Saturday, December 18, 2010

Sex, I Think

A few days ago, my boyfriend and I had sex for the first time in... let's just say that it's been far too long. It was beautiful. It was wonderful. It made us feel closer, and it smoothed the tensions, and it helped us forgive the small stuff.

And yet, while I unreservedly call it sex, there was no penis-in-vagina. There wasn't even any strapon-in-ass. Just two people, partially nekkid, making out and groping and sharing a vibrator and orgasming our fool heads off.

Most people would look at what we were doing and call it mutual masturbation. After all, there was no oral sex, no anal sex, no vaginal sex. Therefore, it couldn't have been sex, right? But it wasn't until today that I even questioned calling what we did sex. We went into it knowing that my vagina was not going to be open for business, but wanting to have the pleasure, the emotional connection, the intimacy of sex. We went in treating this as fucking, as making love, as everything we usually call sex. Even though his penis never gained entry to my poor, forgotten vagina, on some deeper level it FELT like sex.

I'm not sure if I can explain it any better than that. By most people's definition, what we had the other night wasn't sex. By this culture's standard definitions, it was mutual masturbation, it was grinding, it was frottage, it was heavy petting with weapons-grade vibrators. As far as we're concerned, it was sex.

This whole thing has forced me to really look at my definition of sex. I'm realizing that when I really dig, I don't have such a hard and fast answer to "what is sex, and what isn't?" Yes, it's fucking (with or without any emotional component). Yes, it's oral or anal or vaginal or any combination of genital-to-genital(s)/orifice(s). It's also the nebulus region of stuff like this, that doesn't have a cut-and-dry category. In this case, it's the emotions and intent that make it sex, not what was actually done.

(As I'm writing this, I'm struck by how truly absurd the modern concept of Virginity is. That, however, is a subject for another time.)

I am just so, so glad that we had sex again. I missed the closeness. I missed the intimacy. I missed being able to appreciate his body and mine. When we're not having sex, the diseased corners of my brain decide that if we're not having sex, I must not be attracted to him anymore, and that I'm not attractive. Great self-fulfilling prophecy right there. One of the many ways that an anxiety disorder can completely fuck up lives and relationships.

Besides, until this happened, we'd never realized how awesomely sexy it can be to share a super-powerful massager-style vibrator. Share as in making a boy glans-vibrator-girl glans sandwich. Actually, he'd never realized just why vibrators are so fucking awesome until he got off on just my Fairy wand against his glans.

He's insanely quiet during sex... I'd never HEARD most of the noises he made that night. With porn, I get off most on the sounds people make when they're having a damn good time. I can, and have, masturbated to just the moaning and panting and other lovely noises in good porn. For me, suddenly getting all of these noises out of the man I love was quite possibly the hottest thing he's ever done.

Even though this is an insanely stressful and busy time for me, I'm also in a wonderful place because of this. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but it made me happy. And right now, that means a lot.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

This is your brain...

Because I'm on Vicodin for my badly strained back, I do not have the coherence nor the attention span to write a true blog post today. Instead, you will get an assortment of the crazy things that have floated through my drugged mind today.

My Loki-loving Druid friend is awesome, but needs to ask her deities to keep their hands to themselves. No, I will not even try to explain that statement.

My friend made me a Yule CD! I may not celebrate that particular variant of the midwinter holiday, but I greatly appreciate it. Yay pretty music!

A hug from the right stuffed animal just makes everything better. Well, maybe that's a hug TO the right stuffed animal, because an inanimate object can't really give a hug. And it doesn't make EVERYTHING better, obviously. It makes me feel better, but it's not like it's going to cure cancer or bring world peace or anything. It's a stuffed dog, damn it, not fucking Superman. Though a stuffed dog that could cure cancer would be pretty badass.

I have discovered that having my dorm room at 75*F seems to be a perfect temperature for hanging around in just PJs, without needing to cuddle under a blanket. I like lounging around in pj-shorts, so this is a nice discovery. Still a bit chilly for just bein' nekkid, though.

I have also discovered that having my dorm at about 80*F is about the right temperature for just wandering around my room naked all day.

Pretending to be a nudist behind closed doors has some drawbacks when you've got G-cup boobs. Those bitches are heavy. I have three choices - deal with my chest and back and neck hurting as they hang there all day, get very little done because I'm always using one arm to hold up my boobs, or getting nothing done because I made the mistake of asking my boyfriend to follow me around holding up my boobs all day (he is quite distracting when he gets his hands on my boobs).

Today, I missed my hip-length hair more than I have in a long time. There's something incredibly sensuous about spending the day all but naked, and feeling your own soft, soft hair rippling across your back and butt all day.

I adored the feeling of my own hair against my skin. I miss it like crazy. I'm afraid that even if I started growing my hair back out today, by the time it was long enough again I would have forgotten what the big deal was. Or gotten fed up with the crazy WORK the hair is when the roots ain't healthy. Which they won't be until we resolve my mystery health issue.

Huh. The bodies of the stylized dragonflies on my wall hanging look a LOT like penises. As in, holy shit why are there flying green penises on my wall. I may never look at dragonflies the same way again.

I have deleted the next set of thoughts about 5 times now. Each time, it was something that seemed like an awesome idea to share, that I then censored out. I guess it's good to know that I still have a modicum of good judgment left to me in my drugged state.

I kinda hate how codeine and its related drugs (esp hydrocodone) seem to make me an insomniac. I take them, and then I'm gonna be up until about half an hour before they wear off. Kinda sucks when you're sick, or injured, and need to heal.

And this is just my brain on half of the smaller Vicodin dose (the doc's having me break the pills in half to get a good dose for my body weight and stomach issues). Imagine what nonsense I'd be spouting if they made me take the whole pill? Or upped the dose? I might start babbling about schizophrenic ninja octopi again.

Sunday, December 5, 2010


Sometimes I wonder if my relationship with my boyfriend started too quickly - or at least the sexual aspects of it. I went from completely untouched, never-been-kissed virgin to fuck-like-bunnies nympho in under a year. I had never even dated before he came into my life. He was... quite experienced for his age, all of 16 at the time. He's admitted that he pushed me, because he thought loosening up and bringing some sexuality into our relationship would make me happy. And for a long time, it did make me happy, wonderfully happy.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Crazy Sex Toys Found On Etsy

Those of you familiar with Regretsy know that some of the craziest, strangest handcrafted oddities end up listed on Etsy. One day, in a fit of whimsy, I discovered that a strange, wonderful, and sometimes terrifying array of hand-made sex toys are also hidden in the depths of Etsy. I decided that I needed to immortalize a few of these gems...

Click each image to jump straight to the listing!

Frighteningly reminiscent of a propane torch. You light the fires of my passion, baby?

Declared a "Marital Aide." Because of course the only reason to use a dildo is to help save your marriage. (Otherwise kind of cool looking. How many bright yellow dildos are there, anyway?)

Brings a whole new meaning to "blue balls"...

Dildolls. Really. I... I don't even know where to begin.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Weapons-Grade Awful

My evening on twitter started here:
Ugh. This flavored Motion Lotion from Doc Johnson is gawdawful. Seriously, weapons-grade awful. AVOID.
A perfectly honest statement of opinion. Somehow, over the next hour, it devolved from there. To be quite honest, I'm not sure how it happened.
@Epiphora My tongue threatened to sue, or at least get a restraining order.
I blame my friends for goading me on.
I wonder if there are any lawyers who would take my case? "Um, you see, my tongue is trying to sue me, and I need your help..."
I really don't know how to explain this stuff.
I swore to my tongue that it would never happen again, that I would never subject her to such crappy flavors again. She doesn't believe me.
I wonder why?!
It's kinda hard to argue with one's tongue, though. They always get the last word. 
 I... um... hell, how does one apologize for puns? By asking that the punishment fit the crime?

