Dirty Laundry: Fake it til you make it

14 11 2010

Dirty Laundry

Everyone’s got a secret…

Woo hoo!

My first submission for Dirty Laundry! (That will be the last time you see my, first, and dirty in the same sentence)

Recall, I offered up my blog to be a forum for my readers to dish and divulge their inner most secrets – to release their angst. (click here to read that)

He pens a blog that he deems “open and sometimes graphic”. I assured him that open and graphic are my favourite kind…

I’m a 33-year-old man who’s never had an orgasm during sex or even with another person in the same room.  In every relationship I’ve faked it every single time.

He blogs anonymously. I’ve read it.

I have no intention on “shrinking” my DL submissions, many years of expensive therapy (you can thank my fucked up mother for that) does not outfit me for such a task. Normally, I intend to be a silent witness, only letting them spill their beans.

But…

I only wish to give him permission to embrace his sexy. Own it. Feel no shame.

I once met a guy who said he had never came from oral sex before. I saw that as a challenge, a conquest. Really…?? I thought. Just lay back and enjoy…





Better than coffee

13 11 2010

I wasn’t planning this post.

In fact, it’s 8:00am, I’m in my jammies with a bowl of Raisin Bran in one hand and hot coffee in the other. Saturday morning cartoons are blaring from the kitchen where my daughters are having cereal and chattering back and forth about going to see MegaMind at the movie theatre. Daddy’s at work and I should really take the dog out for a pee.

I figure I’ve got 15 minutes before the kids or the dog need me, so I start to get caught up with my blog reading.

I’ve stumbled across a woman in the UK who calls herself Mia and blogs under Filthy_Pure. She is fantastic. Much like Lady-like Pervert, as her name suggests, she’s an oxymoron. She is a delicious, sultry, seductive woman – a Vixen in her truest sense – on a quest for celibacy and clarity.

This morning, jammies, coffee and bed hair falling half out of my loose bun, I’m reading her latest post.

By the time I am through it, I hear no cartoons, cereal is soggy, my jaw is on the floor, and I am practically panting. She’s describing a night of sex so hot that merely reading her words has me more than halfway to orgasm.

I have to share.

Have a read.

Now excuse me while I dry hump the armrest of this chair.

**Read her post! Click here.**





Sex Toy Tuesday: Mmmmarcus

9 11 2010

There are few things that get me as jacked as researching all things sexy.

Imagine my jubilation when my new friend Mr. Rocker38 made a witty, and logical, inquiry with regards to my recent astonishment that I had discovered U5 textured sex toys (click here to read Sexy Scavenger Hunt)!

He says:

Just as a matter of interest… given this was a first-time test drive of Cyberskin, much anticipated since your earlier dildo post… did it live up to it’s “life-like give” expectations fully? You say it was the “real deal”, can you give us the clinical detail, (at the risk of lowering your wonderful wonderful blog to a sexual health forum…perish the thought!)

And, U3 vs U5? Variations of cyberskin? You guys must really know your stuff! It doesn’t even come up if I google “U3 U5 cyberskin!” I feel like such a Sex-Toy Dolt amongst esteemed experts.

Well my friend, pull up a chair.

Here is the actual scientific explanation from the esteemed scientists of Cyberskin.com:

CyberSkin® is unquestionably the most realistic material on the market. Quickly warming to body temperature and mimicking the elasticity and softness of human flesh, CyberSkin® has the amazing look and feel of real skin. This material in its many shapes and forms is a stunning replication of the human composition.

And not a post goes by that I don’t wiki something (Wikipedia is half as smart as Encyclopedia and twice as smart as Urban Dictionary):

CyberSkin is the brand-name of a soft elastomer material that is intended to emulate the feel of human skin. It is made by the adult toy manufacturer Topco Sales. The company states that the technology behind CyberSkin is a “new Aerospace 601 computerized injection molding machine, originally designed by NASA engineers…”

Despite being skilled in BedPost Math (click here to read that), I am no mathematician, however, add these two definitions and you will come to the same conclusion as I have: NASA makes dicks!

NASA are the elitists of scientists!

Knowing the fine bred pedigree of the U3 and U5 sex toys, I will never look at my dumb-ass socio-inferior silicone dildos with the same respect that I hold for super smart fuck toys made of Cyberskin. Side note: I feel the same way about maple syrup and drug-store shampoo.

