Tag, You're It



I love Dan Savage. He is funny and no matter what kind of fucked up question someone has about their sex life, he answers it calmly and non-judgementally. Everyone needs a niche and Savage's is, as one reader put it, "proper dildo protocol, indulging odd fetishes, and coaching readers on how to put large things inside themselves."

However, a few weeks ago someone wrote Savage with a problem so--okay, I'll just say it flat out...icky--that I am going to share it with you, making use of the same magic brain wave mechanism that happens when a song is stuck in your head and you tell someone else so that you may transfer the curse to them, thus purging it from your own psyche. So I submit to you, this problem from one Confused and Scared. I apologize in advance.

I'm a 20-year-old straight male, but this isn't really about me. I was recently back home for a family event while my younger brother, age 14, was away on a mission trip with his church. My iPad died while I was home and my mother told me to look in the kitchen drawers for a charger. I couldn't find one there, so she told me to check my brother's bedside table. I opened the drawer and, with a little digging, found a charger.

I also found a few pictures of gay porn and a couple of pictures of male celebrities with their shirts off that had been clipped from magazines. It isn't the gay porn I have a problem with—I fully support him coming into his sexuality, whatever it might be—but then I found a few things that were a bit more disturbing: a picture of our father in his swim trunks, and another one of a fully naked man with a cutout photo of my father's face glued over the original model's face. Needless to say, I was freaked out. I put everything back where I had found it, including the charger, and haven't said anything to him about it. Now I'm in a tough spot. I know that telling my brother I found the pictures would mortify him, and I feel like telling my father would be a complete dick move.
Concerned And Scared

On this one, even the preternaturally unflappable Dan seemed a bit taken aback, and was the most judgey I've ever seen which, for the record, involved the word "Ughers."

What would you tell this dude? See what Dan told him here: Savage Love--Daddy Issues.

Ahhhhh, I feel a whole lot better.

Welcome "Sexually Aroused by Foam"!

I feel sorry for Google, I really do. Yes, Google is our current and future Mind-Control Overlord and all that, what with its frighteningly extensive and accurate knowledge of our secret desires and obsessions (see also: Web-Browser History A Chronicle Of Couple's Unspoken Desires in The Onion) and yet...

Well, sometimes I think we just ask too much of Google. I mean, judging by the search terms that land searchers confused and bleary-eyed here at In Bed With Married Women... I can see why Google sent them to me because, honestly, where the hell else should they go?

I mean, take the person who typed in vagina pad for camouflaging fat. Where would you send them?  What the hell do they even want? I think Google tries to meet everyone's needs, but sometimes it must throw its algorithmically-formulated hands into the air like, "Fuck it, I don't know that. Send them over to IBWMW."

Really, what is Google supposed to do with a query like: what toy can make my pussy fat? That is an UNANSWERABLE QUESTION. Google is not a zen master, it's a computer search engine. The answer, which Google is certainly too polite to say, is "Why the fuck do you want a toy that makes your pussy fat? A. It doesn't exist and B. That is stupid. Go away and don't come back around here until you find something reasonable to search for." This also goes for 2050 horse fuck women house as well send them home. Um....what? When Google got that particular query, it just backed away slowly and nudged them in my direction. "Here you go, this nice lady will take real good care of you."

And oh lord, the forbidden little fetishes and excessively specific sexual desires that Google gets to be/has to be privy to. I understand having a bit of a preference for something--I myself like me some big brown eyes--but maybe these folks could expand their horizons a wee bit more so they don't need to be seeing an old man taking a hand job to get off. C'mon, mix it up!  Try "Spanish men taking a hand job" or even just plain old "hand jobs." There's probably only so much porn featuring old men getting hand jobs and at some point you're going to tap it out. And then where will you be?  I'd offer the same (unasked for) advice to the searchers of: strawberry shortcake sex, women who crave big ball sacks, women wearing female condom porn, anal hair plug fake, my little pony sex, fake vagina string, charming tranny bear (as opposed to the uncharming ones who are just kind of dicks), girl using vagisil porn, old ladys who love to fuck animals and, my personal favorite, sexually aroused by foam.  As for the person who typed in free porn having sex with a cucumber hollowed out: Dude, the pay cucumber porn site is worth it--WAY hotter.