Sunday, November 28, 2010


Yes, this blog post is late. It's a few days past that bizarre holiday we Americans celebrate called Thanksgiving. But you know what? The post was late in part because of some of the things I have to be thankful for.

I'm thankful that I have such a wonderfully loving family who actually want to spend so much time with me. I'm thankful that they demand I put aside the books for a day to spend time with family, cook, and enjoy epic food. (Recreating all of our recipes to fit three completely different sets of dietary restrictions, yet still be delicious, is surprisingly fun. I loved it!)

I'm thankful for my health. No, really! As shitty as my health is, I can still function. I can still go to school full time, pull in an amazing GPA, and spend endless hours in the lab. As far as my pain issues go, I'm worlds better than I was this time last year. I don't have to take prescription pain meds and muscle relaxants every night just so I can get up the next morning. I am vertical and mobile without half an hour of agonizing stretching. My lungs may be going to hell in a hand-basket, but I'm grateful for the health I do have.

I'm thankful for my best friend. This guy has stuck by me through thick and through thin. When a medication turned me into an apathetic, depressed, non-social hermit last year, he wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd show up in his crazy little pick-up and whisk me off somewhere for shenanigans - ice cream, Indian food, taking pictures of our pretty campus, watching a movie... just getting me out again. Now that most of my other friends have either graduated or moved away, he's pulling me through again. He voluntarily uses his break time to pick me up from therapy to save me the cab fare. He hangs out and the most random times. He helps me with the shit therapy is putting me through. He has been my lifeline in more ways than he will ever know.

I'm thankful for my mind. Being an intellectual has been a wonderful thing these past few years. My activity levels are often restricted, so it's a good thing I enjoy just getting lost inside my own head.

I'm thankful for my boyfriend. No matter how rough things have gotten, he refuses to give up on me, on us, and he keeps trying to make it work between us. I don't know what I'd do without him.

I'm thankful for my dog. He's a bit of a nut, but he's a sweetheart. Whenever I come home, and I'm sick, he spends the whole night sleeping at my feet. Every time I so much as twitch a finger, he pads over to make sure I'm ok. The pooch may not understand bronchitis, but he's such a comforting presence.

I'm thankful for all of you, my readers, my friends. You've been with me through one of the craziest periods of my life. You've listened to my crazy rants and rambles, you've been a sounding board for my strange ideas, you've comforted me when the shit hit the fan, you've gone along with my crazy twitter hijinks. You all rawk hardcore.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Unassuming Feminism

I never thought I'd one day call myself a feminist. When I was a kid, "feminist" was a dirty word, but not the way you may think.

When I was growing up, as far as I knew the world seemed to be split into two kinds of people: the normal people who believed that women were equal to men in every way and should be treated as such, and the scary uber-militant-man-hating-"feminazis". (I apologize if the term offends anyone; I'm trying to illustrate a childhood view, and that is the term I heard used for these women when I was young.) Feminists were the women who went around trying to convince us that "All intercourse is rape!" and "All men are potential rapists!" and "Marriage is nothing but slavery!" and "Down with men! Women shall rule the world!" You know the type.

Given that this was the image that was called a feminist in my childhood, it's no wonder I grew up never realizing that I was surrounded by a wonderful class of feminists: the ones who just never question that men and women are equals, that women should be treated the same as men, paid as much as men, taught the same classes and skills and encouraged to go into the same fields as men. I grew up surrounded by unassuming feminists of all genders, and I have reaped the benefits of this wonderful formative environment.

I never questioned that I could love science and math (and trounce all the boys in my school at those subjects).
I never questioned that I could prefer to build and launch model rockets instead of playing with dolls.
I never questioned that I preferred sci-fi novels to "the babysitter's club" and other "little girl" books.
I never questioned that I would be able to get a PhD in any science I chose, or an MD, or any degree I decided to go for.
I never questioned that I would keep my career when and if I got married.
I never questioned that someday, I might be the breadwinner of my family.

Some time in the past few years, I discovered that the whole world isn't like that. (Naive, I know.) I discovered that not everyone just knows, deep down, that we're equal. I discovered the horrible truth that there are people in my own community who believe I should set aside my career plans so that I can have children. (Because everyone knows that women must have babies, and you can't be a good mother if you're a busy doctor) Somehow I discovered that what I call "normal," the rest of the world calls...


And you know what? I kind of like the sound of that.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Inside my head

I'd like to apologize to all of you, my readers, for falling apart and dropping off the radar. Due to precarious health, I've been staggering from one school deadline to the next. I've been trying very, very hard not to work myself back into either another bout of bronchitis or bad burnout. I've been trying to remember to force myself to make time for a social life, and to fan the flames of a floundering relationship with my boyfriend.

And, shock to end all shocks, I've been getting help. I've been in therapy for... gosh, almost two months now. I'm not sure whether it's helping with my GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) yet, but it's nice to have someone to talk to who can help me figure out what the hell is going on inside my head. If nothing else, my self-awareness is improving. I can now look at some of my panicky thoughts and say "hey, that's not right..." I haven't figured out how to fix said thoughts (because thoughts are slippery fellas, easy to change superficially but hard to truly alter), but knowing where the problem is must be a step in the right direction.

I've only had three full-fledged anxiety attacks this semester, and they were all very short, for me - each was under twenty minutes long. Unfortunately, my old defense mechanism against anxiety is back. I call it apathy, but I'm still highly motivated. I'm not sure what it's called, but I lose most of my desire and drive for social interaction, it becomes too much work. It makes me feel like there's a sheet of glass between me and the world, me and the future and the past. I'm still incredibly driven and high-functioning, but I'm not quite here.

Part of me wonders if that should scare me. The rest just shrugs.

I'm sorry for the lack of real posting recently. I'll try to get back to writing soon, I promise.

Friday, November 19, 2010


Some weeks the apathy is harder to fight than others.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Levaquin is a hell of a drug

I absolutely love Levaquin (the antibiotic, for those of you who have never been sick enough to use it). Why, do you ask? Masturbation, of course!

Let me break this down for you. First of all, being on Levaquin means that I'm way too sick to, you know, actually be able to do real work. I can't study, can't work in my lab, and can barely tpye straight. (you know, I think I'll just leave that typo in place, because it looks funny. I wonder how you would pronounce that, anyway...) That means lots of time to jack off and catch up on porn!

Secondly, being on Levaquin generally means that I have bronchitis, so I'm coughing all the time. Generally this is a bad thing, but I discovered that the cough reflex includes tensing the PC muscles. Slip in my favorite Xhale kegel egg, and suddenly my g-spot is loving this whole sick shindig.

Third, and best, this crazy antibiotic sets of a crazy sympathetic system response (for the non-bio-geeks in the crowd, that's the one that turns on your fight-or-flight reaction). Again, sounds awful, but think about it: my heart is racing... like I'm aroused. I'm breathing fast... like I'm aroused. I'm already halfway to convincing my body that it's sexy time! Plus, and this is the bestest of them all, Levaquin makes my hands shake. All I have to do to jack off is hold my hand in the general vacinity of my clit, and the shaking does the rest! Talk about the epic pinnacle of lazy masturbation!

Damn, I need to get horrendously sick more often. I have a lot of porn to catch up on!

"Miss, we're going to have to ask you to step away from the internet, very slowly... keep your hands away from the keyboard where we can see them..."

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Change in an RA program

I recently spent an evening talking about all of the recent homophobia-bullying triggered suicides to a friend of mine from Rutgers. My friend is an RA in one of the Rutgers dorms, and she painted a picture for me that hasn't made it into the news.

Tyler Clementi went to an RA for help before he killed himself. While the RA took his situation seriously, and the University had rules in place against invasions of privacy that should have resulted in the expulsion of his filmers, nothing had yet been done about the situation when he decided to take his life. The RA he spoke to hadn't had any idea that he was on the verge of suicide.

