Real Sex Lives: Girly Jona, A Jerk-Off Description in the Second Person

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Real Sex Lives: "My Wife's Body" by An Anonymous Husband

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're re-running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Stories, which I am this very second impulsively re-renaming Real Sex Lives. Better, yes?)

"My Wife's Body" by An Anonymous Husband is one of IBWMW's most passed around, viraly posts. It's been re-posted on sites ranging from mommy chat rooms ("I think I might want to have sex with the lights on. Is something wrong with me!?") to at least one hardcore fetish site that requires a false name, admissions of fetish preferences, etc... just to look at it.

Anyway, if you are needing this in your life today, well, please enjoy it. Because here at In Bed With Married Women, we like to keep our ladies happy.

***
My wife, like millions of women in this world, has a poor body self-image. She hates her body, in fact, and never stops beating herself up over her extra pounds, or her veins, or her wrinkles, or countless other aspects of her form.

It has always been thus. A few years back, I found a photo of her that I’d taken a decade ago, when we were first dating. She looked at it sadly, and said, “I’d give anything to be that thin again.” Stunned, I gave her a wide-eyed stare and replied, “All you did back then was complain about how much you hated how you looked. Just like you do now.” She admitted this was true, and shrugged, knowing that things will probably never change.

I wish, for both our sakes, that things would change. I’ve tried on numerous occasions to get her to see something different when she looks in the mirror, something more in tune with the reality of her body. I’ve begged her to try to see herself through my eyes, or at least to take my word for it when I tell her that she’s gorgeous.

Because she is. My wife is drop-dead, eye-popping, tougue-lolling-out, double-finger-whistling, instant tent-in-the-pants gorgeous. The first time we kissed , I actually got light-headed. When she crawls into bed, naked, I am overwhelmed. Every day, when she gets dressed and undressed, I can’t help but stare, like a schoolboy catching sight of the girl next door through a bedroom window. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck, and wonder how it is that I somehow conned this beautiful, sexy woman into being my wife.

I tell her all this, but my opinion on the matter seems to have little value. Still, it’s the truth: I love my wife’s body. Every fucking square centimeter of it. Even if she never can, I do. And I always will.

So, Wifey, if you are reading this, let me say:

I love your smile, because it is rare, and because it is dazzling. I love the mineral-brown of your eyes, and how they go so perfectly with the deep olive of your mostly-Jewish skin and the sweeping dark of your hair. I love your nose, wry, sarcastic, smart-assed. I love your chin, the ideal size and shape for my cupped hand.

I love your lips, a washed-out watercolor red, stretching so carelessly around some shocking swear word or bit of catty gossip. I love your neck, muscled, serious.

I love your breasts, and how they hang down, heavy and full, when you are on top of me in bed. I love to let them rest weightily on my flattened palms, to press them upwards against your chest as you lower yourself towards mine. I love to grip them around the sides like they are dangling fruit, and stroke them up and down, as if warming them up for play.

I love your pale, round, fleshy ass, and how it looks peeking out from beneath your nightgown. I love the contrast between the white skin and black lace on the few occasions you’ve worn those hot panties I bought you. I love the very topmost end of your ass crack, where the thin line fans out like the delta of a north-flowing river to water the smooth, flat plain of your lower back, which I also love.

I love the perfect slope of the little hill between your legs, and the puffy bush of your pubic hair, where I delight in resting my hand, or my head. I love every fold and crease and line of your cunt, the pinks and peaches and browns and reds, the slick of sweat and moisture, the springy curls of almost-black that tangle and pull and stretch.

I love the wide curve of your belly, especially when I have to look up to see it. I love that smile where the cheek or your ass meets the back of your thigh, and constantly want to tuck my hand in there. I love your legs, not fragile girly stems, but the legs of a real woman who has crouched down behind home plate in a little-league game, hiked the Kalalau Trail in Kauai, and yes, kicked a hole in the bedroom drywall when you were particularly angry with me.

I love the top of your head, which I can so easily kiss, because I’m taller than you. I love your feet, even though you almost never wear the cool shoes and boots I buy you. I love how your soles feel to my tongue, and how you pull away when I do that.

But back to your ass. I love, love, love that ass. It really is amazing.

Your body, wife, is magnificent. I must look at it, and hold it, and touch it, and taste it. I want and need it, because it is beautiful.

And I want you to accept that it is beautiful too.

Your takeaway today:  Your ass is amazing--quite biteable, really.

xoxo
jill

Plz comment, share, like RT and otherwise fill with virtual love. And if you are feeling the pull to share your Real Sex Story, write that motherfucker down and send it on in to: jillhamilton001@gmail.com.

(photo re-doctoring courtesy of said Anonymous Husband, who really is quite amazing.)

Real Sex Lives, Dusky: The Visit to the London Lover

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're re-running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Stories. So get comfortable there and have a look.)

This is part 3 of 3 of Dusky's True Wife's Tale. It's so beautifully written and so well captures the shifting tones and moods of the visit to see her lover in London that I really don't want to muck it up with extraneous commentary. (However, if you'd like to get caught up on Dusky's story, start with:  "I Have Had One Great Love and One Great Lover and They Are Not the Same Man" then "I am Going to See That Old Lover")

So sit back, grab a cup of tea or other U.K.-approved beverage, and let's head to London with Dusky to visit that sexy old flame...

Ah hello...

I've been building myself up to writing to you.  Unfortunately things didn't go so well. :(  However, in the end, it hasn't been all bad.  Like everything else with my trip it seems to be a case of not really getting what I wanted, but in the end getting what I needed.  I find it hard to summarise all my feelings and what happened.  So I've just typed out the full story even though it's rather long! Please feel free to edit and post it should it be of interest.  Perhaps as a cautionary tale!

