Sunday, December 20, 2020

I Want to Sex You Up

In your FACE, #101

Hello friend,  Re-upping 'cause I got some new stuff that you might need to fuck.--1/2/21

Let's see.  In Bed With Married Women, despite my near complete lack of posting has been named one of Kinkly's Top 100 Sex Blogging Superheroes of 2020* (again! yes, true!)  I don't know if this is because it's no longer 2010 and nobody blogs anymore or what, but I'm bloody well gonna take it because fuck you, 2020

Anyway, I know you don't come here just for super out-of-date title references to horrible pop groups from the 1990s and the occasional post where I actually try to do a good job, but also for the fabulous sex toys I frequently toss your way, like a common Mr. Monopoly, but one who is tossing sex toys...like in a parade...for some reason...never mind.

Anyway today, my friend, you get two out of three of those things because 

1. BAM! Color Me Badd, I Wanna Sex You U, 1991. Do not google. It is really bad, as well as badd.

2.  I have some sex toys that I've been sent by nice sex toy companies but, due to everyone in my family being around every fucking second of my goddamed life, I am unable to properly use/fuck/smear recklessly over my body.

That's where you come in, gentle reader.  

I'm gonna list what I've got. If something strikes your fancy, or whatever you're calling it these days, drop me a line (jillhamilton001@gmail.com) and I will put it in a box and send it to your doorstep. To your door, I say! You can even pick a few if you want and fill a box. (Don't be too greedy though and pick like 20 things. I hate that. One time I had a garage sale and told a customer they could pay what they wanted. They took a shit ton of stuff and gave me a nickel. Yes, I didn't want any of the stuff AND I did say to pay what they wanted, but still.)

Here's what you do.  

1. Email me which toy(s) you wish to fuck.

2.  Pay for shipping.  I wish so hard that I could just send it you, but I write a free blog. Please add an extra donation/tip to validate my existence/make up for me dragging my ass to the crowded post office during COVID for you. If you give me a nickel, I will come to your house and punch you. I'm not even joking.

3.  My Paypal is jillhamilton001@gmail.com. (Keep handy for when you're drunk and feeling spendy.)

That's it! Here's what I gots left. As things go, I'll strike them out.  

Candy Cane Massager, a waterproof vibrator, but, like, Christmasy

Ripple Silicone Vibrator, looks kinda like a manta ray! (a sexy one)

Adam's Warming Rotating Power Boost Dildo, mama's trying not to keep him for herself bc...damn. I mean, LOOK AT HIM

I do hope the rest of Adam is okay.

Bondage tape, cause someone's in big trouble

Adam's Triple Prostate Probe, in case you come across aliens, or just desire some recreational probery

Lovelife Explore, good lookin' butt plug

All Star Enhancer Ring, stretchy cock ring for both cock n' balls.

Purple Heart Butt Plug, which, to be honest, isn't the greatest name

Good Head Fundamentals, The Ultimate Oral Sex, an oral sex kit including a stroker, "oral delight gel" and such.

Shake Your Ass Vibrating Butt Plug, 10 functions, probably most of them involving vibrating in your butt

Joy Stick Recharageable Wand, a long double-headed number that could go in any number of orifices. 

Bondage Kit, with blindfold, satin pasties, silky rope, cuffs and flogger.

Kama Sutra Playing Cards

Silicone lube, vibrator lube, Big-ass bottle of water-based lube, watermelon flavored lube, masturbator lube, some extra large Elite Skyn Condoms, wipes, a Pleasure Feather Tickler, a small guide to BDSM, and, oh yeah, so much more luuuuuuube including Wicked Hybrid Jelle, Simply Aqua Jelle, Simply Hybrid, and a ton of other lube that I've grown too lazy to link.  If y'all don't take it, I'm gonna have one hell of a slide n' slide, I suppose.  

If you want to just buy something straight from the companies and leave me out of it, click on the link and IBWMW gets a wee cut.

So that's it. LMK. I won't tell.

xoxo

jill

*One side effect of being named a Sex Blogging Superhero is that you get offers from random companies. OnlyFans, for example, suggested I could make "millions" through them. "One example of a successful use for you may be for you to show behind the scenes footage of your life to your paying fans on OnlyFans as a perk," they wrote, quite optimistically.  I shall assess the market for viewing the behind the scenes footage of a 55 year old woman who is doomscrolling, writing crap articles for cash or hiding in the bathroom every few days for a joyless, hurried wank. 

