the joys of sex toys
My first exposure to a sex toy was in john irving’s the son of the circus. I was reading it in my algebra class (I had finished a quiz early) and I started the chapter entitled “the dildo”. “ewww!” corey dunmead shrieked. “what kind of a book are you reading?!?”
“it’s a good book!” I defended, not understanding his objection, as I had no idea what a dildo was. But by the end of the chapter, I had figured it out. The dildo in this particular irving novel was rather large and hard plastic and used to smuggle drugs. But it was clearly a sexual tool.
After this chapter, I began experimenting with makeshift penetrative objects. Vegetables (I broke my hymen with a banana on the bathroom floor at three am on a school night), flashlights, candles, writing utensils, bottles (teachable moment: never insert an open bottle into a bodily orifice like a rectum or vagina. The open mouth can lead to a suction that is rather hard to detach, at times resulting in injury and/or embarrassing trips to emergency rooms. This one is not a personal experience, but rather a friend’s.), and anything else vaguely phallic.
I was trying to understand why something up there was supposed to feel good. Although the psychological thrill was a rush (between the guilt and the shame and the risk of being caught), the penetration itself was not particularly exciting.
At this time, I was also hitting the point of the “everything but” where my sexual experience would plateau for the next five years. I liked making out and giving blowjobs. Fingering was great and fun, as were handjobs. But I did not like guys (cause of course there were only guys at this point) going down on me. Too much pressure to perform. The first time a guy went down on me (in the movie theatre during Contact) I had a lovely time, but then he asked me if a “came”. I said sure. Up until that point, I thought only guys could “cum”. So now there was something else wrong with me. I couldn’t come. But I took solace in the fact that orgasm would obviously come when I finally “had sex” (cause none of the above was sex. When I started attending sex conferences and researchers were sitting around with their cocktails discussing how contemporary adolescents do not consider oral sex to be sex, quite a few were shocked when I admitted that until I started studying and teaching sex, neither did I.)
Anyways, when the time came, in that cheap super eight off of highway six after I got off my shift at ihop and he had a five am physical to join the coast guard reserves in the morning, I didn’t come. I didn’t come the second time. Or the third. Or with the second guy. Or the third. Or the fourth. The fifth was nonconsensual, so an entirely different realm of sensations, orgasm not being among them.
After that particular moment, I swore off sex. A more comprehensive definition this time. I dated a wonderful woman, the first I had fallen in love with back in high school, but could not sleep with her. I dated an eccentric musician from Washington Square Park who didn’t believe in sex (not premarital, all sex. Even masturbation. The guy had issues. And he was dating me).
When new year’s came around, I made a resolution to heal and celebrate my sexuality, for myself. The first step was to have an orgasm already. I had seen Betty Dodson and Tristan Taormino speak (not to mention Leslie Feinberg). I had decided to be a sex educator. I was about to start leading workshops on sexual pleasure, and I still couldn’t pleasure myself. I felt like a total fraud.
But a fraud with a mission. I wanted to buy a vibrator. I had tried to buy one the previous spring. I tore an ad from the village voice for $10 pocket rockets. A male friend escorted me down to the sixth avenue sex shop. We walked in and were confronted with humongous black and tan jelly cocks. They were huge and they were everywhere. By the time we found the vibrators to discover the pocket rockets had sold out, my hair had braided itself into pigtails and I was ready to sprint. Not exactly a positive experience.
The second time, I was going to do it right. I researched online a www.babeland.com and www.blowfish.com . The customer and staff reviews at babeland were particularly helpful. I knew penetration wasn’t what I needed (I had had plenty and look where it had gotten me), so I focused on the clitoral vibes. I wanted something small and non-threatening but strong and adjustable. And reasonably priced. I settled on the honey bear. I recruited my roommate, who still isn’t exactly sex positive but has made steps, to escort me to Toys in Babeland on rivington between orchard and Ludlow. She hugged the wall by the books while I shyly ventured around the center table of vibrators. A staff person approached and asked if she could help out. I pulled out my notes and said I was looking for the honey bear. She found it right away, his arms raised like a clit hugging ballerina. She also pointed out the honey dog, which looked more like an anteater to me, with two dainty vibrating tongues. The honey bear fit discreetly in the palm on my hand. The remote was also palm length, the two connected by a white cord. I bought him without exploring the rest of the store. I took him home and named him Albert.
