Friday, August 18, 2017

"Vagisil Porn"

Loretta, grab your steno pad! I have
 an idea that's gonna make us a mint!
(***Important Note to Readers: the following post does not contain any actual Vagisil porn.)

I promised myself I would not write about Misguided Googlers anymore. But yesterday I looked at In Bed With Married Women's search terms because, well, I just can't help it. It's such a voyeuristic thrill to see what weird-ass things people are searching for. A peak into the hidden soul of humanity, if you will. And it was so worth it because, I mean, look at the kind of stuff fresh-scrubbed Citizens of the World eagerly entered into the (supposed) privacy of their search boxes:

--"my vagina smells peppery"
--"it's your anus" (True, that.  And the name of a great new sitcom coming this fall on NBC.)
--"how to make your butt hole look nice" (Um, it's a butt hole...)
--"Grandma 7 vibrator" (The Grandma 6 vibrator wasn't properly grounded, I'm guessing.)
--"how meny kind of penice&vegena foto?" (Is this rhetorical? A zen koan?)
---"really bad noises in bed" (Actually, that one sounds kind of interesting.)
--"Captain and Tennille Twenty Years of Romance" (Oh, dear.)

But my personal favorite was: "how to make a Mangina." For those of you didn't see this post, a Mangina is a fake vagina g-string thing that a man wears to create the (very weak) illusion that he's sporting a vag. Which is fine. Whatever, if you want to wear one, go for it. But my advice to you is, if you're going to wear an Mangina, don't try to make one at home. For fuck's sake, spend the money and buy a real Mangina! I mean, coming upon someone wearing any Mangina would be upsetting enough, but someone wearing a flippin' pipe cleaner and construction paper homemade Mangina...? No, that will simply not do.

And finally, since I wrote this post on Vagisil, Google has taken to sending a bunch of Vagisil search traffic my way. I'm getting lots of "Vagisil ad offensive to women," "Vagisil doesn't work," blah blah blah, but I am particularly fond of this one, "Vagisil fuck yea". Vagisil. Fuck. Yea. It's like poetry.

Which leads us to the aforementioned "Vagisil porn," which, as my husband pointed out--far too gleefully, if you ask me--provides In Bed With Married Women as the top hit. This is because there is no actual Vagisil porn. None! Perhaps it's because Vagisil porn is not sexy. ("Oh yeah, you like that cloying floral fragrance my vag is emitting, don't you? Mmmmm, I think I need some more Vagisil... right... now... please... that's right... oh yeah...there.... yes, yes, yes, MAKE ME FEEL FRESH!!!!")  OR, it could be that Vagisil porn is a vast untapped market. I mean, there's that one eager customer already. Surely he's not the only Vagisil perv, I mean, Vagisil connoisseur. Is financial solvency knocking on your door in the form of an Internet connection, a digital camera and a big tube of Vagisil? Think about it. And you're welcome.

xoxo
jill

(yes, it's a rerun. I'm sorry. I have kids! Plus I need to freak out daily about the State of the Country. I will get to you though. Soon. Contest! )

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Cli-TOR-is/Lavoris, CLIT-oris/Leviticus, The Cringiest Word Contest Winner!

"God, I love your ass. I mean, butt. I mean, mid-hinal region."
The winner of the cringiest word contest and future user of the possibly unconciousness-causing Velvet Passion Bullet Vibrator is grover mommy.

Among the unspeakable words enterered were: boobies, cunnilingus, moist, secretion, penetrate, labia, hairy vagina, ladyparts, dildo, anal fisting, queef, the onomonpeic splooge, panties, weiner, pecker, amazeballs (*shudder*), girth, fat, vulva, cunt, dripping (though only when applied as an adjective for the aforemention cunt) and...clusters. Email entries included smegma, pussy, and threesome (with bonus anti-points for the alternate spelling 3sum.) I think the next contest will involve a really fucked-up sentence containing all the words.

But I chose grovermommy's entry, not because of her word--menstruate, which bothers me not. In fact I could say it all day--and maybe I just will--but because:

1. She said provided not one, but three, definitions for what mensturate sounds like it should mean, including:

c) an adjective describing a manly appearance, ie. "His menstruate jaw line impressed me and I acquiesced to his offer of a cocktail."

2. But really I chose grovermommy because when she is not surreptitiously reading smutty blogs, she wrote that she also teaches anatomy and is thus forced to say the word menstruate often. For some reason I am enchanted by the idea of grovermommy (Ms. Grovermommy, in class, I suppose) choking out the word menstruate while she and her class are all equally dying of embarrassment. If you know someone in grovermommy's class, I would urge them to ask her to repeat the word loudly and often, claiming not to have heard.

Anyway, I love the lot of you and thank you for sharing your forbidden words with the rest of us. And grovermommy, email me your mailing address and I'll get your prize to you straightaway.

xoxox
jill

P.S. Mennnnnn-strrrrrrrruaaaaaattte.

(prize courtesy of the enlightened folks at Good Vibrations)

Update: 7/11/17 This is rereun is so old it's probably starting to become valuable.  

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Bikini Condom, You Never Had a Chance

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 does not particularly care for people with open minds. Or perhaps "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. This, my friend is your Zen koan for the day, bikini condom-style.

xoxo
jill

* (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.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

SEO and a Can of Beans.

Temping.
If you do any social media work, you're supposed to care about SEO. SEO stands for Search Engine Optimization or something. I don't really understand it, frankly, but I think the general idea is that you're supposed to tag your posts with phrases that people commonly search for, so when people search for "weight loss" or "Kardashian ass" or whatever, there's your thing, top of the rankings.

