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The Sex Blog Of Record
Saturday, June 26th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
It is becoming better known, these days, that genitalia aren’t quite as standardized as most people assume. It’s also a sad truth that infants born with equipment that doesn’t conform to the assumed standard often suffer brutal rearrangement under a surgeon’s knife. But even so, I think this particular anecdote should not be given very much weight, except for any entertainment value it may offer. It’s from the so-called 1977 World Sex Almanac, which billed itself as “a handy-dandy catalog of odds and ends about strange orifices and appendages.” The publisher was Circle Library Editions, better known for such stroke book titles as The Naughty Nun and Lust Letters To The Editor:
According to confirmed reports from two eyewitness females, there lives a man in San Diego, California, a Mr. Jack Hornbelt who has not one organ, but two, completely functional, fully capable penises. The two phallic appendages share a single scrotum and they operate independently of one another.
At the point of attachment, the two penises are less than an inch apart. They point away from one another at a nearly ninety degree angle.
One of the women who made her report to our editors claims to have seen the man during a state of sexual arousal: “It was quite remarkable. After all, how often is it that you see two dicks, side by side, on the same man, fully erect. But there they were, both of them, standing up proud as day like a couple of flag poles. They’re both circumcised, and I’d say the combined length, if you could lay them end to end, is somewhere around ten or twelve inches — you know, average. Same for thickness, too. I suppose he could fuck two very skinny girls at the same time if he really wanted to.”
She also reported that the two organs looked normal when considered separately.
Mr. Hornbelt himself tells most of his friends when they ask: “With me it’s normal. I mean, I always get two erections, I never thought it was anyway different for all the other guys till I was around four. It don’t matter to me. I always get just one orgasm anyhow. Don’t ask me why.”
When asked if he ever considered surgery to make himself “more normal” Mr. Hornbelt shook his head sadly. “Wife won’t hear of it, you know. Just doesn’t want to listen to any kind of talk like that. Don’t ask me why. Just won’t hear of it.”
Although I don’t trust this particular source as far as I can throw it, diphallia is a real thing, albeit quite rare. There’s a current fellow running around who seems to be the real double-dicked deal. He calls himself DoubleDickDude, he shares photos, and he did a big Reddit Ask-Me-Anything a while back.
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Wednesday, September 16th, 2020 -- by Bacchus
To me this stroke book cover art looks like a blowjob about to happen:
It’s from the cover of Pussy Power: Masters And Slaves (Star Distributors 1979, HF-223), so I’m not entirely sure about the strength of the connection between the title and the cover art. She appears mesmerized by cock power!
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Sunday, April 5th, 2020 -- by Bacchus
Ladies and gentlemen, open your ‘shop software and fire up your meme engines! Because I just found a wonderful 1972 stroke-book-cover version of the famous Distracted Boyfriend meme. Our fellow with the wandering eyes here must be an ass man, because the woman he’s with has tits that ought to be enough for any man. Although her narrowed eyes, pursed lips, and generally annoyed demeanor put me in mind of that old adage: No matter how beautiful any woman may be, somewhere there’s a man who may be getting tired of putting up with her quirks.
Artwork is from the cover of Confessions Of A Swapper, which is “A Dr. Guenter Klow Library Selection” (GK-39) from Eros Goldstripe. I don’t have an artist credit, but if this isn’t Bill Ward or (I’m thinking maybe) Gene Bilbrew, I’ll eat my hat. (I don’t have a hat.)
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Monday, February 10th, 2020 -- by Bacchus
I don’t know much about the world of gay stroke books, but apparently in that fantasy space, burly blonde army guys don’t want to get captured by Arab soldiers … or do they?
Artwork is from the cover of Arab Captives (CB122 from Combat Books, 1983).
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Monday, April 1st, 2019 -- by Bacchus
Diane and Karen are young wives, best friends and recently married, who find themselves often lonely and unsatisfied when their husbands travel on business. Married life does not agree with them! So they resolve to go to a bar and pick up some random men for a little lighthearted fun. They are the stars of The Suck Wives by David Brown (Greenleaf 1975):
Twenty minutes later they drove into the parking lot of a small roadside motel. Wade got out of the car and headed quickly for the lobby. He was gone no more than a few seconds before Diane hopped into the back seat with Ed and Karen. “It’s been too long,” she said, unbuttoning his fly and groping for his cock. “I’m horny again!”
“You broads are fuckin’ crazy!” groaned Ed, gasping and stirring in the seat. “You bitches are gonna pull the fuckin’ thing out by the roots!”
