On Friends, Lovers, and Sex Toys

My friends all know that I review sex toys, and they’re all pretty stoked for me. Some will even ask me, as a routine part of every visit we have together, “So what are you reviewing right now?” and then I will take them up to my bedroom and pull out whatever treasure has been frequenting my orifices that week. Really, my friends are great.

There are so many awkwardnesses surrounding the sharing of sexuality with your friends in this culture, though.

Recently I went through my toy collection and made a list of toys I never use and don’t need or want to own anymore. They’re all sterilizable and none of them have been in my butt. I sent out a message to a few select friends containing the list and some links, and asked them to choose anything they wanted to have.

Admittedly, I was nervous about doing this. My friends are extremely sex-positive and toy-positive, but I worried they would freak out, call me gross, and admonish me for even bringing it up. Luckily, they didn’t – and next week I’ll be passing on some under-loved, high-quality toys to my sweet friends.

My boyfriend thinks this is all a bit weird. Maybe it’s a relic of male culture – you know, all those ideas about how overly-intimate friendships are icky and how sex is something you share with your hos, not your bros – but he gets visibly squicked out when I mention that I’m giving a toy of mine to a friend. He’s fine with using my toys himself, but that’s because we’re fluid-bonded and I guess a sexual relationship is considered a socially acceptable environment for sharing toys.

I remember when I was 17 and my ambiguous friend/lovergirl bought a rabbit vibrator. Having owned a vibrator and a dildo but never a dual-action toy, I was very curious about her new purchase. So one night, when she came over for a little party I was having at my house, she stowed the rabbit in her bag and passed it to me surreptitiously. “Go try it out!” she said.

I scampered away from the party guests and into the bathroom, where I tried out the toy, sans lube (ugh, youthful stupidity). It didn’t blow me away. It didn’t even really turn me on. (This is no surprise to me now, since I’ve tried a re-skinned version of that same rabbit and had the same mediocre results.) After I had satisfied my curiosity, I removed the toy, rinsed it off, and brought it back to my lady. She asked me what I thought and I probably kinda shrugged.

So what’s my point with all this? Honestly, I’m not really sure I have one. I guess I’m just intrigued by and curious about the social norms surrounding sex toys. Some of them are there for good reason – you don’t want to accidentally transmit or contract an STI via a borrowed and unsterilized toy, of course – but some of them just seem silly. So what if I want to give my friend a vibrating hand-me-down? If she’s okay with it, and I’m okay with it, and the toy is clean, what’s the big deal?

What are your experiences with giving or receiving used sex toys? Do you consider it off-limits, and if so, why?

Body Pride – or, Why I Spent Four Hours Naked With Strangers

A few months ago, I was on a tea date with a friend and she suddenly announced, “I know this girl, and she runs these Body Pride workshops! Everyone gets naked and you sit in a circle and talk about body image and sex and stuff! Do you want to go with me?”

I said sure, but I was thinking, Uh, that sounds kind of terrifying. See, I’m an introvert. A huge one. Maybe it’s not apparent from this blog, but I am. And meeting new people is scary enough as it is, but doing it naked? That seemed a little too far out of my comfort zone.

Fast forward a few months. In the middle of the night, I had a fit of impulsivity, as I often do, and fired off an e-mail to the workshop organizer, Caitlin, asking her to sign me up for an upcoming Body Pride event. In the morning, I asked my friend if she still wanted to do it with me, and she said yes. So it was a plan.

The day finally came. I found the top-secret location that had been texted to me, and nervously punched numbers into the buzzer. “Hey, I’m here for Body Pride?” I said into the speaker, feeling that the tone of my voice didn’t exactly convey the “pride” that would be my goal tonight. I sounded like a little mouse.

Caitlin let me into the beautiful space and I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the floor with the other girls who had arrived so far. The middle of the circle was full of delicious, healthy snacks, and the ladies were chatting about relationships and sex (what else?). Caitlin brought me a glass of wine and I slurped some down for courage. Most of the folks were older than me, or seemed that way, anyway (I sometimes feel like a 15-year-old when I go into shy-girl mode), but I didn’t feel too out of place.

When everyone had arrived, Caitlin and Khadeja passed out forms for us to sign. We had to agree that we wouldn’t sue the workshop organizers if the experience messed us up in any way (I can’t imagine how it could), and we could optionally allow them to use our photos on their website and in their work-in-progress photography book. Yes, there would be a photoshoot at the end of the night. I wasn’t sure whether I was mostly nervous or excited about that part. Somewhere around here, I noticed that my friend hadn’t shown up after all, so it was just me and eight women I’d never met before. Yikes.

