Wednesday, April 25, 2012

"Shocking (fine) details of a gentle vagina," aka the Misguided Googlers' Quarterly Report

A German variation on Pesäpallo 
In preparation for the IBWMW International Summit in Helsinki, in which we will discuss Important Matters over plates of Karelian pasty (karjalanpiirakka)--a traditional Finnish dish made from a thin rye crust with a filling of rice and topped with munavoi--I am creating a presentation tentatively titled Trends in Misguided Googlers®.

As we saw earlier this week, the IBWMW Ministers of Science, Grammar and Homographs are a prickly bunch (so far, thankfully, the Minister of Technology is staying neutral) so I want to make sure I don't unduly rile anyone up. Plus the stockholders are, well, let's just say they are beyond pissed off at the blog's financial statements.

There's a lot at stake and to be honest, I'm getting kind of wigged out. So mind if I run it by you first?

Good, then, here goes:

*Clanking of spoon on glass filled with Salmiakkikossu, a drink made by dissolving salty-licorice in strong spirits resulting in "an intense black liquid with a stingy smell that tastes like old fashioned cough syrup." I will only pretend to drink said "stingy" drink in order to appear polite to our Finnish liaison, Jaakko.*

"Assembled IBWMW Ministers, welcome. My remarks will be brief today as I have been advised of the Minister of Science's afternoon session of Pesäpallo, the national sport of Finland, which is a baseball-like game similar to brännboll, rounders, and lapta.

I've been reviewing the list of search terms used by Misguided Googlers®. My findings may interest you. Besides the usual items, your penices and veginas,  the seemingly endless variety of endings to the phrase married women like to fuck..., and the multitude of boob descriptions (i.e. matronly, sagging, pointy, perky, juttingdisappointing), I've identified several less obvious trends. I say we exploit the fuck out of  find ways to serve these underserved markets. Perhaps we can direct our outreach efforts to the following users:

1.  People with passion: These are the Googlers that don't just drearily type in their search terms, they infuse them with passion! This expressive group dynamically searches for things like sex in bed yeah ass and titys, ooooh, vibrating cock ring oh yeah, oh little dick, and wow! boys wanking. These on-the-go, high-achievers are a natural market for Kindle subscriptions to IBWMW.

2. People who treat Google as genie/slave: This practical group says--nay, demands--exactly what they need. Their on-point, direct searches include: Let's see some older women getting fucking and I need to see women being fucked with gridle on. (A sidenote: I'm pretty sure that last searcher meant "girdle," but I have our Finnish intern Kyllikki researching that to make sure.) This demanding group knows what it wants. They want service and they want it fast. I recommend we push the Good Vibrations merch on them, hard.

3.  Needs more research: Despite international cooperation, no one can decipher what these potential customers actually want. Terms include: miraculous bra groping me, on March 8 big boobs and penis on the cult, and anus looking. Oh, there's a change on your handouts: Kyllikki has just informed me that her research indicates that pictures of sewiest womens pussy may contain a typo.

4. Way too fucking specific. Butt shot with pink panties in a bed with a white headboard, a horse with no name fucks women, floppy foreskin, feather duster in the butt, stuffed animal teddy bear bondage, girl masturbating with a spatula, woman masturbating with candy, woman touching balloons, nice cow looking tits on a woman, and finally underwear with inflatable pads and genital enhancements and hidden pickets and hidden pouches and patents. I think we can appeal to this demographic directly. When I get back to the States, I will prepare posts on anonymous horse sex, nice cow looking tits, and whatever the fuck that wordy underwear weirdo is talking about. We'll appeal to them in their "sweet spots"--then bam!--make the sale.

5.  Easily pleased. Searches include: Boobage, good vagina, and porn regular. These simple folk don't need flippin' pink panties and white headboards, they're perfectly happy with 1 pic of penis in vagina. Let's hit these folks up for a straight donation. They are cheery, angst-free folks who are happy to contribute.

6.  Way too upsetting. Hansel and Gretel + naked, yak and woman fuking (so far no interest indicated for yak and woman macking lov) and smelling Grandma's vagina. Here we run into legal as well as aesthetic ramifications. I say we leave these folks alone.

