Monday, May 31, 2010

Bad Sex, An Update

Our favorite bad sex story thus far comes from one Anonymous (sort of the Smith or Garcia surname among In Bed With Married Women readers.) Miss Anonymous writes:

My boyfriend Eddie was an engineer for one of the big 3 auto makers, and his idea of sexy was a fast red car. He would show me pictures of fast red cars in glossy magazines, with the hope that I might take on some of their sexy qualities and fulfill his deepest fantasies. One day he brought me red lingerie: a tight bodice, a g-string, sheer stockings, and a pair of garters. It took forever to suit up...I was in the bathroom trying to wrestle it on for a good half-hour. Back in my room, Eddie was waiting. And waiting. And getting more and more irritated that his red hot fantasy was not riding in fast enough. Finally I rolled into the bedroom wearing the getup. Something wasn't quite right about the g-string, though. It was neither sleek, nor aerodynamic. It had a baggy, pouchy, wind catching shape in the front. I grabbed a pair of socks and stuffed them into the man pouch on the front of the g-string, then did a cheerful pelvic thrust dance for Eddie. I have never seen someone get so mad! I completely screwed up his fantasy! I was slow. I was not aerodynamic. I crashed his sexy car = sexy woman ideal with a single, mocking, cross-dressed pelvic thrust! We broke up a few days later.
Anonymous adds:  "I apologize that my bad sex doesn't contain any actual sex." Hey, girl, anyone who has the (sock) balls to do such an awesome fantasy-ruining cross-dressing pelvic thrust doesn't owe us any apologizes. Although I have to admit, I harbor an embarrassing desire to see a slo-mo recap of Eddie's expectant face slowly changing to horror--"Ooooh, noooooooooooo," he cries in a deep, low 33 rpm voice-- as his fantasy goes terribly, terribly wrong.


In Bed With Married Women is still collecting your bad sex stories, because we're weird like that. Drop us an e-mail or add a comment below. Maybe your moment of shame could be immortalized in its own post too!

Friday, May 28, 2010

The Lost and Found List From Furry Weekend Atlanta 2010. Really.

My happiest moment of the day? That would be getting my hot little hands on the Lost and Found list from Furry Weekend Atlanta 2010. Yes. Lost and Found list. Furry Weekend.

What is Furry Weekend? Well, I guess you're old enough to hear this, but you probably should sit down first. Furries are people who like--I mean, really really like--fursuit costumes. And by "really really like," I mean "sexually aroused by fursuits." I mean "like to wear a fursuit during sex." I mean "see Chip n' Dale at Disneyland and think, 'Oh yeah, I so want to hit that.'"*

The Furry Weekend Atlanta (FWA) site, understandably, describes this passion for the fursuit in more benign terms:
Furry Weekend intends to provide a place where fans of anthropomorphic animals can come together for fun, fellowship, and education.
The church social-type language is intentional--part of a furry image overhaul. It seems that some of the randier furries gave all furries a bad rep after unflattering media coverage, like this seminal (though I am suddenly loathe to use that word) piece in Vanity Fair.  This included the unsettling info that at furry conventions, some fursuits had strategically built-in flaps on the groinal areas for easy access to other furries' naughty bits. But according to the FWA site, furridom is just misunderstood:
Many of our fans are well educated, gainfully employed members of society who simply have a hobby. It's a hobby that's not different from Star Trek "trekkies," comic book fans, or those interested in reenacting past events like the Civil War or the medieval era.
So relax, you big square, it's simply a hobby. It's just like going to a Star Trek convention, except that you might fuck people dressed in a big ol' bunny costume. The whole furry-as-nonsexual-woodland-creature image makeover would hold a bit more water if the convention holders didn't feel the need to provide these rules in the Attendee Code of Conduct:

We ask you to always wear at least a shirt, shorts, and shoes in public areas of the hotel. Body Painters should always keep a shirt handy in case they need to pass through the lobby or areas that the hotel's other guests might frequent. Additionally, if you are wearing body paint of any kind, please refrain from sitting on hotel furniture.  Public exposure of genitalia, buttocks or (female) breasts is not permitted anywhere. "Anatomically correct" costumes must be likewise clothed.

