Friday, January 28, 2011

The Post In Which I Whore Myself Out For a $22 Piece of Thermoplastic Rubber

As I have incessantly harped on mentioned in passing, there are three ways I (theoretically) make money with this blog.
1. The Paypal donate button there on the right, which, quite frankly, I think is becoming rusted from lack of use.
2. Readers buying stuff through the Amazon search box here on the blog. (Valentine's idea: a Kindle pre-loaded with a thoughtfully chosen book. Go the Bill Clinton route and pop a little Leaves of Grass on there, or click on Project Gutenberg where there are a ton of free ebooks, including The Kama Sutra.)
3. Readers buying sexy things from Good Vibrations through this blog. I get a cut of the sales, which is why I'm always pimping their stuff, but I chose GV for a reason. I like that it's a company that works to educate people--women especially--on how to best enjoy their sexual selves. I love how free and open they are about sex on their site, with people blithely discussing their various sex toys and a whole sex education page covering topics from basics like How to find the G-spot and How to choose a vibrator to more advanced ones like How to pack a cock. I even love how they just say it outright--How to Pack a Cock--without the weird prudery that generally surrounds sex in our society.* The GV attitude is: You want to pack a cock? Great! Here's the best way to do it.

Good Vibes also gives me a monthly list of products I can give as prizes or review myself. As I was looking over the prize choices this month, I read the user reviews for the Flirty G Waterproof G-spot Vibrator. Reviewers were using words like "Wow!" "incredible orgasms" and "!" so I impulsively decided, "Screw the readers, I'm getting this for myself." (Uh, no offense, readers.)

So, after running to the mailbox every day like a kid who had ordered X-ray specs from a comic book, it arrived and, with it, the disturbing knowledge that I would actually have to write about using it. (See also: "weird prudery" above.)

My husband was sick in bed that day so it was a good a time as any to get down with the Flirty G (which I don't actually call that, not even in my mind). One problem: I put the batteries in wrong and they got all hot and made a burning smell. Thus, my poor bedridden husband was accosted with me brandishing a bright blue, possibly burning sex toy, demanding that he fix it. Which, to his credit, he did.

Here's what I thought: it is quiet. Like so quiet I could be in the next room using it and you wouldn't even know. (Don't bother checking, I'm not.) It has 9 speeds, which I pictured going from 1 (mellow) to 9 (Help! Eggbeater on the groin!)  Speeds 1 to 3 do indeed increase in intensity, but 4-9 are various rhythms, whir-whir-whirrrrrrr, pause, whir-whir-whirrrrrr, pause and so on.

Yes, it looks weird, kind of like an IKEA coat hook, and why the hell does it have to be bright blue, and yet... It's designed to hit your g-spot, which--in one of the few fair things about getting older--becomes more findable as you age (see also: In Search of the Elusive Third Type of Orgasm). G-spot orgasms are more extended, deeper and, not to be an orgasm elitist, but just plain better. Explains reader Anne, who just wrote in the other day with the important news of her excellent g-spot orgasm.
I'm 42 and had one. I've never distinguished between vaginal and clitoral orgasms, it's just one big heap of pleasure felt all over. But this one? Completely different. I felt like I was lost in the orgasm and floating above myself witnessing it happen--all rolled into one. For lack of a better description I felt my uterus contract and every contraction was slow and deep, sending waves of pleasure up my stomach into my chest. It felt like the air was being forced from my lungs with every groan. I've heard too that things get better with age and I think I've gained a new erogenous zone that I didn't have a year or so ago. It's right above the mons pubis where the uterus and, bladder create that little bulge. GSpot? I don't know. It feels a little more pleasurable there, and deeper in feels even better still. I've never owned a gspot specific toy, but between the new erogenous zone and this orgasm I think I should correct that post haste. 
The Flirty G is waterproof so you can take it into the shower, but quite frankly, I was too scared to, fearing some sort of embarrassing accident involving me, the Flirty G and electrocution. Although if firefighters had to be called in it might not be so bad...

Anyway, I think I've spilled enough highly personal information and have more than earned my $22 toy. If you want one for yourself, click this link and order one, as Anne would put it, post haste. Oh, and in case you're concerned, GV doesn't tell me who bought things or who bought what or anything like that, so go ahead and get yourself some cock to pack--get a whole damn case of cock, why don't you?  I'll never know.

*I forget how bad the prudery still is. I recently used the word "bawdy" to some relatives of my brother. After rushing to the dictionary to look it up, they got all offended. By the dictionary definition of the word.

photo source:

Monday, January 24, 2011

Enough With the Freakin' Robot Sex, Lady

(part of 3 of what has become the In Bed With Married Women Robot Sex Trilogy, a series so generally unpopular that it makes me want to write about it all the more.)

