via: Random Rim Jobs
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Oct 312009
via: Random Rim Jobs
Oct 302009
I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.
I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I’m going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, “Aren’t those gourds straining your neck?” And I’m just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.”
Oct 302009
Other people, I imagine, leave school and immediately begin the building of empires. They find shelter, food, clothing, partners, friends, hobbies; bit by incremental bit they bring into the world their own small versions of paradise. Lovingly they craft what seems best, revising or discarding parts that don’t work while nurturing the bits that bring them joy.
They do not, I imagine, feel unreasonable angst if their parents’ empires look vastly different from their own. Nor do their parents waste time fretting if their children create lives at odds with what they built decades before.
This is what I imagine. It is not what I’ve experienced, not when my “empire” consisted of a $165-per-month nearly-empty flat in the upstairs of a grandmother’s house and not now, even though the empire has expanded to include house, pets, career, partners and almost entirely satisfactory (er, most days) children.
No decisions made at this point in a life are easy, at least not the ones made outside the safe embrace of the grocery store. Variations in the degree of bad are about all you get, and I have no more guiding principle than does the next flailing, befuddled mommy who long ago gave up the hope that God’s rules or desperate prayers for assistance would help. These decisions are not made easier by the constant message from my mother, which is this: Child, you are doing it wrong. Whatever I do is wrong for her. My entire little empire is flawed; horribly, tragically, irredeemably broken. I should not care. And yet our conversations end with me in tears and so wrung out I can barely function.
Perhaps other parents are as fiercely critical as my own. I’m not sure if it would be more or less of a comfort to know that mine are not alone in this particular insanity, or that I am not alone in failing to defend my little empire passionately enough.
Oct 292009
A lovely gift greeted our return from Berlin this week… the realization that we’d been selected by the Village Voice for their annual “Best of NYC” issue!
We’re naturally very honored that the publication has distinguished us as being the city’s Best Way to Watch Smutty Movies:
If you’re wary of catching an Xtube virus and are looking for cleaner digs than whatever’s left of Times Square’s naughty picture joints, CineKink NYC is there for you. Each February, this festival provides the means for you to ditch the laptop and the privacy of your own home, and enjoy kinky film the way it’s meant to be enjoyed—in the company of strangers, of course.
Of course! (Though if you’d like to bring a friend along, that’s perfectly fine, too.)
Read along here for the rest of the accolades…
Oct 292009
Last week I was asked for recommendations for the best sex toys in various categories. After mulling it over (and taking a hard look at my toolbox of lurve over the weekend), I’m ready to share some thoughts on the very best vibrators available today:
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Budget-Friendly: Blueberry Buzz. This vibe is remarkably reliable. I’ve had mine for over two years, during which time it’s gotten a lot of hard (heh, hard) use. It’s still going strong, and when I say strong I mean that it’s the most powerful battery-operated vibe I’ve tried. It’s waterproof, so use it in the shower or cover it completely in lube if that’s your thing. At only $20 you cannot go wrong with Blueberry Buzz. I’d recommend this as a first vibe, travel vibe or back-up vibe for anyone.
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Splurge: Gigi. You really cannot go wrong with this vibe. The shape is awesome for clit, g-spot or anywhere else you’d like to put it. Rechargeability means you’ll never have to buy a battery. And the range of intensity is broad enough to take you from warm-up to screaming. Just about anything from Lelo is a safe bet but I’m particularly fond of Gigi because of its shape. Buy this one for years of great orgasms.
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For Couples: We-Vibe. This vibe’s pricey but worth it for couples who want both clit and g-spot stimulation during intercourse. If the penetrating partner is has a bio-penis, it’ll feel pretty good for him too. I like the We-Vibe as an alternative to vibrating cock-rings because it’s rechargeable (Lelo now makes a rechargeable cock-ring as well) and it hits two spots at once. I found it to be surprisingly stable during the kind of enthusiastic sex I get to have, and it’s perfectly functional for solo fun too.
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Weapons-Grade: Hitachi Magic Wand. I’ve written about this vibe repeatedly and for good reason: It fucken rocks. You’d be hard-pressed to beat the power of the Hitachi, and quite frankly I’d be a little worried about you if you needed more power than what this can dish out. If you have trouble orgasming or want fast multiple orgasms, choose this. Plug it in. Use it. Tuck it under your bed, still plugged in. You’ll never want to unplug it.
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AVOID: The Cone. It is a crying shame that this ridiculous piece of plastic has gotten so much more press than vibes that are half the price and twice as effective. The Cone did nothing but annoy me. Weak vibrations, crappy design and a nonsensical control panel make this one to leave on the shelf. I know it’s a cone and cones are cool and unique and all, but there’s a reason that no other vibes are shaped like this. Cones and vaginas just don’t mix. Buy it only if you want a pretty pink doorstop.
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Do you agree with these recommendations? Have other products to add to the list?
Leave your suggestions in the comments below.
Oct 282009
via fuck yeah butches.
Oct 282009
via-maymay, via Ireen’s Gaze (derekisme:)
Oct 282009
In popular terminology a unicorn is non-monogamous bisexual woman. She is said to be as hard to find as the one-horned mythological beast. It is possible, some say, that she does not even exist.
The lucky ones know that she is real, but as in the tales, the unicorn must be approached with care and consideration, preferably from the side and while avoiding eye contact. Anything else will send her skittering away.
Acknowledge the fact that you’re a bi girl in search of any sort of relationship and instantly you will be hit upon in the most forward manner. “You’re bi?” couples say, looking one to the other. “Honey, she’s bi! We’ve always wanted to share a woman. You can be with both of us!” All that matters, they want to believe, is that they found a suitable candidate — but after dreaming, deciding to take that bold step and then discovering how very slim are the pickings, perhaps we should not blame them for being overeager, even though in actuality it is at least doubly hard to make a connection in a situation where the unicorn must like and be liked by two others.
I have had these conversations. Pinned to the wall like a rare bird held in place for purposes of beautification, I could stand the pressure of four hungry eyes for mere moments before sliding away with an excuse, plausible or not. If they are disappointed I cannot bear to watch. Being bi doesn’t mean I must feel guilt for not sleeping with everyone, does it?
But the process does not always fail. “You’re the one who fists,” exclaimed one new friend upon hearing my name spoken over the back of a naked reclining woman. “Honey, this is the one who fists!”
I nodded while continuing to rub a slippery calf. “I guess I am the one who fists. Do you fist?”
They did not, they said. But hearing me rhapsodize about its pleasures had sparked a fisting-lust they could not shake. They were working up the courage to try it but felt unsure of the process.
I kept rubbing. “Would you like me to try?” I asked, as casually as I could muster, and within minutes I’d staked a claim on a section of bed while they pulled forth their beloved Hitachi. But try as I might — and I assure you the trying was quite mighty — my fist did not slip all the way inside. I’m not sure she minded, if the constant orgasms were any indication; I’m certain he didn’t mind, if his raging hard-on spoke the truth. I tried until my arm ached up to my neck and my hand felt crushed and numb. Finally she fell back as limp as the newly-dead and I pulled out only with the assistance of my other hand. I snapped off my glove and washed up as they snuggled, then we said good night with hugs all around.
The unicorn will sometimes allow itself to be caught, you see, if you approach her correctly.
Oct 272009
Write without pay until somebody offers to pay you. If nobody offers within three years, sawing wood is what you were intended for.
Mark Twain
