Review: Tantus Uncut #1 (+ GIVEAWAY!)

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When I give sex advice to youngins, one of the things I always tell them is, “You might think you know what you like and what you want, but once you actually start having sex, that might change completely.”

I say this because it’s a lesson I’ve learned countless times in my journey from virgin to pervert: don’t knock anything until you try it.

A particularly salient example of this is my attitude toward realistic dildos. When I was 15, 16, even 18, and the only sex I’d had was of the lesbian variety, I scoffed at cock-like dongs. I thought of penises as a necessary evil in hetero sex, a means to an end, an accessory to the main event. I got off most easily from a tongue on my clit, and figured that I’d just have to suffer through the other components of straight fucking. And part of me believed that all women felt that way. So who would ever need or want a realistic dildo?

Wow, how my opinion changed. Sometime around my 19th birthday, penis-in-vagina sex entered my sexual repertoire. And while there was definitely a learning curve, once my partner and I had figured out each other’s bodies, our PIV sex became fucking stellar. I still couldn’t (and can’t) get off from penetration alone, but it hardly mattered to me. I began to crave cock, just as I’d thought I never would.

All this to say: the Tantus Uncut #1 is the kind of dildo I would have hated at age 17, but that I absolutely love now.

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The first time I put the Uncut #1 in my vag, I noticed that it felt a bit like my beloved Mustang – i.e. soft, squishy, but firm enough to please my G-spot. I’m not the only one who’s made this comparison. Tantus’ flexible dual-density O2 silicone pairs beautifully with the big juicy head on the Uncut #1, making for a dildo that feels real enough to indulge my PIV fantasies while also still feeling, y’know, like a great dildo.

Once, after a long wank sesh with the Uncut, I slid it out of me and fondled it, and I was amazed at how real it felt when it was all warm and wet. The skin-like texture and fleshy squish of this dildo make it one of the best nonporous realistic options on the market, right up there with the VixSkin line.

Dimensions-wise, the Uncut #1 is a bit strange. Its 1.75″ girth is perfect, but it has an insertable length of 7.45″, which is… excessive. Luckily, you don’t have to use the whole length (I never do, because I physically can’t), and those extra inches will be a blessing if you use this dildo for strap-on play, since harnesses shorten dildos’ useable length.

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The shaft of the Uncut #1 features lots of veiny texture. I have to use more lube than usual for it to be comfortable, but then, I’m not much of a texture fan. Occasionally I get that “vaginal rugburn” feeling once the lube dries down a little, but usually at that point I’m halfway to orgasm and the pain mingles with pleasure so I just feel properly fucked rather than sore.

I don’t find that the Uncut targets any particular spots inside me. Its coronal ridge slides over my G-spot deliciously with every thrust, and it’s long enough that I get a little A-spot stimulation if I shove it in as deep as it’ll go, but neither spot gets a lot of stimulation from this toy. It’s more of an all-over sensation for my vagina – which still feels pretty excellent.

Overall I’m dazzled by what an excellent realistic dildo Tantus has created with the Uncut #1. I initially wanted it for the novelty factor – foreskins, yay! – so I didn’t expect it to be this terrific. High five, Tantus!

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Now, here’s some exciting news… I am giving away an Uncut #1 to one lucky reader!

The lovely folks at Tantus gifted me two Uncuts, identical except for their color, and I decided to keep the mocha one – so the cocoa one is up for grabs! See the Rafflecopter widget below for deets on how you can enter.

Just so you know: this was a sample piece, so it won’t come in plastic packaging. (But don’t be alarmed: it hasn’t been used, obviously.) This giveaway is also only open to readers age 18+ from Canada and the U.S. Sorry, international friends!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

GJ Reads Grey, Chapter 3

Want to go back? Read the previous chapter or the first chapter.

Yes, it’s time. Let’s read some more of Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian. Alright… Deep breath… Let’s go.

One of my fave things about Fifty Shades is E.L. James’ awkward attempts to set it in the U.S. despite having very little practical knowledge of her settings. Her characters consistently talk like Brits, in a way that’s glaring to any North American reader, and it’s hilarious. (Example: in this chapter, Ana says, “I’ve never left mainland USA.” Okay then.) James’ geographic ineptitude also shows up in her descriptions of locations. Chapter 3 starts out with Christian going on a jog in Portland, and he’s careful to explain that he jogs “down Southwest Salmon Street toward the Willamette River.” It reads a bit like a tourist brochure.