Sometimes I think Google just sends certain people to amuse me. I was strangely pleased by Give the images of Indian womans penis in vagina because it sounds like someone addressing a genie in a bottle. "Genie!" they command, clapping smartly. "Give the images of Indian womans penis in vagina!" And I was honored to see that IBWMW was the #8 choice for sex with stuffed animals, because it's always nice to be top-rated in something. (Note to self: Ask Marketing Director about new slogan: "Your #8 Choice in Sex with Stuffed Animals," plus product tie-ins?)  And I like that someone searched for mmm sex ass, though I can't really say why.

Sometimes I think Google is just messing with people. A shockingly high number of folks have earnestly typed in the phrase explicit pictures of penis in vagina only to be cruelly directed to my post entitled, Sorry, No Explicit Pictures of "Penis In Vagina". Ha ha, sucker.

And other times I think Google is messing with me. Sending matronly bosoms or pendulous breasts boring sex to me? Hey, thanks a lot, Google. And what were you thinking sending smut mouth married woman to me? Oh, wait, I get it. Right. I'll just let myself out.

image: Aladdin finds the Genie’s lamp in the magic garden. From Aladdin und die Wunderlampe (Aladdin and the Wonder Lamp), illustrated by Max Liebert, 1912. From Project Gutenberg public domain texts.

I Watch Some Gay Porn

Dear reader Anonymous was slogging through the dangerous back waters of the blog and stumbled across What Is Feminist Porn Anyway?, a post in which I was all hepped up on an artsy porn film, Matinee* because the actors in it not only seemed to be enjoying sex, but also each other (!). Wrote Anonymous:

What you qualify here as feminist porn seems to describe quite closely a gay male art/porn film I just saw a preview of. I just think that the thing with most straight porn is that it erotizes a socially-established power imbalance, ie, I'm a male, I'm gonna stick it into you and you better "ohyeahfuckyeah" enjoy it. Here's the excerpt if the possibility of seeing two guys fucking doesn't turn you off: http://www.nakedsword.com/features/iwyl.aspx

I dutifully looked at the site, but for the life of me, I couldn't find the link to see the film. I did however see a frighteningly elongated male nipple, which kind of scared me, so perhaps I didn't give the site as thorough a viewing as I might have. Also, I was looking on my tiny phone screen, so someone more intrepid than I might give it a go.

However, I aim to please, so I went to another porn site and watched me some gay (male) porn. The first film had two Spanish young men, frolicking about in a big white bed like two little puppies. They were smiling and completely adorable, like those two dudes in Y Tu Mama Tambien, and though they were speaking in Spanish, it was easy to get the idea. I mean, I think we can all figure out what "pene" means.  (hint: not a tubular pasta good with spicy red sauce, though you are on track with the tubular idea.) The film was fun and kind of sweet, if a porn film can be "sweet" (as in the "endearing" sense of the word and not in the "suh-weeeet!" sense.)

The second film was good, too. The plot (the short version): two football players sneak away to the locker room and get it on. The plot (the long version): well....actually that's pretty much the whole story. There were all the usual sexual gymnastics, close-up shots of thrusting genitals, lengthy pene sucking scene, etc... but somehow it was just better than the usual "I'm gonna stick it into you and you better 'ohyeahfuckyeah' enjoy it" mainstream straight porn.

I tried to figure out why, and came up with this list. (Yes, I realize there's nothing like quantifying art in list form to drain it of all its magic, but I think it's interesting/possibly instructive to see how changing just a few tiny details could make porn way more accessible to women, or at least this woman.)