A few weeks ago was my wedding anniversary.  Hubby and I had a lovely day: we went out for lunch and wine tasting at a beautiful winery, drank more wine at home, and had some nice marital nookie.  I was also in the very strange position of spending some of the day packing for holiday and messaging my lover to arrange our date.  The next day I got on the plane to London.

I arrived in London-town on a Saturday morning.  I messaged the lover on my UK number, letting him know I was in town, and receiving a suitably excited response.  I teased that maybe he'd like to catch up while I was in town?  "Gosh, yes, that would be wonderful" replied the man who was already in the process of booking a hotel room for us for the following night.  Sunday I spent the day at a rather posh luncheon with my uncle, chatting as eloquently as I could manage with the men my uncle & late father rowed with at university.  When I got a spare moment I messaged the lover to say how proud he would be of my good-girl act... he responded "if only your polite company knew what was going to happen to you later tonight."  I was SO excited thinking about exactly what would be happening to me that night.  After lunch I was shaking with anticipation as I prepared for my date... putting on my best perfume, applying the make-up I so rarely wear, slipping the lingerie chosen for his tastes onto my recently de-fuzzed body (normally more bear-like in the quantity of hair), and my most striking and flattering dress.  I looked good and felt great.  He was running late from work, but I didn't mind... he was keeping me updated, and I spent the time having a pre-date date with London, wandering around Westminster, admiring Big Ben and the local attractions in the most beautiful summer evening light imaginable.  My lover rang me to arrange the exact spot to pick me up and I heard his soft, posh, sexy voice for the first time in years.  At last he arrived... and from there I have to say my fantasy went downhill.

He looked good, and seemed pleased to see me.  He teased me about the tattoo on my hand and asked after my family... we checked in at the hotel and then went out to dinner.  In the hotel room he said it was good to see me and kissed me.  It was a good kiss, slightly awkward but sensual.  We could well have gone to bed there and then but we were both determined to have a date to build up the tension.  But maybe we should have stayed in.  If I were to do it again it would be just a private, quiet night in a nice room (not a bland little one with no view and barely more than a bed), with a good bottle of wine and some beautiful music and many hours to talk deeply and passionately before eventually making it to bed.  In any case, we went out.  He took my hand as we walked and told me about his work.  I'm a lot older than the starry eyed little thing that fell for this older man a decade ago, and I was surprised at how much he brags about himself.  I suppose he always did, it's just that it used to impress me rather than bore me.  Over dinner we chatted quite mundanely, just general catch-up type things, about work and home life.  We talked about our partners a lot which I'd planned to avoid but found myself doing.  Neither of us got jealous, but it certainly didn't add to the romance of the evening.  We didn't really flirt or seduce one another at all.  We walked back to the hotel in the same manner and then we were there, just stuck in the little hotel room and its bed.  I sat on the bed and he put the telly on, stripped down to his underwear and joined me.  Intimate as spouses.  Ridiculous.  I'm sure he hoped for a positive reaction to his body, but I was waiting for a compliment myself and some attempt at seduction!  In the end we made a few jokes about the movie on the screen, and then I turned onto my stomach so that I was looking up at him and we started making out.  I got turned on by his touch instantly, and so we continued.  He told me in his posh accent that I have "magnificent tits", and we were soon naked. 

Real Sex Lives: Dusky, "I am going to see that old lover." (pt. 2 of 3)

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're re-running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Stories. So get comfortable there and have a look.)

This is a True Wife's Tale update on Dusky. In her original entry ("I Have Had One Love Great Love and One Great Lover, and They Are Not the Same Man"), Dusky eloquently and honestly described the frustration of loving her husband but having little sexual connection with him. Yes, the sex was friendly and loving enough, but she was looking for smoldering and intense.

Instead of just jettisoning her sexual energy and figuring that this was what "mature love" was or something, she began a torrid email correspondence with Great Lover From the Past. The two exchanged sexy photos and deliciously detailed descriptions about exactly how they would like to wreck each other's bodies.

And, because she wants to live her life openly and authentically, she told her husband about the whole thing.

Several weeks later, I received an email from Dusky.

In just under 3 weeks (eep!) I am flying to London.  It is going to be a little 'me' holiday before hubby and I start trying for our first baby.  I will be catching up with friends and family, but also, I am going to see that old lover.

We will go on a date, and most likely it will lead to sex. He has a girlfriend who has no idea what a cheating bastard he is, so it will all be pretty sordid and clandestine.  It upsets me that I am being open and he is lying, but I will take what I can get.  It feels a little pathetic and anti-feminist, but this man is just too important to me to say no to him.

I now define myself as poly-amorous.  I have acknowledged to close friends, to my lover and to myself that this is not just about sex.  I have a relationship with my London lover, and indeed, we love each other.  We also love our partners.  To me it all makes sense and works.  My husband doesn't like that I have a relationship with this man... he wouldn't mind me just shagging someone else, but the love involved is a problem for him.  But at the same time, he has come to understand that I feel a need for this other person in my life, and he has found his way of meeting my needs.  Our basic arrangement is that he knows I contact this man and will most likely be sleeping with him on my holiday, but he doesn't want to hear about it.  We both have full permission for sex with other people, we just have to avoid it interfering with our life together.

I feel very lucky.  I have a wonderful husband, a wonderful lover, plus some very special and completely understanding friends to talk to about it all.

Anywho, that's where I'm at. Let me know if you'd like a post-London update.

Dusky

Well, I don't know about the rest of y'all, but I completely wanted a post-London update.