You'd think I'd have an edge in this since:
1.  I write about sex (or at least in the near vicinity of sex).
2.  Sex is an insanely popular search term. (Probably the most popular by far, despite that Yahoo! "Trending now" list that claims that most people are searching for "Katie Couric" or "easy soup recipes.")

However, I was looking through the tags I put at the end of my posts and never once did I put plain ol' "sex," thus cleverly luring the Googling masses over here to In Bed With Married Women (see also: self-sabotage? examine later....)

No, instead I put the most cockamamie tags that no one in their right minds would ever search for. I mean, "a can of beans"? "Ball sack aroma"?  THESE are the terms I choose to lure readers/represent my "brand"?

Have a look at these, unfortunately, very real tags I've used and I think you'll see why I might spend a few moments perusing some "Improve your SEO" articles:

 

Sheesh,
Jill 

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

"I saw this and thought of you."

Whenever someone tells me, "I saw this and thought of you," it's never about helping orphans or something--I don't know--reputable. No, it's always about some weird-ass horse fetish gear or a big honking dildo or something. Or, like this letter today, a big honking wooden dildo.

Writes dear reader Tara, who cheekly titled her email "Family Wood":

So, I saw a story on "Paul Merton in Europe" last night on Discovery World HD & thought of you. [editor's note: SEE!!!] The story was about the Trury family in Germany & they make wooden sex toys. As a family. The mother & daughter literally sit across the table from each other sanding, staining & varnishing dildos. It was fascinating & I had to share! Hopefully you can snag a clip somewhere on the internets. I didn't have any luck. Below is an excerpt from the episode description:

"For his last German experience, Paul journeys south to the picturesque woods that inspired the Brothers Grimm fairy tales. Here he meets the Trury family. While making ornamental mushrooms in his woodwork shop, father Elmar noticed he had created what looked more like a dildo. Thus began a unique family business making wooden sex toys. While Elmar looks after production, eldest son Stefan runs the website and matriarch Maria handles the varnishing."
 

Here is an article http://www.thelocal.de/society/20080305-10507.html and their website http://www.waldmichlsholdi.de/index.php/
 

Love your blog!
Tara, who will never look at a spruce the same way again.


I didn't find any video, but I quite enjoyed their web site, if only for this picture of the mom, Maria. She doesn't look horribly pleased about Elmar's mushroom/dildo epiphany, although perhaps I'm reading too much into it.

I like to picture that moment when Elmar picked up the carved ornamental mushroom and announced to Maria, "Hey...you know what this looks like?" (Credit where credit is due: Pretty much everyone in the entire history of time who's seen a mushroom thinks, "Hmmm, looks like a penis," but Elmar is the rare person who actually Did Something About It.)

Maria, who knows how Elmar is, frantically searches her brain looking for some sort of non-penis answer, but comes up with nothing. Maria briefly wonders if she, Elmar, and the ornamental mushroom have an intimate encounter in their future and is undecided whether she is pleased or not at the prospect.

I'm guessing something went down with the couple and that particularly fetching mushroom, because you don't just unleash a sex toy on the public without some product testing. And in light of that, I am re-looking at the picture of Maria and have just decided that she's not, in fact, making the face of a long-suffering spouse, but rather has a little bit of a sly smirk happening. Like, "I am going to fuck the shit out of this bad boy once you photographers are gone." The excessively long wooden dildo (damn, girl!) she is polishing so carefully is, I'm guessing, Just For Mama.

Anyway, besides the worries you're probably having about such a big-ass dildo and Maria's delicate internal organs, you're also probably wondering about splinters. Fear not, the family uses a special non-toxic coating and non-splintering spruce wood. (There is no truth to the rumor, which I am starting right now, about Elmar's first wife Inga and a horrible accident with an unstable knotty pine prototype.)

Actually, I love this whole thing. The DIY-ness, the groovy Euro-family living in their rustic cottage (which I am picturing being inside a hollow tree like the Keebler Elves or Berenstain Bears), and the German product names like Barenzunge "tongue of a bear" or Einhorn "unicorn." I even love the delightfully translated web page with such proclamations as, "Wooden toy are feeling warm and lovely."  

I grew up in an open-minded liberal family in the 1970s. I can't imagine a more appropriate homage to that era than expressing my sexually open, eco-friendly, handcrafted, shop local, one planet-lovin' values than making love to a beautiful wooden dildo named after a fucking...UNICORN.  It could only be more perfect if I were also wearing homemade macrame panties while simultaneously reciting Love Is... comics. In Esperanto

And if you're still back on the splinter idea, remember than no sex toy is 100% safe. Or at least not according to this totally gross article, Women Sues Over Wild Vibrator Ride That Sent Her to Hospital, sent in by reader Wendy, who saw it, and *sigh* thought of me.

xoxox
jill

p.s. re-running this because the last post had weird floating text about a "non-descipt entry hole" hovering eerily over the post. Although if I were to be haunted, I suppose that's how it would go down.

Also,
--Let me know if you're having trouble (or not) with IBWMW Kindle subscriptions.
--My newest Cosmo piece The 5 Most Mind-Boggling DIY Sex Toys is up. It spent some time in the Top 10 of Cosmo's most-read articles but has since been cruelly edged out by "Why You Need a 2-Piece Dress."

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Where Do Sex Toys Go to Die?

