Cock Jerking

thunderheist - jerk it from thatgo on Vimeo.

Today we seem to view the “giant cock” as an elemental force, forged in the core of the Earth with anvil and hammer.

There are some sounds

you never want to hear while having sex.

Green Porn

by Isabella Rosselini





More @ Sundancechannel

...meantime, in the garden:

Rape

Rape
Załadował: BMX_Warrior

Rape
Adrienne Rich


There is a cop who is both prowler and father
he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers,
had certain ideals.
You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge,
on horseback, one hand touching his gun.

You hardly know him but you have to get to know him:
he has access to machinery that could kill you.
He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash,
his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud
from between his unsmiling lips.

And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him,
the maniac's sperm still greasing your thighs,
your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess
to him, you are guilty of the crime
of having been forced.

And you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family
whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten,
his hand types out the details
and he wants them all
but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best.

You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you:
he has taken down your worst moment
on a machine and filed it a file.
He knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined;
He knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted.

He has access to machinery that could get you put away;
And if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
And if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
Your details sound like a portrait of your confessor,
Will you swallow, will you deny them, will you lie your way home?

Doll

1. The synthetic flesh has to feel the same like real flesh
2. The doll’s body should be as agile and moveable as the real body
3. The doll’s organ should feel absolutely realistic

Fellatio

How beautiful to think
that each of these clean secretaries
at night, to please her lover, takes
a fountain into her mouth
and lets her insides, drenched with seed,
flower into her landscapes:
meadows sprinkled with baby's breath,
hoarse twiggy woods, birds dipping, a multitude
of skies containing clouds, plowed earth stinking
of its upturned humus, and small farms each
with a silver silo.

By John Updike

Re-Launch

from

Das Opium des Volkes

But sometimes it's just a job

The Whore to End All Whores

Want to drag the bottom for every loser, every pervert with issues around intimacy, men completely unable to reveal themselves and terrified of rejection—you want a cross section of those bottom feeders—just run a couple newspaper ads seeking male performers for a gang-bang feature.

According to the British anthropologist Catherine Blackledge, the human fetus begins to masturbate in the womb a month before birth. At thirty-two weeks, that ripple, that twitching within the uterus, isn't the baby kicking. The nasty little thing starts jerking off in the third trimester and never, ever stops.

This crew of pud-pullers, these ham-whammers, it's they who killed the Sony Betamax. Decided VHS over Beta technology. Brought the expensive first generation of the Internet into their homes. Made the whole Web possible. It's their lonesome money, paid for the servers. Their online porn purchases generated the buying technology, all the firewall security that makes eBay and Amazon possible.

These lonely jerk jockeys, voting with their dicks, they decided HD versus Blu-ray for the world's dominant high-definition technology.

"Early adopters," the consumer electronics industry calls them. With their pathological loneliness. Their inability to form an emotional bond.

True fact.

These pud-pullers, these jerk-offs, it's them leading the rest of us. It's what gets them off that decides what your million kids will want for Christmas next year.

Across the room, another loser catches my eye, his arm raised, flicking the air with a folded fifty pinched between two fingers.

Want to talk third-wave feminism, you could cite Ariel Levy and the idea that women have internalized male oppression. Going to spring break at Fort Lauderdale, getting drunk, and flashing your breasts isn't an act of personal empowerment. It's you, so fashioned and programmed by the construct of patriarchal society that you no longer know what's best for yourself.

A damsel too dumb to even know she's in distress.

More

Natural s/he

I went on amateurishly to sketch a plan of the soul so that in each of us two powers preside, one male, one female; and in the man’s brain the man predominates over the woman, and in the woman’s brain the woman predominates over the man. The normal and comfortable state of being is that when the two live in harmony together, spiritually co-operating.

Mia Farrow - Rosemary
Załadował: AlderLindsay

Two Views on Fashion Victims

by Erwin Olaf

by biggest polish auction website Allegro.pl

Rhetoric of clothing is always poor

Few questions about positions

No pain no game

Still No 1

Maybe canoe?

