Thursday, October 19, 2017

Female Orgasm and How Biology is a Jerk

O, cruel biology
This is a rerun.*  Do not be alarmed. 

So I was going through your responses to the questions about clit-vag distance and its relation/non-relation to your propensity to come via straight-on intercourse alone (Woo! Sexy talk. Is it hot in here?) and now I am just...depressed. Or possibly pissed off. At the very least, I am most certainly miffed.

Why? Because of those among you who can have an orgasm--like no problem--with no other kind of hand stimulation, mouth assistance, divine intervention--nothing. Practically all the time.

For example, in response to "Do you come easily, sometimes or never via intercourse alone?" Anonymous commented:

"rather easily and usually multiple times"

And Naomi bragged answered:

"always come easily, no fingers or appliances needed (or even wanted, too distracting from the main event)"

For me, coming from just fucking alone has happened--maybe--five times. In my life. And that's rounding up.

It's biological tyranny, I say.

For men and the rare lucky chick who just needs a little in-and-out to come "rather easily and usually multiple times," let me explain. I think porn and romance novels and the in-and-out chicks have skewed what we think is a "normal" sexual response. Despite what we see and read all the damn time, the majority of women need some sort of extra stimulation to have an orgasm. The vast majority of women. That's just how it is.

Several men and women, who I consider to be generally enlightened, have mentioned variations of "it just takes the right man"--which is, I think, only true to a certain extent. Yes, some men are much better lovers. Yes, some men's parts are more compatible with your own. And yes, some men will get you so hot you could practically come from their gaze. All of these are good and can help.

However, in most women, the clit is where things are happening. But in a cruel twist of nature, Today's Generally Accepted Fuck Moves are happening in the vagina, which is annoyingly close to the clit, but...not...quite...there. Men, picture if your main sensory pleasure center was, say, on your perineum but you were expected to get to your bliss via regular old boning. You could get close. Your balls might rub against there occasionally, or you might figure out some crazy-ass position that sort of almost did the trick. But it wouldn't the kind of direct you-are-there-stimulation you'd need.

This is not to say that most women don't like pure fucking because we do. We definitely definitely do. And not just gentle soul-lock lovemaking--sometimes the hard and fast porny fuck pounding, too.

Wrote JS: I like the fuck pounding even if it doesn't "get me there." This is what I crave during sex, a certain amount of roughness or hard thrusting. The soft stuff and touching is great also, but I can do that on my own. I can't fuck myself hard.

Added Anon: Oh, hell yes!! But I don't come like this. Just enjoy it for the raw intensity and squishy noises. :)

I was feeling embittered by this and started wondering if I were a bad lay. After all, would you rather fuck someone who came "rather easily and usually multiple times" (sorry, I'm obsessed with this) or someone who was going to need a hand, and not in a metaphoric sense? I mean I can see that there's a certain hotness in being able to control a woman's orgasm with your touch or to be able to watch her as she brings herself to that place, but damn, I was still a little jealous.

Luckily Trisha, who's making a completely cool sounding movie about female sexual response called Science Sex and the Ladies [update:  She made it!] calmed my ass down over at Reddit:

Agreed, it does make you feel high-maintenance and frustrated sometimes, but I say we think of these "in and out" orgasmers in a different way; as a really small minority - like the 1% billionaires. They're loud and influential, and the culture seems to be shaped around their needs, but it shouldn't be. The vast majority of us, and probably a lot more than we'd think, are in the same boat. We just need to start shaping the culture more around our majority situation; then we wouldn't have to feel so frustrated for no reason. Let's rise up Grinders and Manual Stimulators!! :)

While I head to my workshop to make signs for a Grinders and Manual Stimulators rally, here's a bit more from Trisha:

Masters and Johnson found and recorded physiological evidence of some women who orgasmed from penetration alone, but hypothesized it was a Rube-Goldberg situation where the penis pulled on the inner lips which pulled on the clitoral hood, which rubbed against the clitoris. These orgasms were just like the ones they recorded from more direct clit stimulation, but were the weakest orgasms they recorded - not surprising since it was the most indirect way to stimulate the clit. They didn't find any anatomical characteristics that predicted the ability to have orgasms this way.