--Update, later:  my family members are all delightful. Honestly. But sometimes lock down feels a tad No Exit.

Thursday, December 17, 2020

Santa Fetish, Big-Ass Labia, and Ancient Sex Advice

I have a Very Special gift for you both.

I was looking though the Amazon list of stuff y'all weirdos bought and someone ordered a copy of  "Snowballin': I Fucked Frosty" a book whose title is its own spoiler. This snowballed (sans fuckery, alas) into me trudging around through the ancient backwaters of the blog. It's weird to read myself of the past, maybe it will be for you too. I do hope that this post marked my personal max for using the word "clit," a word I fervently wish had an alternative.

 Anyway, step into my time machine with me into 2012. Might want to wear a helmet. There are a lot of loose clits flying about. (And PS, it gets pretty fucking gross in here today.) 

 ********

Random detritus from the IBWMW inbox.

--That is Some Good Lookin' Labia

Caitlin Grace, a Wellbeing Coach in New Zealand, sent in this documentary called The Perfect Vagina, about chicks getting plastic surgery on their "fannies," as they call them overseas. As you may recall, I am against the cutting of one's sexual organs--up to and including fannies--in order to look like all of the other Sneetches, and this vid let me stay comfortably within my cozy worldview.

Go have a look if you'd like--it's free. A caveat: cover your eyes during the highly graphic surgery scene. Slabs of skin cut off! Slabs! Which not only burned a permanent discomforting image into my brain, but also led to the following Unproductive Thought Spiral (which seems to be happening more frequently now that I've had to switch from expensive "name brand" Lexapro to a generic made in a foreign land and sold at Costco for $6.99.)

To wit:
1. Became concerned with how said vag slabs are disposed of. You can't just toss 'em in the trash, right? Compost pile? Surely it's not e-waste. Which reminded me of...
2. The Mystery of the Possibly Missing Clit and  @jeannehospod's snarky Twitter answer: "check jeans pocket" which gave me the unsettling image of a linty clit in a jeans pocket. Making it even worse, she continued, "Cleaning the lint catcher on the dryer should prevent that. 'Oh there's a dime, foil gum wrapper, and...ooh! there it is!'" Which made me think of...
3. All the moles dermatologists cut off and how there is someone working at a lab somewhere who walks into work and is confronted with a bunch of little packets containing tiny little moles that they must cheerfully examine. But I digress.

Anyway, today when I was looking at the Perfect Vagina site, I learned that the reasons for labioplasty include this:

some women complain that...riding a bike is uncomfortable

Which just makes me curious how fucking big, labia-wise, we're talking. I mean, to be uncomfortable on a bike, they'd have to be...what?...like getting caught in the wheels? So big you don't need any padding on your seat? I mean, if they're "can you tie 'em in a knot, can you tie 'em in a bow" size, hell, maybe I am supportive of a little nip and tuck.

Now unclear on my labial worldview.  Leave me alone.

--Oh, Santa. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, SSssssssssaaaaaantaaaaa, oh God, yes!

The holiday season is coming up which means it's time to start thinking about Santa, particularly how sexy it would be to have him pull down his velvety red pants then slowly slide his snowy white pubes against your throbbing center. Because, yes, a Santa fetish is a real thing.

A Santa fetish can involve being fucked by Santa, or alternately, being Santa and fucking others. Today, for example, on porn site xnxx there are 287 videos tagged with the word "Santa." (If you have a spare moment and an easily erasable search history, I would urge you to look the sheer crazy-ass variety of specialty tags there representing a wide variety of human sexual expression* including "mother-in-law," "poltergeist," uh-oh--hold the phone on that labioplasty-- a stunning 1178 videos for "mega pussy lips." And I presume they mean the still-attached kind. Though at this point I'm pretty sure that someone somewhere is probably jerking off to the thought of a medical waste bin chockful of removed, oh god, never mind, I'm not even going to finish that sentence.)

In case you're thinking it's just porn-obsessed dirty pervs with the Santa fetish, sensitive literate folk get hot for Santa fuckery as well. Here's a selection from the story Sara's Santa Fetish--it's Santarotica, a word I hope I just made up.