Enough science… I progress to phys ed!

…did it live up to it’s “life-like give” expectations fully? You say it was the “real deal”, can you give us the clinical detail…

Yes. Yes I can.

I’ve been thinking about this all day. How can I describe the manner in which the U5, or even U3 for that matter, products emulate the same feeling that a genuine male penis would? It’s in part because of its density, but largely its heat conductivity.

Despite being as rock hard as a horny teenager, the penis actually compacts itself when it enters the vagina, and expands back to its original girth higher in the vag. I despise when that motion is lacking in an everyday silicone.

The heat retention of the U3 and U5 products are what set them apart. Obviously with hot blood pumping through its vessels, the human penis is just as warm as the hot cavernous folds of our lady parts, which is the reason I have always soaked my toys in hot water before using them. It’s regardless of that, they lose their heat and feel cold and unnatural inside me.

Last week I had sex with Marcus. Marcus is an actual person, a porn star, and he has a 9 inch cock. He fits the perfect measurements that my research established in Size Queen (click here to read that) and for a very good reason. His head was small enough that he entered me gradually but thick enough that once he was in there he filled every nook and cranny. He’s big, and there were, ah-hem, things (for lack of a better word) that he skimmed when he was up there that don’t see many visitors.

So, Mr. Rocker38, yes it did live up to my expectations. It really really did.

He comes with a suction cup affixed to him. Tonight Hubby and I were discussing how I wish I had another test drive of Mr.-I’m-gonna-rock-your-world-Marcus before I blogged this.

“You should try ‘ride-em-roll-em’ with Marcus!” Hubby suggests to me. (Ride-em-roll-em is my most effective g-orgasm position, and yes, my lovelies, blog to follow)

“Did you notice he has a suction cup??” I’m sort of laughing at this.

“I know! You can stick him wherever!”

“I’m going to *suction sound* that guy to the wall and back my shit up on it!” I’m all ‘Look Ma! No hands!’ with him.

“Yeah?” Hubby asks.

“Then I’m going to *suction sound* that bad boy to the shower stall!” All proud of myself.

“Oh that’s hot!” He likey.

“Maybe even the kitchen cupboards! Oooo, it’ll be all like Where’s Waldo!” He starts giggling before I even say what’s next.

Where’s that big ass bugger gonna show up next??” I say.

I’ll tell ya where. In. Between. My legs.





Sexy Scavenger Hunt

3 11 2010

Ladies, don’t hate me. Men, don’t hate him.

What I am about to tell you crosses boundaries. While this lady-like pervert speaks often, and candidly, about sex, sexual experiences, sexual preferences, and aspects of my marital life, the details of Mr. and Mrs. Pervert’s sex life are kept rather vague. Admittedly, my readers are versed that we partake, but I generally keep the details somewhat obscure.

Not today my friends, not today.

Consider this a rare and juicy treat, and a shameless display of raunchy kiss and tell.

In Broke (click here to read Broke), I shared that my husband had a sexy, romantic clue game in the works, sending me email instructions, or clues, that were all leading up to me taking an overnight bag to work with me on Monday. That was yesterday.

Monday morning I head to work freshly waxed, lotioned and with black lace underwear beneath my work attire. Hubby kisses me good-bye in the morning and tells me to be prepared for several different forms of communication throughout my day.

The first of which came at lunch time; a stunning bouquet of pink, exotic flowers with a card. I open the card full of sweet, almost cheesy lines about love, and Hubby has inscribed a personal message professing he loves more and more every single day. And there is a clue. He’s included $60 cash in the card and informs me that I will need this cash for later… more instructions to follow. Hm. I carry plastic and he knows it, what do I need this cash for?

Two hours later he texts me his next message: A cab limo will be at the front doors of your work at 3:30. Get in. It’s already paid for. He knows where to take you. Text me when you get in. Squeal!!

When the cab pulls up to get me, I pile in the back seat with a stupid teethy grin plastered all over my face.

“Do you know who I am??” I ask him quickly. And in an almost hushed voice, I add on, “Do you know where I am going??” And then I start to laugh hysterically. I laugh because once the words have left my mouth, I realize that if this is someone else cab, I look crazy. I laugh hysterically because I look even crazier laughing my head off after my initial display of crazy. All of this is confirmed when the gentleman stares blankly at me as I compose myself and we share an awkward moment of silence before he says “Are you Mrs. Pervert?”

