Catboy SPEAKS!

Last year I made a plea for the world to synchronize the hip-thrust’s of women.

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Success! So where, in 2012, shall I set the philanthropic gaze of my laser eyes? Maybe answer comes from David Czerny: instead of schadenfreude tainted penile comparisons‘s, maybe 2012 will be the year of small penis exaltation?

There’s no shortage of small penis tribute sites, such as the succinctly named small dick lover or the wittier unhung heroes. Nor is there a shortage of small, proud peters. For example this guy or this one. Some people even voluntarily round down:

measure your cock

He could get to 3.5″ just by moving the ruler! And, given the shaft wrinkles, even more by getting an erection.

Maybe this will be my resolution: no more will I laude the large penis! Instead I will provide a fair forum for cocks of all sizes!

On the other hand…

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Yeah, these look way better.

Fuck it, happy year of the nether dragon!

via big dick superiority

Oh future, what lies beyond your inky night? Where shall I be when the dawn breaks? Will it be in the bustling noise of a downtown center? Or a fast ocean of salty death, or the beautiful clarity of the rolling scrublands?

Who will be there with me? Shall I stand alone or will I have a companion? Might this companion be a woman, a young woman of grace and beauty, her athletic body decorated with tattoos?

And could she be naked? Or mostly naked, maybe her panties could be pulled down to her ankles exposing the smooth white skin of her waxed pubic mound.

Also, it’d be great if she rode a BMX bike.

Future: if you could get on this, that’d be great. Thanks!

via danish principle

Ikea tip-toed into the adult furniture market with their Künt line. With its astounding success, furniture pundits looked to the future: would Ikea quietly enjoy this minor victory? Would they expand? The answer should have been obvious: Ikea–the Kraken of home furnishings–has unfurled its tentacles.

As a pervert with a sofa, here are my thoughts on Ikea’s 2012 line.

“Dilder” is an obvious extension to the existing line of bed frames, surprising only in its abandonment of the hallmark European minimalism for a neo-Baroque style.

The stylistic changes are only skin deep; the Swedish designers maintain their love of prefabrication and interchangeable parts: the rounded end of Dilder’s bed posts come in four interchangable sizes.

Bolder additions to Ikea’s showroom floor are their BDSM pieces. The simplest is “Nötty Billy”, a modification to Billy.

via slut in training

Nötty Billy shows Ikea’s market strength in the adult furniture world: a pool of talented designers and a deep back catalog that’s ripe for modification (as well as efficiency of scale to keep prices down). It also reveals their weaknesses. First, Ikea is only focusing on the furniture: the rope and ball-gag shown in above promotional picture are not included–or even available for separate purchase–keeping Ikea from becoming the “one-stop-shop” for a thrifty top. Though given the current availability of Ikea branded plates, plants and lightbulbs it is hard to imagine such a lapse standing (see the “Østere” lamp, below).

A more serious problem is euro-centrism: Nötty Billy is available in any size, as long as that size is “European waif”. The pre-cut shelves admit only a slim waist; the shallow depth leaves no room for the larger American, Latin American or African ass. Strangely there is room for a large bust, perhaps targeting Eastern Europeans.

No such big-tit features are found in “Irrum”:

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Strangely, Irrum combines antiquated styling–note the turned rails–with European sizing, a choice that makes the intended audience hard to fathom. The ergonomics are similarly confused: the mouth positioning suggest cunni- or analingus while the name alludes to face fucking. This confusion is uncharacteristic of Ikea.

Luckily that clarity is restored by the last piece, “Østere” (also the only piece shot in black and white).

via slut in training

Østere eschews irrelevant details–such as pleats in the lamp shade–in lieu of relevant ones: full-length arm bindings, double buckle thigh restraints and multiple D-rings on the neck collar. The “down-home” use of clothes pins as nipple clamps is a pleasantly ironic touch.

It also shows the future of Ikea’s BDSM ambitions: the flat pack includes all the necessary bondage gear, even the clothes pins.

The mechanized children of the industrial revolution arose in the close of the 19th century. They were bulky machines, suited only to the coarsest of tasks. But progress is a cruel exponential, and by the early 21st century machines have taken over the dearest of man’s activities: fucking.

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They’re thrust are tireless, they’re phallic shells both long and girthy. How can a human cock, a feeble blood-ballon stapled to the end of the pelvis, compete?

The singularity will add another threat: the orgasmic techniques learned by the machines of today will undo us entirely.

We need a John. Either a hard-driving man of steel, our ages John Henry or a future rebel who can fight the machines: John Connor.

I love it when my man comes in my mouth but sometimes the phone rings before I can swallow it all! What’s a girl to do?

