CB3000 Mishap

From my old live journal:

"OK, in light of last night's bad experience I am going to be retiring the CB3000 for now. Let me tell you this tale of horror:

I was locked in yesterday morning after taking the cage off for cleaning. For most of the day I didn't have a problem; it was more of an inconvenience than anything else. The problem started later. I'd urinated with it on several times and made the important discovery that you really need to be sitting down on the toiler for this action. So I went ahead and wore it to work, mindful that Goddess had the only key to it and she would be getting home before me.

About 8 PM (I work nights for several hours on a computer), I decided to go to the toilet. I sat down and started to urinate when I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see blood in the CB3000! My cock was in severe pain, although the bleeding quickly ceased. Because I'd made the error of not having a back-up emergency key, I was unable to get the thing off. After assuring myself that I would not need to be take to a doctor, I cleaned the CB3000 the best I could and returned to work.

Upon arriving at home around 11 PM, I told Goddess I needed the CB3000 key immediately and went upstairs to unlock myself. The blood had dried on the inside of the device, but I was able to clean it quickly in the sink. Further urination produced a brief discoloration with some pain. I checked the head of my cock and it appears it was shoved into a bad position against the wall of the CB3000 when I'd started to urinate earlier. I think the sudden flow tore the opening slightly, causing the intense pain.

There has been no obvious blood in my urine for the rest of the day. No burning while urinating, but some discomfort while thinking about the injury. Thank my lucky stars no further injury has been sustained.

So, until I can figure out what happened, the CB3000 goes back into the box.

Anyone have similar problems using this thing?"

S&Man (2006)

Here's a little documentary which treads the line between horror and arousal.
If you've spent any time going to the various horror movie conventions in the US (Monster Mania, Chiller Theater, etc.) you will notice a fair number of indie movie producers who've set up shop hawking their latest slasher/monster/whatever film. They always have some hot chickee in tow to promote the flick because, as we all know, horror film buffs are overwhelmingly male. Getting their picture taken with some aspiring starlet in a skimpy costume may be the only female action some of these guys are ever going to get.
S&Man focuses on the rise of the indie stalker voyeur film. It has a number of interviews with the filmmakers themselves. There's also several interviews with the "scream queens" who star in them. Also, some discussion about the kind of person who watches these videos. There's even two sex doctors who are interviewed for it.
Most disturbing is the dude who creates fake snuff movies for his adoring fans. He hires a model, videos her daily life from a concealed angle, then kills her. All of this is staged, of course, and he even shows how to fake the final death scene. But you do have to wonder: what kind of person pays money to watch these things? And he's not the only one who makes these type of movies.
I was seriously creeped-out listening to "Bill Zebub" describe the murder scenes in his productions as "stroke material". Nor was my mental state improved by hearing the director of August Underground (a "found" video where you get to watch a serial killer at work) talk about all the people who want to be the victim in his latest production.
An interesting, if disturbing, look at the thin line between sex and death.

What's The Matter With California?

As the culture war starts to go hot again, it appears the land of smogberries and Hollywood will be on the front line. I usually stay away from politics on this blog, because doing so will offend someone and I haven't offended enough people. Yet.
So, fans, what's my take on Prop. 8? For or against? Against. And also against the whole monosexual mindset that is rallying the troops to stop it. To put matters bluntly: I will sign on to the gay marriage drive when the gay marriage people sign on to poly relationships. Any combination of adults over the age of 18 up to twelve in number.
And why no more than twelve? Because that's where it gets absurdly complicated. Although I can see some special cases where more than twelve would be justifiable.
I think making polyfidelidity state-sanctioned would also take the wind out of the Mormon church's sails. Let's face it, the real reason the MoMo's are against Bruce and David is having to give up polygamy. Let them have all those wives once again, they'll go back to being happy bicyclists. Start burning down their churches and you are going to see a range war of an epic scale.
So, yes I'm all in favor of state recognition of Ellen and Stephanie if you are for the same right given to Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice.
And to those of you who whine "But this is about two people!", I have this to say:
Fascist!
And now, back to our regularly schduled kink.

