This is Kind of A Strange Question, But Does Your Teddy Bear Have A Boner?

There are two types of inventors -- the Steve Jobs type, coming up with brilliant, useful products replete with zen-like beauty and then there is...everyone else.

Like whoever the fuck invented this thing, shown there on the left.

This product, as near as I can tell, is called This Teddy Bear Hides Your Sex Toys in a Secret Pouch. Which I guess is a good enough name since that's exactly what it is.

This poor Teddy is upsetting to me because I picture the dude who invented it (Yes, I know it's sexist, but in my mind, this inventor's a guy. And don't be trying to change my mind. I'm pretty firm on this one). Anyway I think of him coming home and telling his wife, "Baby, call your boss and quit your job at the cannery because right here, I've got our ticket out of this rat hole!" Then he proudly whips out the plans for This Teddy Bear Hides Your Sex Toys in a Secret Pouch.

The wife sighs quietly to herself. One gets the feeling that it's just the latest in a long line of sighs that have come with marrying this guy.

I mean, did he not think this through at all? There are so very many ways this is a bad idea.

--First and most importantly, a stuffed animal prominently displayed on the bed is not a guaranteed Mate Attracter. Many, I among them, would argue that it would be more accurately categorized as Mate Repellent.

--If you have kids and want to keep them away from something, a stuffed animal is most assuredly not your best bet. The vegetable drawer in the fridge might be a better choice, or hey, how 'bout trying the night stand drawer like everyone else in the world?

--Except for Plushies, bless those dear, dear stuffed animal fuckers (see also: I Am Going To Fuck You So Hard, Snuggle), stuffed animals and sex just don't go together. Can you imagine rolling about in bed with someone, they get a mischievous look in their eyes and say, "Would you like to try something new?" Then they seductively bring out... their Teddy Bear? No, no, no. And, btw, that sound you hear is genitals shriveling up and scurrying to find a safe place to hide under the bed.

--Pavlovian conditioning. You grab your Teddy Bear, you get out your toy, you have an orgasm. Repeat repeat repeat until, in your mind, Teddy Bear = orgasm. (see above, Plushies) 

--$39.99!  No way, mister, for that kind of money, I'll rip a sex toy hole in my own damn Teddy Bear.

--But main objection to the idea is, well, this:

Right.

xoxoxo

jill

P.S. I found this Back Boner-Having Teddy Bear at Shop In Private, a site featuring all manner of embarrassing products. Loved it as sort of an anthropological study about what sorts of things our society deems to be embarrassing. There were adult diapers, butt lifting lingerie, pubic wigs, lice shampoo, Journey cds, anal douches, back shavers, small sized condoms, cream to keep your balls smelling "fresh" and "The Big Boy Package Appearance Enhancer" (sold out).

Have a look, but be forewarned, when I was there, I inadvertently activated an informational video on the site, and some dude started talking about "coochie shaving cream" in a Really Loud Voice.

Someone Who Actually Used The Female Condom!

A reader over at Dan Savage's column in The Stranger recently linked to this IBWMW reader letter. Upon re-reading it, I loved it again so much that here is it again, showing up at your doorstep, no worse for the long trip. Take it in and give it a good home will you?

Not only is this letter about the female condom, which as faithful readers will recall, I am unduly obsessed with, but it is also stunningly well-written. (Also, non-irrelevantly, I am home with a sick child today and can't be sitting around writing about wieners all day.)

The reader, let's call him B, was good enough to report back to us on his experience with the female condom. I love it especially because he uses the phrase "from a purely penile perspective." Writes B:

"With a regular condom, men lose all the direct friction on the penis, which is, of course, why so many guys hate using them. With the female condom, all the friction and sensation comes back (for the male), but the feeling is still very different from regular no-condom sex, because of what the penis is actually rubbing against: a urethane sheath. Urethane feels nothing like skin, and is also very different from latex… more Saran Wrappy, really.

Maneuvering the penis through the ring-opening is fun, like an accuracy game, and it requires the help of fingers, which most people will probably find lacking in the romance department. But hey, when there’s a plastic ring dangling out of a person’s vagina, it ain't gonna be a scene outta Jane Austen.

Note: Not a scene from
"Pride and Prejudice"

Once the penis is safely inside, a lot of the things you’ve grown to expect from penetration are the same: the pressure and the warmth are as they should be. But then there’s this strange, unfamiliar texture, like your penis is now gripped by something that’s smoother and more plastic than you're used to. From a purely penile perspective, it’s a bit like having sex with a warm, tight sandwich bag. But that’s just a best guess, of course. I’ve never gotten it on with food wrapping, honestly.

I will admit that the sensation was actually exciting as a novelty. Everything else about my girlfriend was the same, but her vagina felt noticeably different. She was 98% human and 2% love doll, and that was a bit of a turn-on, as if she’d swapped out her sex part for something new… not better, but at least different and maybe a tad futuristic.

Blame it on all those nerve endings that make intercourse so penis-centric for guys, but even with all the other stuff that’s going on during sex, there’s no disguising that what you’re feeling down in the thrusting zone isn’t really an au- natural vagina, but something “other.”

