Category Archives: On The Scene

I was there when the shit went down. Saw it all. Left before the cops showed up.

Bootyography: Wet T-Shirts Are To Dudes As Rainbows & Unicorns Are To Six Year-Old Girls


It was just another random afternoon on the beach during Spring Break. I wandered aimlessly from bikini to bikini, wondering how I would close out a day of leering and dodging restraining orders. Slowly, the sky grew overcast and the temperature dropped, so naturally, it was time to whip out the hose and soak some hooters.

PCB03-18 1247 "Dear Diary: Danced in contest today. I think they really liked my glasses!"

I’m sorry. That was cheap, childish phrasing. I should be ashamed of myself.

PCB03-18 1252 Petite and damp: a wonderful combination!

I don’t know why we, as a society, must undermine the power and majesty of the female breast through the use of ridiculous euphemism.

PCB03-18 1266 "Wait, did you say the water would be col-- AAAAAAAH!!!"

Is it not enough that our noble sisters and their secondary sex characteristics must endure the daily affrontery of straps and underwires and whatever the hell an IPEX is?

PCB03-18 1281 "Piercings for everyone!"

Do these marvels of natural engineering truly need a bra to elicit wonder?

PCB03-18 1301 Workin' it like a pornstar

Even worse, I can’t help but suspect that our tawdry trivializations may, in some fashion, lead to bigger –possibly even enormous– issues in the future.

PCB03-18 1292 "That guy over there won't stop staring at me!"

All I can do is look at the smiling face below, that of the misguided contest’s “winner”, and shake my head in disconsolate shame. For I, a self-centered, awful little man, have failed her and everyone like her. In seeking to celebrate, I have mocked. With my lascivious gaze and careless words, I have tarnished her gentle form.

PCB03-18 1310 Cute as a button... with big knockers.

PCB03-18 1313 The dude in the back looks like he's seeing god. Or at least god's ass.

PCB03-18 1315 The winning ingredients

Oh, hey, wait… nipple slip!

PCB03-18 1317 Sweetie, it might be a bit late for modesty...

I’m going to hell, aren’t I?

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Yep, pretty much.

Bootyography: The Ass: A Retrospective

Closeup of girl's ass in a striped bikini, taken at Panama City Beach, Florida during Spring Break 2003

serendipity: (noun) what you get when you’re trying to take a picture of a hot girl and an even hotter girl sticks her ass in the lens

back dimples on a girl in a black bikini bottom Panama City Beach, Florida during Spring Break 2003

It’s pretty amazing, the way tastes evolve. Ten years ago, if you had asked me to name two highly attractive parts of a woman’s body, I wouldn’t have included “abdomen” or “lower back” in the list. Now I’m fascinated by both. Apparently, the lesson is: “work it out, show it off, and it will eventually become ‘hot’”.

woman in white swimsuit gets her butt spanked by a guy during Spring Break in PCB

a perfect bottom
energetically spanked
gets a drunk dude slapped

a chick's small bottom in black boyshorts in Florida during SB2003

Boyshorts are the best thing that ever happened to girls with tiny butts. And the guys who love them, of course.

Gratuitous Spring Break: Skinny Britney & Friend (Part the First)


Confession time. I like pretty girls. I hide it well, but every now and again, a little hint will slip out.

Yeah, I know, the thought-provoking journalism to which you’ve become accustomed around here couldn’t prepare you for this. I feel bad about that, but I have to be true to myself, even if “myself” isn’t always pretty.[1] So here I’m going to present the first installment of my personal experiments in recreational sexological photographism.

I have no idea what their names are; I just call the taller one Skinny Britney, and her little accomplice gets stuck with the nom de bikini Skinny Britney’s Friend. They were both contestants at Club La Vela in Panama City Beach, FL, shaking their shit for a couple hundred bucks and the honor of being the primary objects of my day’s lust. [2]

I sincerely believe SB may be the single most self-confident human being I have ever observed. Completely relaxed while wearing nearly nothin', laughing one moment and turning on the sexxay the next. Amazing.

I sincerely believe SB may be the single most self-confident human being I have ever observed. Completely relaxed while wearing nearly nothin', laughing one moment and turning on the sexxay the next. Amazing.

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I love SBF's expression as they both field invitations from boys in the pool below. She actually manages to pull off the "oh, poor baby, I'm afraid not" face with some conviction.

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I'm not sure, but I think he was offering his fisting services. For which dude receives my respect... I mean, as random, drunken flirting goes, requesting to reserve space for your forearm in someone's baby bungalow is awfully ambitious.

More to come of these two (including a little video), and lots more… but for now, here’s a gallery.


[1] “Pretty,” no. A “studly mass of panty-dampening penis power”? You betcher ass, baby.

[2] Said honor being reserved for those lucky individuals who meet my stringent criteria. To wit: female, in my line of sight, and not running away in terror.

