In recent months I’ve been able to tell a few outside-the-bubble people that I am a sex blogger. It’s always a weird thing, filled with uncertainty and trepidation. A few weekends ago it was a fact about me that came out pretty early on into being introduced to new friends, friends of a friend. And sure enough they seemed to take it pretty well. I’m not used to spitting that out. But OH IT’S NICE to talk about my sex toys, the silicone, the jelly, the chemicals to non-bloggers. I was told I lit up when I spoke of it all.
I’ve lamented sometimes that I feel worthless because I don’t have a job. A few friends remind me that I *do*….this website. So the question is, do I return from leave, or do I hang up the gloves? Revenue from advertisers/sponsors is maybe 1/6th of what it was a few years ago. My affiliate commissions, though, have increased quite a bit so there is a bit of evening out, but not quite enough to balance the scales. It’s not that I do this for the money, I never have. But it’s been very nice and I’ve come to rely on it. Of course, one should never rely on something so fickle.
I’ve been away from the blogosphere for quite awhile. I’ve kept up reading some of them, I check into Twitter for brief moments here and there but that is it. If I really missed it all, don’t you think I’d be checking up on the social media sites more than I am…..? So that’s the question. Do I hang it up. I’ve had some wonderful support in my hiatus. People telling me how much they’ve learned from me, how I’m needed in this “fight”, this “War on Sex Toys (or more accurately, Jelly)”. I think about posts I could write and I come up dry. I have back-logged reviews to write and the motivation is lacking. Perhaps I need to force myself into it, which is why I’m writing this. Squeeze some words out, see if more follow on their own.
I finally will be changing over my site very soon to the New Me. Maybe that will provide the kick in the ass I need.
Inspired by Stoya’s story over at Jezebel, I’m speaking up along with all the other women. This paragraph, after talking about how men treat her on the street, “They say I have a sweet ass, nice tits, a real pretty dress. They say I’m their future wife, or I’d look good with their dick in my mouth.” really spoke to me.
Before you try to tell me that it’s because I take my clothes off for a living, let me tell you that this started way before I was 18. Let me tell you that every single woman I know has at least one truly terrifying story of street harassment and a whole bunch of other stories that are merely insulting or annoying. Let me remind you that in a room of pornography fans, who have actually seen me with a dick in my mouth and who can buy a replica of my vagina in a can or box, I am treated with far more respect than I am walking down the street.
A few years ago my work experience took me to a place that I’d never been before. No, I don’t mean a new city or a new type of job….I mean fearing my walk home from work. I grew up in an area that predominantly white, middle-class. My town, regardless of the financial status, was predominantly white. It didn’t matter where I worked, the most distance I had to walk from my car to the door of the building was during Christmas when the parking lot of the retail store was full. I didn’t have much urban experience; the closest large city was an hour away and we only went there for special occasions. But a few years back the job I had moved us to a different city and I worked downtown. The city was poorly laid out, and only the upper tier of government workers had access to the parking garages – either by way of their income or they were given the parking spot for free because of their high position. So us lowly workers had to park in lots anywhere from 1/3 to a full mile away from our building. The downtown office area was literally surrounded on all sides by the lowest income residents of the entire area. Next to one lot that I parked at for awhile was a small “camp” of homeless people. The poorest people in the city….they’re not the ones who gave me trouble. It was, every single time, the “hood” guys. Black, latino, white, mixed. All loud, thuggy, blowhards. And every single one of them scared the crap out of me thanks to the handful of men who harassed me on the streets as I would walk from my office building to my parking lot.
Somehow the public’s thought is that only pretty women get harassed on the street. Women who expose skin. Who just naturally attract attention. I never would have expected that I would get harassed and hit on, but it happened over and over. I was a fat, moderately attractive white girl dressed in what was usually bland office wear. During the time period that I worked there I was in 2 different buildings and 6 different parking lots. I couldn’t afford to pay for the garage – it cost 3 times as much as the lot. But after one harrowing, scary experience combined with bad winter weather and the darkness that hit just in time for my walk, I called enough and we somehow scraped together the money for a few months of garage parking. When we were starting to not be able to afford it, luck intervened and we were prepping to move away.