So, yeah. Warm, tight, and plasticky.

It’s not a feeling I’d want every time, and it would definitely get to be a drag if it was the default birth control method. But as a one-off experiment, it was enjoyable and memorable."

Someone Wins...um, Something! Plus Comment Passion

The winner of the Love is... contest is the ever-insightful commenter Mongo, At the Moment. For his efforts, he wins a cock ring. What? You can't hear me? Okay, FINE! He wins a COCK RING! That's right, a big ol' candy colored, waterproof, vibrating cock ring, with girth adjustment, "extra nubs," a "baller" (which could probably use a more appealing name) and hell, probably a bacon-cooking attachment. There, I said it, COOOOOOCK RIIIING, happy now? (btw, if you want your own damn cock ring and the joy that is the baller, gather up your courage, and order one here.)

Mongo, who, presumably, is woefully un-cock-ring-festooned at present, answered my exchange rate question about the money Kim Casali made for drawing the inexplicably popular comic "Love Is..." (or, as Cagey-C gorgeously put it, "'love is...' oddly uninhibited Precious Moments") during their 70s heyday. (Short answer: it was a fuck of a lot of money.)

Actually I loved ALL your comments and wish I could drive my parade limo through town like Mr. Monopoly, tossing cock rings to you all.

But it wasn't Mongo's £ to $ exchange rate wisdom that got me. It was the comment he left a few minutes later on the post Help This Reader Out--Girl's Got the Dopamine Sickness! that sealed the deal.

Actually, if you have time, go back to that post and read what everyone had to say on monogamy, chemicals and what the fuck to do about it. Everyone was so honest and insightful and smart, I could have wept. I especially loved mjs's comment, which contained such wisdom as:

The eternal struggle between novelty and secure intimacy - it is a classic. You are experiencing the power of novelty and chemistry. It is why when we start dating someone there is so much energy. It comes from the mystery, the tension, the surprises. It is the opposite of secure intimacy.
     Now we also love secure intimacy as well - the knowns, the stability, the familiarity...but there is no tension or excitement there and hence sexual tension can often diminish or vanish. It gives us great comfort to know everything and share everything with our partners but it more often than not kills desire because that full sharing on every level including mundane details makes lovers into family - and who wants to fuck their family?

Indeed.

Anyway, on to Mongo's tale of dopamine, lust and excruciating restraint. Here, go get a cup of coffee or something, settle in for a few moments, and read what he had to say:

A similar situation happened with me, about a year ago: A friend, with kids; I'm single. Her husband is more an acquaintance of mine than a friend.

She: Simmering long-standing issues with husband. Me: Always wanted to duct-tape her to the back of a Zip Sharecar and drive to Carmel for the weekend. Husband: Would not see the humor in the situation.

This kind of contact can become the functional equivalent of bungee-jumping -- The juice, tension, the frisson of an unspoken agreement to skirt the edge of forbidden contact. Hormones; endorphins; secretly flaunting convention and feeling more alive; both of us were thinking: Yeah, sign me up for more of that... 

It was clear that if either of us had made even a modest physical move, the escalation from flirting to fucking would have been a rapid progression. It hurt so Bad it was almost blissful. After a while, it was clear all this was getting in the way of our relating to each other the way we always had -- so we talked. A lot.

Help This Reader Out--Girl's Got the Dopamine Sickness!

Yikes, I need your help! A reader has asked for advice and I don't want to totally fuck her up provide her with unwise counsel. So I turn to you, Faceless Internet Stranger, as I do on all Important Life Matters. Here, you tell her what to do.

This is what you have to go on, her comment on the post Dopamine, The Cruel Bitch Mistress:

Tell me how to make it stop. I've been married for 7 years now to a man who, 7 years before that was a crazy crush. He's a great guy, wonderful father to our little girl. All that. Then a dude came along who, with a GLANCE turned me inside out. We've flirted, we've talked, and he's told me I do the same to him. His integrity (dammit!) will not allow him to go any further with me, as he knows I'm married with a wee one. But, due to where I work and where said dude shops, I still see him and we still chit chat. It is driving me mad, making me seriously wonder if I still love my husband, getting seriously pissed off that I cannot work up passionate emotions for husband like I have for the dude, losing weight because I don't want to eat, etc. WTF am I supposed to do??? 
Going Crazy Here

Well, what should we tell this lady? Have any of you been in this situation? How did you handle it? Was your solution simple and elegant? Horrible and messy? Some combination therein? Any and all input welcome! You are welcome to comment anonymously (the Internet version of taking the Fifth), but I'll ask you not to be judgmental. The In Bed With Married Women philosophy is that the stuff we talk about around here is not Good or Bad--it's just True, and worth looking at with a clear and open mind.

Yours in Excessive and Unnecessary Capitalization,

jill

(photo source: Hoodoo That Voodoo, Photography by Sarah Moon)

New Contest, But I'm Going to Make You Work for It

Instead of waking up early and briskly typing out the lovely essay on science, crushes and obsession as I'd planned, I instead chose to hit the Motrin PM last night and watch multiple episodes of "Breaking Bad." I have not learned my lesson and would make the same decision again, but consequently, in place of the hard-hitting, life-changing reportage that you expect around here, I'm forced to offer you the (much less brain power required) gift of Earthly Pleasure.

