Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Pussy Happiness

If you want to make your girlfriend's pussy happy, check out my article on Cunnilingus for the Clueless over at Simple Love Secrets.

Here's a (ahem) taste:
Like a lot of sex acts, there's not a lot middle ground when it comes to cunnilingus: you either like licking pussy or you don't.

Some of those trepidations aren't due so much to preference as not wanting to look the idiot when a partner is hoping for a good time. Serenading your lover with a cheap harmonica rather than with a Stradivarius, so to speak.

If you don't want to look like you're auditioning for a jug band rather than the Met, there actually are some techniques you can use to increase your confidence. Like a lot of "make yourself dynamite in bed" tricks, these are hardly guaranteed, but they may help you get over your nerves - so maybe you won't blubber your lips like an idiot on your girlfriend's labia when next you go to kiss her between the thighs.


Monday, May 26, 2008

Duck! Dick!

I wish our political protesters were this clever - and hung:

From GearFuse:

Perhaps the greatest use of a remote controlled device in history: a flying penis flew into the middle of a speech from former chess master and Russian political activist, Garry Kasparov. It seems someone took the time to turn an RC helicopter into a flying cock.

After the security guard swatted it to the ground, Kasparov says, “I think we have to be thankful for the opposition’s demonstration of the level of discourse we need to anticipate. Also, apparently most of their arguments are located beneath the belt.” Someone in the audience shouts, “Finally the political power shows its face!” Kasparov quickly replies, “Well, if that’s its face…” to laughter from the audience.

A large flying penis that took nearly 20 seconds before someone decided to swat it out of the air. I’m pretty sure the last thing you’re going to want to do after seeing a flying penis is touch it. Hit the jump for video of the junk in action.

Friday, May 23, 2008

So THAT'S where it went: Genital retraction syndrome

From Wikipedia:
Genital retraction syndrome (GRS), generally considered a culture-specific syndrome, is a condition in which an individual is overcome with the belief that his/her external genitals—or also, in females, breasts—are retracting into the body, shrinking, or in some male cases, may be imminently removed or disappear. A penis panic is a mass hysteria event or panic in which males in a population suddenly believe they are suffering from genital retraction syndrome.

Penis panics have occurred around the world, most notably in Africa and Asia. Local beliefs in many instances assert that such syndromes are often fatal.

In cases where the fear of the penis being retracted is secondary to other conditions, psychological diagnosis and treatments are under development. It is becoming increasingly clear that these forms of mass hysteria are more common than previously thought.

The phenomenon is often, but not always, associated with occult belief, such as witchcraft. These panics frequently, but not exclusively, occur in places where access to education—particularly in science and human biology—is limited, or otherwise restricted (for example, when government policies restrict such education). Others have been reported under the influence of drug use. (Compare with castration anxiety.)

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Just Watch Out You Don't Catch Something -

From Ectoplasmosis:
Meet Edward Smith, a 57 year-old gentleman from Washington state who claims to have had sex with over a thousand cars. Mr. Smith says that he bedded his first automobile at 15 and although he sticks mainly to cars, he does say that his most potent sexual experience was “making love” to the helicopter from Airwolf. Lest you think that Mr. Smith’s desires be completely victimless however, note that he does admit that many of his lovers are found in showrooms or are owned by others adding, in what I imagine to be the same tone and parlance as Bill McKinney:

“There are moments way out in the middle of nowhere when I see a little car parked and I swear it needs loving.”

This article chilled me to the bone. Having done my best to avoid the harrowing experience of protecting my young daughter’s chastity from the advances of lecherous men — mostly by consuming large amounts of Mountain Dew and punching myself in the groin in an attempt to render myself sterile — I must instead face the reality of having to sit out on my front stoop with a shotgun, lest some depraved sodomite attempt to penetrate my Civic.

Monday, May 19, 2008

All I Can Say Is BRAVO!