I’ve never been good at handling myself when put on the spot. Ever. I don’t have snappy comebacks; when confronted by an angry person I shake and become meek. Fear silences me. So when I was first hit on / harassed during my walk to the car, I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t yet rude, but I was walking down an alley by myself. He did make me uncomfortable and I didn’t know how to respond. He scared me so I didn’t want to ignore him. I was afraid to walk to my car, I didn’t want him to know which one was mine. I ended up seeing a store that I could duck in to. Other encounters were more or less harmless, but no less uncomfortable. Sometimes I would walk with headphones on and music playing. I thought that this would give me the excuse of music, that I wasn’t ignoring them on purpose and therefore wouldn’t anger them. Apparently unless I donned a gigantic pair of true headphones, this tactic was useless. One day after nearly being hit by a pissy driver, I was passing a trio of white tough guys dressed all gangster-like who said a few obscene things to me but I didn’t make eye contact; I pretended that I didn’t hear them and felt it would be enough as I obviously had a pair of hot pink earbuds in. I guess they didn’t see that because their words then turned nasty and frightening and they started to follow me a little. I kept on going towards my parking lot and continued to pretend as though I didn’t hear. But I was terrified. Unlike the guys that people think are typical of busy NYC streets doing their catcalls, the men I encountered actually expected me to interact with them. When I did not, they turned on me. We’ve all seen on reality-type shows like Dateline or even just the news how people will ignore a crime happening right next to them. Despite being surrounded by cars and people, I did not feel safe.
No one else in my department had to work as late as I did, or if they did they didn’t park anywhere near me so I always walked to my car alone. I was always scared when I would see non-professionally-dressed men walking towards me.
That kind of fear, day to day, is fucking unacceptable. Yet it exists. Everywhere. Every day. To all kinds of people.
___________________________________________________________________________ This post has been sponsored by Sextoys.co.uk, a great place for all my UK readers to buy vibrators! Check them out
When I recently visited my longtime friend, the topic turned of course to sex at one or two points. Clinical, theoretical, opinionated talks. One topic, after numerous drinks by the couple, turned to how much noise my friend makes in bed. Or, rather, doesn’t make.
My bold, outspoken, ballsy, loud-mouthed friend is the exact opposite in the bedroom. That’s not to say she’s “frigid” (I hate that word). She loves sex. Her sex drive is crazy high. She especially loves sucking cock and freely, openly admits this in most cases. It turns her on immensely. Unfortunately, this is the only real thing that her boyfriend knows for sure arouses her. When it comes to sex she literally tightens up. He will see glimpses of her arousal and pleasure bursting at the seams but the moment a sigh escapes her lips she unknowingly clams up.
The discussion about this was basically him openly, and lovingly, telling her what she does/doesn’t do and telling her why he’d like her to be more free. To wake the neighbors. Not just for him, but for her, as well. He reasons that because she’s not at all vocal, be it in voice or body language, to his ministrations, he’s never really sure what or if she is enjoying. After a while, my friend started to take it all the wrong way and assume that he and I were saying that there was something wrong with her and that she wasn’t good enough in bed. He insisted that the sex is phenomenal, he loves it, but he knows that she could enjoy it even more and therefore so could he. That getting her off gets him off. Seeing that he is indeed giving her great pleasure is the best thing for him. I would have to agree with him on that…I absolutely need that feedback, I thrive off of it. I know my husband does, too.
We know why she’s like this. She was married to the first and only guy she ever slept with for a long time. Her and her ex had been together for something like 15 years. Her ex wasn’t much into sex. He never, not even on their wedding day, told her he thought she was beautiful. Sex was always brief, perfunctory and very infrequent. Quiet was encourage. Experimentation was not. So the boyfriend of less than a year has a LOT of “damage” to undo. My friend just feels weird making noise. Or saying anything. And then the circle goes right back.