Before:  Love, exciting and new.
I recently tested a truly heinous “oral sex simulator” sex toy for a magazine. The contraption involved 10 chihuahua-sized plastic tongues that swirled furiously, pinwheel-fashion, slapping at your most delicate bits while whirring furiously, like a peeved lover who wished you would just have a damn orgasm already. I can only imagine what it would do to an errant pubic hair.

I used the thing, because I am a serious journalist, but what was I supposed to do with it, after? It seemed wasteful to just throw it away, not to mention the embarrassing tarting up of my weekly garbage. And right now there are no blue recycling bins where you can toss your toys after they've put in their time.

How is it that old sex toys have no dignified resting place? It's for a variety of reasons, the top being that they're sex toys, ewwww. 

Some recycling facilities won't take them because they consider them bio-hazards. Recycling is also tricky because toys can contain problematic and/or toxic materials like batteries, motors, and weird-ass “jelly” materials. Money is also an issue. It's just not profitable (yet) to deal in used Fleshlights. “The biggest issue is the mixed polymers. This is an export only item, mostly to China. The market for mixed plastics has been quickly eroding since 2008,” said a recycling industry expert, who wished to speak anonymously because...sex toys. “But if there were large quantities available on a consistent basis, I'm confident that there would be a home available for recycling.”

Even though I have, perhaps, “a lot” of sex toys hidden under my bed (the world's #1 hiding place for sex toys, followed by the nightstand drawer), it's not the kind of large quantities I would need to set up an in-home export business. What are the options, then?

Throw them away.
Sure, you can take out the batteries and recycle them, but the rest will end up in a landfill, stubbornly not biodegrading, so our descendants will be well aware of what big pervs we were. This is not ideal.

Buy from a place that recycles toys.
Right now that's exactly two places: UK-based sex toy company Lovehoney and Come As You Are (CAYA), an “anti-capitalist, co-operative sex shop” in Toronto, Canada. Lovehoney's Rabbit Amnesty Programme is the most successful, running for 10 years in the UK, and now offers recycling to U.S. customers (click here for info).

“Everything we receive gets checked to make sure it qualifies for the recycling scheme. The toys are then sorted into containers and sent to our nearest WEEE Recycling Plant. They’re pretty used to receiving mountains of colourful phalluses from us now, “ explains Richard Longhurst, co-owner of Lovehoney. “The unwanted toys get crushed and separated into their different materials. You can see a video of the whole process on Youtube. It’s quite entertaining to see a bulldozer with a shovel-load of sex toys and see rabbit vibrators whizzing round conveyor belts and crushed into little pieces.” Metals might be made into new gadgets and plastics might go into that container you're drinking out of right now. Pause for spit take.

At CAYA, things aren't quite as advanced, but they are doing their sincere Canadian best. “We encourage folks to drop off their busted sex toys and give them a 15% discount for their efforts,” says Jack Lamon, Worker-Owner at CAYA Co-operative. “While we can't recycle all sex toy materials, we can deal with abs plastics, silicone, and the electronics contained within. The silicone we're hanging onto for a top-secret in-house re-purposing project. The biggest issue for us is the vinyl, rubber, and mystery plastics. None of these materials should have ever been in sex toys in the first place, and they certainly shouldn't be in landfills! Anything we get that is an antique, we sterilize and keep for our collection. We've found some original Fun Factory pieces in the recycling, not to mention Wahl Vibrators from the 1960s.” Although you are welcome to send your box of worn out butt plugs to CAYA, Lamon doesn't actually recommend it. “The shipping cost is probably too prohibitive for most folks, and honestly, we feel weird about people shipping stuff to us from too far away - I suspect that the gas/oil and emissions undo the good work of recycling - from an environmental perspective,” he said. Instead he encourages...

Sex Toy Swaps
“Sex toy swaps are amazing and I would love to see more happen in local communities,” says Lamon. “Folks have tons of amazing stainless steel, glass, and leather toys that would be better re-used than recycled--and that stuff is so expensive to buy new.”

The thing is, most people have a huge issue with used sex toys, despite the fact that we happily re-use penises and other real body parts all the time. We're so squeamish about it that it's difficult to have a serious discussion about used toys without everyone giggling like a bunch of 5th graders. When I asked readers of my sex blog—a pretty progressive group--if they'd consider a swap, only one person would admit to it.

Still, a few determinedly green and/or thrifty souls are willing to give it a go. “I have a small group of friends I trust and am very comfortable sharing intimate things with, and every once in awhile we do a toy-swap. I know it sounds like a terrible and kinda creepy idea in general, but really, if it's sterilizable and comes from someone I trust, why not exchange that glass g-spotter that I never actually use for an awesome purple silicone dildo that doesn't quite work for my best friend?” posted rhiannonstone on Metafilter.

Re-using sex toys most likely has some historical precedence. As one of my readers pointed out after a post on the early 1900s vibrator hysteria treatments, “I would hazard a guess that the doctors did not purchase a new device for every patient.” (Even if you have no qualms about unknown things in your orifices, you should avoid porous toys and ones made with toxic materials--A decent general rule for new toys as well.)

Go rogue.
Some people use them as artistic inspiration. Subtle Dildo, an instillation art project, ponders the presence of plastic in our lives with a photo series, each featuring a Where's Waldo-like hidden dildo. Lovehoney offers a cheeky list of sex toys hacks including a butt plug light pull, dildo book ends, and a sex doll turned scarecrow. And, according to a discovery by this dude on YouTube, some folks just toss their used dildos into the empty lot behind the Peddlers Inn, in Ulysses, Kansas (not recommended).