I sheepishly mumble “Yes” and he starts the car. We say nothing but I catch him eyeing me in the rear view mirror several times. I text Hubby: I’m in the car.

He texts me back: You’re on your way to the spa. They know you are coming and what to do to you.

This time I squeal out loud and I’m met with suspicious eyes in the rear view mirror again.

When I walk in to the spa, I can tell that they know who I am before I even say it. I say “Hi, I’m Mrs. Pervert” anyways and I’m met with coy nods.

A woman approaches me and asks me if I’d like a glass of wine with my pedicure and manicure, and I resist the urge to say Duh?

I’m sipping my wine and playing on my Blackberry while my feet are being soaked and rubbed, when the next text comes in: Chicken or steak?

I answer steak.

He replies: The cab will be back to get you at 5:40. Just get in.

Squeal!

My co-workers, the dumbfounded cab driver, the receptionist and my manicurist are all aware and part of Hubby’s mysterious sexy scavenger hunt. When the next cab limo driver pulls up, while I am using the cash my husband left me for tips, my manicurist runs out to the cab and then sprints back into the spa yelling “I know where you are going next!!” Collective squeals from everybody (even the metro-slash-homo-sexual male stylist.)

The sweet young receptionist was the only one all day that gave me a sly “I know where this hunt is going to lead you and it’s kinky as hell!” look. The elderly gentleman that took me to my final destination, from the spa to a luxurious hotel, took the opposite approach, rather, “What you are about to do is just so darn dirty and sinful I must not make eye contact with you” look. Meh. Whatever.

Judge McJudgeAlot drops me off at the hotel entrance and is passing me over to the hotel bell man when my next text comes in:  Top floor. Rm 1110. Knock when you get here.

I’m so freakin’ excited by now that I dash through the gorgeous lobby and smack the button for the elevator a dozen times before it opens. There is a young bohemian looking guy already in there who gives me a sexy look over and says “What floor?”

“ELEVEN!” I shout when I’m excited. Ooops. Whatever, he smells like pot.

Coming off the elevator I am grinning from ear to ear and almost skipping down the hall, and when I reach room 1110 it takes all of my self control not to kick the door off of its hinges. I knock.

When the door opens, Hubby is standing there with a smile on his face that I have only ever seen once before. It’s the same smile he wore as he watched me come down the aisle in a white wedding gown eleven years ago. He’s smiling so deeply that his eyes almost look like they are crying but his expression is of joy and not pain. We are both beaming but greet each other with shy hello’s.

I fly into his arms and land my loving kisses, happily mock-scolding him with “What did you do?” His lips are quivering when I kiss him. I can tell he is nervous.

“I just love you sweety…” He is saying but my attention now drifts to what is behind him. He’s gotten a beautiful suite, and the portion that I can see is covered in tea light candles. The curtains are drawn, the lights are out, but the room is glowing with the softest and most beautiful candle light. He looks so handsome in his button down and when I pull him in for more hugs and kisses, he smells amazing. Handing me a glass of wine, he listens to me gush about my flowers, the spa, etc, but a knock on the door interrupts my flow. It’s room service, and she’s bringing in platters of food, the pinnacle being a medium-rare steak covered in béarnaise and jumbo shrimps the size of small bananas!

“Oh my god, it looks so pretty in here!” She says as she arranges the food on our table, and I smile at her. We exchange a quick look that would be the male equivalent of a smack on the ass. Her eyes said “Go get him Tiger!” and mine said “Amen sista!”

“I wonder if that girl thinks you’re a hooker?” Hubby starts to chatter as we begin to eat.

“That’s funny because I thought that she thought I was your mistress! Think about how often she sees this… I mean, really, a married man can’t take his mistress out to a romantic restaurant. They probably just hole up in a sexy hotel room and eat then fuck.” I predict.

“Totally.” He agrees.

That entertains us for a bit while we eat and entangle our limbs on the couch. Dinner is absolutely fantastic, and we take a tiny breather since we are getting so full. It’s during this breather that Hubby takes my face into his hands and says with more conviction than I have ever seen him display, “Mrs. Pervert, I couldn’t love you any more. You make me a better man. You give our children an amazing mother. You are everything.” The rest of his words and what we said to each other were beautiful, heartfelt, and private.

