When you're having sex, you want to be in your body, not your head. But that's not always an easy feat.
They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but a thousand words are priceless.
I'll be honest with you—I used to be really afraid of eye contact during sex.
Making out has long emanated a certain kind of desperation, a very specific sort of voracity that aches.
There are a lot of things I like about being high, but there's one that strikes me as the most poetic in retrospect.
The vibration in her back pocket came suddenly, and she understood it's significance almost as an afterthought; at first, it was nothing but a pleasant zing, something pulsating between her ass and the groin of the guy pushing his cock against her in rhythm with the music.
If you’ve ever had to take a trip to the ER (and who hasn’t?), have you ever wondered if someone else waiting had a foreign object stuck in their butts? Odds are, someone probably did, but you might be surprised what kind of object it was.
Eccentric billionaire malcontent Richard Branson's Virgin Atlantic airline is known for being unconventional, like their advertising campaign boasting that their in-seat televisions are "9 Inches of Pleasure." It should come as no surprise, then, to learn that there was a time when their whole fleet was basically Caligula with wings.
In the age of instant gratification, it's become increasingly difficult for erotica to stimulate us. It's no doubt a result of the trash masquerading as erotica (I'm looking right at you "Snowqueens Icedragon"), but there was a time when the published word was infinitely more scandalous than the pornography we're overloaded with today.
Friends of Fleshbot