that I started collecting pornographic playing cards I’ve got about 50 packs which feature on all my record covers for the astute observer.
“There’s something about pornography which has a similarity to rock music. A pornographic photographer aims his camera absolutely directly, at the centre of sexual attention. He’s not interested in the environment of the room.
“I hate the sort of photography in Penthouse and Playboy which is such a compromise between something to give you a hard-on and something which pretends to be artistic. The straight pornographers aim right there where it’s at.
“Which is analogous to so many other situations where somebody thinks one thing is important, so they focus completely on that and don’t realize they’re unconsciously organizing everything else around it as well. I have such beautiful pornography – I’ll show you my collection sometime.
The last guy invited me up to see his etchings.
“One theory is that black-and-white photography is always more sexy than colour photography. The reason for this is provided by Marshall McLuhan, who points out that if a thing is ‘high definition,’ which colour photography is, it provides more information and doesn’t require participation as much as if it is ‘low definition’.” I.e. a horror play on the radio is always very, very frightening because the imagery is always your own. If youUre choosing your own imagery, you’ll always choose the most frightening, or in the case of pornography, the most sexual.
“The idea of things being low definition has always interested me a lot – of being unspecific – another thing which is a key-point of my lyrics. They must be ‘low definition’ so that they don’t say anything at all direct. I think the masters of that were Lou Reed and Bob Dylan (on “Blonde on Blonde”). The lyrics are so inviting.
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT ‘burning shame’ is by the way? It’s a pornographic term for a deviation involving candles.
“Ouch!”
“Very popular in Japanese pornography. They’re always using lit candles because Japanese pornography is very sadistic, partly because of the Japanese view of women, which is a mixture of resentment and pure animal lust.
“In the traditional view, a woman is still expected to be at the beck and call of her husband, so that manifests itself in that kind of pornography. Of which I have a few examples, of course.
“Mexican pornography is an interesting island of thought because they seem to be heavily into excretory functions. The traditional American view is that anything issued from the body is dirty. It’s incredibly puritanical and it resents bodily fluids, so if one is trying to debase a woman, you cover them with that and hence you get the fabulous term ‘Golden Showers’ — the term for pissing on someone, which some well-known rock musicians are said to be very involved in…
“Here come the warm jets?”
“That’s certainly a reference.”
Friday, October 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
No, not that kind of “O”; or, at least, I don’t imagine so. This looks more like an “Oh shit, what’s he doing?” face, or perhaps an “Omigod, I had no idea it was possible to experience that sensation!”
Perhaps we could blame the weighted nipple clamps, but they’re padded and the weights look to be resting on the floor. However, observe that our intent man in charge has got a power cord running over her knee to whatever electrical appliance he’s deploying between her legs in the vicinity of her nether regions. Since this is not a government photograph, we can assume the device is not a soldering iron. So, what’s he got?
My money’s on a violet wand, or perhaps a powerful vibrator.
From Hogtied.com.
Thursday, October 18th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
He moves so well. How did he learn, I wondered. Did he go to school for sex? If so, he’d have a post-graduate degree in fucking. Did he have a coach, someone who coolly looked over his shoulder, critiquing his performance until it was perfect?
From our dear Always Aroused Girl. Her words made me remember some past lovers. One guy that was geeky and clumsy, hitting my head with his elbow and stuff, but he still got me off and had me coming back for more. Another guy might have been Dr. Fucker, the most educated best trained lovemaker around. But for all his great technique, it felt like fucking a machine. There was no spark between us. (I cried afterward, sad and very disappointed.)
Is good technique better than enthusiasm and a less than topnotch technique? Does good chemistry make all the rest unimportant?
I think for me the answer to the second question is yes.
Thursday, October 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The thing about erotic story repositories on the internet that makes them so interesting is that they are structurally noncommercial. Which is to say, for the most part, they accumulate the sort of erotic fiction that nobody wants to be in the business of selling in print.
It would be easy to say more generally that amateur erotic fiction isn’t of commercial quality, but that’s a cop-out; it’s so hard to make money selling erotic fiction that, strictly speaking, virtually all of it that exists isn’t “commercial quality” if you define that as “you could sell enough of this to be worth publishing it.” No, I’m talking about thematic elements that would, at the very least, complicate any commercial distribution, themes and scenarios that make business people nervous and/or queasy. Rape, incest, sex at any age, bestiality, rare fetishes, social taboos, and every imaginable combination thereof: “I caught my teacher fucking her dog and blackmailed her with the photos, I made her wear sweaty rubber boots, call me Master, and suck my cock in the supply closet — and then I made her take my little brother and his Nintendo buddies on a field trip to the petting zoo!”
This, of course, is a specific instance of the general case, the root nature of the internet that makes it so wonderful and terrible. No matter how narrow your interest, you can get anything you want, but you’ll find it cheek-by-jowl with a million things that will raise your eyebrows until they ache.
Doubt me? Go have a look at The Kristen Archives. If there’s a better place on the internet to find sex stories, I haven’t seen it. But you simply must be adult about it. Skim the summaries; if a story’s not for you, don’t read it. For extra credit and true advancement toward mastery, cultivate the ability to appreciate what’s hot about a story while disregarding the elements (stylistic or thematic) that aren’t.
Your example for the day is Screwed, featuring an amoral attorney who’s clearly more excited by the financial screwing he gives his client than he is by the blowjob he enjoys from her. If you’re a professional of any kind, you might find yourself too outraged to enjoy the story. Which would be a shame, because there’s no law that says villains can’t be funny in the conduct of their villainy:
I wound my hand in her hair and jerked her head back and forth, each time forcing more of my dick into her mouth until she was almost choking, but she never pulled back. When she reached between her legs and began playing with her pussy as I roughly jerked her head onto my cock, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was getting off on the rough treatment. I would like to have experimented more, but the tremendous mental and physical stimulation pushed me over the top, and with almost painful jets, I shot a copious load of jism down her throat, my cock unbelievably huge and purple looking, the orgasm without a doubt the best I’d ever experienced in a woman’s mouth, making it feel even better.
I collapsed backward onto my elbows, basking in the after-glow, my cock still twitching in her hand as she licked her lips and swallowed the remains of my wad. Then, squeezing up the length of my cock, she forced up a final dollop of sperm, and looking at me, and squeezing the huge drip onto her tongue, she let me watch her spread it around her mouth and slowly and with a sensuous grin, swallowed the entire thing. Then, as though not yet satisfied, she sucked my cock clean of every last drop of cum, kissed my balls tenderly and sat back in her chair with a brilliant smile, rearranging her skirt, giving me a shot of her unpantied beaver before dropping the skirt primly into place.
I let my head drop back onto the desk, eyes closed, trying to regain my strength. I’d never had a head shot like that. The woman was a vampire — she positively loved cum. I glanced at the clock and with a shock realized that she’d sucked me for almost 20 minutes, and that we were almost through the lunch hour. Quickly, I refigured her bill. I’d need to get paid for that extra hour now, and — what the hell — she’d just had her lunch on me! I tacked $50.00 dollars onto her bill. That would make it $350.00. But then I realized that she’d probably dicker with me, so I threw on another $100.00 to give me something to work with, for a total of $450.00 less her discount. I’d just gotten paid $150.00 for blowing my wad down my client’s throat!
As I watched her repair her lipstick, I thought about the glimpse of her hairy cooze I’d gotten as she’d pulled the skirt down. I was still excited and the thought of fucking this ‘respectable’ mother of two made my cock start to stand up again. I didn’t bother to put it away.
“Well, Karen, that was great — you certainly have talent — but now there’s the matter of your bill.”
Well, of course, she’d expected that the entire bill would be forgiven based on her performance, but I gave her a lecture on overhead travel fees, etc., then made my pitch for the discount. But before I did it, a perverse streak caused me to quote her $550.00 as my bill to see what she’d say. She seemed taken aback, but I pointed out that I’d done a lot of research before we’d gone to court. I gently explained to her that just because she’d assumed that I’d dismiss the whole bill didn’t constitute a contract because we’d had no discussion beforehand. Then I asked her what she thought her services had been worth. Just as I thought, she undervalued them-obviously low self esteem-and dubiously quoted $100.00. I could have backed her down, but I had another plan in mind. I accepted her offer, and generously knocked off another $50.00 to show good faith. That term always gets them, even though it meant nothing in this case. Now we were down to $400.00.
She had brightened appreciably. I then offered her a chance to knock the bill down another $50.00 if I could fuck her — and I said it just like that. She acted as though the very words turned her on. But, believe it or not, she was getting bolder, and came back with $100.00. We finally settled on $75.00. I was on a roll, and I could have gotten her down to $50.00 — but, what the hell, I’m not totally devoid of conscience!
Wednesday, October 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is just an amazing piece of nude art:
It’s The Woman In The Waves by Gustave Courbet, from 1868.
Tuesday, October 16th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
That would be The Prelude du Fornication.
Thank you, Bad Example!
Friday, October 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Remember my Strap-On Sex, Circa 1910 post in which I teased Susie Bright about inventing the strap-on dildo? Well, now (courtesy of Vintage Lust, a fresh-but-promising trove of vintage sex pictures) we have yet another fine vintage image of lesbian strap-on sex:
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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?
Wednesday, October 10th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Yup, that’s universal heart-throb (well, hearts are at least on the throb list) George Clooney carrying a Liberator Wedge on the set of a new movie. Talk about Liberator product placement!
(Cue an entire legion of ladies simpering “He can place his product anywhere he wants as far as I’m concerned!”)
Picture (and all the details) from here.
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Monday, October 8th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Remember the infamous kitchen fisting scene in the movie Caligula? The scene with the crock of butter, Rome not having yet invented Crisco?
Sure you do:
From Butter Lubed.
Friday, October 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
He thinks he’s sooo smooth. Hell, he probably thinks he invented the old “I’ll show you how to ride a bicycle as an excuse to run my fingers all over your pretty butt” routine.
Meanwhile, she has him exactly where she wants him.
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Thursday, October 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Generally when you hear a dirty limerick, you’ve heard it a thousand times before. This one was new to me:
“I like anal sex, if you please”
Said Ginger while down on her knees
“I’m firm and I’m tight,
I’m an utter delight!
And I promise that I won’t cut the cheese!”
Wednesday, October 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Ladies and gentlemen and faithful readers and visitors, I’m pleased to announce that today marks the fifth anniversary of ErosBlog’s first post.
I’m rather proud to have been in continuous publication for half a decade. 1,853 posts spread over 1,825 days averages to 1.015 posts per day. Of course it wasn’t that regular — there are a couple of posting gaps that stretch close to a month in length. But a daily post has always been the goal, and if I never managed that much, I’ll settle for that 1.015 posts-per-day average.
When I started this thing, internet diaries had been around for at least as long as the web, and some of them (especially the BDSM lifestyle ones) had a lot of adult content. Blogs (known by that name, or by its then-still-in-use linguistic ancestor, “weblogs”) were a few years old, but had exploded in popularity and visibility just in the previous year. Sex blogs — as a genre — were unheard of. There was Daze Reader, there was World Sex News, there was BJ’s Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings. There were pretty pictures every day at Sensual Liberation Army and some other places. Lots of proto-sex-blogs, but none that had adopted that characterization of themselves. So, as far as I know, Eros Blog was the first internet thing to claim that description.
I can’t claim to have invented the idea of a sex blog — whomever registered sexblog.com, before I tried to, can prove that — and I can’t claim to have invented the act of sex blogging, which was all over LiveJournal before I ever heard of blogging. But I think I was the first person, to think of it, do it, and call it by the name.
One possible exception — a sex blogger who was there before me by a few months, doing what I’d consider the first recognizable sex blog and conceptualizing her work in roughly that way, was Susannah Breslin. She did a blog called The Reverse Cowgirl, she was well connected with web heavyweights and early blogging gurus, and she blogged pretty exclusively about sex and culture. It was nice stuff, she was kind enough to link me early, but I simply cannot remember if she ever called her project a sex blog. She might have; certainly she could have, because that’s what it was.
Unfortunately it was from Susannah that I first learned to hate the destruction wrought by blog vandalism. She was linked all over the web, she was getting a lot of media attention, and then one day without a word of explanation her blog was gone and links all over the blogosphere were 404ing. Then a while later she had another project up, very artistic and overdesigned but having many bloglike features; it too vanished. After that I lost track, but there have been more; she’s got another “Reverse Cowgirl” blog going at the moment, with archives going all the way back to 2006, but not a single link to any of her earlier projects (presumably because they are all gone). I owe Susannah a considerable debt for inspiration and early traffic, but she’s also the one who taught me to be wary of folks who treat the web like a rented space for temporary performance art.
So! Five years. Two hosts. Three blog software platforms. At least half a dozen different templates. A metric buttload of spam and raging idiocy moderated out of the comments. Two web interviews, perhaps half a dozen press inquiries (ignored because I still enjoy psuedonymous posting). One hell of a lot of fun.
One of the fun things for me is to look at how my posts (and me) have changed over five years. When I started, writing about sexual stuff was very hard for me (even in my usual detached “look at those people over there and what they say they are doing” style). I was stilted and awkward. I was afraid that to write about a thing meant people would think I liked it. Worse yet, I cared about that, and would include horrid little disclaimers. Bacchus wrote about Bacchus in the third person for eight long months. I remain indebted to Eugene Volokh for providing me, a day too late, with the vocabulary word for that literary atrocity. Thanks to him, I now understand that I Am No Longer An Illeist.
As for me, when I started this blog I was single, lonely, and underemployed by my own choice due to increasing disillusionment with my profession (a little) and with the demands of the job culture (a lot). Now I’ve got The Nymph, we’re ridiculously happy together, and my adult web projects support me better than a job ever did, with me working only when it suits me. And it does suit me! I used to read in the business magazines about successful power suit types who would wake up in the morning full of enthusiasm for getting into the office to do whatever they did, and I’d boggle at that alien worldview. Now, I wake up in the morning, often as not, with an idea for tweaking or improving one of my websites, and I’m full of enthusiasm for the idea of getting up and tinkering with it. Life has never been better.
I couldn’t hope to thank properly all the other bloggers who deserve it, for providing me with support, encouragement, linkage, ideas, material, inspiration… but to list even the first fraction of them would require listing half my blog roll. All I can say is, thanks to you all. And thanks — even more thanks! — to the thousands of loyal readers who come back every day to see my blather and follow my links.
I owe special thanks to my regular guest blogger, Aphrodite, who has been backing me up and providing the woman’s touch around here for more than three years. Although her posts have never been frequent, she’s provided considerable invisible assistance, especially with comment spam filtering before we got it as automated as it tends to be today. I remain delighted and honored to have her help.
What about the future? Will there be a “Ten Candles” post on October 3, 2012?
At the speed technology, culture, and politics are changing in this crazy world, it’s hard to know for sure, but I truly do hope so! I love doing this blog and I can’t imagine stopping voluntarily. Five years ago it was still possible to claim that blogs were a fad. Five years from now, it’s possible we’ll all be considered impossibly old-fashioned, like paper magazines and network television and phones that plug into the wall. But this is about the sex, baby! And people don’t get bored with that, so I should still have an audience.
I’ll conclude with a list of some of my forgotten favorites — an even dozen sex blog posts I enjoyed writing and still enjoy reading, posts that seemed important to me, or posts that other people seemed particularly to enjoy.
Monday, October 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Whatever one’s opinions on the practicality of actual auto-cunnilingus for real women with non-folding spines, you ought to enjoy this bit of French art featuring a dirty old man in a well-equipped kitchen assisting “the help” with the necessary contortion:
I don’t have the French to translate the caption, but some bits are fairly clear. You have to admit that le suçage solitaire sounds much better (and much dirtier) than the clinical medical faux-latin “autocunnilingus”.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, September 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It has to be said: People are funny about their kinks. They want the kink, but sometimes they don’t want to own up to the sex part. They don’t like to admit that they do what they do because it makes them horny and leads to great sex.
In the realm of bondage, one way people sometimes display this curious hesitance is to treat bondage as if it were a sort of performance art. They wax lyrical about the aesthetics of the thing, do bondage displays in public venues with strict rules against any sort of sex play, and create highly stylized photography featuring beautiful bondage models like Roma, here, tied up with almost all of her clothes on:
Which, in my view, is mostly bunk. It leads to some breath-taking bondage photography, sure. But when a man ties up a woman’s breasts with that much care, it’s for one reason only. The reason? So she can’t bat away his hands when he does this:
Now, that’s what I call getting a good squeeze!
(Of course, those particular hands actually belong to Claire Adams, as you can see in the full gallery from Whipped Ass. No matter, it’s still a good squeeze.)
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 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Mistress Matisse has some observations on making real money (“money to live comfortably, buy a house, create a retirement fund, build some security”) in the sex business:
If you want to make good money in the sex industry, then you need to do two things. One: get in the room with the client, and two: eliminate the middleman.
That means that any form of sex work you do which does not place you in the room with a client should be viewed as temporary and prone to marked fluctuations. Nice extra money, but not to be exclusively relied on to make you a steady, long-term living. So, phone sex, modeling, peep-shows, cam sites, and yes, porn videos — that kind of work can provide a continuous small trickle of money into your pocket, or it can occasionally inject a large wad of cash into your budget. But while I know a lot of people in the sex industry, I don’t personally know anyone who has made a decent living exclusively from such avenues for any long period of time.
(And no, the photographer who pays you to model for commercial publication is the not the client. He’s a middle-man. The guy who buys the magazine or joins the paysite is the client.)
The money in those gigs is a bit better if you own the venue. There was a window of time in which mom-and-pop porn sites could do pretty well. But unfortunately I think that era is over – between the federal government regulations, and the expansion of the corporate porn industry, a lot of indie porn sites have been muscled out of business, or at least out of the black.
As a middleman myself, or what’s worse, a middleman’s middleman, the guy who sells advertising to middlemen or sends them traffic, I can’t agree more with her “temporary and prone to marked fluctuations” characterization. “Eliminate the middleman” is the plain English, the $100 word from B-school is “disintermediation”, and I noticed long ago that without constant vigilance and a ready flexibility, I’m never more than six months away from being disintermediated right out of business. The internet is the great disintermediator, it brings the clients and the talent together in a way that makes middlemen increasingly seem irrelevant.
As an aside, this disintermediation effect means that indie porn continues to thrive, but at a lower level of visibility. How many indie camgirls are there out there, who hook up with clients on Craig’s List and turn on their webcams after he PayPals them forty bucks? I dunno. Neither do you. The biggest remaining barrier on the internet is the payment middleman — PayPal will kill that transaction if it can spot it. Of course, if you can literally get in the room with the client, good old fashioned folding cash money still works.
Matisse concludes:
So if you want to make a good living in the sex industry, my advice is: Set up your own shop, run the business yourself, and deal with your clients directly and personally. Don’t be fodder in someone else’s money machine.
And that’s advice you can take to the bank, in the sex industry or any other.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, September 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Spanking Blog calls this spanking graffiti, but like all the best graffiti, it’s really just folk art in a public space:
Beats the hell (if you’ll pardon the pun) out of the boring “no parking” sign it’s painted next to!
Saturday, September 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Will someone please stop me from browsing through sex toy websites? Just when I think I’ve seen it all, they come up with something like the Anal Ring Toss game:
The Anal Ring Toss game is a new twist on a traditional ring toss game.
The designated “goalie” inserts the anal plug with the attached scoring pole into the butt. The players then attempt to throw one of the 3 plastic rings onto the pole. You score when your yellow ring successfully lands around the scoring pole in the goalie’s bum.
There are no set rules to this game. A fun set of instructions is included, but players are encouraged to make their own rules. Should the goalie move and shake the ass, or stay perfectly still? It is entirely up to the ring toss players.
What does the winner get? The goalie? It is entirely up to the players.
Please toss anal rings responsibly and have fun!
That’s right, please toss anal rings responsibly!
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Wednesday, September 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I suppose it’s possible that after almost five solid years of sex blogging, I tilt too much toward novelty and shock in selecting new material to blog about. Not that sex ever gets boring, but the blogging fingers can get jaded. Whatever the topic, didn’t I already write a post about that? Or three of ’em?
For whatever reason, I’m definitely still finding novelty in the transsexual porn from TS Seduction. Old fashioned “tranny porn” (conceived and presented as a freak show, with transsexuals as the freaks) is hardly novel, but it was always presented with the emphasis on “ZOMG, freaks having sex!” and never a care in the world paid to whether the sex was hot sex.
Of course we expect (and get) better from a Kink.com franchise. We see models like this, and we want to see some sex:
Of course, without some advance warning we wouldn’t necessarily expect to see those two sucking each other’s dicks, but when it happens, at least it looks like they mean it. And if that’s not sex as Bill Clinton would define it, surely this is:
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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 15th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A reader who wishes to remain anonymous sent in the following bit of vintage femdom art, which is probably attributable to the artist “Jim” and to the second quarter of the 20th century. Since the ladies who frequent this blog are always clamoring for more dick, I figured some Saturday morning whippin’ and drippin’ would not be out of order.
The first thing that struck me about this drawing… no, scratch that.
After I got over the whole male panic thing (“aah, balls, don’t be showing me balls, and especially don’t be beating on THE BALLS!“), the first thing that struck me about this drawing was the cruelty of the foot bondage. That wall could be fourteen inches high and his posture wouldn’t be much different, not with cables cinched tight around his Achilles tendons to enforce the tippy-toed stance.
The second thing that struck me is that this is that it’s another area where the march of technology has marched onwards since the picture was drawn. Are you sadly deficient in dungeon space? Does your bedroom lack thirty extra square feet in which to erect a permanent five-foot wooden bulwark that’s bolted down with iron strapping? Well, you’re in luck! Because these days, there’s a handy portable equivalent called The Humbler. It’s a bulwark in a box — just snap it around the balls and behind the thighs and you’re in business. Complete with bonus electrodes for (shudder) double bonus fun.
At this point I’d normally be talking about the miracle of technology and how great it is that everything gets smaller over time. Unfortunately I’m still distracted by the faint voice in my head that’s still screaming “Aaiieee, not the BALLS!”
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Wednesday, September 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Always Aroused Girl got asked, essentially, “why in the hell…?” More specifically, “why would a woman need anal sex, when she’s got a vagina, the ideal self-lubrified device that mother nature specially crafted for the purpose?”
She responded, in part:
Sometimes we do things not because we need to, but because we want to. Because we really REALLY want to. Because for months or even years, we’ve wanted to. Because something deep inside our tiny reptilian brains screams out in a voice that cannot be ignored, “Penetrate my bottom!”
And if you are wise, if you love your ass (and why wouldn’t you love your ass?) you will listen to that part of your brain, because (and this is the secret) ass sex feels really great to some people. It feels really great to some men and some women. It feels really great to some straight folks and some not-straight folks.
It doesn’t feel better than vaginal sex, nor does it feel worst than vaginal sex. It just feels different. It feels different in the same way that oral sex feels different than vaginal sex. It feels different in the same way that blue looks different from red. It feels different in the same way that lasagna tastes different from steak.
None of those things are intrinsically better or worse. They are just different.
If you are among those folks for whom anal sex feels really great, you’ll know what I mean, Annie. You’ll know exactly why it’s worth the effort to prepare your ass (and your mind) for anal sex. You’ll know exactly why you devote the time to working with your partner toward anal sex.
You do it because buttsex feels really great, and it feels really great to share that really great feeling with your partner.
And the only way you’ll know if you are one of the folks who loves anal sex is if you try anal sex.
But Annie, please don’t have anal sex until you know you want to try. When you are ready to try, a small voice in your head will start begging. You’ll be enjoying your traditional sexual activities when suddenly you’ll hear, “Play with me, please!”
And you’ll discover that it’s your ass begging for attention. If that happens, consider exploring buttsex.
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Monday, September 10th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I don’t have an iPhone — I’m not a huge fan of expensive devices locked to a single carrier with notoriously awful customer service — but I admit that they do look awfully nifty. And, ever since Boing Boing put out the call for erotic wallpaper, I’ve been mindful that the specs for iPhone wallpaper (320px by 480px at 160dpi, according to Boing Boing) aren’t too different from the image sizes that usually appear here on ErosBlog.
Accordingly, when I stumbled across two extremely explicit sex drawings by Swedish artist Anders Zorn, I thought it would be fun to share them here with iPhone wallpaper sizing ( according to Boing Boing):
Please do let me know if anyone finds this useful. It would be simple to post more stuff in this size if people enjoy that feature.
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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:
Thursday, September 6th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure it’s possible to be pimpin’ on a motor scooter. But if it’s possible, this guy’s on the trail of how to do it:
Looks like he’s enjoying the ride, too.
Tuesday, September 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In Japan, natch.
I’m not sure how any sourced stories could possibly be less reliable. These fishy sex stories come from a comedian, as reported in a notoriously unreliable tabloid. There’s a lot of room for skepticism here.
Still, a good traveler’s tale about sex with wild beasts is not to be passed up:
“Almost everybody in the fishing business has had sex with a manta at some point,” Makeburu asserts.
What!!! A manta??? You mean one of those enormous, intimidating winged things with a stinger on their tail that looks like an aquatic Batman?
Yep. After all, fisherman out on ships spend a loooonggg time at sea without ever encountering a woman, and, well, let’s face it, they can get pretty horny. No, dammit, let’s make that incredibly horny. Even desperate enough to do it with a manta. Right?
“Nah,” shrugs Makeburu. “Coastal fishermen poke them too.”
Apparently it’s a ritual of manhood, done out of recognition of the dangers of life on the sea.
Before mounting one of these intimidating creatures, points out J.K. special, it is “absolutely essential” that its stinger be removed. Yes, that certainly would make sense.
And of course, there’s the matter of protocol. To wit, the ship’s captain, if he so chooses, is entitled to go first.
Is your mind suitably boggled? No? Ready for some more?
“A manta’s … thing is kind of similar to a human’s,” Makeburu says.
Okay, well … not exactly. More than a reproductive organ, it’s basically an organ of elimination. So engaging in sex with a manta is basically an act of deep-sea sodomy.
“It’s shallow and there’s resistance at the other end, so the feeling isn’t that good,” is how he describes it.
At least the manta survives the violation. “With most fish, we just whack ’em, but we release the manta’s we screw back into the ocean,” Makeburu relates.
A curious Matsuzawa wonders … if the captain had an STD, wouldn’t the other crew members who had sex with the manta contract it too?
“That’s right,” grins Makeburu. “So some guys slip on condoms before they do it. Once I came down with the clap. But we were in port around that time and I did it with a woman, so I don’t have any way of knowing if I picked it up from her, or from the manta.”
Is it common, then, for marine students to lose their virginity to a manta?
“Well, no, actually it’s more common for them to lose it to a moray eel,” he confides.
What??!! Isn’t that, like, dangerous, as in crazy?
“You can stick it in until it bites,” he says. “But if you pull it away too fast the skin on your cock will tear.”
Apparently once out of the water a moray becomes less aggressive. So you can force its mouth open with your hands, and then stick in your cock…
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Monday, September 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
File this one under “if the press release is pretty enough, we’ll print it!” The Daily Mail did, and now, so did me.
Actress Maggie Gyllenhaal wearing pretty lingerie. Yesss.
She’s the new celeb underwear model for Agent Provocateur — a brand I never heard of until today. Of course, she’d be pretty in a moldy gunny sack. But silky sheer and lace doesn’t hurt.
They’ve even got a picture of her wearing handcuffs.
Thanks to Violet Blue for the link.
Friday, August 31st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here’s the comic book version of putting a slave collar on a pretty girl:
“Hey, mister, watch it with the spikes!”
Via Bondage Blog.
Update:Karl Elvis commented “I wanna see the brute who’d put that kinda slave collar on a girl.”
Easily done! The picture is, apparently, a detail from the cover of Marvel Mystery Comics #8, from waaay back in June of 1940, according to the Alien Slavegirl site where Bondage Blog found it. And the four-armed enslaving alien brute in question looks like this:
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Wednesday, August 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve gotten in minor trouble in the past for not participating in various efforts to “reclaim” derogatory words traditionally applied to various classes of women, words like “slut” and “cunt” and “whore” and the like. In particular, I’ve condemned low-imagination pornographers for calling porn models “sluts” far too often. I’m really condemning their business sense as much as anything; although some men surely fantasize about hooking up with a slut, it’s hardly universal.
So in a post like A Spammer’s View Of Porn Stars, my jeering at “old-school bitch-slut-whore porn marketing” triggered this comment:
You know, generally speaking, I’m all in favor of reclaiming these sorts of words. I call myself a slut happily, and while I’ve never had physical sex for money, the people I know who have done so call themselves whores (or retired whores) with no problem.
To which I responded:
Reclaiming is a whole ‘nuther issue, and frankly I don’t think it’s something that a second-person labeler can participate in. A woman with the qualifications can call herself a bitch or a slut or a whore and not mean anything bad by it, but I don’t think some random guy selling pictures of her has a prayer of pulling that off.
Which remains my position. There’s nothing wrong with being a slut, but I can’t get away with applying the word to any particular woman unless she does so first, because a man saying that word is tarred by association with a million other men who’ve tossed it around lightly as a synonym for “woman”. And standing behind that million men are another million women who’ve tossed it around just as lightly as a synonym for “woman who fucks too readily, and thus may pose a competitive danger to me”.
Of course, that doesn’t prevent me from quoting women like Kaya who cheerfully adopt the label:
I know that slut is supposed to be an insult. I hear my daughters refer to other classmates in that way. With wrinkled noses and disdain dripping from their voices. “Oh she is SUCH a slut. Look at her. Oh. My. Gawd.”
I asked Jes one time what criteria would get a girl labeled as a slut. I’m not sure if I have the formula down correctly but it was something along the lines of if you’ve slept with more than 3 people, you’re a bonafide slut. I guess I can see that, when applied to a 15 or 16 year old. I did not tell her that her mother was a certified slut though. Some things a child just doesn’t need to know about her mom’s activities. ;-)
…
I know without a doubt, without a millisecond of hesitation, that I AM a natural slut. Jezebel, a hussy, a tart, a tramp. I dressed the part, I acted the part, I performed the part.
I never associated the emotions with sex that other people do. It was always just sex. Not a commitment, no deeper hidden meaning. I wasn’t waiting for a proposal or a second date and it didn’t bother me in the least to have feelings for one person, and sleep with another. The two were entirely separate.
…
I like sex. The raunchier the better. I like to cock my ass up and wiggle it in the air. I like to spread my pussy lips wide and taunt whoever is looking. I like the wetness, the sloppiness, the grunts and slaps and other rude, raucous noises that emanate from between our two joined bodies. And I like it best when some pink part of mine is screaming in pain, pain that fiercely combats with the pleasure, until the two sensations meet and mix and become a tangled mass of exploding nerves that leave me abandoned in a puddled lump of used slut.
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Tuesday, August 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The reader who sent me this vintage photo claims this beauty is “the most beautiful woman ever”. I dunno about that, but she’s surely very beautiful. I doubt she ever got kicked out of bed for eating crackers:
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.
Monday, August 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Well, dang if my jaw didn’t drop to the floor when I discovered that legendary porn star Ginger Lynn has come out of retirement to shoot a bondage scene with Mark Davis for Kink.com’s Sex and Submission:
It’s fun for a number of reasons, not least of which is that Ginger is old enough to have developed that whole soft, well-rounded, mature / MILF-y look. Rode hard and put away wet? Sure. But don’t say that like it’s a bad thing. This is a woman who knows how to have fun:
From the Kink.com marketing copy:
Sex and Submission proudly presents pornstar legend Ginger Lynn in her first real BDSM sex scene with boyfriend Mark Davis. With much excitement and anticipation she explores her submissive side in great depth. Mark is tough with her at times and brings her to that breaking point where she struggles to fight through the pain and discomfort. But the pleasurable rewards and lovingness displayed throughout makes Ginger a very happy submissive. The chemistry between the two and the genuine reactions from porn celebrity Ginger Lynn is really something special!
Googling around for more information about the shoot, I found this, including some great quotes by Ginger:
“I’ve fallen madly in love. I have finally met a man who can keep up with me, who is my match in bed, and that man is Mark Davis. We met at a fundraiser for Nicki Hunter and have been inseparable ever since,” Lynn told XBIZ. “I figured if I was ever to make a comeback, I would do something I have never done before, show something I have never shown before, to express myself the same way I do at home. Very few men – none – have been able to bring that out of me the way Mark Davis has.”
“I’ve always been known as the girl next door, naughty-but-nice. At home, I’m sick, twisted, kinky and I have no boundaries. I don’t want to go into detail, but I will be living out my fantasies on film that I have only been able to do in my private life up until now. I may alienate some fans. They may be scared off, they may be fabulously surprised. At this point in my career and my life, it really doesn’t matter to me. I am going to do something I want to do.
“I’m a naughty girl.”
Ready for more? The Submission of Ginger Lynn is a 48 minute move, for members.
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Sunday, August 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From OMG Blog:
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Saturday, August 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Best sex spam subject line of the day — so far:
“I just got this web cam, and I can’t stop stripping!”
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Friday, August 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is fun: Susie Bright interviews Chelsea Girl and publishes part of the transcript on 10 Zen Monkeys. (Alas, the complete interview has apparently not been transcribed, and is available only in that brutally slow and notoriously linear 20th century format, audio.)
SB: I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you to talk about your oral sex discussion.
CG: The “deep throat” post.
SB: I learned so much from that. There are all these people writing “deep throat this” and “deep throat that.” And there’s even porn how-to films. But it never gets beyond the sort of Linda Lovelace fanfare of deep throat. Until you, no one talked about how you really get things…
CG: Down.
SB: How the nature of your saliva changes once you get in the right… You call it the viscous stuff.
CG: Yeah, the viscous, porn star-y spit.
SB: How did you learn how to give spectacular deep throat sex? Who taught you?
CG: My pediatrician.
SB: Oh, come on! No, stop!
CG: I had strep throat a lot as a kid. And I hated tongue depressors. And every winter I would have my throat swabbed over and over again. And so I learned how to control my gag reflex so that I didn’t have to have a tongue depressor in my mouth when they swabbed my throat. That’s essentially the same technique I use when I deep throat. I had no idea it would come in handy. But seriously, the first time I gave head, it just went down.
SB: Well, did you realize that the nature of one’s saliva and mucus would change and that you’d get more lubrication?
CG: Oh, that came from Jenna Jameson – I was reading Jenna Jameson’s book, which was ghostwritten by Neil Strauss, of course. Anyway, Jenna sort of articulated how, once you start, your gag reflex is your friend. And once you start to have the gagging happen, that’s when you get that nice thick viscous spit.
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.
Monday, August 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Gentlemen, if you’ve got a modicum of self-confidence about your skillz with teh butt secks and you’re pretty sure you’re not hurtin’ the lady or anything, yet she still seems unduly and persistently reluctant, it may help to remember that women, or at least Always Aroused Girl, sometimes worry about odd things at odd times:
For all the apparent confidence I might seem to have about buttsex, there have been times that it has completely terrified me.
Not because of the pain aspect. It’s never felt painful. Instead, I worry about poo.
Rationally, I know my bottom is simply confused. It’s so conditioned to interpreting that particular sensation as needing to use the facilities that I get panicky when I’m first entered. I worry that poo will make an appearance, even though I know there’s none there. I worry even though I know that my partner would still like me even if we had a minor poo-tastrophe.
I know those things, and yet I do more than my share of panicking. However, the longer I have successful buttsex, the more my confidence grows.
Not directly related to the above point, but I’m going to quote from later in the same post just for fun:
I gushed, and then I came in earnest. It was one of those orgasms that froze me in place and clenched every muscle in my pelvis. Apparently it felt pretty good to my friend too, because he wrapped his hand around my throat, clamped his teeth on my earlobe and moaned hard.
I nearly lost an earlobe and an eardrum but I didn’t care.
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Sunday, August 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Meet Chad Rock. Chad is horny and bored.
Then Chad meets Jesse. Jesse comes on to him. Chad starts thinking with the little head, and momentarily forgets his momma’s advice about not talking to strangers in bad neighborhoods. Hello, Jesse:
Events transpire. Time passes. Slowly — too slowly — Chad begins to realize that Jesse is one of the people his mama was warning him about:
Uh oh. Chad’s helpless and in trouble. What vile perversions is Jesse going to subject him to?
Ohnoes! It’s worse than Chad could ever have feared! He’s all tied up and getting a big sticky wet willie!
Sadly for Chad, and to his rueful surprise, it is not an accident that the word “willie” has suddenly appeared in this conversation.
Guess what? Willie wants to play, too.
Nobody asks Chad. Bondage can be handy like that.
Now Willie has Chad’s full attention.
As they used to say in those Victorian novels, perhaps it’s time to draw the curtain on this tender scene…
Saturday, August 11th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A good girl in trouble, from the cover of some detective fiction, courtesy of Bondage Blog:
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Thursday, August 9th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I really don’t know what I could say that would improve on this excerpt from a cheesy novel from another age. Politically correct clucking aside, what’s to say? But I think it will amuse you all:
Lars put his hand behind her head and drew her toward him. They touched lips. He thought of Terry and how ridiculous it was to prefer anyone to this gorgeous acre of femininity. She pressed her lips to his. ‘You tough little bastard.’
It didn’t bother him. It was a kick for her and a kick for him. The mismatch of the century. He took her in his arms, bending over her as she stuck her legs straight out and slouched lower. He kissed her hard, slid his lips down her neck to her breasts. She wiggled her legs and said ‘Ummm, baby.’ He found a zipper near her armpit and worked it. The dress loosened, and he drew it down from her shoulders. He found the hook in back. ‘Introducing,’ he murmured, and took off her brassiere. Big, all right. A feast, and not only for the eyes. He feasted.
After a while she led him to her bedroom and stripped, turning and posing for his pleasure. She stopped him from undressing. She wanted to do it herself. She undressed him as if he were a baby, cooing over him and doing everything but carry him to the bed. She even tried that, but couldn’t make it. He laughed and it was still a kick and he was ready. But she wasn’t. She kept stalling, kept playing.
An hour passed, a full hour, and he grew tired and testy. ‘Be a big girl,’ he said, and pushed her down and pulled at her legs. She rolled over onto her stomach, but her backward glance was melting. He realized this was what she wanted. She wouldn’t ask for it because asking adulterated true toughness, but she wanted a hard man, a mean man, the man who had kicked Sommy in the nuts. He smacked her big rear end. She said, ‘No, I won’t!’ He smacked it again, the sound ringing out in the silent house. He thought of Terry. Was she next door, listening to them, jealous and sexually excited?
He smacked Mona’s rear five times, his hand stinging from the force of the blows, the sound loud enough to waken anyone in the house. Mona whimpered and rolled onto her side. ‘You hurt me.’ Her eyes blinked back tears. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her flat on her back. She tried to draw up her legs. He slapped her face. She said, ‘Not that.’ He slapped her again and jammed his knee between her thighs. ‘Not that,’ he mocked. ‘You want me to pat the famous fanny all night. Not that. You want Lars to perform by the script.’
She wept, pressing her legs together. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Go away. You’re not –‘
He grabbed a breast. ‘If you don’t open –‘
She cried out. Her legs opened. He stroked her face and kissed her. He told her how beautiful, how desirable she was, and she wept softly and called him a rat and rapist and hugged him and bit his shoulder.
It went very well. As soon as it ended her eyes closed and she began to doze, mumbling that she hadn’t slept well all week and please phone her soon.
From The Movie Maker by Herbert Kastle (1968).
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Sunday, August 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From the Red Sneaker Diaries, we have this description of what it feels like for a woman to fuck another woman with a strap-on:
This was one of the first few times I fucked Anna with the feeldoe strapped on — and this time, it felt natural. Strap-on sex has a learning curve – much like any other sex act, really. The “strap-er” can’t be expected to fuck like a Casanova the first time out of the gates, but after some awkward first times, it gets easier. And after it gets easier, it starts to feel natural. When it feels natural, you’re there — no more flubs, no more hesitation, no more mistakes. Just good, hearty strap on sex
Coupling the feeldoe with a harness is truly brilliant. The feeldoe will stay in place on its own, but only with decently closed legs. This limits its usefulness. Strapped into place, its stays put — perky, firm and ready to fuck. In fact, even though the straps felt awkward at first, the fact that they allow the feeldoe to cradle so firmly into me makes me forget that they’re there. Void of distracting worries of it falling out, I am free the let the feeldoe become part of me, to become an extension of my cunt. The silicone is inert, but it allows the quivers and shakes and strokes of a fuck to channel deep within me, fueling the the burning desire of my sex.
It’s a real trip, you know, fucking a girl with a strap on. My inert cock, spreading sensation to me, elicits reactions from her. Everything is delayed, sensations conveyed by proxy through the blue silicone cock between my legs. Her body tenses under me — I see her orgasm before I feel the jolting of the feeldoe on my gspot. For the briefest of seconds, I am simply an observer — watching transfixed as her orgasm washes over her. Then, suddenly, my world is flooded with that feeling — my own thighs flutter in response as I thrust again.
(I think she’s using the word “feeldoe” in reference to this product.)
Sunday, August 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Movie posters from exploitation flicks can be so much fun! This image is a detail from the poster for White Slave (1986):
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Thursday, August 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
As you all know, I filter the comments aggressively. Anybody with a blog knows about automated comment spammers who drop various text nuggets designed to pass as real comments.
I thought this one was worth pulling out and sharing, because it appears to be human-written rather than purely machine generated (which is to say, it isn’t just random keywords slung together), and because its narrative is classic old-school bitch-slut-whore porn marketing, the sort of thing this sex blog exists in reaction against:
When it comes to porn bitches with big tits getting their cunts and asses stretched and stuffed by huge dicks and getting their faces and jugs covered by hot spunk, Ava Devine has almost no equal. A regular on [url deleted] and [url deleted], Ava is one cock loving, cum loving, fuck loving slut. Whether she’s getting double penetrated or just getting drilled by massive meat, I swear this girl’s pussy has seen more action in the dirt and taken more of a pounding than a U.S. Marine. What a whore. I really think that she, along with wonderfully like-minded souls Carmella Bing and Shyla Stylez, are among the leaders of the pack when it comes to no-frills, low glamour, raw, hardcore porn. Ava Devine loves fucking and really doesn’t give a fuck what people think. This bitch should be a hero. See the action for yourself at [url deleted].
I cannot deny that Ava is sexy, but whence the leap from that to bitch, slut, and whore? I always wonder what these guys are thinking. Is this how they really feel about porn stars? Or is it merely how they think their intended audience feels?
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Thursday, August 2nd, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
Why don’t I ever see yummy sights like this when I go to the beach?
I guess finding it at Hot Hard Cock is better than not finding it at all! Yum yum yum!
Sunday, July 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Alternative caption: Five Distinguished Male Clerics Complain Of A Shortage Of Nuns In The Modern Church
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Friday, July 27th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Is it just me, or is there something pointlessly cruel about locking someone in a transparent cage and then punishing them for failing to maintain their privacy while they jerk off? I’m having a difficult time reconciling this with any concept of justice:
A Broward prisoner accused of committing a sex act while he was alone in his jail cell was found guilty Tuesday of indecent exposure.
Terry Lee Alexander, 20, unsuccessfully fought the charge, which had been brought by a female Broward Sheriff’s Office detention deputy who saw him perform the sex act in his cell in November.
In reaching the guilty verdict, jurors found that an inmate’s jail cell is ”a limited access public place” where exposing oneself is against the law.
The judge sentenced Alexander, of Lauderdale Lakes, to 60 days in jail, on top of the 10-year sentence he is currently serving for armed robbery.
The sole witness in the case, BSO Deputy Coryus Veal, testified that Alexander did not try to hide what he was doing as most prisoners do. Veal saw him perform the act while she was working in a glass-enclosed master control room, 100 feetfrom Alexander’s cell. There was no video tape or other witnesses.
Alexander’s attorney argued that the prison cell was a private place and that what Alexander was doing was perfectly normal.
”Did other inmates start masturbating because of Mr. Alexander?” McHugh asked Veal. “Did you call a SWAT team?”
”I wish I had,” Veal answered.
Veal, who has charged seven other inmates with the same offense, insisted that she was not against the act itself — just the fact that Alexander was so blatant about it. Most inmates, she testified, do it in bed, under the blankets.
Veal said this was the third time she caught Alexander, and she had had enough.
Via Boing Boing.
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Friday, July 27th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Joe DiMaggio and his wife, Some dude with a stick and Marilyn Monroe:
Found at Ectoplasmosis, where it was posted under the title “The Luckiest Man In The World“. Which I am not buying for a moment — Marilyn was a piece of work for all her beauty — but it makes a great caption.
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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 25th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
Who hasn’t seen one of those fund-raising calendars for some cause or other? You know, pretty pictures or ordinary people dressed up (or down) to look alluring…..but I never thought I’d see a calendar like this one.
Not too bad, most of them…..but the black pants are kind of disturbing for me. Next year, black Speedos or thongs, guys, okay?
(Thanks once again to my sister for the picture.)
Monday, July 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It’s been a while since I’ve posted any gay porn here. But I’d say these menacing fellows definitely qualify:
From Bondage Blog.
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Friday, July 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
As any man who’s ever washed himself very very thoroughly in the shower can tell you, standard bar soap (I’m talking soap, regular soap, men soap for getting clean, like good old plain anti-bacterial yellow Dial, not the foo-foo stuff that women use that’s full of oat flakes and lavender oil and glycerin and lanolin and gentle moisturizers) can burn a bit if it gets up inside on the tender membranes. So this was a predictable result:
Next, we headed for the shower, which was our original plan. I had to brush my hair before getting in there, and as I studied my reflexion in the mirror, he prodded my ass with his entirely unlubricated, dry finger, which, you imagine, didn’t make it very far. He soaped it up and renewed the activity, and then soaped up his cock and plunged it inside as I bent over the sink. I could see both my pained and his ecstatic expression in the mirror, as he fucked me rough and raw with his soapy member.
It was uncomfortable – much like the way it used to be when we just started doing it – and even though I am quite comfortable with it after a generous application of lube, soap seemed to have gotten absorbed by the tissues or dried out, making it increasingly more uncomfortable with every thrust. I did try to breathe deeply and allow him to have me till the end, which he did.
We got into the shower, and after a few minutes I realized that my insiders WERE ON FIRE – at first I thought it was because of the roughness of the sex, but then I figured it was because of the soap, which is not designed for prolonged application to mucusy membranes. IT BURNED. It burned so much that I began to cry, got out of the shower, and placed myself over the toilet as I poured and poured water on myself in the attempts to alleviate the torture, all while crying the entire time. He got out of the shower too and squatted by my side, looking concerned. “It’s like having soap in your eyes,” I explained (only not quite SO bad). And it wasn’t a good kind, titillating, endorphine-friendly burn, like that produced by ginger. It was just a mean soapy burn, reminding me of Fight Club for some reason.
Thanks to Figging.com for the link.
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Wednesday, July 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The Cerne Abbas Giant — and he is giant!
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Monday, July 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It seems she does.
Following up on Rosario Dawson’s sexually suggestive licking gesture, now we have this picture:
(No link credit for this picture, because the celebrity photo blog I found it on was a hellish nightmare of popups, interstitials, flying whack-a-mole flash ads, and other user-hostile crud. Besides, they didn’t say where they got it either.)
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Sunday, July 15th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Remember my post arguing that making sure your porn is ethically produced is no harder than doing the same thing for your salad dressing or your cheap manufactured goods? (You’d think this was obvious, but as I documented in that post, some in the rabid anti-porn crowd dispute it.)
Anyway, Evil Porn Werewolf Enslavers Debunked remains one of my favorite pieces on this blog. In support of my argument, I chose some of the scariest Eastern European spanking porn I could find and then did some basic consumer research, quoting spanking model Niki Flynn at length on the professional conditions at a Lupus Pictures porn shoot.
Well, now from Spanking Blog comes a link to spanking model Adele Haze writing on the same topic: Why I Modelled For Lupus Pictures.
This was serious business — you can see her welts here — but she had her reasons:
I don’t process pain as pleasure. I knew my caning would hurt a great deal, possibly more than any of my previous experiences. I did briefly wonder whether, caught up in the moment, I would find pleasure in my real-life flogging in a way I couldn’t enjoy some other girl’s filmed experience — and, pre-empting an upcoming post on the topic, no, I didn’t get any enjoyment out of the pain until it was all over — but, on the whole, I was prepared for a thoroughly uncomfortable several minutes over the famous bench.
And that was OK, because I knew – from studying the films, and from talking to Niki Flynn, who’d gone to that scary place before — that the rest of the shoot would give me the sort of pleasures that would make a few minutes of acute pain worth going through. For somebody who has a separate fetish for artistic suffering, working with a production on the scale of Lupus’s would be worth every stroke.
I had never before worked to a script, and I’d get that. I had never had somebody else think through the costume and make-up for me — I’d get that too, and in the end even the hideous pieces of reformatory wardrobe would turn out charming in their appropriateness. I had never before taken detailed direction, or shot completely — and confusingly — out of sequence, or acted in sets built for the purpose in every small detail; in short, I had never been a part of a spanking shoot run on such a professional level — and I knew that all of these experiences were mine for the taking.
Thanks, Adele, for the eye-opening account!
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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Saturday, July 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Ok, so that first get-together with the new internet prospect can be real awkward. We know this. But there are clues:
The constant signing of emails with master so-and-so was a huge fucking clue.
The request to call him sir after three email exchanges and one phone conversation was a clue.
The ridiculous comment that “even though I haven’t met you, I miss you — do you miss me?” was the motherfucking clue of clues.
Showing up to meet her in a public place with a fucking parrot (yes, a parrot…did I fucking stutter or something?) on his shoulder was a clue.
The couple sitting next to her who were gossiping…”
Stop! Whoa! All ahead stern! Screech! Stop the music! Nobody move!
Did she really say “parrot”?
Parrot? As in, like this?
In all the ink (real and virtual) that’s been devoted to “what not to do on the first date”, I don’t think anybody ever considered the need to write “Wait until the second date to introduce her to your parrot. Do not under any circumstances take take your bird when you go to meet a woman for the first time.”
Consider it written now.
Don’t get me wrong, I actually quite like the feathery little bastards. I bought one for a girlfriend once. I don’t miss her, but I sorta do miss that bird. And, like any pet, they can be pretty good company when you’re lonely.
Remind me, why were we going on that first date again? Oh, yeah, to find another freaking human to bond with / fuck / enslave / spend time with / preen my feathers. Which of these things is not like the others?
Why do pirates take their parrots everywhere? Because they don’t have any secure place they can leave the bird without it flying away or following them. Which is the same reason they carry all their doubloons in their underwear, or bury them in a sea chest on a moonless night (not such a good option for parrot housing).
If, like a pirate, you suffer from lack of a permanent place to park your parrot, it’s best you try to conceal this factoid from your new prospective internet submissive for as long as possible.
That is all.
Well, almost all. If your internet date brings a parrot to your first meeting, you know it’s going to wind up like this:
Yarrrr!
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Saturday, July 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
No, wait, she is a picture postcard:
From alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage.
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Tuesday, July 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Just doing what I’m told, here. I found this graphic over at Renegade Evolution with the caption: “Say Hello To Postfeminism.”
I think, as captioned, that this is a snarky attack on post-feminism from a traditional anti-porn feminist perspective. But what do I know? It could be a straightforward celebration of a post-feminism that doesn’t automatically equate a little friendly facial cum-shot / bukkake action with subservience and degradation.
Well, it could be. And running with that theory, this young lady could be exploring personal empowerment through post-modern alternatives in beverage dispensing:
Or, for reasons known only to herself, she could be symbolically trying to suck the dick of a man who is (symbolically) busy trying to pee on her face. Yeah, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, so maybe she’s just thirsty? Er, but she’s got a sealed beverage in her left hand.
Oh, hell, let’s go all the way and zoom in on that shot, just to celebrate the the triumph of branding that Miller Light has achieved by giving away free pitchers at this particular beach party:
Update: My bad. After reading a little more Renegade Evolution, I’m now leaning toward the “straightforward celebration” theory.
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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
I have a question for my readers. Namely, what is the significance and/or common cultural context of this sexually suggestive gesture-and-maneuver where a woman wags her tongue between her spread fingers?
I, myself, have only seen this done “in the wild” on one occasion, when it was directed at me by a street-walking prostitute outside the entrance to the Sputnik Hotel in Moscow in the late 1980s. In that context, it appeared to be a sexual come-on designed to transcend language barriers. But I’ve been told that it is also used, in certain times and places, as a rude gesture, like the almost universal “middle finger” or the old Roman fig.
It seems to suggest pussy licking, which strikes me as equally odd for a prostitute or for the deliverer of an insult. Unless, as in insult, it is supposed to suggest “you lick pussy” and stems from times or cultures where that might be considered an insult to a man’s virility?
I’d google it, but I don’t know what to call it. So, what’s the verdict? What does it mean to you, and why?
Sunday, July 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
If June is naked bride season, surely July must be the month for sexy honeymoon poses?
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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Thursday, June 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
There’s an interesting “urban legend” quality to the story surround this photograph of a hot model whose belly button has been photoshopped away by evil villains unknown:
If you google around, you can find the photo in dozens of places. Source links, when given, all seem to lead back to here. And nobody knows anything except the oddly-specific-yet-completely-unsourced text there:
Can you believe that?! This brazilian model “lost” her belly button as the Playboy magazine editors were retouching her body curves. The mistake went unnoticed, and the magazine sold 605,000 copies that month… lots of readers got pissed off when they realized they were wasting money on fake pictures.
I wonder why they put so much effort on photoshopping their girls, when most of them need no retouching at all!
Do you notice how much in common this has with an urban legend? There are curiously specific details in a story which has no verifiable source information whatsoever. No date for the magazine in which this photo supposedly appeared despite oddly specific sales figures, no link to a photo gallery, and nary a one of those “pissed off readers” identified.
Now, photoshop flails do happen, as ErosBlog has been documenting since the beginning. And it’s entirely possible that this story is real. But my suspicious mind tells me that the photoshopping in question — and the construction of that plausible-but-unsourced story — may be the work of a clever link baiter.
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Monday, June 25th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A while back I got a very nice email from the “E-Marketing Manager” for Liberator.com (the folks who make those wedge-shaped sex pillows and a fair few other nifty looking items.) The email went like this:
Bacchus,
We at Liberator.com are doing our best to provide our readers with more content, and a better connection to our product. We are beta testing a blog currently. I came across you amazing blog while doing some research, and wanted your input. You seem to have a great community of bloggers linking to each other. How would I get my blog in with all of the other wonderful sites? I look forward to speaking with you, and wish you all the best in the development and growth of your site.
It’s a big question on a hard subject with no easy answers. None that I have, anyway. But opinions, those I am not short of. So I wrote back an email that went pretty much like this:
I’ll have to be honest with you, you’ve got a tough row to hoe. Starting up a marketing blog and making it human and interesting enough to get natural and organic (and free) links from the blog community is really, really hard. Indeed, I’d say it’s next to impossible. I’ve seen dozens of attempts in the five years I’ve been sex blogging, and most of them have been horrid…and doomed.
I’ve got a lot of info for you on the problems and pitfalls, rather less so on how to make it work. Because it’s an interesting question, I’m going to go into it in some detail. You get what amounts to free consulting work from me. In return, I get a blog post out of it. Fair?
Let’s start with the pitfalls. First of all, you’re just getting started at a time when most bloggers (and especially, most bloggers on sexual themes, who blog in an industry awash with advertising dollars) have become acutely aware that so-called “traffic of good intent” has enormous economic value. Your letter suggests that you are starting a blog in the hope of getting some of that valuable traffic for free. Nobody blames you for hoping, but nobody’s going to feel particularly inclined to just give away valuable traffic that — because you’re in the business of selling things for fairly big chunks of change — you might reasonably be expected to purchase.
As an added complication, some bloggers have powerful aversions to participating in the advertising market that circles and stalks their traffic of good intent. Reasons differ, but they usually add up to some sort of profit-averse “blogging should be unsullied by filthy lucre” anti-capitalist vision of what their blog is for. These people won’t refuse to link to you because they want value for their traffic; they’ll refuse to link to you because they don’t want to help you make a profit. So they tend to be a tougher nut to crack even than the bloggers who have banner space for sale.
Second, linking to marketing blogs is hard, because marketing blogs tend to suck. They suck for various reasons, often recombined uncreatively in newly horrifying ways. For example, they can suck because the authors usually are, first and foremost, marketers who haven’t yet gotten on the Clue Train. If the marketing blog is a one-way broadcast, talking to the “customers” instead of talking with the readers, it will suck. More to the point, it will be boring, and nobody will link to it or read it.
Or, marketing blogs can suck because they don’t participate in the blogging community. The vast majority of marketing blogs don’t link to other blogs. Or, if they do, they limit themselves to carefully-negotiated link exchanges. They almost never link to competitors, the leading blogs in the industry, or any of the other resources likely to be of interest to potential customers. A good blog functions almost like a mini-portal, linking generously outward so that readers come to rely on the page as a place to start surfing. “I’ll start there, and if there is no new post, I’ll find something in the links to read while I finish my sandwich.”
Or, and this is common, they can suck because they only talk about one thing (the product). Unless you’ve got a product with a huge and passionate community, your one-note one-product blog will be boring as hell.
Worse yet, the poor marketing sod (who is often, in these days of small business, also the owner / proprietor) will run out of interesting things to say about the product. Which quickly leads to the next knell of doom for any blog: lack of frequent and regular posts. I would guess that, as a rule, a reader who visits a blog on three different days without finding a new post is a reader you’ll never see again. Very few marketing blogs can meet that hurdle.
So that’s a big kettle of wet blankets. Now that I’ve spoiled your fun, what is to be done about it?
1) Hire a blogger. Seriously. Blogging is not as easy as it looks. If the person writing your marketing blog does not already have a successful blog that’s been up and attracting consistent traffic for at least two years, get a different person. Pay them, with real and actual money. Do this right and they will be a profit center, not a cost center. The world is full of starving bloggers who would much prefer to blog for a living than to do whatever it is they do for a day job. You can find somebody who works cheap. Underemployed sex writers are not hard to find. Most of them even have blogs you can check out first.
2) Buy blog links. If a blogger has an advertising offer, try it out. Don’t track this traffic for sales or conversions, that’s not why you’re buying it. Just measure the percentage of the traffic that bookmarks your blog. If the percentage is low, improve your blog. If it doesn’t go up, buy better traffic. As they say on Making Light, iterate.
3) Flatter and Bribe. Where you don’t buy, try the heady combination of flattery and bribery. You can sometimes bribe your way into a link using nothing but sincere flattery plus traffic. Find a new but stylish sex blogger, quote and say something nice about one of their posts, and give them a permanent link in your blogroll. Often this is all it takes to get another good incoming link. But you have to mean it. People despise insincere flattery from marketers. And yes, it’s obvious when it happens.
(Er, you do have a blogroll, yes? No? BZZZT. Game over, return to the beginning and start over.)
4) Send Loot. When flattery and traffic are not enough, go with your strength: loot. You sell loot by the box car load, so use what you know. Send people samples of the stuff you sell. You do sell something people want, right? And it’s expensive, right? (But, not so expensive for you, because you bought it wholesale.) So send out some loot! (Email first to ask about safely discreet delivery addresses.) When the loot from you arrives in a discreet box via UPS, that will impress a lot of bloggers. If it’s good loot, it will impress them favorably. (If your loot sucks, it means your business is doomed, so we’ll assume it doesn’t suck.) Ninety percent of the time, they’ll feel compelled to mention you and your loot on their blog. Some of those mentions will be intensely favorable, because you’ve just made a new friend. You just got a nice link for a wholesale-priced one-time cost. However, beware: you can’t afford to even hint that you expect or demand a link or a writeup in return for the stuff. Review stuff doesn’t work like that. You cast it forth, like bread upon the waters, and if you’ve picked your targets carefully, they’ll be so thrilled they will not be able to wait to write about your product.
5) Blog Strongly, Market Subtly. Forget everything you ever learned about old-school hard-sell print marketing. Build a blog first. Sneak the marketing in later. Be subtle. No, much more subtle than that. Imagine a first time reader being asked about your blog. “What is it about?” If they answer “that foam wedge sex furniture” you’re screwed. You were too focused, you will be too boring for the long haul. Any other answer is acceptable; something like “all kinds of neat sexy stuff, it’s hard to say exactly” is ideal. “All kinds of neat sexy stuff, I think it’s by the folks who make those Liberator sex pillows, but it’s not just about that” you have scored two touchdowns and you may schedule a righteous celebration with strippers and vodka and free popcorn for everybody on your team.
6) Participate In The Community. Finally, don’t forget to be part of the blogging community that you want traffic from. I’ve mentioned that you have to have a blogroll. (Believe it or not, a huge percentage of marketing blogs skip this step, and then wonder why they never get any links. Most links come with at least the hope of reciprocation; if that hope is lost, the links don’t come.) Blogroll: have it, use it. Don’t just blog about your product; do what bloggers do, which is read other blogs and quote (with links and approving commentary) the best bits. That’s also an easy way to jack up the quality of your own blog, so where is the downside?
It was my intention at this point in the email to apologize for not providing you with a few good examples of how to do an adult marketing blog. I was going to explain that I didn’t know of any good examples, and then append a short list of “the best of the bad examples” — a few marketing blogs that don’t suck, and that are getting it almost, but not quite perfectly, right. However, in looking over my examples, I discovered that one of them had graduated (by improving its content-to-marketing-copy ratio) into a genuine “good example” worth linking to for its sex blog content alone. (So I added my link, and then finished this email.)
Best of luck with your blog —
Bacchus from ErosBlog
Good Example:
Good Vibes Blog by the Good Vibrations people. If they can keep it up, they’ve got the formula nailed. (The link to me: bonus points.)
Getting There:
The Blowfish Blog by the Blowfish people. Some really excellent blogging, but the “and here’s the product we are selling” posts are a little bit too frequent and mundane for my taste. Worse, they have at the time of this writing no blogroll to speak of, so they are still missing the whole participate-in-the-community thing.
Tony Comstock’s Blog by Tony from Comstock Films. Tony has nailed the community part, but the marketing posts to me feel too “recycled press release / film brochure”. Tony (with great justice!) is excited about his excellent product, but PR text needs a better wash-and-tumble before it makes a good blog post. I know he’s not in the highest-margin business, but he ought to consider watching an old Star Trek marathon for a few hours, practice saying “Captain, I’m a film-maker, not a blogger!” a few times in a Scottish accent, and then biting the bullet and hiring a blogger.
(Full disclosure: In the past or currently, I’ve had some sort of advertising or affiliate relationships with the companies and people behind each of these three examples. Sometimes they pay me for ads or traffic, but they haven’t paid me for these opinions, which are my own.)
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Friday, June 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This has to be a troll / prank post. It has to be. Please, nobody could be so stupid, it has to be.
Please?
If it were real, it would be the ultimate answer to that “why are men always chasing those dumb bimbos, the ones so dumb they can’t breathe without reminders” complaint you sometimes hear from smart women:
I have a really flat butt. My boyfriend read that anal sex will help make it bigger, but only if he shoots his sperm deep inside. We used to have anal sex sometimes. He always wore a condom before. Now we have anal sex and he shoots really deep inside me and i keep it there.
I think I like this even if it doesn’t make my butt biggerer. He says my butt does look bigger, but I can’t tell. Has anyone else heard of thjis? Will his sperms in my butt make it bigger?
Via Sexoteric.
Friday, June 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I think this may be the best “first line of a sex blog post” I’ve ever seen:
“It had about it some of the agonizing pleasure of sodomy.”
Thursday, June 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Um, is this a letter from Senator Stevens?
From The Stockroom’s actual customer letters.
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?
Tuesday, June 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure what category this goes in:
Proof — as if we needed any — that there are always a few girls who will do anything for a man who has lots of weed? A reminder that art glass doesn’t have to be functional? Or just de gustibus non disputandum est?
The only thing I’m sure about is, I know some redneck male pot smokers who would be deeply conflicted if somebody loaded this and handed it to them.
Monday, June 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I know, I know, calling Yahoo tacky is like calling the sky blue. And my point is?
But anyway. Frank from OMG Blog writes with news that Yahoo! has ripped him off:
In case you were wondering: No, I have not partnered with Yahoo! to create yet another derivative celebrity gossip rag. They are just flagrantly copying !! omg blog !! in more ways than they should.
!! omg blog !! has been around with its current graphic design since July, 2003. For my newer readers, that was back before Yahoo! even knew what a blog was and when Pink is the New Blog was white and lavender.
Since then, our readership has grown to the point that it would be impossible for the folks at Yahoo! not to have visited !! omg blog !! at least once (if not daily).
Content-wise, I can’t claim the sole right to post photos of Paris Hilton pumping gas (especially in light of my strict no-Hilton-content-ever policy), but I do take special offense at the direct thievery of my blog’s name, punctuation, and color scheme.
Of course blatant imitation is rife in the sex blog world — I can’t tell you how many Erosblog imitators have come and gone, but it’s more than a handful — but we do expect better from major media properties that employ designers and creative people out the wazoo. I doubt Frank can do much about this except name and shame — as he acknowledges, there aren’t really any core intellectual property rights being infringed on here — but some naming and shaming does indeed seem appropriate.
Also, maybe some booing?
Saturday, June 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Did you know anal tourism was a big deal in academia?
A female undergrad walks up to the desk for help.
“Hi, I’m looking for anal tourism research.” She says.
I could not have heard her correctly.
“Um, what?” I reply.
“I’m looking for anal tourism research.”
Like Thailand and Vegas? “I think there is a typo.” I counter.
“No, my professor was very specific about anal.”
I don’t ask if there was an oral exam. “We can take a look, but I don’t think that’s right.”
“Please? Anal research is important, I need it bad.”
I start searching in the catalogue, typing in ‘annal’ to end this.
“It’s anal, A-N-A-L. Anal was at the top of the list of the things he wanted.”
I bet it was. “We don’t have it under that listing.”
“Well, how can I get Anal Tourism Research?”
Some Barry White, some K-Y, some minor discomfort.
“How about we try some variant spellings?”
“But I want anal.”
“Please trust me on this.” I don’t want my boss to walk over while she shouts “I want anal!” again.
“Here we go, Annals of Tourism Research.”
“But, anal…”
“Is something very different.”
I could see the dawning in her eyes as she made the connection.
“I, anal, oh my god.”
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Even when coeds are begging for me to give them anal, I’m still a professional.
From The Society of Librarians Who Say “Motherfucker”. (I found it here.)
Thursday, June 14th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Paris Hilton’s ass:
Paris Hilton’s ass, Spanking Blog style:
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Wednesday, June 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From the same source as the infamous Hitler’s Penis post comes this bit of British wartime propaganda aimed at making the German common soldier wonder what his fraulein is getting up to:
The caption, loosely translated, reads “Firmly and true the foreign worker sticks it in.”
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Tuesday, June 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Beer bottle fellatio? Not sure what’s going on in this picture, but the girl on the left sure seems to be enjoying it:
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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?
Friday, June 8th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’m not one of these people who is a “fan” of actors and actresses. But I do, as Jon Stewart might say, like-ee me a pretty face in a movie. And I’ve always thought Meg Ryan’s face was exceptionally cute.
So of course it seems worthwhile to me to share a few grainy frames from her famous faked orgasm scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally:
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Tuesday, June 5th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
Mostly passed it, anyway. J and I went with two other couples on a long camping trip, everybody being an experienced camper but me. We did some hiking, we did some biking, we did some canoeing and fishing…..and J and me did lots of outdoor sex, including once in the canoe that almost ended up with us in the lake. I think J’s two buddies weren’t getting as much, or they were bummed that he wasn’t as interested in fishing with them as he used to be.
But I finally got the stodgy Lutherans to laugh. When we were packing up to head back to civilization, J asked me to take down the tent. I did okay until I got to the part where I was supposed to stuff it back in that little bag, I just couldn’t get it in there. He saw me struggling and laughed…..and I said, louder than I meant to, “You should do this part! You’re the expert at getting big things into tight places!” His buddies laughed and laughed…..their wives weren’t amused. I guess I’m too different from the ex-wife to fit into the group…..
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Sunday, June 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Explanation for those who might need it:
By now you’ve probably met ceiling cat and his many, many friends. (No? It might be time to get up to speed.) And the web is all a-twitter about Google’s new “street view” camera that brings the Google Maps “Zoom” feature right down to street level and sometimes even in through your windows. So it was only a matter of time before the ur-lolcat got replaced by a LOLbot.
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Friday, June 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Pardons for the purely administrative prattle with no sex, but what do folks think of the new “Similar Sex Blogging” links appearing after certain posts? I’m doing them with a WordPress plug-in called Terong’s Related Posts, which makes it quick and easy to add links to posts from the archives. I saw it being done by some of the blogs in my blogroll and thought it was a neat idea — a sort of low-impact way to entice people back into the ever-growing and mostly-unread archives.
To cure the “no sex” boredom of this post, I’ll use the plugin to link to a few older favorites of mine.
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Thursday, May 31st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Sneaking into the girls’ locker room for a peek or a picture — I doubt there’s a guy alive who hasn’t mused a bit over the possibilities. Obviously this is not a new idea:
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Wednesday, May 30th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
There’s nothing sexy about burglary or stealing stuff from schoolgirls, of course, which makes this news story marginal material for a sex blog. But I’m sharing it with you because it demonstrates the sometimes awful power of a strong and compelling fetish:
Police: Man stole 1,500 pairs of shoes
Police seized more than 1,500 pairs of girls’ shoes from the home and storage unit of a man arrested for breaking into a high school, police said Tuesday. “He liked to smell them,” said Lt. William H. Graham.
Police said the recovered shoes may be related to the burglaries of three Waukesha public high schools and a middle school over the past two years.
The 27-year-old Kenosha man, who was not identified because had yet to be formally charged, worked for a cable company and collected keys to the schools as he responded to calls, Graham said. The same man was convicted in 2005 for stealing shoes from Kenosha Tremper High School.
Police arrested him after a security video showed him entering North High School on May 20 and leaving with some items, authorities said.
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Sunday, May 27th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Now, this is just low. Nice girl, goes out with the boys for a day of fishing and roaring around in the motorboat, has two or three beers, snuggles safely back into her boyfriend’s arms and lets the combined effect of beer, sunshine, motor noise, and boat vibration lull her to sleep.
Bad move:
Moral: Never go fishing with swine…
Friday, May 25th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This song is a song about Alice.
No. Wait. I mean, this post is a post about Hitler’s dick. Not quite the same.
But, the post does come with a soundtrack.
Yours is the dubious obligation of constructing the soundtrack in your mind. Remember The Colonel Bogey March from Bridge On The River Kwai? Good. Whistle a couple of bars quietly to yourself to bring it back to you. Then start again, while reading the words:
Hitler has only got one ball,
Goering has two but very small,
Himmler is somewhat sim’lar,
But poor old Goebbels has no balls at all.
Repeat as needed. Your seven year old son could probably go on for an hour, laughing with glee between repetitions. Even though he’s probably never heard of most of the people whose genitalia he’d be mocking.
OK, enough rambling. Now I have to live up to my title. What, you don’t think I can do it?
Oh ye of little faith! You should know me better than that by now:
No, of course it’s not real. It’s British propaganda. Nobody beats the British at the game of penis propaganda. Not, at least, when they have the balls to actually publish the stuff:
An old army colonel – he had served a lifetime in Poona, an experience which had not failed to leave its mark on him – had found it on the table of my secret printer whom he had visited with a view to acquiring some of our latest philatelic counterfeits. When he saw this particular piece of pornography he was almost beside himself with indignant fury. I did not want to hurt the old man by challenging him to battle over an item of pornography to which in any case I attached no great importance. So I immediately withdrew it. But it was not really all that bad.
The German army’s propaganda unit had been putting out a series of leaflets purporting to expose how the enemy was retouching photographs and faking them to convey untruths. By this time my “Black” printer was an expert at counterfeiting german documents, using the same type, the same paper, and the same size as the German original. So I got him to put the same title on our counterfeit. ” Wie sie falshen”, it said ( How they forge ). Then with a suitable text we exposed a palpable forgery of a Hitler photograph, which we attributed to the despicable treachery of an internal enemy. The genuine original photograph showed Hitler in his usual saluting posture, right arm upraised, his left resting on the buckle of his belt. The forgery however showed a huge penis under his left hand. Our caption read: ” This is a most appalling forgery, Everyone one know the Fuhrer does not possess anything of the kind”. Well, I don’t really blame the old colonel. As pornography this item was not attractive. In fact, it was revolting. All the same, I would have been interested to have seen what effect it had on the German propagandists.
See also Leon Trotsky Whipping Two Nude Girls.
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Thursday, May 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Has anybody stopped to marvel, lately, at what a wonderful world it has become for folks with numerically minor fetishes? There’s the internet for finding and meeting (and fucking) kindred souls, there’s a growing “whatever floats your boat” sentiment among civilized people, and there’s a robust world economy for sex toys of every description.
And boy, when I say every description, I’m not kidding. The latest sex miracle in silicone is … well, let’s go to the visual, or you won’t believe me.
Behold!
Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the SiFeet Pussy Foot. [2012 update: Sadly the Pussy Foot is no longer sold. But be ye not forlorn! There’s always the Cyberskin Foot Job Stroker or the Belladonna Foot Soldiers.]
The marketing text is like a syllabus for aspiring foot fetish marketers, fascinating therefore in its own right:
The SiFeet Pussy Foot is the ultimate fantasy sex toy for foot fetishists. This size 6, 100% silicone foot is cast in pure silicone from a real life actual, beautiful female foot. In the sole of this lovely foot is a fully functional and totally fuckable silicone vagina.
This pure silicone foot is soft, smooth, and incredibly sexy. The toes are decorated with acrylic toenails painted glossy pink, making the Pussy Foot seem even more real.
From the toes to the heel and ankle, great time and effort has been taken to insure that the Pussy Foot seems real.
The feature that makes the Pussy Foot even better than an actual foot is the pussy located on the sole of the foot. You can passionately fuck the foot in a way you’ve never been able to before. It is the perfect combination of foot and vagina.
From the toe to heel the pussy foot is 9″ long. The ankle has a 2½” diameter. The distance from the entrance in the vagina to the exit-hole at the top of the ankle is 6½”.
Anyone who appreciates beautifully sexy feet should love the Pussy Foot. This silicone foot is terrific for massaging and erotic rubbing as well as for having hot sex with it.
This silicone sex toy is also a convenient practice tool for preparing to get hot and kinky with actual feet. You are sure to have your technique down to a science when you train with the Pussy Foot.
The silicone SiFeet Pussy Foot cleans easily with soap and warm water or After Glow Toy Wipes.
The SiFeet Pussy Foot is available in a left or a right, sold separately.
If you were looking for “the perfect combination of foot and vagina”, well, now you’ve found it. But it’s the last line, in bold text, that gets me. Left foot or right? Or do you want to collect the whole set?
Let the implications of that photo sink in for a moment.
I’m not going to pussyfoot around, here. (Face it, you knew you weren’t getting out of this blog post until I’d made that pun.) The pussy foot comes in left foot and right foot? Why in all the Stygian depths would someone care whether they are boning a silicone vagina in a left foot, instead of a right one? “No, no, it has to be a left foot, or it’s no good!”
But, in the end, that’s the point. It doesn’t matter why. With fetishes, there usually isn’t a good why. What matters is, if you’ve got a thing for slipping it to a pretty left foot, we live in a world where you can get one, with just a little help from your buddy Benjamin. Don’t let anybody tell you that’s not an excellent world to be living in.
Wednesday, May 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This awesome vintage nude Cleopatra figure is from the astounding [and, sadly, deleted somewhen after 2007] photostream of Flickr user silvernightingale, your go-to person for vintage harem girls, showgirls, belly dancers, divas, and so forth.
2019 update: I managed to find a somewhat larger version of this image, in a shape and framing suggesting it was originally a stereoscope view:
Monday, May 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Susie Bright has created an Amazon list of must-have sex stuff, and in explaining the list, she’s dashed off several valuable mini essays on vibrators (wall current rules, battery-operated sucks, The Rabbit isn’t all that), lube, and the history of the sex toy industry. The lube portion I particularly like, because she simplifies down to the essentials:
Sex educators are famous for a particular cliche: “communication and lubrication” are what make people happy in bed. But truer words were never spoken.
So, given that essential fact, what lube do you get? My Amazon list is a little truncated because of what I could list on their site.
Vegetable oil is fantastic. Pre-AIDS, it was my lube of choice. If you’re aren’t using condoms, get your favorite oil– almond is really nice, maybe add a little coconut to make it creamy– and go at it. Or just grab the olive oil off the kitchen counter if time is of the essence. It feels great, it won’t hurt you, it’s sexy…. who could ask for more?
For water-soluble lubes, I always liked Probe because it has no taste! The biggest hassle with commercial lubes is that they usually taste AWFUL and make oral sex completely undesirable.
Are there other taste and scent-free lubes? Yes, Probe is my old tried-and-true. Works great with condoms, doesn’t make you ill, doesn’t cause cancer… what a treasure!
However, sometimes you need a lube that goes BEYOND. Sometimes the drugs you’re on, or menopause, can turn you into a prune. How do you get that high-flying crazy slippery feeling that goes on and on and on?
Silicone lube.
That’s why I recommended Liquid Silk for my desert island. It also is the first lube that makes hot tub and shower sex possible and even fun. It’s not water soluble– you’ll have that slippery feeling in your vagina or ass for several hours. But the slickness is so intoxicating. Just don’t use it with other silicone products or they gum each other up! Get that spatula out of your hot tub!
I do, however, find an important omission in Susie’s discussion of power sources for vibrators. She writes:
1) Electricity is essential. I don’t care what sex toy retailers say about battery-operated vibes– the main reason they push them is because they are dirt cheap, (wholesale), and they are lightweight to ship and transport (without the batts, of course!). A Hitachi magic wand is only marked up double its cost to the retailer… so if it’s $40, maybe they paid $20.
But a battery vibe might be a dollar to them and they’ll sell it for $10 or $20.
This reasoning has nothing to do with how it feels, or if women can get off on it. And the “sound” of batteries vibrating against plastic doesn’t mean it’s powerful. They can make an awful racket and not deliver any appreciable sensation.
Can women get off on battery-vibes? YES, some can, some are their mother’s darlings– I’m not on a crusade to get rid of them. But the reason they are hyped the way they are is because of money, not because of universal sexual satisfaction.
The vibrators that are produced by the mainstream appliance manufacturers like Hitachi and Wahl, were originally introduced as “massagers.” They’re quality appliances that will last years and years. I still have the first ones I ever bought in 1981. They have warranties. They have a following that’s been going for decades, based on technology that’s over a century old now.
I always hated selling a woman a battery-operated model for her first vibrator because there was a 50% chance she’d find the whole thing a hoax. However, if I sold her a motor-driven or coil-operated electric model, she’d come out of the ‘try-out’ room with this amazed look on her face, and say, ‘OH! I GET IT NOW!”
I agree wholeheartedly about the puny vibrations you can get from a couple of “C” or even “AA” batteries. When I’ve got a vibrator in one hand and a lady’s labia and clitoral hood in the other, I want some serious jiggle and buzz. “Can you feel it now?” is not the game I am here to play. I have pink bits to vibrate and I want them V*i*B*R*a*T*e*D, not tickled. (For tickling, I have feathers.)
On the other hand, as any roofer can tell you, there isn’t an electrical outlet handy under every current bush, and dragging a power cord behind you is a pain in the ass. The same technology that lets a guy with a tool belt and a hairy ass crack drive sheet metal screws for forty minutes at the top of a sixteen foot ladder (rechargeable ni-cad or lithium-ion batteries, ta-dah!) makes a perfectly acceptable power source for a vibrator. I’ve raved before about the Phantasy Sinnflut, which is a tool-grade rechargeable vibrator that any man could be proud to dock on its charging base in the garage next to his DeWalt drill and his Makita reciprocal saw. It’s nobody’s budget option, but it’s handier than anything with a cord, safer in the shower, and functionally far beyond anything with a disposable dry cell in it.
Saturday, May 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Set up the drumroll please: “…or are you just happy to see me?”
They’ve found a potential new erection drug in spider venom. From BBC News:
Spider venom could boost sex life
By Vladimir Hernandez
BBC News
Brazilian and US scientists are looking into using spider venom as a possible treatment for male impotence.
Their investigation follows reports that men bitten by the Phoneutria nigriventer experienced priapism – long and painful erections.
A two-year study has found that the venom contains a toxin, called Tx2-6, that causes erections.
Further tests are being carried out in the US before the substance can be approved for human use.
The results, from the Medical College of Georgia, are expected in a month’s time.
The bite of Phoneutria nigriventer, known as the Brazilian wandering spider, is potent and can be deadly in some cases.
The Brazilian and US researchers interviewed men who claimed their sex lives had improved after a spider attack.
The relevant toxin identified in the venom has been tested successfully on other animals.
So far, scientists believe that combining a version of the spider’s venom with an existing drug for erectile dysfunction – such as Viagra, Cialis or Levitra – could produce better results.
Thanks to World Sex News for the link.
Friday, May 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It’s possible she’s just cute and innocent:
Yeah, right…
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.
Monday, May 14th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
[Update: The animated .gif was thrashing my server, please click the thumbnail or here to see it now.]
I’m hearing Scotty in my head: “I’m sorry Captain, we just can’t contain them any longer!”
From Titty Blog.
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Sunday, May 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
If you’ve seen Warm Water Under A Red Bridge, you’ll know the Japanese understand their shio.
If you haven’t, you’ll be going “Shio? What’s shio?”
Apparently, that was Momo’s question also. Fleshbot has a skilled cross-cultural operative to explain it all to us:
Fleshbot operative KokuRyu … reports:
“I came across an unknown Japanese word today in a YouTube video that appeared to be a high school chemistry lesson conducted by a sexy Japanese porn startlet named Momo (Peaches) wearing nothing but a frilly pink bra, perhaps from Peach John.
“I knew the word, shio, means “tide” or “salt water” in Japanese. But what was the shio in the glass beaker? I asked my wife, who’s Japanese. Instead of getting angry with me for looking at porn, Mrs. KokuRyu smirked and said, ‘It’s when a woman, goes puri puri, like the spout of a whale. You know, shio fuki. It’s when a woman squirts.’
“Suddenly the YouTube clip made sense! Glowing with post-orgasmic serenity, Peaches admires the clear liquid–her liquid — collected in the beaker. Peaches then decides to analyze her shio. She sniffs it, reports it doesn’t smell, and proceeds to tests its consistency; Peaches says her shio feels silky smooth. When litmus paper is produced, shio is determined to have alkaline properties.
“Next, gripping an elaborate, slightly phallic spoon, Peaches measures the salt content of her shio. Apparently, it’s less than 0.6%. Peaches then delicately inserts her slender index finger, moistened slightly with the liquid contents of the petri dish, between her lips. She finds that shio is basically tasteless, and not a little slimy. Peaches concludes by saying she enjoyed the opportunity to investigate her shio.
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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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Tuesday, May 8th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Time for another vintage photo from Usenet:
Classic wallet porn, complete with folds.
The smile and the non-commercial posing make me wonder this might not be a genuine amateur “my wife with no pants” picture.
Sunday, May 6th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A long time ago, my sometimes co-blogger Aphrodite was experimenting with web tech and she created an innocent and innocuous heart shaped favicon for Eros Blog:
It was never intended to be the final and perfect 16×16 pixel representation of ErosBlog’s deepest philosophies of love, lust, and sex, just a neat and harmless graphical flourish, good enough to “do” until something better turned up. (Any volunteer graphic artists out there who can do sexual magic in 256 pixels?)
So look what the Magic Comment Bunny just had to eat:
i liked this blog, apparently this is my first visit to the webpage and i m already writing on it….basically the blog is about sex in almost all forms ranging from the grose the spiritual and sensual….but one thing i really dislike about this blog is: when you open any web page in your Inetrnet explorer 6, there is a small tab assigned to each page, and it shows a small picture which has been assigned by the page maker. In case of the webpage for this blog a yellow coloured heart appears. Now, this blog is all about sex, and that too of the most exciting and grose forms, then it should not in anyway be associated by love, which is in the most basic way represented by a heart. This blog deals only with sex and desires similar to it, so why the fuck has a picture of a heart been associated with it. This is an insult to love. you wont realize it now, but you would understand when you go through the blogs at this page, they are fucking insane and plainly related to sex without any attachment to love. I dont condemn sex or the articles in this blog, nor am I a kind of person who hates sex, but then , this blog is just about plain sex and should not have a heart associated with it. The fucker who initiated this blog must have used something more represenatative of sex like a penis pic or a pair of tits. Change this thing about your webpage , u insane sex maniac.
Did I mention the bunny had to eat it eleven times? Yup, there were eleven of these identical comments sitting in my moderation cue this morning.
Magic Comment Bunny would like a Rolaids, please.
In all seriousness, it saddens me that there are people in this world who fervently believe that sex “is an insult to love.”
Sunday, May 6th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I am jealous to learn that the pornified krewe at has outsourced its comment moderation to a magic comment bunny:
Every first-time comment is sucked through teh tubes to our underwater IP farm, where it is read by an adorable little bunny who lives inside our databases and eats rainbows for breakfast. If the bunny is pleased by your offering, your username, password, and comment are approved….
Here’s the thing, though: the bunny does not like silly, pointless, or generally uninteresting comments. In other words, you gotta bring something to the table. It’s hard to say exactly what it takes to get your comment approved–let’s just say we know a good comment when we see one–but it’s much easier to pinpoint the strategies that are virtually guaranteed to keep you on the wrong side of the velvet rope.
So we’ve broken them down for you here, so that you will stop wasting your bandwidth trying to concoct the 547th iteration of that old chestnut, “I’d hit it.” If you’re reading Fleshbot, it is assumed that you “love girls,” “love cock,” “love sexxxxx,” and/or “like to fuck,” so it isn’t really necessary for you take time out of you busy schedule to fill out a comment form and tell us that fact.
If you follow the link, you’ll see sample comments that have displeased the bunny. Those sample comments are real, I see similar every day so you don’t have to.
I need a bunny.
Saturday, May 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Your “duh!” weekend celebrity news:
Pamela Anderson: “Johansson should do Playboy”
Playboy veteran Pamela Anderson wants to see movie beauty Scarlett Johansson disrobe for the men’s magazine.
Anderson, who has posed for Playboy a record 12 times, believes the Lost In Translation star would be ideal for Hugh Hefner’s raunchy publication.
She says, “Scarlett Johansson would definitely be my number one choice. But I doubt she would agree to do it.
Err, any dissenters?
Thursday, May 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
People keep sending me videos (mostly YouTube) and links to podcasts, videoblogs, all that stuff. And I almost never post them. Why not?
Because they are so inexorably linear. I love the internet because the data flows at my speed. I can skimread, jump around, consume the bits I like and move on (next!) when I’ve got boring bits in my face. For that, I need text. Audio and video, compelling as they are, require me to slow down, focus on one thing on one of my three computer screens, and wait for the information to flow at whatever glacial pace the creator chose. That’s fine for porn clips, but for pretty much anything else, I’ve already got 180 channels of narrowcast video programming on a big screen eight feet away that I never watch.
Some people say that my distaste for audio and video blogging makes me a crusty old fart who just doesn’t “get” the cool new thing. Me, I say I’m a hypermodern info consumer, moving too fast for linear data modes of the old twentieth century. I’ve been known to argue that audio and video blogging are reactionary trends, vain attempts to rescue the doomed and tired viewer/listener audience model. Whatever, maybe I am just an old fart. Doesn’t matter. Vlogs and podcasts are dead to me, I just don’t have the patience to sit through ’em.
Wednesday, May 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve commented before on the strange labeling and odd packaging of transsexuals in the porn industry. And I’ve shaken my head at the odd ways guys use transsexual porn in internet games of oneupsmanship. But for all of that, I don’t claim to understand the “tranny porn” genre. And my bafflement is surely compounded by the fact that most of what I’ve seen has been poorly produced and badly marketed by pornographers who don’t seem to have been very engaged with the content.
Well, that last problem, at least, seems to have become ancient history, now that Kink.com has announced its new site: TS Seduction – Where Straight Men Take TS Cock For The First Time. It ought to be very interesting to see their special brand of San Francisco values applied to a historically neglected, traditionally crappy porn genre.
From the press release:
Leader in fetish entertainment leader, Kink.com announced the launch of their 11th all exclusive video and photo content site, TSSeduction.com, featuring hot transsexual women seducing straight men in the first site of its kind. With a new weekly video shoot update, the site boasts the hottest TS girls in action, dominating, seducing and enticing men into first time TS adventures.
Webmaster of TSS, Isis Love has been in the adult entertainment industry for over 7 years. She has worked on both sides of the camera and has been a model and guest director for Kink.com’s woman dominating men site, MenInPain.com for over 3 years.
“With one foot already in the door, I took this opportunity to join the team at Kink.com. After talking to the crew, I came in and directed some test shoots for the developing site,” said Isis Love. “I am totally excited.”
One thing’s for sure, when they advertise (to use their terms) hot transsexual women, they aren’t kidding about the hot part:
Wednesday, May 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is why it’s a bad idea to deliver stupid ultimatums:
Thanks to Kaya for finding the pic.
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Monday, April 30th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I love the proud stance of the woman in this vintage nude photo from Titty Blog:
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Monday, April 30th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Before we move on from hurting people (which is, after all, a frequent but not essential part of sex in this age of mainstreamed kink, and thus is theoretically only a peripheral topic on a sex blog) I wanted to share Mistress Matisse’s description of one of the hurty things “for pink bits” she keeps in her (ahem) little pink box:
A toothbrush. Toothbrushes made great abrasion-play toys. You may think, oh, a toothbrush, that doesn’t hurt. Hah. Take that thing and start scrubbing your clit, or the corona of your cock. Keep going. No, don’t stop. Oh, starting to get uncomfortable now, are we, smarty-pants? Too bad. We’re not stopping. Scrub, scrub, scrub. You know, you’d pay big money to get this done to you at a fancy spa, you should be thankful to me. Look how red and sensitive you’re getting! Have I convinced you to fear the toothbrush? Good.
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.
Friday, April 27th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Do you like (almost) bald women? Did you think Natalie Portman’s character in the movie “V for Vendetta” was cute with a shaved head, despite (or because of) all the mean things that were being done to her in the name of liberty?
Well, if so, you may greatly enjoy the photos of recently-shorn Max Mikita suffering (and enjoying it) at the hands of Mark Davis. Here you can see them hugging after their intense photo shoot:
The bondage blowjob photo and the dripping-hot-wax-on-her-scalp photo are pretty intense by ErosBlog standards, but I think you’ll enjoy them. What, from Sex And Submission you expect maybe something boring?
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Tuesday, April 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Fine art at its finest, found on Usenet:
Tuesday, April 24th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
J got back from a long trip Saturday night…..and boy did we make up for being apart! He had other things to catch up on too, but I didn’t want to let him go…….and I noticed that whenever I put on his work shirt instead of my clothes, he couldn’t keep his hands off me. I convinced him to play hooky from work with me yesterday and he just now left with a big smile on his face because he got a surprise bj this morning.
What is it about wearing a guy’s shirt that is so sexy? They aren’t cut to be as flattering as alot of lingerie, there’s no seethrough or clinging fabric…..is it that we somehow become “theirs” when we’ve wrapped our boobies in their shirt? Or is it just a simple but powerful cue reminding them that we like them?
Whatever it is, I like it alot. And I’m going to remember it.
Monday, April 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Sounds to me like somebody’s just itching for a spanking, but hey, maybe that’s just me:
I created a game in my head one day when Gadget was plunging his most needy part inside my most needy bit. I thought,
Men can get so heated when it comes to sex, and I love that. How can I inspire him to become more heated, even if we’re both a little down, and while at the same time, have a little bit of fun?
The game is called The Deprivation Game and is composed of just that, momentary sexual deprivation. When he strives to fuck me ever harder, I thrust down my pelvis so that his energetically pumping cock slips out. His usual reaction is along the lines of,
Oh no please baby, please! No, no, no, please. Please baby.
Accompanied by whimpering, a scrunched up emotional face and phantom fucking, as my strong thighs push down on his, barring access to the bits he wants most to plunge into. His struggle against me can get quite heated at times, and then one of two things happen:
1. Just as he starts to give up and rest his forehead against my shoulder, I slip my hips down agasint him and he slides in, and happily restarts his rhythm against me.
2. Or, (my favorite) he grabs my shoulder and under my neck and pushes down on top of me, conquering my sex with a forceful thrust and begins his pace once again.
Either way its bravo for both of us because the sex continues. Though I’m not a fan of violence or rape, as I’ve been a victim to both, I love how his carnal side comes out in full force. I also love the flip side of it: He becomes a whimpering sex deprived little boy.
So again either way I’m turned on and entertained. Wicked am I.
Sunday, April 22nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Some pictures just can’t be improved by commentary:
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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.
Thursday, April 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A bit of real “folk art” cock sucking, found in a men’s room (not by me) and posted on Flickr:
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Wednesday, April 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It’s nice to know that some of today’s young people are studying and practicing for their adult responsibilities. From a tabloid:
A Romanian teenager had to have emergency surgery after swallowing a toothbrush while she practised performing oral sex.
Andreea Vlad, 16, from Falticeni in eastern Romania, initially told doctors she had slipped and swallowed the seven inch toothbrush.
But when medical staff carried out examinations they realised she had no scratches or cuts on her throat backing up her claim she had fallen.
When questioned further she admitted she and some friends had been watching a pornographic movie and that she had swallowed the brush afterwards while practicing the technique for oral sex and imitating the women in the film.
A spokesman for the county hospital in Suceava where she was treated said: ‘This girl is very lucky. She did not suffer any internal damage because of the toothbrush, but things could have been much worse for her.’
Tuesday, April 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
At first it seems like a bit of shame that somebody vandalized this bit of folk art. Until you realize that to take offense, you have to be bothered by the idea of somebody putting graffiti … on graffiti.
But I’d still rather they hadn’t.
From Titty Blog.
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Monday, April 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Cupid’s arrow missing the target has long been the source of many a comic tale of inappropriate love. This old French postcard (found on Bondage Blog this time) illustrates what he had to do back when he was really bad with his bow and arrow:
Could it be true? Was Cupid also the inventor of the so-called “caged hunt”?
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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Friday, April 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I never get tired of the old “French Postcards” vintage nudes:
From Usenet.
Thursday, April 12th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I am laughing at myself a little bit. This winter got a little grim around the edges, and I wound up with one of those badly out-of-control email boxes with a thousand messages in there that all need minor attention. While storming through it today with a weed eater and a flamethrower, I noticed a very grumpy almost-flame I sent somebody who was using one of those templated automated link-exchange-request-spamming tools. It was a fairly sophisticated template, but clearly an automated request generated by someone running one of those “hire me and I can get you a thousand link exchanges” scams. My editorial snide remarks are in {curly} brackets and I’m munged out identifying information of the hapless client-victim:
Hi Bacchus,
My name is Sabrina {Hi, Sabrina, you’re real purdy for a robot} and I represent [Client-Victim] of Xxxx Xxxxxxx Blog. I have reviewed your website at https://erosblog.com/ and noticed that both sites have related content. I’d be thrilled if you would add our link to your site. {I just bet you would be!}
About our site:
Xxxxxxxxxxblog.com gives free dating and sex advice for men. It is NOT a porn site, {Oh, darn, now I’m losing interest} but rather a site for articles on sexual and social improvement. {And what is ErosBlog, chopped liver?} We currently receive approximately 45,000 unique visitors per month. {In your dreams, you do.} Exchanging links will help both of our search engine rankings, {Yours considerably more than mine} and help more people find our blogs. {Especially yours.}
If you would like to exchange links, please put a link leading to http://xxxxxxxxxxxxxblog.com on your links page. {Ooops, the “review” your link harvester did apparently missed the fact that ErosBlog doesn’t have a links page.} The anchor text (title) of this link should be:
The Xxxx Rxxxxxxx Blog: Xxxxx Xxxx Xxxxxx Xxxx Xxxx. {Sabrina robot darling, I know you scanned a bazillion links before you found mine, but how many of them had a nine word anchor text?}
If you are webmaster to any other related web sites, it would be great to exchange links there, as well. Please respond to this email with the URL of the page(s) containing our link so that I may then add your url, https://erosblog.com/ {Oooh, I’m glad you said that, I didn’t know my URL until you told me} (and any others that you may wish to include), to our links page.
Thanks for your cooperation,
Sabrina {the robot}
Now, I get several of these a day, but for some odd reason I decided to reply to this one. Read the reply for yourself, and judge: I think perhaps I was having a bad day and needed to snark at someone. Also, there was an email provided for the client-victim of the spamming scammer, so perhaps I thought I was doing him a favor. I really don’t remember; like I said, it was a hard winter, and some of the minor details are murky.
LOL, if you are going to mass mail for blog link exchanges for your marketing “blog”, you ought to pay more attention to the customs of the blogging community. Some tips:
1) When communicating with a blog that celebrates porn, emphasizing that your site is not one of those stinky porn cites is, shall we say, off-message.
2) When asking for reciprocal links with blogs that put all their links on their front pages in the sidebar, it’s unwise to bury your own return links on an interior page. It’s not fair to your link partners, and they won’t bother with you. It also makes your site look less like a blog.
3) When specifying desired anchor text, be reasonable. A nine word keyphrase is not reasonable, especially when you are asking for sidebar links where more than three words rarely fits.
4) When your blog is predominantly a marketing blog, you’re facing an uphill fight to get free reciprocal links. When facing an uphill fight, you’re way better off linking first and then asking for the reciprocal. Too many bloggers have been burned by reciprocal link requests that are never honored.
5) Lastly, mass mailing is bad, m’kay? If your request makes it clear you haven’t bothered to look at my site (see #1 above), you’re just another damned spammer, so why should I pay attention to you? And if you can’t be bothered to read the prominantly-displayed linking guidelines of the sites you want link trades with, why should they be bothered to trade with you?
Good luck with your marketing project, you’re going to need it.
Saturday, April 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve got a disturbing drawing for everyone to enjoy. Don’t worry, it’s art, you can tell by the disturbance.
First a detail from the drawing. Not too disturbing, unless you wonder why she seems to cower. You could hope she’s just shading her eyes from the awesome and majestic sight of her lover’s manly prong. But why’s he got her in the empty corner of an empty room? It’s potentially worrisome:
It gets a lot more worrisome when you see the whole sketch, which is by one Czech illustrator named Alfred Kubin, and dates from 1902:
So, is this beastiality porn, or not? And what is that furry critter, anyway? A thousand-pound harmless little flop-eared doggie? I guess it’s safe to say he’s a “beast”, anyway.
You can tell it’s art by the way it grips you with implications, but gives you no way to tell which of the things you infer were actually and deliberately implied by the artist, and which were really just the product of your own fevered imagination.