So what made it better was :

1.  The receiver of the pene sucking took a moment, looked down at his suckler, and said, "I've been thinking about this for a long time." "Mmmmm, me too," murmured suckler. BAM! Two lines, and you've got yourself some back story, and you've indicated that suckee likes sucker, and vice versa. I know it's hopelessly girl of me, but I want the participants to like each other. This is why, if I were a gay man (not to be confused with "If I Were a Rich Man," from Fiddler on the Roof ), I would not frequent glory holes.

(Let's pause for a moment to learn:  Glory holes = holes in the wall of a public place, like a restroom, through which anonymous people--not necessary our dear Anonymous above--insert their genitals, hoping the person in the other stall services them sexually. Unless the person in the other stall is me, in which case I'd shout, "Gah!?!" and flee the scene as quickly as possible, tossing one of those disposable seat liners over the offending organ, for sanitary purposes.)

Anyway, besides a public restroom being the least sexy place I can imagine (seriously, try to think of a less sexy place...behind the grocery store by the dumpsters = more sexy, bus terminal = more sexy, McDonalds' break room = more sexy), I would not want to be confronted with anonymous genitals, I need to know whose genitals they are, why there were there, ad nauseum. I'd peek through the hole and ruin the whole damn thing.

2.  The lovers would occasionally glance nervously toward the locker room door, making sure no one was coming in. And presto, Suspense! Stakes raised! Forbidden love!

3.  At one point, the two characters looked at each other eagerly and hungrily like, "I am so going to ravish you, you delicious creature." This brief moment established that the characters wanted to be there, were enjoying themselves and had some degree of respect for each other.

I know all of this sounds horribly tedious and un-pornlike. I mean, *yawn*...respect, liking each other, a story...who cares? Get on with the boning! But those things are what make it sexy to me. Or at least something recognizable as human sexual interaction.

The whole "I'm gonna stick it into you and you better 'ohyeahfuckyeah' enjoy it" thing (which, btw, is a GENIUS description, Anonymous) is not recognizable as sex to me. I mean, yeah, they're doing it and all, but it's just so...mean, and dead-eyed and passionless. The men seem like they hate the women and the women, well, who the fuck are these women?

Margaret Cho says that growing up she searched for Asian women in the media to identify with and only came up with the "Here's your ancient Chinese secret" lady from Calgon ads. That sucks, but at least that Calgon lady seemed kind of smart and knew a thing or two about laundry. The chicks in porn, who, presumably, I as a women am supposed to identify with, are...well, some sort of sub-genre of women that are completely foreign to me. Who do you know who gets lured into a car and within 25 seconds is showing her boobs and fingering herself, while giggling inanely? Who wishes to have some hairless blank-eyed frat dude ordering them to suck his dick faster, like some sort of bulging-eyed piston?

And who actually thinks that...

Ugh, listen to me, is it getting too Feminist in here? I'd better open a window and let some air in.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, if mainstream porn wants to be a touch more appealing to women (meaning, me) it wouldn't hurt to add some humanity, a smidgen of sensuality, and ditch completely the portrayal of women as dim-witted, creepy, "ohyeahfuckyeah"-ing, fully posable sex toys. I really don't think the porn maker's give a rat's ass, but I'm putting it out there nonetheless.

Whatever the case, I'm done ranting for today. Maybe.



* When I proofread this, I realized I had misspelled the name of the art porn film "Matinee" as "Manatee," which would indeed be a new take on porn.

photo source 

Dreams Do Come True--A Cautionary Tale*

So, want to read my tale of inadvertent public nudity? (Fear not, to provide your eyes from burning with the horror of it all, I have not included any photos of said event.) I'll tell you the story right now, if you have the time.  Grab a cup of tea and come sit by the warm glow of the computer.

****

This story takes place in the not-so-distant past at the Orange County Burke-Williams. Burke-Williams is a day spa I used to go to in West Hollywood when I lived in LA. They have a posh spa area you go hang out in before you get your scheduled massage. The spa room has saunas, hot tubs, showers, a roaring fire and special soaking tubs. They stock it with fluffy towels, bowls of fresh fruit and always-full pitchers of ice water w/ lemon slices in them. They provide you with a thick robe and a pair of terry-cloth slippers. The spa areas are gender-segregated so while you're in the spa, you don't wear clothes. You soak in the tubs, use their fancy moisturizers, etc.. and when they call your name for your massage, you put on your robe, and walk down the hushed (and non-gender segregated) hallway to a private room.