So, if you're down with it, too...coming tomorrow (dun-dun-DAH)...Dusky meets The Lover

*Real Sex Stories are an occasional feature of In Bed With Married Women--the idea being when someone (originally it was just wives, but really, it can be anyone) tells the truth about their sex life (or lack thereof), we all Learn and Grow, and can thus scamper unfettered out into the world to have smarter, better--I don't know--somehow truer sex. This also means that as fun as it is to mock and or judge someone else's choices, don't be a judgey asswipe in the comments.

Want to share your story? It's easy!  Just rip your soul out and email me the tattered remains.

xoxo
jill

(Photo via LaContessa)

Real Sex Lives: Dusky, "I have had one great love and one great lover, and they are not the same man."

I chose this to illustrate the concept of having two balls in
the air.  However, not quite sure why model has made a
couch fort of those (exceptionally stylish!) throw pillows. 

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're re-running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Stories. So get comfortable there and have a look.)

Real Sex Lives, nee True Wife's Tales, are an occasional feature of In Bed With Married Women. ("Occasional," as Webster defines it, "whenever I am too fucking lazy to write a new post and/or someone happens to send one in.")

The idea behind them is that when someone (originally it was just wives, but really, it can be anyone) tells the truth about their sex life (or lack thereof), we all Learn and Grow, and can thus scamper unfettered out into the world to have freer, better--I don't know--somehow truer sex.

At the very least, RSTs allow you to indulge in the lower pleasures of Voyeurism and/or Judging.* So enjoy.

We are starting with one of my very favorites, a three-parter, from Dusky, a woman who I love so much we've become virtual friends even though she lives far, far away.

xoxo
jill

*Judge all you want, but keep that $%$# to yourself, please. These are real people being brave and 'fessing up.


Dusky, early 30s.

     Jill, thank you for your blog, it is a great read… and also a great comfort to read different experiences of love & sex. 
     I feel I live with a secret pain... I get a pang of hurt every time it is suggested that great sex & great love go hand in hand.  I feel surrounded by the idea that naturally the greatest sex of your life will be with the love of your life. The implication being that sex is a litmus test of the true inner feelings of two people, that if you really loved one another, the sex would be spectacular.
     I have had one great love and one great lover, and they are not the same man.
     My husband and I had a very romantic story, falling head-over-heels in love almost instantly and moving in together in less than two weeks. We stayed up all night talking, talking, talking… and by day we spent hours on end just sitting, gazing at one another and sighing. In between the talking and the gazing, we did manage some sex too. I don't remember if it was great sex then, it was just part of celebrating our enraptured love, taking our physical closeness and affection to the extreme.
     Since the 'in love' phase of our relationship has faded, we are still a ludicrously happy couple. We are best friends, and true partners. I never thought I would want to live with someone full-time, but having found the right person to live with my life is a constant joy, full of love, affection, fun & laughter. Friends and family consider us soul-mates, strangers can see how compatible we are. And everyone assumes our public physical affection is a sign of the great sex we must be having at home.
     The reality is sex has always been the less satisfying aspect of our relationship, particularly for me. After 5 years of trying to train my well-meaning husband to please me, I have pretty much given up.  We have agreed to an open marriage as I feel it is the only chance to get the satisfaction I crave. We continue to have fun, loving sex within our marriage, but now I can look outside for the intense, smouldering, sensual passion that I have missed.
     I have reignited communication with a man from my past. We never lost contact, but until recently we only shared rare & friendly messages. Now we are all the way back to regular, completely sexual communication: describing in detail what we want to do to one another, even sharing porographic photographs of ourselves.  For now it is a little thrill, in the hope that we will make it a reality someday (we live in different countries). I am sure he is not the only man who can satisfy me physically, but he happens to be the one I have experienced who can. The sex with this man was well beyond any other sex I have had. I've always enjoyed sex, I tend to be quite uninhibited, but this man knew how to really blow my mind. Sometimes I am overcome with vivid memories of that sex and I just ache to experience it again.  For some reason we felt an instant physical attraction to one another, and somehow that translated to an intense physical chemistry and sexual compatibility.
     I believe I have two mates in this life, one that meets all my mental and emotional needs, another who meets my physical needs. And generally, my little arrangement which allows me both makes me very happy. But sometimes I am very sad that they are not the same person, that the man I love can't really experience this sensual side of me. It is hard to have sex conversations (and I do love sex conversations!) with anyone other than people I know VERY well. People probably think I'm being prudish when I fail to join in their talk of sexy times with their partners, when I am just hiding the truth that the spectacular sex I would like to be talking about was with someone else entirely.
     An old friend told me a story years ago, before I met my husband. She said a friend had a most wonderful partner, they all adored him and thought she was the luckiest girl on earth to have snagged such a kind, beautiful person. They couldn't understand why she wasn't sure about the relationship. Then one day she confided in them - he was bad in bed. My friend said they reacted as though she'd said he had cancer - they just felt so sorry for her.
     Well my husband isn't entirely useless in bed, but I know how that woman felt. When you're with a wonderful man who is bad in bed, everyone else sees this perfect relationship on the outside, and don't how much it hurts to hide the frustration you feel on the inside.

Would you like to tell your own story? Just sit down at the computer, rip your heart out, and jot the results down in an email and send it to:  jillhamilton001@gmail.com

(photo source)

Sex, Laid Out Right There For Everyone To See

I'm digging the debauchery of this one

Hey loveys. Starting, eh, maybe today or tomorrow, I'm gonna to be re-running some of my favorite Real Sex Stories (nee True Wife's Tales.) If you refer to your notes, you'll recall that these are reader-told stories about what really happens in their sex lives. It's not designed to get you off, particularly, but just to share the huge-ass variety of what can and does encompass a sex life, or lack thereof. The truth is Good, I say, and being brave and telling it really does set us free. 

