Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Adult Toy Story - Part 1, A Librarian Walks into an Adult Toy Store...

Disclaimer: Because I never know who's reading this (and because I wouldn't want to discourage any potential lovers, play partners, or fuck knows, boyfriends, etc.)... If you deal with me honestly and up front with no bullshit, what passes between us is private--no names, no details except, perhaps, for a, "Sacre merde, WHAT A NIGHT! HE WAS AWESOME!" and a blissed out smile for a couple of days. Or daze, in my case. HOWEVER... if you behave as this MORON has, you're fair game and will be given an appropriate nickname to protect your guilty arse because, hey, I don't want to get sued. Now that we understand each other... read on...


OK, so Tuesday's post was a waste of time. Yep, I got played BIG TIME by He Who Be Henceforth Known as Captain StrapOn from Salem. (If there are any women on Plenty of Fish in the North Shore/Greater Boston area reading this, ping me, and I'll tell you his profile name so you can avoid him. I would really hate for anyone else to achieve the level of sexual frustration I am feeling right now.) So, rather than spend my day deep in depression and wanting to just kill myself and everyone in the general area (hey, why should I suffer alone? Besides, if I offed myself today, I would miss seeing Jim Jefferies live next week AND I'd miss the semi-annual pilgrimage to Nova Scotia, complete with Duck Therapy and the most breathtaking scenery on the planet), I'm writing about it. Hopefully someone out there will learn from my mistakes, and we'll all have a good fucking laugh.

At whose expense? Well, partially at mine (which is OK--I laugh at myself constantly) and partially at him. Hey, I've got pics of his dick--there's a reason he was wanting this. Reminds me... gotta dig out my Callahan's omnibus. Or is it the first Mary's Place novel? Not sure; doesn't matter--I have both of 'em. If you're not familiar with the author Spider Robinson, pick up any of the first three Callahan's books (Callahan's Cross-time Saloon, Time Traveler's Strictly Cash [there's an essay in there that turned me on to Robert A. Heinlein *bows down* the Great God of Science Fiction], and Callahan's Secret; they're also published in omnibus form which is well-worth the investment). The two Lady Sally's books are awesome (Lady Slings the Booze and Callahan's Lady); I wish he'd written a third. ANYWAY... the reason I need to dig out my Spider Robinson is because there's a song in there that his narrator performs about laughing at yourself--there's a line in there about stepping on your own dick (which, as you read on, you will understand why it's so damn funny and appropriate to this story).

And I just remembered... it's in the second Mary's Place book, Callahan's Legacy. OK. Bother. Haven't been able to find that in a dog's age. Ah, well... Alibris, here I come.

ANYWAY... On with the fucking story.


Or the non-fucking story, as the case turns out to be.

So... I ping this guy on Plenty of Fish. He's cute, sounds interesting, fairly local, and isn't looking for anything too serious. Perfect for my state of mind. He responds. We email back and forth via the site, both of us definitely looking for a happy Saturday night (especially after my Friday night fell through, but that's another story).

And then... we go to text messages.

Within an hour, we've gone from wanting to be cuddling and kissing to him wanting to be fucked in the ass with a strap-on.

And me without any equipment!

So we make plans to meet later in the evening, as he is working and I have to go and visit my poor ailing mum in the nursing home (she has since come home, thanks for asking). I decide to take a little shopping trip to Amazing Superstore.

Now, I get a kick out of Amazing. I like how it's a "discreet" store--looks like a shack just off the Rt. 93 ramp on the Somerville/Medford border (although the one in Danvers is bigger and nicer; ain't that always the way? ;-). Parking lot fairly full, so you know you're not alone in your perversions, and unlike the other sex shop in Somerville, it's clean and doesn't smell like an uncleaned privy. *shudder* I mean, just because you're going for interesting sex doesn't mean you're unsanitary. I park and go strolling in, hoping to find the perfect toy for my little first-timer (or so he claimed to be; who the fuck knows?).

Now, if you ask a woman about anal sex and she's honest, she's either going to rave about it or run away screaming. Those who rave have had it done to them correctly; those who scream and run have not. I have had both experiences. Let me tell you... there are some times when bigger ain't better.

Once upon a time, boys and girls, I was married. My ex was hung like a small pony. This is not a boast--it had its good points and its bad. On the upside, he was hung like a small pony--9" x 3", cut, and when he remembered the foreplay, it was a big slice of heaven.

When he DIDN'T remember the foreplay... Yeah. And I will say this right here and right now: I would rather 5 or 6" and an hour of great foreplay to 10" and none. Major point for those of average length/girth: they try a bit harder.

The story of how I lost that particular cherry makes for a great bedtime story; it will NOT be shared here. You want to hear that story, you've got to sleep with me. Let's just say that the first time was a #fail; the second time, he had a coach and was a major #win and left me addicted for life. Even the woefully thick and inept EdWad couldn't kill my love of it, although he came close. "Just relax!" "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ASS, YOU IDIOT!" Not a happy way to wake up, trust me. Jesus, I should have run that stupid cunt over. The Beast would have made short work of him. I miss that car. OK, back to the story...

