Monday, June 27, 2011

A Little Housekeeping, Plus A Man on How It Feels To Use A Fleshlight and A Woman on How It Feels To Use the Female Condom

In Bed With Married Women can now be sent directly to your Kindle or other e-reader! Imagine how horrified your other e-books will be. Click here for a free two-week subscription.

And just so it's not all money-grubbing around here today, I'll leave you with these two How Does It Feel descriptions from readers.  First, a man on Fleshlights, which are flashlight-looking male masturbation sleeves, and second, a woman on what it feels like to use a female condom.

Cpt. Wolf wrote of Fleshlights:   

In my experience, it's simply a different sensation. I don't find them to be a mind blowing experience, just a change up to suit my mood. The ones that I've tried are generally tighter than a woman. There's more tension to the material, even with generous lube. They're certainly not unpleasant, but don't hold a candle to the real thing. They certainly don't do the same thing for me as my girlfriend's toys when I use them on her. Although we've never tried using one of mine in bed. That, I have a feeling, is a totally different story. I think one of the big things is that I'm aware that it's still me doing it. The addition of another person would most definitely change the intensity. Then it might just have that mind blowing effect.

And Robin Wolfe (yes, she of Victorian Porn Fridays) had this to say of female condoms:

I tried them once. Imagine one of those small plastic bags that you put produce in at the grocery store. At either end, attach one of those silicone message bracelets that people wear to support various charities.

Now take that bag and stick it in your cooter (remember to squeeze the bracelet at the inside end so you can get it up there), and slop some lube inside it so the guy doesn't feel quite as much like he's fucking a plastic bag. Remember to keep reaching down during the act to make sure it isn't sliding out, or in, or perhaps disappearing into the Rift.

That's what it's like to use a female condom.

So, uh, okay, then, you're free to go. But don't forget about the whole IBWMW on Kindle thing. Alert the neighbors, tell your friends or just go on Amazon and give it a decent review.   

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Victorian Smut and Homemade Plushies, aka It's Reader Mail Time

Sometimes you don't get to see some of the insanely fabulous reader mail I get when it comes via email, as a new comment on an dusty old post, is eaten by Blogger, etc...  

Thus, you missed this one from dear reader Chaffyn Lovejoy regarding the plushie post I'd titled, perhaps rashly and unwisely, I am going to fuck you so hard, Snuggle. Wrote Chaffyn:
I've got a nice plushie for you. Rather, my wife Freya does. Neither of us were aware of the plushie lovers contingency before we read your illuminating report on their . . . uh . . . activities. Freya, a multitalented artist, musician, and dancer (currently organizing and training a burlesque troupe) is making a series of anatomically correct stuffed animals. Here's her latest which she calls "Tranny Bear":
Not since someone doctored up a Snuggle Fabric Softener Bear® for me in 1987 and made it look it evil (it was all in the eyebrows), have I been so pleased to have inspired a disturbingly modified stuffed animal. Although, to be fair, there really have only been the two stuffed animal mutants. So, it's not, like, my thing, or anything... Still, I can certainly see how it all must look to you. I suspect having even one altered stuffed animal associated with my name is one more than most people have, and has undoubtedly put me on a suspicious persons list somewhere.

Meanwhile, gentle reader Robin Wolfe schooled me on Female Hysteria and Creepy Old-Time Vibrators:

Victorians have an unfair reputation as being sexless and/or frigid. Yes, there were the "lie back and think of England" types, just as there are now; but there were also plenty of people, including many women, who enjoyed sex plenty. In fact, many women in the Victorian era had what were referred to as "romantic friendships", which were passionate emotional relationships with other women, and they often crossed into being sexual. It was considered perfectly acceptable back then, and nobody (including husbands and families) thought anything of it. On a semi-related note, if you've never read any Victorian porn, you should; despite the use of ridiculous euphemisms, they often had an explicit frankness that can still be startling today. (If anyone's curious, I run a series called "Victorian Porn Fridays" where I occasionally post excerpts from Victorian-era porn.)

