|The Zestra Rush--big time.|
2. Also reader Keppiehed was brave enough to try out possibly scary "arousal gel" Zestra (see also: Fire Down Below!!!) on our collective behalves. Here's her report:
As someone who can't smell or taste, I needed a partner-in-crime in this venture. Luckily, my best pal N is used to odd requests, and she didn't blink an eye when I showed up with a package of arousal oil and asked her to smell me.
“It's not like I want you to shove your nose in my lady parts,” I reasoned. “Let's just put some on our hands. I brought enough to share.”
We split the first pack between us. I even rubbed some behind my ears for good measure. Not wanting to ruin the validity of the test, I didn't tell her that there'd been some considerable online smack talk about the odor, or that the package warned that “the sensation may result in a temporary feeling of discomfort.” Being a great friend, I allowed her to cheerfully smear the stuff on, and we waited.
Results were almost instantaneous. “Oh,” N said, wrinkling her nose. “It … something doesn't smell right.”
“Be more specific,” I encouraged her. “This is for posterity. And a sex blog.”
She was shaking her head in disgust. “It smells like something's burning!”
I was disappointed in her description, since this had already been used before and was, therefore, boring. “Anything else?”
She sniffed at her hand. “It's terrible. It also smells like old people.”
This was encouraging. “How? Explain.”
“It's like they tried to cover up the burning plastic with something cloying and floral, like someone sprayed old lady perfume on a tire fire.”
“Tire fire ...” I tried to remember the exact phrase for later.
N licked her palm. “I can't believe anyone would make this for its intended purpose.”
“What does it taste like?” I asked. I licked my own hand but it was disappointingly free of tingles or any other sexy sensation.
“Metallic. All I can taste is metallic. If I don't eat a piece of the kids' leftover Valentine's candy to get the taste out of my mouth, I am going to throw up,” she said.
“Well, smell me first. Is it different on me? Behind my ears?” I asked.
She leaned in. “Nope. The same.”
“How bad is it?”
She thought a moment. “Well, I probably wouldn't notice it if you were just standing there. But if I had my nose buried in there it'd be pretty unbearable. I can't believe they made that.”
I kept flexing my fingers for awhile, but I didn't feel anything. The only thing that stood out was when I got home about four hours later my dogs swarmed me. They tried to lick my fingers and where I'd wiped my hands on my jeans, as if I gave off the odor of rancid meat. It was unsettling, to say the least.
Okay, this was the serious one. I was feeling as if it was going to be a dud, given my first trial experience, but I had to do this thing right. To be perfectly honest, I'd never tried a product like this before, so I wasn't sure exactly what it was supposed to accomplish or how I was supposed to apply it. The pack gave explicit instructions, assuring me that I was going to “feel more—effortlessly” and went on to say that it was guaranteed to “work within minutes by heightening your sensitivity to touch—for deep, pleasurable sensations, sexual satisfaction and fulfillment.”
Well, since I can't smell, the whole grandma/tire fire thing is a good trade-off for that kind of promise,if you ask me. So I applied it, as per the kindly instruction sheet, and waited. I probably could have asked my husband for help in this venture, but he was all like “Wow, you really sold me on that! Why wouldn't I want to have sex with you when you smell like napalm?” so I decided to just test it on my own and spare him the (alleged) agony. It said that it took ten minutes to peak, and then I would experience what “we call the Zestra Rush” for up to forty-five minutes. I was really hoping that I would get to report that it was like an orgasmic roller coaster, but sadly, what I experienced as the Zestra Rush was just a mild sort of burn. Not unbearable or anything, but what I imagine it would feel like if I had a UTI. As in, “Wow, something is burning down there. That's not right; maybe I should go get that checked out.” I wasn't screaming from pain, but nor was I crying out in ecstasy. After a while, it subsided into a warm tingle, and I could easily imagine I'd sat on some Icy Hot by mistake. How such a mistake could occur is beyond my powers of imagination; I'm just telling you what I experienced. Also, at one point I rubbed my eye (before you think I'm gross, I did wash my hands! But it seems to have a resilient essence) and then it did hurt my eye, so be careful with your vision, people!
Thanks, Keppiehed, lovely job and brave work!
(photo: Ferenc Aszmann)