Having written highly person stuff myself, I can say that it is extremely fucking cathartic to get that $%$# written down and out of you. So if you feel called to do so, rip your own sensitive little heart out and write your story down. Whatever it is. It's all just life and we can deal, yes? Send it to me at jillhamilton001@gmail.com, then go forth unfettered.

In the meantime, here's some stuff I've been writing elsewhere while simultaneously beating back one motherfucker of a dark depressive spell. I *think* I've tamped it down, and I'm cautiously stepping forth back into the world, blinking at how bright and lovely it all is.  Anyway, have a look if you'd like--and comment, tweet, like and/or share because that's how they judge how "good" they are:

--Why (Straight) Dudes Aren't  Using Sex Toys. Yet in AlterNet. (Featuring smart and thoughtful wanking commentary from some articulate sex-toy usin' IBWMW readers. Thanks!)

--I Tried Cosmo's Scrunchie-on-the-Penis Sex Tip for Cosmo.

For the latter, I'm not sure if I'm being a total whore because I am indeed having sex for money. Or that I have the best job ever because I am being paid for sex. In my mind, it really could go either way. If it's the whore thing, I'm gonna to upgrade myself to "courtesan," at least, and consider myself the elite expensive kind that only few may experience.

We'll see if that works.

xoxo
jill

PS Think if you want to write something!

(photo via Lady Cheeky, as is my custom)

Real Sex Story: Abigail, "I'm the girl he fucks."

"I love your site, love your writing, love the theme, love it," writes Abigail, in a single sentence guaranteeing that I'd be running her Real Sex Story. "My friends, (and strangers probably too) are tired I'm sure of hearing me prattle endlessly on about how absurd it is that we live in a culture of people that bow down and worship at the alter of romantic love because often, the other kinds, fuck buddies and mistresses and even friendships that aren't remotely erotic are just as solid, and maybe even more relevant. But you don't see anyone making movies about that. And then I found you."

The thing I like about these is that they give you a chance for hop inside someone else's head and just sort of roam around (careful, don't touch any important brain parts). For that reason, I'm running this completely unedited. Well, that and general laziness.

Also, other housekeeping blog news:  some fuckhead hijacked the "If you liked this story, try this" link thing at the bottom of the posts, linking them to his own stuff (so jerky!) so that's gone for a bit as I figure out how to fix it. Also, a couple people said they had some problems leaving comments, others said they did not. If you are having trouble, let me know in the other comment form in right column or write to me at jillhamilton001@gmail.com.

And finally, my story on Smart, Arty Porn Sites is on Salon and was the #1 most read on AlterNet. Probably 'cause people thought it was porn, but fuck, they clicked, they count.

Here, then, if you have remained awake, Abigail:

I'm the girl that he fucks. Her delivery was deadpan and I imagine her to be in that moment to be beautiful, sitting cross legged and naked. One of those long limb-ed, blank eyed girls displaying equal parts shyly and proudly hipbones sharpened on some eerie combination of youth and food avoidance. Hair tangled, sticking to the sweat and the cum that glistens lightly on a collarbone that was bitten and not kissed. She seeks something more of the earth than of the sky from my sometimes lover, my heart friend. This I know with a certainly that has no foundation for logic but is true nonetheless. A misnomer that word, that 'my' for he isn't mine, but I haven't found, and not for lack of effort a phrase existing within this language to indicate knowledge of another without linguistic ownership. Irritating. He isn't mine, this soul match to mine. I sometimes suspect that he belongs not even to himself but to some lilting Irish tune piped out by an Appalachian mountain dwelling hermit grieving for the womb like embrace of union wages and his long dead wife. He retreats often from this world, and from me, my sometimes not mine loverfriend. Though he lately seems less puppeted by the marionette strings of whatever it is that he belongs to that isn't himself or another. I've never minded the absences, though I'm glad that his mountain piper plays less. He is and was always wildest in the late night early morning, that faded blur between night and day: drunk and sober. A state that he seeks, drawn by that Irish mountain song that no one can remember the words to, that song that only belongs in the grey green blue of a never sober mountain morning. I sometimes but not tonight tell him that I love him. He sometimes but not tonight says the same. Always clumsily, both of us, exchanging that meaningless meaningful word that weighs entirely too much and not enough and it passes between us awkwardly and at random. I'm the girl that he fucks. She tells me this deadpan.

I am the Noodle King. I can do anything.

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I Turned My Naked-Ass Self Into a "Sexy Buffet"

I recently festooned my body with dessert items for this story in Cosmo. (If you are too lazy to click over, it's here below.) The idea is that writers try vintage Cosmo sex tips and report back their findings. I was not surprised that my tip involved food, but I was relieved that there was no fondue involved. They go pretty far back for these.

If you do not wish to imagine me naked, especially not naked with groceries on personal body parts, you need to go right now.

Seriously. Just run.

xoxo
jill

******
I Covered Myself in Food for Sex

The Tip: NAKED CHEF

"Incorporating food into you passion play is a classic carnal activity. Turning your bodies into a sexy buffet is a fresh, tasty spin. Take a few of your favorite erotically appealing flavor combinations, like peanut butter and honey or whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Put a dollop of, say, peanut butter on an area where you'd like to be licked (avoiding your genitals.) Then dot the honey on the same spot on the opposite side of your body. Instruct your man to first lick off one flavor and then make his way over to the other, providing a pleasurable sensation for you and a flavorful sensation for him. Continue mixing up yummy treats in symmetric spots all over your body.”

Clearly, a successful Naked Chef is all in the Art of Food Selection. But what to chose?

The proper food couldn't be too spicy, chewy or hot. It couldn't be too round, slippery or otherwise unwieldy. Soup, for example, was probably a “no.” It had to be something decadent. Yes, it would be nice to have those leftovers finally out of the fridge, but a line of lo mein running up my leg didn't seem like the way to go.