After his scenic jog along the Willamette, Christian returns to his hotel to get ready for his photoshoot with Ana et al. for Kate’s newspaper article.

Breakfast has been delivered and I’m famished. It’s not a feeling I tolerate – ever.

I vaguely remember from the first book (of which I admittedly only read half) that Christian has issues with food, presumably dating back to his time as the submissive of an abusive older woman. I’m intrigued to read more about this in Grey.

My hair is wet from my shower, but I don’t give a shit. One glance at the louche fucker in the mirror and I exit to follow Taylor to the elevator.

Uh. Couple things. A) I had to look up the word “louche.” Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before. It means “disreputable or sordid in a rakish or appealing way,” which, yeah, that’s totally Christian. And B) WHAT A DOUCHE. (Which rhymes with louche, incidentally.) He thinks soooo highly of himself. It’s annoying as a character quality, but it also doesn’t ring true. Wouldn’t someone in his psychological position be more insecure than this? I’m no psychology expert, but… somehow I doubt E.L. James is one, either.

As the photoshoot begins, Grey gets introduced to Ana’s photographer friend José, and this interaction devolves into another one of Christian’s masculinity competitions for Ana’s affections. (At Drunk Feminist Films, we shouted “Broformance!” and took a drink every time this happened. We got hammered.)

Christian observes that Ana’s friend Kate is more active, engaged, and bossy than Ana, which apparently indicates that Ana is “a natural submissive.” Right, ’cause how someone acts at a weird publicity event with a bunch of strangers is a clear sign of how they like to have sex. Brilliant logic, Christian.

He asks her on a coffee date, and they hold hands on the way to the café. One of the most jarring things about the Fifty Shades movie, for me, was how quickly the characters ramped up to intimate physical contact – me and a gaggle of sex bloggers yelled at the screen when Christian started stroking Ana’s face on their first date, for example. I had forgotten that this weird forwardness happens in the books as well.

Ana tells him she wants tea with the bag on the side (?! what is the point of this?) and then Christian orders it for her, calling it “bag-out tea,” which made me laugh really hard and I’m not entirely sure why. He also orders her a muffin even though she explicitly tells him she doesn’t want anything to eat. More of Christian’s food issues here, plus one of the first instances of Christian directly ignoring one of Ana’s requests, which will be a recurring theme in this book.

I watch her dunk the teabag in the teapot. It’s an elaborate and messy spectacle. She fishes it out almost immediately and places the used teabag on her saucer. My mouth is twitching with my amusement. As she tells me she likes her tea weak and black, for a moment I think she’s describing what she likes in a man.

…What? …This whole passage is so fucking weird. I can’t even. What?!?

They chat over their coffee and tea for a bit, and Christian continues to refer to their budding relationship as a “deal” in his internal monologue, like this is a merger and not a date. Cool, yeah, your cold and businesslike approach to romance is really charming and not at all off-putting.

Their conversation is supposed to feel like flirty banter, I think, but E.L. James is the worst, so it reads like two British robots playing 20 Questions.

And it’s with great pleasure and a smirk that I remind her that she’s interviewed me already. “I can recollect some quite probing questions.” Yes. You asked me if I was gay.

I swear they have referenced that particular “misstep” at least four times so far. As if asking someone if he’s gay is the most horrible, embarrassing thing in the world. I am unsure what decade Christian thinks he’s living in.

“Do you always wear jeans?” I ask. “Mostly,” she says, and it’s two strikes against her: incurable romantic who only wears jeans… I like my women in skirts. I like them accessible.

KEEP YOUR JEANS ON, ANA.

Her body is pressed against mine, and the feel of her breasts and her heat through my shirt is arousing. She has a fresh, wholesome fragrance that reminds me of my grandfather’s apple orchard.

Is this supposed to be sexy?!

This is, by the way, the incongruous face-touching incident that I mentioned earlier. Ana almost walks out in front of a speeding cyclist, because she’s Such A Klutz!, and Christian saves her life or whatever, so now their bodies are touching. Yawn.

He almost kisses her, but then decides against it because Ana “wants hearts and flowers and [he doesn’t] do that shit.” He tells her to steer clear of him because he’s not a good match for her, and then immediately afterward, he says, “Breathe, Anastasia, breathe.” How arrogant is this fucker that he thinks his rejection caused her to stop breathing and start panicking?!