"I know what you've been thinking, I know for what you long, and tonight's a special night indeed, because Santa isn't wrong," he spoke, rhyming the words as if singing a verse from Santa Claus is Coming to Town. "I know when you lay in bed at night, your body longs for me, and tonight I'll make your dreams come true, Sara I'll set you free."

Oh there's more. Plenty more.

The fantasies flashed in her mind like movie trailers of the oft-repeated nights she lay in bed at night, thighs wide, fingering her clit while rubbing a wig or other such prop against her inner legs as if to replicate the feel of facial hair, a beard... Santa's beard. She'd thought of the things he'd do to her, of the pleasure he would bring, but - but -

"It's happening, Sara," he promised with a soft, belly-shaking chuckle. "Lean back and enjoy this very special gift."


I don't why I love this so much. Maybe it has something to do with the usual erotica tropes--the straining nipples, bucking hips and the like coupled with the Santa-y references to jolliness, his "silky soft beard," and that "soft, belly-shaking chuckle."

"Enjoy this very special gift" indeed. "Gee, Santa, is it your cock? Seriously?  Again?"

--Sex Advice from 2000 Years Ago.
Maybe it's the overseas "Lexapro" talking, but I'm reading a recent translation of the Kama Sutra and discovered some Ancient Wisdom to pass on to you:

Making Oneself Attractive
"The eye of a peacock or hyena, put inside a locket of gold and worn on the right hand, renders one attractive."

You already knew that one? Okay then, here's one for the gentlemen.

Bewitching a Woman
"Sex with a woman when the penis is smeared with honey mixed with a powder of thorn apple, black pepper and long pepper will bewitch her into one's power. Using a powder made of wind-blown leaves, flowers left on a corpse and peacock bones has the same effect."

xoxox
jill

*none of them, unfortunately, with the tag "Marc Maron."

Tuesday, October 27, 2020

Toys, Toys, Toys in the Cabinet, Redux

I can show you the world

[I just updated this with new stuff, as of 10/27/20. So you have seen this, but only sorta.]

 

As the writer of a sex blog that lots of people still read even though I only write a new post every 87 months or so, I have amassed a metric fuckton of sex toys. So many, in fact, that despite my valiant efforts, I've been unable to have sexual relations with all of them.

That's where you come in. Everything is completely insane right now AS YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED. Perhaps a toy or two would cheer you up? A brief respite of hedonism is a fine way to forget about the everything for a few blessed moments.

Here's a basic idea what I have busting out of my cabinet right now.

So, without further ado, except this sentence of ado that I just added, I currently have:

--Big ol’ vibrating dildo (w/ suction cup! And it warms up! And has balls!)

--Stretchy cock ring with a built-in scrotum ring.

--Silicone g-spot vibrator w buzzy clit part

--Large g-spot stroking rabbit vibrator

--Prostate probe (kinda like anal beads)

--Prostate vibrator, narrow and long with bulby end

--Smallish, non-penis looking dildo that bends and is anal-safe
--Silicone bullet vibe with ripples. 

--Silicone vibrator that kinda looks like a manta ray.
--Bullet vibe

--Butt plug with fancy jewel at the end
--Butt plug with handle at the end

--Bondage tape

--Cbd serum for arousal, just works for the wimmens though

--Box o’ condoms
--Small tickly feather thing for sensation play

--Topical CBD lotion (not for sex, for muscle pain) Menthol

--LUBE water-based, silicone-based, combos, especially for toys, watermelon-flavored. I gots lube is the point.

If you're feeling it, I can send you something specific or you can tell me what you're into and I can put a box together and ship it Priority Mail.  However, you, my friend, are in charge of paying for shipping (medium boxes are $15.05 in postage, large is $21.10) and giving me a wildly generous tip for driving my ass to the post office during The Sickening. My Paypal is jillhamilton001@gmail.com. You can email me for more details or if you want personalized suggestions or something.

That's all.  I wrote a post!  Sorta.  But still.

Good talking to you.
xo
jill

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

Notes from whatever the hell today is

Well, the packages of sex toys are traveling around the country to find their forever orifices, and some are already nestled in someone's butt or whatever, happily rumbling away fulfilling their life purposes. (There are still a few things left, but not much. If you want to see, email me and ask for access to the ever- shrinking Google doc.)

A dude got a box for his wife, including a Lelo Sona (good man), one guy got the Club Vibe 3.OH Hero after he'd killed another butt toy (admirable) and another reader, M, got the Lovelife Krush Smart Kegel Trainer to strengthen her nether regions. 