I read that keeping your partner on his toes with random surprises is part of a keeping a relationship fresh so I briefly considered hiding something somewhere on my person. Corn on the cob in the armpit? Crab claw between the legs? But my sporadically functioning Feminine Intuition told me that this would probably not be conducive to l-u-v.

The Menu:

In the end, I went full-on Naked Chef, following all the suggestions--whipped cream, chocolate syrup, peanut butter and honey. I also tossed in some bittersweet chocolate chips just 'cause they're really really good and I liked the idea of N. munching through a line of them, like Pac-Man, but you know, sexy.

The Music:

I let N. pick. He set Pandora to Billy Bragg. Later he told me he'd considered picking the Pac-Man theme song, but thought better of it. This, in a nutshell, is why I love him.

The Mood:

As I lied there festooned with squirts of chocolate syrup slowly dripping down my arms, I felt less magically delicious and more like a dessert plate at a nice restaurant where they finish the plate with stripes of fancy reduction sauce. Plus, I don't like following rules—fight the power!-- so I'd ditched the suggestion to go for symmetry and instead wrote Eat Me across my chest because it seemed cheeky and direct. Or, it would have been were I not been working upside down and thus appearing to urge N. to “Gat Me.”

The Setting:

Bedroom, broad friggin' daylight. Not recommended. By all means, harness the power of flattering evening lighting.

The Act:

Once N. started nibbling up my arm, I immediately forgot about the daylight, “gat me,” and looking like a plate. It's nice having someone lick their way up your body--I recommend it highly. The licking, the kissing, all very very good.

For the final flourish, I smudged a bit of peanut butter inside my lower thigh then—rules be damned!—squeezed a dollop of honey between my legs NOT AVOIDING MY GENITALS. A crotch overflowing with honey seemed metaphorically beautiful somehow, plus it felt like it would be kinda hot. Which, gentle reader, it was.

The Verdict:

Since the food/sex mashup is so cliché and tired, I'm a little pained to say that—okay fine!-- it actually does work. Anything that encourages close attention to each other's bodies seems like a good thing. Plus the food thing works as a nice, stealth tool to direct attention exactly where you want it—“See that puff of whipped cream on my nipple? There.”

Here's what else I learned:

--Up your game re: hair removal. Though it sounds kind of cool and artisanal, pube-infused chocolate syrup or pube-infused anything for that matter, is pretty damn gross.

--Chocolate syrup doesn't stay in place and whipped cream is fucking cold.

--To make a dog look like it's talking in a movie, they put peanut butter in the dog's mouth so it smacks its mouth open and shut, trying to work the peanut down. Human males have the same reaction.

--Putting chocolate syrup on a man's penis is fun for all.

--You'll know the tip is working, when you no longer care that sheets are getting dirty and you're just smearing stuff all over each other.

--You should totally put honey between your legs. Unless that is not medically advisable, in which case I said nothing of the kind.

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Photo: André de Dienes 1950

Why Hetero Men Still Need to Bother With Women. For Now.

Still Life with vaginal tube, flowers and a couple cherries

Note: This is a reprint of a story that ran on AlterNet and Salon. If you think you've spotted some recycled jokes, it is completely your imagination.   

Here it is, the dawn of 2015, and men still don't have a sex toy that can equal the instant and fiery love between woman and vibrator.* And while Modern Woman enjoys the spot-on ministrations of a battery-operated lover, poor hetero men are stuck humping away at a motley array of women-like disembodied body parts.

Yeah, yeah, there are guys pleased enough with their Fleshlights and the occasional happy love affair between man and consenting love doll, but, like an elusive orgasm, most men's toys are still not...yet...quite...there.

But damned if enterprising toy makers don't keep trying. Behold some of the iffier contenders of women-like things to have sex with that aren't actually women. 

1. Portable Vagina

Vagina in a Can offered squishy pink vaginal plastic, conveniently portioned in a can, like so many french-style green beans. But Canned V never quite caught on, despite the product's post-apocalyptic advantages (“Nobody panic! I've stocked the fallout shelter with plenty of Canned Vagina!”). There is little documentation on reasons for the product's downfall, but perhaps it was due to the recycling quandary of which bin to place unwanted freshly-canned splooge.

Quickies to Go eliminated the can entirely, opting for an open-ended vaginal tube-like apparatus. Quickies to Go are disposable, which is not only pretty wasteful, but could conceivably lead to a spate of broken-hearted vaginal tubes sobbing at the curb on garbage day after being used, then rejected. (And later, a dystopian future featuring our Wall-E-esque descendants building shelter from huge piles of poorly-degrading discarded tubes.)

Quickie to Go also comes in “Mouth” and “Ass” versions and, if you look the products up on Amazon, Amazon will helpfully also recommend “Crisco All-Vegetable Shortening Sticks, 2 pack.”

2. Beauty Hole Ass Vagina With Egg Vibrating

Beauty Hole Ass Vagina With Egg Vibrating is...exactly that. And also not to be confused with Big Breast Beauty Hole Big Ass Pussy Vaginal w/ Vibration Egg which is completely different, you rube. To make sure you've ordered the right product, check your box. It should contain “1 x pussy” with “the feeline of mridens's skin.”

Among Beauty Hole Ass Vagina With Egg Vibrating's many mysteries is the fact that there is only 1 of these vaginal assy things available for sale. Why only 1? Seems like if you were taking the time to get out the Beauty Hole Ass Vagina-Making Machine, you may as pop out a full run of 50 or, hell, even 100.