The world has seen how the Rutgers community rallied in support of Tyler's family, holding candl-lit vigils in his memory. What they have not seen are the shock waves that have reverberated through the Residence Assistant program. As a group, they are beating themselves up over this. As a group, they feel that they failed him. They blame themselves for his death even more than they blame Ravi.

It will take a long time for the program to recover from the emotional aftermath of this tragedy, but in the healing are springing up seeds of hope. The residence assistance program has a strengthened resolve to be advocates for the victims of harassment. They have a very immediate motivation to make sure that they never, ever overlook the signs of depression and despair in a student. The aims of the program are changing for the good as they are trying to do everything in their power to make sure nothing like this every happens again. Ever.

It was good to hear, from someone on the inside, that Tyler will never be forgotten. It was good to hear that his death has finally sparked the changes that have been desperately needed to protect LGBTQ students from harassment and abuse. It's good to hear that something good will come of this horrible tragedy.

But damn it, what the hell is wrong with us, as a culture, that kids need to DIE before changes are made to protect them?

Monday, October 25, 2010

Just Imagining

In my mind, I am rewriting what happened tonight. Instead of me ending up with a fever and missing out on sex, I'm going to pretend that I got laid. I'm going to imagine that watching our action flick lead to kisses and gropes and fondles. That we kept having to rewind to see the parts we missed while we were making out. That after the good guys saved the day, he turned off the TV and gave me a wonderful massage with this delicious-smelling chocolate massage oil I just got for review. That his massage got a little on the erotic side, and he went down for a happy ending. That we tried out some new lubes, and slipped on a new cock ring to try.

I'll imagine that between that vibrating ring, his cock, his hands, and my trusty Mystic Wand, I was screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors. That we had one of our old marathon-style sex sessions, where we actually have to pause for a rest after the first 45 minutes of fucking. That we laugh as usual at the sheer volume of lube we're having to use ("Does my pussy eat lube for breakfast or something?!"), and my hair always getting between his face and mine just when we want to kiss. That our bodies fit together so perfectly in the heat of the moment, even if someone's head accidentally hits the wall. That we both collapse into a happy cuddle-pile afterward, whispering sweet nothings to each other. That we can't keep our hands off of each other, even while we're cleaning up the toys once we recover. That we end up in bed for another quick round before dinner.

I'm going to imagine that, because it's so much sexier than having to be taken home with a fever by a worried boyfriend.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

On Dealing with Doubts

I know my horribly diminished sex drive is mostly due to medications and my newly-diagnosed GAD (generalized anxiety disorder). I know that it is not my fault. Through working with my therapist, I've started learning to not blame myself for things I cannot control. But still, in those dark hours while you wait to fall asleep, when doubts come creeping, I wonder.

I wonder, why am I broken? Why, no matter what I do, can't I keep my libido from flatlining? Every time I change my birth control method, I get a few months of having a half-decent sex drive, but eventually it always nose-dives again. For medical reasons, I have to hormonally regulate and shrink my periods (unchecked, they cause anemia), but I've reached what my gynecologist has said is the "last" option as far as shrinking side effects go. Sterilization would do nothing for my periods. IUD can cause heavier periods; anything more, and I'd be bleeding for half the darn cycle. Besides, the anemia my periods caused makes me illegible for an IUD. Currently, I'm on the Ring. It's the lowest concentration of hormones you can get floating around in your system while still being useful; if this doesn't eliminate the side effects, no hormonal method will. And most of my side effects did go away - just not the libido issues.

I wonder, are my libido issues even directly caused by my medication any more? Sure, the hormones were the original cause. (Yaz sucked, big time) But... I've changed pills. I've changed dosing methods. Most gals don't get these issues with every single drug they try. By Occam's Razor, it's still being caused by the hormones I can't safely quit. But, because of my ugly GAD, I doubt, I question, I wonder if it really is my fault.

I wonder, is my lack of desire for sex slowly killing my relationship with my boyfriend? We went from two years of jump-each-other-at-the-slightest-excuse to once every month or two in the space of a few months. I know he's been fighting the "does she not love me any more?" demons, because he knows that for me, sex is always about love. I don't do no-strings-attached sex. Even when I had a raging sex drive, the desire didn't get pumping unless I was really feelin' the love. I still love him. I still really, really enjoy the sex we have, but I usually don't want to have sex until my first orgasm hits (or he spends twenty minutes worshipping my labia with his mouth. That feels good even if I have no desire for sex). We both feel so much more connected after sex, but most of the time, until we're actually doing it, I have no desire, no "need" for sex. And he has needs, too. A little voice in the back of my head reminds me that if he were like many guys, he'd have left by now, or would be cheating on me. I know he isn't, and wouldn't... but I have no way of knowing if he's regretting his decision to commit to me.

I wonder, is there more I could be, should be doing to "fix" my languishing libido? I haven't tried supplements, or sprays. I have a balm that causes lovely sensations and helps me get going, but I never have the desire to put it on... because I don't desire sex. Why use something to stimulate desire if I'm apathetic toward the whole thing. I haven't tried couple's therapy; I know that some of my lack of sex drive has to do with problems in our relationship, but I keep rationalizing the way I shy from this option by thinking that we both need to get our mental health issues (my GAD, his ADD) under control first. Also, we're poor college students. We can't afford couple's therapy, and there's no way in hell my insurance will cover it.

I wonder, is there some deep, dark corner of my mind that doesn't want sex? A part of me, outside my conscious awareness, that isn't just apathetic towards sex, but is actively against it? Have I so deeply internalized my family, religion, and culture's demands that I not have sex until marriage, and then definitely not with kink? Or worse yet, the question that arises on the latest of insomniac nights - has some part of me given up on this relationship with the guy who is my rock, my partner, my comfort, my jester, my reality check, my exasperation, my beloved? I want to make us work, I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but... what if some demented corner of my mind has just said "fuck it"?

I wonder, I worry, I fear. But now, I've started learning to fight back. I'm a scientist, damn it! I'm an intellectual. The bodypart I prize most is my cerebral cortex, my dear brain. I'm going to reason my way out of this deep, dark funk, because I deserve better than this!

Am I broken?
Maybe. There's always a chance that some hormonal process got all bzonked to pieces, but you know what? Medication side effects are FAR more likely. I'm on hormonal birth control. I've been on and off methylprednisolone, which plays hell with the hormones. I've got low vitamin B12, which among other things can tank the libido. Over the years, we've found that my body is incredibly sensitive to most medications, so I'm very likely to be having side effects to something.

All of which means, I'm not broken. If I take a step back and pretend I'm looking at someone else's life, I've got it pretty damn good - at least I enjoy the sex I do have. Hell, I'm still wildly multi-orgasmic. Boo-freakin-hoo, I have trouble getting started. At least I enjoy it when I can make it that far.

Am I hypochondriaching my lack-of-libido side effects?
Seriously? I've never, ever had issues with hypochondria. Yeah, I get side effects to many prescription meds, but they usually show up before I go read the side effects list to begin with. If I was "faking" it, that would mean that I would have to be a psychic to pull that list out of the aether. Right. Sounds real plausible, doesn't it?

Am I ruining my relationship?
Yeah, we're going through a rough patch. Ok, call it a rough year. We're having communication issues, but the root of those issues is benign, not sinister - we both hide the things we think would just make our partner worry about us. (So we're a bit over-protective of each other, hahah) We're working on it. We've gotten the dialogue going, and after some long talks we've re-committed to doing everything we can to make this work.

On top of all that, is the lack of sack time hurting us? Probably, but it's not the main element of the problems. He understands that I have no sex drive. He has told me over and over that he intellectually knows that it's not his fault, and he never blames me for it. He knows I still love him, sex or no sex. Once he even told me that if something happened and I could never have sex again, he'd still love me and cherish me and want to marry me. Sex, while a wonderful way to express our love (and have a hell of a lot of fun doing so), is not the foundation of our relationship.

