Meg White

Meg White, drummer of the White Stripes. Such a hottie. Arguably the best breasts is rock. 

The Real Thing

In 1969, the Cola Cola company introduced the slogan: "It's the real thing." 

There's been some variations over the years. "Look for the real things"(1974),  "America's Real Choice" (1985), "Real" (2003), and "Make it Real" (2005).

Pretty much any of these slogan would make a perfect caption for this photo.

Lovely View

What a lovely view. Golden light, and her blonde hair glinting in the sun. Her breasts soft and full. 

The sweetest thing is that this is a self-snap, standing over the camera that she's set on self-time. It reminder me of when she stands over me, offering her curls, and the wet soft skin beneath, to my waiting mouth.

A little help

Tube Socks Rule!

Improper

Here's Katie, a 20-something gal who goes by the moniker "Improper" on her tumbler blog. What a cutie. She looks so much like an old friend of mine, Caroline, who I had a huge crush on for several years.

This is a new favorite photo, combining so many sexy elements: outdoors in winter, cute hipster glasses, cute sweater, no pants!, and she's growing her bush back of cute red hair. And of course the cute smile/grin/smirk. All in all, sexy.

Have a seat

Her First Toy

From the very beginning, the sex with Rachel was good. She was very relaxed and open about her sexuality, and never afraid to try something new. Surprisingly, for as much as we loved sex and as much as we'd already done on our own and with past partners, neither of us had any experience with vibrators or other sex toys. 

Rachel said she'd always wanted to try a vibrator, but just never had taken the next step of ordering one. So, for a present, I went to a local adult store and bought her a vibrator. I saw lots of different shapes and sizes, from small pocket rockets to giant double-dildos. Since neither of us really knew where to start, I decided on the most basic, a smooth plastic torpedo-shaded vibrator. It took 2 AA batteries. A twist of the handle controlled the speed. It was pretty loud, actually. 

I took it home and gave it to Rachel. She eagerly wanted to try it. She laid back on her bed, naked. Soon she was lost in her own world. I took a photo to capture the moment. 

She loved her torpedo vibe, but in time we added to the collection: a jelly butt-plug, anal beads, nipple clamps, and eventually a better vibrator, larger, quieter, and more powerful, shaped like a cock, with textured bumps and nub to stimulate her clit. After a while, the original toy didn't get much time out of the shoebox we kept under the bed, but we kept it, because it was our first.

Sometimes firsts really are special. 

Panayiotis Lamprou: the casual power of an intimate portrait

This is a reposting of an article originally written by Sean O'Hagan for the Guardian. It is one of the most thoughtful and thought-provoking articles we have ever read. Our sincere appreciation to Mr. O'Hagan for his work and we hope by helping the dissemination of this work, the conversation is carried to wider circles, resulting in deeper and more meaningful conversations around this topic.

Lamprou's Portrait of My British Wife – on the shortlist for this year's Taylor Wessing photographic portrait prize – is a private moment made public. But when does art become voyeurism?

• Sean O'Hagan
• guardian.co.uk, Friday 17 September 2010

Photographers have taken explicit photographs since the invention of the form. It is still a surprise, though, to see Panayiotis Lamprou's image, Portrait of My British Wife, on the shortlist of this year's Taylor Wessing photographic portrait prize. It is, as the Guardian's arts correspondent, Mark Brown, put it (perhaps understating the case somewhat), "arresting because of its intimacy". It begs the vexed question, when does art become voyeurism or, indeed, pornography?

Lamprou photographed his wife sitting outside their summerhouse on the Aegean island of Schinousa. She has just finished eating an omelette and the dirty pan sits on table at her elbow. She is staring at the camera with a gaze that is difficult to read, wearing a short dress – or long T-shirt – and nothing underneath. Her legs are apart and her vagina is visible beneath the skirt. There is something both coy and provocative about the portrait, which, according to the photographer, was not originally intended for public display. (What changed his – and her – mind?) It will be interesting to see how the National Portrait Gallerydisplays the image when they exhibit it in a show of 60 of the submitted portraits in November.