(This is what happens when you send somebody to a liberal arts college and then don’t make him take any art history or appreciation classes. You wind up almost twenty years later with tiny little art criticism essays that feel like they were block-printed in crayon. Does anybody have the “Flesh” one? The girl in the corner looks a little pale.)
Friday, April 6th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Since ErosBlog doesn’t do politics, I haven’t posted about the current scandal involving a lying attorney general and the eight U.S. Attorneys fired — as CNN so delicately puts it — for being “insufficiently partisan.” But I’ve thought it odd that the television news has consistently covered this story without reporting, or even speculating, on exactly what it was that these prosecutors did — or didn’t — do, that caused them to incur the wrath of the president at whose pleasure they serve.
The reason, it turns out, is porn. Specifically, mainstream commercial porn involving consenting adults. The common thread binding these eight prosecutors is their refusal to prosecute commercial pornographers (often because they lacked the resources to prosecute the much uglier child porn cases on their desks, or because they understand that prosecuting mainstream porn is a great way to lose cases in today’s America.)
I toyed with the idea of a post with all the details, but it felt too much like work, and I’ve been busy. Fortunately, Susie Bright’s a lot more industrious — and a much better and more prolific writer — than I am, and she’s done the work. Sample:
Do you know what the eight fired prosecutors have in common?
All of them declined to press obscenity charges on cases that the DOJ was desperately running up a flagpole without success.
Now, why? – since we know these prosecutors are Republicans who would love to win a solid case– why would they frown on pursuing such charges?
Bush’s DOJ Porno Task Force told the prosecutors to go after X-rated entertainment companies who make adult, consensual productions–grown-ups with contracts! This time, the focus was supposed to be on subject material like piss, scat, bestiality, and… S/M. They were counting on a big “ick” factor!
But the Super-8 aren’t all that stupid, and they know what happens in obscenity trials when you go after the 1st Amendment. They could paper the White House with case history. They won’t chase these clown cars, because, as Paulie Walnuts might put it, “they’re weak, they’re out of control, and… an embarrassment to yourself and everyone else.”
What the hell is an “S/M” video, after all? Are you going to go after Hollywood for releasing 9 1/2 Weeks? Any defense lawyer worth his salt is going to bring in Pasolini’s Salo, portraits of Abu Gharib victims, and documentaries on cattle insemination to pose the question: What is context? What about taste? What crime has been committed? Legitimate film producers, be they “adult,” mainstream, or hybrid, are not going to take it lying down.
You know when President Reagan went after porn in the 80s, he told his Attorney General, Edwin Meese, to focus on gay sex, anal sex, and black-white couples– and to charge them in Texas. And it still backfired.
Better yet, Susie’s got links to the pertinent investigative reporting.
Comments Off on The Hidden Porn Scandal
Saturday, March 31st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I was slow to notice that the folks at Kink.com (for whom I have enormous respect) released a new bondage site this month, which looks incredibly rich in texture. (Heavy wood, and heavier iron — these are textures, right?) If you like your bondage heavy (literally!) and heavily invested with a “Resistance is Futile! Escape is Impossible! Why do you struggle so hopelessly?” ethos, Device Bondage may be for you. Medieval methods wrought and crafted in an updated industrial steampunk sort of way make for an unforgettable combination. Don’t miss the (very!) pink closeup of the cast iron speculum in the same shoot this picture comes from:
And then there’s the heavy horizontal pillory found here:
We’ve come a long way from the “two bored porn starlets, a suede flogger twirling in a light circle, and a hank of clothesline lightly tangled” that used to be bondage porn.
Friday, March 30th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Oh, the fun you can have with your printer:
Practical, in a few contexts. Practical joke, in a great many more. Fun either way!
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 26th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From a sex basics article for “guy virgins” about the practicalities of sex you don’t learn by reading, or by watching porn:
Messiness
You probably know this already, but overall sex is messier than what you see on TV or in porn.
- You’re going to get hot and sweaty of course.
- The woman’s lubrication is going to dribble all over the place and possibly stain the sheets. Someone is going to get semen on them at some point. Condom wrappers are going to litter the ground. You may kiss passionately and slobber all over each other.
- Sometimes when you’re doing a girl she’ll fart. I heard it has something to do with the thrusting pushing air into her abdomen but don’t quote me.
- Sometimes when you pull out and she changes positions she’ll fart out her pussy (queefing).
- If you have sex when she’s on her period, well use your imagination.
- If you have anal sex you may get some poo on your dick.
- If you have a good session, when you’re done you’re going to be sweaty, red faced, tired, and a bit out of it. Your hair will be messed up, gross stray hairs will be stuck to your skin, the girl will have a bit of white goop running out of her cootch. You’ll have a bit of cum dribbling out of your dick. There will be at least one condom wrapper on the floor, the sheets and pillows will be all over the place, and the bed will have a wet spot on it. If you cuddle after you’ll start to stick together and it’ll feel gross when you pull apart. It’s great.
Link via Sexoteric.
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Saturday, March 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It never fails. You’re heading for the nude beach with your girl, and before you even get there she pulls you into a shady patch of bushes for a quick blowjob. But before you know it, you’re being watched by a pair of nudists with absolutely no concept of “personal moment”:
Picture is from Usenet.
Wednesday, March 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From The Dilbert Blog:
Researchers asked people to write essays in support of a random point of view they did not hold. Months later, when surveyed, the majority held the opinion they wrote about, regardless of the topic. Once a person commits an opinion to writing — even an opinion he does not hold — it soon becomes his actual opinion. Not every time, but MOST of the time. The people in these experiments weren’t exposed to new information before writing their contrived opinions. All they did was sit down and write an opinion they didn’t actually have, and months later it became their actual opinion. The experiment worked whether the volunteers were writing the pro or the con position on the random topic.
Most of the truly stupid things done in this world have to do with this consistency principle. For example, once you define yourself as a loyal citizen of Elbonia, you do whatever the King of Elbonia tells you to do, no matter how stupid that is. And your mind invents reasons as to why dying is a perfectly good life strategy.
This research provides a surefire method for readers of the Dilbert Blog to improve their sex lives. Go down to the local mall with a clipboard and pretend to be doing a research experiment. Offer $1 to attractive people who will write a paragraph describing how incredibly sexy you are. (Based on the research, you should offer a low dollar amount so people don’t think they did it entirely for the money.) Tell participants that the research has to do with handwriting analysis of people who are writing opinions they do not believe. Stop after you get 100 people to do it. That’s less than the cost of one meal at an upscale restaurant.
Give the participants your e-mail address and tell them they can get the results of the research study in a month if they contact you. According to the science, about two-thirds of the people who wrote a paragraph on your sex appeal will strongly believe it a month later, no matter how hideous you are. And a few of those people will remember to e-mail you for the results. You’ll still have to close the deal, but I think we can agree that I just did the hard work for you.
Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.
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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Friday, March 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
They say art doesn’t have to be practical, and in this case, I suspect that’s a good thing. Because, I would imagine that in the sort of bars where this urinal would be appreciated, it might also get molested.
All I can say is, I hope it’s stoutly affixed to the wall.
Wednesday, March 14th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Say what you will, but married sex doesn’t have to be either rare or (when routine) boring:
We go through condoms like matches. I began buying the large packs – 24 is it? One pack probably lasts us about a month. I would say that we probably make love 4 to 7 times a week. Sometimes daily.
It can happen in the evening during and after a kinky session, or late at night, half-asleep in bed, always following the same routine – he wakes me up, half asleep himself, by rubbing my body, caressing my breasts and rolling my nipples between his fingers, pulling down my panties and even delivering something like a vague, sleepy spank. I expose my breasts, whether it means pulling something up or down, or taking something over my head and throwing it on the floor. I remove the comforter from my chest, to feel the chill of the cold bedroom (always cold) on my bare skin, contrasted with the heat of his palm and fingers. I slip my hand between my legs and masturbate.
Inevitably, I turn over, kneeling on the bed, with my legs wide apart, my face either in the pillows or next to his. He continues to play with my breasts, as I often replay in my head various master/slave scenarios, imagining the power exchange between us. I close my eyes. He would often put his fingers into the dewy, slippery territory between my wide-spread thighs – caressing, running his fingers up and down, plunging them inside, penetrating me roughly, firmly, confidently. Sometimes I would come right there, around his fingers – I wonder if he can feel the muscles contracting. Sometimes I would come from a slightest touch of my intimate areas, sometimes from the breast stimulation. Last night was especially “dramatic,” as he put it this morning. It was loud.
The night sessions are always followed by an intercourse, almost always with me on top – I reach for the dresser drawer in the darkness, feel the condom wrapper with my hand – scratchy edges, smooth surface. Pull it out and present it to him. Put my lips around his penis and suck on it as if my life depended on it. He would lift my head off himself, place the condom on. I’d throw away the remaining clothes, if any left, climb on top of him and ride him into bliss [his bliss]. He might kiss me along the way, or slap my bottom sharply with his palm, or hold me by my neck, which I find especially hot, or my hair, or hold on to my hips and guide my body, or wrap his arms around me. I never come from an intercourse, but I love it – I like it slow and sensual, I like it rough, I like it either way – by then I am well lubricated. Sometimes I try to clench my muscles around him. He comes inside, always inside.
From A Farmwife With A Twist.
Tuesday, March 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Girls putting bananas in improbable places go way way back on the internets. In fact, if I didn’t see a .gif file on that theme back in the dialup BBS days, then I’ve manufactured a memory.
For some reason, though, this banana gallery reminds me of the end of one of those “…and one this time, at band camp” shaggy dog stories. Punchline: “And then, you’ll never believe this, she ate the banana!”
Picture courtesy of the [defunct since 2014] website Get Dirty With Juliet.
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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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Saturday, March 10th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This bit of vintage strap-on porn is here to serve as yet another in the constant series of necessary reminders that there ain’t nothin’ new under the sun, or under the pornographer’s lights either. If you’re from the generation that thinks Susie Bright and her merry band of On Our Backs lesbian wenches invented the strap-on dildo, you’ve got another think coming:
Friday, March 9th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is one of those cute animated .gif files that doesn’t really show anything but is still rather fun. Tub-thumpin’ doggy-style sex? Yeah, that’s what it looks like. But for all we know from these sparse frames he’s back there goosing her repeatedly with an icy cold wet washcloth:
Certainly he’s grinning like he’s up to something!
Tuesday, March 6th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
“So yo, I got Saturday off. And it was a nice day outside, see? So I did what any guy would do, you know? I just picked up a couple of girls and headed for the beach.”
Image via Action Girls.
Friday, March 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I assume this athletic young thing is experiencing one of the highly-engineered beer delivery systems that the youth of today have turned to in favor of the old-fashioned gulping and swallowing that served their elders so well:
Beer or no beer, the effort visible in her face puts me in mind of a speculative sexual performance assessment that was old long before she was born, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and sometimes said things like “That girl could suck a golf ball through fifty feet of garden hose.”
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Wednesday, February 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
OK, friends and kinksters, don’t pay any mind to the electric cattle prod. Sure, it’s in the picture, and you can’t put it completely out of your mind, any more than you can ignore the proverbial 800 pound gorilla in your china closet. But, as the man said in Airplane, that’s not important now. No, the picture is for all you dirty feet fetishists out there:
But what are you gonna do? How are you gonna keep a model’s feet clean when you’re shooting bondage porn in a boiler room? Short answer: you’re not.
Picture credit: Chanta’s Bitches — which is now a Kink Unlimited channel.
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Wednesday, February 28th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
Evil Science Chick ranted the other day about how guys are cum obsessed. Amusing, but I disagree, because I do love swallowing as long as it doesn’t taste awful, and I like having it rubbed into my boobs, etc. It’s one of my favorite fluids and I’m happy to be getting alot more of it these days.
And I guess I’m obsessed too……last weekend I went with J to a friend’s house, and while they were talking buses and ports and firewalls, I got bored, until his friend’s screensaver started. It was the best, sexiest screensaver I have EVER seen! It looked like lots of sperm of different colors, dancing all over the screen, sometimes lining up side by side and other times fusing together in a psychedelic explosion of swirling color. By the time we got out of there I was really horny….J didn’t know why but he sure didn’t complain!
I don’t know whether I should try to find that screensaver to put on my computer or not. I might not get any work done!
Sunday, February 25th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here’s Lesson Number 2,239,122 on why being illiterate is both embarrassing and bad for business:
Friday, February 23rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Outside of the hentai realm you don’t see a lot of science fiction pornography, and what you do see is usually hilariously awful. I’m not sure exactly why that is, given all the fun you could have with big hard shiny implacable stainless steel sex robots and lustful tentacle-y aliens and autonomous anal probes and mind control rays and force whips and … oh, wait, am I talking out loud here?
Moving rapidly along.
Anyway, the folks at FuckingMachines.com may not be making science fiction, but they do understand the attraction of cruel implacable hard steel sex robot machinery and the considerable advantages of the indefatigable electric motor. Nor do they shrink from restraining mere human flesh when it might otherwise flinch away from and thus miss out on the intense mechanical pleasures of the machine age. In space, it is said, no one can hear you scream. But why go all the way to space when you can achieve the same effect with a high quality latex vacuum bondage bed?
Princess Leia in chains was cute. Han Solo in carbonite was novel. But this, I submit, would have been a better fate for either one of them, and would have immensely livened up the movie theater of my youth. Besides, wouldn’t old Jabba the Hut have enjoyed the heck out of a implacable robotic tongue-saw?
Science fiction this may not be, but it sure is entertaining!
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Wednesday, February 21st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In which The Barmaid proves that you do learn useful things as an English major:
When he joins me, I strip him down and do for him what he’s done for me. He’s a little hard to read sometimes, but that’s true of a lot of men – it’s tough for them to ask for what they want, they think it makes them look weak or picky or something. But my ex Peter once told me that when it comes to going down on guys, effort and enthusiasm go a long way even when technique and preferences might be a question-mark. And the way I’ve been treated tonight, I’ve got enthusiasm to spare. He doesn’t last long – not even as long as I did.
We’re lying there a few minutes later, curled up together, my head on his shoulder, when I feel his arm twitch a little and sense a change in his breathing. “No you don’t,” I say, shaking him. “There’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans, and we’re not breaking Chekhov’s Law tonight.”
He laughs. “What?”
“Chekhov’s Law of economy in narrative. If there’s a gun on stage in the first act, it has to be fired by the end of the third act.”
“Fucking English major,” he says, shaking his head.
“That’s right, I’m a fucking English major, and you’re a fucking executive, so don’t fall asleep on me!”
He rolls over on top of me and starts making out with me, and by about ten minutes later, he’s ready to go, and we do.
Tuesday, February 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Another advantage to being flexible — as if we needed another advantage — is that it lets you suck your own toes (or chew your own toenails I suppose, if you run that way), as seen in this fine vintage photograph:
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Monday, February 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Lately, as I’m sure some of you have noticed, I’ve been giving in to my evil nature by posting pictures that are, if not designed to stir up trouble, at least likely to do so. (Like the man said, art is either plagiarism or revolution; me, I’m with the re-mixers, who are trying to prove it can be both at once.)
This picture of a man in chains, from Bondage Blog, is another one:
Some of my readers are going to enjoy, as Rope Guy puts it, “the very buff dude, in chains.” That’s all the reason I need to publish this picture.
I’m aware that some folks are likely to condemn any suggestion that we might find eroticism in a still photograph of an actor getting paid SAG scale for standing around sweating attractively in Hollywood during the production of a movie adaptation of a lurid fiction that, at least one one level, mocked long-dead racist bastards by suggesting that their women were fornicating lavishly with the buff guys they were trying so hard to oppress and exploit. Oh well, have fun with that.
But be nice about it, or I’ll move on to my ultimate weapon. Do you really want to see the cartoon drawing I’ve got of a sweet young lady making a mouthful (and what a mouthful!) of a horse’s cock? You’ll need Johnson’s Extra Strong Eye-and-Brain Soap after seeing that one!
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Saturday, February 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to an old friend and alert reader, I am this morning pointing you to the Marginal Revolution blog, in which George Mason economics professor Tyler Cowen wonders a bit about the porn industry. I don’t want to pick on Professor Cowen unduly, inasmuch as he’s asked the question politely and has attracted a lengthy comment thread that is mostly free of the usual anti-porn ignorance and bigotry (although the porn-is-an-addiction idiocy rears its stupid-head, and commenter Clayton Cramer does drop in to trumpet his longstanding kink-is-evil bigotry — but I repeat myself). However, Professor Cowen did disclaim having much knowledge of the porn industry, and he expressly invited his readers to call him clueless. With due respect, I’ll bite.
Professor Cowen, your post was a little bit clueless. I left a comment there, but it’s worth more discussion here:
[post title] Why Is Pornography Scarce?
Er, it’s not. Not even in the sense in which Econ professors use the word. It’s a glut, a golconda, an exploding cornucopia, it’s everywhere, it’s easy to find, it’s cheap, it might as well be free, it’s easy to get and cheap to store and anybody who wants any and isn’t terminally lazy or stupid already has lots, more than they can ever hope to look at. Unless they’ve recently suffered a house fire or a porn-hostile woman.
So, what’s actually scarce? New porn, fresh porn, different porn. It’s scarce because it doesn’t stay new for long, it’s scarce because ninety percent of everything is crap and so lots of even fresh-made porn isn’t fresh, it’s scarce because (short of stacking fetishes until you’ve got one-legged panty-sniffing midget girls mud wrestling with shaved sheep) it’s tough to make porn that’s new and different. “New and fresh” requires art, craft, skill, all the other things that are in short supply in any industry. And, oddly, unit volumes are so low in porn that art, craft, and skill tend not to be rewarded.
After noting with interest that Playboy is selling its entire set of back issues on disk for about six hundred bucks, Professor Cowen writes:
Have you noticed that storage is really, really cheap these days? Have you studied the durable goods monopoly problem? Once you’ve accumulated a stock of durable material, at some point you will sell off successive units very very cheaply. Have you noticed that costs of electronic reproduction — call it marginal cost — are really, really low these days? Have you noticed there is a massive stock of accumulated pornographic images?
…
Call me clueless, as I have very little direct knowledge of pornography. But I don’t understand why buyers demand such a regular flow of material. Why don’t they just buy a single dense disc of images and keep themselves, um…busy…for many years? I believe also that fetishes are fairly stable and predictable. You don’t need to see “the new porn” to know what you will want to get off on.
First of all, Playboy is unique in the industry. Most porn sellers don’t offer “a single dense disc of images”, or when they do, they don’t price it attractively. In my comment at Marginal Revolution, I speculated as to some of the reasons for this apparent market failure.
Second of all, there is some fetish drift. People’s tastes do change over time. Guys don’t view pornography so much to see the movie on the screen per se. Rather, they view it in order to use the images on the screen to stimulate the somewhat different movies in their own heads. Those movies grow, and change, and shift, over time. Some of the change is stimulated by the porn that’s been seen lately. But lots of the change happens because of what’s happened in the guy’s sexual life, or the new woman he’s been lusting after, or a random comment the hot co-worker made, or any of a thousand other non-porn stimuli. As the internal movies change, most guys find that the external movies need to change also.
But the real confusion comes next, when Cowen reveals that he’s really only talking about a tiny fraction of the overall porn market:
As I observe the sector, buyers cough up new money all the time, and they buy relatively small units of output, and at relatively high prices.
Please “splain” it to me, as they say…
Um, “as I observe the sector”? I know it wasn’t intended to be, but that’s side-splittingly funny.
The “porn sector” is notoriously difficult to observe. Nobody even knows to within an order of magnitude what the gross revenues of the sector might be.
But that’s not what’s so funny. What’s funny is an Econ professor confusing the tiny “observable” fraction of a huge and largely furtive market, with the market itself.
The people who buy new porn are relatively visible. They have credit cards, they make people semi-rich, you can observe the money even if you can’t see the transactions. Porn marketing — which is splashy and observable — is directed at them.
The people who buy “a single dense disc of images” — or who would, if they could find one on the market — aren’t as observable because they account for fewer transactions and less gross money.
And the vast, huge, horde of people who don’t buy porn at all — but who use porn, collect porn, save porn, horde porn, most of which they get for free over the internet — they are part of the market too. Hell, they define the market. True, they are mostly paying a price of “zero” (or, rather, zero-plus, the “plus” being the not inconsiderable cost of a good internet connection), but they are still market participants. To be honest, they are the eight-thousand-pound gorillas of this marketplace, stomping around crushing the dreams of the naive newbie pornographers who think “hey, everybody loves porn, how could I not get rich?”
So, to sum up, Professor Cowen looks at a tiny fraction of the people in the porn marketplace, notes that it’s the most visible and most lucrative set of porn consumers (the part of the market he can see), and wonders why that tiny subset with a market preference for fresh porn in low volume isn’t buying stale porn in high volume. And the answer, of course, is that people who want stale porn in high volume — and there are lots of ’em — can already get it in job lots, for a price of cheap-to-free.
Postscript: To the folks who are happy with their massive collections of older porn (whether they collected it the hard way back in the day, bought it on “one dense disk”, or, like most folks these days, hoovered it up off the internet), it’s often a mystery “why anybody pays for porn”. In Professor Cowen’s comments that question came up, and to answer it, several folks trotted out that tired old war-whore, the “porn is an addiction” theory. That deserves its own rant, but I did point out over there, and want to say here, that it’s a silly explanation for why people are willing to pay money for new and fresh (and scarce) porn. Wanting fresh porn, and paying big bucks for it, when you could have stale porn for free, is no more a sign of addiction than wanting fresh food, and paying big bucks for it, when you could have canned food for pennies from Wal-Mart. Are people who pay big bucks for greenhouse-grown vine-ripened tomatoes in January “addicted to food?” Naw, they just like fresh tomatoes, and they think Del Monte canned stewed tomatoes suck, even priced at three bucks a case at Costco. They have what the economists call a market preference, not an addiction.
Thursday, February 15th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Double penetration is all well and good, but when the anal sex guy strikes milk, watch out! It’s a gusher!
I swear, that well’s gonna be good for at least thirty barrels a day….
Tuesday, February 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, of course. So what are you gonna do? Here are some suggestions for things to do with your sweetie on Valentine’s, borrowed from some old French Valentine cards:
Take A Bath Together
Lounge In Front Of The Fire
Take A Ride On A Train
Wednesday, February 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Generally when I post vintage photos, I have to delete half a dozen comments bitching about body hair. Kids these days, you’d think their fashions were some sort of natural law. (Anyway, my solution to that is to post more vintage photographs; eventually maybe the lesson will soak in that fashions change, and that history is not automatically gross. Never mind the more subtle truth that fashions in body hair vary along demographic lines, even today. In short, your mom may have more pussy hair than your favorite waxed-and-plucked porn starlet, and your dad still thinks your mom is hot. Exercise coping skills.)
Moving rapidly along: but what is a body to do when the notable vintage hairdos in question are on heads?
For help in pondering that, I offer up this taxonomy of hairdos from a 70’s Ebony magazine. Enjoy!
Saturday, February 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Reader Serge sent in a link to Le site de Camille, which is chock full of goodies like this:
Thursday, February 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I hate to just dump a picture post, so here’s a picture to make you think:
The interesting question is, what does it make you think? Discuss among yourselves.
For me, it raises all sorts of questions. Is it supposed to be funny, in a mock-heroic Great White Hunter sort of way? (Obviously not very* funny, but I think I found it on Urod.ru, where the humor tends to run low. You can’t entirely blame those low-brow Russki misogynists, though, because that truck is an American classic or I’ll eat the hood ornament.)
Or is it supposed to be a deep feminist commentary on the treatment of women in porn? Or on the treatment of women, in general?
Or, contrariwise, might it be a direct reminder message from the Patriarchy on the supposed equation between women and meat?
We might know more if we knew who the photographer was. Which says a lot, all by itself, about the difficulty of finding meaning in a context-less photograph.
Have fun, but be nice.
Monday, January 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A sensationalist blog title, to be sure. But Violet Blue, who does a lot of sex writing, has discovered that Microsoft Word is squeamish about suggesting sex-related words when she mis-types them, even though those words evidently are in its database:
I’ve noticed that Word is reluctant to suggest some sex words as spelling alternatives when it doesn’t recognize what I wrote. For instance, if I write “Windoze” and spell-check it, the program will suggest “Windows” and a few other alternate words. If I insist on my spelling and click “ignore” it tells me I picked a word not in the dictionary, and am I sure I want to continue?
But with some sex words, it behaves differently. Here’s an example I’m running into repeatedly tonight: in my draft, I typed dildo as “didlo” a couple of times. Word’s spell-check caught it as a mistake and suggested the following words: dido, idol, dodo and dado. But when I corrected the spelling to “dildo” it unhighlighted (what it does with correct spellings), and when I clicked “ignore” it didn’t tell me I was using a word outside the dictionary or if I was sure I wanted to continue.
So, it knows how to spell “dildo”. Why won’t it offer me the correct suggestion in the list?
I have two reactions to this. The first is a sort of mild humorous derision, which Microsoft earns and shares broadly with the entire sex-phobic corporate world.
More seriously, though, it seems worrisome in a minor way that a company with so much influence over the “means of production” of written English has the ability to disfavor and deprecate entire vocabularies. Words are what people use to think with. Influence — even subtle influence — over the inventory of available words is real power.
Friday, January 26th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Who knew a girl could have so much fun with just a bit of string?
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.
Saturday, January 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
There really are some fantasies — even consensual ones — that are better left unrealized. Including this Catholic girls school bathroom scene from Alebeard’s Kink Blog, as (it seems) Alebeard now realizes, with benefit of hindsight:
I met her online in a Portland chat room, her pic was deeply sexy, though typically you cant trust pics, especially the sexy ones. But this one turned out to be accurate.
Anyway, she had this fantasy to get tied up and abused in the girls bathroom of a catholic school. She suggested St Mary’s academy on SW 5th ave where I take it she was a student some years ago.
Now, what I should have done was listened, agreed that it was a hot fantasy and moved on, but no.
Naturally the idea was for her to be all tied up with belt marks all over her tits and ass, clamps on and cum dribbling out of her ass, you know, everyday stuff when class got out and the bathroom filled with girls. She has masturbated to this image many times she says and knows just when classes will be on and the place empty
Somewhere in my shrunken head it did dawn on me that maybe if we really did this, police would get involved. She said she was tell them she had been assaulted, did not want to talk about it and would refuse a police interview. Somehow this seemed reasonable to me.
In our minds, this was a great fantasy, Reality however had different ideas
Let me help you with a few fine points in case you try this at home
1. Nuns patrol the halls like guard dogs even when class is in session.
2. Said vicious nuns have evil and cruel timing.
3. When a Nun walks in a bathroom and your cock is deep inside Tina’s ass, there is little one can do to be graceful.
4. Nuns chase one fast, even big nuns, they run in packs.
5. Nuns throw things, they hurt.
6. Nuns do curse.
7. When running without pants on through a field full of Catholic school girls, do not expect them to look away politely and not laugh.
8. When running full speed towards the opening in the fence line, look down to avoid tripping in a gopher hole and flying through the air to land on ones face.
9. Police have no sense of humor about these things.
10. When ones own lawyer spends 20 minutes laughing at you, its less then fun
11. Judges also have little sense of humor even when the charges are minor
12. Community Service sucks
I believe this anecdote also illustrates the wisdom of The First Rule Of Man Law: “Never put your dick in crazy.”
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Saturday, January 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve seen a number of foreign language phrasebooks in my time, but I’ve never seen one that was quite this useful:
Why doesn’t every phrase book have useful phrases for sex?
Thursday, January 18th, 2007 -- by Aphrodite
I’m an unashamed Wiki lover. There’s so much great stuff to be found there, and if you want you can contribute your own knowledge, and help keep those interwebs woven.
Today’s featured article is on restoration literature, which isn’t that thrilling to me, but the graphic they posted with it sure caught my attention!
Although, reading that title, I’m having an “I don’t think that word means what you think it means” moment.
Since I have a couple of minutes left on my lunch break, I’ll tease you with some news…..I had an awesomely sexy holiday season! The man that gives clever roses played Santa, and then some. More details to come soon!
Wednesday, January 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Something about these naughty “student nurses” examining each other made me smile. They are so fresh-faced and earnest!
From Little Mutt.
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Wednesday, January 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I don’t usually post hardcore sex pictures here, but to me this is more of a hardcore smiling picture. You don’t usually see porn starlets looking this gosh-darn happy about the sex they are having:
This is from one of those adult BBS CDs, which are turning into a vintage porn genre all their own. The white lace says “wedding night sex”, but the ballerina slippers make me wonder. And that doesn’t look like wedding undies wrapped around her ankles, either.
Update: It turns out that the original ur-source on this is a 1991 Color Climax porn magazine starring Alicyn Sterling, Peter North, and Jon Dough in a shoot titled “Dance Lovers.” Alicyn plays a dance student who needs some intense personal instruction for a new role…
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Monday, January 15th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
By all accounts, Seattle’s lucky to have the The Wet Spot, a sex-positive community center that hosts all manner of adult events and classes. But you know, somebody has got to have the keys, and use of the facilities after hours. That somebody, it turns out, is Executive Director Allena Gabosh, who writes on her blog about
…a great evening a few weeks ago with my boy, alex. He’s such a “cat”. Sometimes he’s in the mood, sometimes he’s not. This time he was. His masochist came out to play. At my request he wore sexy disposable clothing and after I tied him up over a spanking bench, I slowly cut off his clothes and bit, licked, spanked and caned each body part that I exposed. And that was just his warm up.
Later I had him on the bondage bed (we were at The Wet Spot after hours.) After beating his ass with his least favorite toy, I turned him over and played with his cock, wrapping it in his favorite leather cock ring and attaching it to my tens unit. Every time I turned up the tens unit he jumped and I sucked and kissed his cock. Pretty soon his pain and pleasure responses became all jumbled up. :) This got me super horny, so I climbed on top of him and he gave me a great orgasm while I continued to torture his penis.
Then the Grand Finale! Two needles through his nipples. Then the best part, cuddling and making him feel good again (he doesn’t like needles).
Hmmm. That was a fun night.
Via the Electrosex Blog.
Monday, January 15th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Because there can never be enough Smurf porn:
From Spanking Blog.
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Saturday, January 13th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
When you’ve been blogging for years the way I have, it can sometimes be hard to find something new to write about, or even quote. So, as you might imagine, I spend a lot of time on the search engines. Pick a slightly funky key phrase, type it into various search engines, see what sexy stuff turns up.
What turns up, in overwhelming volume, is “splogs” — spam blogs, stuff that uses blog templates but is just random junk designed to attract search engines.
The fascinating thing is that these splogs are universally obvious in the search results. The “snippet” invariably doesn’t read like anything a human wrote, and often even the URL is so obviously a throw-away that you know there’s no real site there.
I’ve gotten very good at spotting these things in the search results and not wasting my clicks on ’em. But, frankly, it’s not very hard. Case in point, not the worst URL I’ve ever seen but one that screams “not a real website”:
http://lesbianjailsex.pornyblogs.info/
I guess “porny” is to “porn” as “truthiness” is to truth. No kidding, here’s some of the search engine honeytrap “content” to be found at that URL:
She like bone with strapon and genuine love muscle togethershe is teen, but acts like a professional whore. Like the lesbians in this photograph much time is spent tongue bathing and slurping the clit. If you like the photos then surf further & check out the free lesbian sample clips that are on the smut-site. See this hottie work a honey pot like she never knew she could.
Now that’s sales copy!
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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Tuesday, January 9th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
For reasons that surpass human understanding, I’ve twice now blogged photographs of what is supposed to be Rasputin’s severed penis, preserved in a jar: once, twice.
Why (oh, ye gods of Olympus, why?) am I doing it again? Because it’s a very famous (and famously active, in its day) penis. And, more simply, because it’s there. Specifically, it’s there at urod.ru — scroll down at your own peril, you’ll find an absolutely huge closeup of the jar and detached (pickled) manhood, in living (dead?) color.
I’ll also link to a copy of the photo, as a hedge against future link rot. Don’t blame me if you decide to look.
It’s grisly. Seriously.
Tuesday, January 9th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I love it when artists (unknown, in this case; picture found at Edinburgh Erotica) dirty up the old cartoon characters. In this case, it looks like a spot of “forced feminization” for poor old Tom (don’t he clean up nice?) and a little strap-on action. Trust Jerry, he’s holding Tom’s tail out of the way, and probably looking around for the bottle of Habenero lube:
Update: Looks like the artist is “Bathgate 21” or maybe just Bathgate.
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Sunday, January 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
It is indeed the season to make snowmen — really BIG snowmen with towering erections — so I suppose this is appropriate:
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Friday, January 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
“Oh, her? That’s the cleaning lady.”
Thursday, January 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
There’s a stylish spanking blog — not previously linked here by some odd mischance, though I’ve encountered it with pleasure on more than one occasion — called The Spanking Writers, in which Able and Heron recount their spanking lifestyle and share their love of schoolgirl / schoolmaster roleplaying. Fanciful without being fantastic, it’s a very civilized, and very British, read. From New Year’s Eve:
Those of you in the UK may have caught the BBC’s fantastic New Year’s Day production of “Wind in the Willowsâ€?. Fortunately we had glasses of wine to hand when the main characters, plotting a raid to reclaim Toad Hall, armed themselves with staffs and raised a toast:
“To the proper handling of sticks!â€?
Needless to say, we joined in enthusiastically. As a motto for the year ahead, it seemed rather appropriate.
…
My young lady was told that she could choose her cane; she disappeared upstairs, returning with the longest, thickest, heaviest rod in the house — our Singapore rattan, bought more with curiosity than intent. Even the lightest stroke resulted in a spectacular response, and a delightful stripe; the twelfth and hardest engendered a yelp that the crowds in London could surely have heard 200+ miles away!
I mention this now — proof that flattery will get you anywhere, if it’s unexpected and apparently sincere — because I was pleased to note the following among “our festive roundup of our personal 2006 favorites”:
Erotic Site of the Year. As obsessed with spanking as we are, sometimes we peek into other areas of sexuality as well. On those occasions nothing gives us an erotic jolt quite like ErosBlog, with its exploration of humans as sexual beings.
Why, thank you!
Wednesday, January 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
The next time I’m at the beach and find a handy sand ledge, I want to excavate one of these:
So much more fun than carving a sand castle!
Tuesday, January 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
What is it about beer in plastic cups that leads to all these entertaining party girl photos?
Monday, January 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Up for some Flirty Fishing, anyone?
Ouch, where exactly did the point of that fish hook go?
It seems that the religious organization (“cult”, to its detractors, but then every small marginal religion is a cult to its detractors) known as “The Children of God” or “The Family” used to practice a modern form of temple prostitution, both to gain new adherents and to earn revenue for the organization. They called this practice “Flirty Fishing”:
Flirty Fishing (FFing) was a form of religious prostitution practiced by the Children of God/The Family cult from 1974 until it was officially discontinued in 1987 (due, in part, to the AIDS scare). Its etymology can be traced to Matthew 4:19 where Jesus says “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”
Flirty Fishing was a subset of The Family’s love bombing activities and involved the use of sexual attraction and intercourse to win converts and favors. Female members were told to be “God’s whores” and “hookers for Jesus”, and soon after its launch as a method of witnessing, sex was given to complete strangers in combination with a request for a “donation”, or for a required fee in line with Escort Servicing (ESing) or freelance ESing.
There’s nothing new about fishing for converts using loving, available women as bait. But these people didn’t shrink from their metaphor:
Ouch, again. The text is explicit about this piercing business:
Art thou willing to become my bait? Then yield thyself therefore to be pierced through by many sorrows!
For the bait is placed again and again on the hook and pierced many times ere it is finally devoured, that it may catch many for my kingdom!
The bait is taken:
Make no mistake, though; this was not a joyous nor a sex-positive operation. Dig the text from the tract (my emphasis added):
“Art thou willing to kiss many with My kiss of life? Through thy death to thyself thou shalt bring life to many that would devour thee and feast upon thy flesh. You flirt to entice them that they may be caught!”
There are a great many more of these well-illustrated True Komix tracts on various subjects — apparently tract sales were another source of revenue — and sexual imagery was prevalent, and often very attractively presented:
But the whole sex / piercing / death theme is never very far away:
Did I say “Ouch” yet?
Given that we live in a world where popular religions are either actively hostile to sex (the sex people actually have all the time, I mean, not the limited subset involving marriage and procreation), or are (at best) tolerant of it, it’s a bit mind-warping to find religious advertising that makes graphic use of sexual imagery. Doubtless they got a lot of attention for themselves using these seductive tactics. But I think the “big-nail-driven-into-her-pussy” image says all we really need to know about the role of women in that church. Ugh.
Sunday, December 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I imagine that tickling girls is probably the first experience most little boys get with anything remotely like power exchange or BDSM. Annoying critters like big sisters, powerful people like mom, those fascinating but dangerous girl-creatures at school — sometimes they can be disarmed, discombobulated, annoyed, whatever, it doesn’t matter, they are affected by a tickle, by just a little half-innocent touch. The result can be out of all proportion to the strength of the touch, and what’s more, the “victims” often laugh and seem to enjoy themselves, even as they are powerless to resist or ignore. Heady stuff!
Of course tickling is a fetish in its own right for some people, with commercial tickling porn and everything. But I sometimes have trouble imagining that the pro bondage pornographers (who usually seem to produce oh-so-serious tableaux featuring anguished faces, strained positions, and whistling whips) don’t tickle their models now and again, if only to produce a smile when they need one.
And, indeed, they do tickle, if this tickle-bondage photo from Hogtied.com is any indication:
That’s the lovely Veronica Jett getting tickled in her ropes, and you can see more of her here.
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Saturday, December 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
If they have this much fun during the ritual feeding of the cake at the wedding, just imagine how much fun they’ll have in privacy with whipped cream and honey:
Although, judging by the not-entirely-pleased look on her face, he may have to be punished first.
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Saturday, December 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
One sentence from the following caught my attention. To me, and perhaps to you, this sentence stripped from context seems almost absurd the first time you see it:
“It was garden variety whipping, a knife and sex as far as that goes.”
Whipping, a knife, sex. Garden variety. Picture me dressed as a Capital One barbarian growling “What’s in your garden?
It’s the “garden variety” that got me. I’m hard to surprise; that people mix whips and knives and sex is neither news to me, nor in the least dismaying. (But it’s not for me; I was raised in a place without much in the way of doctors and nurses and antibiotics, so I’m wired to react to knife wounds, even superficial ones, as minor emergencies requiring immediate application of disinfectant and bandages. Sure, you could have sadistic fun if you used a good old fashioned disinfectant — iodine, anyone? — but getting all those little bandage packages opened would kill the erotic flow, and who wants to find herself covered with Winnie-the-Pooh BandAids after sex?)
When you’re used to thinking of a kink as a point of departure, a “thing” that some other people do for sexual fun, it’s illuminating to be reminded that the “thing” is not just one experience oft repeated — it’s an activity like any other, with the full range of variety and differential experience and days when it’s wild and days when it’s mild and days when it works better than other days. Which means, some days it’s wild and some days it’s “garden variety.”
Now for the full quote, from this post at Magdala’s Submission:
“Are you too tired to hurt me?” I asked in a very small voice.
I don’t think the words had stopped being spoken before He was out of bed, the lights were back on and I was face down on my belly in the middle of the bed.
Apparently He was not too tired for that.
…
I think it was a whip. I think it was two, one after the other, front and back. I know it was the knife. I know the knife was not the blissful out of body experience it usually is. The knife was mean that night. It scratched and hurt me over and over again. It was blissful in a different way. I don’t know how long He whipped me first. I know He stopped several times and drew His finger along some part of my body. Following, I assume, a mark He had left upon me.
I cannot recall any words He spoke to me but I know He did. I know He said things, I know I answered Him. I do not know what those things were. I do know that the whip marked me and left it’s sweet, sweet kisses everywhere. I remember Him having me reach behind me and spread my ass cheeks wide for His whip. The damned whip that insistently struck me again and again in the same sensitive spot and not only did I accept it, but I held myself wide open for Him and truth be told, I desired it.
I remember the order things happened. Whip, knife, sex. I think. I think I came with His hand deep inside my cunt, His fist plunging in and out of me the same way His cock does. I do know that it never ceases to amaze me that each time He fills me with His cock it feels like the first time and each time, I am filled with wonder and happiness that He is a part of me. That it just feels so damn good. That it feels so good, so wonderful each and every time that my world suddenly seems manageable again. That everything just seems right when He slides His cock inside me. I think I sigh with contentment when He does.
I do know He whipped me hard, that He used me hard and rough. That His knife was hard, that His use of it rough. There was nothing spectacular, nothing elaborate. No dramatic restraints, no meticulous plans followed. It was garden variety whipping, a knife and sex as far as that goes. But something about it made it so very wonderful. If I were more arrogant I would say that asking to be hurt helped fuel a fire already burning. I know He does not need an excuse to hurt me or even a reason. It may have possibly added to that though.
Who would have thought that one little sentence would be so very difficult to say? Or that saying it would have such blissfully wonderful results?
Thursday, December 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
If you’re one of the many people who used to find ErosBlog by typing “sex blog” into Google, here’s some information on why it doesn’t work so well now. This has actually been going on for a couple of weeks, but it’s been getting better lately; this morning for the first time ErosBlog is actually back on the first page for that search, albeit low (we used to be number one).
Tuesday, December 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Another vintage erotic gem:
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Sunday, December 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s Christmas Eve of course, and so many folks will be leaving milk and cookies out for Santa Clause. If you should accidentally spill the milk, make sure not to let it go to waste:
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Saturday, December 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This photograph is a reminder about why people take the train. It’s for the scenery, of course:
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!
Friday, December 22nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
You learn all sort of things here on the interwebs. For instance, from Spanking Blog (surely an authoritative source when it comes to spanking matters) we learn that when hickory switches and lumps of coal in the stocking don’t do the trick, Santa attends personally to the bad girls on his route:
Who knew?
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Wednesday, December 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
There’s something very festive about a snowball-wielding woman wearing nothing but a Santa hat:
Wednesday, December 20th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
The wedding is history at last, and my shiny green dress and red earrings have already been tossed in the trash. (Can I make a motion that any December bride that thinks it’ll be pretty and festive to dress her attendants all Christmassy can be shot?) Thanks to hippie-girl sister, I had a very interesting time.
I have teeny tits compared to most chicks. Not exactly pubescent girl size, but close. And the dress that my other sister, the bride, chose is of a style that requires a decent rack to look good. Even after some serious tailoring, the dress didn’t look good on me. Hippie-sis to the rescue! We went bra shopping, and she convinced me to buy a basic push up bra, like this one:
She said it would make the dress look good on me.
Well, it did more than that. My little boobies, all pushed together to give the illusion of cleavage, got me all kinds of male attention! Lucky for me, the guy that took me back to his hotel after the reception was tipsy enough not to notice the difference between advertised and actual goods.
I thought that the flirting and all was mostly because of the happy mood at the wedding. So I decided to wear the bra again today, to see if it made any difference to the guys at the oil change place I use. They know me, so I thought my blossomed bosom wouldn’t be noticed.
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!
They were extra nice to me…..and their eyes kept wandering south. That’s never happened to me before.
And now I can’t decide if I want to buy six more of these damn things or toss this one in the trash with the dress.
Tuesday, December 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
For me, a Christmas stocking just isn’t a proper Christmas stocking if it doesn’t have some kind of sexy toy in it. Not even if it’s vinyl and has a heel:
So anyway, I had high hopes of doing a substantial and official ErosBlog sex toy Christmas Guide this year. But, sadly for my grand plan, I found myself responsible for some unanticipated family care-giving this December, and the big sex toy blogging plans have suffered. Suddenly I discover it’s December 19, I haven’t done any Christmas shopping at all, and the ship-in-time-for-Christmas dates have passed at almost all of my favorite online sex toy emporia. Drat!
However, all is not lost. My favorite online purveyor of sex toys ships so fast that there’s still plenty of time, if you don’t dawdle. Better yet, every year they have a “SeXmas” sale. It’s always got good discounts, too.
You can (of course) go kinky if you want to — how about a satin blindfold in Santa Claus Red?
But kinky is not required. They have every imaginable sex toy to tickle your fancy (or hers, or his).
Kinky not required, I said. But if it’s kinky you want, this place is the undisputed king of kinky. Forget crops and whips and leather cuffs. Did you ever imagine what you’d get if you took one of those paper Chinese finger trap toys and re-engineered it, using stainless steel wire, as a device for imprisoning penises?
Of course you did. Or maybe not. They think of these things so you won’t have to.
Anyway, behold! The Wire Cock Trap:
That’s not something everybody with a penis to play with is gonna want, no. But it would fit nicely in a stocking. And think of the the fun when he pulls it out and holds it up, all puzzled, and says “What’s this thing, and what’s it for?”
“Hold still, dear, and I’ll show you.”
Fair warning: you might wind up late for Christmas dinner at dear old Grandma’s house. And aren’t happy delays like that the best Christmas present of all?
Tuesday, December 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s getting along toward Christmas, so I think I’ll break out a few holiday images I’ve found this year. This one — featuring the lovely Janet Pilgrim of 1950s Playboy fame — shows the kind of presents-opening party we all enjoy:
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Tuesday, December 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s actually rather rare to find a man who puts this much effort into describing the sensations of a good blowjob:
I stood there as she dropped to her knees and started to furiously fellate me. Her mouth sucking on my head, her hands moving up and down the shaft lubricated with her saliva. I could only watch with awe as she stared up up me, a smile twisting the corners of her mouth as she sucked and nibbled away at my cock.
This wasn’t a long, slow, sensuous blow job. This was a fast, furious, “you are going to cum now” blow job. This was for my pleasure. I was moving my hips backwards and forwards, fucking her face as her head bobbed up and down. After only a few minutes I felt the pressure growing in my balls as I got ready to blow.
And then I came, my hot cum spurting into her mouth, her sucking harder to get the last drop out of me, swallowing each and every drop apart from the few bits that dribbled out and slid down her chin. I grabbed her arms and pulled her up to me, planting my mouth firmly over hers to express my thanks with a long hard kiss, the taste of my cum heavy on her breath and skin.
My knees were almost buckling with pleasure. I felt as if every drop of energy had been sapped from me. My skin tingled from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I felt as if I had no energy and masses of energy at the same time. It was one of the most fantastic, satisfying and erotic sexual experiences I have ever had. So totally different to anything I’d experienced before. Magical.
From Edinburgh Erotica.
Saturday, December 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s yet another way to appreciate fine art:
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Wednesday, December 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This post-orgasmic photograph reminded me of my Two Smiles post. Isn’t she pretty?
We’re looking at model Annette Schwarz, and to obtain that smile she’s been playing with the fucking machines at FuckingMachines.com.
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 12th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A limerick in the best ancient tradition, being both sexually scurrilous and ludicrously anti-clerical:
A habit obscene and unsavory
holds the Bishop of Boston in slavery
midst hootings and howls
he deflowers young owls
which he keeps in an underground aviary.
Attributed to John Steinbeck (albeit the attribution is given by Robert Anton Wilson, so you pays your money and you takes your chances).
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Tuesday, December 12th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
If you know what’s going on in this photo, you’ve a better grasp of college culture than I do.
Seems safe to speculate, though, that beer was involved.
Friday, December 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In which a little too much boy energy gets all jammed up inside a computer animator, and then, in due course, comes out again, as it will:
From Bondage Blog.
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Wednesday, December 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
That freaky Cupid, he’ll stop at nothing:
Cropped from an old postcard.
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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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Sunday, December 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This anecdote from The Butterfly Temptress gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “buttering her up”:
His kisses became more insistent and soon we were naked in the moonlight. He’s not big on foreplay but just being close to him was doing enough to warm me up. I laid against him and stroked his hard cock, wishing for all I was worth that I could have him inside of me but I knew it couldn’t happen. He’d never go for making love in my parents house.
He whispered into my ear “I want to be in you. I need to be in your ass.”
I thought I misheard him. I giggled and moved to put my mouth on him. Oral sex wasn’t intercourse, so it didn’t count as sex, right? Yeah right. I was willing to tell myself anything to keep from feeling guilty for being such a hot little whore.
“Get the lube out of the suitcase and hurry up.”
I let his cock slip from my lips and I mumbled something about not packing it because he told me not to worry about it. He pulled me up where I could repeat it again. Then I mentioned that there might be Vaseline in the bathroom in an attempt to keep him in the mood while I thought of something else.
“Go look then come back. I want to fuck your ass so bad.”
I wrapped a blanket around me sarong style and tiptoed into the bathroom. On my hands and knees I rummaged under the sink without success. The medicine cabinet was also without Vaseline or anything that would have worked as lubricant. Knowing full well that I was out of luck, I dashed back to the bedroom to report in.
“There wasn’t anything? Not even baby oil?” he asked in a tone that told me he was quickly losing patience.
I giggled for a minute then replied, “We could always use butter. Or vegetable oil. Maybe even Crisco shortening.” I collapsed against him in a fit of full out laughter. The thought of fucking with baking supplies cracked me up.
“Go get some. Butter or vegetable oil, I don’t care. I’m going to fuck your ass.”
I didn’t believe him until he swatted me on the ass. Then I dressed in my pajama shirt and went to the kitchen. It was quiet as a tomb and I was sure that Mama would appear any minute and ask what I was doing with my hand in her butter bowl. I scooped a rather large amount onto a paper towel then scampered back to our room. For the love of God, I knew right then and there that I was going to hell.
Not only was I about to fornicate in my parents house, I was unmarried. To top it all off, I was about to have unmarried butt sex in my parents house. Now you tell me how the world I was going to answer for that on Judgment Day?
He kissed me full on the mouth and took the paper towel from my hand. My cunt was dripping wet and I wanted him more than ever. I needed him.
He urged me onto all fours and situated himself between my legs. I felt the slippery coolness of the Blue Bonnet at my opening as he fingered my ass. Doing something so shameless made me hotter than I’d been in a long time and he knew it. His breathing was as erratic as mine and I knew that once he had his beautifully buttered cock in my ass he would fill me to overflowing in no time.
With minimal thrusting his cock was in me. Though it was odd, the knowledge that I was having buttered butt sex, it was more comfortable than anal sex had ever been. I felt every twitch, every pulse of him as he worked his manhood in and out of me.
In a matter of seconds we were both on the edge. I felt his slippery fingers slide against my clit and my cunt began to milk his cock in earnest. Moments later he came harder than I can ever remember him coming before.
He laid beside me as I cleaned his now relaxed cock. My body was on fire and my heart was full of love for the man who had just once again helped me check off yet another item on my “To Do Before I Die” list. As he pulled me onto his chest and we drifted off to sleep I couldn’t help but wonder how many other people had intimate and literal knowledge of being buttered up.
Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.
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Tuesday, November 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
You don’t see a pretty girl in bikini and handcuffs every day:
I don’t think the cop is entirely pleased to be photographed in this situation.
Update:: Here’s the uncropped photo so you can see the street-festival litter and the reactions of the passers-by.
Saturday, November 25th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
No busy or lazy sex blogger ever went wrong publishing Kama Sutra illustrations:
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.)
Sunday, November 19th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
I’ve been known to have fun spotting erotically-charged road signs, and it isn’t surprising to discover I’m not alone. (If you read the comments there you’ll see that the Photoshopped picture has already been identified as a fake, so let’s not bring that subject up here, k thanx.) As the poster at Get Along Gang says, some businesses choose such a name because they know it will get them attention.
Whatever. It would sure be nice to go into a Cocks store and let my eyes linger over their selection…..maybe even choose a thick one to take home since I don’t have a boyfriend. What I’d like best is for this poster (from AllPosters.com) to be predicting my future:
Thanks to my sister (the hippie-type cool one, not the one that’s making me get into a bridesmaids dress next month) for the sign link.
Saturday, November 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Although I myself have not (so far as I know) spent much time at bars or clubs or parties where the other guests are routinely stealing away into the “bathroom” (let’s be honest and call it the toilet, since that’s what’s in there and that’s what any busy one smells like) for quickie sex, it’s become something of a trope of modern partying. And apparently it goes on quite a lot in certain horny and impatient circles.
Kids these days, they think they invented sex in all its forms. Usually, they didn’t:
Friday, November 17th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another, perhaps better, angle on the pair of sun-worshipping nudist women shown below, the ones who look like mother and daughter to me. (Lots of commenters disagree.) Perhaps the different angle will shake loose some different opinions:
Thursday, November 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a woman who seems not totally in love with her work:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, November 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Another striking vintage photo, a pair of pretty nude sunbathers on a sunny day. But something about their features makes me think: perhaps these two are mother and daughter?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, November 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
OK, all you enema fetishists, here’s a rare picture for you. Little hints like the flying shoe suggest that this is some sort of colonic intervention — an anal mugging, if you will:
Of course the ladies in charge of the business seem to be in cheerful high spirits.
Monday, November 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This bit of blowjob erotica may (he emphasized, may) be by an artist named Fendi, and may date to the 1830s. That’s based on a filename of dubious value, so you pays your money and you takes your chances:
And yes, you’re getting a lot of pictures lately. For various reasons, my blog-surfing time is at a minimum right now, and it won’t be getting any bigger until after Thanksgiving. So meanwhile, it’s to be a steady diet of visual filler from my extensive collection of filez. I’ll do my best to make it entertaining.
Sunday, November 12th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve seen a fair bit of Egyptian erotic art, but this is the first Egyptian blowjob I’ve seen. Looks like our man / king / god is getting a little morning mouth service while his valet / lackey / priest equivalent puts his clothing or armor on:
Alas, I have no provenance for this piece.
Saturday, November 11th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From Sexoteric:
My sister and I were discussing the male species when she claimed she’d discovered a universal truth: Go down on a guy when he least expects it and he’ll worship you for weeks. To test her theory, I ambushed my man with an unsolicited BJ while we were in my entryway after returning from a vacation together. The surprise of it drove him completely crazy. He was a puppy dog for the next month, even after going back to work, which usually makes him cranky. Now I give him an out-of-nowhere hummer every few weeks, and I swear our relationship’s better because of it!”
— Sara, 24, social worker
Note: ErosBlog does not endorse puppy dog behavior in men. On the other hand, sisters sharing sex tips gets two satyrs up!
Saturday, November 11th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Found this classic Tom Of Finland illustration over here at BJ’s Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings:
But what caught my eye, and made me smile, is that if you look very very closely at the illustration, you can see that the fellow on top has already lost the rowel from his right spur. Doesn’t it make you wonder where he left it?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, November 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a vintage erotic image (perhaps a French postcard or salon card) that’s rare because of its subject matter (female masturbation, rarely treated in the early porn) and because of the delicate hand-tinting it received:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, November 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We got some shock value some time back out of a photograph of one of those heavily-modified penises with the plastic lumps inserted under the skin. But, in case you were wondering about the subjective experience of the thing, there’s some info to be found on Bad Sex:
So he just went down on me which was fun, and he starts fingering me again really intensely (like 3 fingers?!) and I finally get my hands down to his cock. OOookay. It’s definitely a respectable appendage all on its own, and I’m pretty surprised because I’ve never really encountered one quite that size. But? BUT he has an inch-and-a-half long barbell THROUGH the head of his cock, AND he has 32 (he said) beaded implants actually GRAFTED under the skin of his penis. I mean this thing is like a custom order dildo, and I have no idea what to make of it. Forget going down on him, because I can already tell that solid inch-and-a-half barbell would do a number on my gag reflex. And the implants?? Hmmm. All I can say is that it all vaguely resembled the head of this particular dinosaur.
…
But he’s doing some seriously amazing work with his hands, and at this point I really couldn’t care less about dino-cock, because hey I was already there, right? Might as well see what all the hubub is about. I’m thinking this is bound to be some amazing, rough and tumble rowdy sex, because up until that point it was all I could do not to scream.
…
I am completely wet and just dying for him to put it in already (again I’m thinking this is going to be all hot and rowdy etc), but suddenly he kind of stops and gets really bizarrely clinical about it. I was thinking okay.. maybe out of consideration for me he’s being super gentle because he’s probably had girls tell him it hurts like a bitch or something before. On my end it really wasn’t uncomfortable at all, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have hurt even if he wasn’t being so careful. So I kind of let him know I’m good, and I’m trying to encourage him to just go at it (and I’m doing most of the work..) but he’s still just being really careful. So FINALLY he says, “sorry, it’s still a little sensitive, I just got it repierced like two weeks ago.”
…
I want to clarify that I am in no way knocking dino-cock, because I do have to say that would have made one hell of a ride. I just take exception to the fact that it’s totally wasted if you can’t even get a good rowdy fuck out of it because it’s got a freaking stainless steel BAR through it.
Sunday, November 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I love the vintage porn. And here, from Bondage Blog, is a premium sample of it: nice hot rear-entry sex on the bed, with a blindfold to add just that little extra touch of kinky spice:
Saturday, November 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From time to time people have asked me my opinion on the question of what makes a good sex blog. I’ve spent some time toying with the question, and I’d like to write a detailed post sharing my opinions, but it’s a big job. It’s on the to-do list, but don’t hold your breath while waiting for it.
In the meanwhile, however, Violet Blue has written and posted what she describes as her own personal blogging style guide. It’s got lots of good stuff in it that would be of value to any blogger on any topic. However, Violet being Violet, it’s also got sex blogging tips at the end, disguised as ethical notes. The two money paragraphs:
My ethics about readers: Never insult the reader, call them a freak for liking anything you think is strange, or suggest the reader is not smart. Never judge anyone’s sexual preferences or orientation. Let people think things are weird all by themselves — don’t assume the reader will agree with your perceptions about what’s right and wrong in any context. When I run Fleshbot, my line is this with the writers: no one cares if you think trannies are freaky or fat chicks are gross; the reader who’s into it (and there’s a lot more than you think) is a reader just like anyone else. If you have something to prove about your sexual orientation, this isn’t the place to make your point. If it makes you uncomfortable, or you’re more worried about what people will think of you for posting it than the fun things you can say about it, don’t post it — give it to me!
My ethics about content: Avoid racist and sexist content. If it’s “interracial” but really hot, say something about how lame the titles are or how stupid racial sexual stereotypes are, but how nasty and hot the sex is. I link to christian anti-porn sites when I slap them, hard, and want them to see who is sending them traffic. No one is ever ‘stupid’ or ‘sick’ for liking sex, no matter what kind. I make fun of stereotypes and pastiches; I won’t endorse a “how to pick up chicks” book, but *will* make fun of it. I’m all about irony (especially of sexual stereotypes), making smart commentary, finding hot things to wank to and strange things for people to look at.
Friday, November 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
You know the party is going well when the women start dancing out of their clothes in the kitchen, wineglasses in hand:
Thursday, November 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A friend of mine, a real-world meatspace friend going waaay back to my mis-spent youth, sent me a brief email note and a link the other day. This friend of mine is, I’d say, amused to find himself acquainted with an internet pornographer, but I do not think he’s convinced I’m making the best use of my talents and education. The email said, in its entirety but for salutations:
Of the various virtuous roles you might occupy in the greater human scheme, defender of the public peace didn’t come to mind first, but perhaps it should.
Yeah, he talks like that. It’s one of his many charms.
The link he sent was this one, to an article in Slate: How The Web Prevents Rape.
I’d seen previous references to the research documented in the article, but nothing so cogently written. A few excerpts:
First, porn. What happens when more people view more of it? The rise of the Internet offers a gigantic natural experiment. Better yet, because Internet usage caught on at different times in different states, it offers 50 natural experiments.
The bottom line on these experiments is, “More Net access, less rape.” A 10 percent increase in Net access yields about a 7.3 percent decrease in reported rapes. States that adopted the Internet quickly saw the biggest declines. And, according to Clemson professor Todd Kendall, the effects remain even after you control for all of the obvious confounding variables, such as alcohol consumption, police presence, poverty and unemployment rates, population density, and so forth.
Well, duh.
OK, so we can at least tentatively conclude that Net access reduces rape. But that’s a far cry from proving that porn access reduces rape. Maybe rape is down because the rapists are all indoors reading Slate or vandalizing Wikipedia. But professor Kendall points out that there is no similar effect of Internet access on homicide. It’s hard to see how Wikipedia can deter rape without deterring other violent crimes at the same time. On the other hand, it’s easy to imagine how porn might serve as a substitute for rape.
I said “Well, duh” because, as I wrote back to my friend:
To me, that’s one of those studies with a result that’s intuitively self-evident. (Not to devalue it; so much that is self-evident is also wrong.) The crux for me is in the sentences “It’s hard to see how Wikipedia can deter rape without deterring other violent crimes at the same time. On the other hand, it’s easy to imagine how porn might serve as a substitute for rape.”
In the canonical feminist view of rape, the brainless chant is that “rape is not about sex, it’s about violence and power.” I’ve always thought that to be arrant nonsense. Rape *is* violent, but that’s a statement about practicality and means, not motivation. It’s always seemed to me that rape must be about sexual frustration. Reduce the frustration, reduce the incidence of rape, quod erat demonstrandum. About as controversial as arguing that feeding people reduces hunger.
(If I had been writing the above for this blog rather than in email shorthand to someone who knows me well, I’d have been more cautious. Specifically, when I wrote “rape must be about sexual frustration” I’d have disclaimered it a bit; “many rapes are”, perhaps, rather than “rape must be”. And I would have been more tactful in my description of the opposing view.)
My own belief is that the internet porn effect is broadly beneficial, whatever its debatable effects on the rape statistics. Peeping Toms in the bushes used to be a staple of the suburban police blotters, but when was the last time you heard of one? Didn’t we used to get more high street raincoat flashers, before the internet came along and offered the sending of unsolicited dick pictures as a safer alternative?
I don’t have numbers to prove any of that, of course. Which is why I find the research quoted in Slate to be so interesting.
Wednesday, November 1st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Yes, she’s arguably gilding the lily. Heck, she says as much herself, it’s hardly a secret. But sometimes a little gilt paint helps rock the world.
We’re talking, of course, about a pile of advanced blowjob tips from Pretty Dumb Things, with a side order of suggested anal/oral entertainment:
The paper frills on the ends of the lamb chops aren’t necessary, but they’re nice. The umbrella in your adult beverage doesn’t make it taste any better, but it’s festive. The balconette push-up bra doesn’t really give you perkier breasts, but it’s alluring. None of these things–not the paper frills, the wee umbrella, the naughty lingerie–actually makes the decorated item any better, but they seem as if they do. The lamb chop seems more succulent; the frozen piña colada appears more decadent; the breasts look as if they’re ripe for the plucking.
In the spirit of sexy similitude, let me present you with a few things you can do that will put the icing on the cake, the gild on the lily, the pastie on the nipple, if you will, of your blow job.
…
Eyes on the Prize: One thing a dude likes is if you look as if you’re enjoying sucking his dick. One way you can perform your enjoyment is to make eye contact. Especially at the beginning of the blow job, before you’re getting all hot and heavy and the guy’s eyes are lolling back in his head in full-on pleasure mode, get yourself in a position to look at him over the head of his cock as it rubs against your lips, as your tongue twirls around its head, as it slowly enters your mouth. It’s not something you can–or want–to spend your entire blow job doing, but it’s a great beginning, or a fine punctuation in the middle, especially if you want to slow things down while simultaneously heating things up.
Say It With Me, “Pruneâ€?: When Marilyn Monroe wanted to make the perfect kissy mouth for photos, she said, “prune,â€? as legend as it. Your turn to be a siren. Say “pruneâ€? and see what your lips do. Now put a nice tumescent cock in front of your mouth and say it over and over, each time more lasciviously. Let your tongue escape like a naughty little wet monkey and flick at the rim of your man’s cock head. Imagine you’re French, and say it again.
You can also wrap the head of the cock in your lips and make tiny, fluttering sucking motions with your mouth as you slowly pop the cock out of your mouth to say “Pruneâ€? again. “Dried Plumâ€? just doesn’t have the same erotic resonance.
Und so weiter.
Tuesday, October 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
OK, so there’s a lot of bad porn out there. But sometimes — accidentally or on purpose — you find pure art. This picture looks like a scene from a morality play I might almost watch. If Norman Rockwell had been just a little bit pervier, he might have painted it, and given it a pretentious title. “The Unwelcome Invitation”, anyone?
Picture is from some Lupus Spanking porn found on Spanking Blog.
Tuesday, October 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Happy Halloween, folks!
Monday, October 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I think this cartoon by Hugh MacLeod at Gaping Void is one of those funny-because-true kinda things. It puts me firmly in mind of the awkward approaches to seduction that certain smart-but-foolish young men attempt, having as yet no clue about better approaches, nor yet the skills to put better approaches into action:
On a more serious note, Hugh gets hatemail, like most bloggers sometimes do. The latest one called him “too obscure for general consumption”, to which he responded:
I think worrying about what interests you, what stirs your passion, is a far more effective recipe for success than worrying about “general consumption”.
I have to agree. Blogging is unsustainable if you approach every post worrying about what people will think, or if you spend too much time fussing over your writing or your background research or your whatever. Do you think I’m proud of writing a line like “I think this cartoon…is one of those funny-but-true kinda things”? Hell no, how inarticulate is that? But it was fast, it introduced the cartoon and got me to the next sentence where I explained my reaction to the cartoon, and more to the point, it enabled my blogging passion, which is hooking y’all up with other people’s interesting contributions to the cultural conversation about sex.
Hugh’s right, then. By worrying about what interests me, and be damned to the critics, I’m still here after four good long years. In that time I’ve linked to, and later sadly delinked for reasons of moribundity, dozens of sex blogs that were “better” than mine — better written by my own lights, more carefully crafted, better focused, and above all, slicker; which is to say, produced with an eye toward “general consumption”. Produced, that is, for a few weeks or months, and then dropped, establishing with each demise a prima facie case for lack of passion.
Here’s to passion!
Monday, October 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Obviously the product of another age, but I think this cartoon of a nasty monkey terrorizing three young ladies in their nighties is pretty cute:
Friday, October 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
As long time readers will remember, whenever the subject of female ejaculation comes up, we hear from people wedded to their belief that female ejaculation is a myth and that female ejaculate is “just pee”. As I said last time, “Erosblog is NOT going to be a forum for spreading sexual ignorance and doubt on this topic.”
For any lingering doubters among my readership, however, I submit a couple of posts from Giardino del Piacere: Wet Emails and More Wet Emails. Lots of intimate details from women who have no reason to dissemble:
First, I’d love everyone to know, normal women like Eva and me ejaculate. I can’t speak for Eva, but I’m no porn star. I’m a woman rapidly approaching menopause. I have history, boobs that sag some, squishy thighs and a drooping bottom. Nope, not porn star material at all, but I can sure squirt like one.
Second, I believe and as she indicated in her messages, Eva believes, that any woman can learn to ejaculate. It takes only a willingness to let go when the urge to ‘let go’ hits. If you’ve ever experienced a screaming urge to pee while having great sex or bringing yourself pleasure, you are probably a squirter waiting to be born. You’re never too old or young to learn. Eva has a long history of ejaculating, mine is something I’ve discovered within the past year.
Third, squirting not a bad or dirty thing. It is not urine. No, I’m not a physiologist or a physician. I’m the owner of the coochie that drenches the bed. At my age, I truly know the difference between urinating and the sensations I have when I ejaculate. Often I have to visit the bathroom shortly after sex. Logic tells me if I were urinating and not squirting I would have relieved myself.
Thursday, October 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
ErosBlog, being a sex blog and not a tech blog, is studiously neutral in the technology advocacy wars. But I’m gonna post this cartoon anyway, because I think it’s funny:
Tuesday, October 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here, courtesy of Bondage Blog, is a photo of Christina Aguilera in a good old-fashioned bondage pose, handcuffed in a closet no less:
Not being a celebrity watcher, I’m not sure whether the stoned look in her eyes is part of her image, an unfortunate reality the camera could not hide, or a fluke of lighting and makeup.
Monday, October 23rd, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Bacchus may think he’s satisfied reader requests for penis pix with his gingerbread bukkake, but he didn’t satisfy me so I’ll take matters into my own hands. And mouth, and cunt…..
The only thing wrong with this picture is we can’t see his tummy.
Lots more goodies at The Penis.
Monday, October 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes commentary is genuinely superfluous:
Hot frosting facial, anybody?
Similar Sex Blogging:
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.
Thursday, October 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
When you take your date and the BIG bottle of wine down below the seawall for a quick bit of broad daylight public sex, it’s important to remember that, although the people strolling the street above you can’t easily see you, the people cruising the shoreline in small boats have a much better vantage:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, October 17th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Over at Making Light, there’s a complete roundup of the tale of one Fred Head (D – Texas). With a name like the hero of an Ogden Nash comic ballad, he decided to live up to the name, attacking his Republican opponent for having once written “pornography”, aka a tame romance novel. Tame, I tell you:
Ross gave a quick tug and her pajama bottoms slid away with a quiet rustle. Suddenly she was bare. He thrust his leg between hers, and a deep heaviness throbbed in her belly. He was hard, pressing against her, and she moaned.
She needed him to fill the aching void at her center.
With devastating slowness, his hand cupped her completely before he slowly slid a finger into her warmth…
Oooh, suddenly she was bare! Bare, I tell you!
It gets better — once this escapade started hitting the blogs, someone sounding a lot like Fred went around posting comments in support of himself, referring in the process to “Absence Only” sex education policy when he (presumably) meant “Abstinence Only”.
Needless to say, the righteously justified ridicule continues to accrue.
Tuesday, October 17th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
That’s the problem with keeping puppygirls, you have to take them for walkies even on snowy days:
Monday, October 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I wish I knew the story of this pretty photograph; that looks like the window embrasure for one of those ancient bombproof stone office buildings. No Mardi Gras beads in evidence:
Postscript that ate the post: Just a few words to the wise about feedback on photographs. Lately I’ve been getting more niggardly about allowing certain sorts of comments through moderation when I post pictures. Specifically, the one sentence “Heh heh heh, I’d like to wash her windows” gestures of lewd appreciation are making it less and less often. Though I do appreciate hearing positive feedback on the photos I post, there’s a classy way to do it — and then there are the other ways.
Hearing that you think a photographic subject is pretty or beautiful or desireable is great; I probably think the same, and it’s always nice to be agreed with. But there’s a line that’s crossed when men (and it’s almost always men) personalize their connection to an attractive photographic subject, and begin to state sexual intentions — however whimsical — in connection with that photographic subject. It’s the same sort of line that’s crossed when construction workers shout lewd proposals to women passing on the street, really. Stating sexual desires, publicly, in connection with a woman who hasn’t invited anything from you, is a sexually aggressive act, and one that displays a certain unconcern for whether your sexual advances are welcome. That unconcern can create real fear on the street, and the karmic echoes of that fear make it unpleasant online, even though it’s technically harmless here. And that unpleasantness, in turn, gets in the way of my goal of having ErosBlog feel like a safe and friendly place to everyone.
I haven’t been consistent about this, and I probably never will be. Some of these comments get through, especially the longer or more witty ones. Shorter and cruder get nuked quicker. Ones from established commenters get more leeway (Hi, Karl.) But overall, my feeling is that I’ve been too liberal, and allowed too many of these lately. Please make my job easier, gentlemen, by acting like gentlemen! Thank you.
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:
Sunday, October 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
You’ve doubtless heard of the Polar Bear Club, that group of (usually) middle-aged-guys who go out on New Year’s Day (or some other suitable midwinter day), cut a hole in the ice, and jump into the hole (extra points for nekkidness). This phenomenon seems to happen anywhere that’s suitably wintry (Nome, Siberia, Minnesota) but the further north you get, the more participants seem to turn up.
Without further ado, then. They are not all middle-aged guys. This is the prettiest Polar Bear Club member I’ve ever seen:
From Sexoteric.
Saturday, October 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Artist Ursula Vernon has new ideas about tampon marketing:
She explains:
I am female.
I am not girly. I am desperately ungirly. I look good in pink, but I feel guilty about it. For various reasons, I would sooner belly-crawl through broken glass than buy anything marketed “for girls!” or “for women!” And I resent the fact that feminine products have me, as it were, by the short hairs in this regard.
And so, a year or so ago, I decided that I wanted a new brand of tampon. Something that was not girly, that was not pastel, that did not have flowers, and which did not make my ovaries curl up and die of shame. I do not mind having a period–I’d rather not, but eh, goes with the territory–but I detest the marketing.
It’s time for a rugged new brand. A brand no one will ever call “girly.” A brand you can take to the checkout counter and meet the clerk’s eye while you buy it, and if they say a word, you have ’em tied to the mast and flogged.
Blackbeard the Pirate’s Rugged Tampons. A product you can trust, from a name you can’t!
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!
Thursday, October 12th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Random photo from the very large image collection, featuring bondage and foot licking:
I actually know some folks who attend “foot washing” events, but they claim it’s a religious thing (emulating Jesus) and not a fetish thing. I suppose skepticism on my part would seem churlish. In any case, I don’t think they do it the way the girl in the photo does it.
Thursday, October 12th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here (from Damp Silk) is a loving tale of a wife who discovered the fantasy her husband was oh-so-secretly exploring on the internet and (rather than freaking out) set out to fulfill it:
My husband has a secret fantasy life. I’m absolutely serious. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Doesn’t every man? Don’t all men want us to be maids in the home, chefs in the kitchen, accountants with the checkbook and whores in the bedroom? Don’t all men fantasize daily about various sorts of interesting sexual things? Yes. Of course they do. But for me, this fantasy was a bit different. Because this one involved . . . the ass.
My husband has had my ass in every way imaginable. He has touched, stroked and caressed, pinched, spanked and paddled, teased, toyed and tongued, poked, prodded and probed and quite frankly royally fucked that object of his obsession. He has taken me, and my ass, to new heights of delight. If my ample cheeks were the focus of his interest, it was certainly fine with me. But, as I soon discovered, it wasn’t my ass he was interested in. It was his own!
I discovered this accidentally one evening. I was reading emails, deleting junk, and catching up with private messages. Unexpectedly I accessed a secret account; apparently he’d forgotten to log out after he checked his own mailbox. I found several messages from ladies he’d recently chatted with. They discussed their talks in intimate detail, very sexually explicit. We both enjoy sexy chat, so that didn’t concern me, but the topic was a bit startling, and it both shocked and aroused me. My man, tall and large, mustached and muscular, wanted to be fucked in his ass.
…
Should I pretend I never saw the account? No. Not a chance. Should I confront angrily or tearfully, which could potentially cause a big fight resulting in him hiding more secrets from me? Also not an option for me. Hmmm. This could become a serious problem in our marriage if not handled properly.
As I am a self-starter, and somewhat of a devious gal, I embark upon the only choice available to me. I go shopping. But not to the mall, oh no. I head to the naughty bookstore, with its wide assortment of marital aids. It’s time to fulfill a fantasy. Yummy. I’m on a mission!
Tuesday, October 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s October:
Who’s going to Octoberfest?
Monday, October 9th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Via Boing Boing comes word that persistent hiccups (no laughing matter, some people have them for years, and can’t even swallow solid food because of it) can sometimes be stopped via “digital rectal massage”:
A 60-year-old man with acute pancreatitis developed persistent hiccups after insertion of a nasogastric tube. Removal of the latter did not terminate the hiccups which had also been treated with different drugs, and several manoeuvres were attempted, but with no success. Digital rectal massage was then performed resulting in abrupt cessation of the hiccups. Recurrence of the hiccups occurred several hours later, and again, they were terminated immediately with digital rectal massage. No other recurrences were observed.
One imagines that a finger is not the only appendage that would work, which immediately makes me think of a great approach for those of you whose main squeeze has painted on the stop sign. Next time they get the hiccups that won’t go away, forget the drink of water, the brown paper bag, the sudden scare. Instead, say “Honey, I know a sure cure…”
Sunday, October 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Although most of the sex commentators I like and respect appear to have climbed on the “Fortuny Is Evil” fleshpile in connection with The Great Craigslist Sex Personals Massacre Of 2006 (I include without limitation Violet Blue (who started out thoughtful but is now namecalling), Mistress Matisse, and Dan Savage), I’ve been disappointed that their united condemnation of Fortuny has been intensely personal, without really coming to grips with the interesting question of what, in a rigorous ethical sense, his great crimes seem to have been. OK, so he’s a “prick” and what he did was wrong” (Matisse), but what moral obligation did he violate? He “sucks” (Savage) and he’s a “creepy guy” and a “jerk” (Violet) — all of which may be true, I don’t know the guy, but what does it have to do with what he actually did?
The more I think about this, the more I come around to thinking that what he did to get the howling mob after him (and by howling mob, I refer more broadly to others who have weighed in on the controversy; the folks I’ve quoted here are the calm and thoughtful ones) was he violated outdated and unreasonable social expectations.
Savage talks about “privacy violations”, Violet about “basic privacy and communication rules of conduct”, but neither of them come to grips with my point, which is that it’s not inherently reasonable to expect random strangers to preserve your privacy. You don’t have any expectation of privacy in an email you send to a stranger; or, if you do, there’s something wrong in your thinking. At best, you’re relying on their social graces — I’ll go so far as to agree that it’s polite to protect the confidences of strangers — but how many random strangers exhibit the manners you’d prefer? Not enough, never enough, especially not when something important — like your privacy — is on the line.
I am heartened to see some understanding of my other point, which is that a lot of responders to sex ads are misbehaving in various ways, and thus are exposing themselves (heh) to more risk than they are comfortable accepting. These miscreants (and I refer specifically to the virtual flashers who slammed the comments on my last post with “the slut was asking for it” self-justifications) seem to be the most outraged, because (like virtually everyone else except me, it seems) they feel their misbehaviour ought to be cloaked by the privacy-protecting practices of their intended victims, and they aren’t happy to learn that their expectations of privacy aren’t as reasonable as they’d hoped.
To which I say, “Waah.”
Violet seems to get this part, writing:
Think of it like this: when you upload a porn photo to Flickr, you are in violation of their Terms of Use rules and they take it down. When you use your work email address to answer an explicit sex ad, you are essentially in violation of your employer’s TOU. If you cheat on your wife, you’re in violation of your marriage’s TOU. In his “experiment”, Jason Fortuny violated several ethical and social TOUs that many of us accept as basic privacy and communication rules of conduct.
But not everyone outed in The Craigslist Experiment was violating one of life’s TOUs — I’ll even argue that the majority of the people who had their personal info revealed didn’t care, or notice.
I don’t, obviously, agree that Fortuny violated any TOUs — if anything, he merely ignored one of those meaningless and overreaching shrinkwrap EULAs on boxed software, one that others are attempting but failing to impose on him, one that he never agreed with and which consequently has no moral or ethical juice. (There’s a huge difference between breaking a promise and failing to behave as expected. The ad in question did not say “All replies kept confidential.” If it had, this argument wouldn’t be happening. Then Fortuny’d be the obvious jerk everyone says he is.)
But I do agree with Violet that folks who were using Craigslist in an ethically appropriate way — which is to say, folks who were ethically free to be looking for rough kinky sex, and who weren’t simply using their response as a vessel for their virtual self-exposure kink “because the slut was obviously asking for it”, folks who weren’t violating any of life’s TOUs, folks with nothing to be ashamed of — these people couldn’t be hurt in the Massacre, and weren’t.
Leaving my sympathy for the remainder muted at best.
Why, exactly, is everyone in favor of a social privacy rule that primarily benefits adulturers, virtual flashers, and other people who engage in online sexual behavior that they can’t defend, proudly and publicly, in their own lives and communities? Why is it so hard to understand that all online behavior is public?
Friday, October 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Dominatrix Isis Love, it seems, likes her men dirty:
Possibly it’s because she has so much fun washing them up:
What do you think, ladies? Does he clean up real good?
Pictures courtesy of Men In Pain.
Thursday, October 5th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
I know our gracious host mentioned this illustrious artwork a while ago, and included a link to a version of it. But that version is just black and white. It’s so much prettier in full Disney-style color:
You say it’s too small for you to appreciate the depicted debauchery? Okay then, here’s the larger version a friend sent me.
Update: Bacchus here. Since I posted the earlier post to which Aphrodite refers, I’ve discovered that this artwork is available in a handsome poster format from the website of the artist original publisher himself, one Paul Krassner. As you can see on his page, Paul’s got a modern digital recoloring, in a lighter and (to my eye) prettier set of colors. I actually ordered several copies of the poster from Paul, and he was fast and friendly about getting them in the mail. ErosBlog recommended!
Thursday, October 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In the tired stereotype of the semi-satisfying suburban sex life, blowjobs often feature as a “special” activity if at all — birthday sex, or as a sexual “reward” for being a well-trained man, as in this old joke. As is obvious to any sex blog reader, that old stereotype is getting less and less apt these days, but it still rings true for a vast swathe of American manhood.
But not, it must be said, at Kaya’s house:
He likes to be serviced sexually while He’s busy doing something else. I suppose that could be labelled a fetish of sorts. He likes to have me working hard to suck His cock while He’s distracting Himself with… well, with anything. A book, the tv, the computer. It’s a challenge for my dick-sucking abilities to keep Him hard when He’s otherwise occupied. When He starts going soft I know I’m beginning to lack in effort. That’s about when He’ll start chastising me too. If it happens too often, if I’m really lacking in effort, He will get mad.
I know alot of people, women, would find that to be disrespectful or they’d flat out refuse to do it. I’ve read it, I’ve heard it. They want or need that attention, they’d see His focusing on something else as an insult of some sort. And I’ve experienced that too. I feel that at times and I get irritated and frustrated and have let it become personal. I’ve gone down the road of “He doesn’t like me, He doesn’t want me, I could be any whore down here, I’m not attractive to Him, blah blah blah.” Been there. But it’s not about that. Not really.
He is getting off on the humiliation that it causes me, of course. And it *is* humiliating. Mostly though, He’s getting off on the power and control. It’s a huge power trip for Him. He gets off on the effort I put into it. I’m *working* to please Him while He’s working to ignore it. While He lies/sits there, cool as a cucumber and seemingly uninterested, I’m sweating, I’m grunting, I’m generally in some degree of discomfort or pain and all I am getting out of it is a ‘good girl’ at the end. And I’ll only hear that if I’ve put enough effort into it to have impressed Him.
It’s a victory for me if I can make it good enough and catch His interest enough, that He stops everything else that He’s doing and focuses on me. Focuses on me in a good way that is, not because I’ve messed things up somehow. I was victorious on this night though.
The computer is just one of the things that He will be busy doing when He snaps and points at His crotch. The ol’ snap-n-point. Snap and point and I am on my knees searching for His cock. What a spoiled man He is.
Wednesday, October 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
For some reason, I always like to read accounts of people’s sex dreams, perhaps because the filters that kick in when we consciously create fantasies in erotic fiction aren’t present in dreams. From Provocative Persiflage, we hear about the dream of twelve tushes:
The Tale of Twelve Tushes
All lined up in a row.
This was my dream the other night.
The room was dark and mahogany paneled. The light from the wall sconces was enough to illuminate their flesh but cast a glow rather than a glare on the 12 perfect asses raised, waiting.
I was wearing a strap on harness, a large, very life-like dildo protruding from my hips, and standing behind the girls. (Well, women really, all were of age but since it was a dream, the ages were sketchy at best.)
J was in front of them, his hard cock perilously close to their mouths.
We moved down the line. I fucked each one fluidly as they sucked his cock. When I was finished with one I signaled to him and we moved to the next girl. Their greedy pussies begged for more as I thrust in and out. They were all perched on the perfect height “table” and we both move fluidly from one to the next. I recall we were having a grand time.
All 14 of us.
Tuesday, October 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Wow, ErosBlog turned four today. First post: October 3, 2002.
It’s been a good four years — and it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long.
Saturday, September 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s the end of September, summer is fast becoming but a memory, and so I think it’s time and past time for one more dose of sun-worshipping beauty from Hippie Goddess:
I dunno about you, but that’s warming me up!
Thursday, September 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Some motel room bondage sex from Joy’s Compost, with a moral — if you play bondage games with an army girl who’s been through Mountain Rescue training, don’t expect to get loose:
I threatened him. “For taking my picture *and* for laughing, you’re getting tied to the bed.” “With what?” he asks. He didn’t take me seriously. I let him know I was serious with an evil look. To his credit, he didn’t even pause to consider being a chicken shit and saying ‘no’. Now, I should insert that neither of us had been serious about *anything* happening. It was just harmless flirting. But we were getting interested in *something* right after he saw I was serious about tying him up. Btw, he was almost 6 foot(iirc), dark hair/eyes, moderately muscled, dressed like a college jock when he was in civilian clothes.
I told him, “Well, with what do you think?” and I brought out the old stand-by that’s pretty damn dangerous if you’re not careful: pantyhose. He dared me, said he could get loose. Heh.
I’ve got his wrists tied to the knobs at the headboard posts and I *know* he’s going nowhere(training for Mountain Rescue had me remembering certain knots). He’s continuing to try and get loose, but he can’t. And he’s getting frustrated. So I took advantage, straddled him and began to tease. And he stopped trying to get loose. Both of us were still dressed, but not for long. He was the first one I’d applied the ol’ “finger up the ass” thing when I blew him. Came like a fucking freight train. Waited an hour, during which he was untied and went about giving me some serious foreplay, then we got down to the fucking. In many varied, wonderfully distracting ways. He made my entire stay in that hellhole State completely worthwhile. ;)
Wednesday, September 27th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Is it just me, or does the cold silver of the chains really stand out against the warm browns in the background, and make the whole image a lot hotter?
One of many compelling drawings in the Art Nouveau Boys club at Yaoi Gallery.
Wednesday, September 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
…so we can see he must have studied.
Ah, studying. Being, as I was, one of those bookish lads who got all his theoretical sex education out of books long before he got any hands-on training, I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for the sexual self-help book. But rarely do you hear such a positive testimonial as this one from Pretty Dumb Things:
“What do you think of this?â€? Donny said to me, waving the shiny book in front of my face.
What is it? Ten bucks? I asked. Get it if you want it, I said, feeling unimpressed by the cover and the title and the book’s general slick ambiance, and yet wanting to encourage Donny’s erotic education. So buy it he did.
Apparently, he’s read it. I first noticed a seismic shift in Donny’s Headsmanship the night I returned from Fire Island. Donny, an engineer, had always tended to just head immediately for my clit, apparently assuming the shortest trip between him and my orgasm was a straight line to my most sensitive bits. This time, however, he nibbled, he nuzzled, he licked and he toyed with my labia. He worked slowly and teasingly toward my tiny Greta Garbo reclusive clit and when he finally, finally got there I was goddamn ready and willing to open up and go all Ah! all over.
That wasn’t the only change, however. Donny had discovered rhythm. He did clever little change-ups, but he stayed with a beat long enough that I could enjoy it. He didn’t fumble all frustrated and fruit-fly attention-like with my clit. He had assurance. He held a stroke long enough for me to ride it and then, amazingly, he switched to something even better. He played me like he liked it and like he felt confident.
The Berlin walls tumbling down did not indicate a greater change than this sudden ability of Donny’s to lick my pussy. Ok, perhaps they did, but in my world, this moment was epic. Under the open, knowing, sucking and tongue-twiddling mouth of my lover, I came with the intensity of a joyful natural disaster.
At first I chalked up the crashing success of the experience to our having been away from each other for a week. But he has done it, and done it again, and done it once more, each time with new techniques and an ever-ascending crescendoing level of skill.
Last night, splayed on Donny’s bed, my orgasm did not hover as it usually does like a flotilla of rose-petal weather balloons. It did not, creeping in on cat’s paws, cover me in a rosy pleasure fog. It did not crash like a tsunami or rise up like a fjord or shoot like a nova.
It rose with the intense beat beat beat of hundreds of birds, an immense fluttering flock of wings taking off together, their crazy primal synchronicity pounding the air to rise fluttery upward, up, up, up in the beat beat beat of their wings upward, out and beyond.
Wednesday, September 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Well, it could just be that someone got drunk and fell asleep awkwardly with their head in somebody’s lap. It could be:
From Deadspin.
Monday, September 25th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Another lovely vintage photograph:
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!
Thursday, September 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A woman inquired recently in the comments on another post what the big deal is, with the whole anal sex thing. Of which I was reminded, when I found a woman with an enthusiastic answer:
I love having my ass filled. The plug we have, although adequate, could be a bit bigger. When I read about vibrating plugs, my little sphincter reacts with a happy twinge. The feeling of cold lube touching the rim of my ass is so divine. The first finger inserted changes the rate of my heart, I find my entire being focused on the sensations I’m receiving and the ecstasy that will soon follow. The first resistance as MoJo’s cock slides in to meet my tight ring prompts me to relax and welcome him into my body. God, I love having my ass filled.
From the Giardino Del Piacere archives.
Wednesday, September 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s funny how once I make a post on a subject like electrosex, I immediately start finding other references to it. For instance, I just found another story of a woman who tried out a cattle prod, and liked it:
For me, the sensation of being totally enclosed, (even my toes!) with ice in all the hot spots and a vibrating toothbrush humming and buzzing along the plastic was amazing; nails on skin that was exposed and vulnerable due to a carefully cut hole in the wrap were shiver-inducing. Made with safety scissors, of course.
I had a chance to test a boundary of mine that night. You know how some boundaries are kind of fluid, or grey? The type where your partner can ease you over it, gradually introduce you to something. Well this boundary of mind didn’t have an “ease line”?. I either did it. Or I didn’t. “There is no try” to quote Yoda.
Jennifer, our class facilitator, mentor, instructor and generally amazing sex educator, had a new toy … an electric cattle prod. Now I have this thing with electricity. It likes me. I mean, it really likes me. My muscles react way over the top whenever I come into contact with it. Apparently, it’s due to a high salt content in my blood. Weird, but true. In any case, it means I conduct really, really well, so electrical stimulation is INTENSE.
So there I was, laid out on the carpet in a warm room, wrapped from shoulders to toes in clingy, clear plastic film, and blind-folded. Jennifer’s voice drifted over towards me. She was speaking to the pair of women next to me.
“Do you know what I have with me? It’s my cattle prod.” Anxiety tightens my belly muscles, and my breathing hitches a bit. I’m right beside them. Next in line. For a force I’m so fearful of. But I know nothing will happen unless I say “Yes. Yes, I can handle that.”
From Activist On A Mission.
Tuesday, September 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
At first glance, I thought this beckoning woman was dressed and undressed for Mardi Gras. But I took a second look at her, um, decorative elements, and realized that her modesty, what she has left of it, is protected by the Ferrari logo. She’s not a parade goer, she’s a motoring enthusiast!
Saturday, September 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
So when I saw Susie Bright’s essay on electric sex (in which she responds to the question “Have you ever experienced electricity during sex?”) my first thought was that she was talking about, you know, electrosex: cattle prods, electric zapper paddles, violet wands, fancy tech-wet-dream electrostim gear, that sort of thing. Well, she wasn’t — although her discourse on sexual electricity is, as always, worth your time.
But there is, it turns out, a blog that is about all the electric sex, the kind with actual electrons and visible sparks and twitching and whatnot. It’s the Electrosex Blog — make sure you’re well grounded before reading!
Friday, September 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Time for another funny picture to help make the administrivia go away. Here’s a hungry-looking girl who obviously took her mother’s “Eat your vegetables, dear” advice to heart, and to mouth:
Women who love cucumbers, what’s not to like?
Thursday, September 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Ok, ok, sometimes we men are pigs. Certainly the old “Oops, I slipped it in the wrong hole” game never won us any style points, nor good anal either. But ladies, c’mon — isn’t this going a little too far in the other direction?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, September 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Editorial Note as of 2015: This FAQ is obsolete in many respects. My apologies. — Bacchus
I get asked a lot of questions (both by email and in my comments) and some of them are Frequently Asked Questions. So, for ease of future reference, here’s a FAQ. Comments are welcome.
Erosblog FAQ Table of Contents:
Linking Questions: How do I get an ErosBlog link?
Moderation Questions: What happened to my comment?
Attribution Questions: What’s the source of this?
Advertising Questions: Can I buy a link or banner?
Press Queries: Can I interview you?
BLOG LINKING
Question: Would you like to exchange links?
Answer: Sorry, but almost certainly not. I don’t “trade” links. No, really, I almost never do. I link to sites I think my readers might like, and I encourage you to do the same. As Guy Kawasaki puts it:
I don’t get this “exchanging links” thing. IMHO, you should link to a blog if you believe it’s good for your readership. The other blogger should link to back your blog if she believes it’s good for her readership. In a perfect world, linking is about quality, not reciprocation.
A link trade offer translates to: “I don’t really like your site enough to link to it. If I did, I’d already have your link up. But, even though your site isn’t worth linking to, I’ll do it anyway… if you’ll link back.”
Sorry, but if that’s how you feel, I’m not interested.
Question: So, if you don’t do link exchanges, how do I get my new blog listed on ErosBlog?
Answer: So sorry, but you probably don’t. So many new blogs start strong and promising, but they fade after a few posts, or after a few weeks, or after a few months. Most of the “new” blogs I add to my blogroll have been going strong for a year or more. Otherwise, the link maintenance chore of deleting moribund blogs gets completely out of hand.
An exception to this is if I catch myself doing multiple posts about a newer blog. If I like your blogging enough to link it a few times, your blog will probably wind up on my blogroll. No linkback required, although it never hurts — nobody’s immune to flattery.
Question: OK, but I’ve been blogging for awhile. If you don’t trade links, what do I have to do to get a link on ErosBlog?
Answer: The honest answer is that you have to tickle my fancy with your blog. But I can’t define how to do that. I can, however, offer some “Do” and “Don’t” tips. This is not some dictatorial manifesto, these are not hard and fast “rules” I pulled out of my ass, these are just advice, heavily colored by my idiosyncratic blogging tastes:
-
DO send me an email linking to a recent blog post you made that you think I might like, with a sentence about what it’s about. I probably won’t answer your mail, but I frequently do look at these, when I have time. It’s the best way to get me to look at your blog, much better than just sending a link and saying “Please have a look.”
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DO link to me. I know that sounds hypocritical, when I don’t do link exchanges, but it’s really not. A link is a compliment, whereas a link trade offer is a veiled insult. Compliments work, and flattery will get you everywhere. Plus, I do read my logs with great curiosity, so having traffic coming from your blog is guaranteed to get me looking at it.
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DO participate in the ErosBlog comments. Write substantive comments, ones with multiple sentences or even paragraphs, to distinguish yourself from the drive-by “Hot pic!” link droppers. If your comments are valuable, they will be noticed, and I’ll be clicking your link to see what else you have to say.
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DO make sure your site looks like a blog. Too much advertising (as in, I can’t find your blog posts for all the flashing banners, or the first post appears “below the fold” because of your “above the fold” advertising) discourages linking. So does not having a blogroll. As the adult blogging tips at Spanking Blog put it: “I get tons of link requests from ‘bloggers’ who don’t link to anybody. They use blog software, and they write something every day, but they don’t participate in the blogging community. They don’t link to anyone and they don’t have a blog roll. I don’t understand this mentality. I mean, why would you ask other people to link to you, if you can’t be bothered to link to anyone else?”
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DON’T (oh, please don’t) “ask permission” to link to my blog. Everyone in the world should already know that the fundamental root reason for putting something on the internet is to invite people to link to it. If I didn’t want links, you couldn’t link to me. If you can see me, you already have permission to link to me. And so, after the first thirty or so, these “May I link to you?” requests begin to look and feel like a sneaky passive-aggressive way of saying “please look at my blog.” If that’s what you want, you’re way better off just saying so.
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DON’T hope for a link if your ‘blog’ is a spammy porn blog with no content. I don’t have anything against porn, but most porn blogs are boring. If all you’ve got is generic porn thumbnails, tired porn marketing text (“look at this hot bitch fingering her slut mom”), and links to pay sites, don’t bother. Of course, if you’ve got entertaining commentary about the porn, that’s a whole different ball game. Blogs featuring high-quality carefully-selected porn in an intelligent way also have a shot, if the advertising is kept to a reasonable dull roar.
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DON’T ask for a free link if you know you should really be inquiring about advertising rates. Do you have a marketing program and/or an advertising budget? Is your site or blog principally for the purpose of selling something or drawing attention to your products? Are advertisements or marketing materials the most prominent thing on your site? If so, you should be asking me about ad rates.
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DON’T be a drive-by link-dropper. Link droppings are not attractive, and we try not to step in them. By link dropping, I mean leaving comments like “Hot!” or “Nice pic!” or “Cool!” — stuff that’s shorter than the URL you so carefully typed into the box provided. Lots of new bloggers do this; it’s the lazy spam version of the “Do participate in the comments” advice above. Trouble is, once you are in my head as a spamming link dropper, the odds of me ever visiting your site (much less linking to it) decline toward zero. Good comments usually take the form of short paragraphs, not sentence fragments.
COMMENT MODERATION
Question: Why did you delete/moderate my comment?
Answer: Most likely because you weren’t nice. I ask ErosBlog commenters to be civil, friendly, polite, nice. And I enforce that. We don’t welcome flaming, aggressive debating style, snark, or even strong sarcasm. Yes, I do break these rules myself, sometimes. But I live here.
You may also have been moderated for substance (or, more usually, lack of it.) If your comment was condemning any sexual practice or kink, suggesting that anybody or anything is “sick”, calling anybody names, saying something rude about someone’s physical appearance, inviting people to visit your own website, or saying anything at all that’s got nothing to do with the post the comment is made under, that would explain why you don’t see it.
Sharing your fanciful sexual intentions (“I’d like to jump her bones, heh heh”) is another good way to get your comment moderated, especially when done crudely. (Explanation) Also, we don’t play the “Is it real or is it Photoshop?” game here, because (a) comments that a photo is not real tend to expressly or implicitly imply that the commenter is smarter and more perceptive than whoever posted the photo, which is rude, and (b) such comments lead to flamewars because everybody has an opinion, but nobody has any data. Even a friendly reservation (“I’m not sure if that’s real, but if it is…”) will often get moderated, because it invites twenty-seven unwelcome comments on the “real or Photoshop” topic.)
Here are some posts I’ve made over the years about my moderation policy:
Don’t Be A Dick
Condemnators Redux
Crapping All Over Beauty
Sure Cure For Spammers
A Note For Our New Spammers (by Aphrodite)
Blogging Without Comments
Cracking Down On Handcrafted Comment Spam
Spam Robot Finally Rolls 00 Versus Turing
Trying Harder At The Turing Test
Civilization, Assholes, and Internet Communities
ATTRIBUTION QUESTIONS
Question: Where did you find the picture you just posted? Is there a link? What’s the source of this?
Answer: I actually get a little offended by these questions, and they usually don’t make it through moderation. Since October of 2002 I’ve been faithfully posting and linking. If I know the source of something, I post the link. Without fail. Either the link where I got it, or the original source (if I know it) plus a link to where I found it. Every. Damned. Time.
You don’t see a link? It’s because I don’t freakin’ have one.