Then an announcement was made to the effect of, “Okay, everybody get naked!” and we did. I think my boobs were the first ones to come out, because I’d purposely worn minimal clothing to make it easier to disrobe. And, to my amazement, I didn’t feel the least bit ashamed or embarrassed. Everyone else was taking off their clothes, too. And then we were all sitting in a circle, completely naked, like it was the most normal thing in the world (because it kind of is).

The organizers passed out “muff mats,” little hand-towels for us to sit our pussies on, because women have bodies and those bodies sometimes excrete stuff that probably doesn’t belong on a stranger’s floor. Not in a shamey way, just in a practical way, you understand.

While everyone sipped their drinks and passed back the last of their signed forms, Caitlin explained where the idea for Body Pride had come from. She told us the story of her revelation that bodies weren’t something to be ashamed of, or even to be “just okay” with – that they should be loved, embraced, celebrated. And so she’d decided to take photos of herself naked and post them on the internet (indeed, one of the bravest and most scarily permanent decisions a young woman can make in this day and age). She’d then gotten an e-mail from a friend asking if there were going to be “happy naked girl parties” to further this agenda, and a lightbulb went off in Caitlin’s head. And so Body Pride was born.

The workshop was run in an around-the-circle way, with each woman speaking on the topic at hand when it was her turn. First we talked about why we’d decided to attend; answers ranged from “It just sounded like fun” to “I need to become more comfortable with my naked body” to “I just broke up with my boyfriend and this seemed like a good thing to do afterward.” Even though we all had different specific reasons, it seemed that our intentions were ultimately the same: to be with other naked women in a non-sexual but personally and sexually affirming way.

We talked about our childhood experiences with sexuality and masturbation, our parents’ influences, our present-day body image, sexual debuts, relationship regrets, wishes for the future, threesomes, and porn. We covered many topics, thoroughly and respectfully. Every woman’s words were listened to and absorbed. The discussion was structured but still participant-led. Caitlin sort of sat back and let us talk about what we wanted to talk about, only intervening occasionally if we needed to be steered a little.

By the end of our hours-long talk, most of us were pretty drunk, and nudity felt completely natural and normal. Caitlin and Khadeja moved over to the white backdrop that was already pinned up on one wall, and set up a tripod, camera, and large studio light. Someone put on some sexy, groovy, cheesy music from the ‘90s (I definitely remember there was Sir Mix-A-Lot and the Spice Girls) that got us into a dancing mood. And one by one, we each took our turn in front of the camera, shaking our booties, flaunting our bodies, loving our beauty. I felt like a drunker version of Bettie Page. I felt powerful and gorgeous and luminescent.

When we weren’t posing, we signed the Body Pride guestbook, talked about ex-boyfriends, and had more to drink. These women, who I’d only met a few hours before, I felt like I understood. I saw that their motivations and histories were not so different from mine, even though some of them had had over 300 sexual partners and I’ve only had two. We were all united in the common pursuit of sexual freedom and radical self-love.

Finally, it was time to go. I put my clothes back on, which felt weird. I stumbled out drunkenly into the street and said goodbye to everyone. Then I went home and had a bagel and pondered the nature of female sexuality.

Interested in attending a Body Pride workshop? Do you live in the Toronto area or can you get there? Then keep an eye on Caitlin’s website for future events!

She Died and Left Me Her Vibrator

A few weeks ago, my great-aunt passed away. This blog isn’t the right space to talk about death and mourning, so I won’t get into all that, but it was a sad time.

While we sat around at the hospital, letting it sink in, my aunt (who knows I review sex toys) said to me, “When we were clearing out her apartment, we found a vibrator from the 1960s. You should have it for your collection.” I laughed, sort of thinking she was joking, but sure enough, a few days later, she dropped by with said vibrator in a plastic bag.

I was immediately struck by how much it resembles my Wahl. In fact, I initially thought it was an older model of the Wahl, until I saw the name branded on the side, “The Body Machine.” It was manufactured by a Canadian company called Charlescraft, whose website features autoplay music (ugh) and various appliances and contraptions, but no massagers. I guess they stopped making them around the time that people realized they could get real sex toys and stop repurposing their innocent muscle massagers.