A few readers have noted the bitter inequality that is the lack of male sexbots. If you are a women, and want to get down with an inanimate human-type object, you have to go with gay robot lovin'. Gay robot lovin' is fine and all that, and I do appreciate there being an area where gay chicks don't get shafted, as it were, but as the lovely Barreness put it, "Um...where's the dude version." Chimed in Harleyq, "What about some ripped rubbed action for those not willing to share personal attention with the T.V.?"

Well, y'all raise a valid point, but don't be rushing to renew your NOW membership quite yet, or better yet do, but heed these words: The way robot technology is today you do not want gender equality. I draw your attention to the TrueCompanion site, the web site for Roxxxy, the interactive sexbot. I linked to this before, but it was only later, after you all were gone, that I looked, really looked, at that site, and damn, is it bad.

If you don't want a visit to a sexbot site in your computer's search history (and I would encourage you to figure out the "private browsing" feature--stat), I can give you the highlights since, as I've noted before, my computer's search history is already a ravaged mess, filled with web sites for balloon sexual fetishes, disembodied vagina sex toys and, most recently, the home page for the National Organization of Women.

If I was at your house showing you the True Companion web site (and don't think I won't do it), I would point out:
1. The hideous quality of the site. Web sites and sexbots both are computer-based and, on that alone, I can safely say that there is no way in hell that I would have sex with anything designed by the same people who made the site.
2. Creepy videos.

The guy on the left (above) who looks like George Costanza is Roxxxy's creator. In all his video appearances, he wears this same white lab coat. I guess it's so he doesn't look like a creepy-ass weirdo, but the coat doesn't quite do the trick. But look at Roxxxy! I mean, where to start? The way she is sitting, her drag queen body and worse--if you are brave enough to watch the video--the frightening way she turns her head to look at him. Creeeeaaak! Aaaaaaaah! It's alive! Also, there is the matter of that hideous couch, but at this point, I think that's the least of our worries.

Or this, a video in which Roxxxy demonstrates her "new leg, head and body movement in action!"

In it, Lab Coat Dude sits at a computer, trying desperately to convey that not only is he a respected member of the medical community, he's also computer literate. This is immediately disproved with the continuation of the vid which inexplicably has no sound. In eerie silence, Roxxxy demonstrates her new hip movement by thrusting in the general direction of an wooden dining room chair. Although she is wearing thigh-highs and animal print undies (rawwrr!), she moves with the sensuality of a bag of frozen peas. Right in the middle of the damned thing, Mr. Lab Coat walks into frame--not to have his dirty, dirty way with Roxxxy--but to remove her wig! Help! Suddenly bald Roxxxy! Not real girl, scary robot! Fantasy abruptly ruined! He sort of fondles her bald pate for a moment, then places the wig back on and walks back out of frame. I think he is demonstrating something, but we'll never know what because over at TrueCompanion they haven't yet mastered the technology of talkies. (Again, they can't even put friggin' sound on videos. Do you really want to stick your wiener in something they've designed?)

3. The history page for TrueCompanion in which mention is made of an earlier 1993 'bot called Trudy. She was not "user-friendly" is all they will allude to, and frankly, I don't think I want to know any more. Also mentioned in the history are 9/11, a dead friend and the idea of recreating said dead friend via talking robot which robot!

And finally, 4. A male robot is indeed in the works. His name in Rocky. On his order form (he's about $7000 plus $19.99 monthly service fees), you can choose his hair color, race, razor stubble ($100 extra), etc... I was briefly intrigued until I remembered the horror of the Roxxxy video. I can only imagine what sort of hideous barely-representative-of-human-male creature would arrive at my doorstep. They won't even show Rocky's picture on the site, so I think he might look a lot like the Rocky from Mask.  (My worse fear: Rocky looks just like Mr. Lab Coat, despite my asking for a German-speaking Asian man with black eyebrows, hairstyle #7, and paying $100 extra for razor stubble.)

Oh wait, I forgot about 5. The weird prudish language on the site. Here's what they have to say about Rocky:
When you are using Rocky’s private “area”, it is like sleeping with a beautiful hunk that is really big down there and he moves it around to please you instead of just pleasing himself! Plus, the vibrations from his manhood coupled with his erotic personality is described as unbeatable. 
"Private 'area'"? "Down there"? "It"? "Manhood"? What the fuck is that? "Attention purchaser, touch me in my private 'area.' Feel the vibrations from my manhood as it touches you 'down there.'"