7. Oddly poetic/Things I wish I had posted about: fascinating boobs, a smart and fabulous fucking experience, and my very favorite, shocking (fine) details of a gentle vagina.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going for my afternoon sauna to contemplate precisely how handy one would have to be to come up with a DIY homemade inflatable sex doll that wasn't completely and wretchedly unfuckable."

xoxoxo and Näkemiin
jill

photo source

Monday, April 23, 2012

Reader Mail Week, Day 4: Blue, "It was the perfect penis"

Oh god, please tell me I didn't send an email last night to
 IBWMW about my lover's ruddy, noble, well-formed penis
Reader Blue sent in the following missive. When I asked her what pseudonym she'd like, she answered, "I can't believe I sent that! I wrote that while drunk a few weeks ago and sent it while drunk last night."

Don't worry, Blue, lots of people write to me when they're drunk, which is probably not at all flattering, but I'm just gonna decide that it is actually highly flattering and be done with it.

Besides, the whole drunk Internet/texting/sexting possibilities available to Today's Modern Drunk makes me so so so happy that my own drunken days were pre-all of that. I can't even fucking imagine the hideousness of waking up all bleary-eyed and hung over and having to face my Sent Mail folder to see what horrors might lie within.

To her credit, Blue is not the incoherent mess of a drunk I was, so I reprint her story here unedited and in its full glory. Enjoy.

a few weeks ago i saw your invitation to "Just sit down at the computer, rip your heart out, and jot the results down"  and started writing this.  i don't know if this is what you want, and that was awhile ago but here's my story: 



i started writing this because of the part of dusky's letter where she writes "the idea that naturally the greatest sex of your life will be with the love of your life."  for me sex was indeed "a litmus test of the true inner feelings of two people" although love has always been a Big Deal for me, sex had never been the highest on my list of priorities.  i had attributed my lackluster sex life to my complete disinterest, not the other way around. it had kind of escaped my notice that the way people feel physically and the way they feel emotionally have a lot to do with each other.  there is no aphrodisiac like love... 


so i didn't know this but not everybody is ...you know... anatomically compatible.  there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.  sorry guys, but now you know.  it CAN be too big.  but i didn't learn this little secret until i cheated.  and let me tell you, for those lucky people out there who have never cheated on anybody: it a repulsive experience, don't do it!  but then, the marriage sucked and sometimes you don't know the grass is greener until you get on the other side of the fence.  sure it looks greener, but.... now i know.  


there are people in the world who are really good at having sex.  just like mozart was a great composer, da vinci was a master painter, and stratavarius made the best violins ever, some people are really REALLY good at fucking.  

Friday, April 20, 2012

Reader Mail Week, Day 3: Underrubbers, reader has sex with a U-shaped device, and the newest IBWMW Minister

The new IBWMW Minister of Angsty Posing
Yesterday the reader mail was about an exceptionally dickish dude, a sort of Master Ninja of Psychological Abuse, who told his (thankfully now) ex-wife that her vagina was "ugly."  It was all too much. I mean, "Of all the nerve!" as people were often exclaiming in the out-of-date used books I read as a pre-teen. I tell you, that fellow could have used a smart slap across the face accompanied by a richly deserved, "Fresh!"

Today let us return to a happier place in which men and women don't psychologically torture each other. Except, you know, in the fun way.

To that end, here's a review of the We-Vibe couple's vibrator by Sabrina who, with the pluck and aplomb characteristic of all IBWMW readers, bravely got down with the vibe and a guy.

"Meh." That's my whole review. It vibrates, and I suppose it'd work for some women. Alas, I must have "funky vagina" because I couldn't get the rotter to stay in when not actively getting dirty (my vagina muscles of steel would just slooooowly push it out), and DURING sex the stupid thing would torque to the side making it pointless. If I wanted to hold something in place I'd just buy a bullet that has REAL power.

In summation, I think what Sabrina is saying is that a) she has a funky vagina, b) with muscles of steel and c) in foreign lands, "rotter"= sex toy. If you are in England and someone says "rotter," they mean "sex toy" so just make the translation in your head.

If anyone else has tried it the We-Vibe, please feel free to send in a review of your own. I'm especially curious if you've tried the next gen model, the We-Vibe 3 (note: both funky and non-funky vaginaed reviewers welcome.)