How is that possible? Well, let’s see. First of all, people mail me stuff and ask not to be credited. Or, there’s the fact that I’ve been downloading dirty pictures from Usenet and the web since about 1994. Right-click-and-save-to-hard-drive has been a reflex for more than a decade. These days, if I think “I’m gonna blog this” I’ll make sure to save source info too, but that doesn’t help with the half million images I accumulated before I started blogging.
If there’s no link provided, it’s because I don’t have one. OK?
Question: Do you know where I can find more pictures like the one you posted?
Answer: No. If I did, there’d probably be a link. Otherwise, Google is your friend.
Question: Will you please email me some porn?
Answer: Hell no. Use Google. Sheesh! (I actually get this one at least once a week.)
ADVERTISING INQUIRIES
Question: Can I buy a link or a banner?
Answer: Sure! Just drop me an email with the site you’d like to advertise, and I’ll send you a rate sheet. Or just check the sidebars for “your ad here” style links — more and more of my advertising space is being sold through brokers these days. The exception is probably text links. For these, please be prepared to buy at least six months of advertising at a time, and to pay in advance at rates that exceed the cost of brokered banner space. If you’re selling sex-negative or dangerous or worthless crap — herbal penis pills, breast enlargement creme, porn for the audience that despises women — please don’t bother. And don’t even ask if you want to buy generic “keyword” anchor text; I don’t blind link my users to random destinations for any price, and “sex toys” or “free cams” doesn’t tell them enough about where they are going. You’ll probably need to put your brand somewhere in the link, so the link looks like the kind of links human beings actually post and use.
Question: Would you like to join my affiliate program and then put up my banner for free?
Answer: Almost certainly not. Most affiliate programs suck, especially the cookie-cutter ones that use “standard” affiliate software. The stats reporting is bad, the percentage paid is bad, the affiliate program software is rude or clueless or tailored for non-adult sites, the terms of service are ridiculous and one-sided or unfit for bloggers, or the product is bad.
On the other hand, there are a handful of adult businesses that have unique products, great customer service, a sex-positive attitude, a strong brand or reputation — if that describes your company, and you have an affiliate-friendly program too, by all means let me know about it. If, however, you’ve already asked and the response you got was a link to this FAQ, it’s because your program is covered by the paragraph above.
Question: Can I buy a blog post talking about my site / product / event / whatever?
Answer: Email me. It’s possible. But it’s not cheap, and there’s always an identifying “sponsored post” banner so readers will know what’s going on. I won’t shill for your product and pretend I’m just blogging normally; that’s not an advertising service that ErosBlog will provide.
Question: Would you like to review my product?
Answer: If it’s a virtual / downloadable thing, no. There’s just no time, and it amounts to unpaid work for me.
However, if it’s a physical thing (a sex toy, DVD, book, or whatever) you might have a shot. The Nymph and I enjoy getting free stuff in the mail. Reviews are not guaranteed, but if you do get one, you can count on it taking forever. I’d guess we (eventually) review about twenty percent of the stuff that gets sent for review, so you’re taking a chance. Email for the review item shipping address. [2012 update: We do almost no reviews now. But we still like to play with free sex toys if they are sufficiently unique. And there’s always that chance that you’ll get a mention if your product is sufficiently impressive. So, sending review stuff is almost certainly a losing game, but if you’re an optimist or really confident about your product, it might be worth a try.]
PRESS INQUIRIES AND INTERVIEWS
Question: I’d like to interview you for my blog or publication. Is that possible?
Answer: Sure. Email me. But before you contact me, you might want to have a look at the interviews I’ve already given:
Interview With Bacchus (Sunni’s Salon)
The Buccaneer of Bacchanalia (Susie Bright)
Understanding Humankind (Atrocidades)
Revision History:
9/14/06 – FAQ first published
10/16/06 – added sentence about moderation of feedback on photos
10/24/06 – added sentences about prohibition on “real or Photoshop” game
7/20/07 – added Guy Kawasaki link exchange quote
3/6/12 – numerous updates
Wednesday, September 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
When I first saw this model, I was struck by her unforced beauty — a sort of semi-amateur look to go with a really pretty face:
But why, oh why, in this next shot, is her face all squeezed up like she’s eating a lemon?
Ahh, here’s why. Mystery solved — she’s getting a spanking!
Found on Spanking Blog.
Monday, September 11th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
There’s an astonishing firestorm of controversy swirling around a recent event in which someone (male) posted a woman-seeking-sex personal ad on Craigslist. The responses, including the usual spectrum of cock pictures, were collated and made public on a wiki, along with all the contact information provided by respondents. There seems to be an ongoing effort to develop the wiki to more fully “out” the folks who responded, augmenting their information with whatever else can be found out about them from public sources and from those who may know them.
Predictably, all hell has broken loose. Details available from BoingBoing, Violet Blue, and many other sources. The most popular sentiment appears to be that this was a horrid and hateful thing to do.
But was it?
I find myself unable to get very worked up about this. Indeed, I can see a positive side. This might even be a good thing for the online sex personals ecosystem.
I’m reasoning thusly: Online sex personals are, by all reports, a toxic ecosystem. Serious seekers after sex partners, especially female ones, have to wade through an astonishing volume of bizarre, ugly, inappropriate responses in order to find the few “real” responses. For example, a woman emailed BoingBoing with this description, which sounds typical of many other accounts I’ve read:
I’ve posted a few “Casual Encounters” ads at different times looking for various things. The first ad alone received over 300 replies. Some of them were beyond repugnant — the bestiality proposition springs to mind. The majority were unappealing but mundane — people who just didn’t dance the same way I do, mentally speaking, didn’t know how to compose a well-thought-out email or articulate themselves attractively. Those were ones like the one-liner “yo, hit me on MSN”, that kind of thing. I received a lot of dickpix. Then, there were a tiny fraction that drew me in and showed me that as much consideration had gone into their reply as I put into my original post. Those were people I connected with, corresponded with (from a gmail account), and eventually met.
Speaking to all men, let me say this: Mailing a potential female sex partner an unsolicited picture of your dick is not appropriate, it’s not smart, it doesn’t work, it brands you as a vulgar idiot, and it makes all men look bad by gender association with your fucked-up self. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. I repeat, don’t do it. Man law, got it?
So I have no, none, zero, zip, nada, a distinct absence and lack, of sympathy for the guys who are pissing in the well with these inappropriate responses.
Why do they do this? Well, one reason is that they can get away with it. It “feels” anonymous, there’s a perceived zero cost, it’s like socially-approved flashing because nobody sees you except someone who (faintly, theoretically, but not really) “was asking for it.”
Well, guess what? It’s not as anonymous as it feels. As proven by the events prompting this post.
What happened here is that the flasher creeps have been exposed in public, for everyone to point and laugh at. That’s a bad thing? I don’t see how. If it becomes routine, maybe they’ll stop.
Folks who feel differently seem to feel that there’s been a betrayal of some reasonable expectation of privacy, some unwritten social contract that has been protecting these virtual flashers. Huh? If there’s any expectation of privacy in a picture of your johnson that you send to a most-likely-uninterested recipient, it sure as heck isn’t a reasonable expectation.
But what about the few serious, non-offensive responders caught up in this same net? What about the “tiny fraction that drew me in and showed me that as much consideration had gone into their reply as I put into my original post” guys?
I still don’t think they have any reasonable expectation of privacy in their responses, but much more importantly, I don’t see how they were harmed by this exercise. A guy that’s free to be looking for sex on the internet, who writes an inoffensive “you sound like a fun lady, I’d like to get together” letter, how is he harmed? Now the world knows that he’d like to meet women and have sex. The world did not suspect this already? Where is the harm?
My bottom line is that this is just like the old advice from your mother, about not leaving the house while wearing dirty underwear, because you could get hit by a truck and somebody might see it. To me it seems only sensible: don’t write personals responses that you wouldn’t want to see on the front page of the newspaper. Because, in the final analysis, email sent to strangers is an essentially public medium. Argue about whether it ought to be public, we may — but change the fact that it is public, I don’t think we can. (Whoops, Yoda moment, sorry.)
This is not a manifesto, I’m not walking way out on a limb in defense of these opinons. These are merely my preliminary reactions to an interesting story. I don’t use personals myself, so I don’t have a dog in this fight. Judging by the firestorm sweeping the net over this, emotions run hot. Agree or disagree, I’d like to remind everyone who might wish to comment here on ErosBlog that the comments are heavily moderated, and your input needs to be civil and friendly or it simply won’t be seen.
Sunday, September 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been reluctant to post this image, because I don’t know enough about its history and context. Probably propaganda judging by the style, possibly racist in effect if not in artistic intent, perhaps depicting a rape (given the different uniforms, and the common theme of rape in military propaganda as a metaphor for brutal victory/defeat), though there are no overt indications thereof and both men have their weapons handy.
So why post? Because it’s two men in uniform fucking, that’s why. Guaranteed hotness for a certain fairly large fraction of the ErosBlog readership. Without further ado:
If anybody with the appropriate linguistic skills cares to comment on the meaning of the visible text, that would be appreciated. Larger version is here.
Saturday, September 9th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I know I’ve been quoting Susie Bright a lot recently, but then, Susie always has been a woman with a lot to say. Her latest big essay grabs firmly ahold of the seeming paradox of women and their rape fantasies:
I didn’t acknowledge having perilous fantasies until I was in my twenties. In a women’s studies college course, our teacher asked us if we had experienced arousing “rape fantasies”?
One girl tearfully raised her hand and said this was true for her. My heart beat so fast it was all I could do to stay put. I was just as ashamed as she of these fantasies, but I would never have admitted them. Our professor was quite kind to her, if misinformed.
Our professor comforted the girl by saying that, as women, we had been brainwashed by the patriarchy to eroticize our subordination to men. She said these fantasies were very common, which is true, and that we could “overcome” them by exposing our fantasies to feminist analysis and by our increasing self-esteem.
She was wrong on that count. In fact, I knew she was wrong later that same night. Despite my assertive self-confidence, rock-hard feminist analysis, and weekly shift at the rape crisis hotline, I could still crawl into bed and successfully masturbate to the same disturbing fantasies that had aroused me since I was a child.
Feminism and self-esteem had no more effect on my erotic hot spots than the communion wafers I used to take every Sunday, hoping they would wash away the devil’s seed inside of me. Clearly, religion and linear politics were useless in explaining the unconscious and subversive quality of eroticism.
…
It’s normal, it’s common, to fantasize about the bizarre– the things that in real-life circumstances would trouble us, frighten us, or maybe just make us laugh. Erotic fantasies take the unbearable issues in life and turn them into orgasmic gunpowder.
…
In our fantasies, no matter how much we struggle to deny it, we control every frame. Whether we stand tall in thigh-high boots or kneel breathless on the ground, it’s a matter of our well-lubricated chosen position. We run the fuck in our minds, the exact amount of ambivalence, the perfect timing of climax. When did that ever happen in a real sexual assault?
These are just the tiniest of highlights; there’s much much more. Complete with bonus analysis of Nancy Friday’s “My Secret Garden”!
Friday, September 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We all know better than to drink and drive. But there are worse things. (There are always worse things.) Here’s a cartoon object lesson on the perils of drinking (we may assume), driving (an applecart pulled by a donkey), singing, and fornicating, all at the same time:
Moral: Be careful when multi-tasking, lest you accidentally fuck a donkey up the ass.
Addendum: For some odd reason, this cartoon reminds me of humorist P.J. O’Rourke’s famous 1979 National Lampoon essay: “How To Drive Fast On Drugs While Getting Your Wing-Wang Squeezed Without Spilling Your Drink.”
Thursday, September 7th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The Nymph shrieks and screams whenever she feels I’m mistreating one of her stuffed animals (so of course, I mistreat them often). She also shrieked when I showed her this photograph of a happy bear:
I’m not sure why.
Thursday, September 7th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Anybody in the blogging world is by now familiar with the tired old newspaper column written by a journalist who’s decided it’s time to say “I don’t get blogging, blogs are dull / stupid / inane / written by geeks.” Well, now a British journalist has trotted out that weary formula and plugged in “sex blog” instead of “blog”, writing Sex Blogs: Why Bother? A few sample paragraphs:
I can always just go and pick another of the thousands upon thousands of sex blogs that seem to be girding their loins and penetrating the blogosphere; because let’s face it, they all read the same. It’s all “tensed muscles” this and “moist undercarriage” that: graphic details of the precise curl of some anonyknobber’s merkin and five hundred variants on the concept of “sweaty”.
…
Other personal bloggers choose to write about tube trains and cats and cheese sandwiches; why shouldn’t you write about your own – and I apologise for this in advance – rides, pussies and yes, the contents of your very own lunchbox? Especially, and this must be said, especially when, for a bunch of geeks, you all seem to have rather unbounded sexual proclivities.
Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps I just can’t stand to read because I’m jealous. I’m jealous that a growing community of bloggers want to stand on a table, face the world and shout “Look at me! I’ve got a stiffy!”. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say in return, except perhaps “Well, good for you.”
Sometimes I’m tempted to start up my own anti-sex-blog-blog. None of these glistening thighs and unbelievable multiple orgasms that go on for hours, pits that smell like flowers and sex that never goes wrong – it’ll be called “Fanny-Farts and the Jackhammer Rhythm” – and be a group blog full of tales of bloated post-takeaway sex, grumpy come-on-we’re-supposed-to-be-at-my-mum’s-by-now sex, and sex that you regret as soon as the first button is shucked but do it anyway.
Because what the world needs is more bad sex, described by people whose sexual proclivities are safely and boringly “bounded”. Capital idea!
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:
Tuesday, September 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In which Femme Fatale demonstrates why girlfriends have nothing to fear from strippers:
To return to the moment: the moon is outside my window and my sleepy mind is fuzzy as I think about strippers and lap dances and how I must be better than a skanky exotic dancer. But how can I show him? How can I prove my worth not only as a good, loving girlfriend but as a versatile sexual being with so much to give? My mind slithers over possibilities in my sexually creative head, my voice is soft, sweet, yet full of need and unbridled interest,
Babe, I’m into cock-bondage. Don’t worry, its not the crazy kind, just the fun kind and I promise you’ll like it.
Without waiting for a response, I reach behind his head to my jewelry rack that hangs on the wall of my currently being-re-decorated room and take my 35 inch strand of antique natural pearls. His waiting cock is standing forth like a monument to the night and to all his little sex driven mind can conceive. Delicately and with small, soft hands, I wrap the pearls around his cock, starting at the bottom of his thick shaft and twining up, completely encasing his hard flesh in pearls. When at last the pearls were in place, I took both ends and pulled gently, flicking the head of his cock with my tongue.
His reaction was palpable as his hand covered his mouth, his breath coming harsh and thick, fast. His cock too was reacting, pulsing and swelling against the pearls. With each surge of his flesh, the pearls ripples into it exciting him even further. As I sucked and licked away at his sensitive head, he became like stone inside my mouth, harder and thicker than he’s ever been before, the head showing red and swollen in the blue tinted light of the dappled moonlight.
His breath was coming harsh and his comments rippled forth like curses to God as his body tensed and he writhed on the bed,
Oh baby, this is the best sensation I’ve ever felt in my entire life, I swear. Oh my god. It just feels so awesome.
I smiled gently with satisfaction as my mouth luxuriated over his cock, his body, his mouth and his pulsing cock giving me feedback that only increased my need to make him come hard and finalize his grand sensation.
Without warning I pulled the end of the pearl strand up and over his cock and away, the pearls rubbing him as the streamed upwards, massaging his already maniacally aroused cock. He moaned and his body tensed the nth degree, his words only grunts and a long streaming moan issuing from his mouth followed by a laugh of sheer pleasure and amazement.
His moan was even deeper as I slid his whole length into my mouth, letting the tip of him touch the back of my throat before sucking upwards. After a few moments and his fingertips sliding at the base of his engorged cock, his hips bucked before he came with a force that nearly drowned me, his come hitting the inside of my throat and causing me to hold back gagging as he came stronger than he ever has.
Tuesday, September 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Wow, is this kinky or what?
On wednesday, I will walk up to one end of a long line of men. Sometimes there are women, but it’s always mostly men. They are there to watch me, and I am there to be watched. I start at one end, smile at the first man I encounter, and begin. Slowly. Carefully, I take off my glasses and fold them neatly, just like my nighttime bedroom ritual. Then I lean over and unzip one long black platform boot, and then the other. I present each piece of footwear as proof — as if the sudden shortness in my height, and its message of vulnerability isn’t evidence enough. I am now smaller, more feminine, and a little more helpless. I take off my earrings, my necklace, deliberately placing the girlish silver with my glasses. I’m usually still smiling now, because it’s time to take off my belt. I know what’s going to happen. I unbuckle the metal and leather, sliding the belt through its loops around my waist, which serves to loosen my pants and move the denim to and fro as I work the belt free. The top straps of my g-string always peek out; I can’t help this. I unzip my hoodie and peel it off, revealing the light cotton tank top I always wear. And even though it makes no sense, I always take off my stripey arm warmers, because if I don’t, they *make me* take them off. So I do it in a subtly slow demonstration, one opera-length glovelet at a time. Next, and last, I unclip my hair, letting my almost waist-length black and blonde locks down over my now-bare shoulders and arms.
They all watch. Then I wait for their commands, and their approval. I do what they say, unconditionally, and this is an unspoken agreement between me and the men. Hardly a word is said, and I make sure to smile as I softly pad past all eyes, which are on me, even if just for a flicker or two. Then at the end of the line, I slowly dress — I like to take my time putting my clothes back on.
That’s Violet Blue — well, anybody, really — going through airport security. As she explains:
[W]hat I related to you above is very much my experience when I go through security…. [W]hen you think about it, the modern process of going through pre-boarding security has far more kinky sexual elements than it should. Here’s why:
* You have to undress. br>
* While you undress, you are being watched and sized up. br>
* It’s a power-exchange scenario. br>
* Lots of uniforms. br>
* You are totally vulnerable, and it is humiliating. br>
* You are exposing intimate details of your person and dress in front of dozens of strangers. br>
* Your submission is unspoken, it is a rule, and it is unconditional. Your submission is for public consumption. br>
* There is a constant threat that a stranger will touch you. They can touch you anywhere, and in your most intimate places if they want to. br>
* There is an undercurrent and tension that they will open your posessions and touch your private items, such as your underwear, clean or dirty. br>
* It is nonconsensual. And in garden-variety BDSM practice, even this is forbidden territory. br>
As well it should be, in BDSM and at the airport.
Monday, September 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Er, yes, armpit licking:
Oh, and a reminder to the recent influx of new readers: it’s my habitual practice to deliberately feature a photo from time to time that is likely to appeal only to folks with rare or unusual fetishes. Hell, sometimes (like today) I put up a photo simply because I imagine, without any evidence, that there must be a fetishist somewhere who will think it’s hot. If you think such a photo is “gross” or “sick” — as some of you apparently do, judging by the comments I’ve been catching in moderation lately — please keep those opinions to yourself, or express them elsewhere. ErosBlog (meaning me) does not welcome sex-negative or judgmental commentary. You don’t like something you see here? Fine, whatever rubs your crank. But we (meaning me, again) are not interested in hearing about your revulsion.
We don’t strictly enforce Thumper’s rule; you don’t have to say something nice, or keep your mouth shut. But if you don’t have anything nice to say, you must at least find a nice way to say whatcha got.
Saturday, September 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
“Estaban! Estaban! Are they all there, Esteban?”
“Si, Señor…”
Sometimes you get the bull, sometimes the bull gets you.
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.
Thursday, August 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I guffawed (yes, I did, and when was the last time you heard a good old-fashioned guffaw?) when reading A Henchwoman’s Survivalists Guide to Laying Down the Hardline in the Bedroom:
Here are some examples of “unsavoryâ€? male behaviors, questions, and criticisms, and suggested ways to combat them. Take note, I have found a great deal of success using these modes of combat in the sexual battlefield.
Penis-bearing overlord: “Honey, I would really like to do/try anal sex.â€?
Upstart female: “Really? Me too! Why don’t you assume the position, I will be right back with the toys and lube / bar of butter and a broom handle. You’re going to want to relax, babe.â€?
…
Penis-bearing overlord: “I wish you had bigger tits.â€?
Upstart Female: “Well, I wish you had smaller tits and a bigger cock, but I don’t make a big deal about it now, do I?â€?
…
Penis-bearing overlord: “You don’t cook/clean as well as my mom.â€?
Upstart female: “I am sure I don’t suck dick as well as she does either.â€?
Thanks to Mistress Matisse for the link.
Wednesday, August 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fun article that may be of use to a number of you ladies: Miss Vanilla’s Guide to Being A Mistress. It’s a sort of Intro To Femdom 101:
I call it “Miss Vanilla’s” guide because I really want to give people who don’t consider themselves kinky a chance to enjoy this. When I first started getting into it, I was awfully confused and intimidated by the idea of being “dominant.” Would I lose my femininity? Would it make my man less masculine? Would it sour our non-sexual relationship? I will approach all of this from the perspective of someone beginning anew, as best as I can.
…
Techniques! What are some fun ways to let your man know that you’re in control?
“Bondage”. One of the easiest ways to get started is by tying him up. Pros: He’s physically helpless, so you get to focus on breaking his will with your sexiness. Cons: His hands aren’t free, so you have to take a very active role – you can’t easily kill time telling him to pleasure you with his hands!
…
“Pleasure overload.” Let’s face it: Your man thinks you’re hot. Now you’re going to use that to your utter advantage! Make him DESPERATE. Caress his entire body – with your fingers, your tongue, or your feet! Trace your fingertips up his inner thighs. Trace spirals around his penis but don’t touch it yet. Tease his butt, if you’re into that kind of thing (more on that later). Lick, suck and bite his nipples. Tease his dick with your mouth. Exhale deeply into his ear, and suck his earlobes. Be sexy, and he WILL be yours!
Tuesday, August 29th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Some really great news from Violet Blue, who just became a sex columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle. She’s really happy, it’s a huge opportunity for her and great news for those of us who value her perspective and think the world will be a better place for having it appear in a respected major metropolitan newspaper.
Congratulations, Violet!
Some details about her hiring and the deal she made:
It’s official. I’m now the sex columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle.
Not just ‘plucked’ from the blogosphere to freelance for a 141-year-old mainstream media institution; Phil Bronstein hand-selected me to be their frontline sex writer, with a column and everything that comes with it. I just got home from the Chronicle building — today was the final meeting with the PR department, and to set the launch date (I wore my Laughing Squid shirt to the meeting). At one point David Wiegand said, “We’re just making sure it’s okay before we plaster your face on buses.”
…
I negotiated a really good deal for myself. My voice, my content, my sex-positive, all-gender, all-orientation stance is firm; they have agreed to run every edit and piece of publicity by me for approval; and after first publication rights, I own the columns, I keep the content. They’re taking a huge risk, and a huge gamble, and they’re letting me be me.
Awesome.
Monday, August 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It sounds like this guy had a really good weekend — the toe sucking and fucking being only one of his highlights:
And then my date showed me a trick that was, well, a bit stupefying.
So at some point during the second round of sex, she gets up in a Reverse Cowgirl position, and bends down to A) give me a good view, and B) suck my toes while she fucks me. For those of you not into Shrimping, I don’t know how you can’t love it. A toe suck & cock stimulation combo is almost too much for my nervous system. I’ve had this before, but it’s a rare treat. My date, however, felt the need to show me that despite my travels and adventures, I have not seen it all.
She dismounts, turns around, and lowers her cunt onto my toes — Ummm.. ok. She starts fucking my big toe and lowers her head down to start sucking my cock. My toes were already electrified from the sucking — so I loved how her wet pussy felt all over my feet, and her face dropping all the way down to my pubic bone, burying my cock in her throat… I was just stupid with glee. This felt so good, so amazing, I simply can’t describe it. All the wires were shorting out. Loved it. And she was pretty pleased to have thrown me something new.
Monday, August 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From L. Neil Smith’s Tactical Reflections:
It has been my experience of life…that a girl who says she doesn’t believe in pre-marital sex usually doesn’t believe in sex after the wedding, either.
Sunday, August 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We’ve all known ladies who think they can bat their eyelashes, flirt a bit, and get away with anything. Here’s one such who got the tables turned on her:
So yes, I got PLAYED. Fucking cop pulls me over on the way back from Augusta. I’m all set to talk my way out of yet another ticket- its no secret in my family that I’ve NEVER gotten one that I couldn’t sweet talk my way out of. Its MAINE. Its not hard.
Guy saunters up to my car and I’m hit with a blast of cologne and a pair of blue eyes.
Uniform + cologne combo.
CLEVER BASTARD.
So yes, I’m a little too embarassed to go into much detail, but there was some drooling and stuttering on my part, and yes, I got my very first ticket. $185. Fuck. I’m officially destitute. In my defense, when I got home, my sister could still SMELL HIS COLOGNE on my shirt. (Pixie back me up here!) I got played by the cop. Fine. I accept this. He knew what he was doing. I’ve gotten away scot-free with some crazy shit before. He was fucking HOT and had handcuffs hanging from his belt. How was I to resist? I just nodded and mumbled along simply because anything else that came out of my mouth probably would have ended me up in jail for solicitation.
Turnabout is fair play!
Sunday, August 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Google tells me this image is so 2005, but hey, it’s new to me. That’s Hulk Hogan (for the three of you who grew up in a yurt) and his wife Lizzie Grubman, and yes, her pussy parts on open display for the cameras:
Update: Whoops, she’s not his wife. I got suckered by the Google search I did after someone emailed me the photo. Sorry!
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 25th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Yes, I know, enough with the pictures already, but for some reason I’ve been on something of a visual surfing jag lately. Text isn’t grabbing my interest, but the pictures? Mmmm, yes. And so, here’s another vintage “wallet photo” bit of illicit porn from days of yore:
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Thursday, August 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I know they say an apple a day keeps the doctor away. But are you supposed to devour it, or can you just lick it?
Wednesday, August 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Those greeters at your local Megalo-Mart can be very friendly:
But somehow I’m guessing this isn’t in the employee handbook.
Tuesday, August 22nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I do so love porn that tells a story, don’t you? Here’s the lovely bondage model Star, looking at a Hogtied.com photographer with what can only be described as gentle scepticism. I imagine he’s telling her what they are going to do on today’s shoot:
Fast forward several steps — hey, look at porn your own self if you want the whole story — and we find lovely Star on a soft bed in her ball gag and head harness. Very peaceful, very calm, only… does it look to you like she might be a little wide-eyed? Is that a bunny-in-the-road look, would you say?
It turns out, she has good reason to stay very still.
There’s a rope, you see. (Could this be bondage porn without a rope?) One end’s tied to the back of her head harness. The other? Well, turns out it’s tied to, um, er… well, I’m afraid there’s really no way to put this gently. It’s tied to a stainless steel butt hook. Which goes… exactly where you are afraid it goes. See for yourself. See?
So now, a great many of us can go on about our daily duties while knowing more about the depths of human kinkiness and perversity than we knew when we woke up this morning. And if you get bored sitting at your desk today, just nod your head a little bit and try to imagine how it would feel at the other end of the rope.
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Sunday, August 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a detailed article — let’s call it Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Kissing But Were Afraid To Ask — from the How Stuff Works people. One thing I didn’t know:
Ancient Romans also used kissing as part of political campaigns. However, several “kisses for votes” scandals in 18th century England led — in theory — to candidates kissing only the very young and very old.
Kisses for votes? How did that work, exactly? I can see it now, George Clooney and Halle Berry, they could flip a coin to see who’s at the top of the ticket, a runaway “Kisses For America” campaign.
Link via Sexoteric.
Saturday, August 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Looks like somebody got a little carried away, and blew out his steel-reinforced silicone sex doll:
Friday, August 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Summer picnics in the park, blowjobs on the picnic tables, what could be more summery than that?
Sir and I met up after work. We drove to one of favorite parks since parks are pretty much all we have right now till summers over. It was a nice night to be outside. It was hot and humid but it was comfortable at the park near the water.
We sat on the bench together and started kissing. Our kisses grew more and more passionate. My whole body surged with excitement as I could feel Sir’s passionate burning desire for me there in his kiss.
…
Anyway back to that burning passionate kissing that left me a melting dripping slut. We kissed like that for a good while and then I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to have some cock. I reached down and felt the stiff pole through his shorts. God it was hard! God I wanted it. We got his pants unfastened and I held his cock in my hand. “Do you want to go over on the picnic table?” He asked. “Yeah, that would be nice.” I answered. Then I added, “Come on hurry up! I want to suck that cock!” He laughed at me and we walked up to the picnic table. He sat up on the table. I sat on the bench and opened my mouth and took in that nice hard delicious cock and sucked it hard. Mmm, my lover has one tasty cock! I felt that steel like shaft with the silky smooth skin sliding across my tongue as the swollen head worked its way into my throat. Oh how I love to have a mouthful of cock! It’s the best!
From Desireous.
Wednesday, August 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Violet Blue threatens:
If I have to sit through another body-by-Barbie production where the chicks’ boobs look like those Alien face-huggers about to burst out and kill me…
She’s not just making that up, it’s a real risk, and not just in bad porn movies. Don’t believe me? I have proof:
Tuesday, August 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We’re on the road today, but of course I “let” The Nymph make our hotel reservations. It’s a funny thing, wherever we go, when The Nymph makes the reservations it always turns out that the only room they have left is the jacuzzi suite. Isn’t that a unique coincidence?
So tonight this will be us. Only, with less beer. And six fewer people.
Monday, August 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Remember that old calypso song, Zombie Jamboree?
One female zombie wouldn’t behave;
She say she want me for a slave.
In the one hand she’s holding a quart of wine,
In the other she’s pointin’ that she’ll be mine.
Now believe me folks, yes I had to run;
Husband of a zombie ain’t no fun.
I says “Oh, no my turtle dove
an old bag of bones I cannot love!”
What a good game!
Back to back, belly to belly
Well I don’t give a damn
’cause it doesn’t matter really;
Back to back, belly to belly
At the Zombie Jamboree!
Back to back, belly to belly, I guess it looks something like that at the zombie orgy. Is this what comes after the jamboree?
Bigger version here. What a good game!
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:
Friday, August 11th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From the notorious gaming blog Kill Ten Rats comes some dating advice in terms that gamers will understand:
If you are reading this, there is a good chance that you are a single, introverted, heterosexual male. As a public service, we are pleased to present some advice for gamers on Getting the Girl. You can get lots of dating advice out there, much of it conflicting, but you come to Kill Ten Rats because you know you can trust us. Also, we are tired of hearing you whine in guildchat about how you cannot get a date.
…
Let’s talk equipment. You will not be wearing anything on your shoulders, nor a cape, nor a tabard. Leave the sword at home, too, no matter how cool it looks. While some people can successfully combine mix-and-match armor, you will just end up hideous and ineffective. If your closet is full of t-shirts from anime and They Might Be Giants, we have a problem. Luckily, there are many shopkeepers who can help you get equipment with the right bonuses.
If you need to read this, let us assume that you have little idea about fashion. Conveniently, shopkeepers are quite happy to sell you entire outfits at once. They even arrange them on headless mannequins around the store. Pick your level of formality and buy three. You are just starting out here, so do not trust your intuition on what goes with what; follow the template exactly until you get more experience. This is like when you tell the new guy at the raid to shut up and do what he is told; unless you can solo this raid, take the advice of the corporate shills, since they have spent thousands of hours working on this stuff.
If you are in doubt, ask a female who works at the store for a recommendation. Your future girlfriend/wife will be telling you how to dress for the rest of your life anyway, so start getting used to it now. Do not be embarrassed about asking for help; that is her job, she may be on commission, and who knows she may think it is cute that you are admitting vulnerability and asking for help. No, don’t hit on her. If necessary, write down which garments go together, especially if you want to try these slacks with that shirt.
This may cost a fair number of gold pieces. Luckily, you will not be out-leveling your IRL clothing anytime soon unless you are eating too much. This brings us to our next point: buffing.
Thursday, August 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Summertime, just sittin’ on the beach minding her own business, and suddenly she has to know: “Hey, what’s this in my panties?”
From Usenet.
Tuesday, August 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s a very suggestively shaped bollard, I agree. And the Russian is tantalizing: “Here you may…” with a verb I don’t remember from my college classes, one that the online translators won’t translate. But really, I just like the photo:
From Urod.ru.
Monday, August 7th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve heard of a lot of things, but I’ve never heard of having sex under the bed before:
Some of the better moments were when we were trapped in confined spaces. Brendan has a little bit of an attraction to claustrophobic locations and couplings whether that means having sex under the bed, which we did, or light contortion and bondage, which we also did, there’s something about having a woman cornered that excites him.
As we were in the closet, he angled me so that I was tightly wedged in the corner with my legs wrapped around him. When he thrust, he did so forcefully, trying to get me even further into the small space afforded by the corner and the sound of various parts of me smacking against the walls made him extremely excited.
As for the under the bed sex, it too was interesting. He had me get under the bed, which was remarkably clean, with my entire torso and head obscured and my hips and legs sticking out from under. He proceeded to both go down on me and then turn me onto my stomach so he could fuck me from behind. I’ll admit, there was something a little exciting about that for me as well. I could only imagine what it would look like to a third person: this disembodied set of legs and hips sticking out from under a bed being manipulated by a fully visible second party.
From Postmodern Courtesan.
Sunday, August 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s Sunday morning in America — what better time for a tasteful bit of sodomy?
In the style of all those Kama Sutra paintings from India, though its actual provenance is unknown to me.
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Saturday, August 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a lovely piece…of erotic art by Milo Manara:
Friday, August 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
When writing a sex-positive blog like this, it’s easy to forget that our American culture still contains a lot of people who are not sex positive, plus a great many more whose sex-positivity, if any, is strongly cabined by an expectation that “proper” sex is a purely marital affair. All of which leads (even in this new millenium of ours) to folks who find themselves to be both ill-informed and virgin on their wedding nights. Let me present the following window into that culture, in the form of Mormon honeymoon advice (complete with a heated argument in the comments about this suggestion to ditch the special Mormon underpants):
Ditch the garments during a majority of the honeymoon. I mean, you need to do what feels right for you, but I, for one, did not feel the least bit sexy in my garments and cloistering myself in the bathroom to change into lingerie seemed to kill the passion of the moment(s). You can just look at it as 24hr foreplay.
Thursday, August 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Hey, it wasn’t just a fluke. Last week we posted the link about using Google to get sex, and this week Scoble is back with a link to this story about how Rory got Googled, and wound up getting harvested:
Google: I owe you in a very big way. There are six billion people in the world, approximately five zillion web pages cataloged in your little magnetic platters, and you somehow managed against the odds to deliver a highly intelligent (major: aviation science / minor: journalism/creative writing), dynamic, gorgeous human being to my doorstep.
Thursday, August 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I was busy last month when Violet Blue wrote up the Vintage Spanking Photos blog:
A wonderfully simple concept, the Vintage Spanking Blog features a regularly updated installment of pictures of lusciously round, imminently smackable female bottoms from times gone by … or at least squirmier, sore-cheeked times of yore…
Busy I was, but I did make a mental note that I wanted to pass on the link. This is “pretty bottoms” week on Vintage Spanking:
Mmm, indeed it is.
Wednesday, August 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A question that comes up repeatedly in the sex blog world is “Why aren’t there more male-written sex blogs?” Start clicking links, take a poll — it quickly becomes clear that there are a lot more women than men writing about sex in the blogging world. Focus on blogs that (unlike this one) are mostly introspective and personal, and the imbalance comes into even sharper focus.
Susie Bright, having recently returned from a Blogher conference of mostly female bloggers, touches on this question in the course of a long and interesting essay on gender bias in the blog world. Unfortunately, when she tries to answer the question, she hits us male sex bloggers up aside the head with a big chunk of her own gender bias, and I’m just not willing to sit here and take it quietly. She writes:
Why don’t straight men include sexuality in their blog writing– aside from the resolutely anonymous few that sex-blog professionally?
Because outside of the “adult” world, a straight man writing about his sexual life– his erotic self-reflection– is considered feminizing. It would make him a pussy to his peers.
I fall squarely within her category of the “resolutely anonymous few that sex-blog professionally”, and I’m calling bullshit. Read my archives, I could give a shit less what “my peers” (the male ones, or the subset of them who could use “pussy” as an insult) think of me. They aren’t right in the head, and they don’t seem to like women very much. Indeed, in Susie’s own interview with me, I spoke of my belief that a lot of guys are “broken” when it comes to their views of women. Why would I let the views of broken people affect my behavior?
Ironically enough, Susie gets a lot closer to the truth just two paragraphs down the page of her essay. Here, and she’s talking about women even though she says “folks”, she says:
Some folks at our panel talked about the risk of hurting loved ones if we blog about our sexual lives. They were concerned with boundaries, respect, and discretion– timeless issues for authors in any era.
Those concerns are about ETHICS.
Damn straight they are, and the ethical concern goes a lot further toward explaining why I don’t write much about my own sex life than the fanciful notion that I’m worried some misogynist male shithead is going to call me a pussy. Why aren’t these ethical concerns (expressed by the women at Susie’s conference) supposed to be available to me, a man?
This is really just an extension of the basic “Don’t kiss and tell” rule. Yes, there’s a gender bias built into that rule, or at least reflected by it, because it is (or, at least, was taught to me as) a rule for the protection of women. The women I know don’t seem to have been taught it, or taught that it should apply to their discussions of men. That’s because — I’m speculating — men aren’t seen as being so vulnerable to reputational damage when their sexuality becomes a matter of public discussion.
So there it is, male sex blogggers. You’re damned if you tell (because it’s just not safe for women to have the details of their sexual lives broadcast, and a real man doesn’t put a woman he loves, or even “just” fucks, at risk) and damned if you don’t (because, Susie says, you’re just a coward who remains silent because you fear “feminizing” censure from the lowest of other men). I know not what course others may take, but as for me, I’ll continue doing what I’ve always done — speaking when it seems right to me, and be damned what anybody else thinks.
Wednesday, August 2nd, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
What can I say? J and I talked a lot, he gets the orgasm thing (thanks for your help there) but the sexblogger thing has squicked him. It’s been alot of back and forth, he’s definitely interested in some kinds of exploring but he’s a smalltown boy and this is a small town we live in…..and there are issues from his ex-wife that he’s trying to deal with. Including some sex stuff. So I think it’s all just too much for him. He says he “sees somebody different now” when he looks at me, and doesn’t know who that is.
Before anybody gets all down on him like happened here and here, J’s attitude is just fine in alot of ways, he says he couldn’t tell that I came at all that day, he’s a real sweet guy that’s just got too much to handle right now. We may end up together some time down the road…..but I’m not counting on that. I’m thinking I need to get out of Lutheranville. So I guess it’s back to Sssh.com for awhile.
So, next question is, when should the sexblogger subject come up in a relationship? It’s a trust thing for me, I don’t talk about this dirty little habit with most people because it just isn’t their business. And telling a guy too early will probably give him a whole barrelfull of wrong ideas.
Tuesday, August 1st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This is fun:
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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Friday, July 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Well, actually only two lesbian nuns. I do tend to write hyperbolic headlines:
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Thursday, July 27th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Thanks to everybody that helped after J’s and my first fight. I told him some of the things that were written there, and after we made up I showed him where I got it from. He was shocked, but not mad, and said he needs to think about things. That was two days ago. I’m trying to be patient.
Here’s something alot more pleasant for you to enjoy….it’s the season of sexy tan lines, and this black and white photo is just delish!
One of several nude photos in SkyShaper’s Flickr gallery.
Thursday, July 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a satirical (but not necessarily incorrect) article on How To Use Google To Get A Girl And Get Laid. Parts of it I don’t fully agree with (possibly because by modern standards I am an Old Fuddy-Duddy) but this particular paragraph I strongly endorse, because, well, er, not to put too fine a point on things, um, it worked for me:
The Google search engine is a very powerful way of getting yourself found. A good way to get yourself found is to create your own website with lots of details about yourself on it. Or rather lots of untrue crap that you hope some girl will find appealing. Since Johnny McCool is using his real name then it makes sense for him to register JohnnyMcCool.com. To get yourself found you will need to structure your site in such a way as to make it “search engine friendlyâ€?. This means a few things such as figuring out what words you want people to use when they search for you and then seeding your webpages with those search terms. Further to this, the more you update the site, the more Google will visit and the higher up in search results you’ll be. Google rewards you for fresh content. Therefore set up a blog on your site.
Thanks to Scobleizer for the link.
Wednesday, July 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I clicked past the recent micro-rash of speculation about sex in space — it struck me as being more of the usual tired empty mealy-mouthed nonsense, devoid of any new insight or sex-positive suggestions. It never even crossed my mind that there was anything to blog about in it. “The moisture associated with sexual congress could pool as floating droplets…” Bah! Who needs it?
But hark! Violet Blue has the straight dope on zero gravity sex:
Sex in zero (or reduced) gravity is going to change the way we fuck for many reasons — primarily because while floating in zero G you need to use stationary objects to move, period. Getting cock into pussy, into mouth, into ass — getting pussy into face, or getting the strap-on into his ass — is all going to be a coordinated effort, Your partner’s body will wander no matter how hard they try to keep still. And you better bet you’ll need to tether that bottle of lube (and its cap). In fact, all your sex toys will need wrist straps.
Ahh, that’s much better.
Tuesday, July 25th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
ErosBlog is not the only place where the puppy girl fetish has been mentioned; although I haven’t seen too many web resources devoted to canine roleplaying, there’s enough collars and leashes sold to people with no dogs to suggest it’s a fairly popular game. Does your human puppy (I suppose puppyboys are just as likely) need a waggable rubber buttplug dog tail?
The sales copy seems aimed at eager-to-please doggies:
Show your Master you are pleased by wagging your Wiggly Rubber Dog Tail. A perfect tail for puppy play, this anal plug is made out firm yet wiggly black rubber, with a 4″ insertable oval shaped plug and about 8″ of tail to wag. Quality rubber craftsmen designed this plug to stay put and be worn for hours. This well made dog tail compliments any human dog behind. Wear it and be sure to get lots of treats.
Woof!
2021 update: These toys are long unavailable, but there’s a similar tail in this puppy play set.
Monday, July 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a link to an interesting (if a bit over-academic) interview with standup-anthropologist Sergio Messina, who documents and expounds upon the participatory amateur voyeuristic/exhibitionist modern internet porn genres he terms “realcore”. A sample:
Realcore seems to be more satisfactory than porno because it isn’t passive, it’s interactive.
In my lecture (which isn’t exactly a lecture;it’s more of an edutainment show, a cross between stand-up anthropology and an X-rated Discovery Channel feature), I talk about “tributes.” A woman posts her picture, some guy downloads it, prints it, cums on it, takes a photo of the results—the tribute—and posts it back into the newsgroups. She gets comments, requests to wear specific items—her home suddenly becomes public.
It’s a whole game, involving mostly two or more people, where the first post is only the opening move. Once the tributes are made, the person portrayed in them collects all these images and makes Photoshop collages that also end up online, on the person’s website or in the newsgroups. The more tributes he/she gets, the greater the glory.
You don’t do this with just any image: tributes tend to involve portraits of faces. And there are often specific requests for “tributes.”
What a digital, complex, multi-stage way to please each other! Real, then virtual, then real again (and sticky), then virtual again, then sticky again…
Although I’m in full agreement that porn is created, used, and shared in new and different ways in this internet era, I’m not convinced that a new term like “realcore” is all that useful, because I’m not sure it’s the porn that’s different so much as the nature and scope of its creation, distribution, and feedback mechanisms. All quibbling over names aside, the interview offers an interesting window into twisty porn subgenres you may find interesting.
Sunday, July 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
These old wallet-porn black-and-whites are too posed to be candid, but a nice shower scene is timeless:
Friday, July 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Today you get a post title and a sex vocabulary lesson, all rolled into two words:
“Golden Ticket“.
Friday, July 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Yes, yes, of course it’s fun to get a good grip on a silky handfull of head hair (or a well-tied braid, yum) and use it like a leash. Sadly, that’s not what this post is about.
No, instead we have yet another entry in the large category called “Bizarre Things The Japanese Will Draw Into Anime”. Yes, it’s cartoon armpit hair pulling time:
Pretty impressive considering that anime babes usually don’t have any body hair at all.
Picture found on alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime.
Thursday, July 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In which Rollertrain, who works for a major porn purveyor she calls Sexyland, discovers the limits of workplace humor:
Cleaning house for the arrival of the entirety of my siblings, all six of them, and my second mother. In an effort to save money, I send out one of those work-wide emails asking if anyone has spare air mattresses, as we have two actual beds.
“Do you mind years of sweat, shit and semen stains?” emails one of the gays.
“So long as you clean off the AIDS,” I reply.
Apparently homophobia and AIDS still aren’t funny at porn companies.
Wednesday, July 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I was just watching a TV show in which an old Eskimo man in Barrow was asked his opinion of global warming. “I like it” he said. The interviewer was aghast, and asked him why. “Because it’s warmer” he said, very slowly, as if explaining things to a four year old.
Almost as amusing is this panty proof of global warming, found at Annie’s Blog:
Wednesday, July 19th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Wish I could tell you it was a hot mashup of pleasure and pain, but it wasn’t. Just a stupid fight between J and I, helped along by alot of bad information.
J got back from a long business trip on Monday…..a very long trip. So we were both eager to get together and have some fun. He’s barely in the door of my place before his hands are caressing me…..stroking my flanks and gently tugging my t-shirt out of my shorts.
After he does that, his hands beeline for my breasts…..My nips are really sensitive, and he loves to tease me with nipple play. And he’s really good at it, his hands are marvelous. I don’t remember how we got there, but we got to my bed and he pulled up my shirt and started nibbling my nips….alternating between them and using his hands to keep the other nipple happy too. And I came from J’s breast play, a nice uncommon surprise.
Clothes came off, and I straddled J, teasing him with tongue and cunt, spreading my wetness over his cock….then I shifted to rub my clit against his penis and had another orgasm. Not a big one but still alot of fun.
After some more teasing J finally takes me the way I like it best, slow and teasing, and alternating deep and shallow thrusts. It doesn’t take much of that and I’m coming again, a slow motion build and release just before he comes too. He looks happy, I’m sure happy…..and everything seems great for a few minutes.
But then when some blood starts returning to J’s bigger head, he starts complaining that I didn’t “come properly.” I finally figured out that what he meant is that I didn’t have a huge, earth-shaking, When Harry Met Sally-type production. Um, no…..I don’t always have those, mostly because I can’t create them and I don’t always want to try to. Sometimes they happen and sometimes they don’t even though they might be expected to. But I come easily and usually come often, and that keeps me a happy girl.
So I start trying to explain to J that when I have sex I’m all about the coming but I can do that different ways. And he starts saying stuff like the only real orgasm is the Big-O kind, and that other stuff is kind of like faking it. Well, that made me mad, and I guess some of the things I said got him mad too….maybe he thought I was saying he’s less experienced when all I was trying to say is that I’m a woman who knows my body and loves to come, and how can he not like that?
He left and we haven’t talked since then. I haven’t told him about being a sex blogger yet, mostly because I’m not very good at it and a good way to start that talk hasn’t come up. But this might be a good way, because I don’t think I can convince him myself and I know I’m not the only girl out there wired this way. Sisters, can you help me out here?
Tuesday, July 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Talking during sex — given the potential for enormous distraction — doesn’t always result in the smartest-sounding dialog. Even so, this exchange from Submissive Reflections made me smile:
“What are you doing?” I asked rather stupidly, as I was bent over grabbing the back of the couch while Mac’s fingers stole lubrication from my pussy to use on my ass.
“I am going to fuck your ass.” Mac answered in a very matter of fact manner.
“Why?” I asked, apparently unable to say anything smart at all when my panties were around my knees.
“Because I want to.” Mac said and managed not to laugh at me.
“Oh. Ok.” I said and then decided I should just shut up.
Tuesday, July 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
First, the yummy illustration:
Now, the mini-rant:
I found this picture in a gallery of vintage erotic illustrations. The artwork is probably French, but was published about a hundred years ago in an erotic book printed in Russian. The art is uncopyrighted and uncopyrightable. It cannot be owned.
Since the gallery was quite handsome and contained many vintage erotic gems, I right-clicked this image with the intent of saving it, blogging about it, and linking to the website where I found it, as per normal. The way most folks reckon such things, such an Erosblog link would be a good thing.
But instead of getting the image, my browser saved something called “spacer.gif”. Huh? So I took a second look.
Turns out the woman who built the website claims copyright on these images, and has taken extraordinary (but ineffective) measures to prevent people from saving or sharing them. When you click an image on that page, a javascript is launched that opens a new window. That window throws up transparent gifs for both image and background, but then calls a .php function that loads the actual image from a protected directory, and defines it as an object background using CSS. The result is that there’s no way, using normal browser tools, to right click and save the image.
Of course, screen capture software works just fine.
So what did this woman accomplish? She annoyed me mildly by interrupting the flow of my blogging, and then she really pissed me off by claiming bogus intellectual property rights she does not have. Worst of all from her perspective, her grabby-fingered effort to maintain possession of this image means that in my mind, she’s not deserving of the usual link courtesy. She went to a lot of effort to shoot herself in the foot.
Here endeth the rant.
Sunday, July 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s official. Sad, but official: In the world inhabited by The Girl, there are no gentlemen, nor even any decent guys. None. Worse, she says there can’t be any. It’s just not possible, sez she. We men are all, apparently, dickheads (though she doesn’t say so in just so many words).
I’m no gentleman, but my momma tried. And she taught me that a gentleman never kisses and tells. It’s a simple extension from that simple rule: if a woman lets me take intimate photos of her, they’re obviously not for public display, unless of course she gives permission.
The Girl says I don’t exist:
If a woman has had erotic photographs taken of her by a sexual partner, these will, at some point appear on the internet — usually without her knowledge.
Just in case you missed the point, she says it again. This is not a precautionary warning; she’s not saying it’s merely likely, or arguing that the risk is too great to take the chance. She says it’s inevitable:
If you do ever break up, then at some point, those pictures will find their way onto the internet, in some shape, manner or form, I guarantee it.
Er, sorry, but no. Not unless the man is a dick. And we aren’t all. He might keep ’em after the breakup, he might even wank to ’em. But post ’em on the internet without permission? A good guy wouldn’t do that.
And there are some of us out here. I’m sorry she hasn’t met any.
Taking pictures of your lover is fun and sexy. The digital camera has been a wondrous invention, greatly facilitating this erotic hobby. And yes, trust is important. No, not all men can be trusted. But, some can. It’s not inevitable that a guy will dick you over, even after you two break up. The Girl is just flat wrong about that. Yeah, it can happen. But I’m kinda pissed she’s guaranteeing it will.
By all means, be discriminating. Breakups happen, breakups hurt, and people sometimes do all sorts of stupid/mean/ugly stuff afterwards. But not all people, and not even all men.
Why am I picking on The Girl? Well, I’m really not. But I purely hate that she’s pretty much advising all women to never allow bedroom photography, based on an ugly stereotype of men that isn’t nearly as universal as she claims it is.
Sunday, July 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The bondage covers from the old men’s adventure magazines never fail to make me smile. Is it just me, or were imperiled heroines better dressed back in the day?
Via Bondage Blog.
Saturday, July 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A while back I wrote about a blowjobs-for-errands sexual bargain. Now it’s blowjobs-for-foot-rubs:
I’ve had the following agreement with every boyfriend I’ve had:
Foot rubs for blow jobs.
Am I alone in this?
It’s funny that it’s not blow jobs for muff diving, but it’s not.
I guess for me the height of pleasure receiving is a foot rub.
Saturday, July 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a 70s sex cartoon by Bill Ward that features fab fashion and a good old-fashioned caveman-style blowjob, complete with our sensitive hero demonstrating his good hair grip technique:
Is that a medallion nestled in his chest hair?
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Thursday, July 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The reason Erosblog doesn’t cover more mooning stories is that available photography usually features normal guys with semi-hairy butts — not a particular erotic trigger for your humble reporter, nor indeed, so far as I know, for any appreciable and identifiable fraction of the blog readership. However, I must admit that the Moon Amtrak website features one nice side view of a well-turned female bottom:
Thanks to Functional Ambivalent for the link.
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.”
Wednesday, July 12th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
As every man in the mechanical trades knows, the best pinups have always been distributed as advertising posters and calendars for display in such traditionally male territory as auto shops, hardware distributorships, and mechanical supply houses of every description. Here’s a small sample from a large collection of stunning advertising pinups by the famous George Petty, all celebrating the famous Ridgid brand of tools:
Monday, July 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I got distracted today by technical issues, so I’m going to just blatantly steal a spanking comic from Spanking Blog to put some color at the top of the page:
“Don’t you dare stop” is what I think she’s really saying.
Sunday, July 9th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Wegglywoo is not sure she’s happy about this, but I think it’s kinda cute:
when i woke up in the morning, all the buttons were undone.
that was funny, i thought. i’m sure i buttoned those up last night.
the next night, the same thing. i securely buttoned myseln up, and woke up in the morning unbuttoned.
the third night, callan got clumsy, and woke me up as he was unbuttoning me.
i pretended to be asleep still.
his hands moved slowly over the fabric, like warm spiders. he took an age to undo each of the buttons, timing his movements to coincide with my (faked) sleep-breathing, so as not to wake me.
once he had all the buttons undone, he snuggled more deeply into me and went to sleep.
Friday, July 7th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It’s amazing the pictures that roam around on the internets. It turns out making things out of balloons can be more entertaining that we ever imagined:
Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’m entertained by the juxtaposition in this image of a classic-but-crass pussy-in-your-face porn pose with the “classy” touch of the gloves and shoes. Of course this image (from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage) is from the era when people like your mother wore spike heels like that:
Saturday, July 1st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Hey, folks, if you like to read Susie Bright’s blog (and why wouldn’t you?) you’ll know she publishes interviews with various people (mostly writers) from time to time. I’m proud to say (since I’ve been a big fan of Susie’s for a long time) that she recently interviewed me, and put the interview up today:
The Buccaneer of Bacchanalia
Highlights include how I choose which dirty pictures to publish, a bit of the politics I don’t usually mention here, my youthful sexual influences, and why porn sites on the internet are better than they used to be.
Thursday, June 29th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I was cleaning out some old files the other day and stumbled over this gem. It’s a classic example of how Hogtied exploded onto the internet bondage erotica scene, and established a quality lead that’s rarely if ever been challenged. Simplicity itself: A beautiful women (look at her lovely hair, mmmm) in strict-but-not-complex bondage, holding her in a sexually available pose. What’s not to like?
See also: very flexible hogtied beauty.
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Wednesday, June 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I took a chemistry class once. But my teacher didn’t look like this:
She didn’t act like that, either.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, June 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a funny gallery of erotic Indian art with snide commentary. My favorite is this image of a lady with her hookah, nozzle not being sucked in the usual way:
Commentary:
The Wrong Hole: we all like a post-coital cigarette but this is just ridiculous. Or maybe I have it all wrong and that’s actually some kind of ancient anti-pregnancy felching machine? Well, whatever it is, she seems to like it. I just feel bad for the poor bastard who goes and smokes that thing next. Or do I envy him? Shit, I’m turning myself on.
Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.
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Thursday, June 22nd, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Maybe I was a pervy kid, because stuff like this sure would have got my attention when I was supposed to be learning my letters and numbers. Instead I was kissing boys!
The sunburst at the meeting of the pelvises would have been pretty back then…..now I know what it means. How I love that feeling!
The full alphabet and other beautiful art are available beginning at this first page of an Erte gallery. The thumbnails are fun teases!
Thursday, June 22nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The last time the subject of female ejaculation came up on this blog, I had to take firm measures with the delete button to prevent the comments from deteriorating into what I called “sexual ignorance and doubt”. So I’m delighted to present Susie Bright’s findings, from when she was asked by AVN to provide her expert opinion:
Holy Hellcat! Yes, this is real. It is also extraordinary. These women are on a mission, and they keep themselves pumped up, pulsating their clits and masturbating with “no fake about it” intensity, coming again and again and again and again. And again.
…
Their clits are so engorged that their whole pelvic area swells up with definition. The room is soaked. They roar like lions and shoot like geysers. Camille Paglia with her “arc of transcendence” notion about male pissing contests really needs to see this.
There’s much, much more.
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.
Saturday, June 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
One thing I like about sex blogs is the window it offers into the sexual lives of real people. In particular, we sometimes hear anecdotes of the sexaul bargains and accomodations that people make. Sexual negotiation, chore negotiation, and marital conflict resolution never works like this in the movies, but in the real world anything is possible:
Yesterday I had a party to go to and I needed to bring some things. I worked the night before and realized I still needed to go to the store right when I woke up, but was still WAY too tired to get up and go. I asked Vincent to go for me, but he said no. So, being the smart woman I am, I made him a deal – I’d give him 5 on-demand blow jobs if he went to the store for me. Being a typical man, he accepted the deal (even made me shake on it, his own wife!)
So, naturally, before I left for the party, I only had 4 left to give.
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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Wednesday, May 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Let’s be honest. Usually when a sex toy seller sends me a product for review, the best reaction I can find is a profound shrug. (It can be worse; I actually had one outfit send me a pair of size four stripper shoes, complete with transparent acrylic spike heels. The only person I know who would enjoy these just turned thirteen without outgrowing her princess complex, and I can’t figure out how to get them into her possession without her parents thinking I’m some sort of horrid creep, so that’s right out.)
Generally it’s: Oh, look, yet another vibrator, only this one smells like vinyl apricots and falls apart when you press it against…anything. Whatever. Batteries not included? Trashcan.
So I’ll confess to some skepticism when I got a package from Wild In Secret. But I like opening packages, so what the hell. It’s free stuff, how bad can it be?
Ask rather: How good?
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the first vibrator I ever saw that makes me feel the way all men feel when they first acquire a fine high-quality power tool. Behold, the Phantasy Sinnflut:
This is honest-to-God German engineering in a sex toy. First impression: Pretty! Nice color, friendly shape, nubbins on the end are kinda erotic-looking:
Second impression: Feels nice! The shape fits easily in the hand, and the texture (medical-grade silicone) feels more like flesh than the usual hard plastic or vinyl.
Third impression: Whoa! Is that a charging base? Is this thing rechargable, like my trusty Black & Decker electric screwdriver that I bought in 1997 and still use every week? Muah-ha-ha-hah!
Sure enough. No batteries, never again! Wheeee! And hey, the prong that fits in the charging base doesn’t have any exposed contacts, it must use inductance the way the fancy new electric toothbrushes do. Does that mean the Sinnflut is waterproof? Lemme check: Yup, the website says it is, although, sensibly enough, the user instructions (in four languages) are very clear about keeping the charging base out of the bathroom and away from water. Duh, that part plugs into the wall.
Now let’s fiddle with it. (Alas, The Nymph is out of town, so I can’t subject the Sinnflut — or The Nymph, for that matter — to full operational field testing.) OK, that little button is the on-off switch, nice buzz, but just one speed? That can’t be right. (Fiddle fiddle.) Aha! The nubbin that goes in the charge is also a speed control. Press it sideways and this thing goes from zzz to buzz to BZZZZZZ to “ARGH, I should stop pressing it against my face because my teeth are buzzing and my fillings are shaking loose.” This thing goes to eleven. (And past, it turns out — there are a couple of intermittent vibration modes you get if you press the stud again once it’s at max power.) Bottom line: way more powerful than a typical battery vibe, feels more like a hand-held plugin “electric massager”. But dials way down to a gentle hum if you like that sort of thing.
I’ve gotten some nifty free swag in the mail since starting this blog, but right now I think the Phantasy Sinnflut may be the coolest sex toy ever sent to me for review. Once The Nymph gets home, I’ll try to update my first impressions with some useability reports.
Tuesday, May 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
…and writing, erotica that is, moreso. So sez Chelsea Girl:
I’m accustomed to reading books and finding my girlparts moist. The act of reading, after all, has a kind of inherent eroticism. A generally solitary activity, reading is just you and your quiet hands and the fantasy that the words play out in your mind. It’s just one swift hand below your waistline away from masturbation.
The eighteenth-century birth of the European novel was heralded with all kinds of fear that reading would unreasonably inflame the senses of the young with what one critic has termed ‘one-handed reading.’ And justifiably so — by the middle of the century, John Cleland wrote the first piece of English pornography to help him get out of debtor’s prison.
To get out, and one might suspect, to get off, because let me tell you that writing porn makes a person seriously body-needy.
I’ve been writing a couple of commissioned porny pieces: the first for an American soldier stationed in Iraq narrates a soldier’s wife’s experience of her husband’s return and her waking up from a long sexual nap. The second, for an international poker player, gives the story of a secretary being anally punished for habitual lateness.
Who knew that in a pinch binder clips work as impromptu nipple clamps? Me, that’s who.
I’ve found it incredibly hott-making to get inside these character’s heads and bodies. To inhabit the life of a woman who has by necessity put her sexuality on hold and then to find it smacking it upside her fanny was incendiary. It was hard, literally, a hard little wet knot in my g-string as I sat on my desk chair typing, typing, typing this story of this woman’s learning about what she wanted and how she wanted it.
When I finished, the story a crescendo of simultaneous orgasm and multiple penetration, I felt as if I knew her.
And now, immersed in this office fantasy, the rolling chairs, the drawers of pointy staples and rolls of tape, the shredded gossamer of good-girl pantyhose and the imminent threat of discovery, I find my delicate sensibilities inflamed. (Today, while writing, I had to take a break, discover the painful joy of my nipple clamps and come hard and long with my bullet vibe, groaning louder than I’d expected.)
Ah, the joys of literacy!
Friday, May 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Mistress Matisse’s latest column offers instruction on The Gentle Art of Girl Fisting:
I vividly recall the first time I ever had my whole hand inside a woman’s pussy. I was 19, and my girlfriend was a sexy butch woman with an appetite for deep penetration. One night — we were on the living room floor, I believe — I had all four fingers inside her and was fucking her as hard as I could, trying to match the tempo of her fast-pumping hips. In our thrashing tangle of limbs, my hand pivoted from the usual thumb-to-the-clit position to a diagonal approach. I instinctively pressed my thumb against my palm so my fingernail wouldn’t jab her. As I did, she thrust herself against me like a roller-derby queen butting aside a competitor, and to my surprise and momentary alarm, I felt my whole hand slide into her.
“Baby, are you okay?”
“Don’t fucking stop!”
So I didn’t.
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Monday, May 22nd, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Over at Kiss and Blog, Wombat says more about his soon-to-be-renamed Ten Date Rule. It makes alot of sense to me:
Doesn’t it make sense to recognize that having sex changes things? Not only does your body react, but the way you think about the man changes too. Thanks to oxytocin, you will now want to be with him more than before. Unfortunately, the guy isn’t affected in the same way, and without an existing attachment may not be as interested in continuing the liaison. This causes heartbreak for women when their feelings intensify after first sex, and the guy does The Fadeout.
Allowing the man to get to know and like you beyond the temptation of intercourse will improve the odds of him sticking around. Women often fail to allow for the time it takes a bloke to do this. Whereas women know within thirty seconds if particular guy is for them, it can take us much – much – longer. Sure, we like the idea of having sex with you, but getting to the point of wanting a relationship after sticking it in can take a while. Weeks, or longer.
That’s the thing about the TDR; it’s got nothing to do with women. It is all about men. Knowledge of male behaviour means that women can allow for it. Whether you choose to or not is up to you.
Lots more over there. If your knickers are all twisted from the above, be sure to read the comments. Pagan Marbury of Thong Speed and Trouble in Shangri La from Dubious Wonder add alot to Wombat’s post. And their blogs look pretty good too!
Friday, May 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an image that would make a good get-well-soon card:
Tuesday, May 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been accumulating a little file of the oddest and most disturbing spam subject lines from amongst the zillion porn spams a day that I get. It’s time to share:
Olga gets butt hole rammed and facial blasted
Ouch! Poor Olga! Is she a porn model or a very unfortunate quarry worker?
barely legal perverts gangbanged by wild bears
Zoophilia with bears? Gangbanging bears? Who’s the target demographic here?
watch hot chicks get smacked around
Uh, no thanks. Also, please die.
correct penis oil
Important to get this right, because incorrect penis oil makes your dick fall off.
lesbians piss and smoke
They do? Why yes, I suppose some of them do. Your point is?
Urgent Notification #34419569771119606167
Er, if you’ve already sent out 34 quintillion notifications, you’ve been at it quite awhile. How urgent can this one really be?
Do you want killing sweet viirgin girls ?
That would be a big negatory, Bob. Geez, what a waste of sweet virgin girls. A few other useful projects for them I can think of, if they’re of age and willing, but killing them? Piss off.
Wait, are you the same guy who wrote to me about smacking hot chicks around? You must not have got the memo about women and sex. You know, sex, the fun stuff? Where nobody gets hurt unless they asks very nicely?
Ultra Allure Pheromones will kill her
I guess they don’t work so good then. Have you considered toxic waste disposal rather than direct email sales? Wait, did you buy this stuff from the guy who claims his penis oil is correct?
Jasmine burn anal pumped and cum blasted
Does she work with Olga? Has anybody thought to call OSHA?
Young Bitches so refined and charming!
Which is it? Are they bitches? Or charming? I don’t think I’ve ever met a charming bitch. For that matter, I mostly try to avoid bitches. Don’t you think you’d get better response if you omitted the “bitch” descriptor from your advertising for these refined and charming young women?
Sunday, May 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Like a lot of men, I’m fascinated by finely-machined steel objects that can be assembled, disassembled, and tinkered with. I can’t not visit the Snap-On Tools van when it comes to my neighborhood, it’s got too many nifty chrome-steel toys in it. And the plumbing section of the hardware store is evil; I’m always in there screwing pipe fittings together and building little sculptures. Metal stuff makes the best toys, and even though I lost my Erector Set decades ago, I’ve never forgotten how much fun it was.
So, accordingly, I’m in awe of this new toy:
It’s called the Ballz Master and the marketing copy goes like this:
The Ballz Master Set is a tinker-toy lover’s dream collection, allowing you to assemble a huge range of different stainless steel dildos. You get two different end balls and one each of four middle balls. A total of eleven body segments in three different lengths provide lots of options for the finished length of your toys. You get a hefty base and handle, of course, and a sharp-looking padded aluminum case with foam insert to safely store and transport your Ballz!
I’m not sure how practical this toy set would be, but it sure would be fun to tinker with!
Monday, May 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I doubt there’s a man alive who hasn’t noticed that, as a good rule of thumb, if you pay for stuff when you’re with a woman of interest, you’re more likely to gain her affections. Some men draw the wrong lesson from this, and conclude that all women are “whores”. (Oddly enough, this soon becomes true for them; pretty quick the only women in their lives are ones who trade faux affection for money and loot.)
Smart guys know better. Smart guys know that a generously applied wallet is a form of hospitality; it’s a means of expressing your willingness to take care of a lady. And there ain’t hardly anybody in this world who doesn’t enjoy being taken care of, whether they need it or not.
And, it works. Just ask Midwest:
I know that it sounds weird, and I reiterate that’s it’s not about the money, but it’s very sexy when a guy insists on paying. It’s a manly-man thing to do. It communicates the desire to take care of me. I think it appeals to a biological drive to be cared for by men.
I realize that’s not P.C. to say, and women very well may not need to be taken care of, but it feels nice when we are. Being around him – having him pick up the checks, cover the gas and open my doors – makes me feel more feminine. And in turn, I view him as more masculine.
Suddenly the sweet lil’ pup at the copy machine has morphed into a hunky mountain climber with big guns, solid quads and a generous spirit.
And I kind of have a crush on him.
Saturday, May 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I differ from the usual run of sex bloggers in that I’m not as urban as seems to be the norm. My roots are rural, and I don’t freak out when the only coffee in the county is called “coffee” and costs less than a buck.
So I can tell you with some authority that there remain, in this vast country of ours, a fair few young men whose entire ambition is to get some land, plant it, find a good farm wife, and settle down to a life of endless unremunerative hard labor. The good farm wife, as you can imagine, is a very important factor in this bucolic vision of paradise.
Thus I can well imagine the reaction of some young rural swain as he spies this Venus arising from the stock-watering tank:
And the reaction is this: “Yup, she’ll do.”
Hey, at least he knows she knows how to ride a pitchfork.
Picture is from Usenet.
Thursday, May 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’m going to do something I rarely do, and quote another blogger’s post in its entirety. I don’t think Violet Blue will mind, because it’s an important message that’s not readily excerpted:
So I escaped my sex writing hamster wheel for a few minutes and went out with this guy the other night. Things went swimmingly. We made tentative plans to see each other again this weekend. The next day, there is a message from him on my voicemail, telling me that his ex-girlfriend doesn’t want him to see me again.
Um… I hate pointing out obvious things. But it seems to me that the ability to label objects is such a crucial life skill that it is one we learn in childhood and perfect long enough to outwit natural selection. Labeling is the basis for navigating the world. It is the essence of being able to call things what they are. Confusing that, I think, leads one down a road that eventually has one confusing the labels “Drano” and “Pellegrino”.
I’m just sayin’.
Thursday, May 4th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Oh, to be the nettle that knows the touch of a sub’s lips:
The picture of nettles at the Urtication site linked above got me thinking…..those nettles look so much like mint…..could nettles be edible? Why, yes! This Sado-botany nettle FAQ has alot more information, but alas, no recipes.
So don’t throw your greens away when you’re done playing with your sub – make some soup or a nettle fritatta. Sex juices on them would just add extra-yummy flavor.
Picture is from the Urtication website.
Monday, May 1st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
As part of an ode to post-sex summer-evening scooter-driving, Steph offers a parenthetical solution to the road rage problem:
Road rage is all because people aren?t having sex enough. C’mon, people! Spread the sex around. Let’s reclaim our streets. Nice, happy drivers who just couldn’t give a shit if you go faster. They’re thinking about getting a little more of the shaggin’ they just had. A far better traffic pattern would emerge, I bet.
Thursday, April 27th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
My weekend was terrific. It was the first time I stayed over at J’s house. Most of the soon to be ex’s stuff was gone, so that was okay. The best parts were all the tulips he bought, he put them in just about every room in the house and they were gorgeous….and the sex.
J is more playful than I thought. After dinner I thought he’d want to go right to bed, but he put on some music in the living room and we sat and drank more wine and talked. The music was great, sexy but not too pushy….and as we got warmed up, he asked me to strip for him. I got up to start…..and noticed the huge window with only a sheer curtain covering it. He noticed my glance and just grinned and nodded. Did I mention that his house is on the main highway just barely out of town? Almost everybody that comes and goes from town uses that road. I started to sit back down and then I realized that he was asking for his idea of adding spice to our sex. It wasn’t what I was thinking of, but that shouldn’t stop me….
So I did it. At first I was a little embarassed, but the music and the buzz from the wine and his huge smile got me into it. So did thinking about how many people might see part of the show I was putting on! I danced and teased and got totally into it…..and so did J. We ended up making love there too. I had turned around and was wiggling my ass at him and he stood up and pulled off his pants. He bent me over a chair and filled me in one slow thrust. It didn’t take much more for me to come and he wasn’t far behind. I had forgotten all about the window…..but seeing headlights swoop by reminded me that we both had just put on a show…..and that got me hot again. So yeah, we did an encore too.
Friday, April 21st, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
J and I both have the whole weekend off, yippeeee! The weather’s supposed to be good, so I told him I’d come over and help with a big project of his (he’s the friend I mentioned here). You know I’ll be doing my best to work on my “big project” too, which is his lovely cock. So far J’s been a darling, pretty much what I said I wanted, so it’s more than just good great sex.
And that’s the thing. I’m ready to move beyond the regular sex, I want to experiment some, I want his eyes to roll back in his head and to hear him say “That was amazing!” What I don’t want to hear, or for him to think, is “What a slut.” Like Steff said in a post on titty fucking:
There’s an interesting dichotomy in the sexual world. One aspect is the woman who enjoys almost any sexual act. She’s often portrayed as lewd, slutty, easy, or loose, just because she’s an enthusiast. And that’s bullshit, my friends. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the activities you enjoy surrounding sex should not judge who you are as a person.
But then there’s the flipside. If you’re hesitant to do some of the so-called edgier/pornified things, you get painted a bit as a vanilla lover, or someone who’s “conservative” in the bedroom, which is also bullshit, my friends.
How do you find that happy in between? Can somebody who’s a sexblogger avoid the slut tag?
J’s still going through the divorce dance, so it’s too early to say what will happen between us. I don’t want to rush him but I do want to explore some sex stuff. God, what a minefield this is!
More…… J just sent me some beautiful flowers! They’re those curvey tulips with the pointy petals, and the card says “Looking forward to bucking rivets – and more – with you!” Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Thursday, April 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a bit of midweek blasphemy from Hot Action:
Safe to say that at a certain point in my life, I started to have some serious philosophical issues with the Christian religion.
“So if you can’t have sex, what do you do in Heaven all day?”
“There is no such thing as day or night in Heaven.”
“…So what do you do in Heaven all eternity?”
“You glorify God.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Hmmm.
Sorry homie, I think I might respectfully decline the invitation to this party.
There’s something that really freaks me out about Heaven, and it can be summed up in two words: infant mortality.
It’s not just that God is a smug bastard who causes beautiful innocent babies to die. It’s the fact that these babies, being free of sin, all get a free ticket to Heaven. Every one of them.
Can you imagine showing up to the Afterlife and there’s millions and millions of babies everywhere?
All of them gurgling and cooing and crawling all over you with their perfect little baby bodies.
This does not sound like my idea of a bachelor’s paradise.
It gets worse. Some believers in Christianity are opposed to contraception because they believe it murders billions of tiny souls. “Every sperm is sacred” and so on.
Maybe it explains how the Pearly Gates got their name. Although “Pearly Floodgates” might be more appropriate. I’ve probably sent a few million souls up to the glorification of God myself. I’ve probably sent a few million up today.
“Welcome to Heaven. The good news is the streets are paved with gold. The bad news is, ALL THE STREETS ARE FLOODED WITH COME.”
Watch your step!
Wednesday, April 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The Girl With A One Track Mind says that good sex is all in the chemistry:
You see, of the men I have slept with — that made my fire burn from the chemistry — not all, even many, of them were that skilled in the sack. But they still made my pants soaked and enabled me to climax — repeatedly — when I was with them.
Given the choice between the most skilled lover in the world and one that is clumsy with his hands, but who — when he whispers in my ear “god you’ve got me so turned on” — makes me drip in anticipation of his touch, I know who I would pick, and it wouldn’t be Mr Loverlover. I’m of the opinion that every man can be taught (if necessary) how to please a woman well; but if there’s no chemistry there to begin with? Forget it.
This might sound harsh — “ladies, get rid of him if he doesn’t make your pants wet before he touches you” — but, fuck it, it’s true. Every good lover I have had was someone I had chemistry with; the ones I didn’t (and yes, there’ve been many of those too) — even with all the best technique in the world — didn’t make me come (as hard, as much, or even, at all).
Thursday, April 13th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here we see a sex blog writer (a mature male specimen of Bloggis Sexualis) hard at work in his natural habitat:
No, ladies and gentlemen, that’s not me — it came to me as a circulating email funny. I have only two more words to say:
WAFFLE BUTT!
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.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, April 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a sort of fun link, courtesy of Violet Blue. The Taste Tester: One Woman’s Attempt To Help Men Taste Better chronicles Ava’s attempts to make her boyfriend’s semen taste better through dietary changes. Should be fun to see what she learns.
Fair warning, though: by the sex positive standards of this audience, Ava’s a bit porn-negative and quick to call her boyfriend an idiot for wanting to come on her tits. On the one hand, she’s being a fine sport about the whole semen-in-the-mouth business; but on the other hand, a man ought to be able to express a fantasy without having his lady want to “smack some sense into him.” Hint: When a man tells you he’s “horrified with himself” and “acting like an idiot”, he’s most likely backpedalling furiously and regretting his moment of honesty, rather than feeling actually repentant. Good luck getting the next fantasy out of him!
Friday, April 7th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
the last half hour I told him: “Now focus. You’ve got to come or else. i got shit to do.”
am I selfish?
two hours of morning sex is way too long.
That’s what Silvia says over at Sextherightway. And I am so not getting that. Probably because I love morning sex, and I’m not getting that right now either.
Seriously, what’s not to love about already being all close and cuddly, and either wake up feeling his wood pressed against you or waking him up by giving him a woodie? Hell, pretty much everything on my to do list can wait until after a morning romp is done.
Didn’t somebody famous say that’s the only polite way to wake a person up? Works for me.
Wednesday, April 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From Kiss & Blog, a one sentence fruit sex anecdote:
Another friend’s boyfriend was so hot for her while hiking alone in Hawaii that he fucked a mango in the jungle while imagining it to be her pussy.
Being a man (and having seen pictures of melon sex) I don’t have any trouble believing that the sticky business took place as described.
However. Pause.
I am having trouble imagining the conversation in which the boyfriend in question confessed the mango sex.
Tuesday, April 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Oh, my. I was checking out a favorite place to shop for sex toys when I noticed they sell fitted leather sheets. King sized ones, even, if you’ve got the simoleans for it:
Leather freakin’ sheets. Just the feel would be sensuous enough. But as you and yours get all hot and sweaty and those sheets start to moisten and warm up, the room would fill with that lovely leather smell, and it would get all over the both of you, too. You’d be buried in the scent of leather.
Can you imagine? Breathe…. Mmmmmm.
Not cheap, no indeedy not. But I think I might just have to get me some.
Similar Sex Blogging:
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 Bacchus
I’ve mentioned before the odd pathology of pornographers using ugly language to describe and market the porn talent, and cited with approval pornographers who speak out against the practice. Here’s another citation: Sam Sugar, in an article cataloging the big lies told by pornographers, says:
3. Sluts. Despite what it says on the box, if you call a woman — even a porn performer — a nasty cum-drinking bitch when you’re not having sex with her, she’s probably going to knee you in the nuts. The tubby mommies-boys and misogynists who market porn want you to think that the way they view women is how women in porn see themselves. Try calling a performer a “dirty cock-socket” at a trade-show if you think it is, in fact, true. Watch your head.
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.
Thursday, March 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Via BoingBoing comes word of James Lilek’s latest snarky deconstruction of mid-20th-century fashion, this time in the form of the amazingly-tame 1977 catalog from Fredericks Of Hollywood:
“On the far left, a small bra ad: it’s Farrah Fawcett, practicing her expressions should she land a role that requires her to be slapped, yet look sexy and available.”
Sometimes the Lileks caption is all you need:
“Lord Slink from the Planet Mantis puts the move on Loni Anderson.”
Thursday, March 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a hilarious transcript of cybersex gone terribly … right? Some goon tries to pretend to be a master, but he seems to think it mostly involves virtual punches and namecalling. And then the hunter becomes the hunted:
mia: *gets out strap-on, and slips it on*
jblack: whoa
mia: *attaches 14″ dildo to strap-on*
mia: *lubes the dildo up*
jblack: where’s the girl? you’re going to fuck a girl right?
mia: you’re the girl. i’m going to fuck you.
jblack: master does not approve
mia: no, see. this whole time you’re under the assumption that i needed to be dominated
mia: the truth of the matter is, I do the dominating.
mia: and to prove it
mia: i’m going to fuck your cyber ass until it cyber bleeds
jblack: master says no
mia: no, YOUR MASTER says yes
mia: bend the fuck over
jblack: i don’t like this
mia: too fucking bad, worm. you’re gonna get it now
mia: *bends you over. spreads your ass.*
jblack: no i don’t want this
mia: he doesn’t WANT this, he says. what about what i said, before you cyber raped me, DICK?
mia: all i’m doing is what you did to me. you think that’s unfair?
jblack: yes
mia: and why is that
jblack: because i aint a fag
mia: oh but i am?
jblack: different. your a bitch
mia: no, actually, YOU’RE the bitch right now
mia: *slams my big dildo into your ass*
mia: oh that feels so good doesn’t it, bitch?
jblack: this is rape
mia: “shut up, bitch. enjoy it”
mia: oh yeah, you like that?
mia: you like Master’s cock?
*jblack has signed off*
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, March 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Oddest sex spam of the day, reproduced in its entirety:
Hi
Buy viagra or die!
Have a nice day.
Although I’m not sure it’s technically spam, since it came through without a working link or a valid reply email. Perhaps it’s just an aggressive new brand awareness campaign by Pfizer?
Friday, March 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Steph broke out the manifesto pen the other day, and I like the results:
I have sex as often as I’m able, within the constraints of my own sense of morality. I’ve given blow jobs. I’ve taken it backwards and forwards. I’ve used birth control of more than one variety. I’ve had sex in public places. I own sex toys. I’ve watched porn. I’ve tried to become better and better at sex every time I have it. I own bondage gear.
And I am not yet on a first-name basis with Satan. Shocking, I know, but true. I, in fact, (gasp) have gone to church in the last six months. I donate to charity. I do not have a criminal record. I do housework. I pay my taxes — honestly. I don’t lie on my resume. I call my parents regularly. I’m always punctual. I’m a model employee. I treat people with respect. I ride a cute scooter and obey the laws of the road.
Nonetheless, right now, I’d like to get fucked silly and sideways, and if that makes me amoral, then sign me up, baby.
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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Tuesday, March 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A long time ago I ranted against the blog tradition of labeling adult links as “not safe for work”:
I hate the way people refer to ErosBlog as not work safe. It’s a pet peeve. See, the deal is, ErosBlog is safe for work, although perhaps not conducive to getting any done. If it’s not safe for you to view ErosBlog where you work, it’s your work that’s not safe for ErosBlog. Just because some of my readers live in the United States and choose to work in environments where they are treated like horny fifth-graders and assumed to be unable to make responsible choices about viewing and displaying sexual material, there’s no reason to call the blog unsafe, especially when other readers and potential readers live or work in less repressive societies (or environments, such as their own office or home) where the blog is perfectly safe. Folks, if your work isn’t safe for ErosBlog, consider getting some different work! And if you can’t do that (and I know a lot of folks feel stuck in their lives) at least don’t assume that everyone else in the world is in the same boat.
Fast forward to today, when security expert Bruce Schneier posted a blog entry about the novelty nude Euro bills being passed as real money:
The very first comment in response to his post was a stiff complaint about the link he posted:
Bruce, next time, it would be an idea to indicate the link might not be safe for work. Some of us might have some explaining to do if looking at those images.
I really liked Bruce’s incredulous response:
You have got to be kidding. Where in the world do you work?
The sentiments from my long-ago rant were echoed by a different commenter:
I think if you could get into trouble by just reading the article linked by Bruce, then you really have a harsh working environment. What about a change of work?
Sadly, several other folks chimed in to support the complainer. It’s not just one person who wants their links pre-vetted to include warnings against newsworthy boobie artwork, it’s lots of people. The job culture, I swear it’s a menace.
Sunday, March 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve commented before (most notably in the comments to this post about the production of spanking porn) that I don’t have much time for so-called feminists who can’t respect a woman’s sexual decisions. When feminists stop standing up for the choices women make, I stop recognizing them as feminists, it’s that simple.
Thus there’s some interest to be found in this Spanking and Feminism thread over at Spanking Blog. The post itself chides kinky men who won’t take ownership of their kinkiness, who can’t admit they want to spank and dominate for the fun of it, so they instead pretend (to themselves and to the world) that the women they are spanking are weak inferior creatures who would be lost without the “guidance and discipline” these ever-so-benevolent dudes are offering.
As discussion simmered in the comments, ranging wider and wider as discussions of BDSM and feminism tend to do, along came someone claiming to “respect individual choices” while simultaneously arguing that “it’s really hard to seperate out cultural expectations and personal choices.” Which, translated, means something like “You say you chose to do that, but I don’t believe you, and thus I’m free to condemn your choice.” I enjoyed the response:
No, it’s really not hard to separate out personal choices from cultural expectations. When someone says “This is my choice” you respect that, absolutely, or you just became part of the problem. If you retain niggling reservations, if you’re willing to question the individual’s self report of her choice, then you are failing to respect her personal choice and you are claiming, in effect, that you know better than the individual. Viewed charitably, the claim is still a version of “Your society has made it impossible for you to act as as a self-actualized individual adult human; you’re so messed up that you can’t even correctly determine or report what you want.” That’s an infantilizing, disempowering, patronizing claim and although it’s often made by folks who claim the badge of feminism, it’s no part of a true feminism that I could respect.
Just so.
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.
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.
Saturday, March 11th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
One feature of vintage pornography, now mostly vanished, is the anti-clerical, anti-papist depictions of Catholic clergy. Early erotic novels, which mostly tended to be contraband anyway, were chock-full of priests, nuns, and monks run sexually amok in orgiastic golcondas of kinky sex, rape, and flagellation involving each other, whatever innocent children they could seduce or kidnap from their flocks, and sundry nearby farm animals. One doesn’t see so much of that in modern pornography, but there was a bit of it remaining in the hardcore porn of the 1960s and 1970s, which this appears to be:
One could almost surmise, from the hopefully expectant expressions on the nuns’ faces, that they are praying for (and working for) a sudden shower of manna. Nun bukkake, anyone?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, March 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This week’s Pillowbook has a few words about a man with a hair fetish. Including a variant hair sex practice that may surprise even you, the sex blog readers who have seen it all:
let me briefly share with you an observation on the kinkiest hair sex i’ve had. so far.
it’s not really about pubic hair, but i still think it’s worth mentioning.
i had this guy once (well, quite a few times, actually), who was so besotted with my hair (head hair) that he wanted me to get on all fours over him and use it to stroke him to full erection, every single time we fucked. all over his body i’d stroke him, like he was a billiard table and i was sweeping him prior to a game or something. i would have to sweep him like that for however long it took for his cock to be standing fully to attention. which was usually about ten seconds, but could go on for a lot longer, depending on whether or not he wanted me to bypass penetration altogether and hair-sweep him to orgasm, as he sometimes did. then he’d shoot his load into my hair, and i’d have to go to sleep with a wet spot next to my cheek…
but that’s not the kinky part. that’s just normal.
you and your partner probly did that very thing last night.
no, the kinky part was when he wanted me to peel back his foreskin, take a single strand of living, still-attached hair, wrap it around his glans in a spiral from the base, roll the foreskin back over it, and then – ever so gently so that the hair didn’t break – pull away from him, dragging the hair out from beneath his foreskin like a rock climber’s line playing out of his ropebag.
the thing was, my hair is so fine that sometimes it *would* break, and then things would turn ugly.
let’s not go there.
but, if it didn’t break, he would end up so aroused that, when i tried to then mount him for penetration, he’d usually have come in my hand while i was still trying to place him against my slit.
we did that so often that my head hair was well and truly fetishised. i’d be sitting in a sidewalk cafe with him and the wind would riffle my fringe onto my face, and, when i went to brush it away with my hand, i could tell that he was boning up beneath his latte.
Wednesday, March 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here are a few words from Chelsea Girl about the prospect of a threesome:
This is the story of being the girlmeat in a boybread sandwich.
…
In the grand spirit of nothing exceeding like excess, the threesome promises a surfeit of pleasures. More hands, more mouths, more flesh, more limbs, and, in this case, more cocks. I’d had the girl/boy/girl threesome a couple of times–and in fact the week after my boy/girl/boy threesome I’d have another g/b/g one–but I’d never been with two boys at once, and I liked the idea.
I liked the idea of being the warm womanly center of the all male maelstrom. I liked too the idea of being doubly objectified, doubly penetrated, doubly used and doubly pleasured. I liked the idea of having a cock in my mouth while a mouth was at my pussy, and while that scenario is obviously open to the g/b/g threesome, I liked the idea that I could then be fucked by the cock belonging to the mouth that was at my pussy.
I didn’t really think a lot about the boys kissing, touching or whatever together. It would be exciting–I like hot boy-on-boy action as much as the next sexually progressive chick–but it hadn’t really entered into my fantasy extensively, to be honest. Mostly this fantasy centered on me, my body, and those two boys who would in tandem be doing their utmost to pleasure it.
Of course, as is the way of things, the reality was a little different than the anticipation.
Monday, March 6th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
I think I filled out the application right yesterday!
Monday, March 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A while back I mocked a sex spam missive that began “Has your cum ever dribbled and you wish it had shot out?” I wondered:
Nobody expects very much from spam. But most of it makes at least a certain sort of sense. Bigger penis? Sure, there’s a market. Harder penis? Why not? Breast enlargements? Cheaper mortgages? Debt reduction? Fake Rolex watches? I probably know somebody who wants each of these things.
But an increased ejaculate volume? Who do I know that worries about their inability to make a big enough mess during sex? No, on second thought, don’t tell me.
The comments then were sufficient to suggest to me that this particular sexual anxiety is out there, even though it had never crossed my own mind during the course of a long and anxious life. Now comes Perge Modo addressing the same question with actual sensible suggestions, as opposed to dubious herbal solutions. He offers up the possibility of engaging in temporary and strategic abstinence to build up a metaphorical head of steam, and further suggests prostate manipulation and/or interruption of ejaculation as possible approaches. A flavor of his sophisticated prose:
Have you tried having your prostate manipulated while preparing to shoot? Most guys who want to stick a finger up your butt have no idea what they are looking for. They are as rude as firemen hatcheting their way into a burning house without so much as a pause at the door. (“Hey! It’s not locked, you jerks, just turn the handle.”) Every so often though, you’ll encounter an expert who can find your prostate and apply just the right amount of coaxing pressure to send you into a state of total and subjegated disarmament that will enhance the finale.
I guess that’s further proof (if the spam were not enough) that some guys really do worry about this.
Saturday, March 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We all know that large books have been published about the effects of marriage on various sexual sensibilities. Here’s a tiny new chapter from The Smitten:
This is, hands down, the hottest picture I have ever taken of my husband and it’s not because I have a thing for Hummer-sized feet:
Shown here is among the greatest things that have happened since we walked off the aisle and into the sunset together. You see, this man right here is scrubbing the bathtub. Our bathtub. Hard. And more importantly, better than I can.
Friday, March 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
With a title like “Toasted Buns” on a sex blog, you’d expect a spanking picture. But you’d be wrong:
There’s the sort of woman who’s no fun to go camping with (“Honeeee, I need to wash my hair…”) and then then there’s the sort who is.
Thursday, March 2nd, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Yes!! I’ll tell you a little about it all but you’ll need to follow me…..
I decided that I wasn’t going to stay home and mope on Valentines Day, instead I went to a bar that has decent food. I haven’t been there in awhile and it was fun. One of my neighbors that I used to help before I moved was there. His wife hated it when he went out with the guys so I was surprized to see him there, especially on Valentines Day. They split up. I knew they had problems but I didn’t expect that.
Funny how I noticed how cute he is right after he said that. (Not really, I noticed before, but now it was okay to tell myself how cute he is.) We take turns buying drinks and pretty soon it’s just the two of us sitting at the bar and talking. After a couple rounds he tells me he always thought I was cute in my trashy work clothes but when he saw me at the bar in a dress he didn’t know it was me because I was so pretty. I blushed and put my hand on his knee. Instant. Electricity.
We couldn’t get together for a date until last Saturday. It was nice, real comfy since we already are friends, but we both felt that electricity sparking between us. So we ended up at my apartment…..and I forget who gave into that electricity first, but we ended up in my bed having totally hot sex. Nothing really naughty…..just the quenching of deep thirst.
And wouldn’t you know it, I get no breaks. When he pulls out of me his cock is red. Bright red. It isn’t the usual color a girl expects from down there. He didn’t hurt me at all and there’s no obvious damage on him, so he’s looking at me with a what-the-fuck look and I’m looking at him with a what-the-fuck look.
It was me. I was still bleeding on Monday, so I went to a doctor. She said that it’s nothing to worry about and that things get out of practice, especially as a woman gets older and doesn’t have regular sex (the first time I’ve been called ‘older,’ how much better can this get?).
He’s been totally sweet about it. He’s called every day to check on me, and today he sent me a pink rose with a card saying ‘No more red – please?’ The bleeding has stopped….we both have Sunday off…. I just sent him a white rose with ‘Lather rinse repeat’ on the card.
And I really wouldn’t care if I did repeat it all, he’s been that cool about it.
Thursday, March 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A wee bit of sexual sanity from Steff:
My lovers have carte blanche to roll over and begin playing with me anytime they want. They know there’s a chance I will say no or push ’em away, but a better chance I’ll say yes, and most importantly, they know I’d never fault ’em for trying. And you shouldn’t either. You should never leave your lover feeling trepidatious about sharing their desire with you. That should go without saying, but fuck, one could write a book about it.
Indeed one could. I’ve known men who dared not try to initiate sex with their wives, for fear that they would be (and this is a quote) “punished”.
Thursday, February 23rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
99% Sex-Free Post:
In my recent interview at Sunni’s Salon, I had this to say about the merits of sex blogging instead of having a job:
The job culture is as big a threat to human freedom as anything governments ever dreamed up. How can you be free and happy when you spend most of your waking hours in a place dictated by someone else, pursuing their priorities rather than your own, and living by their petty rules? With no time or energy to pursue your own priorities by the time you get home after a long unpaid commute? I lived that life for years, until I finally realized that I had to control my own working conditions to be truly free. Nobody but me deciding whether to set my alarm clock, or when to set it for; nobody but me deciding what my project will be on a given day, or whether I’ll choose to take that day off. Nobody but me deciding whether my head cold is bad enough I should just go back to bed.
About three days out of five, I take naps in the afternoon now. Why? Because I get sleepy. A twenty-minute snooze in the mid-afternoon cuts two hours off the amount of sleep I need at night. Right there, my life got seven percent longer by escaping the job culture.
I was therefore intrigued to discover that Hugh from Gaping Void (the blogger and blog famous for those funny cartoons drawn on the backs of business cards) had written something similar (but far more eloquent) in an essay called “The Global Microbrand Rant“:
It seems to me a lot of people of my generation are locked into this high-priced corporate, urban treadmill. Sure, they get paid a lot, but their overheads are also off the scale. The minute they stop tapdancing as fast as they can is the minute they are crushed under the wheels of commerce.
You know what? It’s not sustainable.
However, the Global Microbrand is sustainable. With it you are not beholden to one boss, one company, one customer, one local economy or even one industry. Your brand develops relationships in enough different places to where your permanent address becomes almost irrelavant.
…
Frankly, it beats the hell out of commuting every morning to the corporate glass box in the big city, something I did for many years. Just so I could make enough money to help me forget that I have to commute every morning to the corporate glass box in the big city.
There are thousands of reasons why people write blogs. But it seems to me the biggest reason that drives the bloggers I read the most is, we’re all looking for our own personal global microbrand. That is the prize. That is the ticket off the treadmill. And I don’t think it’s a bad one to aim for.
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Saturday, February 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This is a post about two smiles:
Those are the two smiles of the lovely Sarah Blake, who does bondage modeling for Hogtied.com. I want you to look at those smiles and study the differences between them. No matter if you’re kinky or vanilla (but especially if you’re vanilla) I want you to remember those smiles the next time you hear a preacher or a politician ranting and raving against the evils of sadomasochism, sexual depravity, and sadistic abuse. He’s talking about Sarah and her delicious, joyful smile.
All the pictures in this post come from this shoot, which you can view for yourself if you want to see Sarah tied up and, er, entertained, in some astonishing ways. I’m not going to reproduce those pictures here, although I will be describing the entertainment. All I’m showing you are her smiles (and one gasp of ecstasy.)
Let’s start with the first smile:
This is the “before” picture, taken at the beginning of the photo shoot. It’s a pretty smile — Sarah’s a pretty woman — but it’s a professional model’s smile. A little bit forced, a lot posed, and as artificial as a flower arrangement. This could be the yearbook photo, the portfolio photo, even the drivers license photo. This smile started when Sarah was young, and you can still see in it the obedient girl who learned what to do when the nice man behind the camera told her to smile.
Sarah covers a lot of kinky miles between that smile and the next one.
If you view more of the shoot, you’ll see Sarah with her ankles crossed and tied in front of her chin. Her miniskirt has puddled around her hips, but her panties are still on, so it’s a fairly innocent bondage image. Sarah’s wild ride is just beginning.
Moving rapidly along, we soon see her in the same pose without her undies, with a glass vacuum jar firmly secured to her tenderest bits. The ride accelerates; in another view, she’s on her knees wearing a heavy wooden set of stocks, with her pony tail tied back to — is there a nicer word for this device? — a butt hook that’s securely hooked in (you guessed it) her butt. The rear view of the same scene shows some welts where she’s been caned.
Moving along. In the next view, she’s been stood up, and a metal-pipe-and-ball-gag arrangement has been affixed to her wooden stocks to complicate her life. Some nipple clips with heavy round lead fishing weights are being clamped onto her nipples. When the cameraman steps back, we can see that she’s balanced on tiptoes, with a pole-and-dildo arrangement to encourage her to stay there.
The next couple of photos show a new scene, with Sarah on her stomach in a tight hogtie on two butcher-block tables. Her hands and feet are pressed and tied together, there’s a suspension rope around her elbows pulling her up in what have to be uncomfortable ways, and she’s wearing a red ball gag in a harness that’s making her drool.
*CLICK* Now she’s on her side, in rope bondage, with clothespins on her nipples and a big vibrator working her tender bits.
*CLICK* Now she’s in suspension — an astonishing upside-down posture that looks like gymnastics, only much sexier. Still with clothespins on her nipples.
Moving on. The website describes and explains the next scene thusly:
Sarah also has a tragic secret, she cannot stop cumming if she is stuck on a vibrator. So viewers, be warned! The last scene is a long intense forced orgasm scene until Sarah is vibrated senseless.
What we see is a hard wooden chair with a big vibrator duct-taped to it. Sarah’s strapped onto the chair (and the vibrator) with some well-worn and very-impressive-looking leather belts. She’s clearly enjoying herself, if a bit lost in the sensation:
So what’s been the point of all this lurid description? Quite simply this. Unless you’re a serious bondage fiend, someone who plays hard and invests serious time and money into your dungeon equipment, I’ve probably described more than you’re comfortable with. If you’ve got no interest in bondage, if you’ve never even seen a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, you might be pretty horrified by most of what I’ve described. If you’ve played at bedroom bondage, own one pair of cuffs and a riding crop, you might be fascinated by some of the pictures but scared or repelled by others of them. If you’re seriously kinky and have a home dungeon of your own, you might appreciate most or all the photos, but even then there’s probably something that’s not quite your cup of tea, or that’s too risky or troublesome to be worth trying in your book. But, whereever you fall on that spectrum, and however sincerely you might say of one of the depicted activities “that’s not for me”, I want you to focus on the last picture in the photoset, Sarah wearing nothing but her rope marks. Here’s Sarah’s exhausted-but-exhilarated second smile:
That’s not just a smile, it’s a grin. There’s more joy and enthusiasm and life in that photo than there is in a dozen of the professional smiles we saw at the top. Sarah, despite having suffered through some intensely uncomfortable bondage positions, has had a wonderful time.
