Monday, February 27, 2012

I toss a cock ring into the crowd. Please no trampling.

So, I can't seem to locate the winner of the Bad Erotic Haiku contest. Meaning, the prize--an O-Man vibrating cock ring*--is sitting around, cooling its cock ring heels.

This perturbs me because, not only do I like bestowing sex toys upon you, but I'm also cheap and hate waste. So a free sex toy going to waste? Well, my friends, that is a travesty in all kinds of ways.

No, I say, the cock ring must not have been created for this ignoble end! It must fulfill its Cock Ring Destiny of buzzing pleasantly upon some dude's wang.

"It should go to a good home that will take care of it, maybe a big farm where it has room to run," my dear friend B said.

So, because--unlike our opponents--we are openly and proudly "against" injustice, here is the quickest damn contest you've ever seen.

You can win our heroic cock ring and help it reach its True Purpose by:
1. Having already entered the original Bad Erotic Haiku contest last week. (Entries made via time machine to return to last week not accepted.)
2. Being the first person to comment below.
If you meet these highly stringent criteria, then email me your name and mailing address and fella (or girl, or intelligent computer-using monkey), you've won yourself a cock ring.

*It's waterproof, in case you want to wear it on a rainy day. Or are super super--some might say "excessively"--sweaty.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

More Bad Erotic Haiku Than Is Probably Healthy

Ask me about my "baller"!
Today is the drawing for the winner of the Bad Erotic Haiku Contest. I am going with a random drawing due to latent socialist tendencies that make me twitchy at the prospect of choosing one person over the other. (Though going with random chance, now that I think about it, is probably even more unfair.)

But there's no time for philosophical deliberations and expensive probability analysis because, fuck it, the winner is...Bill!

Bill, you are the soon-to-be new owner of this lovely O-Man Waterproof Vibrating Cock Ring courtesy of Good Vibrations! Email me your mailing address and that thing will be buzzing away pleasantly on your wiener in a matter of weeks.

Here's Bill's touching haiku:
fiercely thrusting shaft
you have bitten through your tongue
must you always cry?


And in case you didn't see all the entries, I'll run them here because, oh lordy, they were genius. (Note: The fucked up formating and cacophony of fonts is my fault and I'm sorry for the assault on your aesthetic sensibilities. Not sorry enough to take the time to fix it--somewhat less sorry than that, while still being sorry.)

Gia with "Using a cock ring with Boyfriend" 
How does it go on?
WHOOPS that looks pretty painful
I'll go get the ice


Cagey-C with 
Moans mean satisfied,
right? I am never certain.
Was that the right hole?



Mal with "Give It To Me, Baby - or - Prostate Poetry"
Whispering wine thoughts,
excitement, lube, and hands like
The Truckasaurus.



ohnothankyou with
i have a headache.
a blow job? are you kidding?
go the fuck to sleep.



Betty Fokker with
Lovely is his cock/
with a new vibrating ring/
for my orgasm/




jenerosity with

To go down on you
to savor your creaminess
Ack! Was that a pube?


Sherri with
Hands cuffed, on the floor
Whipped and bruised used like a whore
Shit, where are the keys?




mjs with
Pussy stays open nights/
like a moon on hot wet summer/
tampon string, teeth, braces


Thursday, February 23, 2012

I've Got Your Damn Contest Right Here, Buddy. Write Some Bad Erotic Haiku, Win a Manly, Manly Prize

All hepped up by the post on Bad Erotica, reader Bill over at the In Bed With Married Women Facebook page had the genius idea for a bad erotica-writing contest. "Oh, yes," I thought, "But the Gentle Readers of Today are busy. How about a bad erotica contest...using haiku?"

Are you in?

The prize is a cock ring, because we're classy like that. Specifically the O-Man Waterproof Vibrating Cock Ring courtesy of my sex toy corporate overlords at Good Vibrations.