Oh, I could go on, but my butt, it grows numb. Suffice it to say, if you have a spare $7000 earmarked for sex toys, I can think of about 233 better things to spend your money on. I bet you can, too. (May I suggest Good Vibrations? Good products, eco-friendly policies and a sweet sweet cut to IBWMW if you buy something through this link.)

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Should You Fuck A Robot? Well...Maybe Not. (Part 2 of what, embarrassingly, has become a series on robot sex)

As you may recall from the last post, Should You Fuck A Robot? Well...Maybe, I was all hepped on banging robots. My main arguments being:
1) An article I read skimmed that predicted that one day doctors would prescribe sex with robots as part of a healthy lifestyle (orgasm=longevity). But mostly:
2) The sudden realization that if sexbots were as good as predicting what I liked, sex-wise, as Pandora internet radio is, music-wise--well, sign me the fuck up.

However, I'm not saying that you should rush to locate the nearest robot and start humping away. No, there are a few very important caveats. To wit:

1. I'm talking about robots in the future. WAY, WAY, WAY in the future. Like in 2050, the year experts predict sexbots will become indistinguishable from humans. (Although, by 2050, the only thing I'll be wanting my sexbot to do is bring me my slippers and juice.) Unfortunately sexbots of 2011 are quite distinguishable from humans.

Consider Roxxxy (above and left) the state-of-art in sexbots from TrueCompanion. She has five programmable personalities, a motor that makes her appear to breathe, and she talks in her sleep. She can hold a "conversation," "look" at you with her dead, soulless eyes and will fuck you senseless for 3 hours (at which time her battery runs out), never once mentioning the wretched fact that you have just spent the last 3 hours having sex with a household appliance. However, I think TrueCompanion could stand to do some re-jiggering on Roxxxy's general demeanor.  I am not a robotologist, but in these pix, Roxxxy appears to be less "in the mood" and more "prepared to acquire human genetic samples to take to hostile home planet."

2. Expense. $7000--a sum of cash that's difficult to hide, even using the kind of highly developed "black budget" I've adopted in my own household finances. And don't be trying to save money on this kind of thing. Reader Belinda brought up the enchantingly disturbing possibility of cheaper knockoffs that would exhibit only a passing knowledge of human sexual desires. "You liiiiike arm," your cheapo doll would squeak in an unpleasant voice, using the twisted syntax of dollar store product instructions, as it poked your arm painfully. "Time to put sex on me!" Then its plastic eye would fall out.

3. Various and sundry concerns brought up by beloved In Bed With Married Women readers (among them dear Ed, Tricia, Annah, Candycan and The Barreness) including lack of relationship drama, loss of human interaction, and fear of becoming so smitten by robot love that you'd give up on flawed humans entirely. Not to mention embarrassing tech support calls. ("Well, the problems started when Roxxxy and I decided to get a can of peas involved...")

I will leave you today with a link to this wonderfully cheeky article, The First Talking Robot: A (Terrified) User's Review, in which Daniel O'Brien spends an evening with Roxxy. Is it a date? Household appliance review? You decide...

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Should You Fuck A Robot? Well...Maybe.

If you asked me yesterday what my opinion on robot sex was, I would have said--while backing away from you, claiming to have vague, but quite pressing errands to attend to--something dismissive about social misfits and sex dolls. But today as I was walking Daisy, I was pondering the concept of robot sex (well, what the hell do you think about when you walk your dog?) and my whole robot sex worldview radically shifted with one word: Pandora. Sweet sweet Pandora. Pandora, if you haven't had the pleasure, is an Internet radio station that picks music for you based on what you like.

I am half crazy in love with Pandora. If I could make out with it, I would. Pandora is like the best, most attentive lover ever. It knows exactly what I'd like to hear and when I'd like to hear it. It makes music choices that charm and delight me--"Following an obscure live Radiohead track with old Pogues? Pandora, how clever!" And Pandora doesn't just spew back what I put into it. Using some algorhythms that are probably highly creepy and may well be the ruin of us all, Pandora peers into my fucking soul, man, and knows what I want. Nay, what I need.