Not only do I very much like the Rube Goldberg reference tossed into a discussion of fuckery, but this idea of the weaker orgasm is interesting to me.

I asked a friend if she could come via straight ol' p-in-v (Yes, my social skills could use a little refinement. Thanks for noticing!) and she said, "Sure. Sometimes." When she saw my face darken with envy, she added kindly, "But they aren't as good as the ones I get when I masturbate."

I come away (not via vaginal intercourse, as you now know) even more confused. Are women's orgasms via sex generally weaker than via external stimulation? Are men a little bummed out when they get a woman who requires more work? Shouldn't our high-maintenance ancestors been edged out through evolution--how are we the majority? And how fucking unfair is it that most of us get what might be seen as a pretty major genetic rip off?

I'm also having new admiration for straight men, gay chicks and other lovers of women. I know every new lover is a different country to discover and all that, but seeing the huge variations in what women want, like and require made me realize just how hard it would be to fuck a woman well. The focus-on-the-clit move that would be meltingly blissful to one would be way too intense for another. Men are different from each other too, of course, but it doesn't seem like the differences between them are quite as extreme.

What do we do with all this? Well, we keep talking about it and how female sexuality actually works instead of how we think it should probably work. Just fucking do it. If not for you, then for your sisters, so that we may all go forth and fuck freely and well as nature intended.

xoxo
jill

*Why am I running this again? Because just the other day a grown man, a perfectly smart and earnest one, told me that his new girlfriend probably had a biological issue because she couldn't come via his his smart and earnest thrusting.

photo: Etude de nu 1950 by Raymond Van Doonen

Friday, October 13, 2017

Contest Results, Butt Smackery and Reasons Not to Marry a Vibrator

Contest Results! If you ever get a shit-ton of vibrators in the mail, I highly recommend that you give 80% away, like a fucked up version of tithing.

It's even better if you force everyone to compliment you first, as Donald Trump does with his Cabinet members. (See also: What's Your Favorite Post?--A New Contest)

For my act of sexual servitude, I'll be mailing out 8 embarrassing packages to the contest winners* with which they can do unspeakably filthy things. And....if the other versions of Doc Johnson's iVibe Select line are anything like the two I tried, they are gonna lose their fucking minds.

As you know because I lack a filter, I was madly in love with the iCome model just last week but then I tried the iRock one and--holy shit!--I have never fucked such a glorious thing in my life. (I don't get any kickbacks or anything, I'm just telling you as a fellow traveler.)

So epic was it (I'm telling you--the shit was good. Like g-spot heroin) that it made me revisit the question of why do we deal with the messiness of another when a slutty slutty machine can do such an incredible job, at least in evoking a purely biological set of responses.

Are we not men?
Reader J sent an perfectly-timed email reminding me about the sublime pleasures of human connection and why I am not (yet) packing my bags to go off and live with my iRock where we would have fruit trees, a writer's studio/guest house by the pool and lots of beautiful fucking.

J was nominating Why We Fuck for the "favorite post" question I'd asked, writing, "You get a whole person to yourself" Oh wow! Yes! And it is an awesome, humbling thing. As an atheist, I cannot ascribe any preordained meaning to the world. We create it from our actions. And we are essentially alone, struggling to make sense of the world and find that meaning. When you join with someone else, when you lose yourself in them, for a brief or long while, it overcomes our aloneness, and creates purpose. It is the most life affirming experience possible.

For the record, he also nominated The Blow Job as Path to the Divine ("Such a hot, sexy and thoughtful, meditation on what can make this a transcendent pleasure.") And, with that, J brought it all back into perspective. I mean, I could, I guess, give a blow job to the iRock but it would be unrewarding for both of us and lack the whole making sense of our essential aloneness aspect.

There is such a deep primal pleasure--equally sacred and profane--in going into that sexual space with another. The literal and metaphorical nakedness, the intimacy of tasting them, hearing them moan as they lose themselves in it and leaving with their scent still clinging to you. That alone is so heady and rich and nearly overwhelming that the machine-powered orgasms can scarcely compare. At least in the mental/spiritual aspect of it all.