And I totally need to shut my inner voice up about the whole "does he regret it" shpeil. He's told me that he never, ever regretted committing to me. Yeah, he wishes that we didn't have to deal with my health issues, but he wishes that because he hates seeing me in pain, not because he wishes he was gettin' some. I need to learn to just accept his love and trust, without wondering if I deserve it.

Am I not doing enough to try?
Alright, stop it right there. No more of this toxic "coulda, shoulda" talk. I'm doing what I feel comfortable doing right now. There is no "should be" doing anything. There are options I am not pursuing, but you know what? That's ok. I'm not Wonder Woman, for crying out loud. These options are open to me, if and when I feel that I need them and am ready to pursue them. Until then? If I'm not ready, they're not going to do a damn bit of good, because I'll take them to mean I'm broken.

Am I anti-sex?
If I'm going to worry about this, it's time to stop just fretting and drag it out into the light, analytic style, the way my professors trained me. Yes, I have to some degree internalized the anti-premarital-sex ideas that float around me. It was bound to happen, the personality traits that made me susceptible to GAD make it all too easy for me to internalize what other people think. The first step to fighting it off, though, is self-knowledge. I know it's there. Now, I can argue with it, pick it apart until it falls into the insubstantial fluff it really is.

Am I giving up on my boyfriend?
Ok, let's look at this seriously. I have a feeling it's going to look really, really stupid once it's fully articulated. I believe that I love him. I care deeply for him, on a thousand different levels. And it torments me that something in me is sabotaging my relationship? Reality check... if I'd given up on us, this wouldn't bug me. I'd be relieved. It's like the old saying - if you're worried that you might be going insane, then you must be sane. If the thought of damaging our relationship hurts me so much, then obviously it still means a great deal to me.

I'm not broken. I'm not defective. I'm not trying to sabotage my relationship. It's hard to fight the doubts, when they come creeping in late at night, but I can beat them back. You can, too. That first step back from the fears is the hardest, but it gets easier. That little bit of perspective makes it all a hell of a lot easier to deal with.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Review: Fun Factory Share

A curious thing seems to happen when a female-bodied person starts wearing something like the Share. It can happen with any strap-on dildo, but I've heard of it happening a lot more often with this style of toy. We start calling it things like "My cock," "My dick," and "My gloriously radiant fuck-stick of rapture." Ok, maybe not the last one, but you get my point. In some strange alchemical process, they cease to be toys and start to become part of us.

The first time I inserted the bean-shaped "giver's end" of the Share and looked down to see a lovely onyx cock bobbing between my shapely thighs, I began to proudly think of it as "my cock." After I masturbated with it a few times, it was most definitely a part of me in a strange and wonderful way.

Given that my psyche has, without my intent or consent, absorbed an inanimate sex toy into my being, then I guess it's a damn good thing that it's an absolutely fantabulous sex toy, isn't it?

And it is fantabulously glorious. Fun Factory started with their usual soft, velvety, plush, squeezable silicone for this toy, and then made some magic happen on the design table. The bean-shaped giver's end, while definitely girthy (1.9" in diameter at the widest point), is a very comfortable shape once inserted. It stays put pretty well, as long as you have the PC muscle strength to support its weight. The receiver's end is a smooth, sleek, gently curved penis with a slightly pronounced head. It tops out at 1.75" in diameter all the way at the joint, but the portion that is actually usable once it's in use stays between 1" and 1.25", which is a great beginner to intermediate size for vaginal or anal penetration, and a decent size for faux-jobs (like a blow job, but given to a non-biological penis).

The joint between the two ends is shaped to accommodate a wide range of anatomies. I had no problem using it alone or with a harness, or with a small vibrator wedged behind it. The flexibility of the joint makes the cock droop when inserted, but allows the bean to fit many body shapes, and even be inserted anally and still be used (even fitting around the balls of male-bodied users; just be careful not to crush them). I'm torn over whether or not I want a hole for a bullet. As long as I wasn't using a harness, I could easily get a bullet in to my clit, but I do wish I could make the whole thing vibrate. For now, I press my Mystic Wand to the joint to make the magic happen.

In many ways, the Share is the easiest dildo to peg with that I have ever tried (and the hardest in others). I can actually feel what I'm doing, so it's more than just a psychological turn-on for me now; we both get a lot of pleasure out of pegging with this. I can't "feel where I'm going" like I could if my cock were flesh-and-blood, but this is the next best thing. Steering the Share is both easier and frustrating - because of that bendy joint, there's a lot of hand maneuvering of my cock to get started, and once I'm in, some of the force and direction of the thrusts is lost when the joint just... bends. I highly recommend a harness to help with this: I used my Joque Harness, and I could still feel everything while getting a bit more control over the Share. It also helps with the issue of retention, because anal muscles are strong. I don't care how strong you think your PC muscles are, if they haven't fought with sphincters for a dildo before you may be very surprised.

My darling receiver of the pegging was an instant fan of the Share. He prefers slimmer dildos with a nice head for pegging, because it makes it more comfortable for him when he asks me to go hard and rough, so this was right up his alley. While I was frustrated by the bending of the joint, he had a different point of view. The bending meant that if I thrust too hard, the joint acted as a shock absorber to keep him from getting stabbed in an unpleasant manner. He preferred lying on his back facing me so that the upward curve of the Share spent a whole bunch of time cozying up to his prostate.

But did it generate orgasms? It was fun, but did it really deliver?

Yes. Yes it did. Not only did get off, but for once I manged to orgasm from pegging. I actually had trouble concentrating on what I was doing at times, because I was busy having wonderful g-spot orgasms from the inner portion of the Share moving inside me. I finally understand what guys mean when they say they suddenly reach the point of no return when fucking.

The Share is epic even if you don't plan to use it for penetration of a partner or gender play. As a solo jack-off toy, it's a glorious g-spotter. I love hard, pounding lovin' on my g-spot, but my poor joints seriously start to hurt if I start thrusting away at Warp 2 with a regular dildo. It's an awkward angle to hold anything at for long, and with my joint problems it's often not possible. The Share goes after the g-spot completely differently. With the bean inserted, it nestles up to the front of my vagina as happy as can be, my silicone cock bobbing in front of me. I can put my hand in my lap, in a very comfortable position, and grab the phallic end of the Share to start jacking off "guy style." Pumping away at the penis end of the Share starts banging the bean around in my vagina in a wonderful manner, thumping it against my g-spot over and over with a minimum of effort. The only difficult bit about the whole thing it is not shooting the Share across the bed when I orgasm. (Yes, really. Quite amusing, if a tad frustrating)

This isn't the usual semi-direct rubbing the g-spot as a dildo thrusts past, by no means! It's not quite like anything else I've tried, but I like it. A lot.

After play care of my lovely new cock is wonderfully simple. The Share is made of 100% silicone, so it can be wiped down, washed, bleached, dumped in the dish washer, or boiled. It's totally inert, so you can toss it in your toy storage container of choice without a care in the world. Just don't use it with silicone lubes - the one thing that can destroy your Share is silicone lube. Pjur Bodyglide and Sliquid Ride Silicone both tested safe with my Share, but always test your silicone lubes on a small, unobtrusive patch to make sure they won't ruin the toy.

To make a very, very long story short, I love my Share. I adore my Share. It's everything I hoped it would be when I started wishing for it way back when, and more. If anything ever happens to my wonderful black cock, I will be immediately running for the nearest internet access point to buy three more. Just in case.

Thank you Fascinations for sending me the Share to review!

