Hyper-realistic Japanese Dolls

Thousands of men in Japan are dropping $6,500 on these hyper-realistic dolls. Sexy friends that meet all their needs, and–best of all–don’t talk back. Created by Orient Industries, you can customize your doll with a wide selection of fully interchangeable faces and hairpieces. All dolls are, of course, waterproof.

Artificial Hymen

Sex-toy company Gigimodo created this “artificial hymen” –a plastic bag filled with, well, fake blood– for those of you who either need to lie about being a virgin, or want to re-live the doubtlessly thrilling experience of losing your maidenly flower.

Obama Dildo

Just in time to insert more pork into the new stimulus package comes the “official” Obama pleasure toy. For only $34.95 you can get the “Head O State Obama Sex Toy” with a choice between “Presidential Gold” and “Democratic Blue”.

Hooded Spandex Full Body Binder Sack

The thought of being bagged up like a birthday present isn’t everyone’s idea of fun, but according to the site,this total body sack is “so comfortable, you could spend an entire night in it”. We’ll take it on trust.

Eco-Friendly Vibrator

Love yourself and the planet at the same time with Sola, a small bullet-shaped vibrator powered by the sun. The price of being green? $69.95.

Real Touch

This computer-controlled “stimulation” device uses “specially encoded content” to bring a sort of virtual-reality experience to your wang. Using a host of technologies, the futuristic-looking computer peripheral simulates motion, adjusts temperature and provides lubrication. The encoding is deciphered by a custom Windows Media Player plugin and it’s available for $150.

Cup Nude

At some point everyone has enjoyed a fresh cup of hot noodles. While the traditional instant cup would satisfy your hunger, the “Cup Nude” satisfies a completely different need altogether. Although similar in design, you will immediately notice upon opening that this is not your average midnight snack. Complete with a packet of “Gently Acid Lotion”, you are sure to find enjoyment in this loving product, unless, of course, there is real acid in that packet… ouch!

Hello Kitty Vibrator

Originally marketed as a neck massager, this was one of the cult Hello Kitty collectibles that could only be acquired in Japan. But a couple of things didn’t seem to fit the whole “neck massager” claim. The first was the size and the shape. The second was the nature of its vibrational, uh, “qualities”. So Hello Kitty has done everything then. Good show.

Hizamakura’s Lap Pillow

Here is something kooky. Normally you’d think that resting your head on a lap would just be for lovebirds. But not in Japan! They seem to have something for everyone and the Hizamakura Lap Pillow is no exception. It is shaped like the lap of a woman, where you can perhaps sleep better knowing you are in a good lap. Only in Japan. Price? $142.

Gold-plated Vibrator

Meet the world’s most expensive vibrator, a 18 karat gold-plated piece that weighs approximately 5 ounces and is 3 inches long. Made in Sweden by Lelo, it has a suggested retail price of $1500, but can be yours for as little as $999.

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1. Top 10 Bizarre Sex Laws

1- Bite her

It might sound vicious, but in fact biting is quite sexy and one of the most exciting of our bizarre sex tips when done correctly. You are not going to chew or take out chunks of flesh. What you are going to do, however, is much more subtle: Open your mouth on a shoulder, buttock or other fleshy area (her side or thighs) and attempt to close your jaw by applying gentle pressure. Your teeth should never join in the middle, and pinching the skin with the teeth is not what you are after. Don’t overdo it — a few well-timed bites show your passion. A good example is if you are taking her from behind, and when you climax, bite her back or shoulder.

2- Oil up

Using oil as a medium for your sexual artwork is not new, but it is often underutilised. Oil provides a slick surface for your sex play, and sometimes more is better. The oil should be vegetable-based and smell good. Ylang ylang essential oil is a relaxant and aphrodisiac. The oil should be smooth, like an almond-based oil. Grab a shower curtain or other oil-proof covering, oil yourselves up and slip-slide your way to orgasm.

3- Use hot and cold

Temperature changes stimulate and excite nerves. When outside influences stay the same, your nerves relax and can become desensitised — they know what’s coming, nothing is changing, so they go to low power. If you stimulate the nerves by changing temperature, they stay awake and, therefore, increase the power of your sexual play. You can use a variety of substances, like hot chocolate, a cool glass of wine or an ice cube. Be careful not to make the experience uncomfortable. Until you get the hang of it, ask for feedback. Use for oral sex or invent your own games.

4- Suck her feet

Some people hate feet or hate their own feet being touched. However, having your foot licked and sucked on is one of the most sensual of the bizarre sex tips. In between the toes and the arch of the foot are the most sensitive areas of the foot. Get her to do it to you, so you know exactly how it feels. Clean, trimmed feet are crucial to this bizarre sex tip’s success. Also, sucking is best done slowly. Be aware of after-shower feet — soap doesn’t taste good.

5- Spank her

Spanking comes in line with biting, but is more pronounced and does hurt; however, it is a scientifically proven fact that buttock spanking while aroused tricks the body into translating the smack as pleasure and provides a rush of blood to the area. Slightly cup your hand, but keep it loose and give the area of the buttock furthest away from the anus a good thwack. You want to get that good slap sound and a good palm-butt connection. Don’t overdo it, porn star.