So here's my idea: what if a robot lover was like Pandora? What if using the same creepy-ass technology, Robot Lover could be exactly what you need, even if you didn't know what it was that you needed? In the h+ Magazine article, Sexbots Will Give Us Longevity Orgasm, writer Hank Hyena predicts that such sexbots are coming and will be a physician-recommended tool for longevity as present in American homes as Omega oil capsules and Zumba DVDs. Writes Hyena:
Remember the most convulsive, brain-ripping climax you ever had? The one that left you with "I could die happy now" satiety? Sexbots will electrocute our flesh with climaxes twice as gigantic because they'll be more desirable, patient, eager, and altruistic than their meat-bag competition, plus they'll be uploaded with supreme sex-skills from millennia of erotic manuals, archives and academic experiments, and their anatomy will feature sexplosive devices. Sexbots will heighten our ecstasy until we have frothy, shrieking, bug-eyed, amnesia-inducing orgasms. They'll offer us split-tongued cunnilingus, open-throat fellatio, deliriously gentle kissing, transcendent nipple tweaking, g-spot massage prostate milking dexterity, plus 2,000 varieties of coital rhythm with scented lubes.
Of course, sexual communion between real flesh-and-blood humans is transcendent and soul-igniting and all that, and yet...

Well, consider the Pandora factor. Maybe you'd be thinking you needed some soulful tender sex, but your sexbot would give you a spanking--and it would be exactly right. Or vice versa. (That is, you get the tender love, not that you spank the robot. Though of course you could. If it's been naughty. And that's the whole point, it's your sex fantasy robot--you can do whatever the hell you want.) You could set your 'bot to Javier Bardem one night, then the cute dad from school the next. Hell, set it to Carol Channing, if that's what you're feeling. Plus, you could have all the unhealthy brain fuck relationships you want with none of the painful psychic damage. That means you could set your sexbot -- full power! -- to Somewhat Insane, but Delightfully Passionate Philosophical Guy on Thursday, and Hilarious But Depressive Writer on Friday.

This all plays into an area which is endlessly fascinating to me--that is, the continuum and overlap between sex and love. I mean, you can have incredible sex with your hand or your vibrator or whatever but (most of us, at least) don't experience any kind of love feelings for them. Conversely, you can have emotionally intense sex with a live person but experience only mild physical sensations. Or some mix n' match combo therein. Where would these 'bots fit in? Would we fall in love with them? Or would we feel as romantically attached to them as we do to, say, our toasters?

What do you think about all this? (And if I were your sexbot, I would already know.)

P.S. Coming Next: "Should You Fuck A Robot? Well...Maybe Not."

(image source:

Monday, January 10, 2011

We're Number 3,513,232! Suck it, Number 3,513,233!

Instead of doing any number of the productive tasks lurking annoyingly on my to-do list, I just spent the better part of an hour studying my Alexa ranking. Alexa rankings, for the non-nerds among you, tell you how popular your blog is, what keywords are working for you, and whatnot. Checking your Alexa ranking is a somewhat masturbatory activity in that it's a self-involved and vaguely shameful way to spend one's time, but unlike actual masturbation, it doesn't necessarily end well.

What I love about Alexa is that it presents the largely obscene In Bed With Married Women data in such a serious, business-like fashion. Alexa seems to think I am transmitting their data directly to In Bed With Married Women World Headquarters, where crisply efficient workers enter it via punch cards into a room-sized computer. There are lots of numbers bandied about, and talk of percentages and "high impact search queries." Thus, Alexa informs me gravely, the search query "yes I have done a mangina" has suffered a 1.32% decline. On the plus side, "vajazzling porn," "fuckable women," and "anatomically correct fur suit" are all climbing the charts. Perhaps I will present this information at the Board Meeting on Monday.

Actually, I'm not sure how accurate Alexa really is because it lists one of top search queries for the month as "is your anus stained by poo". Now, I am willing to accept that one person, maybe even up to three people, used that search term to find me--but come on!--I get thousands of visitors to this site, many of them through search terms. I refuse to accept that "is your anus stained by poo" is one of my top draws. I simply won't have it.

I am much more willing to believe the data that comes from Google Analytics. Over there "In Bed With Married Women" is the top search query, as it cussing well should be, and the top ten are all non-embarrassing variations of that. (Well, except for #5 "how to bleach your anus at home" which I will choose to ignore.) Way, way down the list are the usual what-the-hell-people-seriously-Google-this? kinds of queries I so enjoy such as, "alien dildoing self," "deflated boobs porn," (hey, watch it, buddy!) "bad sounds from women," and, oddly, "our forefathers" (Whoops! Wrong page!).