This product was provided to me free of charge by Fascinations in exchange for an unbiased review. This review is in compliance with the FTC guidelines.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Bigotry and Transgender Health Care

On Tuesday, my family was reminded of the discrimination that transgendered couples can face in our area. My transmom had been sick for a few days when she went to see our doctor (who does know that my transmom is transgendered). She sent my transmom straight to the hospital to be checked for diverticulitis. She should have gone straight there, but she couldn't.


Because she had to go home and change into masculine clothes, taking off her bra and switching from panties to briefs. She had to make sure that no one would question her presentation as a man before she could go to the hospital.


Because if she went to the hospital as the woman she is, the hospital could (and has, to other families) turn my mother away and refuse her visiting rights. They are legally married in this state, but the hospital would assume that a marriage between two women couldn't possible be valid, as homosexual marriages are illegal in our state. (My parents can remain married once my transmom legally transitions, but they would not be allowed to marry if they hadn't met until after the transition)

My transmom had to endanger her health and delay going to the hospital, just to make sure that she didn't offend someone by being in a homosexual marriage.

Diverticulitis is not a condition to be trifled with. The doctors at the hospital suspect that my transmom may have a perforated bowel. She may have an infection spilling into her abdominal cavity. She may need to have a section of her colon removed after this.

And she had to delay even going to the hospital, because of pure, unadulterated bigotry.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Pleasurists #99

rainbow by bootlog

Welcome to Pleasurists, a round-up of the adult product and sex toy reviews that came out in the last seven days. For updates and information follow our RSS Feed and Twitter.
Did you miss Pleasurists #98? Read it all here. Do you have a review for Pleasurists #100? Be sure to read the submission guidelines and then use the submission form and submit it before Sunday October 17th at 11:59pm PDT. Also, keep a look out this week for our 100th Edition Giveaway Celebration!

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Looking for sexy posts other than reviews?

e[lust] #20

Scarlet Lotus St. Syr
On to the reviews…
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Monday, October 11, 2010

Review: Vibrating Dilator Set

The Vibrating Dilator Set is an interesting answer to a common need. Whether vaginally or anally, many people have wanted to work their way up to insertion of something larger, be it flesh or sex toy. However, how many people want to buy a dildo in every half or quarter inch increment between their start and their goal, when they just want to play AT said goal?

That's where this vibrator comes in. With a single sex toy, you have four different sizes to play with, ranging from 7/8" in diameter and 3.5" long to 1.5" in diameter and 6.25" long. (the image above shows the smallest of the three shells already attached to the base over the smallest size) All four sizes are shaped like a basic "stick" style vibrator. The smallest size is built onto the handle and houses the motor. The other three nest around it and lock into the handle, like a set of kinky Russian Dolls. I'm serious when I say they lock in place - they give a firm click when you twist them in, and if they're wet or covered in lube, you are not going to be able to get them back off without hilarity and embarrassment. When you're working your way up, just leave the smaller ones in place and attach the big ones around them. Trust me. Do as I say, not as I do. You can avoid much frustration.

It may only run on two AA batteries, but the motor on this toy is STRONG. I'm talking stronger than Wahl-on-low strong, but incredibly buzzy. As you start adding shells to the dilator, the power damps down considerably, and the vibrations get much less buzzy; with the final shell in place, it starts to move into deep vibe territory. If very strong, buzzy vibrations bug you, make sure to turn the little power dial on the handle way down until you have a shell or two in place. The advantage of this motor is that there is still some power left when it gets all the way out to the last shell, so it's a worthy trade-off. Those vibrations can go a long way for getting either the vaginal or anal muscles to relax, which speeds up the dilation process.

The set comes with a ridiculously large lavender organza drawstring bag. I'm assuming it's there to store the set, but the size is just comical. With everything inside, I was able to roll the excess around the contents three times. The bag also easily fits three netbooks, or five water bottles, or a pair of shoes, or a small pillow. Seriously, they went a little overboard on this one. There is also a clear, nubby silicone blend sleeve included in the kit, which fits over all but the largest shell. You have to like large, squishy nubs for this to do anything for you, though. We never use it, because without it the Dilator is completely waterproof and sanitizable - wash it with soap and water when I'm the only one using it (anal only), or wipe it down with bleach when we want to share. That sleeve is not sterilizeable, so it's a one orifice toy. Share between vaginas if you're fluid bonded, but otherwise you're going to need condoms.

Whether you're working through them in quick succession in preparation for penetration, or slowly, gently teaching your body to accept increasingly larger insertions, this is a good, solid choice. It's not fancy, it has no bells and whistles. It's innovative, and it just works.

Thanks to Good Vibrations Sex Toys for sending me the Vibrating Dilator Set!

This product was provided to me free of charge by GoodVibrations in exchange for an unbiased review. This review is in compliance with the FTC guidelines.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Jaded Adventures

Recently, I've noticed that I may be becoming a bit jaded when it comes to sex toys. It's happening across the board, but I'm seeing it mostly with vibrators. I've tried a whole bunch of vibrators by now, and I've got a very good idea of what works for me, and what doesn't. It takes a lot to get me excited about a vibrator anymore. It does happen, but I don't start jumping up and down and squealing every time someone offers to send me a premium vibe now. (Yes, that did happen once upon a time. The first time I was sent a Lelo toy, I went a little bit nuts.)

Crazy as it may sound, this has been good in some ways. I have a few vibrators (in a wide range of price points) that really get me there; no matter what my mood, that small group has what I need. Because I'm no longer hunting for a vibe to fit an all-important niche, so to speak, I've broadened my horizons. Originally, I had no interest whatsoever in dildos - now, I want to try every non-porous material I can get my hands on. I'm trying toys for anal play, and pegging. I'm wandering around the world of lubes a bit more. And I'm branching into some BDSM and fetish interests.

I haven't reviewed many BDSM toys here, I know. The toys I truly love are almost all handmade beauties I've picked up at vendor fairs, or the occasional toy I've made myself. However, I drool over all sorts of toys I haven't tried or don't own. Wartenberg wheels and other prickly toys. E-stim, both TENS and Violet Wand. Pumps. Clamps. Interesting restraints. Paddles. Floggers and whips. Dragon Tongues and gags. Lovely, lovely rope.

Things I would never have considered a few years ago are now on my radar. A year or two ago, I was curious, but they were never priorities - there were always other things I wanted to review and try more. Now? I'm definitely a lot more curious, though still a little newbie.

Maybe being jaded isn't so bad after all.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Review: Club Vibe

Confession time: I'm a gadget girl. A serious gadget lover. Put a new geeky electronic in front of me, and I'll disappear for hours learning everything I can about it, and just fiddling around with it. Phone? Ebook reader? Camera? Game system? Little whosit no one can figure out? I'm there. For me, a vibrator is just another kind of gadget, so an innovative, cool, and functional looking gadget of a vibrator? The Club Vibe was right up my alley.

There is a lot to love about the Club Vibe. First of all, it's a sex toy that is designed to be taken out and about in your outside-the-bedroom life. That is totally hot. Second, this bullet responds to your environment, vibrating along with the noises you hear. That's where its name comes from - when you wear this vibrator to a club, your clit gets to thump along with the music.

The controls are wonderfully intuitive, and simple (they sound more complicated than they are). One edge of the control box has a slide switch allowing you to choose between Off, On - built in functions mode, and On - Ambient mode. The bottom edge has the audio in jack (cord provided) and the volume roller. The top edge is where the bullet plugs in. The front has two fingertip-sized buttons flush with the control box. When the Club Vibe is set to Ambient, these buttons do nothing. When it is set in Function mode, the circle button turns on the vibrations and switches between functions, and the X shaped button is an instant-off. (I love this one, as I'm always bitching about wanting to be able to turn off my vibes in a hurry. This toy is wonderfully easy to use, with all its clearly labeled buttons.