Toys Are Not For Children (1972)

My nominee for the Feel-Bad Sex movie of the 20th century. Produced, directed and starring people who did few movies before or after. Released through a booking company which specialized in grindhouse films. Found in many 16mm rental catalogs over the years. And finally, unleashed on DVD as part of a "sexy seventies shockers series". In other words, a movie you have to really, really seek out.
Poor little Jamie (Marcia Forbes, who seems to have acted in this one movie) has a problem. Her father abandoned her while she was a little girl. Her mother is the Bitch From Hell who constantly screams at her. Jamie's only solace is playing and sleeping with the toys her estranged father continues to send her year after year. She finds a job in a toy store where she gets to be around the things she loves. Soon, she's a model employee ("She makes the toys come alive!" the store owner exclaims), but attracts the attention of a coworker, Charlie (Harlan Poe). She also makes the aquatintence of a woman who comes into the store and turns out to be a call girl with a sleazy pimp boyfriend. When her mother discovers her new friend is the very woman who lured daddy astray, she kicks Jamie out of the house. Jamie relunctantly agrees to marry Charlie, but he discovers on their wedding night that she just wants tucked into bed. Bummer. Charlie soons abandons his new bride for the hot babes at a local bar and Jamie takes up with the call girl. In a strange turn of events, Jamie becomes a sex worker specializing in fantasy scenes. But it all comes to a tragic end when, spurned by her new protege, the call girl sends Jamie to a special client: her very own father.
Editied into a non-linear story, it can be a little hard to follow. The marriage of Jamie and Charlie, for instance, occurs at the beginning of the film, as does it's dissolution. But you don't see his courtship of her until the half-way mark. It would seem the director wanted the inevitablity of the ending pounded into the audience. Again, I can only imagine what the stroke-daddies who went to see this painfest must have resembled when the credits rolled.
Watching Toys are Not for Children can only be compared to reading a short story by Charles Birkin. A master of the cruel tale, Birkin was alway great for running anything good about your day. Billed as a sexy movie, Toys is anything but. Imagine an Oliver Twist where everybody wants to fuck the orphan and he gets tossed out on the street.
This is not to say we have an art film here. This movie looks to have been lensed on cheap stock. The actors are OK, but not oscar material. Even the sets look left over from an educational film. I'm sure there is a story waiting to be told as to how this thing ever got made.
A perfect antidote to all those Swedish erotica movies.

The Shop Down the Street

I live in a small town outside Philadelphia. It's quiet, we even got rid of the few bars some years ago. No industry to speak of and the boundaries are pretty static. There's been some attempts to revitalize things, but everyone pretty much gets along. We like it like that.
It's not all apple pie. I have a few friends in "The Scene" who live some streets away, but they interact with their select playmates and I'm not offended when I don't get invited. I would guess more than a few houses have rooms dedicated to pleasure among adults.
And now we have a lingerie shop in town.
I stopped in the other night because I noticed a "Grand Opening" sign over a store front which had been vacant (most are). It's run by a dancer at some of the strip/gentleman's clubs in the area and she seems to be catering her garments to other dancers. In the back room there's even a brass pole to practice your spins. I looked at most of her stock, but I will say it didn't impress me. It looks like she has very few vendors, but this isn't unusual in a new business.
I wish her all the best. She seems like a sincere woman with some drive. I just hope it doesn't bring out the blue noses who frequent the churches hereabout.
And she did have enough intelligence not to put the store's sign out on the street. I can't seem to remember what the store name was, but it did have "Erotic" in it. I'm sure that would've been the topic of much discussion at the local Burger King.

The Story of Joanna (1975)

Gerald Damiano passed away recently, so it's only appropriate I take a look at one of his less-famous films. Story of Joanna features Jamie Gillis and Terri Hall as two people who play the Master/slave relationship to its fullest. Originally, Damiano wanted to film a new version of Story of O, but couldn't afford the rights. So this is his take on the whole mystique. Damiano even has a camaeo role sitting at a bar at the beginning.
Too bad the budget just never afforded him the ability to achieve his goal. Although the film was lensed in a beautiful victorian mansion, the subpar cinematography just isn't up to the task. Everytime the camera turns to a source of light it becomes shrouded in a glowing cloud. Terri Hall, who plays Joanna, just didn't have the acting chops at the time. I've notice this in other Male Domination films such as The Pet; my guess is the director is so smitten by the pretty starlet he's blinded to her lack of acting ability. Note to future arteurs: a tight little ass will not overcome a girl who can't speak her lines.
The story: Jamie Gillis brings Terri Hall home one night and treats her to the high life. At the end of his wining and dining, he tells her she must love him with no prospect for love in return. From then on it's a series of sex scenes which become increasingly humilating for her. What saves this movies from being another XXX house stroker is the conclusion, which came as a total suprise.
Do check this one out if you can find it.