Sell them online.
Ebay doesn't allow it but sites like Craigslist, which technically also doesn't allow it, has a small black market, especially for generally unaffordable high-end toys. And the year-old used sex toys subreddit currently has almost a dozen items up for grabs, including the WeVibe 4. New, they'll run you about $150, but the seller is accepting offers. “Just doesn't work as expected for the wife,” he explains. So far, there's one offer. For 40 bucks.

Postscript: If the idea of buying used sex toys online skeevs you out, you should definitely not read the National Association for the Advancement of Science and Art in Sexuality's (NAASAS) investigation that found that “many” online sex toy retailers were selling used toys. To determine that the toys were used, these investigators weren't using some sort high tech DNA analysis—they were just looking at the stuff!

Reads the NAASAS report in a particularly hideous string of words. “Indicators noted in the study to determine if a sex toy had been previously purchased were physical evidence found on the actual sex toys inside their packaging such as human body hair (including pubic hair), vaginal and anal secretions (including fecal matter), saliva, finger prints, lubricant residue, animal fur, lint from clothing and more.”

I told you not to read it.  

xoxo
jill

(This first ran in AlterNet. Photo courtesy Doc Johnson who gave it to me after my fabulous tour of their magical sex toy factory wonderland.)

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Ovulation = Hormonal Beer Googles

Is this chick ovulating?  Check out her
clingy clothes, symmetrical boobs,  the
manly companion... Signs point to "yes."
"People like to forget that we're animals, tied to the Earth and the tides," says a friend with a penchant for making such delightful proclamations. Yes, we think we're making rational decisions, exercising our free choice, and all that... but half the time--hell, maybe all the time--we're just blindly responding to our hormonal instructions like remote control cars in the hands of a sugared-up kid.

To wit: this study showing that women buy sexier, clingier clothes while ovulating. (To those who spent sex ed class giggling in the back of the class: ovulation is the woman's fertile period. And if you don't start paying better attention, well, don't make me break out my diagram of the female reproductive system.)

One of the study's researchers--sounding less like a scientist and more like an evil cyborg villain from a future dystopian universe--noted a way that corporations could cash in this phenomenon by hitting up the ovulation-crazed females ready to shell out cash on push-up bras and the like:

"Our findings suggest marketers for many types of female products are well served to strategically time their mailings, coupons, electronic solicitations, and direct requests to the specific window when women are ovulating."

Which is pretty damn evil. (And, following the same logic, presumably the marketing flyers for unsexy clothes would arrive a couple weeks later. Hey, JC Penney's--it's your time to shine!) But ovulating women aren't spending all their time just buying sexy clothes, they're mindlessly obeying their hormones in myriad ways. Women's voices get higher-pitched during ovulation, they walk differentlyprefer more masculine faces and are more susceptible to pick-up lines. During this period, they're also more likely to fantasize about someone other than their partner. (For your Fantasy Consideration: Javier Bardem in that scene in Vicky Christina Barcelona where he seduces two women by telling them, "Life is short, life is boring, life is full of pain," thus, they should immediately run off to an island with him for the weekend.)

Um...what was I saying, oh yes, during ovulation, women's bodies change like some mutant Transformer, except instead of becoming robots in disguise, our ears, fingers and breasts get more symmetrical and skin color lightens. (Cue mutation sound FX.) Women actually get observably prettier, and subjects consistently rate ovulating women as more attractive.
And it's not just the ladies going all crazy with the hormones. Men think ovulating women smell better, they get more jealous of dominant males when their partner is ovulating and they give ovulating strippers more tips. ($70 an hour for the ovulating strippers vs. only $35 for the menstruating ones, but I'm guessing that's because the menstruating ones were probably sobbing in the corner, complaining that everyone had become a complete asshole.)

It all seems a little complex. I don't see why humans didn't just adopt the chimpanzee method of the females developing a big swollen pink butt when they're ready to go. It's a simple, obvious and clear signal of willingness. Although, admittedly, the pink butt route has its own drawbacks. Swollen pink butts do in fact make your butt look fat in those jeans, and pink butt makes it much more difficult to play it coy.

Female: Hmmm...I don't know if I'm interested...
Male: Uh, I can see your big ol' pink butt, you know.
Female: Oh, yeah, right....Let's go back to your place then.

Several friends and I have noticed that as we've gotten older, our cyclical swings of desire have become much more pronounced. One week we're WAY into it--like Superfreaks--and when we're not, well, eh, whatever. So here are your questions for the day: Are you elderly like us and is this happening to you as well? If so, you always noticed it or are you just becoming more attuned to the rhythms of your body? And you too, men, how is your desire changing as you age? Comment below, or drop me an email.

xoxoxox
jill

PS Goddamn rerun.

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Things I Found in Naomi Wolf's "Vagina"

Let's see, I looked in Naomi Wolf's Vagina and found:  an Adam Ant Album, a Bag of Bacon and...I'm sorry. I'm a child.

No, what I found was information--completely fascinating, mind-blowing information. Naomi Wolf's book Vagina: A New Biography--seriously--gave me a whole new Vaginal Worldview. Which is good because I previously held no Vaginal Worldview. So I can tick that off my "to-do" list.

Anyway, here's the story:

1. The basic premise.
Women are wired in complex neurological ways that make sexual touch blend with emotional experiences, creativity, and the experience of connectedness with the world. "Women are designed to receive pleasure, and experience triggers to orgasm from skillful caressing and rhythmic pressure of all kinds over many, many parts of their bodies. The pornographic model of intercourse--even our culture's conventional model of intercourse, which is quick, goal-oriented, linear, and focused on stimulation of perhaps one or two areas of a woman's body--is just not going to do it for many women, at least not in a very profound way, because it involves such a superficial part of the potential of a woman's neurological sexual response systems," writes Wolf.