I am especially fond of the query "red-head-perfect-shapped-body-in-bed-with-nice-ass-tags-skin-hair-foot-feet-small-ass" for its excessive specificity ("I distinctly typed in that my perfect 'shapped' redhead should have skin! This redhead is not only skinless, but clearly has a medium--not small--ass!") But my favorite of the week was "free and no signing up for videos of women fucking their dogs." I think this searcher has been burned before. "I want to see women fucking their dogs, but no way am I paying. And NO sign ups! That's how they get ya!" I emailed this breaking dog fucking news to my friend who responded--and this is why I love him so: "You gotta pay, otherwise you just get short, lo-rez vids and the dogs are always ugly. Plus, when you pay, they always throw in a couple of horses, too." Totally. Besides, those free dog fucking videos always just jump straight into the action. Maybe it's because I'm a girl or something, but I need some back story. Tell me a little bit more--WHY are the females fucking their dogs? Is it angry sex? Make-up sex? Is the cat watching?

But for now, I need to run over to Headquarters to get our numbers guys on some data analysis. After all, you don't get to be the Alexa 3,513,232th most visited web site in the world (yeah, that's right, baby) without some good business sense. And lots of talk about aliens dildoing themselves.

(photo source:

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Mmm, Sex Toy Recycling*

Your sex life is probably already pretty green. Hopefully you're not doing it while simultaneously eating excessively-packaged Lunchables, and I certainly hope you've traded up from your old-fashioned coal and nuclear-powered vibrator. But beyond the obvious ways of greening your sex life (i.e. take a shower together to save water, don't have 8 billion kids the Earth can't sustain, etc...), there are a few ways to push it further--way further.

There are companies, like Sex Toy Recycling Program and Sex Toy Recycling, that--as their names quite strongly imply--recycle sex toys. The Sex Toy Recycling site sums up this mysterious and magical process with this oddly heart-warming diagram of old, sad broken sex toys being transformed into a shiny new purple dildo. (Hooray! The Island of Misfit Sex Toys is saved!)

and sends them to the appropriate bins for grinding up to be made into shiny new sex toys and other things as well. Like, perhaps, that coffee cup you're drinking out of right now! (Pause for spit take.)  

The (unused) sex toy industry is also all over this green thing and has a host of green sexy stuff including vibrators with rechargeable batteriesorganic lubeflavored vegan condoms, even bondage gear made out of 100% recyclable rubber. Our favorite (unused) sex toy company Good Vibrations has a whole Ecorotic line of these "sustainable" sex toys. (Press the green banner to the left to see what they have. Buy yourself something fancy, honey.) And you can feel even more virtuous with the purchase of your non-PVC anal plug or whatever because GV is partnering with the Global Justice Ecology Project, a cool group focusing on climate justice, Indigenous People's rights and protection of native forests.

This is all good, right?  Because we really don't want our children's children surrounded, Wall-E-style, by piles of grandma's non-recyclable polystyrene anal ring toss game, now do we?

* And yes, this post was indeed recycled as well. It used to be a giant plastic penis. But don't worry. I rinsed it off.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Female Condom, Where Art Thou?*

Ahhhh, remember the female condom?  Yeah, neither do I.  The poor old female condom seems like one of those ideas that got lost in time, like Esperanto or getting Americans to understand the metric system.  I mean, did any of you ever use a female condom?  Or even see one?  (If so, do tell.)

It's not much of a mystery why we aren't all using female condoms on a daily basis.  (Although I personally am wearing one right now.  You know, just in case.)  According to the Wikipedia entry on female condoms (because I am willing to spend minutes on research for you, dear reader), "reported 'rusting' sounds during intercourse turn off some potential users, as does the visibility of the outer ring which remains outside of the vagina."  Yes, the rubbery thing hanging out your nether regions seems like it would be a deal-breaker for most people, especially since the instructions for the contraceptive warn that the device should be hanging out  at least an inch.  Hanging out there an inch, flapping in the breeze.  Promotional materials also note that the female condom can be put in early.  "Honey, do I hear a rustling sound? And is that what I think it is hanging out your pants?  Oooh, baby."  As if all this weren't enough--and believe me, I think it is--the name given female condoms by the FDA is "vaginal pouches." 

The odd coda to all this that Female Health Company (FHC), the maker of female condoms, was just named 8th in the top 100 fastest growing publicly traded small companies by Fortune.  How can this be?    Well, it seems we have been distributing massive amounts to women in developing countries, like a mean big sister handing down clothing rejects.  "Here, these are totally lame.  But you might like them."

And btw, if all this talk of female condoms is making you hot, they're still available here in America from Good Vibrations. Order yourself a nice, big, tan-colored one. The one that really hangs out far.

*And yes, it is rerun week around here. If you don't like it, I am afraid I will have to advise you to suck it.