quizzical pussy

Ancient Egyptian Deities <3 sex toys. Ask anyone.

International Buy A Sex Toy Day is fast approaching (it’s June 4th!), and I’m contemplating what to buy. I want to make this sex toy purchase count (toward mad orgasms). I’m not above buying cheap-ass sex toys, no, but in honor of the first annual BAST day I want to get something special, something I’m sure I won’t regret. So I’ve narrowed my current wishlist down to five top contenders. And here they are…

1. Sqweel The way oral sex simulators are described always irks me. For instance, the marketing copy for this toy on most sites says: “Luckily, the Sqweel won’t give you any excuses. No tired jaw, no early meeting the next morning, so it’ll keep going as long as you need.” Ooh baby. Nothing makes me horny like thinking about how much people hate to go down on me! Nevertheless, this toy looks like fun, and completely unlike anything else out there. In partnered sex, I tend to prefer oral sex with hard fingering right on my G-spot, so I’m curious as to whether I’ll feel the need for some penetration while using this.
2. We Vibe 2 The We Vibe is made specifically for wearing while fucking, in the sense that it’s supposed to go inside you (and also outside you) while a penis is also inside you. That promises like a million and seven standard units of stimulation for everyone involved! A while back, Laramy and I visited a sex toy shop and the We Vibe 2 was sitting there all coy on a glass shelf, begging to be picked up and fondled. Once we figured out how to turn the damn thing on, the vibration patterns were mesmerizing, and my imagination was captured: I wanted to put it in and fuck him right there on the floor immediately. Unfortunately, it was not that kind of place. Two misgivings: I don’t really know if the added friction against something shiny and silicone (even though it is, as advertised, quite soft) is going to be a problem for my partner’s penis, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep up with the plot of the sequel without first seeing We Vibe 1.
3. Njoy Pure Wand This is the G-spot toy, apparently. I want it both for personal use and for its great potential in the realm of girlfucking. It should come with a t-shirt that says “I will make you squirt”. Or wait, would that be tacky? Oh wait, don’t care.
4. Lelo Ina So my Impulse Jack Rabbit all kinds of died. It’s pretty much a mere shadow of its former, bliss-giving self. We had a good run so I’m not mad…I’m just disappointed. But if the rumors are true, Lelo has taken the winning Rabbit vibe formula and elevated it to high art with the Ina. I feel like that might just help me through my mourning process.
5. Eroscillator As a huge fan of clitoral masturbation, ever since I read Epiphora’s review of this technological marvel I’ve been consumed with desire. I burn, I pine, I perish. For reals. Plus, this is the only vibrator ever recommended by Dr. Ruth Westheimer, and you may recall that BAST day is on her birthday. It’s fate or something, I swear. Of course, the package I want goes for $240.90, so I’m starting to think that fate is cruel. Realistically, I’ll probably start saving up now so I can buy it for BAST day 2011. Still, it’s a beautiful dream.

Honorable Mention: Fleshlight Ice I can’t emphasize enough how dearly I want to fuck a Fleshlight with my Feeldoe. It would feel so deliciously postmodern. And the Fleshlight Ice is the clear favorite for this activity because of the visual treat of seeing every inch of my beautiful cock as it slides in and out. The only problem is that I mostly want it for novelty because I’m not sure it’ll beat jacking off with my Feeldoe one iota sensation-wise.

So there’s my shortlist. Each of my top five occupies a different sex toy niche, which makes the choice both more interesting and harder. As always, your input is welcome.

I hope you consider going online or visiting your local sex shop to buy a sex toy on June 4th, or at least spreading the word about BAST day! Blog it, tweet it, whatever! I think it would be wicked fun if it caught on.

(image source)

It’s kind of cool when you realize that the positions you like best also seem to be particularly good for your partner.

I’m really super partial to what I guess we’ll call the “folded deckchair“, although traditionally I like to call it “throw my legs over your shoulders and fuck me sore.” For me, that and doggy are to sex what Alan Moore and Neil Gaiman are to modern comics. In vulgar parlance, they’re the my baby daddies of their respective fields.

But I also don’t like to ask for things in bed. Ever. You may recall that when I ask for things, it hasn’t always worked out in my favor. I guess with my experiences of it backfiring, my natural diffidence, and my reluctance to rock the boat when someone inexplicably actually wants to fuck me, I just tend to go with the flow instead. It’s to the point where I generally don’t even suggest new positions to try out (zounds but I’m dull!), although I do occasionally maneuver into them with utmost subtlety.

