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The Sex Blog Of Record
Saturday, March 23rd, 2024 -- by Bacchus
Titties and booze! One of the classic combinations. A surefire way to make men happy for at least the last nine thousand years:
Photo is from Mr. Cool #1 (1960).
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Monday, November 29th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
No matter who you are, no matter what you do, every so often it’s important to take a break and thoroughly wash all your stuff:
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Thursday, December 31st, 2020 -- by Bacchus
With the foreman distracted, there’s no way this painting crew is gonna bring the job in on time and under budget:
Comic is by Bill Ward, from the September 1962 issue of Eve magazine.
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Wednesday, July 24th, 2019 -- by Bacchus
When the mugger tells her to “stick ’em up” she really sticks ’em up!
This has been another lowbrow comedic gem from the pages of the July 1973 Popular Cartoons magazine.
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Tuesday, July 16th, 2019 -- by Bacchus
Now this is certainly a unique way to wish your fellow a happy birthday. And pretty kinky too! I mean, surely all that fresh hot wax from the dripping candles on her bare tits has to sting?
Cartoon is unsigned, from the pages of the July 1973 Popular Cartoons magazine.
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Monday, April 29th, 2019 -- by Bacchus
These pretty fruit vendors pose a difficult conundrum. Do you prefer apples, or do you prefer pears?
Artwork is by Edmund Bernard on a postcard from the 1920s. It’s pretty obviously inspired by this famous erotic photograph:
Monday, February 4th, 2019 -- by Bacchus
I don’t really believe this “Tits” lunchbox is a real thing that existed so that people could buy and carry it. It looks very real in the photo, but as Kamera Klub says, this must be fake or made for a specific adult promotion.
One site out there — not the first by many years to have published the contextless photo, according to my provenance research — randomly puts a 1973 date on it. Kamera Klub, who are experts in such things, identifies the model on the side panel as Julie Collins, one of the models for legendary British nudie photographer Harrison Marks.
My totally-substantial reasoning for thinking this is a one-off creation or an outright digital fake is that metal lunchbox collectors are a fanatical community with a huge internet footprint of their own. If this tits lunchbox had ever existed, it could be ever-so-very rare and yet word of it would exist in their catalogs, collectors’ guides, and associated web chatter. Yet none of that turns up in searches. Just the one photo, endlessly replicated on “funny-sexy-wow” internet sites.
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Thursday, November 30th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
I missed this bit of video when it went by in 2015, but apparently Miley Cyrus went on Jimmy Kimmel Live to share some thoughts about our weird social attitudes about nipples versus breasts. Yahoo Lifestyle has preserved some of the video, albeit with snarky commentary; but the key part of the discussion made it into the reportage, so you can avoid the slings and arrows of outrageous 2017 web-video monetization if you prefer:
“My dad [would] rather have me with my tits out and being a good person than have my shirt on and be a bitch.
Humans aren’t afraid of the human breast. It’s the nipple that’s the issue. I’m showing my boobs and no one has a problem but the nipples are covered so somehow that’s OK. So America is actually fine with tits, it’s nipples they don’t like. The nipple what you can’t show everyone has but the jug part that everyone doesn’t you’re allowed to show underboob. I’ve never understood the way that works.”
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Friday, January 6th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
Image is from a photographic cabinet card found on Flickr.
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Monday, May 2nd, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Apparently they do things differently in Hong Kong:
Rule 34: It is real. And I can prove it!
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Thursday, January 14th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
As seen in the October 2015 Hustler magazine (online access edition).
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Sunday, March 20th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
You got to love it when a woman wraps up this tightly in towels, but leaves some of her better features on display:
Via Titty Blog.
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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, 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.”
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.
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.”
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, 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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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.”
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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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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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.
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 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:
Friday, April 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I found this posted without an author credit on an adult webmaster board. It was presented as if it were supposed to be funny, and acclaimed as such by a chunk of the online-pornographer audience. Me, I didn’t find it so — it encapsulates a lot of the reasons I never could find much value in the strip club experience. Of course I know of folks in the blog community who’ve stripped (or who are still stripping) and who present a much more nuanced view of the profession. But still. Strong and unpleasant stuff, it seems to me:
1) Hey you over there, holding that one dollar bill in your hand with a death grip and waving it around at me like it’s the fucking deed to Trump Towers… what the fuck do you want me to do, grow another pussy?!? It’s a fuckin’ dollar, put it down on the tiprail and blow my world away already.
2) You losers that come into the club for a lapdance with NO underwear or boxers and thin-ass, nylon shorts, so we slip and slide on your hard-on (which always feel like a sharpie pen ~ fine point)…fuck you.
3) You with the thick-ass jeans, this was an impromptu visit, eh?
4) Don’t pull my thong up during a dance and ask me if it felt good. IT DOES NOT FEEL GOOD.
5) Hey you, Loser, the one counting out the 20 bucks in one dollar increments, rubbing your fingers between each one to make sure you are giving me just that one dollar. Yes, you.
6) No I will not just let you “slip it in real quick” for $50 more bucks.