The thong that came with the Club Vibe was ok. It wasn't amazing, but it wasn't a total loss, either. The fabric is soft, the scalloped edging is annoying, the stretch lace waistband is comfortable. It's supposed to be one size fits most; it fit well in some areas, and gapped in others, so it wasn't something I'd wear to feel sexy. It would work better for someone with the right body shape, but I'll be darned if I can figure out what that is supposed to be. It didn't have a pocket to put the velvety micro bullet in, so I just did what I always do when I don't want to hold a bullet - tuck it between my labia right where I want it. They hold it in place just fine, especially once I put my pants on. You could tuck it inside the vagina (though I'd recommend a condom, since it's not waterproof), in front of or behind the scrotum, or just loose in the underwear to roam where it will, but don't stick it up your butt. This is not anal-safe, and the bullet might decide to go on an unauthorized adventure!

There is a definitely learning curve with taking this toy to a noisy event. I had to fiddle with the volume quite a bit, because on Ambient, the higher the volume setting, the stronger the vibrations for the ambient noise level. I discovered a flaw in use, however. For discretion, I tucked the controller in my pocket, but the fabric muffled the sound. I was vibrating to the sound of my jeans rubbing against the microphone, not the explosions in the movie. I did eventually clip it to my waistband, and hoped that no one would wonder what the heck it was. Problem solved; it picked up the sound effects quite well, and those dramatic explosions suddenly got a lot more exciting!

Where I really ran into issues with this was when I tried to use the Club Vibe while watching porn. I love listening to all the moans and sexy vocals in porn, so vibrating that hit me in time with the moans? Should have been perfect. The Club Vibe comes with a neat little cable: it plugs into your headphone jack, you plug it into your Club Vibe, then you plug your headphones into the split second end of the cable. I found that if I kept the sound low enough that it wasn't physically hurting my ears, I got very little vibration out of the club vibe, no matter how high I turned the control pack's volume. It may have been my nice (but not uber-good) headphones; it might have been my sensitive, musician-trained ears. Either way, I couldn't get vibrations and hear the porn at the same time, which kind of defeated the point.

The Club Vibe can pack a punch. When set to its functions mode, the highest setting is quite strong, but very buzzy. It's about on par with your average 2-3 AA powered bullet. It has some fun patterns, but as usual I found myself going back to the steady settings to get off.

Even though it isn't water resistant, the Club Vibe is pretty easy to care for. The bullet, cord, and battery pack can be carefully wiped down with toy cleaning wipes or a damp cloth. Be careful to get the seam and connection point of the bullet clean, as those two spots like to collect junk. This toy is not sterilizeable, so use a condom to share. Between uses, pull out the batteries and store the whole set in the pretty included bag. OhMiBod gets major props for including this. It's a very sturdy drawstring bag made out of stretchy, almost sparkly black velvet, with OhMiBod embroidered on the front in white and pink. The control box, bullet, all cords, a set of batteries, and the thong all fit inside the bag easily, making it easy to keep track of all the pieces.

Is the club vibe worth it? That really depends on what you want it for. If you've always wanted to have a toy that vibrated along with your porn or music, you may want to pass on this one and go for one of their other toys (the original OhMiBod absolutely shone here; I don't know about the more recent models). If you want a strong microvibe to wear that will pulse with the music or the movie, then this is it. This one rocks that niche.

Thanks to Good Vibrations Sex Toys for sending me the Club Vibe!

This product was provided to me free of charge by GoodVibrations in exchange for an unbiased review. This review is in compliance with the FTC guidelines.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Cystic fibrosis? Again? Really?

Last winter, when my Vitamin B12 deficiency came to light in and around the usual bouts of bronchitis, my primary care doctor (Dr. M) decided that I should be tested for Cystic Fibrosis. She told me to get in touch with my pulmonologist (Dr. D) and talk to him about getting the test done.

Long story short, it took me a month to get that appointment. He had a new secretary, unfortunately - the old one knew that Dr. D wanted patients like me with cronic, often critical medical problems to be worked in the week we called for anything other than the twice-yearly lung checkup. That left me with a month of time to stew.

I've joked that I'm addicted to the internet, that I've got an "interwebs graft into my thalamus" and that I half live in the online world. While it has its downsides, I am also very comfortable and competent at finding good, reliable information on the internet, fast. Google and I are tight, you know? Like a good patient, the first thing I did when I got home from seeing Dr. M was to head over to MedLinePlus (a website run by the NIH) to find out more about this disease she wanted to test me for.

As I scrolled through the page, I learned. I saw lists of symptoms, treatments, causes, and mechanisms. I saw that yes, I did show a few of those warning signs (phlegmy lungs, frequent lung infections, vitamin/mineral deficiencies). Then, I reached the part about  median lifespan.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Another odd little tangent into religious beliefs...

Unlike many people, I rarely experience the divine in a church. I experience the divine in a beautiful piece of classical music, in a perfect sunset, in an insight into quantum physics, in the study of neurulation, the development of the embryo's nervous system. Crazy and geeky as it may sound, I see god/goddess/creator/spirit/whatever you want to call it when I understand a truly elegant biological system like the retina or the neuron. I see these things, and I am struck by awe and wonder. I don't see the divine as "intelligently designing" these things, I see the divine as immanent in them.

And yes, sometimes I see the divine in orgasm, both during masturbation and during intercourse. So I guess you could say that I sometimes pray with my vibrators, hahah.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Why We Gift

"Why do you still give each other anniversary gifts?" My friends as me. "I mean, seriously. You've passed the stage where you need to impress each other, and it's not like you're married!"

It may seem a little strange to some of you. Why force yourself to buy each other gifts? Wouldn't it be more financially responsible to just enjoy each others company? What is this commercialized world coming to?!

Back up a bit. My boyfriend and I are both the kind of people that love giving gifts. We love seeing a person's face light up with joy when they open a gift that really makes them happy. We love how even little gifts can make someone so happy. It's no surprise then that we love to give each other gifts. Heck, we'd be randomly springing little gifts on each other all the time if we could.

And therein lies the rub. Endless random gifts, much as we would love to give them, equal an endless hemorrhage of money from the bank account. Simply put, neither of us can afford the constant gift-giving we want to engage in. We came to a bit of an unspoken agreement that we would try to keep the majority of our gifting tendencies tethered to "excuse days" like Giftmas, birthdays, Valentine's Day, and anniversaries. It lets us save up for one or two really nice gifts each year (the Kindle he got me; the PSP I got him), without also blowing a hole in our wallets with all sorts of "just because" presents.

That doesn't mean they don't happen - they do. The "just because" presents are usually fewer and farther between now; they're usually less expensive. (say, a box of silly Pac Man candies instead of a hardback book or a pretty shirt; doesn't seem like much, but trust me, they add up...) Neither of us feels guilty now when the other brings a little gift. There's no more worrying about "matching" or "topping" the other's gift, either. It takes a lot of the stress back out of gifting, and lets us just enjoy it.

And isn't that what gifting is supposed to be about?

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Pleasurists #97

Altisonus by loadsatequila

Welcome to Pleasurists, a round-up of the adult product and sex toy reviews that came out in the last seven days. For updates and information follow our RSS Feed and Twitter.
Did you miss Pleasurists #96? Read it all here. Do you have a review for Pleasurists #98? Be sure to read our submission guidelines and then use our submission form and submit it before Sunday September 26th at 11:59pm PDT.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Open Letter to My Breasts

Dear Boobs,

Please pick a size and stick with it. Seriously now, this is starting to get a little ridiculous. I'm almost 23, it's high time you settled down. Continued size- and shape-changing shenanagins will force us to resort to more drastic measures.

The Management

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Future Plans

Someday, Lily's going to be Dr. Lily.