Pics: Kamasutra 3D

via: Unscathed Corpse

Tickle

Can you kill a dog by tickling his belly?

More Tickling

Game from Guzer

Back on Track

Safe For Work Porn

This is who I am - I'm addicted to the stuff, it consumes my mind

Stroke his carrot like a pro

How can i do handjob without my hands



Some men can actually blow themselves, yet it apparently doesn't abate their desire to have others do it.


The Hand-Job Protest Song - Watch more free videos

title

I look at as being a bonus

Hosted by Daily Free Games

Breast size does not influence how much breast milk you can or will produce

see also

Burning Desire

If you answered "yes" to any of the questions in A or B above you may or may not be sexually addicted.

He said,

"So? Looks to me like she doesn't need any help.

White Male Oppression Awareness Month!
Art

I Monster - These Are Our Children

Neveroddoreven
Pics in slideshow by Mark Ryden
via

Nobody watched, huh?

The democratic system is challenged by the failure in television because our evening news programmes have gone for an attempt to entertain as much as to inform in the desperate fight for ratings.

see also

Sex Life of Superheroes

Does anyone know if Supergirl has an invulnerable hymen?

The Rose Has Teeth In the Mouth of a Beast

Public Sex for Boyd McDonald

A new born child has no teeth.”—“A goose has no teeth.”—“A rose has no teeth.”—This last at any rate—one would like to say—is obviously true! It is even surer than that a goose has none.—And yet it is none so clear. For where should a rose’s teeth have been? The goose has none in its jaw. And neither, of course, has it any in its wings; but no one means that when he says it has no teeth.—Why, suppose one were to say: the cow chews its food and then dungs the rose with it, so the rose has teeth in the mouth of a beast. This would not be absurd, because one has no notion in advance where to look for teeth in a rose. ((connexion with ‘pain in someone else’s body’.))

(Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations )

Semen Song For James Bidgood

Boomp3.com

by: Matmos
from: The Rose Has Teeth In the Mouth of a Beast LP (pass: apuntesde2006)

Flesh

The Empire unveils everything but sees nothing. Its enemies idealize everything but tolerate nothing. For some the earthly orgasm of virtual whores. For others the eternal orgasm of 70 heavenly virgins. What if it all came down to flesh?

It's not that they don't like our Bepsis and Bizza Huts

Edouard Salier

Deu No Jornal

Yanko Del Pino

Are You Kinky?

Why do so many of us

like kinky sex?

According to research, sadomasochism is probably a behaviour we're born with.

Maybe we find answers in science?

Phil Mulloy

The sexlife of a chair



The history of the world

Phil Mulloy - The History Of The World
Za�adowa�: Mwohy

Phil Mulloy

Woman who does not masturbate

keep on her vitality, beauty, the sparkle in her eyes, powerful magnetic field, good pitch.

And so what?

My mother says

that oral sex is perverted and was not done in her day.

When did it become acceptable?

Pic: Norbert Guthier
via

Melissa Cherry

Teens whose iPods are full of music with raunchy, sexual lyrics start having sex sooner than those who prefer other songs, a study found.

from: The Onion Movie

How it looks like?

Female view



Male view

Further reading: Anatomy of the Penis, Mechanics of Intercourse

Stick it!

From: The Petting Zoo's Stick Figure Hardcore Porn

Summer

Click here for More Free Porn Movies

How to avoid erection at the nudist beach?

Guitar Hero Sucks?

I Liked That Song Before You Heard it on Guitar Hero

Does masturbation feel better than sex?

And the answer is?

Pic via fluctuat.net
Gif by Advanced Masturbation (Technique No 37 - Glass Balls Masturbation)

Little Birds

Manuel and his wife were poor, and when they first looked for an apartment in Paris, they found only two dark rooms below the street level, giving on to a small stifling courtyard. Manuel was sad. He was an artist, and there was no light in which he could work. His wife did not care. She would go off each day to do her trapeze act for the circus.