Meanwhile gentle reader Ciana Pullen, who I think I might be a little in love with, raised some Very Pressing Issues regarding the post about the Bikini Condom:

I'm a little late to the bikini condom party, but I suppose in the year 2012 we all are. I'm confused. I have so many questions.
--So, the tubal part is automatically inserted into the vagina upon "coitus." Where is the tube *before* coitus? Is it scrunched up like a bendy straw fresh from the package, then the penis stretches it out? When one re-uses it does it scrunch back up or is the tube all stretched out? Does the tube hang down (does it wobble to and fro) like an inside-out jacket sleeve? Sometimes when I shove my arm into my jacket sleeve and the sleeve isn't completely right-side-out my arm gets stuck. It seems an analogous problem might occur with the bikini condom?
--Is it one size fits all?
--To me the term "pouch" suggests something in which a baby marsupial might dwell, and that is truly the most positive connotation, and even then those pouches are only cute when they're in cartoon form. As alternatives I suggest "pussy pocket" "pocket protector for her" "underrubber" "safety knickers" or, if you continue with the marsupial pouch idea, "underoo's."


Ciana, as usual, I have few, if any, answers. But I like your style. "Pussy pocket" is an incredibly excellent name. It's spunky, naughty, kinda cute. (I am also quite smitten with "underrubber.") I am quite certain that today you have discovered your Superpower. Too bad it's thinking of spot-on names for obscure and unloved contraceptive devices. We don't all get to have X-ray vision.

And finally, we have a new IBWMW Minister of Grammar. I'd tell you a little more about them, but I have no idea who it is. They gave themselves the title and, as their first official duty, promptly corrected the grammar in a comment from the IBWMW Minister of Science. I sense some tense moments at the next IBWMW International Summit in Helsinki.

If you need a title of your own, feel free to grant yourself one and start making decrees and such. Why the hell not? Seems I lost control of this thing a long time ago.

xoxox
jill

And btw, IBWMW Minister of Grammar, don't even bother telling me that "vaginaed" isn't a word.  I just made it up and I love that motherfucking word. Love it! So back off.

(photo: "Moments before, during and after sex," Daido Morivama, c. 1970s)

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Reader Mail Week, Day 2: High-Level Mind Fuckery

Maybe these gigantic pink panties will distract
him from my abnormal vagina-looking vagina.
When my post about vaginal "rejuvenation" ran on Blogher, most of the comments were along the lines of "risky," "medical community shouldn't support," "irks the crap out of me" and so forth, but one in particular really stuck with me. It was this from CreoleQueen:

I was married to my high school sweetheart for 15 yrs. We recently divorced, and he has no qualms about telling me before, during, and after our marriage, how ugly my vagina is. I started looking into medical intervention, and found a few blogs and doctors who are able to help. While I know many women will disagree with my wanting to do this, I cannot see myself with another man and risk him seeing my vagina, and feel like my husband did. I guess my post is to kind of speak for women who may need this kind of surgery. 

This makes me so sad/mad in about 17 different ways. Because of this dickhead of a beau, this poor chick is now convinced that she has a problem and "needs" help. Surgical help. Expensive, risky, weird-ass surgical help.

And this guy! Even if this crass asshat of a bf/husband/ex actually thought her vag was unattractive, why the fuck would he be boorish enough to mention it to her? I mean if her equipment was truly so repulsive to him, shouldn't he have just broken up with her, telling her he had "commitment issues" or some b.s.?

Of course not. And you know why he didn't do that? Because he had discovered the perfect manipulative put-down. It's genius in its many tentacles of evilness. Not only is he handing her one HELL of a neg,  he's also completely insulting the very center of her womanhood. That is some heavy-duty mind fuckery. But, best of all, it guarantees she will never stray. You see, exactly as he'd planned, dear CreoleQueen is now terrified to be with another man and "risk" him seeing her heinous vag.

Mission accomplished, dickhead.


(photo source)

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

"Her Swarthy Snatch" that is, Reader Mail Week, Day 1

"This made me think of you," wrote reader Cathya, as *sigh* they all do when they see some fucked-up article about people falling in love with lawn chairs, having sex with toasters or whatever. (To Cathya's credit, I believe she meant it ironically. See also: "I saw this and thought of you".)

If you haven't already received your own copy of Jezebel's Your Vagina Isn't Too Big, Too Floppy, and Too Hairy--It's Also Too Brown* from your cool feminist friend, do take the time to click over, it's well worth it. (And if you don't have a cool feminist friend, I suggest you get one at once. Might I suggest Cathya?)