Adventures In Elevation

For our recent return to Panama City Beach for another Hip Kitty shoot, we decided to get a place at Gulfcrest Condominiums. The room was big, comfortably furnished, and had an awesome view.

However, before I could actually reach that view, I had to unload the truck. The three ladies in my company decided to carry a few incidental bags upstairs, while I grabbed a luggage cart and began loading up the heavy stuff.

Given that the temperature was 100+ degrees in PCB that day, I wasn’t in a spectacular mood. Sweating like a pig, I worked our bags out of the Avalanche’s bed, locked it back up, and began to make my way out of the parking garage.

Now, as anyone who knows me is aware, I don’t see that well. So I’m often disoriented in strange places, particularly when I’m hot and irritable. So I made a bee-line for the nearest elevator, rolled everything inside, and punched the button for the top floor.

Somewhere around this time, it dawned on me that this elevator only served four floors, that our room was in fact on the seventh, and that the condo building as a whole was easily in the twenties. Realizing that I was now simply on my way to the top of the parking garage, I slapped myself in the head, punched “1″, and waited for the car to return to the ground floor.

Only it didn’t. It went to the fourth floor and paused, without the door opening. I figured, “Well, okay, it’s just gonna take me straight back down. How handy.” I was a little curious when it took at least two full minutes for the car to begin moving again, but I was in no particular hurry.

Then we hit the third floor, and stopped again. The door remained closed. All was silent. I stood there for five minutes, and finally accepted that something was awry. Being a typical moron when faced with alarming mechanical events, I punched buttons randomly to see what would happen. Nothing, as it turned out.

“Okay, so you’re now a statistic. You’re stuck in an elevator for the first time. How urban,” I thought. I calmly pressed the alert buzzer a couple times, listening as the call echoed throughout the complex. Much to my increasing displeasure, there was no response. And I began to notice, it was getting really hot in that fucking metal box.

Having allowed ten minutes or so to pass, I muttered something like “Shitgoddamnmotherfucker” under my breath and decided to call for serious help. I punched the emergency services button, and waited patiently as the elevator dialed some unknown number. Being rescued was going to be incredibly embarrassing, but I was really in no mood to cook in my own juices.

“Hello?” came a voice from the speaker.

“Hi. I’m stuck in an elevator at the Gulfcrest,” I responded.


I leaned down, putting my head in the general vicinity of the speaker box. “I’m stuck in an elevator at the Gulfcrest!”

“Is anyone there?”

I resisted the urge to reply, “No, I’m just calling you to liven up my motherfucking afternoon” and once again gave him my location and predicament.

“Well, okay, have a nice day…” Click.

At this point, I began to worry.

I pounded on the door with my fist a few times, but that did little more than leave sweat stains. I returned once again to the buzzer, leaning on it mercilessly. If nothing else, I figured I could save myself by annoying someone enough.

But wait! I suddenly remembered the cellphone in my pocket. Saved! I fished it out, turned it on… and saw that I had one tiny signal bar, and my battery was at the lowest possible level. Sheesh.

Okay, not a complete disaster. Some signal and power is better than none. I decided to call my wife’s phone, and was silently thrilled when it began to ring. And audibly crushed when it went to voicemail.

“Please stop and listen to this entire messsage. I am currently out of the office…” Oh crap. Her outgoing vacation message. All three hours of it!

Squinting at the sliver of pixels left in the Treo’s power meter, I desperately pushed “1″ on the keypad to skip her notoriously detailed instructions. No joy. She just kept on talking until the battery dropped enough to kill the signal. Call disconnected, game over.

By now, I’d been in this makeshift sauna for over thirty minutes, and was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I’d pass out in another thirty or so. I resumed beating on the door with great enthusiasm, to no apparent avail.

Fortunately, I’m not one for panic. I began beating out a Morse code SOS on the buzzer, in the vague hope that someone in such a large building would be able to recognize it. As it turns out, that person was my lovely wife, who had been searching for me with the aid of our friend Danika. She began tracking the sound of the signal, which led her to the garage.

Right around that time, someone else heard my periodic drumming on the elevator door, and sent her husband to find a condo employee. She shouted at me through the door, kinda surprising me a bit.

“You can keep buzzing if you want to, but we hear you and my husband is getting help!”

I slumped against the door in relief and replied, “Thank you! I didn’t know anyone could hear me!”

Within a few minutes, I was released, and reunited with my worried bride and friend. Not that anyone wanted to hug me or anything, because I looked like I had just taken a dip in the pool… it was pretty frickin’ nasty.

So that was my adventure, such as it was. And the moral of this story? Make the chicks carry their own damned bags next time.

Gratuitous Spring Break: Dudes On Display

The opening contest of the day was for male hardbodies, which took a while to get underway. The key problem in these things is getting guys to participate, given the unspoken understanding of all involved that it’s just a pro forma act of affirmation to make things seem a touch more palatable to the sensitivities of the sensitive.