Detail from Jeffrey Stockbridge's photograph of twins Tic Tac and Tootsie Photograph: National Portrait Gallery/PA

Undoubtedly many visitors to the gallery will find the image shocking, even offensive. Ironically, its tone of languor and intimacy sets it apart from the other three shortlisted portraits, all of which are provocative in different ways. Indeed, both Jeffrey Stockbridge's portrait of Tic Tac and Tootsie, twin sisters who have turned to prostitution on the streets of Philadelphia to fund their drug addictions, and Abbie Trayley-Smith's portrait of a young girl at a charity for obese children, could be considered more voyeuristic and exploitative.

Lamprou's portrait, though, cannot use the defence of social documentary or reportage. It is a private, intimate moment made public and, however consensual the contract between photographer and subject – and husband and wife - much of its arresting power lies in this uneasy dynamic. Do we, as viewers of what was originally an intensely private exchange, become voyeurs?

Lamprou's intimately explicit portrait is a very different kind of photograph than, say, the formally driven Teutonic female nudes of Helmet Newton, the hardcore imagery of Robert Mapplethorpe or the garish art-porn of Araki. Neither does it fit into the fashion-porn genre indulged in by the likes of Terry Richardson. Again, it is the intimacy of the setting – and the fracturing of that intimacy – that sets it apart and may even, for some viewers, make it even more problematic.

In both its explicitness and its blurring of the boundary between the private and the public, Lamprou's portrait calls to mind the taboo-breaking work of the young American photographer, Leigh Ledare. His book, Pretend You're Actually Alive, is a visual and written portrait of his mother, an erstwhile exotic dancer, who is both a narcissist and an exhibitionist. Over the years, he has photographed her in various explicit poses, both alone and with a succession of younger lovers, and the titles alone - Mom Spread With Lamp (2000) – give some indication of the content.

When Nan Goldin included Ledare's work in her selection for theRencontres d'Arles Festival, last year, it caused considerable debate among visitors, many of whom found it either offensive or disturbing. (Ledare, for the record, is a charming, well-balanced individual, and the book does work, in an albeit disturbing way, as a fractured chronicle of a thankfully singular strain family dysfunction.) It does beg the – now quaintly old-fashioned – question, are some things better left to the imagination than the camera? Or, more pertinently, the gallery wall?

Interestingly, too, it is nearly always women who are the object of the camera's gaze in these provocative photographs. (Mapplethorpe, a gay man, and Richardson, a self-confessed exhibitionist, both turned the camera on themselves, but they are the exceptions.) Would, one wonders, a full-frontal photograph of a relaxed, sun-dappled Lamprou taken by his wife be as arresting or provocative?

A photograph by David Chancellor of a 14-year-old American girl hunting in South Africa. Photograph: National Portrait Gallery/PA

What strikes me most about Lamprou's portrait – apart, of course, from its explicitness – is its apparent casualness. It has none of the heightened formal power of David Chancellor's portrait of a 14-year-old girl astride her horse with a dead impala. Instead, it looks, at first glance, like a holiday snap – but that, too, is part of its odd, and confusing, power. The dirty pan, the cluttered table, and the blurred chair in the foreground are all familiar signifiers of that certain feeling of relaxed torpor that descends on us when we settle in to a holiday. It's just that the eye is drawn elsewhere; we are given licence to look, to linger, to transgress the boundary between the accepted and the forbidden – at a cost, perhaps, to all of us, the photographer, the subject and the viewer … and to our ever-shrinking imaginations.

Fernly, Nevada

My last year of college, my girlfriend Jennifer and I had flown up to Oregon for the Chirstmas holiday, where I bought a pickup to drive back to college to have for the last semester of senior year and to use to move. We wanted to make a road trip of it, so on New Years day, we set out in the new truck. 

We drove south over the Siskiyou Pass and down into Northern California. We then turned East, to climb over the Sierras into Nevada. On the pass, we were caught in a huge snow blizard. It was literally a white out. Cars and trucks were spinning and fishtailing, and sliding into each other. It was truly terrifying. Even with the windshield wipers going full speed, all we could see was a  pelting sheet of snow, and the blur of taillights. We pulled off the highway at the first exit we could. 