The article raises the possibility that the next thing on our To-Do List of Societal-Created Bodily Problems We Must Eradicate Immediately Lest We Become Unfuckable (note to self: think of shorter To-Do List title) may well be bleaching--not only our buttholes--but our vaginas** as well. (And God forbid if you become addled by bleach fumes and accidentally put anal bleaching cream on your vag or vice versa. Can you imagine the others--oh, how they would laugh and laugh!--if they saw that your vag was anus color or your anus was vag color? Whatever colors they are supposed to be. This week.)

The article, written by my new hero Lindy West, was so damn good, it made me feel like giving up writing and just throwing away my 10 year old Mac (or, less dramatically, responsibly disposing of it at the next city-sanctioned e-waste collection). I mean look at her opening paragraph!
Good news, ladies! Society has discovered another new thing that's wrong with you, which means another opportunity for you to make yourself more attractive for your man. Score! Turns out, the color of your vagina is gross and everyone hates it. So bleach that motherfucker. Bleach it right now!
West goes on to describe an ad running in India for a vag bleaching cream that makes your vag, well, non-vag colored.
In this commercial for an Indian product called Clean and Dry Intimate Wash, a (very light-skinned) couple sits down for what would have been a peaceful cup of morning coffee—if the woman's disgusting brown vagina hadn't ruined everything! The dude can't even bring himself look at her. He can't look at his coffee either, because it only reminds him of his wife's dripping, coffee-brown hole! Fortunately, the quick-thinking woman takes a shower, scrubbing her swarthy snatch with Clean and Dry Intimate Wash ("Freshness + Fairness"). And poof! Her vadge comes out blinding white like a downy baby lamb (and NOT THE GROSS BLACK KIND) 
I was so sold on West with "bleach that motherfucker," but when she got to "his wife's dripping, coffee-brown hole" I was beyond in love.

Here's the ad, if you want to be angered and/or develop a new and exciting insecurity. (In due credit to the collective wisdom of the YouTube viewing public--a phrase I have never once used--"thumbs downs" are beating "thumbs up" by a ratio of 3 to 1.)

Vag bleaching is yet another one of those "body enhancement" products--like bras with built-in nipples, vaginal rejuvenation, shapewear for sex, mints to hide the taste of semen, etc...--that, in the quest for "beauty" screw with basic biology.*** Screwing with biology, as in, how we experience pleasure (i.e. a boob job making a woman lose sensitivity in her now For Display Purposes Only rack) and screwing with biology in how we communicate sexual signals to each other. A highly aroused woman, for example, will get a vivid dark flush of color between her legs. This indicates, "Hey, you're doin' fine. Please proceed at once." (If it's really really dark and very flushed, it indicates, "Oh, god! Please please please proceed at once!")

An artificially light vag indicates...what?
"I am an Indian woman possessing an improbably Caucasian vagina."
"I may be aroused or I may be thinking of stocking up on cereal when it's on sale."
"I'd better not pee because, as I vaguely recall from chemistry, ammonia and bleach mixed together create a toxic cloud."

So why do we need this product? Let's let the ad copy explain:
Designed to address the problems women face in their private parts, Clean and Dry Intimate Wash offers protection, fairness and freshness. To be used while showering, its special pH-balanced formula cleans and protects the affected area, and even makes the skin fairer. Life for women will now be fresher, cleaner, fairer! 
To restate, you have problems in your private parts. All women do. The problem, as we now know, is having "private parts." So bleach that motherfucker! Bleach it right now!

xoxox
jill

*If you are the cool feminist friend, please be aware that the horribly unflattering subject line automatically generated for your dear friend's email will be Your Vagina Isn't Too Big, Too Floppy, and Too Hairy--It's Also Too Brown. Might want to change that...

** Yes, yes, I know that the term "vagina" refers to the hole part and that "vulva" is the proper term for part I'm actually talking about. And if you correct me in the comments, I will come to your house and punch you.

*** We are not the only society that does crazy-ass junk to...well, our junk. According to Mary Roach, in Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, 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.

Thus, if we combined these two regional traditions in sort of a vaginal melting pot (I think there was a Schoolhouse Rocksong about the vaginal melting pot), instead of a lover confronting a wet, deeply flushed, obviously-aroused pussy, they'd find a vaguely bleachy-smelling white vag, festooned with dry bits of shredded newspaper and animal poop hanging out. Viva progress!