The girls didn’t reply. They were too busy kneeling in the seat and moving their faces toward Ed’s swollen cock. Suddenly he cried out, shivering. Diane and Karen greedily went for his bulging dong, their tongues lashing out. While two pairs of eager hands were groping for his balls, their mouths enveloped him, their wet lips saturating his prick with kisses. His jism fought to erupt.
Wade returned to the car. “What the fuck are ya doin’, for Chrissakes?” he snarled, gaping at them.
Ed was beaming from ear to ear. “What the fuck d’ya think, old buddy?”
“C’mon! Get outa there! We gotta room.”
Ed tried to get up, but the girls kept him pinned down. Finally, he shrugged in defeat and shook his head sadly at Wade. “Sorry,” he said, laughing shortly. “I guess I got too much for these twats to pass up!”
Wade wrenched open the door and pulled Karen away from Ed’s cock. “There’s just as much right here, baby,” he said harshly, pointing to his throbbing prick. “Let’s go inside, for Chrissakes!”
Ed pulled up his pants and the three of them got out of the car.
Inside was a big room with two king-size beds. The girls could hardly wait to remove their clothing. As soon as Ed had closed the door, they pulled off their tops and shrugged out of their tight pants. Their gleaming naked bodies lit up the room.
“Jesus H. Christ!” exclaimed Ed in awe. “They’re fuckin’ beautiful!”
“C’mon, big boy!” urged Diane, approaching Ed and pinning him against the door. “Show me what I’m gettin’!” Then she went into action, unbuttoning his fly, pulling down his trousers, and taking his entire cock into her mouth. She got on her knees, took his balls in her hands, and began to suck his prick hungrily.
“I want it in the ass!” squealed Karen while Wade was undressing. “I want the fuckin’ thing in my ass!” Without another word she jumped on the bed, got on her hands and knees, spread her thighs, and waited for him to stick his cock in. Already she was panting. The hot cunt juice was dripping down her thighs.
Wade knelt behind her, reached between them, and thrust his thumb up her dripping cunt.
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Thursday, March 21st, 2019 -- by Bacchus
In The Four-Way Bride by Curt Aldrich, we join our newlywed heroine Millie mid-reverie, as she is remembering her first-time wedding night sex a week before:
“It’s in!” Danny exclaimed, breathing hard. “Baby, it’s in you!”
Danny was pulling and thrusting … jabbing … burrowing … wedging his hard cock deeper and deeper into Millie’s virginal slit. The sensations which she felt were more startling than painful. There was no pleasure. She was still holding her breath, letting only enough air in and out to keep her lungs functioning.
But as Danny’s massive rigidity tore ever more deeply into her belly, bringing no added pain, Millie began gradually to relax. The slight soreness at the mouth of her vagina, though aggravated by the friction of his shaft, was tolerable. With relaxation came Millie’s first voluptuous response.
It felt good to have a cock inside her, stroking and going deep. She writhed and let out a little moan. She resumed active breathing, though her breaths were heavy and uneven.
“Unnh … oh … oh God, that’s good!” Danny panted.
“Yes … yesss.” She closed her eyes and twisted her lips. Almost of their own accord, her hips started moving with his.
The sheathing snugness of his bride’s virginal pussy, now bobbing jerkily around his fast-stroking shaft, gave Danny such intense stimulation that he couldn’t hold off the orgasm which was welling up in him. He groaned exultantly, his whole body stiffened, and his prick rammed deep inside her. She gasped, then mewed with pleasure as she felt her husband’s warm spurts, accompanied by a spastic twitching of his embedded rod.
Danny sighed and lapsed forward.
Millie lay motionless beneath him except for the rise and fall of her cushioning breasts. She felt as if she were on a carnival ride that had slowed in preparation for a new burst of frenzied motion. But the burst didn’t come. Millie found herself experiencing a vague and unfulfilled sense of excitement.
Danny’s cock was softening and shrinking inside her. He was getting heavy. The dull soreness at the mouth of her vagina persisted, but that didn’t bother Millie any longer. She was more concerned about a vague anxiety that mocked both her earlier fear and her briefly awakened desire.
Is it over? she wondered. Was that all?
Danny pushed back, his soft penis slurping out of her. He grinned boyishly. “Pretty good, huh?”
“I … I guess so,” Millie said.
Is this what Mama warned me so much about? Millie asked herself in amazement. This nothing?
“Baby, you’re wonderful!” Danny purred, snuggling down against her, wrapping her in his strong arms. “I love you!”
“I love you, too,” Millie replied almost mechanically.