3. Blow-Up Sex Dolls

Blow-up dolls are semi-inexpensive, but there's a reason we haven't all run off to live with our inflatable lovers/cheap lays and that reason is seams. “I was sore after one session from the beach ball openings,” wrote one presumably chafed reviewer of the $44.95 Sexy Flight Attendant. “I had to struggle with it just to get it to 'submit.' I did not expect this from a plastic lover,” wrote another reviewer of the $19.43 Wraparound Lover, who thus entered the infinitesimally small demographic of people who have been spurned by blow-up doll.

Note: The holes on blow-up sex toys are sealed with pull tab-like strips of plastic "for hygienic and safety reasons." (Warning: removed tabs may alert the blow-up doll's watchful friends that you two did more than just "go get coffee.)

4. Onaholes

Onaholes are kind of like Cup O' Noodles, except all flavors are “vagina.” For those who want some backstory with their wank toy, there are holes representing brides, virgins (hymen included) and even a deserted island survival version with three holes. There's an Advanced Fellatio Hole that can actually bite (!) and a Hairy Pussy Powered anatomical mashup featuring—ack!--a tongued vagina. Onaholes can be tricked out with a variety of accessories including an onahole-holding butt that you can stick on your fridge, something unpleasantly called "Saliva Lotion,” and uber-specific scent sprays like wife's armpit.

If aroma is important to you, maybe spring for the special onahole cleaner first. As one reviewer noted of his well-satiated onahole: it “starts smelling after repeated use.” (He also noted that it was “tight to the point where letting go will just launch it right off of you.” Which is kind of funny--except no one's gonna be laughing when someone's stinky old flying onahole puts someone's eye out.)

5. Extreme Onahole

Extremes Onaholes enhance man/machine love with an alarming array of moving mechanical parts. The A10 Cyclone "has a series of brushes that rotate back and forth over the item in question. Think of it as a shoe cleaner for you weenus," wrote John Biggs in TechCrunch, who called the Cyclone "overwhelming" and, less importantly, called his cock a "weenus." The Cyclone sounds pretty hardcore, like the male equivalent to the jackhammer intensity of the Magic Wand, so use caution putting anything in there, including one's weenus.

The top-of-the-line VORZE A10 Cyclone costs $566, has 8 “simultaneous stimulations,” seven customizable speeds/vibrations and can be hooked up to your computer to sync with video. For women worried about being replaced by machine, this may be the toy to fear. No matter how delightful in bed we all are (which is plenty delightful. Plenty, I say!), none of us are sportin' a series of varying-speed rotating stimulators between our legs. Which is probably for the best.

6. Love Doll Brothels

Love doll brothels offer disease- and sex trafficking-free sex, plus a complimentary fresh replacement hole for every new man. (I say “man” because the chance for eerily quiet companionship and non-responsive, one-sided cunnilingus tends not to appeal to Sapphic lovers.) Love doll brothels challenge the natural tendency to anthropomorphize. The dolls wait pleasantly seated in the lobby even though, really, stacking them in a pile in the corner would work just as well. And when that creepy dude comes in, it's hard not to feel at least a little bad for the doll he chooses. If you plan on going: According to this video (NSFW), be alert to the alarming possibility of the doll's head falling off mid-coitus.

7. Sexbots

Even though it's been predicted that we will be having sex with—and loving—sexbots by 2050, the technology is so not there yet. Check out these sexbot demonstration videos featuring Susie Software and her counterpart Harry Harddrive demonstrating their indeed-quite-robotic thrusting techniques near a really unstylish blue Pennsylvania Dutch love seat. Especially good is the one where Harry is flipped on his side, yet continues his grim air-thrusting, like a sexed-up fish washed ashore. Real Dolls look a whole lot better but lack as much movement. And ordering them requires a certain level of comfort with facing options like “elf ears,” “extra faces” and “labia repair kit.”

Most dauntingly, sexbots are still crazy expensive. Susie and Harry range from the just-lyin'-there version at $6000 to the remote-controlled, touch-activated model for $11,299, and a high-end Real Doll can run $51,000. If those prices are too steep, both Harry and Susie are available for rent, which, well, let's just end on that.

xoxox

jill

*Have actually changed my opinion on that one. See forthcoming story!

PS Dr. Andrea is IN and taking your questions on health, sexuality and other embarrassing issues.  Send it your shameful concern to jillhamilton001@gmail.com. You can be completely anonymous (except for me, and I'm not gonna tell anyone about your weird growth.)

Dating in the 20s vs. 30s, Men's Sex Toys, Reader Bad-Assery, and Much Much More!* (*not actually that much more)

Possible outcome of successful date.

20s vs. 30s and The Agony of Being Too Fucking Old to Recall the Difference:  The delightful citizens of the IBWMW Facebook page have been, like, total geniuses responding to my desperate-ish post the other day: 

Problem!! A magazine just offered me decent money for a funny list on the difference between dating in your 20s and your 30s. Except I am 40 fricking 9 and have NO IDEA. Anyone have any insights??? Heeeeeeeelp!!!!!!

Hmm, now looking at it in the clear light of day, that sounds completely desperate and, it was, but less so now because of all the insanely great answers I'm getting there and via email. My favorite thus far is this one from Suzanne:

Dating in your 20s - YES! I got my period! I'm not pregnant! 
Dating in your 30s - WILL I EVER BE WITH CHILD!?

If you have any ideas/insights, send them on in, or just go see what other people put. And just ignore my cousin Brenda's (cousin IN-LAW, actually) comment, "Suzanne, you practically wrote the article! Watch for credit." Brenda put a smiley emoji at the end, but I know when someone's ratting me out. 
  
Men: Need Your Thoughts on Sex Toys for Guys!

Panic x 2. I am also working on an article on sex toys for men and my editor wants to know:
  
"Why are sex toys for women more advanced and more popular, when women are supposed to be more ashamed of sex/masturbation? Why is it that vibrators are basically mainstream, while male sex toys -- real dollz, blow up sheep or whatever -- are supposed to be the purview of losers or a joke?"