She disappears into the building, leaving in her wake a trace of regret, the memory of her beautiful blue eyes, and the scent of an apple orchard in the fall.

And so ends chapter 3, leaving in its wake a trace of louche douche, the memory of awkward face-touching, and the scent of bag-out tea.

Want to keep reading? Here’s the next instalment.

GJ Reads Grey, Chapter 2

Want to go back? Read the first chapter.

Time for more close-reading of Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian. Are you banging your head against a desk yet?

You might remember that chapter 1 ended with Christian running a background check on Ana. (Ooh, how romaaaantic!) Chapter 2 begins with the results of that background check, including such riveting information as Ana’s birthdate, address, social security number, and bank balance. Yep, E.L. James sure knows how to pen a page-turner.

Christian pores over this information while sitting in his car in the parking lot of the hardware store where Ana works, because Christian is a fucking creep.

I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five tedious days, to see if I’d forget about her. And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting… for anything.

This doesn’t bode well for Christian’s grasp of the concept of consent – which sometimes involves (gasp!) waiting until someone is ready.

Christian briefly considers telling his therapist, Dr. Flynn, about his “lascivious” feelings for Ana, because he’s worried he’s “behaving like a stalker” (yes, Christian, I’m glad you figured that out). But he decides against this because he doesn’t want Flynn “hounding [him] about his latest solution-based-therapy shit.” Hey, Christian, I hate to break it to you, but solution-based therapy would probably do you a lot of good right about now.

This chapter brings us the first direct reference to Christian’s penis (oh joy). His “cock twitches in response” when he sees Ana sucking a bagel crumb off her finger at the hardware store counter. “Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her,” he posits to himself. Uh, okay.

His opening line to her at the hardware store is, “Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise,” which is pure frightening bullshit. He has sought her out at the random-ass shop where she works, in the creepiest possible way, and he’s trying to convince her it’s a coincidence. He’s attempting to manufacture a meet-cute and it’s gross.

She’s dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans, not the shapeless shit she was wearing earlier this week. She’s all long legs, narrow waist, and perfect tits. … I’ve flown in from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was really worth the journey.

It genuinely worries me that there are men out there who think this way, who view women this way. I know that this book is going to try to convince me that Christian develops romantic feelings for Ana, and begins to care about her as a person, but it’s going to be hard for me to scrub this objectifying inner commentary out of my brain when we get to that part of the story. She’s nothing but a sex doll to him at this point. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

It’s starting to grate on me that E.L. James has her characters use the word “shall” so often. I can’t remember anyone, real or fictional, using that word with any degree of sincerity in the past 30+ years – and yet Christian and Ana are dropping “shalls” all over the place like that’s the way 21st-century humans naturally talk. Uh, no. This dialogue reads like a misinformed martian wrote it.

As she passes [the masking tape] to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly. It resonates in my groin. Damn!

Is any of the ~”sexy”~ stuff in this book going to actually be sexy? Judging by this positively boner-killing excerpt, I’m guessing no.

He buys some obviously kink-intended hardware goods from her, and she asks if he’d be willing to pose for some photos for her friend Kate’s article. All the while, he’s calling her “the delectable Miss Steele” in his mind. Ew.

Then Ana’s coworker Paul shows up, bringing out even more of Christian’s horrible side (which isn’t really a side so much as it is his entire personality). He thinks, “Who the hell is this prick?” and “Get your fucking paws off her,” and calls Paul an asshole. Okay, James, we get it: Christian is possessive as fuck. He hasn’t even asked her out yet and he thinks he owns her.

I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind. How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? She’s going to need substantial training. Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents… Getting there is going to be half the fun.

Grey’s thoughts so far have painted him as extremely socially out-of-touch. It is beyond inappropriate to be thinking this far ahead into a sexual future with someone, and angling for a specific and manipulative outcome, when nothing romantic or sexual has even happened between them yet. He’s like a serial killer who’s set his sights on his next victim. It’s chilling.

After Christian leaves the hardware store, he gets into his car, informs his driver he’ll be staying in Portland for the weekend, and then contemplates taking a hike to “walk this strange hunger out of [his] system.” I’m not sure I can imagine anything more brooding than that.