Although I had never been to the Orange County Burke-Williams before, the set-up was familiar. I checked in and got my spa-issued robe. I found my locker, took off my clothes, and put on the robe. I went over to the hot tub, slipped off the robe and stepping into the steaming water. I had lucked out. The spa was completely empty, so I leaned my head back and sort of blissed out in the bubbling water.

I could hear people starting to file in. Some people came in alone, some in groups. One group seemed to be in for a special occasion like a wedding party or Girls’ Day Out. I heard the Girls’ Day Out group coming over to my hot tub and I idly glanced up. Using some keen powers of observation, I noticed something immediately--everyone was wearing bathing suits. If you were reading carefully, you may recall that I most assuredly was not. More alarmed now, I looked behind me and surveyed the rest of the spa. Everyone was in bathing suits. It was then I realized some information that would have been helpful to know a bit earlier--people in LA go naked in spas, people in Orange County do not. I sank lower in the water, hoping the bubbles would obscure the now-shameful fact of my nakedness.

I considered the situation. It did not seem good. Not at all! I was inappropriately naked in public! Holy fuck! It was just like that dream where you're naked at school!

And yet.

It WAS just like that dream. Which meant that the situation wasn't entirely unfamiliar. I had been in this situation before--at least in my mind--and knew just what to do. I would act like I was NOT naked, and perhaps no one would notice.

I waited for a few minutes on the off chance that everyone would suddenly leave and I could exit the tub in peace. This did not happen. So chanting the silent mantra to myself--"I am a cool European chick who does not share your silly American hang-ups"--I stepped out of the tub, dripping in my unwanted naked glory and made the long long long walk to the safety of my robe. I did not tarry, but I at least tried to exit the pool with some sort of naked dignity. I guess I succeeded, but I don't know for sure. I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I wasn't that fucking brave.

A Little Housekeeping, Plus A Man on How It Feels To Use A Fleshlight and A Woman on How It Feels To Use the Female Condom

In Bed With Married Women can now be sent directly to your Kindle or other e-reader! Imagine how horrified your other e-books will be. Click here for a free two-week subscription.

And just so it's not all money-grubbing around here today, I'll leave you with these two How Does It Feel descriptions from readers.  First, a man on Fleshlights, which are flashlight-looking male masturbation sleeves, and second, a woman on what it feels like to use a female condom.

Cpt. Wolf wrote of Fleshlights:   

In my experience, it's simply a different sensation. I don't find them to be a mind blowing experience, just a change up to suit my mood. The ones that I've tried are generally tighter than a woman. There's more tension to the material, even with generous lube. They're certainly not unpleasant, but don't hold a candle to the real thing. They certainly don't do the same thing for me as my girlfriend's toys when I use them on her. Although we've never tried using one of mine in bed. That, I have a feeling, is a totally different story. I think one of the big things is that I'm aware that it's still me doing it. The addition of another person would most definitely change the intensity. Then it might just have that mind blowing effect.

And Robin Wolfe (yes, she of Victorian Porn Fridays) had this to say of female condoms:

I tried them once. Imagine one of those small plastic bags that you put produce in at the grocery store. At either end, attach one of those silicone message bracelets that people wear to support various charities.

Now take that bag and stick it in your cooter (remember to squeeze the bracelet at the inside end so you can get it up there), and slop some lube inside it so the guy doesn't feel quite as much like he's fucking a plastic bag. Remember to keep reaching down during the act to make sure it isn't sliding out, or in, or perhaps disappearing into the Rift.

That's what it's like to use a female condom.

So, uh, okay, then, you're free to go. But don't forget about the whole IBWMW on Kindle thing. Alert the neighbors, tell your friends or just go on Amazon and give it a decent review.   

