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The Sex Blog Of Record
Archive for April, 2004
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:
Wednesday, April 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
“Sophisticated persons masturbate without compunction. They do it for reasons of health, privacy, thrift and because of the remarkable perfection of invisible partners.”
— P. J. O’Rourke
Monday, April 26th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Philip at Hot Action has the most entertaining difficulties at times:
Another set of handcuffs broke on me. Don’t make ’em like they used to.
Resourcefulness comes in handy at times like these. I reached over and pulled the leather belt out of my pants.
Tied around your wrist, looped through a railing of the headboard and secured to the one working cuff….
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.
Friday, April 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From the Onion, a link forwarded by a dear friend:
National Endowment For The Arts And Crafts Criticised For Funding Giant Macrame Penis
KANSAS CITY, MO Republican lawmakers and conservative religious groups blasted the National Endowment For The Arts & Crafts Tuesday, claiming that the organization has allocated federal funds for “obscene crafts.”
Above: Kahle’s work hangs at the National Gallery Of Arts & Crafts.
The $15,000 grant in question was awarded last October to Detroit arts & craftsman Albert Kahle, 39, for a nine-foot macrame penis titled “Father (By Mother),” which is currently part of the Macramazement! exhibit at the prestigious National Gallery Of Arts and Crafts in Kansas City, MO.
…
The macrame-work phallus comprises three discrete elements: testicles, shaft, and head. The testicles are knotted in Double Alternating Lark’s Head style and decorated with black maple beads. The shaft of the penis, knotted of Tammy’s Hemp Cord in flesh tone, is embellished with subtle strands of Half-Knot sinnet cord in light blue and Amy’s Cord in pale lavender. The head, the most detailed portion of the work, is embellished with a spray of silver glitter.
“[2003 NEAC grant recipient] Terrence Colwell’s macaroni ‘Crown Of Thorns’ was bad enough,” DeLay said. “But an enormous phallus made out of colorful, child-safe materials that anyone could buy at the craft store? It’s way over the line.”
This is not the first time an NEAC grant has sparked controversy. Last year, a vocal group of citizens appeared before Congress to protest government funding of C.F. Littman’s “Piss-Soaked God’s Eye,” and in 2002, the NEAC received more than 10,000 letters of complaint over the grant it awarded Rachel Delancey for her shellacked driftwood clitoris “Found It… In The Sea.”
There’s more, but that’s as far as I got before I started howling with laughter.
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
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“.
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.
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
There’s a new book out based on an undercover penetration (er, accidental word choice but I’m leaving it) of modern sorority life. And no, there isn’t an account of naked twister in there; I made that up. But the book does contain reports that the rampant sorority lesbianism (or, if you want to step back from the rough characterizations of male pornography and refer more to practices than orientations, we could call it “hot naked sorority girl-on-girl foolin’ around”) that features so largely in the lustful male imagination is, to an extent, real:
I really hadn’t expected to find the level of “Animal House” campiness that I did in some groups. They had a tradition called boob ranking where pledges had just a limited amount of time to strip off their shirt and bras to examine each other topless so that by the time the clock was up, they were basically lined up in order of chest size in order of the sisters to inspect. Some sororities hold what they call “naked parties,” during which after a few drinks sisters and pledges strip off their clothes and basically run around the house naked, some of them hooking up with each other before they let the boys in.
I must therefore deeply apologize for ever believing that the hard-working photographers who produce the LightSpeed Sorority site were doing anything but the most serious documentary work.
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!
Thursday, April 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Real smart and conspiratorial guy Eugene Volokh comments on likely outcomes of the coming war on porn.
Wednesday, April 14th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an interesting article in which a single mom talks about balancing her family life with her profession (pornographer). It caught my attention because, in response to the usual “How would you feel about your work if your daughter became a pornstar” hand-wringing, she writes:
My response is that in my house, there’s no such thing as a slut. I did not raise my daughter to believe such outdated claptrap. If an adult woman wants to make a living shoving bananas up her ass, then that’s her choice and her right. If my kid decides to become a porn star and she’s happy with that choice then who am I to complain? I’ve had a lot of jobs over the years that weren’t porn yet still made me feel exploited and dirty.
Right on.
Thanks to Dubberly for the link.
Tuesday, April 13th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Following yesterday’s link at Spanking Blog to an article in the India Times, I was entertained to discover this article on arranged marriages among Indian cricketeers:
They Like It Arranged!
There is more than just kudos awaiting the Indian cricket team when they return. Some have their new brides and others, like good ol’ Laxman, have their bride-to-be waiting for them. But guess what else these cricketers have in common. They belong to the arranged marriage club.
The trend began with Dravid, whose arranged marriage to Vijayta became the most talked about event last year. Shortly following was Murali Karthik, India’s newest left hand spinner, who married a pretty girl of his parents’ choice.
But the cricketing hero to recently hit the news for his nuptial plans is V V S Laxman. Betrothed to a Guntur girl, Shailaja, Laxman has just ended his term on the list of available young men. And by now, it comes as no surprise that his too is an arranged marriage.
“On one level I think it is a personal decision, but on another it is also an image thing,” says Prakash Malhotra, senior manager, public relations, at a leading PR agency. “After the scandals that many cricketers were embroiled in recently, they have wised up and want to maintain a clean image.
…
The next eligible bachelors on the team are Sehwag and Yuvraj. And in all likelihood these two will oblige their hugely popular moms. Yuvraj’s mom has already on record saying that her laadla will marry none other than a girl of her choice. As for Sehwag, his love for his ma has helped sell mobile phones so chances are, it will get him married too!
Monday, April 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Ok, now listen up, all you furries with a submissive chicken fetish: Burger King wants you to have it your way. Not news? No, really, it is.
Here’s the deal. There’s a flash website where a man (well, perhaps a man) in a rooster suit will do pretty much whatever you tell him. The Boing Boing crowd has a couple of posts that will help you get the most out of your slave chicken. Apparently, you can get him to do a startling variety of things.
What a strange and wondrous world we live in!
Friday, April 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Daze has a very succinct set of links to everything you want to know about the coming War On Porn.
I guess I’d better go buy some ammo.
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:
Tuesday, April 6th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Halley’s own post title will tease you better than anything I can write:
Digital Pix of My Big Boobs.
You know you have to go look….
Monday, April 5th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
It is often the case that the Nymph snoozes on a bit in the morning after I’m up and drinking my coffee and sitting quietly at my computer. Usually she’s under a flannel sheet, but sometimes she tosses and turns and casts it off. Her resultant state of sleepily abandoned undress is always worth beholding.
I cannot deny a sort of theoretical temptation to take pictures of her like that and show them to you. But That Would Be Wrong.
More to the point, it might make her unhappy, and I’m not going there.
She stirs…
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:
Friday, April 2nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This from Yahoo News is really unfortunate:
Man Pleads Guilty in Mistaken ‘Rape Fantasy’
A California man has pleaded guilty to residential burglary after he set up a meeting with a woman on a rape fantasy Internet chat page, but instead broke into a different woman’s apartment.
…
After he entered the wrong apartment, he hit and struggled with the 25-year-old woman inside, who told law enforcement officials she thought she was going to be killed.
The victim stopped the attack by yelling and attacking Howard’s testicles. Howard then asked for the name the victim used in the chat room and she responded by saying she had never visited a chat room and did not have a personal computer.
My first reaction: Daze is right; some people are too stupid to be fetishists.
My second reaction: There are still people out there, ones who have apartments and electricity, who don’t have personal computers?
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.
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