I’m not sure why Laramy and I hadn’t tried the “folded deckchair” yet. (Also, that name is stupid.)  I guess maybe we just hadn’t gotten to it yet, but that night it seemed like a good idea. We were settling into good old missionary when I flung my legs over his shoulders. Oooooh, yes! I thought, I remember why this is awesome now! Suddenly his cock was catching my G-spot from the most delicious angle and my orgasms came fast and urgent, one after another, building.

I have my suspicions that the texture of my G-spot or the grip of my pussy when I come so hard is something that Laramy likes especially, because we both seem to favor the G-spot heavy positions. With my legs like that, he was getting that face he gets when it’s unbearably good, slowing down a little to dial the intensity back. I felt a jolt of joy that we were together on this one: this was Watchmen, this was a triumph. At some points my legs moved down under his arms and he grabbed them for leverage, and at others I’d toss my legs higher again and we’d grimace together at the absolute bliss of that angle. We felt it together. We sucked in air together, except when I forgot to breathe while I curled my head back in climax after searing climax.

When you have dozens of orgasms, scores of orgasms, a motherfucking shoal of orgasms, the odds get pretty damn good that you’re going to have a simultaneous orgasm with your partner. Laramy and I come at the same time often, and it honestly doesn’t get old. It’s like twice the orgasm. The feeling of his cock pulsing and pouring its heat into me sometimes sends me over the edge even if I’m not quite there yet. But this time I really, really was. It was like Michael Bay was directing my vagina. I swear.

Laramy and I were both sweating and spent. He hung over me, draped on the frame my legs gave him. He was panting and grinning and blinking like a big-budget explosion had just torn through the bedroom: it was kind of adorable. I grabbed my ankles and pulled my legs back to my own shoulders, lowering him right over my lips, and then we kissed, which made us laugh. “I didn’t know you could do that!” he cried.

Piffle. Of course I can!

Sometimes when I didn’t want to do the things that Clifton Overmangle wanted me to (e.g. meet him for a quick blowjob when I was tired, let him give me hickeys, send him naked photos) he’d pull out the squirting card. “Well,” he’d say, “my intention to bring you pleasure overcomes my preference to not have you pee all over my sheets. You should be more giving and generous, more like me, and do whatever I want.” I can’t remember this rhetoric ever working, but it did make me feel self-conscious, so I guess no one won. Of course my solution that I’d tell him if I felt I was in danger of ejaculating and he could back off was completely missing the point, as he saw it. We should be making sacrifices for each other or something.

Two things:

1. IT’S NOT PEE!
2. This is not a good method of getting a chick to accommodate you in bed; it’s an excellent way of making sure she becomes determined never to ejaculate around you again.

I have a friend who squirted the first time she masturbated. She also freaked out, of course, because what the fuck just happened? When you’re not prepared for it, squirting/gushing/female ejaculation can be a slight shock.

I can safely say I had thousands of orgasms not realizing that there was such a thing in the world as a Skene’s gland. I was visiting my boyfriend Reginald in Los Angeles, and one afternoon he fingered me for what felt like hours, he rode through every orgasm as I bucked and bleated. I was in such a delirium of pleasure I fell off his futon, and he followed me down to the floor, his fingers still pounding and flickering, not missing a beat. He was concentrating mostly on the strange rough patch near the front on my vaginal wall, which I knew was the G-spot, although I didn’t know what was about to happen. I don’t know how long it took, but eventually something sprayed out of me in the middle of a searing climax. And I was absolutely mortified. I hadn’t even felt like I’d had to pee, but I was sure that somehow I’d just wet myself.

Reginald, who’d been researching a thing or two, looked very proud. “Do you know what just happened?” he quizzed me. I shook my head, miserable. My skin felt hot as the blood bloomed red in my cheeks. “You just had your first complete orgasm.”

Reginald was wrong about that. Squirting orgasms are definitely intense, but they’re just another type of orgasm. They’re not any more “real” or “complete” than a clitoral, vaginal, anal, or any other type of orgasm: believe me, I’ve had enough different kinds to know this. People can and do have favorites, but that doesn’t make those favorites any better or more orgasmy than any other type.

I don’t squirt with every orgasm, every time I have sex, or even every time someone stimulates my G-spot and clitoris together, which is normally how it ends up happening, although it can certainly result from attending to one or the other location with especially dogged resolve. Are the best orgasms always like majestic geysers? Not even always.