Victorian Smut and Homemade Plushies, aka It's Reader Mail Time

 

Sometimes you don't get to see some of the insanely fabulous reader mail I get when it comes via email, as a new comment on an dusty old post, is eaten by Blogger, etc...  

Thus, you missed this one from dear reader Chaffyn Lovejoy regarding the plushie post I'd titled, perhaps rashly and unwisely, I am going to fuck you so hard, Snuggle. Wrote Chaffyn:

I've got a nice plushie for you. Rather, my wife Freya does. Neither of us were aware of the plushie lovers contingency before we read your illuminating report on their . . . uh . . . activities. Freya, a multitalented artist, musician, and dancer (currently organizing and training a burlesque troupe) is making a series of anatomically correct stuffed animals. Here's her latest which she calls "Tranny Bear":

Not since someone doctored up a Snuggle Fabric Softener Bear® for me in 1987 and made it look it evil (it was all in the eyebrows), have I been so pleased to have inspired a disturbingly modified stuffed animal. Although, to be fair, there really have only been the two stuffed animal mutants. So, it's not, like, my thing, or anything... Still, I can certainly see how it all must look to you. I suspect having even one altered stuffed animal associated with my name is one more than most people have, and has undoubtedly put me on a suspicious persons list somewhere.

Meanwhile, gentle reader Robin Wolfe schooled me on Female Hysteria and Creepy Old-Time Vibrators:

Victorians have an unfair reputation as being sexless and/or frigid. Yes, there were the "lie back and think of England" types, just as there are now; but there were also plenty of people, including many women, who enjoyed sex plenty. In fact, many women in the Victorian era had what were referred to as "romantic friendships", which were passionate emotional relationships with other women, and they often crossed into being sexual. It was considered perfectly acceptable back then, and nobody (including husbands and families) thought anything of it. On a semi-related note, if you've never read any Victorian porn, you should; despite the use of ridiculous euphemisms, they often had an explicit frankness that can still be startling today. (If anyone's curious, I run a series called "Victorian Porn Fridays" where I occasionally post excerpts from Victorian-era porn.)

Well, OF COURSE I was curious to see Victorian porn and I'm glad I did. Do hie on over through Robin's link anon and verily you will behold Victorian smut like 1891's The Power of Mesmerism 

(man mesmerizes "Ethel" to remove her drawers, "insert her finger in that divine cunt and frig herself" and finally "draw forth his prick...then suck it until with a positive howl of delight he inundated her mouth with his spendings"). See also 1901's Autobiography of a Flea, written from the point of view of a strangely observant and well-spoken flea. Reports the intrepid flea:

From my perch nestling inside her bellybutton, I could observe everything. The pink, plump lips of her orifice seemed to be drawn back as he burrowed himself to his very balls within her womb. Their bellies touched as did their thighs, and a shivering paroxysm seized them both as their mouths fused in hot communion. Then slowly he drew himself out almost to the very tip and there was a sucking sound as the moist recesses of her matrix grudgingly released his weapon, straining every wily inner muscle with which the female is so lovingly endowed in the aspiration of bringing him back swiftly to her bower.

If you're into the whole Victorian porn thing, you might also have a look at Wicked Knickers, an oddly fascinating site of vintage erotic photos that proves definitively that old-timey people did more than just sit around in their parlors, roll hoops down the streets, and ring for Maid to bring in tea. 

(image source: http://lacontessa.tumblr.com/post/6062347052/alla-nazimova-and-rudolph-valentino-for-camille)

Steve Buscemi, the Archetypal Ugly Celebrity Crush? Plus, the Contest Winner

Not just hot,
Steve Buscemi hot.

The winner of the Ugly Celebrity Crush contest is Anna Marie. Her prize is an iRabbit Mini Waterproof Vibrator from Good Vibrations. Anna, send your mailing address to: jillhamilton001(at)gmail(dot)com and GV will mail your prize out asap. (A side note: Anna Marie will be "in the shower" for the foreseeable future.)