In that dark under-the-earth place, his whole life assumed the character of an imprisonment. The concierges were extremely old, and the tenants who lived in the house seemed to have agreed to make it an old people's home.

So Manuel wandered through the streets until he came to a sign: For Rent. He was led to two attic rooms that looked like a hovel, but one of the rooms led to a terrace, and as Manuel stepped out onto this terrace he was greeted with the shouts of schoolgirls on recess. There was school across the way, and the girls were playing in the yard under the terrace.

Manuel watched them for a few moments, his face glowing and expanding in a smile. He was taken with a slight trembling like that of a man anticipating great pleasures. He wanted to move into the apartment immediately, but when evening came and he persuaded Therese to come and inspect it, she saw nothing but two inhabitable rooms, dirty and neglected. Manuel repeated, "But there is light, there is light for painting, and there is a terrace." Therese shrugged her shoulders and said, "I wouldn't live here."

Then Manuel became crafty. He bought paint, cement and wood. He rented the two rooms and devoted himself to fixing them. He had never liked to work, yet this time he set about doing the most meticulous carpentry and paint job ever seen, to make the place beautiful for Therese. As he painted, patched, cemented and hammered, he could hear the laughter of the little girls playing in the yard. But he contained himself, waiting for the right moment. He spun fantasies of what life would be in this apartment across from a girls' school.

In two weeks the place was transformed. The walls were white, the doors closed properly, the closets could be used, the floors no longer had holes in them. Then he brought Therese to see it. She was quite overwhelmed and immediately agreed to move. In one day their belongings were brought on a cart. In this new place, Manuel said, he could paint because of the light. He was dancing about, gay and changed.

Therese was happy to see him in such a mood. The next morning, when things were but half-unpacked and they had slept on beds without sheets, Therese went to her trapeze work and Manuel was left alone to arrange things. But instead of unpacking he went downstairs and walked to the bird market. There he spent the grocery money that Therese had given him to buy a cage and two tropical birds. He went home and hung the cage outside the terrace. He looked down for a moment at the little girls playing, watching their legs under the fluttering skirts. How they fell upon each other in games, how their hair flew behind as they ran! Their tiny new breasts were already beginning to show in their very plumpness. His face was flushed, but he did not linger. He had a plan, and it was too perfect to surrender now. For three days he spent the food money on birds of every kind. The terrace was now alive with birds.

Each morning at ten o'clock Therese was off to work, and the apartment was filled with sunlight and the laughter and cries of little girls

The fourth day Manuel stepped out on the terrace. Ten o'clock was the recreation hour. The schoolyard was animated. To Manuel it was an orgy of legs and very short skirts, which revealed white panties during the games. He was growing feverish, standing there among his birds, but finally the plan succeeded; the girls looked up.

Manuel called," Why don't you come and see? There are birds from all over the world. There is even a bird from Brazil with the head of a monkey."

The girls laughed, but after school, impelled by curiosity, several of them ran up to his apartment. Manuel was afraid that Therese would come in. So he just let them watch the birds and be amused by their colored beaks and antics and odd cries. He let them chatter and look, familiarize themselves with the place.

By the time Therese came at one-thirty, he had won from the girls the promise that they would come and see him next day at noon as soon as school was over.

At the appointment hour they arrived to watch the birds, four little girls of all sizes--one with long blond hair, another with curls, the third plump and languid and the fourth slender and shy, with big eyes.

As they stood there watching the birds, Manuel became more nervous and excited. He said, "Excuse me, I have to go and pee."

He left the door of the toilet open so they could see him. Only one of them, the shy one, turned her face and fixed her eyes on him. Manuel had his back to the girls but looked over his shoulder to see if they were watching him. When he noticed the shy girl, with her enormous eyes, she glanced away. Manuel was obliged to button himself up. He wanted to have pleasure cautiously. That was enough for today.