Oh, come on, clearly this is different from a regular hobby. I seriously doubt that at Civil War conventions, they have to tell people to wear their damn clothes in the lobby. The Code of Conduct also mentions that alcohol is allowed which, I fear, would have the disconcerting effect of turning a sexually aroused person in a fursuit into a drunken sexually aroused person in a fursuit. (I do, however, love that the rule that "anatomically correct" costumes have to be clothed. Where, exactly, do you buy pants to cover up your fabric tiger penis? Though I guess if you know where to get an anatomically-correct tiger costume, it's probably not a problem.)

Anyway, this year's Furry Weekend was held at the Hilton in Atlanta this March. (Much to the surprise, I imagine, of the other guests who just happened to book a stay there that weekend). Included was a class on fursuit construction, a panel on "Why Anthromorphics?", and, oddly, "DJing 101." There were also sessions of the card game Furoticon, which combines D&D with furry fandom, thus making it the nerdiest game of all time.




Now, I am down with whatever people want to do sexually. It's all good, really. And I'm not trying to judge, even one could argue that I totally am judging. This particular fetish is fascinating to me because I so don't get it. Fursuits, to me, are the antithesis of sexy. I mean, the big cartoon head, the googley eyes--and surely they must smell horrendous. But again that's just me. If the idea of wearing a squirrel costume makes you hot, go to it man.

And if you happened to be at Furry Weekend Atlanta and left something behind, please check this list from the lost and found which includes:
• one white cat tail
• a fursuit eye
• a hacky sack
• a rat
• matted fur
• a bag of knobs

Meanwhile, I will remain fixated on the many questions this all brings up, including:  Hmmm...a bag of knobs? How much matted fur was there to qualify as a lost and found item and not just something to clean up? And exactly how small a sub-culture is that of furries who also enjoy a fine game of hacky sack?

*In the interest of fairness, not all furries have erotic feelings about fursuits. Some are just way into them for (non-sexual) reasons of their own. 



Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Who's Up For A Little Bad Sex?

Jezebel bravely asked their readers to submit their tales of bad sex and have compiled the finest in The 10 Worst Sex Stories. At first I was bitterly jealous I hadn't thought of such a great idea.  However, I was appeased somewhat by the enchanting fact that they discovered an entire sub-category of bad sex called "surprise anal." ("Surprise Anal"--part of the new fall line-up on NBC!)

My favorite of the worst sex stories is the first entry which reads:
I met some guy at a party, and ended up going to his house... Mid-thrust, he started laughing manically and yelled "I am fucking an alien princess! I am fucking an alien princess!" I, far too sober, immediately stopped, and then had to listen to him say, with wide eyes: "your vagina looks like the fridge scene in Ghostbusters." I fell asleep and woke up in the morning to him eating a whole key lime pie in bed. Not even looking over at me, he said: "you can't have any." I walked home.
It's the end touch of the unshared key lime pie that makes that story great for me. Although entry number 5, which had 10 distinct points of badness, was also pleasingly bad. I love that the sex was so heinous that this chick felt the need to quantify the exact badness with a numbered list, including a 5b. (I sense a Powerpoint presentation coming on.) In the interest of space, I will list only four of her points here:
2. the dirty talk came in full sentences- each one had a subject and predicate. such as...
3. "you are my sexy little socialist." (he is a republican and i am not) definitely not the venue for political discourse of any kind, let alone when said during one of the many time that he....
4. stopped f*cking so he could stare into my eyes. no joke, at least a dozen times he pulled back to give me this puppy dog face because somehow during this farce he'd decided we were soul mates.
5. he kept going soft, which wouldn't have been so god awful if he didn't stop to blame the condom each time. and in the manner of a stand-up comic. "what, are these condoms made out of lead or something?!"
If you are way into bad sex (and who isn't?), you can read through all the contenders in their painful, body-fluid-spewing, surprise-anal glory, here in the original Jezebel article.