The two main hotels by the off ramp were already sold out from other drivers like us trying to wait out the storm. Luckily, we found a room in a small motel. It was one of those places that sort of smelled like mildew and had rough skratchy towels and a lumpy bed. But for us, it felt like we'd completely lucked out. As the storm dumped snow outside and trucks and cars continued to swerve and collide on the highway, we kicked back, grateful to be safe, and warm, and with each other. 

Sharing on New Years Eve

They decided New Year's would be more fun if they shared the cost of a fancy hotel suite. They checked in and hung out, then hit the city--a nice dinner and movie and then returned to the hotel. They each retreated to their respective rooms for bed. Each couple had sex on the mind, and knew it'd be a great night. Then, John and Amy heard a knock on their door. It was Scott and Kelli with a bottle of chilled wine. They'd started getting ready for bed, too, but decided it'd be more fun to share.

What they saw in their motel room

It was one of those small motels along the highway. There were two beds, a dresser, a night stand, a lamp and a mirror. They took the mirror off the wall and propped it against one bed so they could see themselves from the other bed.

Vegas

So she was in Vegas. She'd come to party, and party she did, still had VIP ribbons on her wrists from clubs and after parties. The pool was a cool place to hang out, soak up some sun and rest. She'd untied her bikini straps for tanning, and she turned to look up, her bikini slipped a little. She didn't care. She was in Vegas.

BFFs on vacation

Now What?

So, you've checked into the budget motel. She's topless, and in cuffs. Her smile says: now what?

Put A Ring On it

Some women are the marrying kind and if you let them slip away, you'll be sorry. Here's a little advise from our friend Beyonce: 

Cause if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it
If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it
Don't be mad once you see that he want it
If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it

The Devil Wears Nada

In "The Devil Wears Nada", Marge Simpson once again sheds off her clothes for the camera.  After drinking a couple too many wines at a charity calendar photo shoot, Marge Simpson poses provocatively for an European photographer.

The intent of the Charity Chicks calendar was to raise money for a fundraiser headed by Marge and her friends.  Originally, the calendar was supposed to feature each one of Marge and her friends, including Luann Van Houten (Milhouse' mom).  But Marge's drunken sexy poses end up being in every single month of the calendar.

A classic line from the episode: 

Comic book guy:  Here comes the woman who made February the hottest month of the year.

Snow Blow

A quick blowjob in the snow is always warming of the spirits.

Merry Christmas!

Bettie Page, 1955

He's knows if you've been bad or good...

Two questions: first, is Santa copping a feel? And secondly, is that a vibrator he left for her under the tree? 

(I guess he really does know who's been nice and who's been naughty.)

Deck the Halls

Deck the halls with bows of holy, trim the tree, and such...
really brings in the holiday spirit.

Winter Wonderland!

Back in the Day

Yay Skiing!

Room 223

The hotel had cable. He thought maybe he could relax a little after all the traveling. She had other ideas.

Many Parts

Colorado Cowgirl

It doesn't get any sexier than this. 

Wet

The Gift

She learned that taking him in her mouth hard and fast and sucking him until he came and looking up at him and opening her mouth to show the gift he'd given her, was the gift she gave him.

Couldn't be that long ago?

Pulling photos from the past. Was it really that long ago? Seems like only a few years ago. Was it really a decade, no...more... 15 years... hard to believe. Before email. Before cel phones. Before wi-fi and facebook and digital cameras. The 1990s. It didn't seem like old history when we were that age, early 20s. We knew technology was becoming more and more part of our lives. We had no idea, though, how quickly and how much all of that would change.

We were both so young, but felt so old. So mature. Like we had it all figured out and everything was in front of us. 

I wonder how she is now. Married, with kids. I can find out everything on Facebook. Back then goodbye seemed like goodbye. Now it's all coming back. 