After the hike, he spends several hours moping around in his hotel room waiting for Ana to call. When she finally does, they set up the photoshoot for the next morning. It’s still a perfectly chaste interaction but Grey is thinking about tying her up and fucking her, because he’s Grey.

How the hell am I going to close this deal?

FOR FUCK’S SAKE, CHRISTIAN, SHE IS A HUMAN, NOT A STOCKS ACQUISITION!

Next week, we’ll do chapter 3. Think you can handle the idiocy?

Want to keep reading? Go to the next chapter.

Review: Njoy Eleven

Review: Njoy Eleven

My job as a sex toy reviewer is essentially to answer the question, “Should you buy this toy?” and while that’s sometimes easy, it’s a challenge with the Njoy Eleven. It’s pretty damn expensive, usually retailing for $350-450 depending on where you get it. The bigger and firmer a toy is, the likelier it is to cause discomfort or pain when it encounters a body it’s incompatible with – and the Eleven is one of the biggest and firmest toys you can get your hands on, at 11″ by 2″ of solid stainless steel. In addition to all that, it’s also unwieldy, indiscreet, and not guaranteed to hit your G-spot.

When I told Piph I longed for an Eleven, she tried to talk me out of it. I’d read her review, so I knew she didn’t like it: she found it too heavy to thrust comfortably, and it didn’t hit her G-spot as well as she thought it would. “Trust my vagina on this,” she implored me. And while I do, generally, trust Piph’s vagina, I also trust my own – and it was telling me it wanted to be crammed full of stainless steel.

At DildoHoliday, I borrowed Piph’s Eleven from the communal bleach bowl and took it to my room. I paired it with a good clit vibe. I had an orgasm. And I fell in love. Heart-eyes-emoji, head-over-G-spot in love.

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The object of my affections, I should explain, is the Eleven‘s larger end. The smaller, ridged side, at 1.75″ in diameter, is perfectly fine, but it lacks the pronounced curve and insistent girth that work magic on my G-spot. I use the smaller end as a warm-up, because my vagina may be experienced but it can’t handle two inches of steel right off the bat. So I work myself open using the smaller end, and it usually only takes a minute or two before I’m ready to turn the Eleven around and slide the bigger side into my vag.

Although steel is completely firm and unyielding, I often find it easier to insert large steel toys into my orifices, because they’re so frictionless. In fact, despite the Eleven’s enormity (and, you should know, it is fucking enormous), I almost never use lube with it. My natural lubrication is usually enough – but don’t try this at home, kids; I might just be a freak of nature. Lube is a good thing!

The large end of the Eleven locks in place behind my pubic bone and nuzzles right up into my G-spot. There’s really nowhere else it can go. It’s too big to be pushed in deep toward my cervix, and its flared head keeps it from sliding out of me before I’m ready to remove it. So it just stays exactly where I want it, and all I can really do is thrust it over my G-spot in small motions. Fortunately, that’s all the movement I need for the Eleven to feel fucking fantastic.

Piph and I disagree about which is better, the Eleven or the Pure Wand, and I know why. She likes direct, intense G-spot pressure, the kind best provided by toys with an extreme curve like the Pure Wand or Comet Wand. But as for me, I’ve learned that my G-spot prefers sweet, tender rubbing over aggressive pounding. I can appreciate the Pure Wand and other G-spot assailants of its ilk, but they serve up my pleasure with a side order of “need-to-pee” discomfort, and I’m not always down for that. So something that slides back and forth over my G-spot, rather than slamming into it or grinding against it, works better for my purposes.

And to that end, the bigger head of the Eleven feels divine for me. If I use it with a decent clit vibe, I can usually get off with the vibrator on the first or second setting, because the G-spot pleasure makes up for the lower level of clit stimulation. This combo has brought me to many a stellar blended orgasm. I love blended orgasms best because they leave me feeling incredibly sated and blissed out – and that’s particularly true of the Eleven, since its mighty girth is so satisfying for my muscles to clench around when I come.

Is this review even more graphic and detailed than mine usually are? That’s because the Eleven elicits feelings in my vagina that I can only describe as pornographic. I’m getting turned on just writing this review. Fuck, man. Get out of my head, you vexatious, tantalizing chunk o’ steel!!