Anna's Ugly Celebrity Crushes were Rosie O'Donnell and Steve Buscemi. (Steve Buscemi, coincidentally, inspired this contest after a typically meandering and non-productive coffee conversation with Sandra that began, "I know Steve Buscemi is totally ugly, but...") Your Ugly Celebrity Crushes also included Conan O'Brien, Marty Feldman, Steven King, Dwight Yoakum and Donatella Versace, among many others. Yikes. 

I will add that it ripped my heart out to pick only one winner, and in the end, I just had my daughter draw a name out of a bowl. (I told her it was for a "back massager." Because that's the kind of lying parent I am.) I enjoyed your answers immensely and please know that I wish I could send blue vibrators to each and every one of you (and a pink one for you, little Lost.In.Idaho.) 

And if you didn't win, don't worry. I'll post another contest soon, if only to assuage my latent Socialist guilt over picking one person over another. (If you're feeling more Capitalistically-inclined, click here to buy it for yourself because you're not waiting for a stinkin' hand-out. You've worked hard for your money and will spend it as you damn well please.)

xoxox
jill

A Really Good Contest, Plus Your Ugly Celebrity Crush

See that blue thing below that appears to be pointing to these words? That, my friend, is not just a handy pointing device, but also today's fabulous contest prize.

It's an iRabbit Mini Waterproof Vibrator from hipster sex toy company Good Vibrations, an $89 value! (insert cheery game show music here.)

Damnably, I haven't tried it myself, but it sounds quite delightful. One, it's phthalate-free and waterproof. Two, it ranks very low on the volume scale (good for sneaking back to your room to "fold the laundry"), yet ranks highly on the intensity scale (meaning, laundry folding will be really, really....good.) But, that's not all--dude, listen to this ad copy: 

Sporting the same semi- realistic design [as the full-size version], the multi-speed iRabbit features the swiveling shaft, scintillating pearls, and multi-function pulsation patterns for a variety of stimulating experiences. 

The last part of the sentence with the swiveling shaft and whatnot is so appealing, I can scarcely be bothered to make a joke about the "semi-realistic design." I would so get this swag for myself, but I'm pretty sure I'd never leave the house again. (Note: not a lie.)

To enter, name your Ugly Celebrity Crush as a comment below. A UCC--because I'm literally too lazy to type the whole fucking name again (a time-saver I just negated by typing a much longer explanation which required the additional arduous task of italicizing. Crap.)--is a famous person who, while technically ugly, still has a certain something. Which is visible only to you. 

Dick Morris,
pre-fatness

Mine, I am sorry to report, is Dick Morris, who is a complete asshole and, truth be told, getting pretty fat. Yes, he's a fat, unattractive, politically heinous asshole, but...well, rrraaoooww. 

I know. I know. I am filled with shame. 

Okay, now you. Who's your Ugly Celebrity Crush?

Winner will be announced Monday, June 20, 2011, and selected by me and the vagaries of my whims. Or...if I'm lucky, me and my new lover, Dick Morris.

(Btw, if you want to bypass the contest and get to that "laundry folding" right away, click here to order the contraption.)

I am going to fuck you so hard, Snuggle

Snuggle, watch your back.
That's all I'm sayin'.

As I often profess, I'm down with whatever consenting adults want to do. You want to fuck a can opener? Go to town. That said, I am simultaneously fascinated with the fucked-up $%#$ that consenting adults actually end up doing (note: I mean "fucked-up $%#$" in the kindest possible way. I use it here to mean "everything I personally don't want to do." And embarrassingly, I am coming to realize that this category includes a lot of items including: having sex with people in chipmunk costumes, bleaching/dyeing/vajazzing delicate body parts, calling balloon phone sex lines, and, well, I could go on. It's a shamefully long list, really. )

So naturally I was delighted when a wonderful (aren't they all?) In Bed With Married Women reader emailed the results of this plushie survery taken from a plushie website.