To wit, this, the Pocket Rocket vibrator* from wholly delightful sex toy company, Good Vibrations:

You know you want me...

To win it, simply be the person to gather the MOST new fans to In Bed With Married Women by next Tuesday, Sept. 27. "Fans" can either be:

-- In Bed With Married Women Kindle subscribers

--Followers of the blog via Google Reader (see follow button in right column)

--People who "like" the In Bed With Married Women Facebook page 

--E-mail subscribers (see Feedburner form in right column)

--New Twitter followers (@Jill_Hamilton)

Bonus point opportunities!: 

--A shout out and link to In Bed With Married Women on your blog counts counts as five fans.

--A link to the blog or a particular post counts on your Facebook page counts as five fans.

--A FF or RT on Twitter counts as five fans. 

You can either have your recruitees tell me you sent them OR let me know how many you suckered in via comments below or an e-mail. Again, deadline is Tuesday.

* Disclosure:  I once owned one of these pocket rockets and it, combined with this ridiculous looking bunny sleeve thing, was so good, I actually had to throw it away. I loved it too much. It was also the inspiration for the post How to have a G-Spot Orgasm. So, what I'm saying is, well, the %$%& is good. Maybe too good.

Good luck...

[photo:  Undervannsakt (Slow Water) by Raymond Mosken, source]

Ooooh, Sears, You Naughty Little Store, You

Well, that does it. The whole world's gone sex crazy. First it was vibrator ads in the Sunday newspaper coupon section. And now another bastion of squareness has fallen to our freaky, freaky sexual natures.

See this?

This, my friend, is one Red Thong Back Open Cheek Fish Net Pantyhose made by the poorly named company Leg Avenue.

--"Where do you work?"
--(mumbling)
--"Sorry, I couldn't understand you.  Where?"
--"...leg...avenue."
--"What?"
--"FINE! LEG AVENUE.  I work at a company called LEG AVENUE. Are you happy now?"

Anyway, this whole Leg Avenue buttless red panty hose item is from... SEARS. Yes, Sears! Craftsman Tools, The Big Toy Box, Kenmore appliances, Toughskin jeans, Sears. The Sears which I tend to think of as more:

And quite a bit less:

Excuse me, does this train
go to Leg Avenue?

I know you might think that the rather large holes in the back are due to shoddy workmanship, but no, that's how they are meant to be. You see, while the rest of us were out paying attention to other, non-Sears-related things, Sears went out and got all porny on us.

Don't believe me? Well, explain this then, Ms. (or Mr.) Smartypants:

This is the Elegant Moments Leather Harness. For a mere $28.50, you or someone you love (or at least someone you like to fuck), could have a similar "elegance." Also deemed worthy of such Elegant Moments in your life are the Elegant Moments leather whip with silver handle, the Elegant Moments leather paddle, and the Elegant Moments "F*ck Me" Choker (I swear to god, it says "F*ck Me". I mean, they put the "f*uck me" in quotes like they didn't know what it means, and they threw the asterisk in there, but come on. At this point, it's a little to late to play it coy, Sears, you little slut.)

My favorite Elegant item is not this, the Mens Rooster Pouch

which doesn't take the top spot because -- not only is it alarming and exceedingly unarousing -- I think it would also encourage various "cock" puns. And I really hate puns. As well as chicken beaks near tender nether regions.

No, my favorite item is this, the Elegance Moments Leather Kilt:

Not because I particularly love the kilt or anything (I'm not a vegan, but I don't see a leather studded kilt as being the best use of dead cow), but because of the look on the model's face. 

You have to imagine how his day has been going. He gets a call that Sears wants him for a catalogue shoot. It's kind of dorky, he thinks, but, hey, it's Sears, it's a good gig. In this photo, he has spent the day being photographed in various bondage gear and very revealing underpants, such as this Mesh Underwear with Chain Back.

Not only is it dawning on him that Mesh Underwear with Chain Back is about the most uncomfortable, not to mention highly impractical, underwear he's ever put on, but he's beginning to wonder if this so-called "Sears photo shoot" has anything thing to with Sears at all. In the mesh underwear shot, he's kind of doubtful about it all, but by the time they break out the leather kilt, his look does not say, "Hello, Sears Consumer, please purchase this handsome leather kilt!" but instead, "This had better be a fucking legit Sears shoot, motherfuckers."

Although, as astute readers will remember, this isn't the first time Sears has gotten all sexytime on us.  Recall, if you will, this 1918 Sears Roebuck catalogue entry for a "very useful and satisfactory for home service" portable vibrator.

Which, in modern day Sears parlance, translates loosely to "a machine you can 'f*ck.'" 

P.S. Upon re-looking at this ad, I noticed at the bottom it says "Not necessary to buy a complete vibrator if you have the Home Motor." What is this Home Motor? Vibrators are glorious and all, but would you really want to stick your wang on some chug-chuging, smoke-spewing 1918 motor?