6- Rub her bum

Make sure she knows you are not going to try to insert a finger (or other object including tongue) into her anus. One method is while she is straddling you, reach around and slide your wet finger up and down over her anus, but don’t put any pressure on it. The same goes while performing oral sex on her. Let her do the same to you. Make sure you are very clean before you start — some surprises are not hot.

7- Eat

Having a sexy picnic in bed is a great way to incorporate food and sex. Stay away from particularly pungent foods (unless you both really like them) as they can be arid on the breath. Stick to fruits and cheese platters, and use your bodies as the plate. Decadence and pleasure will breed more, so take some food to bed and have a sensual few hours enjoying each other’s company.

8- Take her from a right angle

Make no mistake about it: This is a challenge. Think of all the ways you can have sex at a right angle, and try them all. Sex at a right angle can provide some very interestingly bizarre sex positions, and yes, you are going to have to use your imagination. Some suggestions are the “tong” — she is almost horizontal, holding herself up with one arm with her bottom leg resting on a bed or other low surface. You are standing, holding her legs and penetrating her.

keep it coming

These tips ought to refresh your memory when it comes to creative and sometimes bizarre sex. So the next time you find yourself bored with the missionary position, remember that there’s a million ideas that can keep your sex life feeling fresh.

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Honk if you see anything you like.

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Sex is no doubt one of the hot button issues for modern married couples with children. Most parents will fess up to struggling to find time to rekindle romance while juggling work, wiping sticky faces and driving carpool and recent studies confirm that this is sadly the status quo.

But much of the data addresses sex in the U.S. and the U.S. alone, and we thought it might be fun to see how our western attitudes and practices (between consenting adults and in our sex-ed for kids) fit into a larger, more international picture of the sexual habits and teachings across cultures.

Here, 15 surprising factoids about sex:

1) Wife Swap: The Australian Aborigines temporarily exchange wives as a gesture of friendship and goodwill at the ceremonies where puberty rites are held for their kids. The wives often initiate this, enjoying the change of ”scenery” as well.

2) Bisexuality is more the rule, not the exception: Homosexual relationships are an accepted practice among the men and boys of the Siwans of Africa. The few who do not participate are considered peculiar.

3) It’s ok to watch: Lesu children are premitted to watch adults, other than their parents, copulate.

4) No Virgins over 10!: The Ila people of Africa encourage their children to fully develop their sexual capabilities, permitting them any form of sexual expression they wish to partake in. It is claimed there are no virgins older than age 10 in this society!

5) Knowlege is power: Upon reaching puberty, boys of Mangaia (one of the Cook Islands) are given sexual instruction – including many details of positioning, and delaying their own satisfaction so that their parter women may experience multiple orgasms.

6) Why wait for marriage? In a survey in 1949 of 849 societies, 75 percent were found to permit premarital intercourse. Of course, in America in 1988 the stats showed that 70 percent of married American women had indulged in premarital intercourse as well . . . they are just supposed to feel *guilty* about it here!

7) Experience preferred: Some Hindu sects require a priest to deflower a virgin before she consummates her marriage with her husband.

If one is good, two (or three!) is better: The most common universal form of marriage is actually Polygamy – one husband with two or more wives. Of those 849 societies, 70 percent are polygamous. (Conversely, polygyny (or polyandry), defined as “a wife with two or more husbands” is the least common form of marriage).

9) Keep it simple: The Aweikoma of Brazil are very literal people. Because eating and intercourse each involve entering bodily orifices, they use the same term for both activities.

10) Speak up! The inhabitants of Bali, and the Lepcha of Sikkim have no elaborate rituals or practices of seduction. If sex is desired, one only need ask for it – this is true for both men and women.

11) You break it, you buy it! If a Goajiro woman of Colombia successfully trips a man during a ceremonial dance, he is required to have intercourse with her. Be careful where you step ladies (and gentlemen…)

12) Three’s a charm: Pacific-dwelling Marquesan men have acquired the ability to prolong their erections indefinitely until their parter is fully satisified. It is considered normal for the women to experience at least 3 orgasms.

13) Sisterly love: During the latter stages of a Hidatsa woman’s pregnancy, her husband is allowed intercourse with her sister. (and his pregnant wife is probably very relieved!)

14) Endless love: Its not uncommon for the Aranda of Australia to copulate three to five times nightly, sleeping for short intervals in between activity.

15) All bets are off! Anytime there is a show of blood from the uterus (during menses or after birth) a Jewish woman must not engage in sex with her husband. There are laws of family purity that say when and when not to engage in sex. During pregnancy, however, is the one time in a Jewish woman’s life when it is permissible to have sex all the time. This explains a Jewish’s man smile when he says, “My wife is pregnant.”

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Starts with baby-raping pedophile weasels, moves to bisexual birds with presumed parents, lesbian cloning lizards, 2g1c three-horned rhino, elephants hung like whales, wine-fucking pigs, and then it gets really weird. Or at least that’s what she said.