Do any of you guys use sex toy (on yourself)--why or why not? Have any thoughts on them one way or the other? Need you, man.

IBWMW Financial Upturn? The Evidence:

 --We have a Monthly Subscriber, like NPR!
IBWMW, also known as one of the least catchy acronyms around, has its first Patron. Yes, I know! A guy named Robert, who I've never previously heard from, somehow figured out how to make automatic monthly payments to the blog via the Paypal link at right and he's really doing it!  This completely blows my mind and floats my boat--though not simultaneously because that sounds dangerous. Yay Robert!

--This month also brought in two donations (!) which is approximately two more than usual.

"I tried to donate from the FB page, and I got a different page, and no place to donate. Nevertheless, I really like your blog, Jill (or whatever your name really is)" wrote distrustful new reader Mark. Mark found a way to donate anyway through sheer force of determination and full-on manliness. And Mark, my name is actually Jill as listed. Jill Hamilton, in fact, because when I was considering whether I should link my real name to a fuck-filled blog for the rest of my life, I thought "Eh...why not?"

"If a new reader's donation makes you so happy, we seasoned readers should do our part too! Thanks for making me and BF LOL on a regular basis!" wrote Yinna, who makes it sound like donating is some sort of pitching in/good deed sort of thing, like picking up litter. Which, for the record, I am "for."

--I got a surprise check for $250 and my dog Daisy's vet bill the next day was only $249. 

Important Love Is... Update:

 And finally more of my continuing Love is... obsession.

WHAT IS IN THOSE BAGS???

xoxo
jill

The Pending Uncircumcised Penis Crisis, "It is Pee," and Other Reader Mail

Prepare for the Big Reveal

How to Behave in the Presence of a Uncut Gentleman.

Hey, you there, with the uncircumcised wang, we need you! Writes reader Definitely Anonymous:

 "I just realized I have a pending crisis on my hands. I may soon be sleeping with a new man who is uncircumcised.  It JUST NOW occurred to me, I have never had sex with a man who wasn't circumcised and I no idea how this might change things.  Is there anything specific I should do or shouldn't do?  Is oral any different?  How do I put a condom on that?  I can't believe after almost 30 years of sexual activity, I am up against something entirely novel. Help me!"

DA and the uncut dude are already talking about his dick, so they are getting close! Get that help in right away! (And maybe DA will explain to us how they arrived at the topic of his penis and the uncircumcisedness thereof.)

The Pee Mystery

"I read this article and remembered your post.  It is pee :(" writes Gentle Reader A. The post A refers to (which A actually located and linked to for me! Go A!) is How to Make a Woman Come, Even if You Are That Woman in which I somehow got on a female ejaculation tangent, as one does, writing "scientists still don't know what the fuck women are squirting when they ejaculate (it's 'not pee,' which just leaves...every non-pee substance.)"
 
Which would have been just as rigorously truish as everything else on this blog, 'cept A's article is titled: Study Concludes That Women Who Squirt During Sex Are Actually Peeing. Oops.

In the study, they gathered (only) 7 chicks who squirted copious amounts (like a cup's worth) when coming. Then commenced science-style sexytime with ultrasounds, "provoked sexual arousal" and "squirting events." Reads the article: "Urine sampled after squirting revealed that the bladder had been emptied again, revealing the origin of the squirted liquid."  Voila! 

What blows my mind about all this is not that we--yawn--still have only rudimentary knowledge of female sexual response, but that scientists apparently can't identify fucking pee?!  (Which, in this case, may actually be fucking pee.) Wouldn't you think pee-identification would be, like, high school chemistry set-level science?

Anyway, further investigation in Female Ejaculate Comes in Two Forms, Scientists Find revealed more insights:
--It took the women 25 to 60 minutes to get close to an orgasm via self-stimulation or masturbation with a partner. Since I don't think the women were trying to have some sort of savored, extended Tantric love thing, I conclude from this that "provoked sexual arousal" is about as arousing as it sounds. So yes, a hour spent dutifully trying to come while antsy researchers did...whatever it is you do when you really really want a woman to come, but don't want to make it obvious that you're just waiting for her to get it over with. I imagine some of you might be familiar with the experience.
--A cup really is a fuck of lot of liquid so maybe some of these more effusive women are peeing, while others are emitting (maybe not the right word, sounds like a ray gun something) what some researches consider "true" female ejaculation, a milky white liquid with some similarities to male ejaculate. Or...maybe it's just milk or Elmer's glue or the white stuff inside Cadbury Creme Eggs. Who knows, really? Clearly not scientists.
--In other words, "scientists still don't know what the fuck women are squirting when they ejaculate." I will, however, expand the possibilities from all "non-pee substances" to "could be anything."

"You in particular might like this"

Is what reader Will wrote, sending me a link to a "Why We Love Orgasm" infographic. However, I wasn't able to give it my full attention, as I became distracted considering the new ramifications (see above:  it might be pee!) of the accompanying article "4 Tricks for Making Her Squirt During Cunnilingus."

"Cascading Wizard Sleeve"
  
Leah's subject line for How Will You Keep Your Vagina Young in 2015?, a Jezebel article mocking a wretched Shape article trying to make you feel bad about a perfectly enjoyable body part. Go read it at once. Including the comments.

Sorry to the writers I didn't get to today (esp. Christina G., Matthew, and Gail).

xoxo
jill

Erica Jong, the Stealing of Smoked Meats and the Stuff of Memory

Francesca Woodman- Self-deceit

Oh man, I am in dire need of practicing some goddamn gratitude (maybe minus the goddamn part...) There must be something around here to be happy about, yes?  Let's have a look and see what we can dredge up.