2. Release the hounds.
When a lover stimulates a woman properly, it sets off all kinds of chemical fuckery. A lover who suckles a woman's nipple for example, will set off a release of the bonding love chemical oxytocin and she, perhaps without quite realizing why, will favor that lover over another. If a man* gives his lover a deep, deep orgasm, the kind where it feels like his cock is hitting some deep emotional/physical/spiritual place within, a woman can have a profound experience. Some women will feel an exquisite rapture, some will burst into tears, and 100% will take that dude's call next time around.

3.  Truly great sex is a spiritual experience.
Yeah, I said spiritual. When a woman is fully relaxed, open and receiving pleasure she can enter sort of a trance state. And when a woman comes, she gets a heavy dose of opiates, and the regions of her brain involving self-awareness and inhibition go dark. "This can feel to the woman involved like a melting of boundaries, a loss of self, and, whether exhilaratingly or scarily, a loss of control," writes Wolf. This blissful state is a transcendence, a falling/melting into something Divine.

4. Well fucked women get bombarded with all kinds of delicious sexual chemicals and get cranky when denied.
The heavy dosing of all these lovely chemicals--the bonding love squishiness of oxytocin, the rewarding high of dopamine, the sublime bliss of opiates--means that yes, love is a drug for women, and we can turn into fucking addicts. Our pleasure/chemical hit is potentially greater than a man's so we suffer more, biochemically, from withdrawal. Edith Wharton wrote that her lover's touch left her with "je n'ais plus de volonte": "no more will." "Addictedness to a lover who is 'right' for the autonomic nervous system in women is hard-wired," writes Wolf. "...If this is the person with the right touch to activate your unique neural network, you will go into withdrawal if he or she is not around you to do this again, and fairly soon. Actual, painful, real withdrawal." Uh, yeah. (See also: Elliott Smith, excessive playing of)

5. Maybe it's okay to go with your crazy?
The addictive force of sexual chemistry has such a tempting, strong pull--just an open-hearted leap into ancient currents of Passion and Life--but it also feels kinda...anti-feminist, weak and possibly unhealthy. Being so raw and open to someone is both frightening and wonderful. Especially since men might be experiencing the chemical bath on a less heady level. But Wolf spins this longing for connection as something important and essentially female : "Are we masochists, are we pathetic, or trivial minded? No, to the contrary. Rather, we are subject to a force that is extremely powerful--one that perhaps no man can truly understand. I think that what drives us is rather noble," she writes. "I believe we should respect the potential for 'enslavement' to sexual love in women; to our place with Eros and love."

6.  The optimum ways to fire up a women's sensuality look a lot like Tantric sex.
A lot of Tantra--at least as far as I can tell from studying it exactly zero days---has to do with setting the scene, enjoying the process, relaxing the woman and coaxing her to open up gradually--literally and metaphorically, until she is sort of bursting with ripeness. A lover offering reassurance and admiration will affect what's going on between a woman's legs, reports Wolf: "If he or she keeps talking along those lines, watch how readily your vagina responds to the touch--as the Tantric masters say, it should literally yearn toward and open for the lover's hand, to draw it closer, or do the same for a lover's penis."

A slow, non-goal oriented touch will take a lover over the contours of a woman's body, kissing, stroking and coaxing each one to open up before moving to another. After going through each "gate," a woman will be fully receptive--probably pretty fucking blissed out--and only then it is then okay to enter her. Wolf describes this Eastern model of vaginal opening as "akin to an 'unfolding' or an 'unfurling,' a 'coming alive,' or an 'expansion'--more like a time-lapse photograph, like a lotus expanding in the sun."

7.  Whether you think it's a G-spot or not, it needs to be stroked.
"Find her 'sacred spot,' then hang out there far longer that you think is necessary." While scientists are still dithering about whether there is a G-spot or not, Tantric masters have been in there stroking said "sacred spot' and making the ladies come. Carefully, slow stroking of the spot--which is part of the whole neural tangle, but can also be considered to be sort of a back end of the clitoris--is highly effective at making women purr for you. In one study researchers gave 89% of their female subjects orgasms by "systematic digital stimulation of both vaginal walls." This despite the lab conditions and calling it "systematic digital stimulation of both vaginal walls." Considering 43% of women report sexual desire and response problems, the results are truly stunning.

8.  The usual idea of tensing and focusing to reach orgasm might not be optimal for women.
"Many women--and Tantra gurus--report that while clitoral orgasm involves bodily tension and release (a lot like male orgasm), 'sacred spot' orgasm involves relaxation. Many women learn to have sacred spot orgasms, those Tantric four-star never-ending orgasms, by actually directing themselves to relax and lose consciousness during sacred spot stimulation--to their surprise, this can make the orgasm come in sequential inexhaustible waves--rather than tensing up and focusing on sexual thoughts or fantasies, which women then to do to secure clitoral orgasms (and which Western images of sexuality model.)"

So yeah. There you go. I am still kind of processing it all but am curious what you all think.... Do tell.

xoxox
jill

p.s. I also found the object below in Naomi Wolf's Vagina.**




* I'm going with some hetero language here today b/c I am hetero. For now.
** Statement is untrue.

This is a rerun. Please adjust expectations accordingly.

(photo source: Lady Cheeky)

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Best Sex Ever Contest Winners! (Plus a l'il patriarchy smashing).