Another topic in this long conversation came around to how rough each of them likes their sex because somehow my friend and I got to talking about BDSM a little bit. She wanted to know what it all stood for, what the words meant. She liked the sound of both masochist and sadist. Rough sex was discussed between the two of them….a little spanking, a little throwing around, etc. They’re both in great shape and she’s got the most incredible pain tolerance. Yet he’s not quite comfortable with being rough enough to spank her. He’s afraid he’ll hurt her. She’s afraid of hurting him. Despite both of them sitting there telling the other “It won’t hurt that much, don’t worry about me”, they kept insisting the same thing. It was like a huge circle talk of frustration. I’d like to think that some good came out of it all though. I’m hoping it did, since last week she texted me for recommendations on ball gags and wrist restraints. Yay!
So what do you think?
Does making noise mean better sex, if it’s genuine and not re-enacting the scene from When Harry Met Sally? Are there better ways for people like my friend to convey what is working and what isn’t, when they’re not comfortable saying a peep?
A few weeks ago I spent some time with a childhood friend that I hadn’t seen in years. She was the first person from the “real world” that I’ve known for years that I told about my blog and my sex toy reviewing. I didn’t give her the address to the site, though. But I was able to talk to her all about sex toys. It’s nice! When I went to visit though a few weeks ago she told me that her sister-in-law was selling sex toys and I was curious. As luck would have it, SIL popped by for a visit while I was also there. It turns out that she’s just doing it as a side business, simply setting up an online store using a distributor and thankfully not doing those awful parties. My friend told her SIL what I do; questions were asked and I felt awesome to be able to answer them and give advice.
Until….SIL’s boyfriend asked for my business card, or my site address, as they were very interested to read what I do – my reviews, etc. They were impressed by what I make a month in affiliate sales and how I do it. Suddenly I had to clam up. No business card, nope, sorry. Oh, my site address? Um…*looks around* *changes subject*
No way was I giving out my site address to her SIL + BF….no way did I want them seeing my personal posts or my tits. I didn’t even want to give the site address to my friend – not that she would be squicked out seeing my naked tits much, but there are old posts that I don’t know if she’d really want to read. Who knows.
I guess my point is…I’m starting to second guess this site and where I’ve taken it. It’s half blog, half educational/review. Part is personal, part is professional. Only recently is it biting me in the ass, but it’s too fuckin late NOW isn’t it. I can’t suddenly start up a sex-toy-review-only blog. I don’t know if I want to copy my reviews to a second site, rather than moving them, as simply a place to send the people who I don’t want seeing me naked. But if I send anyone professional there, they will see piss poor rankings and numbers. So do I overhaul this site? Get rid of my risque photos? My erotic fiction and erotic non-fiction?
Name That Toy
One thing I did love was talking to my friend and her boyfriend about the sex toys and lube they have, and giving them advice. They started to describe one very expensive toy they’d seen during their last trip to a store (which was months ago) and I immediately pulled up a site on my tablet and showed them the Tiani 2, sure that that was it. Nope, not quite. Ok….We-Vibe? Nope. That’s not it either, but it looks just like it, except that what they saw they say was mostly white with color accents. There were three of them, each increasing in price, each doing something “more” than the previous.
WHAT IS THIS? Because we never did find it. Apparently it was so new when they visited the store, that the salesperson didn’t know anything about it, they’d only received it the day before. There just aren’t very many small, C-shaped dual sex toys like the Tiani and We-Vibe, so what could it be??
Today was my birthday. Yet it was also an un-birthday. What I mean is that it really wasn’t celebrated in any traditional sense. And you know what?
It was pretty damn good.
I lounged around reading magazines, and felt no guilt. I played my Facebook games. I made myself a wonderful steak salad for lunch. I sweetly asked for, and promptly received, copious cups of coffee from husband. Husband (who cleans much better than I) cleaned up the kitchen and hey! We have a kitchen table again! Dinner was lovely; I roasted some purple carrots, made a simple and creamy pasta Alfredo with the most wonderful cheese from Whole Foods, and topped it all off with sauteed langostines. My birthday cake was this chocolate mousse ganache confection from Trader Joe’s. I received birthday hugs from Husband whenever I demanded them.