Here's a photo of it posing nicely for you, at left:

What the hell does a cock ring do? Well, here, let's have a look at the description.
Take a step up from standard stimulation with the O Man Vibrating Pleasure Ring. This buzzy buddy combines a battery-powered bullet vibe with a textured elastomer ring for superior stimulation, and then brings “the boys” into the action with the “baller” attachment! Just stretch the secondary ring to wear around the testicles to kick the intensity up a notch.  And while the O Man makes a super ring for solo play, the additional tickler nodule on the baller makes it the perfect partner pleaser as well.  Waterproof and easy to use, the O-Man is exactly the right tool for yours!
To win it, write me some bad erotic haiku and put it as a comment below or email it in. I'll pick a random winner on Saturday. Let me know you're an IBWMW Kindle subscriber and I'll give you two entries because, quite frankly, I like you more than everyone else.

If you don't have a cock of your own, or access to one, or cock is not a part of your life, I guess you are out of luck, unless you have a hard-to-buy-for man in your life. Sorry. I'll make sure to get a lady-pleasin' prize next time.

xoxox
jill

(photo source)

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Bad Erotica, that is, Erotica Other People Like

As part of my affiliate deal with Good Vibrations, I get to pick from an assortment of free stuff each month which I can offer to you as a prize or keep for myself*. (My motto: if you're going to sell out to a corporate overlord, do it for a sex-positive, girl-power one that showers you and your loved ones with free sex toys.)

Usually I pass the free sex toy love on to one of y'all, but a couple months ago, Good Vibes was offering a book called Lust: Erotic Fantasies for Women. Oh yes, I decided selfishly--giving not a whit of thought to you and your needs--this one's for mama.

When it arrived in its discreet brown wrapper, I snuck away to be alone with my new smut and started reading. There was a story about an anonymous encounter on a subway which was kinda good. Something about a lady working at a fruit stand and a TV star who comes and whisks her away, eh... Next. I kept reading and reading, hoping to get to "the good part," as it were, but it started to become apparent that, for me at least, there wasn't gonna be a good part.

By the time I got to a story about retiree sex, I stopped looking to be aroused by the book and started reading as sort of a sociological study. (Yes, I am this nerdy. Reading porn as an intellectual exercise. I would appreciate it if you'd not bring it up again.)

I am not at all against retirees having sex. I'm all for it, I swear! But seriously, listen to this supposed "erotica" in "Moving" by Susan St. Aubin.
We trade medical notes: he sometimes takes Viagra in the afternoon. Mornings he can do without. I tell him about the hormone cream I've started using in my cunt to bring back its raw silk texture.
What. The. Fuck???

My point here is not that it is unsexy**, but that yes, though it is unsexy to me, it's completely fucking off-the-charts sexy to someone else. For all I know, writing it was so fucking hot to Susan St. Aubin that she had to slip away several times while writing it to push her hand between her legs to relieve the growing pressure in her hormone cream-covered raw silkiness.

I find it fascinating how different people are turned on by different things. Your particular biological predilection, plus snippets from your experiences--people you knew growing up, a sexy movie scene you saw in 2003, an early lover, an idea you saw in a book--all converge in your brain to form an idea of what is erotic to you.

A friend of mine lent me a book called The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, Vol. 5. I turned to something called "I Want to Watch you Do It" because I liked the title. In it, the girl makes the guy jack off in front of her while she watches, then he takes charge and bosses her around. She, overcome with lust, can do nothing but obey his sexual commands. "Just do what I ask and don't say a word until you come at least twice. Nod your head if you agree," demands the guy, as her puts her through a series of moves. Oh, darling, I loved that #$##! But that's because it happens to fire up whatever particular erotica neurons I have set up in my brain. You, by contrast, might be left completely cold. Perhaps you need a vampire involved, or a fetching Scotsman, or a fierce dominatrix wearing a specific brand of blue boots.

I can imagine that Mammoth contributor Joshua Hoobler would be among those unaroused by my beloved story of sexual instructions. His story, "Not at Risk," lavishly shares the details of some dude giving himself enemas (5 of them!) and having sex with a series of three dildos. (Each oh so very very special.)
On Sunday morning I wake up early, have my regular bowel movement, wipe thoroughly, take the enema bag out from the bathroom cabinet, fill it with warm water, hang it on the towel rack, grab the Astroglide, slip on some latex gloves, lube up my asshole and commence upon a series of two quart enemas...It takes me at least three and sometimes up to five to get to where the toilet water is as clear when I'm done as it is when I sat down. 
Again, the point is not that this is unsexy***, but that this guy and I have a vast chasm--oh so very, very vast--between what we each consider sexy. When he was describing the particular quality of his friggin' poo, I not only wasn't turned on, I was whatever the complete opposite of turned on is. In truth, I really kind of wanted to retch.