Clean up, clean up, everybody do their share.
The winners of the Best Sex Ever Contest have been notified and if it wasn't you, fear not, there's always tomorrow for dreams to come true (Clarice, 1964). And to dry your tears, I'll share two entries with you that I especially liked.

The first is from "Wilma" not her real name, nor near as I can tell, anyone's real name.

I could not pass up entering your cool contest because it involves a subject near and dear to my heart. Very sadly, for me, the best and most profound and powerful sex was with a man who destroyed my heart and soul so thoroughly, I haven't wanted to have sex with another man for several years. And goddamn it! I'm a woman who LOVES SEX!

I never should have gotten involved with him in the first place, as I was (very unhappily) married with two daughters. It was a simple and completely innocent Facebook post asking if any of my many musician friends happened to have a pair of bongo drums that I could borrow or buy to use at a middle school Earth Day garden party. Wouldn't you know, Mister Great Cock-Heartless Lover answered. From that moment on, I was in thrall to him, ultimately destroying my already wrecked marriage, shattering the trust between me and my daughters and spending the next 4 years in total, self destructive despair. Even after years of therapy, countless suggestions and support from friends and far too much journaling and self reflection, I am still pathetically addicted to this man.

It was because of That Moment, the first, single moment when I finally opened up, became totally and terrifyingly vulnerable and allowed my self to meld mindblowing sex with Love. I had never allowed it before out of fear of intimacy, and here I did it with the one man who would use it against me over and over and over again. But man, I still remember That Moment, and the power and beauty of it all and for that, I am grateful. Because at least now, I know what I am capable of. I still believe, after all these years of self afflicted misery, that I'll experience That Moment with someone worthy and who I'll feel worthy enough with.

Jill, going against all my better judgment, I'm shooting this email off to you without taking one moment to re-read, proof or edit what I've written.

Goddamn! It feels fucking great to get this off my chest! Thank you for offering the opportunity for your readers to participate in this endeavor.

Love you.

And this from Sky Roy, which actually is his real name. I love this because it's so outside what I've ever experienced. Also he used the phrase "sexual compersion." (Compersion, n: A feeling of joy when a loved one invests in and takes pleasure from another romantic or sexual relationship.)

One time myself and two women I am involved with decided to have a threesome. We all got tipsy and/or high, and sat on the couch together. We started talking, electricity just crackling around us, and finally somebody started touching in a way that was erotic. Suddenly everyone's clothes went flying into the air and we started having the most natural, effortless, astounding sex. We moved from room to room trying every configuration you can imagine, extending the session over about three hours.

The best parts of the experience were me having four mindbending orgasms, which given that I am male and pushing forty is pretty rare over that timespan, as well as two separate occasions where we had a simultaneous three way orgasm. We were so in tune that we were able to get each other to come just by proximity somehow, and the people just touching on the sidelines of the current action were able to climax just from sexual compersion. It was magnificent.

People talk about threesomes full of jealousy and and possessiveness, but I have never experienced that. It has always been good, and this one in particular was wonderful because we were all so happy watching each other be happy.


Thanks for your entries, loved reading them.  And if I could, I'd be mailing each and every one of you something to stick up a favorite hole.

****
I've been tossing around the idea of a post The 10 Most Humiliating Things About Being the Chick Who Writes Cosmo's Sex Positions, Ranked, with both #1 and #10 being "I am the chick who writes Cosmo's sex positions."

However, my 12-stepping friend says "Don't go pain shopping" which is the exact opposite of how I've spent my entire life. So in that spirit....

There is actually a lot I love about the gig, mostly that they pay me, unlike most of you cheap-ass motherfuckers (not you dear Ada, IBWMW Minister of Making an Automatic Monthly Donation), but also that I can use the sexual bully pulpit to tell younger chicks the Very Important Information that would have been VERY nice to know in 1989 that if they can't come via P-in-V (that is, practically everyone) then just getting on top or angling themselves just right isn't gonna make them start spewing rainbow colored orgasms. (Clean-up on Aisle 3.)

Filmmaker Trisha Borowicz of Science Sex and the Ladies and a huge inspiration to me saw through my secret plan. "The sacred institution of the Cosmo sex position list is breaking up the patriarchy, bitches," writes Trisha who says cool shit like that all the time. Check out her post "Cosmo Sex Position Lists Will Bring the Orgasmic Equality Revolution!"

To hear me talking me more on this, or just to deepen your stalking routine, go to iTunes and have a listen to the "Who Invents Cosmo's Sex Positions" episode on The Cosmo Happy Hour Podcast. 

Next time I will tell you the one easy trick that will make you come like a race horse every damn time.

xoxox
jill

PS Thank you Sarah and Aneros for the Helix Syn and the Evi!

Thursday, April 6, 2017

The Best Sex Ever Contest!

This, alas, is not the prize.
I've been thinking on what amazing sex really is.  For me, it's not about positions (shh!) or anything like that, but elements both subtle and sublime. It's seeing or feeling raw desire and being willing to follow that whether it takes you. It's fleetings moment of incredibly deep connection, like when you look in someone's eyes as they slide inside you and you think you see the universe there. (More likely just dilated pupils due to arousal, but still. Allow me my poetry.)

For me, the best sex is also about filling up the hole inside. Not the obvious one, though that goes a long way toward doing the trick, but more the metaphorical hole. The one where you don't feel quite whole or at peace. Some people fill it with God, but my brain didn't come equipped with those religious receptors, so my God hole is more like a sex hole. Which sounds plenty dirty, not to mention probably highly blasphemous.