The Eleven’s heaviness is one of the main issues some reviewers have with it. And that’s understandable. At 2.75 pounds, it is basically a dumbbell, fit for arm exercise regimens. I find I can get around this somewhat by bracing my arm against my thigh and angling my vag so my thrusts work with gravity instead of against it. (Horizontal thrusting with the Eleven is less tiring than vertical for me.) However, if you have any kind of mobility or strength issues in your arms, run far, far away from the Eleven. Something lighter but equally G-spotty, like the Seduction, will do you right.

Now, let’s talk price for a minute. I still maintain that you should try someone else’s Eleven before you buy your own, if that’s at all feasible for you. I wouldn’t want you to drop a ton of money on this thing and then find out that you hate it. But if you’re prepared to bite the bullet, here are some places where you can get an Eleven:

I can’t tell you whether or not you should buy an Eleven. All I can tell you is that I love mine, some people hate it, some love it, and you should certainly never pay full-price for one.

Beyond that, it’s up to you. Are your holes calling out for this massive rod of steel, like mine was? Or do you quake in fear of the Eleven’s size (and price tag)? The choice is yours, my friend…

I Made My Own Glass Dildo Because Life is a Magical Adventure

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When the #DildoHoliday schedule arrived in my inbox, I opened it up and speed-read it as though it contained the meaning of life.

My eyes swept over the various planned workshops, roundtable discussions, and group meals, until they landed on these intriguing words: “Super secret surprise event. Trust us – you’re gonna love it!”

What the fuck could that mean?

The only piece of information we were given about this “secret surprise” was that we’d need to wear closed-toe shoes. I was utterly baffled. At one point I even Googled “activities that require closed-toe shoes,” because the curiosity was gnawing at me. The search results were unhelpful.

When we arrived at the beach house where #DildoHoliday took place, and the scheduled time of the Super Secret Surprise Event was creeping up, Piph and Bex told us to wear pants instead of flowy skirts. I asked if I should bring a jacket and they told me to skip it, because the temperature of our destination would be hot. It was a bit chilly outside, so once again, I was mystified. But I put on the clothes I’d been instructed to wear, and piled into Kate’s car with the others.

Piph told Kate where to drive, and the anticipation in the car was palpable. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been faced with a surprise that was actually a surprise; usually I figure these things out well before they happen. But in this case, I truly had no clue what we were in for. Kate asked Piph if we were going on a boat ride, which was also the only idea that had occurred to me, and Piph just laughed and said no.

And then we pulled up outside Jennifer Sears Glass Art Studio, and we started shrieking. Because it suddenly became obvious. We were going to MAKE OUR OWN GLASS DILDOS.

Needless to say, this was a much better surprise than a boat ride.

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There were three glassworkers there to help us make the glass dildos of our dreams: Kelly, Kyla and Otto. (Is “glassworker” the correct term? I’m kind of more inclined to call them “glass wizards.”) This glass studio doesn’t normally make sexual paraphernalia – glass floats, bowls, and hearts are their usual wares, and there was nary a glass dildo or glass anal toy in sight! – but they’d agreed to set aside some time outside of business hours for us.

I was assigned to Otto, and at first I was nervous because I thought I’d feel uncomfortable describing my ideal dildo shape and size to a man, especially one I’d just met. But Otto was a total sweetheart and helped me through the whole process without making me feel one iota of discomfort.

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Otto explained each step of the process as we went along. First I gathered up some molten hot, liquid glass on the end of a metal rod. I wore gloves, of course, so the hot pole (!) wouldn’t burn my hands.

Then, while continually rotating the rod to prevent dripping, I dipped the squishy ball of orange-hot glass into a couple piles of a powdery substance that would give the dildo its color. After much deliberation, I’d chosen two of my favorite shades: a deep royal blue and a gorgeous turquoisey-green. Otto did some masterful glass manipulation to get the colors to swirl together in my dildo.

After we’d applied the colors, we put an additional layer of clear glass on top – that way, the paint would be inside the dildo, instead of on the surface where it could potentially flake off during use.

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Then came the really fun part: creating the shape of the toy. I had shown Otto some reference images of the Fucking Sculptures Double Trouble on my phone, because I wanted my dildo to have a similar S-shaped curve. He understood what I meant immediately, and I watched in amazement while he went to work on the melty blob of glass.

The glassmakers shaped our toys by spinning them against a thick square of folded wet newspaper. You’d think that the glass would just burn through the paper, since it’s incredibly hot at this point – but instead, the glass heats up the water in the wet paper, creating steam, which keeps the newspaper from burning while also protecting the glassmakers’ hands from the heat of the glass.