Reading about all this hideous sex got me to thinking--surely all of us here at In Bed With Married Women have better bad sex stories that those! (Uh, did that sound kind of insulting? No offense...) Let's hear about your worst sex. You can drop us an email, if you're the shy type, or add your story as a comment below (remember: you can always comment anonymously.)

I am still undecided as to my worst sex--not that you asked. Was it the first kiss in the junior high parking

Phase One Of In Bed's Diabolical Plan For Total Media Domination

Thanks to dashing Press-Telegram columnist Tim Grobaty for giving a plug to In Bed With Married Women in his article about the appropriateness of texting during sex, Our Love of Technology is Starting to Rival Even Sex. This marks the blog's first print mention and the beginning of a long line of media coverage which will presumably end with a crew from 60 Minutes barging through our doors, demanding to see our receipts.

If you get a chance, check out Tim's daily column.  It's quite delightful, despite the fact that he doesn't mention penises nearly as much as we do.

Our actual opinion of texting during sex--which, for some unfathomable reason, did not run in the newspaper--was that if men's usual talk during sex is any indication, all their texts during sex would read: "Ohmygod, I'm going to come."

Friday, May 21, 2010

The Mail's Here!

Let's see what that nice young postal worker has brought today...

"Great, so now every time I read something sex-related, I will think of you," wrote a reader who was sending in some blog fodder, "This could go awry very easily." Dear reader, I apologize for my unexpected guest appearances in your sex-related thoughts. I will try to tiptoe unobtrusively out the back door. However, you will be relieved to know my unexpected guest appearances in such thoughts is distressingly common these days, much like Charo's many "special" Love Boat appearances in the 70s. Whenever someone comes to me with an "I saw this and thought of you...," I mentally gird myself for something that should probably not be discussed in polite company.

Like this article on The World's Oldest Sex Toy from a reader in Los Angeles. According to the story:
Scientists believe they have found the world's oldest sex toy after piecing together more than a dozen fragments to create a 30,000 year old ice age penis.

A spokesman for the University of Tubingen where the prehistoric tool is being studied added that when it was not being used as a sex aid - the prehistoric penis was used to light fires.

The eight-inch stone penis has marks where it was clearly used for striking against flints - and scientists say the size and shape and polished appearance leave little doubt as to                                         the other use of the sex toy.
I like to picture the scientists carefully piecing stones together, then coming up with...this. Perhaps they spent a few hours earnestly discussing its practical use as a fire-lighting aid, as no one wanted to be the first to announce, "Er, is anyone else thinking it looks kind of like a big penis?" I am also pleased by our prehistoric ancestors' tool multi-tasking ability. Fire-starter/dildo--all in one. "Hey, Okk, you seen our fire-lighting tool? Oh, I see you're using it. Yikes, no, don't hand to me! Yeah, uh, you just keep at it. I'll go rub some sticks together or something."

Okay, what else is in this mail bag? Let's see here. A Japanese reader sent in a comment written entirely in Japanese. My Japanese is a little rusty so I tried running it through a couple online translators and it seems to be something about "the toy hole lotion intense cheaply pole of the large-sized name vessel." Good to know.

And finally,

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

If You Can't Be With The One You Love...

What are your eyes beholding here? Is it a fun new sex toy from Good Vibrations? Oh no, my friend, it is not. It is most decidedly not.

It's US Patent 745,264. The patent, filed May 29, 1903, by one Albert V. Todd, is for a device designed to prevent masturbation and nocturnal emissions. But before we explain any further, let's pause for a moment to give our more squeamish male readers the opportunity to run screaming from the room.