With dinner done, and another glass of delicious red wine in my hand, he says to me seductively, “Are you ready for dessert?”

“Um, yep.” I say nervously and he slips behind the French doors that divide the suite to the bedroom. He’s lighting candles and fumbling through packages, so I take the opportunity to display a little initiative by removing my clothes and waiting for him in my black lace undergarments, leaving on a string of long pearls for a nice lady-like effect. I also quickly flossed my teeth, because that’s what a lady would do too.

When he comes back out he’s got his shirt off and his pants casually undone, but gives me a spectacular “Wow…” before he kisses me and leads me into the bedroom. Again, candles everywhere. Gorgeous.

“Are we having dessert?” I ask, a little confused.

Laying me on the bed, he smiles and responds “Of course. You’re going to be my dessert buffet.” Oh snap!

Moments later, he’s feeding me chocolate covered strawberries, and strategically placing raspberries and blueberries on my various peaks and valleys. The nibbling is making me crazy, until he whips out the chocolate syrup and whipped cream, spending a considerable amount of time lapping it up like a kitten. He lingers then focuses on my valley.

The culmination of the day’s events and the amount of forethought he had put into our experience was swirling in my brain and I was considering a way to ‘make it up to him’. Finished my own fabulous orgasm, I push him off me and say “Stand against the wall.”

Knowing that this will probably be my one and only time during this entire day and night to give him something that is purely for his own enjoyment, I proceed to give him the best, most seductive, award winning blow job that I can summon from my depths. His knees go weak and I think he’s going to lose his mind with me knelt before him; hands and mouth performing like champions.

The night continues as such. Sex then shower. Wine then sex. More showers, more wine.

I think that the ‘night’ is over… but I am wrong. We’re snuggling on the couch and Hubby says to me “I got you a present.”

Back into the bedroom he goes and comes out a minute later to present me with a genuine, God sent piece of heaven. An 8-9inch, slightly curved, perfect girth, cyberskin, black and beautiful dildo. Proudly he says to me “It’s not even U3, sweety, it’s U5!”

Shut up, it is not!”

“It is!”

THIS is Marcus. Named after porn star. I love him. *dreamy sigh*

“Good GOD!”

I know!”

He hands it to me and says “This is Marcus.”

I whisper “Hello Marcus…”

“I checked your blog penis size chart and he fits the bull’s eye perfectly. Not too big and not too small.”

Perfect…” I whisper again. I’m so smitten I am tongue tied.

For the next few moments we sit on the couch and are chattering back and forth about the fact that it’s a U5 and not a U3, the same manner that car buffs discuss Porches and Ferraris. I was dying to talk ‘Mommy-Daddy shop talk’ with him at this point. To tell him about the cheap flights I found for our January Florida vacation, the Disney ticket specials, the so-and-so who pissed me off at work today, the question I had about our property tax account… but I didn’t. Tonight we were lovers, and that is all. We were both still naked so he says to me “Go into the bathroom and put on what you find in the closet.”

I dutifully oblige.

In a bag in the closet I find a new outfit. It’s a hot pink bustier and panty set that is lined with black lace details. It’s got suspender straps down the thighs for me to attach the fishnet thigh-high stockings that he has provided. As icing on the cake, he’s included my black knee-high leather boots. I put the outfit on and give my hair a sexy tousle before I come out to make an appearance.

The look on his face is almost as priceless as the kick ass blow job that I had given him. He’s muttering Oh my God’s at me, and I’m blushing as he showers me with “You look so fucking hot!”

Ladies and gentlemen, these are words that I’d thought you’d never hear from me, but what happened next was ‘the first time’ I have ever had this done to me: Mid-makeout, Hubby starts to place a blindfold over my eyes. Interesting, I think to myself. Taking me by the hands, he walks me into the bedroom again, only directs me to the chair in the corner and sits me in it. Hm, I am thinking. Gently taking my wrists and ankles, I hear Velcro snapping and can feel that he is strapping me into the chair. Okay…, my brain is agreeing. All of this is uncharted territory to me.

Being blindfolded and bound while Mr. Perv had his way with me was not as hot as I thought it would be. I didn’t feel trapped or out of control, like some women say, I just felt useless. As if I wanted to participate but I couldn’t. Needless to say I was not bummed when I was released and tossed on to the bed.