I had read enough Betty Dodson at this point not to pressure myself too much. For our first date, Albert and I got to know each other. I could feel something building stronger and stronger, as he gripped my clit, his body hugged by my labia. At the last minute I turned him off. I thought I was going to pee the bed or scream or something to let the building know what I was doing.
On our second date, both of my roommates were out. I took a bath (cause I’m in to super cheesy sexual firsts, just look at my virginity loss above) and dried off with my best fluffy towel. First I played with Albert on my breasts, pinching each nibble. I licked my left middle finger and started to stroke my clit. Then I moved Albert down. I settled him into place with the vibrations turned off. I stroked Albert as he pinched my clit, his body stimulating the legs of my clitoris and rubbing against my urethra.
I then turned him on low. I made sure to breath, watching my diaphragm rise and fall like theatre vocal warm-ups. I started having little shivers and jumps. I turned him up higher. I was breathing fairly hard at this point. I remembered Betty Dodson talking about kegel exercises. I clenched my vaginal muscles, tight, tight, tight, in time with my quick gasps of inhalations. I could feel it building again. My right hand raking my thigh started moving towards the controls to turn it down. I moved it to my breast and squeezed full palmed (in the same rough awkward grasp of so many jr high and high school conquests).
When I came I stopped breathing for two minutes. My body shook and my neck froze, head thrust back like a seizure victim. My toes curled and my fingers locked in their double jointed akimbo. Albert purred. I had made a new friend.
Since that first orgasm, I have been an advocate of sex toys. I took the next boy I slept with down to toys in babeland for a vibrating buttplug after our first night together. We later invested in a nexus and harness (named them henry and june). When we broke up he kept henry and I kept june, so I bought her a new cock. And I haven’t stopped collecting.
What I have learned in my three years of orgasms and sex toys. I like hard toys. Hard plastic and stainless steel and pyrex (and glass if I could afford it) are my friends. I like vibration outside and pressure inside (except in my ass where I like both). The double headed toys like the rabbit and the koi fish (kicks the rabbit’s ass) with a clit tickler and rotating shaft with pearls and such can easily be outdone by a slimline and a nubby-g. the rotating shaft does nothing for me vaginally, but I love rotating toys in my butt. Silicone is the best material ever made because it conducts heat and vibration and you can boil it and it comes in so many pretty pretty colors (but is not cheap). The most expensive toys are not the best toys. The best toys are rarely cheap.
In terms of first toys, start with the clit or something small with a wide rim if its for the ass. focus on sensation first, orgasm second, penetration third (for boys and girls). i love the honeybear and the bullet toys (make sure the toy is adjustable, i like scrolling speeds as opposed to low/medium/high or, even worse, on/off). slim lines are very versatile for girls, but under no circumstances are allowed up the ass. don't pay $80 for your first sex toy. start cheap and work your way up once you know what you like. always use condoms on your toys. again, wrap up your toys.
If you are interested in purchasing or exploring sex toys, I highly suggest blowfish and babeland.com, as well as good vibrations. If you are in the new york area, my second favorite sex toy shop (toys in babeland being my primary store) is fantasy world on 13th and 7th (24 hours and they sell sliquid h2o lube, my fave). Have fun and happy orgasms.
Jane Vincent is a freelance sex educator, smut writer, certified sex coach, former sex worker, and blue haired waitress who holds a BS in human sexuality. As the educated slut, she takes it to the streets and the sheets and lives to blog the tale at educatedslut.blogspot.com. She currently practices her unique blend of sexual activism in Houston, TX.