Are they gone? Okay then. This device works by punishing the erect penis (and by default, the owner of said errant penis). It features "a lockable belt with a tube for inserting the penis." If a penis were to be so uppity as to try to rise while its pious owner was innocently sleeping, the device would employ spikes, an alarm bell, and an electric shock to get things back under control. (What made Albert V. Todd think he needed all three of these? Wouldn't one have sufficed? And an electric shock? What the hell?!) If boner control was his goal--in which case, I do have to wonder about the happiness of Mrs. Albert V. Todd--I suspect the job could have been done far more gently. Perhaps someone like that "The number you have reached is no longer in service" telephone lady could have recorded a quiet reminder like, "Attention. Your sinful penis is rising. Please make a note of it."

It wasn't always considered such a bad thing to enjoy one's own company, so to speak. Throughout

Monday, May 17, 2010

No, I Am Not Mature At All, Thanks For Asking

I'm not sure how it was that I came across the new blog, Accidental Penis. (And no, I am not going to bother retracing my steps because I think that would just embarrass us both.) As far as I can tell, the site's sole reason for existing to is post photos that--as the name strongly implies--contain an accidental penis.  For me, a few accidental penises go a long way, so I've saved you the arduous task of clicking over and have found the very finest example of accidental penisness for you, dear reader. (Spellcheck, btw, is thoughtfully informing me that "penisness" is misspelled.) The accidental penis below is offensive in about 17 different ways, but maybe that's why it's so darn good.

Friday, May 14, 2010

True Wife's Tale #3: Noelle, Finding Sex Outside Of Her (Practically) Sexless Marriage

"I have a sex drive like a man's," says Noelle. She likes sex, she thinks about sex, she reads about sex. Her husband, not so much. For almost 20 years, she tried to get her husband to move beyond their once-a-month, routine sex, but for whatever reason, this made him uncomfortable. Not only did this do a number on her self-esteem, but it deprived her of the fulfilling sex life she felt she deserved. Noelle, a vibrant, bright, gorgeous young woman, decided she was not ready to accept a practically sexless existence for the rest of her life, but she wasn't willing to break her marriage up over it. Her solution? Noelle, who travels for business, started picking up men she meets when she's out of town. In her mind, it's the perfect solution.  Her marriage stays together, she is no longer pestering her husband for sex and, well, I'm sure picking up some dude in the hotel bar is a lot more entertaining than my general hotel plan, i.e. hanging out in the room watching cable. Read her story here. 


For those who just joined us, True Wife's Tales are a place for women to tell the truth about what's really going on in their sex lives.  The idea being: knowledge = power.  If you would like to tell your own story, click here, little missy.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

In Bed With Married Women's Smutty Little Book Club


I am reading Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex by the fabulous writer Mary Roach. Would you like to join me?  I first fell for Mary in her book Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, which, as the title strongly implies, is about dead bodies. I am not interested in dead bodies, particularly, but her book was so funny and fascinating it became an instant favorite (though not one I liked reading in public because of this: "What are you reading? Oh..." Awkward pause. Conversation ends abruptly.) In Stiff, she writes about how people in the olden days had a fierce terror of being buried alive (not that we modern folks are especially down with the practice) so to avoid such a fate, the dead were housed temporarily to make sure they were indeed dead. These rooms contained a system of strings linking the fingers of corpses to a bell, so if they were actually alive, they could twitch their finger to kindly alert the attendant to their state of aliveness. Write Roach: "Some had separate halls for male and female cadavers, as though, even in death, men couldn't be trusted to comport themselves respectably in the presence of a lady."

I just started Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, but already I am filled with new knowledge, some of which, quite frankly, I wish I didn't know.  In that category would be the fact that in parts of Africa, Haiti and Indonesia, moistness between a woman's legs is considered to be a turn-off. So to facilitate the "dry sex" their men want, the women use drying agents, including shredded newspaper, cotton, rock salt, detergent, bark and--ack!--dried animal poop. I don't want to be a cultural imperialist or anything, but Our Way = Good, Their Way = Bad.