The Adipositivity Project aims to promote size acceptance, not by listing the merits of big people, or detailing examples of excellence (these things are easily seen all around us), but rather, through a visual display of fat physicality. The sort that's normally unseen.
The hope is to widen definitions of physical beauty. Literally.

The photographs here are close details of the fat female form, without the inclusion of faces. One reason for this is to coax observers into imagining they're looking at the fat women in their own lives, ideally then accepting them as having aesthetic appeal which, for better or worse, often translates into more complete forms of acceptance.

The women you see in these images are educators, executives, mothers, musicians, professionals, performers, artists, activists, clerks, and writers. They are perhaps even the women you've clucked at on the subway, rolled your eyes at in the market, or joked about with your friends.

This is what they look like with their clothes off.

Some are showing you their bodies proudly. Others timidly. And some quite reluctantly. But they all share a determination in altering commonly accepted notions of a narrow and specific beauty ideal.

Friday, May 2, 2008

Strangers On A Train By A.F. Waddell

Here's a delightful little story from my great friend, the always-fantastic A.F. Waddell:

Strangers On A Train

A.F. Waddell

They met aboard a train of naturists on a summer day in California wine country. Seated side by side, they too were clothing-optional.

"Nice tan." Charlie said.

"Oh, thanks! I just got over a painful sunburn. I'm Angel."

"Hi Angel. I'm Charlie. I'd forgotten how jarring train travel could be."

"Me too. I should have worn my support bra."

"May I share something with you?"


"Angel, I'd like to get . . . clothed with you."

"Really . . . ?"

"Did you bring any clothes?" He asked.

"Yes . . ."

"What, what did you bring?"

"A baggy t-shirt. Stretch pants. Clogs . . ." Gathering their bags, they strode towards the rear of the car. They found an unoccupied restroom. They entered, locking the door. They opened their bags and rummaged. Angel removed a pair of cotton socks, one by one, from her bag. She slowly, teasingly, put on each, sliding them over her toes, feet, and ankles, before yanking them up her calves.

"More, please, more!" Charlie begged.

She pulled out oversized white cotton panties, putting one leg through, then the other, before pulling them up. She smoothed the wrinkles and adjusted the crotch.

"Oh yes. Put it on, baby! Put it on!" On went Angel's oversized black t-shirt. It draped her breasts and belly. It hung almost to her knees. "Now you!"

He started with gray tube socks and worked them over his rangy feet and calves.

"Yes!" Angel cried.

He pulled on large boxer shorts, which had a sporty trout print, achieving a pup tent effect.


He pulled on a gray sweat shirt, yanked on a pair of jeans, and struggled to zip them.


They stroked one another. "Mmm . . . cotton knit!" Exclaimed Charlie. " What kind of fabric softener do you use?"

"Mmm . . . old denim!" Gushed Angel. "I use Downy! In the rinse cycle, not in the dryer!"

Being surrounded by tons of vibrating metal seemed an organic flow and sexual power trip. Fumbling and flailing, outing their crotches, their assignation was a tricky one: Angel sat, legs askew, on a high, vibrating, narrow steel sink, as Charlie adroitly stood tip toe, facing her shaking form. His hands caressed and his fingers entered her, as she slipped and slid across the sink's surface, from its level sides into its oval concavity, her parted legs moving wide and high. Game for sporting sex, Charlie geared up. See the ball. Be the ball. He was in. The train negotiated curves and vibrated. They were almost separated as the train took a sharp curve.

"We need Velcro!"

"There's no time!"

In a daze, they made their way back to their seats. Onlookers gasped, shocked at Charlie and Angel's clothed countenance. They knew.

Charlie and Angel blushed and took their seats. They would become Amtrak Sex Fetishists.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Japanese Cross Dressing Cafes

From my great pal, Brian:

I love this .. maybe not in 'that' way but that it's done so sweetly: with delightful smiles and perky bows. Bravo!