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It is the day in New York City when there are the most car accidents, the most knife fights, and the most suicides.

I hadn’t gotten laid all winter, and when this fateful spring day arrived, it made me feel like a member of the French resistance in occupied Paris. I was totally off-kilter, totally outnumbered, and totally outmatched. All I could do was stare and fantasize, swimming through the sea of hormones like a fish swimming through vodka.

I was going insane, but my rent was also coming due and so I knew I wasn’t going to be able to afford the “weekend sex ante.” Women are willing to break “The Rules” if you don’t play “The Game,” but they still require you to display minimum financial solvency. I wasn’t going to be able to afford the price of a beer, the price of a meal, or the door charge at a dance club.

I knew that if I wanted to get laid despite my lack of resources then I was going to have to be bold and creative. Damn food, damn shelter, damn self-actualization and the respect of my peers!

I had a five dollar Metro card, which meant I could ride the subway into Manhattan once and then home again, meaning I only had one shot when it came to finding a partner for the night.

Competition would be brutal. I would be up against professionals of every stripe — stock brokers, lawyers, musicians, drug dealers, lesbians, scientists, professors, actors, married fathers — and I knew that I was at the bottom of the pile. I was a lowly fiction writer.

I wasn’t going to be able to convince anybody that I would be a good “sex choice” based on my raw stats alone. I was going to need an angle. I needed some kind of trick that would surprise ladies and overcome not only their logic and good judgment, but also their emotions.

I tried to think about what fiction writers had going for them that gave them a comparative advantage when it came to seduction. Being a fiction writer meant that I had read a lot of books. I also had a good imagination. I had also learned to think in narrative, which meant that I knew that good ideas generated their own gravity, warping the world and creating opportunities through the magical contortion of possibility.

I could open minds, but did that mean that I could also open legs?

While taking a hot shower, I remembered a legend about Generalissimo Santa Anna and the War for Texas Independence.

According to the legend, Santa Anna had laid siege to a small Texas town in the Brazos River Valley and the town was starving to death. The occupying army was also running out of food, but not as fast as the settlers, and it was all just a matter of time before the people in the village would be forced to give in to the invading army from Mexico.

The town drunk gathered the settlers together and told them he had a plan to save them, but that he would need their complete obedience, no matter how ridiculous his plan seemed. The settlers, having no plan of their own, agreed to the drunk’s demands.

The drunk gathered together all of the food and liquor still left in the town, piling it on top of a big tablecloth in the town square. The drunk also demanded the town’s last living pig.

The drunk proceeded to stuff himself with food while the other settlers watched in amazement. He ate and drank while the settlers grew more and more angry. He even got the pig drunk on whiskey.

At first, the settlers left him alone, wondering what the drunk had in mind, but it soon became clear that the drunk had no other plan than to gorge himself at their expense. Furious, the settlers kicked the drunk and the pig out of town, tossing them to the Mexicans.

A Mexican army patrol found the drunk and the pig and took them both before General Santa Anna. The drunk explained that he had been wandering around inebriated and had gotten lost. He begged Santa Anna to spare his life. But Santa Anna wasn’t interested in the drunk’s misfortune. All he could see was how well-fed the drunk was. There were still crumbs on his shirt. How could the settlers have so much food left that they were willing to feed their fools?

“They have so much whiskey left that they are even getting their pigs intoxicated,” said Santa Anna, disgusted. He decided he would never outlast the Texans and so he took his army and moved on to the next town. The town was saved.

While I was thinking of how to apply the reckless cunning of this story to my own situation, it hit me. You didn’t have to spend money to show people that you had it. I immediately toweled off and threw on some clothes. I grabbed a duffel bag and headed out the door.

Even if my idea didn’t work, I still had to try it.

I took my duffel bag to the bank where I had all of my rent money. New York City rent is insanely high, so this was much more than you might think. I told the teller that I wanted to close out my account. The bank teller asked me how I wanted my money and I told him that I wanted it all in dollar bills.

“You want dollar bills?” said the teller, disgusted.

“Yes, please,” I said, handing him the duffel bag.

I knew that the bank teller would have to do it. The bank teller disappeared and I waited for him to return. I felt like I was robbing the place. Twenty minutes later, he shoved the duffel bag into my arms with a manic leer.

“Do you want to count it?” he asked, leaning forward and glaring at me.

“No thanks,” I said. “I trust you.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Count it. I think you should count it. I think you should make sure that all of your dollar bills are in there.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking my bag and skulking away. The bank teller leaped over his desk and ran around to the door. I thought he was going to punch me, but instead, he opened the door for me and then bowed low, clicking his heels.

“Let me get the door for you, sir,” he said.

I chuckled nervously and tried to pretend I didn’t understand what he was trying to say. I stepped out into the street and headed for the train.

Now I had a whole duffel bag full of cash, though I couldn’t spend any of it.

But it was money. It was the one thing everybody in the city wanted and it was precisely the kind of narrative gravity I needed.