I think Reginald’s misapprehension about this, and any feminist distrust of squirting you might run into, is due to how damn analogous it is to male ejaculation. Sometimes a woman’s orgasm (not mine, but a woman’s) is a maddeningly subtle thing. A partner– hell, even the woman herself– can be left wondering if she actually got off. Guys are easier: semen comes out. Mystery solved. If women start doing that too, illumination! She definitely just came, and the wet spot just got a whole lot fucking wetter. Enjoy.

It’s messy. It can be inconvenient. It feels awesome. I’m not sure what’s in it for the person not impersonating a fountain. I guess it’s got to be the novelty and the extra emphatic proof of a job well done that accounts for the fact that very few guys have complained about it. Clifton was the exception, and I half think he griped about it only as a bargaining chip, considering that the first time it happened he was gleeful but a bit disappointed I hadn’t warned him so he could catch it in his mouth. Most guys are fascinated by it, and feel pretty cool when they pull it off.

Of course, I’m terrible about warning them. Squirting isn’t something that I expect or plan; it just happens sometimes. Plus, it happens more often during oral/digital sex than the actual penis-in-vagina playtime, so this is probably early in the saga of sexual exploration when “foreplay” takes longer, and I’m not totally comfortable yet talking about what fluids might come out of me. But I seldom account for the enthusiasm people can have for a new toy, and too often I’ve squirted with a new partner before I gave myself a chance to bring it up. This, as you might well imagine, is embarrassing. “It’s not pee…” I usually end up saying apologetically. I swear it isn’t.

I didn’t know what it was called when it first made me come
The nomenclature’s trivia, it always knocks me dumb
Unless “Oh god oh god oh god”’s superior to mum
If my G-spot is a fantasy, Oh god! Let me succumb

Dear Gräfenberg, you clever chap
Your spot at least, I mean
It’s helped me fuck and helped me fap
Almighty, though unseen
I swear I’ve never doubted you
It seems so simple, tried and true
And I thought everybody knew
But then, things got obscene
The meanest edict to debut
Since herpes and the clap

Some scientists in Britain gave a survey, not exam
These scientists in Britain say the g-spot is a sham
It’s marketing, they argue, it’s a sexy little scam
So stop pretending there’s a magic pearl inside your clam

Perhaps not standard issue like a coccyx or a wrist
But take away my G-spot and you’ll find me fucking pissed
Though time and time again it’s been neglected, scorned, or missed,
My orgasms don’t lie and they confirm mine does exist

Hey Gräfenberg, can you believe?
They think it’s in my brain
They think I’m terribly naive
My dildos curve in vain
But why does it feel so sublime
Consistently and every time
A climax on a ruddy dime
Not fictive or arcane
How could that lofty two-inch climb
Into my cunt deceive?

Just because you have no G-spot, you can’t wrestle mine away
And if you prefer the clitoris, I promise, that’s okay
But recall they came for G-spots on that dark and distant day
When experts say that prostate stimulation makes men gay

I love going to parties with someone I’m fucking because the entire evening is foreplay: rubbing up against each other like animals in heat, teasing each other surreptitiously (more or less) while laughing with friends. It just heightens everything a little, makes it that much more fun. The best part of it all might be leaving at the precise point where we’ve had tons of fun, are both horny as hell, and have just enough energy left for spectacular sex when we get home. It makes it seem like even though the party’s ending, it’s kind of just beginning.

Laramy and I had driven to the New Year’s Eve party separately, so we each took our cars and met back at his pad afterward. The drive was what such drives always are: like in Jurassic Park when everyone’s eyes fixate on the rippling water in that little plastic cup as the T-Rex approaches. Knowing what’s about to happen but having to wait is the best possible way to heighten tension both in movies and in pants.

I like it when Laramy breathes “wanna fuck?” in my ear. It’s not dirty talk. It could be, I suppose, but it isn’t. It’s not waggish or jaded either. It’s just a straightforward question, spoken softly but holding within it something sonorous, clamoring. Oh yes. I really, really wanna fuck.

“Did you bring your toy?” he asked. He’d wanted to get me a sex toy for Christmas and I specifically asked for something that seemed suited for use with a partner. Of course I’d used it on my own, just to make sure it was… um… safe. Yeah, safe.