It was on the bed that I had my first taste of Marcus. Wow… Marcus!

Can I just tell you that I discovered my absolute favourite penis size?! There is a reason that the 8-9inchers are the Holy Grail, and I certainly felt it with Marcus. Although we weren’t able to put the whole thing inside me, what did go in made me moan like humpback. In fact, when he first slid in, I cried out unintentionally. He was insane.

During a recent episode of Sex Toy Tuesday (click here to read ***), I complained that I wish there was a dildo that had a more life-like ‘give’ to it. Hello U5 Cyberskin! And thank you www.pinkcherry.ca!! It felt like the absolute real deal. It was my husband who casually lay in between my legs, but it was a different man that was sliding in and out of me. After 14 years with the same man, a different one inside me felt surreal. Surreal and so, so good!

Despite having my first taste of bondage, and despite thoroughly adoring the feel of a big black man inside me, what happened to me last night had a profound impact on me. And it had nothing to do with the sex:

  • Perched on the dresser was our daughter’s Fisher Price iPod player. On that player was an iPod playlist that Hubby had created called “Hubby’s sexy playlist” full of 42 of our favourite sexy songs.
  • When I walked into the room, amidst the many many candles was a bottle of my favourite red wine. Not just any wine, my favourite.
  • Chocolate covered strawberries are my favourite treat. He didn’t even buy them; he spent the morning making them.
  • Checking into our suite, Hubby went downstairs and conversed with the staff to make sure he had the best room that the hotel had. They gave him the best, with the Tempurpedic bed and the large walk-in shower (both of which we well used).
  • Ordering my flowers, he went down to the florist to request flowers he knew I would love… pink and unique.
  • The meal that he ordered for dinner was my favourite… steak covered in béarnaise and seafood.

Everything about yesterday and last night took thoughtfulness - that was the sexiest part. I’m honoured to be Mrs. Pervert. I hope all of you do something sweet, sexy and thoughtful for your loved ones this week. The impact on them will be huge.





Ask John: Sex Toys vs. the Male Ego

2 11 2010

Sex Toy Tuesdays takes a “Ask John” spin!

Behold my friends, there is a reason I chose and wooed him.

He is honest, uncensored and very well spoken.

It is MY PLEASURE to introduce you to… John.

 (More from John @ http://the22ndcatch.wordpress.com/)

Thank you Marketing to Milk for your question – I hope you are happy with your answer!

Without further ado…

 

Sex Toys & The Male Ego

The male ego is a fickle thing. It can be dented or inflated by the most innocuous events. I bought a wallet once and loved it. It was rainbow-coloured and vibrant and I thought it would show everyone what an interesting and lively person I was and everyone would want to sleep with me because of it – because, after all, that’s the only reason men ever do anything. Then, when I took it out to pay for some drinks and the barman burst into laughter claiming it was the “gayest” wallet he’d ever seen, I wasn’t in the slightest bit disappointed when it was stolen, along with quite a lot of money, the same night.

Antithetically, a complete stranger in London the other night told me I had a “confident walk”, and I was totally made up about it and become totally dedicated to walking confidently all the time. The fact that I ended up buying a Big Issue off him (that’s a magazine in the UK that’s sold by homeless people) is neither here nor there.

But we’re most delicate when it comes to matters of sex.

To answer the question “does the satisfaction a sex toy gives a woman really not dent a male ego?” accurately, I need to explain it from two different perspectives: mine, and every other man’s.

My Perspective

 

Categorically and undoubtedly no, the pleasure a woman gets from a sex toy really does not dent my ego in the slightest. Not even a tiny, vibrating little bit. I’m not trying to suggest that my ego is stronger than anybody else’s, because it’s not. I’m every bit as wobbly and insecure and uncertain as every other penis-wearing creature on the planet. The only difference is that it turns me on to think about my girlfriend (or any other woman, for that matter) pleasuring herself. But my thought processes are pretty different from most other guys.

Most Other Guy’s Perspective

 

Honestly, I think a lot of men find sex toys intimidating. But it’s not necessarily because of a lack of self-belief or a lack of sexual confidence, though of course those are factors. It’s more to do with a lack of knowledge of female sexual pleasure. Men are scared of female masturbation, because it’s not something most men know much about.