I got onto the train and rode down to the Financial District. It had only been a few months since the towers had collapsed, but they had already started to reopen some of the bars down there. I figured that the Financial District would be the best place to put my plan into action, even with all the carnage and disarray.

If you are unstable, you don’t look for love in stable places. You go to anarchy, seeking your own kind, the way that moths fly toward the moon to meet other moths above the trees.

I went to the first bar I saw, some fancy place called “Shiftless.” It was empty since it was so early, but it seemed like a good place to get started. I could get comfortable there and pretend I was a regular.

I went straight for the bar instead of sitting at a booth. The bartender was a bored-looking middle-aged lesbian with neck tattoos and yellow teeth.

“Do you mind if I just sit here and try to get laid?” I asked. “I can’t afford a beer.”

She laughed at me.

“Nobody wants to talk to somebody who isn’t drinking,” she said. “They look like sex predators.”

“I don’t drink when I don’t have a job,” I said. “And I don’t have a job right now.”

“You can sit there all you want,” she said. “At least until it gets busy. I don’t like your chances, though.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”

I sat down at a barstool with a good view of the door. I put the duffel bag at my feet, wrapping the straps around my boot so I could feel it if somebody tried to take it. It was all of my rent money, so I had to be paranoid.

The bartender watched cable news while I stared at the door, waiting for someone to come in. I knew that the clientele would mostly be Wall Street-types, but that was exactly who I wanted to fuck right now.

Somebody rich and aggressive.

Unfortunately, it was Saturday, and that meant the market was closed. I waited and waited, but no one came in.

I was just about to leave, when the door opened and somebody stepped into the bar as if they were passing through the airlock of a space shuttle. They were wearing a bright orange hazmat suit, complete with breathing apparatus.

The bartender and I looked at each other. The person in the bright orange hazmat suit carefully made their way across the bar like an astronaut crossing an alien world. We could hear the hiss of their respirator. They were carrying a lunchbox.

When the person finally made it to the bar, they sat their lunchbox down on the floor and then unbolted their helmet. The bartender and I both leaned forward, holding our breath.

The person wearing the hazmat suit was a beautiful blonde woman with a ponytail who looked a little bit younger than me and who was definitely a lot more cool. She had a simple nose piercing and her eyes were purple, an eye color that I had never seen before.

“Scotch and soda,” said the woman, looking at me.

I rocked on my barstool and didn’t smile at her. I lifted my duffel bag up from the floor and hugged it. The bartender made the drink and handed it to the woman, who sipped it, staring out into nothingness.

“You working on the towers?” I asked her. “Are they still cleaning up debris?”

“Not exactly,” she said.

“I think you are very beautiful,” I said. “Even in a hazmat suit.”

“Thank you,” she said nervously. “We finally finished up for the day. I just got done working a 15-hour shift.”

“That’s a long shift,” I said.

“Have a good evening,” she said, knocking back her drink and then standing up to go.

“Wait a second,” I said. “Don’t you want to know what is in my duffel bag?”

I patted my duffel bag.

“No thanks,” she said. “I’ve heard that one before.”

I unzipped the duffel bag and the bartender reached under the counter, tensing up. I pulled out a wad of dollar bills. I dropped them back into the bag, cascading them through my fingers. The bartender relaxed, shaking her head and wiping down the bar.

“It’s completely full of dollar bills,” I said to the woman in the hazmat suit, showing her the bag full of cash. “What’s your name?”

The woman in the hazmat suit leaned closer to me, curious.

“My name is Miriam,” she said. “And I am absolutely not a prostitute. Am I about to slap you?”

“Ha ha,” I said. “I am not offering you any of this money, Miriam. I don’t want to spend any of it. Not even to buy myself a drink.”

“Why are you carrying around a duffel bag full of money?” asked Miriam.

“I have a plan,” I said. “Do you want to hear my plan?”

Miriam was silent for a few moments. She looked at the bartender. The bartender shrugged.

“Okay,” said Miriam. “What’s your plan?”

“It’s very simple,” I said. “I want to go back to your place. We could go back to my place, but I bet you wouldn’t feel comfortable there. I’m not crazy or anything. I’m a fiction writer. Tell me if this sounds crazy: I want to take all of this money and I want to dump it out on top of your bed or futon. And then I want to fuck you on top of it. I want to soak the money in sweat and sex juice. I want dollar bills to stick to our thighs and our backs as we roll around in bundles of American cash until we both come. And then I will leave you alone forever. I promise.”

Miriam stared at me. She chewed on some ice from her drink.

“Have you ever had sex on top of a mountain of cold hard cash?” I asked.

“Nope,” said Miriam. “Do you have any idea how filthy money is? One single dollar bill can be a vector for a hundred different diseases, including typhus and staph. What you are offering me is worse than unprotected sex in a bodega bathroom.”

“That’s part of the point,” I said. “Reckless abandon.”

“Where’d you get all the money?” she asked. ”Did you steal it?”

“No,” I said.

“Your plan is disgusting,” said Miriam. “It won’t work on anyone.”

“What if I said I stole the money from my boss, who is a wicked criminal?”