Could it have been better? Sure. But it was a lot better than last year. So the only family member I spoke to was my mother. So what. So a number of friends said nothing of my birthday. So what! Those that did hold a special place in my heart. So I had no presents to unwrap. So what! Instead, I received a check from my mom and one from the in-laws and today I spent them. They’ve not even been deposited, and I spent them. So I stayed home all day. So what! When you get down to it I’m really not all that social and I don’t know if I would have enjoyed going out with a big group of friends. I did it last year before I moved and left my job, with work friends, and I didn’t enjoy myself at all (but that speaks more about those friends than me). I might have enjoyed a dinner out, but at least in cooking for myself I was able to make it healthier and I was able to make it all taste exactly as I wanted it to.
I bought this quirky yet adorable bag:
Image courtesy of JumpFromPaper
I know. They’re weird and adorable and make you stare and make your brain kinda hurt and they’re totally not me. I don’t care. I like the idea of confusing others.
My other purchase might seem fairly boring to most. 10 days ago I saw this video; a video many of you might have seen. It made me cry. It gave me hope. It came to me on the wings of an unexplained beginning of some sort of inner peace. All of sudden, about 2 weeks or so ago, I started feeling…..good. Mentally and physically. Mentally strong. Physically neutral.
It started out as a feeling Which then grew into a hope Which then turned into a quiet thought Which then turned into a quiet word And then that word grew louder and louder ‘Til it was a battle cry ~Regina Spektor, “The Call”
That song makes me weep. I cry the ugly cry. But that beginning fully describes me lately. It was a feeling. Then I had cautious hope. And this is my battle cry. I’ve started doing this program, done by the man linked in the video above, called DDPYoga. I figured that if a disabled veteran who couldn’t walk without the aid of serious crutches, knee braces and a back brace could do this and transform…..well then, why not me? Honestly about 3 weeks ago I’d started to give up. The outlook was hazy. I’d just come out of a 3-week long back spasm brought on by absolutely nothing. Everyone says walking is the best exercise but what happens when walking is really bad for your bones? Specifically my pelvis and my spine. I couldn’t find anything that didn’t hurt like hell. But then I saw that video and started the program and joined the community site for it and everything changed.
I can’t actually be certain if my deep-seated happiness started before I saw Arthur’s video or the day after but it took me a few days to recognize the feeling. It is a happiness that is not because of another person; it is a happiness that is deep in me, bubbling up like a volcano that is waking up. I can’t explain where it came from. Have the natural supplements I’ve been taking finally kicked in? No clue. I’ve found inner peace and acceptance in regards to other things, too. I sent off an email to someone and while they didn’t really need to know that I’ve changed and have let them go, I needed to say it out loud to them. I needed to make it real. It reinforced my emotional/mental fortitude that I’m experiencing and made me realize I’m just fine without them.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the other birthday gift purchase. A Yoga Rug to go on top of my not-yoga-mat because I sweat like crazy doing this stuff; it’s unbelievable to me that I can get my heart rate up and that yoga isn’t some peaceful, easy pretzel thing made for thin, lithe healthy folks. This shit is hard but it’s going to be so worth it. And unlike anything else I’ve done, DDPYoga was created by someone with the same back injury as me so everything is done to benefit the back. The other purchase was a “bolster” which I didn’t know existed. I’ve been using a latex pillow with piss poor results (smooth fabric meant I slipped off it and landed myself flat on the floor in what I dubbed the “dead frog” pose) because I have a problem putting weight on my shins or knees (kneeling/Table positions) thanks to the fibro. I normally would have continued on making do with what I have around the house but the birthday check pushed me to get something nice. After all, this isn’t going to be a passing phase.
So I am starting out my 35th year with a happiness I’ve not felt for a very long time, love from those that matter, an answer to a problem I’ve been dealing with for many years, a healthier lifestyle, chocolate cake, realistic expectations, hope and the faint outlines of promising future life plans.
Or rather….my husband has. For the first decade of our sex life his penis alone managed to hit my g-spot over and over during sex to varying degrees of bliss. In more recent years he and I have done more exploring both with his fingers and both of us using toys. I never doubted my husband’s ability to locate my g-spot and stimulate the hell out of it; combining his skill in the last few years with a vibrator on my clitoris gave me intense orgasms which would be immediately followed up with vaginal sex that was then even more pleasurable for me since the g-spot would be even more sensitive and swollen after a clitoral orgasm.
