I’m Actually Having a Lazy Sunday

It’s probably because the world is ending with Frankenstorm.  I’m actually having a Lazy Sunday.  I was given a random Sunday off, and I desperately needed it.  This week kicked my ass, and ended with Steve and me (dressed as Prince and a Playboy Bunny) singing karaoke at a local bar (“Darling Nikki” and “Oops… I Did It Again”, if you were wondering).

Braiding! For SHORT HAIR! I can have some fun too, bitch!

If you’ve been thinking about blogging, if you’re new to blogging, or if you feel like there’s still something you can learn (hint: there is, this is you), you should check out Ali Lehman’s Blog Tips post category.

& Shannyn wrote about How To Score Free Stuff With Your Blog.  I can get behind that.

Haha. They’re worried this could come to Boston.  Would you be comfortable with a Trojan crew giving away vibrators on street corners in your city?

Sarah Von says, “Be Happy In This Moment.
How is your weekend turning out?  Did you go out for Halloween at all?

Ask Me Anything

This isn’t part of a link-up or a meme, but rather something I’m hoping to make a semi-regular (read: every few months) feature.  

I’m looking for your questions about:

Toys and lubes.

Personal health care (testing, best lube/lotion/potion for ___, bath & beauty).

Porn, including porn and relationships.

Relationships and dating.

Mental health and sexuality.

 

I don’t want to focus this on me.  I want this to be about you.  What do you want to know?  If you raise a big enough question, or if the answer would be too long, I’ll likely turn it into a feature-length post.  And if no one asks questions, this is going to be embarrassing, so get cracking.  Feel free to submit anonymously.

 

To submit a question:

Tweet at me!

E-mail me!

or just comment!

I Can’t Do It

It just doesn’t fit.

The Raptor by Tantus is a stunning, well-made toy.  It passed my flame test with flying colors (well, with absolutely no change, which is passing).  Raptor is a realistic shape, complete with a head and testicles, but no veining.  The silicone feels soft, smooth, with a little bit of drag on the shaft and nearly none at all on the head.  Mine is a pretty, light purple (as are most of my toys for some reason).  The Raptor was designed for use in a harness, and particularly for folks who wanted a more manageable version of the T-Rex, which you could probably use to bludgeon someone if you were so inclined.

So what went wrong?  I have never, in my entire sexual history, had any toy or appendage that ginormous near my vagina.  At only 5in insertable, you would think, “Hey, I can handle that!”  Just wait… it’s 1.6″ wide.  Let’s turn to our high school mathematics skills, shall we?  That means the Raptor has a circumference of just over 5″.  After several attempts, a few including alcohol, I just have to wave the white flag of surrender.  I cannot get that sucker more than 1.5″ in.

For the first 1.5″, the full feeling is actually pretty great, and if I could get my muscles to relax, I think it would feel fantastic against my G-spot.  With the help of my partner, I did get the head fully inserted, but I also screamed bloody murder.  Since he’s a well-adjusted human being, he immediately desisted and reached for my Mimi to soothe my vaginal lament.  We tried again after a few minutes of clitoral stimulation, and were met with the same result.

All of my Raptor attempts included my absolute favorite water-based lube, Sliquid Sassy.  Normally, Sassy can get anything, anywhere.  (First butt plug experience was a rousing success due largely to Sassy and domestic microbrews.)  Because the Raptor is made of silicone, you should never use a silicone-based lube with it.  On the plus side, you can clean the Raptor however you want: antibacterial soap and warm water, toy cleaner, 10% bleach solution, or boiling.

I hate the saying, “Your eyes must be bigger than your stomach!”  In this case, I’m going to have to admit that my eyes are bigger than my vagina.  This baby is going back in its satin storage back until I’m ready to try again.  But I will try again, oh, I will try again.

Thanks so much to the folks at SheVibe for the opportunity to review The Raptor!

You can call me a slut.

If you’ve read my post on being sex-positive, you know that I don’t have any qualms with sexuality.  I’ve also mentioned a couple of times on my blog that I don’t tolerate slut-shaming, and if you follow me on Twitter, you’ll see lots of Tweets and re-Tweets on the topic.  It’s something I feel very strongly about.

