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The Sex Blog Of Record
March 4th, 2025 -- by Bacchus
Apparently it had never occurred to this man’s wife to wonder where his eyes were when he was fucking her from behind. Of course he’s looking at your butthole, honey:
In detail:
Her: Babe, babe, I just saw a video that literally says that guys stares at our B-hole during doggy.
Him: What did you think I stared at, the wall?
Her: Yeah!
Him: What am I, just admiring your…? Well, you do have a nice back. But that thing, it… That thing speaks to us in Morse code. Cause when you get to put it… Why are you covering your face?
Her: You should have your eyes closed!
Him: Like, that thing starts going [he makes lip puckers] it’s like… It’s like when we’re putting in work, it’s putting in work. It’s letting us know the right motion that we’re going in. And what’s even better is like, sometimes, like, when y’all forget to shave or y’all miss a few little hairs, it’s kind of like a… it’s kind of like an eye, just winking, lets us know that we’re doing it right. But how do you… it gives us something to concentrate on, so we last just a little bit longer, you know what I’m saying? When that little stink-wrinkle starts going back and forth, you know, that’s why y’all get the [sucks his thumb, gestures lewdly and low with it] “you’re next, big boy!” Oh, my god, girl, did you seriously, did you really think I was staring at a wall, or like…? Come on, now. Come on now!
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March 2nd, 2025 -- by Bacchus
The February 1965 issue of Adam magazine printed this fanciful illustration of sex work in the Klondike, illustrating a story called The Portable Brothel Of Yukon Kitty:
As the story begins:
In a snug, snowed-in cabin on frozen Eldorado creek in the Canadian Northwest, a naked woman relaxed on a bearskin in front of a crackling fire and beckoned seductively to the miner feasting hungry eyes on her inviting body. In his hands he held her fee for a week’s uninterrupted love-making. It was a moose-hide poke of gold dust worth $5,000.
The things that went on in that cabin that week in the winter of ’98, made the sourdough swear that every ounce of dust in the sack was well spent.
One week later, the woman packed up her sled, mushed exactly five hundred feet up the Eldorado and established herself for another week of fun and games with a different miner to the tune of another $5,000.
This Klondike hooker who charged such fantastic admissions to her playhouse of pleasure was none other than Yukon Kitty, the Belle of the Klondike Whores.
Born in St. Louis, Missouri, in 1879, as Myrtle Anne Roy, to an impoverished family who made a living catching and selling catfish on the riverfront, Yukon Kitty parlayed her body and bedroom talents into two millions in gold dust and nuggets.
From Skagway to Wind City, Circle City to Ft. Pelly Banks, she got anywhere from $200 to $10,000 from thousands of crusty miners who wanted to sample her wares. Once she got her weight in gold dust from a man to winter with him on Dominion creek. At that time, she scaled in at one hundred and twenty-five pounds and an ounce of gold was worth sixteen dollars. When spring broke, the Belle of the Klondike Whores added $32,000 to her ballooning bank account. In addition to her fee, she was allowed to “pick around the winter dump,” and keep whatever nuggets she happened to unearth. The miner didn’t know that Myrtle was as skilled as he when it came to sorting gold from hardpan.
There’s no accurate account of how much she picked out of the dump that winter, but it was rumored around Dawson that she was seen lugging a two-gallon coal-oil can into the Bank of British North America.
By now you’re probably wondering why the price of a woman’s caresses and companionship were so costly. When something is scarce it is costly. In the winter of ’97, in Dawson, men outnumbered women at the disheartening odds of five hundred to one.
Artwork is by pulp artist Hubert Rogers.
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February 28th, 2025 -- by Bacchus
Wise men have known this for a long time, but Daniel the Scotsman lays it out succinctly: the sexually-adventurous women you are looking for aren’t out clubbing, they’re the quiet ones with fairy smut on their Kindles.
A transcript for the impatient:
Don’t know who needs to hear this, but the freaks are not in the club. They’re in the library. They look innocent, sometimes intimidating. Sometimes you might think that you don’t wanna approach them because you might be too filthy for them.
Let me tell you this, you’re not. They’re way filthier than you. They read things that you just couldn’t even imagine yourself. And they’re written by women for women. And it’s what women want.
So if you want real tips, guys, start reading fairy smut, because you might learn a thing or two.
Ladies, tell me I’m lying.
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February 26th, 2025 -- by Bacchus
Every salesman is also a showman, right? Otherwise, I’d believe this man was about to have an orgasm by proxy, handling those juicy melons of his:
Photo is from a 1973 issue of the British porn magazine Late Night Extra.
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February 24th, 2025 -- by Bacchus
According to this post on bsky.social:
This morning at Dept of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) HQ in DC, as mandatory return to office began, this video played on loop for ~5 mins on screens throughout the building, per agency source.
Building staff couldn’t figure out how to turn it off so sent people to every floor to unplug TVs.
The video, in context:
Yes, that’s a (presumably AI-generated) video of Donald Trump sucking Elon Musk’s toes playing underneath a text legend that says “Long live the real king.” Do we stan toe-sucking oligarchs? Well, I don’t, but I would never want to yuck your yum.
The clean .gif of just the toe sucking makes it more obvious that this particular King Elon has two left feet, which is normal life for an AI-generated monster.
Update: Sometimes my pornocalypse-sensitized curatorial instincts are super-solid. BlueSky deleted the post about this already, per an article at 404 Media. Supposedly the lame AI toe-sucking violates BlueSky’s policy on “non-consensual explicit material”. We might fairly wonder if there’s an unstated reason more compelling than that one.
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February 22nd, 2025 -- by Bacchus
In the past I have twice blogged photos from Hedy Lamarr’s famous (or infamous) nude scenes in the 1933 movie Ecstasy. An article titled The True Story of Hedy Lamarr in the the June 1967 issue of Modern Man magazine included these two grainy (but different) additional views of the lovely actress in all her uncovered lacustrine and sylvan glories:
Magazine caption reads:
Starring in one of world’s pioneer art movies during early Thirties, Hedy is cast as innocent nymphet whose cavorting au naturel in Austrian pond and woods merely served as prelude to seduction sequences which made Ecstasy a motion picture which still stirs frequent controversy.
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February 20th, 2025 -- by Bacchus
I am impressed by the stoic demeanor of this handsome young man as he is teased on the street by a put-together pair of flirtatiously dominant women:
Their conversation goes something like this:
Dommy brunette: “I had a period of time, actually, where I was really into cat boys.”
Our man: “Would he meow? ”
Brunette: “He would meow.”
Blonde: “Yeah. And nothing hotter than like, cat ears with like a ball gag.”
Brunette, moaning: “Oh, yeah.”
Dommy Blonde: “Whilst their hands are tied.”
Brunette, appreciatively: “Mmmmmm.”
Blonde: “And they’re like crying.”
Brunette: “Tied to the bed, you know? Spread eagled.”
Our man: …
Blonde: “Are you interested? We can make it happen.
Our man: “Do I have a choice?
Blonde: “No…”
That conversation, as they say, escalated quickly!
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