Same Room

We finally got up the nerve to put an ad on Craigslist for MW4MW. We had never done any swinging before, so we decided to take it slow and post for same room. I was 34 and she 28. The couple we met were probably 10 years older than us. Very social a pretty good looking. They'd been swinging for years. They promised to take things at out own pace. 

We agreed to meet for drinks, and then afterwards, the couple got a motel room and invited us in to relax. They suggested we'd all be more comfortable if we just took off our clothes and hung out. So we did. We were both super nervous. But the new couple, let's call them Carter and Carol, made us more at ease. Carter had a large cock. He had it totally shaved. It sort of instantly turned me off. Carol and he definitely looked to be "in the lifestyle."

Carol suggested we just take is slow and easy and maybe the women could just suck each of their husband's cocks, as she said this, she kneeled down in front of Carter and took him in her mouth. My wife followed suit.  Soon Carter and I were both hard and getting our cocks sucked by our wives. Carter's already thick member seemed to get even bigger. My wife wasn't as experienced at giving head as Carol, it was obvious, but she was enjoying it and into what she was doing. I couldn't help but watch Carol expertly maneuver her mouth on Carter. It was like watching a porn movie close up, and perfectly clear and with real live sound right in front of me of every slurp and gulp. She was giving it to Carter so hard and sure, that I could tell he was about to shoot his load. I felt my own body respond, and began to tense. Carter clenched and thrusts his hips forward as cum gushed from his cock and Carol swallowed. At that moment, I shot my load into my wife's eager mouth.

After that we cleaned up, got dressed, and said our goodbyes. We wanted to have a little test of what it was like, and we'd gotten just that. We told Carter and Carol we'd keep their number and maybe give them a ring sometime. On the car ride home, I was quiet as I drove, wondering what my wife had thought of the whole experience. She'd put her seat back, perhaps to rest. Then at a stop light, I glanced over and noticed that she wasn't sleeping, but that she'd slipped a hand into her pants. I didn't say anything and pretended I hadn't seen. I wanted her to have her moment. It was clear that she was rubbing herself. She continued as we drove, bringing herself to a shuttering orgasm a few blocks from our house.

As we pulled up in the drive, I already knew that Carter and Carol had sent an email thanking us for a nice time. And I knew next friday, we'd be seeing them again.

College Dorm Room, Cira 2002

Brush, Camera, Mirror

Ice, Ice, Baby

Unfinished Music, Two Virgins

In October, 1968, John Lennon and Yoko Ono released, “Unfinished Music No.1: Two Virgins.”

Staying up all night at John’s home studio in Kenwood, John and Yoko created the music by recording tape loops of John on different instruments (piano, organ, drums) and sound effects (including reverb, delay and distortion). Yoko ad-libs in response to the sounds. At the end of the session, the story goes, they made love.

The title came, John said, from feeling like they were "two innocents, lost in a world gone mad."

John and Yoko used a camera with a self-timer to take the nude photographs of themselves for the album's cover; the front showed them standing naked facing the camera, the back cover showed them from behind. (The photos were taken at Ringo Starr's basement apartment at Montagu Square, where Lennon and Ono stayed later that year.)

Paul McCartney provided a note on the album cover, which read: "When two great Saints meet, it is a humbling experience. The long battles to prove he was a Saint."

The cover provoked an outrage, prompting distributors to sell the album in a plain brown wrapper. Copies of the album were impounded as obscene in several jurisdictions (including 30,000 copies in New Jersey). John commented that the uproar seemed to have less to do with the explicit nudity, and more to do with the fact that the two of them were rather unattractive and the photo unflattering; Lennon described it later as a picture of "two slightly overweight ex-junkies."

John Lennon and Yoko, you are my heroes. You bared it all for each other and your art. Thank you.

We miss you John. 

Graduating Class

I wish this was my graduating class.

Forget Me Not

On Vacation

Hanging Out

Elegance and Grace

View of Two

This has got to be about the sexiest point of view a guy could possibly hope for. Every part tells a story.

Flower Power!

Perhaps where the original term flower power came from.

Bikini Malfunction

She seemed to be having a hard time keeping her bikini in place.