But it's not all just gross facts about people shoving dry stuff up their wangs, there's tons of

Monday, May 10, 2010

Shhh--I Got A Playboy, Let's Look At It!

A stack of hidden Playboy magazines was as big a part of the standard-issue house of the 1960s and 70s as shag carpeting, jelly jars as drinking glasses, and a paperback copy of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Dads of the era, who were clearly not gifted at hiding their stash of porn, inadvertently provided many of us with an afternoon activity--gathering the neighbor kids and looking at Playboys. (And did any dad ever choose a hiding place that was not under the bed or in the dresser drawer?)

I don't think I had a seen a Playboy since about 1977 when my friend and I were perusing her dad's, Mr. F's, collection. (Hiding place: under the bed.) So last week, when a reader generously provided me with a copy, I was eager for the illicit thrill of checking it out. I waited until the kids were in bed.  Then I waited further as they faked me out and kept creeping back out of their bedrooms, scaring the bejeezus out of me as I anxiously prepared to look at my forbidden reading materials.

Friday, May 7, 2010

The New Contest Is Here! The New Contest Is Here!

Your challenge? Answer the following question: What are the three types of female orgasms, according to a recent post? The first right answer gets their choice of one of the following products, courtesy of Good Vibrations, the girl-friendly sex toy company.

The Love Lips! Vibrator is shaped like a lipstick, so if it's discovered by others, you can pretend to be shocked--simply shocked!--by your defective, buzzing lipstick.

Or if you are well-stocked in vibrators and don't care who knows it, perhaps you would rather have Head's Up: The Official Guide to Fellatio.  The DVD is part of sex toy company Good Vibrations' Pleasure-Ed series of educational videos designed to foster better sex.  Says G.V.:
Smart, sexy, fun and permission-granting, the Pleasure-Ed Official Guides don’t just tell you how to have better sex, they show you. This ongoing series of sexual education films will help you find your own sexual style and enjoy it with confidence. Each Pleasure-Ed Official Guide features explicit demonstrations from professional performers and real-life couples to inspire your own sexual adventures and enhance your sex life.
Now, now.  Calm down. No one's implying you need the DVD due to your wretched blowing techniques, it just might be inspiring and kind of hot to get schooled on some new ideas.

Okay, then. Contest starts....right....now. (And if you're too shy to let the whole world know you want such prizes, you can also send your answer via e-mail.)

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Did You Know There Are Three Types of Female Orgasms? Yes, Three

"I have a secret guilty pleasure of reading Playboy," writes a female reader from California. "The feminist in me screams, 'Wrong! This is wrong!' but I love the articles. I swear -- no pages stuck together in my copies!" This stealth girlie mag reader had sent a (non-sticky) Playboy link to alert me to the important and well-appreciated news of the woman with the world's strongest vag (see also: Another Personal Life Goal Dashed) but what I found even more fascinating was the article accompanying it.

In Kim Anami's The Multi-Orgasmic Woman, she explains the Taoist belief in three types of female orgasms, describes what they each are like and how to get there. If you're too lazy to click the link (and, girl, that is truly lazy), I'll break it down for you. The three types -- clitoral, G-spot and cervical -- are akin to a series of gates that need to be entered in progression for a women to enter "an ecstatic state of arousal." Ecstatic state of arousal sounded a lot more interesting than my back-up plan of laundry-folding, so this was something I wanted to learn more about.

If you or your woman has ever had an orgasm (and if not, put it on the to-do list--stat!) it was probably the clitoral. This is the easiest type to achieve, but also the more superficial.  Freud, maddeningly, was right, and there is a deeper (in both senses of the word) kind of vaginal orgasm that comes from stimulation of the G-spot.  The nerves on the clitoris (and here is the point where I will stop using the word "clitoris") are concentrated and external, while the pelvic nerves are deeper and more spread out, creating "a more generalized, deeper sensation," writes Anami.