7) Yeah, my tits are real. As real as my affection for you.
8)If you cum in your pants, you have to tip me an extra $100 for being a lame-ass who can cum in their pants from a lapdance.
9) Stop asking me out. You’re a smelly, fat loser and the only reason I’m smiling and cooing at you is because I want your money. Outside of the club I wouldn’t even fart your way.
11) Stop bitching at me about the goddamn two drink minimum. First of all, your breath ranks (what’d you have for dinner, garlic and shit?), you’re about 172 lbs. overweight, and you look like Jay Leno. More importantly: I don’t give a shit.
12) Don’t bitch at me about the $10 non-alchoholic beer either. Hide a bottle of Jack in your coat pocket next time like everyone else does.
13) My horniness is in direct proportion to your income.
14) No, you CAN’T SMOKE. Dumb. Ass.
15 )Boys, don’t sit in the front row with your “homies” and act all engrossed in some deep conversation during a girls performance because you want to look like you’re too “cool” to notice the hot, naked girl in front of you. It’s a clear sign that you ain’t getting any.
16) DON’T SIT IN THE FRONT ROW IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TIP. Fer chrissakes!!!!!!!!!!!
17) “So what do you guys do when you’re on your period?” Answer: I lap dance with guys in dark pants.
18) STOP trying to grab my tits!!!!!!! That’s extra.
19) SHOWER FIRST, you nasty fuck!
20) I had a feeling you weren’t going to tip me, so I took extra care to rub my lip gloss on your collar and wear extra glitter lotion and obnoxious perfume before our dance.
21) Hey cheapasses: please don’t come to my work. Just stay home and jack off to “Desperate Housewives” instead. It will save us a both a lot of unpleasantry.
22) Stop asking me why I do this job and try to get all psychologically analytical on me. For the money, you moron, that’s why.
23) No seriously, my real name is Sparkle.
24) NO, I will not take a dime sac for payment. I can tell it’s oregano anyway you stupid mutherfucker!
25) Sorry, I don’t do that. Ask the ugly girl at the bar with the black roots and overbite.
26) I can see it’s your first time at a strip club. Let me explain the dynamics to you. If you want a fuck or a blow-job, go to the ugly chicks. Hot girls don’t have to do “extra services.” I can give you some recommendations for a small fee.
27) It is not okay for you to bounce me on your cock like a baby on a knee. Not okay.
28) Stop complaining about how short the song was. It felt like the fucking maxi-single to me.
29)Yes I will fuck you, but only for 10 grand. More if you’re ugly. So basically, more.
30) DO NOT come into the club looking for a girlfriend/date. It’s like me going to PETA looking for a steak.
31) Girls–what’s with the pole smell? Can we do a little hygiene check? Nothing than worse than twirling around the pole and getting a whiff of stale pussy.
32) Girls–stop lip-syncing to the song you’re dancing to on stage. Especially if you don’t know all the words.
33) Girls–if your toes curl and hang over your platform shoes a la’ Fred Flinstone, you need to go up a size.
34) Girls–drowning yourself in Angel perfume is just as bad if not worse than the BO you’re trying to cover. Take a goddamn shower, you smell like lapdance funk.
35) Hey DJ! You suck!
36)Girls–may I suggest complete sobriety before getting tatted up? Tattoos should be meaningful, or at least semi-meaningful, or at least semi semi-meaningful. That fucking dancing llama on your ass is so lame.
37)Girls–some songs just should not be stripped to. Please. No Disney soundtracks (you know who you are, you fucking weirdo), Sade, Boys II Men, or Bjork. For the love of God, Please.
By the way, if this was ripped from a blog or website and you know the original source, please drop me an email so I can credit it properly. No links in the comments, please.
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!
Tuesday, February 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From Rollertrain comes the depressing observation that “In the backward world of porn genres, female orgasm is a niche – not a given.” Supporting text:
Sativa, freshly waxed and moaning, looks lovely on the screen. The vibrator is buzzing at a low hum, making soft little surging noises as she pushes its tip against her clit. Sativa has beautiful skin, luscious tits and the kind of lips that cost hundreds of dollars. She’s awesome to behold so close up, but this isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.
“What’s awesome?” I ask. Isabelle turns up the sound. “Watch,” she says, and I listen. Sativa, movie-sized tribute to blessed Pussy, fills up all forty-two inches of Isabelle’s TV. Her face starts to look far away. She bites her lip and her cheeks flush. Her moaning falls into short pants of air and whimpering. The vibrator is working. Sativa’s entire vagina contracts six or seven times, like a giant heartbeat. Her pussy is shimmering. Sativa is clearly having an orgasm.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve actually seen a girl really cum in a porno,” says Isabelle.
Saturday, January 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
The realist in me knows that most “public nudity” photos floating around the internet in places like alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. voyeurism are commercially produced porn; no matter how hard the photographer tries to sell “I just snapped this shot of my girlfriend being playful on the way to Dennys”, I’m generally not buying. But every now and then the pornographer’s art creates a shot that invites belief. Something about this girl’s absolutely brilliant smile makes me want to believe that she’s (a) having the time of her life and (b) more interested in the photographer’s arousal than in his checkbook.