Well, OF COURSE I was curious to see Victorian porn and I'm glad I did. Do hie on over through Robin's link anon and verily you will behold Victorian smut like 1891's The Power of Mesmerism 
(man mesmerizes "Ethel" to remove her drawers, "insert her finger in that divine cunt and frig herself" and finally "draw forth his prick...then suck it until with a positive howl of delight he inundated her mouth with his spendings"). See also 1901's Autobiography of a Flea, written from the point of view of a strangely observant and well-spoken flea. Reports the intrepid flea:
From my perch nestling inside her bellybutton, I could observe everything. The pink, plump lips of her orifice seemed to be drawn back as he burrowed himself to his very balls within her womb. Their bellies touched as did their thighs, and a shivering paroxysm seized them both as their mouths fused in hot communion. Then slowly he drew himself out almost to the very tip and there was a sucking sound as the moist recesses of her matrix grudgingly released his weapon, straining every wily inner muscle with which the female is so lovingly endowed in the aspiration of bringing him back swiftly to her bower.
If you're into the whole Victorian porn thing, you might also have a look at Wicked Knickers, an oddly fascinating site of vintage erotic photos that proves definitively that old-timey people did more than just sit around in their parlors, roll hoops down the streets, and ring for Maid to bring in tea. 

(image source:

Monday, June 20, 2011

Steve Buscemi, the Archetypal Ugly Celebrity Crush? Plus, the Contest Winner

Not just hot,
Steve Buscemi hot.
The winner of the Ugly Celebrity Crush contest is Anna Marie. Her prize is an iRabbit Mini Waterproof Vibrator from Good Vibrations. Anna, send your mailing address to: jillhamilton001(at)gmail(dot)com and GV will mail your prize out asap. (A side note: Anna Marie will be "in the shower" for the foreseeable future.)

Anna's Ugly Celebrity Crushes were Rosie O'Donnell and Steve Buscemi. (Steve Buscemi, coincidentally, inspired this contest after a typically meandering and non-productive coffee conversation with Sandra that began, "I know Steve Buscemi is totally ugly, but...") Your Ugly Celebrity Crushes also included Conan O'Brien, Marty Feldman, Steven King, Dwight Yoakum and Donatella Versace, among many others. Yikes. 

I will add that it ripped my heart out to pick only one winner, and in the end, I just had my daughter draw a name out of a bowl. (I told her it was for a "back massager." Because that's the kind of lying parent I am.) I enjoyed your answers immensely and please know that I wish I could send blue vibrators to each and every one of you (and a pink one for you, little Lost.In.Idaho.) 

And if you didn't win, don't worry. I'll post another contest soon, if only to assuage my latent Socialist guilt over picking one person over another. (If you're feeling more Capitalistically-inclined, click here to buy it for yourself because you're not waiting for a stinkin' hand-out. You've worked hard for your money and will spend it as you damn well please.)


Thursday, June 16, 2011

A Really Good Contest, Plus Your Ugly Celebrity Crush

See that blue thing below that appears to be pointing to these words? That, my friend, is not just a handy pointing device, but also today's fabulous contest prize.

It's an iRabbit Mini Waterproof Vibrator from hipster sex toy company Good Vibrations, an $89 value! (insert cheery game show music here.)

Damnably, I haven't tried it myself, but it sounds quite delightful. One, it's phthalate-free and waterproof. Two, it ranks very low on the volume scale (good for sneaking back to your room to "fold the laundry"), yet ranks highly on the intensity scale (meaning, laundry folding will be really, really....good.) But, that's not all--dude, listen to this ad copy: 
Sporting the same semi- realistic design [as the full-size version], the multi-speed iRabbit features the swiveling shaft, scintillating pearls, and multi-function pulsation patterns for a variety of stimulating experiences. 
The last part of the sentence with the swiveling shaft and whatnot is so appealing, I can scarcely be bothered to make a joke about the "semi-realistic design." I would so get this swag for myself, but I'm pretty sure I'd never leave the house again. (Note: not a lie.)

To enter, name your Ugly Celebrity Crush as a comment below. A UCC--because I'm literally too lazy to type the whole fucking name again (a time-saver I just negated by typing a much longer explanation which required the additional arduous task of italicizing. Crap.)--is a famous person who, while technically ugly, still has a certain something. Which is visible only to you. 

Dick Morris,
Mine, I am sorry to report, is Dick Morris, who is a complete asshole and, truth be told, getting pretty fat. Yes, he's a fat, unattractive, politically heinous asshole, but...well, rrraaoooww. 

I know. I know. I am filled with shame. 

Okay, now you. Who's your Ugly Celebrity Crush?

Winner will be announced Monday, June 20, 2011, and selected by me and the vagaries of my whims. Or...if I'm lucky, me and my new lover, Dick Morris.

(Btw, if you want to bypass the contest and get to that "laundry folding" right away, click here to order the contraption.)