In discussing the "problems" of sex in How to Think More About Sex, School of Life co-founder/semi-depressive Brit Alain de Botton writes, "Great sex, like happiness more generally, may be the precious and sublime exception. During our most fortunate encounters, it is rare for us to appreciate how privileged we are. It is only as we get older, and look back repeatedly and nostalgically to a few erotic episodes, that we start to realize with what stinginess nature extends her gifts to us--and therefore what an extraordinary and rare achievement of biology, psychology and timing satisfying sex really it."

Most sex, then, is just about filling your regular old biological holes. And as it happens, I have something for you today that does just that. That is:

The Best Sex Ever Contest
Your task: Tell me what your best sex ever was and why. You can write a big ol porny essay that may or may not gross me out or just a sentence like "the look on his face the first time I put my mouth on him" or whatever. Winning entries won't be chosen on "quality" (we're all different), but just chosen by a random drawing.

Your (Possible) Prize
Two choices!
--A Helix Syn, a hands-free prostate/male G-spot massager, courtesy of Aneros, who kindly sent me two of them. It's a training tool to encourage super deep prostate orgasms. It's like an $80 value and looks like this:
Hello, Sailor

--An Aneros Evi, the female counterpart that is a hands-free g-spot/clitoral stimulator. Again, battery free and you squeeze around it--kind of an exercise, kind of a way to get off. The idea is strengthening your responsiveness rather that just blasting your nether regions with vibrations. It's about $55 and looks like this:

Put me in your God hole
How to Enter
Send me your best sex ever and tell me which prize you're gunning for via comment below or super secret email to jillhamilton001@gmail.com. If you do send me something via email that's good and doesn't skeeve me out, I may post it, but I will give you a pseudonym so no one knows you really really liked it that one time someone put a wee bonnet on you and called you a filthy little whore. Get your entries in by April 12, 2017.

Bonus
You'll get an extra entry for sharing this contest on social media or just telling someone via old school conversation. Just let me know, and I'll put you in extra.

So get thinking about your best sex ever, as though you weren't already doing that, and enter and share.

Love you. Not in a creepy way.*

xoxox
jill

*possibly in a creepy way


(photo:  the dreamy Pinterest of Wendy Rose Watson)

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

What People Have Down Their Pants

That's me.
Yes, I know the whole fucking world is going to hell in a hand basket, whatever that means, and what follows here today is just silliness, but my present coping mechanism of staring at my social media feeds, impotently pressing the mad face emoji is not really doing the trick today.*

Anyway there's lots to tell you. Walk with me, will you?

My Weird Job
--I was on the Cosmo Happy Hour podcast! Which would be more exciting if I could tell you how to listen! (Try iTunes or Play.It) It's the Who Invents Cosmo Sex Positions episode and--spoiler:  It's *sigh* me. I come in about the 8 minute mark and talk without pre-thinking anything for even one second, as is my way.

Things People Saw and Thought of Me:
 --Matthew saw this underwear with a built-in camel toe and quite reasonably, thought of me. Not because I am known for anything camel toe related (...yet. though I do get an oddly high amount of traffic from the search terms "Jill St. John camel toe") but because I am a little obsessed with the stuff people put down their pants.

I'm guessing they're probably for people in various stages of transitioning because beyond clearing up painful front wedgies due to 1970s time travel/wardrobe problems, it's hard to see the appeal here. Like any of these body "enhancement" deals, why would your try to attract someone with the very thing you lack? If some dude/lady is into big-ass vaginas**, they're going to be mighty disappointed when you disrobe and that camel toe of yours is lying next to you, still puffed up and ready to go. Do they then fuck you out of politeness or go straight for the panties they really wanted to fuck? Do you really want to know? 

In any case, there's also a camel toe blocker (because no matter what you have going down there, somebody is gonna tell you it's not right. See also Naomi Wolf's The Beauty Myth.) The blocker, of course, creates the opposite problem of the enhancer. Someone who is into you because of your unobtrusive little cooter will likely be shaken when you unleash your formerly-contained camel toe, and it expands like an air bag, possibly putting someone's eye out. 

If you're undecided, maybe just buy some pants that fit and see who comes your way.

--Anne sends the important news of crystals dildos designed to "quiet the mind in order to feel subtle energies, develop emotional intelligence, strengthen self-awareness, and accepting every aspect of who you are." It seems like an awful lot to ask of a dildo--guess that's why it costs $149. 91. Anne, who is from a foreign land signed off, "Hope your vagina is feeling magical" which is the way they sign off in her country, I think, but it did made to pause for a second to consider if my vagina was feeling magical. Answer: sorta? I think?
 
Things People Saw and Didn't Think of Me, But I Looked Anyway:
--My friend Janet saw Disney Dudes' Dicks: What Your Favorite Princes Look Like Naked and cruelly did not think of me. But I looked anyway, bc pervy, and beheld some waaay over-Imagineered cartoon prince nudity. I'm showing you to purge myself, in the same way that you tell someone when there's an annoying song playing over in your head. Take this:

Gaston
 Gaston likes to take nude selfies. He has a small dick—very tiny—pube-less and uncut.
 

Which seems about right.  As for Prince Charming, I've never given it any thought, but if for some reason I were forced to speculate--which could totally happen--I would guess that Prince Charming is asexual down below and has just a smooth flap of skin, like Ken. But clearly I am wrong.