Male Hardbody 438

Male Hardbody Contest 454

Boobs 418

Naturally, the clever hunters at La Vela know how to snare their afternoon’s worth of exhibitionistic gentlemen… all ya need is the right bait.

PCB2006-03-18 432

As the trap was set, so was it sprung, capturing hardy souls such as this and compelling them to demonstrate the full extent of their funk.

Male Hardbody 451

There was a rumor going around that this was a wardrobe malfunction, rather than a disgusting and perverse display of man-nipple. Whatever the truth, I’m calling the FCC. Or Congress. Or Pizza Hut… I get hungry when I’m self-righteously inflamed.

Male Hardbody 478

I thought for a moment that the assembled ladies would run in fear at the sight of this fellow, what with his horribly disfigured body. The pitiable young man seemed to suffer from elephantitus pectoralis or some other form of illness that caused all those unsightly bulges. Poor bastard. Good for him, though, getting out and trying to live a normal life!

Male Hardbody 480

Here, a participant seeks to explain some sort of complex agricultural concept to the audience. I couldn’t make out all of it, but I believe it had to do with poultry or horses or something. I’m sure he mentioned something about “driving fence posts”, if that makes any sense.

Male hardbody 469

“And when my mommy was carrying me in her tummy, it was this big!”

Overall, it was a hard-fought battle. But among La Vela hardbodies as among Highlanders, there can be only one. They called him Tripod, perhaps alluding to his major in photojournalism. He wasn’t the most formidable individual, nor were his features chiseled from the stones of Mt. Olympus… yet he stole both the ladies’ hearts and the day with his charm, wit, and low-to-the-ground aerodynamics.

Male Hardbody 473

Well, that and whatever it is he was showing them right here.

CSI: Panama City Beach

This is a tale of sex, sun, and forensic photography.

For those of you not-so-well-versed in the realms of adult entertainment (not that *I* am, of course), there’s this porn star named Gauge. According to her Wikipedia entry, she had a fairly busy career from 2002-05 before semi-retiring to her home state of Arkansas. That’s where I’m from, so I know these things. I’m all about the homegirls, see.

Don’t look at me like that.

Anyway, folks from Arkansas and Alabama were dominating the beach scene from Saturday through Friday. And as I sat there poolside, snapping photos, I could swear that one girl looked awfully familiar. Not familiar in the sense that I’ve seen her work. No, no, no. The other kind of familiar, the kind that doesn’t make me look like a perv.

Things got interesting when she and her girlfriends trotted up to the stage for an impromptu dancefest, announcing that they were from Arkansas. Say what now? I filed this info away, and upon returning home, developed a theory that this young woman:

PCB2006-03-18 393

…was this young woman:


For about fifteen minutes, I thought I might have stumbled across a semi-celebrity sighting, entirely by accident.

PCB2006-03-18 516
PCB2006-03-18 512

Unfortunately (?), upon reviewing Gauge’s Wikipedia entry, I noted a discrepancy. The La Vela girl was tattoo-free on the small of her back, unlike the early retiree in question. So either I was witness to the results of some fantastic laser-tatt-removal surgery, or it was all in my head.

PCB2006-03-18 511

Now, a lesser man would look at this situation and declare himself a dumbass. Not I. Instead, I opt to view this as a mystery solved, a conundrum explored. The fact that I created said mysterious conundrum is wholly incidental and irrelevant.

Falling In Love With A Stranger

Our eyes met across a crowded pool, and there was magic in the air. Well, technically, I’m not sure our eyes met as much as bumped into each other, muttered a quick “excuse me”, and moved on. And the “magic in the air” may have just been the scent of suntan lotion mixed with Axe body spray and beer belches… but this is my memory, and I’ll cherish it as I please.

Her smile was a radiant thing, an incandescent display of lips and teeth that could burn the shadows from the darkest corners of a really dark place. A bolt of lightning that made the air around her crackle like a Doritos package in a quiet library.

PCB2006-03-18 145

She moved her body with serpentine grace, her hips and shoulders seeming to operate independent of her other interesting bits. Her movements transcended the relative cacophony of the speaker system to write a music of their own, a sensual symphony complete with Parental Advisory sticker.

PCB2006-03-18 205

PCB2006-03-18 224

Oh, and she had a sweet, sweet ass. Seriously, look at the thing. Damn.

White Bikini 382

Alas, our moment was never meant to be more that that. We parted without the barbarity of words to trample the gentle field of our grace-borne passion, instead choosing to preserve this sliver of eternity in the frame of a camera’s quiet gaze.

Farewell, my precious. My dove.

PCB2006-03-18 245

(This entry brought to you by the James Blunt School of Obsessive Hyper-Romanticism.)