The one thing you want with anal sex is a LOT of foreplay. As many a homophobic male will declare, "THAT'S AN OUTTIE, NOT AN INNIE!" (This is reported from experience, dear reader--I have had three exes make this declaration in some form or another.) For a truly wonderful experience, you need a lot of patience and a lot of lube. It also helps if the recipient has bathed recently (or at least cleaned themselves VERY well--there are some places where I draw the line, and I ain't rimming a man with an unwashed arse. Sorry, fellas, but that's a hard, fast rule). The other thing that can help is an enema. I don't recommend additives--alcohol especially is to be avoided, although it is a fascinating way to get drunk--just simple warm water, preferably administered via an old fashioned bag (the bulb syringes can be a bit harsh and a bit of a shock on the system), and a decent interval of privacy for the recipient to evacuate and clean up. If you're doing a bit of a dom scene with it, well... that's for another post, another time.

So anyway, here I am in the adult toy store with the prospect of popping a guy's cherry arse. I was definitely excited; SERIOUSLY excited. But I was also concerned. I mean, taking someone's cherry is a big responsibility, and honestly, I wanted him to enjoy it. Fuck that, I wanted him to love it and beg for more. So I knew I had to make careful and considered choices.

I opted not to go for the enema syringe with the butt-plug shaped nozzle. I mean, it was VERY tempting (the prep part of it alone would be thoroughly enjoyable), but not on a first date. Then there was the lube... *sigh* Always such a personal choice. I mean, flavored is VERY tempting when dealing with the asshole, but there are potential health issues from yeast infections because there's sugar in the damn stuff, and the rectum and colon are just hotbeds of bacterial activity. And then there's the issue of silicon-based versus the other stuff (sorry, brain is drying at the mo)... I opted for the classic Elbow Grease. Hey, if it's good enough for gay guys, it's definitely good enough for Captain StrapOn.

And then... then there was the question of the instrument of defloweration. I wanted the experience to be good. I wanted it to be satisfying. I wanted the little bitch to be begging for more. (Hey, HE used the term first--came right out and texted he wanted me to make him my bitch, feminization and all.) The thing is, when you're dealing with a virgin asshole, you don't want to cause any damage. I didn't want him bleeding afterwards; that would be discourteous and, quite frankly, inelegant, as well as inconsiderate on my part. So I really had to consider carefully exactly what I wanted to shove up his ass for his maiden voyage.

Now, you'd think a wall covered in dildos and dick-shaped vibrators would offer all the choice a woman needed, and had I not been on such a tight budget, it would have. I mean, a couple of the porn star models were incredibly tempting and impressive. It took me a good half an hour to finally decide on the double-header: it was the right girth, there were a lot of options on insertable length, and hey, I could get off on it, too. Everybody wins!

And I almost forgot the condoms! This is a REALLY, REALLY important bit when you're doing ass play, kids, with toys: ALWAYS USE A CONDOM OVER THE TOY.

Why? Well, I'll tell ya... it's not such a big deal with a solid dildo with a proper grip on it (ditto with a butt plug--they're designed NOT to slip all the way in); however, with anything that isn't solid--good example, a vibrating egg (and if you want a really VIVID description of what can go wrong with a vibrating egg, hit You Tube, search for Jim Jefferies OR Jim Jeffries, and watch the Minty's 2007 clip. Jim's "I Am the Egg Man" bit is in there, a rougher version of the performance in "I Swear to God" [but the best one yet is on the extras of "Contraband"--the audience sing-along version; better than a night at Rocky Horror, kids]. It is painfully funny, and a good illustration of why sometimes, a condom is your best friend. Yep, I managed to slip a Jim Jefferies reference in here--you KNEW I'd find a way. One week from tonight... :-) Anyway, good reasons to use a condom over a toy for assplay is a) ease of clean up (seriously, who likes shit on their toys? And getting the stink out of latex, jelly or even silicon is damn difficult); and b) safety, plain and simple. Once something goes in your ass, it shouldn't go any place else because there're just too damn many infections--not even venereal type--that can be spread to other places. Your ass is your body's sewer system, and while it might be a fun place to play, you want to leave what you find there.

Be told, be safe. Listen to your Empress--she knows of what she speaks and is trying to save you pain, children. End of lecture. (I am not the discoverer of this information, BTW--I have read this info in several places over the years, the best being the book The Loving Dominant by a lovely gent named Mentor. I met him many years ago when trying to get out of a severely abusive relationship, and he and his sub, Libby, saved my sanity and my life. Whether you're seriously into the scene or just looking to spice up your sex life, FIND A COPY OF HIS BOOK AND READ IT. His DIY bondage stuff is fucking amazing. Reminds me... gotta find my copy. Gotta start building up my kit again.)

So... our story tonight ends with me standing at the counter of the Amazing Superstore in Somerville, paying for my double-headed dick, Elbow Grease, and small pack of Trojans, and being told--with a grimace and the aside, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you this BUT" from the hippy-cute clerk: "Toys are not returnable, ma'am." At which point, I had a comedy flashback to--yep, you guessed it, Mr. Jefferies again--doing a perfect Outraged Middle Class Consumer, "Will you look at that? Bought that an hour ago, took it home, fucked it, and now... that cunt's broken!" Seriously, that routine will never allow me to look at sex toys the same way again. I broke up, right there, and the two guys behind the counter looked at me a little funny, and I told them that they had to see the bit. It would make their job so much more enjoyable.

And then... off to the nursing home to visit my ailing mum.

In our next episode... In Which The Empress and Captain StrapOn First Meet.

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