Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: DFAB (designated female at birth) person internalizes the message that orgasming with a clit and vagina is a much more complicated affair than orgasming with a penis. They assume the rarity of their own orgasms is due to having tragically tricky bits, so they never think to examine the methods or toys they use in bed. Over a decade passes. They randomly discover the existence of sex bloggers. They start trying new toys. They look for rumbly power in their new vibrator choices but are limited by a very strict budget. They find the Noje Wand. They have an orgasm almost every single time they set out to have one when using it. At one point, they cry after masturbating, because a thought hits them suddenly: orgasms are a thing I can have, instead of a thing I can only hope to have.
Somewhere in there I probably veered away from the stories you’re familiar with (or perhaps even the star of), but you get the point.
There were only two “adult novelty” stores within driving distance, and both belonged to the same chain: Patricia’s. These brick and mortars were everything you’d expect from a tiny sex shop in the middle of god-fearing flyover country: skeevy, stocked with cheap dildos and vibrators that broke with one use, and aggressively heterosexual and vanilla in both inventory and presentation. The employees there were always either uninterested in customers or weirdly passive-aggressive (or aggressive-aggressive) about your purchases. And in a town where people regularly held protests at the local video store because they carried porn, it was a risk to park at either location – so shopping had to be done quickly, and usually at night.
He hears her heels on the hardwood floor in the hallway, but impulsively he decides not to look up from his computer when she steps into the room. It’s a mistake and he knows it immediately, her clicking steps ceasing as abruptly as they started; he’s too stubborn to relent, though, his now-nervous gaze fixated on the lines of code he’s spent all weekend digging through.
“Oh sugar,” she says, clucking her tongue, and Trent swallows.
“Not now,” he says waspishly, like a complete fucking fool. He should be on his knees already, crawling towards his mistress, apologizing for his behavior – this was part of their agreement – but he’s already too deep to backpedal. He hunches his shoulders, face stitching itself into a scowl, like he can somehow be too manly to be in trouble. “I’m busy,” he adds shortly, still not looking up, and it’s the final nail in his coffin.
It may seem a little premature for me to hop on the #ShareOurShitSaturday train since my blog is only a week old and still on its colt’s legs, but what better way to celebrate becoming part of the “our” than by spreading the love?
I wanted to start this SoSS with a post that caught me off guard and became my favorite post of the week – a poem! I’m not much of a poetry reader, but this one’s been in the back of my mind ever since I read it. I won’t spoil it by nattering on, so please go read it! The imagery is fantastic. Angel is a spectacular writer.
You’d think a sex-positive queer couple would have amassed at least a small collection of sex toys after 13 years together, especially given how particular my partner Buster and I are when it comes to the bedroom. But unfortunately, our bedside table drawers are depressingly barren.
In the early years of our relationship, we didn’t have access to sex education or adult toy stores, so we improvised – the list of household items we utilized was as embarrassing as it was clever (and unsafe.) As we got older, we made the occasional roadtrip to adult toy stores, but we knew nothing about toy safety or even our own preferences, so those trips were not only few and far between, but also often yielded lackluster results. Beyond that, it’s often been money that’s held us back from cultivating a toy collection; it’s hard to rationalize sex toys in your budget when you’re struggling to pay your bills.
The Siena Slimline Massager is a deceptively sturdy-feeling vibrator. At 6.5 inches long with a 1.25 inch diameter, it’s the bulkiest non-wand vibe I’ve ever owned, since I generally only use vibrators for external stimulation.
I fell in love with the Siena the moment I pulled it out of its blessedly simple packaging (no wrap rage here!) and found that despite being a hard plastic toy, the Siena was uniquely smooth, its silky-feeling texture unlike anything I’ve ever touched before. It’s the kind of soft you want to rub on your face, which I did several times, much to my wife’s bemusement. This delightful feeling is due to its Rubber Cote™ exterior, which comes with a fancy TM and everything!
That being said, I’m not in a position to always be ethical in my consumerism; sometimes, I’m just going to have to go with a cheaper (body safe) toy from a shitty company. I’m not going to defend making that choice. But I will try, when I’m aware of a company’s garbage, to be honest about it, and link to sources condemning the behavior so you can make an educated decision based on both your morals and your budget.
(Content Warnings: consensual power play, choking, smacking, orgasm denial.)
Last night my boy was a very good boy.
He wanted an orgasm, so we settled in bed and got out the wand, which he held firmly against his dick while I played with him. I choked him lightly, but he restrained his own breathing anyway; whenever I removed my hand from his throat, he’d suck in big gulps of air, hoarse and grateful. I wish I could have kept choking him properly the entire time, but I didn’t want to limit my hand use.
He arched his chest into my hands when I gripped his tits and kneaded. He moaned “your mouth feels good” when I bit and sucked at his nipples. Truthfully, he wasn’t all good: he whined a little every time I decided to move away to do something else – though maybe that was out of fear for what I might get up to instead.