“it’s a good book!” I defended, not understanding his objection, as I had no idea what a dildo was. But by the end of the chapter, I had figured it out. The dildo in this particular irving novel was rather large and hard plastic and used to smuggle drugs. But it was clearly a sexual tool.
After this chapter, I began experimenting with makeshift penetrative objects. Vegetables (I broke my hymen with a banana on the bathroom floor at three am on a school night), flashlights, candles, writing utensils, bottles (teachable moment: never insert an open bottle into a bodily orifice like a rectum or vagina. The open mouth can lead to a suction that is rather hard to detach, at times resulting in injury and/or embarrassing trips to emergency rooms. This one is not a personal experience, but rather a friend’s.), and anything else vaguely phallic.
I was trying to understand why something up there was supposed to feel good. Although the psychological thrill was a rush (between the guilt and the shame and the risk of being caught), the penetration itself was not particularly exciting.
At this time, I was also hitting the point of the “everything but” where my sexual experience would plateau for the next five years. I liked making out and giving blowjobs. Fingering was great and fun, as were handjobs. But I did not like guys (cause of course there were only guys at this point) going down on me. Too much pressure to perform. The first time a guy went down on me (in the movie theatre during Contact) I had a lovely time, but then he asked me if a “came”. I said sure. Up until that point, I thought only guys could “cum”. So now there was something else wrong with me. I couldn’t come. But I took solace in the fact that orgasm would obviously come when I finally “had sex” (cause none of the above was sex. When I started attending sex conferences and researchers were sitting around with their cocktails discussing how contemporary adolescents do not consider oral sex to be sex, quite a few were shocked when I admitted that until I started studying and teaching sex, neither did I.)
Anyways, when the time came, in that cheap super eight off of highway six after I got off my shift at ihop and he had a five am physical to join the coast guard reserves in the morning, I didn’t come. I didn’t come the second time. Or the third. Or with the second guy. Or the third. Or the fourth. The fifth was nonconsensual, so an entirely different realm of sensations, orgasm not being among them.
After that particular moment, I swore off sex. A more comprehensive definition this time. I dated a wonderful woman, the first I had fallen in love with back in high school, but could not sleep with her. I dated an eccentric musician from Washington Square Park who didn’t believe in sex (not premarital, all sex. Even masturbation. The guy had issues. And he was dating me).
When new year’s came around, I made a resolution to heal and celebrate my sexuality, for myself. The first step was to have an orgasm already. I had seen Betty Dodson and Tristan Taormino speak (not to mention Leslie Feinberg). I had decided to be a sex educator. I was about to start leading workshops on sexual pleasure, and I still couldn’t pleasure myself. I felt like a total fraud.
But a fraud with a mission. I wanted to buy a vibrator. I had tried to buy one the previous spring. I tore an ad from the village voice for $10 pocket rockets. A male friend escorted me down to the sixth avenue sex shop. We walked in and were confronted with humongous black and tan jelly cocks. They were huge and they were everywhere. By the time we found the vibrators to discover the pocket rockets had sold out, my hair had braided itself into pigtails and I was ready to sprint. Not exactly a positive experience.
The second time, I was going to do it right. I researched online a www.babeland.com and www.blowfish.com . The customer and staff reviews at babeland were particularly helpful. I knew penetration wasn’t what I needed (I had had plenty and look where it had gotten me), so I focused on the clitoral vibes. I wanted something small and non-threatening but strong and adjustable. And reasonably priced. I settled on the honey bear. I recruited my roommate, who still isn’t exactly sex positive but has made steps, to escort me to Toys in Babeland on rivington between orchard and Ludlow. She hugged the wall by the books while I shyly ventured around the center table of vibrators. A staff person approached and asked if she could help out. I pulled out my notes and said I was looking for the honey bear. She found it right away, his arms raised like a clit hugging ballerina. She also pointed out the honey dog, which looked more like an anteater to me, with two dainty vibrating tongues. The honey bear fit discreetly in the palm on my hand. The remote was also palm length, the two connected by a white cord. I bought him without exploring the rest of the store. I took him home and named him Albert.