“Then I definitely don’t want to get involved.”

“I will wear a condom,” I said. “I will wear two condoms.”

Miriam stared at me, her lips slightly parted.

“Let me tell you about my day,” said Miriam. “I work for the city. They have transferred most of the people from my department down here. Normally, I work a desk job. Normally, I take care of processing stray cats – getting them off the streets and into no-kill shelters. I am a vegetarian. I do yoga. But today, I spent the whole day chasing rats. Big fucking rats. You see, when the towers collapsed, they killed a lot of people. They killed a lot of rats too, but surprisingly most of the rats survived. You wouldn’t believe how many rats there were in the World Trade Center. Thousands and thousands of rats. The swarmed out of the towers and settled into the surrounding carnage like fallout from a nuclear bomb. At first, the city didn’t bother with rat control at Ground Zero because obviously there were bigger problems. But then we started to find corpses with bites taken out of them. We also started to find the kind of rat fleas that carry plague.”

Miriam shuddered.

“Anyway, the businesses are starting to reopen down here, so the city has us working overtime on rat control. First, we went down into the sewers, leaving bait traps and following the trails. Since nobody has been cleaning up the garbage down here, the Financial District has become rat heaven. The rats are thriving like philosophical Greeks. We followed the rat tracks, and we saw that all those millions of tiny footprints were headed for the same nest. It became my department’s job to find the nest and eliminate it.

“We have been searching for weeks, and today we finally found it. We tagged and tracked some alpha male rats to a forty-story apartment building in Battery Square. We followed the swarm of rats up through every level of the apartment building, knocking on doors, until we got to the penthouse. The penthouse had been abandoned and it took us a few hours to get the clearance to investigate, but the owner was more than willing to let us go inside. He went to France after the towers fell, and he hasn’t come back yet. He told us that he wasn’t surprised that his penthouse had become a rat nest, but he wouldn’t say why. After we suited up and busted down the door, we understood what he was talking about.

“When the towers collapsed, he must have been having a party. A raging coke party at 9 AM in the morning, can you believe that? His apartment was full of spoiled food and rancid drink. People had left paper plates full of bacon-wrapped oysters and stuffed jalapenos all over the place. There were banquet tables with hundreds of different kinds of cheeses, piled high with sandwiches and chunks of vegetables. There were chafing dishes full of eggs and soup. All of the food had gone rotten, but that didn’t stop the rats. Rats will always finish one source of food before moving on to another.

“The smell was like a wall of smoke. Grown men who had been in wars were puking into buckets. It was a smell that combined rich and aggressive food decay with rat shit and sweet death.”

“But the worst part was in the back bedroom, in a nest made from all the jackets that the party guests had left behind. Back there, we found a rat king. A rat king is what you call it when rats get their tails twisted together. This rat king started when a few of the rats got twisted up during their giddy rush to the banquet, but it just kept growing. Most rat kings don’t have a chance to get very big. The rats that are tied together fight each other over food and the rat king dies. But in this penthouse, there was plenty of food to go around. We found fifty rats tied together in a writhing ball. The other rats were feeding them, and because the rats couldn’t move or exercise, these rats had become bloated and huge. Rats have sex about six times a day on average, and this rat king was being constantly serviced by rat concubines of both sexes. That was how the rat king was growing. The rat sex was causing more vermin to get entangled in the scrum. Rats were coming from all over to pay their respects to this bloated monster, hovering around the edges and waiting for their turn.

“It took us fifteen hours to kill all the rats and clean up all the spoiled food. I don’t think I’ve ever been more disgusted. I think this might be the strangest and most horrible day of my entire life.”

The bartender and I looked at her. I licked my lips. We all sat in silence for awhile, imagining the churning ball of rats and the smell of all the putrid food.

I knocked on the bar and tried to smile. I raised one finger.

“You know what might make you feel better,” I said.

“Stop right there,” said Miriam. “I’m not taking you home with me. Weren’t you even listening?”

“Of course I was listening,” I said. “But you’re not a rat and neither am I.”

“Then why don’t you show a little decency and act like a human being?” she said.

I started to get desperate. She was tense. She was angry. She looked like she wanted to smash her empty glass over my head. Her face was flushed and her eyes were wild.

“So what about right here then?” I said.

“What do you mean right here?”

“Right here on the bar,” I said proudly.

“Right here on this bar?”

“Do you mind if I fuck this beautiful woman on your bar in a pile of cash?” I asked the bartender.

“Be my guest,” said the bartender, grinning at me. “At least until it gets busy.”

Miriam sighed and kicked over her lunchbox. I could tell she was wrestling with guilt, frustration, and disgust. She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air. She smiled at me for the first time.

“Fine,’ she said. “Right here, right now, but I get to wear my hazmat suit.”

Miriam put her helmet back on and then unzipped her suit to her midriff. I took off my shoes and then my socks.

“I want you to know something,” she said. “I am not doing this because of your idea. I think your idea is really stupid. I am going to fuck you in a pile of money because I want fucking you in a pile of money to be the thing I remember about today. Not the rat king or the banquet full of rotten food. I am doing this because fucking you in a pile of money in a Manhattan bar is the opposite of burning rats with a blowtorch in a pile of maggoty shrimp.”