Having seen the big eyes upon him set him dreaming for the rest of the say, offering his restless penis to the mirror, shaking it like a candy or a fruit or a gift.

Manuel was well aware that he was highly endowed by nature in the matter of size. If it was true that his penis wilted as soon as he came too close to women, as soon as he lay at a woman's side; if it was true that it failed him whenever he wanted to give Therese what she wanted, it was equally true that if a woman looked at him, it would grow to enormous proportions and behave in the most vivacious way. It was then that he was at his best.

During the hours when the girls were shut in their classrooms he would frequent the pissoirs of Paris, of which there were so many--the little round kiosks, the labyrinths without doors, out of which would always come men boldly buttoning themselves while staring straight into the face of a very elegant woman, a perfumed and chic woman, who would not be immediately aware that the man was coming out of the pissoir and who would then drop her eyes. This was one of Manuel's greatest delights.

He would also stand there against the urinal and look up at the houses above his head, where often there would be a woman leaning out of a window or standing on a balcony, and from up there they would see him holding his penis. He derived no pleasure from being stared at by men or else this would have been a paradise for him, for all men knew the trick of pissing away quietly while looking at his neighbor performing the same operation. And young boys would come in for no other reason but to see and perhaps help each other along in the act.

The day when the shy girl had looked at Manuel he was very happy. He thought that now it would be easier to satisfy himself fully if only he could control himself. What he feared was the impetuous desire that took hold of him to show himself no matter what the cost, and then all would be spoiled.

This was the moment for another visit, and the little girls were coming up the stairs. Manuel had donned a kimono, one that could easily slip open, by accident.

The birds were performing quite beautifully, bickering and kissing and quarreling. Manuel stood behind the girls. Suddenly his kimono opened, and when he found himself touching long blond hair, he lost his head. Instead of wrapping his kimono, he opened it wider, and as the girls turned and all saw him standing there in a trance, his big penis erect, pointing at them. They all took fright, like little birds, and ran away.

Story by Anaïs Nin
Pic by Michael Tarasov

Pic 2 by Terry Palka

Eveready Harton in Buried Treasure

Wiki says: Eveready Harton in Buried Treasure, also known as Eveready Harton, Eveready, Buried Treasure, or Pecker Island is a pornographic animated cartoon made in the United States circa 1928 (1929, according to the Internet Movie Database), depicting the unlikely adventures of the perpetually aroused title character with, among others, a man, a woman, and a cow.



Supposedly, U.S. film labs refused to process the film, and it had to be developed in Cuba. The artists are unknown, but a widespread rumor states that a group of famous animators created the film for a private party in honor of Winsor McCay. Disney animator Ward Kimball gave the following account of the history of the short:

"The first porno-cartoon was made in New York. It was called "Eveready Harton" and was made in the late 20's, silent, of course—by three studios. Each one did a section of it without telling the other studios what they were doing. Studio A finished the first part and gave the last drawing to Studio B [...] Involved were Max Fleischer, Paul Terry and the Mutt and Jeff studio. They didn't see the finished product till the night of the big show. A couple of guys who were there tell me the laughter almost blew the top off the hotel where they were screening it."

When a copy of the short was screened in San Francisco in the late 1970s, the program notes attributed the animation to George Stallings, George Canata, Rudy Zamora, Sr. and Walter Lantz. The short circulated informally, shown only at small underground festivals or parties, until 2002 when it was included in the theatrically released compilation The Good Old Naughty Days.

via <- via

Testy Festy

A pretty blonde tilts her cowboy hat farther back on her head. This is so she can deep-throat a cowboy without her hat brim hitting him in the gut. This is on a stage, in a crowded bar. Both of them are naked and smeared with chocolate pudding and whipped cream. This they call the “Co-Ed Body Painting Contest.” The stage is red carpet. The lights, fluorescent. The crowd chants, “We want head! We want head!”