And that visible joy, my friends, is what the Grundies want to kill when they rail against “sadism, masochism, and abuse.” I suppose they don’t even know about the joy — they may honestly think it’s all about objectification and degradation and money and feelthy perverts — but I don’t want you, dear readers, to have the same excuse. You’ve seen the two smiles. Now you know.
The next time you hear somebody railing against the feelthy perverts, you’re to remember the smiles. Even if the specific activity under discussion grosses you out, because it’s not your kink and you can’t understand why it could be anyone’s, remember the smiles. Remember Sarah’s visible joy. We don’t need to understand or appreciate a kink to understand that smile.
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Friday, February 17th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always thought it silly when I see folks referring to the prostate as “the male g-spot”. To my mind, that usage only perpetuates woeful anatomical ignorance. Rabbit has a slightly different objection:
As a person fascinated with words and phrases, I always find the reference to the male g-spot a little bit humorous. After all, the g-spot literally means Gräfenberg spot and refers specifically to a gynaecologist’s discovery within female, not male genitalia. I’m not certain when the male g-spot became a term used to describe stimulation of the prostate, but I’m running across it more and more frequently on sexuality sites. One part of me immediately thinks, jeez, can’t guys find their own term, or, like early Christians taking over and replacing pagan rituals and festivities with their own celebrations, must dominant cultures constantly turn things into their own personal and empowering definitions? From a feminist point of view, there is a sense of male ownership over female sexuality in their use of the term to describe a man’s pleasure point.
Friday, February 17th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I recently got a link exchange email from an interesting-looking sex blog with a lot of interesting posts, somewhat focused on strange sex stories from the news, but worthy overall. And the link exchange request was polite, customized, and well-enough written to avoid getting the dreaded form-letter response. Until I looked at the site’s advertising. That got them this response:
I’ve given some thought to linking your blog, but at this moment I’m going to have to pass. Your blog has some interesting posts, such that I’d probably link if the quality of your blog posts were the only factor to consider.
However, another significant factor is the fact that I’m trying to build a sex-positive site that is respectful of my readers and doesn’t perpetuate sexual myths and misinformation. One way I do this is by making sure I don’t link to folks who heavily promote fraudulent items like penis enlargement products, fake sex phereomones, and the like. Since your site prominantly features ads for these products, I’m reluctant to endorse your site to my readers by linking.
Just in case there’s anybody out there who didn’t get the memo, here it is again: There’s no such thing as a penis enlargement product that works. And there’s no pheremone product on the market that does a damn thing but separate you from your money. Anybody who says different is a liar, a fool, or a crook.
Thursday, February 16th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Bacchus and the Nymph have slipped off to enjoy Valentines Day and their anniversary. That’s right, it was two years ago yesterday that she moved in with him. Just in case his fingers are too sore to type when he gets back, I’ll say thanks for your nice comments on his interview.
Here’s my anniversary present for them, and I hope I’ll be able to use it too. “Still Doing It”, a documentary of the sex lives of older women. Straight, gay, single, married…..they’re all here, and they talk about their sexual experiences and our agist society. It isn’t the sexiest present they could get, but if it helps both of them stay happy then its a success.
Tuesday, February 14th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Barely slipping in under the wire for Valentine’s Day, Sunni of Sunni and the Conspirators has just published a wide-ranging interview of me at Sunni’s Salon. She calls it:
[A]n appropriate Valentine’s Day interview with Bacchus, the man behind the popular sexblog ErosBlog. Our conversation wanders through sex, blogging, and government interference with sexual pleasures, of course; but we also discuss the myths and realities of sex blogging and making money online, and more.
You’ll also learn why I think politics and sex blogging don’t mix, and why jobs are bad, m’kay?
Tuesday, February 7th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure if drawing this fellow’s head to be shaped like a splitting maul was supposed to be some sort of racist caricature, or not. But regardless, the lady with her face buried in her pillow is absolutely delectable:
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.
Friday, February 3rd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure what this has to do with anything, except that I like the poster:
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Thursday, February 2nd, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
There’s something about vintage sexy pictures that I really like. Part of it is that being in the smut business was, well, smuttier back then. People’s expressions are different too. Some look bored, others look kind of embarrassed or high, and sometimes they look like they’re really enjoying themselves, not in today’s fake-smile way. You also learn alot, like that all kinds of kink happened way back when. Here are some pictures that show what I mean.
She looks like she’s sizing her victim up! Will he get the switch or not? (And what is up with that goofy hat on the chair?)
The next lady is one of the ones that look like they’re really enjoying themselves and will rip anybody that criticizes her a new one.
When I saw this picture the song “Afternoon Delight” popped into my head, and now it’s stuck there, ugh.
But she is lovely and it would be delightful to splash with her. Thanks to Retro Raunch for all these pictures, and lots more! Their pictures are better than these, because I shrank these some. Also a big thank you kiss to Wombat at Kiss & Blog for telling us chicks that confidence is sexy, even when our body isn’t perfect. That’s true for you guys, too.
Wednesday, February 1st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Audacia Ray says so:
I’m going to make a bold statement here: a bunch of dudes on a whaling boat is even sexier than a bunch of pirates on a pirate ship. Is it total heresy for me to speak against the undeniable hotness of pirates? Perhaps, but I swear it’s the goddamned truth. I mean, pirates are awesome and wear rad outfits and are swashbucklingly violent and all, but whaling dudes are all butch, they get filthy, their skin gets all tough and leathery, and they thrust their harpoons into the whale again and again, in and out, until its hot quivering flesh is still.
Hmm, I never thought about it quite that way….
Tuesday, January 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Tattooed women in bondage? Some pretty art from Bondage Blog:
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Tuesday, January 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
So I notice that Panties Panties Panties has gone offline, saying goodbye thusly:
Thanks to everyone who wrote in expressing concern. Enough emails were received such that some kind of explanation seems necessary. We simply thought it in our best interest to discontinue the blog. We’re each okay; it was just time to euthanize it. Anyway, thanks for reading, commenting, and sticking with us as the blog evolved. See ya, motherfuckers*, perhaps in some other place, in some other guise.
No, motherfuckers, you won’t see me. You may come back, but it will be a cold day in hell before I link to you again. You’ve demonstrated that it’s a waste of time trying to incorporate you into the warp and woof of the world information culture that is the internet.
I’m going to rant a little bit here, because I’m sick and tired and fed up with people who vandalize the web on their way out. This is not really about Bret and Hiromi, they are just the latest offenders in a long line. Plus, it’s been a bad week for this.
You see, when you build a good blog — and Bret and Hiromi had a very good one — people link to you. And those links are valuable. All links are valuable, and should be as permanent as you can make them. They bring order to the web — hell, they’re what makes it a web — and when you take your site offline for no good reason, you smash every one of those links. Not only are you spitting in the face of everyone who ever complimented your contribution by linking to it, you’re also in effect taking a sledgehammer and a torch to your little corner of mankind’s greatest invention, our unsurpassed cathedral of knowledge, culture, and art.
I expect plenty of hatemail on this subject, prating about “it’s their right” etc. And of course that’s true. Everybody has the right to yank their stuff offline for no good reason. Just like everybody has the right to buy books and then burn them. We don’t respect the latter sort of wanton destruction — indeed, we have a special horror of bookburners — so why respect the former?
I also expect people to chime in with all sorts of alleged “good reasons” why folks need to take stuff offline, especially adult stuff. Feel free, but I’m calling “bollocks” in advance. A couple examples to explain why:
1) “They got found out and are being outed.” If so, that can (rarely) be quite tragic, but honey, that ship done sailed.
“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.”
If you put it up on the internet, it’s going to stay there, or come back if it seems to have gone. In addition to the currently-active public archives like the Google cache and the Wayback Machine, there are dozens of entities spidering the web and making private archives for various purposes (commercial research, government intelligence gathering, etc.) All the data in those archives is likely to become public — and be put back up on the web — at some point in the future. Meanwhile, there are a zillion quotes and excerpts of your stuff on every blog that ever linked to you, none of which material is going away. You can’t unring the bell, and you look foolish trying. You worried about shame and embarrassment? The whole point to this post is to try and make you more shamed and embarrassed over your dumb-assed internet vandalism than you could ever hope to be over the content of your blog. I’ll probably fail, but I’m doing my best. I know people will propose all sorts of consequences worse than shame or embarrassment that can motivate trying to hide an adult blog after the fact — the one that actually has my sympathy is the risk of consequences in an unexpected custody dispute — but none of that means a thing against the brutal fact that smashing your blog won’t hide its content or save you from whatever consequences you’re seeking to avoid. “Nor all your tears….”
2) “They got bored / lost interest / wanted to move on.” Fine, so stop blogging. No need to smash the excellent thing you’ve created and pee on the remains while insulting everyone who ever complimented it and while damaging the things they have created. Does it hurt so bad to just leave your archives up and your inbound links unbroken? If you can’t afford it, and that’s unlikely in this era of cheap bandwidth, find somebody willing to mirror your site or host your domain for you. If it’s good, there’ll be no shortage of offers. Hell, even if it’s bad, blogs are such great search engine fodder that a discrete text link in the header or footer saying “Maintained on the web by xyz.com” provides enough traffic to make it an attractive proposition. I’d cheerfully maintain any sex blog I ever liked well enough to link to, on those terms, and I’m not alone. There’s never a legitimate financial reason to destroy a good blog.
I suppose that’s enough of a rant for now. Please, I beg you, when your blogging jones is exhausted, don’t vandalize the internet by destroying your creative work and everything that ever acknowledged the value thereof by building on it. It’s selfish, shortsighted, destructive, rude, and self-centered. You are part of something bigger than yourself, please don’t piddle on it when you’re done with it. Thank you.
Update and Reminder: Despite the ranting tone of my post, I will not accept namecalling or incivility in my comments. One comment deleted already.
Friday, January 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s the ultimate (no, wait, make that the penultimate) in model service. The sexy-and-she-knows-it Terry Lightspeed strikes a pose, and then, knowing that if you were there, you wouldn’t be able to resist running your hand over her ass for a good squeeze, does it for you. How thoughtful is that?
Saturday, January 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been seeing these references to some kind of internet funny thing, a musical machinima video of vast hilarity entitled “The Internet Is For Porn”. Bah, ho hum, who has time? And besides, I write a sex blog, I already knew that’s what the internet is for, how do you make funny out of a truism?
Then I saw it:
I can’t stop laughing.
Thanks to the commenters for letting me know the actual song comes from the comedic and theatrical musical Avenue Q.
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Wednesday, January 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Unlike many men, I actively dislike the whole “lapdance” experience in strip clubs. A strip club is a wonderful place to be for half an hour — the visual experience is comparable to the olfactory bliss of stepping into a fine coffee or chocolate shop — but then it quickly grows boring. Any sensible man knows that these ladies are not coming home with you, and there’s not going to be any sex unless you’re planning to buy it, in which case you’re in the wrong place to make a value purchase. Worse yet, a lap dance represents extreme negative value — you pay a lot extra for an intense tease, which only reinforces any sexual frustration you may have brought into the club. And if you didn’t bring any sexual frustrations into the club, you’ve probably got a lady friend somewhere, in which case you likely could spend less effort charming her into giving you a private lapdance that ends much more entertainingly. I do not like them, Sam-I-am. Pretty lady, if I tip you nicely will you please go shake that sweet ass over there, on the stage, under the spotlights where I can see it properly, and the hell out of my personal space?
OK, micro-rant over. Meanwhile, back in the real world where lots of men are lap-dance hounds, Sam Sugar has some extremely detailed and very intelligent-sounding advice for getting great lapdances. It’s a long piece, but here are some of his suggestions:
The guys who have the best times in strip clubs are celebrities. The guys who have the second best time in strip clubs are the ones who make stripper’s lives easy. Here’s how.
- Order food. Stripping’s hard work, with long shifts and dancers are often hungry. If you have finger-food or pizza at your table they’ll hang out to eat and think you’re a nice guy into the bargain. Being liked means better dances (being licked means the dance of your life).
- Tip big. Strip club customers are walking ATM’s as far as dancers are concerned. Tip big early on and you’ll send a clear message there’s money to be made in spending time with you. Doing that means tipping more than average – 40-50% on your first dance should be enough to get a dancer’s attention (I never said this was cheap).
- Don’t touch. Most American clubs ban touching (travel abroad for more intimate interaction). If you sit on your hands your dancer will feel confident to push things, she knows that you want the sexiest time possible. The less excited you seem the harder she’ll try so relax. If you’re trying to penetrate her with your knee she’ll spend more time fending you off than getting you off.
- Make eye contact. Her eyes are the two white dots a foot or so above her tits. Look there occasionally and she’ll remember you know she’s a person.
- Buy her time. If you give a stripper a lot of money just to ‘talk’ she’ll assume you’re waiting for the chance to roll her in pepper and make a belt out of her hair. She’ll relax if she knows you understand the club’s just a thrill, not a dating agency, and she’ll work harder if it’s clear you’re smart enough not to blow your cash (don’t try the old “If I blow my cash on you, will you turn that cash back into a blow?” pickup line – it doesn’t work.)
- Be regular. This has nothing to do with taking a shit (unless you’re in a German strip club in which case you’ll know to leave before they play ‘The Strangler’s classic – ‘Golden Brown’.) Strippers survive via regular customers who ask for them by name. Being one means she’ll count on you coming round and make it worth your while when you do. That means your second visit should be more fun than your first.
- Buy her drinks. Many clubs require dancers to buy a set number of alcohol-free $10 cocktails each evening, ask her how many (it’s normally 2 or 3) and then ask how many she’s got left to shill. When you know, offer to get them all for her as long as she hangs out with you while she drinks. She’ll be relieved, flattered and grateful. Try not to think about what you’ve paid for – it’s mostly cola.
- Clap. Very few guys clap for strippers performing on stage, and most dancers hate being on stage. Clapping makes strippers feel more like dancers and less like vulva puppeteers. If George Clooney was watching strippers he’d clap and that dude gets laid all the time.
- Tip the stage. When a dancer you like’s on stage make sure she sees you leaving a tip. Aside from being universal code meaning “Congratulations on giving me an erection, come right over” this also reflects an appreciation of her art (I’m not kidding, I’ve seen strippers whose talent is worth a pair of large Pollacks).
- Be complimentary. Strippers know they have hot bodies, cute faces and great tits (if they don’t have any of those things, what are you doing?) If you can find something nice to say which isn’t clichéd or obvious you’ll stand out (“You work the pole like my kid sister, hey – come back.”)
Go wild, boys and girls!
Monday, January 16th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
As any couple can tell you, communicating unambiguously about sex is not always easy. J and Angel seem to manage, though:
He had gone to bed and I was online working on some design stuff, when he came and said, “I didn’t get to fuck you doggystyle before. Get on the bed.”
So I did. And, he did.
See? Easy as pie.
Friday, January 13th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
It’s nice to get comments on our posts. We all like to hear from a happy audience, and like the funny stories and good information many of you provide.
We do not like our comments section being used to peddle crap. We also do not like comments that seem to be made mostly to get a link to your spammy, non-sex blog on here. Post that stuff on your friend’s blogs.
Your crap will be deleted, and you will be banned from commenting here. If we ever track down any of you joyless lusers, we’ll take our cattle prods, rope, and stinging nettles to you. Only — and we promise — you won’t come. And you will SO not like one bit of it.
Bacchus speaks: Having just logged in to find about fifteen new spams posted subsequent to Aphrodite’s mighty edit-and-delete-fest yesterday, I’ll have to say she’s way too nice about this. (Perhaps it’s the whole Love Goddess thing.) When I endorsed the strappado anti-spam measure proposed by Bondage Blog, it was in large part because Rope Guy found one of those disturbing early-1970s bondage photos where the model looks quite disgruntled. Which ain’t a patch on how “disgruntled” a spammer would look dangling from my meat hook.
The trouble is, ranting here about spam does very little good, because the highest volume and most inappropriate comment spam is crapped out by robots. The robot controllers literally can’t stop by to view their handiwork; there’s far too much of it. They never even know that their spams have been intercepted or deleted, which takes most of the satisfaction out of deleting the stuff.
High-volume automated spammers are what are termed “B2 Bandits” in The Basic Laws Of Human Stupidity — they are “stealing millions to make thousands”, like the meth-heads who wander down the street smashing $600 windshields to collect seventeen cents in sticky coins out of console cupholders.
OK, rant over. The defense against clone armies of evil-doing robots is not to heap deserved calumny on their shadowy overlord controllers; it’s to install trusted defense robots of one’s own, ever vigilant and undismayed by the ceaselessness and pointlessness of their task. It’s an ErosBlog priority, look for it by end of 1Q 2006 (with luck).
Wednesday, January 11th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
You read it here first! Evil Science Chick is increasing her science empire by doing sex toy reviews. Last time she just teased us with a mention of the toy. This time she went all Consumer Reports for us, dishing it out on the Top-Tough rabbit vibrator.
amusing aside: the woman who rung up the toy informed me that this was a very good jackrabbit toy for “beginners.” Apparently, only EXPERIENCED jackrabbit users should utilize the purple colored ones with the plasta-chromed bottom that cost $10 more. Remember that, folks. Stick to sex toys APPROPRIATE for your skill level.
Find out how she rated it yourself, and be amused by images of little crockpots for lube in the process! ESC also asks for information, so leave a comment about your rabbit experiences. It’s for science, people! :hehe:
Tuesday, January 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Remember the sex melon? While, now there’s another one:
Yeah, yeah, I know, these are hardly the first melons in the world to have suffered indignities in the name of male sexual self-gratification. I suppose it’s the thought process leading up to photographing the deed that I’m wondering about.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, January 7th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Difference. Variation. Contrast. In my humble view, this is one of the keys to good, mind consuming sex. To explore and use the sensory toolbox – on the body as well as the mind. And in vanilla as well as kinky joys.
One tasty nibble from a good post on how important doing things just a little differently can be, in Difference. Variation. Contrast., by Bliatz. For me, one or two guys stay in my mind because what they did was so different from all the others. But if they did that same thing every time, it would get old too. If any of my previous lovers could speak up, I bet they would say that I let them direct the action too much. Given how long I’ve been without, I don’t think that will be a problem for a while!
Friday, January 6th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Not really hott or fun, but I promised somebody I’d put it someplace public…..I’m just back from a nice, extralong holiday with my sister and her family. We had all the usual holiday fun, the kids are as cute as ever, but the best part was talking with my sister about R and related things. She kind of knew him, but since she’s older than me, she wasn’t around for alot of my crush on him. I didn’t spill the whole story, just enough for her to know that there were sexual and other “intimacy problems” between us. Something Tony Comstock said in a comment here made me think about my situation…..maybe I’ve been too fussy about sex partners lately. I don’t need a fancy ceremony or even a diamond ring to go horizontal, but caring about my partner or partners has always made the sex better. I thought I cared about R, but really I didn’t know him, I was stuck on my highschool dream and didn’t take the time to get to know who he is now. My sister says that I probably wasn’t fussy enough with R and now I’m being too fussy…..sort of an overcompensation.
Anyway, our talks really helped me put all that behind me. I don’t really want somebody to marry and settle down with, but I do want real affection and caring that goes through all our relationship, not just inside or outside of the bedroom. I think I kind of envy people who can get their kicks and then say, “See ya!” – it seems like they probably get more action and more fun from it too. But that’s never worked for me, and I don’t think it ever will.
My sister is all into karma and “giving voices to dreams and goals,” and she made me promise to make a New Year’s resolution, and give it a voice. She says that will help it get energy, to become real. (She’s alot more hippie-girl than I am. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) So here I am.
My New Year’s Resolution is to find a caring guy that will be fun in bed, too. I don’t care so much about whether he’s willing to do certain things or not, although somebody adventurous would be a bonus. No checklist, no rules, no desperation. No Mr. Perfect. Just somebody sweet, and nice, and comfortable with sexuality and sensuality.
Men like that are out there, aren’t they?
Monday, January 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve recently added a new link category tentatively entitled “Sex Blogazines.” I don’t like that neologism, but I can’t think of a better one, just yet. Can you help?
The sites I’m trying to encompass with this title are sites (often but not necessarily in blog format) which aggregate and collect blog postings from other blogs. My canonical example is Viviane’s Sex Carnival, which I hadn’t listed previously due to lack of an appropriate category. I don’t consider these things to be blogs, exactly, because they lack any sort of original writing or commentary. When they add value, they do so by the pure exercise of an editorial function, the way an anthologist (or a person who puts together a mix CD) creates entertainment though the exercise of editorial discretion. The result is a sort of blogging magazine, hence my tentative name.
At their worst, these sites are pure RSS aggregators dumped to HTML — they don’t add much value but they can be handy for folks who don’t use RSS aggregators. A few of these do a good job of selecting and presenting feeds, and I’ll be linking to some of the best over the next few days. (If you’d like to suggest candidates, please email your suggestions; please do not post them in the comments.)
If anyone can think of a more descriptive or more euphoneous two-or-three word name for these blog posting collections, please share your suggestions in the comments. Thanks!
Friday, December 30th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Another vintage oral sex photo from Usenet:
I’d say she has a firm grasp on the task at hand….
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, December 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, you happy pervs, here’s the skinny: What Tolkien Officially Said About Elf Sex.
Via Making Light.
Monday, December 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Perhaps if you were very good (or very naughty, but in a good way) you found a video iPod in your stocking yesterday morning. Lucky you! It’s a nifty toy.
However, in that case you’ll looking for “stuff” to watch on it, so I wanted to remind you of some of the porn resources for the video iPod that I’ve stumbled over in recent weeks. I did a long post about using GUBA to find iPod porn, plus I’ve mentioned (here and here) that two of the kinky sites I sometimes promote have started putting iPod-ready video content in their members areas.
A few more sites where iPod porn is now available to members:
Sex And Submission: (Real bondage sex)
Whipped Ass: (Female/female spanking and domination)
Fucking Machines: (Heavily modified power “tools”)
Men In Pain: (Female domination of men)
Water Bondage: (Just what it sounds like)
Ultimate Surrender: (Nude girls wrestle; winner dominates loser)
Fair warning: Most of these sites have just begun offering their movie clips in iPod format, and they haven’t (yet) converted their archives. So you won’t find hundreds of iPod-ready movies, just the ones from recent updates.
Enjoy!
Update from the future: Hi, this is the future. We have smartphones now. Video iPods? What the hell were those? The good news is, Kink.com now has everything in .mp4 format, in five different sizes. If you’ve got a screen the size of your thumbnail on your watch, or or a TV the size of your living room wall, they’ve got you covered. Ain’t progress grand?
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 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody come right out and argue for the merits of online porn memberships as Christmas presents before. Sex toys? Sure, every major web publication seems to have a sex toy buying guide. But sex toys are way last week in the gifting universe; getting hard goods in your hands (…um) at this late date is gonna be a neat trick. As Spanking Blog points out, porn memberships are virtual goods that are perfect for last-minute shopping:
All it takes is a credit card and two minutes, and you can write the password and userID on a nice hand-made certificate and put it in a stocking. Instant delivery, no hassle, no muss, no fuss. What’s not to like?
…
What’s more, giving the gift of porn makes a strong statement to your mate that you love them, that you feel secure in their affections, and that you want their erotic fancies to be tickled to the fullest. Of course, giving the gift of spanking porn (especially to a spanker) may also be hazardous to the smoothness of your unspoiled derriere. But what’s life without a little delicious risk?
One more benefit: when choosing a porn site to give as a gift, you get to conduct “research” behind a closed door, and when your spousal equivalent asks what’s going on, you can say in all truthfulness “Just some last minute online Christmas shopping, Honey, give me a minute to hide my windows before you come in here, OK?”
Monday, December 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
A disabled man writes about his first sexual experience, with a sex surrogate, here. It’s quite a story.
Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.
Saturday, December 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you thought Red made playing with a cattle prod sound like fun, you might also like this shoot from the first and best electrosex porn site, Wired Pussy:
Thursday, December 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
No, not literally crapping; this isn’t that sort of website.
Over on Figleaf’s Real Adult Sex, Figleaf posted a long entry about folks who come to blogs where there are nekkid pictures, only to leave strongly derisive comments about the nekkid pictures in question. He likened such folks to trolls, and suggested deleting the body-critical comments plus the standard troll cure: ignoring them.
I posted a long comment over there, which this post mostly duplicates, not because I disagree with the prescription (I don’t) but because I don’t think the nasty body-critical comments are really deliberate trolling behavior. A true troll knows he’s a troll; these guys (and they are always guys) are just bringing to the internet their “normal” obnoxious behavior from daily life.
Here at ErosBlog, I’ve always been ruthless about deleting anything that attempts to drag down my attempt at maintaining a body-positive, sex-positive, kink-friendly editorial tone. For example, awhile back I posted some public nude shots of Kirsten Dunst, and attracted a whole host of folks commenting on how ugly her breasts supposedly are. She’s pretty by any reasonable measure, so what’s up with that? I dunno, but the ugly comments I had to delete far outnumbered the ones that remain.
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 guess the point of all this is to suggest to other bloggers that they not take it quite so personally. If you post your boobs or butt on your blog and some nasty guy makes a rude comment, it’s possible that he doesn’t hate you specifically and didn’t stop by your blog to cause trouble specifically for you. More likely, he’s just a boorish lout who says “fat ass!” by reflex whenever he sees a pretty butt. It’s not aimed at you at all; it’s male posturing aimed at the other men who are admiring your ass.
Sure, delete his comment, just the way you’d evict a stinky drunk who stumbled into your living room from the street. But don’t take the comments so much to heart, any more than you’d worry about the good opinion of the drunk.
Similar Sex Blogging:
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.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, December 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This is a pretty challenging bit of sex writing — challenging to read and to appreciate. It’s very vivid and real, but possibly disturbing as well, depending on how you do with potentially degrading master/slave sex. Kaya writes:
I was put under the desk. Getting put under there is just as you imagine it would be. On my hands and knees, ass in the air, in the space where the chair should be. And while Master does His thing online…He’s fucking me. Sometimes brutally, sometimes not. Because He’s not really concentrating on fucking, or cumming, this can last for a really, really long time. He mostly ignores me under there, except to occasionally tell me to stop moving, or to remind me of how I am a cunt, a filthy slut, a dirty bitch…good for little more than a place to dump His cum.
The floor is linoleum and most times I’ll be awarded a pillow to put under my knees. Sometimes, just a towel. Sometimes, nothing…and the fact that my knees are hurting as He rocks me back and forth is appealing to Him. If I can orgasm it’s no concern to Him. He doesn’t care if I do or not, as He reminds me that it’s about His pleasure, not mine. I often try not to orgasm (which isn’t too hard since He isnt trying to make me anyway) as a way to hold on to a tiny bit of myself, control myself, unwilling to give Him the satisfaction. But if He wants me to, if He tries to make me, I can’t stop it. And that pisses me off to no end. All it earns me is some disparaging remark about the “mess” I make on His cock.
It’s very cramped under there (and though I make a conscious effort to clean there, it gets dusty and dirty). If I’m lucky I’ll have already had my hair in a ponytail. Otherwise it’s in my face, being sucked into my mouth and nose, in my eyes, and just generally a pain. My hands go numb from holding myself up, or my elbows get sore if I rest on those. And I am constantly having my head banged into the back of the desk. Purposely. It’s His attempt (I think) at making me press backwards against Him. And it works.
It’s stuffy down there…very little airflow. It’s hot. My pussy dries up and depending on how much it’s hurting Him, He’ll get some lube. Depending on how much He enjoys that it’s hurting me, He won’t. Sometimes He adds nipple clamps, which hurt like fuck when your tits are swinging and swaying, and the time they are on is typically long. If I remind Him they are there, He yanks them off quite cruelly. I’ve learned it’s best to suffer through them, and ask to remove them myself after He cums. He’s in a much more friendly mood after an orgasm.
You’ll feel about that…however you feel about that. To me, the interesting question is how Kaya feels about it:
It’s another one of those “I’ll love it tomorrow” things. And I do. Thinking about it after the fact, makes me twitch and squirm and generally soak my panties. I like being used, I like that He is pleased. I like that He uses me to please Himself, that is my job after all. Sure, I like being used in other, funner (for me), ways to please Him better but that’s not my choice. And I like that I have no choice about it. I’ve yet to be able to talk Him into something else when He swats my ass and points under the desk. And I have tried.
…
The stuff my fantasies are made of. Be careful the things you wish for.
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)
Saturday, December 10th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you’ve followed the stories in recent months about the legal and political threats to your freedom of sexual expression, you may have been wondering what happened to the First Amendment. Here’s a small clue. In President Bush’s own words:
“Stop throwing the Constitution in my face. It’s just a goddamned piece of paper!”
Full story here.
I mention this because I want everyone to understand the danger. When the chief official sworn to support and defend our constitution forswears that duty in front of numerous similarly-sworn witnesses, it’s over. Please don’t base your strategies for survival in these trying times on the constitutional protections you learned about in grade school. They are, quite literally, history.
We now return your to your regularly-scheduled smut.
Friday, December 9th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
This month’s I Did It for Science is about, you guessed it, the joys of anal sex.
I returned to the mirror, took another look and slowly touched my anus. “Imagine how mom and dad might feel if they knew what you were doing,” the book proposed.
An image of my mother crying popped into my head. My father tried to comfort her, saying, “At least she has a job.” The book encourages anal explorers to write an imaginary letter to their parents explaining what they are doing and why. I skipped the letter. If I had to write an imaginary letter for every action I performed that my parents would deem disturbing, I’d never get anything done.
Doesn’t that sound familiar! The rest of the tale is fairly funny…..but not nearly as hot as the Evil Science Chick’s story.
Wednesday, December 7th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Somehow Red makes a cattle prod sound like fun. Either it is, or she’s a heck of a good sex writer:
Her hand rubbed over my left bum cheek, over and over again. I felt pussy throbbed as excitement ran through me — anticipation of the jolt to come was giving me an unexpected rush. The I felt the prongs poking my bum — poking, readjusting, poking again. My breath was caught in my throat; it was the point of no return. I breathed deeply. I let the pain wash over me.
I could feel the surge — the peak of the electricity coursing through the muscle. Everything felt funny, like nothing was going to work properly — similar to that numb feeling that happens when limbs fall asleep. My nerves shrieked as the wave of pain washed over me — fast and furious and addictively alluring. I could feel it draining out of me as soon as it began — my jolted nerves sighing with relief. I felt jumpstarted and I felt consumed.
Smiling and giggling uncontrollably, I grabbed at the spot, rubbing it to preserve the tingling. I felt high — my head was floaty and relaxed and alert. Crazed like an addict, I knew I needed more.
Volunteers, anyone?
Friday, December 2nd, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Oh my god, if I had sex toys like these I would want to keep them on display in my bedroom! So many lovelies, so many yummy designs…..
I could convince my mom this is an art glass mushroom if she saw it in my apartment.
Since this one’s even bigger (I’m squirming in my seat as I imagine it filling me!), it would be even easier to convince somebody it isn’t what they think. Wouldn’t it be fun to be scolding them for their dirty minds while laughing inside!
How many people would look at this and automatically think ‘dildo’? I probably wouldn’t…..but think of how good those raised swirls would feel!
Oh my…..things are getting mighty damp now. Nice and thick, interesting curve, and look at those nubbies. Whew!
I saved my favorite for last. It doesn’t have the pretty colors (or the expense of dichroic glass!) or patterns that the others here have, but the Victorian-era looks of this toy, and thinking how fiendishly it could be used, have me trembling.
Uh, s’cuse me for a bit…..I need to go take care of something!
Monday, November 28th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I went down to see the oldsters for Thanksgiving again this year, but thankfully I didn’t have a repeat of last year’s fun, which started great but ended rotten. I did see a series of billboards that were funny. First I thought they all had the same misspelling…..but then I decided that was too negative. It’s loads more fun to think they’re for real. The signs all had some variation on this message:
Dick’s Body Shop
24 hour Toe Service
What service do your toes want from Dick? :-)
(What have I been doing with myself? New job, new apartment, lots of melodrama in getting both. Too much traveling. Not enough sexy stuff!)
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.
Saturday, November 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Omigawd, sometimes Fleshbot finds things that don’t bear much contemplation. Just for instance, hentai cum sculptures:
I’d say somebody was really bored, except… on the evidence, it would seem he wasn’t really bored at all.
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Thursday, November 24th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
What could be sexier today than a pretty woman, not overdressed, brushing warm butter onto the Thanksgiving Turkey?
I think I could help her with her task. Admittedly, if I had the butter brush in my hand, there’s a couple of places I’d like to brush that wouldn’t be going in the oven later….
Perhaps that sort of thinking is why The Nymph is always throwing me out of her kitchen.
Which reminds me, I’m under strict instructions to remember to wake The Nymph in time for her to get our turkey in the oven. I’d better go do that now.
Life is good!
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Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s a heck of a rantish sex essay over at Rollertrain, covering many sexual topics, but this little bit jumped out:
Every straight guy has a magic cum button: That amazing little spot tucked just inside the most feared orifice of mankind. If I was the boss of Sexyland, I’d start an ad campaign:
Prostate as Male Clitoris; No Longer Just a Dude’s G(ay) Spot.
Have your lover get a manicure, lube up a finger, massage your sphincter and gently penetrate that scary place, one millimeter at a time. Ask them to bend their finger into the famous “come hither” curve until they feel the firm bump of your prostate. Let and feel them tease it till your man-clitoris get bigger and harder, which leads me to the campaign’s tagline:
It works kind of like your boner! And feels just as good.
Ask them to suck your cock while they’re at it. This tip leads to the customer benefit points:
Orgasm is a physical inevitability when you mix prostate stimulation with fellatio.
There are three key issues to deal with before you grant ass access to your lover’s pointer finger. First, shit. Second, wash. Third, stop being so fucking gay. The more afraid you are, the more you’re going to love it, and the sooner you should figure out how to try it. Prostate play feels too good to pass off as something that shouldn’t be enjoyed. Life is short, gentlemen. Get over your ass. Encourage your lovers to do the same thing.
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:
Sunday, November 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Wow — it may be grainy, but this is still a very cute picture of a cosplayer in the persona of Pfil, the pretty and often-helpless pixie girl from the incredibly raunchy worm-and-beetle-sex Bondage Fairies comics:
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Thursday, November 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Since Violet and Xeni are both going mad for Timothy Archibald’s new book on Sex Machines, I figured it might be time once again to honor the visual innovators in the field, namely, the mechanical geniuses at Fucking Machines. They build (beg? borrow? steal? I don’t really know) some of the best-looking sex machines in the porn world, and put ’em together with hot models. I particularly like this mandroid they’ve been featuring lately — it’s like high-camp erotic horror, only the girls are smiling:
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Monday, November 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It seems that Annie’s husband has discovered the silver lining, er, behind having an allergic wife:
I was likely snoring alluringly – we all know how sexy a good snort and snotty sniff is – which naturally drove my man wild with desire and, no longer able to restrain his need, I felt him get on the bed behind me and spoon, the rowdy beast poking at his lair’s door insistently. Herein lies another effect of “severe allergy” pills. Being antihistimines, they dry everything up – everything except my nose that is – requiring the horny, and now grumbling, man to get up and rummage the nightstand drawer for the lube.
At that point he was truly a man on a mission, he was gonna Get Some and Get It Now. He lifted me up onto my knees and elbows and was quickly home with a virile plunge. The thing about hay fever is that as long as ya stay really still with your eyes closed, the symptoms can be held at bay. The minute ya move and open your eyes, It’s All Over. With Robert fucking happily away, I sneezed and Robert says, “Whoa! Sneeze again!”
“Huh? What happened to gezundheit?” I query in disbelief.
“Gezundheit. Now sneeze again. Man, that feels amazing!” he sez, thrusting the beast in to the hilt and holding, waiting for the next sneeze. “Come on, look at the light or something… sneeze for me, baby.”
Sneeze for me, baby? I’ve heard of cumming on command, but sneezing on command? Now, this is kinky.
“Um…” I responded brilliantly.
“Come on, baby, SNEEZE!” he commanded, slapping my ass hard. Then again.
Damned if that didn’t work. The stimulation did indeed set off a new round of sneeze – or maybe it was just convenient timing – but Robert got his desire. The way he moaned it must have been pretty darned good.
“It would be even better in your ass,” I heard through the nose pill haze. Soon, the beast had poked his head into my tight, unprepped bottom.
“OWWW-choo! Shit, Robert!” Aaahhh-choo! My hay fever attack was officially exerting itself again in full force. So I’m sneezing and bugfuck stupid with a cock up my ass and my man is moaning “oooh baby, it’s sooo good”.
It just doesn’t get any kinkier than this.
I suppose you could try this at home (even without allergies) using a bit of black pepper. Or, for the truly retro Victorian shopgirl experience, snuff.
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Sunday, November 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’ve linked to the Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository since the very first day ErosBlog went online. The sheer volume of free sex stories available there is mindboggling, and the diversity of subject matter is unlike any commercial text porn ever published. Last week, I noticed that the Kirsten Archives (one of the many collections hosted in the repository) featured ErosBlog as its “Momentary Link”. The traffic and recognition are appreciated, and so I’m returning the favor.
Here’s an excerpt from one of the Kirsten Archives stories, a little food fetish number called “Laura’s Banana“:
“Take your pants off,” Laura breathed. “Let me see your hard cock.”
With the two bananas sticking out of her snatch, Laura handed me a third, unpeeled this time.
“Stick it in me between the others.”
With one hand on my rock hard cock, I stuck the banana in with my other. Inch by inch, Laura’s cunt accepted it.
Laura was now calling for me to fuck her with it.
“Push it in farther; then pull it out, oh yes, that’s it, only harder.”
Wednesday, November 9th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Over on Donny’s Ramblings, softcore porn producer Donovan Phillips makes some suggestions for hard-core porn producers about things to include in hard-core porn. This one set me to to musing:
Kissing – doesn’t have to be lovey, dovey kissing. Some firm, “Oh my God I want to fuck you!” type kissing helps get the women I know going. The male shows some aggression but in an “I really fucking want you!” way instead of a “You’re my cum bucket” type way. Know what I mean?
I think that distinction between aggression and contempt is important. What’s with all the contempt for the talent in American porn, anyway? It’s possible, perhaps even normal, for people to enjoy depictions of sexual aggression, but I don’t really know all that many men who buy into the “cum bucket” contemptuousness and distaste. In my life to date, I’ve heard only one man actually utter that phrase in all seriousness, and he’s widely known to be an exceptional asshole. When I see pornography that buys into the whole adolescent large-talking locker room “bitch/whore/cunt/slut” foulness, I’m always tempted to assume that the pornographers in question are letting their own personal issues cloud their understanding of their market. Most men (all real men) can readily distinguish between sexual aggressiveness and sexual contempt. The former is good dirty fun in appropriate contexts, and often quite well appreciated by the women in question. The latter just leaves us thinking “What the fuck?!”
Friday, November 4th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of TV commercials for cosmetic preparations involving various powerful chemicals such that when a woman puts these preparations on her lips, her lips tingle and burn and then swell up as if she’s been smacked in the face. This is supposed somehow to make her more beautiful, I guess; nobody consulted me first. Anyway, having a dirty mind, my first thought on seeing one of those commercials was: I wonder how that would feel on her other lips.
Apparently some peoples’ minds run in the same direction as mine, if not necessarily in the same exact channel. One young lady has been experimenting:
The other day i bought a lip gloss called “lip venom” at Sephora after a friend recomended it. It’s a lip gloss thats like spicey and your lips get very cool/hot and tingly. That same day i gave my boyfriend a blowjob while wearing the lip gloss and he LOVED it. The feeling of it.
Wednesday, October 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Hey, it’s a short poem. You want an excerpt? I don’t think so. That would be like taking one bite from one of those chocolate-glazed donuts filled with Bavarian cream. After you’d had that one bite, you could sorta see the creamy center, but if you stopped there, you still wouldn’t have the taste of the thing. You really need to eat the whole thing (and recruit someone to lick that last dab of cream off the tip of your nose) to know what you’re eating.
Saturday, October 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
One of the common mostly-false slams against porn in this era of globalisation is that the performers are mostly coerced sex slaves, or at least impoverished scared young girls with few options. (I’m not making this up as a straw man argument; see, e.g., the Biting Beaver (her term): “You CANNOT know if the girl you are masturbating to is, in reality, a sexual slave from Austria who has a gun pointed at her head just off camera.“)
Yeah. And you cannot know that the bottle of salad dressing you pour on your salad isn’t full of stale unpasteurized jizz from bored wanking food factory workers, either. But that doesn’t make it likely, or stop you from eating creamy salads. Why not? Because of branding. If you worry about funky jizz in your dressing, you buy a reputable brand from a company you trust, one that’s got white-coated vat inspectors and security cams all over the factory floor. And, if you really worry, you do research. You get a tour of the factory, or (more likely) read the article in Consumer Reports by the reporter who worked there for three days undercover. The point is, you check into it a little bit.
This is perfectly possible with porn. By way of local example, these issues came up in a peripheral way in this post about real sex in BDSM porn, where a couple of readers suggested in the comments that making such porn was degrading and unsafe for the models, only to be confronted by other readers who were able to vouch for the porn company in question based on personal acquaintance with the models and producers.
And that’s how you check out your porn brand. Research. You look for accounts (which are all over the web, since many models have blogs) of what it’s like to work for a particular porn company, how they treat their people, how the sets are run, whatever you’re worried about. Of course you can’t disprove sensationalist claims about porn factories full of enslaved Eastern European beauties this way — folks who want to cling to that fantasy will continue to do so, brandishing their “news” stories from The Weekly World News, National Enquirer, and Reader’s Digest — but you can satisfy yourself, along with any other reasonable people who might be curious, that the porn you buy is sex slave free.
To pick another flamboyantly outrageous example, how about the notoriously severe spanking and caning DVDs produced by Lupus Pictures? They are often cited as an example of a company that must abuse and exploit its models, because what right-thinking innocent girl would voluntarily consent to an ass-whipping that leaves her in tears with flaming red welts on her bottom? (Short answer: There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreampt of in your philosophy.)
Here are couple of a relatively mild screen capture samples so we know what we are talking about, courtesy of Lupus Spanking [2014 update: now defunct]:
And now some samples from an article by and an interview with Niki Flynn, who went to Prague to make a movie with these “evil werewolves from the East”. From the article (link broke awhile ago, see this .txt mirror):
I never thought of myself as a girl who could survive a Lupus-style caning. I cringe and wince when I watch the films and say, “There’s no way I could take that!” I’d heard the internet rumours, of course — about the innocent, impoverished Czech girls who are seduced by the money into being abused by the evil werewolves from the East. But I’d look at the “behind-the-scenes” pictures on the website and see everyone having a good time, laughing and horsing around, even after the canings. So the rumours never seemed to have any substance. Besides, the same girls turn up again and again to do films; they clearly know what to expect.
…
The thing that impressed me most of all was the consummate professionalism of everyone involved. This was not a group of pornographers making dirty pictures, nor was it a cruel band of misogynists delighting in taking advantage of girls who couldn’t say no. This was a real film crew working on a real film. In addition to the director, producer, script supervisor, makeup artist, properties and wardrobe mistress, caterer, cameramen, boom operator, still photographer, actors and (ahem) stunt girls, there were people on hand to offer us refreshments, comfort or anything else we needed.
…
Did it hurt? Of course. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely not. Do I regret it? Not for a moment. In fact, I had the time of my life. So did William. I knew exactly what I was getting into and I did it because this is what I like. And when it was over and I lay sobbing over the desk, I felt what mountain climbers must feel when they reach the peak. I was so high on the feeling of accomplishment and so lost in the roleplay that I nearly wished I could have some more! And when I look at the marks now I have a sense of pride and achievement. I savor the marks. No one who isn’t into this can ever truly understand. Boxers and footballers suffer broken noses and concussions. No one criticizes them or calls their sport unhealthy. What we do is so much safer. It’s really a shame so many people misunderstand.
Hmm, she doesn’t sound helpless or exploited, does she?
From her interview:
David: There are many rumors about the girls who perform in Lupus productions. Some believe that they attract poor, starving, drug-addicted Eastern European Girls. Now I know that this isn’t true. Prague is often referred to as ‘The Paris of the east”. The Czech Republic is not a third world country. What myths about Lupus would you most like to dispel?
Niki: (Sigh) Yes, the famous urban legends. I think that those rumors are insulting to the girls actually. It’s true, some people think of the Czech Republic as a third world country and that the girls are all uneducated and bullied into it. Or, they have no choice because they are so desperate for money they will do anything. The truth is that the Czech Republic isn’t a third world country; it’s a middle income country that has just joined the European Union. Most of the Lupus crew are friends on the Czech BDSM scene. Some of the girls do it because they are genuinely kinky — they come back again and again. Some may do it for money, but it’s not a crust of bread. They are paid a professional rate. On the set, they are treated as professional actors. The production team at Lupus couldn’t have been more professional or more concerned for my safety — for all of the performers’ safety.
And that’s how you know that the girl in your favorite video doesn’t have an off-camera gun pointed at her head.
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Thursday, October 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s something fascinating about watching an articulate fetishist of ordinary objects describe his (or her .. but it’s usually “his”) fetish. When the fetish is common enough to be deliberately recognized, acknowledged, and sexualized in mainstream media or porn (as with leather, rubber, shoes, pantyhose, and the like) the effect is lessened by our own recognition of the fetish; we can see a pretty lady rubbing a foot against her nylons and go “Mmm, a two-fer” even if we aren’t foot or nylons fetishists our own selves. But when the fetish is more uncommon (balloons, casts), there’s less sexual “noise” when the non-fetishist witnesses the fetishist in action. For me, at least, it offers insight into what fetish is and how it works.
But wait, I hear you saying. Did I say “casts”?
Indeed I did. Confessions of a Cast Fetishist [link broken and removed] is just what it sounds like; or, as the author of the blog puts it, “a description and continuing exploration of my erotic and aesthetic obsessions with leg casts, female feet — especially toes — and footwear.” No, really:
[The film] does happen to feature one rather important detail: a significant female character with a leg in a plaster cast. This might not necessarily be of great import to the vast majority of the movie-consuming public but, to the connoisseur fetishist, leg casts are not altogether common in cinema history, and so any one that may occur is something to be savoured. And, should the person sporting the leg cast happen to be quite as attractive as Famke Janssen, as is this particular instance, well, now we’re talking. Anyway, as a result, I’ve recently invested in a copy of the DVD of the film, to enjoy, again and again, the relevant scenes at my leisure, as it were.
…
I love to see a plaster cast being customized like that, in such a typical way — it’s what people do when they see a cast, and why not, who could blame them? I know that were I actually to be in that scene, I’d be snatching her crayons and pens from the kid and elbowing her out of the way in order to have my turn, and how I’d hog that plaster cast to my heart’s content, decorating it in my own special way, adding my very own personal dedications and hymns to its wonder and beauty. I should add that Famke spends a sizable part of the film wearing a skimpy, tight little vest top that is also hardly unbecoming to her charms. Here’s another little peek. How lovely it would be to keep her “entertained” under the circumstances.
Tuesday, October 18th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Well, or at least not so bad. That’s The Agitator’s take [title: Why Porn Is Good for America (Or, at Least, No So Bad)]on the way the porn explosion is affecting the United States:
But if you look at demographic and crime data since the rise of the Internet — when most people could for the first time access pornography at any time, from any place, completely anonymously — there’s little evidence at all that it’s having any widespread negative effects in any of the areas people like Bozell and Shapiro worry about. In fact, trends in just about every concievable area are moving in directions you’d think Bozell and Shapiro would favor, desptie the widespread availability or pornography. Hell, given that most of the bad stuff seemed to peak just as the Internet took off before trending downward, you could arguably make the case that porn is helping matters a bit, by giving the sexually frustrated a harmless outlet to relieve sexual tension (how’s that for a euphamism?)
I tried to think of all the areas in which someone like Bozell might conclude pornography is having negative effects, and looked to see what the trends in those areas have looked like since the early-to-mid 1990s, the onset of the Internet age. Perhaps I’ve overlooked something, but my guess is that just about any other category you could come up with would point in the same direction: Things are getting better, not worse. Despite Janet Jackson, Internet porn, and Desperate Housewives.
Thanks to Daze for the link.
Friday, October 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
As a followup to the popular Ass Fuck Conspiracy post, let me share some prefatory material from a brief male-written anal sex guide I just stumbled across:
Alright, so you’ve finally worked up the nerve to ask the question to the woman you’re seeing. Would she like to have anal sex? She looks at you with a grim look on her face and flatly says “No way.” Foolishly you ask her why, thinking that somehow you’ll be able to convince her otherwise. “I tried it once before with another guy. It just hurt too much. I never want to do that again.”
That’s the guy I hate. The guy who ruins anal sex for women for the rest of their lives because they have no clue what they’re doing.
Wednesday, October 5th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This is a bizarre little anecdote about a man’s discovery of the escort business — as told (I am not making this up) to a retail employee in a computer game store:
D: “At night, you want some company… You know what I did?”
J: “Uhh…”
D: “I opened up the yellow pages. They have all these ads, pictures of pretty girls, you know, escorts,… so I called and got this nice girl sent over to the motel. Her name was Mandy, tiny little girl, long hair…”
J: “… okay.”
D: “… she had just started doing that type of work. You know, these escorts, you can pay them for sex. It cost me two hundred dollars. I don’t know what something like that would cost me here, probably a lot more. I asked her why she didn’t go to a larger city. They have contracts and stuff. I tipped her twenty dollars and she asked me for more because she had to split the two hundred with her boss.”
J: “…”
D: “She was very cute when she was going down on me. Her little body, her tits. Can I touch those? Yes, you can Dan. I could bounce her around, she was so tiny. After the blowjob, she was finishing me off and she leaned back. This shot of cum went up into the air. I swear, about two feet through the air.”
Monday, October 3rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s a little-remarked fact that phone sex hasn’t been the same since pagers and cell phones started being equipped to vibrate instead of ringing. (A friend of mine used to tease his wife, by inquiring, in public, whether she’d set her phone to “thrill mode”.) I have long suspected that the incorporation of cameras into telephone devices has only accelerated the evolution of phone sex.
Now, from Pillow Book, we have a sophisticated exposition of what modern phone sex can look like:
I … messaged back that indeed i did have condoms. I also asked why he wanted to know.
put your phone inside the condom
put the phone inside you set to vibrate
i ring you
He was obviously excited by this whole idea. His punctuation was suffering.
I opened one of the Chekmate packets and took out the condom. Like all its brethren it had that familiar rubbery smell. I hoped that the smell wouldn’t linger on my mobile. I placed the reservoir tip on the top of my phone and carefully rolled it down the full ten centimetre length of my Telstra prepaid sex toy. Then I unrolled the condom the rest of the way, squeezed as much air out of it as I could, and knotted it off.
I held the condomed phone up by its knot and considered my handiwork. I was about to begin the task of inserting it when it started to vibrate and ring.
Too quick. En’t that just like a man?
So I pressed the ignore button, to let him know that it would take a while longer to get it inside me.
It occured to me what a great addition to the male anatomy an ignore button would be.
Thursday, September 29th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Two tidbits today from the vast and tasty smorgasbord that is Panties Panties Panties. First, the anal sex. There’s a recent post called “Ass: The Gateway Drug“. The post combines plenty of prurient detail with an anal sex tip that’s not always found in those dry how-to articles; namely, that good humor is at least as important as the standard “use oceans of lube” advice. But it’s the title that amused me most. It reminded me of the ancient joke: “Why don’t [insert your favorite moralistic prigs here] have sex standing up? Because it could lead to dancing!”
Tidbit the second, nonsexual: In a spiritual echo of my recent slam against office work, Hiromi posted about idleness and wage slavery and included a vignette about soul-crushing commutes:
Today I was stuck in Austin rush hour traffic. Grey-faced, prune-lipped, baggy-eyed commuters with cell phones grafted to their heads crammed in their metal hutches inching along in the 105 degree heat. And for what?
Werk. Jaabs. Wage slavery.
Folks, the horrifying thing about all of this is that it’s voluntary; there are ways out of the rat race, but you have to look hard and perhaps be willing to give up (at least temporarily) some of the excellent pellets they feed you.
Thursday, September 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’m a small town boy at heart. Setting aside the sometimes-amusing literary conceits of porn sites like Street Blowjobs (sorry, boys, but the young ladies sucking on “Bob Incognito’s” prong are recruited in the usual porn industry fashion and they know they are on camera), I would normally assume that even low-end commercial sex transactions are unlikely to occur in broad sunlight within feet of beer-swigging pedestrians. And so, it’s possible this photograph is not what it looks like:
Although that posture is hard to explain, it’s possible he’s just trying to give her a discreet hit on his device for incinerating illicit chemicals. Heck, maybe she’s trying to help untie the tangled knots of his friendship bracelets, using her teeth to worry the strings loose. It’s possible….
But then, it’s also possible (and perhaps more likely) that more things happen on the mean streets of the big city than I’d previously imagined.
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Wednesday, September 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always wondered what the deal was with those clear plastic penis pumps — they are advertised as a penis enlargement tool, but what good is a huge penis that’s inside a hard plastic vacuum chamber? Here’s someone who set out to find out:
So last week Juicy Wife and I ordered some sex toys (one of which was a penis pump). Saturday evening, while Wife was out on the town, I got a chance to play around with said pump. The sole reason I got it was pure novelty — what would it be like to have a massive circus schlong for all of 8 seconds?
At first, it was quite enjoyable. I slipped the chamber over my (non-erect) self and began pumping away. With this model of penis pump, your cock rests inside this little sleeve at the base and as your dick expands, it gets slowly pulled upward through the sleeve — which was actually kind of pleasureable. (If you lube up first. Must use lube with this thing.) My favorite part was when the head finally popped through the sleeve and up into the chamber; it had grown fucking ENORMOUS. I kept pumping away, drawing my cock further north and swelling it to even larger proportions. I got this weird thrill, like I was a mad scientist bringing Frankenstein to life. IT’S ALIIIIVE!!
After that, things went downhill. The little sleeve is very, very tight and doesn’t actually expand along with your growing penis. So you’re left with one half of your cock looking gigantic and swollen, and the other half compressed within the tiny restrictive sleeve. This also makes it nearly impossible to remove … you literally have to fight your own penis to get it off. After wrestling with it for 3 minutes, I had nearly lost all my sex drive.
So I wouldn’t recommend the cock pump. Unless you have a very narrow penis that can rest comfortably in that sleeve.
He went there so you don’t have to.
Friday, September 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, OK, so there’s like, a jillion oral sex guides out there on the internet. I fondly recall reading one back when I really needed one, back before there was a World Wide Web, when the best internet resources took the form of huge lovingly-crafted ASCII text files. After a few years of sex blogging, though, the oral sex guides all start to run together and feel the same.
Which is why this one is worth linking to: It’s not so much about technique as it is about etiquette, and it’s written in a fresh and entertaining voice:
Okay, pervs and pervettes. It’s time for Chow Yun Smut to step up and testify on the importance of manners. I don’t care which fork you use at the dinner table, I don’t care if you hold the door open for the ladies, I don’t care about the ongoing debate on who pays for a date. This is all about giving head.
DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a primer for technique…. Manners, folks. Etiquette. Because I was recently confronted with a person who has apparently been allowed to be sexually active with more than one person, and yet nobody has taken the time to inform this person of some very basic rules of engagement.
Of course, I didn’t find this first; I found the link over at Fleshbot, where the skilled professional sex bloggers tend to find all the goodies before I do. But hey, Violet Blue did write the book on oral sex (well, two of them, actually) and so if she recommends it, it’s surely worth your time.
Wednesday, September 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Via anonymous email, we have this folk art rendering of a woman having a spot of fun with an aerosol cologne container:
Tuesday, September 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been an on-again off-again fan of Nerve.com for what feels like forever. Certainly, it’s been for long enough that I can still remember when they started putting their best photography behind a paywall, back when that was still a novel and extremely unwelcome innovation among online magazine sites. For awhile I maintained a silent one-man boycott; my attitude was then, and largely remains, that there’s more free media on the web than I can consume before I die, so why pay for any? And why reward online content producers with my eyeballs, if they aren’t smart enough to understand that their target demographic is already flooded with quality free media?
Ah, well, but there’s quality and then there’s quality. Much of Nerve’s content has always been both free and of unusually high quality, so gradually and sporadically I’ve drifted back. For the first year of Erosblog’s existence, I even kept a link to Nerve somewhere among my lists of links to quality non-blog sex sites. I purged it, somewhen, for reasons I don’t fully remember. Most likely, it was because I hate to provide free traffic to moneymaking operations that won’t send me either money or traffic in return; and until recently, Nerve didn’t link out to anybody in the blogging community.
Suddenly, however, I see that’s changed. I noticed in my referrals that they are now operating a blog called Breaking News, subtitled “No weather. No traffic. Just sex.” And, although like many corporate bloggers they don’t quite fully get this blogging thing (what’s with only showing seven entries on the main page, when the default page height would support five times as many and is now four-fifths blank?), the sex news entries are entertaining and (importantly) they’ve linked to Eros Blog under a “Nerve Recommends” header. Thanks, and welcome back to the blogroll!
Saturday, September 10th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s one of sixteen oh-so-tasteful sex photos from a 1976 book called “Be Your Own Sex Therapist”:
From Making Love In 1976 at The Nonist.
Thursday, September 8th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Long ago I blogged about fucking machines, but in the years since, this post by Audacia Ray at Waking Vixen is the first detailed account I’ve seen from a woman who has gamely taken one of the machines for a good test ride:
Dacia vs. The Machine
or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Robocock
So in the quest to make my life experience increasingly peculiar, last night I had an, um, encounter with a fucking machine. How, you may ask, would this come about? Well, I was contacted a while ago by a photographer who is interested in the intersection between sexuality and machines… an interesting conversation resulted and the revelation that said photographer is in possession of a fucking machine (you know, one of these things). Was I intrigued? Well, considering that I was already intrigued by his project, yes I certainly was.
So, fast forward to last night, when I filled my suitcase with clothes, shoes and sex toys and made my way to the studio we were shooting in. We started out with some still pics for a bit of warm up and utilized my very red wardrobe and collection of high heels. I was amused to find that it’s becoming much easier to walk in 5 inch stilettos; when I put on my platforms I felt almost like I was wearing sneakers, they were so easy to move around in. Hey, strutting in 5 inch heels is a useful life skill for me.
After a while, the photographer took out the fucking machine for me to admire and ponder. It was basically a metal suitcase like the kind you see carrying millions of dollars in those gangster movies. Except inside of it was the metal that makes the hump possible, and it had a metal pole sticking out of it. It came with a collection of dildos (the icky flesh colored, veiny jelly rubber ones) but I was delighted to find out that my favorite silicone dildo happened to have a hollowed out space perfectly sized for said metal attachment. Well then. We turned the machine on its end so the dildo was pointing skywards, twisted its control on, and watched mesmerized as it pumped at the ceiling. Another twist of the knob and it pumped faster.
The photographer turned to me and said, “So what do you think?”
My eyes still locked on the machine, I responded, “Well, it’s kind of scary. But the noises it makes are less terrifying than I thought they’d be; I thought it would sound more like a jackhammer. Let’s do it.”
He raised his eyebrows at me and said, “You’ll be the first to have a go with it. Other models have been curious about it, but everyone’s been too afraid of it to actually use it.”
Leave it to me to take the machine’s virginity and give it my robot love virginity in exchange.
To warm myself up for the machine, I did a bit of a strip tease with the video camera trained on me, unzipped my dress (hey, I’m a class act, what can I say?), sat down in a comfy chair and began to play with my pussy. I dipped my fingers in my mouth and then smeared the wetness on my freshly shaved labia. By this time I was distracted by the task at hand, so I forgot about being careful with my lipstick and probably fucked it all up, but who cares — I was getting ready to make sweet robot love. I lingered with my fingers pulling at my labia, mixing spit and cunt juices together, rubbing my clit into the awakened state that always makes my piercing jut at an odd angle. I reached beside my chair for my trusty lube and toys and started to use the mini slimline all over my vulva; its hard plastic occasionally chattering over my piercing. I felt my labia plump up and the area just above my pubic bone swell. I pressed down on it and slid the vibe inside me at an angle so that I’d touch my g-spot while also bearing down on it from above. Good, cross-eyed stuff. While keeping the vibe in place with one hand, I reached for my lumina wand with the other. I was ready for some harder g-spot banging. Chatter chatter chatter was the sound of the moment as the slimline collided with my piercing and the lumina wand, and sometimes both at once. I felt my juices start to drip out of me and expand down the insides of my thighs — I was ready for robot love. I tapered off with the vibrator and announced, “I’m ready for it.”
We shuffled things around a bit and tried to figure out the optimal position for machine fuckery. Since the floor was looking none too comfy for laying or kneeling on, we decided that it would be best if I stood over the machine, with it poking me from below. I had to take my fabulous stilettos off for this portion of the evening’s program so that I could balance better. I lubed up my dildo and inserted it before turning the machine on, and then slowly twisted the knob. With a click and a grind, the machine sprung to life, and on its first upward thrust popped out of my pussy. This much I can say — though the machine repetitively thrusts in the exact same way, it is still no easier to keep the cock-pussy connection going than it is with a real live cock. Or maybe I just need more machine-fucking practice.
After getting the hang of the machine for a while, we decided that I should turn around and angle the thing so that I would be getting fucked from behind, though still standing up. We put a stool in front of me for leaning against, and this position worked much better, partly due to the fact that I was no long looking directly at the machine and being fascinated by the hump mechanism (yes, that’s a technical term). I could concentrate more on the solid fucking the thing was administering once I was propped up on my elbows and pointing my ass at machine (and camera). I dropped my left hand down onto my clit and realized that my pussy was a sopping mess (in a good way).
I closed my eyes, listened to the steady hum of the machine behind me, and went to town on my clit. That dildo isn’t my favorite for nothing — its smooth swells rubbed my g-spot in just the right way, and the wide base stretched my cunt wide for a spilt second as the machine penetrated me to the hilt. Though at first I had been too concerned with the mechanics of the operation (and I’ll admit, a little self-conscious about being on camera) to think that I’d be able to make an orgasm happen, it was becoming a reality. I felt myself slip into my head and body a bit more, and I looked down to see my legs violently shaking.
The gears inside the suitcase groaned against my pulsing cunt muscles. It made a bit of a cranking noise and I wondered for a second if my orgasm was going to push the cock out (it didn’t), but then I got lost in the feeling of coming. With a soft sigh, my body began to go slack, and I slowed the machine to a stop. I disengaged, still shaking and a little flushed. The photographer watched me shaking subtly before him for a second, and then asked, “So, how was it?”
“It was… good. Interesting. I was able to get into it more when I wasn’t looking at the shiny metal of the machine.”
So, it wasn’t the most fearsome orgasm ever, and I didn’t go totally nuts about the machine, but I think given some practice and a different position (how about not standing up), my robot love skills could increase exponentially. Now there’s a useful life skill to have.
Wednesday, September 7th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’m very impressed by the quoted portion of this article:
It’s time someone praised and defended reckless teenage girls and young women who behave badly, dress provocatively, engage in risky sex, and get pregnant. They are the normal ones. The rest of us are the deviants. They are behaving in the most natural way. The rest of us are mutants.
There is nothing wrong with pelvic display, push-up bras, Gosford miniskirts, spray-on jeans, low-cut tops, bare legs, bare arms, bare ankles, G-strings or even buttock cleavage, providing the displayer is young enough to get away with it. A woman’s body is at its fertility peak between the ages of 17 and 23. So when young women advertise or flaunt their sexuality they are being driven by a force far stronger than the Judeo-Christian ethic. They are driven by the power of peak fertility and a million years of evolutionary biology. Nature has programmed them for pregnancy, genetic diversity and keeping the species going. A big job.
Sexually active teenage girls, and sexually promiscuous women of any age, carry the greatest social burden of judgements, punishments, restrictions and risks because we haven’t got the child-care equation right. These women are just doing their job. They are real, while the rest of the equation is artificial. Society is the collective weight of traditions, conventions, laws, habits, fears, tribes, taboos and technologies, permeated by a Judeo-Christian ethic dominated by men and designed to curb female sexual power. Our norms are also dominated by the ideology of materialism that is moving women further and further towards unnatural behaviour, pressuring them to have babies later rather than sooner.
This is society’s real problem. Teenage pregnancy is trivial by comparison to suppressed pregnancy.
In other words, it’s not those damned horny kids who have the problem, it’s us grownups, who’ve built a society where you have to study and train and work your way up for far too many years, before you finally gain the economic power necessary to have children responsibly without depending on anybody else.
Wednesday, September 7th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Want a castle for your sexcapades? This one, billed as a Wonderfull Castle In The Italian Countryside, has plenty of room, an “underground passage,” and much more. Check out the amenities, especially the second one in the third column. :)
Thanks, Evil Science Chick.
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.
Thursday, September 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Sorry, folks. I know that enemas are not universally considered sexy. But they are a commonly fetishized activity. And if you don’t like the enema portion of these transcripts of Marilyn Monroe’s conversations with her therapist, there’s always her comments on orgasms or spanking to enjoy.
Marilyn on enemas:
“I don’t understand this big taboo about enemas. Most of the actresses I know use them, even some who won’t admit it. Mae West told me she is given an enema every day and she has at least one orgasm a day. Mae says her enemas and orgasms will keep her young until she is 100.
Peter Crawford says the Queen and noblemen of the court of Louis XIV were give frequent enemas by special servants called apothecaries. The purpose was to give them peaches and cream complexions. Something about intestinal toxins getting into your blood. So there you are. Those ladies were doing the intelligent thing.
Yes. I enjoy enemas, so what!”
Sunday, August 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
From Rollertrain comes a set of hilarious stories documenting certain calls placed to the customer service department at a sex toy mail order emporium. My favorite is The Man Who Drank Lube:
Customer: I took this an hour ago and nothing is happening.
Hez: What was it that you took, sir?
Customer: It said two pumps. I bought the 32 ounce bottle Thin Lube, and I took two pumps of it, but nothing is happening.
Hez: You drank lube?
Customer: I drank it an hour ago and nothing is happening.
Hez: Sir, you actually drank the lube?
Customer: Yes, and I’m not lubricated yet.
Hez: Sir, do you understand that you’re supposed to apply lubricant topically?
Customer: It says to take two pumps.
Hez: Sir, does the bottle say that it’s a water-based lube, or a silicon-based lube?
Customer: [Fumbling for minutes] Water soluble. But I am not lubricated.
Hez: Sir, you’ll be lubricated in about four hours.
Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
A passing one-liner from a post on Tell Your Sex Story:
I have this weird bug that drives me to have sex in every room of a place I live in on every surface.
When I saw that line, I was totally derailed from the story, thinking “Is that weird bug contagious? If so, I think we could make great money selling little cotten swabs soaked in your infectious agents….”
Sunday, August 14th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
It isn’t what you’re thinking, I bet!
Conventional wisdom has it that the parents of teenagers spend lots of time preventing their kids from having sex. Actually, the reverse is true. One of the biggest challenges of camping with teenagers is trying to find ways that the adults can have sex. …Having sex while a couple of toddlers sleep soundly on their side of their tent is one thing, but if what you’ve got is a gang of teenagers playing cards by flashlight, you better have a Plan B.
More helpful hints in Sex on the beach at jo(e)’s page.
Thursday, August 11th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
The Girl With A One Track Mind recently got asked “What’s BDSM?” by her mother.
And it triggered a horrifying memory of an episode I had otherwise forgotten.
I grew up in a very small town a long way from anywhere. Social options were … limited. And girls? Forget about it. There was only one my age, and she didn’t like me. Hell, I didn’t even like her much. But she had brothers I got along with OK, so I hung at their house a lot.
Which is how, one day when I was perhaps fourteen, I found myself sitting at their kitchen table playing UNO with about six people ranging in age from littlest sister (age 9?) to The Mom, whose oldest kids were long gone from home. The Mom was a “fun” adult, tolerant of kids and never angry, made awesome chocolate eclairs and always with a kind word for everyone. She was also pretty for her age, blonde, and a devout, bury-all-her-problems-in-the-joy-of-Jesus fundamentalist Christian. Not preachy, but completely lost in belief, with no room in her worldview for other answers and no other way to cope with her many problems.
So one of the brothers made a particularly boneheaded move (hard to do while playing UNO) and Sister My Age made a derisive remark that concluded with “…you stupid dildo!”
Of course Littlest Sister pipes up from inside her cute little halo of blonde hair (these folks were all blonde Scandahoovians from Michigan): “What’s a dildo?”
Crickets.
The Mom got a curious look on her face, and in a completely friendly tone (no guile possible, just motherly interest) asked Sister My Age “Yes, dear, what’s a dildo?”
She meant the question honestly. She had no freakin’ idea.
I dunno how much Sister My Age knew. In that house, it’s possible she didn’t know any better than Mom. But she obviously knew it was something “bad”, because she stammered and blushed a bit, and then she protested that she didn’t know, it was just a name she’d heard someone call someone else in a movie (which she named).
And then, for my sins, The Mom turned her gaze on me. “[My Name], do you know what a dildo is?”
Did I mention my sins? My big one, here, was the sin of being smarter than any of the many children The Mom had ever popped from her loins. I was the big reader, the guy with the huge vocabulary, the guy who knew it all and (at fourteen) never failed to let everyone know it. The Mom knew I’d know, because she knew that I’d read every piece of printed matter that had every fallen under my eyes, whether I understood it or not.
Now it was my turn to blush and stammer. For indeed, I did know. I’d read The Joy Of Sex. Hell, I’d had to volunteer as librarian in our town’s little public library, just so I could smuggle it out of the place without having to write my name on the little paper slip in the front while being watched with basilisk eyes by the normal little-old-lady volunteers who’d known me since I was five. Also, there was an Older Brother of this family who used to hide his three porn magazines in the woods in a treehouse fort constructed for that very purpose. I’d invaded the fort and viewed them. I knew what was what.
And I was stuck. Claiming ignorance wouldn’t work. I had never been seen to do it. Nobody would believe me. Nor, looking back, do I think I was capable of it.
What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t very well look this nice eclair-baking Christian lady in the eye and say “It’s a big rubber penis.”
So I hemmed, and I hawed, and said I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a very nice thing to call your little sister; I knew it was some sort of thing for married people, because wherever I had read the word (and, pious me, I could not remember where) it had also been called a “marital aid.”
That was the magic phrase; The Mom obviously knew what those were, because I saw the light dawn in her eyes, and then she said to Sister My Age “Don’t be calling your little sister that” and jumped up to offer some more eclairs.
Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Never let it be said that I don’t enjoy free swag. Here’s the latest goodie to land in my mailbox: a reproduction of an antique hand-carved die featuring a man and a woman engaged in the ancient art of mutual oral sex. Like the man says, any way you throw this die, it will come up 69:
This, and other naughty dice, come from the novelty dice page at Ellesh’s Closet, where they specialize in “Naughty Historic Novelties for Adults.” I don’t get to Renaissance fairs often enough, but now, through the miracle of the Internet and the good offices of the United States Postal Service, some of the fun stuff there has come to me. Now if only somebody could perfect a “mail order wenches” service….
Thursday, July 28th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I have a soft spot in my heart for Barbarella. I know it’s cheesy by today’s standards, and Jane Fonda’s politics don’t endear her to alot of people, but that movie is just naughty-sexy-fun to me. And her costumes? Still beautiful.
When I saw this painting it reminded me of Barbarella, but brought into the 21st century:
So lovely! The painting is called “Metal Nouveau”, and it’s by Marcus Gray (the link will take you to the full-size image). His web site has several other paintings like this, plus lots in other styles, some sort of cartoonish. Lots of sexy, hot art!
Tuesday, July 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It happened again. Folks, being paranoid about your copyrights is not the way to get ahead in the blog world. Links and quotes are your friends.
What happened? I found a new blog that I was going to add to my blogroll and highlight in Thursday’s Sex Blog Roundup on Fleshbot. I selected a couple of sentences to use in the quote blurb on Fleshbot, and got a Javascript popup message sternly warning me:
Sorry, right clicks not allowed.
Images and text are protected.
All rights reserved.
One of the rights reserved being, apparently, the right to languish in obscurity with precisely one backlink showing in Google. Enjoy those rights, y’all!
Tuesday, July 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
As you know full well if you surf the sex blogs much, there’s a peculiar surplus of angst-ridden blogs by women who self-identify as sexually submissive. A frequent theme for the angst seems to be the tension between these women’s desires to be or to feel sexually submissive, and their desires to be fully valued as free and autonomous human beings.
It’s in that light that DTG’s trenchant observations on the difference between sexual submission and boring old acquiescence strike me as being most useful. I’ll let you click through for the bit on acquiescence, but the bit on submission is too fun not to quote:
Submission is right there in our physiology. We feel it in our bodies from the first time we get fucked. Like puppies, we roll on our backs and expose our soft bellies and breasts, spread our legs, and let you big guys have free run of our most tender parts. Not only do we submit, we wag our bums and pant joyfully and sometimes pee ourselves with excitement. Well, some of us do. Heh.
Thursday, July 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
An email from Sam Sugar of SugarBank has prompted me to create a new category on the blogroll: Adult Industry Blogs.
Sam’s is only the most recent entrant into the category of well-written blogs by porn industry participants: photographers, movie makers, adult webmasters, and pornographers of every stripe. These folks are often extremely knowledgeable, literate, and passionate about sex-related topics, but the ones who don’t blog about their own sex lives (or who don’t post so many free samples of their product) have never been a great fit in the Sex Blog category. The new category also gives me room for creative people like Tony Comstock and others whose blogs present as marketing devices, but interesting ones. (I say “present as marketing devices” because any blog by a person in commerce is a marketing device, whether or not people notice it as such.)
Back to Sam Sugar. To give you the flavor, he recently debunked nine anti-porn myths:
6. Porn is for perverts
With 800 million videos being sold and rented in North America each year either porn is loved by everyone, or everyone’s a pervert.
Paul Fishbein (founder of AVN magazine) said that anti-porn protestors want us to believe that the porn industry serves 800 guys who each rent a million movies a year. He’s right.
People want to enjoy sexual material in every city and state, they spend more on porn in hotels than they do on drinks from the mini-bar. Whatever your thoughts about it, porn’s not a niche interest.
Indeed.
Wednesday, July 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
The shirtless rogue in this picture really knows how to steal a kiss. Tying up the pretty girls may not be politically correct, but it seems to be working for him:
Of course, the next thing he’s going to do is unbuckle that big belt buckle. And then she’ll be kissing something else.
Picture courtesy Sex and Submission.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, July 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This is perhaps the most energetic bit of sex prose I’ve ever had the pleasure to read:
…and then I twigged, this must be her special ploy to rouse the roues, playing the helpless fawn shrinking before the roaring ravisher. Wasted on me, absolutely; cowering or brazen, it’s all one to your correspondent; as she turned to flee, whimpering, I siezed her amidships, tossed her into the air, planted her on hands and knees, and was installed before she could budge, roaring feigned endearments to soothe her pretended alarm and bulling away like fury. With two lost months to make up for, I’d no time to waste on further refinements, nor, I fear, did I treat her with that solicitude which a considerate rider should show to his mount, especially when she’s barely five feet tall and half his weight. Having slaked what the lady novelists would call my base passion, I staggered up and collapsed on the bed, most capitally exhausted, leaving her prone and gasping on the carpet with her little bottom a-quiver, very fetching, and her hat and veil still in place.
From Flashman And The Angel Of The Lord by George MacDonald Fraser.
Saturday, July 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Don’t ever let anybody tell you that the ancients weren’t every bit as kinky as we modern types. Here’s a detail from a sketch of the fragmentary Turin Papyrus showing a charioteer boffing a woman while the chariot is being drawn by yet more scantily-clad women or girls, wearing masks or perhaps drawn as having animal heads.
The image comes from this article on ancient Egyptian sexuality, found via Good Shit.
2014 update: There’s an easier-to-see sketch of the ponygirl section, found here.
Tuesday, July 12th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s no video like sexy Japanese game show video. In this case, we have topless girls wrapped in tissue paper, which the audience then dissolves away with squirt guns. Look quick, since the video’s on a free host and might not be there tomorrow.
Thanks to Your Dirty Mind for the link.
Tuesday, July 12th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Sad-but-true observation, from Once Bitten:
There is no sexual minority so small or so extreme that it cannot find a smaller, more extreme minority to View WIth Alarm.
Which is a pity. Old Ben was right: “We must hang together, gentlemen…else, we shall most assuredly hang separately.”
Friday, July 8th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
In the recent long Wired article on the science of female arousal, I learned for the first time of ladies who can “think off” or achieve orgasm without any external stimulation:
Getting good images of the aroused female brain is easy. It’s orgasm that’s the problem. In the doughnut, the slightest head movement ruins the scan. Even if a test subject holds her head perfectly still while masturbating, the parts of the brain responsible for motor control are switched on, muddying the picture. “You’ll see vaginal sensory input to the brain,” Komisaruk says, “but you’ll also get motor activity of the arms and hands, as well as sensory input from them.” To get clean data, he needed to find someone able to achieve orgasm without touching herself.
Vicky – not her real name – is one of these women. A California college student, she can climax by “thinking off.” She contacted Komisaruk after hearing about his work from one of his other test subjects at a party.
“It’s amusing to tell people that I jack off in an fMRI for science,” says Vicky, quickly adding that the process is more like work than sex. A typical day of research begins with Vicky lying on the fMRI machine’s bed; Komisaruk and his team strap down her head. Then she’s fed into the doughnut and the machine begins taking pictures, a process Vicky describes as “loud and clunky.” She stimulates herself by contracting her vaginal muscles rhythmically and controlling her breathing for 26 minutes.
Vicky and the imaging team worked out a hand signal she can flash when she starts to orgasm. “Basically, my head was strapped to a board in an extremely loud machine, and I had to let them know when I was about to come, so they could mark it on the computer,” she laughs. “Whoo – so sexy!”
“We got excellent data from her,” says Komisaruk, who adds that Vicky is one of 12 women in his study who can “think off.” “Because there is no distraction related to movements and sensory input from arms and hands,” he explains, “it illuminates the brain activity involved in producing the orgasm.”
If guys could routinely do this, we’d never have clean underwear.
Thursday, June 30th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
In a bizarre conflation of the mermaid post and the octopus sex post, here’s an image (from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime) showing a young man getting friendly with an octopus woman:
It seems there are more kinds of tentacle sex under the sun, Horatio, than are dreampt of in your philosophy.
Sunday, June 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
In concluding a funny post about cooking, drinking, and anal sex, Brett from Panties Panties Panties Panties Panties Panties Panties writes:
Then we came home, cooked, and committed a venal sin with relish. Sodomy is a venal sin, isn’t it?
And all I can think is “Relish? Seems like that would be lumpy. And sting.”
Friday, June 24th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I don’t normally swoon over stars. But Tasty Trixie dialed me in with her comments on Ed Harris:
Oh . . . FUCK me, Ed Harris!! I recently read that most men would rather be impotent than be bald. STUPID. Bald is beautiful. Ed. Harris. I don’t usually think of blue-eyed blondes as my “type”, but Ed Harris moves me to panty-wetting excitement.
Oh yes, bald IS beautiful. For anyone getting moist at the thought of Ed Harris, Trixie’s entry includes a very sexy photo, in which his mouth looks so kissable that I think I might swoon if I think about it too much. And Trixie, I agree, Ed wins over Viggo by miles. (I’m also in the Sean-Astin-as-sex-stud-of-LOTR camp.)
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
If you’re anything like me, at some point in your life you’ve wondered “What in the hell is up with all the tranny porn? What’s the market for this stuff, anyway?”
Now, “tranny porn” in this sense is a politically incorrect marketing label, roughly synonymous with the more descriptive if no more euphonious “chicks with dicks”. And it’s a big porn genre in its own right, not (apparently, and judging by the shelving arrangements at your average video store) some odd little subgenre in the gay porn section. We’re not talking about something you can only buy under a rainbow flag in the Casto District. No, you’ll find plenty of this stuff in the plywood building with no windows, the one that’s two blocks down County 99 past the travel plaza, just before you get to the grain elevators.
So who’s watching it?
Can’t say. In all my life, I never yet came across anybody who admitted to watching the stuff or being attracted to pretty women with “the meat between the legs”. Until now: Yeah, I like transsexuals, what are you gonna do about it?
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?
Monday, June 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Have you ever wondered how all those guys in the old stories had sex with mermaids? Deadprogrammer has the answer — namely, there was once supposed to be a bawdy two-tailed mermaid called a melusine:
If she looks familiar, it’s because you’ve seen her thousands of times before. She’s in the Starbucks logo, although over time she’s been sanitized, sterilized, covered up, de-belly-buttoned, liposuctioned, and (the ultimate indignity) ruthlessly cropped.
Sunday, June 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Although I think Robert here may be lacking in sympathy for men who didn’t choose quite so wisely as he did in the marital sweepstakes, the man does have something of point:
I had lunch and a couple of drinks with some guys from work yesterday. We usually just talk about work. But one guy starts talking about his wife saying he never gets any now that they have kids. By the time his wife gets home from work and takes care of the kids she’s too tired. The other guy says yeah me too and he only has one teenage kid. Then the one guy starts talking about his latest video game and staying up all night playing it. The other guy talks about the computer gambling he’s into and the car he’s rebuilding. I’m thinking these guys don’t deserve to get any. They’re too stupid.
You’ve got to read the whole thing — especially the part where he says “Women are easy.“
Sunday, June 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
In case you thought tentacle sex was a modern Japanese kink, this vintage shunga image ought to disabuse you:
The artist is the famous Katsushika Hokusai, who died in 1849. What’s more, there’s a link at Tentacle Porn to a putative translation of the script surrounding the image. No warranties, express or implied:
OCTOPUS MAXIMUS: My wish comes true at last, this day of days; finally I
have you in my grasp! Your “bobo” is ripe and full, how wonderful! Superior
to all others! To suck and suck and suck some more. After we do ot
masterfully, I’ll guide yo to the Dragon Palace of the Sea God and envelope
you. “Zuu sufu sufu chyu chyu chyu tsu zuu fufufuuu…”
MAIDEN: You hateful octopus! Your sucking at the mouth of my womb makes me
gasp for breath! Aah! yes… it’s… There.!!! With the sucker, the
sucker!! inside, squiggle, squiggle, Oooh! Oooh, good, Oooh good! There,
there! Theeeeere! Goood! Whew! Aah! Good, good, Aaaaaaaaaah! Not yet!
Until now it was I that men called an octopus! An octopus! Ooh! Whew! How
are you able…!? Ooh! “yoyoyooh, Saa… Hicha hicha gucha gucha, yuchyuu
chyu guzu guzu suu suuu….”
OCTOPUS MAXIMUS: All eigth legs (arms?) to interwine with!! How do you like
it htis way? Ah, look! The inside has swollen, moistened by the warm waters
of lust. “Nura nura doku doku doku…”
MAIDEN: Yes, it tingles now; soon there will be no sensation at all left my
hips. Ooooooh! Boundaries and borders gone! I ‘ve Vanished….!!!!!!
OCTOPUS MINIMUM: After daddy finishes, I too want to rub and rub my suckers
at the ridge of your furry place until you disappear and then I’ll suck
some more, “chyu chyu..”
Thursday, June 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
For some time now I’ve been compiling one of the two weekly Sex Blog Roundups over at the extremely-cool Fleshbot. But for one stupid reason or another, I’ve kept forgetting to link to the roundups after I’ve done ’em. Today’s roundup is here, so git along, little dogies!
Tuesday, June 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Doxy the self-described phone slut has written an impressive How To Get Started In Phone Sex tutorial.
Linked in part here because practical advice about sex work is always hard to find. Linked in greater part because, if it inspires even one person who finds it here to become self-employed and thus free herself from cubicle drudgery, I will have done my good deed for the day.
Monday, June 13th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Maybe I’m paying more attention now, or maybe other sexbloggers I visit are more willing to talk about stuff beyond the wet and friction parts. But it’s good to know that I’m not alone in trying to find my way through the mess of my life. Waking Vixen shared some thoughts on sexual autonomy that hit home.
Jane put up with a lot of this self-doubt stuff, and when I’d go on about not being able to bridge the sexual gap between how I’m imagined and how I am, she’d ask me why exactly I was so fixated on having partnered sex. The right and healthy answer for me is “because I like it and its fun,” but during those moments, the truthful answer was more along the lines of “because I need to be wanted and to prove that I can.”
How I’m imagined and how I am…..seems like a big difference between those two for me right now. Also the focusing on sex with somebody else is something I’ve been stuck in alot. I’m not hung up about masturbating, but it’s been something I do more to scratch the itch rather than to enjoy it for its own sake. And since R, there hasn’t been a lot of it. I think it’s time for both of those things to change.
Vixen closes with this:
Truly, it’s all about balance, but when other people’s balances wobble, I have to be able to make do with what I’ve got. I have to do better than that – I have to maintain and fulfill my own sense of sexual self. I can invite others in to share what I’ve got, but kick them out when they’ve overstayed their welcome.
I think R got to me as much as he did because I haven’t given a lot of attention to my own sense of sexual self. And that happened because I’ve been thinking of my sexual self as something that has to have somebody else to activate it. That isn’t true, and I know it…..or at least, I used to know it. Vixen, thank you for the words of wisdom.
Monday, June 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Whenever you read those “all about how to have kinky sex” sites, they always emphasize the need to “negotiate your scene in advance”. Most such essays on how to conduct this eminently necessary negotiation makes the process sound stilted, complicated, wearisome, and awkward. Of course, that’s entirely at odds with my observations of the actual kinkiness that I’ve brushed into in my life — so I’ve wondered if this wasn’t some sort of “do as I say, not as I do” advice for newbies.
In partial answer to that question, I present Bret and Hiromi’s he-said-she-said dialog entitled “The Logistics Of Pee Sex.” It’s emphatically a scene negotiation, but not self-consciously so. In fact, I’d say it’s a blueprint for a frank light-hearted scene negotiation that also happens to sound like a fun conversation. Scales fall from the eyes.
Thursday, June 9th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
A feller by the name of DangerSpouse wrote this hugely long comic essay on his wife’s bout with whooping cough (and other family tribulations). This man could retell the Book of Job and make it funny. Of particular interest to sex blog readers is this bit:
Back on the homefront, NewWifey(tm) was feeling better by her second day on meds. I know she was feeling better because even though she was still coughing with almost every single breath, when I walked in the door her first words to me were “Let’s fuck!”
Now, I had been spending my nights since her arrival on a futon in the room farthest from her bedroom, in an attempt to insulate myself from her WMD breath.
But…
“OK!”
Needless to say, with NewWifey(tm) coughing explosively every 4 or 5 seconds, one of her three orifices was effectively off limits unless I wanted to be blown up like a balloon through a very short valve. So that left two gaping Survivor finalists.
Decisions, decisions….
It finally came down to Face Time. As in, I didn’t want any.
So, “Bite the Pillow” it was.
AND IT WAS GREAT!
Here, let me show you:
Jam your thumb up your butt, and then cough. Hard. Repeatedly.
IS THAT AWESOME, OR WHAT?
Of course, I wasn’t using my thumb. Or own butt. Which made it EVEN BETTER.
(You were. So that makes you gay.)
Lemme tell you, the next three or four days were some of the happiest of my life.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, June 8th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
So, there might be a genetic basis that influences women’s orgasmic propensities. And check out the hot picture that accompanied that story in the Chinese tabloid Xinhua!
Wednesday, June 8th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
For some reason this vintage sex picture reminds me of those old cartoons that showed hungry characters sitting expectantly at the dinner table with a knife in one fist and a fork in the other. Dinnertime!
From Usenet.
Tuesday, June 7th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Functional Ambivalent has posted a long (and perhaps even rambling) article on MILF sexuality. Two excerpts:
The final class of older women did not have, in my youth, a designation. They were there, but we didn’t acknowledge them. They were attractive, secure, and carried with them irrefutable evidence of sexual activity: They had children.
And:
Sometimes, every couple of months when I’m bored with golf and feeling romantic, I tell my wife that she is becoming the older woman I’ve always fantasized about. I intend this as a compliment, but have scar tissue to prove that it is not always received that way. I get my voice all gooey and low and say honey, you’re becoming the older woman I’ve always dreamed of…and then I slink out to do yard work and sleep in the garden shed.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, June 6th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
From Lance Arthur, a message that more people need to hear:
All you who think that the only reason two men would get together is for the sex and that we’re just deviants and there’s no love involved because, honestly, how can one man love another man? Fuck you. Fuck you all. Fuck you all with every bit of the heart I have left inside me. Fuck you to hell.
Saturday, June 4th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Mistress Matisse has written an excellent short essay on why prostitution is not inherently wrong. It’s hard to argue with her points on women’s ownership of their own bodies, and it’s puzzling to me that self-described feminists, who are all about body self-ownership when it comes to the reproductive side of sex, can’t understand the same point when it’s applied to sex for money-and-pleasure.
My favorite paragraph:
That, to me, is the part of being a sex worker that’s most apt to be damaging: the pressure, the name-calling, the marginalization and isolation she may encounter. If she internalizes those beliefs – and for many women it’s hard not to – she will start to hate herself, and with self-hatred comes a host of other self-destructive behaviors. But I think it’s not the sex with men that’s damaging these women, it’s being told they’re bad, dirty sluts. And I think it’s unfortunate when the people calling them that think of themselves as feminists. That’s not any brand of feminism I want to be a part of.
And just for the record, I would pay good money to be there watching in person while someone tells Mistress Matisse to her face that she’s a bad, dirty slut.
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
After being away for a while, I finally got it through my stupid head that I won’t have something better to say here until I finish the R story. It wasn’t easy to do, and it isn’t very pretty, but here it is, behind the “more” link. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the third part of the story includes links to the first two parts.
R and I spent Christmas on a skiing trip that was awesome and horrible. I liked learning how to ski, and even made it down the hill once or twice without falling on my ass. The mountains were beautiful, and while we were in public R was his attentive, charming self. He told me to pack for a sexy cold trip…..I thought he meant the cold would be outside. But it was inside too. He told me we’d be together…..except that he never slept with me. In his house, in all the hotels we stayed in, R never stayed with me in bed all night. At first, at his house, I thought it was to give me some privacy, but since he constantly walked into the room I used without knocking whenever he wanted, I don’t think it was for that. At the hotels, we stayed in the same room, but always in seperate beds. But I’m getting ahead of things already.
That first night, at R’s house, was very different from our fun at Thanksgiving. He was formal, like he was trying to decide if he should hire me for a job or something. R welcomed me warmly, but it didn’t seem very sincere, more like it was what he had been taught to do and say to a woman that would be staying with him. He didn’t seem to like it if I touched him first, I found out quickly. After dinner, which was focused mostly on eating and small talk about family and high school friends, he said that he was tired from working so much and that the next night he’d give me a proper welcome. I offered to rub his back, the way I used to, but he said no, and said I should probably sleep too as jetlag would catch up with me and make learning to ski in the mountains harder. He walked me to the room where I’d put my bags, which I thought was his bedroom, barely kissed me, said goodnight and walked down the hall to his room.
I wasn’t expecting a romantic candle light bath, or rose petals all over the bed, but after the hot sex we had at Thanksgiving, this was a real shock. He wasn’t even going to sleep with me! One of the things I hate about being single is not having a nice-smelling man to snuggle with. Here I was with a guy that used to make my knees weak, I thought I did the same to him, and he barely touched me all evening! I went to bed thinking What the fuck?!
The first time we had sex was the second day of the ski trip, up until then it was one lame-ass excuse after another. R was skiing with me down one of the bigger beginner runs, and when I fell for the jillionth time, he started laughing at me. He was close enough that I pulled him over too, and he fell on top of me. We were both laughing, then the next thing I knew he was kissing me, hard. A small clump of pine trees was close by, and he rolled us over into it, laughing and kissing me the whole time. There wasn’t much to hide behind, but there weren’t many other skiers. I undid my entire front down to the sexy thermal top I bought specially for the trip, but he stayed mostly dressed, just undoing enough to release his very hard, very hot cock and plow it into me. I don’t know and don’t care if anybody saw us, I was so glad to finally be getting fucked that I didn’t even think about it. Fast and furious and hot and cold…..I didn’t come, but it was still damn good.
That night at dinner R started to explain what he meant when he said he didn’t know if he could show me how he is now. The way he said it, I thought he was into rough sex, and since that’s not something I’ve done a lot of except fantasize about, I told him that I thought we could work up to some things. After I said that he relaxed, and was very sweet and more like the highschool boy I’d fallen for.
Remember, I didn’t tell R that I contribute to a sex blog. So as far as he knew, I was just some normal chick that was willing to try some kinky new things. Some were fun and really got me going, like these vibrating nipple clamps. Most of the time it seemed like he didn’t care if I would like something, and didn’t bother to even think about that. R didn’t seem to understand the need for lube with some toys, or going slow, so it ended up sometimes that his stuff hurt, it wasn’t sexy, and when we did have sex, it was like, just get it over with so I can go to sleep.
On our last night, after a very fun day just hanging out together, he decided to do a twat test. I needed to keep whatever he put in my pussy totally inside it, or he’d punish me however he wanted. The idea was he’d keep trying smaller things, but the first thing he put in me was so small and smooth that even clenching my tightest, it peeked out. I tried to tell R that it would be a good start for a teenage virgin, but not someone like me, but I got spanked for my “sauciness.” We both ended up frustrated and mad because his game wasn’t working. He said he was going to tie me up, and when I asked about a safe word, he said that he’d be able to tell if he was pushing me too hard and that stuff like that was for chickens. My questions made him madder, and he finally yelled that no slave of his was going to get away with talking to him like that.
That pushed me over the edge, because I never said I’d be his slave, and he never asked. I went to the room I was staying in, and R came after me, telling me that I was his for the entire trip and I’d better start behaving properly if I didn’t want to get seriously punished for my insolence. I didn’t want to do it, but I was so mad and so frustrated by his impossible demands and not having much sex that I started crying. R had been so sweet and affectionate whenever we were out in public anywhere, but when it was just the two of us alone all that vanished. I tried to tell R that if he had shown me just a little of that sweetness in his house, I’d probably be licking his shoes that very minute, but with his Jeckyll-Hyde thing going I didn’t know what to think, and I didn’t trust him to tie me up. He said he did care for me, and he knew that I just needed some good discipline to see that, and that after he gave it, I’d know I could trust him. I told him I didn’t work that way, I had to trust before ropes or cuffs came anywhere near me, and if he wasn’t okay with that then this was it. R didn’t seem to get anything I was saying, he didn’t seem to even understand the difference I saw in him going from public to private, so, since I was almost all packed anyway I grabbed my stuff and left. I told him not to bother calling me or returning my other stuff, and walked out.
He didn’t call or anything, until April. He had a business trip, he said, that required that the men have female companions with them. He told me I’d be perfect for the trip, that I’d love it, that he’d let me set the rules this time, if only I’d agree to go on the trip with him. He was so sweet and so persuasive that I almost said yes……but then I remembered how it was over the holidays, and how confused and awful I felt for alot of the time. I also started wondering exactly what this “business trip” was, and wondering if he had some kind of kinky thing worked out. So I said no, told him not to call me anymore, and hung up.
But his call made me start thinking about all we had done…..Thanksgiving, which was totally hot and fun…..Christmas and New Years’, which had some fun stuff but mostly was wierd and scary to me. Did I do something wrong to make it all so bad? Maybe I am more of a prude than I think…….but I don’t really think so. And now I don’t know if I’ll find someone else to try with….if I can trust a guy again. I don’t like being like that.
Saturday, May 21st, 2005 -- by The Nymph
I decided now would be a good time to pop out of the woods for a chat. I’ve been a busy nymph since Spring arrived but I wanted to check in. I’m still amazingly happy and more in love with my Bacchus than ever. Life is good here.
I admit I normally feel extra frisky this time of year but being in love makes it more intense. On top of that, I’ve got this irresistible urge to go out and buy pretty things to wear. Bacchus is completely baffled by this. If it were up to him, I’d wear nothing at all. Go figure.
The main reason I’m thinking about this is that I’m plannng something special for Bacchus and I’d like to find something sexy to wear for this occasion. I love wearing pretty things for him but I’m wondering if it’s more for me or him. Is it really true what they say about men being more visually stimulated than women?
For my part, I enjoy playing the role of the sexy siren. I love the feel of satin, lace, and soft materials that caress my skin as I move. I like the way his eyes light up and the way he can’t keep his hands off me when I appear in something especially naughty. It’s delightful.
So would it be selfish if I go out and buy something like this?
I found this sweet little outfit at Eros Boutique but I think I’ll look around there some more while I try to decide. Now under what rock did Bacchus hide that credit card?
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.
Thursday, May 19th, 2005 -- by Dionysus
I must say, I’m impressed. I managed to offend ErosBlog’s audience on my very second post. Don’t give in so easy. Make me wait for it. Make me earn it. Don’t give it away for free, I’ll get complacent.
But let me change the subject here.
While we’re on the topic of mythology and sex (and when, frankly, are we not in this space), I wanted to point out a newly-released e-book by the lovely and talented Doxy Wringer entitled Satyrs, Sex & Cookies. This is a collection of erotica which, in Doxy’s own words, ‘houses both a few old favorites and a smattering of never-before-read lewd treats.’ It’s got a couple of supernatural stiffeners, a near-incest tale and a tasty lesbian encounter.
Doxy never disappoints. She’s got my five simoleons.
Sample:
I was on some kind of padded surface. It felt like a doctor’s table, only in the shape of a letter “X” with an added support for my head. The cold vinyl under my back sent gooseflesh up and down my spine. It was an altar. Incense bowls burned at the four corners of my spead-eagle form, issuing a foul, herbaceous, sickly-sweet mist. Leather tethers braced my wrists, and my ankles. I was open so wide that my thigh muscles felt overextended. A dull pang radiated up the creases where my legs attached to my torso and in my sweaty armpits.
Cool air was free to lick up between my legs like some twisted gynecologist set-up. I groggily realized the way I was spread open and the lack of a table between my legs would allow them to walk right up between my thighs and…
To my far left was a statue of some kind – it looked like a prop out of a Buffy the Vampire Slayer re-run. An obscene monstrosity of black marble and what looked like red jasper. Some kind of satyr-demon. A man’s head, but for horns, atop a torso of rippling brawn, but that’s where the human parts ended. His legs were gnarly. Hoofed and hairy. Goat or Clydesdale or grizzly llama.
And an erection the size of a Buick.
* * * *
He walked up between my legs until the dangling sheath of his sex idly thumped my thighs. His thick-fingered hands reached forward, grasping hold of my already tender breasts and mauling them in lusty, kneading handfuls. A shimmer came into his black eyes – a carousing to a silent summons.
The chanting was more like music now, a buzzing drone of strings and wind instruments – badly tuned flutes and lyres. Or maybe it only seemed that way because I myself was being strummed.
