First International Bank Of Tova: Cha-Ching!
In which Chef Tova and Zar make a comedy skit about Jewish/Muslim online content collaboration, and who has to shove the menorah where for maximum revenue:
Space Age Blowjob
In the 1960s and 1970s, color photos of the Earth taken from space by NASA astronauts became pop-culture icons, and were widely distributed as art posters. (I’m sure it helped that the United States government retains no copyright in visual materials created by government employees.) Although this view of the earth from space was not as famous as the so-called Blue Marble, the poster sold well and was seen everywhere, as I am just barely old enough to remember. However, I am not old enough to have seen it in the pages of Color Climax #19 in 1975 as the background for a blowjob:
If any space buffs know their Apollo mission photography (or other space photographic history) well enough to identify the particular history of the photo on the poster, by all means contribute what you know in the comments!
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A Guided Tour Of The Vale
Hopefully you don’t need a map, but just in case, Haelle has one:
Haelle seems like a good tour guide, and here’s her spiel for the eager tourist:
If I ask you to kiss me on the lips and you ask which ones? Oh, you messed up! I am not letting you go anywhere.
Not only am I gonna make you all 7 Hobbit meals daily, but also you’re going to travel all through Middle Earth. And I have a map right there. We’re not going to get lost, oh, no.
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Shared Fleshlights In The Barracks
I’m reluctant to share this story at all, because the woman who put it on the internet framed it on both ends with misandrist generalizations about male hygiene. More on that, below. But first the story, which comes from clinical sexologist Danielle Kramer, talking about a time when she was under contract to provide sexual health clinical services for the military:
The base I was associated with…had barracks full of 18 to 24 year olds. A young enlisted guy comes in, tested positive for gonorrhea and chlamydia. Classic combo. Easy enough, we treat it, safe sex talk, you’re done. But the next day, two more guys came in with the same combo. And the day after that, three more guys. At this point, I’m like, okay, there’s either one very busy person on this base or something else is going on.
Then this one guy comes in, he tests positive, but he swears he is not sexually active. And I hear this all the time. So I’m like, hey, no judgment. I don’t care who you’re having sex with, but we gotta talk about this. And he’s like, no, there is no way. I’m not having sex with anybody.
Where do you live? The barracks? Who do you hang out with? And slowly, slowly, the truth comes out.
Turns out, a not small group of men in the barracks were sharing a Fleshlight. Two of them, to be exact. And none of them had been washing it for weeks. They were literally passing around a communal petri dish of gonorrhea and chlamydia like it was a Nintendo Switch.
Yes, I had to tell their commanding officer. Yes, I had to do an emergency Powerpoint about this. Yes, every single one of them had to get treated.
Not quoted are several sex-negative generalizations about men and cleanliness and safe sex, none of which are supported by the facts of the anecdote. I don’t prefer to share misandrist propaganda, especially when young men under military discipline in barracks are by no means a fair sampling from which to extrapolate general male behavior.
So why share the story at all? Because it ties in, conceptually, with the public Fleshlight art installation at Burning Man that’s gone viral in a hundred internet places over the years. Everybody who sees that installation or hears about it or talks about it feels a certain kind of way about public masturbation and/or shared sex toys, and a lot of those conversations include phrases like “nobody would” or “that’s too disgusting for anybody to…” or… you see where I’m going with this. The anecdote about young men under authoritarian control, in a sex-segregated barracks with very little privacy, establishes a sort of outlier of human behavior that I think is useful to that conversation.
That’s why, even though the story came wrapped up in sex-negative “men-are-filthy-beasts” packaging where I found it, I thought it was worth scraping it clean (as best I could) to bring it here.
Update: While curating the list of similar posts to appear beneath this one, I was amused to discover a prescient post from the very first year of ErosBlog’s publication, all the way back in 2003. (Am I allowed to call my own posts “prescient”?) In responding to a conversation outside the sex blog community (which was then very small) about why sex toys for men (male masturbators, pocket pussies, Fleshlights, and such) were considered much more taboo and icky than sex toys for women such as dildos and vibrators, I pointed out that men don’t have any sort of hygiene problems at all when it comes to cleaning things they care about, like, say, guns and military equipment:
[I]n objective terms the hygienic concern is arrant nonsense. Men have mastered cleaning tasks of a far more intricate nature, and will even voluntarily indulge when the object of their cleaning affections is, say, a much-beloved rifle. Nor is it implausible that a truly decent technology for assisted orgasm would command every bit as much gadgeteering enthusiasm as gun guys lavish on the contents of their gun safes.
So there! You can be sure that the very same military guys who supposedly passed around these dirty Fleshlights have been taught to field strip and clean a complicated rifle under challenging conditions, when given supportive social conditions for that cleaning task. The problem in that barracks was the social conditions, not the filthy-beastliness of the men.