Now, if you don't know what a plushie is, well, it's someone who loves stuffed animals. The term encompasses a range--from people merely liking and collecting stuffed animals (like that nice old lady down the street) to people wanting to fuck the living hell out of stuffed animals (like that nice old lady down the street). (Social acceptance hint:  if you're not actually into having sex with stuffed animals, you won't want to refer to yourself as a "plushie.")

Anyway, like I said, I was thrilled to see the survey, because, oh lordy, it was awesome. For example, here are the results to Question 3:

3. What odors do you prefer or desire on your plushies?
    [ 66 ] - new, or with no specific aroma
    [ 47 ] - cum, mild
    [ 43 ] - body sweat, mild
    [ 40 ] - musky, ball-sack aroma from yourself or other people
    [ 26 ] - pee, mild
  * [ 25 ] - musky, real animal scent (ferret, fox, rabbit, deer, etc.)
    [ 19 ] - cum, very strong
    [ 18 ] - body sweat, strong
  * [ 16 ] - incense
    [ 15 ] - perfume or cologne
    [ 15 ] - pee, strong
  * [ 13 ] - musky, tail-hole aroma (fart, poop, etc.)
    Other:   Cinnamon (1), Vanilla extract (2), Bubble Gund (2),
             Tobacco (2), Chocolate (1), Leather (1), Licorice (1),
             Ocean/saltwater (1), Just washed/fabric softener (1),
             Strawberries (1), Mild lemon (1)

I loved it. I mean, c'mon. "Ball sack aroma"? Not only are you going to have your way with poor Mr. Bunnykins, but you are also going to insist he smell like "ball sack aroma"? And, what, exactly, is the polite method of collecting "ball sack aroma" from other people? There was a lot to think about. I pondered something called "plush necrophilia." Did this mean a plush toy doing it with a dead human or a live human with a dead plush toy? And if the plush toy was dead, how was this different from a regular non-living (i.e. dead) plush toy? I learned about plushie porn, she-male plushies and the plushie subcategory that is Beanie Babies (conclusion: Beanie Babies are sexually arousing, yes, but generally too small to fuck. Okay to wear inside your pants). It was all completely fascinating.

But after my initial thrill wore off--Plush toys wearing bondage gear! Plush toy on plush toy action! Something called plush slavery!--I thought, Thank God for the Internet. Seriously. I mean, can you imagine being some kid in Utah who not only wants to have sex with stuffed animals, but also prefers they have "cum smell, mild"? You would feel so completely alone. It's not like you could really bring it up to someone, even a close friend. "Hey Joe, this is kind of weird, but did you ever get really really drunk with your stuffed animals and one thing led to another and...?"

But with the Internet, these folks found each other. Being a plushie in 2011 must be immeasurably better than being a plushie in 1973. Now, Mr. Beanie-Baby-in-his-underwear can find someone who not only gets it, but offers the hint that a pee-covered Beanie Baby makes the experience all the more erotic. Can you imagine what a relief it would be to find such a kindred spirit?

Now, I'm not saying that I want to smear a stuffed animal with poo and have my way with it (Boy, am I ever Not Saying that) but I am glad that if someone does want to do that--and they really do--that they have someone they can talk to about it.

Viva freedom and all that.

In the meantime, I am wondering if I do go ahead and have sex with Snuggle the Fabric Softener Bear®, will that mean I'm gay?* Because I'm not really sure if Snuggle is a boy or girl. If I can't figure it out, I'll leave it vague and just tell people our love transforms mere gender boundaries.

*Not that it matters, of course.

Guest Post: "Orgasms Aren't That Big A Deal" by Alyssa Royse

I first fell for Alyssa Royse's post on orgasms with this paragraph:

If I just needed a quick orgasm, I would rely on porn and a vibrator to get me there quickly. But if that was all I wanted, I would never bother having sex with other people. When I'm having sex with someone, I want it to be an unencumbered journey of exploration with a very specific person. 

Then she quoted David Foster Wallace ("A good lover makes you feel good, but a great lover makes you feel like you are a great lover") and that sealed the deal.