The cowboy sprays whipped cream in the crack of the blonde’s ass and eats it out. The blonde masturbates him with a handful of chocolate pudding. Another couple take the stage and the man licks pudding out of the woman’s shaved pussy. A girl with a brown ponytail in a halter top sucks off a kid with an uncut dick.

This is while the crowd sings “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.”

As the girl leaves the stage, one of her girlfriends shouts, “You sucked him, you little bitch!”

The crowd is packed in, smoking cigars, drinking Rainier Beer, drinking Schmidt’s and Miller, eating deep-fried bull gonads dipped in ranch dressing. You smell sweat, and when somebody farts, the chocolate pudding doesn’t look like pudding anymore.

This is the Rock Creek Lodge Testicle Festival just getting started.

This is some fifteen miles south of Missoula, Montana, where this same weekend drag queens from a dozen states meet to crown their Empress. This is why hundreds of Christians have come into town, to sit on street corners in lawn chairs and point at the drag queens strutting in miniskirts, and at the fifteen thousand leather bikers roaring through town on choppers. The Christians point and shout, “Demon! I can see you, demon! You are not hiding!”

For just this one weekend, the first weekend in September, Missoula is the center of the frigging universe.

At the Rock Creek Lodge, people climb the “Stairway to Heaven,” the outdoor stage, all weekend to do, well . . . you name it.

A stone’s throw to the east, trucks go by on Interstate 90, blowing their air horns as the girls onstage hook their legs over the railings and pump their shaved pussies in the air. Half a stone’s throw to the west, the Burlington Northern freight trains slow to get a better look and blow their sirens.

“I built the stage with thirteen steps,” says festival founder Rod Jackson. “It could always be a gallows.”

Except that it’s painted red, the stage looks like a gallows.

During the women’s wet T-shirt contest, the stage surrounded by bikers and college kids and yuppies and truckers, skinny cowboys and rednecks, a blonde in clunky high heels hooks one leg over the stage railing and squats low on her other leg so the crowd can reach up and finger her.

The crowd chants, “Beaver! Beaver! Beaver!”

A blonde with short hair and a ring through her labia grabs the garden hose from the wet T-shirt organizer. She douches with the hose and squats at the edge of the stage, spraying the crowd.

Two brunettes suck each other’s wet breasts and French kiss. Another woman leads a German shepherd up on stage. She leans back, pumping her hips as she holds the dog’s mouth between her legs.

A couple in buckskin costumes climb the stage and strip. They copulate in a lot of different positions while the crowd chants, “Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her!”

A blond college girl balances with both feet up on the stage railing and slowly lowers her shaved pussy onto the smiling face of the contest organizer, Gary “the Hoser,” while the crowd sings “London Bridge Is Falling Down.”

In the souvenir shop, naked sunburned people stand in line to buy souvenir T-shirts ($11.95). Men in black Testicle Festival thongs ($5.95) buy hand-carved dildos called “Montana Wood Peckers” ($15.00). On the outdoor stage, under the big Montana sun, with the traffic and trains honking, a wood pecker disappears into a nude woman.

The line of souvenir shoppers edges past a barrel full of walking sticks, each stick a yard long, leathery brown, and sticky to the touch. A good-sized woman waiting to buy a T-shirt says, “Those are dried bull dicks.” She says how you can get the penises from butcher shops or slaughterhouses, then stretch and dry them. You finish them like furniture, with a light sanding and many coats of varnish.

A naked man standing behind her in line, his whole body just as brown and leathery as the walking sticks, he asks if the woman has ever actually made one of the sticks.

The good-sized woman blushes and says, “Hell no. I’m too embarrassed to ask the butcher for a bull dick . . .”

And the leathery man says, “A butcher’d probably think you’d use it on yourself.”

And everyone standing in line—the woman included— laughs and laughs.

Every time a woman squats on stage, a forest of arms comes up, each hand holding an orange disposable camera, and the click of shutters is thick as crickets.

A disposable camera costs $15.99 here.