Anais Nin wrote of Henry Miller "...with all the tremendous joys Henry has given me I have not yet felt a real orgasm. My response does not seem to lead to a true climax but is disseminated in a spasm that is less centered, more diffuse." Theirs was one of the most torrid affairs ever recorded.  Did Nin's weak-ass orgasm-like spasms render it less so? I would actually say No. I think. You?

Anyway to J and the rest of you, thanks. I absolutely love hearing how it is from your end.**

Slap That Ass
Meanwhile, a guy named Segun Odogwu in Nigeria re-runs my Cosmo sex position articles, but adds his own flourishes/personal translations which I find oddly charming. Here's how he interpreted one on butt-focused positions which he calls I Love That Booty! Issa Booty Call!:  

"If you love the booty, then get behind it in, push the panties to the side, then let your partner go to town worshiping that ass either with his mouth, let him/she slob their tongue all over that pussy, the clitoris, everywhere down there."

On another he added his own little tip: 

Depending on if she likes spanks, this position can allow you spank her ass or you can start beating them to make percussion if you like. 

So please make these edits in your butt-focused fuckery:
1. slob your tongue everywhere down there.
2. if you find a booty in your face, play a little drum solo.

xoxo
jill

 *Hey mystery Heather, you won too!  Msg me your contact info! 
**With a few very notably icky exceptions. Probably not you.

PS Nice things to do:
--Go vote for IBWMW for Kinkly's Sex Blogging Superheroes list. Super easy. 
--Donate here to help cover postage costs, extra pixels and the coffee I'll require to get over the ordeal of having to declare to the mail clerk that I'm sending a big-ass dildo to a nice woman I don't know in Sweden:

Image: Pervy Oprah by reader Brad, who is good like that.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

What's Your Favorite Post? A New Contest!

What could it be?
Remember this super non-mysteriously packaged big-ass box that made my long-suffering UPS driver run away?

Well, I finally opened it and--holy fuck!--I am rich in vibrators! They're from the lovely Erica Braverman who, as you may have figured out, works at Doc Johnson--home of my favorite factory tour ever (beating out the Winston-Salem cigarette factory and the Stroh's Brewery tours of my childhood--um, it was a different time, I guess...)

My new vibrator army is from Doc's i-Vibe Select line. They're like five vibrator Superfriends, each with its own superpower like getting warm, rolling around enticingly, or doing some sort of magic "come hither' motion inside.

Erica sent me ten of these (literal) fuckers and I will share some of them with you because I am semi-generous.

I gave first dibs to reader "A," who has faithfully given a small donation every month to the blog for years. She opted for the iBend, explaining "I've been wanting something softer. Because nothing says 'do me' like a touch of flaccidity."

I gave second dibs to me and grabbed an iCome, mostly because it was called iCome. I tried it out, for you/journalism and such, and I will say that once you turn it on, there is no "getting in the mood" part, you are immediately just fucking in it, man, and kind of helplessly impaled on it while it wrecks you via deep throbby bass notes. We will so be having a second date.

The Contest Rules

1. Tell me what your favorite IBWMW post is. You can tell me via Twitter, a comment below, the Facebook page or, like most of you pussies generally opt for, a discreet email. I'm asking for your favorites because I'm compiling some for a book (whee!) and you are the smartest person I know.
2.  Pick one of the vibrators you'd like to put in/on your wherever. If you aren't picky and don't require a semi-flacid lover like A, you can list a few choices. (If you are a Kindle subscriber, lmk and I'll give you two entries.) 
3.  I'll notify the winners October 11 privately so everyone's not knowing your business.

The Prizes! (I sort of just cut and pasted and vaguely edited the product descriptions so be forewarned):

The Vibrator Superfriends confronting their shadow selves
iCome has a clitoral stimulator w/ a special ‘rolling’ mode that "creates a unique undulating movement on the clitoris for incredible pleasure." It has two ultra-powerful independently controlled motors. [Yes. So much so.]

The iWand offers a gentle warming mode that slowly heats the silicone wand head to a pleasurable, body-safe temperature. It can be used with both the warming and vibrating modes active, or either one.

The iRipple has three separate ultra-powerful motors placed along the shaft to create an endless variety of vibration patterns that can span across all three motors, including a rolling effect up and down the shaft.