(photo source)

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

How Wanking It Created the Universe and Other Theories on Masturbation

I am thinking of masturbation this morning. Not in the sense of putting it on today's "to do" list (although--what the hell--maybe I was, you don't need to know every damn thing), but in a more general, historic context way.

It was spurred by Kathleen telling me about a sexuality talk she gave some 'tween girls, based on the excellent book Changing Bodies, Changing Lives. Armed with some notes* and pads of paper for the girls to doodle on (secret real purpose: to give them a place to pretend to stare at if things got too embarrassing) brave Kathleen laid it all out for these girls--including the hows of orgasms, the phases of sexual response, and the role of masturbation in a healthy sex life. Kathleen even talked to them about sexual fantasies and told them different ways that girls might want to touch themselves. The eminently sensible idea being: people armed with knowledge are better able to make smart and responsible decisions about sex.

It was completely revolutionary to me. The one hour of sex education class I got in the 1970s contained quite a bit of information--an excessive amount, to my mind--about vas deferens, fallopian tubes and the like, but nothing in the way of practical information about sex. That is, the $%$# you actually wanted to know. I mean, my teacher described the doing of "IT" as "the sperm meeting the egg," as though a cotillion was somehow involved. There was no fucking way she was going to talk about the emotional and physical benefits of jerking off.

When I had my first self-given orgasm, I thought I had probably broken myself. I might have asked someone about it, but I was somehow aware that this was the sort of activity one didn't speak of. (Later I worried that I might have become pregnant after an interesting experiment with a pool water jet.** I was perhaps not the brightest of children.)

This kind of masturbation shame/ignorance is, fortunately, a fairly recent development. Throughout most of history, masturbation was considered natural, good, a sign of fertility and such. There are spurts of masturbation references throughout art, mythology and history. The ancient Greeks approved of stoking one's own fire, considering it a healthy outlet for both men and women. And in Egypt, the god Atum was thought to have brought forth the universe by ejaculating during what must have been a rather interesting session of beating off. ("Atum! You're still in the bathroom? What are you doing in there, young man?")

So accepted was the practice that nannies in 17th century Europe would masturbate young males who couldn't get to sleep(!) This is perhaps what people mean when they complain they can't get good help anymore. Dear Carmen, the lady who used to clean my house before I became poor, never once offered to give me a handjob, even after I pointedly mentioned I was having trouble sleeping.

How did we get from there to here? I mean, what sort of crazy-ass mind control propaganda could get people to turn against such a pleasurable activity? It was an influential pamphlet, of all things, circulated in 1700s America. It explained that semen held the Life Force and, as such, should not be squandered in the handkerchiefs of the day.

Soon, a variety of health and moral problems were added to plain ol' life force squandering. In "A Solemn Appeal," Sister Ellen G. White lists a host of old-timey ails caused by "the practice" including the dreaded "dropsy." The alarmed Sister warns, "The mind is often utterly ruined, and insanity supervenes." This perhaps explains why I have been known to stare blankly when someone asks me my cell phone number.

In Daniel Hack Turke's 1892 A Dictionary of Psychological Medicine, he described a habitual masturbator thusly:

The face becomes pale and pasty, and the eye lusterless. The man loses all spontaneity and cheerfulness, all manliness and self-reliance. He cannot look you in the face because he is haunted by the consciousness of a dirty secret which he must always conceal and always dreads that you may discover. He shuns society, and has no intimate friends, does not dare to marry, and becomes a timid, hypersensitive, self-centered, hypochondriac.

Obviously such a fate was undesirable and young masturbators needed to be saved lest they, too, become pale and pasty in the face. According to Mary Roach in Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, "Little hands were tied to headboards, and trousers fashioned without pockets. Hobbyhorses were taken away, and climbing ropes removed from school gymnasiums." And in 1914's Scouting for Boys: A Handbook for Instruction in Good Citizenship, scouting founder Robert Baden-Powell urges boys stricken with the forbidden urge to literally run away from temptation until presumably the boy would be so physically exhausted he would no longer have the energy to reach for his member.