“It has been ages upon ages since I have indulged in the flesh of a human woman,” he crooned in a breathy gust of sound. “You are a girl. Young. Supple. Succulent.” Without warning, one hand shoved between my thighs and I felt long, probing fingers stretch into the swollen tenderness of my slit. “And tight,” he leaned his head back in a lecherous moan of satisfaction.
Monday, May 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Folks, I’ve got a guest blogger to introduce. The next two weeks for me are set to be a whirlwind of travel and (fun but hectic) turmoil, with few opportunities to blog and little time to do it in. Aphrodite should be putting in some appearances with any luck, and I’ve implored The Nymph to post once or twice — but I’d hate for you to grow bored.
No fear of that. Not any more.
Your new guest blogger has volunteered to do some guest sex blogging under the handle “Dionysus”, and I jumped at the chance to have him. He’s an experienced blogger whose intense sex writing has been known to make my jaw drop. But like many bloggers, even psuedonymous ones, he’s become — to an extent — a captive of the expectations of his regular readership. Guest blogging here, under a new name, should let him really cut loose. Whether he plans to tell stories he dasn’t tell where they know him, or whether he plans to turn the intensometer dials to eleven, I couldn’t tell you (because he hasn’t told me). Who knows? Perhaps he plans to write tender tales of young lesbian love, full of flowers and unicorns and fluffy cotton-candy orgasms. We’ll all find out together.
Welcome, Dionysus!
Sunday, May 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
A rare political excursion for ErosBlog:
Quietly and unanimously, the Senate passed the Real ID Act last week. It’s been signed into law. Within a few years you will have a national ID card. Or you’ll be an extremely marginal member of society.
Or (and this is not exclusive with option two above) you can join the Real ID Rebellion.
Whatever your politics, remember this: sexual nonconformists always suffer in a police state.
My delete finger is gonna be twitchy in the comments on this thread. I posted the link to help people as angry as I am find like-minded folks who are looking for ways to fight. If you think this is no big deal, please express that opinion elsewhere. Save the debate for your blog. And don’t bother with partisan comments — because no Senator from either party voted against this monstrosity. I’ll ruthlessly delete any comments that try to promote or specially accuse either faction of these power-mad bastards.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, May 12th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Throughout my adult life, I’ve noticed that a standard question for sex advice columnists is the “my partner won’t orally pleasure me, what should I do?” question. And for years and years, I’ve been seeing the same sets of tired suggestions for cajoling him/her into it, leavened with the occasional “learn to do without if you really love them” advice.
Leave it to Dan Savage to put all the cards on the table and acknowledge that the head train has left the station. It’s a new century, folks, and standards are higher. The old hangups just won’t fly. Sez Dan, in a pair of word-for-word identical responses:
I’m a 24-year-old male and I lost my virginity to my girlfriend last year. She is three years younger than I am, but I am the 10th man that she has fucked. This is not a problem with me as I am not a jealous guy. What bothers me is that she is unwilling to perform oral sex on me. I enjoy giving oral to her. I am really in love with her and could see myself marrying her but I need to be assured that I will get a blowjob at some point in my life. She says she doesn’t like the taste of semen, which makes me just the slightest bit jealous because that means she has done this for other men but won’t do it for me, a man whom she is ostensibly considering marrying.
Been Lost Oral Woman
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I am a GGG girlfriend, and I’m up for pretty much anything my boyfriend wants to do. I also love giving head, and he loves receiving it. But he will not reciprocate. We talked about it, and he said he just doesn’t eat pussy. This really bothers me, but should I just deal with it if I like him, or is it a dump-worthy problem?
Wanting More
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Dump her, BLOW. Sucking cock can no longer be regarded as some sort of above-and-beyond-the-call indulgence. Blowjobs are standard. Any make or model that doesn’t come with blowjobs should be immediately returned to the showroom.
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Dump him, WM. Eating pussy can no longer be regarded as some sort of above-and-beyond-the-call indulgence. Cunnilingus is standard. Any make or model that doesn’t come with cunnilingus should be immediately returned to the showroom.
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About time somebody said it.
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Tuesday, May 10th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
You know that annoying javascript some people put on their web pages so that you can’t easily right-click on a photo or link, or select any of the text? I guess it buys protection from dim-witted content thieves who don’t know how to “view source”, but only at the expense of annoying anyone who wants to right click on a link to open it in a new window. And that’s not the only downside to this stupid code.
Three times this week I’ve tried to link to somebody’s sex blog, only to have that idiot javascript kick in when I went to select a key sentence for quoting. And each time, I reacted by clicking away. You don’t want me to copy a sentence from your blog? Fine, I won’t. No problem. No link, either.
The last one I found popped up an error message reading “This blog is FULLY protected!” when I tried to select a sentence. And it is fully protected, too. Protected, in this case, from being put on the ErosBlog sex blog list, and further protected from appearing in the Thursday edition of the Sex Blog Roundup on Fleshbot.
Thursday, May 5th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This is (and I am most emphatically not making this up) is the logo for the Institute of Oriental Studies at the Federal University of Santa Catarina, Brazil:
Tuesday, May 3rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Is truth sometimes overrated? DirtyTalkinGirl wonders:
In a nutshell: M is delighted with our sex life. I’m not. Communicating the reasons for my dissatisfaction could very well collapse a marriage that in other respects remains serviceable. So as Graham Greene suggests in The Heart of the Matter, I wonder whether truth is over-valued to the exclusion of other virtues in human affairs.
For the whole story, read this post, then this one.
Sunday, May 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’ve repeatedly railed against porn sites that are all “slut” this, “cunt” that, and “whores and bitches” over there. In my experience, guys who talk like that aren’t getting any, and no wonder! I doubt it’s any different for guys who enjoy their porn labelled in that ugly fashion.
So imagine my delight in discovering a pornographer who “gets it”. Donovan Phillips writes (in his blog Donny’s Ramblings: Diary of a Pornographer):
I fucking hate going to websites that use words like whores and sluts. There’s nothing at all wrong with a woman showing her sexuality. The way our society encourages women to repress the evidence of their sex drive really bothers me. Men are encouraged to boast about their strong libido, but a woman with a strong sex drive who agressively goes for what she wants is labeled with one of those words I so hate.
And you know what else? There’s nothing at all wrong with a man being aroused by a woman showing her sexuality, even to the point of masturbation. Why do I mention this? Because I’m sure that you, like me, may have a background influenced by religious individuals that tell you anything pleasant in life is a sin of some sort. Masturbation’s a sin, ya know. Fuck them.
Preach it, Brother Donny!
Friday, April 29th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Remember the sex melon? Apparently melon sex is not just for guys any more:
I should think, however, that she’ll need some lube on that thing if she hopes to make any progress.
Friday, April 29th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I can’t stop posting these old vintage sex photos. Every time I look at alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage (“Just for a moment” is what I always tell myself) I find something I have to share, like this:
Although this picture makes me wonder. If you were the man in this picture, would you really prefer that the “extra” woman hold your leg up in the air? Surely there are more erotic services she could be performing at that moment.
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Friday, April 29th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It takes only the most minimal exposure to Japanese porn to understand that the Japanese sexual culture is very unusual to non-Japanese eyes. You may not understand much else, but you’ll understand that much very quickly.
Other little hints present themselves from time to time. Example: Japanese Kids Are Perverted. Excerpt:
Let me introduce you to a game Japanese kids like to play called “Kancho.”
Actually, it’s not so much a “game” as it is kids clasping their hands together, sticking out their first fingers, and shoving them up your butt. I’m really not joking.
You know, before we come to Japan, they tell us a lot of ultimately useless stuff. What kind of computer to bring, if our DVD’s will work, clothing sizes, that kind of nonsense. Nowhere, and I mean nowhere, in the 3-4 months of orientations did anyone ever mention that at some point, a Japanese kid may try to stick their fingers up our butt. That’s something I would have liked to know, personally.
It’s called Kancho, and just about any kid can be a Kancho Assassin. Even the sweetest little girl may be prone to jam her fingers up your ass the second you turn around. This happened to one of my friends, which just goes to show – don’t trust anyone. I’d say the little girls are the most dangerous cause they have natural ways of lowering your defenses.
Tuesday, April 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s the end of a funny tale from a couple of club bouncers who catch someone having fun beside the parking garage:
Sure enough, our friend Anthony had been caught midstroke, rubbing one out behind the wheel of his friend’s car while waiting for the rest of his group to come out of the club.
“Holy Christ is this guy a fucking idiot,” I said, rapping on the window with my flashlight. “Hey! You okay in there, dude?”
Without missing a ‘beat,’ Anthony, his eyes remaining closed and his right hand still hard at work, gave me the thumbs-up with his left.
“Guess so.”
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.
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Wednesday, April 20th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Well. Where do I start? Apparently not with details on why I’ve been dying a slow death from internet withdrawal, since Aunty Violet says that’s a no-no (but it was SO like the end of a dysfunctional sex fling!). It’ll be a few days before I’m back up to full speed on this lovely big machine, so you can stop giving me looks like this:
It’s like he’s saying, “Where the hell you been, girl? I almost gave up on keeping my cock ready for you!” Definitely better than finding the lights on when you get back … :laugh:
Wednesday, April 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Jon says Guys Are Not Crafty. Perhaps some of my female readers would argue, but this summary matches my own experience pretty closely:
The things we say don’t have secret meanings. Guys do one of three things. We either say what we mean, flat out lie or say nothing at all. There is no hidden meaning. We really are not that deep.
Here is an example. If a guy says “I am not horny tonight” it means one of two things:
1) “I am not horny tonight.”
2) “I am horny but I am lying just because sometimes guys are stupid and lie for no reason.”
Now to make sense of the difference, lets look at what a woman might mean:
1) “I am not horny tonight.”
2) “We are in a fight so I am cutting you off.”
3) “I know you will still try something and I want you to do all the work tonight.”
4) “I will tease you with sex until you promise to buy that necklace we saw today.”
5) “I am going to call my ex, I just went out with you for the free dinner.”
6) “I was horny until you kissed me with the same mouth that ate the peanut butter and mustard sandwich that disgusts me so much.”
Wednesday, April 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s fodder for the “penises are just a tool of oppression” crowd:
From Unintentionally Sexual Comic Book Covers. Also included: Spanking Superboy!
Wednesday, April 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I go to blog after blog, and it seems like today they are all discussing the new pope. I already turned off the TV because it was “all pope, all the time” on the news channels. Since I don’t have anything to add to that conversation, how about a dirty joke with a nun in it?
A cabbie picks up a nun. She gets into the cab, and the cab driver won’t stop staring at her. She asks him why is he staring and he replies, “I have a question to ask you, but I don’t want to offend you.”
She answers, “My dear son, you cannot offend me. When you’re as old as I am and have been a nun as long as I have, you get a chance to see and hear just about everything. I’m sure that there’s nothing you could say or ask that I would find offensive.”
He says, “Well, I’ve always had a fantasy to have anal sex with a nun.”
She responds, “Well, I can probably help you with that. Are you single? And you must be Catholic.”
The cab driver is very excited and says, “Yes, I am single and I’m Catholic too!”
The nun says, “OK, pull into the next alley.”
He does and the nun fulfils his fantasy. But when they get back on the road, the cab driver starts crying.
“My dear child, said the nun, why are you crying?” “Forgive me sister, but I have sinned. I lied, I must confess, I’m married and I’m Jewish.”
The nun says, “That’s OK. My name is Kevin, and I’m on my way to a Halloween party.”
Bad Kevin, bad!
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Sunday, April 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
From wik3dchick, this damning mini-review of KY Warming Liquid:
I gave away my KY Warming Liquid to a deserving person. That stuff only got warm but didnt lube at all… So its like having anal sex w/a lighter in your asshole. Sucks.
All righty, then.
Friday, April 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Tigereyes, who credits his wife with bringing some kink to their marriage, describes an unexpected side benefit (above and beyond the usual spankings and hotter sex):
I have to say one thing about the DD D/s lifestyle: it’s finally convinced my dear wife that she’s too young and hot to be wearing granny panties and granny gowns. [He’s right, she is. –Ed.] Ladies, I don’t care how old you are, please do not subject your husband to the libido-killing granny duo. For those of you unsure what I’m talking about, granny panties are the underwear that come up about 3 inches above the waist and granny gowns – the official sleepwear of the Puritan woman – have high necks, long sleeves, and cover the feet.
Now, my Carrie wears sporty, spunky, and cute sleepshorts and t-shirts. And when she comes downstairs wearing these and has her hair in pigtails, I know it’s time to get it on.
Now, to spread the word!
Thursday, April 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
So I was looking at this random adult blog, trying to decide whether to do my usual link-and-quote. The blog itself was mostly a porn blog, with a list of affiliate links six times bigger than the blogroll, plus a lot of random porn pictures. Some of the articles were interesting, but many of them had a fakey “this-reads-like-it-was-written-by-a-man-even-though-the-author-name-is-female” feel. Then I got to an article which purported to be a how-to on the fine art of fingering a woman.
It looked promising. Started out strong, with several hints and tips I’ve used myself to good effect. Lots of advice on finding her G-spot and making it go all bumpy-happy. So far so good.
In the middle part, the advice got a bit questionable. Not the substance of it (obviously if she’s dry, you’d better stop rubbing like a madman, unless you are trying to give her a burn) but the tone. (Was it really necessary to call the reader a moron?)
And then I got to the punchline. After paragraphs and paragraphs of how-to material, the breezy warning (paraphrased): “Of course your lady won’t ever get an orgasm from this, but who cares? She’ll love it anyway.”
Gasp, sputter. She’s not supposed to come when I do that? I must have been going about it all wrong.
It must be true: them as can’t do, teach.
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Wednesday, April 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Violet Blue has been looking at a lot of sex blogs lately, and she’s posted a nifty list of advices for sex bloggers. I don’t agree with everything she posted, but most of her observations are right on target. Especially:
And do take a look at other sex blogs — everyone is using the same three Blogger templates these days, so unless you want to be confused with “cumsucker99: diary of a demure ding-dong escort,” see what isn’t being done and do that instead.
Please, oh please, customize your template, even if all you do is change the background color a bit.
Friday, April 8th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
The quality on this vintage oral sex picture may not be the best, but I had to share it anyway. Isn’t that just about the happiest smile you’ve ever seen in porn?
From Usenet.
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Tuesday, April 5th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a page that lists 38 Arabic terms for the yoni, with poetic descriptions. I can’t speak to the linguistic accuracy of any of this, but it’s entertaining:
El neuffakh (the swelling one ) – So called because a torpid member coming near it, and rubbing its head against it a few times, at once swells and stands upright. To the woman who has such a one it procures excessive pleasure, for, at the moment of the crisis, it opens and shuts convulsively, like the vulva of a mare.
El moudd (the accomodating ) – This name is applied to the vagina of a woman who has felt for a long time an ardent wish for coition. In rapture with the member it sees, it is glad to second its movements of come and go; it offers the matrix to the member by pressing it forward within reach, which is, after all, the best gift it can offer. Whatever place inside of it the member wants to explore, this vulva will make him welcome to, gracefully according to its wish; there is no corner it will not help the member to reach.
From Chapter Nine of
The Perfumed Garden Of of the Shaykh Nefwazi.
At least we know that when old Nefwazi got to work, he paid close attention to conditions in his workspace….
Thursday, March 31st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s a long article about porn in Time Magazine that I haven’t read. And why didn’t I? Because the first paragraph pissed me off:
“In hotel rooms where pornography is available, two-thirds of all movie purchases are for pornos; and the average time they are watched is 12 minutes. The image instantly summoned is of the traveling businessman who wants a smidge of sexual exercise before retiring, but who is too tired, timid or cheap to summon a call girl.”
The image instantly summoned in my mind is one of pity for the hypothetical wife or girlfriend of Time columnist Richard Corliss, who wrote that last squalid sentence.
Horny travelling men who don’t “summon a call girl” must be “too tired, timid or cheap”, eh?
It must surely suck to be married to that man.
Sunday, March 27th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s assigned reading for those of you who still think it’s funny to laugh at fat people: A Fat Girl’s Rhapsody. Not much sex in there, but you will find a good “how not to do it” on discussing appearance with your cyberfriends.
Thanks to Analyze Julie for the link.
Friday, March 25th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
My sister, who’s been married a couple of times without finding much joy in it, has a number of complaints about married life. But her biggest gripe is the way, as she puts it, that “Once you get married, the shit changes! No matter how good all your love shit is, once you marry, the shit just changes.”
I was reminded of this by a comic essay on marriage, which includes this bit of wisdom:
During the first year of togetherness, you probably wondered if you were a bad partner for fantasizing about someone else to get off as your partner slept next to you, but now you’re able to say “I’d hit that” and have a serious conversation about whether or not Penelope Cruz’s accent would spoil sex with her. FYI, my husband and I agreed that we’d make it a bondage thing and ask her if we could duct tape her mouth shut.
Yup, that’s a change, all right.
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
…her mother said “Nelly,
there’s more in your belly
than ever went in by your mouth!”
This next link, when clicked, delivers a grainy postage-stamp-sized anal sex video, an extremely explicit one. That’s all the warning you are going to get:
(Link)
Thanks (I think) to Marylu for emailing the link.
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
:( My computer died yesterday. I don’t know if I can get it fixed or if I’ll need a new one. I’m at the library, so no good pictures for now. I just had a couple of minutes to check in on a couple of favorite blogs (I only get 15 minutes on the computer, oh the horror!), and got so involved in catching up on sex-play negotiations between Brett and Hiromi at Panties panties panties that there’s no time left!
I’ll be back as soon as I can! :crazy:
Monday, March 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
The Twisted Monk is compiling a list of regrettable fucks. Some are familiar (e.g., the pity fuck) but some are new to my lexicon:
Curiosity Fuck: Not really interested in them beyond wondering what color their nipples turn during sex.
Entertaining, but indeed regrettable.
Saturday, March 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, this little flash gimmick is too funny: How To Hypnotize A Man
Via Good Shit.
Friday, March 18th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Porn Publisher Rask can be funny as hell, and today he has a question for his readers:
When I go out, I often wear a leather Harley Davidson cap with a long brim. It keeps the sun out of my eyes and it keeps my hair from blowing into my mouth. And it advertises the fact that I’m a biker and ride a big Harley. When I was at Lowes last week, I found some cute little flashlights with clips on them. Perfect to attach to the brim of my cap. Now I can see in the dark, hands-free. When I wear the cap now, the slave gives me a Look. The vibe I’m getting from her is like, “I can’t sleep with a man who wears flashlights on his head.” Now my question is this: Doesn’t the machismo of wearing a Harley Davidson cap offset the geekiness of wearing flashlights on your head? I need to know, just in case I want to have sex again someday. For now, though, being able to see in the dark is gratifying enough.
A tough call, I’d say….
Thursday, March 17th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Not just any fashion shows, natch. How about some fetish fashion? Such as this fetching black and red ensemble. Check out the wicked boots!
If that’s a bit too much for your taste, here’s another sexy-hot picture:
Both from photographer Eric Martin’s web site, num-eric. Lots more there too, and for those interested in reading about him in English, I found an Eros Guide interview with him.
Thursday, March 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an interesting paragraph from Violet Blue about the fun she had during her brief reign of terror at five days at the helm of Fleshbot:
It was also very interesting to get so up on where and how to find this information in the blogosphere, and see the various media as they operate, watching sex stories hatch and travel around the ‘net, see how various people handle the topics — and see just how much Fleshbot is watched. I saw certain well-known sites pick up items I had posted, and regurgitate the material, post it on their own sites, and even in the same order that I had put it up, with no reference to Fleshbot. I experimented with them to test my theory. I watched sites try to slam, scoop or discredit things I posted. Facinating.
Although Fleshbot’s way bigger and more prominent than Eros Blog, and not so concerned with getting stuff while it’s still fresh, we’re big enough that I’ve seen what she’s talking about, and it is a lot of fun to watch.
Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
From Sex and Sox, an essay on When Good Redheads Go Bad:
“Hello, Batgirl? Yeah, I found the bitch that stole your mask. She’s a flexible little one, too.”
Oh my, yes.
Sunday, March 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you’re interested in American sexual history, you’ll enjoy this link: The History of Gay Bathhouses. Thanks to Peep Show Stories.
Friday, March 11th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s a truism in the internet age that sex drives the development of technology. Perhaps this photo gallery of bronze sex toys from ancient China underscores the point, with an example from the days when metallurgy was the cutting edge of high tech:
Thursday, March 10th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Or, maybe he’s sick…..what else would explain him not posting yoni or related pictures to balance the cock ones? Well, I’m here to make up for his oversight. ;) Both of these lovely ladies are going to be featured soon at Domai.
To answer the requests I’ve had to post pictures of myself, I’ll say that each of these girls resembles me in some way…..back when I was that age. So there ya go. :P
Saturday, March 5th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I never dreamed that doing a sex blog could be so educational. The latest horizon broadened: ‘Sado-Botany’: A Nettle FAQ. Everything you always wanted to know about rubbing stinging nettles on people, but were afraid to ask. From Urtication: Sex and Nettles via Spanking Blog.
In the immortal words of the Defective Detective: “Wipes! Wipes!”
Thursday, March 3rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
In the last couple of weeks I’m sorry to say there’s been a huge influx of nastiness into the ErosBlog comments. (I’ve had to delete more comments in the last week than in the entire six months prior.) We’ve got a lot of new readers right now, and perhaps some of you aren’t aware of the one rule for commenting here:
“Don’t be a dick.”
Here’s my original explanation, reposted from the archives:
Don’t Be A Dick
When I got to college, one of the two poor sophomores assigned to my freshman dorm to inject some sanity thereinto called us clueless freshmen together and spake thusly:
“In a lot of these freshmen entries, they have all kinds of rules. I don’t like rules. So we are only going to have one. Don’t be a dick.”
And we mostly weren’t, and we had a great time. The moral and political lesson I took from that, namely that small communities don’t really need more than one rule, is possibly the most valuable thing I learned in college. Thanks, Josh!
By popular demand…I’ve decided to install a commenting facility here at ErosBlog. However, I’d like to ask you all to remember Josh’s rule. I work at keeping the tone here relentlessly sex-positive and unwaveringly non-judgmental. I may slip up, but that’s the goal.
I welcome your comments, but I’m simply not interested in creating a forum for haters, condemnators, repressive creeps, and the like. Lively debate, at times, is to be expected. But nastiness and anti-sex messages (and personal attacks of any sort, on anyone) will probably be deleted summarily. Be nice and play nice, please?
Thank you.
Further exposition, which should not be needed, but seems to be:
If you’re posting personal attacks against other commenters, you’re probably being a dick.
If you’re posting hostile criticism of anyone, including the people I quote or post about, you’re probably being a dick.
If you are using profanity or sexual slurs to describe anyone, you’re probably being a dick.
If you’re condemning anyone’s sexual choices, you’re probably being a dick. If you are criticising anyone’s sexual choices without exaggerated politeness, you’re probably being a dick.
Don’t be a dick.
That is all! (Oh, except for: thanks from the bottom of my heart to all of you who play nicely and make the comment-moderating duty worthwhile.)
Thursday, March 3rd, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
It’s nice to see others improving their sex lives, it gives me hope that I’ll have one again someday. Starting in February, the Burbman over at Suburban Sex Blog resumed more regular posting, with the good news that he and his wife seem to have turned their sexless marriage back into something fun for both of them. He’s also offering to help others in similar situations. Good on ya, Burbman!
A few people have written me regarding my preference for hairy men. At this point my only preference is for a live, decent man, but it is true that I don’t like a guy who’s artificially smooth. I was trying to figure out how to say exactly what I don’t like about overly bare guys, but the Dirty Talking Girl beat me to it:
I love male body hair.
I can’t imagine him shaving or, god forbid, waxing, and I don’t understand women who require smoothness in a man.
I think they’re afraid of the animal.
Maybe…..or maybe all the glitzy porn images have led both men and women to expect silky smoothness everywhere. Sure, hair can get in the way or be inconvenient sometimes, but I’ll never forget the guy who got me soaking wet by just playing with my pubes…..pulling gently on a few hairs beginning near my ass and working his way up, sometimes twirling or tickling, but never touching my skin until I was begging him to bury his cock in me. Mmmmmmmm……
Tuesday, March 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s hardly a novel idea that men and women experience the world very differently. But this anecdote from Octavia Arena drives home the point:
In the last 48 hours I have spent a significant amount of time with FIVE seperate men whom I count as friends who would not have sex with me. Not that I propositioned all of them, just two of them, the other three are a given. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that there are men in my life who enjoy my company and intellect without being carnally interested in me.
Note the tone of marvel and wonder. Ladies, that’s what it’s like for single men all the time.
Tuesday, March 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Er, OK, I realize that there are already some people out there who aren’t prepared to think fisting sounds or looks sexy. If you’re one of them, this may not help:
We first watched a lot of fisting footage we downloaded. Lots of stores here won’t carry fisting titles. Brett called around, blithely asking whether they carried fisting videos as I cowered behind the couch, as if someone were watching or listening. Anyway, I watched the downloaded footage, fascinated yet utterly baffled.. not so much sexually aroused as reminded of the times I’ve reached into the cavity of a turkey or chicken carcass to pull out the giblets. These unfortunate images kept popping into my mind as I put my hand in Brett’s ass.
That’s from Hiromi, at Panties Panties Panties.
Monday, February 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Via Pursed Lips, this hilarious anecdote from a New York City screening of Inside Deep Throat:
The New York screening of Inside Deep Throat at the Paris Theatre was a hoot. … The hapless lot of directing a post-screening panel fell to Elvis Mitchell, former movie critic at the NY Times. … Mitchell looked on helplessly as McKinnon did her thing, claiming that the film we had just watched was promoting the acceptance of rape. At one point, however, her righteous zeal became unhinged when she claimed that it was not possible to do deep throat safely, that it was a dangerous act that could only be done under hypnosis. “What’s so funny?” she snapped as the audience rippled with mirth. Todd Graff’s hand shot up – “I can do it,” he said, and the room echoed with a chorus of gay men going “me too!” (Gigi Grazer – wife of Brian – later told Graff to stop bragging and that she could do it better than him and had the rocks on her fingers to prove it. Touché).
Sounds like McKinnon picked the wrong audience to spout her anti-sex drivel….
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, February 27th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
On the one hand, my ErosBlog editorial policy is to refrain from trashing anybody’s sexual choices. On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve ever been heard to say anything nice about adulterous affairs. Not because I feel judgmental or condemnatory about them, but for a much simpler reason: all the real-world examples I’m aware of have caused or resulted in a degree of pain that calls the net hedonic benefit into question.
I don’t think this little excerpt from Have to Share is any exception:
I drove the 3 hours down, spent maybe an hour with him, purely sex. Then I made the 3 hour drive back. He hasn’t really spoken to me since. I don’t know what to believe from him anymore. He says he cares for me, but the majority of the e-mails he sends are describing sexual escapades he would like to have in the future. I write him a little of both. I love him. I love the person he is. However, he reminds me of the way my step-brother that molested me in how he treats me. I am wonderful for his amusement over the webcam. I am fascinating when describing sexual adventures for the future. I am amazing when I’m on top of him. Yet, when none of this is going on, he is too busy too speak to me. He’s too busy working. Or, he’s at home, too busy with his wife.
Ouchies.
Saturday, February 26th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Although this guy isn’t as unclothed as Bacchus’ recent gay blade guy, I think he’s way hotter. He can board me amidships anytime!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, February 25th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Rask writes on his Diary of a Porn Publisher:
For Valentine’s Day, I bought some used tires for the slave’s Mustang on eBay. It has been suggested in the past that I am romantically-challenged, but I’m sure that this extravagant gesture will put those claims to rest.
I’m sure, I’m sure.
Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I’m probably one of the last people on the planet not to have read all the Harry Potter books. Just not that interested in the straightup stuff. (The fanfic is another story, especially if it’s naughty fanfic.) It wasn’t all that long ago that I saw one of the movies with a friend, it was the one that had one of the professors giving Harry chocolate all the time and saying, “Eat this. It’ll help.” I thought that was kind of silly, but it turns out I was wrong. I just happened to catch this headline…Chocolate-Fed Women Have Better Sex Lives. From the story:
Italian researchers found that women who ate chocolate on a daily basis had higher libidos than those who didn’t. They also found that chocolate-fed women had better sexual arousal and more sexual satisfaction. Their scientific conclusion: The craving of choice for many women has some real benefits for our sex lives.
There’s probably some leftover Valentine’s Day candy on sale in some stores…..and no thanks necessary, guys. ;)
Monday, February 21st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I realize that the casual reader is going to be distracted by the impending figging (“Ginger? Why’s he peeling ginger? Where’s it going?”), but to me the fantastic part of this post is the multi-tasking ability of the man in question. Here he’s managing to keep up the old in-out-in-out while doing a tricky task involving manual dexterity and a sharp implement:
This time I have a pretty good idea of what is going to happen. Something we’d been discussing for a while. He runs out to the living room and back, and returns to fucking me. However, this time he’s rearranged the garbage can, and is peeling a chunk of ginger at the same time…. Some ginger juice got dripped on my back, and it was just this nice pleasant sharp cold sensation, like rubbing alcohol on healthy skin. Soon that same sensation was in my crotch as he was fucking me. I remember being a little concerned about whether it would be hurting him or not, but mostly thinking that I was enjoying it. Soon the ginger was ready and he was pressing it against me.
From here via Figging.com.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, February 21st, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Huzzah! With her unequaled flair, the One and Only Violet Blue slides from enthusing on the joys of lubed sex to announcing her new RSS feed:
I know that everyone within a 10-mile radius of San Francisco is thinking right now, “Sex sans lube? Barbaric!” But seriously, I really need to make a point out of this — sex is great without it (mmm, friction), but it’s slippery and slick and yummy and Nirvana-achieving when you use lube.
There are a couple reasons I’m bringing this up. One reason is that if you rubbed your mouse ever-so-carefully over the sensitive bits of my blog today, you’ll notice, well, that she’s a bit more excitable now. Eager, if you will. That’s because we’ve gone all RSS/atom on you.
There’s more on the, er, ins and outs of lubes, and other juicy items too.
And gents, it isn’t too late to submit your photo for tomorrow’s Top Cock. I’ve gotten some yummy entries…..and some that look, just, weird. Guys, if you want to impress a girl with your tool, whether in the flesh or in the photo, odd color distortions aren’t the way to do it. A picture of a penis that looks like it’s dotted pink and yellow isn’t hot. :(
Saturday, February 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
You have to love a blog entry that starts:
“And then I am kneeling on the bed, ass up in the air, and I am not quite sure how I got this way.”
Sarah’s tone in that opener reminds me of the old cliche of the pregnant young miss who breathlessly exclaims “I don’t know how this could possibly have happened to me!”
Thursday, February 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Violet Blue, who used to write for Good Vibrations before they went all high school on her ass, has fired her day job. Good for you, Violet! Jobs aren’t fit for humans, anyway.
Thursday, February 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always fancied that ErosBlog should be a force for social good. Now here’s proof. Among its many and manifest positive social benefits, ErosBlog encourages evil science chicks to blog about anal sex. What’s not to like about that?
{drums fingers}
Evilsciencechick, we are waiting….
Tuesday, February 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I find it ironic, really. In the years I’ve been doing this sex blog, I’ve read a lot of other sex blogs, the vast majority of which seem to be written by women. Whenever one of these women talks about trying internet personals or doing any other project that involves making an email address available, she almost invariably grouses about guys who open hailing frequencies by sending along pictures of their penises.
Aphrodite has to be different — she’s now the one woman on the internet who has actually solicited dick pictures. If I were a betting man, I’d bet that the pictures will still be flowing into that email address five years from now.
Me, if I’ve got to see a dick, I still prefer that somewhere in the picture, there’s a woman paying it some friendly attention. Call me old fashioned, like this picture:
From Usenet.
Sunday, February 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Do you have trouble keeping the players straight without a scorecard? Are you always getting into, and losing, bar bets over which Buffy character slept where, and with whom?
Nope? Me neither. So I’m not really sure what this Buffy sex chart is for. But it’s surely a triumph of obsessive fandom. Enjoy!
Sunday, February 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Tell me how, how in the name of Hera’s humongous hotbox, did I manage to miss Rollertrain for more than a year? The engineer of the train calls herself “Charges”, and I just love her foul-mouthed ranting style. Example, from Top 10 Reasons Why I Hate Fake Lesbian Porno:
Answer me this, bitches: If a dick devotee like myself can figure out that all clitori pretty much require the same kind of stimulation that mine does, then why – you eighteen-year-old Californian cretins, with your sexual boundary issues and your ass tattoos and your daddy deficits and your navel rings and those cheap plastic stripper shoes – shouldn’t you? We’re watching you.
If you don’t know how to eat a pussy, why are you trying to eat one? And why don’t you try a little harder? It’s your JOB. That girl’s dirty crotch is bringing home your bacon. If you want to do porn without eating pussy, there’s no shame in that! But please, just go straight to the 5-man gang bangs. Skip the snatch. I am tired of watching you pussy amateurs trying to act like you enjoy screwing around with girls.
Or how about this observation about porn stars?
I’m critical of pornstars, especially the high-school graduates who jump into their Jenna Jameson fantasies without any prior research. It always amazes me to catch stories about these dodo birds showing up at gonzo studios without any idea of what to expect. I mean no idea. When I hear little gonzo bitches bawl over what happened to them in Golden Guzzlers #17, all I can think is didn’t you at least rent Golden Guzzlers #1? How could you decide to start doing porno without doing any homework?
Being a pornstar is probably the easiest way for unmotivated young girls to make a lot of money. All they have to do is show up. Being a good pornstar, however, is a very hard job that takes endurance, intelligence and a lot of balls, and the few women who do it well should be commended and highly compensated. I am still critical of good pornstars; once your privates become part of public domain, the images no longer belong to you. But I deeply respect women who succeed in the sex industry, because they have bigger balls than me, and because they’re fucking beautiful.
Too much fun!
Friday, February 11th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
We’re back! Thanks ever so much, Aphrodite, for keeping things hot here while we were in New Orleans.
Long trip, and we’re utterly worn out from all the walking and standing at the parades. Had an absolutely excellent time. There is a photo or two to share (nothing very nude, I fear) and I have some nifty “Bacchus” swag thrown at the parade of my spiritual brothers in the Krewe of Bacchus. (I’m considering holding a “show us your tits” contest to give some of the swag away — or would that fall short of the already-low ErosBlog standard of taste?)
But first, I’m afraid, I have about four thousand emails to sort through. One of the sex spams made me wonder. Subject line: “Mature fillies are awaiting you!” My brain’s first reaction: Isn’t a “mature filly” a, er, mare? Say it with me, please: EEEEWWWW!
Thursday, February 10th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I posted a leather corset picture last month from Corset Dreams that could’ve been from RetroRaunch. It was pretty enough, but probably a little tame for some tastes. Here’s something that’s more likely to suit those who walk on the wild side:
Loooooove those nipple rings! This corset model is “Astrid,” and like most of the others at AMF Korsets it’s available in lots of colors. They also sell metal gear, masks, restraints, belts, and-no kidding-wings. Beautiful, twisted stuff, from “a division of the aesthetic meat factory.”
Thursday, February 3rd, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Bacchus has offered lots of evidence supporting his preference for natural breasts. The last was a sad photo of a pretty woman with an awful boob job. Via Daze Reader I learned that men are, er, plumping their penises with silicone too. The awful photographic evidence is hidden behind this link. What kind of guy would prefer psychological sexual stimulation to getting a blow job, or actual sex? Don’t answer that, on second thought, I don’t want to know.
Now, to soothe your tortured eyeballs, here’s something much better, from Fred at Good Shit:
And remember, people: silicone is for computers, not tits and dicks.
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.
Tuesday, January 25th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Rori finds the most interesting stuff. In a recent post she tells of discovering Liquid O, described on its site as “high octane fuel for your sex life.” Interesting….but what really caught my attention is the graphic she included in her entry. It’s a stuffed flamingo with a penis.
Yes, in addition to selling Liquid O, stuff so powerful you simply apply one drop directly to the clitoris, then “relax and enjoy the unimagined orgasmic experiences,” they sell Weenie Babies. That link goes only to the animals still in stock–another page shows all the Weenie Babies, including my favorite, Bondage Kitty (in two varieties, no less!).
Bondage Kitties are all sold out, alas…..so I guess I’ll have to settle for Ice Pube instead:
Don’t worry, Nymph, there are two other Weenie Baby bears to choose from too. :D There’s probably enough time for Bacchus to procure one for Valentine’s Day.
Monday, January 24th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Yesterday I was helping my landlady shovel our driveway out….with over a foot of snow to deal with, it was alot of work, but we had fun. She confided that after her kids were born, she had a hard time “getting tight down there” again, until she discovered that snow shoveling provided a good opportunity for Kegel exercises too…..she didn’t call them that, though. She said she’d “give a good squeeze” with each shovelful of snow, and it tightened her up again “right quick.”
We had plenty of driveway left when she told me all this, so I figured, why not give it a try? What she didn’t mention is that a person can get so wet doing all that clenching that her clothes could freeze to her twat! :O
Sunday, January 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I spent seven years feeling this way, once, so I can vouch for this:
Men approach even highly familiar women with the same dread really old people have of computers: Touch one wrong button and life will never be the same.
From The Neurotic Gentleman’s Guide to Bringing Up Spanking with Your Wife or Significant Other; or C’mon, Honey, You Know I Was Only Kidding! at Functional Ambivalent.
One of the many reasons I love The Nymph is that she doesn’t make me feel this way. If I were, metaphorically speaking, to show up at her bedroom door with four leather belts and a gallon of blueberry syrup, the worst reaction I can imagine would be some laughing version of “In your dreams, Buster!” Far more likely: “What? No whipped cream?”
Sunday, January 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This is absolutely huge good legal news for the adult industry, and an astonishing win for unsympathetic defendant Rob Black of Extreme Associates (also known as the gonzo spitting-and-insult-screaming-and-shoving-dick-down-her-throat-until-she-vomits pornographers). The federal government has been toiling away at putting together a huge obscenity show trial against Mr. Black and some associates of his, with the apparent goal of putting him in jail for a lot of years and then using that conviction to scare the more-responsible mainstream pornography business back into the shadows.
Well, it didn’t work, because the trial judge threw out all the obscenity charges on constitutional grounds, saying:
“We find that the federal obscenity statutes burden an individual’s fundamental right to possess, read, observe and think about what he chooses in the privacy of his own home by completely banning the distribution of obscene materials.
Usual disclaimers apply: trial court, likely to be appealed, ain’t over yet, yadda yadda yadda.
Ironic twist worth noting: Supreme Court Justices Rehnquist, Scalia, and Thomas are owed a vote of thanks for their participation in this outcome. When the Lawrence v. Texas sodomy case (the one declaring that whatever legitimate interest a government may have in trying to impose a moral code, it’s not a good enough reason to intrude into personal and private sexual lives) was decided last year, these justices dissented with the rather sour but extremely accurate observation that the decision “called into question” laws against obscenity — an observation upon which the judge relied heavily in the Extreme Associates case.
Wednesday, January 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Yup, the infamous Tucker Max, self-described asshole, is in love. And you can sort of see his point:
Then she got competitive, telling me she could beat me at Madden. Whatever; let’s bet. I proposed we bet oral sex–loser goes down on the winner. She quickly agreed. We started talking shit to each other over email, and she wrote what may be the single greatest paragraph ever written by a woman:
“I’m well aware that you are a legend. However, that doesn’t deter me from wiping the floor with you at Madden. I’m just that good. And if you do in fact beat me as you claim? Who cares, I’m still giving you head.”
Then we had this exchange:
Me: “You realize that I can’t lose to you now, don’t you? Nothing personal, I like you now and bet we are going to get along great, but there is no way I lose.”
Her: “I can talk the talk and can back it up as well. I’ve accepted the challenge and the fact that I’ll wreck you in Madden. And like I stated before, I’m still a gracious loser. Only I’ll be wearing a face full of your cum.”
Me: “This has to stop–you are turning me on now.”
Her: “I see nothing wrong with a good facial every now and then. I’ll alternate…swallow and facial. fair enough?”
Yeah…I think I am in love.
Unfortunately, she’s wasted on Tucker.
Monday, January 17th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I love visiting Corset Dreams. There’s always alot of beautiful items there…..some are too frilly to appeal to me, but others stop me in my tracks. Here’s one I saw recently that hit all my buttons:
Simple, sexy corset…..vintage styling…..and made of leather. Hot stuff! The lady looks good enough to be a RetroRaunch pinup, too.
Saturday, January 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, if turning off your cell phone during the movie is a good idea, maybe turning it off during sex is an even better idea? One of the guys on this page might agree:
Also, I once called my parent’s answering machine during sex because of a cell phone in my pocket down by my knees. That was pretty embarrassing.
I’ve gotten cell phone calls from cats, but never from a — oh, never mind.
Saturday, January 15th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you like to conflate your religious and sexual imagery, you’ll be entertained by this: How to Give Head in the Men’s Bathroom of the Church you Were Baptized, Given First Communion, and Confirmed In.
Too short to excerpt fairly.
Friday, January 14th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I mentioned in the second part of my “story of R” that he bit my ass. What I didn’t say is how much I liked it, and that liking it surprised me some. More on this plus the next installment when I’m able to relax some, and think about all that happened…..For now, check out TwiddlyBits’ biting confession to the Twisted Monk. Better prizes than Amway indeed! :laugh:
Wednesday, January 12th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
No time for storytelling today. But I do have good news: while looking back over what I’d said about R in November, I clicked through to Valery Bareta, to see if his site is back. It is, and it’s stunning.
He’s an “art photographer”, so if you’re looking for raw sexy stuff, best look elsewhere. Valery’s got an impressive variety of nudes in many galleries; if you like beautiful bodies, I’m sure you’ll find something to enjoy. To whet your appetite:
I’ve always loved sunflowers. This photo is the feature for this week–a great antidote to the dreary weather in my part of the world.
And, found in the “classic” subgallery of the Art Nude gallery:
Many treasures await your discovery!
Edited after the embarrassing discovery, prompted by a visitor’s comment, that Valery is a man. My apologies, Mr. Bareta! This leads me to announce a New Year’s Resolution: to read the “about me” page on a site before talking about its creator. :blush:
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.
Monday, January 10th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I’m gonna borrow the DirtyTalkinGirl’s serial format for telling this story, so that I can focus on the bits and pieces of it, and so that it won’t be one huge blog splat to read through. (I see she’s started another series, the vixen. :D ) I also thought about pulling out the best parts of our story, and creating a story out of them….maybe a site like Sssh would buy it….but my writing needs lots of improvement before I’d be able to sell something! Anyway, I promised to tell the story to you first, so here we go…
Looking back over the ErosBlog archives, I see that I didn’t provide alot of detail about our Thanksgiving adventures. Since the story really starts there, that’s where I’ll begin today.
R was probably my first serious romantic interest. My hormones were just starting to percolate when he started talking to me in school. It was all innocuous stuff, sports and homework and music, but he was friendly, and cute….and I noticed that I was feeling new things, caused by his attention. Even though I liked talking to him, I’d often get distracted by his appearance, or his yummy smell…..that happened pretty regularly when we’d be doing something together. The new twitchings and longings happened more when I’d think about him, especially as I was lying awake in bed at night, trying to fall asleep. It was a mystifying, maddening, yet delicious torture! As I said in my first entry about R, we never were able to hook up throughout school, though we both wanted to. And we both thought about it a lot over the years. That made our unexpected reunion pretty predictable….and explosive.
So, I’m standing there in the store trying to decide what liquor to buy, when the jangle of the bell announces someone’s entrance. I hadn’t been paying any attention to that before, but this time I look up, and my heart flips. It looks like R!! Nah, it couldn’t be, I tell myself, he wanted to get away from this hick town as bad as I did. It’s wishful thinking. But I couldn’t pull my eyes away….the walk, the hair….it’s him. At about the same moment I decide to approach him, R turns and sees me looking at him. He seems to have none of my doubts–his face blooms into the big, happy smile that I’d burned into my mind all those years ago. Seeing that dissolved my uncertainty that it was really him….and suggested he was as happy to see me as I was him.
Our purchases completed while making reconnecting chit-chat, we step outside, and each of us exhales deeply. Neither wants to say goodbye, but who wants to make a move? Remembering how he liked my wackiness, I strike first. I say something like, “I so do not wanna go back to the oldsters yet. You got somewhere to be, or do you want to cruise with me?” He says that sounds like fun, and we choose his bigger SUV to drive around to all our old cruising places.
As he drives we’re still catching up on news and stuff, and I’m not paying a lot of attention to where we’re going until he stops the car. It’s Lover’s Lane (yes, that’s its real name), but it’s even better now because it’s just as deserted and the trees and bushes along the old curvy road are bigger…..and after he stops the car, R turns to me and softly says, “I never stopped thinking about you, or wanting to find you.” I answer by launching myself across the seat and delivering a kiss that tries to make up for all we hadn’t been able to say or do back in school.
He’s surprised but recovers almost immediately, and returns the kiss enthusiastically. Then we start giggling….then talking and kissing and giggling more, as we shed any lingering shyness and spill the things that remained unsaid for so long. Pretty soon, the talking slows……then the giggling follows suit, and our kisses become more….intense. They’ve all been intense, but it’s clear what we’re both wanting to happen next.
I begin to caress his body, stroking lower down his flanks each time as his enjoyment of my touch is obvious. He responds by grabbing both my breasts at once in typical high-school-hornboy fashion, which provokes an outburst of giggles that is smothered by hotter kisses, and gasps of pleasure from me as he massages my breasts. My hand dives to his crotch, and finds an ample reward. Even through the thick cloth of his jeans, I can tell he’s rock hard….and pretty large. He softly moans his pleasure at my strokes.
What happened next is kind of hazy in my mind. Somehow we shifted from the front seat to the back, and we’re going at it like two crazed teenagers–no taking clothes off except to uncover the bits that so crave attention, no safe-sex discussion or precautions, no what-happens-afterward talk, no attention to techniques and tricks–just heat and wet and the all-out explosion of pent-up passion. And I do explode, again and again…..R is very generously endowed in both length and girth, and he fills me and rides me hard, lasting a surprisingly long time before his orgasm overtakes him.
He remains inside me for a bit, as we catch our breath and regain our faculties…..neither of us seems embarrassed or uncomfortable with what just happened. Finally we separate, tidy ourselves up a bit, and with some more general, comfortable conversation, he drives me back to my car at the store parking lot. There, R gives me that big, irresistable smile again, along with another mind-melting kiss.
Once I get home and take a swig of the hooch I’d bought, I decide that since I had been such a forward lass, the next move would be up to him. I suspected it wouldn’t be long in, er, coming … and I was right.
Friday, January 7th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Spanking Blog has a long post up full of adult blogging tips — although many are applicable to all sorts of blogging, and not just to sex blogs. I wish more people felt this way:
Be very wary of negotiated link exchanges. If somebody has already linked to you, and emails you to ask for a return link, try to give their site a fair look. It’s polite to reciprocate, but not fair to your surfers if the site sucks. However, if someone emails you about an “exchange of links”, but hasn’t put your own link up yet, they are telling you “I don’t think your site is good enough to link to, but I’ll do it anyway if you’ll link to me first.” Screw that. Half the time, even if you do put up the link, they never reciprocate. But the important point is: they don’t respect you enough to link to you. They only want your return link. Again, screw that.
What he said, once again with feeling: “Screw that!”
Friday, January 7th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I’m embarrassed because as I was crawling into my lonely bed last night I realized that I’ve now promised y’all two stories….my favorite fantasy and the tale of R and me and our holiday vacation. I’m still trying to get caught up on work that piled up while I was gone, and neither of these stories is going to be a fast writing job. But I am trying to get time for them, and you will see them at some point. If there’s more interest for one than the other (you can provide your “vote” in a comment) that’s the one I’ll do first.
Meantime, I was catching up on Bacchus’ older posts, and saw this one, that includes links to some kinky Harry Potter fanfic. Here’s one I found that is similar, but more focused on emotions than graphically describing acts. It’s called Remains, and it’s by RazorQueen. Scanning down her blog, I see links to more sexy Harry Potter stuff….and looking at her website, a whole section of adult fanfic. And dark poetry. Yowza. A couple of her love poems really got to me….if I had read them before R invited me out to play for the holidays I might not have gone.
Will that help hold you while I try to find time to write the stories I’ve promised you? :)
Wednesday, January 5th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
So I was looking at the Best Of Blog nominations (because somebody told me ErosBlog was on there, albeit in a mystifying category with a horrifying and ridiculous scarlet-letter disclaimer after our name.) I was delighted to discover that the enormously entertaining Mistress Matisse is a finalist in the best sex blog category.
Now, obviously I like her blog a lot, or it likely wouldn’t be at the very top of my sex blog list. (Lower down, position doesn’t mean anything; but blogs near the top are all ones much liked by Aphrodite, The Nymph, or me.) Matisse combines an entertaining writing style I can’t even manage to dream of having with a commendable willingness to write about her own personal and professional exploits, which are (from the perspective of a country boy like me) themselves rather eye-opening. The combination ensures that her blog is the first link I click every morning when I open my blog. I therefore commend her to your voting finger. You know what to do.
What? Not convinced yet? Smart and funny don’t do it for ya? So you’re one of those horndogs who wouldn’t cast a vote for Pope without shouting “show us yer tits” first? We got ya covered:
Unreduced photo here.
If Matisse doesn’t do it for you, there are other worthy candidates on the sex blog list, including at least one set of old blogfriends that would be very close in the contest for my fickle affections if they only posted more regularly. (Hi, Mike-and-Michelle!) But I promise you, there’s nobody else on that sex blog list who would make a better Queen of The Sex Bloggers….
Wednesday, January 5th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Bacchus’ post on increased-ejaculate spam and concerns prompted a pleasant stroll down memory lane for me, with an interesting twist–I compared my experiences with various lovers, with the hope of coming up with something helpful from a female perspective. Don’t know that I’ve accomplished that, but I’ll still share my thoughts.
Bacchus is dead right that what goes on inside can be, er, hard to measure. But if a lady is tight enough, and paying sufficient attention, she can feel something that correlates, apparently, to the force of her partner’s ejaculation. At least I can….or could. (Not having a steady sex life, partner-wise, I’ve lost some muscle tone. :( ) I’m sure I’m not alone in having that ability.
Where it might become more of an issue is externally-oriented play, as some commenters focused on. While shooting a huge load is probably highly desirable for bukkake, and sometimes on other occasions, there are definitely times when a gal doesn’t want to have to be concerned about telltale white streaks on skin, clothing, or in her hair. (But then again, there are definitely times when it’s part of the lingering fun after sex to wonder if anybody can put the clues together and figure out that you’ve just had some naughty fun!)
Where I’ve noticed volume the most is in fellatio, no surprise there. I’ve had gushers and dribblers, and you know what? The amount of the ejaculate never seems directly tied to how much my partner seems to be enjoying himself. That’s even true for those male actors out there who like to give the impression that every sex act is the ultimate thrill, never to be topped [big yawn].
What really gets me off is knowing I’m getting him off–genuine pleasure, not the going-for-the-Oscar type stuff. The slow, subtle increase in muscle tension in his abs, thighs, and butt muscles…..the pelvic thrusts (if he’s in a position that allows ’em)….the changes in his breathing…especially the ragged breathing as he gets close to coming…oh my, is it getting warm in here? Hearing that breathing gets me going so much that I don’t care about load and velocity, I just want the explosion!!!
And last, I do enjoy giving prostate stimulation–only from the outside so far for me, no heavy-duty milking–to guys who aren’t hung up about being touched there. It seems to always add to the intensity of his orgasm, whether or not it increases his ejaculate. And if it’s better for him, it’s better for me! :D
Tuesday, January 4th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Nobody expects very much from spam. But most of it makes at least a certain sort of sense. Bigger penis? Sure, there’s a market. Harder penis? Why not? Breast enlargements? Cheaper mortgages? Debt reduction? Fake Rolex watches? I probably know somebody who wants each of these things.
But an increased ejaculate volume? Who do I know that worries about their inability to make a big enough mess during sex? No, on second thought, don’t tell me.
This is an actual spam I just got, with editorial comments in brackets:
Has your cum ever dribbled and you wish it had shot out?
[Er, no. Or, I’m not sure about the dribbling. Usually I’m not looking; usually it’s in a warm moist place that I can’t see into. As for wishing it had shot out, why? This ain’t a peeing contest, boys. There are, so far as I know, no prizes for volume or velocity.]
Have you ever wanted to impress your girl with a huge cumshot?
[I’ve frequently wanted to impress my girl, yes. But is she impressed by a huge cumshot? Uh, Nymph? Is there something you haven’t been telling me? Is there in fact any woman in the whole freakin’ world who cares whether a cumshot is huge or not?]
[. . . . . sound of crickets . . . . . ]
[PRODUCT] is the only site to offer an all natural male enhancement
formula that is proven to increase your sperm volume by up to 500%.
Our highly potent, volume enhancing formula will give our results
in days and comes with an impressive 100% guarantee.
Imagine the difference (look and feel) between dribbling your cum
compared to shooting out burst after burst.
[The look? Where exactly is this wanker ejaculating? And exactly how little sensation is he getting from sex, that he’s worring about the feel of his ejaculation? Hello, you’re supposed to be in sensory overload just then!]
Try [PRODUCT] now! and with our money back guarantee you have absolutely nothing to lose!
[Riiiight — because taking pills with absolutely no information on what’s in them is never dangerous. “Your herbal poison eroded my heart valves, can I have my $19.99 back please?]
But seriously, folks, and all ridicule aside — is there anybody among my readers, male or female, who worries about the force and volume of male ejaculate? If so, please chime in with a comment and an explanation!
Tuesday, January 4th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I’m still working out what I want to tell, and what’s best left locked away in my mind, from my recent escapades. Parts of the adventure were lots of fun (here’s a hint: some of my sexploration wishes have been fulfilled :D ), but other things were unexpected, and caused some tensions between R and me. Short form is, I think R and I have played out. But it was mostly good while it lasted, and it turned out to be very, very smart of me not to point him to this blog. That’s why the extended Aphrodite absence….I didn’t want any traces to here around for him to accidentally find.
Anyway, one of the places R and I went was on an awesome ski trip to the Great White North–Canada! It was highly amusing to find the image below tucked in my inbox when I got back:
According to the sweet friend who sent me the pic, the hair designer calls this the “Moose Look”. I ain’t never seen no moose that looks anything like this before…but she does seem to have a nice rack (if you can find it under all the blue fluff ;) ).
Someone asked me for “sex predictions” for 2005….given my recent experiences, plus the ongoing crusading crap from the U.S.’s current “leaders”, it makes me queasy to even think about what might be coming down the pike. :( Uhh, how about we just scroll back up to look at the Moose Girl again instead?
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, December 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Would you buy a used RealDoll on Ebay?
I know not what course others may take, but as for me….
Monday, December 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Remember that animated .gif of the Joy Rider Fuck Machine I posted in November? It turns out that Violet Blue blogged about one she saw at a party — and wound up getting a free one from the manufacturer. (One of the perks of being an awesome and adventurous sex writer — which she is and I’m so not.) Plus, she gets to devise a better method for attaching dildos to it. Much experimentation in her kitchen with the cool black-and-white institutional dungeon tiles!
Thursday, December 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’ve never quite “got” the whole social networking concept. Sounds like Philip from Hot Action (who is so back!) had the same problem, until it got explained to him:
I didn’t really understand how it works, this whole Friendster, MySpace phenomenon. My friend explained it thusly: “You put up a profile and then you write to cute chicks and say ‘You’re cute’ and then you get to bang them.”
That’s not how I usually operate. Anyway, I already waste enough time on the Internet. I’m too lazy to go looking through some website trying to find cute girls to pester.
Can’t I just put up a profile, I wondered, and sit back and let women contact me if they’re interested? Apparently so. But how does that work?
“You give them your email address, then they add you.”
I was confused. If a woman wants to bang me and she already has my email address, wouldn’t it make more sense to just send me an email saying, hi, I want to bang you, instead of going through all this rigamarole with MySpace and profiles and whatnot?
Well apparently the whole appeal of it is that it’s a network. So when you’re all through banging me, you can go on to bang all my hot friends.
Ah. I get it.
Thursday, December 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From the “English is Not My First Language” file:
This pills is an all earthy herbaceous tablets containing a miscellany of grasses known for advancing intimate longing and discharge. By victimisation this product you should experience an increase in intimate longing, a betterment in your volume and execution, as well as increased power and delight during sexual activity.
Well. Who could possibly fail to victimisate this fine product?
Thursday, December 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s something you don’t see every day: an animated .gif of a fellow making rather vigorous use of one of those plastic male masturbation aids (aka “pocket pussy”). It’s rather eye-catching.
Saturday, December 11th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’ve never been much of a sports fan, but if this Ultimate Surrender nude wrestling business catches on, I’d be willing to reconsider:
Friday, December 10th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Just found another good sex blog, Letters to an Angel. (I wonder how many Christian types wander to the site, see the graphic, get squicked/scared and leave…. :laugh: ) I haven’t had time to go through it all, but here’s my fave entry so far. Better and Best:
Holding your hands over your head while we make love is good.
Tying you to the bed while we make love is better.
Tying you to the bed, then teasing you till you beg is best.
Mmmmmmmmm………
Wednesday, December 8th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Having some steamy sex over Thanksgiving was great for me, but now I think I miss having a man around even more than ever. Not just for the sex, but mostly for the simple pleasures that I’d forgotten about. Cat over at Pussy Tales knows what I mean. She pegged one of my favorite things in her post he smells like yum:
and I know I’m not making ANY sense here but…that smell can be any smell of him…like shampoo or deodorant or after-shave or just that natural body smell…hmmm…that’s my favourite…that natural smell of a man…when he’s been working a bit too hard…or when he’s taken a long hot shower and his skin is fresh and tastes just like honey…he’s warm and tender and tastes SO yummy…
Girl, you are making loads of sense to me! Hooboy, do I ever miss the smell of a man! Sometimes I think they can be as bad as women about trying to cover their smells, although they do have less to obsess about, I guess.
While reading some news this morning, I came across another testament to people’s fascination with penises going way back. It’s a penis tree, although that’s really hard to see in this scaled-down picture:
The caption under the image (a Reuters image I found at Yahoo News) reads as follows:
An undated handout photograph shows the Massa Marittima mural in the Italian town Massa Marittima. At first glance the mural looks fairly similar to dozens of other medieval frescoes dotted across Tuscany, but a closer look at the spidery tree which dominates the centre of the painting shows its branches are covered in penises. Until now, it was assumed the phallus tree was a fertility symbol but according to a British-based expert, it is a actually a unique piece of political propaganda, commissioned by one Tuscan faction to sully the reputation of another.
The link will take you to a slightly larger version of the image…not large enough to see anything in sufficient detail, alas.
Hope all this makes up for my absence lately….trying to get ahead on some work, for reasons which I might be able to announce to y’all later today. :)
Monday, December 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The title says it all. Boing Boing has all the, er, juicy details. Plastered (so to speak) on billboards forty feet high, too.
And thanks, Aphrodite. My winter cold seems almost gone now!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, December 3rd, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
There really is something out there for everyone, and if you search enough, you’ll find it on the web. I like reading sexy novels, but not the Harlequin romance or Danielle Steele type stuff. I also like science fiction … and I’ve discovered an interesting confluence of both interests. To wit:
Found by browsing through the Sleaze Science Fiction Covers at Vintage Paperbacks. Other sections have some steamy-looking stuff too. Fun!
Thursday, December 2nd, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Grrrrr…I hate being too busy to keep to my routine! I’ve been dying of sexblog deprivation today, and I still haven’t had lunch (or dinner). So this is a quick dash-through, just to say hi and to point you to a sexy-cool holiday theme at Drama Queen. Dunno about content, but with the nice curvy image top-left, duzzit matter? :laugh:
Tuesday, November 30th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I’m blaming the beautiful photos of vintage items at Corset Dreams for my most recent obsession … sexy snaps from days gone by. Here’s a nice, little pic that’s a great example of the good old days in kinkland:
The niftiest thing about that little shot is that it’s available on RetroRaunch to send as a postcard, along with many others. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg o’ goodies available there! :D
Tuesday, November 30th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Almost thirty years ago, equality of the sexes had a different flavor than it does today. Somehow this doesn’t seem like the sort of think my mother’s Ms. magazines would have gotten, er, behind. From the January 7, 1976 Newcastle/Tyne Evening Chronical:
School Girls Get Equal Chance To Be Caned
The schoolgirls really felt liberated when the headmaster asked the boys to leave the assembly hall. The teenagers listened proudly as the he told them that from now on they would be treated exactly the same as the boys. But the girls of Heaton School, Newcastle, were stunned when he added: “And that means you will also get the cane!”
The girls have never been caned before and today there was growing apprehension behind the scenes. A 16-year-old girl said: “We nearly died when the headmaster said that we will now get the cane. I know it’s women’s lib year but we think this is taking it too far.”
…
Headmaster Mr. Henry Askew was adamant that what’s good for the boys is good for the girls. He said at the school today: “We simply told the girls that from now on they will be punished the same as the boys.” He said that the decision had been taken as the result of pressure from the school’s women teaching staff who had had enough of the behaviour of some girls.
…
It is understood that girls will be caned if they are put in detention twice in a week.
Thanks to reader Randi for passing along the Caned Girls porn site link where she found this, and to Google for confirming, at least, that Caned Girls didn’t fabricate the newspaper story from whole cloth as a work of salacious fiction.
Monday, November 29th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Home again, tired but happy. Definitely worth putting up with the “when are you going to settle down and get married?” and other nosy questions the relatives toss out, to have an unexpectedly sex-filled weekend with a highschool flame. :D
I’m still digging through email, but found an interesting one from a friend (who doesn’t know I contribute to this blog, making his question even more amusing). He’s wondering about shaving himself. He’s noticed that alot of the porn pix have bare or nearly-bare girls, and that some of the guys shave their balls. So, he’s thinking of doing it to himself (or maybe asking his wife to help), and wondering if he does, how far should he go? Just the testicles, or off with all the pubes? What about maintenance? Does it make oral sex more interesting or fun, as Vikki at Her Desires says it does for the girls? Would it be better for both partners?
I just don’t know about all this shaving stuff. I’m seriously squicked at the idea of bringing something so sharp so close to such sensitive places. When I had the money to spend on such things, I was a wax girl. But the woman who did it never would take off as much as I’d request on my labia, I guess because she thought it would hurt. And I liked the way it looked, and felt, just fine anyway. So I’m asking y’all to pipe up with your experiences if you want to, and I’ll point my friend this way. It’ll be a nice surprise for him in lots of ways. :laugh:
And, just because it’s nice to feature a change of pace from the nearly-bare girlies, here’s a totally hot photo of Hiromi from Brett and Hiromi’s blog at Indecent Blogging:
[photographed removed at request of the subject]
Sunday, November 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There’s nothing like splashing around in a fountain on a hot summer night, they say:
Thanks to Attu Sees All for the picture.
Friday, November 26th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
No, not R and me … although I am on my way out to share some sunrise sex with him (at least, I hope that’s part of his diabolical plan). The SWAT team over in Austria must have noticed the traffic from here, because they provided some comments on my post about their products.
The drinks all sound good to me, and the “Dark Glide” lube has tickled my fancy. I’d love to play with that stuff! One question that the nice Austrians didn’t answer is whether they’ll ship to other countries…..
Thursday, November 25th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
:D R and I got together again last night. His mom and my folks think it’s “sweet” that we found each other again, little do they know that on our walk last night we found a quiet spot and fucked each others brains out. Moonlight gives skin a beautiful glow…..
Anyway, here’s another Thanksgiving present. We didn’t exactly look like this, but the photo seems to capture some of the energy we had.
From Valery Bareta, whose site is currently down for maintenance. :(
Thursday, November 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Earlier this year, I posted this post and this other post linking to sites covering the alleged joys of figging and electrical stimulation, respectively. Little did I imagine that somewhere out there, people were combining the two.
Pause to imagine that for a moment. Then unclench your wabbly bits, and read on!
Sure enough. In the comments to this post at Spanking Blog, one “mrstimm” writes:
There is another slick way to do it: there’s a company here in England which makes essential essence oils (including ginger and hot chili) which can be inserted in the anus or rubbed on a freshly thrashed bottom. And if you are exceptionally wicked and into electrosex as well you can coat the stainless steel electrode with the oil, insert that in the anus, turn the power on, and cane the subbie whilst restrained.
…
I have to say the figging oils are so much more convenient when you want to combine either buttplugs or electrosex probes with spanking/caning or severe judicial punishments which I prefer. Ten times more effective.
I say, old chap, that’s just not nice!
Wednesday, November 24th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Hi all. Sorry I’ve been absent. At the last minute I decided to go home for Thanksgiving…..which meant alot of driving deep into Bible-belt land. I didn’t think I’d have much to blog about from here, but last night a longtime dream/fantasy came true.
There was this guy I’d had a crush on in sixth grade; he was cute and cocky and not afraid to be nice to us girls. I didn’t think he knew I existed…..but I found out later that he liked me too. But, I found that out at a bad time, because I was going with somebody else. When we broke up, he was going with somebody….but by the time they broke up, I was going with somebody again, and that’s how it went. We were good friends throughout high school but lost touch after that. Even though our families are still here, we never met up.
Until last night, anyway. I was at a store getting some booze to hide in my room, and in he walked. Not quite as blond as I remember, not as skinny, either, but still with his self-confident strut–and a nicely balding top of the head. Even better than the version of him that was part of alot of my college fantasies.
I immediately felt a rush of warmth to my nether regions, along with a telltale moistness between my legs. Then he turned, saw me, and got the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
Making a long story short, we’re both single right now, so……we had a real fun time last night, steaming up the windows of his SUV. I can’t think of a better person to have unleashed all my stored-up horniness on. No matter what happens around the dinner table tomorrow, it’s been the best Thanksgiving ever for me already. :D
And speaking of Thanksgivings, here’s a small token of my appreciation for my fellow sex-bloggers, erotica enthusiasts, and kinky kindred spirits:
Saturday, November 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Wow. More than two years ago (how time flies!) I posted this rant (and this follow-up) about how lying Bardex lawyers were sending bogus demand letters around the net in an attempt to suppress discussion of the sexual uses of the Bardex balloon catheter.
Can you believe those donkey-raping smegma-sniffers are still at it?
Friday, November 19th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Jane at Edinburgh Dinner Party liked my suggestion of a Victorian-themed party, and even invited me over for it. It’s very tempting, but I don’t see gathering enough pennies in the time remaining to be able to do so. :(
Anyway, I know Bacchus has featured it before, but to spare participants (and eager vicarious pleasure-seekers) from the agonies of an archive search, here’s the Victorian Sex Cry Generator once again.
My favorite: “You have gorg’d me with the dearest morsel of the earth!”
From Hoot Island, natch.
Tuesday, November 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There are few more enduring staples in the sex advice literary world than that old favorite, the “how to give a blowjob” tutorial. This blog has linked to a fair number of them. But this one from Hoot Island is the first I’ve ever seen that puts the tutorial in fictional form. And it’s pretty entertaining, too:
“This is serious,” Janie said. Her eyes started to tear up. “I’m gonna lose him, he’s gonna dump me for some skank who can take her teeth out!”
Erica put her arm over her bud’s shoulders and hugged her. “No, he’s not. He’s not that shallow, and even blind people can tell he loves you. Besides, I’d kick his ass if he hurts you and he knows it.”
Janie sniffled. “What’d you do, tell him that?”
“Yep. The night we met him, while you were in the bathroom.”
“You didn’t!”
“Told him I had an electric juicer at home that would accommodate his testicles perfectly,” Erica said smugly. “But really, he’s a great guy, don’t worry about it. He appreciates it when you do it, right?”
There was another long silence.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, November 11th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I am stunned to announce that I’ve just done something unprecedented (for me). I just deleted a blog from my blogroll because of the content. Not because it was stale, not because it was lame, not because it was badly written – I prune blogs for that sort of reason all the time. Nope, I deleted it because it flat-out pissed me off…and because I could.
The offending post? A jocular statement of warm anticipatory approval for the “forced anal intrusion” (aka prison rape) awaiting sex offenders once they get to jail.
Sorry, folks, but civilized people don’t use rape as a punishment, much less gloat about it. And I just discovered that I can’t stomach linking to that particular flavor of barbarian.
Wednesday, November 10th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Visiting adult toy websites can be a most educational experience. The ungently-named Joy Rider Fuck Machine is a celebration of the pervy things that can be done with “ultra refined medium density fiberboard”:
It’s said to be a very versatile machine:
Grab onto the silver handle and fuck yourself to orgasm! The Joy Rider has an articulated seat specially designed to make it easy, fun and safe for people to experience penetrative sexual pleasure. The Joy Rider is smooth, stable so you can concentrate on the pleasure you deserve. The machine relies entirely on your body movement to do all of its thrusting. There are no motors to plug in or breakdown, and no noise. More importantly, because Joy Rider responds only to your movement, you have complete control so it’s like a lover that can read your mind.
The Joy Rider has a seat which rocks in response to your movement. As the seat assembly moves forward or back in relation to the base, the thrust control arms move the pivoting thrust arm assembly upward or downward in relation to the seat. … [It] features thrusting controlled entirely by your movement, so the speed and depth of penetration is easy for you to vary and bring yourself to orgasm as quickly or as slowly as preferred. [It] is perfect for anal stimulation. That part of the body is full of nerve endings and can be a wonderful source of pleasure. Because the Joy Rider is easy to control you won’t have to be worried about being penetrated too hard or too fast.
So, has anybody out there actually tried this thing? Inquiring minds want to know.
Wednesday, November 10th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
One of my previous lovers seemed to be uncomfortable with me caressing his body…as long as I was working on the usual hot spots, he was happy. But if I caressed his sexy-curvy torso, or his muscular biker legs, he got skittish. It was okay for him to appreciate my female form, but not for me to appreciate his male form. I’ve since known a few other guys like that, and it’s sad, sad, sad.
Male bods can be curvy-beautiful too. I present as Exhibit A:
I know I’d like to “touch him, all over his body”…
Courtesy of Eros Gallery. Beautiful male nude art.
Monday, November 8th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here you go: everything you ever wanted to know about the Hello Kitty vibrator.
Yes, it is/was a real thing:
Sunday, November 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’ve said it before and I’ve said it again, they have better TV in the UK:
In a new Channel 4 reality show on common sex problems, volunteer couples make love on camera while presenter Tracey Cox advises on their performance.
…
But there’s no getting away from the fact we get to watch couples having sex live on camera. A CCTV camera in the bedroom allows Cox and co-presenter, Michael Alvear, to assess their performance, then offer all manner of tips, toys and advice. ‘Even I, who talk about sex for a living, found it rather extraordinary sitting there and watching real people have sex,’ Cox admits.
Sunday, November 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From Diary of a Porn Publisher:
I have to spend a few hours each day reviewing the new adult websites submitted to the adult search engine I bought last July to see if I will accept the sites or not. Today, I ran across a description for a site that gave me pause. “The girl in black stockings receives pleasure and satisfaction from tickler inside a clitoris.” Is it possible that there could be adult webmasters out there who lack a basic understanding of female anatomy? It doesn’t seem credible.
I should think that would hurt….
Saturday, November 6th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Took off Thursday night for a road trip, to see a good friend that I haven’t seen since high school. She’s now a mom to three girls (yikes!). Didn’t expect much to happen that was worth mentioning here, but I was–happily!–wrong.
First, the girls are big PowerPuff Girls fans, so episodes were a near-constant backdrop to our conversation. This line caught my attention: “You’ve got to eat it, to beat it.” Turns out they weren’t talking about what I immediately thought of (despite the verbs being backwards), but some evil broccoli-space-aliens. It was actually a pretty clever episode.
My friend and I had lots of fun being giggly and catty. One conversation kept us laughing throughout the evening … I was telling her about my first live-in lover, and how he hated how I dressed in the winter. No, I don’t go in for those cutesy holiday-oriented items … I like wool. I like the feel of it against my skin … but he hated it, said it was too itchy to wear without a lining or layer underneath, and looked horrified, I reported to my friend, “… when I got dressed for work wearing a wool sweater and wool slacks and –gasp!– nothing on underneath!”
Amid giggles, she accused me of having a wool fetish, which set me to wondering (amidst various jokes concerning woollen condoms and the like), is such a thing documented? Fetish Network doesn’t appear to have anything … Trusty Google doesn’t show much either … a funny story that isn’t really on target … Sweaterbabes, which is somewhat closer … could it really be that I have, unknowingly, created a new fetish category? :blush: I doubt it, but it’s an amusing thought nonetheless.
And, since it’s Saturday, a relevant sex ‘toon: The PowerPuff Girls get naughty with Kenny from South Park:
Thursday, November 4th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Is this a first here? — Me, a chick, saying, “Sorry it’s so small …” :hehe:
What I’m referring to is this nice shot of a variety of lovelies:
To see more pix — and full-size, too! — check out the Girl’s Camp page over at Unique Peek. Not all sexy stuff, but almost all worth a look.
Friday, October 29th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
With a name like Da Goddess, y’all knew it was just a matter of time before I checked her out. Sure enough, when I did I discovered that she’s also a goddess of fine taste. To wit, her commentary on men’s heads:
Some of the sexiest men I know have very little hair, if they have hair at all.
Sing it, sister! Just as Bacchus expounds on many women’s discomfort with their varying smells, I simply don’t understand why so many men seem to think hair is sexier than bald. And all that crazy stuff some of them do to try to disguise the obvious … that’s even worse.
I dated a young, balding guy for awhile, and one of the sexiest things about him (in addition to his mostly-smooth top) was the self-confidence he displayed, in going against the Rogaine, hair-plug, hair-paint crowd that insinuates that a guy has to have hair to be sexy. He was hot!
Now maybe I can find a sexy shot of a bald guy to close the week on…meantime, you can go read Da Goddess’s mini-rant on men’s heads. Pretty site, too. :D
Monday, October 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Yahoo News reports that Arnold slept on the couch (figuratively speaking) after his performance at one of those political conventions:
California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger said on Monday that his speech backing President Bush at the Republican Convention in August resulted in a dramatic cold shoulder from his wife Maria Shriver, a member of the very Democratic Kennedy family.
“Well, there was no sex for 14 days,” Schwarzenegger told former White House Chief of Staff Leon Panetta in an on-stage conversation in front of 1,000 people. “Everything comes with side effects.”
By now y’all know the drill — this is a blog about sex, not politics. A post that touches on both subjects is not an invitation to flog your favored candidate or party in the comments. Although if you actually have pictures of someone flogging your favored candidate, by all means send ’em along!
Tuesday, October 19th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Some vegetables and fruits are highly evocative of body parts. And now that pumpkin-carving season is upon us, we’ll probably see more sexy/amusing takes on that. This carving puts an ass-shaped pumpkin to good use:
Spotted at Rotten.com.
Tuesday, October 19th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
That’s the condition of posting an amusing sex-related Halloween pumpkin carving, but then finding a better one. To wit:
I should have known to (sing it with me!) look for the prurient label … :laugh:
Courtesy of Rotten.com.
Monday, October 18th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
After finishing the database project, I thought I’d have plenty of time to do some juicy writing this weekend. But no …. between spending some time with Contender #1 (nice time, no sex yet) and helping a friend with computer problems (don’t get me started), it slipped away.
In addition, the thought of writing out this fantasy leaves me hornier than ever … so, I guess I’m gonna do it. That’s right, I’ve been browsing sex toy sites. I like Sex Toys because they have reviews.
So, at the risk of getting overloaded with TMI, I’m inviting feedback. What products do you like best, and what ones aren’t worth the money? You can leave feedback here, via comments, or (preferably) send me an email. Warning: I can receive email fine, but there’s a glitch in sending, so I won’t be able to reply through email. If you don’t want your email shared here, please say so when you write.
Maybe I should give this quest a catchy slogan …
How about “Help the Pathetic Sex Goddess Buy Her First Toy”? Nah ….
“Lubes for Nubes”? Nope …
“Get the Goddess Off!” Has possibilities. :blush:
Monday, October 18th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Richard over at Amorous Propensities has a bit on sperm for lunch.
Really.
No, not a lunchtime blow job, but puffer fish sperm. It’s a delicacy in Singapore.
Go read the whole thing for the intriguing details.
Saturday, October 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
…from pet store clerks. Yes, really. They see it all:
“Sometimes people come in and buy leashes, and by the look of them, you know they don’t have a pet.”
Thanks to The Bondage Blog for the link.
Thursday, October 14th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I finally finished the big database cleanup I’ve been working on, and decided to treat myself with some fun browsing. And lookie what I found:
My sex life better improve soon! I don’t know that i can stand browsing Sssh! much more … I just discovered their audio files. O M G …
That reminds me … I promised y’all a fantasy and haven’t delivered on it yet. I’ll try to write it up over the weekend — which starts for me in a few hours. :P
Wednesday, October 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
“J” from The Orgy indentifies a speculative link between buying a house and decreased blowjob frequency:
My friend J2 mentioned that, since he and his girlfriend have bought a house, he’s noticed a marked decrease in blowjobs received.
I half-expected him to pull out a flip-chart with a graph on it.
Given the increasing infrequency with which I receive oral sex, I can’t imagine what might happen if the wife and I buy a house of our own.
How about it, all you real estate magnates out there? Has this happened to you? And have you got a chart to prove it?
Saturday, October 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
It’s been awhile since I’ve put up a good bit of cartoonish sex art. This 1970s-looking illustration has a rough sex “she’s in deeper than she expected, but still game” feel to it, reinforced by the construction-worker cad who can’t be bothered to remove his hard-hat:
Found this one on Usenet.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, October 7th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Okay, so I may be further on the “Venus” side of the Mars-Venus continuum than I previously thought. I found the web site Sssh!, and oh, is it yummy! Here’s a small sample — I love having my hair washed by my lover(s):
For you astute readers who noticed, yes, the parenthetical “s” up there is intentional. I don’t know if I just needed to bitch loudly enough, or what, but I met another guy with lots of potential. Triad dreams? It’s too early for that, but [begin Beach Boys impersonation] Wouldn’t it be nice…. [end Beach Boys impersonation].
I was part of a F-M-F triad before — not a formal marriage or anything, just a roommate situation that heated up into something really fun, that lasted a couple of years — and it was great until it blew up. M-F-M sounds like even more fun for me, and I’m sure game, but it’s waaaay too early to bring it up with either of “The Contenders” (as I’ve taken to thinking of the two hotties I’ve recently discovered).
For now, I’ll just hum that Beach Boys tune and hope for the best, with either or both of them. :D
Tuesday, October 5th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This may be the funniest blog-related email I have yet received. A Yahoo email user wrote (subject line in bold):
Busted!!!?On My Ladies’ Computer, and She Works for the Government/Signing Off for Good!!!!!
I should not have been sneaking and using my ladies’ computer to Blog in but I am a sicko!!!!!
She reported your site to the police, to the States Attorney’s Office as well as sending this information to Washington!!!!!!
NO FURTHER COMMUNICATION IS, and WILL NEVER BE POSSIBLE!!!!!!
If you know what’s good for you, you’ll start heading for the hills, quick!!!!!!!!!
I know I am!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
All punctuation faithfully reproduced. I wonder, is “Overuse of Exclamation Points In The First Degree” a federal offense?
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.
Monday, October 4th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Hi everybody! Brief report here (busy, busy day):
As planned, I spent Saturday at His Place (a nice-sized property), and we did lots of fun things together. Mostly rambled around the place, walking through the woods and fields, with lots of talking and throwing sticks for his dog. At night, it’s so dark there that you can see a gazillion stars (yes, I counted! :P) and usually, all you can hear is the wind swirling through the evergreens (sometimes the barn owls make some really weird calls too).
Yes, I spent the night — but not in the sense that some of you were probably hoping for. His marvelous kissing does apply to parts other than my lips, I discovered … but no sex, yet. Neither of us is in that big a hurry. We don’t feel comfortable with it yet.
So, how can I be so happy when it’s still months since I’ve had sex and I’d make all kinds of deals with devils to get a good fuck? Easy … I don’t want my first night with him to be a fuck. I want it to be making love.
Still on track for that! :D
Thursday, September 30th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Although it’s hardly a new conceit, this article from the San Francisco Bay Guardian is fun and funny. After the author discovers that moving in with her boyfriend did not lead to more sex, she set out to try all the “enhance your sex life” tips from the women’s magazines. After a variety of failed experiments (mint ice cream by candle light, rubbing all over him with her gym sweat) she reaches the inevitable conclusion:
I’d figured out that I could read every sex tip in the book, from Allure to Vogue, but nothing would ever take the place of spitting out three monosyllabic, easy-to-pronounce words: “Let’s do it.”
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: subtlety is vastly over-rated.
Tuesday, September 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Karl from The Moronosphere talks about explaining sexuality to kids:
“Mom, What’s fifty-six?”
“Ah, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think it might be a… a…”
“Mmm-hmm?”
(Whispered) “…a sex thing…”
Long, long pause.
“Honey, do you mean sixty-nine?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s it.”
…
I’m a dirty bastard. I write erotica. I know sexuality. But putting things like this into a context so it’s both understandable and appropriate; that’s difficult.
How do you explain sexuality, sensuality, to a ten year old?
Honestly though, here’s what happens when you don’t.
My favorite line from his extended anecdote: “But then, twenty years old, I had no idea what I might have gotten away with.”
Ain’t that the truth!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, September 27th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I thought that someone would call me on my poorly-phrased comment in a recent post:
As someone who’s never had a need for sex toys (but that day is getting closer) …
Sure enough, TwiddlyBits gently did it, stating, “‘Need’ is such a relative word….” So now I’ve a good reason to elaborate.
I don’t have anything against sex toys. In fact, I’d love to have some nipple jewelry (no piercings for me, for weird health reasons). But I will confess to being somewhat bemused by the fondness some individuals seem to have for vibrators and such. It is a hard stretch (pun intended) for me to see how they can be better than sex with a person. I know, I know — they never get tired (or if they do, you can just pop fresh batteries in), they can do things humans can’t, and you don’t have to talk to them to try to get them to do exactly what you want — you just flip the switch or turn the dial, or whatever, and presto, the desired setting automagically takes one into orgasmic ecstasy.
I said I’ve never had a need for sex toys (meaning vibrators and dildos, specifically) because until now, I’ve never been without a willing sex partner for a significant period of time. Now that I am, and it seems likely to be that way for a long time, maybe some of you would be willing to educate me as to what I’m missing, on this subject.
Friday, September 24th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Okay, so this an entirely predictable post. I’ve been waiting seven days to see what Gina Lynn would write on in her first Wired Magazine “Sex Drive” column. So after I gulped down enough coffee for my eyes and fingers to work moderately well, I fired up the ol’ browser and mosied over, to read about a new remote-controlled dildo that is seriously remotely controlled:
In other words, a man can be thrusting in Cleveland while a woman is penetrated in Seattle, and the cybersex experience gets one step closer to the holodeck.
Here’s a link to the entire interesting column. As someone who’s never had a need for sex toys (but that day is getting closer), this whole idea is weirdly kinky-cool.
Thursday, September 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I can vouch for this advice:
“Never go to the sex shop when you’re horny. You have no idea what you’re going to end up with. Make a list. Stick to the list.”
Comedian Wendy Spiro, as quoted in the October 2004 issue of Esquire.
Thursday, September 23rd, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Edifying Spectacle offers a fitting tribute to “sexploitation” director Russ Meyer. I imagine the forever-frigid feminists would happily affix that adjective to his work, but as the author of the tribute points out, Meyer’s work celebrated American pop culture in a singular way. Here’s an excerpt from Richard’s tribute:
Incompetently I wish to do honor to one of America’s masters of erotica. To hell with philosophers, economists, editorial writers: isn’t enlivening the erotic life nobler and more valuable than the vaporizings of the classes that think themselves thoughtful and useful?
And, a wonderful image of Kitten Natividad, star of Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens:
I doubt I’m the only one with an urge to go make tons of popcorn for a Meyer filmfest tonight …
Tuesday, September 21st, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
For the record, I don’t think males and females are necessarily and inevitably enemies, but sometimes the differences between the sexes can make it feel that way. But for some, even the same sex can feel very foreign to deal with.
The recent visit of my sister and nieces highlighted yet again for me how different I seem to be from the normal female. They all are very feminine — careful in choosing their clothes and accessories, skilled at the art of hairstyling and makeup application, and apparently quite good at flirting with men and getting attention without being obviously manipulative. (My other older sister is like this, too.)
I’m lucky if I remember to drag a comb through my hair before noon. I wore makeup in high school, but have gradually lost interest in it. The last time I tried to apply mascara I poked myself in both eyes and looked like a stoner for days. I couldn’t flirt my way out of a paper bag.
Now don’t get me wrong — I get (or got, before I moved out to the sticks) plenty of guy attention. But it’s a very different kind of attention than what I see the other ladies in my family getting. They’re coddled, while I’m asked to help with the heavy lifting. It’s okay for them not to know what a strong safety is, but I’m expected to know the different rules for NCAA and pro football, and recite them whenever they’re relevant in a game.
In short, I’m a tomboy. And in a lot of my interactions with men, it makes a huge difference. It can be very pleasant, when we cut through all the Mars-Venus bullshit and just talk, but it leads to unhappy surprises, too …. like when a guy asks me to dinner, and he freaks because I appear in a dress instead of my usual jeans and t-shirt. I feel like a mutant female.
So, I sometimes sneak behind the lines to see if I fit in better with the guys, which it usually seems I do. Typically, though, like this AskMen website, there’s not much that seems to apply to gals like me. Sigh…..
Oh well. At least I found this gorgeous picture while on my recon mission, which I bet lots of ladies will like as much as I do.
Friday, September 17th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Wired Magazine, techie-geekie-cool web site that I adore, is adding a new sex column! It’s called “Sex Drive with Gina Lynn”, and here’s a quote from her debut column:
For you newbies, think Sex and the City, only smarter. This is sex and the internet, sex and science, sex and the digital world. It’s the sex of technology and the technology of sex, two of the most powerful forces at work in our modern lives. It’s the foundation of a social revolution. And you’re a part of it, like it or not.
If you’d like to read it all, here ya go. She includes her email address toward the bottom, and invites questions and comments.
Coolness! And now I gotta run — my older sister and her two daughters are visiting today, so I need to make the place look respectable. :confused:
Thursday, September 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Speaking of human-looking facial expressions, Comstock Films (the folks who made Marie & Jack) are casting for another production:
Comstock Films seeks real people in real relationships for sexually explicit documentary style films.
Comstock Films is launching a new project to produce a full-length film. We are looking for real-life lovers of all sexual persuasions who want to share their unique erotic nature with the world. This feature will be pansexual in nature, and we are especially interested in people and erotic practices not usually seen in mainstream porn. People of all ages, genders and transgenders, races, body-types and sexual interests are encouraged to apply!
Thursday, September 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
In all the discussion Aphrodite stirred up about sex during menstruation, I was suprised that nobody pointed out the fetish angle. Yes, boys and girls, there are men (and perhaps women too, although it seems much rarer in general to find anecdotes about women with strongly-held unusual fetishes) who fetishize menstrual blood. Just ask Mistress Matisse.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my feelings on the subject are ambivalent. The women I’ve been with have been quick to bat my hand etc. away at that time of the month, and I’ve never really been the “overwhelm her feeble protests” type (although that’s a fun game to play). However, I’ve had some good sex in the dark that turned out to be bloody. No big deal. And I’m on record for the proposition that a gentlemen shouldn’t freak out about sex messes. Which, gentlemen, means “No big deal” is your story and you had bloody well better (pardon the expression) stick to it. Make her feel good about whatever happens, no matter what your inner girlyman is shrieking.
Wednesday, September 15th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Goodness. I didn’t realize that my post of yesterday would prompt such a response. Several comments deserve a more prominent response than just a follow-up comment … So, strap yourselves in, and have barf bags at the ready if you get squicked by talk of fluids and fucking. (Or, don’t peek behind the “more” link.)The first commenter posted:
All you say makes sense, but I don’t know that you’d want me to put my bleeding cock in you.. would you?
No, but that comparison confuses the issues. Menstruation is a normal, natural part of a woman’s body functioning — a bleeding penis isn’t. And yes, CID, there can be a difference in the “feel” of sex, menstrual fluid being thicker, if one plunges in without allowing time for natural lubrication to occur (or even if you do allow for that, just ’cause that other stuff is present too). I was somewhat tongue-in-cheek pointing out an advantage of having sex during menses.
Another individual commented, in part:
HOWEVER, I do have a problem with a lady, who after I go down on her refuses to kiss me… :boo hiss:
Boo hiss indeed! I’ve had a similar experience from the other side, so to speak. That is to say, a gentleman reacted with shock and displeasure when, after I’d admitted him to my “sacred sanctum” and he withdrew prior to orgasm, I went down on him. To me, the taste of commingled male and female fluids is scrumptious … but he apparently didn’t agree.
I’m not out to belittle anyone who has tried some of these things and not liked them. What I was challenging is the idea (which seemed to be implicit in Wanton Male’s blog entry, and I apologize to him if I read more into it than was intended) that there’s something inherently wrong/bad/harmful/unpleasant in menstrual sex — or, for that matter, enjoying other normal bodily fluids that happen as part of the sexual process.
If you’ve tried it, and not liked it, well, good on ya for trying. We all gotta follow our bliss, and thank the goddesses, there are lots of ways to do that. But if you’re among those who absolutely reject something relatively benign like this …. well, consider yourselves challenged by me to reconsider. “Try it — you just might like it!” :)
Tuesday, September 14th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Wanton Maleness. What a great name for a blog! And it’s a pretty yummy one, too. However, in a recent post on awesome sex, our correspondent writes:
Unfortunately she was having her “visitor” so that limited options.
What’s the problem with having sex while a woman’s menstruating? Sure, it can be messy, but there are ways to avoid that, or clean up afterwards (hydrogen peroxide is very effective, especially on fresh blood stains). Having to duck out for a couple of minutes prior to the festivities commencing in earnest is a hassle, but a minor one that, to me, is always worth it. (It’s just like donning Mr. Raincoat so that no lives get accidentally created.)
Besides, the question of adequate lubrication is moot, and for most women (but not all — this is not a failproof contraceptive technique!), making happy during menses without Mr. Raincoat carries a lower risk of pregnancy. For me, on the few occasions I’ve had bad menstrual cramps, a nice romp has worked better than any pharmaceutical nostrum.
So, am I a weirdo sex-fiend sex goddess? Maybe … but I will admit to being squicked by the idea of cunnilingus during my period. So I’m not completely uninhibited either. :crazy:
Thursday, September 9th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I may incur Bacchus’ wrath with this post; and it may be construed as endorsing an activity I cannot recommend to anyone, but this whole idea is just too wacky to me to resist.
I found this interesting site: Votergasm. The idea is that people pledge to vote, and hook up with other Votergasm members on election day, after voting. (It’s the voting I don’t recommend, not the sex, of course! :P)
Sex is certainly a powerful incentive for lots of people, but this has me scratching my head. Mixing up something that can be as healthy and happy as sex with something that’s almost always dirty — politics — just doesn’t seem like a good idea. What would happen if two hotties hook up, then discover one went for ass, while the other prefers trunk? Oh, the humanity! :confused:
If you must discuss, please remember Bacchus’ rules for politeness.
Wednesday, September 8th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Everybody does it from time to time … solo sex, that is. So what’s the big deal? Masturbating’s a good way of dealing with unmet sexual needs, whether a person is single or not, I’ve always thought.
Turns out some folks, like The Good Wife, may have good reason for seeing red. Almost a month later, she’s still thinking about being denied the pleasure of her husband’s company. She’s bothered enough to ask for reader feedback on whether a sweetie’s solo sex bothers them. I guess I’m lucky that I’ve never had a guy go on a sex-as-power trip with me yet. But it’s sad, sad, sad that so many people — men and women — get such rides.
Oh, yes, before I forget, there is one positive element to The Good Wife’s recent “questionnaire” — it’s a yummy image atop the post. Madeja look! :laugh:
Tuesday, September 7th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I forgot it was the Labor Day weekend! I’ve been busy the past few days getting the place squared away before fall’s chill begins kissing the land — it happens early where I live. I also took the opportunity to freshen up my bedroom. I painted it a deep blushing-pink almost-red shade, and it’s gorgeous. It looks like a spectacular sunset all the time (and when the sun does come into my room, in the late afternoon and evening, it’s all the more dazzling).
Seeing the paint going on and drying, and being even prettier than I had hoped when I selected the shade, got me thinking about what an even nicer love-making nest this room will be in its new color scheme. And that got me to thinking back on past good times … and the best time I’ve had, sexually speaking, so far.
The guy wasn’t a great love of my life; I can’t even really say that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. He was in a college class with me. One night I saw him at a bar, and he was the only guy I knew there so I started talking to him. We hooked up that night, and it was pretty good … but that’s all.
We got together occasionally, but our schedules never really lined up well to get together a lot. As it happened, our last time, toward the end of the semester, was far and away the best sex of my life …J and I always had fun together, joking and laughing, even during sex sometimes. I told him after class one day that I always seemed to have thoughts running through my head — not just consciousness of what I was doing, but “word-based stuff” in my head. I’d tried meditation to help clear my mind and focus it, but it hadn’t succeeded. That was hard for him to understand, and he declared he was making a project of helping me clear my mind. For weeks afterward, he’d do silly things to try to jolt my brain out of thinking. Nothing worked, but it was fun anyway.
On an early December Friday night, I was getting stressed out by projects and upcoming exams, and decided to go for a walk. My college town was small, and a short walk from the edge of campus was all it took to get to the farmers’ fields that surrounded the town. A half moon grinned through platinum ribbons of high cloud; a few corn canes clattered in the occasional push of chill air. My pace was slow as I soaked in the quiet and cold, both soothing my mind.
Having gone about a mile down the road, I was surprised to hear footsteps behind me — not hurried ones, but deliberate and measured, like mine. Glancing back, I recognized the gait as J’s, and slowed to allow him to catch up, if he wanted.
He did. We walked for a bit in amiable silence. Finally he murmured, “Getting away from it all too, huh?”, and I nodded. We approached one of my favorite spots on this walk — a small stand of trees that huddled together, cornered by a small stream and ancient fencing. J inclined his head, and I easily leapt a low spot in the barbed wire, the spot he’d indicated being one I frequented as well.
We lay on the ground, which was not yet as cold as the air. Even so, I was thankful for the long coat I’d chosen. J’s kiss was an intoxicating mix of cold lips and nose pressing to my face, and warm, sweet breath. My body responded immediately, its sensual desires having gone unfulfilled for weeks.
Rather than indulge those desires, J acted as if he hadn’t noticed. He returned to star-gazing.
I cuddled closer, pressing my breasts against his arm, thinking that would send an unmistakable signal.
Nothing from J.
What the fuck?! I thought. J had never been slow or shy before, so his lack of response was a total surprise. I decided to display my interest in a more obvious way.
Leaning over to return his kiss with a more ardent one, I swung a leg over his body and pressed close, feeling J’s erection. As he opened his lips slightly, I gyrated against him, tongue and pelvis matching rhythm. As the kiss ended, J reached up, gently stroked my hair, then firmly grasped my shoulder and pushed me down, reversing our positions.
Ignoring my hunger or oblivious to it, J langorously slid his fingers down my skin, unbuttoning my shirt and allowing the cold to sweep over my skin. My nipples, already taut, crinkled further, then even more as one received the warm attentions of his tongue, the other teasing flicks from his cold fingers. A long sigh of release and desire escaped my lips.
My attempt to return the favor was rebuffed; J gently but firmly pushed my hands down, then unbuttoned his shirt himself. The warmth of his chest against mine was brief, as J slid down to kiss and caress my breasts again. His other hand glided over my belly to unbutton my jeans.
Still impatient with his pace, I moved to help him pull my jeans down. Wordlessly, J again spurned my action and slowly pushed them down, leaving them as an awkward but effective restraint around my ankles. Finally understanding that J would only proceed as he liked and at the pace he wanted, I lay back and contented myself with teasing his nipples and seeing his growing excitement.
After what seemed an eternity of slow, tender kissing and stroking heightened by the contrast of chill air and warm skin, J removed his jeans and prepared to enter me. I was so wet I could have taken him all in one thrust, but his unhurried pace continued. I began to rock my hips in anticipation of the orgasm building within me, but J pulled out.
Understanding immediately, I ceased my motion, and after an agonizing delay he entered me again.
J’s uncharacteristic slowness focused my full attention on every movement, every touch. Slowly in, not quite fully, then slowly out … all the way out? No, thank god … and again … again … The caress of his hair on my cheek as he bent to kiss me, never altering his rhythm …
I felt suspended in near-rapture, perpetually on the edge of orgasm. Then a slight increase in J’s pace and erection signaled his impending orgasm, tumbling me over the edge in a slow-motion release. His full thrust into me as he came sent me off again … every nerve seemed to transmit my shuddering release. J blanketed me, holding me close as our orgasms finally subsided.
It wasn’t until long afterward, when we were walking back to campus, that I realized J had at last reached his goal of completely clearing my mind of words. Unfortunately, I never told him … and even more unfortunately for me, no other lover has come close to matching that amazing night with J.
Saturday, September 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an interesting drawing by Leonardo da Vinci, called “The Copulation”:
I found it in a paper called “Magnetic resonance imaging of male and female genitals during coitus and female sexual arousal“. Despite serious effort, I was unable to Google up a bigger copy of the image. If you know of a source, by all means please let me know.
Thursday, September 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Sasha at The Eye devotes part of this week’s advice column to the difficulties of a young man who is missing the glans portion of his penis, and who accordingly has a very difficult time finding sex partners or having an orgasm, even while masturbating. I was a bit disappointed in Sasha’s suggestions, which consisted of one useful suggestion aimed at helping the man find people unlikely to be horrified by his condition, plus three paragraphs aimed at helping him deal with the emotional trauma of having important bits missing. I’m no sex advice columnist, but somehow it seems like what the man could use most is some reliable advice on coming when he wants to.
Not to be too blunt about this, but the poor boy should have asked Dan Savage. A straight guy who knows very much about this is either uncommonly well-read or unusually adventurous, but “the truth is out there“.
Retreating rapidly behind the veil of literary example, there’s a character in Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle called “Half-Cocked Jack” (along with worse things) due to an unfortunate encounter with a fumble-fingered barber, a white-hot iron, and the French Pox. His good fortune it was to fall in with a young but very well-read harem slave-girl from Constantinople. When she observes his deficiency, she’s quick to point out that “certain arts have been taught to me from Books of India.” Later in the book, there’s a scene where she and Jack are lounging in a hot springs:
Eliza laughed gaily. “Fist? Jack, this is but two fingers. A fist would be more like — this!”
Jack felt his body being turned outside in — there was some thrashing and screaming that was cut short when his head accidentally submerged in the sulfurous water. Eliza got a grip on his hair and hauled his head back up into the cold air with her other hand.