While I had no intention of using the Body Machine (sorry, can’t get onboard with using my deceased relative’s instrument of lust on my genitals), I wanted to test how its power compared to the Wahl. I expected it to be stronger, but actually, the Wahl easily wins out. The Body Machine’s low speed is akin to the mid-range on a contemporary rechargeable vibe, and its high speed is barely any higher. I guess my great-aunt was less choosy about her sex toys than I am (although, I guess if it were the ‘60s, you’d have to be).

So what’s the point of all this? I guess it just served as a reminder for me that practically everyone is sexual, even the folks you wouldn’t think of in that way. With few exceptions, we all want to get our rocks off and have fun doing it. I’m just glad I live in a time and place where I can buy products specifically designed to give me orgasms, rather than relying on a home appliance.

Sexy Adventures: Side-By-Side Masturbation

I’m really not a fan of the term “mutual masturbation,” because I feel it’s so often used incorrectly, at least in my view. The word masturbation traditionally refers to manual stimulation performed by oneself on oneself, i.e. self-pleasure. So to say that you and your partner exchanging handjobs is “mutual masturbation” would be a misnomer. Why not just say you exchanged handjobs?

That said, this past week, I participated in some actual mutual masturbation… i.e. my partner and I each masturbated, in each other’s presence, for one another’s entertainment, and for self-gratification. We’d never really done it before and it was pretty awesome.

I’m a pretty pro masturbator, as you might guess from reading my blog. I jerk off a lot, and have done since I was a child. Using fingers, toys, and even the occasional bath faucet, I can usually bring myself off in under ten minutes.

It’s different when someone else is present, though. This is something I’ve never been able to do comfortably. My ex-girlfriend used to ask me to jerk it in front of her, because she thought it’d be hot, but I just never wanted to. My current boyfriend has asked me to do it many times as well, for the same reason, but the only way I’ve been able to do it is if his dick was inside me at the same time and he couldn’t really see what was going on. I don’t know exactly why, but the idea of someone watching me masturbate makes me nervous and self-conscious.

The other night, though, we were both horny and exhausted, so I suggested that we lie next to one another and get ourselves off. All the intimacy of sex without the physical entanglement and obligation. My boyfriend agreed immediately.

He busted out a Tenga Egg from his backpack (I’m so proud), and I handed him my finger bunny vibe, which he likes to use on his balls. Then I grabbed my Tsunami, Eroscillator, and a bottle of lube for each of us, and we got down to business.

It was fun, though I still found myself feeling self-conscious, especially when I heard him re-applying lube or adjusting the vibrator’s settings, since I knew that meant his eyes were probably open and looking at me. It’s so silly that I still feel weird about this, considering how many of my orgasms this man has witnessed (hundreds upon hundreds). Maybe I just still think of masturbation as an entirely private thing, someone for no one’s eyes but my own.

This is a similar feeling to the time that my ex-girlfriend suggested she could use one of my dildos on me while eating me out. At first, I thought that sounded great, but as soon as she slid it in, my mind changed. “Nope. This feels way too private. I don’t feel right doing this with you.” It was absurd, but I couldn’t help it. I felt exposed and weirdly displaced.

Of course, now, I’m perfectly capable of having a partner (albeit a different partner) use toys on me during oral, and at other times. So maybe this mutual masturbation thing is something I just have to work on and slowly acclimatize myself to.

I Have Small Boob Privilege

Today I was sitting around in the basement of the place where I volunteer, and some of the folks there were having a conversation about the plight of having big breasts. While internally rehashing my own insecurities about having small-ish boobs (technically 32D when measured properly, though they are more like the conventional perception of B cups), I listened to these women lamenting their sore backs, their limited clothing options. One of them said, “I wish I was one of those women who can just get up and go to work without putting on a bra,” and I realized – I am one of those women.

I can get away with not wearing a bra, and I almost always do. I never experience back pain from the weight of my breasts. I can run up and down stairs braless without incident (though I prefer to hold them against my chest when I do this). I can have cleavage when I want to, and can make it disappear when I want to. I know how to make myself look like a busty vixen or a practically flat-chested teenager, just by changing my clothing and undergarments.

I have to acknowledge to myself that this is a huge privilege I’ve been blessed with. My curvaceous lower body has often made me ache for bigger boobs, to balance me out and make me into a classic hourglass. I’ve never really considered the possibility that being smaller on top is more versatile and spares me from various possible health problems.

I guess my point is, there ain’t no shame in boobs, no matter what size they are. Being small and being big both have their privileges and their drawbacks, and if we understand that, maybe we’ll stop being jealous of other women for they way their racks stack up.