However, if me retching turns you on, I would direct you to Puke Planet, a site for those with a vomiting fetish.

Which, I think, kind of makes my point...

xoxox
jill

*I also get a 20% commission on anything you order from Good Vibes through In Bed With Married Women. Might I suggest that We-Vibe 2 couples vibrator thing at the top of this page? The woman wears it during penetration, while it hums along outside and inside at the same time. Haven't tried it but, damn, sure sounds good.
**Though, c'mon it totally is!
***But, holy fuck, it is so so so unsexy!!!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

How Sex at Dawn is blowing my mind in about 64 different ways

Human female displaying
mating behavior
I'm reading Sex at Dawn and, as I mentioned one sentence ago, it is completely blowing my mind. Would you like to read it with me? I'm feeling an overwhelming urge to discuss it with smart people! (That would be you.)

If you haven't already read it, here's the basic premise: the assumption that humans came from sexually monogamous ancestors and are thus naturally monogamous creatures is, perhaps, completely wrong.

The book is filled with all kinds of crazy mind-fuckery like:

 --maybe humans are inherently  non-monogamous creatures, and that by insisting that we are monogamous--we are monogamous, damn it, we are!--we are denying our true sexual natures.  
--maybe sexual jealousy isn't as normal as we think, but is instead a social construct.
--maybe the narrative of women bartering sex for security (i.e. woman marrying a high-status, responsible guy who will help her raise the young) is wrong and women actually have sex because, um, they like sex.
--maybe our ancestors weren't hair-grabbin', woman-draggin' brutes, but rather peaceful foragers who shared food, child-rearing and sex.

Sex at Dawn authors Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha are not saying that we should all rush out and bang the nearest hot mess (well, maybe they are. I'm not quite sure...), but suggest that we should at least examine why we are so fucking desperate to promote and conform to a monogamous ideal that, quite frankly, doesn't seem to be as "natural" as we're all constantly told. 
Deep conflicts rage at the heart of modern sexuality. Our cultivated ignorance is devastating. The campaign to obscure the true nature of our species' sexuality leaves half our marriages collapsing under an unstoppable tide of swirling sexual frustration, libido-killing boredom, impulsive betrayal, dysfunction, confusion, and shame. Serial monogamy stretches before (and behind) many of us like an archipelago of failure: isolated islands of transitory happiness in a cold, dark sea of disappointment. And how many of the couples who manage to stay together for the long haul have done so by resigned themselves to sacrificing their eroticism on the altar of three of life's irreplaceable joys: family stability, companionship, and emotional, if not sexual, intimacy? Are those who innocently aspire to these joys cursed by nature to preside over the slow strangulation of their partner's libido?
"Slow strangulation of their partner's libido"--Hey, happy Valentine's Day everyone!

But it's not all depressing, in fact, it's fascinating. Here's a wee sampling of stuff in Sex at Dawn that made my head explode:

--In some South American societies, there is the concept of shared paternity. A baby is created, not from one sperm/one egg, but from an accumulation of sperm. A woman mates with a variety of partners to give her child, say, the sense of humor of one daddy, the good looks of another, the character of another and so on. Different sperm continue to influence a baby's development until the actual birth. So having sex with more partners during pregnancy is not counted as general sluttiness, but just good parenting. "Far from being blinded by jealousy as the standard narrative predicts," write Ryan and Jetha, "Men in these societies find themselves bound to one another by shared paternity for the children they've fathered together."

--The Mosuo, a matrilineal, agricultural society in China, keeps sexual relations separate from family relations. Starting at age 13 or 14, a Mosuo girl gets her own babahuago (flower room) with a private door leading to the street. At night, she can have as many different lovers as she'd like and there is no expectation (or really a place for) commitment. Guests have to leave before sunrise and people are discreet about their lovers. Any resulting children are raised in her mother's house with the help of her brothers and the rest of the community.
  