“You’re sure this is how they do it in India?”
“Would you like to register … a complaint?”
“Aaugh! Never.”
“Remember, Jack: whenever serious and competant people need to get things done in the real world, all considerations of tradition and protocol fly out the window.”
There followed a long and mysterious procedure — tedious and yet somehow not.
“What’re you groping about for?” Jack muttered faintly. “My gall-bladder is just to the left.”
“I’m trying to locate a certain chakra — should be somewhere around here –”
“What’s a chakra?”
“You’ll know when I find it.”
Some time later, she did, and then the procedure took on greater intensity, to say the least. Suspended between Eliza’s two hands, like a scale in a market-place, Jack could feel his balance-point shifting as quantities of fluids were pumped between internal reservoirs, all in preparation for some Event. Finally, the crisis — Jack’s legs thrashed in the hot water as if his body were trying to flee, but he was staked, impaled. A bubble of numenous light, as if the sun were mistakenly attempting to rise inside his head. Some kind of Hindoo apocalypse played out. He died, went to Hell, ascended into Heaven, was reincarnated as various braying, screeching, and howling beasts, and repeated this cycle many times over. In the end he was reincarnated, just barely, as a Man. Not a very alert one.
“Did you get what you wanted?” she inquired. Very close to him.
Admittedly harem girls from Constantinople aren’t as easy to whistle up as they used to be, but why couldn’t Sasha (herself a serious and competant person) at least have pointed our half-cocked young man toward the purchase a prostate-massaging anal toy?
Similar Sex Blogging:
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?”
Wednesday, September 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This comes from a mostly-bogus news story about the alleged outrage generated by frolicking fruits on a candy wrapper. You can go to Boing Boing if you need the journalistic details all straight, but you can enjoy the image right here:
When all is said and done, though, I have to admit that the Fleshbot candy is better.
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:
Saturday, August 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
A gratuitous sex picture to brighten your weekend, courtesy of Real Fucking Couples:
Isn’t that some hot sexual hair pulling?
Note: Real Fucking Couples is defunct and no longer exists, but it was an early effort to go vanilla/mainstream by the company that became Kink.com.
Friday, August 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From Naked Protesters, here’s a picture of today’s street theater in New York City:
Wednesday, August 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The best-written line I’ve seen in a long time:
“Esau forbid we sell our liberties for a mess of pottage and don’t even get the pottage.”
From “ID, I Don’t: When should the government be able to demand our papers?” at Reason Online.
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.
Friday, August 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I don’t exactly know what to make of this, but it’s certainly apropos to the threads about diamonds. In fact, I’m just pulling it out of the comments to the Buying Sex With Diamonds thread so people can see it.
I blew more than $30k on my wife’s new 3.2 ct. ring for our 15th anniversary in June. I had long since given up on ever getting any booty action, but she is the perfect wife otherwise, so I wanted to really show her my love and regard.
Well, she was just stunned, I mean speechless. That very night she rolled over for me and invited me into the cavern of my dreams. YES!
The best part is, it turns out she actually found that she liked it. She is becoming a little anal freak and I love it. At first she would just move so things “slipped” a little during lovemaking, but now she is absolutely shameless… rolling over, spreading her cheeks, and demanding sodomic satisfaction in the filthiest terms.
I would gladly have paid three times more to achieve these results. I am a happy, happy, happy, but much poorer man.
Friday, August 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I pretty much think these pictures speak for themselves, when viewed in the proper sequence:
Thanks to Ropeguy at Bondage Blog for the pictures.
Wednesday, August 11th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Not — so not — making this up. From the Village Voice:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Everything Is Funnier With Monkeys. If J. Fred Muggs, Lancelot Link, or zoo-house fecal tossing have taught us anything, it is that every human endeavor is enriched by the addition of a screaming, leg-humping, ass-biting primate. Even, say, sex education. I beg your pardon? you might ask. Clearly you’re not acquainted with the strangest children’s book of the 19th century Sammy Tubbs, the Boy Doctor, and Sponsie, the Troublesome Monkey (1874).
…
It’s a Victorian sex-ed manual. For children. Starring a monkey.
Tuesday, August 10th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Running this sex blog, I’ve been privileged to read millions of the words people write about the schemes and strategies they use to attract and keep sexual partners. Few writers on the topic manage to be as succinct as Ice Ice Baby, writing at Wax A Chump Like A Candle in the blog section at Bondage.com:
I will have him. Oh yes, I will.
Capture the mind. Feed the belly. Drain the cock.
He’s mine.
Yeah, that about covers the essentials.
Monday, August 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From a random thread about the domain name speculation business, this post fragment made me chortle:
I dropped over $300k in the past 6 months building my [domain name] portfolio. and my girlfriend’s not too happy….
Her: “Do you know how big a diamond you could’ve bought instead?”
Me: “Yeah, but the domain name is an investment in my future.”
Doghouse!
Friday, August 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an explicit example of the famous “Shunga” style of 19th Century Japanese art:
Found at this large shunga gallery.
Wednesday, August 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I get a lot of odd mail. But this has to be about the lamest message I ever got:
From: “neeeeeeeeeeeed” {xxxxxxxx_xxx@hotmail.com}
To: {bacchus@erosblog.com}
Sent: Wednesday, August 04, 2004 4:35 AM
Subject: i am need
i am need picuters sex plezzzzzzzz
Somewhere out there there’s someone who wouldn’t recognize a clue if it ate him.
Monday, August 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Danor inquires:
Dear Miss Manners: My boyfriend and I very much enjoy giving each other head, and we are both very good at it. However, shortly after an explosive orgasm on his part, whereas my tendency is to keep sucking on his penis with the same enthusiasm and painstakingly perfected technique which I have been employing throughout the blowjob, he quickly begins making high-pitched whimpering noises, groaning “No more!” and pushing my head away from his crotch. I gather from his reaction that the intensity of pleasure has reached a pitch which he no longer finds bearable, and I have always considered that the courteous response is to withdraw and let him catch his breath. However, when I have had multiple orgasms from cunnilingus and try to wriggle away to indicate my fear that I may lapse into unconsciousness if he continues his activity, he simply grasps my hips more firmly and continues with more vigor than ever! Should I take this as an indication that he wishes me to override his requests for “no more” as well?
Discuss among yourselves.
Monday, August 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
A recent Adrants article reproduces two spoof diamond ads which recycle this old joke with a sharper edge. Ouch!
As for the place where Adrants found the spoof ads: I’d love to link it, but not while it’s got a craven popup that makes you click “OK” before you can see the page. Memo to Luke Ford: Which side are you on?
Sunday, August 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
So I was reading National Geographic when I found this unlikely statement:
Some states, like Montana, are bringing down the hammer on their clothing-optional residents. A first offense for skinny-dipping means six months in jail; a second offense garners one year; a third offense, a hundred years. “It causes you to sit up and say, My gosh, who thinks these kinds of prison sentences make sense?” Morton said.
A hundred freakin’ years? For skinny dipping? I’ve been to Montana, they can be conservative but they aren’t stupid. I’ve shaken the hands of several people I suspect of having skinny-dipped in Montana, and hugged at least one more. I had to check this out.
Turns out Montana law isn’t quite that crazy. Under Section 45-5-504 of the Montana Code, that draconian 100 year penalty is for a third conviction for “indecent exposure”:
(1) A person commits the offense of indecent exposure if the person knowingly or purposely exposes the person’s genitals under circumstances in which the person knows the conduct is likely to cause affront or alarm in order to:
(a) abuse, humiliate, harass, or degrade another; or
(b) arouse or gratify the person’s own sexual response or desire or the sexual response or desire of any person.
I’m thinking it would be tough to convict the average skinny dipper under that statute. “Hey, it was dark! How was I supposed to know that Granny Grundy was watching the river through night vision goggles?”
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:
Thursday, July 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Elle at Girls In The Bag writes:
i havent had sex for a while. i want to be ravished. thrown down, as it were.
i often make the claim that the majority of women want to be thrown down and fucked (by their significant other that is) and not sexily and gently seduced.
i for one do not want to be seduced one bit. in fact it frustrates me and i hate it. do not gently stroke me. ever.
Tuesday, July 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a sex poem by a QUOTE thirteen year old virginity enthusiast UNQUOTE.
We won’t fall into bed ’til we’re legally wed!
We will not heave [sic] sex; this is what we have said.
We’re not falling for the old standards; we’ll tell you that now.
It’s not bad! Don’t have a cow!
Virginity rules so we’re protecting our rights,
Our bodies are treasures; we won’t give ’em up without a fight.
Sex is serious; perversions we won’t allow.
Abstinence is the way … it’s your right … decide now!
Spotted over at How To Live.
Tuesday, July 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Looks like the PETA slogan needs updating. Seriously:
Friday, July 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I don’t usually visit Wonkette, but today I’m glad I did, because I got to see the most evocative asterisk ever:
“Huh-huh, Beavis, he said ASSterisk….”
Tuesday, July 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I almost never link to LiveJournal sites, because they aren’t really public internet resources; a random surfer usually doesn’t have commenting privileges, and the service makes it easy to hide certain posts, password them, and play other little “it’s my treehouse and you aren’t invited” kiddie games. And it’s also been my experience that blogs hosted on blog services are much more likely to go *poof* and vanish.
I reluctantly made an exception for Vintage Sex, which was (note the past tense) a wonderful resource for vintage dirty pictures. Alas, the folks who run LiveJournal just made Vintage Sex delete essentially its entire archive and turn the site into a “closed adults community” where new posts will apparently be visible only to select LiveJournal members (“select” meaning “willing to lie about their age”). In other words, Vintage Sex has been gutted, and the steaming carcass has been evicted from the public internet.
The reason? Apparently someone sent LiveJournal an email alleging that teenagers might have viewed the site.
Vintage Sex will be missed. Moral: Anything worth doing on the internet is worth doing at your own domain that you control.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, July 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Remember Joanne Web, the woman who was arrested and prosecuted earlier this year for selling sex toys in Texas? Well, after keeping her under a prosecutorial cloud for months, the county attorney dropped the charges “to prevent wasting county resources.” Gee, you think?
Thanks to Freedom News for the link.
Sunday, July 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a porn site that seems to do a better than usual job of showing sex that looks like real sex, with smiles and attractive-but-not-plastic bodies and backgrounds that aren’t obviously porn sets. I quite enjoyed this bit of backyard nookie, courtesy of Real Fucking Couples:
This is a scenario any humble citizen can place himself into. Just hangin’ with the wife in the backyard on a sunny day, when she smiles over real nice. One thing leads to another…
And so forth. A bit more honest than the over-produced stuff, and a lot hotter!
Note: Real Fucking Couples is defunct and no longer exists, but it was an early effort to go mainstream by the company that became Kink.com.
Saturday, July 3rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This Wired article discusses Sociolotron, an online roleplaying game (currently in beta) with mechanics that allow sex, bondage, even rape. The article talks a lot about the experience of players who are “raped” in game. It sounds to me like the engine is of broader interest, if only because it brings some of the social freedoms of ancient MUDs into the MMORPG world of today. Critically missing from the Wired article: screen shots.
Thanks to Daze for the link.
Thursday, July 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
It always amuses me when I link to something and then all the other big blogs link to it weeks later.
Thursday, July 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There’s a certain irony to this, given the way Fox commentators tend to froth away about porn. Notice the balls and cock entering a pussy there in the middle of the screen, under the text that says “slut chat”?
But what’s really funny is, the producers blurred out her left nipple.
Monday, June 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
We’re running out of month, so it must be time for this:
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.
Thursday, June 24th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Since I’m obviously not going to be winning the political correctness sweepstakes any time soon, I might as well post this picture of the gun-shaped vibrator:
Now that’s an object fraught with enough symbolism to fuel two whole weeks of heated discussion in a Women’s Studies classroom near you.
Found the picture on this archive page for SF Gate columnist Mark Morford.
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
National Penis Month is not forgotten. This is from a panel in a French-language comic book found on alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. cartoons:
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
People who condemn prostitution would do well to remember that there are always women for whom it offers a vastly better life than their next best alternative. I’ll let an Iranian brothel worker speak for herself on this point:
How old are you?
I’m fifteen.
Why did you leave home?
One day I was coming home from school when Abbas started following me, asking for alms. Every day for a week he followed me home, but I ignored him. Then one day I answered, and my brother happened to see me. He went straight to my father. That night my father beat me until my whole body was black and blue. Then he locked me in the cellar. There were rats down there. I screamed and shouted, but no one came to help me. I thought I was going to die from fright. The next day, after my father had gone to work, my sister passed a piece of bread and some cheese to me under the cellar door. For a whole month she did that every day. For a whole month I didn’t wash or change my clothes. There was a pit in the cellar where I went to the bathroom. Finally, I broke a window in the middle of the night and managed to escape into the street. I had no chador, so I stole one from the mosque. I was on my way to the bus terminal when I was picked up by the police. At six o’clock in the morning, they took me back home. I was beaten again. This time my father hung me by my feet from the hook he used to hang slaughtered lambs. That night my sister cut me down. She said, “Go.” I said, “He’s going to kill you.” She said, “You go, I’ll think of something.” She gave me a chador and some money. I went straight to the town square, found a ride, and came to Teheran.
And what do you do now?
I work in a house. The madam I work for pays me and lets me go out for walks.
Do you want to go home?
No. Once I called and spoke to my sister. She said that my father beat her for a week after I left, so she would tell him where I was. And my mother told her that if she sees me she’ll burn me alive.
Why?
My mother says that since I am going to burn in the next life, it is her duty to set fire to me in this one.
Thanks to Daze for the link.
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Diablo from Pussy Ranch has been doing working the phone sex lines lately, and she offers trenchant advice:
Note to callers: If you’re sharing an elaborate gay buttfuck fantasy with me, don’t randomly interject “Oh, and while the one guy is fucking me up the ass, I want Jennifer Love Hewitt to suck my dick.” I will bust a gut laughing, so don’t act all wounded about it.
And some etiquette as well, complete with grammar tips:
In an awkward attempt to transition to the action-packed phase of our interaction, I will say, “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
You always — always! — reply, “You.”
Excuse me while I heave with laughter. I’ve never heard anything quite so clever! Except, you know, the last four guys said the exact same thing.
Variations on this reply include “Green-eyed blondes,” “Hot chicks,” or, my personal favorite, “Watch girls suck my cock.”
Allow me to explain something: When I asked you what you like to do, I was using the implied imperfective tense of the verb. As in, “What do you like to do, as an ongoing thing, meaning something you have actually done.” I didn’t say “What would you like to do?” I didn’t say, “In a perfect world, where you look like Heath Ledger and don’t live with your mother, what might you enjoy doing?
Tuesday, June 22nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
If you look at very much internet porn, you cannot possibly have avoided stumbling across an electro-sex site like Wired Pussy. If you ever wondered what e-stim was all about, Dan Savage explains it all. Since it’s Dan, dicks are involved. However, I am reliably informed they don’t have to be. For the ladies, electrically charged huge gleaming steel dildos are not unheard of:
Thanks to Matisse for the link.
Saturday, June 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Free-Market.Net in its Spotlight on Sexual Freedom quotes libertarian activist and former prostitute Norma Jean Almodovar on one of the many arguments that get raised against a free market in sex:
“If the reason society continues to arrest men and women who engage in prostitution is that it is degrading, then perhaps someone could explain how going to jail, being strip-searched, checked for lice, and asked to undress in front of dozens of insensitive guards and inmates somehow resolves this problem.”
Of course the answer is that cops and prison guards would demand higher pay if they didn’t get free peep shows in the workplace.
Just kidding. The real answer is that society doesn’t criminalize hooking because it’s degrading to the participants. Society criminalizes hooking because too many “respectable” women hate competition. More precisely, they hate the fact that prostitution puts limits on the ancient game of “do what I want or you won’t get any tonight.”
Friday, June 18th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Have you ever seen a more shameless attempt to trawl for search engine hits?
So sue me.
I had missed it, but apparently dirty old men everywhere are now celebrating the fact that the Olsen twins are finally legal. Fleshbot has the story covered. And how! They’ve even come up with fake morphed Olsen twins porn.
Sorry, no penises in this post. Patience, my sweets, the day is young.
Wednesday, June 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I once visited Russia during the late Soviet period, at a time when cheesy propaganda posters were still the second-most prevalent form of public art (after statues of Lenin, of course.) At that time, the Five Year Plan was still an official priority, which means that posters saying “You Need To Fulfill The Plan” could be seen on every wall.
The Communists may be gone, but the bureaucratic Russian soul endures. Evidence? How about this story (sent in by a friend) from the Moscow Times, regarding the publication of the Russian edition of Playgirl? The article devotes most of its ink to a concern about whether Russian women will approve of circumcised American penises. Anyway, down near the end, we get this gem:
Chermenskaya and the publication’s founders, whom she refused to identify, studied Russia’s confusing pornography laws before registering Playgirl as an erotic entertainment magazine. As erotica, Playgirl cannot publish photographs depicting sexual intercourse and has a quota for the number of large pictures of penises in each issue: six, Chermenskaya said.
A penis quota! Only in Russia.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, June 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Has any one of my faithful readers never had a female coworker who needed to be sentenced to six hours in this chair?
I thought not.
Picture lifted from Bondage Blog.
Monday, June 14th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Despite an unwavering preference for genitalia with live warm people attached, I did previously link to the story about Rasputin’s penis. Comes now a much better Yahoo photograph, complete with pretty blonde examining the goods:
Of course, the thing itself remains pretty hideous.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, June 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Don’t worry, ladies, National Penis Month continues. Although I don’t see how any of my male readers could possibly object to this one, all things considered:
I have another shot from this photo series which I may post another day….
Picture is from my alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage directory.
Sunday, June 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I recently stumbled across this interesting article on the use of sexual imagery in propaganda. The article is profusely illustrated, but unfortunately the image quality tends to be rather low. Here’s one of the clearer ones:
From the article:
During the Korean War the above leaflet was released in both Chinese and Korean versions. The leaflet above is the Chinese version and depicts a Chinese woman being raped by a horrific looking Russian soldier while two other soldiers hold another poor woman prisoner while they wait their turn. The message, intended for Chinese soldiers fighting in Korea, was for them to stop fighting and return to China to “Guard your Homes and Protect Your Country.”
Saturday, June 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
As the letters flow in, it becomes increasingly clear that I have for too long allowed my own fascination with the female form to obscure the longstanding ErosBlog editorial policy of inclusiveness. A subset of my male “readers” have apparently come to expect the nekkid wimmin and nothing but the nekkid wimmin. Some of the efforts to distract me from the parade of penii (note to commenters of a pedantic bent: the use of bogus latinate pluralii for humorous effect has a long and venerable pedigree) have now descended to the level of attempted bribery, as witnessed by this email I just got:
Dude.. enough with the penises,,,,heres a pic of my girlfriend taken last nite with a verizon phone
The pic itself is a grainy-but-attractive close-up of a bare pussy, and I ain’t talkin’ feline here. Nice try! But (even leaving aside the unresolved question about whether my comma-loving friend saw fit to tell his girlfriend about his public generosity with her pubic lips, and notwithstanding the fact that Verizon must die, this is National Penis Month, and I shall not be distracted until the crusade of rectification is at an end. There’s supposed to be something for everyone here at ErosBlog, and it would appear that I’ve been neglecting pictures of penises for too long.
Don’t worry, boys, this too shall pass. But meanwhile, a ghost penis spotted at Wisarts and sent in by an enthusiastic and supportive female friend:
Friday, June 11th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
No, really:
Found at Bondage Blog.
And speaking of bondage, Mistress Matisse sent me a picture for National Penis Month. She took it herself, and it’s guaranteed to make your average man gasp and clutch at his crotch. I was going to post it, but when I told The Nymph about it she begged and pleaded for me not to, because she doesn’t want to see it. (She doesn’t like needles, you see.) We eventually compromised: if you want to see it, click this link. You have been warned. Thanks, Mistress Matisse — I think.
Friday, June 11th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
National Penis Month continues. But I figure, hey, if we’re worshiping dick anyway, let’s show it being done right:
The artist is Loic Dubigeon.
Wednesday, June 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Ok, it’s officially National Penis Month here at ErosBlog. National Penis Month will continue until the guys who can’t stand to see dick stop whining about it, or until I get bored, or until it’s July, whichever comes first. Hint: the more you whine, the longer it will take me to get bored.
I stole this particularly fat-and-healthy-looking cock specimen from Spanking Blog.
And since ThatGirl started it: “Penis penis penis penis penis!”
Sunday, June 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
One of the unexpected side benefits of the growing rage for candid upskirt photography is this final definitive answer to that age old question: What does a Scotsman wear under his kiltie?
Knowledge I could have done without.
Sunday, June 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Woe be unto him, who would be deserving of this curse:
May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your pubic hair, may you be forced to lick sweat from the balls of every water buffalo in Asia, and may you forever share your house and bed with a woman like this one:
I get pretty lazy about sex acts that require alot of work, like blow jobs: I can live the rest of my life without doing it, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike them but I wouldn’t miss them either. Let’s just say that I give enough to shut the guy up but I need to be motivated, like if he decides to cook me a great dinner, or takes me out someplace fun. I know, I’m supposed to just love doing it without thinking about what I may get in return but blow jobs are not a labor of love to me….
I’m not saying cutting corners on giving blow jobs is admirable, it isn’t, but I’ve done my share and if I have to use a little teeth to discourage some guys from ever asking again, I’ll do it. That way, it’s got to be so bad, they’d have to be masochists to ask me again. (I only did it lightly, as the last thing I wanted was for the guys to get hurt. I just wanted it to be bad enough that they wouldn’t want me to blow them again.)
Attributed to one “Laura the Tooth” (well, actually just Laura) over on Yellow Curious, the curiously racialized blog where every person mentioned gets identified by race before the author says whatever it is he has to say about them.
Sunday, June 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I get a lot of people who write in looking to get on the blog roll. Whether that happens tends to depend on intangible factors, but it almost never happens immediately. Usually I dump those emails into a folder to look at when I’m short of blogging material; and there’s stuff a year old in there that I haven’t looked at yet.
I can’t offer tips on what’s likely to strike my fancy. But I can offer the following tips on what not to do:
1) Send me an email about your nifty blog — and omit to send along a link. Believe it or not, this happens a lot.
2) Ask for a link…but don’t put up a link to ErosBlog. For extra points, ask for links to your “blog” that doesn’t have any outgoing links.
3) Ask to “exchange” links. I figure, if you like ErosBlog, you’ll already have a link up. And if you don’t like it, odds are you’ll “forget” to put up my link later.
4) Ask for a link to your nifty new blog “that only has one post so far.”
5) Ask for a link to your blog — that doesn’t exist at the specified URL a mere week later.
I could go on in this vein, but that’s a good start.
Thursday, June 3rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a young lady so eager to catch the bouquet, she jumped right up out of her dress for it. If it’s a husband she was after, I’m guessing this was a pretty good advertising strategy:
Of course, there’s always a risk this pic is a Photoshop job. You pays your money (no, wait, you didn’t) and you takes your chances.
Wednesday, June 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Your tax dollars at work: according to this news report [link broken and removed], the United States government has researched the matter and has scientifically determined that sex makes us happy. Profound grasp of the obvious, there!
What I found interesting, although not surprising, is that the study (of 16,000 people) found that more than a fifth (22%) had not had sex at all in the previous year. You know that intuitive sense you get, that a lot of the people you run into every day badly need to get laid? You were right all along!
Wednesday, June 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a nice doggie who has found Momma’s special stick and wants to play a game of fetch:
Isn’t that the cutest thing?
Tuesday, June 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Don’t talk to me about the wisdom of the ancients:
“And it is absolutely NOT necessary for wives to move at all. For a women prevents and battles pregnancy if in her joy, she answers the man’s lovemaking with her buttocks, and her soft breasts billow forward and back; for she diverts the ploughshare out of the furrow and makes the seed miss its mark. Whores practice such movements for their own reasons, to avoid conception and pregnancy, and also to make the lovemaking more enjoyable for men, which obviously isn’t necessary for our wives.”
— Lucretius (60 B.C.)
Found via a link over on Tiny Nibbles.
Monday, May 31st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This is just wrong on so many levels:
But the man in the Spiderman suit seems to be, er, happy enough.
Sunday, May 30th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Functional Ambivalent writes humorously and at length about panties. This is only a tiny fraction of his panty wisdom:
I’m going to admit something here that I’ve never admitted before: There are certain underpants that my wife wears that render me powerless. They are kryptonite to me. When we’re getting dressed to go out and she puts on a pair of those certain panties underneath a dress, I know that I will do whatever she asks me to do that night.
Her: “Let’s go see modern dance.”
Me: “I’d love to. Can I sit next to you and maybe touch your leg in the dark?”
Her: “Tickets are $10,000.”
Me: “No problem. Can I sit next to you and maybe touch your leg in the dark?”
My wife doesn’t really know how much power these certain underpants have over me. (Note to self: Don’t blog secrets, moron.)
Friday, May 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Bell De Jour has written some entertaining Dating Tips From The Animal Kingdom:
1. Our good friends and co-evolutionaries Canis familiaris(the domestic dog) show that when in doubt which hole to aim for, thrust wildly. You are bound to land in something good.
…
5. The females of the bonobo species (Pan paniscus), closely related to humans, are known to use sexual favours to gain status and food. A point to remember next time you’re short of change at the corner shop.
…
12. Time is limited and some opportunities may never repeat themselves. Take a tip from swallows of the genus Hirundo, who mate in midair, regardless of the number of people on the flight.
Thursday, May 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure what’s going on here, but it sure is cute:
We’ve got some sort of outdoor shower situation going on. One woman is getting clean while six wait in line. They are clearly aware of the photographer (since they are doing their best to protect the remnants of their modesty) but their smiles and laughter suggest they don’t care all that much.
Monday, May 24th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This will doubtless offend the “no-means-no” purists, but I think it’s funny:
Friday, May 21st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The market for blog entries about bukkake has been sorely underserved ever since The Reverse Cowgirl folded her blog. (We are still miffed that she vanished without so much as a farewell entry, but there it is.) Still, this humble sex blog fills her footsteps when it can. Herewith: a bukkake song.
Wednesday, May 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The never-ending drumbeat of demand for this simple sex blog to go political cannot be ignored. You want politics? I’ll give you politics:
No, wait. The drumbeat can be ignored. On second thought, just enjoy the pic. Go bother Daze if you want the political context.
Sunday, May 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
And here is your pure-fun Sunday image:
Note the whip — I think doggy girl is in for it!
Thursday, May 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been tempted. Yes I have. I can’t deny it. When the government gets into the porn business, and makes a product that looks like surprisingly high-quality femdom and/or gay porn, it’s tough for a sex blogger to avoid comment. But I’ve been holding back.
I’ve written before about the reasons why “sexual atrocities are featured much less often on this blog than they might be.” Matisse makes the point much more succinctly. She has a wise policy: “I don’t eroticise non-consensual violence.” And this blog is, for the most part, supposed to be erotic.
Troll my archives, you might find a few places where I arguably have eroticised sexual atrocities. What can I say? Mistakes were made. I take full responsibility.
Whuh? No, I don’t think so. Of course nobody is going to lose their job over this. Are you nuts? Resign? Why bother, I already took responsibility, didn’t you hear me?
Wednesday, May 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This card looks pretty innocuous on the outside, but it gets better as you read inside:
Saturday, May 8th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I suppose it comes as no surprise to anyone that Old Nick is sexually depraved, although I doubt the young upstart could hold a candle to good old Zeus back when He (Zeus) was in one of his heifer-raping moods. And I’m aware that artistic depictions of devils and demons cavorting in obscene fashion became something of a pornographic tradition way back in the day when anything else so graphic could get an artist in a lot of trouble. But it was still something a shock to come across this detail from a scene by Fredillo, circa 1880:
Via Demon Bondage.
Saturday, May 8th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
You think Tarzan sat around serving Jane tea in his treehouse, all prim and proper and polite? Heck no, I’m betting it went more like this:
Thanks to Bondage Blog for the link to Water Bondage where this photo comes from.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, May 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This is an actual email sent to the FCC and procured by The Smoking Gun via a Freedom of Information Act Request:
The Oprah Show described with graphic detail a sexual term known as “tossing salad.” It was so offensive that my child’s head literally exploded. Please ban free speech so this never happens again.
Ouch. “Literally”? “You keep using that word….“
Thursday, May 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Or something. I’m not sure I follow the lingo, but at least I’m not the only one:
Lifted without shame from Across the Atlantic.
P.S. Speaking of which, have you noticed that Shell and The Group Captain are now on the same side of the Atlantic and happily eating burgers with vegemite and A1 sauce together? They’ve spared us their transports of delight, but it sounds like they are having fun. Like the man from the A-Team said, I love it when a plan comes together.
P.P.S. I am reliably informed that vegemite is actually concentrated smegma.
Thursday, May 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a link and photo for you. Allegedly, Chelsea Clinton Topless:
Although I must say, it doesn’t look too much like Chelsea to me.
Update: Because, of course, it isn’t. Instead, courtesy Jonno at Fleshbot, we know it’s Abby Winters.
Update To the Update: Courtesy of Abby Winters’s comment, we now know it’s a model of Abby’s named Samantha.
2013 Update to the Update to the Update: It turns out that comment was not actually made by Abby Winters, a person who may or may not even exist.
Sunday, May 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Since this appears to be ugly dick week here at ErosBlog, herewith a picture (courtesy of that paragon of journalism, the Moscow News) of what is alleged to be Rasputin’s penis, on display in a museum in St. Petersburg:
Sunday, May 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Ok, enough grotesqueries for one weekend. Time for some beauty:
Oh, yeah, and don’t forget: SLUG-BUG!
Friday, April 30th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I have heard tales that some of the serious body modification guys have suffered foreign objects to be introduced under the skins of their penises, with the purpose and intent of creating small lumpy scars or bumps “for her pleasure”. Well, in the course of a long internet surfing life one eventually sees pictures of almost everything, and now I’ve been sent pictures of this. I cannot suffer the trauma alone, I must share:
As for me, I’d think the girls willing to try it would be way outnumbered by the ones who would shun it as diseased-looking. But perhaps I’ve merely led a sheltered life.
Thursday, April 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a “marriage enhancement program” that’s not quite the first thing you would expect to hear from your local church pastor. Spanking Blog has an anecdote involving an unnamed church in Georgia that counsels husbands to spank their wives. Spankings should be “firm but fair, merciful but memorable” and are to be accepted with “grace and dignity”:
About ten years ago we began going to a church here in Georgia that I guess qualifies as “conservative.” New members are encouraged to go through a marriage enhancement program.
Our church only discusses this in private counseling. But basically what they teach is that a husband has not just authority but also responsibility to his wife, and that a wife is to submit to that authority. The most loving think someone with authority can do is discipline the person s/he has authority over. So the most loving thing my husband can do is discipline me when I need it!
Our church offers the following guidelines: a spanking should be firm but fair, merciful but memorable. What that means is:
firm – to do what is promised. If I’m SUPPOSED to get spanked for something, I get it. If I’m supposed to get 10, I get 10.
fair – a level of discipline that matches the offence.
merciful – not mean spirited. not in anger.
memorable – a spanking that will come to mind the next time I think about doing whatever it was again.
The church also offers the advice that a woman should be able to accept discipline with “grace and dignity.” When my husband tells me I’m getting one, I am supposed to behave well about it. When the spanking actually comes, I am supposed to do what is expected of me and obey the instructions he gives me.
But don’t get this wrong, it isn’t supposed to be just another ancient remnant of joyless patriarchal privilege. They intend for it to lead to hot monkey lovin’, as everybody knows a good spousal spanking is inclined to do:
Is any of this sexual? Or erotic? Definitely! And our church acknowledges that. We don’t feel like there’s a contradiction in that. And sex almost always follows.
Who woulda thunk it?
Thursday, April 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
A neat bit of erotic art:
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 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a quick digital snapshot of a portion of a Scotch whiskey ad from Forbes Magazine. Ignore the damned deer for a second. What’s your first impression? Pot stills? Or a vigorous butt-fucking?
There’s no way you can convince me the photographer didn’t frame this shot with lust in his heart.
Wednesday, April 21st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Hey, isn’t it getting along toward springtime? With, like, flowers and stuff?
Yeah, I thought so.
Monday, April 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
If you look at very much porn, you’ll know there’s a sort of extreme genre out there these days that involves a lot of over-the-top aggression and degrading grossness, including in various mixes things like face-slapping, spitting, shoving girls’ heads in toilets while shoving other stuff up their orifices, and so forth. It’s mostly not for me. So I was entertained when Eden wrote:
I’ve been forced to gag by having a cock pushed down my throat during rough sex and BDSM scenes. It was unpleasant, but that was part of the mood of the moment, and as such it was incredibly exciting. But a whole site (and there are several now) devoted to fucking a woman’s mouth so hard and deep that she vomits around the cock… and he keeps going? I certainly won’t say it should be banned — to each his own — but I’d pay to see those women allowed to force cucumbers down the throats of the men who had just been using them.
So would I. “Max Hardcore Vegetable Revenge” anyone?
Monday, April 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The other night The Nymph and I were watching an episode of Sex in The City (third season I believe) in which Samantha was stressing about menopause until, to her relieved delight, she began to bleed all over the sheets of her penis-of-the-week. The sheets, of course, were some sort of satin ten-thousand thread count jobs made from select hand-combed tufts of fur from angora rabbits fed on milk and honey by consecrated virgins. The owner of the sheets (and the penis) was accordingly quite pissy with Samantha, causing me to wisecrack that a gentleman never bitches about what a lady (or any other woman) might leave on his sheets.
Only apparently it wasn’t a wisecrack. Apparently there are actually men in the world who need to be told this.
Brad from Dirty Questions writes:
One night I was at a party and met a super sweet girl. We hit it off, left the party to go out for drinks, and ended up going back to my place. The next morning I took her to her car and as I was saying goodbye she decided to break some news to me.
…
“I thought I was done with my period last night. I wasn’t. I’m really sorry and I’ll buy you new sheets.”
…
It’s got to be really hard to tell someone you’ve only known for 12 hours that you bled all over their bedding. Of course, she neglected to tell me that not only did she bleed on my sheets, but my featherbed and the cover for it and the sweatpants she borrowed.
…
Should I have made her cough up the $214 for a replacement feather bed from Eddie Bauer (that’s where the original was from)? Or was buying me replacement sheets enough?
Enough? Enough? Arrgggg! This “super sweet girl” graces your bed, and you’re fussing about a $214 article of bedding?
The gracious thing to do would be to minimize the situation and reassure the poor girl. “The sheets? Pshaw! I have a dozen more just like them. Don’t mention it. Anyway, I have a laundryman who’s an absolute wizard. Besides, the exuberant pleasure of your company has made me entirely too happy this morning to worry about mere trifles like bedding. Now, what would you like for breakfast?”
I can no more imagine dunning a lover for the costs of ruined bedding than I can imagine sending her a bill for the wine she drank in my kitchen. Sorry old chap, it’s just not done, eh?
This is not just archaic or sexist courtesy. Gentlemen, this is strategic. Women, Zeus love ’em, emit at various times from their juicier parts an entertaining variety of fluids, smells, and flavors. And they tend to be freaked as hell about it, which means they are always washing, swabbing, denaturalizing, sterilizing, and fumigating themselves with soaps and perfumes strong enough kill an entire flock of peregrine falcons passing three city blocks away. If you like the scent or taste of any of a woman’s natural juices, you’ll be smart and shut the hell up about any you don’t like. “Blood? What blood? I didn’t see any blood.” The last thing you ever want to do is encourage, acknowledge, or reinforce a woman’s self-consciousness. In sticky situations, it’s your solemn duty to make her laugh and then change the subject real quick.
Sunday, April 18th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This picture is going to have to speak for itself, because I’m nearly speechless:
At least she seems happy, too.
Sunday, April 18th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Finally got around to putting up a link to Suburban Sex Blog, which I’ve been meaning to do for awhile. Fair warning: it’s kind of a downer blog, written by one of these guys whose married sex life is unhappy and whose wife’s idea of talking about it is telling him to “get over it“.
Saturday, April 17th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I notice that ErosBlog got a very nice review from Freddy and Eddy. They’ve got a lot of neato sex stuff over there, I don’t know how I had missed seeing them before.
Friday, April 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Several of you have emailed with the comment that the blogging here is of a lower quality lately, and I’d cheerfully have to agree. One possible explanation is that frolicking with The Nymph has blunted the keenest part of whatever horny edge I once brought to the sex blogging project. However, for the most part, I blame lack of time. The aforesaid frolicking is certainly a factor, but I’m also engaged in a significant reorganization of what I do to pay my bills. That’s eating a lot of my remaining free time in the short run, but in the long run it should (fingers crossed) free up more time for frolicking, blogging, and general whatnot, while simultaneously (crossing toes now) improving the cash flow picture.
So do please hang in there. I may spend another month or three stuck in this “one desultory link per day” blog mode, but I hope to resume normal service by high summertime.
Thursday, April 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Violet Blue reveals the martial arts secrets of the sex shop ninja-babe:
To make a highly specialized weapon out of a pocket pussy is a simple feat. But it is a deadly and sure weapon, the weapon of choice for evildoers and one-woman army-types — so you must take care that it doesn’t fall into your opponent’s hands. Remarkably devastating and packed with tacky flair, a blue cyberskin anus or lavender molded softskin pussy harnesses the powers of painful cuffing unlike the world has never seen. Plus, they’re handy and portable. And guys like to fuck them. Should anyone displease you, or try to make you ring up customers while on the clock, grasp the pocket pussy firmly by the base — away from the end you would stick your cock into, if you have one. The fucking end is the dangerous end, the weighty striking end, and you should handle the puckers and folds as if they were made of sensitive and explosive nitroglycerin. With a small degree of skill, grip the soft end and begin to swing the heavy Smurf-orifice in a circle — any technique is fine; overhand, underhand, or wildly over your head like a helicopter. If you have a battle cry, this is a fine time to use it. Advance upon your enemy, brandishing the wild swing of your now-lethal pocket pussy, inching closer to deliver stunning blows. Caution: pay special attention to the swing of your deadly pussy, as it requires slight athletic ability, and you do not want your secret weapon to accidentally take you out with a blow of painfully dense fake pussy or ass to the head.
Ouchies!
Wednesday, April 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a photoblog of phone-cam pictures … of breasts. Hey, why not? CLEAVAGE! It looks like this, if you didn’t know:
Sunday, April 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There were Catholics singing outside in the street today. But when I looked, it didn’t look anything like this:
Thursday, April 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
It’s April 1, but I could not make this up. Check out the anonymous comment on the link I posted a year ago to the God is a Masturbator website.
Yup, you are reading that right:
“u r sick… i will prey for you!”
I tremble, I surely do.
Wednesday, March 31st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I couldn’t make that up. The news story:
Monday, March 29, 2004
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
State police have charged a 15-year-old Latrobe girl with child pornography for taking photos of herself and posting them on the Internet.
Police said the girl, whose identity they withheld, photographed herself in various states of undress and performing a variety of sexual acts. She then sent the photos to people she met in chat rooms.
A police report did not say how police learned about the girl. They found dozens of pictures of her on her computer.
She has been charged with sexual abuse of children, possession of child pornography and dissemination of child pornography.
Yup, she was charged with abusing herself by taking self-portraits.
Wednesday, March 31st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here are some photos from the 419 Eaters Trophy Room. These people make it their business to engage the Nigerian scammers and waste their time. For style points, they convince the Nigerians to pose with various objects and scurrilous signs, and post the resulting photographs in the trophy room. Some samples:
Tuesday, March 30th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
It’s time for some erotic art to lighten things up. I believe the art is by Fameni:
Care to speculate what’s in the picture the young man is looking at?
Monday, March 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The Village Voice (popup warning!) lampoons the ridiculous straw man (straw dog?) argument opponents of gay marriage prefer to raise rather than treat with the issue on its merits. This is no mere “attack-the-looniest-conservative-you-can-find” lefty smear job; the article found more than a thousand examples of this meme in Lexis-Nexis, and cites five prominent politicians and four prominent religious figures who have worried publicly about this pressing and terrible problem. I’m with author Richard Goldstein: “I hadn’t realized that so many men of God are worried about folks helping sheep through the fence.”
Thanks to Daze for the link, and to Goldstein for the punning word “petaphilia”. Does that have anything to do with this, I wonder?
Monday, March 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I suppose it’s a little surprising it took all this time for the fire and brimstone brigade to come around here. In case you missed it, my comments were graced with this lovely sentiment, unburdened by any actual discussion of or engagement with the topic of my post:
“Whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.”
Which is from Revelations 20:15, although the commenter with the barbecue fetish was apparently too busy visualizing roasted human flesh to bother saying so. Having assumed, for blogging purposes, the identity of the Roman god of intoxication and orgies, I naturally find this sort of badly-directed preaching to be at least as funny as Io in her heifer suit.
Although this particular sex blog is not the place for discussions of Christian religion, me being neither Christian nor convertible, there’s no particular reason why sex blogs (even kinky ones) can’t handle the subject with grace, intelligence, and wit when it comes up. Alas, that’s apparently too much to expect from the littering pamphleteers with the sulphurous savor of burning flesh in their nostrils.
Sunday, March 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Carly at Pornblography quotes Earnest Greene:
Thirteen is the new eighteen, and has been for a decade. By 18, most young adults are already sexually active and have been for some time. Better nutrition and pediatric medicine have been steadily lowering the age of first menstruation among American girls to the current record-breaking average of age 11. It’s just preposterous to expect young people to remain sexually inactive for SEVEN YEARS after the onset of puberty.
Preposterous indeed, as I noted some time ago in a discussion about the merits of porn.
Saturday, March 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Over at Smitten she writes about an event I’m always pleased to be present for — but what in the painted deserts of Barsoom is she talking about?
I can’t imagine why any of you boys like to look down.
- Well, first there’s the whole breathing issue. If you have any luck at all with genetics or pills, she won’t be doing much of it through her mouth. Leaving only the nose for that overrated O2 exchange, I’d hope hers isn’t stopped up all of the time like mine is, as this will make her even shorter of breath. I find myself making little gasps every few moments, like when you are swimming underwater and you come up to the surface for just a split-second before you go back under. Sexy, eh?
- Then, of course, there’s the suction. Let’s say you’re really enjoying a lollipop, and you pull it from your mouth quickly (like when you have to gasp for air), it makes almost a popping noise from the pressure released.
- Additionally, your mouth waters, since you have likely activated your digestive system by putting something in your mouth, and taking quick breaths with a watery mouth makes that’s right slurping noises.
- And let’s not forget the gag reflex; the majority of us who are not ‘independent art film actresses’ still have one. When I gag, my whole body lurches a little, forward, which causes, that’s right more gagging.
- Plus, there’s the crying. I have the most sensitive eyes in the world, I cry when I laugh, I cry when I’m mad, and I find little tears forming when I’m working really really hard at pulling a golf ball through a garden hose. Sometimes they even spill over. In joy, of course, pure joy. Eventually all of this effort, and crying, will loosen something in my nasal passage, and I will begin to sniffle.
Given all the gasping, suction noises, slurping, lurching, gagging, crying and sniffling, you really have one indelicate and kind of gross girl kneeling in front of you. But you boys never seem to mind.
- Gasping. Sexy. This is news?
- Suction noises. Sexier. Sex noise is always hot.
- Slurping. This is supposed to be a catalog of undesirables?
- Gagging. OK, not sexy. But the lurching? We thought you were just lunging forward so you could fit more in your mouth. That’s sexy.
- Crying. Haven’t seen this one. (I’m imagining six macho guys out there saying “Dude, you never made her cry? You must have a tiny wiener.”)
Mind? What’s to mind?
Thursday, March 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Speaking of pretty eyes and smile:
Found this on Usenet. Don’t you just love the cute turn-of-the-century ringlets?
Thursday, March 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
You don’t know about goatse.cx? Or tubgirl? You lucky innocent. Move along, nothing to see here.
However, if you want to know all about it, without actually having to lose your breakfast by coming face to face with the images, the Wikipedia people have the straight dope on goatse.cx, tubgirl, and similar shocksites.
And that, boys and girls, is the best argument for the open encyclopedia project I’ve ever seen. Can you imagine a dead-tree commercial publisher compiling or sharing that information?
Wednesday, March 24th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
That nasty little amphibian is at it again:
No wonder Miss Piggy always seems so jealous!
Monday, March 22nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From time to time I’ve heard someone say something hyperbolic like “He couldn’t pull that off with a dozen helpers, a photographer, and a whole team of Clydesdales!”
In this case, three of the assistants are evidently stage right holding the Clydesdales.
Saturday, March 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From time to time I can’t help revisiting Why Your Wife Won’t Have Sex With You (although I do it in the same spirit as a man goes to the racetrack to watch a demolition derby). The prevailing view over at Why Your Wife on this too-frequent lament of the modern American husband tends toward the “try acting more like a woman and she might … just might, so don’t get your hopes up … decide to have sex with you again someday” variety.
Like the flying squirrel said, “Aw, Bullwinkle, that trick never works.”
On the other hand, there’s a comment over in a “Sex And Marriage” post by Quiver. Quiver gives some potentially useful advice to a man in those unhappy sexless straits, only to have a commenter share a rather more robust strategy:
“If all else fails (or if you prefer, before trying anything else) put her over your knee and with one arm firmly around her waist to hold her in place, yank her knickers down and spank her bare bottom very hard until she howls. Then spank her vigorously again until she begs at the top of her voice to be allowed to spread her legs and offers her pussy (which will probably be glistening wet by now). Then allow her to service your cock in whichever way you please. A woman who has just been spanked often sucks exquisitely well, and on her knees doing it she can look deliciously beautiful, so that may be a good starting place.”
Kids, don’t try this at home. Enormous downside potential if it doesn’t work — complete with sirens and handcuffs and a well-deserved orange jumpsuit.
Saturday, March 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
A long time ago I blogged this photograph of a phallic dessert attributed to those most clean-minded of people, the Mormons. The post has now drawn this denial:
“I am LDS and I find it appauling you incline we have food like that. We do not and I do not know where you get your information from.”
I don’t know which is more funny: the fact that a Mormon is reading a sex blog and condemning the food reporting, or the fact that that a sex-blog-reading Mormon can’t spell and doesn’t understand that the source of my information is right there in the post behind the little underlined words that link to … wait for it … where I get my information from.
Wednesday, March 17th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Courtesy again of Raul Fernandez, we have a sexy leprechaun to wish you a happy St. Patrick’s Day:
First leprechaun I ever heard of who’s got two pots of gold!
Monday, March 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
The latest Ross in Range column (Advice to Women About Men, or JR Uses Your Wristwatch to Tell You the Time) contains this utterly hopeless conversation. Men, you might want to start banging your heads on your keyboards now:
Here is a true exchange that occurred between people I know. See if you can learn something from it. It’s bedtime and the couple is undressing for bed:
Wife, a former beauty pageant winner who had gained 80 pounds in the three years since marriage: “I’m sooo fat.”
Husband, who had been hoping to get laid and is dismayed by this development: “You are terribly sexy. You’ve got great curves.”
Wife, not letting it go: “Tell me: Am I the fattest woman you’ve ever fucked?” [Question for readers: What is the proper response to this? I can’t imagine.]
Husband, wishing she would think about something else: “No, not even close.”
Wife, who knows his two previous girlfriends had good figures: “WHO has been a lot fatter than me? Tell me the truth! Who?”
Husband, thinking the truth will be the best policy: “Well, there was this girl named Mary. I forget her last name. It was maybe ten years ago. She worked in the same office as my girlfriend at that time. My girlfriend said Mary hadn’t had sex in several years because she was so fat no man wanted to. She asked if I’d have sex with Mary, you know, as a favor. Something nice you’d do for someone who needs cheering up.”
Wife: “So, you had a date with her and then had sex?”
Husband: “No, she came over with my girlfriend, and the three of us had some wine and listened to music. Then my girlfriend said ‘Why don’t you two go into the bedroom?’ So we did.”
Wife: “And you had sex with her?”
Husband: “Yes.”
Wife: “Did you like it?”
Husband: “I liked the fact that I was making her feel good.”
Wife: “But you were repulsed by her weight?”
Husband, thinking back to that night and how it had made three people feel good about themselves: “Well, I tried not to think about what she looked like. The lights were low. My girlfriend looked kind of like Renee Russo, and I imagined I was with her, but with some big pillows squooshed around her.”
Wife: “So you WERE disgusted by her weight!”
Husband: “Not the weight itself, exactly, but what it did to her. I mean, she had trouble walking, and that was painful to watch. And no way could she support herself on her hands and knees.”
Wife: “Trouble WALKING? How fat WAS she?”
Husband: “According to my girlfriend, she stopped weighing herself when she got over five hundred pounds.”
Wife, appalled: “So what other fat women have you had sex with?”
Husband, now utterly fed up and seeing no point in being tactful: “She got the gold. You get the silver.”
In my opinion this man made a mistake by answering his wife’s questions, but I’m not sure how I would have handled it differently. Refuse to speak? Pretend to have diarrhea and run to the bathroom? Feign an epileptic seizure?
Sunday, March 14th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here we have a nice graphic illustrating why dragons died out:
Well, you have to admit it might have been a factor. Louts in armor can’t have done the whole of the dirty deed, can they?
Sunday, March 14th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There is no intention that this sex blog should host a long parade of sexual medical mishaps. Nor yet do I want to tread upon the ground that has been so thoroughly and famously trodden by the infamous Rectal Foreign Bodies page. However, in response to the last item Dr_Spaz was kind enough to email this link:
An unexpected benefit of pre-emptive rectal analgesic administration: the “key” to postoperative analgesia.
Moving rapidly along….
Sunday, March 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’m posting this picture (ganked from Bondage Blog) because the duct tape gag provides a perfect opportunity to see what the writers mean when they say “her eyes were smiling”:
Isn’t that pretty? She obviously needs the gag because she has a delicious secret she can’t wait to tell.
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:
Tuesday, March 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
If you had this fetish, what in the name of Jupiter’s Swollen Schwang would possess you to allow anyone to take a picture?
Do you suppose he has a pet name for his plastic penguin?
Picture courtesy of B0G.
Monday, March 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Hormones out of control do some terrifying things. Case in point, from Smitten:
These hormones I’m taking have reduced me to being a girl who coos incessantly over puppies. Dreams about puppies. Wants to make puppies. Somehow, the more normal desire in a 27-year-old girl to make babies has taken a wrongful detour in my body and transformed itself into a desire to start a little puppy family.
Fortunately, Alex is also obsessed with dogs. We went over names for our future puppy this weekend the way other couples choose baby names.
…
Of course, we don’t actually live together. Nor do we have the time needed to devote to a puppy. Nor do we want the expense of a dog-walker. Nor are we going to get one for a while because it’s not practical. But, details. The Pill wants a puppy.
The other morning I pounced on him and energetically licked his face while he was sleeping. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for a puppy?! Are you sure?!!’ I yipped breathily, eagerly tapping my hind foot on the bed. Tap-tap, tap-tap-tap. ‘Do you need to be walked?’ he said sleepily, ‘Should I get your leash?’ ‘You’re so funny’ I said as I nudged my nose into his chest, arm, stomach, and made whimpering noises. Nudge-nudge, nudge-nudge-nudge. Lick-lick-slobber. Tap-tap-tap. ‘All right, that’s it!‘ he said and flipped me over.
Ah, doggies.
Of course, sometimes terrifying is also cute.
Monday, March 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Although I am not privy to the general run of circulating email funnies, and have gone to great lengths to ensure that none of my friends include me in those ever-widening spirals of insanity, I do appreciate the occasional gem that someone sends to me (me, specifically) when they think I’ll enjoy it. Thanks therefore to Sarah, who sent me the following image which has apparently been circulating in email under the caption “A desperate attempt to revive a flagging career.”
However, I believe that caption fails to accurately characterize the true reason for Miss Piggie’s desperation. In reality, I believe she’s jealous of the bunny.
Sunday, February 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Speaking of vibration, the fine folks at Eros Boutique sent along a box the other day with a couple of vibrators. (Yes, Virginia, Bacchus is always happy to accept free sex toys in exchange for a review.) Although they have a lot of excellent goodies for sale, The Nymph and I were disappointed in these two items.
First: Spice Incognito Nail Polish Vibe. Powered by included watch batteries, this vibe looks like a bottle of nail polish and is very discrete. So discrete, in fact, that at first I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on. I finally figured out that I had turned it on, but the vibration was so faint I had to stand completely still and concentrate in order to detect it humming in my hand. Nifty if that’s what you like, but as a guy I’m in the “more power” camp and the Nymph doesn’t appear to disagree. When they sell a vibrator with a built-in cold-fusion reactor so the neighborhood lights don’t dim when it starts up, I’ll probably want one.
Second: I Kit – The Pocket Rocket Complete Kit. No complaints about the base vibrating unit on this model; it buzzes quite vigorously and made The Nymph happy. However, the attachments don’t stay attached very well; even the slightest sideways pressure and they pop off. Since the attachments are small, this raises the spectre of one disappearing into an orifice – which is never sexy unless you have a medical fetish. Also, the attachments are apparently supposed to be flavored (the box advertises availability in “three blissful flavors” including strawberry, blueberry, and grape) but in fact they have a very strong odor and flavor of PVC plasticisers — you know, that vinyl air-mattress smell. You can tell (sort of) that there’s a hint of fruit smell blended into the mix, but it’s overwhelmed by the vinyl smell. Great for folks with a vinyl fetish!
Sunday, February 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This is pure porn, but it’s new and different: Aquafan: Underwater Sex. Pictures are pure sex, but arty too:
Blub blub!
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.
Thursday, February 26th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a little bit of tasty toe porn:
Ticklish feet, whipped cream, and an active tongue, what could be sweeter than that?
Wednesday, February 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Sasha, the sex columnist who writes Love Bites, is an unflappable non-judgmental sort, whose level-headed advice is surely a comfort to her readers and question-askers alike. But I guess I’ve become addicted to Dan Savage’s willingness to pass judgment, especially in cases where the seeker-after-wisdom is sorely in need of a swift kick-in-the-pants reality check.
An example. Someone asks Sasha a question that starts like this:
My girlfriend of three years has all the signs of vaginismus. Needless to say, there hasn’t been much funky lovin’ going on, and though I sure wouldn’t mind some, it’s not my primary concern — sex has been ruled out for other health-related reasons.
Ooh, sympathy begins to set in. Vaginismus and some other unspecified-but-surely-vile health problems that are none of our business. What, paralysis below the waist? Fibroids the size of grapefruits? Rampaging uncontrollable full-body yeast infections? We’ll never know, but it must be true love if it’s lasted three years nonetheless.
The question goes on:
It does concern me, though, that she’s never seen a gynecologist.
Well…yah. That’s putting it mildly.
So much for true love. This woman claims to love you, but she’s got health problems so severe she won’t-or-can’t make love to you, and she won’t even go to see a doctor?
Yeah, right. Sorry, buster, but you are being strung along. There’s just no other reasonable explanation.
The questioner goes on to request info on finding a doctor who knows about vaginismus, which info Sasha provides deadpan. She never even raises a metaphorical eyebrow to suggest that there might be some problem with this relationship beyond the purely medical. She just accepts this deeply implausible situation at face value.
Dan Savage would never have been so gentle.
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, February 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This looks to be from a tent city in a hot place:
Thou shalt not strangle chickens, tenderize meat, or chastise monkeys. Not between noon and midnight. Or something like that.
Monday, February 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’m not entirely up on my anime, but I think this is Sailor Moon after some unfortunate enlargement surgery:
Whoa! When did they start building the little anti-grav units into the implants? Plastic, it’s such a forgiving medium.
Friday, February 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Pagan Moss posted a teaser paragraph over at Peep Show Stories from her “sex filled, campy thriller called Laundry” — inspired by her “scary-ass basement laundry room.” It sounds like fun all right:
Kate took the wet laundry out of the washer and put it into the dryer, along with some fabric softener. She put four quarters into the slot. The dryer started up, sounding like a rolling drum. She stood there for a moment, sensing something wasn’t quite right. Before she could move, her head was covered by a sheet and a hand pressed hard against her mouth. A man’s voice whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.” She couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. She struggled to get away, but the man just pulled her into his body tighter, dragging her backwards. Her feet kicked wildly and came off the ground. He pulled her into the room off the corridor and closed the door behind him. All was silent expect for the rolling drum of the dryer. The smell of fabric softener filled the air.
I want to see the part where she is molested by Snuggles the fabric softener bear.
Thursday, February 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a pretty picture of “that infamous crime against nature”:
One of ’em, anyway.
Wednesday, February 18th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Not my rant, I fear. But Violet Blue (whom I haven’t linked to in far too long) recently wrote a well-reviewed book about fellatio, and wonders thusly about the negative reviews from an unexpected quarter:
Why the hell are Christians reading my fellatio book, and even stranger, what unholy ghost possesses them to write bad reviews about it on Amazon? Like, duh — my book is about a very dirty sex act (the dirtier the better) and the content is… offending them! I can only guess that the book was recommended on some Christian messageboard, the ladies thought, well I spend a lot of time on my knees, why not make Jesus a happy man, and bought the book (I’ll take that money, thank you very much. No, no — don’t give it to the Family Values Coalition, give it to the cute girl with glasses who likes to write about sucking cock). Then they read the book and realized that to suck a cock, you need either a) another nice Christian lady with a (preferably huge) black strap-on cock, or b) a real, non-imaginary man (unlike Jesus). But seriously, in the book I don’t judge anyone’s preferences about anything — religion, sexual activity, gender, predisposition to get really wet imagining Mike Ditka throwing that football through the tire swing talking about erections while clutching my fellatio book cleverly camouflaged in a paper bag bookcover with the word “BIBLE” scrawled on the cover and “Jesus is really hot.” No, I judge not. Even I think Jesus deserves a really rockin’ blowjob. And doesn’t he have like a million volunteers for the task?
Sunday, February 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Sasha responds in her Love Bites column to a question about playing with hot wax. After some quick practical advice (no beeswax, best to use small white candles you can get a precise grip on, that sort of thing), she begins to get creative:
I was also curious about the wax people use to do their bikini lines and legs. Hmmm… how would that feel dribbled on the ass cheeks and other delicate areas, then ripped off? Kind of a reverse spanking. Delicious! So I got out the Test Buttocks and the Andrea Warm Wax Kit and experimented to see what happens.
Three hours later: OK, seriously you guys, BEST GAME EVER. I don’t like to quantify things this way, but I am going to put this in my top 10 sex experiences of all time. Not only is the hot-wax-dripping part of this exciting (you get excellent control with the small spatulas provided, and the wax is a beautiful teal green that goes pearly when it dries), but the tearing is apparently, for those who like this kind of pain, perfection. Tips: put the pot of hot wax on a plate to avoid a mess, hold the plate above the victim and start the dripping from a high level to establish thresholds. The wax can also be reused, but you may find certain impressions it makes lovely mementoes.
You’ve just got to love a sex advice columnist who keeps a set of “Test Buttocks” handy.
Friday, February 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This delicious confection is by artist Raul Fernandez, who captions it “Carmela completes another of her cream-filled concoctions….”
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Thursday, February 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Despite its title, the article “Why I Can’t Rape My Wife” is pretty damned funny:
I’ve always wanted to be the High Lord of Depravity, but being fundamentally lazy and naive, I’ve come to realize that frankly, kinky sex is just too much work.
I broke up laughing at this:
Here’s the secret of cheap bondage: Your partner’s faking it. That ad-libbed knot at the right bedpost slipped twenty minutes ago, and he’s been working overtime to keep his hand in place. That blindfold-cum-scarf? She’s been peeking out from under since you started. Unless you’re some kind of sadistic boy scout, your trivial attempts at impromptu bondage are doomed to failure. You need the professional equipment, pal.
Long but worth it.
Tuesday, February 10th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There’s a great collection of printable Valentines cards at You, Yes You. (A donation to the artist’s beer fund is requested. Sez the artist: “Fuck Hallmark.”)
Anyway, this one is in honor of Jen’s “puppy style” improvement to the sexual lexicon:
Sniff! (And thanks to Eden for the link.)
Tuesday, February 10th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I know that in the current politically correct environment, a nursing woman’s breast is supposed to be devoid of all sexual connotation, and hence off-topic for a sex blog.
Screw that.
This breast of an Iraqi mother is prettier than Janet Jackson’s boob ever hoped to be.
From photographer Stephanie Sinclair.
Monday, February 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a funny picture in the best tradition of found pornography. Doggy style tree sex at its best! (Or should that be “puppy style”? Somebody recently called it that in my comments, and there’s a case to be made for the proposition that it sounds even more fun when you put it that way.)
Friday, February 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a museum-style picture of one of those historical chastity belts with which traveling men were once wont to encumber their wives:
Interestingly, although great and unsanitary lengths (note the viciously toothed slot) were taken to prevent the conception of unauthorized heirs, this device does not include the complete wrap-around iron strap with additional toothed opening at the rear, as was sometimes seen. Apparently the man buying this device was content to prevent good old vaginal sex; if he was concerned about any anal pleasure dalliances with the butler, he didn’t let it influence his purchasing decisions.
Tuesday, February 3rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Well, I guess I’d be happy if the Navy banner went:
Sports fans, gotta love ’em!
Tuesday, February 3rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Hmmm, looking at the picture, a person has to wonder. Does Janet Jackson use one of these handy devices for keeping nipples popped up and ready for hanging hardware on?
“Easy to use: Pick your pump, slide your ring of choice on to pump applicator, squeeze the bulb to suck the nipple and slide the ring on.”
Sounds a little ouchie, but it oughta work!
Sunday, February 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Time to start February off right with a friendly Japanese CG image. I’m not one to use crude slang a lot, but I must confess that a phrase including the word “munching” inescapably interjects itself into my internal speech centers while viewing this image.
Thanks to Bondage Blog for finding the link.
Saturday, January 31st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
It’s just like they say, confidence is always sexy. “If there was one thing that Mrs. Smith was sure of…”
What? It’s just an old TV commercial. Don’t have such a dirty mind.
Thursday, January 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Isn’t it an amazing feeling when you click random blog links and stumble onto a post that feels like the author was eavesdropping in your brain? I’ll tell you what I mean:
I’m a hands-on sort of guy. I love to touch and be touched. But I’ve never been very good at it. The lady I used to be with a few years ago was the sort who always managed to shrug my hand off her arm, or turn away just as I was reaching for her. Always so innocent and seemingly random or accidental, it took me years to catch on to the fact that she just didn’t like to touch. Even early in that relationship, I often wished she’d touch me more. I’m not talking about sex, here, although I could. I’m just talking about a friendly gesture as we would pass in a hallway. A hand touching a wrist, that sort of thing.
The Nymph does not have this not-touching issue. Quite the contrary. She warned me on the phone, seemed concerned even, that she’s “hands-y”. I said “Sounds yummy to me!” and meant it from the bottom of my heart.
Hands-y? She is, too. And I love it. I never want her to let go. But she keeps making comments that make it clear, she’s worried I’ll grow to think she’s clingy. The woman actually jokes (the “ha ha, only serious” kind of jokes) that I’ll get tired of her “hanging on me” all the time.
That’s so not going to happen. Have I mentioned I love it when she touches me? Or, that I’m touching her just as much, and feel like I can’t stop?
It’s like Dan wrote about his Amber (links long gone):
When we first got together, I came to understand how starved Amber was for this kind of attention. She was actually afraid that I was going to get *tired* of touching her. What I realized was that I’d been starved for years for someone *to* touch, and she’d been starved for years for someone to touch *her*.
A perfect match!
We now return you to your regularly-scheduled (i.e., non-sappy) sex blogging.
Wednesday, January 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
My grandmother used to believe that a young lady should never be seen to drink in public. It’s entirely possible she would feel vindicated by this photograph:
On the other hand, it’s also possible the young gentlemen present will be, er, intrigued by the young lady’s enthusiastic two-handed grasp on the beer hose.
Tuesday, January 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here in the United States we are accustomed to a certain emotional transactionalism, a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately style of equitable dealing that, at least in the sexual arena, may not always be a real comfortable fit when it’s wrapped tightly around the different values and responses men and women bring to sex. Men and women steeped in the values of classic American feminism may not approve of the following, but it’s hard to deny that Dora sounds pretty pleased with herself when she writes (at Taken in Hand, link via Spank Directory) about The Importance of Making Myself Available:
It is wonderful when we have sex and I am on fire with passion or I pick up that passion during the act, and it is an important part of our marriage and sex life, but I think the other times are just as important and, in another way, wonderful. Those are the times when it didn’t matter if I was in the mood or not, because he either needed so badly to have that pressure relieved or he just found me so adorable that he had to express it by taking me on the spot.
Those times I do not get any orgasm but I have the pleasure of having a husband who is happy and cheerful and humming. And sometimes he is even able to help decorating the table for a dinner party just because he has got it. To see him like that is a much more quiet and subtle satisfaction than an orgasm, but to me it is just as good.
Maybe I am more practical about it because I am the farm girl I am, but to me it is and always was a very natural thing that the male has different sexual needs than the female. To meet those needs and even enjoy it as much as I can in some way or another has always been a natural thing for me, because I believe that a wife has a duty to be supportive and loyal, to let her husband feel loved and appreciated, to please him and make him happy, and to comfort him and cheer him up and help him to regain his confidence and self-esteem when he needs it.
Compare and contrast: Why Your Wife Won’t Have Sex With You.
Tuesday, January 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Doxy the Phone Slut is back. She writes in her usual entertaining style about the challenge of receiving phone sex calls from couples:
Couple calls are always fascinating to me because, well, it’s not just a guy jacking off into his old Slayer t-shirt in his parents’ basement. At the very minimum the guy has to be able to bag or rent a person willing to engage in sex acts with him.
…
[S]ometimes it is people who have pretty much worn out their own ideas and are looking for new ones which can be a tricky dance of the first water. Because if they haven’t tried it before that means they didn’t think of it. And is that because they would be adverse to it, or because they just haven’t been exposed to it? I once really freaked out a woman by suggesting she rim her husband’s asshole. Another guy got angry because I asked him if he’d ever spanked his wife. Knowing what is out of bounds for people is hard. And if it’s “out of bounds” is it REALLY out of bounds, or do they just want to pretend it’s out of bounds so that you can “force” them to do things they’re trying to pretend they don’t want to do?
…
So much of this job is tightrope walking. Dominate me, but don’t fuck me in the ass. Have my sister catch me jerking off, but NOT my mom. I wanna fuck the high school cheerleader down the block, and the girl scout up the road, but the brownie is OUT of the question. There is serious Forrest Gump “phone sex is like a box of chocolates” karma in the mix. And that challenge is what keeps the job fun and exciting.
Which of course reminds me of the old joke:
Q: “How does a Cub Scout get to become a Boy Scout?”
A: “He just has to eat a Brownie.”
Sunday, January 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a little hands-on (well, mouse-on) fun: Touch Me.
Update: The link was emailed by a friend, but Jonno from Fleshbot wrote to point out that there are lots more spiffy/sexy animations on the site. Numbers 4 and 5: Yummy!
Saturday, January 24th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
It’s a cold winter day where I am, so it must be time to warm things up with a bit of gratuitous nipple rubbing:
Don’t you feel warmer now?
Friday, January 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From Pravda, which as any former student of Sovietology knows means “Truth” (the scare quotes being an essential part of the translation), comes this ill-translated “legend” about the sexual practices of Ghengis Khan:
The Great Khan respected the wisdom of Chinese. After hearing that they possess the secret of immortality, in 1222 Genkhis Khan invited famous monk and wizard Chan Chun from the banks of the Irtysh river. Genkhis Khan respectfully asked him for the medicine for eternal life.
“You poured out sperm into too many women to expect immortality”, Chan Chun replied.
He told shocked Genkhis Khan about Dao of Love — the doctrine of sex as the way to extend life. It was elaborated by the legendary Yellow Emperor who lived one thousand years before.
The monk said that during orgasm a man and a woman discharge the juices of the body, and his/her partner benefit from this by gaining energy. The man striving for immortality can have intercourse with many women only after he learn the skills of throwing them into ecstasies and not pouring out his sperm. In this way he gains women’s energy (Yin), preserving his man’s energy (Yang) for special cases — when he goes not to a concubine, but to a wife and wants her to give a birth to a son.
“Did you follow these principles in your life, Emperor?”, Chan Chun asked.
Genkhis Khan realized that he could expect neither immortality nor one more son.
Thanks to J. Orlin Grabbe for the link.
Thursday, January 22nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Way way back a long time ago, I teased The Nymph about the contents of my sex toy order. One of the items I ordered, as it turns out, was a Wartenberg Pinwheel.
She loved it. Oh, she whimpered a bit, especially when I first surprised her with it. But make no mistake, she loved it. Although she says she likes it better when it stays away from tender areas.
If you approve of squirming, you want one of these. A word to the wise is sufficient.
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 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s one of those wonderful pornographic wallet photos from the old black-and-white days:
There’s nothing new under the sun!
Via alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage on Usenet. See also Vintage Lust.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, January 17th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
While I’ve been busy, Belle de Jour has been up to her usual fun. In an amusing post, she explains that “Anal sex is the new black” and writes:
I fully anticipate by next year Charlotte Church will have a glittery t-shirt that reads ‘My Barbie takes it up the ass.’ Maybe I should make one and send it to her.
Ha!
Thursday, January 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
So we were wrasslin’ a little on the bed, and then the bedding got a little disheveled, and then somehow she got all tangled up in it, like this:
“A sweet disorder…“
Thursday, January 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Wicked/Sweet Jezebel wrote in to share her absolutely stunning new tattoo:
She credits ErosBlog (specifically, the art on this propaganda medallion) as inspiring the tattoo art:
I can directly attribute the tattoo I got for my birthday this week from material I gleaned from your website. Please note the similarity to the German coin you featured some months ago. I, of course, made some changes. The woman tied to my penis is holding her head up proud. Even though she is aware that she is, in many ways (but certainly not all ways), beholden to a penis, or man, she is proud of who she is and what she can accomplish.
We are truly honored to have helped. What an amazing piece of body art!
Tuesday, January 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Some good friends sent me this picture. It seems that when they happened on the scene, she raised an eyebrow and said: “Table sex?” To which he replied: “Table orgy!”
Indeed. And thanks!
Monday, January 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
“My fellow Americans….”
Also, these turned out to be every bit as much fun as I predicted.
More later. Promise. Right now, I have much better things to do. She’s just stepping out of the shower….
Friday, January 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
So many ways to look at this. So many possible explanations, all coyly withheld by the website. But oh-so-undeniably cool, this pink tank:
And I like it a lot better than the last piece of artillery porn that got mentioned here.
Thursday, January 8th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s what happens when hot-blooded young ladies in northern climates are forced to amuse themselves, with nothing but snow to work with:
Wednesday, January 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
When I first got an email from D about his new “Cock Under Lock” BlogSpot blog, my first thought was “eh, that’s about 180 degrees backwards for a sex blog, isn’t it?” But as it happens, the device appears to come off fairly frequently. Apparently D’s lady merely got tired of sharing him with his extensive porno collection. Except on her terms:
I was making a joke referencing a porno I owned, and that E found somewhat repulsive, called “Ass Cream Pies“. At one point describing the kind of cum eating some of the girls do in that movie (read the description if you want to know) . E was so abhorred by this, she said, “that’s it! I’m tying you up and making you drink a shotglass of your own cum. So you can know what it’s like”. I was both turned on by this but also knew that I would not want to drink it after I came. But I was mostly turned on, and looking forward to getting some sort of release.
True to her word, when we got home I was promptly tied down again. She then decided as part of my punishment I would have to watch the Porno in question whilst I was imobilized. This went on for about 45 minutes. I was excited but unable to do anything to further my enjoyment. While this was going on E just sat on the computer doing online shopping and emailing. Eventually she proceeded to unlock the chastity device. I was already semi-hard, but once freed, became almost instantly erect. She started teasing me with light strokes, making me increasingly more rigid. I was as swelled up as I’ve ever seen myself. If that wasn’t enough she inserted the “Tristan” butt plug into my ass. She left the room for a moment and returned with a glass….
Monday, January 5th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Ok, people, you all know that the best parts of the Star Wars movies were the parts featuring Princess Leia as Jabba The Hut’s slave girl. In case you had forgotten, check out The Slave Leia Pictures at Leia’s Metal Bikini.
Thanks to Attu for the link.
Sunday, January 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Time lapse photography of arousal, from “Dick? What Dick?” to “Ready, Ma’am!” in 30 seconds:
If you find the tiny pictures unsatisfying, you know the routine: give the small pic a little stimulation with your mouse and it will grow for you.
Saturday, January 3rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There’s something to be said for loud music:
Thanks again to Your Dirty Mind for pointing to this gallery of concert flashers.
Saturday, January 3rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
On a message board I’m not going to link to because of the sheer weight of dumbassed adolescent misogyny over there, some troll posted the following query:
After you finger a girl what do you do to get the smell off your fingers?
Soap and water doesnt usually work….
I dont like shaking ppls hands knowing my hand smells like tuna lol.
Any suggestions?
Most responses were even stupider than the question. However, one grownup posted an answer that really made me grin:
Find a woman whose pussy you love, and you’ll never want to be without her scent on you… ever. Nothing like sniffing your fingers 3 hours after sex and reliving it all over again.
“If you don’t love pussy THIS MUCH you are not big enough to get on this ride.”
Friday, January 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From the most-viewed section of the interesting Mobog phone-cam photoblogging site:
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.
Monday, December 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
And one box of Ramen in her cupboards, I don’t doubt:
Sunday, December 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tristan Taormino writes of a class she gave at a swinger convention in the Big Easy:
The transforming moment for me came in my class on G-spot stimulation and female ejaculation when over a hundred people crammed themselves into a small room to hear me talk. I took advantage of the venue and offered a hands-on section at the end of the class. The next thing I knew, women were dropping their drawers, lube was being passed around, and I was moving from one pussy to the next. One woman in her sixties confessed that orgasms eluded her most of the time. When I got done with her, she was coming like a banshee, and her husband was taking notes on my technique. I located the G-spots of more than two dozen women, and made sure to show their partners how to find them.
Nothing like getting right to heart of the matter!
Saturday, December 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I had to share this magazine cover. Terrible Oriental Mink Torturers, yah baby!
Saturday, December 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
You might think that for a guy running a sex blog, I’m oddly reluctant to link to actual porn sites. Of course, there is a reason for this; too many porn sites treat surfers badly. Popups, hostile downloads, link skimming, and blind/misleading links abound. It’s a jungle out there.
But: Isn’t it my job to guide you, my readers, to the few places in the jungle that are actually worth visiting?
As it turns out, there are sites on the internet that specialize is linking to huge piles of free porn. Called “TGPs” or Thumbnail Gallery Posts, these sites consist of link lists to advertising pages for pay sites. The pay sites themselves may suck, and often do, but the advertising pages (called galleries) usually have an enticing collection of free photographs or movies.
Now, most TGPs treat surfers like dirt. The worst offense is link skimming; these TGPs will list an enticing collection of galleries, but when you click the link, a script grabs you and dumps you on some other page entirely (usually another TGP, sometimes somewhere in pop-up-hell land). Links which lie about their destination are another common problem. Popups are also common, as is deliberately-bad page design so that you’ll click on the ads because you can’t find the content.
Fortunately, there are exceptions. The Hun’s Yellow Pages is the most, and most justly, famous: it’s a huge daily list of descriptive text links to free porn pages. The Hun has been at this since the internet was a puppy, and his page is as clean as a whistle. And there are others. I look for TGPs with frequent updates, an honest text link or thumbnail picture that shows you what you are getting, lack of popups on the TGP page, and, of course, a good selection of links to free porn. But most of all, I look for TGPs which respect their visitors and are surfer friendly.
Having found a few such over the years, I’ve decided to list half a dozen over in the blogroll bar under the heading “Piles of Free Porn”. The list may grow, and it will likely change from time to time. Enjoy!
Friday, December 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Your first post-Christmas consumer purchasing tip: Luv Linen. “Luv Linen is a super absorbent, waterproof, reusable, washable pad designed to keep your sheets, bed, furniture and wherever else you may be clean and dry during sex.” The sales copy is entertaining:
Luv Linen is unique because it provides protection and peace of mind for love’s messy moments. It gives you permission to enjoy the wettest sex ever and let your love flow without hesitation.
But the product actually looks practical and useful, notwithstanding the moist prose being used to sell it.
Friday, December 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
And now, back to business. The anonymous link contribution of the day: Tentacle Yaoi. And what is yaoi, you may ask? Indeed, you may:
What is yaoi? Yaoi is a woman’s genre of manga (comic books) and short stories, produced by female artists and writers for the enjoyment of female readers. It’s a fantasy form which focuses on the romantic, emotional and above all sexual relationships of guys together.
Huh? That’s right. M/M. Men in Love. Homosexuality, homoeroticism, platonic love. Whatever you want to call it. Two Guys.
So it’s gay porn for women? Nope. It’s a female fantasy of what’s sexually attractive, not a gay male one. Yaoi embodies the (surprisingly common) female notion that m/m relationships are the stuff of high romance and beauty and true love and angst and impossibly wonderful sex five times an hour. Not surprisingly, yaoi gives real gay men the giggles.
For a start, the first requirement is that all the men be better-looking than any real man can possibly be, like the heroes of Japanese cartoon series (anime). The relationships are given a highly romantic slant that appeals to a lot of women, but rarely to men. Yaoi emphasizes the emotional side of things as much as the physical, and the stories happen in a very unrealistic version of the real world. Yaoi men tend to have impossible anatomy and very unlikely psychology. Silver hair, purple eyes, and a tendency to self-mutilation as an expression of love are not uncommon.
I learn something new every day. Who knew this sex blogging business would turn out to be such a tremendous broadener of the mind?
Thursday, December 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
No, not unwrapping her, you horndogs, not yet anyway; that’s still on track for a much-anticipated day in January. Move along now, nothing to see here. Geez!
No, after Christmas Eve celebrations with family, I called to give her the combination to her tamper-resistant present. I’m sure the tender scene looked something like this:
Then I opened my present from her, and began to pull out…wait for it…socks. Yes, socks. I believe she will need a spanking for that. That, or I’ll have to start teasing her by calling her “Grandma”. Which do you suppose she’d prefer?
Although they are, in fact, very nice socks.
Fortunately, the socks were only packing material for a very nice bottle of usquebaugh, so I got a good laugh and then had a delicious drink. Thus was a good time had by all, and the merriest of Christmas Eves for me in many a year.
As for that other unwrapping: the wait is killing me.
Thursday, December 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s Christmas morning, snow is falling outside my window, and my thoughts are as pure as ever:
Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
No, really…he’s coming!
Thanks to Attu for the link.
Tuesday, December 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Sarah at Submissive Reflections has some pertinent observations on relationships, wrapped up in an ironic anecdote. There’s more than this long quote, so read it all.
Christine’s husband, Dan, arrived and he kissed her and she fended him off, complaining about her makeup, he told her she looked beautiful and she told him not to be so silly. She complained about him being late and that everyone had had to wait for him, even though we were all still waiting on Mac. Dan mumbled an apology and stood off to his wife’s side like a chastised child.
Mac walked in a good ten minutes later, greeting everyone noisily and asking what they were waiting for. He put his hands on my waist, kissed my lips and told me I looked delicious. I grinned up at Him and said thankyou. I was wearing the dress He had suggested, a short black dress. I had added stockings, high heels and hadn’t bothered with panties. Mac knew without me having to tell Him. He boomed out an apology for being late and grabbed my hand and led everyone to the table. He made sure I was sitting beside Him.
I watched as Dan trailed along behind his wife and as she told him where to sit. Menus arrived and while everyone was reading Christine announced loudly to Dan that he had better not order anything to fattening, he had to watch his weight. She continued through the meal to make fun of Dan’s receding hair line, tell everyone he had not gotten the recent promotion that he had applied for which is why they couldn’t afford a new car and generally put him down every chance she got. I felt so sad for him but he didn’t react to it at all.
Mac was His usual boisterous self. He had the whole table in tears laughing at stories about Christmas at His parent’s house, keeping everyone entertained. His hand kept sneaking under the table and up my skirt to feel how wet I was, which of course only made me wetter. My hand kept sneaking under the table to feel how hard He was, which of course only made Him stay hard. He kept leaning into my ear to whisper wicked things about where He wanted His cock and I kept whispering back about what I would do to His cock when it was there. W/we were keeping each other close to the edge of orgasm.
After dinner I excused myself to go to the bathroom and Christine came with me. She was touching up her makeup when I went to wash my hands and she told me how lucky I was to have Mac, as He was so male. It was all I could do to bite my lip so I didn’t tell her that maybe Dan would be more male if she stopped treating him like a child. I just smiled and went back to the table and kissed Mac’s cheek.
…
I wish I could say that Christine and Dan are the only couple I know like this, but they are not. I see it often enough for it to bother me. You don’t have to be submissive to show your partner respect. You don’t need to lower your eyes or be a sexual slave to accept the gift of their compliments graciously and show them that you care about them.
You could swap the genders (and discount Sarah’s submissive perspective, if it bothered you) and this would still be wisdom.
Tuesday, December 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
OK, in case any of you failed to notice, this is the second day in a row that’s longer than the one before it. The winter solstice is behind us, the sun has been freed from its cave, and we now have this to look forward to:
Sunday, December 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
You’ll remember the recent dildo bust in Texas. Well, Violet Blue has the solution:
Sell a vibrator, go to jail. That’s the message Texas authorities are sending people who dare to offer consenting adults tools to enhance sexual pleasure — buzzing pink plastic battery-operated novelties, natch. Joanne Webb, a former fifth-grade teacher and mother of three, was in a county court in Cleburne, Texas, on Monday to answer obscenity charges for selling the vibrator to undercover narcotics officers posing as a dysfunctional married couple in search of a sex aid. Webb, a saleswoman for Passion Parties of Brisbane, faces a year in jail and a $4,000 fine if convicted. “What I did was not obscene,” Webb said. “We have a real problem with drugs in our schools,” she said, “and they’re using our narcotics officers to entrap me for selling a vibrator.”
Obviously, a bust of this nature sends a call of alarm to us in the dildo-slinging biz — clearly, Texas authorities have never experienced the mind-bending, fist-clenching, hallucination-inducing orgasms made possible by a trusty and reliable vibrator. I’m answering that call by declaring a State of Orgasmic Emergency for all Texas authorities, and urging readers to participate in an Orgasms for Texas Authorities Drive. I urge each reader to buy one vibe, and give it (whatever you do, don’t sell it to them) to the needy Narcotics Task Force at the Johnson County Sheriff’s Office, Administration Building 1102 E. Kilpatrick, Cleburne TX, 76021. Just think — three pennies a day for one year (like the year Joanne Webb might spend in jail) could be all it takes to give an inexpensive Low Rider and end this tragic state of emergency.
Violet has more commentary on her blog. But I can’t recommend that you buy the vibes from Violet’s employer, because those usually-worthy wenches refused to include her suggestion in their marketing letter, which she writes.
Saturday, December 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I assume that this is totally innocent. However, when I saw it in a store just now I just about died laughing. Ladies and gentlemen, I present berry-flavored Rimming Sugar:
For your rimming pleasure, also available in citrus.
Saturday, December 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This is just too funny. Plus, for some reason it makes me want to start singing “If I Had A Hammer”:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, December 19th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I am neither qualified nor inclined to comment on the contents of this page, which consists of the following introduction and about ten more anecdotes after the one quoted:
According to Ann Douglas and John R. Sussman, M.D., authors of the book The Unofficial Guide to Having a Baby, a single orgasm is thought to be 22 times as relaxing as the average tranquilizer. When you add to this the fact that the average vagina widens 2″ during sexual arousal, it only makes sense to fantasize, masturbate or make love in labor. The following women did just that.
“When Johnny got home around 12:30, we relaxed together on the couch. He breathed with me through contractions and was verbally encouraging. His loving presence was an important part of my opening up. By now we were both aware of the sensuality surrounding birth. Creating this child was an intimate act of love between the two of us, and birthing in a loving way simply and naturally completed that act. As a result of healing, I was much more able to ‘open up’ during this labor. I had finally become able to make my vagina wet and loose by fantasizing about making love to my husband, so while I labored, I graphically visualized having sex. John and I both welcomed the idea of actually having sex during labor (in fact John offered to perform oral sex on me right in the middle of it…what a man!), but I just happened to be focused elsewhere at the time. In the days preceding I had masturbated frequently. I found this to be an intensely pleasurable, loving, and appropriate preparation for our baby’s birth. Laboring in the environment of my own home was crucial to accepting these feelings….The spreading apart of my muscles and bones and the joy of voluntarily allowing my body to do its work was both arousing and exhilarating.”
-From Angelica’s Birth Story by Laurie Annis Morgan
And to think, not a dolphin in sight.
Thursday, December 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I do so love a provocative blog entry title. Here’s another one of those old French postcard style images from the turn of the (previous) century:
The sad thing is, they look bored….
Thursday, December 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From the Internet Archives collection of downloadable movies, some gems. For instance: Co-Ed Secrets. Or search on sexuality for a bizarre collection of ancient sex-ed films.
Thanks to Kaitlyn the Phone Girl for the links.
Thursday, December 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Consult your herbals, ladies and gentlemen! Is it true that ginger is an aphrodisiac?
Buried in the links in a couple of recent posts over at Spanking Blog (where the discussion focuses on the painful effects of ginger when used in BDSM play) comes this startling assertion in an article called Figging: The Art of Anal Ginger Root Play:
Ginger also has a property that puts it far ahead of any ginger substitutes. So it is said, the juice of the root has the ability to cause incredible sexual desires. I have had subs begin to sob, begging to have something inserted into their female opening and to have orgasm. The reaction is tenfold if the ginger juice comes in contact with the clitoris. Cut a small slice of ginger, making sure it has one flat side. Place this side directly onto the clitoris and hold it there. Depending on anatomy, some women will be able to retain the slice on their own without assistance.
Apply ginger to the genitalia while the ginger plug is in place and watch to see if it brings the pleasure you both seek. I have experienced some of the most stunning results with submissives using this technique. I don’t have a perfect scientific explanation as to why ginger cause such an effect but suffices to say it works.
Update: Intrepid experimenters, check Figging.com for your instructions, then experiment and (please!) report back.
Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It will come as no surprise to readers of this sex blog (given some of the pictures and links that get posted here) that there are as many startling fetishes in the world as (it sometimes seems) there are people. Nor is ErosBlog the place to come to find condemnation of any of them (fetishes or people), although as to some (fetishes) this blog remains silent for the sake of my own undisturbed digestion. The next story, from Rebel With A Clue of the Anarchobabes, caught my eye because it involves a fetish I’d never heard of, and a stunningly dickish approach to satisfying it:
When I was just out of high school, I hitched a ride with this older guy in a nice car and a suit. Okay, so tell me I’m crazy, but he seemed okay. And he was, I guess. He was a lawyer, very respectable. We ended up going out a couple of times and old mom really liked him. I got the finally you’re going out with the RIGHT kind of guy rant. I could just see her planning my wedding to a fuckin lawyer. And he seemed okay, except for being that sort of guy who tells you you shouldn’t order steak well done and who tries to make you feel bad if you don’t listen to La Boheme instead of Rage Against the Machine.
So the first couple of times we go out, he’s everything mom thinks he is. But then one night we go to his house and we start getting hot. And it’s okay. I admit it, it’s more than okay, I’m getting ready to jump out of my skin, not only my clothes. And he starts peeling me. Then he gets to my bra. And he takes it off. And he STOPS AND TURNS THE LIGHT UP AND READS THE FUCKIN LABLE!
I have these breasts, you know. Pretty good ones. But he read that lable and got this big dum grin and says, “That’s exactly the size I thought you were!” And then sort of rubs the bra together in his palms and smiles in this weird way. Then he tells me to get dressed and sends me home! That’s all he wanted, to find out my bra size. I never saw the guy again and you bet that was OK with me.
You know, now that I think about it, I have heard of that fetish before. Who among us hasn’t known someone with a fetish for being right, at all costs?
Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Women who don’t like typical crappy porn being quite common, ErosBlog has from time to time recommended atypical, non-crappy porn as being of potential interest to such women and to the men who want to watch porn with them. Don Lobo Tiggre reviews Candida Royalle’s “Stud Hunters” in the latest issue of Doing Freedom!, and recommends it as just such a movie.
The review is also noteworthy for the following observation, which might have been cribbed from the ErosBlog Credo, if there but were one:
“I also think the world would be a healthier, happier place if more people could relax about sex, if more people could remember (or learn) that sex is good, clean, healthy fun.”
Just so.
Tuesday, December 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yup. Up to a year in jail and $4000 in fines for having a Passion Party in a private home.
Sex is dangerous stuff, folks, especially when you let legislators get their hands on it.
Monday, December 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Normally I do not stop for hitchhikers. However, exceptions can be made for those wearing suitable attire:
OK, OK, if you pressed me I suppose I might concede that it’s, uh, “barely” possible she’s out on the street in that outfit for some purpose other than hitchhiking. But I’d much prefer to think she just needs to get to Omaha in a hurry.
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.
Sunday, December 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
When I got to college, one of the two poor sophomores assigned to my freshman dorm to inject some sanity thereinto called us clueless freshmen together and spake thusly:
“In a lot of these freshmen entries, they have all kinds of rules. I don’t like rules. So we are only going to have one. Don’t be a dick.”
And we mostly weren’t, and we had a great time. The moral and political lesson I took from that, namely that small communities don’t really need more than one rule, is possibly the most valuable thing I learned in college. Thanks, Josh!
By popular demand, I’ve decided to install a commenting facility here at ErosBlog. However, I’d like to ask you all to remember Josh’s rule. I work at keeping the tone here relentlessly sex-positive and unwaveringly non-judgmental. I may slip up, but that’s the goal. I welcome your comments, but I’m simply not interested in creating a forum for haters, condemnators, repressive creeps, and the like. Lively debate, at times, is to be expected. But nastiness and anti-sex messages (and personal attacks of any sort, on anyone) will probably be deleted summarily. Be nice and play nice, please?
Thank you.
Friday, December 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’ve stayed away from the Paris Hilton sex tape story simply because (a) the tape’s not very good, from a purely technical perspective and (b) I’m uncomfortable with making a public spectacle of people’s private fun. However, I’m delighted to discover that Ms. Hilton appeared on Saturday Night Live and turned out to be an even better sport than the Dixie Chicks:
FALLON: Is it hard to get into the Paris Hilton?
PARIS: Actually, it’s a very exclusive hotel, no matter what you’ve heard.
FALLON: I hear the Paris Hilton is very beautiful.
PARIS: I’m glad you’ve heard that.
FALLON: Do they allow double occupancy at the Paris Hilton?
PARIS: No.
FALLON: Is the Paris Hilton roomy?
PARIS: It might be for you, but most people find it very comfortable.
FALLON: I’m a VIP. I may need to go in the back entrance.
PARIS: It doesn’t matter who you are. It’s not gonna happen.
Thursday, December 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
No, it’s not what you think. What we have here is the product of too much time spent waiting for your food:
Thanks to Bondage Blog for the picture.
Wednesday, December 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Philip from Hot Action has some very cogent thoughts on male sex blogging. I specifically liked his thoughts about the ethics of blogging about sex:
As I see it, my main responsibility is to write as accurately and honestly as possible. I always picture the person involved reading the post and try to gauge if there is anything she could possibly take issue with.
But of course, it’s about way more than accuracy. […]
As a male sex blogger, I feel I have a duty to women to do them right. To give them my best writing, to extract the most beautiful or the most telling image from a situation, to pay tribute to them with elevated [or debased] language.
There are far more ways to make an event “unique and special” than by keeping it private.
I’m ashamed that I didn’t even know about Philip’s blog when I started discussing this subject.
Tuesday, December 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’ll catch some minor hell for this, but it’s true: sometimes (only sometimes, this is a literal statement and not that too-common rhetorical device of cloaking general distaste in vague disclaimer) when I read blogs by submissives, I get uneasy. Although I’m delighted whenever someone finds a lifestyle they find salutory and life-affirming, no matter how queasy their arrangements make me, there are some types of dominant/submissive relationships that seemed aimed at erasing the individuality, or even the humanity, if the submissive partner.
Accordingly, I am indebted to the strong-minded submissive Invidia, writing at The Collar Purple, for her recent pair of essays “What Submission Is” (scroll down to 12.04.03 entry) and “What Submission Is Not” (12.07.03 entry). The “Is” essay is a simple but powerful catalog of benefits and advantages a submissive (well, Invidia, anyway) enjoys as a consequence of her submission, while the “Is Not” essay covers just about everything that tends to make the hairs rise on the nape of my neck when I’m reading blogs by submissives. As Invidia herself points out, she’s not trying to define submission for anyone but herself, nor would I be impressed if she had done.
So what’s the ultimate reason for bring this up, if it’s all good and what’s wrong for Invidia may be perfectly fine for someone else, and so forth? Well, it’s because in reading so many sex blogs, I see a lot of people (men and women alike) who are talking about exploring dominance and submission but who are put off by some of the common practices Invidia includes in her “Is Not” essay. Perhaps, then, there is value in sharing her “you don’t have to treat your submissive like a Houseplant of Gor to play this game; the perfect submissive does not need to be three feet tall with a flat head to put drinks on” message with a broader audience.
Tuesday, December 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Rask the Porn Publisher isn’t living quite the wild life we expect from people in the sex industry. Instead, he works. Plus he has a very dry sense of humor (I hope it’s humor). On Pearl Harbor day:
My ex-wife called today to see if I was coming to my daughters’ birthday party. I didn’t go. I worked. I selected pictures for nine more websites and wrote the copy for them. I did take time off long enough to fuck the slave. As usual, she walked around afterwards, saying “I got fucked today.” Wondering whether such a response is really warranted, I did a search on this blog to see when she got laid last. I guess she may have just cause to think of it as something special.
Tuesday, December 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
As noted previously, The Nymph is a confessed present peeper. So I warned her that her Christmas present would come in tamper-resistant packaging. She got it yesterday:
She says she’s still laughing. I figure she’s madly trying all 9999 combinations, in order. We’ll see if she remembers to humor me by asking for the combination on Christmas day.
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:
Sunday, December 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yes, crazy about sex. But you knew that. Here’s an anecdote from one of the anarchobabes that just had me scratching my head:
Anyway, the sister in-law thing … its Partner M’s sister and her husband. She accidentally found his stash of “penis pills” — that’s what she called them — and threw a bitch-fit about it. According to her, things had been getting pretty sad in the bedroom dept but then all of a sudden he becomes a new man. Regular sex, no problems getting it up and keeping it up — great stuff, right? She gets suspicious that there’s another woman and starts noseying around and finds his bottle of Viagra. As soon as hubby gets home she goes off on him, yelling about how nasty and sick he is and all kinds of mean shit. She said she thought he’d apologize.
But he didn’t. (Heh.) He said he was tired of wondering whether he’d be able to have sex with her and when he started reading about Viagra he thought it would work for him. So he went to the doctor and after some tests the doc gave him the Rx. He didn’t tell her because he was embarrassed about needing the pills — he just thought she’d be happy that they could do it again and told her to fuck herself if she didn’t like what he was doing to be able to fuck her himself. (What a great line!)
So, they’re barely talking now….
Maybe it’s because I’m a guy, but I just don’t get her negative reaction. It almost sounds like she is aggrieved that they are (er, were) having sex again.
Sunday, December 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a woman shaped like a…well, you be the judge:
Ya gotta love those curves!
Thursday, December 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an erotic illustration by Maele that makes it clear what’s really going on with those guys fiddling under their ladies’ windows:
What an instrument!
Wednesday, December 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This was sent to me with the proposed caption: “Why women don’t play football (but should)”:
Thanks, Richard!
Wednesday, December 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I want to share an interesting set of comments I found over at Steve Gilliard’s News Blog. I’ve commented before on how most of the sex blogs I link to are written by women, and how male voices in the sex blog community are so vanishingly rare. When you do find ’em, they are guys like me ‘n Daze who talk about other people almost exclusively. Or we just link to porn pretty pictures. Now, why is that, exactly?
Steve says:
There’s a new spate of sexually oriented blogs. Some are fascinating, some droll, but they are mostly an outgrowth of women expressing themselves online. Not exclusively, but enough to make it an outgrowth of more political and social expressions of opinion.
But what a lot of feminists and their fellow travelers do not understand is this: it is incumbent upon men to be discrete.
The social code of men doesn’t encourage the sharing of sexual secrets with other men, forget women. Which is why Clinton lied, which is why my toes curl when I’m asked about women I’ve dated. One of the big tenets of an adult masculinity is not bragging. You don’t have to do much to let your friends know you’re sexually active. And that’s all that is required.
He also says:
[M]en are judged when they talk about sex. Yes, men tell sex stories, but they leave out the details. Sure, they’ll tell you what happened, but they leave out the details. Most men do not want to know what other men do in bed. Men do not usually hunt down old boyfriends to get details of what they did before. And, no, most do not want to be friends with the guys you’ve slept with. In fact, they like to ignore them. They won’t think they’re good guys or any such nonsense. It’s physics: two bodies cannot share the same space.
Men withhold details to prevent being judged by their peers. Guys do not say “yeah Bob, I really like sucking her toes and brushing her hair after sex.” That’s not anything a guy wants to know about another guy, ever.
Most of which strikes me as pretty much right on the money. There’s a class of guys who tell graphic lies in the locker room, but real men mostly ignore and avoid that, as the crass adolescent posturing it generally is.
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!
Tuesday, December 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a lovely example of cosplay in action:
Tuesday, December 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Have you seen the Erotic Alphabet? It’s full of goodies like this:
Monday, December 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Soulless over at Black As My Soul is something of a master at thinking and sharing deeply dangerous thoughts. Sexy ones:
“What if I was being stalked?” I wondered. What risks would she have taken? Who would know she was following me? Would she give herself to me?
Would opportunity lay itself on my doorstep like that?
How pretty would she look in restraints?
I went to sleep last night wondering that.
You evil evil man. (Of course I mean that only in the nicest way.)
Sunday, November 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another cute bondage picture from the Bondage Blog, a gagged blonde pixie of a girl this time:
The tape may be a good idea, she looks like she might bite!
Sunday, November 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Submissive sex appears to be the conversational topic o’ the week in the sex blogosphere. First our man at Moving On wrote a fantasy and a follow-up piece, and then Lilith weighed in with an “it’s not for me” reaction that treaded perilously close to being an “it’s icky and so are dominant guys” piece. To be clear: she didn’t say that; but she said “it’s not for me” several ways and then went on a digression (that was unfortunately not obviously a digression) about why she can’t stand domineering guys, and she did it in a way that made it seem like she was lumping all dominant guys into a domineering jerk category. This, it turns out, was apparently not the point she was trying to make — as discussion in her comment area, and a later follow-up that’s much more in line with her normal tone of acceptance of alternate lifestyle approaches, make clear. (Really, it was a fine example of that old Usenet netiquette principle: If someone says something that seems surprisingly out of character for them, or looks like a radical change to the philosophy you expect from them, they are probably being misunderstood and you ought to wait for them to clarify before you jump all over them. I’m glad I waited.)