There wasn’t anything I could say to this. I dumped my duffel bag of cash on the bar, being careful not to spill any.

Miriam began to get excited. Her breathing got faster and faster inside of her respirator. I could see a peninsula of glorious skin between the open teeth of her zipper. I lifted Miriam onto the bar and the bartender cheered me on and gave me pointers as I pulled down Miriam’s panties and went down on her, the smell of human money and human honey filling my brain like a cloud of poison gas filling a room full of vermin.

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Came across this cartoon at Penny Arcade today and had to laugh (click through on the image for full-size).

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Some of you will know James Joyce as the author of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, or the epic Ulysses. But you may not know about the, ahem, rather explicit letters he wrote to his girlfriend (later wife), Nora Barnacle. If not, enjoy this selection!

To NORA

Dublin 2 December 1909
===================
My love for you allows me to pray to the spirit of eternal beauty and tenderness mirrored in your eyes or fling you down under me on that softy belly of yours and fuck you up behind, like a hog riding a sow, glorying in the very stink and sweat that rises from your arse, glorying in the open shape of your upturned dress and white girlish drawers and in the confusion of your flushed cheeks and tangled hair. It allows me to burst into tears of pity and love at some slight word, to tremble with love for you at the sounding of some chord or cadence of music or to lie heads and tails with you feeling your fingers fondling and tickling my ballocks or stuck up in me behind and your hot lips sucking off my cock while my head is wedged in between your fat thighs, my hands clutching the round cushions of your bum and my tongue licking ravenously up your rank red cunt. I have taught you almost to swoon at the hearing of my voice singing or murmuring to your soul the passion and sorrow and mystery of life and at the same time have taught you to make filthy signs to me with your lips and tongue, to provoke me by obscene touches and noises, and even to do in my presence the most shameful and filthy act of the body. You remember the day you pulled up your clothes and let me lie under you looking up at you while you did it? Then you were ashamed even to meet my eyes.

You are mine, darling, mine! I love you. All I have written above is only a moment or two of brutal madness. The last drop of seed has hardly been squirted up your cunt before it is over and my true love for you, the love of my verses, the love of my eyes for your strange luring eyes, comes blowing over my soul like a wind of spices. My prick is still hot and stiff and quivering from the last brutal drive it has given you when a faint hymn is heard rising in tender pitiful worship of you from the dim cloisters of my heart.

Nora, my faithful darling, my seet-eyed blackguard schoolgirl, be my whore, my mistress, as much as you like (my little frigging mistress! My little fucking whore!) you are always my beautiful wild flower of the hedges, my dark-blue rain-drenched flower.

JIM

To NORA

Dublin 3 December 1909
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you seem to turn me into a beast. It was you yourself, you naughty shameless girl who first led the way. It was not I who first touched you long ago down at Ringsend. It was you who slid your hand down down inside my trousers and pulled my shirt softly aside and touched my prick with your long tickling fingers and gradually took it all, fat and stiff as it was, into your hand and frigged me slowly until I came off through your fingers, all the time bending over me and gazing at me out of your quiet saintlike eyes. It was your lips too which first uttered an obscene word. I remember well that night in bed in Pola.

Tired of lying under a man one night you tore off your chemise violently and got on top of me to ride me naked. You stuck my prick into your cunt and began to ride me up and down. Perhaps the horn I had was not big enough for you for I remember that you bent down to me face and murmured tenderly “Fuck up, love! Fuck up, love!”

Nora dear, I am dying all day to ask you one or two questions. Let me, dear, for I have told you everything I ever did and so I can ask you in turn. When that person (Vincent Cosgrave) whose heart I long to stop with the click of a revolver put his hand or hands under your skirts did he only tickle you outside or did he put his finger or fingers up into you? If he did, did they go up far enough to touch that little cock at the end of your cunt? Did he touch you behind? Was he a long time tickling you and did you come? Did he ask you to touch him and did you do so? If you did not touch him did he come against you and did you feel it?

Another question, Nora. I know that I was the first man that blocked you but did any man ever frig you? Did that boy (Michael Bodkin) you were fond of ever do it? Tell me now, Nora, truth for truth, honesty for honesty. When you were with him in the dark at night did your fingers never, never unbutton his trousers and slip inside like mice? Did you ever frig him, dear, tell me truly or anyone else? Did you never, never, never feel a man’s or a boy’s prick in your fingers until you unbuttoned me? If you are not offended do not be afraid to tell me the truth. Darling, darling, tonight I have such a wild lust for your body that if you were here beside me and even if you told me with your lips that half the redheaded louts in the county Galway had had a fuck at you before me I would still rush at you with desire.