In "'O' Relax!" she writes about the aftermath of an accident that left her largely orgasm-less, and how this affected her sex life.  

For me, her piece brings up all sorts of delicious issues to ponder like: What is the goal of sex? How is physical sex different than emotional/spiritual/passionate sex? What constitutes sex? What (if anything) differentiates sex from the sexual?

You can read more from Alyssa on her women's sexuality site, Not So Secret, or her personal blog, Just Alyssa (today's topic, I believe, is maraschino cherries.)

Please, a warm welcome for Alyssa Royse:

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I pretty much don’t have orgasms. I am not alone in that. I have felt guilt, fear and shame around that fact, and I am not alone in that. I have faked it, and I am not alone in that.

Orgasms were always hard to come by for me. But after really learning my body, I could get there, both on my own and with lovers. However, after a car-accident and resulting brain injury, they all but disappeared. And I was, frankly, glad to see them go. As good as they felt for the short time they were happening, the drama and pressure around getting there never seemed worth it to me.  I never understood what the big deal was. They’re awesome, but they’re a tiny part of a much larger picture.

If I just needed a quick orgasm, I would rely on porn and a vibrator to get me there quickly. But if that was all I wanted, I would never bother having sex with other people. When I’m having sex with someone, I want it to be an unencumbered journey of exploration with a very specific person. I want no map, no “to do” list, no expectations and no goals. Just all in, focusing on the moment, not on the finish line.

In my mind, the focus on the orgasm rather than everything leading up to it, is like focusing on the wedding but not the marriage – pretty much missing the point.

When I finally figured out that the absence of orgasm was very likely one of the many changes in my body connected to my brain injury, I was almost relieved. But in a culture in which men are trained to win awards, conquer challenges, and be victorious, it’s awfully hard to get guys to accept that an orgasm just didn’t matter. Now I could blame it on my injury, which was totally justifiable and no guy could possibly take personally.

“So, you just don’t have them, at all,” one of my friends asked. “Sometimes it happens, but it’s unusual, and I usually tell lovers that it’s not possible, just because it’s easier, and pretty much true.”

“I’m sorry,” my other friend said.

“Don’t be,” I explained. “It’s great.”

In unison, they both said, “how can that be.” 

I did my best to explain the performance pressure around having an orgasm. That in many cases, women feel like they have to get there to please the guy, like the guy will feel like a failure if he can’t make you cum. And, of course, we feel like a failure, or like we are flawed and not good enough if we can’t get there.  Then the whole focus becomes this one thing, and it’s just too much pressure. Frankly, it’s incredibly hard to have an orgasm under that kind of pressure.

One of my friends is clearly getting it. He explains how he sometimes feels so much pressure to perform, that he’s almost not having fun – which has it’s own obvious repercussions on his performance and pleasure. It’s not dissimilar.

“Imagine if you could remove all that?” I said. “Imagine sex with no pressure, no disappointment, being truly in the moment and not worrying about achieving a goal.”

We agree, that sounds awesome.  And it is.

However, this is also why many women fake it. It is why I have faked it, often. Shortly after my accident, I had a lover who was probably the best lover I’ve had to date. Sex with him was mind-boggling, the very sight (thought) of him would make me tingle and we would fuck for hours in ways that would make anyone jealous and hot. (Gasp.) Best sex ever (though I certainly hope to make that statement untrue, eventually.)

I never had a single orgasm with him. Not one. But he didn’t know that.

Before anyone gets upset about the dishonesty of that, let me try and explain. He and I had nothing in common except mind-boggling sex, for both of us. There was no chance that we were ever going to have a relationship that involved anything more than sex. We were never going to meet each other’s friends, or go out to dinner. All we had was incredible sex, and he deserved to feel like he was an amazing lover.

For whatever reasons, he was very goal-oriented, and not of the kind of upbringing that would have allowed him to get his head around orgasm-free sex. So I just let him believe that I was having orgasms. And I have no qualms about that.