At that moment she wasn’t sure how she felt about anything, except that her nerves remained taut–not from fear any longer, but from some cause she didn’t understand.
In less than a minute Danny fell asleep, his arms still draped around her, his head resting against her neck. Millie eased herself clear of him and lay staring at the dim ceiling. Finally she dropped off …
“Fuck with me, baby!” Danny was saying excitedly. “Ooh, man! God damn! Oh, that’s wild!”
The room was still dark, and Danny was atop her. He lay sprawled between her thighs, supporting his torso on straight arms planted next to her shoulders, and he was pistoning his hard cock inside her at a frenzied rate. Millie’s blonde hair tossed about the pillow. Her full tits quivered. Her belly was pounding upward to absorb her husband’s rapid strokes.
The whole thing seemed to have happened of its own accord, and Millie hadn’t become aware of what she was doing until she was in the midst of it.
“That’s good … oh, it’s good!” she panted. “I love it!”
“Yeah!” Danny said huskily. “Yeah! Oooh, God damn!”
His prick was a wondrous thing–thrusting, gliding, pumping, filling her with the throbbing power of his love. Millie was reaching for him eagerly, absorbing with her warm, moist pussy his every jarring plunge. She thrilled as his inrushing prick expanded the elastic sheath of her vagina, warming her insides. She felt his big balls flop against her tingling anus.
The carnival ride was really swinging now–wheeling, dipping, climbing.
“Ooooh!”
Fireworks seemed to burst around her … in her. Her brain wheeled giddily.
“Oooh God, baby! Wow! Oh … Unnh!” Danny cried.
The thrusting stopped, and there was a pooling of warmth in Millie’s belly.
She clutched her strong young husband with her legs as well as her arms and they rocked from side to side, moaning and panting from the bliss that had come to them in the middle of the night…
Our new bride’s big problem, and the dramatic tension in this vintage Greenleaf Reader stroke book, is created by the fact that, a week after the wedding, her silly husband just managed to get thrown off a horse and break his leg. So the newlywed sex has dried up and now he’s no good to her at all. But he does have a bunch of loutish and horny brothers hanging around…
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Sunday, February 17th, 2019 -- by Bacchus
There are reasons the stroke books of the 70s and 80s up and vanished pretty much as soon as “real porn” on VHS tape became widely available. These cheap little paperbacks aren’t usually remembered with much fondness, except perhaps for their cover art (usually the best thing about them). The quality of the erotic prose inside is perhaps a large part of why. I can’t tell if this is a simple bit of salad tossing anal foreplay or a ritual cult sacrifice:
But Melanie had one more virginal orifice Jarvis wanted to explore.
“Turn over on your belly, baby,” he ordered huskily.
Obediently, Melanie rolled over. Jarvis’ eyes greedily swept down to the full, firm cheeks of her creamy, translucent ass. He ran his fingers down her back and dug them into the pliant, shimmering mounds of flesh. Spreading them apart, he revealed the sweet winking rosette of her unviolated asshole. It was pink and puckered and looked incredibly tight.
Jarvis scooted down and lowered his face slowly until it was inches away from the marshmallow-like lobes of her high, firm buns. He blew hot air between the quivering butt cheeks, and slowly leaned forward. Puckering his lips, he pressed them against the quivering bunghole, letting her buttocks close about his face. He forked out his tongue greedily and swiped it over the slick, tight anus, tasting the pungent flavor of it, his heart hammering violently in his chest.
Melanie’s body jerked and she gave an astonished gasp of pleasure. Jarvis was revealing to her erotogenic areas she had never imagined could be aroused before. Jarvis began to work his tongue back and forth rapidly, plunging the tip of it against the puckered maw, inserting it slowly into the tight, clenching muscle until it slid into the blazing, clutching interior of her colon.
A sob of dumbfounded delight broke in Melanie’s throat and she lifted her ass instinctively…
That’s a tiny excerpt from AG-109 Southern Tramp (#109 in the American Girls series, by an uncredited/anonymous author).
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Monday, August 12th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
This is detail from the cover art on an old stroke book that apparently targeted swinger and BDSM fantasies in the same title:
The lurid cover copy (click image above for full view of the book cover) says “They were tied up with the Jones…and going down with the Smiths!”
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Thursday, February 2nd, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Lately I have been using my electronic reader in a way perhaps not foreseen by the manufacturer, nor yet by the huge publishing mega-corps who still hope to profit in this new virtual publishing world. I have been obtaining (by methods best left obscure in this space, although readers wise in the ways of the internet will have no trouble mentally filling in the blank) long out-of-print pornographic novels, cleaning them up (especially their famously-insufficient metadata) with the help of Google and Calibre, and assembling them into collections for my own amusement.