The word slut is very problematic.  It’s been used against us, as women and as girls.  We were probably taught growing up that it’s a catch-all insult, because no one wants to be a slut.  You didn’t even have to have a reason to call someone a slut, or to be called a slut yourself; but if the rumor spread, it stuck.

Lately, I’ve been wondering what people actually think a slut is.  Does a slut sleep around?  Does she talk about sex?  Does she have sex without romance, or without expectation of feelings?  Can you dress like a slut?  If you’re called a slut and someone comes to your defense to say that you’re not, because you’re monogamous or because you’re responsible, what does that say?

I’ve been seeing this posting around the internet recently.  It says, “Too many girls want attention, not enough want respect.”  Excuse me?  I was unaware that you were so apt to read my mind, to decode my intentions, and to police my behavior.  How does a person claim to know what another wants?  This is a very thinly veiled, very dangerous form of slut-shaming.

I actually asked one of the people who posted it – a 22 year old guy – what he thought it meant.  The basic idea of his answer (I will not post it verbatim because I do not have permission to do so) was that it’s easy to tell when a girl wants attention, because she acts and dresses like it.  Happily, another woman of similar feminist leanings stepped in, and together we tried to have a legitimate discourse on the idea of attentions vs respect.  (This of course ended with me being blocked, because I’m rabid, obviously.)

Quite frankly, if I am unable to earn or keep your respect based on my intellect, my diction, my drive, or my respect for you, I have no interest in your respect.  If my job, my blog, my toy collection, my short shorts, or my tattoo are going to damn me in your eyes, then your respect is not worth earning.  The idea that we have to chase the respect of people who have already decided against us is a powerful idea that keeps us running on this hamster wheel of patriarchy.

Maybe I am a slut.  I like sex, and I like talking about sex so that I can learn more (about sex).  I have my own reasons for the choices I make, and they usually have nothing to do with outside attention or respect.  In fact, the respect that I’m so concerned about maintaining is my own.  If I can’t look myself in the eye every morning and every night, then I’ve failed.  If I called someone a slut, if I tried to place another woman into a simplified box so that I could categorize her and break her down, I would not be able to respect myself.

So you can call me a slut.  You can also call me a feminist, a free thinker, and a woman with more to worry about than what anyone thinks about her choices.

Straight Girl at a Strip Club: My Friday Night

Hi darlings!

I’ll cut right to the chase: last night, I went to my local neighborhood strip club.  By myself.  At 11pm.  Why?  I’d never been to one before!  I asked the man friend about going sometime in the near future and he wasn’t terribly interested (he’s a bit on the shy side); he’s in New York right now anyway.  Happily, the club is about a three minute walk from my apartment, so I stuffed some singles in my clutch and off I went!

I really didn’t know what to expect.  We have dancers who come into A&E, and I sometimes help them pick out shoes, dancewear, and garters.  And of course I’d seen strip clubs in movies and on tv.   Well, to be honest they’re not that different in person.  I was the only 20 something girl there alone who wasn’t dancing on stage.

Since I’m kind of a “go big or go home” gal, I grabbed a drink and sat in one of the chairs directly in front of the stage.  (I managed to snag one in front of a pole – score!)  I had just gotten there as one girl started her routine.  Honestly, she was impressive, and I say that as a girl who appreciates female form but doesn’t find women sexually attractive.  What she could do on the pole was seriously a display of beauty and serious strength training.  And she could move her butt cheeks independently in several directions!

It seemed like the girls liked having another girl to dance for.  We made small talk – one of the girls even recognized me from a local eatery where she works her day job – and introduced ourselves.  I tipped them, of course.  All told, I dropped about $10 between my non-alcoholic drink and tipping the two girls I saw – not bad for a half hour’s risque entertainment.

Truthfully, the only troubling thing about the experience was when one of the young guys watching my new dancer friends wold-whistled and called her “bitch.”  I was about ready to spill a drink in his general direction, but she just continued to dance for another group of men and women (quite a few couples, actually!) and ignore him.

I’m not sure if or when I’ll be back, with or without the boyfriend in tow, but it was a really fantastic experience.