I had read enough Betty Dodson at this point not to pressure myself too much. For our first date, Albert and I got to know each other. I could feel something building stronger and stronger, as he gripped my clit, his body hugged by my labia. At the last minute I turned him off. I thought I was going to pee the bed or scream or something to let the building know what I was doing.
On our second date, both of my roommates were out. I took a bath (cause I’m in to super cheesy sexual firsts, just look at my virginity loss above) and dried off with my best fluffy towel. First I played with Albert on my breasts, pinching each nibble. I licked my left middle finger and started to stroke my clit. Then I moved Albert down. I settled him into place with the vibrations turned off. I stroked Albert as he pinched my clit, his body stimulating the legs of my clitoris and rubbing against my urethra.
I then turned him on low. I made sure to breath, watching my diaphragm rise and fall like theatre vocal warm-ups. I started having little shivers and jumps. I turned him up higher. I was breathing fairly hard at this point. I remembered Betty Dodson talking about kegel exercises. I clenched my vaginal muscles, tight, tight, tight, in time with my quick gasps of inhalations. I could feel it building again. My right hand raking my thigh started moving towards the controls to turn it down. I moved it to my breast and squeezed full palmed (in the same rough awkward grasp of so many jr high and high school conquests).
When I came I stopped breathing for two minutes. My body shook and my neck froze, head thrust back like a seizure victim. My toes curled and my fingers locked in their double jointed akimbo. Albert purred. I had made a new friend.
Since that first orgasm, I have been an advocate of sex toys. I took the next boy I slept with down to toys in babeland for a vibrating buttplug after our first night together. We later invested in a nexus and harness (named them henry and june). When we broke up he kept henry and I kept june, so I bought her a new cock. And I haven’t stopped collecting.
What I have learned in my three years of orgasms and sex toys. I like hard toys. Hard plastic and stainless steel and pyrex (and glass if I could afford it) are my friends. I like vibration outside and pressure inside (except in my ass where I like both). The double headed toys like the rabbit and the koi fish (kicks the rabbit’s ass) with a clit tickler and rotating shaft with pearls and such can easily be outdone by a slimline and a nubby-g. the rotating shaft does nothing for me vaginally, but I love rotating toys in my butt. Silicone is the best material ever made because it conducts heat and vibration and you can boil it and it comes in so many pretty pretty colors (but is not cheap). The most expensive toys are not the best toys. The best toys are rarely cheap.
In terms of first toys, start with the clit or something small with a wide rim if its for the ass. focus on sensation first, orgasm second, penetration third (for boys and girls). i love the honeybear and the bullet toys (make sure the toy is adjustable, i like scrolling speeds as opposed to low/medium/high or, even worse, on/off). slim lines are very versatile for girls, but under no circumstances are allowed up the ass. don't pay $80 for your first sex toy. start cheap and work your way up once you know what you like. always use condoms on your toys. again, wrap up your toys.
If you are interested in purchasing or exploring sex toys, I highly suggest blowfish and babeland.com, as well as good vibrations. If you are in the new york area, my second favorite sex toy shop (toys in babeland being my primary store) is fantasy world on 13th and 7th (24 hours and they sell sliquid h2o lube, my fave). Have fun and happy orgasms.
Jane Vincent is a freelance sex educator, smut writer, certified sex coach, former sex worker, and blue haired waitress who holds a BS in human sexuality. As the educated slut, she takes it to the streets and the sheets and lives to blog the tale at educatedslut.blogspot.com. She currently practices her unique blend of sexual activism in Houston, TX.
posted by O, my first orgasm | 2:24 PM
5 Comments:
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