Cum Against Luscious Lips

Dearest CALL,

It seems common sense is anything but. How about this for a solution: let the damn phone ring. If it’s anything important they’ll leave a message and if it’s anyone important you probably don’t want them to hear the semen bubbling as you gargle out a muted “Hubbo?”

But what to do if you find yourself with the phone against your head and cum in your mouth?

First of all: don’t try to talk. Unless your gentlemen friend is an extremely light shooter and you’re mouth is a desiccated wasteland, you’ll ooze spit & semen onto your phone/floor/tits:

via the sol provider

If you insist on removing the cum from your mouth, stop, hold the phone away from you and spit:

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Or scoop:

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With the phone off the hook the caller knows someone is there, they’ll wait the 10 seconds until your spunk free.

Of course the simplest option is just to swallow. Not only is it healthy but, let’s be honest:

via an emotional unveiling required

If the taste is a problem, one solution is simply to place the head of the penis beyond the tongue. This funnels the ejaculate directly into the stomach bypassing the taste buds. This diagram will show you how.

via cum whore (no link)

September 11th will be remembered for many reasons, one of them should be that it’s the day I posted a picture of a nearly bottom-less September Carrino:

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One of the most distinctive features of September’s boobage is her nipples & areola. A few massive tits end up with comically small nipples surrounded by the thinnest discoloration of areola and many more end up with a flattened pancake of a nip-eola. September scales perfectly: she’s got JJ cup breasts with C battery diameter nipples sprouting from the center of dark-pink sand-dollars.

This picture hints that the scaling continues below: that’s a nice size clit she’s packing.

1987 saw a train collision and subway fire, two ferry crashes–including the sinking of the MV Doña Paz with casualties estimated at 4000–and at least 6 airline crashes.

It was also a good year for insanity. On January 22nd Budd Dwyer uses a televised press conference as an opportunity to kill himself with a revolver. Less than a month later the Unabomber’s second package detonates in Salt Lake City, injuring the owner of a computer store. In April the Klaus Barbie trial begins. 19 year old Julian Knight kills 7 people in Melbourne.

But on November 25th the mood was lifted with the release of Planes, Trains & Automobiles. The John Hughes holiday comedy stars Steve Martin as Neal Page, an overworked advertising executive desperate to get home to Chicago for Thanksgiving. His travels are thwarted by bad weather, bad luck and Del Griffith, a “shower-ring salesman” played by John Candy. Griffith, initially the comedic foil to Page’s well-coifed by still seething anger eventually emerges as a psychotic buffoon, nearly killing the duo several times.

The movie ramps to the final happy ending, where Page parts with Griffith on good terms and returns to his family.

But this ending is faux as Page, infected with nostalgia and Stockholm Syndrome, returns to the empty train station to find a lone Griffith waiting for him. Griffith admits that he is alone, his wife having died 9 years ago. Page invites Griffith back to his home. They return to Page’s home together and the movie ends.

Less known is that there were actually several sex scenes in the original script. Some of these were shot but were later cut and the film “accidentally” destroyed. All that survives are still pictures (mostly candid shots by people on the set) and the descriptions of the scenes by an anonymous source close to the project. These scenes added up to a different movie which actually featured an extended ending.

Plane

via ducudubo

This scene was in the plane leg. When John Candy [Griffith] boarded the plane he looks on and sees the plane empty. He looks down the aisle and sees a single brunette head on the port side. He walks down the aisle and turns to her, seeing that she is nude and beautiful. She turns to him, smiles and opens her mouth to speak. “Excuse me” she says in an annoyed man’s voice. Candy startles and realizes he’s stopped in the middle of the aisle on a crowded plane. Steve Martin [Page] is behind him, trying to get by.

Anonymous

Automobile

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In the car, Candy [Griffith] turns to Martin [Page] only to find that he is now the same naked brunette from the airplane. “I want to suck your big thick cock, Del” she says “But I’m driving. This will have to do”. She brings a big sex toy to her mouth and starts to shove it into her mouth. “Marie…” Candy says. The scene cuts to Martin turning to look at Candy. “Did you say something?” he asks.

Marie is the name of Griffith’s wife (previously referenced in stories Candy told to Martin), revealing that Candy is having waking hallucinations of his wife.

Anonymous

Train

via mr. mcnasty

In the original script, Candy [Griffith] leaves the train station. He boards the subway but his way up the aisle is blocked by Marie [Griffith's wife] kneeling on the chairs, facing Candy. Martin [Page] approaches her from the other side (the snap shows an extra who was asked to stand-in to set-up the shot while Martin was in makeup). He pulls out his penis and starts to penetrate her from behind, staring straight at the camera. “I’m fucking your wife” Martin says to Candy. “And she loves it.”