I myself am enormously entertained by a dominance-and-submission dynamic, even though (and I see no contradictions, although many do) I’m as radical as any you’ll find in my support of self-ownership, personal autonomy, and equality-of-everything-that-matters between men and women. If a woman submits to me, it’s a matter of meta-consent as far as I’m concerned; I’m not uncomfortable (quite the contrary!) taking an atavistic dominant role that would be philosophically horrifying, but for my knowledge that at root, she’s free to change the terms of our relationship, or end it, if it isn’t fulfilling her.
And speaking of fulfilling her, I can’t resist stirring the pot with a sexy submissive report from Sarah at Submissive Reflections, whose nice email to me indicated she only has three readers. Well, Sarah, I’m pleased to share my three thousand or so with you, at least for a day or two:
The first time W/we had sex was a week after He had kissed me and accepted that I was His. It happened to be my birthday. Neither of U/us were waiting for it, it just happened to be the first chance W/we had to be alone together as work was keeping Him busy and out of town. When He came to my place He simply said hello and bit my neck and pulled my skirt up and my panties down and pushed me to the floor and fucked me. There was no foreplay and no words of tenderness. It was just a matter of raw hungry sex. Within minutes He withdrew from me and turned me to my stomach, pulling me to my knees and hands while growling at me to ‘present’ and whilst I was still trying to get my bearings I felt His cock press against my ass. I felt so incredibly turned on. He slid His cock slowly inside my ass, stopping when I clenched and gasped, then pushing into my ass again. I couldn’t believe He was ass fucking me without a word being spoken about it between U/us. When His cock was fully inside me He lay over me and bit my shoulders and neck. He used one hand in my hair to pull my head back and reached for my mouth with His tongue. I closed my lips over it and sucked on His tongue and He came in my ass, growling and grunting and filling me with semen. He collapsed against me and I collapsed against the floor and He kept Himself inside me while He licked and bit and sucked at my neck. He whispered ‘Happy birthday Princess’ in my ear and I felt like I was the luckiest girl alive.
When W/we talked about it later He told me that He hadn’t asked if I liked anal sex because His kind of woman prefered not to be given options. He also knew that I would do anything to please Him, and that had been what pleased Him. Had it repulsed me, He said He would have had to rethink what He wanted as anything that did not make me ‘pant with lust’ would not please Him either. I remember feeling tinier than I had ever felt when I was lying wrapped up in His arms. I had never felt so safe and protected and loved.
Sunday, November 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to the ever-watchful Daze, we are blessed with the link to this pasha’s ransom of belly dancers, slavegirls, and harem beauties: Bellydancers and Harem Girls — A Historical/Cheesecake Gallery. An astounding collection of lovelies like this:
Opa!
Saturday, November 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Another nice sex blog pops up. Vixxie from Prurient Obscenities wrote in to call it to my attention. Just a couple excerpts from her Thanksgiving post will give you the yummy flavor:
Happy Thanksgiving Day! The food has been started, and so has TheGirl, much fun was had molesting her as she attempted to do the dishes. It’s absolutely wonderful to discover new things that she enjoys, like butt pinching. (Who knew?)
…
I am also very thankful that when I woke up this morning, TheBoy was on my left, TheGirl on my right, and I was warm, and happy, and much loved. That TheGirl got up, early for her, in order to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade with me. The the other night, when she was going to spend the night away, she ended up coming back to sleep here, “because it’s home”.
Saturday, November 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Well, it’s not quite that much fun as all that. From Reuters:
No, really. An American surgeon who has patented a device that triggers an orgasm has begun a clinical trial approved by the Food and Drug Administration in the United States and is looking for female volunteers.
“I thought people would be beating my door down to become part of the trial,” pain specialist Dr Stuart Meloy told New Scientist magazine on Wednesday.
But so far only one woman has completed the first stage of the trial, with apparently breathtaking results, and a second has agreed to take part.
Meloy, of Piedmont Anesthesia and Pain Consultants in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, is hoping to find eight more volunteers willing to have electrodes inserted in their spine and be connected to a pacemaker-size machine implanted under the skin to heighten their sexual pleasure.
Drat, no mail order then!
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.
Thursday, November 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Shell is reprising her food porn turkey day utterances. Don’t miss her Things To Say At Thanksgiving:
Tying the legs together will keep the insides moist.
It’s a little dry, do you still want to eat it?
Just spread the legs and stuff it in!
You still have a little bit on your chin.
And so forth. It’s makin’ me hungry and I haven’t even had my morning coffee!
Tuesday, November 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
OK, this is pretty funny: Technical Virgin. They say:
But there is a way for youths to enjoy rich and satisfying sexual intimacy without risking unwanted pregnancy ANAL SEX! The anus, tighter than any vagina and tinged with the thrill of the taboo, is the perfect venue for modern teen lust.
Of course, the safest way for teens to avoid unwanted pregnancy while satisfying their carnal needs is to limit themselves to homoerotic encounters until they are ready for procreation. But many boys and girls are uncomfortable with the idea of same-sex encounters. Anal sex, however, can be fun for both sexes, and thanks to modern improvements in strap-on sex tools, girls can enjoy being in control of their own anal encounters.
So, teens, the next time you strip down for sex, remember the TechnicalVirgin motto “Everything Butt!”
A fine parody of the ridiculous “abstain from sex for the ten or twenty years between sexual maturity and the time you get married” message that’s being flogged as an alternative to sex education these days.
Monday, November 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another of those strange images that haunt my hard drive:
Puzzling as this picture is, it gets real odd if you think too hard about it. Why, for instance, does the box appear to be insulated / soundproofed?
Monday, November 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
VodkaPundit doesn’t mince words. He likes sex:
And not just doing it, either. I like pretty pictures of pretty girls in (and out of) pretty clothes. I like the little whiff of sex you get from perfectly innocent flirtation. I like teasing emails from my bride. I like songs about sex. I like getting reminded of sex I’ll never have again, when I walk past the counter of some long-forgotten perfume at the department store. Even better, I like the promise of the sex I’ll be having later this week, when I walk by the counter that sells Melissa’s perfume. I like those random sex thoughts that pop into my head when I’m trying to get some work done.
I like sex as a married man, and I liked sex with women whose last names I wasn’t entirely clear on, and I liked all the sex in-between. I like to make love, and sometimes I just like to fuck. I like sex jokes and sex talk and sex sex sex sex sex sex sex.
…
And I love women. Girls. Babes. Broads, chicks, skirts, fillies, whatever. I’m a leg man, an ass man, and a breast man. I love that line that runs from just behind her earlobe to just off the center of her collarbone. I love the small of her back and the inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. Ankles, backs of knees, insides of thighs. Short hair, long hair, curly hair, or straight. The little hairs on her arms that stand up when you touch her just right. And the scents! There’s not a place a clean woman doesn’t smell good (and a healthy, sweaty woman doesn’t smell better) and no two places on no two women smell quite the same. Or even on the same woman. Variety is the spice of life, and endless variety can be found in just one person if you know how to look.
Preach it, Brother Stephen!
Sunday, November 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This picture is funny for the expressions on their faces:
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.”
Friday, November 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Some very cute sheets:
Don’t fail to notice the strategically placed box of tissues….
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, November 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a lovely picture of a spectacular painted lady:
Friday, November 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Doxy writes about the joys of vanilla phone sex Johns:
Please, any of you guys reading this — whether you ever intend to call me or not — don’t sell yourselves short because you don’t want to anally rape aardvarks with Japanese-anime elastic penises. Phone sex, or any sex for that matter, isn’t all about what’s new and different or what’s wilder than the last. Sexuality isn’t about keeping up with the Joneses (or getting up with the Joneses for that matter).
It’s about getting hot and getting up with what you HAVE. It’s about stretching the intensity of what already gets you going. It’s about that trembling rush that shudders through you after you’ve cum in buckets and that last tremulous whimper of exhaustion. And it’s about feeling so fucking content that you whistle and head for the shower with a grin on your mug.
If phone sex is anything, it needs to be FUN first and everything else second. And if fun for you is fantasizing about cumming on a cheerleader’s perky tits or shoving jellyfish sushi tentacles up Lucy Liu’s twat, neither is better or worse than the other.
Which is all fine and good. But the real reason I quoted it was to honor and celebrate the unforgettable turn of phrase “shoving jellyfish sushi tentacles up Lucy Liu’s twat”.
Let the search engine hits commence!
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 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Katy from Captive Heart responds to the discussion below by writing:
It’s when communication between the sexes gets complicated, that I’m glad not to be in a vanilla relationship. See, when Master wants sex, he takes it. And when I want sex, I beg. We’re never in doubt about the other’s intent, and while we may occasionally have misunderstandings, they are never about sex.
Sounds peachy! Of course, this might not work for couples whose relationship power dynamics are less explicitly specified….
Wednesday, November 19th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Ever since the erstwhile Reverse Cowgirl packed up her digital tent in the night, scraped a pine branch over the digital ground to erase her website and all sign of her passing, and led her horse silently out of the sex blog camp like a cowhand who just learned he’d impregnated the Big Boss’s only daughter, I’ve missed her intelligent eye for the sexy-but-odd. Fortunately, the new Fleshbot is proving to have moments of link-choosing brilliance that remind me of her. Today they even have a bukkake link! Fleshbotties, are you sure you don’t have the Cowgirl locked in your closet and enslaved via the use of industrial strength remote control vibrating panties?
The link of the day, though, and the treasure that really reminded me of the inexplicably deleted Cowgirl blog, was their link to the art photo 76 Blowjobs. It’s awesome.
Tuesday, November 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Just a Gwai Lo quotes a New York Times article I won’t link (because the New York Times deliberately breaks all its links after a week or two, and I don’t link to internet vandals):
The most powerful lesson about sex that TV teaches, of course, is that everyone’s having more of it than you are — and they’re having it with more attractive partners than you can ever hope to meet.
Gwailo adds, about classroom sex ed:
Sure, it taught important stuff like how babies are made, but not the really important part which is how to get someone in the sack.
Ain’t that the truth! And the hell of it is, that glaring omission is so clearly deliberate.
Sunday, November 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
So recently The Nymph was telling me some anecdote about a male friend of hers whose wife only agrees to have sex with him on his birthday. You know the marriage is dead when you’re down to birthday sex.
Which makes this story pretty sad:
My birthday is in about 3 weeks and she asked what I wanted and aside from a Drum set and a kitten I told her I wanted a blow job. She laughed at me and said that a) the neighbors would just LOVE a drum set 2) I can’t have a kitten because she’s allergic to cats and c) “Yeah, whatever”. So then I said I’d like to have sex with my wife on my birthday and she said “Come on! I’m serious!”
Whatever she’s serious about, it ain’t the marriage….
Sunday, November 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an amusing picture that looks a lot like a wedding reception (or more likely, a bridal shower or bachelorette party) gone wild:
The picture is courtesy of Bondage Blog.
Saturday, November 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Amazing. Enough to make a praying man out of me. Talk about an argument from design!
Saturday, November 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’m not a nice man. Last night I had to tell her I got shipping confirmation on that toy order.
I may need to put up a .wav file of her saying “Pretty please? Pretty pretty please?” It’s worth hearing. I never knew I could be so heartless – or that I would enjoy it so much!
In other news, I have considered sending VTECH a stern letter of complaint about the way their cordless phone’s battery craps out after a mere seven hours or so. I have restrained myself to date only because I’m not sure I could withstand their hoots of helpless laughter.
Update: The .wav file is now linked.
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 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Via the spiffy new Fleshbot, this excellent page of TV news ladies who appear to be wearing their vibrating panties. Or possibly they just are very good at training their “personal assistants”. What news broadcast couldn’t be improved by an intern under the newsdesk?
Tuesday, November 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s one of those “news” stories that’s more an illustration of parental terror and the power of hearsay than anything to be taken seriously. The only source for this information is “according to a local television station” and “some teens told the station” – not a named source to be found. If there’s any truth to the tale, I’m betting it’s a tiny kernal indeed. Nonetheless, here’s how the story goes, and don’t miss the fear-mongering headlines:
‘Sex Bracelets’ Cause Parental Concern
Some Teens Said To Use Bracelets To Signal Sexual Intentions
A fashion accessory may have a lot more meaning than you realize for your teenager, according to television station WCAU.
Jelly bracelets are making a comeback. But instead of a fashion statement, they may be making a statement about your kid’s sex life, the station said.
…
Only this time these jelly bracelets have a new nickname: sex bracelets.
These bendable pieces of colorful rubber have a whole new unwholesome meaning: They’re a sexual code to many teens, WCAU said.
Some colors mean different things, and people wear them for that reason.
Here’s a common breakdown, from what teens told the station:
Yellow: hugging
Purple: kissing
Red: lap dance
Blue: oral sex
Black: the full monty
In a game called snap, if a boy breaks a jelly bracelet off a girl’s wrist, he basically gets a sexual coupon for that act.
It’s become such a problem in some middle schools in Florida that districts started banning the bracelets.
In a real news story, that last sentence would have been followed by, like, you know, identifying one of those districts and having a quote from a named administrator thereof talking about the dire need to prevent fornication in the hallways.
So, does anybody know the real rules to the game of snap?
Monday, November 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Isn’t this a pretty pair?
And look closely at the features of the women. Mother and daughter?
Monday, November 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From all the buzz about Fleshbot lately, one would think it was a revolutionary new thing. They describe themselves as “a frequently updated web magazine” that “showcases all the porn that digital technology and distribution has made possible.”
In fact, it appears to be a sort of stylish cross between the ancient and venerable linksite and an illustrated sex blog like this one – except, of course, that unlike ErosBlog, Fleshbot was clearly put together by someone who knows how to design websites (as opposed to sticking them together with cargo cult HTML, voodoo CSS, stale bubblegum, and cussing, the way ErosBlog was built). With Fleshbot’s high volume of quality links (15 so far today – obviously this is a business venture and no mere hobby), keen eye for quality porn, and intelligent text descriptions, the site’s bound to be a smashing runaway success. Good work, please keep it up!
Saturday, November 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
ThatGirl asks: Sexy or Slutty?
Recently, on a date, I made a move that I still can’t believe.
…
I interrupted him and excused myself for a trip to the ladies’ room. I didn’t need to use it I had ulterior motives. Gone was the resolve to behave. I wanted him. I needed an unmistakable invitation. (I like to be a little more creative than just blurting out “Let’s go to my place and fuck!” although that does have its own unique charm )
Once in the stall, I pushed my pants and panties down to my knees, bent over slightly, and slipped my index finger into my cunt all the way. A few thrusts later, I pulled it out and slowly drew it up over my clit. I rearranged my clothes and returned to the bar.
Wordlessly, I slid onto the barstool and grinned slyly at him. I reached up and placed my finger against his lips.
“Taste.” Was all I said.
Friday, November 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I don’tknow what event this lovely body paint is in honor of, but isn’t it pretty?
Of course, looking at that photograph you pretty much have to wonder what kind of paint job the girl on the right has under her toga.
Thursday, November 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an amusing item that’s supposed to be a ca. 17th-century “impressing rare and antique wax anatomical model representing the external feminine genital organ.”
Thanks to Boing Boing for the link.
Thursday, November 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Wow. It seems that long ago, Madison Avenue used to have the cojones to aim their marketing squarely at alpha males:
Advertising tagline: “You never know what results you’ll get until you try!”
Wednesday, November 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I have been ignoring the Naomi Wolf antiporn article as utter nonsense. No need to rail against it for this crowd.
But I simply must link to Eric Raymond’s cogent comments — they are too blunt and too true to ignore. I’ve excerpted heavily, you need to read the whole thing:
You show me a young woman who makes herself sexually available but has trouble attracting the interest of a young man away from porn, and I’ll show you a young man who is either homosexual or stone dead.
…
Show me a young woman who thinks she can’t compete with porn for a man’s attention and I’ll show you one of two things. Either (a), she’s having galloping insecurity for some other reason and doesn’t notice that the man enjoys having sex with real women a hell of a lot more than he enjoys porn, or (b) she’s not having sex with that man.
There is one truth buried, oblique and nearly invisible, in Ms. Wolf’s informants’ reports. Sex with a real woman trumps porn, but porn trumps women who dangle sex in front of men and don’t deliver.
…
Ms. Wolf, here is some simple advice you can give any woman who thinks she can’t compete with porn. First item on the checklist: is she fucking him? If the answer is “no”, then I regret to inform you that her grounds for complaint against the fact that he likes to jack off while looking at or thinking about pictures of porn babes are nil. Zip. Zero. You might as well try resenting water for flowing downhill.
On the other hand, if she is fucking him, he is not going to swap that for feelthy pixels. Trust me on this.
This is pretty basic stuff. Some women object to porn the way wives object to the idea of prostitutes, and for the same reason: it means they have to use actual sex, rather than their erstwhile monopoly over the possibility of access to sexual stimulus, in order to maintain and enjoy the sexual attention of their men. Women who want to have that attention without having the actual sex for which most men will cheerfully trade it are teases, in all the negative and none of the positive senses of the word.
Wednesday, November 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
She sent me this picture to give me a giggle:
Women and duct tape, what’s not to like? She knows me well.
What, when I said “a picture” you were expecting something else?
As it happens, she did send me a picture of herself last night. And yes, it did have a thematic connection with the above photograph. But y’all don’t get to see it, because her face is visible.
I’m such a tease….
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:
Tuesday, November 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know….”
When a man says that, you just know the story’s about to start getting good. The average man wouldn’t even bring it up unless things were about to get interesting.
So. There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know.
We started flirting on a bulletin board. Just playful stuff.
Then it was emails. Lots of emails. Long, friendly, intimate, funny, wide-ranging emails. Emails that said too much. And that was OK. Better than OK, it was fine. Fine and fun. Exciting.
Somewhere in there, an exchange of photos. Better and better. Yum. And she’s still talking to me after seeing my picture, so I guess she just thought I was wearing a Shrek costume. (That’s a joke, folks – my skin’s not that color. Ba-da-boom.)
Then the chats started. Are internet chats supposed to last that many hours? Who cares? Lots of teasing and comparing notes and swapping life stories and just talking about what happened today and yesterday and tomorrow. Wistful complaints about the time zones and latitudes separating us. Increasingly vociferous cursing at the ravages of geography. Talk (hints at first, running both ways, the careful feints of the anxious-not-to-be-too-eager) of a visit. Sex talk too, frank discussions about what we like, sharing of favorite stories and photos, even some cybersex… but this post is not about the juicy details.
Oh, stop giving me that look. Maybe next time. If you’re nice. It’s one thing for me to post salacious links and wisecrack about other people’s intimate disclosures, but in writing this post I’m swiftly gaining a whole new appreciation for the courage of the folks who write about the nitty gritty of their romantic lives and the pleasures and pitfalls and uncertainties thereof. Any fool can post a dirty link, but this game is not for sissies. Especially when – wave, everybody! – the nymph at the heart of the matter reads the blog.
So anyway. We both are vividly aware that it’s still early days. Nobody wants to be that guy, or that girl, who falls head over heels for a fantasy person who turns out never to have existed except in the imagination. Nobody wants to slink home, dejected, after a first meeting has been torpedoed by a cruelly unexpected lack of chemistry. We’ve been around the block, we both know how easily this story can end badly.
And yet….
She’s merry and delightful and at least as kinky as me – in several very fun ways. And a joy to talk to on the phone. Oh, did I not mention the phone calls? Four so far. The first one lasted about six hours. Mmmm, I haven’t laughed so well in… years. Last night, we chatted for three hours online, then she called and we spent another six or seven hours on the phone. Tonight we kept it to four hours. With difficulty.
What’s next? Damfino. Damfweeno, to coin a phrase. Let’s just say that when DW talks of her Aussie, and his conditional cases, and her own smiling calculations, I recognize where they both are coming from.
Updates, I promise you, as events warrant.
Monday, November 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I shall never begin to comprehend the erotic imagination that informs Japanese popular culture. But the world of sex is so much the richer for it! Exhibit A:
Sunday, November 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
So it seems Tara and Jeff were setting up furniture last night for their enhanced bondage convenience. And of course they considered, as one must, what might happen if somebody notices their arrangements. Jeff’s got the ultimate answer to that one. Says Tara:
Apparently if anyone asks why there’s rope strung around the legs of our bed my answer is to be “we have sex in there.” That Jeff, he’s always thinking!
Remember, folks, never ask a question unless you’re sure you really want to know the answer!
Saturday, November 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a cute tattoo. (Well, I suppose it could be a one-off gimmick done with a Magic Marker.) If she ever decides to go bare, she’ll have to add another stick figure man in a lower quadrant, relaxing in a hammock with lemonade in hand:
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Friday, October 31st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Well, folks, it’s Protection From Pornography Week. I think Protection From Pleasure Week is scheduled for February, and Protection From Freedom Week starts shortly thereafter. That one’s gonna be a long week.
Anyway, I’m doing my bit by linking to this picture of two ladies at their bath. At least one of them, I can assure you, is very clean. And pink enough to make Larry Flynt proud.
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.
Thursday, October 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Bunni asks a very good question in the comments to a post about being good in bed:
Generally my experience is that men who brag about sex are god awful. If they are that good at it, why are they talking to me? Shouldn’t they be somewhere trying to revive some poor ravished girl with light slaps and gatorade?
Wednesday, October 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here are some observations about communication between the sexes, from this essay at Wired Tales:
“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.
…
“Unzip me?” I’ve never understood this. Do you genuinely need help getting out of your clothes? Why would you wear clothes you couldn’t get out of?
Helping you out of your clothes is a form of foreplay. Don’t ask us to help you undress unless you’re going to let us fuck you–or unless you genuinely are stuck / tangled in your clothes.
Wednesday, October 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Those pesky police spoil everything.
Tuesday, October 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This has got to be the dirtiest little yellow animated smile icon ever seen:
Found at Your Dirty Mind.
Tuesday, October 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yeti says:
Okay ladies. Time to make your amends. I keep warning you that when you turn thirty the sex hormone is going to completely change your life.
You spent 15 years playing with men because they seemed easy to control sexually. Now the roles are reversed.
…
So take my advice now. Be nice to those fellas – cause payback is coming soon.
Tuesday, October 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Time for some visual relief. Here’s a page showing a whole sequence of photos of incredible beauty Maria tied to a post in the jungle and given a refreshing cold shower:
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Sunday, October 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A pretty picture:
Thanks to Naked Protesters for the picture.
Sunday, October 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A wrap-up observation from the “nice guys / assholes” conversation. Lots of people opined that confidence is the key, and that assholes are attractive because they have a lot more of it than your average nice guy. The self-deprecating ways of your average nice guy? Sooo not sexy. Dammit.
Entirely by coincidence, I stumbled over these thoughts by Lance Arthur in a bit where he explains why he hates gay bars. Lance speaks very much to the point, both in explaining why confidence can be elusive, and in suggesting how to find it anyway:
I am learning that most of this garbage I carry with me is “myth,” not “truth.” Myth is the stuff you (I) create to make it easier for your(my)self to fail, and it’s designed to make you (me) fail. It allows you (me) to go into any situation and avoid rejection because you’ve (I’ve) already rejected your(my)self. “I am unworthy. I am stupid. I am ugly. I am too shy to talk to you. I cannot approach anyone.” Blah blah blah.
Truth is the stuff about you that’s real — that you aren’t ugly or stupid or awkward, that you can carry on a conversation, that you’re no better or worse than any other guy there, you’re just you. That comes from, you know, living. Taking chances, accepting what happens, moving on. So you can either accept the myths and build them into a semblance of truth, or reject the myths and, you know, live for a change.
Thanks, that’ll be $130 please. See you next week.
Cheap at twice the price. Thanks, Lance!
Saturday, October 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This looks like a bridal shower scene, probably the result of a bunch of ladies having a little naughty fun:
But it’s also an example of how ancient pagan habits die really hard. Don’t tell me that oh-so-virile jutting phallus is not also the centerpiece in a fertility ritual, however unconscious.
Saturday, October 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a funny site called Bible Sex Stories. The dirty bits of the Bible are repackaged as badly written erotic stories:
Hagar reached down under Abraham’s tunic and felt the hardness. “What is that, a stone idol under there?” She asked, as she slid down and fellated Abraham’s obelisk. He enjoyed her expert tongue, but soon he couldn’t bear it. He lifted her up and placed her on top of him.
As he entered Hagar’s supple moistness, Abraham flashed back to how his wife Sarah’s dry gullet reminded him of the hot desert sand, and he shuddered. Hagar grabbed onto his collar and rode him like a camel, bouncing up and down, drilling him deeper into her with each movement.
From Abraham Visits The Maid.
Friday, October 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Vanilla Sex Goddess weighs in on the question of women and their too-common fondness for assholes. Her post serves, perhaps, as anecdotal evidence for something I’ve suspected as a complicating factor in all this: namely, that whatever causes this asshole-seeking behavior may have something to do with a target identification malfunction.
First VSG says:
And I have to say, I have dated assholes, but I didn’t know they were assholes until later and at which point I dumped them.
Look, nobody’s saying women do this deliberately. But I’ll betcha VSG had men in her life who could have told her right up front those guys were assholes, if she had but asked. I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that some of those men even tried to tell her when she didn’t ask – although most of us have learned better by now. It takes a true friend to stick his dick in that particular blender.
VSG goes on:
The men who describe themselves as being “nice guys” are rarely nice. They certainly aren’t any nicer than any other man. Instead they are doormats. And as I don’t much like doormats except to walk on, it’s not suprising that I don’t want to date them, nor any other woman.
By the time I hit 25 these men were no longer doormats. They were instead, manipulative, passive aggressive, whiney, or too demanding of my time for my taste. They love to tell stories of how this woman or that woman did them wrong, and what manipulative bitches they were. (This is bad fodder for a first date) and I am still turned off.
No nice guy (the old fashioned word for the man I am talking about used to be “gentleman”) uses a word like “bitch” to describe a woman. Period. End of sentence. Move on to next paragraph. These are not the droids you were looking for.
Having said that, I’ll confess to having spent some time in my twenties in doormat mode. Young men are raised these days, the ones who are raised at all, to be attentive, considerate, emotionally involved, willing to talk about their feelings, and above all, cooperative with the whims of the fairer sex. Which is a very nice way of describing the “door mat” in the above quote.
It turns out that our Betty-Friedan-reading mothers weren’t reliable, when they told us this is what the young ladies would be looking for. I cannot tell a lie — some of us have briefly whined (er, make that, “shared our feelings openly”) about this discovery. But the smarter among us are working on getting over it.
I’m sure women everywhere will understand if cookie deliveries decline as a consequence.
Wednesday, October 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’m sorry about the unrelieved text the last few days. We’re sorely in need of a dirty picture to lighten things up. How about a random anime girl in chains?
Aaah. That’s just the thing.
Tuesday, October 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There has been talk here before about the excellent tastes and smells of a woman. Although some women worry (needlessly) about how they taste and smell, thankfully others know better:
And for that matter, I’m not pleased with men who do not enjoy my taste. I know what I taste like, and I taste good, clean and crisp and sexy. I am unimpressed by a man who does not enjoy my taste. And really there is no faking it. If you are only willing to touch my pussy with the tip of your tongue I notice and am immediately turned off. There is more to my pussy than my clit for your tongue and my vagina for your cock. And actually while we’re at it the whole nether region is an erogenous zone feel free to explore. I suspect it’s no different for men, but I know that it is not enough for one to have technique; I want to think you are enjoying licking my pussy too. Nothing turns me on more than when a man sticks two or three fingers in my drenched pussy and then sucks the juices off.
Thus spake the Vanilla Sex Goddess.
Saturday, October 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The folks at Eros Boutique have a blog now. Mostly they are flogging their goodies (hmm, sounds like fun) but they do have some funny stories from the sex toy selling biz. Like this one:
This guy calls up, asking if we sell extra keys for the CB3000. (*for those of you unfamiliar with the CB3000, its the cream of the crop in male chastity devices. Pyrex. Padlock. If you’re a guy who wants to lock your cock up, this is the way to go.)
But I digress…
…
So “mike” calls.
Do we sell extra keys.
So Lucy tells him we don’t have any extra keys in stock, but he might want to call the CB3000 people and see what the deal is. “But,” she asks, “doesn’t the CB3000 come with 2 extra keys? What happened to them?”
So Mike says:
“You see, the woman who put this device on me isn’t my wife, and now she’s out of town for a few days, and I just don’t find it funny anymore.”
“Oh.” Lucy says. “Well, sir, that’s what you get for letting a strange woman put something on your penis.”
There’s more – Lucy’s not as heartless as she sounds. But that’s a classic line.
Thursday, October 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This postcard amuses me. Yes, these spectral beauties could be a little terrifying, but they’ve got friendly and playful looks on their faces. So why is our hapless hero looking so frightened?
Thursday, October 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Someone, who would be recognizable to you loyal sex blog readers if I were to fail to preserve their requested anonymity, was so cruel as to send along this link to a directory of disturbing photographs. Perhaps it would be best to let the captions of the photographs speak for themselves, while I go away into a corner and clutch quietly at my genitals.
Photo Sequence #1: “Ever want to know how to shove a Gummi worm up your dick?” Uh, no.
Photo Sequence #2: “Line the worm up with the hanger and slide it in….”
Just for the record: “OUCH!”
Photo Sequence #3: “Stay away from the green ones, for some reason they burn after a while….” Hint: If you didn’t grip yourself so firmly in order to expel them with the brute force of your semen, perhaps the burning would be reduced?
Photo Sequence #4: “You may notice that your cum becomes like syrup, and takes on flavor and color of the worm. My girlfriend loves my cum afterwards!” Why yes, we can all see her lapping it up right there in the picture. No, wait, no we can’t.
And just in case you haven’t had all the fun you can stand, he also does nails and pencils.
2014 update:The original links have long been broken, but a collection of these photos has been obsessively reassembled and published at the Dickworms tumblr. I think I recognize a kindred spirit. Halp?
Tuesday, October 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Carly at Pornblography knows the most interesting people! Recently she asked her readers:
MILFs.
I don’t get it.
What’s the big deal?
Which generated the most amazing response in Carly’s comments from the infamous Skeeter Kerkove. This is like the “Greed is Good” speech Gordon Gecko delivered in “Wall Street”. This is worth reading:
MILF!!! Why? Mothers I’d Like to Fuck is the number one money maker on the web currently!
The DVD’s are flying off the shelves. MILF is making more money then any other niche on the market worldwide on the web!
MILF Hunter is getting more traffic then any other sex website in the world.
MILF Hunter is averaging over 2 thousand sign ups per day at $24.95 per membership! No other site in the world is making this much money!
Alexa rankings, god bless the Alexa rankings, the lower the number, the more people are going to the site.
go to: www.alexa.com, type in the website, then you will see the traffic people are getting. This will give you an idea.
Samantha Sterlyng 271,371
Nikita Denise 182,133
Gauge 131,310
Jade Marcella 91,601
Jill Kelly 54,652
Briana Banks 36,117
Tera Patrick 34,555
Bridgette Kerkove 30,417
Penthouse 4,285
Hustler 4,016
Playboy 535
Milf Hunter 441
MILF Hunter is # 1, that is why MILF is all the rage! Money! Money! Money! Boatloads of money! The American dream! MILF Hunter has 3,269 sites that link to it.
So that is your answer, we are all in porn to make money! We love money! MILF Hunter is processing over 16 million dollars per month, that is why MILF is selling, now everybody gets it! Money, lots of money!
If Carley or Quasar would have started MILF Hunter 12 months ago, they would be worth net over 40 million dollars. They could buy a 4000 square foot home in Malibu inside the colony for 13 million cash. Invest the other 27 million in commercial property, pay for it outright, collect the leases which would be 89% profit and take home at least 487 thousand dollars per month.
Sometimes we do not understand other peoples art, freedom, sweet liberty, however we quickly learn there is a sea of money out there for YOU to have, it is yours for the taking. You just have to figure out how to get it, MILF was one of the many ways. Will a person get rich shooting regular porn these days? Not if you are just starting out.
There has always been hundreds and thousands of men and young men, fantasizing about fucking somebody’s mother, somebody was smart enough to make millions off of it.
I have already shot 2 MILF style movies that are in the can, I will be shooting more also. Love is in the air, God Bless the United States! It is so easy to make lots of money in the U.S. without an education! Hooray for the United States! God Bless Pornography, sodomy, America and MILF Hunter. “Don’t tread on me”
Skeeter Kerkove
Damn if that didn’t make me want to jump up and salute the flag. No kidding.
Monday, October 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s not at all unheard of for me to post BDSM-ish stuff on ErosBlog. However, I’m not sure I’ve ever posted any femdom (women dominating men) pictures. Why not? Well, what little fem/dom porn I’ve ever seen has had always had an extreme case of the common porn problem, namely, that the people shown in it too often aren’t smiling or appearing to have any fun. I’m a huge believer that porn in any genre is ten times as hot if the performers look like they are enjoying themselves.
Thus this rather cute drawing caught my eye, because it shows three lovely young blonde ladies having fun with a hapless but perhaps-not-unhappy young man. Two of the three ladies have pleased-looking smiles on their faces, and the lady with the whip looks more intense than mean:
There’s a slightly larger version over at the “free” (lots of affiliate links, but no pop-ups that I saw) porn site where this turned up.
Update: Reader Melissa let me know that the artist is Sardax (at sardax.com ).
Sunday, October 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Vikki has just discovered Fucking Machines — and she’s fascinated. This is a porn site that’s taken “fun with power tools” to a whole new level. (They also have a site featuring guys using the same machines – the bluntly named Butt Machine Boys.)
Vikki, where were you when I first posted pictures of some of these fucking machines? Just think, if you had been a faithful ErosBlog reader back then you would have known about them seven whole months ago!
Not that the idea is new. I’m sure this steam powered model (complete with carefully filed rivet heads for her pleasure) was a big seller in the 1903 Sears Catalog:
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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.
Saturday, October 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Since Halley clearly wants a policewoman costume, I offer up this model as an humble suggestion.
Nota Bene: I am using the word “model” in the sense of “template or idea”, not in the sense of “person who wears exotic costumes”. I’m not that generous!
Friday, October 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Emmie at Girls in the Bag doesn’t worry about sex toy baggage, mostly, but she does have her limits:
the person whose toys i will refuse to use is the one to whom i have to explain why we can’t have anal sex and then regular sex in that order.
I do believe this question is setting an all-time ErosBlog record for interested and interesting responses!
Thursday, October 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Once you’ve got all those rings, what’s a person supposed to do with them? Well, if you’re a woman, there’s only one possible answer. Decorate!
And very decorative it is, too.
Thursday, October 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Two responses so far to the question below. One correspondent assures me that cuffs (and paddles) are not like sex toys — as long as they are clean, she avers, a guy is safe to keep them and use them serially.
Another lady writes in with the sensible proposal that toys kept should be only those which were and are to be used on or in the person doing the keeping. If a guy had a buttplug that his last girlfriend used on him, and wanted her to carry on the tradtion, she wouldn’t freak; but if he had a vibrator that…well, I’ll let her speak for herself:
“But if he produced a vibrator that he’d used to insert into his previous girlfriend, would I want to have it inserted into me? Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! No thank you!!!!!!!! I don’t care
how many times you’ve washed it! Icky baggage!”
Just so. Unfortunately, this lady isn’t much help on the cuffs question and other toys where the distinction between his-n-hers is less clear. As she puts it: “Don’t ask me what to do with the sex sling. :-)”
Wednesday, October 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tara and Jeff (more horny Canadians!) at Naughty Secrets have asked an interesting question:
When you buy sex toys in a relationship and then break up, who gets the toys?
They go on to say “Obviously the woman” (which I’m not so sure about, depending on the toys) and then ask more questions:
Should she keep the toys? Should she bring them to the next relationship? Do toys have baggage?
From time to time I’ve pondered that very question. See, I happen to be possessed of a quality set of Velcro-fastened fuzzy-lined wrist and ankle cuffs with handy D-rings for attaching to things. She bought them for me as a gift – and of course the real gift was her wearing them for me. We had some fun with them, too. (It’s good that I don’t have any photos of her wearing them, or the blogging reflex to link one to “we had some fun” would be overwhelming.) And then of course we split up and I kept the cuffs — after all, they were mine.
However, every time I’ve moved them or seen them since, it’s caused me to wonder: “Why am I keeping these?” Seriously, if I met another lady who wanted to play that way, wouldn’t it freak her out to be tied up with lightly used cuffs? Lightly used, that is, by the ex girlfriend? They’re clean and they don’t smell, but still. I am not wise in the ways of women, but my spidey sense is giving me hell over the idea. Possibly not the smartest move, Lothario.
I hate to say it, because it means I should throw away that perfectly good set of cuffs: But yeah, I’d say toys have baggage.
Sunday, October 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Saturday, October 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yes, friends, we bring you the naughty world of Gummybear Sex!
Saturday, October 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
What do you suppose she’s hungry for?
Thursday, October 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yup, that’s right, folks. I just realized. My very first post was a year ago tomorrow.
It really doesn’t seem like a year could have gone by. This project turned out to be way more fun than I ever imagined it would be.
Thursday, October 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s time to start the huge job of updating the blog roll with all the cool new blogs that sprang up while I was gone. And, sadly, it’s also time to remove a few moribund ones that seem to be gone for good. But I’ll put that off for a few more days, the way I always do.
But I had to add a hot new babe log: Not Work Safe. [Link later died and was removed.]
The aside that ate the blog post: I hate that name, just like I hate the way people refer to ErosBlog as not work safe. It’s a pet peeve. See, the deal is, ErosBlog is safe for work, although perhaps not conducive to getting any done. If it’s not safe for you to view ErosBlog where you work, it’s your work that’s not safe for ErosBlog. Just because some of my readers live in the United States and choose to work in environments where they are treated like horny fifth-graders and assumed to be unable to make responsible choices about viewing and displaying sexual material, there’s no reason to call the blog unsafe, especially when other readers and potential readers live or work in less repressive societies (or environments, such as their own office or home) where the blog is perfectly safe. Folks, if your work isn’t safe for ErosBlog, consider getting some different work! And if you can’t do that (and I know a lot of folks feel stuck in their lives) at least don’t assume that everyone else in the world is in the same boat. Modest proposal: Try saying “not safe for sex-hostile environments” or some such.
Er, sorry, I’ll stop ranting now. Back to business.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, October 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
If any one sort of image made explicit Japanese animation or computer graphics notorious in the United States, it was tentacle sex. Usually a nubile young lass is shown entangled in long wormlike tentacles, which both restrain her and probe slimily into every available orifice.
Usually, but not always. This time, it’s a guy…
Tuesday, September 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Naomi Darvell at Clean Sheets wrote this roundup of sex blogs while I was away, and had some kind words for ErosBlog:
Bacchus is very much into pictures, ranging from the cute to the edgy. Although he focuses on the female body, he does it without the grating lasciviousness of, say, The Man Show. His is clearly a male point of view, but most of the time it feels friendly to this bi woman.
Naomi has picked up on a very deliberate philosophy of mine. I’ve always felt it should be possible to express my unabashed appreciation for the female form without that stinking aura of leering misogyny that’s found in, say, your average Maxim magazine. I want ErosBlog to always feel friendly to everyone. As Robert Heinlein said: “Sex should be friendly. Otherwise stick to mechanical toys; it’s more sanitary.”
Drat it, now I’m going to start worrying about that “most of the time it feels friendly” line. “Most of the time?” Where did I slip up?
Oh yes, and for the record I can’t stand to watch The Man Show. Why don’t they just expand that “Girls On Trampolines” segment that currently runs during the closing credits? I’d watch that for 22 minutes. Mmmm, oh my yes.
Tuesday, September 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“Sex is good, but not as good as fresh sweet corn.”
Or so Garrison Keillor was quoted as saying in “The Sun”. (I found the quote in the October 2003 issue of Utne magazine.)
Of course, why not just have both?
Friday, August 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A while back I reviewed the excellent sex documentary Marie And Jack: A Love Story from Comstock Films. My review copy was on VHS, but they’ve now released, and were kind enough to send along, a DVD version. The DVD is notable for including as an extra the entire hot lovemaking session around which the documentary was made, only this time, it’s in a “choose-your-own-camera-angle” format and is has none of that documentary talk going on. So if you liked the documentary but wished you could watch the sex as pure porn, now you can! Only it’s still the good kind of married sex, which makes it hotter than most of the porn in your collection.
I do so love getting goodies in the mail!
Wednesday, August 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Someone emailed me this. I howled with laughter. I hope you will too:
Thanks for sending it along!
Wednesday, August 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s Derek on some structural problems with dating in this modern world:
There ought to be a class for people who positively suck at talking to members of the opposite sex.
This thought occurred to me the other day. I mean, let’s presume for the moment that you were not the sort of person to pick up that social skill-set during high-school. Where exactly are you going to learn it in today’s society?
First impressions, especially on the topic of romance, are so terribly crucial, and if you screw it up, it doesn’t matter how much chemistry you and the other person might have had if given the chance, it’ll all be for naught because the first impression will have already been blown.
Meanwhile, you really have no constructive feedback loop on what it was that made it “not work” for them in the first place. Sure, you can try and approach the problem “scientifically”, trying slightly variant versions with different people and seeing which ones garner the best/worst responses, but that’s not exactly the point of the entire operation, and certainly isn’t an efficient use of a scarce resource (that being “available members of the opposite sex”)
…
Here’s the worst part, in my opinion — It causes you to doubt the value of the attempt itself. You start saying things to yourself like, “Why bother, it’ll just be another annoying exercise in wondering what little thing I did wrong this time?”
Admit it, everyone out there has had times in their life when they thought that, a time when they would say to themselves, “Why should I bother putting it all on the line to get rejected, knowing that I’ll probably never even know why I was rejected?”
Tuesday, August 19th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Vikki at Her Desires has kindly posted a twelve step program for “trying to meet that sexy libidinous goddess of your dreams online.” I’d excerpt, but you’re going to want to read the whole thing.
And just for the record: I’m pretty sure than any one of her twelve suggestions, taken alone, would work better than posting freaky bondage pictures on your blog. Never let it be said that I don’t take the harder road…
Saturday, August 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Much as I hate to link to pure porn sites, every now and then I find one that strikes my jaded eyes as being new and different. Here’s a bondage site with a twist: At Water Bondage, the moistly restrained models are ducked, dunked, squirted, splashed, hosed down, and generally subjected to large volumes of water in addition to their strict bondage. Lots of steel cages, shackles, and what look disturbingly like electrical play toys can be seen in the promo thumbnails:
This sure looks like your one-stop for all you firehose interrogation fetishists, dunking fans, and aficionados of really damp dungeons. And the marvel of it is, outside of a few bathtub bondage pics, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it!
Similar Sex Blogging:
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?
Thursday, August 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Talk about shocking the neighbors:
Wednesday, August 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a cute photo of a very young horndog:
Somebody buy that kid an ice cream cone!
Tuesday, August 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Oh my. Oh, my.
It’s not very often that seeing a photograph makes me catch my breath (literally, audibly, painfully). This photo did that to me.
Thanks to Spanking Blog for linking to the very talented photographer who took that picture.
Tuesday, August 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Emmie from Girls In The Bag writes:
it is far easier for girl to give a hundred blowjobs to complete strangers than for her to share her most secret thoughts with someone she is not completely sure will keep them safe.
trample them before they trample you. you know the drill.
Y’know, this sort of thing is what inspired some enterprising guy to start keeping girls in the bag in the first place.
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:
Tuesday, August 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
First of all, a disclaimer: I am not a safe sex nazi, and this is not a safe sex blog. The web is awash with info on ways to avoid STDs and pregnancy, and although such info is useful and necessary, it’s often not terribly arousing, so I do my readers the courtesy of assuming they already know what they need to know. At least, that is, until my nose is rubbed in the fact that sometimes, they don’t.
Rambling aside: Back when I linked with affirmation to Red-Headed Slut’s positive comments about Johnson’s Baby Oil gel, I got numerous emails from folks who were eager to be sure that I know that mineral oil destroys latex. Some of these were low-key “just want to be sure you know” sorts of emails, but several were high-energy strident “oh-my-god-I-can’t-believe-you-didn’t-warn-everyone” type emails. I found this puzzling, even a bit patronizing, considering that
(a) I knew this;
(b) I assume that most of my readers know it;
(c) I have never undertaken to be the safe sex education for those readers who don’t have basic safe sex information; and
(d) the effect of mineral oil on a latex condom is not terribly relevant in the context of a discussion of a lube recommendation for a hand-job where no condom was mentioned.
In short, I felt that I got spammed by knee-jerk safe sex activist warrior partisans, who have for whatever reason been conditioned to be uncomfortable hearing any mention of oil-based lube unless “destroys condoms” is uttered immediately thereafter, even if that’s not relevant to the discussion. With all due thanks and appreciation for their good and noble intentions, I don’t want to be like those people.
But just this once, I’ll take the risk.
So now, in the fifth paragraph of this post, I’ll get to the point. I got a nice email from a young man who has started a new sex blog [now defunct], and who wants a link. Now, young male voices being quite the minority in the sex blogging world, I naturally went and had a look.
It’s worth a visit. There are two honest-sounding tales so far of young sexual encounters. But (and you knew there was a “but”, didn’t you?) I was immediately struck by the first post, in which the narrator says:
“I guided her into a position so I could spoon with her, lowered her pants, and slipped myself inside. We continued for a while, and then (as a matter of anti-pregnancy) I pulled out and put on a condom.”
When read this, my inner safe sex nazi started yelling and screaming. Given the existence of precum (that droplet of clear fluid that shows up shortly after erection, which can contain sperm and is perfectly capable of making a girl pregnant) this simply is not a good way to avoid unwanted babies. The condom really needs to go on the dick before it touches the pussy; exceptions aren’t a good idea unless one wants a family.
Sorry, I just had to say that.
Monday, August 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s the beginning of an absolutely sexy prose poem to be found at Black As My Soul:
I wouldn’t want to tie up your legs, necessarily…
Because I love having your thighs on my shoulders while I’m licking and sucking and using my fingers.
Maybe it would be more of a challenge while you tried to keep me away
Tried to keep me from putting my hands on your hips and taking you with my cock…
You calling me a fucker?
Maybe I’ll hold your legs together over one shoulder
Pushing your knees back toward you
Exposing your wet little pussy!
Your body betrays you?
Still holding your legs together.
You’re not getting away.
See this hard cock?
It could be yours.
Maybe I’ll just tease the outside of your wet pussy lips.
Rub your clit slowly with the head of my dick.
That’s not what you want?
Should push my hardness into you?
Just a little?
Spreading you now with my cock.
Stopping to savor the heat inside you…
Yummy!
Sunday, August 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a unique Japanese toy: a pudding mold and special serving dish. Make a nude pudding girl, display her in her bondage packing crate cum serving dish, and then eat her with the attached hand-shaped plastic spoon.
Saturday, August 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“Practice random kindness and senseless acts of beauty.”
Saturday, August 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Why yes, I guess it is.
Debra Hyde just posted this essay in which she makes the point that the Culture War is back on, and sex blogs are in it whether we like it or not.
And I realized that she’s right. In fact, Debra reminded me that I had said as much the other day in email, to a gentleman who asked for a link. I had to refuse him, regretfully, because his site was all broken. Clicking any of his links took me to some sort of nasty ActiveX or JavaScript pop-up box with an “I Agree” button. There was some sort of waiver or disclaimer in eight parts, all about promising to be an adult and that I live somewhere where it’s legal to look at dirty pictures.
I didn’t click, and I didn’t link. I just won’t go there. You may have noticed that ErosBlog rarely links to a warning page, even a simple html one. If I can’t link to the content, I usually won’t link at all. But I hadn’t thought much about why. Partly it’s because warning pages are, from a technical standpoint, cruft – a useless excrescence that interferes with the natural linkage from one web resource to another.
But mostly, it’s political. When my correspondent wrote back he explained that he only wanted to protect surfers and webmasters. He mentioned that some surfers live where they could go to jail for surfing to a dirty picture. He mentioned that some people work for companies where a dirty picture on their screens can get them fired. He spoke of laws against letting minors see dirty pictures. He mentioned avoiding the possibility of his own arrest when traveling to repressive foreign lands. And last but not least, he mentioned Ashcroft and his rumored new team of crusading anti-porn prosecutors. Finally, he inquired what my proposal was for dealing with all these risks, if I didn’t like his solution.
This is an excerpt from my lengthy rant response:
It’s getting to the point where even the Saudi princes can’t forbid all access to the internet, because it’s economically essential. By keeping adult material in locked ghettos at the fringes of the web, we make their repression easier — not something I wish to encourage or cooperate with.
…
Most of the folks who share your concerns use a simple entry page, with appropriate warnings, and links deeper into their sites. This demonstrates your good faith to any prosecutor, while allowing hardcases like me to link directly to the “meat” of your site and ignore the warning page.
…
If that doesn’t seem secure enough for you, I don’t know what I can say. Each of us decides which battles are worth fighting. I’ve decided this one is worth fighting, and I take what opportunities I can to encourage other people to fight it with me. You might have good reasons why you can’t take what I see as a very small risk, and that’s your business. But when your web resources won’t load in my browser, I’m not going to link to ’em.
…
Meanwhile, I’ll carrying on linking to the folks whose sites are visible, and who are (given the nature of the sites I link to) helping me fight the culture war I’m trying to help fight.
Thanks, Debra, for reminding me of having written that.
Friday, August 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
One of the best things that comes with the job of being Bacchus is the close association with a fine assortment of woodland nymphs. What’s not to like about lovely women whose favorite pastime is frolicking nude in the forest, and who are (by virtue of their assigned role in the extremely traditional mythos) properly observant of the prerogatives of the god of wine and wild partying?
Ok, daydream over, everybody get back on your heads.
2012 Update: I now have tools for sourcing images that weren’t available back in 2003. It turns out this one comes from Met Art, so I’ve linked the old 320-pixel thumb to a larger view. And here are some more of these nymphs:
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!
Tuesday, August 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Oh yes you are, or you would be if you got chained to a stone wall and given this sort of special attention:
[Cue sound of evil laughter]
Via alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime.
Tuesday, August 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
What is it about this summer? Seems like good new sex blogs are sprouting up all over. This one’s called Erotic Truth [since gone defunct] and it’s a multi-author blog with lots of posts, all of them quite explicit and interesting.
You know that too-common complaint women have about some guy who tried to get them to do anal sex by “accidentally” just trying to slip it in when they weren’t expecting it? Well, one of the early posts on Erotic Truth is a very graphic, very bad example:
My first time was somewhat of an accident (or so he says). Scott and I are in the shower at his older cousins house doing the nasty. Little tub, and a shower curtain hanging from the ceiling. I am bent over, ass in the air (as usual) and he is fucking me harder than a raped ape. Suddenly he pulls out and with all the fucking force one man could muster he rams it into my ass. Shower curtain flies off, I scream…tears well in my eyes…ass bleeds. I was like WHAT THE HELL were you thinking about? He looks back at me as if I am on drugs and says…what? What? you stupid fucking waste of skin….you just rammed a good sized piece of meat into my virgin asshole. He’s like”I did?” YOU COULDNT TELL? No says he…..it felt just like the other hole. Alrighty then, either my pussy is so tight it feels like an ass or my ass is loose enough to feel like a pussy. Either way, he did not earn brownie points that day. Assfuck.
A gentleman, adept navigator, and credit to his gender. Not.
Monday, August 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Lots of guys really enjoy a clean shaven lady. It can be visually and tactilely exciting, and it helps prevent getting hairs stuck in your teeth during oral sex, not that that’s a huge problem or anything. Unfortunately a lot of women have practical issues with shaving: razor burn, ingrown hairs, et cetera.
Fortunately, Smooth Shaven Shell (who used to be found at the now-defunct Across the Atlantic blog) has posted a guest blog post at Gut Rumbles that consists of exceedingly detailed instructions and suggestions for the shaving woman, complete with a ten step program:
I have a very hairy pussy. Thick dark hair on pale skin, and it isn’t confined to a neat little triangle. It spills down the tops of my thighs maybe half an inch or so.
This was all fine and good when I was married to Other Person, who didn’t really give a shit what I looked like, when he bothered to notice me at all. I’ve been separated from him now for 10 months and I have a wonderful new lover who does notice me.
He asked me to shave my labia. For the anatomically challenged, that’s the outer lips of the pussy. I was able to shave that without razor rash. The skin of the labia is different somehow than the mons. Whenever I tried to shave the mons, I got major razor burn. That is a very unpleasant place to have razor burn, as you can imagine. I was also opposed to shaving the mons because I love the feeling of my lover running his fingers through my pussy hair.
Then I found the correct tool for the job. A good electric shaver is far superior to a razor. I can pull it over the most delicate areas without nicks or cuts. It handles all the hills and hollows trying to shave down there requires. I love it.
My lover shaved me completely bald down there. It reduced some kinds of sensations (hair follicles rest in a net of nerves, which is why it feels so good when someone brushes your hair and hurts so bad if they pull it) but heightened others.
My lover likes it. A lot. So until he changes his mind, I’m keeping it smooth.
Maintaining A Shaven Pussy
1. If you are starting from long and hairy, like I did, trim it all short with a pair of scissors. Like 1/4″ or so. And unless you’re in a big hurry, you might want to wait a few days. Trimming irritates the skin a bit, because the hair ends are blunt and scratchy when they used to be tapered and smooth.
2. Unlike the instructions for shaving your pussy with a razor, I do not recommend bathing first to soften the hairs. You do not want them soft for an electric shaver. I shave every morning before my shower (unless I’m going to the gym, then I shave before I leave–I’m immodest, but I’m not up to shaving my pussy in public!) and then again at bedtime. Electric shaving doesn’t get as close, but I still spend less time shaving twice a day with a shaver than I would doing it once a day with a razor.
3. For the mons, do this standing in front of a full length mirror. You want the skin pulled taut, and the mons will be crunched up if you are sitting. Put your free hand on your belly just above the hairy part and pull up to tighten the skin. Then shave. It will take multiple strokes over the same area, especially if you are coarse and hairy like me. It also won’t get as close the first time as it will after you get used to it. Stand with your legs apart so you can get the crease between abdomen and thigh.
4. For the labia, you’ll want your makeup mirror. Find a comfortable place to sit with your knees bent and legs spread. On the floor leaning against the wall is good, as is a big comfy chair, if there’s enough room for the mirror. Pull a lamp nearby — you need light.
5. Now comes the fun part — shaving all those hills and hollows. I have a hard time getting the place just above the clit where the labia come together. Take it slow and easy till you get used to it. Pull the skin taut and shave against the grain. If you can manage it, a pillow under your ass and some cheek spreading can enable you to shave your anus.
6. Aftercare is important. Now you can take that shower or bath and wash off all those little hairs. Use a good exfoliant on your shaven bits. This will pull off the dead skin and help prevent and treat ingrown hairs. I have a major problem with these — the hairs just want to grow along under the surface of the skin. Scrubbing the skin helps free them.
7. For those really stubborn hairs, you’ll have to tweeze them. I’ve heard there are girls who tweeze their entire pussy. If I was to maintain my baldness with that method, that’s all I would have time to do all day. These must be women with sparser hair than me.
8. Apply a good lotion or cold cream to soothe the area–it will be irritated the first few times you do it, and it feels good when you rub it in. Or ask your lover to do it.
9. What about wet wipes? That’s for after you pee. When you actually have hair down there, it works as a funnel to direct the urine down in a nice little stream without getting the rest of you wet. A smooth pussy is deficient in this. The urinary opening is between the inner labia, below the clit. The urine comes out, and instead of being funneled down and away, it runs along the skin. It gets the labia wet. It gets the ass wet. It will even get the thighs wet. Having bum wipes on the back of the toilet (and yes, I took a box of them to work to sit on the toilet there), lets you tidy yourself up afterwards.
10. After all that work, you deserve a reward. And we all know what that reward should be: Cunnilingus!
She’s not making light of the practical problems, but she’s tackled them with a scientific mind and come up with an entire suite of strategies to minimize them. Bravo!
Sunday, August 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The only redeeming feature of the utterly lamentable Comedy Central television show “The Man Show” is that every episode concludes with a segment featuring well endowed young ladies (invariably clad in cute undies, cuter miniscule summer dresses, or the cutest costumes) on trampolines in the LA sunshine. It’s every bit as much fun as kittens, and requires no better excuse:
Saturday, August 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Ever wonder how to tie one of those Japanese rope bondage harnesses? The kind that don’t actually restrain anything but which you can put on your lady using really rough scratchy rope and make her wear to work under her fancy tailored suits? With strategically placed knots in tight places that will make her eager to get home again so she can ask you (ever so nicely) to take the ropes off and play with her? Well, here’s a handy illustrated guide:
Have fun, boy scouts!
2010 Update: Thanks to the Erospainter blog, I found a much higher quality version of this infographic, allowing me to upgrade both the image for this post and the click-through version.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, August 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There’s a fun new sex blog on the block – Twiddly Bits, being “The Ramblings of a Very Horny Woman.” She and her husband like to play:
So, in accordance with our plan, when it was time for us all to retire for the evening, I asked A, “You have a choice. Whatever you decide is fine with us; we won’t be offended either way. We have a Queen-sized air mattress which you can sleep on out here or, you’re welcome to share our bed with us.” She chose to share our bed! Yay!
We all got cleaned up for bed (ie. brushing teeth, etc.) and A & I snuggled up on either side of P under the covers. We chatted a bit and after a while I reached for P’s cock. Well, surprise! A’s hand was already there! No wonder he seemed a little “out of” the conversation! LOL Things proceeded from there – it’s been a while so the details are fuzzy – but I remember sucking on A’s ample bosom and playing with her sensitive nipples and then she slid over to take P’s cock in her mouth. P twisted around to tongue my pussy, so I figured what the hell? and dove into her muff.
Hers is completely different from mine. Her labia are much smaller than mine and, while she also has a piercing, she’s built such that a vertical piercing works better for her. Her pussy was very sweet, not musky at all, and quite wet already. *yum*
Thursday, July 31st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From Bondage Blog:
Wednesday, July 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This is more explicit that we usually go here at Eros Blog, but I can’t sleep and I’m in no mood to worry about anyone’s tender sensibilities. This is a hot drawing and I’d really appreciate if someone could tell me who the artist is so I could give appropriate credit.
I always did think mining had much to recommend it as a profession. All that exploring of warm damp tunnels, all those stone shafts…
Update: Of course it’s Zimmerman.
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Tuesday, July 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Dirty Whore has a post up about why she uses such an edgy name, along with an email address that starts “filthy cumslut”. She writes:
I want you take a small risk when you come here. I want you to think and feel when you read my blog. I want you to be provoked sometimes. I want you to disagree with me. I want you to learn something about yourself and the way you feel about sex – that’s more important than what you absorb about me.
We got a lot of guys in this country who are scared of sex. It makes them feel sick, it makes them feel dirty, it makes them feel vulnerable which in their minds is only one step away from being gay, and yes they have a problem with that. And so, in their minds, any woman who likes sex, who revels in it and has fun at it and squirts joyously at the finish, is a cunt, a slut, a whore. And they use these words, in daily conversation and with considerable venom.
In my experience nice guys, guys who love sex and love women who love sex, don’t use these words much, don’t even think them except with an ironic smile or while recreating bad porno for the fun of it. Guys who own these words, who use them as basic vocabulary with all connotations accepted, who address them to women as titles, these are bitter guys, scared guys, angry guys, unhappy guys. Guys with an axe to grind and no loving woman to grind it with. Guys who lie in the locker room.
For reasons still unclear, Dirty Whore is telling us all, by exercising her natural monopoly over her own namespace, “if you want to talk to me, or about me, you have to pretend to be one of those bitter angry scared broken guys.”
Well, OK, she’s interesting and often worth talking about. If that’s the risk premium she charges as the price for addressing her namespace, I can pay it. Them as knows me know I’m not one of those guys anyway, and I’m not a huge believer in worrying about other people’s opinions in the first place. Nor did a little role-playing ever hurt anyone.
But I worry that she might also be saying “I think every guy is one of those guys, and that’s what I want you to learn about yourself.” In which case, sorry, no, but it’s not true, the shoe doesn’t fit and I won’t wear it. And I’m very sorry if her experiences have made her come to feel that way.
Monday, July 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an awesome free archive of the classic sexy comic strip “Oh Wicked Wanda!” Sample:
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Sunday, July 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Found another fun blog today. Jezebel can’t decide if she’s sweet or wicked. Perhaps it depends on the time of day. Right now she’s corrupting innocent Catholic youth, a noble pursuit.
However, if she keeps complaining about how many days it’s been since she had sex, at a time when that number is not in the triple digits, I’m going to have to track her down and give her a good brisk spanking. As she says herself:
As I’m not a three-eyed hunchback, it is not that difficult for me to initiate a sexual encounter with a member of the opposite sex. Seriously, folks, any girl over the age of 18 (age negotiable?) can have sex anytime they want to as there is always a man willing to stick their male member into a warm, wet hole. As long as you weigh under, oh, 325 lbs, don’t have too much facial hair, and can grunt at the appropriate times, it is quite easy for a woman to obtain sex.
Haven’t you ever heard the expression, “women get laid when we want to, men get laid when we let them”?
Sunday, July 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
You’ve seen spit bubbles, right? Well, apparently the American porn industry thought that was an idea worth borrowing, with an appropriate transformation into the realm of bukkake. Another image that you must affirmatively click to view. We have our standards here at ErosBlog! (Namely, low and variable.)
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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.
Sunday, July 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a new statue that we really really need for Washington, DC. Wouldn’t this be an ideal backdrop for John Ashcroft’s podium-thumping speeches?
Saturday, July 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This song will start your day off just right!
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Saturday, July 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s really funny. Ok, you start:
“Who’s there?”
Saturday, July 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’ll come right out and say it, I’ve never understood polyamory. To be blunt, I’m not incredibly facile at building and maintaining loving relationships with one person at a time. (Yes, folks, Bacchus is available, and has been for… well… crap, I’m out of fingers and toes, uh… er, for a long time.) Start upping the numbers, and in my limited experience, things get ugly fast.
That “experience”, I will confess, consists of only one single train of events, which unfolded over two years and involved five friends of mine, three of them quite close friends. By the end of the matter two previously happy couplings were history, and I had witnessed a wedding, two divorces, one suicide attempt, several more contemplated suicides, and many many many hours of anguished conversation and tearful soul searching. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, appeared to enjoy much of this process, although the central figure is, or was when last heard from, happily living in a poly family and community on a different coast.
Now, that said, I’m sympathetic to the idea of polyamory. It’s just that I’m pessimistic about its prospects and stability. So I tend to be drawn to accounts of poly lifestyles, and I try to be polite about the fact that my fascination is akin to the fascination of a train-loving bystander at a really juicy train wreck.
Ever since I first linked to Lilith’s Note of the Day, I have noticed that Lilith has interesting stuff to say about the poly lifestyle. Her blog, and the network of linked blogs of some of the people dear to her, make for fascinating reading, at least if you are interested in human relationships and the rich complex ways in which they overlap.
All of which is by way of incredibly long-winded introduction to this item, entitled simply “How to Fuck Up” by Elise Matthesen. Lilith notes that this helpful guide has been circulating since 1997, but she doesn’t personally think it’s gotten quite enough exposure. Of the nine enumerated methods for fucking up, I saw at least seven put to effective use during the one poly train wreck I witnessed. So I’d have to agree, a little more exposure couldn’t hurt. Go read it already, it’s full of gems like Method One:
1. Lie. This is basic and effective. To maximize bad results, lie about something important to the other person(s) and arrange to be caught in the lie in such a way as to produce maximum shock. Additional stress points awarded for keeping the lie going for a while before discovery, which increases the disorientation and sense of betrayal in the deceived person(s). Lying about sex gets double points. Lying about being married gets triple fuck-up points. Creative lies of omission (i.e. “not telling”) with fancy rationalizations and condescension get gold stars.
And now it’s truly the deep dark middle of the night, and time for sleep.
[links removed due to ancient rot]
Friday, July 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
When reading manga, sometimes you just have to focus on the details, and be damned to the plot:
Thursday, July 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Attu has found a page with a bunch of pictures (for so long as their bandwidth lasts) of the lovely Nadine, who has vast, er, tracts of land:
Simply amazing. And (if you study all the pictures carefully, purely in the name of science of course) pretty likely real.
Wednesday, July 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I stole this excellent photograph from wKenShow:
Commentary seems superfluous.
Tuesday, July 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
In for a penny, in for a pound. I’m going to chalk this up to the strange Japanese fetish for puppy dog girls, and move on:
Do you think she might want an, er, treat?
Monday, July 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Busy weekend at Erosblog Central, which means that the nymphs were not as closely supervised as usual. This is the sort of thing that happens when Bacchus doesn’t keep ’em on a short leash:
Hey, did someone say “leash”? Now there’s an idea….
Sunday, July 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an image cropped from one of those old naughty postcards that were the first wave of mass market hard core visual pornography:
Her expression is ambiguous; she could be having fun or she could just be a good sport getting paid to be there. But the grin on his face is downright infectious! Porn would be three times as hot today if everybody in it could manage to look that happy.
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Sunday, July 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Ellie over at Girls In The Bag (which sounds sorta fun all by its own self) wonders:
it’s my fucking job that is killing me. all weekend i was a tattooed, belly hanging out, wind blown sexpot. now i am a dumpy office worker.
what the hell is up with that?
Damn fine question. Get enough people asking it and we’ll have a whole new economy, too.
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Sunday, July 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s Fairy Butch with some advice on choosing the right sized dildo:
Many times in my years as a sex toy salesperson has someone presented me with his or her partner and asked, “Which size dildo should we buy?” Ahem.
Now, Pumpkin, from gazing upon your partner I may be able to ascertain her race or her ethnicity, and if she’s wearing political buttons, I might even be able to get a handle on her creed, but you can bet your bottom dollar I won’t be able to judge a good fit for your girlfriend’s butt based on her taste in weekend wear.
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Friday, July 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I remonstrate with you, gentle readers, for allowing me to run a sex blog all this time without ever telling me about Her Desires. It’s an excellent sex blog, very personal and extremely well written, and it’s been going since 1999! And I’ve never seen it before. If Vikki hadn’t said kind things about me a few days ago, only the gods on High Olympus know how much longer she would have escaped my notice.
Well worth your time. I’m off to read through her archives.
Friday, July 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
You might have done, if these lovely and impudent lips and tongue had been handy:
Remember the wisdom of E.E. Cummings: “Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.”
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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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Wednesday, July 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There’s a brand new babe blog on the block, courtesy of Mr. Kimochi. The babes so far are mostly predominantly Asian and very very hot. Here’s a sample:
Tuesday, July 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Gosh, Violet Blue’s Real Doll Fantasy (or as one potential sugar daddy venture capitalist calls it, her RDF) is getting more concrete by the day:
My mind has been absolutely in the gutter contemplating the possibilities. (Scroll down to the original 6/10 entry for my latest sex fantasy weirdness.) A big boy toy, all-silicone, all-man, and all-pliant. Glassy eyes, posable limbs, just begging for it. And a girl, too — a dense silicone sister to hump like an unblinking, horny little love monkey.
…
There would be lots of lube, and toys, too — how else will I pillage silicone boy’s village and storm his shores? First, I’d have to draw a bath to warm up my new guests, and then I’d enjoy toweling them off, oh yeah, baby. Then I’d drag their heavy bodies to my bedroom, sort of like Igor heading to the lab. Maybe then I’d have my helpful assistant jump in… Oh, it’s just too much to think about, but I can tell you that the fantasy ends with everyone covered in gallons of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, wrapped in at least twenty feet of rope, a popped and squashed inflatable St. Bernard, four melted vibrators, a silicone male Real Doll wearing a mullet wig and with “BITCH” tattooed on his ass, a female Real Doll with a big permanent silicone smile, one set each of soiled cheerleader, cop and Hot Dog On A Stick uniforms, and several visits from real officers due to concerned neighbors about the noise.
I swear, this needs to happen. The world needs to watch this video.
Tuesday, July 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Since I’m already in trouble for posting a story about the degradation of women without including a bunch of condemnatory hand-wringing, this might be as good a time as any to share these disturbing images from a scanned Japanese video tape wrapper. When it comes to porn, the Japanese do some very strange things:
And a slight variation on the theme:
In case anybody is wondering, no, I’m not hugely turned on by the paint-ball escapade, nor with these grotesque images of a distorted female face. However, the common theme (and I shouldn’t think I’d need to say this on a sex blog, but from time to time it seems I do) is that what consenting adults do to get hot is their own damn business. ErosBlog isn’t in the business of condemning anything in that category, although there are some things you won’t see here simply because your host has a weak stomach.
Monday, July 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tristan Taomino writes in The Village Voice:
“I’ve got a theory: The blowjob is the ultimate act of sexual dominance and submission. Forget bondage, ball gags, and buttfucking — sucking cock is pure power exchange.”
She’s also got makeup advice:
“Which reminds me of a story a makeup artist told me about the Barbara Walters-Monica Lewinsky interview. She said, “It was an important media appearance, and so much preparation went into how Monica would look: her clothes, her hair, her makeup. I was shocked to see that Monica’s lips were done up wet and shiny. It just called so much attention to them. You simply do not use gloss on the mouth of a woman known for the most famous blowjob in the world.”
Thanks to Daze for the link.
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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Sunday, July 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There is a certain type of loutish cad who delights in degrading women by playing a specific game with his buddies. They will rate various women they see as “no-baggers,” “one-baggers,” “two-baggers” and so forth. The idea is a rating system based on “How many brown bags you’d have to put over her head before you could stand to sleep with her.” Crass to be sure, and the guys who play this game a lot seem to enjoy putting ladies down more than anything else.
Anyway, it now appears that at least one such cad has both a camera and bad judgment. Because these ladies (judging by the bits we can see) are lovely:
I suppose there’s a simpler explanation for this shot. Perhaps these ladies lost a bet, or chose poorly in a game of truth-or-dare?
Saturday, July 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A while back I got a couple of emails offering to send me sex-related goodies for free, in the hope that I would mention them here. Well, that’s a deal I can get behind! Just email me me and I’ll tell you where to ship the loot.
So last night I got my first chance to sample the plunder. I watched Marie and Jack, A Love Story. This is a very nice 27 minute documentary style sex movie from Comstock Films. I’m not sure how else to describe it, but it’s very hot.
It starts with Marie and Jack, two adult film actors, having a chat about sex. They talk about the difference between “work sex” and “personal sex” and what it’s like to make movies together, and to be married to each other while doing adult movies.
As they talk, it’s clear they are deeply in love. And then the movie starts cutting to scenes of them making love. No porno music, no weird positions, just plain old missionary style sex between two reasonably attractive people who are obviously really hot for each other. This is comfortable sex, familiar sex, real sex, and it’s hotter than hell.
And what’s to say after that? She gets that soft look, huge smile, and incandescent glow about her that a woman gets when she’s having an orgasm, and that you never see in a porno flick. She comes, he comes, they laugh together and cuddle with huge grins on their faces, end of movie. Wow.
Men, I’ve got to say I think this would be an awesome movie to show your lady. It’s tasteful enough to be an art film, it’s got a real relationship in it, it’s sexy enough to get both of you aroused, and it’s short enough that you’re going to want to continue on your own after the movie finishes. I’ll bet it would go well with a tub of these, too.
Friday, July 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From this Ebay auction you can get, if you are rich and lucky, your very own belly dancer exceedingly fine, fixed in two dimensions for your perpetual enjoyment:
Go thou, and bid heavily. I don’t get a cut, I just know you will want to bid.
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Friday, July 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Biroco, who would appear to be an occultist of considerable erudition, has compiled a small collection of cover art from vintage smut books of the lesbian persuasion.
The covers, which you will have to view in situ, are accompanied by learned commentary, regarding their typography and other subjects:
It appears also that in Two Way Beach Girl the sexual attractiveness of the ribcage and discernable midriff contours was coming into fashion, showing a more discerning taste for erotica that perhaps reached its pinnacle in the anorexic cabbage-fed mortuary-slab Eastern European cum-shot amateurs of the late 90s, which of course will not be of interest to the connoisseur of vintage erotica.
Well said!
Thursday, July 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
No commentary, no context, no Ebay auction, all I have is a picture:
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, July 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I know, because daily I read and mostly fail to comprehend Scripting News, that there’s some sort of techie war-for-hearts-and-minds going on over RSS and all those other perplexing abbreviations having to do with syndication. Someone’s ox is being gored, and Winer and Ev and Google and the BlogSpot people are in it up to their ears, and all I know for sure is that my pathetic RSS headline feed is probably funky when it’s not downright broken, and that I can’t put any content in my feed at all because my blogging software doesn’t know the difference between properly formed XML and the steaming putrid droppings of Thor’s middle chariot goat. (I’m talking about the mean one, Blitzen, who, with his brother Donner, later put on some fake antlers and got a job with Santa Claus. I am not making this up.) Oh yeah, and there’s something afoot that’s somehow related to all of this (well, not related to the reindeer impersonators so far as I know) called Echo, which is so horrible that Adam Curry has offered to pay ten thousand clams to some assortment of individuals or entities, if they will just display good taste by ignoring and failing to support this Echo business, whatever it is.
Confused yet? Good. Welcome to the club. We’re just getting to the good part.
So here I am, smurfing happily down the trail between the smurfberry bushes following a trail of Smurfette’s undergarmets, when I make this post here suggesting that some rich benefactor give Violet Blue the ten thousand clams she needs to have a RealDoll orgy and write home about it.
Little did I know that I’d wandered into the crossfire of the RSS wars.
Comes now Dan Lyke over at Flutterby, who for some reason I haven’t been reading lately even though he very kindly in his comments way back when this was a wee bitty baby sex blog, and offers up this brilliant idea: Why not get Adam to put his ten thousand clams toward Violet Blue’s noble social experiment?
I don’t have a dog in this RSS/Echo fight, and I’m clearly not smart enough to have an opinion as to how all that should come out. But I know what I know. And what I know is, I really want four guys with names on their shirts to show up at Violet Blue’s apartment at seven in the morning with two huge packing crates full of carefully packaged Real Doll. And a five gallon bucket of Liquid Silk, to go, complete with electric immersion heater. So I’m getting solidly behind Dan Lyke’s proposal.
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Monday, July 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s time for some gratuitous sex comics, don’t you think? Here’s a sweet manga blowjob that looks like a lot of fun:
Take special note of her good firm grip on his balls. That’s the way to get a man’s attention! Ladies, a tip: gentle is good, especially where teeth are concerned, but we like, and can tolerate, more pressure than you tend to enjoy. Never be afraid to use a good firm grip!
Monday, July 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Dirty Whore is doing one of those endurance blogging things for a good cause, and she wants sponsors. Like all good pledge drives should, she provides premiums. In this case, she’s posting excerpts from her porn collection. And quality excerpts they are! Especially noteworthy are a couple of raw pics that combine sex and bondage. This was a near absolute taboo in porn until recently, and hot bondage sex pics showing penetration are still quite rare. So go, and look, and pledge if you like so we can see more examples of what is clearly an eclectic porn collection.
Sunday, July 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I like this picture because it’s so obviously innocent. She’s perhaps drunk, certainly having a good time, and most likely unaware that her short denim dress is betraying her.
Limbo would be much more fun if there were more like her!
Sunday, July 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fun little toy: a text-to-speech demonstrator from AT&T Labs. It has lots of different voices and no inhibitions. Check it out by selecting the Audrey voice and making her say something like “Your cock is enormous. Please put it up my cunt” in a cute British accent.
Not all phrases come out natural sounding, but many do. Almost as much fun as a phone sex line, and it has the added benefit of being free!
Besides, I think Audrey-the-computer-voice likes ErosBlog.
Friday, July 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been saving this image since forever to post today, and then I almost forgot. What a catastrophe that would have been:
Looks like an explosively good time!
Thursday, July 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Do you spend too much time hanging out in sex toy stores? Here’s a chance to test your mad brand identification skillz:
Name That Sex Toy
Alas, every now and then the pictures have lame and inconsistent censoring on them. What kind of weak sister writes a sex toy quiz but doesn’t have the strength of conviction to show pictures…15% of the time? Sorry if this sounds harsh, but censoring pictures of sex toys strikes me as actively bad, like censoring safe sex information so that sexual newbies can’t see exactly where the condom goes. What are we doing, protecting sensitive eyes from pictures of…plastic? Pegs my Lame-O-Meter.
Oh yeah…I missed two.
Wednesday, July 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Although I’ve long been pleased to link to Violet Blue’s blog, the blog itself is not all there is to see at her Tiny Nibbles site. For instance, she offers that all-too-rare beast, real sex toy reviews with nitty-gritty details of the things in actual use. Here’s a paragraph from her article on vibrating cock rings, just to give you the flavor:
I had been very curious about the Neptune Ring Vibe, the vibrating cock ring that has been around Good Vibes almost as long as I have. I’ve sold more of those little pink dolphins than there are fish in the Steinhart Aquarium and I’ve been dreaming about wrapping that little pink ring around some lucky guy and going for a ride. My day had come, and hopefully so would I. Batteries in, dolphin working great, and onto him it went. We tried it on his lubed-up shaft (hint: lube the boy, not the toy — ahhh!) and attempted a fit. One of the things I was beginning to notice was that he needed to be all the way inside me for me to feel the buzz, so as delicious as thrusting was, the vibration was intermittent. I was on top and the dolphin still wasn’t hitting my clit in that just-so way, and my bright boy had an idea: doggie-style.
As anyone who’s ever been disappointed by a sex toy can tell you (and who hasn’t?) the world needs more of this sort of research and writing.
Tuesday, July 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an image from a book called The Rotenberg Collection: Forbidden Erotica. If it’s the vintage image it’s purported to be, it was a remarkable piece of darkroom creativity when made.
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Sunday, June 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Mike Taht makes a good point:
It would be a far better world if more politicians spent more time pounding the flesh rather than pressing it. Every minute Clinton spent banging Monica Lewinski he wasn’t screwing the rest of us or the world. Every time she knelt before that mighty cigar – she was a heroine.
Friday, June 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This, allegedly, is food, prepared by good churchly people and served to children and maiden aunts with a straight face:
Apparently it’s called “Candle Salad” and it’s prepared in all innocence by Mormons and folk of that ilk. Theresa explains it all, in a long post about Mormon food of which this is but the tiniest excerpt:
Back then I was also taught to make candle salad, only we dipped our bananas in Dream Whip and rolled them in crushed cornflakes before placing them upright in their pineapple rings and sticking half of a red maraschino cherry onto the tip. It takes a very, very clean mind to think that up.
Oh my, yes.
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Wednesday, June 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a picture I found over at Uffish Thoughts some while back:
I can hear it now: “Will the lady be requiring the complete hand detailing this afternoon?”
Wednesday, June 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
You know, enthusiasm in the giving of blowjobs is all well and good. Indeed, a lot of guys could wish to find more of it in their lives. However, it’s possible to have too much of a good thing.
Wednesday, June 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From Makura No Soshi, a long catalog of sexual experiences, well written and pleasing to any voyeuristic eye. I like this bit the best, because it’s the one that she makes sound like the most fun:
The first time I kiss a woman it rocks me all the way down to my knees. Later, when I am alone, I burst into tears. I think about it over and over again. I want to go around singing that stupid song that was on MTV for awhile, “I Kissed A Girl.” I lock myself in the bathroom and think about it some more, and touch myself. The first time I have sex with a woman I am terrified that I won’t know what to do. I think that I will do to her all the things that I like to have done to me, for starters, and that perhaps she can tell me all the rest. Her skin is so unbelievably smooth, her breasts so soft, and she is wet and plush-velvety, and red, and deep. Her clitoris rises toward my mouth like a sweet, dark fig. It is the best sex. Ever.
Tuesday, June 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From that fountain of high quality sexual knowledge, RedBook Magazine, comes this news for a woman who (perhaps hopefully?) wants to know if there are any health problems associated with swallowing semen:
The good news is that it’s beneficial! Recently studies have shown that regular consumption of semen can actually have some wonderful health benefits. Semen contains at least 13 prostaglandins and high concentrations of hormones that retain potency if taken orally. The quality of the seminal hormones is thought to be superior to even prescription versions. In the study women who regularly consumed their lovers sperm showed such benefits as a reduction in ovarian cancers, lowered depression and many even had acne symptoms lessen or stop entirely. It is thought that the oral consumption of the potent hormones had a balancing effect on woman’s hormonal ups and downs caused by their periods and pregnancy or breastfeeding.
The key to the findings is “regular consumption”. Only once in blue moon won’t have the same effect. Those that indulged once or twice a week received little benefits. The ones who received the results were the ones who ingested semen four to five times a week or more!
You do understand, of course, that no man wants to see a woman depressed, and that “balancing effect on hormonal ups and downs” sounds pretty nifty too. If daily blowjobs are the cure, why, we’ll do what it takes to make ourselves available. Some sacrifices are worth it.
Monday, June 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Or how to have fun on the back roads with that spotlight your Uncle Dave picked up for spotlighting deer:
“Beep beep!”
Saturday, June 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It will come as no surprise to the veteran sex blog surfer that there are folks out there selling powders and pills that are supposed to improve the flavor of male semen. But, thanks to Adam Curry and the United States Patent Office, we now have details about one such product, Patent #6485773, including a recipe and a description of the oh-so-scientific methods used to perfect it.
First the recipe, which boils down to “eat more fruit”:
38-41% Freeze-dried Pineapple Juice
12-14% Freeze-dried Banana Powder
7-9% Freeze-dried Broccoli Powder
5-7% Freeze-dried Celery Powder
5-7% Freeze-dried Strawberry or
Cherry Juice Powder
5-7% Cinnamon Powder
5.5% up to 1143 mg Calcium Powder
1.9% up to 400 mg Magnesium Powder
1.2-2% Ginger root Powder
1.2-2% Nutmeg Powder
1.0% up to 200 mg Creatine Powder
.5% up to 100 mg Zinc AAC 20%
up to 30 mg Selenium AAC 0.2%
up to 6 mg Vitamin E
up to 2.5 mg Vitamin B6
up to .5 mg Vitamin B12
Total: 21-22 grams - in Powder
And here’s how they figured it out:
During the research and development phase of this invention, it was discovered that pineapple juice and broccoli were only slightly effective in improving semen taste, regardless how much of either or both were ingested. As a result, powder concentrates of both ingredients were tested, with only slightly better results. Finally, freeze-dried forms of these same ingredients were tried with significantly improved results. As certain other fruits and vegetables were also somewhat effective in improving taste results, banana, celery, and strawberry/cherry were also ultimately selected and added to the formulation. The cumulative effects of these five ingredients in freeze-dried form produced greatly improved semen-taste results. Further research and testing resulted in discovering that three specific spices (Ginger, Cinnamon, and Nutmeg) were successful in neutralizing the generally salty/bitter taste usually attributed to the male ejaculate. As a result, these three spices were also added to the invention formulation in optimal ratios, as determined during our research and development.
…
Following this, marketing testing began with 27 local couples of different ages, races, and health regimens (e.g. smokers/non-smokers, drinkers/non-drinkers, healthy/not-so-healthy lifestyles and diets). Questionnaires were created and used for data collection by said couples and, after several months, the data was examined. The results were highly positive, clearly indicating that regardless of the lifestyles of the couples, significant semen-taste improvement was experienced by all in the market-test group. Subsequent to this, the product was placed on the market where after thousands of orders and with a 100% Money-back Guarantee, less than 1.5% return of product has been experienced.
I really love that last line. I can see the letter now: “Dear Sir: I would like a refund for your semen taste-improving product. It does not work. My cum still tastes nasty. Sincerely, your customer.”
Friday, June 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Some good advice from Daze: “We’ll skip past the stuff about parasites and jump right to the sex.”
I think that’s probably almost always the wisest course.
Wednesday, June 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I seem to be stuck in a picture rut lately. Here’s a shot of the world’s most ridiculous bikini bottom:
It must be summertime….
Tuesday, June 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’ve “borrowed” the following graphic from the front page of the excellent if somewhat frightening medical fetish toy sellers at MedicalToys.Com. (The theory is that they’ll overlook my liberality in this respect because of the free promotion it gives them; presumably if that theory is wrong they’ll menace me with urethral catheters or lawyers or something and I’ll have to replace the graphic with a picture of Mickey Rat giving someone the finger.)
But I digress. The picture:
If you don’t recognize the object “Nurse Laurel” is brandishing, these two archive entries might help you out. If you don’t know why it’s sexy, don’t worry; like most fetishes, the appeal is not obvious…except to those to whom it is obvious. I confess this one has me scratching my head, but presumably it’s all in good fun.
Saturday, June 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
An arresting photograph, even if the purpose of the exercise is obscure:
But why are her eyes closed?
Thursday, June 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a story from a quarter-millennium ago called “The Female Husband” about a notorious lesbian of the era said to have married a woman while posing as a man. Some of the delicate phrasings are quite humorous:
As Molly Hamilton was extremely warm in her inclinations, and as those inclinations were so violently attached to Mrs. Johnson, it would not have been difficult for a less artful woman, in the most private hours, to turn the ardour of enthusiastic devotion into a different kind of flame.
Their conversation, therefore, soon became in the highest manner criminal, and transactions not fit to be mention’d past between them.
Or, how about:
Molly assured her mother of the falsehood of this report; and as it is usual for persons who are too eager in any cause, to prove too much, she asserted some things which staggered her mother’s belief, and made her cry out, O child, there is no such thing in human nature.
…
The whole truth having been disclosed before the justice, and something of too vile, wicked and scandalous a nature, which was found in the Doctor’s trunk, having been produced in evidence against her, she was committed to Bridewell.
…
At the trial the said Mary Price the wife, was produced as a witness, and being asked by the council, whether she had ever any suspicion of the Doctor’s sex during the whole time of the courtship, she answered positively in the negative. She was then asked how long they had been married, to which she answered three months; and whether they had cohabited the whole time together? to which her reply was in the affirmative. Then the council asked her, whether during the time of this cohabitation, she imagined the Doctor had behaved to her as a husband ought to his wife? Her modesty confounded her a little at this question; but she at last answered she did imagine so. Lastly, she was asked when it was that she first harboured any suspicion of her being imposed upon? To which she answered, she had not the least suspicion till her husband was carried before a magistrate, and there discovered, as hath been said above.
It sounds like pretty good use was made of “something of too vile, wicked and scandalous a nature, which was found in the Doctor’s trunk”.
Tuesday, June 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I am home sick today. Head cold, yucky but not too miserable. Yesterday, on my way home early to take a nap, I stopped to grab some liquids and a pint of ice cream for comfort food. Wound up with a little tub of Nestle Bon Bons, which are rich little nuggets of vanilla ice cream dipped in a chocolate shell. The ice cream is heavily whipped with air so it’s soft as silk even at freezer temperature, and the chocolate shell is thin, fragile, and apt to break or melt in your fingers during the brief journey from tub to mouth. Both ice cream and chocolate are very yummy.
Gentlemen, I’m telling you, these things are sex pills!
So far that’s an untested theory. But I’m convinced. Get a tub of these things and sit down on a couch next to any woman. If she has even the slightest touch of warm inclination toward you, or feels she should, and you play your cards right, you should have her eating out of your hand (literally) inside of three minutes.
Better yet, since these things are fragile and melty and too good to let go to waste, there’s going to be some licking of (at least) fingers within another two minutes.
Lick her sticky fingers. Get her to lick yours. Tease her with a bon bon, put it between your lips instead of into her mouth. Crack the chocolate shell visibly with a light-but-firm press of your lips so that the ice cream starts to melt along with the chocolate shell. If she kisses you at this time, give the bon bon back. If not, feed her another one, but slowly….
Dammit, if you have to be a peacock, be a good one!
As soon as this head cold clears up I’m going to have to find me a lady friend with whom to experiment. The Nestle Bon Bon theory of seduction must be tested.
Tuesday, June 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I think this picture is evidence that sometimes recycling can be taken a little bit too far:
Monday, June 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I just stumbled over a fascinating series of blog essays entitled “Why Your Wife Won’t Have Sex With You.” If this is a topic of interest to you, as it was to me during a six-and-a-half-year doomed relationship, you’ll want to set aside a couple of hours and read through the whole series.
G’wan, do that now, before I poison it for you with my opinion.
Back already? Gosh you read fast.
Anyway, it’s a very thoughtful series, clearly written by a woman with a level head, an introspective disposition, and a lot of good will. Her observations are useful and interesting and I wish I’d had a chance to read them before my girlfriend, who I loved quite a lot but who had serious sexual issues, got rid of me and picked another man not to have sex with.
That was supposed to be funny.
Moving rapidly along. So I’m reading this excellent series of essays, nodding and agreeing and going “Hmm, that explains a lot” and generally getting myself edified, when suddenly it struck me. There’s a unifying theme to the whole essay series, and it’s this: “Your wife won’t have sex with you because you’re doing something wrong or failing to do something right.”
Yup, it’s all about you, buster.
And I suppose, in a weird definitional way, that has to be true. If getting it right as a man is defined as doing whatever it takes to get laid by your chosen woman, then by definition if she’s not willing to be intimate you need to get your act together.
Still, I’m concerned by the way this approach utterly disposes of the concept of an intimate partnership between two responsible adult humans. If it’s never about the woman, if there’s never any concept that by cleaving unto a partnership relationship she undertook some responsibility for maintaining the intimate part of the relationship, then there’s no partnership. There’s just another pea hen watching from the sidelines, waiting to see whether any of those strutting peacocks ever manage to wave their tail feathers just the right way to make her tingle.
Maybe that’s the way the world is. But I was raised to afford women a bit more humanity than that. I’m concerned that this essay series dehumanizes women by, effectively, absolving them from any responsibility for intimacy.
Go read the essays. If nothing else, you’ll learn to be a better peacock.
2012 Link Update: The original Salon.com link went 404 in 2009. I’ve replaced it with an archives.org version. The author also moved much of her Salon material to an archive blog, possibly with some curatorial changes: Why Your Wife Won’t Have Sex With You.
Saturday, May 31st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a cute image of abject slavery, as envisioned in the absinthe-soaked photography salons of turn-of-the-century Paris:
This image was snagged from a passing Ebay postcard auction, where it was going for a sum that should have been large enough to ensure that the models were included in the deal.
Thursday, May 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a hilarious pinup art essay by James Lileks, in which is lampooned an extensive series of paintings featuring girls whose panties have mysteriously fallen off in public. Celery is often present. It’s all very weird and a little disturbing, although some of the pictures are sort of cute if you are into public humiliation of pretty but hapless women with inexplicably slippery thighs:
It’s hard to say whether Lileks doesn’t get that this was a fetish of the artist, doesn’t approve of what is basically a harmless fetish expressed in art, or is just being so harsh for the (considerable) comic effect that results. A good read in any case.
Wednesday, May 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Courtesy of Porn-Stash we have [had] a gallery purporting to be the Brazilian Women’s Soccer Team. Dunno if that’s true or not, but there is one hell of a lot of deliciously callipygian beauty on display. And the shower scenes (one of which is pictured here) have enough nubile soapy goodness to power a small country, not to mention make a grown-but-dateless man weep.
Exit weeping….
Similar Sex Blogging:
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.
Monday, May 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A tooter who tooted a flute
tried to tutor two tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tooter,
“Is it harder to toot, or
to tutor two tooters to toot?”
Friday, May 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The more vocal advocates for breast feeding argue that it’s an act that’s utterly without sexual significance, and that the sexual iconography of the exposed female breast is somehow destroyed by the proximity of a hungry infant. If they’re right, the following story has no place on a sex blog.
But who cares? This is just too deliciously kinky and European:
Woman who nursed puppies has no regrets
A young Norwegian mother who took a litter of puppies to her own breast when her dog died giving birth remains proud of her unusual move.
…
The drama began Friday November 8 when Skiaker’s Canarian Warren Hound, named Aida, started giving birth to a litter of 14 puppies. Suddenly the puppies stopped coming and the next stop was the vet’s office.
In the end, both Aida and three of the puppies died, while another three died later.
Those that survived were in desperate need of nourishment, and that’s when Skiaker impulsively took them to her breast. She fed them over that first weekend, until surrogate mother dogs could be found to take over.
Today, the eight surviving puppies (four males and four females) are back in the Skiaker’s home and in good health. So is baby Emil, now five months old and happy to play with his canine comrades in the Skiakers’ living room.
Deep in your heart you know that the video (if there were a video) of a blonde Norwegian lady breastfeeding puppies would sell for big bucks on Ebay.
Wednesday, May 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There’s a story behind this image. It’s obviously a recreation of the famous “three wise monkeys” with their “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” advice. But what caused these three ladies on a couch to do this, and to smile so nicely while doing it?
Tuesday, May 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Mormons, word has it, wear special underwear to the temple. Mt. Molelog found a picture:
Is that a stuffed codpiece? Or do they just put extra layers of cloth in that area to deter unseemly lust from rearing its ugly head when the sermon gets hot and heavy?
UPDATE: ErosBlog is informed that the special Mormon underpants are for daily wear, if you are that sort of Mormon; not just for wearing to temple as the post suggests. Only their bikini waxers know for sure….
Sunday, May 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a blowjob from the 1920s. Black and white this photo may be, and ragged at the edges from most of a century of horndog mishandling, but isn’t this long-dead fellatrix a righteous cutie?
Thursday, May 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This animated .gif actually came through in a couple of sex spams over the last few days. Disturbingly gripping, if you’ll pardon the pun:
Those wacky Japanese animators strike again!
Wednesday, May 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Daze has found, and linked to, Christina Rossetti’s poem “The Goblin Market“, which is a poem about girls who get hungry for fruit:
“She dropp’d a tear more rare than pearl,
Then suck’d their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flow’d that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;
She suck’d until her lips were sore….
No sex to see here…move along now.
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.
Monday, May 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
In case you were curious, an Interview with an Autofellator. A highlight:
Imagine having someone suck on your cock who knows exactly what you’re feeling at every moment; who can adjust every variable instantly to provide you with maximum pleasure. Imagine (this one is going to be more of a stretch for non-cocksuckers) sucking on the cock of a man who knows exactly how hard and fast to push, and when to pull out (for those of us who still have a gag-reflex). Having that much control means that I can have a variety of kinds of orgasms and can easily separate orgasm from ejaculation, and shoot a number of loads before having the final orgasm. It isn’t a substitute for sex with other people; it’s a completely different thing, like masturbation squared. It’s like any good sex: Sometimes it’s cerebral, sometimes the body takes over.
Monday, May 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Dr. Menlo, it turns out, has a covert surveillance portraitist concealed in the ErosBlog compound. (This would also explain the funny looking spot in the Hydrangea bushes with all the black cigarette butts and empty oil paint tubes on the ground.) Thus was Dr. Menlo able to publish this never-before-seen expose view of an editorial meeting at a sex blog:
Now, back to the serious business of publishing.
Later update: This is, of course, Nymphs and Satyr by William-Adolphe Bouguereau.
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.
Saturday, May 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Mike Snider, a modern (as in, currently alive) poet who actually writes poems real humans can read and enjoy, says that any straight man who writes about sex is automatically suspect in some feminist circles. Yeah, but that’s hardly surprising, since sex itself (at least, sex involving a penis and any female orifice) is automatically suspect in some feminist circles. It may be that Andrea Dworkin never actually wrote the exact words “All sex is rape” — but she wrote some things that sure suggested she felt that way, and the idea has surprisingly persistent “legs” in, as Mike Snider put it, “some (not all) feminist circles.”
But that’s OK. Somehow it doesn’t seem likely that too many Dworkinites are loyal readers of ErosBlog.
Anyway, it bothers Mike that “there’s not much explicitly sexual poetry by men about sex with women.” Fortunately, he’s doing something about it:
We woke entangled in new love’s designs And scrapped a plan to breakfast in the park….
Thank you, Mike.
Thursday, May 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an excerpt from Tiny Nibbles, a nifty blog written by a woman who (among other interesting things) writes for the very cool people at Good Vibrations. This bit illustrates the perils of sending rude emails to someone with access to all the sex toys plus the complete perv resources of the Greater Bay Area:
But what I really want to tell her is that she needs to be oiled up with a delicious aphrodisiac oil by six nubile and adoring male and female nymphs who blindfold her and drizzle warm maple syrup all over her sensitive parts and lick it all off while drinking some ancient bottle of sweet liqueur that makes them all hallucinate and writhe like a bunch of orgiastic snakes, all culminating with her much-needed introduction to a Hitachi Magic Wand Super Silicone G-Spotter Kit, the Tiny Buzzers nipple clamps, a Little Flirt butt plug and the iSurge, all at once. Then a sound spanking from the super-hot and very scrumptious Mistress Morgana. And a complete training on wifeliness by the dedicated wives of Whap! Magazine.
Bacchus can think of a couple of ladies (not to mention a guy or two) who would benefit from that treatment.
Thursday, May 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
What is it with oranges and sex? First this, then this, and now an alert reader has found the following picture, adorning a Japanese sex toy shop:
Apparently ErosBlog is now the world clearing house for erotic citrus.
Thursday, May 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Via Daze, a very sexy poem, which starts: “Lazy, I lie in bed and watch you bend…“
Wednesday, May 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Sorry folks, it’s been hectic around here. Is there any chance that an entirely gratuitous pinup shot of a Japanese cowgirl with bodacious ta-tas will make up for the lack of scintillating posts by Bacchus?
Yup…thought so.
Monday, May 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Todd McFarlane has a new line of figures coming out, including this twisted Dorothy as the bondage slave of the Munchkins. If ErosBlog had a wish list, this would be on it:
Twisted but awesome!
Sunday, May 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Said to be from the north of England, your agrarian aphorism for the day is “Old enough to bleed, old enough to butcher.” Referring, of course, to the idea that a woman who is old enough to menstruate is old enough to have sex.
There aren’t enough fingers and toes to enumerate all the ways in which that aphorism strikes modern sensibilities as politically incorrect. But this sex blog is on record as being, at least, concerned by the fact that our society attempts to condemn sexually adult young people to years of sexless frustration. It’s worth remembering that this attempt is not universal, nor even particularly common, across a greater spectrum of human societies.
Friday, May 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Well, not really. But the headline is almost as much fun as the AOL Kills Puppies business below.
Anyway, if you read the Volokh Conspiracy, you will find that the conspirators are having fun discussing the way CBS fudged the numbers on some web pages connected with their recent “Guns in America” show. CBS defined “Kids” and “Juveniles” as including people up to age 24, which they apparently did so that their scare statistics about child firearms deaths could be hugely inflated. (Memo to CBS: Drug dealers — or anyone else — between the ages of 18 and 24 are not kids.) An astute reader then pointed out that Monica was only 23 when she and Bill got down and dirty in the oval office. The result? If you are inclined to believe what CBS reports about guns in America, then you should also believe that Clinton was a child molester.