The iRock features a curved shaft that not only vibrates, but also flexes back and forth in a ‘come hither’ motion for G-spot pleasure.

The iBend is a powerful, seven-function massager you can bend however you damn well please for  both internal and external stimulation.

*****

In other superheroic news: Do you mind heading over and voting for IBWMW in Kinkly's Sex Blogging Superheroes Contest?  Just go to this link and press "click here to vote!" I need at least five votes by October 9 to even be considered. (Last year IBWMW was 8th out of 100 despite not even telling you about it. Thanks mystery voters!)  It literally takes less than 15 seconds and will be the second best thing in my day, the first being, of course, my earlier rendezvous with the swag.

 xoxo
 jill

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Plushies and Friends. Oh, you are so in for it, Snuggle.

Snuggle, watch your back.
That's all I'm sayin'.
As I often profess, I'm down with whatever consenting adults want to do. You want to fuck a can opener? Go to town. That said, I am simultaneously fascinated with the fucked-up $%#$ that consenting adults actually end up doing (note: I mean "fucked-up $%#$" in the kindest possible way. I use it here to mean "everything I personally don't want to do." And embarrassingly, I am coming to realize that this category includes a lot of items including: having sex with people in chipmunk costumes, bleaching/dyeing/vajazzing delicate body parts, calling balloon phone sex lines, and, well, I could go on. It's a shamefully long list, really. )

So naturally I was delighted when a wonderful (aren't they all?) In Bed With Married Women reader emailed the results of this plushie survey taken from a plushie website.

Now, if you don't know what a plushie is, well, it's someone who loves stuffed animals. The term encompasses a range--from people merely liking and collecting stuffed animals (like that nice old lady down the street) to people wanting to fuck the living hell out of stuffed animals (like that nice old lady down the street). (Social acceptance hint:  if you're not actually into having sex with stuffed animals, you won't want to refer to yourself as a "plushie.")

Anyway, like I said, I was thrilled to see the survey, because, oh lordy, it was awesome. For example, here are the results to Question 3:
3. What odors do you prefer or desire on your plushies?
    [ 66 ] - new, or with no specific aroma
    [ 47 ] - cum, mild
    [ 43 ] - body sweat, mild
    [ 40 ] - musky, ball-sack aroma from yourself or other people
    [ 26 ] - pee, mild
  * [ 25 ] - musky, real animal scent (ferret, fox, rabbit, deer, etc.)
    [ 19 ] - cum, very strong
    [ 18 ] - body sweat, strong
  * [ 16 ] - incense
    [ 15 ] - perfume or cologne
    [ 15 ] - pee, strong
  * [ 13 ] - musky, tail-hole aroma (fart, poop, etc.)
    Other:   Cinnamon (1), Vanilla extract (2), Bubble Gund (2),
             Tobacco (2), Chocolate (1), Leather (1), Licorice (1),
             Ocean/saltwater (1), Just washed/fabric softener (1),
             Strawberries (1), Mild lemon (1)
I loved it. I mean, c'mon. "Ball sack aroma"? Not only are you going to have your way with poor Mr. Bunnykins, but you are also going to insist he smell like "ball sack aroma"? And, what, exactly, is the polite method of collecting "ball sack aroma" from other people? There was a lot to think about. I pondered something called "plush necrophilia." Did this mean a plush toy doing it with a dead human or a live human with a dead plush toy? And if the plush toy was dead, how was this different from a regular non-living (i.e. dead) plush toy? I learned about plushie porn, she-male plushies and the plushie subcategory that is Beanie Babies (conclusion: Beanie Babies are sexually arousing, yes, but generally too small to fuck. Okay to wear inside your pants). It was all completely fascinating.

But after my initial thrill wore off--Plush toys wearing bondage gear! Plush toy on plush toy action! Something called plush slavery!--I thought, Thank God for the Internet. Seriously. I mean, can you imagine being some kid in Utah who not only wants to have sex with stuffed animals, but also prefers they have "cum smell, mild"? You would feel so completely alone. It's not like you could really bring it up to someone, even a close friend. "Hey Joe, this is kind of weird, but did you ever get really really drunk with your stuffed animals and one thing led to another and...?"