The third type is the cervical orgasm, which is kind of like the Big Foot of orgasms, rumored and sometimes observed, but not verified by science. This is the deepest and most transcendent orgasm of them

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

A Little Sensory Exercise For Y'all

Sometimes my body seems like it's merely a transportation device designed to get me from one school function, sporting event, or whatever else boring-ass mom-ing around thing is on my calendar. This is not good, my friends, as the world is full of tactile sensations to behold and a body that is just propelling its owner on errands is a big ol' waste. Now I'm sure that you are fully in touch with your sensory side -- but I'm going to admit that sometimes I need to reminded how damn cool the sense of touch is.

Luckily, this is easy to do -- just be in your body and notice what's going on. Here, I'll even give you a starting point:

A friend of mine was on medication that dulled of his sense of touch. (A "possible side effect" courtesy of our corporate overlords at Big Pharma.) When he went off the medication, his sense of touch returned and he was struck anew with the wonder of it.  Even the experience of taking a shower, he said, was almost overwhelming with the sensations of it all.

The next time I took a shower, I pretended that my sense of touch had just returned and paid ultra-close attention to the tactile sensations of the shower -- the warmth of the water, the individual jets of water hitting me, the smooth soap gliding across my skin.  And oh...my...God.  I mean, we all know that showers are nice and all, but how often do we notice how completely fucking amazing they are? (And I don't think I need to point out how this close attention to sensory pleasures has a similar super-charging effect on sex.)

So my wish for you this Tuesday, dear reader, is a shower of your own that is completely fucking amazing.

Another Personal Life Goal Dashed



What are your eyes seeing here?  It's Tatiana Kozhevnikova, Guinness World's Record holder in the highly-coveted category of World's Strongest Vagina. The Russian woman, 42, lifted a nearly 31 pound glass ball with what she calls her "intimate muscles." In this photo of her proud day, she's all dressed up in her shiny gold outfit, as though she was concerned her vaginal skills wouldn't attract adequate attention. (Although what, really, is the proper attire for setting a vaginal world's record?)

Kozhevnikova has been practicing her skill for 15 years. "After I had a child, my intimate muscles got unbelieveably weak," she told Life.ru. "I read books on Dao and learned that ancient women used to deal with this problem by using wooden balls." As any of us would, Kozhevnikova took immediate action. "I looked around, saw a Murano glass ball and inserted it into my vagina," she said. ("Hon, anyone seen my Murano glass ball lately?")

Kozhevikova, though prone to sticking household objects up her wang, is not a stupid woman, and has parlayed her particular talent into a business, IntimFitness, with classes, videos and books. The web site advertising her wares ("Training for shorts or ideal buttocks in 5 days") is quite charming because of the shaky translations from Russian to English. Here, for example, is an open letter from Tatiana to her potential customers. (With due acknowledgment that any letter I tried to write in Russian would be a billion times more mockable.):    
I wish you, dear women! Never strive to become like TV-stars or idols even in your mind! This is improper mistake! You shouldn't elevate them over yourself.  From great antiquity there is right precept: don't idolize anybody. Work at your body unceasingly and let lazy people who still hesitate whether they should correct their defects or not envy. --Tatyana Kozhevnikova
Tatiana herself will host training sessions for your group if you can come up with 100 people. It's certainly something to think about.  I mean, imagine what you could do with the superpower of vaginal strength. Besides scaring the living crap out of your sexual partner, you could carry an extra bag of groceries, store a back-up set of keys, keep a crossword puzzle handy, twirl the jump rope at recess...  As Tatiana reminds us: "Work at your body unceasingly and let lazy people who still hesitate whether they should correct their defects or not envy." Indeed.
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