To NORA

Dublin 6 December 1909
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I would like you to wear drawers with three or four frills one over the other at the knees and up the thighs and great crimson bows in them, I mean not schoolgirls’ drawers with a thin shabby lace border, thigh round the legs and so thin that the flesh shows with a full loose bottom and wide legs, all frills and lace and ribbons, and heavy with perfume so that whenever you show them, whether in pulling up your clothes hastily to do something or cuddling yourself up prettily to be blocked, I can see only a swelling mass of white stuff and frills and so that when I bend down over you to open them and give you a burning lustful kiss on your naughty bare bum I can smell the perfume of your drawers as well as the warm odour of your cunt and the heavy smell of your behind.

Have I shocked you by the dirty things I wrote to you? You think perhaps that my love is a filthy thing. It is, darling, at some moments. I dream of you in filthy poses sometimes. I imagine things so very dirty that I will not write them until I see how you write yourself. The smallest things give me a great cockstand – a whorish movement of your mouth, a little brown stain on the seat of your white drawers, a sudden dirty word spluttered out by your wet lips, a sudden immodest noise made by you behind and then a bad smell slowly curling up out of your backside. At such moments I feel mad to do it in some filthy way, to feel your hot lecherous lips sucking away at me, to fuck between your two rosy-tipped bubbies, to come on your face and squirt it over your hot cheeks and eyes, to stick it between the cheeks of your rump and bugger you.

Basta per stasera!

I hope you got my telegram and understood it.

Goodbye, my darling whom I am trying to degrade and deprave. How on God’s earth can you possibly love a thing like me?

O, I am anxious to get your reply, darling!

JIM

To NORA

Dublin 8 December 1909
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My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.

You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore’s glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover’s fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling’s cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly.

Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.

JIM

To NORA

Dublin 9 December 1909
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My sweet naughty little fuckbird, Here is another note to buy pretty drawers or stockings or garters. Buy whorish drawers, love, and be sure you sprinkle the legs of them with some nice sent and also discolour them just a little behind.

You seem anxious to know how I received your letter which you say is worse than mine. How is it worse than mine, love? Yes, it is worse in one part or two. I mean the part where you say what you will do with your tongue (I don’t mean sucking me off) and in that lovely word you write so big and underline, you little blackguard. It is thrilling to hear that word (and one or two others you have not written) on a girl’s lips. But I wish you spoke of yourself and not of me. Write me a long long letter , full of that and other things, about yourself, darling. You know now how to give me a cockstand. Tell me the smallest things about yourself so long as they are obscene and secret and filthy. Write nothing else. Let every sentence be full of dirty immodest words and sounds. They are all lovely to hear and to see on paper even but the dirtiest are the most beautiful.

The two parts of your body which do dirty things are the loveliest to me. I prefer your arse, darling, to your bubbies because it does such a dirty thing. I love your cunt not so much because it is the part I block but because it does another dirty thing. I could lie frigging all day looking at the divine word you wrote and at the thing you said you would do with your tongue. I wish I could hear your lips spluttering those heavenly exciting filthy words, see your mouth making dirty sounds and noises, feel your body wriggling under me, hear and smell the dirty fat girlish farts going pop pop out of your pretty bare girlish bum and fuck fuck fuck fuck my naughty little hot fuckbird’s cunt for ever.

I am happy now, because my little whore tells me she wants me to roger her arseways and wants me to fuck her mouth and wants to unbutton me and pull out my mickey and suck it off like a teat. More and dirtier than this she wants to do, my little naked fucker, my naughty wriggling little frigger, my sweet dirty little farter.

Goodnight, my little cuntie I am going to lie down and pull at myself until I come. Write more and dirtier, darling. Tickle your little cockey while you write to make you say worse and worse. Write the dirty words big and underline them and kiss them and hold them for a moment to your sweet hot cunt, darling, and also pull up your dress a moment and hold them under your dear little farting bum. Do more if you wish and send the letter then to me, my darling brown-arsed fuckbird.

JIM

To NORA

Dublin (?) 13 December 1909
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I would be delighted to feel my flesh tingling under your hand . Do you know what I mean, Nora dear? I wish you would smack me or flog me even. Not in play, dear, in earnest and on my naked flesh. I wish you were strong, strong, dear, and had a big full proud bosom and big fat thighs. I would love to be whipped by you, Nora love! I would love to have done something to displease you, something trivial even, perhaps one of my rather dirty habits that make you laugh: and then to hear you call me into your room and then to find you sitting in an armchair with your fat thighs far apart and your face deep red with anger and a cane in your hand. To see you point to what I had done and then with a movement of rage pull me towards you and throw me face downwards across your lap. Then to feel your hands tearing down my trousers and inside clothes and turning up my shirt, to be struggling in your strong arms and in your lap, to feel you bending down (like an angry nurse whipping a child’s bottom) until your big full bubbies almost touched me and to feel you flog, flog, flog me viciously on my naked quivering flesh!!