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Guest Post: "Orgasms Aren't That Big A Deal" by Alyssa Royse

I first fell for Alyssa Royse's post on orgasms with this paragraph:
If I just needed a quick orgasm, I would rely on porn and a vibrator to get me there quickly. But if that was all I wanted, I would never bother having sex with other people. When I'm having sex with someone, I want it to be an unencumbered journey of exploration with a very specific person. 
Then she quoted David Foster Wallace ("A good lover makes you feel good, but a great lover makes you feel like you are a great lover") and that sealed the deal.

In "'O' Relax!" she writes about the aftermath of an accident that left her largely orgasm-less, and how this affected her sex life.  

For me, her piece brings up all sorts of delicious issues to ponder like: What is the goal of sex? How is physical sex different than emotional/spiritual/passionate sex? What constitutes sex? What (if anything) differentiates sex from the sexual?

You can read more from Alyssa on her women's sexuality site, Not So Secret, or her personal blog, Just Alyssa (today's topic, I believe, is maraschino cherries.)

Please, a warm welcome for Alyssa Royse:
I pretty much don’t have orgasms. I am not alone in that. I have felt guilt, fear and shame around that fact, and I am not alone in that. I have faked it, and I am not alone in that.

Orgasms were always hard to come by for me. But after really learning my body, I could get there, both on my own and with lovers. However, after a car-accident and resulting brain injury, they all but disappeared. And I was, frankly, glad to see them go. As good as they felt for the short time they were happening, the drama and pressure around getting there never seemed worth it to me.  I never understood what the big deal was. They’re awesome, but they’re a tiny part of a much larger picture.
If I just needed a quick orgasm, I would rely on porn and a vibrator to get me there quickly. But if that was all I wanted, I would never bother having sex with other people. When I’m having sex with someone, I want it to be an unencumbered journey of exploration with a very specific person. I want no map, no “to do” list, no expectations and no goals. Just all in, focusing on the moment, not on the finish line.
In my mind, the focus on the orgasm rather than everything leading up to it, is like focusing on the wedding but not the marriage – pretty much missing the point.
When I finally figured out that the absence of orgasm was very likely one of the many changes in my body connected to my brain injury, I was almost relieved. But in a culture in which men are trained to win awards, conquer challenges, and be victorious, it’s awfully hard to get guys to accept that an orgasm just didn’t matter. Now I could blame it on my injury, which was totally justifiable and no guy could possibly take personally.
“So, you just don’t have them, at all,” one of my friends asked. “Sometimes it happens, but it’s unusual, and I usually tell lovers that it’s not possible, just because it’s easier, and pretty much true.”
“I’m sorry,” my other friend said.
“Don’t be,” I explained. “It’s great.”
In unison, they both said, “how can that be.” 

I did my best to explain the performance pressure around having an orgasm. That in many cases, women feel like they have to get there to please the guy, like the guy will feel like a failure if he can’t make you cum. And, of course, we feel like a failure, or like we are flawed and not good enough if we can’t get there.  Then the whole focus becomes this one thing, and it’s just too much pressure. Frankly, it’s incredibly hard to have an orgasm under that kind of pressure.
One of my friends is clearly getting it. He explains how he sometimes feels so much pressure to perform, that he’s almost not having fun – which has it’s own obvious repercussions on his performance and pleasure. It’s not dissimilar.
“Imagine if you could remove all that?” I said. “Imagine sex with no pressure, no disappointment, being truly in the moment and not worrying about achieving a goal.”
We agree, that sounds awesome.  And it is.
However, this is also why many women fake it. It is why I have faked it, often. Shortly after my accident, I had a lover who was probably the best lover I’ve had to date. Sex with him was mind-boggling, the very sight (thought) of him would make me tingle and we would fuck for hours in ways that would make anyone jealous and hot. (Gasp.) Best sex ever (though I certainly hope to make that statement untrue, eventually.)
I never had a single orgasm with him. Not one. But he didn’t know that.
Before anyone gets upset about the dishonesty of that, let me try and explain. He and I had nothing in common except mind-boggling sex, for both of us. There was no chance that we were ever going to have a relationship that involved anything more than sex. We were never going to meet each other’s friends, or go out to dinner. All we had was incredible sex, and he deserved to feel like he was an amazing lover.
For whatever reasons, he was very goal-oriented, and not of the kind of upbringing that would have allowed him to get his head around orgasm-free sex. So I just let him believe that I was having orgasms. And I have no qualms about that.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

A Horse With No Name, And Other Sexual Props

I was tinkering around here, setting up a new, more alluring Donate button (over there, upper right) and saw a "You Might Also Like" link to an old post. I clicked on the ancient post, deciphered the cuneiform therein, and rediscovered a completely fascinating fetish prop store. It was found by a reader who'd been inspired to Seek Greater Knowledge by the anal ring toss game post. She wrote:
"I actually googled 'Who invented the anal ring toss?' I needed to know the story. Couldn't find anything. Darn. But what I did find while searching was almost as funny to me. I need to explore these web sites more..Here I feel so knowledgeable, but I didn't know this existed. Check this out:  The Pony Head Bridle Set."