Marie moans and then looks at Candy. “It’s so nice to be fucked by a real man. A man with a big thick cock who isn’t a complete loser. You’re nothing, Del. You should have been the one who was killed.”

Candy comes too when some teenage hoodlums shove him from behind. “Get the fuck off of me!” Candy screams at them and shoves the leader. Startled they retreat. Candy then waits by the door to leave the subway and catch the reverse back to the original train station where he waits for Martin to return.

Anonymous

End

In Hughes’ original ending, Candy [Griffith] walks into Martin’s [Page's] house after him, pulls out a sap and is seen swinging it at the back of Martin’s head. A female voice says “Oh hi…” and then screams.

The next scene shows Martin waking up tied to a dining room chair. He wakes up and jerks against his restraints in horror. The camera switches to show Candy at a table covered with body parts, eating them.

“You didn’t have to fuck her” Candy says to a confused Martin.

“Why?” Martin screams back “why did you kill her?” he asks referring to his own wife.

“I didn’t kill her!” Candy replies “you killed her the second you put your dick in her.”

Martin begins to cry. Through his tears repeats “You killed her… you killed her…”

“No you killed her!” Candy screams standing up. He freezes as he enters a dream sequence where he sees hands wrapped around Marie’s neck, choking her. The camera turns to reveal that it was Candy who killed his wife. He rips the carving knife out of an unidentified piece of corpse and stabs himself into the neck. He falls to the ground gasping & gurgling while Martin continues to sob.

The scene cuts there, ending the movie. There was no credit or exit music.

Anonymous

A tattoo, as a permanent mark on the only skin you’ll ever own, should represent who you are. We’ve already seen examples of delicate butterflies, cock-craving sluts and disgusting hippies. Now, here’s more!

This young woman was unsatisfied with a tongue stud’s suggestive power and has marked herself to indicate both:

1. “I would like to have a second vagina” and
2. “I’d lick it too”

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This PYT is a slut–presumably for black cocks–and might be inspired by this cum dumpster:

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This faceless young woman wants to remain forever young (as well as provide pedophiles everywhere legal release):

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Meanwhile my ideal tattoo is a soulless geometric form intended to track my eventual destruction.

I’ve got this idea for a tattoo. I’m going to get grid of fine lines all over my body so I can track how my body contour changes as I grow fat and old. (Question: should I get my cock tattooed when hard or flaccid? Or maybe soft but stretched?)

That will track changes, but what if you just want to see the existing distortion of a body, say the sexual swellings of a thick booty or the sagging curves of enormous breasts? In that case we can apply an externally supplied grid of knit mesh:

THICK BOOTY (via not safe for work)

ENORMOUS BREASTS (via not safe for work)

Noticed the distortion of the grid as the girl flesh pushes against the knit. A more mathematically inclined pervert could model the distortion to calculate real world metrics, maybe a mesh-spacing bra-size calculator.

But even mesh has its limits. Stretched too far it gives no clues as to the size of the wrapped object. Luckily that normally means it’s exceptionally huge, like this talented ass for example:

MAD SKILLZ (via mr. mcnasty)

…but can you be too thin?

To even begin to answer the question we have to clarify: too thin for what? Since this is my blog the question is simple: can someone be too thin for me to want to fuck them.

NO.

In fact I’m actually a bit worried I fetishize tiny women, I frequently find my eyes either lost in this little Medusa’s burning hot vaginal folds or stroking the bulging genitals of my favorite 80-pound sex-toy. But it is a trade-off. For one thing I enjoy some curves and as weight decreases the chances of T&A turn grim:

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(There are of course counter examples.) For another, you have to be ready for bony protrusions:

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Then, there’s science. According to Ok Cupid’s data scientists: “Curvy women pass skinny ones in self-confidence at age 29 and never look back. They also consistently have the highest sex drive among the groups.” This matches my empirical findings: maybe it’s the estrogen levels, but curvy girls are horny.

But on the positive side, thin girls are thin. This not only let’s you throw them around the bed, it also produces nice aesthetics of scaling: moderate breasts look large on a small frame

via an emotional unveiling is necessary

And big breasts…

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The lack of body fat generally means the outer labia are withdrawn and the inner thighs don’t touch, revealing juicy genital detail:

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And from the male point of view, a tiny girl gives you the appearance of a bigger dick:

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And balls:

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And when you cum, it’s much easier to cover a smaller surface area:

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It’s enough of a balance that I’ll stick with the advice of Frank Booth.