I asked Otto why he wasn’t wearing gloves like I was – it seemed dangerous! – and he told me he never wears them because they just get in his way. What a badass! I also asked him if he’s got super buff forearm muscles from spinning glass on rods all day every day (my arms got a bit sore just from the small amount of glass-spinning I did) and he told me he’s actually gotten muscle injuries from the strenuous work before. I believe it!

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The dildo began to take shape. Otto would manipulate it with the wet newspaper and some metal tongs until it started to cool down, and then we’d stick it back into the burning-hot “glory hole” again until it heated up enough to be bent and formed some more.

After he initially made the S shape, he asked me what I thought, and I said, “Can you give it a little more curve?” He kept increasing the angle until it looked about right to me.

We could’ve slimmed it down, but I decided to keep it huge. I thought it’d be better to have a dildo I could “grow into” than one that might feel disappointingly small to me someday. I knew I was pushing the limits of vaginal superpowers when Piph eyed my dildo and commented on how big it is – after all, her vagina is a black hole, so she can judge a super-sized dildo better than most – but I told her, “I think I can handle it.”

Later, one of the other glassmakers walked by and saw my dildo. “That’s so big!” she said, and Otto replied, “She says she can handle it!”

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When the dildo looked how I wanted it, it was time to separate it from the chunk of glass that kept it attached to the metal pipe. Otto gave me some tongs and I squeezed as hard as my scrawny arms would allow, while he turned the pole.

When I’d thinned off the end as much as I could, the glassmakers did some kind of blowtorch magic and my dildo popped right off the pipe into their waiting hands. They smoothed out the end with the blowtorch and then put all of our toys in a special machine that cools glass very gradually over many hours, so it doesn’t crack from the rapid change in temperature.

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After waiting what felt like forever (but was actually less than 24 hours!), we went back to the glass studio to pick up our finished treasures. We took them home and passed them out like it was Christmas morning. I’ve never seen so much dildo-related smiling in my life!

It wasn’t long before I ran off to my room with my dildo and gave it a go. It is HUMONGOUS – the diameter of each end is 2 1/4″! – but with lots of warm-up and lube, I managed to get the slightly smaller, more tapered end into me. The G-spot stimulation was so intense it almost hurt, as was the riotous orgasm that quickly followed.

I nicknamed my dildo the “Seaside Steamroller,” because a) we made it in a seaside town, b) its colors evoke the ocean, and c) it’s fucking MASSIVE and will basically steamroll your vagina. Sex toy reviewer extraordinaire Epiphora gave it a shot, and here’s what she had to say about it:

Daunted but also inspired by Girly Juice’s triumph with her Seaside Steamroller, I set out to conquer it myself. I went for the tapered end first, which is really wide, so I turned it sideways to insert it. Thoughts of how much of a genius I am for that move were replaced immediately by delicious G-spot sensations. Holy shit. It was AWESOME. I thought I’d be annoyed by the weight, but the shape of the handle was so ergonomic it didn’t matter.

The other, even larger end was less amazing. I had to do lamaze breathing to get it in (which I haven’t had to do since Randy), and the handle was facing down and away from me. Not ideal.

I switched back to the tapered end and proceeded to squirt all over everything and right through the hilariously useless towel under me. As I came down from my orgasm, I thought, somehow, some magical way, Girly Juice has managed to craft a dildo that improves upon the njoy Eleven. Yes: the Seaside Steamroller is what the Eleven wishes it could be.

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Our glass-making experience would not have been possible without the help of two of our #DildoHoliday sponsors, Tantus and We-Vibe. We had more fun making dildos than I would have thought possible, thanks to the generosity of these two fabulous and innovative companies.

Since coming home from Oregon, there have been moments when I’ve felt that #DildoHoliday couldn’t possibly have been real – like it was some souped-up fantasy or terrific dream. Because yeah, it is distinctly dreamlike to spend four days in a beach house far from your home with people you only knew from the internet, doing things like posing for naked pictures and masturbating side-by-side.

But then I hold my glass dildo and it’s like the spinning top from Inception: it reminds me that this stuff really happened, that this is my real life. And that’s an even better feeling than the G-spot pleasure my glass dildo gives me.

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Top photo by me. All other photos by Kate Sinclaire. Linked photo of blue glass dye by Penny.

This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.