Friday, May 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Body graffiti, it’s all the rage:
Thursday, May 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s proof that even bad solutions to engineering problems have to be designed:
Thursday, May 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This is only marginally on topic for a sex blog, but the headline was impossible to resist. And it does appear that the ridiculous and puppy-fatal rule in question may be related to AOL’s overall attempt to look family-friendly (i.e., anti-sex). If nothing else, this serves as a demonstration that failure to get on the Clue Train is fatal to puppies and other living things. From this web page (which probably won’t be there much longer):
AOL has a rule in the fine print that says that we must NOT put a web link into any email!! Yep – it’s there in the fine print. Take a look.
Well I had our website ( www.amrt.net ) on the bottom of my email and someone ratted me out – saying they found the amrt.net website “offensive” – this is the site for dogs and cats in animal shelters – not a porn site.
So AOL went in and changed my password. Oh yes they sent me an email explaining why they had changed my password. But I never got that email – because they had changed my password. And I never got the email that told me a litter of puppies needed out of the Downey shelter NOW. And thanks to AOL those puppies died that night.
Ouch.
Wednesday, April 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From the self-described Dirty Whore, this entertaining story of the fun you can have with cooking oil:
We stumbled back to his apartment but stopped at the 7-11 to pick up a bottle of Wesson oil. I ripped down his shower curtain and spread it on the living room floor. I pulled off my clothes and he poured the oil all over my body then joined me on the plastic sheet. Hands slid over each other — the oil felt marvelous — and before I even put my fingers on him, he was hard as a rock. I got onto my hands and knees as he fingerfucked my pussy and slipped an oily finger into my ass. Then two. I moaned, not feeling much pain thanks to the alcohol and Wesson. He entered me quickly, his rigid cock slipping up my virgin hole as our oily bodies slid against each other. The feeling as he moved, my ass tight as a fist around him, was incredible. He exploded inside me, shooting his cum deep into my bowels. I loved it!
It’s a remarkable blog with some interesting stories.
Wednesday, April 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“Is that a broken hydraulic cylinder in your pocket, or are you just happy to see the steam condenser?”
Today’s mechanical marvel has been brought to you by Venomous Kate.
Tuesday, April 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tuesday, April 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There walked the soul of a true romantic:
For a while I dated an older man who happened to be my boss. To be perfectly honest, had he not been my boss, I never would have looked at him twice. I also would have been better off, which pretty much goes without saying.
Once, while we were making out in his car, he was slobbering in my ear, blowing in what he thought was a sexy manner, when he spit his chewing gum into my ear.
Not sexy.
When I asked him why he hadn’t disposed of the gum BEFORE we started snogging, he replied that it seemed a shame to waste it.
Thanks to Vagary for sharing the moment.
Friday, April 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a funny flash site where you can dress and undress this representative of the Unholy Army of Catholic Schoolgirls:
Thanks to Spanking Blog for the link.
Friday, April 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
First it was Halley critiquing porn spam, now Meryl Yourish is getting into the act with a creative deconstruction of a spam she got that was pushing arousal gel for the ladies:
Hooray! Uh a what?
Climatique is a specially designed gel that was created for women who wish to experience, restore or enhance the pleasure and joy of great sex.
Oh. It’s a gel. Not a guy, a gel. Wait a minute, let me think. A gel. Nope. Um, I want a guy to do those things for me. So far, no sale.
There’s lots more.
Thursday, April 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Your visits to this humble sex blog are most welcome. But Radosh says perverts like you may not have his CD player.
It’s OK, though…the CD player does not work anyway.
Thursday, April 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a site that’s a little sad: “Answers to Recent Anonymous Questions” from a site devoted to “Sex and Intimacy for Married Christians.”
It’s not sad because because so many of the questions display an appalling level of sexual ignorance, although they do. There’s plenty of sexual ignorance in the world, and I don’t think Christians have any corner on it.
It’s sad because so many of the questions reveal people wracked, for periods of years, by terrible feelings of guilt and dirtiness, over things as harmless as a little bit of heavy petting. A worldview that generates this sort of mental pathos from harmless sexual play has much to answer for:
I and my wife are Christians. We have been married for 7 years. We have two children. We come from very conservative background therefore likewise towards sexual matters. However just before we were married, out of some loosness, we had a sexual experience but short of intercourse. However both of us reached organsm (She reached organsm with my caressing and mine through mine). Although it has been so many years and we have asked God for forgivness, I still feel that I cannot get over with it and most importantly feel not in a proper sexual relationship with her ie that experience mar i think my intimacy with her. I guess “What you sow is what you reap.” What do you think? And do you think that this sin has made our body unclean?
The answers given are actually quite sex-positive, to the extent that a sex-positive attitude can shoe-horned (use a lot of lube, you’ll need it) into the constraints of sex within marriage that does not involve any sort of fantasizing.
As you read the site, try not to snicker at the dozen different creative spellings of “orgasm”. It ain’t the least bit funny, when you stop to think of the reason why it’s happening.
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.
Tuesday, April 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From an eBay auction, this fetching bondage art from a [racist, see comments] German propaganda medal/coin:
Going for a lot of moolah, alas.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, April 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Poor Halley. A worldly woman, there can be no doubt. But when she set out to critique the porn spam in her mailbox (a hilarious and worthy idea) she inadvertently revealed a slight…gap…in her pornographical education.
The spam:
Stacy is a starving biology student. She said the reason she would take two huge cocks inside her was because “I need the money!”
Halley proceeds to impugn both Stacy’s biological and her business sense:
And WHY is this alleged biologist-wannabe putting these two cocks in her vagina — and this makes, I’m telling you, NO SENSE — the writer tells us “I need the money!” Because she needs the money? Who, exactly, is paying for this transaction?
Let’s posit for a moment that, in fact, she is a bio major who moonlights as a common whore — a stretch of the imagination dear readers, I know, but stay with me on this. If she were propositioning guys to fuck her with huge cocks — why on earth would any reasonable man pay to compete with another customer’s huge dick for space in Stacy’s cunt? It just does not make solid economic sense. Stacy is no business major. So instead of getting two guys paying to fight over what is essentially one parking place, shouldn’t she reconsider the whole scenario and take them on one at a time?
Halley, Halley, Halley. You’re reading too much into this. “One parking place?” “Inside her”, yes, but there are ways, and there are ways.
Perhaps some visual aids are in order. Fair warning, gentle reader: like any good visual aids these links leave nothing to the imagination.
First, using the modest, time-honored, and maiden-aunt-approved device of substituting carrots for actual male members: Perhaps Stacy meant she wanted two cocks inside her not this way, but instead this way? It makes simultaneity much less implausible.
The skeptical reader will observe, with some justice, that those two carrots in the latter picture are not attached to any actual fellows, and might further observe that, were they attached to actual fellows, the angles involved would be problematic.
And perhaps that’s so. But the problems, if any, are not insurmountable. And guys have been reported to greatly enjoy this sort of sharing, which supposedly provides many of the alleged joys of bumping penises without any risk of catching homoerotic cooties from each other, thanks to the thin protective barrier of female flesh. Bacchus, however, cannot confirm that claim from any first-hand knowledge.
At this point, however, we may safely conclude that more time has been spent analyzing the porn spam in question than ever went into its authorship.
Sunday, April 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Saddam Hussein starred in gay porn films when he was a student. Really. Well, “really” according to Yahoo:
Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein has been caught with his pants down – literally. A shocking 1968 porn film has surfaced, in which the flamboyant strongman appears performing raunchy homosexual acts!
The image quality of the grainy 16mm film, uncovered by the Kuwaiti secret police, is poor — but experts who’ve taken a close look at the hairy-chested actor are “100 percent certain” it is a younger, trimmer Saddam.
…
“Saddam appeared in as many as 85 of these films under a variety of stage names, most frequently Omar Studdif,” reveals the researcher.
…
In the newly uncovered 86-minute prison flick, Saddam, then just 34, plays a naive young peasant who is wrongly convicted and sent to jail. He is initiated into homosexuality by a series of older and more experienced cons.
“Saddam’s acting in the picture is actually quite good,” al-Sabah notes. “One scene, in which he buries his face in a pillow and cries, is so touching you almost can forget you’re watching a low-budget sexploitation film.”
Yahoo reports it straight with an April 10 dateline from Kuwait City, but this reads like a pure April 01 prank piece. Odds are it first appeared in a Kuwaiti paper on April Fools Day.
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.
Friday, April 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s hard. So very hard. Uh, life, that is.
Bacchus loves him some edible swimwear.
Wednesday, April 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Brutally ripped from context over at the ever-funny Marn’s Big Adventure, these observations on springtime:
“Once the tumult of spring is over and everyone is appropriately sexed up, things will settle down here immeasurably. But right now it’s pretty raucous.”
Tuesday, April 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Why, tulips on an organ, of course.
(The lips belong to Japanese hottie Sayaka Uchida.)
Monday, April 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Eugene Volokh has posted a provocative inquiry about vibrators. In a nutshell, he wants to know why progressive modern individuals are quite hunky-dory with the concept of a girl spending quality time with her vibrator, but they get all squicked out and squeamish about a guy using what he (Volokh) delicately calls a “vagina-shaped vibrator.” Several theories are aired.
First of all, a more descriptive, if no more erotic, phrase might be “male masturbator”, since these come in many varieties, only some of which vibrate.
Second, it seems likely that Eugene’s primary theory has merit: A woman who uses a vibrator is assumed to be substituting it for “actual” sex, and society is quick to approve of her many and varied sound reasons for abstaining in that fashion. Whereas, in contrast, a guy who uses a “male masturbator” or a “fake vagina” is assumed to have no alternative; he’s a pathetic dude who can’t “get any.” Given the very real sexual power imbalance, as old as the invention of outlawry for rape, between men who propose and women who dispose, it seems not at all implausible that a woman with her vibrator is assumed to be choosing it over an array of available sexual partners, while a man with his toy is assumed to be a loser with no better offers.
Striking in its absence from the Volokh list of theories, however, is a simpler hygienic theory. Male masturbation results in an emission which is, Bacchus would think, broadly viewed by men and women alike as more “yucky” than typical feminine lubricities, or even than that rarest of nectars, outright female ejaculate. Worse yet, a vagina substitute’s inherent concavity makes careful cleaning a more problematic task than the quick wipedown of a briskly convex vibrator.
Mind you, in objective terms the hygienic concern is arrant nonsense. Men have mastered cleaning tasks of a far more intricate nature, and will even voluntarily indulge when the object of their cleaning affections is, say, a much-beloved rifle. Nor is it implausible that a truly decent technology for assisted orgasm would command every bit as much gadgeteering enthusiasm as gun guys lavish on the contents of their gun safes. But still, at the end of the day the squeamish objection to concave male sex toys may well boil down to an “Ew, but it’s gonna be icky to clean out when he’s done with it…”
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, April 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Uncle Melon is at it again with his handy guide to used sex toys. Excerpt from the part on repairing broken love dolls:
An aside on patches: Inflatable women are easily patched with store-bought patch kits. Your “date” may not be able to maintain the same level of air pressure and therefore should be handled with care. Most of these patch kits will not adhere well when the puncture is on or around the artificial “genitalia” or anus.
Thanks to Uffish Thoughts for the link.
Sunday, April 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yup. Your eyesight is fine. Pork Rind Porn:
Enjoy!
Saturday, April 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Bacchus is no believer in making fun of appearances, being himself no paragon of physical splendor. But this is one crazy-looking ugly chick.
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.
Saturday, April 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Friday, April 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“Hmm, yesss. Have that one bathed and sent to my tent.”
Wednesday, April 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Bill Grogan’s girl
was feeling fine;
wore her red dress
fresh off the line.
Bill took a stick
gave her a whack
and tied her to
the railroad track.
The whistle blew
the train grew nigh
Bill Grogan’s girl
was sure to die.
She gave three groans
of awful pain
inhaled big
and flagged the train!
With all due apologies to Bill Grogan’s Goat.
Tuesday, April 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Well, not really. But how else to explain that BJ was unfairly included in the new Not-Blog list?
To be sure, the blogroll over at BJ’s is cleverly disguised as a drop-down menu box with the word “elsewhere” in it. Bacchus never saw it. Bacchus is a moron. Next topic?
Sorry about that. This post below has also been fixed.
Tuesday, April 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Everybody has a different view of what makes a blog. And there’s no right or wrong to find amidst the differing views. But lately, it’s been frustrating to find quality sex-related blog-like sites that don’t seem to link to any other blogs. To the extent that blogging is a community, it works by letting the traffic flow from site to site via blogrolls and the like. Bacchus finds it rude to to the guests to send them to blog-like sites that don’t link out to anywhere, because that’s like sending them down a long hallway to a room with no exits. It doesn’t matter how spiffy the stuff in the room is, they still have nowhere to go when they are done.
Unfortunately, that’s meant ignoring a lot of quality sex sites, especially the old-fashioned journalists and diarists who frequently don’t seem to have gotten on board with linking around to share their traffic.
So now there’s a “Sex Not-Blogs” link category at left. If your site is in it, and you feel like a blog, please don’t take offense. It’s a compliment, honest, because it means the management here thinks your site is pretty awesome even though you don’t link out to anyone on a permanent or semi-permanent basis.
To be emphatically clear, this has nothing to do with whether or not a site links back to ErosBlog. Lots of folks on the blogroll don’t link back here, and that’s obviously fine (well, mostly fine, drat them all!) or they wouldn’t be there. But link somewhere, or be forever a cul de sac.
Tuesday, April 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
For a sex blog, ErosBlog is pretty inexorably heterosexual. But, um, like, that stuff that they do, that’s sex too, right? Doesn’t seem fair to just ignore it.
As a token gesture, then, here’s a link to bj’s gay porno-crazed ramblings. It’s a quality sex blog.
Tuesday, April 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A spiffy online magazine sorta thing called Wrong Way Go Back has published Three Unerotic Tales. One is too scientific, one is too euphemistic, and one is just downright over the top. The scientific one reads frighteningly like what John Norman would sound like if he tried to write hard-core straight porn:
His penis slid into her vagina and she secreted more vaginal discharge. Luckily the discharge was not irritating or blood-stained, nor did it have an unpleasant odour, the cause of which is usually foreign bodies, cervical erosion or cervical polyp.
Luckily, too, she was on the pill, a type which built a wall between the cervix and fallopian tube that prevented sperm from entering her uterus and impregnating her ovum upon ejaculation.
She was simply having sex with him for the pleasure of it, having successfully passed through her oral and anal phase of psychosexual development to fully centre upon exploration of her genetalia.
There’s also a snarky article about how web logs are nothing new, nothing special, and nothing revolutionary. Which is fucking hilarious ironic coming from a website that is slavishly imitating a dead tree magazine, right down to page numbers and two-page advertising spreads for sport utility vehicles. [It’s also ironic that all the links in this post died and had to be removed.]
Sunday, April 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Therefore I will put my hook in your nose
And my bridle in your lips,
And I will turn you back
by the way which you came.
— 2 Kings 28
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, April 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
You will have noticed that ErosBlog doesn’t dwell on the war. You want warnography, there’s plenty better places to find it. But this is on topic.
A Fox News clip that’s been aired frequently over the last few days shows the firing of some large artillery pieces, of the old-fashioned (meaning not self-propelled) variety. The camera briefly zooms in on the barrel, where (if you look sharp) you can see white writing: “$ SHOT”.
Money Shot. Noun: In pornography, the moment when the male performer pulls out so that his ejaculation may be captured on film. Allegedly so called because of a perceived need to convince the buying public that the sex was “real”.
So it would appear that we aren’t just killing Iraqis — we are subjecting them to a gigantic involuntary bukkake with long range flying globs of supersonic red hot metallic high explosive fragmenting semen.
Yippee.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
Friday, April 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Some people just like to get messy:
Thursday, April 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
…if she were inclined to straight talk:
Now that I’ve introduced myself, you should buy me a mind bending beverage so that I can see that you aren’t cheap and that you find me attractive. I will need this mind bending beverage to flirt with you outrageously, thereby procuring your number or vice versa, and to keep you interested for the rest of the night so that you actually want to call it. I’d love to have sex with you as well, but since you are relationship material, I have to make you work for it and buy me a few dinners first. I might allow you to hug me or do something equally chaste such as kissing my cheek at the end of the night, but don’t count on anything overtly sexual for the next 2 dates. If this is not enough encouragement for you, you are simply a pig, a pervert, an asshole, or a man. My friends tell me I can do better.
From The Life of Erin.
Wednesday, April 2nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yup. It’s that time again. Here’s an animated .gif of a happy smurf getting a blowjob from Smurfette:
Tuesday, April 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Halley says she has a new job! And she has pictures to prove it….
Monday, March 31st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Bacchus constantly marvels at the things tourists will do, all unthinking. Does this lady look like she has so much as a shred of apprehension that her companion and photographer might choose this moment to renegotiate the ground rules of their relationship?
Sunday, March 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Via End The War On Freedom:
“An intellectual is a person who has discovered something more interesting than sex.”
— Aldous Huxley
Saturday, March 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
For those who think they are familiar with the ponygirl fetish, here’s a horse of a different color:
Can we get a neigh and a whinny?
Thursday, March 27th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The current Savage Love advice column fields an inquiry that begins:
I have a strange fetish: I would love to have sex with a woman who is incredibly bored with me being there. If she were doing something else like reading a book or maybe doing her nails or possibly watching TV while I was going at it, I would find that incredibly hot.
Dan gives a long, thoughtful, and nuanced response about erotic humiliation scenarios and how to ask your honey to indulge you with them. But he missed the obvious question:
“If you like this sort of treatment, why not just get married?”
Buh-dum-DUMP.
Wednesday, March 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
…to the mother of your child:
Dave: “How are the stretch marks?”
Melly: “Sexy as hell, you syphlitic retard.”
Tuesday, March 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a bit of teenage discipline:
Sunday, March 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Quite a long time back Erosblog linked to Sticky Kitty’s explanation of why she liked being spanked. Now SpankBoss (who is blogging up a storm over at the new and prolific Spanking Blog) explains the spanker perspective, or his anyway:
Why spanking? It’s hard to be successfully introspective about the things that make us hot. But if you’ll accept an armchair-psychology self-analysis, I think it’s a power-and-revenge thing. But that sounds…well, not worse, but perhaps more important, than it should? It’s no big deal. Rather, like most mild fetishes, it’s more of a vestigial thing, a left-over artifact of a bad adolescent decade. Like most guys who aren’t jocks or hunks, I was pretty frustrated as a young man, and got told “no” a lot, or (worse) ignored. Spanking a woman (in fantasy, against her will; in reality, with her consent) amounts to a spot of harmless payback. It’s sexually hot because when a woman is being spanked, she is, literally and symbolically speaking, in no position to say “no.” If she could (in fantasy), or would (in reality), it would have happened already. I guess you could say spanking liberates my inner mustache-twirling dastardly villain. All in good dirty fun of course.
Sunday, March 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
What a find: girls kissing. Lots of girls, lots of kissing. Simple pleasures, what could be better?
Saturday, March 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This one’s for Debra, who says she likes her some tentacle sex:
Friday, March 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
…at a nude beach!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, March 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Teresa Nielsen Hayden over at Making Light quotes a proponent of Mormon romance novels (yes, really) who finds sex scenes insulting:
“I have always felt the long, detailed sex scenes are an insult to our intelligence because we all know how it works,” [author Anita] Stansfield said.
Sez Teresa the Editor: “I am resolutely not imagining sex scenes written for the benefit of readers who don’t know how it works.”
What a horrifying thought.
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 19th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Instapundit for this picture of four of our nation’s finest, the crew of a KC-135 mid-air refueling tanker, who are probably orbiting at a great height at this very moment, just waiting for some fighter jock to slip them his refueling probe. Ladies, be safe out there.
P.S.: Instapundit hosts a much larger version of this picture — but then again, he has bandwidth ErosBlog can only dream about.
Sunday, March 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This post featuring oranges attracted quite a bit of attention. Thus, it seemed an odd bit of serendipity yesterday when the following advertising banner turned up over at Cliterati:
Saturday, March 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Hokay, so this post is about an honest-to-goodness porn site. Boys gone wild, if you like — adapting power tools to their highest and best use. That’s right, me hearties: we present Fucking Machines.
If you follow that link (no popups, which is generally a good sign in a porn site) and then click on “Machines” you’ll be presented with an amusing list of fucking machines:
The Intruder
The Monster
The Fucksall
The Crane
The Sybian
The Trespasser
The Probe
The Jetaime
The Double Jetaime
The Loving Chair
The Hammer
The Drilldo
The Double Crane
The Goat Milker
The Tit Sucker
The Snake
The Portafuck
The Cathedral
The Toolbox
The Crystal Palace
The Antique Intruder
The Twinserter
The Airstorm
The Lighthouse
The Concrete Vibrator
The Fucking Chair
The Predator
The Reactor
Complete with horsepower ratings.
But of course any dweeb in his basement can glue a dildo to a power tool and claim it’s a sex toy. Where the rubber meets the, er, road, however, is actually using them for sex, or at least a well-photographed facsimile thereof. And that’s what makes this a porn site. Lots and lots of good looking models playing with these toys and managing to look like they are having fun doing it.
And finally, for the guys out there who think such fine machinery is wasted on women, there is a sister site (brother site?) called, with all the subtlety of a brick: Butt Machine Boys. This may be the true target market for these ambitiously mechanical porn purveyors. After all, why let the girls play with the cool toys and spoil all that raw male power tool fun?
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.
Sunday, March 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a website (deleted from Geocities long before it died and apparently never archived: http://www.geocities.com/womenagainstbjs/ ) with a mission statement: “To provide support and a resource of helpful information to women who wish to stop giving blowjobs.”
It’s possible that this is a joke. There’s nothing specific on the page to indicate parody, satire, or overt humorous intent, but for some internet jokesters the humor lies in being taken seriously.
How seriously are we talking? The first tip for women against blowjobs is:
The next time your partner asks for a blowjob try this: kneel down as if you are going to give head and then say “Did I ever tell you that my last boyfriend nicknamed me ‘teeth’ after I gave him a blowjob?”
If the page is real, it’s rather sad. Not so much that there are women who don’t like giving blowjobs: that’s hardly news, and anyway de gustibus non disputandem. What’s sad is to think of someone who needs, or even wants, a support group to help in exercising one of the most basic aspects of individual autonomy – the right to say no.
On a lighter note, if the author of this page is for real, it’s possible she won’t think this is funny.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, March 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
…and wound up getting some wood himself.
Wednesday, March 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Joshua Claybourne provides us this quote from noted Christian philosopher and author C.S. Lewis:
“It is not the thing, nor the pleasure, that is the trouble. The old Christian teachers said that if man had never fallen, sexual pleasure, instead of being less than it is now, would actually have been greater. I know some muddle-headed Christians have talked as if Christianity thought that sex, or the body, or pleasure, were bad in themselves. But they were wrong. Christianity is almost the only one of the great religions which thoroughly approves of the body – which believes that matter is good, that God Himself once took on a human body, that some kind of body is going to be given to us even in Heaven and is going to be an essential part of our happiness, our beauty, and our energy. Christianity has glorified marriage more than any other religion: and nearly all the greatest love poetry in the world has been produced by Christians. If anyone says that sex, in itself, is bad, Christianity contradicts him at once.”
Nice quote, although the astute reader will discern that Lewis is in fact gearing up to tell us what the Christian difficulty with sex is, if it’s not sex per se. And that sermon is not one likely to be well received by this readership.
Since other posts on that blog display enlightened sexual attitudes such as the advocacy of years of sexual frustration in the name of stronger (if awfully eventual) marriages, perhaps we should not expect immediate back linkage.
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.
Saturday, March 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Back in December ErosBlog discussed a linux package called porn-get. Now from Jenny comes word that it works, and works well:
Porn-get does nothing else than download "sexual education material"[1]
found on the internet more effeciently than you would manually
with a browser.
The thing is it really works, well. I've heard of people downloading
more than 100 GB porn, pity my hd had not enough space to get every-
thing, neither is my internet connectivity too good.
[1] bad mouths call it porn
Yours
Jenny
--
Windoze not found: (C)heer, (P)arty or (D)ance?
Friday, February 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It turns out that “God is a masturbator.”
These people appear to be serious. But then again, so did the Landover Baptists, once upon a more innocent net age. We report, you decide.
Friday, February 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This picture is in honor of the recently completed Yukon Quest sled dog race.
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.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, February 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Daze we are linked to a nice story about the lusty February holiday that the church flagellated into the submissive modern and chaste St. Valentine’s Day. And what a holiday it was, that old Lupercalia! Complete with a sex lottery:
And all the young lasses in the city would place their names in a large urn, and the city’s eligible bachelors would choose a name out of the urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman, often resulting in marriage. You know, sort of like the Mormons. Only with actual sex. And booze. And without the creepy undergarments.
Frankly, that sounds like a social custom of real utility!
Sunday, February 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a really odd article on Christian porn. The odd thing is that the author of the article seems to be really offended by the stuff. Debbi Does Sodom is an “appalling artifact of contemporary decadence”:
Take a peek at Debbi Does Sodom, a 35-minute VHS opus distributed by Saviour Video, complete with a rendering of the “Christian” fish on the logo.
Debbi, played by Tanya Yorke, is an American tourist in the city of Sodom who goes to a bistro, where she meets several men who invite her to a private party at their clubhouse. Debbi accepts and relocates to a seedy ballroom where techno music is throbbing relentlessly. She takes a tablet of Ecstasy and falls into a drugged trance, dancing seductively to the music, then having wild sex with four men at the same time as the copulating group undulates in rhythm with the music.
Suddenly this exceptionally erotic tableau is shattered by the appearance of a police assault team, which bursts through the doors with guns drawn. Debbi’s paramours are brutally beaten, and she is marched nude from the clubhouse into a waiting van. There she encounters two “Christian” evangelists who do their best to help Debbi regain the road to righteousness, by preaching to her and quoting Scripture as the van speeds away through the night. The film ends with Debbi, who has been saved and is now a born-again “Christian,” wearing a choir robe and plastered with lots of cosmetics, singing the glories of Jesus.
Unless Bacchus is misremembering his literary history, this is nothing more or less than a classic morality play, updated for modern viewers and recorded for broader distribution. It’s a video tract with a bit of flesh to draw and keep the eye. In poor taste, perhaps, as is much of the rest of the “body” of popular evangelical artistic and literary material throughout history. But “appalling artifact of contemporary decadence”? Someone is missing the point.
Update: Daniel Radosh kindly wrote in to point out that this article appears to be a fraud of some sort or a badly failed attempt at humor. He reports that Googling the mentioned personages is fruitless, which strongly suggests they do not exist. Thanks to Daniel for the info, and apologies all around for the gullibility that Bacchus substitutes for actual reportage.
Thursday, February 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to Acme Labs for the custom heart generator.
Tuesday, February 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
When the first picture above was first displayed in this space, there was some concern (and correspondence with other bloggers) that it might be a Photoshop job. It’s hard to imagine the logistics of taking that picture without causing a public stir and/or having words with local law enforcement agencies.
And, indeed, as you can now see that the second picture looks to be the source material for creating the first one. Oh, well, a work of art is a work of art, whatever the medium.
Monday, February 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This story about a console game that ships with a “trance vibrator” attachment is old news, apparently, but the link from Mt. Molelog is fresh.
What’s topical for ErosBlog is the, er, cooperative potential:
We sat side my side on our makeshift couch, I with the trance vibrator and Justin with the controller. As the levels got more advanced, so did the vibrations… revving up to an intense pulsing throbbing…
[later]
“But don’t you think this trance vibrator extension is so your girlfriend can get off while you’re playing the game? Or so a girl gamer can get off while she’s playing the game?”
“It was a bit odd,” said Justin, “my fingers were working the controls, but they were also kind of working you.”
Sunday, February 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The hooligani who publish The Exile have attitude, and they’ll never be accused of political correctness. Frankly, it’s hard to believe that they really are as depraved as they pretend to be. But in Moscow, where depravity is cheap and flows as freely as vodka, it’s possible, or at least plausible.
Be that as it may, they publish some sex writing that’s as fresh and honest as it is politically incorrect. For example, this article (purporting to be the first of a regular series) in which prostitutes are interviewed for their stories — before the interviewer gets down to business.
“Oh bozhe moi! Hell yes! My first john was a young guy. A young bandit. I was literally shaking when I went over. I couldn’t help it. I sat there trembling. He was very gentle. He poured me a lot of vodka. I got completely drunk and calmed down. Then it was all right.” She laughed. “I’m blushing, aren’t I?”
Saturday, February 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Thursday, February 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Your kink is not OK.
This guy says so. [Link died and was removed.]
The article is entitled “Fourteen Sexual Fantasies I just Don’t Understand” but when you read it, it’s a condemnation of anyone who does understand the fetishes in question.
Into watersports? You “nasty skank.” Older women? “Not sexy.” Like girls with body hair? “Bad news for you: you’re probably gay.” Foot Fetish? “Not even remotely affiliated with the sexual process.” Like shemales? “Just sick.” Wierd insertions? “Ain’t sexy.” Bestiality? “Not erotic.” “Excessive Bondage”? “Just not nice.” Female domination? Forget it — “It’s the role of the guy to be the dominator.” Cartoons? “Jerking off to a cartoon should be a last resort.” Pregnant women? You “sick fuck.”
Anyone reading the article is probably going to agree with some of these – certainly there are several of these fetishes that would send Bacchus screaming for the next county. But it’s unclear what is to be gained by condemning fetishes you don’t personally find sexy.
What a maroon. And on the evidence, a somewhat sexist and homophobic maroon to boot.
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?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, February 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Monday, February 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The site logs, which do not lie, tell us that many searchers are looking for “camel toes”. Far be it from ErosBlog to disappoint.
Monday, February 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Who said suburban living was bland and banal?
Wednesday, January 29th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here is some more sex writing that uses the up-front “this stuff doesn’t turn me on and by the way I’m a feminist” disclaimer. Come on, guys, ball up, find your nuts, and write about sex without all the wussy disclaimers!
It’s right here in paragraph three — this guy wanted to get it right up front:
But I never quite recovered from the blow to my libido, going from interested to bored to downright queasy within an hour. It’s a shameful confession for a sex-positive feminist to make.
From an otherwise fairly decent article on porn.
Sunday, January 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There’s a long and fascinating article in The Atlantic called “The Wifely Duty” about the decline of sex in modern marriage. (Alina is owed thanks for the link.) This phenomenon is of interest to Bacchus, who (though never married) once spent more than half a decade sharing a household with a woman he loved who nonetheless somehow usually managed to reject all his sexual advances, or else efficiently deter the making thereof, for up to three or four months at a time. (The article calls this “launching a sex strike of an intensity and a duration that would have impressed Aristophanes.”)
Although interesting, the article is fairly unsatisfactory inasmuch as it whiffs of nostalgia for better days gone by, on the thinnest of evidence that they were in fact better:
In the old days, of course, there was the wifely duty. A housewife understood that in addition to ironing her husband’s shirts and cooking the Sunday roast, she was with some regularity going to have relations with the man of the house. Perhaps, as some feminists would have us believe, these were grimly efficient interludes during which the poor humped-upon wife stared at the ceiling and silently composed the grocery list. Or perhaps not. Maybe, as Davis and her “new” findings suggest, once you get the canoe out in the water, everybody starts happily paddling.
Or maybe not. Thank you for playing.
This much, at least, rings true:
Under these conditions, pity the poor married man hoping to get a bit of comfort from the wife at day’s end. He must somehow seduce a woman who is economically independent of him, bone tired, philosophically disinclined to have sex unless she is jolly well in the mood, numbingly familiar with his every sexual maneuver, and still doing a slow burn over his failure to wipe down the countertops and fold the dish towel after cooking the kids’ dinner. He can hardly be blamed for opting instead to check his e-mail, catch a few minutes of SportsCenter, and call it a night.
Alina’s take on this (scroll waaaay down) is perhaps more encouraging than the author of the Atlantic article:
Marriage without hot sex is like prison, add the mortage payments. A couples’ sex life also matters for the development of their children’s emotional and sexual maturity. I want my kids to see me kiss my husband in ways that indicate there is more between us than a shared mutual affection. Kids who grow up around affectionate, passionate parents tend to be more comfortable and less repressed with in their own adult sexual lives.
Marriage, in this young ladies’ opinion, is about tying your fate and your dreams to those of another, binding yourselves together knowing that sometimes the temptation to cut loose will be agonizing, but that your union is more important than your individual recklessness. Don’t blame marriage for a bad sex life– if you must blame anything at all, blame the notorious Wittle Wabbit. Boys, you’ve got competition. All the more reason to lobby your government for that classic French right to a 2-hour lunch break…
Quick, boys, somebody marry her before she gets away!
Sunday, January 26th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fellow who seems perhaps to have read one too many Gor novels. Herewith, his list of “Rules for My Slave Girls“. All seventeen of them. (That would be seventeen rules; if this guy has seventeen slave girls, Bacchus is a Baptist.) A sample:
6. Slave girls sometimes disobey or are insolent and must be punished. This, of course, is the Master’s privilege and his duty, for if a slave is not corrected, she will not improve. Slave girls are punished if, when, and as I please. When I desire to punish a slave, I will tell her why she is to be punished and how. If instructed to bring a lash or paddle, she must do so quickly and obediently. Her hands must never touch it, or any weapon, so she must bring it in her teeth, and when she reaches me she must be on her hands and knees. I will then inform her which position to take, and they must obey instantly.
At the risk of offending pet owners and PETA activists, maybe this guy should just get a dog?
Saturday, January 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Clean Sheets has just published “A Beginner’s Guide to Polyamory“. So the author calls it anyway. It’s interesting, but it reads like a warning to travelers — “here be dragons, enter only if ye seek adventure and bloody death, abandon hope….” Well, that’s stretching a point. But the article makes an interesting observation:
Yes it’s messy and painful sometimes. Yes, relationships end and yes, people get hurt. But (and this is where my mind-fuck came) people get hurt anyway, right? They make messes of their relationships, they fall in love with new people, and relationships end. That’s humanity, not polyamory. It’s monogamy, it’s heterosexuality, it’s homosexuality; it’s religious and secular bonds, it’s legal and non-binding binding contracts; it’s life.
Begs the question, however, of whether those bad things happen more often to the polyamorous.
Friday, January 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Lotta text going by lately, time for a picture. How about fun with snow sculpture?
Tuesday, January 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Anil Dash is ranting about the diamond industry, and it’s an epic rant:
“Want your materialistic, easily-misled wife to stop being such a frigid bitch? Buy her a diamond! Did your husband decide to increase your consumer debt in order to buy you a pair of earrings that were mined at gunpoint by children in Africa? Reward him with grudging sex and a temporary cessation of your relentless nagging!”
It’s entertaining, and the man has a good point.
Monday, January 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Reverse Cowgirl is back with actual words on her blog (Yay!) and she links to a story from a college newspaper that’s sort of an overview of the bukkake thing, with a review of a specific American Bukkake title.
All of which is reproduced here because, as noted previously, bukkake is one of those fringe porn things that doesn’t get written about much with any degree of honesty. There are a bunch of wierd, odd, unusual, or downright gross things happening out on the fringes of porn, and folks with the courage to discuss them (perhaps thereby making them more comprehensible to the rest of us) should be encouraged.
However, all that is by way of disclaimer, because the article itself is exactly the sort of sex writing that ErosBlog usually avoids like the plague. When nominally pro-sex authors take great pains to mention and then reinforce that they are not aroused by the subject at hand, and then digress several times into discourses on the feminist implications of their topic, all while maintaining an intellectualized tone intended to remind everyone that they are, ya know, serious… well, the result tends not to be very interesting to anyone who is more interested in sexual topics than in academic pretension.
Having said all that, however, this particular article also contains the history of bukkake according to a director thereof, presented with all due skepticism:
Director [of the American Bukkake series] Jim Powers says, “Bukkake is about discipline.” He also provides background on the practice’s mock Asiatic name. “Bukkake is an ancient Japanese custom where if a woman cheated on her husband, the rest of the village men would take her off to a cave somewhere and jack off on her face and in her mouth. And usually what would happen is the woman would kill herself afterwards,” Powers says with an earnest expression and voice that make you eventually realize he actually believes what he’s saying.
Saturday, January 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Village Voice columnist Tristan Taormino reviews three female sex creams with results ranging from disappointing to, shall we say, painfully mixed:
O Clitoral Stimulating Gel also contains menthol, and the box reads, “You should feel an intense warmth for about 20 seconds.” I put a tiny dab of the clear gel on my clit, and the immediate feeling was more like a burn. Imagine holding your clit over an open flame, and you’re there with me, regretting my experimental nature for those 20 seconds. My instinct was to jump in the shower, but in the brochure it specifically said not to wash it off in the 20-second period, and that doing so may in fact increase the discomfort, which didn’t seem possible. So I sat tight, and when the burn faded, a wave of warmth and arousal came over me. Blood started rushing to my cunt, and I got really turned on. Maybe there was something to this Ben Gay on the puss after all. I started jerking off, but decided to wait till a certain someone came over to, um, assist. I ended up bringing myself to the edge of orgasm, then backing off, then getting there again. By the time I was in the thick of two-person sex, I was so overstimulated that I couldn’t come! I don’t hold O responsible: It definitely worked some major mojo on me and deserves a second chance.
Friday, January 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
What in the name of Aphrodite’s Strawberry-Flavored Nipple Rouge is going on in this picture? (Apart from the obvious, that is; the shagging is evident but how exactly is this event scored?)
Friday, January 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
One must hesitate before criticizing the laws, mores, and customs of other cultures.
…
OK, that was the requisite hesitation. Now we can get on with laughing at the authorities in Uganda, who are after the lovely lady shown here for the crime of, well, not wearing panties to the New Year celebration where that picture was taken. According to Uganda’s leading daily:
“We are considering charging her for indecent exposure. I will not let this lie. This was not sexual exploitation of an under-age girl,” an angry Inspector General of Police, Maj. Gen. Edward Katumba Wamala, said yesterday.
“From the picture, the girl is mature. This is a case of indecent exposure,” the Police chief said.
In an interview yesterday, Katumba Wamala vowed, “We shall take her on.”
You go, Inspector General Katumba Wamala. In civilized societies, this lady would get a prize, or at least a polite wave and a smile, for performing a little public beautification.
Tuesday, January 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Shell, who’s been more or less missing in action, resurfaces with a brief guide to what makes phone sex work:
The answer is words. Lots of words. Never stop talking. Tell your lover what you are touching, smelling, tasting. Tell him where your hands are. Tell him where you want his hands to be. It doesn’t matter if the position you’re simulating makes talking impossible–talk anyway. “Mmmmphh mmmmmhhh” doesn’t have the same impact as “Oh God, I love the way you taste when you’re fucking my mouth. Can you feel my nails digging into your ass?”
Phone sex is best when it’s with someone you know and love well. When you know which grunt means “faster” and which one means “yes, perfect!” When you know that if you describe dragging your hair across his nipples, he can actually feel it. When you know the shape of him, the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the parts that sweat first.
Did you know it is possible to orgasm without touching yourself? A lover especially skilled with words can talk you into an orgasm. I know. I just spent 2 1/2 hours on the phone with my lover and I can’t count the number of times I climaxed. I may have touched my nipples once. I didn’t touch my clit at all.
Tuesday, January 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Pictures of pretty girls, like kittens, need no excuse:
I’ll bet she’s one of them potentially hegemonic dancers, too.
Sunday, January 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Two sex quotes:
“When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities.”
— Matt Groening
And also:
“The ability to make love frivolously is the chief characteristic which distinguishes human beings from the beasts.”
— Heywood Broun
Wednesday, January 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The Lord of the Rings slash keeps coming (as it were). Now with pictures, thanks to the Fun with Photoshop Brigade, who bring us Arwen/Éowyn in a loving lesbian embrace:
Wednesday, January 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Just in case anyone had not figured this out yet, it’s worth highlighting: Dancers could take over the world any time they decide to do it.
Monday, January 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
After the spot of adolescent fun taken with Armed Liberal’s benevolent prescription for Kenneth Branagh, he (that would be Armed Liberal, not Kenneth Branagh — someday we are going to hire a writer!) pointed out an old post of his about porn.
Turns out he’s agin it. In part because it makes us passive consumers of our lives instead of active participants. It’s better, he tells his sons, to “hold hands and smooch with a real girl than to jerk off to pictures of someone you’ll never meet, much less get to go to bed with.” Or, as he explains:
“So instead of buying p0rn[sic], go meet someone and ask them out. Instead of watching the NBA finals and tying your identity to a team of mercenaries, go down to the park and play some hoops.”
This is great advice, for normal folks. But it’s very exclusionary of the fringes of society — the folks who aren’t athletic enough to play hoops down at the park, or the guy who isn’t attractive enough to get a woman to go out with him. Do we say that professional basketball is bad because playing basketball at the park is more fun and better for you than watching hoops on television? If so, that’s pretty hard on Crutches Boy. “Basketball on television is bad, because it keeps you from getting so desperate for sports fix that you’ll go down to the park and try to play basket ball with the kids who can walk, even though they won’t pick you for their teams and you’ll go home humiliated and frustrated every damn time you try.” Great advice. Thanks. Crutches Boy will be back for more good advice later, bank on it.
On the sex side this problem is worse for younger people, who often don’t have the perspective or maturity to figure out exactly why they can’t get find anyone willing to touch them, much less have sex with them. Most people figure out how to get laid eventually, but it can take a while and a fair percent don’t manage it until fairly deep into adulthood. (There’s also the unfortunate percentage who have genuinely unfixable strikes against them, like general ugliness or unresponsive obesity, that make the project even longer and more painful than it is for the kids who are merely callow and clueless.)
Worse yet, we tell our young people, for lots of strong reasons, that for the first five to seven years after their bodies are sexually mature, there is absolutely no socially acceptable way for them to have an orgasm with another person. Is it really better, for that long span of time, to “kiss and cuddle” without orgasm, than to masturbate and fantasize, which is what porn is mostly about? Perhaps a balanced life has room for both.
In short, Bacchus thinks that there are a hell of a lot of people for whom porn makes the world a better, brighter, or at least more tolerable place than it otherwise would be. This is arguably quite sad — Bacchus finds women a lot more fun than porn, when he finds them — but it’s still true.
Saturday, January 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A link from Totalitarianism Today to the wonderfully named Modern Drunkard Magazine leads to a detailed history and review of absinthe, complete with authorial confirmation of its much-touted but sometimes-disputed unusual mental effects. There’s really only one sentence that makes the article on topic for ErosBlog, but sometimes one sentence is enough:
What’s more, the drink had the reputation of being an aphrodisiac and you know where that leads: sex.
Besides which, if you are a drinker or a writer the article is a good read.
Saturday, January 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
…and the world will beat a path away from your door.
Being perhaps readers of other blogs than this one, it’s likely that you my loyal readers have heard of the “Jackhammer Jesus” dildo, the “Baby Jesus” butt plug, and other similar religious-themed sex toys from Divine Interventions.
But this article from the San Francisco Bay Guardian profiles the inventor and promoter of this line, and follows him as he roams sex-positive San Francisco getting the cold shoulder from sex toy buyers.
Picking his way through the brightly lit displays of adult videos, cock rings, and calendars emblazoned with oiled and rippling pectorals, he greeted the bespectacled sales assistant, hoisted a large sports bag onto the counter, rummaged through the contents, and selected an item. When the guy behind the counter saw what the man, whom I shall call Nigel R., was pulling out of the bag, he gave a nervous little laugh and said one word: “Sacrilegious.”
As the home of storefront live-sex Halloween performances, magnificent transvestites, and guys with no qualms about showing off their ass cheeks in leather chaps, the Castro District has traditionally enjoyed a healthy disregard for the status quo. Yet when Nigel R. whipped out a seven-and-a-half-inch marble-white silicone Jackhammer Jesus dildo in the shape of Christ on the cross, the Castro Gulch sales assistant blanched.
Ironic to see that as cutting-edge a paper as the SFBG is still so stuck in the past that even when it prints a URL, it can’t (or won’t) make it an active link in the online edition. Old media, bah.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, January 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s some hardcore stick figure porn from The Petting Zoo:
Don’t miss their unique version of the hamster dance.
“Recycling” is also…special.
Other people’s children…what can one do?
Wednesday, January 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Alert readers will note that ErosBlog does not link to a lot of actual porn sites. Mostly this is a reader protection measure. Commercial online porn tends to be hideously abusive to its potential customers, punishing them for their curious visit with endless loops of browser-killing pop-ups, browser modification scripts, spyware installers, dialer programs, and other malicious treats.
However, another reason porn sites aren’t discussed more on ErosBlog is that commercial porn tends to be boring. There’s a fetishistic focus on distorted plastic boobs, fake blond hair, and shaved oiled surfaces that frankly don’t look like anything ordinary folks generally manage to have sex with.
Via a link found at Totalitarianism Today, we learn the hopeful news that folks trying to break with the oiled shaved plastic blonde tradition are making money. Good on them; perhaps it will catch on.
Monday, December 30th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Bukkake is one of those hard-core porn concepts that you either know about or you don’t. The Reverse Cowgirl mentions it all the time, but she’s not much help to the clueless. When the word comes up in conversation (yah, as if that happens every day) the folks who aren’t familiar with it look puzzled, and the folks who know what it means refuse to elaborate. Because how could one define this word in even semi-polite conversation?
Carly the Pornblographer gives it a shot, so to speak:
Bukkake is something that I have only a small amount of knowledge on, so some of the more learned members of our industry might want to chime in with some history. But as I understand it, the practice originated in Japan before rising to some popularity in the States. A Bukkake video usually features one of two things: either a girl getting spunked on by numerous (usually) anonymous cocks, or numerous (usually) anonymous cocks spunk into some kind of receptacle, and the girl guzzles it. This is what taking the Atkins Diet too far does to you.
Now if only someone could explain why this is sexy. Yah yah yah, different strokes for different folks, one person’s fetish is another person’s gross out, your kink is not my kink but that doesn’t mean your kink is not OK, et cetera, literally (in this case) ad nauseum. Bacchus still doesn’t get it.
That said, ErosBlog is going out on the cutting (shooting?) edge. If you really really want to know what bukkake is, here is a picture. Publishing a bukkake picture may be a blogging first. If it grosses you out, tough shit — you knew where you were going when you clicked the link.
If anyone feels this is a new low for ErosBlog, you may perhaps be right. Perhaps mixing a Long Island Iced Tea in the one-liter beer mug was not such a good idea. Alas:
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
— Omar Khayyam
Sunday, December 29th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The top seven signs your grandparents remain sexually active:
7. At night they put their teeth in the same glass.
6. Grandpa grabs his crotch and complains loudly of “denture-burn.”
5. Not only do you hear the bed squeaking, but also joints.
4. Grandma is found cuffed to her walker.
3. Grandma regularly bakes Viagra-chip cookies.
2. Grandma frequently looks at Grandpa’s crotch and claps twice.
And the number one sign your grandparents remain sexually active is:
1. Their Kraft-matic adjustable bed is set for “doggy style.”
Sunday, December 29th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Another circulating email thing, guy unknown, let’s just call him Biggus Dickus. (“He has a wife you know….”)
Ladies, I know we generally focus a little too much here at ErosBlog on things of amusement to the gentlemen of default wiring. Please consider this a modest token in the nature of restitution.
Saturday, December 28th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a spiffy little educational article on “How to Give a Blowjob”, complete with illustrations by Phoebe Gloeckner that manage to be cute and sexy at the same time:
One suspects that nothing taught in high school sex education classes is anything like as useful.
Friday, December 27th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
For ideological as well as practical reasons, ErosBlog has no warning page or other mechanism to warn off or usher away underage surfers. However, very little that passes here amounts to useful sex information for those in need of same. Accordingly, the new link at left to Scarleteen (“Sex Education For The Real World”) is long overdue. The site is, simply, awesome. It beats the hell out of getting all your sex information from Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex, just as that venerable tome was a considerable improvement over those laughable “Health Information For Young Couples” books of a century ago.
Friday, December 27th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Norma Brown has invented a “Female Security Device”:
The Female Security Device is designed to defend and protect a woman against rape. It is placed within the vaginal cavity of a female to protect and minimize physical damage caused by sexual intercourse. The device is able to retrieve evidence of rape and provide evidence for identifying a perpetrator. This is done by using a needle to to obtain a penile tissue sample and to cause penile tissue irritation, and by obtaining a semen sample.
From the pictures, it appears that instead of the needle, you can get it with a superglue option or an airbag option. Not making this up. The function of the airbag is labeled on the diagram (“deployed as barrier to penetration”) but the “surgical glue spray” option seems as if it would be counterproductive.
Bacchus is an absolutist when it comes to a person’s right to control what enters his or her orifices, by whatever means necessary. (Large caliber handguns are quite effective for this purpose.) Unfortunately, the proposed “Female Security Device” puts one in mind of a man who stays locked in his own concrete basement to avoid the risk of kidnappers. Would not a woman who routinely used such a device be, in a metaphorical sort of way, preemptively raping herself?
Thursday, December 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
So, Bacchus was awakened early on Christmas morning. This was unexpected, as Bacchus has no children. Still, there was a tugging at Bacchus’s…well, let’s just say there was a tugging.
“Bacchus! Bacchus! Wake up! It’s time to unwrap your present!”
“Present? I already unwrapped my presents last night.”
“Well, if you don’t want to….” [much pouting]
And that is the tale of how Bacchus did not wake up on Christmas morning. Ah, well, so much for fantasyland.
Thursday, December 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This tale of a snappy comeback was posted on an adult webmaster board by the famous Persian Kitty:
This was in the Washington Post… the title of the article was “Best Comeback Line Ever.”
In summary, the police arrested Patrick Lawrence, a 22-year-old white male, resident of Dacula, GA, in a pumpkin patch at 11:38 p.m. on Friday. Lawrence will be charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication at the Gwinnett County courthouse on Monday.
The suspect explained that as he was passing a pumpkin patch he decided to stop. “You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around here for miles. At least I thought there wasn’t,” he stated in a phone interview.
Lawrence went on to say that he pulled over to the side of the road, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his need. “I guess I was just really into it, you know?” he commented with evident embarrassment.
In the process, Lawrence apparently failed to notice a Gwinett County police car approaching and was unaware of his audience until officer Brenda Taylor approached him. “It was an unusual situation, that’s for sure,” said officer Taylor. “I walked up to (Lawrence) and he’s… just working away at this pumpkin.”
Taylor went on to describe what happened when she approached Lawrence. “I just went up and said, ‘Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?’ “He froze and was clearly very surprised that I was there, and then looked me straight in the face and said, “A pumpkin? Damn…is it midnight already?'”
Of course, it’s an urban legend. But still funny.
Tuesday, December 24th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
“Merry Christmas to All, and To All, a Good Night!”
Friday, December 20th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Alert readers will have noticed the recent appearance on the sex blog list of Pornblography, a fun new blog [since gone defunct] that’s all about the movers and shakers in the porn biz. Frankly, to an outsider it’s just a bit bewildering — these people are not most of them household names, although they will be familiar in some cases to heavy porn consumers and regular readers of Adult Video News, the New York Times of the adult entertainment industry. But it’s a delightful and eye-opening read all the same. Do you know what a suitcase pimp is? Nope, neither did your humble scribe. It turns out:
A “Suitcase Pimp” is the industry term for any boyfriend or husband of a porn chick. They are often, but not always, jobless….
Suitcase Pimps can usually be seen carrying the bags of the actresses when they arrive on a set (hence the term Suitcase), and they are often to be found on the cell phone handling the business affairs of the girls (i.e. “pimping” them out to whichever producer will pay the most money for a scene). This activity takes place much to the consternation of various film producers and directors, who would MUCH rather deal with the porno chicks themselves, for various reasons.
Carly, who writes Pornblography, also has great taste, having averred that ErosBlog “fucking rocks”. Thanks Carly!
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.
Monday, December 16th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The nymphs have unionized and are up in arms. They have demands. Updates as events warrant.
Saturday, December 14th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Look closely at the smile on the face of the relaxing gentleman below. Bacchus is smiling a smile like that. Why? Because the lucrative but deadly dull job has gone away. Bacchus is now gloriously self-employed.
Or would be, if he felt like working any harder than the guy in the picture. Perhaps come January. Meanwhile, it’s time for whiskey, music, html bashing, and chasing women! (Not necessarily in that order.)
Thursday, December 12th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Debra Hyde at Pursed Lips has an important discussion [link has unfortunately vanished] about the difficulty of discussing appalling abuses that have a sexual component. It’s a real problem for this blog.
Anyone who has a rich fantasy life can find an erotic component in almost any tale of sexual atrocity. And, since horror is often an unwelcome emotion, the temptation to eroticize horrific stories by translating them into more palatable fantasy terms can be overwhelming. The downside is that the story itself is often trivialized in the process — if one gets too busy picturing Uday Hussein’s pony girls in the mind’s eye, one could forget to empathize sufficiently with their terror, shame, and humiliation. Worse, one could forget to be outraged by Uday’s behavior.
For this reason, sexual atrocities are featured much less often on this blog than they might be. It’s unseemly, at best, to treat actual human suffering as mere fodder for an erotic fantasy — and almost any discussion of real world sexual suffering in the context of this blog is subject to that risk. And yet, having a category of stories about sex be off limits to a sex blog is, itself, rather perverse.
Debrah’s article suggests a path through the maze. She acknowledges, first, the impossibility of discussing such events without the discussion having a pornographic quality. But then she points out that pornography is not always erotic, having a long history as a protest and propaganda tool aimed at political change. And she suggests that we not shrink from such uses of pornography, but rather embrace its power to incite moral outrage. She’s a wise woman.
That’s a lot of preamble for a short block quote about a professional government rapist. Perhaps if Jonah Goldberg had read Debra’s blog, he would have managed a little less flippancy in this story:
There are some professions American colleges simply don’t prepare you for. Consider Aziz Salih Ahmed. He works for the Iraqi government. His technical specialty? He’s a “violator of women’s honor,” according to his Iraqi identity card. In other words, he rapes women. Presumably he likes it. But he does it on the government’s dime so whether he likes brutally raping women or not, he’s probably good at it or at least he’s good enough for government work.
Thursday, December 12th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
First of all, apologies are in order. This blog has been nearly imageless, and/or monochrome, for far too long. In the nature of restitution, please accept this nice girl working on her personal hygiene.
Image “borrowed” from deep in the archives of the Sensual Liberation Army, which is herewith added to the sex blog roll. Thanks!
And now for the pathetic part. Folks, Bacchus is officially getting old. For, while gazing at this raven-haired and oh-so-damp callipygian beauty, what to his wandering mind should appear but the following unworthy thought:
“Nice shower tiles. I want a shower like that.”
Sigh.
P.S.: This photograph provides additional evidence that Anil was right.
Wednesday, December 11th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Those cute and cuddly poo-eating bunnies over at Silflay Hraka started up with the mangled Christmas songs right after Thanksgiving, and, as the song goes, “it doesn’t show signs of stopping.” Now they’ve come along with a bastardized Christmas song about sex:
Noelle was an underclassman in my senior year, and as Christmas approached her life got worse and worse, from the dirty carols point of view.
The first Noelle, the angels did lay
Was with certain poor shepherds on rough bales of hay;
She was poor and she was cheap, and she had great big teats,
On a cold winter’s night she was better than sheep.
Noelle, Noelle, Noelle, Noelle,
At sexual congress she did excel!
These guys give doggerel a bad name. Go visit!
Monday, December 9th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Jessica Parker over at BlogAnon has announced her intention to reclaim the number one Google search results spot for the phrase “sex blog” which she apparently had at some point back before Bacchus got into the sex blogging line.
Now, Jessica evidently has more web designing talent in her left nipple than Bacchus could ever hope to possess, plus she has some natural (and they do look deliciously natural) advantages, which she proffers up most fetchingly at the top of her blog as the “#1 Blog Boobies on the Web.” (Bacchus is way too much of a gentleman to argue, even if he was inclined to do so, which he is not, even though he has seem some other fine candidates that discretion and an avoidance of invidious comparisons prevents him from identifying with particularity.)
So anyways, BlogAnon is a damn fine read and goes on the linklist. But about that #1 Google spot for “sex blog”? Not gonna happen. As the dad says in Cheaper by the Dozen: “Over my dead body, and it will be quite a climb.” Bacchus fought and scratched for the magnificent twenty hits a day the number one spot delivers, and he’s not gonna give it up without a fight. Bring pitons and a helicopter for the photographers.
[2006 Update: Four years later, BlogAnon is long gone and the domain snapped up by a click farmer. In recent months Eros Blog has been swapping the number one spot with a defunct blog by one TwiddlyBits. BlogAnon never did rescale those heights.]
Jessica has a secret weapon, though, in the form of this fine sex blog song to the tune of Tom Jone’s Sex Bomb:
Sex blog, sex blog
you’re a sex blog,
showing us your boobies
there’s no way you can go wrong
sex blog, sex blog
you’re a sex blog,
and baby you can turn me on
Sunday, December 8th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
(Better than what? Fair question. Better than living with Mother Palm and her five daughters, by all accounts. Bacchus avidly and sincerely doubts that companionable ladies have anything to fear from this form of competition.)
Now, is that a backwards and indirect way to start a sex blog entry, or what? Enough pussyfooting (if the expression may be forgiven) around and beating about the bush. (Hmm, forgiveness for inapt expressions probably getting to be an impossible dream by now. Stay tuned, it only gets worse from here.)
The web is awash with tales of The Fleshlight — a male masturbation toy that apparently doesn’t suck. (Literally or figuratively — can we just stop noticing the inapt turns of phrase for a while? If Bacchus was a competent writer, he’d be getting paid for all this.)
Anyway, this toy is all over the web, has been since about 1998 or so, but given the nature of things it’s tough to find a guy who will admit to having tried it. (Personal reviews in the comments are hereby solicited.) However, many of the reviews are positive. For instance:
About a week later it arrived. I was instantly worried when I felt how heavy it was, but that ended up being a plus. Once it was unwrapped, I ran a finger over the pink lips. The feeling was soft and malleable, “Real Feel Super Skin” is simply amazing. It’s light mild sent of vanilla was pleasant and not over powering. I followed the easy instructions and got to work. A few moments later I was moaning in ecstasy.
Is the “Fleshlight” better than the real thing? No. But if you had the real thing, you wouldn’t be reading this. Is it better then your hand? Oh yes! I couldn’t believe how good it felt, so close to the real thing, but no need to buy flowers.
The folks over at Clean Sheets were a little more reserved in their endorsement, but they still gave this item a thumb (or something) up:
Our reviewer’s first impressions of the product were “I GOTTA have this” and “very unusual feel.” Said one man; “The appearance was relatively life-like. The vanilla scent was oddly pleasing.” Indeed. Closing your eyes and touching the material is eerie; like touching the real thing. One man said “Closest thing to the real thing I ever felt.”
In use, they seem to cull all kinds of honors. “With the right lube, the feel is very nice.”
Overall, this product received very handsome commentary: “Not as good as the real thing but definitely better than your hand. I like using it while watching videos.” “This is tons of fun and feels great. It’s almost the perfect sex toy!”
Bacchus has not yet tried this device — it’s not exactly cheap, and there’s an “ick factor” (reported on by the folks at Nerve) that’s impossible to ignore. (However, even the Nerve reviewer appears to have enjoyed the Fleshlight once he, uhm, “screwed his courage to the sticking point” and got down to business.)
So: Any fans of this thing out there who want to tell us how it feels?
Saturday, December 7th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
In which Acidman shuffles the deck of humanity and explains how to deal for maximum good times all around:
“Why are people so confused, tangled and mangled about sex? From my experience, I’ve learned that people are like a deck of cards. Everybody fits into a certain suit. Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs or Spades, and everybody picks what they want to be. The hearts want love, the diamonds want wealth, the clubs like things dangerous and the spades work hard and never make much money. Everybody screws, but hearts don’t last with clubs and spades don’t last with diamonds. You’ve got to find your own suit, or it will never work.”
Now we just need a volunteer to step up to the plate and gin up a “What Suit Are You?” quiz.
Thursday, December 5th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The Group Captain provided this map as evidence that the Middle East is in deep shit:
Ayup. And it’s DARK in there, too. Plus the ventilation, while sometimes vigorous, leaves a bit to be desired.
However, Bacchus is a twisted fellow, and therefore wonders whether this map might not also explain the existence (or, worse yet, the immediate adjacency) of the following two entries from the ErosBlog referral logs:
islamic questions about oral sex
israeli gas mask fetish
Thursday, December 5th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Dang! This is one sexy ear!
And that’s a nice tattoo, although one would think the feather would tickle. Especially when kissed.
Sexy ear, you ask?
Well, why not? If Acidman can link to toe porn, what’s wrong with ear porn?
Besides, have you ever seen such a kissable ear vicinity? Bacchus thinks not.
Only trouble is, this genre-defining bit of earotica arrived (earrived?) by email; its provenance and owner are unknown. If this is your ear, please step forward and become known to the vast ErosBlog readership! Linkage, modeling credits, photographer credits, tattoo artist credits, whatever — all will be cheerfully added in this space. Heck, we might even be able to round up a couple of ear groupies!
Tuesday, December 3rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Q: What do you call three cute starlet models all chained together on network television?
A: A good start….
Thanks to Melly at Ordinary Morning for the link.
Similar Sex Blogging:
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.
Monday, December 2nd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Thanks to the Reverse Cowgirl for linking us to AccordionGuy who, in turn, offers for your viewing pleasure two large pictures of scarves shaped like boobs:
Apparently the pendulous breasts scarf is all the rage in Japan.
Nope…not making this up. Couldn’t.
Saturday, November 30th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Also courtesy of the Mainichi Daily news is today’s gratuitously decorative element, in the form of smiling booth babes at the Tokyo Game Show 2002:
Consider this yet another entry in the “Why Young Japanese Males are Crazed Computer Gaming Fanatics” file.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, Bacchus would like to know why nobody informed him, in advance when it would have done some good, that he had a vital need to attend the Tokyo Game Show.
Saturday, November 30th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
From the Mainichi Daily News (logo shown below) yet another story about the myriad benefits of unbridled capitalism, as manifested in the form of unusual sex entertainment options offered up by the highly competitive sex industry in Osaka. Fried octopus balls on a living platter? No problem. Pre-chewed bananas? Just kiss the girl, she’s got ’em! Thirsty for breast milk? Will that be “on tap” or in a glass?
And for the main course:
For just an extra 1,000 yen on top of the regular 9,000 yen price, workers will wear panties made of paper and supply clients with a filled water pistol. The customer is then encouraged to blast the water pistol until it makes the garment dissolve or renders the panties so sopping they can only be ripped off.
Andrea Dworkin, your scholarship is calling.
Thursday, November 28th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This picture is offered up as a warning to women who feel that powered woodworking tools are a perfectly acceptable default gift for Father’s Day:
Seriously, guys who get these things at a time when they don’t have a burning desire to build a gazebo will just dream shit up!
Similar Sex Blogging:
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?
Tuesday, November 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
From part one of a two part article on Tantric sex in a South African publication called Women24, this handy tip for delaying male ejaculation:
At the point where you feel you might be reaching your peak, press your tongue against the top of your palate. “By tensing muscles in your mouth, you move blood away from your groin, giving you a chance to recover,” Sampson says. “Don’t feel embarrassed, though – it’s unlikely to cause too much of a distraction for your partner.”
From part two, instructions for the Thrust of the Phoenix:
Perhaps the most widely known tantric technique, this little winner can be used with any position. When you start thrusting, go in shallow (around two centimetres) for nine strokes, then one deep, then eight shallow, then one deep, working your way down to one shallow. “This has been known to give women who claim to never orgasm their first taste of the big ‘O’,” says Johnson. “Building slowly up to a big crescendo will have her willing you to reach the climax.”
Tuesday, November 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This fellow obviously has an extreme case of some loathsome disease. So why is he smiling?
Tuesday, November 26th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
“Hey babe…nice bike!”
Monday, November 25th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
In an oddly banal report, The Spectator describes an English farm wife who went “on the game” (as the Brits apparently say) to support the posh lifestyle to which her family had become accustomed before the hoof-and-mouth police came around and slaughtered the family herds. Hubby was surprisingly supportive:
“Mike and I talked about it for days. Neither of us had ever done anything like this before. At the beginning we worked as a team. We would do sex displays and threesomes, and it was perhaps a way of making it easier for him to accept what was happening. Then, after a while, I just started doing it on my own.”
To the delight of British accountants, this woman’s tale is not that uncommon:
“That’s how I met my accountant. He has three working girls on his books, and I don’t know about the arrangements he has with the others, but I pay him in kind and he seems quite happy.”
Sunday, November 24th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
It’s been a busy weekend at ErosBlog headquarters, which explains the dearth of blog entries:
As you can see from the picture, the ErosBlog pre-Thanksgiving party got a little wild. What with one thing and another, production suffered. (Bacchus, on the other hand, did not suffer.)
The hard working staff nymphs who do much of the work around here put down their tools and loudly demanded quality time with Bacchus. Attempts were made to restore order, brisk spankings were delivered, and stern admonitions were made…all to no avail. The nymphs would not be denied, and in the end, the bacchanalia could not be averted.
If you believe all that, you have a promising future in Arizona oceanfront real estate. This much only is true: your humble scribe did in fact go for a pleasant hike with an actual unattached and not-obviously-crazy woman.
Saturday, November 23rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
In one minor respect, the Gor books are like Scientologists. That is, there exist folks who object to any mention of them, unless it be a rousing and completely unequivocal denunciation.
It has been pointed out that the use of the word “yummy” in the previous entry disqualifies that entry from the “unequivocal” category. Accordingly, as a gesture of placation, please accept this link to a web classic, the ancient and notorious (but viciously accurate) parody: Houseplants of Gor.
An excerpt for flavor:
Borin picked up the watering can, and muchly watered the plant. The plant cried out. “No, Master! Do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. “Please, Master,” begged the plant, “do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. It was plant. It could be watered at will.
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.
Thursday, November 21st, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Reuters via Yahoo reports that June and December are the months in which teens are most likely to lose their virginity. Apparently Christmas is romantic:
Levin and colleagues dubbed the December peak in coital activity “the holiday season effect,” and noted that this was when young females in romantic relationships were the most likely to have sex for the first time.
Or perhaps the teenage male youth of today have discovered the virtues of Bacardi 151 as an eggnog “flavoring.”
Thursday, November 21st, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Kim Kelly wants to lose some weight. So she’s going on a 100% man juice diet. Or so the promotional press release reads:
For the entire month of December Kim Kelly will diet by eating nothing but cum for an entire month!
Beginning December 1st/2002 BBW Live’s “Queen of Princesses” Kim Kelly will be attempting to add her name to the star-roster of “Sexual World Record” holders by sucking down a minimum of 90 cum enriched meals… and probably a number of “snacks”. That’s a diet of nothing more solid than cum, at least three meals a day for a month!
However, she’s quoted as saying she also plans to eat “plenty of banana smoothies” because “I’m not going to kill myself for this.”
Wednesday, November 20th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
One may presume that the photographer responsible for this project adheres (pun intended) to the following ancient and venerable maxim:
“There are very few personal problems that cannot be resolved by application of suitable quantities of duct tape.”
Wednesday, November 20th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Perhaps a reader more worldly than Bacchus can help out here. What in the name of Aphrodite’s delicious underpants do they call this sex position? 96?
Tuesday, November 19th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
It’s Fun-With-Photoshop time for the strange crew over at Fark.com. This week appears to have been declared National Abuse of Trademarked Icons Week, and some of the results are eye opening. Not for the squeamish or easily offended.
Monday, November 18th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Feel the warm sweaty karmic breezes, people! Globalgasm encourages you to join in a “monthly digital orgy with the intent of healing the planet.”
ErosBlog is nominally in favor of sex-positive grunty goodness of this sort, which puts a considerable damper on the exuberant derision that might otherwise be directed at this new age foolishness.
The world needs an injection of focused, positive, sexual energy. If we all do it at the same time, we can build off each other and elevate the vibe to an earth-shattering level.
Huh? Do we also have to sing Kumbaya in harmony while we “do it”?
Fortunately for everyone, Acidman has already weighed in on this attempted virtual clusterfuck, and since he was considerably nicer than Bacchus had planned to be, that’s probably enough about that.
Sunday, November 17th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Daze Reader alerts us to an erotica auction to be held on Thursday, November 21st.
There’s an illustrated catalog that’s well worth a visit, even if you don’t have thousands of pounds to drop on yummy dirty pictures. (Yes, the estimates are in pounds — this appears to be one of those veddy British auctions from one of those veddy British auction houses.)
The illustration accompanying this entry is borrowed from the auction catalog. It’s by the artist David Wilde and the title is “Juliette”.
Saturday, November 16th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Friday, November 15th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The logs say y’all are visiting, but none of ya have left a comment in days. So it’s time for a brand spanking new policy. If you don’t leave some comments, Bacchus will be forced to turn this angry little bear loose on yer asses! Won’t you be sorry then? Oh, you betcha. You can’t begin to imagine — the comment enforcement bear is mean!
Thursday, November 14th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This is too cute. From the twisted perverts (Bacchus means this only in the nicest possible way) over at BDSM Cafe we have Beanies in Bondage. Once again, Bacchus is not making this up.
Folks, this is why you read ErosBlog. Admit it, you know it’s true. While those other sex blogs (and most of the other blogs in the blogosphere) were linking to the done-to-death Bondage Barbie story, Bacchus went out and slaved away over hot link lists until he could bring you a hogtied furry stuffed bear wearing a ring gag and and a blindfold. Why you would want to see this remains a mystery, but at least it’s different.
Monday, November 11th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Just in case anyone was having trouble visualizing the item (or its uses) under discussion in the Bardex rant below, a quick visit to Double Bardex will fix you right up. It appears to be a Japanese site, and consequently unlikely to be taken off the net by the Bardex lawyers. [And yet, it finally went away.] The site shows several pictures of an “anal retention catheter” as Debrah now must call them, including one shot of the device inflated whilst inside somebody’s hairy butt.
Monday, November 11th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
From the all-encompassing Volokh Conspiracy comes word of a positively Bacchanalian festival: Splosh!
Splosh — is the most infamous night of squishy, sexy, safe and sticky fun with a menu of edible and slimy, tasty and grimy dishes and people.
On the messy fun menu:
Pudding, cake batter, corn syrup, liquefied bananas, oils galore, paints, gak, splosh paint, syrups, fruit loops, oats, flour, paste, fruits and veggies of all kinds and a rainbow of food coloring.
Alas, Bacchus is too many kilomiles away from San Francisco to make this party, even if he started walking now. And a good thing too, since each participant must bring a date. If Bacchus were to be attending, he would need to start taking applications for the Legion of Messy Nymphs on an accelerated schedule.
Sunday, November 10th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
If there’s a defining theme to the dirty pictures that get linked and posted here, it is that they are different in some way from the “shaved and oiled genitalia in brightly lit living color” photography that comprises 98% of net porn. For the most part, “different” doesn’t necessarily mean explicit — but faint heart never won fair lady, so Bacchus won’t shrink from posting strong material if it meets the standard of being unusual enough to titillate this blog’s urbane and sophisticated readership.
With that fair warning, and without further ado, consider visiting The Clinic of Dr. Farrel. This looks like scans from a French language bondage and torture comic, and it contains harsh scenes of painful forced body modification and breast enlargement. You’ll like this, if you like this sort of thing.
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.
Thursday, November 7th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Bacchus is pissed off. As a casual Google search reveals, there are lots of kinky people out there who enjoy giving each other sex enemas. And like any other kinky sex practice, it helps to have good tools. One brand of “anal retention catheter” (you know, a rubber tube for shoving up the ass, usually with one or more inflatable balloons to keep it there) is Bardex.
One would think that the maker of such devices would appreciate free publicity. One would be wrong. One must have failed to consider the kind of lawyers likely to be hired by people who make things to shove up your ass.
The result? Threatening letters to kinky folk on the web.
“By using BARDEX in connection with goods and services that do not originate with C.R. Bard, Inc., You are misrepresenting the source of these goods and services as well as deceiving the public. This use of BARDEX is likely to cause confusion as to origin of the products or services identified and dilute the value of our client’s registered mark in violation of the trademark laws. Furthermore, the manner in which you promote and advertise the products or services creates a negative image, damaging the reputation and goodwill associated with our client’s mark and products”.
The result? Some quality sites have been forced to revise their content — not because there’s any real risk that Bardex would win a lawsuit, but simply because the people involved can’t afford (in money, in time, or in energy) to fight.
What’s wrong with that? Well, as it happens, these lawyers are bluffing. The trademark law in question is the one that lets Nike shut down Ebay auctions for cheap Chinese knockoff shoes. References to bootleg goods really does “deceive the public” and “dilutes the value of the brand.”
The law does NOT let a brand owner decide how its products will be used. Nor does it allow the brand owner to stop people from talking about what they like to do with the product.
What Bardex is doing here — trying to stamp out web references to “non-medical” uses of its enema gear — is just plain old-fashioned cheap bullying. They don’t want their medical customers finding out (as if they didn’t already know) that people use their product to have a little anal fun. And they have learned that they can threaten folks who do that, to get them to shut up about it.
Alas, it doesn’t usually make sense to fight these assholes when they send their threatening letters. Although you could win in court, it could easily cost tens of thousands of dollars to get that victory. No little site about pervy sex has that kind of revenue, and even kinky folks have families to feed.
These guys know they don’t have a legal leg to stand on, but they know that when they send out their insupportable legalistic nastygrams, most folks will have no choice but to comply. Even by the ethical standards for which lawyers are already infamous, that’s just disgusting. Weasels Lawyers who lie, and know they are lying, and do it deliberately and with intent to intimidate, are just rotten. And so are the folks who hire them.
This site has yet to make a dime. Your host has no assets that can readily be attached. And your host’s host can be replaced, complete with a DNS update, in under 24 hours. So, Bardex, this is for you:
BARDEX is BEST
for kinky enema butt sex!
Deal with it.
Wednesday, November 6th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
[This post is technically obsolete and has become entirely irrelevant; it is retained solely because there is no compelling reason to delete it.]
OK, no sex in this entry, just an explanation of my ugly new comment system.
I want comments. A blog just isn’t a blog without them. But I’m using a sort of unusual setup here. My hosting arrangement doesn’t allow any sort of server side scripting, and I like it for other reasons. So I’m using a freeware client-side database-oriented blogging application called (creatively) “Blog“. It’s handy as heck, but there’s a catch.
The catch is, Blog’s provisions for a comment system are email based and not terribly sophisticated. It works like this:
You click the comment link, you send an email. Thanks!
Blog checks its email every 10 minutes. (My email provider gets unhappy with more frequent checking.)
If Blog gets an email with a proper comment header (which happens only if your email client faithfully notices and inserts the proper subject string from the mailto: URL) the email is downloaded. Then ErosBlog gets immediately republished to include your comment.
Although the comment can contain any HTML you like, the system doesn’t automatically show the email address or web page of the person emailing the comment. Please do feel free to include these in the body of your email (although they won’t be clickable unless you surround them with the appropriate href tags).
Lots of problems with this ugly system. But, in a crude primitive way, it should make it possible to comment on my blog. I’ll look for a better way, I promise! Meanwhile, thanks for reading and commenting.
2024 Update: Amazingly, the author of the Blog software referenced in this post still maintains his old pages about it. And the Internet Archive still has a working copy of his erstwhile downloads page, with working downloads links.
Monday, November 4th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Here is a Usenet classic you may have seen before:
THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO UNLAWFUL CARNAL KNOWLEDGE FOR FANTASY ROLE-PLAYING GAMES
This guide for the D&D crowd comes complete with lists like “Magic Items Your Mom Wouldn’t Approve of.” Bacchus could find uses for the Spectacles of Revealing, and the Wand of Elenora’s Embarrassment sounds rather fun also. The list of “Spells With Zip” includes goodies like Annihilator’s Penis of Power. If that’s a little too patriarchal for your taste, probably Kiss Of Slavery won’t cheer you up — you may want to get your hands on the Jackknife of Circumcision. Bacchus does not approve and is likely to retreat into his Marishar’s Miraculous Bath House, which might have been designed for him — note the command word, which Bacchus did not make up:
This one square inch marble block is carved in the appearance of a Roman-style villa with pillars at the front and erotic mosaics on the side and back walls. Once a day, the bathhouse can be invoked (command word Bacchus). It immediately grows in size until it is as large as a small house. It is identical to the statue, with high marble walls, and pillars at the front covering the entrance. The doorway is only large enough to allow one person at a time to pass through, and has a large brass door that can be bolted from the inside. Two large Iron Golems cast as Nubian slaves with scimitars guard the doorway. Whoever passes inside first is the master/mistress of the bath house, and all the creatures of the bath house will obey them. Inside the house is only one room, with two pools (hot and cold) and several marble slabs. gauzy silk curtains, cushions and tapestries decorate the place. Several swans (white if the master is good/neutral, black if evil) swim calmly on the cold pool. In the bath house are 2d6 beings of the same race and opposite gender, with 18 charisma and 18 comeliness. They are happy to please and have 20’s in any and all the new sexual proficiencies. If the master/mistress of the house wishes, the companions can be switched to any gender or species. Inside the bath house, it is always comfortably warm, and there is always food (as long as you like grapes and dates) and fresh water. Nothing from the bath house (golems, companions, cushions, water, food) can leave the bath house. If taken outside they vanish.
For the serious sex gaming grognard, there are detailed rules on the calculation of the duration of an in-game sex encounter:
After the initial rounds pass, the character must make a Constitution check for each round he/she wishes to continue. Modifiers to this check are from Table 1 and Table 2 And Table 3, plus cumulative modifier of -1. The character also needs to make a time to climax (TTC) check. A 1 on a 1d6 for males and a 1 on a 1d10 for women indicates such an occurrence. An additional TTC roll is made and a result of 1 indicates multiple orgasms (keep rolling while 1s come up).
Bacchus gives this link two thumbs (nay, Wands of Love even) up!
Sunday, November 3rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
From Japan we have some purely ornamental material that may explain why the cream of Japanese male youth is so obsessed with video gaming:
Said to be from the 2002 Tokyo Game Show.
Sunday, November 3rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Since Acidman has decided that broken metabolisms are worthy of derision this week, Bacchus figured it was only fair to post a poster girl just for him!
Acidman, this cutiepie is waiting eagerly for you in your bedroom!
Acidman, of course, cannot offend…for he is Acidman. But it’s amusing to catch him in a moment of pure ignorant fucktard bloviation, for which Bacchus has gently excoriated him in his (Acidman’s) own blog comments.
UPDATE: A little bird told me the lady pictured might be The Supreme Bitch. But I don’t think so — she tops Acidman (now there’s a thought experiment worthy of a sex blog) with her claim that the problem with fat people (or “fatties” as she so charmingly calls them) is “sloth and laziness and a worthless, sedentary lifestyle.” Of course, she is The Supreme Bitch. A pity she didn’t get the memo about the difference between bitchy and ignorant.
Sunday, November 3rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Cornell University may soon take to selling vibrators in the student infirmary, according to the Cornell Daily Sun. Apparently they will come with some suggested uses students might not have thought of without help:
As with anything else they sell, the dispensary will give out educational materials explaining how to properly clean a vibrator that two women are going to share and what exactly vibrators can be used for.
Bacchus would not have thought that your typical horny college girl would need such suggestions, but apparently Cornell girls are a little slow — so much so that they don’t even know how to order stuff over the Internet:
I’m sure there are people who are dying to find vibrators and they don’t know where to go, so Gannett, go ahead,” Keith Hermanstyne ’04 said.
Others took a more practical approach.
“I think one of the most important things is for women to be able to get themselves off. It’s better than going to the sketchy shop downtown where they have to check the batteries for you,” Sara Jacobs ’05 said.
Thanks Instapundit for the story.
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.
Wednesday, October 30th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Oh yes, and speaking of the Group Captain, he is inviting all of the loveliest ladies in blogdom to, and I am not making this up, “cantabulate” his “gruntfuttocks”.
Now, Bacchus is not sure, but he suspects this is an invitation to participate in some odd variation of the infamous “English Vice.”
Or perhaps not. At any rate, it sounds very much like something that warrants this mention on a sex blog.
Wednesday, October 30th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Shocking Shell leads us on with news of a lovely secret. Then, in abject refusal to conform to stereotypes of feminine illogic, she declines to share it with us.
The Group Captain comments at Shell’s blog, and accuses her of teasing. I think he’s right.
She’ll talk, though. Because we have just the thing for, ah, encouraging her:
Imagine, readers, the sound of booming villainous laughter as we set this evil bondage tickling scheme in motion!
Wednesday, October 30th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Tuesday, October 29th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Those rough boys at The Exile explain just one of the many inventive ways sex is marketed in Russia:
First, I’ll explain how it was that I ended up with the hottest teenage provincial model at the playground of a mega-rich friend of Moe’s. There’s a simple explanation. We still owed the modeling pimp — Alla’s boss, Slava, the guy who brought her out from Belgorod along with about 25 other models from various depressed provincial towns — a couple thousand more dollars. That was part of the deal. If any of the revelers succeeded in “seducing” the models, Alla’s boss got a 100% bonus. Which meant, of course, that the models would be given a handy beating and blackballing back to their shitty provincial towns if they didn’t allow one of Snideman’s invitees to “seduce” them. Slava wanted his bonus. He kept all the money for himself. He barely paid the models, shipping them in and out of Moscow on third class platzkart, feeding them little more than soup.
Ah, Rossiya. Bacchus has visited…
The same article later brings up an eternal mystery:
Why, why, why do women under the age of 30 cut their hair short? Why? Has any woman, ever, in the history of mankind, ever looked better with short hair? Huh? Has any man ever said to a young woman with beautiful long hair, “You know honey, I really wish you’d look like my mother after she underwent intensive chemotherapy for ovarian cancer I have a hospice fetish that I can’t quench. So why don’t you go and cut all your hair off. Please, oh pretty please?! I really want to fuck a cancer patient!”
An answer is provided.
Monday, October 28th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Mexican porn comics? Who knew? Nobody tells us Norteamericanos the stuff we need to know. Until now:
Pocket-sized comic books called historietas have been available for decades on every corner newsstand, but in the past seven years they have been overrun by a fresh and lurid genre that’s part noir melodrama, part Tijuana bible–what Mexico City writer Alex Giardino dubs the “ghetto libretto.”
These nasty funnies are less graphic than their Japanese counterparts but make up in operatic depravity what they lack in plumbing. Page through Heat Between Her Legs, Secret Temptations, or Carnal Sins, at the Las Americas supermarket on East Lake Street, and you’ll find every variant of anguish on the characters’ faces. My favorite artist, who signs his name Galvez and inks boldly with crude strokes, tells sweaty tales of poor women who endure class browbeating, male predation, incest, and long nights of hot, guilty sex–all before hacking their tormentors to pieces.
Monday, October 28th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This story is a few months old, but it’s about something that’s been buried for a couple of thousand years, so what’s the hurry? It seems that a trove of ancient Chinese bronze dildos was discovered. Speculation as to their use seems, ah, imaginative:
Archaeologists in China have uncovered seven ancient bronze dildos in a Han Dynasty tomb.
This is the first time so many have been unearthed from that era (206 BC – AD 25).
The dildos were cast from a mould, suggesting they were made by a specialist artisan.
Archaeologists say the dildos uncovered in Xian could have been used by eunuchs.
They also say palace maids may have used them on sexually-deprived imperial concubines.
They expect to find more dildoes in the city in north-western Shaanxi province.
If China today is anything like as sexually repressed as European communist countries typically were, I guess this sort of fevered speculation is as close as the archaeologists can get to actual porn. I wonder if psuedointellectual cheap little treatises like “Some Suppositions on the Usages of Bronze Dildos During the Han Dynasty, with 17 Fully Engraved Plates” are sold as pornography in China, the way “Medical Sex Manuals” were sold in the US and Britain back when porn was still a felony?
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 24th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Gentle readers, although this sex blog is not yet a month old, it’s time for that ever-popular favorite, the sharing of odd search queries. Prompting this exercise is today’s new instant classic:
rape my cameltoe
I don’t know whether to be proud that, as of this writing, ErosBlog does not even appear on the first page of Google search results for this query — or dismayed that it appears at all.
Also rather fun is:
bondage rooms for rent
Now, the neat thing here is, Erosblog appears on BLOODY PAGE FOURTEEN of the Google search results. Somebody paged through a hundred and forty fricken’ results, apparently looking for a quiet place with a cage and some overhead rafters and a bondage bench where they could spank their sweetheart in privacy (paying by the hour) while avoiding the watchful eyes of Mom and Dad. Is this an entrepreneurial opportunity for some clever landlord with an extra truckload of soundproofing panels?
Thursday, October 24th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
I just stumbled across an amusingly-written weekly sex advice column called Love Bites that comes from Toronto’s weekly, The Eye. Here’s a sample:
Q. I have a girlfriend who would like to have anal sex, but she is afraid it will hurt a lot. We were wondering if there is any kind of cream or some product that would relax the sphincter, allowing an easy penetration? Any collateral negative effects if this is used?
A. There are several products on the market designed to numb the sphincter, but they are generally considered a bad idea by ass-fucking authorities. One of the things your ass does when you’re doing something it doesn’t like is warn you in a way that’s hard to ignore. You do not want to Roofie your sphincter. You want your sphincter on red alert. If your ass is numb, you might do something that can really fuck it up, so to speak. Best to take things slow. Tristan Taormino’s The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women (the book, not the film, which is awesome but really just a jazzy porno) is a much wiser prelude.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, October 23rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Classic bondage porn from the days of the line printer! Hogtied slave girl rendered entirely in parentheses, asterisks, and the odd backslash! Real geek nostalgia!
UPDATE: You thought that was fun? OK, here’s a fetish girl wearing a gas mask and leather bondage harness. ASCII porn? Who knew?
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.
Monday, October 21st, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This is almost too good to be true. “Saudi Arabia’s First English Daily” takes on your tough Muslim sex questions, and wrestles them to the mattress. Is Allah down with hot Islamic anal sex? Well, it turns out that Mohammed himself has weighed in on this weighty question. Doggy style is fine, but keep it procreative please:
A man came to the Prophet and asked him whether it was permissible to have sex with his wife from behind. The Prophet answered in the affirmative. As the man was on his way out, the Prophet called him back and said: “Consider what I have said: from behind, but in the front.”
Thanks to The Fly Bottle for the link!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, October 19th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a long article on kissing from South Africa. Now, articles on kissing are like “how to pick up girls” books — they are everywhere and they all repeat the same six stale chunks of received wisdom that are necessary to getting the job done but not sufficient to really teach anything useful. This one, at least, offers up some suggestions (for better or for worse) that aren’t on that tired old standard list:
Use each other’s mouths to recreate the motions of sex, with lots of thrusting. It can be especially stimulating if the woman’s the one doing the thrusting, as this reverses the roles of intercourse. She inserts her tongue between his loosely closed lips and slides it in and out. To enjoy this technique to its best effect, try it when you’re actually in the missionary position.
Friday, October 18th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The Acidman shares with us (but does not claim to have written) how it would be if “Dear Abby” was a man:
Dear Mr. Abby:
Q: My husband continually asks me to perform oral sex on him.
A.: Do it. Sperm can help you loose weight and gives a great glow to your skin. Interestingly, men know this. His offer to allow you to perform oral sex on him is totally selfless. This shows he loves you. The best thing to do is to thank him by performing it twice a day. Then cook him a nice meal.
Mr. Abby misses a prime opportunity here, though, to further point out that, supposedly, semen makes women happy.
Thursday, October 17th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
…to provide us with (via the Globe and Mail) a guide for finding a love hotel in Tokyo:
If you like window shopping, you’ll love looking for the perfect love hotel room. You can spot these hotels by the two prices (for a “rest” or a “stay”) marked outside, near the front door. Entering through a love hotel’s opaque glass sliding doors into its dimly lit, tasteful lobby, you’ll notice a wall with a panel with pictures of the different rooms on offer; if the picture is lit up, it’s available. You select a room by pressing the button underneath its photo, and pay the woman behind the partly obscured counter, who gives you your key. If you don’t see a room you like, check out the next establishment.
Some rules: Love hotels rent only to heterosexual couples. Threesomes aren’t welcome either, as we accidentally discovered earlier when three of our friends wandered into one love hotel and were greeted by a highly agitated woman exclaiming, “No three! No three!” Also, apparently, they’re only supposed to serve people who can speak Japanese, but we had no problem getting rooms. Love hotels are designed for discretion — some hide customers’ cars behind curtains to conceal their license plates, or strategically place walls to make it difficult to see directly into the hotel’s lobby. And while many of the rooms appeared booked, we didn’t see many patrons come or go, although we did spot couples holding hands wandering in the district, searching out the perfect love nest.
Wednesday, October 16th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
In a shameless bid for publicity, a notorious environmental organization has released a 10-point guide to environmentally friendly sex. No, I am afraid I am not making this up. The tips range from the ludicrously obvious to drop-in-the-bucket pointlessness (from an environmental standpoint, anyway):
Tips include turning off the lights to conserve energy (‘if you want to see your partner then have sex during the day’), making sure your garden is pesticide-free for alfresco activities (‘would you really want to set your bare bottom on weedkiller?’) and banning lubricants such as petroleum jelly (‘Esso’s screwing the planet but you don’t have to.’)
It gets worse:
And if you and your partner indulge in any spanking or bondage then Greenpeace advocate ‘looking for timber and paddles certified by the only internationally recognised ecological forest certification organisation, the Forest Stewardship Council.’
Kinky sex for the politically correct! Bah, give me a good old fashioned made-in-the-USA paddle chainsawed from the heart of a clear-cut old-growth Tongass National Forest yellow cedar tree any day. Guaranteed to give the nymphs that old fashioned personal tingle, while providing high-wage jobs for hard-working American loggers!
Wednesday, October 16th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This, ladies and gents, is what we in the trade like to call a gratuitous animated .gif file:
Wednesday, October 16th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
It is reliably reported (er, in People Magazine) that Spice Girl Mel B likes a good sex spanking. Her ex-boyfriend, who reportedly is a bit peeved that she violated their mutual confidences, tells all:
“She particularly liked to be spanked on the bottom in the middle of it. She loved to talk dirty and learnt lots of dirty words in Icelandic and would shout them out when we had sex.”
And Mel loved the thrill of sex outdoors. Fjolnir said: “We made a point of doing it outdoors in the famous Blue Lagoon hot springs in Iceland.”
“We also joined the Mile High Club on a flight to America. We sneaked into the toilets and were at it for probably 10 minutes. She was moaning so much I put my hand over her mouth.”When we came out a stewardess gave us a knowing smile. Mel didn’t care and shared it all with the other Spice Girls when we saw them next.”
Tuesday, October 15th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
I once knew a woman who seemingly didn’t know that hands could contribute to this most worthwhile of projects. I was too young and dumb to even consider trying something so sensible as actual sexual communication, so she carried on, when we carried on, with her soft mouth ministrations that felt great but were far too gentle to actually ever get the job done this way. Eventually she traded me in for a married guy she met on the internet. But that’s a story for another day.
Anyway, Shell knows better:
I suck on the head and the first few inches, using my hand on the rest of the shaft (which is already well lubricated with saliva). I take his balls in my other hand, lightly flicking my nails through the hair, cupping them reverently, perhaps squeezing or tugging gently if I know he likes it. I vary the amount of suction, keep my tongue moving. If he wants to set the pace, then I comply, letting him use his hands to move my head at the rate he chooses. I love the feeling of having my mouth fucked. But if he prefers to let me remain in charge, then I am happy to continue worshipping him with my lips and tongue, continue squeezing and caressing his shaft with one hand, continue using the other hand to tease and tickle whatever parts of his body I can reach. I like to run it over the top of his mscular thigh, feel the place where it meets his hips, travel up across his torso to feel his chest, shoulders, neck. Then his face.
I touch his lips. My own lips are stretched wetly around him, moving up and down, sucking his shaft in and out, my tongue acting as a textured carpet. If he starts kissing and licking my fingertips, I go crazy with lust. If he sucks on my fingers, I usually come. Sometimes he’s so into the moment that he doesn’t pay any attention to my fingertips, and that’s okay too. I’ll just drag them down his body again and plan on getting my turn later.
When I sense he’s close to climax, I remove my hand and let him go deeper into my mouth. I grab his ass with both hands and suck hard, suck wet, suck until I feel him jerk and pulse on my tongue.
I give him as much time as he needs to finish, then I slowly pull off and kiss his penis adoringly. I sink into a pleasantly exhausted slump against his thigh, sometimes kissing and nuzzling the object of my worship, the tool that gives me so much pleasure, my lover’s penis.
Somewhere, right now, some lucky young man is benefiting in a very personal way from the communications miracle that is the internet.
Tuesday, October 15th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The Fusilier Pundit has discovered “a heretofore unknown aphrodisiac for married women.” The recipe, like all love potions, is tricky and complex and requires ingredients some of which are not easily obtained
The most powerful aphrodisiac for a married woman is, strangely enough, a trusted babysitter, or family of babysitters, that will look after the children for a whole weekend. Then leave town for, say, Laramie.
Add two Bombay martinis and a digital camera, and shake. The erotic effects may last well into the following week if you cook dinner and get the kids to bed on time.
Does it work? I can’t say — I don’t know any married women who are willing to let me test it out on them.
Monday, October 14th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
…now where is that gym again?
Folks, your humble host, like his namesake, is fond of his imbibables, and his edibles for that matter. The bacchanalia, run properly, would provide suitable high-calorie workouts, but the damn nymphs appear to have all kippered off again. So it’s time for Bacchus to hit the gym.
I maintain that the prospect would be far more attractive if only I could find the right gym.
Monday, October 14th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
From Reuters via ABC:
Reproductive physiologist Roger Short, from the University of Melbourne’s obstetrics department, said a few drops of lemon juice can be a cheap, easy-to-use solution to protect women from both HIV and pregnancy.
The juice should be squeezed onto a piece of sponge or cotton wool and placed into the vagina before sex, he said.
“Tequila!”
Wednesday, October 9th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
An article called The Domme Next Door — San Francisco local color the San Francisco Bay Guardian way!
Vivian lies stretched out on the table in sequined hot pants and matching pasties. At more than six feet in heels, the voluptuous Morgana towers over her in a simple black dress and fishnets, her hair pulled back lest it get caught in the flame. She lights the menacing-looking torch and expertly moves it over Vivian, swiftly tapping the cotton on her chest, stomach, and thighs. She lets a low blue flame linger on each spot for a moment before stamping it out with her bare hand. As she explains, it’s actually the alcohol that’s burning, not Vivian’s lovely skin. Morgana teases the submissive with the heat, dancing the flame over her body. When it does finally make contact with her skin, Vivian arches her back slightly, and small gasps escape from her parted lips. As Morgana concentrates on the flame and Vivian’s responses, her eyes reflect the warm light and gleam with a ferocious intensity. This is one of Morgana’s favorite forms of S-M play, and it shows.
“It’s like a Tupperware party gone very, very bad,” Mistress Morgana says — and I, for one, am not inclined to argue!
Tuesday, October 8th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
After that last cheap blogshot, I suppose I should put something more useful up. How about strengthening international ties by explaining the mystery of “snogging”? Those crazy Brits are always snogging, or talking about it — and it’s never been quite clear to me exactly what that means. I’ve always thought it was a rough synonym for “making out” (or, to use a dying euphemism, French kissing) — but with a more vigorous connotation, sort of like “sucking face” but not quite so crude.
Now all is explained, at Sunday magazine length, in the Guardian Unlimited Observer, and it turns out I’m right:
“And so I had to explain that snogging is a bit like kissing but more aggressive, a bit like sex but strangely far more intimate, and that probably as a result, many people who happily have sex with their partners on a regular basis can’t countenance the idea of snogging them in any way.”
There is lots more. (Original link at archive.org.)
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, October 8th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Monday, October 7th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This sounds like fun:
Scientists last week revealed they had successfully tested a nasal spray, PT-141, that sent ‘healthy, normal women’ into states of high sexual arousal.
‘The crucial point about PT-141 is that it directly targets the brain’s arousal centre,’ said Dr Carl Spana, president of Palatin Technologies, of New Jersey.
…
[L]ast week…Professor Raymond Rosen of New Jersey’s University of Medicine and Dentistry revealed results of the first human trials of PT-141. Sixteen healthy women were given the drug and 16 were given a placebo. All were shown erotic videos, while detectors measured blood flow in their vaginas.
The women given placebos hardly reacted while those on PT-141 had pronounced increases in blood flow – results that demonstrate the drug has potential that goes well beyond its use only as a medical aid, though Spana counselled caution. ‘The drug can only be administered as a nasal spray – which isn’t good for seducers. You can’t put it in a drink and sticking it up a girl’s nose is hard to do surreptitiously, after all.
(Original link at Archive.org)
Sunday, October 6th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The oinkers over at Men Are Pigs explain the four reasons why sex with your ex is so good. Reason One:
1. Your ex will suddenly be a much better lover. No matter what has really happened since you broke up, she will want to impress you with all the little tricks she has learned while sleeping with everyone else. No matter, who cares. Just let it happen and enjoy.
Saturday, October 5th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Saturday, October 5th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Our lucky friends on the far side of the Atlantic are being treated to a new dramatic television series called “Tipping the Velvet”, featuring explicit lesbian romps on BBC2. Says one of the actresses:
“We did all our love scenes in a bedroom in one afternoon, although I do admit I had to fortify myself.
“We had a couple of glasses of wine and a bar of Galaxy and off we went. It was quite nice actually.
“There’s a bit of oral sex but I’m under the covers so you don’t see a lot. But there is a lot of girl-on-girl action.
Friday, October 4th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
On a much more serious note, an American expat in Moscow rants in The Exile about the sexual torture prevalent in U.S. prisons. It’s a hateful rant in many ways, anti-American and arguably racist, but the horrifying phenomenon of prison rape is not often described so starkly:
Recently a British paper printed the story of a man in Illinois who is suing the state prison system. At the whim of a sadistic functionary in the prison system, this man, who is white, was placed in a cellblock which was all black and controlled by a very tight, military-style prison gang. He was, of course, gangraped, taught to suck cock on demand, used as a urinal and toilet, and otherwise made to entertain his fellow inmates.
There is more, some of it even uglier. (It would be more convincing if the author had backed up his anecdotes with links.)
Someday we may have to face up to the fact that prison, the way we do it, violates this constitutional prohibition, found in the Eighth Amendment: “nor [shall] cruel and unusual punishments [be] inflicted.”
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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