In fact, a surprisingly small amount of men believe women masturbate at all, and even fewer men believe that women enjoy the same kinds of sexual fantasies as men. It’s getting a lot better than it was, but there are still some old fashioned attitudes around.

Here’s a good example. I was speaking to a guy I did martial arts with recently. He’s in his early forties and he’s a pretty healthy, well-rounded guy. He’s a teacher. It’s no secret that I work in the adult industry, and he used to joke with me about getting him some free sex toys for him. That’s nothing unusual, most people ask me for that. One night I took him aside and told him that if he was genuinely interested in some freebies, I’d be happy to grab a few things for him. He looked at me, disgusted, and said something to the effect that real men don’t need to use toys to please their women.

Frankly, I was stunned. I spend most of my time with very liberally-minded people when it comes to sex, and sometimes I forget that a lot of people aren’t so open to experimentation and sexual exploration. But I’ve thought about his comments a lot, and my conclusion is this: he’s unbelievably selfish – not to mention naïve – to think that his partner would only enjoy sex toys if she used them with him. Let me rephrase that for the sake of clarity: he seems to be operating under the assumption that his partner never enjoys sexual pleasure without his presence. He is clearly wrong, but I suspect his opinion is not an isolated one. It’s probably very widespread.

To Sum Up…

 

To answer the question about the effect of sex toys on our egos directly, the truth is that yes, a lot of men will have their sexual confidence damaged by their partner’s use of toys, especially if he finds out his partner has been using them secretly. So while I find the thought of female masturbation thrilling, it will certainly make a lot of normal men uncomfortable and isolated.

Hope that helps.

Next question please.






Ask John

28 10 2010

I seriously love my blog.

My favourite aspect of the post is the reaction, sometimes even my own.

Typically I chose a topic, or it choses me, and I mull it over in my head. I drive my kids to gymnastics while pondering, I wait for them to get off the school bus while contemplating, and I shower and get ready for work while reflecting. I ask myself:

“What’s my position on this?”

“Can I argue it convincingly?”

“Am I preaching to the choir?”

“How can I push the boundary?”

“Can I back it up with a story?”

Most of my blogs have a theme, a point, or a position that I am arguing. Wherever applicable, I research. The research behind a post is my second favourite part of the blogging process. I spent hours researching cock size in Size Queen (click here to read Size Queen). I subscribe to several different sexual publication outlets to stay in the know and I am always reading what others in my, ah-hem, field are deeming worthy.

I get to know my readers as well. When dialogue ensues after a post, I engage in the conversation, as well, I always click the link of my reader to learn more about who they are. Learning about my readers gives me an idea of how I can service them better and figure out what it is that they’d like to hear.

And finally, I am always thinking ahead. Like a business plan, I map out what I want from this blog, where I want it to go, and how to make that happen.

For example, I knew I wanted to do sexperiments (click here to read Mad Scientist) and I knew I wanted to review sex toys (click here to read Sex Toy Tuesday: The Vibrator). I know I want to attend seminars and workshops, even dropping a $1000 for a weekend tantric sex workshop (click here to read Thousand dollar nookie), only to pass my knowledge on to the masses. I know that I want candid interviews from various professions all relative to the sex industry, and am really excited that I am very close to securing an interview with a penis sculptor! I know that I want guest bloggers, giving a free and open forum for my fellow bloggers and readers to share their stories, their loves and their wants.

And… I know I want a man… which brings me to the purpose of today’s post: I think that I’ve found him.

His name is John and his bio is as follows: Professional Sex Geek. I write about sex all day. And sometimes I actually do it, too. When I’m not doing it, I’m either watching it or thinking about it. I make a living selling rubber dicks and I’m proud of it.

*dreamy sigh*

Although I may not make or sell rubber dicks, I love them. And that has got to count towards something.

I want an Ebony to my Ivory, a Ying to my Yang. I want a sex savvy male blogger to join forces with me, to be our ‘go to guy’ with our questions and our theories.

Soooo…

Since I clearly suck at feminine flirty seduction (click here to read Horse Whisperer), I’m going to bait and lure him with a taste of his own medicine.

Choosing a man to be my ‘Ebony’ was a task that I have been taking very seriously. I have spent considerable time stalking this guy. I chose him because he’s pervy, he’s funny, and he’s uncensored. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to John Yossarian.