This kind of hysteria fed on itself, and at a certain point, anti-masturbation advocates sound less concerned with the moral health of our youth and more like completely insane sadists. John Kellogg, the cereal guy, claimed that the "solitary vice" caused a host of health problems, up to and including death. "Such a victim literally dies by his own hands," Kellogg wrote, perhaps chuckling to himself over his wit. I knew Kellogg was wack--I mean, the dude invented a high-powered enema machine for personal use--but I didn't realize just how much of a nutter he was until I saw this in Wikipedia's History of Masturbation:

He recommended, to prevent children from this "solitary vice", bandaging or tying their hands, covering their genitals with patented cages, sewing the foreskin shut and electrical shock. He also recommended burning off the clitoris to prevent masturbation in girls.

Enterprising Americans wanted in on this action and dutifully invented all sorts of dreadful devices to stop people from ravishing themselves. (For lots of scary pictures, see also: Stephenson Billings' The Anti-Masturbation Movement's 14 Greatest Inventions on ChristWire.) There were penis fans to keep one's member from undue warmth, full body suits to prevent lustful wandering hands, and alarm systems designed to alert parents to their children's nocturnal erections (not quite sure what the parent is supposed to do once alerted). Penis cages and trusses locked the guilty organ up or tied it down to physically prevent erections. And when those didn't work, physical pain was employed. 

"The Timely Warning" (pictured at left) prevented "night emissions by arousing the wearer." "Arousing" is, at the very least, a curious choice of words. I guess it's an 1800s adman's best try at a positive spin on what would more accurately be described as: "being rudely awakened from your sweet dreams and pleasantly swelling erection by the sharp stab of a ring of metal teeth cutting into your wang."

The fetish gear-looking contraption shown at right is from US Patent 745,264, filed May 29, 1903, by one Albert V. Todd, for a device designed to prevent masturbation and nocturnal emissions. It features "a lockable belt with a tube for inserting the penis." If the errant penis were 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.

It's madness, obviously, but plenty of people are still afraid of masturbation (see also: The Dreaded "M" Word by former U.S. Surgeon General Jocelyn Elders, who was fired--I can still scarcely believe it!--for merely mentioning masturbation.) This article, for example, Freedom From Masturbation, offers guilty onanists a religious approach to stopping, including specific anti-monkey-spanking prayers to recite and the advice to "pray intermittently in tongues as the Lord leads you." (I would much less disturbed by walking in on some guy jacking off than some guy not jacking off while sporting a huge hard-on and speaking in tongues, but that's just me.)

The good news is that, in general, things seem to be finally turning around. Viva Changing Bodies, Changing Lives and people like brave Kathleen teaching girls how to wank it! As Dan Savage says in Savage U, "Girls should be encouraged to experiment, masturbate, learn how their bodies and orgasms work before moving on to partnered sex. Partnered sex would be less intimidating and disappointing out of the gate if more women arrived knowing how to get themselves off."

Cuss yes.

xoxox
jill

*If you'd like me to send you a copy of Kathleen's notes so you can corrupt a new generation with the dual evils of wisdom and self-reliance, email me.
**I'm pretty sure that this is how Aquaman was conceived.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Bikini Condom, We Hardly Knew Ye

Pity the poor Bikini Condom. Launched in the early 1990's, it was overshadowed by its more popular cousin, the female condom. Both were part of the contraceptive group the FDA gave the perfectly hideous label "vaginal pouches." ("Hon, I need some quarters for the meter. Can you check your vaginal pouch?") 

And when you're playing second fiddle to the female condom--a device most Americans have never actually seen, let alone used--let's just say you're not gonna be sitting at the popular table. Not that there is a popular table for contraceptives. Or if there is, I was, sadly, not invited to sit there.

Bikini Condoms look "like a g-string panty with a condom pouch" wrote an unnamed author in a 1991 issue of Contraceptive Technologya magazine which I get only for the crossword puzzle. 

The condom "is automatically introduced into the vagina with coitus," the writer continues, masterfully making a sentence about sex totally void of eroticism. The odd language continues to the last sentence: "They are so novel they appeal to people with an 'open mind.'" "Open mind" is inexplicably in quotes, signifying, to my mind, that the author is not only "unfamiliar with human writing conventions," perhaps fearful of these unsettling hippies with their "open minds," and probably rarely has "coitus."