Although only sometimes erotic, I find these ancient stroke books to be fascinating social artifacts. Deliberately, defiantly, and scurrilously politically-incorrect even in their own era, they can sometimes be breathtakingly racist and sexist to the modern eye. The titles alone are often sufficient to demonstrate these qualities — and yet, there’s always interest (at least to me) in seeing how the porn of 40 years ago differs from that of today.
Today’s example is Nazi Joy Camp, by Eric Jurgens (LLP-133, Liverpool Library Press, 1972):
The young man he had spoken to approached the table, his eyes gleaming and the muscles of his huge young shoulders massed into cords of muscles. He lowered his blond head over the upraised mounds of white flesh and without hesitation sunk his mouth over her left breast. Ruth could see the slight upward thrust of Beth’s stomach as she apparently felt the teeth bite into her virgin flesh. Her own breasts suddenly felt warm and tense, the first such sensation she had ever had. She watched and listened.
“You should kiss and suck gently,” the Direktor said almost clinically, then took his hand and put it on the back of the boy’s head and pushed down hard. “Now nip your teeth into her, gently!” he leeringly told the boy.
“Aaaaaagh,” Beth screamed. The noise piercing the whole room. Her whole body shuddered but she was unable to move much. Her feet were securely locked into the cup stirrups and her arms were strapped alongside her. The Direktor was furious. He spoke sharply to the nurse and she flew to the head of the table with another gauze mask and slapped it hard down against Beth’s face.
“That’s enough,” the Direktor laughed, pulling the boy’s head away from her white, now quivering breast. Then, to all of them, “You see how the nipple has hardened?” He took it teasingly in his fingers again and squeezed it so that it stood hard and straight. “It does not take much and it is a source of pleasure.”
The Direktor motioned for the young man who had been biting the lush whiteness of Beth’s firm young breasts to move to the end of the table. Then, ordered him to drop his shorts. Ruth gasped when she saw the huge white prick that hung thick and heavy between his legs. She had never before in all her young life imagined that anyone could have something like that growing there.
As Ruth watched, the boy grasped his thick cockshaft in one hand, lifted it to a horizontal position, and began to stroke it slowly. It swelled even thicker, began to stiffen, and now she could see the helmet shape of the knob clearly outlined beneath the skin.
The boy fisted his now fully erect shaft, drawing the foreskin back, exposing the fat purple glans.
She looked closely and saw the head of it and the small bit of clear moisture that gleamed on the end of the large, smooth head. She noticed the dark veins that ran the length of his huge cock, and gasped in fright when she realized suddenly that he was going to force the mammoth organ into the small pink slit nestled between Beth’s upraised thighs.
The boy was ordered forward by the doctor and he stood at the end of the table, his huge prick throbbing and standing straight out from his body, pointing at the small pink slit that was gleaming with beads of moisture from the warm wetness of the oil that had been used to lubricate it before the Direktor had him insert the head of his cock between the soft hair-lined lips of the girl’s vagina, then made him stop. He then summoned the other three boys and placed them about the table, directing one of them to put his mouth on her left breast, another of them to sink his mouth onto her right breast, and the third youth to stand at the head of the table. Beth moved slightly as the two mouths were sunk into her breasts. She appeared to Ruth to be trying to move her loins away from the throbbing prick of the first boy, but it was of no use. She was too securely strapped onto the table.
“Now,” the Direktor said, moving slightly away from the table. “You, Kurt, are to enter her slowly…”
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Monday, January 17th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
I think she got taken for a ride:
It’s cover art, as you’d know already if you had clicked the image, from an old Lancaster Press stroke book called The Wicked and The Whipped (LCP108).
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Wednesday, August 4th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
It’s a little bit like shooting fish in a rain barrel to make fun of porn marketing and labeling. In any era, but especially “back in the day”, publishers would take a product, buy some cover art, slap on a sensational title, and it was of no concern to anyone that product, art, or title should match in any respect whatsoever. Which led to high-larious stroke-books like Gang-Banged Captive Bride, the text of which may or may not have included any brides, any bondage, or any gangbangs:
Let’s zoom in on this lurid scene, though, for just a moment. Does it appear that there may be some sort of small-to-mid-sized furry animal stuffed in that man’s underpants, struggling to burst forth at any moment?
Image is from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. bondage.
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Wednesday, May 20th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Dirty books ain’t what they used to be. Or, more like, they didn’t used to be what they are. Or something:
A woman in her lingerie, hugging a life-sized boot? Kinkay!
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