Researching John, I discovered that he is a big fan of top 10 lists. Everything from his top 10 bad sex habits (click here to read them) to top 10 rudely shaped vegetation (click here to read that) to his top 10 songs to have sex to (click here to see them).

So, I decided to woo him with a top 10 list of my own:

Top 10 reasons I want John to be my man

1. He’s way smarter than me. In fact, I had to google what the fuck a Yossarian is! You see, John Yossarian is not his real name rather a pen name. If I were smarter I’d get why he chose a name that is based on the Catch 22 protagonist who, from what I can recollect, is obsessed with the idea that people are trying to kill him.

2. If his blog post entitled “The New Cocksford Dictionary” (click here to read that) was a test, I would have nailed it. Nailed it. Ergo, we speak the same language.

3. I’m just a girl. I can read and research until the cows come home, but there are just some things that I can not give my readers: The Male Perspective.

4. It widens our audiences.

5. His girlfriend KC recently guest blogged for him about the first time sex toy experience. She mentioned he keeps a naughty box under his bed. I also have a naughty box, er, actually it’s a tote but whose counting? (click here to read about my tote)

6. He gives tips on how to dodge splooge (click here to read that). That’s a blog topic I haven’t worked up the nerve for yet. Kudos!

7. Because he said this: I firmly believe that we are alive in the most exciting time in human history. Thousands of years from now, I think our distant ancestors will wish they could have lived today. Speaking relatively, this is the start of history, this is where everything begins. That knocked my socks off. “This is where everything begins…” Awesome!

8. Because birds of a feather flock together.

9. He’s the writer/editor type and can clean up my highschool-writers-craft-type grammar.

10. Because really great things are starting to happen to my blog. I’ve been signed on to PinkCherry.ca sex toys as a tester/reviewer (Um, holy shit! Blog to follow on that one later ladies, right now I am wooing John) and I finally bought the domain name of LadylikePervert.com!

Hold your breath girls… let’s wait for his reaction.





Sex Toy Tuesday: The Vibrator

26 10 2010

I’m giddy about this one!

Last week I discussed the maiden pleasures of the dildo (click here to read Sex Toy Tuesday: The Dildo), suggesting that sex toy virgins consider the dildo to be a great place to start their erotic exploration. The dildo is a mild, literal helping hand to kick off your sex toy practices, perhaps if only to get used to putting something in your ding-dong that isn’t attached to a heartbeat.

But there is a superstar in our midst… of the leporidae* variety. *Side note – ever since I shed my ‘imaginary’ facade to become a proper scientist I use much bigger words. Psst: leporidae is the bunny species.

Before I jump to our number one draft pick, I’ll start with the bench warmer.

The first sex toy that I ever bought, which has provided many years of faithful service, is almost a dinosaur in terms of the innovated and life-like options that are now available. He’s a simple little fella whose like the peanut butter and jelly of toys, plainly a classic. He looks a little something like this:

I’ll be honest, I almost never whip this modest associate out. In fact it would have been years since I rode that pony had it not been for my pseudo-monk-like-husband and his recent vow of celibacy. After my post on Saturday (click here to read Sabotage), to curb the risk of having to gnaw off my own arms, I took advantage of the empty house and relieved un petit peu of my sexual tension.

While most women start out with storing a vibrator in their nightstand drawers, once you acquire a small collection of pleasure toys you will need to graduate to a shoe box to hold your bounty. I had one for years that Hubby and I referred to as ‘The Naughty Box’. By the time you hit Pervert status though, you amass a 5-gallon Rubbermaid tote that is packed to its brimming edges. That’s why I can say I’m a perv… I have a naughty tote.

Anyways, in my lusty haze on Saturday, I dove towards the tote to grab the first thing I saw and it just so happened to be my vintage toy. I had to crank my, ah-hem, choke but once I had the, ah-hem, engine running, my vibrator blissfully revved the RPMs.

If you are an attentive reader, you may have picked up on my choice of words: “The first sex toy that I ever bought…”

I never claimed it to be the first novelty that I had ever used…

I bring to you Exhibit B in the case of Lady vs. Perv…

Long before I had ever owned a vibrator, I discovered that there were several common household items that suit that need just fine. Totally by fluke actually. I was steam cleaning my carpets and was tangled up in the water hose, the suction hose and the electrical cord. Trying to sort my way out of this mess, I placed the suction hose between my thighs and squeezed so that I could use my hands to work on the other cords. A few seconds into it, I was “Huh? What the…”. A minute goes by and I’m less interested in the stupid cords and just trying to keep my breath even while the humming vibrations drive me bonkers. Seconds later I am half-gripping, half-sliding-down the walls in “Oh my GOD” astonishment.