So why aren't we all sportin' vaginal pouches this very second? I mean, they empowered women and junk, right? Well, offhand, I can venture several guesses.

1. The term "vaginal pouch" could be entirely to blame.

2. Its look and feel and pretty much everything about it. "Manufactured all in one piece from thin, cream-colored latex," according to the Powerhouse Museum in Australia, "It consists of a belt, which fits around the hips, attached to a pouch-like tube." In summation, it combines a pouch-like tube (oh yeah), a belt reminiscent of grandma's old-timey maxi pads, and cream-colored latex, which we all know is the very sexiest latex color.

3. It is thicker than a regular condom, for those who like their sensation reduced as much as possible.

4. The whole clothing-as-contraceptive idea. (However, other clothing/contraceptive combos such as pleated khakis, holiday sweaters and men's jeans shorts, are still in widespread use.) 

5. Reusability. It can be reused 5 to 10 times. I'm as green as the next girl,** but even I would be hesitant to drag out some raggedy-ass cream-colored condom for the 9th time.

6. General confusion/inherent paradox: "Bikini" = sexy. "Condom" = not that sexy, but sex-related, at least. And yet, "bikini condom" = so not sexy.


* (if you'd like to read more about "vaginal pouches"--and who the hell wouldn't?--see also: Female Condom, Where Art Thou?How to Behave in the Presence of a Female Condom and  Someone Who Actually Used The Female Condom.)

** I have been known to force only-marginally-interested children to behold my compost pile, which in several states is legally considered eco-terrorism. 


Monday, April 2, 2012

Misguided Googler Contest, Plus G-Spot Finding

As decreed on the In Bed With Married Women Facebook page, I'm compiling a list of reading materials referenced on the blog. Said materials (mentioned by me or readers) will include plain ol' smut to smarty-pants sciencey/sociological things to stuff that's funny. (And do let me know if you have any recommendations.)

Anyway the task is way more arduous than I was expecting and the kid I hired as IBWMW Minister of Arduous Tasks didn't show up for work today, so I'm gonna need more time.

To make up for my trail of broken promises (I swear, kid, we're gonna make it big someday!), I offer you this contest. Your task:

Match the Misguided Googler's search terms with the IBWMW post Google sent them to.

Search Terms (as spelled)
1.  "is it ok to fuck married women in ass"
2.  "why married women deire anal pleasure with vibrators"
3.  "picture ofpenise in vegina"
4.  "grateful old slags getting screwed" (IBWMW is the #3 choice for this, btw. Which is bittersweet.)
5.  "sex porno sperm from mouth to your vintage"

Google-suggested IBWMW landing page:
a. The Fuckiest Conest Around
b. The IBWMW home page
c. Spatula, I'm taking your ass down."
d. How Wanking It Created the Universe and Other Theories on Masturbation
e. Sorry, No Explicit Picture of Penis in Vagina

First one to correctly match the search terms with the landing page wins The Pop Tops Deluxe Silicon G-spotter from Good Vibrations. It's designed to go on top of the infamous Hitachi Magic Wand Massager  (you rest the flattened end pleasantly against your G-spot). So if you don't have a Hitachi Magic Wand, you're kinda out of luck--in many ways, or so I've heard. Lack of G-spot* could present a problem as well. (If you prefer, I can send you the huge-ass bag of 20 Lifestyles condoms Planned Parenthood recently gave me, clearly way way overestimating the amount of sex I would be having in the 7 days it would take my new IUD to become effective.)

You can answer in a comment below or via email. I'll announce the winner when someone gets it right.

xoxo
jill

*To get my mind off the suddenly very depressing fact that I didn't use the 20 condoms, and even perhaps even need to go back and demand more at once ("Only 20 for 7 days? Seriously?"), let me ask you this: Did you read any stories about that largely discredited "cosmetic gynecologist" (puke) who claims to have discovered the G-spot in the corpse of an 83 year old Polish woman? On one hand, I was happy that he described the spot as "grape-like" instead the usual "shaped like a bean" description since, as you recall, the bean is the least sexy of the legumes. (see also:  How to Have a G-Spot Orgasm).