The delightful M wrote: "Yay! It's like winning the vagina lottery! My current partner will be pleased/horrified when I hands-free throttle his bishop in a few weeks (or months?) and I will think of you in a high-five way."

In a series of sentences of increasing awkwardness, as is my way, I replied to M with:
"You are super hilarious (okay, so far)
and I'm already a little in love with you. (um...)
will send out tomorrow. (a step towards acceptable discourse)
so enjoy your weak-ass, lax vagina while you can." (Dear God, self. WTF?) 

Anyway, lest you think my love was displaced, M kindly ignored my boorish vaginal dis (In the future, I probably wouldn't lead with this. Probably.) and sent me an actual postcard, like they did in the olden days:  "I would love to allow you to believe that I am as amusing as you seemed to think I was in my email, but the truth is that you caught me at a particularly good time. For some reason I tend to be more charismatic when I'm ovulating--creepy evolutionary catfishing?"

(This is a real thing! We are all evolutionary catfishers. See also Ovulation = Hormonal Beer Googles)

*****

You can hear me hurriedly reading my piece Drought on Antonia Hall's wholly delightful Experiments in Pleasure podcast, recorded when I sent my family on a ten-minute walk around the block. It's at the very end, like a David Sedaris/Sarah Vowell thing, if they were less funny and talked more about having sex with a bath spigot. 

Now, you. Tell me something interesting.*

xo
jill

*Unless it's super creepy**, then keep that @%@# to yourself.
**I reserve the sole right to determine creepiness, or lack thereof.

Thursday, March 26, 2020

On Submission to Desire

One of the sexiest things to me is the idea of being overcome by passion. Not romance novel-type emotional passion, but physical passion--being so completely turned on that you just...fucking lose it. I love seeing, hearing and inciting someone to be so overcome and I love being so overcome as well. Nothing is hotter to me than the raw desperate desire of a choked out, "Please..."

That submission to pure wanting requires abandoning your logical brain, throwing yourself into the overpowering forces of all-out lust and hoping you'll come out okay on the other side. I think there's a kind of bravery in that. Maybe that's what is so intimate about sex with another person--you're both jumping into the void together.

It's that line between control and loss of control that's so interesting to me about artist Clayton Cubitt's video series "Hysterical Literature." The stark black-and-white videos each feature a woman sitting a table reading aloud from a book of her choosing. However, under the table, there is an unseen person equipped with a back massager who is assigned to distract the reader as she reads.

The women try to keep it together and keep reading, but as they continue, they begin to show signs of losing focus with a little gasp or a quick intake of breath or wiggling in their chair for a better position. They fight to keep their composure, but finally they have to give in, toss their heads back with a kind of "fuck it" and ride the orgasm.

Here, see for yourself below with Stormy reading from Bret Easton Ellis' "American Psycho."



In an interview in Salon, Cubitt discussed the idea for the series and his artistic vision.

"I’ve long been fascinated with the concept of control and authenticity in portraiture, especially in these modern times of personal branding, Facebook self-portraits and incessant Instagram self-documentation. What is left for the portraitist to reveal? How can we break through to something real?...These are all attempts to see something they’re not trying to show me.

On an individual level, I’m interested in the battle the sitter experiences between mind and body, and how long one retains primacy over the other, and when they reach balance, and when they switch control.  On a larger scale, I’m interested in how society draws a line between high and low art, between acceptable topics of discussion and taboo ones, between what can be worshiped and what must be hidden."

At the end, the women are instructed to re-state their names and the book they've read from. Some aren't able to do it. Cubitt said of their post-filming interviews:

"It’s quite interesting to hear about what was going through their mind as they started to lose track of what they read and surrendered to their bodies. They talk about it almost like it becomes a religious trance, and they usually have no recollection of the last half of the reading."

What do you think?

xoxox
jill

Portrait of a woman. Lina Corsino, Emilio Sommariva 1933

Thanks to Trace, who reminded me of this series on the IBWMW Facebook page.

Friday, March 20, 2020

Parker Marx and Fucking Art

photo by the unlinkable Lenore Holloway
A few months ago, I spent an entire week watching porn for a magazine article. Perhaps it was the total porn immersion and the resulting heady delirium, but when I finally emerged, bleary-eyed and shaken, I'd had a porn epiphany.