Prince Charming
Obviously, the perfect guy has the perfect dick: like eight or nine inches, thick—but not too thick otherwise it's painful—rock hard with a nice throbbing vein. He's groomed perfectly in a way that's considerate of lovers without being too gay porn-y about it. He's standing in front of the fireplace that Cinderella no longer has to rake, arm draped over the mantle.


Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go and try to grow the fuck up. 

Contest coming!
Stay tuned. Have the prizes. Need to think of what I'm gonna make you do.

xoxo
jill

P.S. Tell me what's on your mind. I miss your ass.

*Don't worry. I'm still all about the #resist and will be back on my mad face emoji pressing duties soon enough
**I know. LABIA. Piss off.. 

Monday, March 13, 2017

The Blow Job as Path to the Divine

I am not a religious person. I don't even know that I want to be. I have sort of tried, a little, but for better or worse, I don't seem to have the God gene. The closest I ever get to the sublime feeling of connection with the universe that religious people describe is generally through music. Walking at night, the wet smell of the evening mist, a full moon hanging overripe in the sky, and Pandora radio seducing me with exactly what I want to hear before I know myself (Damn, Pandora, I will tell you again, I would so fuck you if I could) is the closest I get to experiencing the Divine.

Except for sex. I think what's appealing to me about sex is not the actual friction between body parts-- although that's pretty damn good, too--but the out-of-body, out-of-your-fucking-mind, brain/body explosion that happens during the best sex. Good sex is just somehow...beyond. You're extremely focused on the Now, the line between you and other is blurred, and, in the best moments, you feel like you and the Universe are sort of throbbing together as one. Which sounds a lot like religious ecstasy.  (Other times it's just you and your partner, or your hand, or your vibrator--you get off, then go about your day. Which is fine as well.)

In an oldish issue of Playboy, Samantha Gillison wrote a wonderful essay "The Platonic Ideal" on this idea of sex as route to the Divine. I would link to it, but-- incredibly in this day and age--it is not available on-line! Well, unless you pay. That's why this month I am a member of iPlayboy.com, for you, dear reader.

In Gillison's piece, she describes the moment she became illuminated on the joys of giving head. It was after a Bad Brains concert, and in the darkness of the parking lot, she knelt before her date.

We could have been strangers--we almost were--and somehow the darkness, the anonymity of the situation liberated me from worrying about doing something wrong or feeling self-conscious. I allowed myself to sink deep into the fantasy of what it must feel like for him--the pressure, the warmth, the wetness. All of a sudden the only thing in the world was that cock and my connection to it.

Previously, Gillison had thought of blow jobs as something you gave, like a gift, or something you did as a favor. Plus there was some fear and uncertainty.

It was just that I was unsure of cock when I got up close to one; it contained unreadable male mysteries. I might hurt it or maybe just do nothing right. Maybe I looked ridiculous. I didn’t really know which parts of it wanted to be touched, or how. It seemed to be its own creature, almost uncannily separate from the man who owned it. Perhaps simpleminded but authoritarian and judgemental. 


This time, however, she had a revelation.

But starting that night in the parking lot, I began to understand the profound, dirty pleasure of giving blow jobs. It isn’t just that I discovered how much I like being in control, how much I like giving the kind of pleasure that makes someone helpless, and how intoxicating it is to be on the receiving end of hurricane-levels of desire. But, that night, it was also the revelation of the particular male smell you get up close with a cock and balls that turned me on in ways that are almost beyond description. It was like being inside sex.


"Being inside sex." Dear God. 

Plato said that human beings can only truly access the divine through sexual ecstasy, Eros. This has always made so much sense to me. When else are humans as rapt by feeling as when they come and when they touch God? That feeling of connection to the universal, the feeling of having exited my own body as I orgasm is nothing other than touching the infinite.

Yet I have never been able to get close to that Platonic, out-of-my-mind kind of sexual ecstasy unless I can satisfy a primal hunger: Whether in fantasy or reality, I need a connection to another equally raunchy human being. It has always been the case with me, since I was a teenager, that I have to see someone else’s horniness in order to feel horny. What I happily realized on my knees in the parking lot is that an erect cock in my face is among the most blatant ways of experiencing the realness of someone else’s desire I’d ever encountered. And every time, it spurs a response in me, hot and dark and if I’m doing something transgressive in the best possible way.


Blow jobs! Philosophical talk! The phrase "erect cock in my face"!  Gah, I am a goner! LOVE this $%$#!

I'll add a little bit more of her essay, because I want to make sure I don't stray from "fair use" territory to "stealing" and "copyright infringement." Here's Gillison on the experience of blowing a long time friend and feeling, then overcoming, the awkwardness inherent in that particular situation.

But then a supple communication started between me and his penis as I began to suck, a communication beyond words and much deeper than any we had ever had before.

His cock felt so sexy in my mouth, hard and hot and aching with desire. But I could also feel how much of this man was being revealed to me: his sexuality, his vulnerability, his musky smell.

Soon the connection started to feel like a merging, as though I was experiencing that blow job too. It felt crazy, off-the-charts raunchy, to fantasize that I was not only giving head but getting it. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by pure animal pleasure. I was so turned on that I came.

Since that night’s discovery I always revel in the double fantasy of giving and receiving. And I honor the wisdom of the old Greek philosophers who pointed out that although the Divine is inscrutable, it is easy to find while sucking on a dick.


And there is no better way to end a post than what Gillison ended with right there, so I will leave you to your day.

xoxoxo
jill

* Afterword:  Do NOT do a Google image search for "penis public domain." Hideous medical photos!  "Lesion on the glans"! Holy crap! Look away! Look away!

photo: William M. Rattase
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