But on the other hand, I couldn't help but wonder if that Polish woman was having that out-of-body death experience where her soul floats over her body. As she headed peacefully to the light, did she take one last glimpse back upon her earthly self and see this, this...guy, what? What the...? Was he sticking his fingers up her wang?!** What, after all these years?  Now? NOW, someone looks for her g-spot? And a handsome(ish) doctor, no less? "No, no, not ready yet! There is more I must do!" she yells wordlessly, as she glides, no longer so peacefully, toward the warm, glowing light.

** Actually it was a billion times less sexy than this. According the Miami Herald, he "peeled back the six layers of the cadaver's vaginal wall and found a sac structure between the fifth and sixth layers that housed grape-like clusters of erectile tissue." "Peeled!" Holy crap!

(photo: Anonyme - Nu aux bras levés, ca. 1930) 

Reader Mail Tuesday: Canned Vagina Haiku, Bestiality, and Girdles for Sex

Woman demonstrating early belly-hiding technique
Even if I didn't make tens of dollars a year on this blog, I might still do it because of the mail. Oh, child, the mail!

Like this from Matt, who I suspect is from a Foreign Land because he signed off with a "cheerio." ("Cheerio," is, what? Japanese?) Matt, who we've just determined is probably Japanese, was inspired by the posts on bad erotic haiku, and wrote:

Damn!  I'm too late to the party. again. Well, I'll send the haikus that came to mind, using the funniest things I've read on your site:


rubber mangina
in his face.  his erotic
asphyxiation

alone with redtube
out comes the canned vagina
can he use it twice?

Like all truly good poetry, Matt's haiku made me Think and Feel. I felt sort of like I might yak. Because I had never pondered the reusability, or lack thereof, of canned vagina. Do you just sorta rinse it out when done? Do you wait until it's full of splooge, then toss it? Neither of those options sound too great, but just tossing it after one use seems like a waste of Perfectly Good canned vagina.

Other non-productive thought spirals: Is canned vagina a third incarnation in the science of Vagina Preservation? Maybe early prototypes--frozen and freeze-dried vagina--seemed good in the laboratory stage, but didn't work "out in the field."

I do, however, suspect that they found an after-market for the unusable freeze-dried vaginas. My mother buys these supposed "dried peaches" at Trader Joes which have an odd aroma and, well, here, have a look at them.


Exactly. I think we're all know what's going on here. (One purveyor of these "peaches," perhaps trying to "cover their tracks" has this secret clue helpful fact on their web site: Both members of the rose family, peaches and roses have in common an intense scent that can evoke strong response. "Intense scent," "evoke strong response" = code for "yes, these are totally dried vaginas, bro.")

I could talk about vaginas, canned, dried and otherwise all day, but let's move on to this haiku by Cagey-C (His third! The dude's on fire!)

Wakened orally;
vivid pleasure. Why so ab-
rasive? No! Bad dog!

I am ashamed to admit that I too considered a haiku with a bestiality theme. The last line was "Fido gives good head," which, though containing a haiku-appropriate five syllables, seemed in poor taste, even for me.

And lastly, after the post on women and The Man tellin' them what they should look likeJT alerted me to the existence of shapewear for the bedroom.

Says the web site:

Traditional Shapewear is great to look good in your clothes, but what happens when you have to take it off for intimacy? The tummy you took such care to hide is now hanging out for your partner to see.


That's right. I don't mean to scare anyone, but what would happen if your partner accidentally saw your body during "intimacy"??? (Assuming, of course, that you still had a partner after referring to sex as "intimacy.") Everyone knows the amount of men (or women) who bolt away during foreplay after a woman shows her stomach is well....that number is ZERO. If someone's already in bed with you, sister, they're staying there.

Now. Believe me, I hate my stomach as much as any woman raised in present day America, probably even more. But fuck, now we're supposed to wear girdles during sex?

Yes, no one will have to look upon the horror that is your stomach, but....girl, you're giving up so much! No one can place sweet, soft kisses up the side of your belly. No one can lick their way down between your legs or up to your breasts. That's right, not your breasts either. Because the woman in the picture is also wearing a clearly padded, push-up bra. Which presumably, offers protection from her (not nearly as judgmental as she's imagining) partner seeing or touching her shamefully imperfect boobs.

I looked on the site's FAQ under "Am I saying you should feel self-conscious about your tummy?" I got "Page not found." Maybe because there's no possible honest answer besides, "Yes, you should--to a paralyzing degree!"

And the worst part about it? They're selling it as "A New Revolution for Women."

Bah.



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