What she found was horsey gear, very expensive horsey gear. This Pony Head Bridle Set, for example, is $275-335, despite the difficult-to-miss fact that the plume looks suspiciously like a feather duster. (That's how they get you! Cheap plume!) Although, to be fair, I'm not an expert and am willing to entertain the idea that my plume/feather duster differentiation skills might be a bit off. According to the ad copy (and I'm just going to take their word on this): "You could search the finest stables in the world for the rest of your life and never find a bridle set as intricate and beautiful as this one." In other words, Miss Smarty Pants Blogger Girl, it's not a fucking feather duster. It's a PLUME.  

If you're one of those matchy-matchy types, you can also buy the Stainless Steel Horse Hair Anal Plug for only $99 (stainless, I guess, being much better than the rusty tin anal plugs grandma used). It has a "pleasing teardrop shape for ease of entry" and is also, according to the copy, "French" and "chic." Because if you're not sporting a chic anal plug, your pretend horse tail will just look silly. If you want hooves as well, it's going to set you back another $199. And that's just front hooves, the only kind available. (Miss Smith, take a memo! Re: new business idea, back hooves.)

Horse Hair Anal Plug.
Note the "pleasing" shape.
It is all WAY too pricey for me, adding one more item to my mental list of Reasons I'm Glad This Is Not My Fetish. If it were my thing, I'd be having to do it on the cheap, "making do" with some sorry-ass broom being my horsey, a dollar store feather duster as my sad, garishly-colored plume, and one of my daughter's old matted princess wigs as my Eeyore-like tail. ("Uh, Mommy, what are you doing with my Belle wig?!") Yes, I would be a sad little Clover (this is my horse name, I just decided). No chic, non-rusting tail butt plug for poor Clover. No happy prancing for my master. Just a pitiful whinny and a simple wish for a sugar cube.

Anyway, if you are feeling brave and have an easily erasable search history, I suggest you go over and check out the whole damn fetish store, if only to scare the bejeezus out of yourself.  I spent the good part of the morning doing just that (uh...maybe you could forget I said that..) and discovered such items as:

--Something called a "Fuck Saw": "You hold it like a gun, and drill into the ass or vagina with powerful and steady force," the copy helpfully explains. 

--The Love Machine: Incorrectly described as having "elegant styling and clean lines" (?), The Love Machine looks less streamline sex toy and more 7-11 hot dog machine--albeit one gone frighteningly awry, spinning out of control and slapping your genitals repeatedly with its elegantly styled wieners. Slapslapslapslap.
The Love Machine.
Hey, anyone else want a Slurpee?

--The Slave Driver Fucking Machine: It costs a little over a thousand bucks but is almost worth it for the name alone. "Hey boss, what should we name this slave driver fucking machine?" "Ma'am? FedEx. Can you sign for this Slave Driver Fucking Machine?" "Honey, how many times do I have to tell you not to throw dirty clothes on the Slave Driver Fucking Machine?" (Note: The ad says in bold text, "No returns/exchanges will be accepted for this product." So don't be ordering a Slave Driver Fucking Machine in periwinkle, then deciding you want the yellow one after all.)

--And finally, The Ultimate Asslock: It's a chastity belt. For your ass. Which would be a fine enough slogan, but I like this one better, from the product's description: "Sometimes, you want others to know your ass is off-limits."

It's, like, THE perfect slogan.  It's short. It creates a consumer need where none existed before. ("Hmmm...I used to have to tell people my ass was off-limits, but with the Ultimate Asslock, I needn't say a word...") And it's relatable. I'm mean, who doesn't agree that: "Sometimes, you want others to know your ass is off-limits"?

As for me, because I do not (yet) own The Ultimate Asslock, I will need to inform you, gentle reader, in the tiresomely old-fashioned, verbal manner that: "Sorry, today my ass is off-limits."

(image source:
Related Posts with Thumbnails