Now, don't get all excited on me yet. This glorious day is still years down the road. I have to finish my 5th and final year of undergrad (had to slow things down for medical reasons). Then, I have to take a year off... because you have to start getting ready to apply to med school around New Years of your junior year, at the latest, if you want to go straight to medical school when you graduate. I was still figuring out what the hell I wanted to do with my life at that point, so I was SOL. Then, I have 4 years of medical school to get through. When I graduate, I will have earned the right to put that Dr. in front of my name.

But wait! There's more! You don't get to really BE a doctor for a few years after that. There are these little things called Residencies that you have to do first, lasting 3-5 years. Then, if you want to, you can specialize... which takes another 2-5 years. (supposedly, with most specialties this ends up being 6-7 years total)

If you've been counting along, you may have realized that this means 9-16 more years of stuff I have to do before I'm a full-fledged, off-on-my-own doctor. In reality, it'll probably be around 12 years, because I do plan on specializing. In something. Don't rush me, I haven't figured that part out yet.

That would put me at the lovely age of 34 before I'm actually an honest-to-goodness practicing doctor. 34 before I truly get started in my field of choice. And if I hadn't delayed things with medical problems and not knowing that I wanted to go to medical school, it would still be 32. And I'll have somewhere between $100k and $250k in medical school debt to pay off. (ever wondered why Docs get paid the big bucks? That's a big chunk of why why. No life of your own till your 30s, and you start it with uber debt. Sound like fun? Didn't think so.)

Crazy as it sounds, I'm happy. That's what tells me I'm making the right decision. The fact that the idea of being 34, taking my first "real" job in my field, with a pile of school debt doesn't phase me because of what I'll end up doing, tells me I've found my place. I love research, I really do... but I was grumpy about slogging through grad school to get there, even though I'd probably have little to no debt when I graduated. (hooray for science graduate programs that pay you...) There's a very loud voice in my head crowing that it doesn't matter, because I'll be doing what makes me happy. I'll be using all this stuff I store in my bizarre warehouse of a brain to help people, directly, hands-on. I won't be hoping that, someday, what I do in the lab might help someone. I'll know, every single day, that what I'm doing is making a difference.

And for me, that's what matters. I need to help people. I need to make a difference, for good. Hell, that's part of why I started doing sex toy reviews in the first place. The free toys are great, but I wanted to help people make informed buying choices. That's why I've been writing the series on being the daughter of a transwoman - to help other people, both those who might be in the same position, and the general public who need educated.

So, to come back from a very long-winded ramble, I just wanted to share this with you. It's a huge part of my life. It's quickly becoming an integral part of the way I see myself. And... I'm dropping off the face of the earth a bit to study like mad for the MCAT. I've got all my other ducks in a row, so I need to make sure I've got the highest score I can to get into my goal schools. I just keep telling myself that it will make me stronger!

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Review: Tenga Egg - Spider

The Tenga Egg has been buzzed about for long enough to get me curious. At first, I figured that it was just another disposable masturbator; isn't that what Tenga was known for? Then, I started hearing the gals raving about it. I tried to wrap my mind around wrapping a masturbator around your Hitachi, and my brain ended up needing a hard reboot. I was seriously confused until I dug up some pictures on sex toy stores of what the heck this thing actually looked like. I was curious, but not desperately so.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Review: Mystic Wand Attachment

Like the Mystic Wand for which it was designed, the boringly named Mystic Wand Attachment is a stunning example of Vibratex listening to our gripes, listening to what we want, and then making it happen. If it fits your body, this sex toy totally rocks.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Crazy Twitter Followers

Sometimes my twitter account gets followed by the most random folks. I can understand when a makeup blogger follows me after I tweet about lipstick. I can understand when a Medical Supply store's twitter follows me after I gripe about my back or my mom's diabetes. Heck, while it makes me giggle, I can even understand how SFW Mommy Bloggers can end up following me after I tweet about "toys!"

There are some, though, that I just don't understand.

Today, a forklift company's twitter followed me. Forklifts! I kid you not. Looking back at my tweets, I can't for the life of me figure out what made them think that following me was a good idea. I can't say it better than I did when I shared this bit of insanity with the twitterverse -
A forklift store is following me. I don't have THAT many toys, honest!

Review: Mystic Wand

I've played with a few different wand style massagers/vibrators in my time as a reviewer, and I have to say that the Mystic Wand by Vibratex truly deserves the title of Really Frickin Awesome. It's proof that some designers really are listening to what we say about our sex toys.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Wanton Wednesday: Rope Harness

So, I've seen people doing Wanton Wednesday for a while now. It sounds like fun. It sounds more... decadent and artsy than HNT tends to be. And it's done by a group of people I know and love. I can dig that.

And so, for this very Wanton Wednesday, I'll share my one of my first attempts at rope play. It was too hot out to wear clothing, so of course I figured it was a good time to experiment with some basic ties. On a whim, I rigged together a dildo harness.

It was actually quite sturdy, especially given the sheer weight of the dildo attached to it. (For those curious, that is the Tantus Captain. Marvelous toy, but as of this posting it had been discontinued because it's a niche toy that doesn't sell well. More's the pity.) While I haven't tried it with full on pegging, I was still surprised that it was so sturdy.

I have more rope coming in later this week to experiment with. Depending on how frequently my boyfriend reads my blog, I may have just blown a surprise, or he may not know until I've practiced enough that I'm ready to share my rope. We shall see. ;)

Friday, August 27, 2010

Returning to Dorm Life

This weekend, I move back into my college dorm. Unlike many years, this is a joyful occasion for me. I'm going back to what looks like it will be a really cool, fun semester of classes. I'm getting OUT of my family's house. I'm getting my privacy back. I'll be able to masturbate whenever I want, have sex whenever I can get my boyfriend there, have him sleep over, share showers again... all sorts of wonderful things. I get to see my friends again (those who didn't just graduate and scatter to the corners of the globe). I get to go have Indian food again! (there aren't any good places in my hometown) I get to swap stuff again, and ramp up my reviewing because I don't have to worry about my mail getting opened.

I? Am really excited about moving back to school. I'm just not looking forward to the whole packing and unpacking thing, and missing my dog. *sigh* I guess I can't have everything, now can I?

Thursday, August 26, 2010

I am an Outlier

I am an outlier.

I do not fit the all of the statistical norms for a 22-year-old white American middle class female.

I have had exactly one sexual partner, and exactly one romantic relationship.

Though a college student, I do not "party," nor do I enjoy being drunk.

I enjoy reading technical material.

I am differently-abled due to medical issues.

I'm a woman getting a college degree in a hard science.

I have a transgendered parent.

I am kinky, as far as the statistical average is concerned.

I am a sex toy reviewer. I receive more sex toys in a month than most women in my statistical set get in their whole lives.

I always orgasm when I have sex.

I have natural G-cup boobs on an otherwise slightly built body.

I am very smart, and dedicated to learning as much as I possibly can.

I enjoy classical music. And broccoli. And brussel sprouts.

I don't mind the feeling of sex with condoms, as long as said condom is not textured and is well lubricated.

I go to great lengths to avoid getting a tan, even though I love lying in the sun. (glory be to SPF 60!)

Someday, I will probably be the major breadwinner in my marriage.

I feel no desire to have children of my own. I do not find children or babies inherently cute. Actually, most babies are pretty strange looking, if you ask me.

Though a Christian, I do not follow traditional, accepted "Christian beliefs."

I am not a devoted member of any political party, and I rarely vote along party lines.

I have a blog; while standard in this community, in my "set" at large it is uncommon.

I am an outlier. This does not make me better or worse than any other person. It does not mean I am defective, or maladjusted, or broken. It does not make me a strange, inhuman creature. Being different makes me human. Being different makes me normal, because no one is statistically average in every aspect of their lives and selves. It takes many values to make an average, and an average is representative of the group, not the individual. We all contribute to the average in some way, and like the quantum states of electrons around a nucleus, no two of us contribute the same set of values.