While steam cleaning is a rare occurrence in my home, thankfully the running of the washing machine and dishwasher is not. Again, total fluke. I’m leaning into the counter/dishwasher mindlessly chopping carrots and a few seconds later my attention to the vibrations on my pelvis pique my awareness. I remember thinking to myself, “Well, isn’t that something… perhaps not enough to get me off but certainly well enough to make culinary chores much more enjoyable!”

If household chores are not your fortay, perhaps you could look to a place that is a little more discreet for your mock-sex toy fun. This, my friends, is the real very first sex toy that you may ever own: Your husband’s Mach 5 razor.

I have a theory with regards to the purpose of this razor and I am blowing the lid off of this one! Wait for it… the inventor… of the Mach 5 razor for men… is a woman. Yes! (Totally unconfirmed, but YES!)

Why?? I ask you this… perching a bells-and-whistles vibrator on the ledge of your tub would clearly attract a certain amount of attention and make your intentions well known. A razor in your bathroom and even in your shower or tub is a perfectly acceptable appliance. Where do most women masturbate? The shower/tub! Where do we keep the razor? The shower/tub! The icing on my woman-invents-razor flavoured cake? Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t buy for a second that rapidly vibrating the hair follicle makes a hill of beans difference to how close the shave is, seriously. But I tell you, there is a reason that those buzzy little razors are in all of our homes, and it’s obvious: It’s because typically women do the shopping! It’s the perfect Trojan horse! It enters your home disguised as a razor, but shut the bathroom door and little men jump out of it and run amuck all over your body. Something so clever could only have been made by a woman. A perverted one at that.

I could go into the history of this practical, medically prescribed pleasure gizmo (I’m serious, click here to read the Wiki history of the vibrator), but I have better uses of my time. I’m not even going to get too deep into the different types and genres of vibes. Maybe later. I’ve got bigger fish to fry…

It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to the superstar of vibrators. He’s so fantastic that he’s an icon, truly the Cadillac of sex toys.

TA DA! Meet: The Rabbit.

Although the bunny ears on this hare are its second best feature, this vibrator should don wings instead of ears since it obviously drifted down from heaven to bless the loins of women in a way that is marvelled by none.

The picture does this toy no justice. First of all he’s got two motors, both with speed settings, one for outside, one for inside.

The outside, or clitoral, stimulation comes from the bunny ears that rest perfectly on your clit. I LOVE that the outside features of this vibe don’t skim your parts all the way up to the clit, rather he reaches up and over all that stuff and sits nicely where he should. Thank God someone whispered in this bunnies ear that the clit is one inch north of your pee hole. For a long time boys thought that one was the other, my pee hole is extremely bitchy. She does not want to be touched and my Rabbit friend dutifully respects that.

Your insides are given the red carpet treatment with this toy. Not only is he the perfect size, his head twirls around with a slight outward curve that gives a great sensation high up in your vagina. The absolute best feature on The Rabbit are those damned pearls! With the click of a button, those beads or pearls dance around their encasement, and if you notice the location of their dancing, they’re doing it all over your g-spot. Insane.

The first time that hubby and I drove our Cadillac, the stimulation was just way too much for me to handle and I would smack it away and demand it come back. Mr. Pervert took the wheel and watched in amazement as I wiggled and moaned and cycled through a torturous love-hate relationship with the beaded, blue bunny. I will never forget the orgasm that followed. What probably looked like a demonic exorcism, felt more delightful than any word I can summon. I came so long and so hard that when I ‘came to’ I wasn’t sure if  I was laughing or crying. Hubby and I just stared at each other with our jaws on the floor. There was silence for a few seconds and as I tried to catch my breath Hubby whispered to himself “Holy. Shit.”

He should be illegal. Hubby always asks why I never use him and I answer him with this: He’s the KFC of sex experiences, the poutine of novelties, and the all-day spa of kinky toys… he’s just soooo good that you can’t indulge in him too frequently. It wouldn’t be right.








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