But with the Internet, these folks found each other. Being a plushie in 2011 must be immeasurably better than being a plushie in 1973. Now, Mr. Beanie-Baby-in-his-underwear can find someone who not only gets it, but offers the hint that a pee-covered Beanie Baby makes the experience all the more erotic. Can you imagine what a relief it would be to find such a kindred spirit?

Now, I'm not saying that I want to smear a stuffed animal with poo and have my way with it (Boy, am I ever Not Saying that) but I am glad that if someone does want to do that--and they really do--that they have someone they can talk to about it.

Viva freedom and all that.

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Contest results, black pasties and whatnot

Not that kind of pasty, though they would offer more coverage
The Pick Your Prize winners have been notified and if you didn't win, fear not, I have a TON of really really good stuff coming from Aneros and Doc Johnson that may soon be throbbing away up your wherever.

In the meantime, the following readers are gonna be "in a meeting" for a bit.

Reader J, winner of the much coveted Ohmibod Mini (98% of you wanted that, as well you should), responded "Thanks for the dog toy."  J was cruelly referring to my misadventures with my previous Mini as well as a Dog Toy or Sex Toy quiz which, given my my shockingly bad score, I will be re-taking this summer in Remedial Dog Toy or Sex Toy Recognition.

Another J, a dude who lives Canada, decided he didn't actually want his winning anal beads after researching "sketchy, unsafe-for-your-body jelly anal beads" thus saving me from having to declare "sketchy...anal beads" when the postal worker asks what I'm shipping internationally. For his research and good-heartedness, as well as a bit of flattery (that would be: "You have such a wonderfully refreshing, funny and frank voice." #PraiseWhore), J will get his pick of the next litter, if a group of sex toys is called a litter.

A, an assistant principal in an undisclosed location, won the Fin finger vibrator and it's not because she wrote "Thank you for being wonderfully funky, intelligent, quirky, sexy you!"--that was after. A, if you must know, also reports that she attended a BDSM class over the weekend and learned that there is a proper way to spank. In the old days, assistant principals already knew that, but there you go.

C won the Talk to Me conversation cards and it was uneventful.

And finally, not one of you pussies even entered to get the black nipple pasties with fake piercings. ("Casual for the day, sporty for the beach!") And... I was at a loss. I hate hate hate wasting things and I couldn't just throw them away unused so, as any one of you would do, I put the damn things on while I was home alone, as my 400 cats looked on with disapproval. The pasties stick right to your nipples and if you move them up a bit, you can give yourself an inexpensive pretend boob lift. However, the sticky is not that sticky and I would think twice for before heading out to Trader Joe's in them. 

I then decided I should take pictures of myself all pastied up for you because there may be something wrong in my brain hole. I was even gonna post one here, but it suddenly felt a little porny, like I was sexting you. Perhaps getting a surprise be-pastied boob shot is like getting an unwanted dick pic, that is, no bueno. I should probably have a talk with HR about it.

xoxo
jill

ps As I was finishing this, my UPS man delivered a truly huge box from Doc Johnson. I know it was my usual man because, uncharacteristically, he just screeched "UPS!" before dropping 14 pounds of excessively non-discreetly packaged sex toys and fleeing for safety. 

Hmm, wonder what this could be?

Monday, September 11, 2017

Anti-Semen Candy, Masturbating Ancestors and Christ-Honoring Anal Beads, aka Reader Mail

Just...one...more...episode...
Hey there, gorgeous. It just dawned on me that the contest deadline was yesterday. Crap! Let me pick some damn winners and come up with some cash to mail the prizes. (I plan on looking in my other pants where I hope to have left a $300 bill.) I'll contact you if you won.

In the meantime, please time travel with me back to this 2012 post, when streaming Netflix was new and I made fun of George W. Bush a little. Poor innocent 2012 In Bed With Married Women--blog had no idea what was coming down the pike.  