But the last few times we’ve fucked he suddenly changed his fingering technique and he knew right away that I approved. It was more intense and amazing as evidenced by my even louder moans and screams and gibberish. His manipulations have frequently left me with the sort of orgasm that jacks up all the right hormones and chemistry to leave me euphoric (and sometimes to the point of uncontrollable giggling right after). But this? All I could say (after I came down from the breathless high) was: What the FUCK did you just do there because holy crap it was amazing.
Every woman’s g-spot is a little different, like a snowflake sort of. And just like we all like different types of clitoral stimulation, we all like different types of g-spot stimulation. So what works for me might not be a euphoric nirvana trip for you, too. But his description of his new technique and what he’s feeling has left me certain that the g-spot is not a “spot”, it is not a zone, it is more than just a differently-textured spongy spot of sensitive tissue in the vaginal wall. Whatever he’s hitting there is a thing, an object, and 3-D…. much like the prostate.
The first time he tried his new trick he “had it” for a bit and then “lost it”1. Both g-spot massage techniques were pleasurable and aided in me achieving a blended orgasm fairly quickly but this new, intense treatment was just cranking up the pleasurable sensation to HOLY SHIT FUCK OMG ITS AWESOME^Y#~%@^(*^. I cannot duplicate what he’s done via my love, the Pure Wand. If I were smaller of body and longer of arm and generally more flexible perhaps this is something I would have discovered on my own but I think his position lends him a more unique angle of assault. For me personally my G-spot is right next to my pubic bone, therefore fairly shallow in the vaginal canal. He can use this location to a distinct advantage now2 by changing his digital manipulation from a 3-finger massage (which I loved because it provided both a filling sensation and spot stimulation) to a 1-finger massage aided on the sides by 2 other fingers. He’s extending his middle finger to do more precision stimulation right on the g-spot. He’s going above and beyond that “come hither” motion to a more twisting, side-to-side-and-all-around intense high-pressure attack. I’ve used words that sound harsh like assault and attack but that is because this is no slow and easy massage; this is an intense treatment but in the most awesomely pleasurable way. He does this because he knows I can take it and I like it, but I wouldn’t recommend that every person try this on their g-spot-owning partner without a build-up and knowledge in existence that the person enjoys “rough” sex and intense stimulation.
Perhaps something else that is adding to this newly awesome mix is that I’m using a vibrator that doesn’t overpower the g-spot stimulation sensations. In the past when I’ve used the Wahl or the Hitachi with the Pure Wand I almost couldn’t really feel the g-spot stimulation. I knew it was going on because the pleasure factor had tripled but I could only discern clitoral stimulation. The balance has shifted a bit now that I’ve started using my We-Vibe Tango on my clit while he’s doing this. Yes, it is a powerful and intense vibrator but it’s not as overwhelmingly intense as the big, electric massagers. The deep-tissue rumbly factor to the We-Vibe Tango hits the external clitoris and the internal portion of the clitoris, while his fingers are ramping the g-spot stimulation up to 11 and probably also getting a bit of the internal legs of the clitoris which leads to me floating on a motherfucking rollercoaster climbing cloud of things beyond words. I truly can’t even come up with the words, that’s what it’s all like.
Don’t be afraid to try new things and go a little outside of your box. This g-spot thing might be hard to find since it can’t be mapped, but believe me it is real and with time, exploration, a good clitoral orgasm and a willing set of fingers and/or dildos you CAN find it. Oh and no, this new technique didn’t make me squirt. I don’t really give a crap about squirting anymore since it doesn’t correlate at all to the intensity of my orgasm. It’s not a goal, it’s not a thought to us, it’s not a checkbox on the list. And there is no “right” or “wrong” way to achieve orgasm or stimulate your clitoris or g-spot – you do whatever feels good to you.
Literally, the “object” he had found had moved slightly inside my body ↩
because his finger is massaging it from the front and then another side of it is receiving pressure from my pubic bone ↩