During the “Men’s Bare Chest Contest” the crowd chants “Dick and balls! Dick and balls!” as the drunk bikers and cowboys and college kids from Montana State stand in line to strip on stage and swing their parts over the crowd. A Brad Pitt look-alike pumps his erection in the air. A woman reaches between his legs from behind and masturbates him until he turns suddenly, slapping her in the face with his hard-on.

The woman grabs hold and drags him off the stage.

The old men sit on logs, drinking beer and throwing rocks at the fiberglass porta-potties where the women pee. The men pee anywhere.

By now the parking lot is paved with crushed beer cans.

Inside the Rock Creek Lodge, women crawl under a lifesized statue of a bull, to kiss its scrotum for good luck.

On a dirt track running down one edge of the property, motorcycles race in a “Ball Biting” contest. Sitting on the back of each bike, a woman must snap her teeth on a hanging bull testicle and tear off a mouthful as her male driver races over the course.

Away from the main crowd, a trail of men leads back into the field of camp trailers and tents, where two women are getting dressed. The two describe themselves as “just a couple regular girls from White Fish, with regular jobs and everything.”

One says, “Did you hear that applause? We won. We defi- nitely won.”

A drunk young guy says, “So what do you win?”

And the girl says, “There’s no prize or anything, but we’re the definite winners.”

By Chuck Palahniuk
from: Non-Fiction
Art by: Paul McCarthy
Pix: Rock Creek Lodge Testicle Festival

eBoy

eBoy

Disturbing

(0:00 - 1:35)

Well, I wouldn't want to be highfalutin enough to pretend to be ordinary.

Me and my Girlfriend

Extra-diegetic gaze, where the person depicted in the text looks at the spectator, such as an aside, or an acknowledgement of the fourth wall

Me and My Girlfriend by Fernando Sanchez

Desires

Leske cited his irresistible desire to achieve sexual climax and ejaculate sperm without having to go to hell as the number one factor in his decision to propose marriage.

"I really want to discharge semen," he said. "I mean I really, really, really want to really bad."

Busting Out in the Big Apple

more

What Do You See?

When light hits your retina, about one-tenth of a second goes by before the brain translates the signal into a visual perception of the world.

Irene Kai: What Do You See?

Further Reding: Ways Of Seeing by John Berger (or you may watch it here)

Question

How much would should girl charge to let somebody take amateur porn pictures of her?
How much should a girl expect to be paid and are there many girls who would do that for free?

And maybe this is a some kind of answer

Cultural differences

Do you think young Japanese women have been inspired by the previous generations of path-breakers?

I just don’t think there are any good role models for young women. Women who work hard are often viewed as “not so cool” (kakko yoku nai). I mean, there are women in Japan who work hard — like politicians. But people say they don’t look particularly stylish. Others may say “They may be great, but I don’t want to be like them.” Japan just needs to have more “cool women.” For example, Matsuda Seiko continued to be a singer even after getting married and changing men. Things may change more quickly if there were more people like that. But they’re a minority right now. On the other hand, there are quite a few women, especially in the entertainment industry, who go right back to work after having children, so I don’t know.

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Fay Dunaway

"I am furious that they think I'm too old to play the love interest of guys like Jack Nicholson and Clint Eastwood. Why should I play sisters and mothers while guys like Jack and Clint (Eastwood), who are older than me, have on-screen lovers half their age?"

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Glamour shots

Glamour photography is a sexy, romantic form of photography meant to be erotic without being pornographic. Posing for glamour shots has been common for models and movie stars for years. Because of glamour photography’s allure, many advertisements use glamour photography to catch people’s eyes and interest.



Posing for glamour shots requires that the model trust and feel comfortable with the photographer, especially if the person being photographed is not used to modeling. Most people feel self-conscious and possibly silly posing for glamour shots. Experienced photographers are considerate, striving to create a trusting, comfortable atmosphere.


Posing for glamour shots can be a fun experience that may provide you with photos you (and others) will never forget.

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Even Cowgirls Get The Blues

And read this book, for fuck's sake...

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