1.  My story What Men Raised on Porn Need to Know About Actually Pleasing a Woman  was named one of the 10 Weirdest, Most Fascinating Sex Stories of 2014 by Alternet. I'm hoping mine was more in the "fascinating" category than "weirdest," but as Cathya pointed out, I do plenty of weird, too. To wit: coming up next, an article on the Orgasmic Meditation conference where I let a complete stranger touch my secret garden. Yes, I did.

2.This terrifically fun fact: Instead of Santa, little kids in Iceland believe in "The Yuletide Lads, thirteen mischievous gremlins who traipse across the country each December perpetuating holiday shenanigans," according to Jerry Mahoney in Mommy Man: How I Went from Mild-Mannered Geek to Gay Superdad  My favorite of these is Bjúgnakrækir, the Sausage Thief, who "hides in the rafters of your house to steal smoked meats."

Oh, Bjúgnakrækir! Not again!

 3.  This happened:

I first read Erica Jong back in Ann Arbor, Michigan, circa late 80s, on the Band-Aid-colored front porch of what my old housemate/live-in booty call referred to as our "fuck house." Reading her again makes me realize what a huge influence she's had on me re: trying to be a fearless and open explorer of matters of the heart and body, valuing the deep sexiness of books and an intelligent mind, experiencing the vastness of feminine energy/desire not for what it should be but what it is, and the idea of living with a fierce passion and an open heart.

I'm going through a big ol' stack of her books from the library, including:

Fear of Fifty
Seducing the Demon: Writing for My Life
Sugar in My Bowl: Real Women Write About Real Sex
Sappho's Leap (eh, on this one.)
Any Woman's Blues: A Novel of Obsession

Have a look if you'd like. All these years later, I'm still finding her to be so fresh and alive and sexy and willing to peek into dark corners. Viva Erica Jong!

4. And finally, this idea that I found, in all places, Marilyn vos Savant's "Ask Marilyn" column in friggin' Parade magazine:

"Memories are chemical, meaning that they have substance, however slight."

Marilyn explains that you can't hypnotize a bad memory away--Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-style--because you'd only be blocking off the access routes to it. If you tried, you'd still feel bad, but wouldn't be able to recall why. The physical matter of the memory would still be there fucking your ass up. I know! A memory as an actual, tangible thing. Mind-blowing!

-----

So yeah, life is huge and fascinating and full of wonder. I'm gonna try to keep that in mind.

xoxox
jill

My 10 Favorite Things You Bought on Amazon This Year

Actual purchase, approximation of purchaser

I was feeling all grumpy and hateful about the blog until I happened upon the year-end list of stuff readers bought via the Amazon search link at right. I don't love Amazon ===> particularly, but I do like that any time someone buys something through the link, the probably-evil corporate behemoth has contractually agreed to throw me a few pennies. Suckas.

I enjoy re-framing it as a private grassroots campaign to Take Down Corporate America.  But really, I just like pennies.

But I also like that each purchase means someone took the time to drag their virtual ass all the way over to the blog to use the search button.  There's love in that act, yes?

I don't get to see who places orders or who orders what--so I can't thank anyone specifically, unless you tell me and demand praise--but I can see what is ordered.  I am trying to apply complex Psychological Purchase Analytics to the list, for purposes of exploiting the fuck out of the reader base, but I'm flummoxed. If anyone sees a pattern in here, let me know.

Anyway, here are my favorite things you ordered on Amazon this year:

10.  Books!
Heady stuff, including: A book of Rilke poems, a chemistry textbook, One Hundred Years of Solitude, books on autism, zen, labor unions, the nature of love and desire, and international environmental law.  Also some vampire smut, and lots of copies of  Naomi Wolf's Vagina (The book, not her actual vagina.  For actual vagina purchases, see #3.)

9.  eBooks!
Maybe it's the lack of visible evidence of embarrassing reading choices, but the selection of ebooks ordered was...well, have a look for yourself:  In Another Man's Bed, Ex on the Beach, Bound by Wolves (Impregnated by Wolves, Part 1), and the unappealing erotica of Taken and Milked (A Forced Lactation Fantasy--Milked by Master). (Hey Milky, you might also enjoy Escaping the Milking Machines: An Impregnation and Lactation Story which sounds just as...awesome.)

8.  A 4-pack of anal plugs
 The purple jelly variety.

7.  This item, just because of its name.
Stunning 3D Red Blossom with Dazzling Pink and White Crystals All Over The Clear Plastic License Plate Frame

6.  One comb.



5. The person who bought the book Changing Behavior: Immediately Transform Your Relationships with Easy-to-Learn, Proven Communication Skills
Because they bought it, then promptly returned it. "Fuck communication skills, I'm just gonna stick with the silent treatment."

4. One Friday the 13th Jason Axe Costume accessory
Not ordered anywhere near Halloween.

3.  3 pairs (!) of Realistic Wearable Vaginas
Two people bought the pair featured in Vagina. Panty. Vagina Panty! (one black, one nude), dropping $130 apiece.

 

However, one among you opted to save $60.01 and got the cheapo pair (below) which, dude, it's your fake vagina--that's important. Don't get the one that looks like a homemade cast.

2. Beauty Hole Ass Vagina With Egg Vibrating.

Yes!

and 

at #1:   A Quart of Natures Miracle "Just for Cats" Urine Destroyer

So for any among you who were among the people who ordered one of the 323 items this year--especially the expensive ones like the chocolate protein powder, the Kindle Fires, the 4 copies of The Handbook of Dispute Resolution and the adult-sized Conan The Barbarian Costume--please know that while you sit there with four anal plugs up your butt, reading forced milking erotica in your newly cat pee odor-free home, I thank you from the bottom of my vaginal panties*

xoxox
jill

*The expensive kind.