*****
I am such a sanctimonious ass when it comes to TV. Whenever someone asks me if I've seen some show, instead of calmly replying, "No, I haven't yet," I invariably sniff, "No. I don't really watch TV."  As though my excessive loitering in coffee shops and sneaking off to Barnes and Nobles to read celebrity magazines (which I also publicly purport to "hate") is a somehow superior way to spend one's time. (See also: Jim Gaffigan's "McDonald's")

I think my virulence against TV watching is because I fear that I don't really hate it, but might actually love it too much. Perhaps if I started watching, I'd soon be glassy-eyed and unresponsive, watching 24 hour marathons of "House Hunters" and sitting in a pile of my own waste. It's kind of like how George W. Bush had to become uber-religious to stave away his ever-present mighty urge to become a coke-snorting ass-grabbing drunk again.

My theory was proven to be semi-correct the other day when we got a month of free streaming Netflix. When you sign up, they ask you what sorts of things you like to watch. I selected "cerebral indie films", "foreign films," "documentaries" and the like, but when it came down to it, I sat my ass down and started watching episode after episode of fucking..."Hoarders." I even watched part of an episode during the day, which is especially shameful to me since I consider to daytime TV watching to be the absolute height of slovenliness and a complete moral failing.

I did learn something. Well, actually two things. One is that I am a disgusting hypocrite. Two is that now I want to clean the living hell out of everything.

Today, then, I am cleaning out saved messages from readers so that they don't build up in unsightly piles, forcing me to crawl through a goat path to get to my blog.

1. Cagey-C alerted me to the Little Rooster, an alarm clock that "wakes you gradually, tenderly, sensuality." After I waded through the site's Brit-speak suggestions on placing it inside your "knickers," I figured out it's a vibrator that wakes you up by pleasuring you inside the general knicker area. Which doesn't sound half bad, though I suspect they could come up with more alluring ad copy than: "Beautifully shaped from sensual polycarbonate."

2.  The IBWMW Minister of Science sent this enticing missive. "You have to see these pictures. I'm a biologist and even I find these pictures incredibly creepy." The link, if you dare, shows all manner of creepy-ass baby shower cakes. Warning: Contains cake fetuses.

3. Reader T.P. sent this impressively-titled sciencey report "Australopithecus erotimanis, and the evolution of the human hand" which suggests that the human hand's shape didn't develop for using tools but, well, let's just let author Ken Weiss explain it:
It is obvious upon looking at the fossil hand, that its most likely purpose was, not to mince words about it, masturbation.  Just look at the hand itself and its reach position (figure 2).  Think about it:  deft and masterly self-satisfying would yield  heightened sexuality, indeed of keeping one's self aroused at all times, ready for the Real Thing whenever the opportunity might arise. Unlike having to wait for prey to amble by, one could take one's evolutionary future in one's own hands--and use one's tool in a better way, one might say.

Honoring Christ through anal chains
4. My neighbor Wendy (penner of Relax, It's Just God, a blog for secular parents) discovered--through I'm sure absolutely no prurient reasons whatsoever--Sex Toys Aren't Just For Heathens Anymore, an article on the burgeoning business of selling sex toys to religious people. For example, Covenant Spice, "a Christ honoring sex and romance site for couples," honors Christ by not showing nudity on their sex toys' boxes. You can "bless your spouse with an orgasm" with products such as the Christ-honoring Fun Factory Felix (at left), a 10" anal chain "with a friendly face."

5. And finally, JB alerted me to a product called Masque. "These orally-dissolvable, flavored gel strips will take the intimacy between you and your partner to the next level," the copy reads mysteriously. Decoded, it's a strip you eat so you're not subjected to the presumed horrors of the taste of your partner's semen. It comes in flavors like watermelon and mango. This is wrong in about 8 different ways to me--I mean, how fucking insulting is it if you pop a mango strip in your mouth before you'll take him in your mouth? "Sorry, just need to cover up the disgusting flavor of, well....you." (I would also submit that if you don't like your lover's taste, biology might be trying to tell you something.)

If you're not doing anything else, such wasting your life watching TV, I suggest you look at the Masque FAQs if only for this one:
          
          DOES MASQUE TASTE GOOD?
Through user research, we’ve found that a vast majority of our customers love or like all of the flavors. They are certainly not candy and were created for an intended purpose. However, we have many people in our office that eat them merely for the taste[Emphasis added. By me. Because that is fucked up.]
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