I am different. I am an outlier. I am proud. I am myself, and that is all.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


There's been a heck of a lot bouncing around certain corners of the blog-o-sphere recently about sluthood. Some are talking about how wonderful it's been for them, while others are spouting fire and brimstone about how terrible it is, and how it's damaging a girl and ruining her for life. It's made me take a closer look at the way I look at the matter.

My views and feelings on sluthood are actually quite similar to my views and feelings about transgender. I understand them both at an intellectual level; I empathize with the struggles, and cheer on the successes and joys; I support those for whom this is their path (in the case of sluthood) or their identity (in the case of transgender); however, I know that I will never truly "get it" for either one on a deep level, because they are not experiences I have had. I may never know what it is like to be a person for whom sluthood is a joyful, healing, liberating state of mind, and I will never know what it is like to not be cis-gendered, just as "healthy" people don't really know what it is like to live with pain, every moment of every day.

I may not "get" on a visceral level what is appealing about sluthood, because it doesn't appeal to me outside of the realm of fantasy. But you know what? That doesn't matter. What matters is that I respect these people for knowing themselves and finding the path that's right for them right now. What matters is the acceptance, the support that we give each other.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Ain't Fair

To my readers -

I went on this vacation full of enthusiasm and ideas for all the posts I would get written whilst lounging by the pool. I even worked on a review while flying down to Disney World. Then, when I arrived in our hotel, I discovered the awful, ugly truth:

Disney Hotels do not have free internet.

They do not even have cheap internet.

They do not even have slow, glitchy free wireless in the lobby.

They make you pay $10 per day for use of the internet. Per day! That adds up to $70 for a week's vacation if you want to be able to use the internet for the duration of your stay. When you've budgeted everything carefully, that's a bit of a shock. (and don't get me started on the $120 bill for a continental breakfast buffet for 4. Sheesh!)

It kills me, because every time I open my laptop, anywhere on the hotel grounds, I find at least 3 out of 5 bars of signal strength for their wireless. I could be surfing from the pool. From my room. From the waiting line at the restaurant. From the sport courts. From the jacuzzi. From the laundry room. From the roof. Anywhere!

For someone who is bona fide addicted to the internet, this has been tough. I go into withdrawal at least once a day. It's not bad enough to ruin my vacation (usually when we get back to the hotel I'm too tired to do anything but play solitaire and stare at the ceiling), but I keep thinking about all the ways we could enhance our vacation experience with a little internet access. Example: finding out which Disney World Park opens early which day takes almost half an hour of calling around or searching through pamphlets; google can tell me in under 30 seconds. Which restaurants do we really need reservations for? I can't Barista that, we have to hope the concierge will actually tell us the truth instead of the line they're supposed to give us about every restaurant having reasonable wait times before 6pm. Want something from a giftshop, but don't have the room in your bags to take it home? Check and see if you can order it from the website, and have it shipped home.

Et cetera.

Et cetera.

Et cetera.

(cue Broadway music)

Long story short, I haven't posted because I have been completely without internet. My MTF trans-parent has a tetherable Blackberry she can use to get internet on her netbook, but it's for her work only. I am surrounded by an aether of internet, but I cannot touch it.

Life just ain't fair, ya know?

Friday, August 13, 2010

Thank you sex bloggers

I have a confession to make.

Almost a year ago, I created a twitter account for my reviewer persona because I'd heard that that's where the "in crowd" hung out. That's where the "cool reviewers" chatted and such. I was desperate for a community where I could be honest about loving sex and sex toys, so I timidly dipped my toes into the vast ocean that is twitter.

I expected to see a large group of cliques I'd never break into, groups I could watch from the outside and learn from. There were a handful of bloggers I'd idolized since I entered the reviewing world; I've told some of you who you are, so I won't embarrass you by saying it here.

What I found was very different. Yes, there are groups of friends and acquaintances, but it was a very welcoming atmosphere. All sorts of people welcomed me, chatted with me, offered suggestions and advice and laughed at the craziness of life with me. Suddenly, I was able to call some of those idols... friends. They weren't just brilliant reviewers whose blogs I followed, they were people, with lives and personalities and crazy experiences to share. They were people who comforted me when shit went wrong in my life. They were people who laughed at my stupid jokes. They were people who cheered me on when I started to break into the bigger world of blogging and reviewing.

My idols became my friends. That's one of the most amazing feelings in the world, realizing that you have become someone good enough for your idols to respect. These people, and you, my readers, have done wonderful things for my self-image. For once, I'm good enough. I'm worth following, worth hanging out with, worth being called a friend and equal. And for that, I am grateful. Thank you, to the sex blogging community, for welcoming me and making me feel at home.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Review: Pink Unity

Once upon a time, I loved a hybrid lube called Liquid Silk. It was a wonderful lube, but our affair was short-lived, for I am hideously sensitive to the parabens it contains. Ever since, I've been trying to find a lube that had the same qualities: the staying power of silicone lube without my lady bits feeling coated for days. When Fascinations offered to let me review Pink's new hybrid lube Pink Unity, I was definitely interested.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Orgasmic Issues

Something is wrong.

Usually, it's quite easy for me to come. Getting turned on is hard, but once I'm going I can usually have a rip-raorin' clitoral orgasm without much trouble. Heck, I could orgasm on command if I had some modest clit stimulation going on. I'd perfected the art of the 2-minute shower orgasm.

Something has been different for the past few months. Sometimes, pressing a vibrator to my crotch has been like pressing it against my stomach: not at all sexually stimulating, but not a turn-off or relaxing massage, either. The vibrator was just... there. Same with the fingers. Ooh, yay, it's like I'm kneading my elbow. I could poke my clit directly, and while it wasn't numb, I could feel my finger, there wasn't a single twinge of pleasure.

I figured, maybe I need more stimulation than I used to. So, I reached for a more powerful toy. I pulled out my Wahl and FairyMini (on a very low setting, through fabric... that thing is strong!). They had been my go-to toys when I wanted a fast, effortless, no-fuss-no-frills orgasm. I could lightly hold them against my clit, and in less than five minutes I'd have blasted through at least one or two orgasms.

Imagine my shock when not only did it take me half an hour to come with my Wahl, but the orgasm was definitely unsatisfying. It was the kind of wimpy orgasms I usually have to coax out of cheap, weak, or poorly made vibrators I try to review.

The weeks progress. I essentially stop masturbating more than one attempt a week, for reviewing. It's not satisfying even if I manage to wring an orgasm out of it, and it's a hell of a lot of work either way for something that should be a de-stressing tool. I figure, if nothing else, a break from regular masturbating should bring back my sensitivity, right?

Last week, I convinced myself to try to get started again. I needed all the help relieving stress I could get.

I bruised my crotch pretty badly, applying pressure to try to get enough stimulation to orgasm. I almost broke one of my Wahl attachments, but I managed to orgasm. And the next day I could barely stand discomfort of my jeans seam rubbing against the bruise. I tried again a few days later, trying to be careful not to apply so much pressure. I ended up having to throw caution to the wind to get a single orgasm out of the mess. Getting desperate, I reached for the Pure Wand, the only toy that can make me orgasm without clitoral stimulation.

It hurt.

It found my g-spot, it cuddled up for some lovin, and it hurt.

As long as I'm careful (which I was), the Pure Wand never hurts, to me. This time, though, my vagina basically told it to fuck off.

Finally, in a bit of a Hail Mary pass, I turned the FairyMini all the way up, and applied atomic-missile-grade-vibration to clit. I orgasmed, but got no post-orgasmic bliss. Nothing aside for the usual panting from exertion.

I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like my sexuality is broken. I can get all hot and bothered by porn or erotica, but I can't do anything about it. I don't want to have sex, but if I manage to get going I can enjoy it... for a few minutes.

Something is wrong, and I don't know how to fix it.