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Improving Domestic Communications
Among the literary stretch marks you can see on the recent skin of my corpus of blog posts, if you squint hard enough, is that I try these days not to over-specify the gender of the little sexual fantasies I sometimes arrange with a few words around the photos and artwork posted here on ErosBlog.
For example, instead of suggesting insupportably that every husband sometimes dreams of shutting his wife’s mouth with his cock, I might these days strive for a less-gendered phrasing to indicate the same thing. Such as, perhaps: No matter how happy a marriage may be, there comes for every spouse an inevitable moment of rising and irresistible lust to stop an outburst of unwelcome verbal feedback with a mouthful of stiff cock:
It’s probably not even true, but it makes for decent porn sales copy. And this is the 21st century, after all. Wives are allowed to have cocks too, so it’s a perfectly egalitarian sentiment, even if the photos chosen today don’t represent that dynamic.
Anyway, in Teaching Her A Lesson from Kink.com, we are treated to precisely such a domestic moment. She berates him across the kitchen island, the “discussion” moves to the living room, and angry words turn into face fucking, rough sex, and eventually, tenderness and smiles.
Although I can’t swear that any lessons were actually learned, the screeching and berating does wrap up very quickly, and is replaced by softer tones from both spouses and much better uses for their mouths. Surely that counts for a lot?
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Earning Your 8mm Porn
I have written before about the bad old days of growing up when porn was on paper and if you weren’t an out-of-the-house adult, it was hard to get your hands on it. You pretty much had to find it or steal it, and the easiest theft targets were older boys who were hiding it in the woods, in tree forts, and in hedges. Comedian Ron White, a few years older than me and from a wealthier demographic apparently, talks about what you had to do to watch an actual porn movie as an adolescent young man back then, or perhaps in the decade before I became an earnest young horndog:
As Ron puts it:
When I was a kid, I had to earn porn. You had to wait till your friend’s dad went out of town on business.
You had to pull down a rickety spring loaded attic ladder. You had to crawl up into a dusty spider-ridden fucking crawl space. Forage through cardboard boxes till you find an 8mm reel. Then what? Learn how to work a fucking projector, that’s what.
And after all that? You got silent bushy porn!
I don’t think I need to say it, but lest anybody confuse Ron White’s implied/comedic distaste for hairy pussy for an official ErosBlog editorial position: there was nothing bad about “bushy porn” in 1970 when Ron White was a scrawny adolescent, and there’s still nothing wrong with it today, when you can find it.
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Pee Games In The Shower
How does Jony know she married the right guy? Here, she’ll tell us:
This is how I know I married the right guy.
Back when we were dating, we were taking a shower together. As you do. And Alistair thought it would be really funny to pee on me.
And I think: “That is freaking disgusting, but, oh, well, I’m gonna get you back. You think you’re funny? I’m gonna get you.”
And so I decide to maintain eye contact with him. And while I’m maintaining eye contact with him, and he thinks we’re lovingly locking eyes, I am secretly pissing on him. I’m getting my revenge, and I’m pissing on him. And I’m just smiling, looking at him, maintaining that eye contact. And when I finish pissing on him, I look at him and I say, “Ha, ha! I got you back. I was peeing on you this whole time.”
And then he looks back at me and says, “You know what? “You don’t know! You don’t know that this whole time that you thought that I didn’t know that you were peeing on me, I was actually cupping my hands like this. I have collected all of the pee that you have supposedly peed on me, and now it is going back in your face.”
And then he proceeds to splash my pee into my face. My pee. In my face.
Game recognizes game.
And so that’s how I know I married the right man.
Part of what’s interesting about this is that peeing in the shower is a fairly common point of controversy between partnered people.
Some people — this could be men or women, but I think it’s more often men — who are alone in there when they let fly think it’s an obvious an obvious time-saving convenience. Others think it’s unsanitary, gross, taboo.
It gets more complicated in the showering-together scenario. I’ve seen accounts of women who discovered that their man was trying to surreptitiously pee on them. Dude, what the fuck? That’s obviously a fetish he’s not willing to take ownership of. It’s also a consent violation, and no way to treat your partner.
Much more often, the scenario is closer to this one: the partner-pissing is done openly. But there’s still no consent for participation in his unacknowledged pee fetish, because the activity is masked as prank behavior, roughhousing, or horseplay between lovers. If she’s “a good sport” the dude never has to admit his fetish, get consent for it, or apologize for trying it out without permission. If he’s exceedingly lucky, she enjoys the play as much as he does and neither one of them has to communicate their needs and desires openly!
In all the years I’ve spent reading sex and couples blogs and subsequently on social media, I’ve seen quite a few “he peed on me in the shower!” stories. They usually had worse energy and ended less happily than this one.
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