It was mostly due to the discovery of Parker Marx, a fucking genius, a genius of fucking.

Parker Marx is an English porn performer based in Prague. He is lovely to look at, but that's not what it is about him. When he performs, Parker is absolutely in the moment-- or at least does an incredible simulation of that--and clearly relishes a good fuck, completely conveying all that is sublime and intense and connected and primal and hungry about your best sexual encounters ever. Everything from the quick intake of breath when someone first touches their tongue to your flesh to the moment when your eyes meet and you share the giddy realization/mental high five of "We are fucking!"  Whether there's a plot or not in his films doesn't even matter, the sex is the plot and Parker finds the story within every encounter.

So yes, there's humanity and depth and connection and--holy hell--and the eye gazing alone could wreck you, but his work is also very sexual, primitive and animalistic. Marx, like, luxuriates in whatever bodily fluids happen--sweat, tears, a newly soaked pair of panties. In a recent, uncharacteristically conventional-seeming scene, his partner squirted what to me looked like a possibly alarming amount of whatever women squirt, and he burst out laughing, delighted. And, dear god, the man cums spectacularly.

I said something to this effect on Twitter because what better place for private thoughts on someone else's cum and @Jessie67878604, despite their bot-like name, had this insight:  "I think his genius comes from the presence and devotion he brings to each partner."  It's true--his partners emerge from their scenes together changed somehow, as though they're illuminated from within.*

Parker Marx in repose. Kind of.
If you're in public and can't click over to some of Parker's work (here or here), or you've left your porn budget money in your other pocket, see also the self-portrait on the right for a quick visual summation of the above. It's a naked man there presenting his cock, as primates do, but it's also incredibly lit, classically composed and there is more going on in the photo than Man Holds Dick. Arty, sexy, suggestion of possible existential angst. Plus, man holds dick. 

One of the gifts Parker Marx has given me--besides the odd feeling of being well-fucked remotely, simply by witnessing a really great fuck--is that he's been my portal to thinky porn/art/something else entirely.

The one that got me the most was Bright Desire, where filmmaker Ms. Naughty totally mucks around with the genre itself -- it's porn about ideas. Like, what if the performers moved incredibly slowly, almost excruciatingly so? (Linger with Parker and Kali Sudhra) What if you wandered far, far away from a typical "straight" porn script, with no cum shot, no female penetration plus a little pegging and afternoon tea? (Since You Asked So Nicely with Parker and Pandora Blake). "Pandora’s orgasms are intense but they take a while," writes Ms. Naughty of the film. "There’s also a lot of laughter and discussion and guidance. In short, this scene totally queers straight sex and shows that pleasure can be attained in multiple ways, no matter how you identify." Right the fuck on.

On about Day 3 of my private Porn Fest, I wrote something on the IBWMW Facebook page like "Back to the porn salt mines" and most people assumed I was excessively jilling off (a real term and oddly prescient name choice by my parents.) But in this case, it wasn't even true, what was going down was more of a mind fuck, the good kind, if there is one. It was more that arty fuckery lent a background hum of sexual charge to everything and left me with the lingering afterglow from a major mind-blowing.

My week-long porn fever dream, which I am desperately trying not to call a pornucopia, was incredibly empowering. I absolutely loved seeing a woman on top with a belly hanging over a pair of panties (Porn performers: They're Just Like US!). I loved that Lina Bembe spontaneously burst into tears after an orgasm in Trinity, (with Parker and the multi-talented Rooster X-Ray) because weeping means you've tapped into something so deep, metaphorically as well as physically. I loved that some women had to rub the living hell out of their clits before they came or twisted their faces up unprettily (that is, raw and beautifully) or that weird awkward moments happened or that it took a really long time to find an orgasm and some straining was involved or that couches were stained.

I loved that all of it was not only completely fine, but even better, porn-worthy. Representation matters, not just in the way we look, but the way(s) we fuck. We contain multitudes, my friends, and this, this is the real stuff, the very stuff that makes sex so deep and rich and personal and good.

So thank you, brave and honest porn makers, performers and Parker Marx, thank you from the bottom of my whatever.

xoxo
jill
#PayForPorn

* Not ruling out possible infusion of magic via cock.

PS Do the blog a solid and go vote for In Bed With Married Women at Kinkly for favorite sex blog.  Just click the link, click “vote for this blog” and you're done.

(2nd photo:  Self Portrait by Parker Marx)
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