The Fukuoku 9000 is the best compact vibrator I’ve tried so far. Like eggs and bullets, it makes it easy to incorporate clitoral stimulation into partner sex, but I think that the finger-hugging design of the Fukuoku makes it particularly clever. I find it rather easy to drop things when I’m distracted by a violent orgasm, so slipping this on my finger instead just makes sense. It has only one vibration setting, which is moderate but actually a very good level for me. If your clit can pick up a dramatic difference between the three included textured sleeves then you’re a terribly delicate princess who must be protected from peas at all costs (although I do have a nominal favorite, and it’s the one with horizontal ridges). It comes with a little carrying case that amusingly looks like it’s meant to slide onto a belt. I can’t imagine taking advantage of that last feature, but I certainly want to meet someone walking around with this attached to his or her belt, for both comedic and personal reasons.

…And of course I’d brought it! I quickly redeemed it from my bag, set it on the bed for later use, and took off some clothes. His mouth found my nipples almost as soon as they found air. Then I dropped to my knees. It’s not that I absolutely have to put a penis in my mouth before putting it anywhere else. It isn’t policy or anything. But it’s very fun to do and generally seems like a good way to start things off. Laramy’s belt is ridiculous, frustrating. I’m used to belts that fasten in the front and come off easily. His doubles halfway around his torso, releases with a mighty velcro roar, and can allegedly be used to repel down cliffs or some shit. But finally, the pants were off and his cock was in my mouth. Somehow sliding it down my throat (though I haven’t been able to deepthroat him yet) is both soothing and exciting at the same time, like fingering a cabochon while on a roller coaster. I wasn’t sucking, flickering, lapping at his pretty penis for long when his voice, husky with arousal, stopped me. “I want to fuck you.”

This is when we always seem to get oddly polite. “How do you want to do it?” I ask. “Well how do you want to?” he echoes. Or vice versa. And then there’s this little awkward pause, like neither of us wants to be the bossy one. We tend to do the same thing picking restaurants. Next time we have sex maybe I’ll just push him around into position and have my way with him. But this time I remembered my Fukuoku, and realized that rear entry was a natural choice. “Wanna do doggy?”

The thing you have to realize about Laramy and I is that we pretty much always want to do doggy. That’s not to say that we don’t have fun with other positions, but I think doggy style is the mutual favorite. Although I’m cuckoo for clitoris, there’s nothing in the world like the feeling of a penis catching my G-spot (which exists) just right as it pounds into me. Laramy swears that the angle of doggy style just hits every spot perfectly for him and that it feels excruciatingly good.

We fucked that way for a little while and I came several times, which made me forget that there ever was such a thing as the Fukuoku 9000. Fortunately, Laramy had the presence of mind to remind me. Now, I’ve known for years that G-spot+clitoris=fuuuuuuuuuuuuck, but it honestly never gets old. The Fukuoku, which can get me off on its own in about 15 seconds flat in the privacy of my bedroom, while watching reruns of Oz, suddenly made the actual hot sex I was having almost completely unmanageable. My mighty pelvic muscles tend to force Laramy out of me during an intense vaginal orgasm if I’m not really paying attention. I think I ejected him three times within the first few minutes. I was roiling, collapsing, caterwauling. I had to take periodic breaks from the Fukuoku while we fucked to keep my brain from shutting down altogether.

Cooler still, he could feel the vibrations. And from what I understand, my pussy feels even better when it vibrates. Imagine!

I was sort of slumped over with my eyes rolled back into my head after my kegel muscles had yet again shoved his cock out. He didn’t slam it back into me this time. “I want to fuck your ass,” he told me. It seemed like a very good idea.

It was only our second time doing anal. I’ve just recently started enjoying it. For a long time I’ve liked the idea and I’ve definitely appreciated anal orgasms, but trying anal intercourse without lube is probably not the best possible introduction, and that’s the only way I’d ever tried it before Laramy. With-lube ass fucking is a revelation. We lay on our sides (which seems so far to be the most comfortable way of fitting a penis in my ass) and his finger opened me gently. “You’re so smooth and tight,” he said, his voice a little rough. His breath was hot on my neck. This is the closest Laramy actually comes to dirty talk, and it boosted me halfway into orgasm. Then he eased his lubed cock inside.

“Yes. Yes. YesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesYES!” I just wanted to make sure my point was made. It seemed about five times better than the first time. I suddenly wasn’t concerned about pain…there was no pain; there was just intensity and delirious sweetness. I wanted him harder; I wanted him deeper. I forgot my toy again. Once again, Laramy didn’t. I think he really just wanted to know what my ass feels like when it vibrates. Turns out, kind of awesome.