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.
Tuesday, December 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you’ve ever been around large tropical birds, you’ll know that they behave like a toddler you can’t reason with. They can bring enormous joy and energy and life into a home. But they hear everything and they aren’t shy about sharing what they’ve learned. Especially not Uccello the Macaw:
The cable guy did not look at him so Uccello started squawking. I went over to him to talk and give him attention so he would not interrupt the worker, but Uccello did not want my attention. He wanted the attention of the new guy!
Uccello continued, “Suck me, baby, suck me.” That phrase got the man’s attention. A smile came to his face.
The bird continued through his extensive lexicon of words. Repeating certain phrases that The Biker especially enjoys. I could feel my face turning red as I sat there caught between being embarrassed and wanting to just laugh out loud. “Pretty tits. Woo Hoo. Pretty tits,” he said. I had to cover my breasts with my arms thinking that now the technician would be examining my chest, however his eyes did not leave his work.
“Fuck me hard, (inserting my nickname for The Biker). Do it!” Now I had to bite my lip.
The talking, squawking, acrobatics, and dancing continued, “Harder. Oh yeh!. faster. Oh yeh!” and “I’m so wet. Eat me.” until finally, seemingly exhausted by not getting the attention he deserved Uccello concluded with his new line, “Make me cum. Make me cum!”
Bad, bad bird! But what can you do?
From Biker & Teacher.
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.”
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 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.
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….
Monday, December 6th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I recently learned that our beloved Bacchus is a bit under the weather. I thought this picture might help lift his, ahem, spirits:
From RetroRaunch, of course, where the big-bosomed girls are 100% guaranteed to be the Genuine Article, as is his preference.
Wednesday, October 6th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
I’ll admit to not being the foremost expert on breasts, but when I saw these, I couldn’t help but think, “Who could find those attractive?”:
I’m sure some do, or tits like that wouldn’t exist.
On the other hand, this painting is much more lucscious to me:
Neither one is me, just for the record.
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.
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!
Saturday, July 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Michelle from Sweetness Follows discovered the “Secret S & M Section” at the tack shop and it totally disrupted her lunch break:
Looked at the whips and bats up on the wall… okay so they were actually intended for horses, not for S & M. There was a basket full of riding crops. All different lengths and sizes, with different tips — some with big flat parts on the ends, some with a long leather whip-like cord, some with smaller flat parts (I realize I don’t have the terminology correct).
And I stood there, and thought of all the uses they could be put to.
“This one,” I thought, looking at one with the whip-like end “could be used on my tits and my nipples. This one,” (the one with the bigger flat part on the end) “is for my ass and my pussy. And this one,” (the one with the small flat end) “would be for when Mike has me hold open my ass so that he can spank my asshole”.
I stood there, looking through them, picking them up, feeling their weight and texture in my hands. I imagined myself, spread open in front of Mike while he spanked me with that riding crop, making my outer lips all red, until he had me open my cunt so that he could slap my inner lips, my pussy hole, even fucking me with the handle, and calling me a bad, dirty, slutty little girl the whole time. I imagined him having me stand in front of him, hands behind my back, back arched, presenting my tits to him, and the sting of that leather cord on my nipples, the undersides of my breasts…. I imagined how it would feel, after 20 minutes of being spanked mercilessly on the ass with that first riding crop, only to have him tell me to spread my ass open and slap my asshole with that last, smaller crop. The one that would sting the most, I think.
To make sure, I tested them all, slapping them against my palm.
At that point I was glad I was wearing a skirt because the wetness from my pussy had already soaked through my underpants, and would surely be showing through pants, had I been wearing them. As it was I could feel my thighs, slick with pussy juice.
“Do you need some help choosing one?” I nearly jumped out of my skin, then turned to face the girl who worked there. I know she didn’t know what I’d been thinking, but still… I blushed a little. “Oh… no, just looking…”
Dollars to doughnuts, more than half the riding crops that store sells never touch a horse. And they know it.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, May 31st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s tres chic to criticize pornography; probably every literate person does at some time or another, despite the shooting-fish-in-a-rainbarrel nature of the enterprise. But few manage to do it with such elan:
I find almost all porn to be insufferable. The inflated breasts, the blond hair, the absence of the merest trace of thespian ability. But the thing that repulses me most of all, is the stupidity. I’m not talking about the inane dialogue that is written to give porn films a plausible scenario. I’m talking about the insipid direction, lighting, cinematography. The men’s gym-tits and deli-window dicks. The women’s gonfle tits, cookie-cutter measurements, greasy sheen. Their interchangable clonedness. The repetitive and unimaginative scenes in which the same buttons get pushed over and over and over and over again. It’s like a printing press that prints out the same newspaper day after day, and we’re supposed to be interested.
Thanks to Madame G.
By the way, anybody know what “gonfle tits” are? It sounds like a dessert to Bacchus….
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