To NORA

Dublin 15 December 1909
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No letter! Now I am sure my girlie is offended at my filthy words. Are you offended, dear, as what I said about your drawers? That is all nonsense, darling. I know they are spotless as your hearth. I know I could lick them all over, frills, legs and bottom. Only I love in my dirty way to think that in a certain part they are soiled. It is all nonsense, too, dear, about buggering you. It is only the dirty sound of the word I like, the idea if a shy beautiful young girl like Nora pulling up her clothes behind and revealing her sweet white girlish drawers in order to excite the dirty fellow she is so fond of; and then letting him stick his dirty red lumpy pole in through the split of her drawers and up up up in the darling little hole between her plump fresh buttocks.

Darling, I came off just now in my trousers so that I am utterly played out. I cannot go to the G.P.O. though I have three letters to post.

To bed – to bed!
Goodnight, Nora mia!

JIM

To NORA

Dublin 16 December 1909
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My sweet darling girl At last you write to me! You must have given that naughty little cunt of yours a most ferocious frigging to write me such a disjointed letter. As for me, darling, I am so played out that you would have to lick me for a good hour before I could get a horn stiff enough even to put into you, to say nothing of blocking you. I have done so much and so often that I am afraid to look to see how that thing I had is after all I have done to myself. Darling, please don’t fuck me too much when I go back. Fuck all you can out of me for the first night or so but make me get myself cured. The fucking must all be done by you, darling as I am so small and soft now that no girl in Europe except yourself would waste her time trying the job. Fuck me, darling, in as many new ways as your lust will suggest. Fuck me dressed in your full outdoor costume with your hat and veil on, your face flushed with the cold and wind and rain and your boots muddy, either straddling across my legs when I am sitting in a chair and riding me up and down with the frills of your drawers showing and my cock sticking up stiff in your cunt or riding me over the back of the sofa. Fuck me naked with your hat and stockings on only flat on the floor with a crimson flower in your hole behind, riding me like a man with your thighs between mine and your rump very fat. Fuck me in your dressing gown (I hope you have that nice one) with nothing on under it, opening it suddenly and showing me your belly and thighs and back an pulling me on top of you on the kitchen table. Fuck me into you arseways, lying on your face on the bed, with your hair flying loose naked but with a lovely scented pair of pink drawers opened shamelessly behind and half sleeping down over your peeping bum. Fuck me on the stairs in the dark, like a nursery-maid fucking her soldier, unbuttoning his trousers gently and slipping her hand in his fly and fiddling with his shirt and feeling it getting wet and then pulling it gently up and fiddling with his two bursting balls and at last pulling out boldly the mickey she loves to handle and frigging it for him softly, murmuring into his ear dirty words and dirty stories that other girls told her and dirty things she said, and all the time pissing her drawers with pleasure and letting off soft warm quiet little farts behind until her own girlish cockey is as stiff as his and suddenly sticking him up in her and riding him.

Basta! Basta per Dio!

I have come now and the foolery is over. Now for your questions!

Get ready. Put some warm-brown-linoleum on the kitchen and hang a pair of red common curtains on the windows at night. Get some kind of a cheap common comfortable armchair for your lazy lover. Do this above all, darling, as I shall not quit that kitchen for a whole week after I arrive, reading, lolling, smoking, and watching you get ready the meals and talking, talking, talking, talking to you. O how supremely happy I shall be! God in heaven, I shall be happy there! I figlioli, il fuoco, una buona mangiata, un caffè nero, un Brasil (cigar), il Piccolo della Sera, e Nora, Nora mia, Norina, Noretta, Noruccia ecc ecc…

Eva and Eileen must sleep together. Get some place for Georgie. I wish Nora and I had two beds for night-work. I am keeping and shall keep my promise, love. Time fly on quickly! I want to go back to my love, my life, my star, my little strange-eyed Ireland!

A hundred thousand kisses, darling!

JIM

To NORA

Dublin 20 December 1909
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My sweet naughty girl I got your hot letter tonight and have been trying to picture you frigging your cunt in the closet. How do you do it? Do you stand against the wall with your hand tickling up under your clothes or do you squat down on the hole with your skirts up and your hand hard at work in through the slit of your drawers? Does it give you the horn now to shit? I wonder how you can do it. Do you come in the act of shitting or do you frig yourself off first and then shit? It must be a fearfully lecherous thing to see a girl with her clothes up frigging furiously at her cunt, to see her pretty white drawers pulled open behind and her bum sticking out and a fat brown thing stuck half-way out of her hole. You say you will shit your drawers, dear, and let me fuck you then. I would like to hear you shit them, dear, first and then fuck you. Some night when we are somewhere in the dark and talking dirty and you feel your shite ready to fall put your arms round my neck in shame and shit it down softly. The sound will madden me and when I pull up your dress

No use continuing! You can guess why!

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Billing themselves as “the innovative leader in the application and advancement of silicone prosthetics for the transgendered worldwide” the folk at Femskin have created what perhaps can be best described as “a silicon body sock-type-thing” designed to make the wearer look physically female in shape and appearance, complete with boobs and “lifelike” vulva. You can even buy a virginity-loss attachment for it called “The Cherry Popper.”

There’s something vaguely disturbing about this, but perhaps that’s just those “lotion” scenes from The Silence of the Lambs running through my mind. Wouldn’t surprise me if some trans people found the product offensive, though.

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