Writes Cynthia Barnes, a travel writer who visited the Mosuo in 2006:
Sassy and confident [a Mosuo girl will] grow up cherished in a circle of male and female relatives...When she joins the dances and invites a boy into her flower room, it will be for love, or lust, or whatever people call it when they are operating on hormones and heavy breathing. She will not need that boy--or any other--to have a home or make a "family." She already knows that she will always have both.
--The female reproductive system decides, on a molecular level, which sperm it wants. Each woman's body can judge different men's sperm quality--that is, sperm quality for her, based on genetic compatibility. She'll help along the sperm she likes with a more inviting cervix, contractions that propel sperm deeper and orgasms that create a sperm-friendlier vaginal pH. Sperm from less desired suitors will get doused with unhospitable acidity, a cervix that filters them out, and contractions that send them back where they came from.

--Women have erotic flexibility throughout their lives. But once men imprint on what turns them on, it tends to remain the same their whole lives. (Sex at Dawn notes the prevalence of men stuck with, and unable to overcome, unworkable and/or inflexible fetishes like pedophilia.) Men, in other words, want to do the same thing over and over but with different people. "Novelty itself is the attraction," write Ryan and Jetha.

--Thrusting of the flared head of the human penis, besides being quite delightful in its own right, creates a vacuum in a female's reproductive tract that can expel previously deposited sperm. It doesn't expel its own sperm because conveniently "upon ejaculation, the head of the penis shrinks in size before any loss of tumescence (stiffness) in the shaft, thus neutralizing the suction," write Ryan and Jetha.

--And this one is for the men: Among primates, your dick is, like, huge. HUGE. About 12-13 centimeters. A gorilla? 3 centimeters, maybe.

Oh, I could go on with this talk of huge dicks, suction-neutralizing heads and whatnot, but I want to hear from you. If you've already read Sex at Dawn, I'm so very curious to hear what your thoughts were. If you haven't read it yet, please consider getting the damn thing and joining me in this virtual book club. Read it, then come back to this post and tell me what you thought.

My brain is spinning with all kinds of freaky thought spirals spurred on by the book. Like what, really, are our true sexual natures? And how are men's different from women's (if they are...)? If we were to try to work more with rather than against our true sexual natures, what would society look like? Do men really want to do the same thing over and over, but with different partners? And why are women so vocal during sex? Why is it that humans have such lengthy sexual sessions? (I mean, I know because it's fun, but why evolutionarily? Chimps, by contrast, do it for 7 seconds.) And finally, was it weird that I was sort of turned on by the lengthy descriptions of "the human penis"?

xoxox
jill

(photo source)

Monday, February 13, 2012

Spatula, I'm taking your ass DOWN

In case you haven't been hanging around the IBWMW Facebook page, the issue at hand is that IBWMW has almost, just about, so very very close to 500 fans. 498 at last counting. This would be great, were it not for the extremely painful fact that the spatula Facebook page has 553 fans.

Not to say that the Spatula isn't a worthy foe. I mean, check out this engaging prose from its page:
 "The term spatula is used to refer to various small implements with a broad, flat, flexible blade used to mix, spread and lift materials including foods, drugs, plaster and paints."
But, fuck, it's a SPATULA.

Since yesterday when I started--as dear reader Jeanne Hospod put it--"bitching" about this situation, IBWMW's FB page has gained 3 fans.

However, spatula, in its cunning way, has gained 2.

It's hard to feel good about one's Important Life Work when one (that would be me) is getting bested by an inanimate object, albeit one with "a broad, flat, flexible blade."

So could you get your heinie (or someone else's heinie) over there today to like the IBWMW page?* Besides the chance to stick it to that damn spatula, you'll get regular updates on Misguided Googlers®, plus the chance to hobnob with random weirdos from all over the globe (before I cruelly delete them and their sexy sexy offers of "fat and meaty kitty tasting").

xoxox
jill


*If you are feeling conflicted because you like both IBWMW and spatulas, you can be like dear reader Andy who handled the dilemma by cleverly liking both pages. Or you can endear yourself even further, like dear reader Larry, by un-liking that stinkin' spatula. That's right. In your FACE, spatula.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

2.  The IBWMW Minister of Science sent this enticing missive. "You have to see these pictures. I'm a biologist and even I find these pictures incredibly creepy." The link, if you dare, shows all manner of creepy-ass baby shower cakes. (http://cakewrecks.squarespace.com/home/2011/7/22/the-search-for-the-worlds-most-disturbing-shower-cake-ends-h.htmlWarning: Contains cake fetuses.

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

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

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

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