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August 31, 2011
حفلة خاصه Dogmeat party
Mānoa: Be aware of driver exposing himself | University of Hawaii
Be aware of driver exposing himself to pedestrians
University of Hawaiʻi at MānoaContact:Posted: Aug. 30, 2011Campus Security is warning people who are walking to and from their cars parked in the residential area between University Avenue and Mānoa Road to be aware of a male driver who stops pedestrians, especially female students, on the pretense of asking for driving directions, who then exposes himself and masturbates.Today around noon, a student reported to Campus Security that she and a friend were walking to their car near College Hill, when a male driver stopped his vehicle to ask for directions to the freeway. The suspect spoke very softly, so the student moved closer to the car to better hear what he was saying. When the student looked down through the open window, she saw that the driver had exposed himself and was masturbating. The driver sped off when the student walked away.The suspect is described as in his 40s, with short blond hair and mustache, possibly weighing about 150 pounds. He wore a white shirt, khaki shorts and sunglasses. He may have been driving a “green Jeep or small SUV.”In an incident of this nature, Campus Security suggests the following:Be aware of your surroundings and trust your instincts. If you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, in any situation, act on that feeling. Your safety is the first priority.If you find yourself in this type of situation, even if the suspect has left the scene, call Campus Security and officers will respond to your location.Anyone with information relevant to this case is asked to call Campus Security at 956-6911.
via hawaii.edu
August 30, 2011
ArtWank Trailer
ArtWank Trailer....Hello there and welcome to ArtWank; "a treasure trove of preposterous fixations and overeager excess: unhindered by political correctness" The Erotic Review
Fancy a riotous night of antique porn, ridiculous sexual cabaret and the occasional educational supplement from contemporary sex-workers? Well then it's lucky you stopped by! The emphasis is on the fun of sexuality; a healthy does of humour with your hank-panky with our tongues firmly in our cheeks....or yours. There's some saucy content here so please view at your discretion. We look forward to meeting you at one of our events soon. You can read reviews of ArtWank at The Erotic Review and at Coffee, Cake and Kink!Kisses
this some really good trailer
We're always one the sniff for interesting guest speakers, practitioners, pioneers and academics to dispense their shady wisdom to our loving audience.What's your pet topic? Do you work in the sex industry?
Do you have a radical thesis on the place of vegetables in intimate relationships?All suggestions welcome. We aim for a 15 minute mini-lecture/demonstration followed by an audience Q and A, but we're pretty flexible.....
Hot
Get your geek on...
Un Chant d'Amour (Genet 1950)
ArtWank TicketsErotic ReviewOutsidersSex Is Not The EnemyWoteverTED.comStonewallKinky Salon LondonBad Feminist UKCliteratiFilamentAnnie SprinkleFeminist Porn AwardsAnti-Porn Blog
Get 'em while they're HOT!Four whole nights of wall-to-sticky-wall smutfest at the legendary Royal Vauxhall Tavern! August 18th, 19th, 25th and 26thJust £7 for vintage smut, bawdy cabaret, live music and bizarre sexy performance art Cliquez Ici, Cherie!
Welcome!
Hair and sex have always been inextricably entwined | Erotic Review
Hair and sex have always been inextricably entwined. I could delve into the deep recesses of history here, and start blathering about Samson losing his virility when Delilah gave him a crew-cut, but I won’t because it means nothing to me. The name I want to bring to the forefront is a that of George Harrison Marks, who produced what then passed for pornographic magazines when I was first introduced to the idea that a hard-on was not an amusing means to piss on your own chin.
The son of the next-door-neighbours in the council flat I inhabited with my parents and younger brother was a sadist and sex-fiend. The former could be deduced by his habit of sending pet mice and hamsters to their deaths by hurling them from the top floor floor of the building – tenth or twelfth, I can’t remember which – attached to pet-sized parachutes of his own devising which never worked.
The latter was evidenced by a huge collection of small magazines that bore the imprimatur of Harrison Marks – he had dropped the “George” at this point, presumably for reasons of propriety. With a little persuasion – he was a passionately committed goalkeeper, myself a nonchalant goalscorer, and it was not difficult to rig one-on-one encounters where he saved the day – he would condescend to lend me one of these priceless publications. (They were priceless, by the way, because unavailable in any known newsagent. You had to know special places to get them and I didn’t have the addresses.)
I was only ever allowed to keep them for one night, because he thought I might steal them, even though I lived next door, a mere three feet away in council flat terms. The positive side of this arrangement was that I gave each precious periodical my undivided attention. What you must understand is that in the early 1960s, there was not much in the way of wank mags, and certainly nothing to tickle the fancy of a 13-year-old. Harrison Marks took pictures of women who looked ready
for sex – whatever that might involve - unlike the muscular babes in the naturist magazines who wanted to challenge you to a game of naked rockside badminton.
The only problem, which I discovered soon after, was that they were not anatomically accurate in the sense that the women had no hair on their lower private parts. In fact, to be more accurate still, they had no lower private parts. This was, in some ways, a cheap thrill. I well remember one evening watching a display of ice dancing on television with my father. Every time one of the little skirts lifted in a swirling turn, I thought I was seeing all there was to see. The girl ice dancer had forgotten – perhaps deliberately – to put her ice knickers on, and I was getting an eyeful. Poor dad, he was missing out.
In other ways, it was not such a good thing. My first meaningful encounter with a real, live girl – which I have lovingly recounted before for Erotic Review, and is now widely ridiculed as The Two Smartie Incident - was initially fraught because the girl was equipped with hair down there and a tiny chasm to boot, when I was expecting the smooth crotch of a mannequin. I got over the initial shock, as resourceful boys do, but in the modern world of Brazilians and Posh Spice shaving her growler when Beckham called, I have often wondered whether men ever really liked pubic hair at all.
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