Yohimbe:

Yohimbe comes from the bark of a tropical African tree (Corynanthe johimbe), and is typically ground into a powder and ingested in capsule form.

It supposedly works fairly well as an aphrodisiac, mostly due to it’s causing a slight tingling sensation in the genitals.

Now, the chemical in yohimbe bark that really packs the punch is called Yohimbine. There is relatively little pure Yohimbine in ground up Yohimbe bark (less than 10%, in fact, and even that amount varies depending on how it was preserved) but it is the chemical we are interested in.

Why?

Because Yohimbine apparently increases blood flow to the genital area, both relaxing and widening the blood vessels to enhance circulation. Coupled with the light tingling sensation, it is a gentle boost to natural stimulation.

Yohimbine also works as a mild nervous system stimulant and enhances your breathing capability, so it allows you to have sex longer without as much body and muscle fatigue.

Now for the downside:

It may block certain neurotransmitters, making this a bad choice for manic-depressives or people on mood stabilizers. (Unfortunately, this includes me. I only took the capsules for a few days, and didn’t notice a difference, but still….)

Also, it may help relax the uterus, which is bad if you’re pregnant (possible miscarriages, and such) But good for female orgasms.

I tried it for a couple of days, as did one of my male volunteers. The consensus was that it helped speed up foreplay and sexual readiness, but wasn’t a substitute for it. You can walk around feeling a tiny bit warm and tingly (more so for my male volunteer than for me) but it’s not a “take me! take me now, you love machine!” in pill form.

A few days ago, I started thinking about all the silly things people have eaten, in the hopes that there is some truth to this whole “aphrodisiac” thing.

Since nearly the dawn of time, people have wolfed down anything and everything on this big, spinney planet, in the hopes of leading that special someone into uncontrollable circus-style sexual abandon.

Now, there has always been a raging debate as to whether many supposed aphrodisiacs even work. Many things are lumped into that sexy category simply because of a vaguely phallic or vaginal shape, in the hopes that semi-subtle erotic suggestion will stoke the fires. Frankly, I think the fact that we see MUCH more suggestive things on billboards, magazines, television, or the internet, has pretty much killed the novelty of deep-throating some asparagus.

So I’m going to focus on things that actually have a chance of doing something physical to your libido.

After all, we know Viagra and Cialis work because they actually cause a re-direction of blood flow. Isn’t it possible that some natural herbs or food combinations could create a subtle physical change as well?

Over the next few days, my daring assistants and I intend to find out that answer.

the dance started when my girl walked up to me, said “put out your hands” and squirted a generous amount of hand sanitizer into my palm.
After making me rub my hands together, she pointed to her bikini bottoms and said “well ok, let’s get to it.” and plunked herself down on my lap.

Now, even if I was a space alien newly arrived from a skank-less galaxy, I would know what she was intending.
She wasn’t going to give me a real dance; she was instead trying to make me pay for the great honor of fingering her.

Sorry, but no.

There was no way in hell I was going to fish around in her honey pot.
It’s just not happening. Not if I only just met you, definitely not for money, and certainly not after turning down the little hottie from O’Farrell who was actually cute.

When she sat on my lap, I placed my hands firmly down by my sides and awaited the dancing.

It never came.

She just sat there.
She never moved. Not a single bit.

I’m being 100% dead honest with you. No exaggerations, this woman sat on my lap, facing away, and didn’t move a single muscle for the entire song.

It was the worst dance I’ve ever gotten in my entire life, and let me tell you, I have had a wide range of dances to compare this to.
Was she just lazy? Did all her previous dances consist entirely of men trying to find her lucky charms?
If she charged me that much with the expectation of me digging around inside her secret compartment, I’m wondering what she kept in there.

Was there a secret prize stashed somewhere inside?

If I searched deep enough, would I find a pirate chest full of gold doubloons?

Jimmy Hoffa’s body?

A lost tribe of pygmies?

Now I’m almost curious. But really, some things are better left unknown.
I looked over at my poor compatriot suffering through the boney-ass lap-pummeling he was receiving from the homely dancer.

I felt no pity, despite his obvious pain and discomfort.

Hey, At least his dancer was moving.

The dance ended, and the girls asked if we wanted another.
Alas, we regretfully declined.

Later, my male friend told me that his dancer had tried to talk him into paying her to go down on me. She wanted him to hand over $500 for the act.
Now first of all, don’t you think she should have consulted me first before offering up my vagina for another person’s amusement?
After all, if I’m to be involved in prostitution for voyeuristic purposes, it’s only polite to ask me first.

Anyway, as it turns out, she also gave him a large list of sexual acts and the prices they would cost. Surprise surprise! The costs were all more then at the O’Farrell, and the goods of a less…ummmm… appealing quality. I have no idea if this menu applied to all the girls, or if this just applied to these two “dancers” in particular.
I spent the rest of the evening making little hats, clown noses, and finger puppets (out of dollar bills) for men in our bachelor party to wear.
I think my first impression of how bored the dancers were was accurate.

once the girls on stage figured out what we were doing, they started exclusively dancing in front of our section. Each new girl that came on stage would try and make a game out of finding new ways to snap up the transformed dollars.

It was kinda fun.

I’d say that the dancers at century ranged from stretch-marked and skanky, to kinda pretty. There was, however, a larger variety of the former.

Our second strip-stop for the night was the century theater.
This choice was made after we stopped off at a little neighborhood martini bar (for a few drops of liquid fortification) and had wailed our plight to another inebriated patron.

“Welllllllllllllll…..” he slurred. “You should head down thata way to the century. It’s cheap!”

That was all we needed to hear. What sort of fools would discard the advice of an old drunkard sipping a blueberry martini? Obviously, our course had been set.

The century theater was a step down from the O’ Ferrell theater. The façade on the outside was scuffed and dirty, the inside hallway was dark.
However, once we got all the way to the main dance area, we realized this was just what we wanted.

Pure, unbridled sleaze. Hurrah!

From the slightly depressed girls gyrating on the stage, to the porn films playing on the TV screens, it was guaranteed to terrify the poor groom-to-be into faithful monogamy.
Giddy as schoolgirls at their first gang bang, we virtually skipped to the V.I.P section and awaited the cascade of dance offers.

We didn’t have to wait long.

The first wave attacked us before we even had a chance to fully seat ourselves.
The groom was whisked off into the dark abyss, not to return for almost 20 minutes.
I was approached by a three-drinks-and-she-might-be-almost-attractive blonde and her homely friend. They both decided that the guy I was sitting next to would be a proper victim, and asked him for a dance.

He turned them down.

Calculating quickly, they decided to sweeten the deal.

“If you get a dance with one of us, we can do a double with HER” they declared, pointing at me.

“Wouldn’t you like to see her getting a dance, while you get one?”

“Why yes! YES HE WOULD.” I stated.

Damn it. I was intent on getting a lap dance. If I had to drag an innocent man into the jaws of death so I could achieve my goal, then so be it.
I and my poor, startled male compatriot were instantly hustled into the back room, and asked to pay.
Now, these “ladies” were crafty. They stood between us so we couldn’t see each other, but they could see the money exchange.

The sign at the entrance said lap dances were $20 each.

My poor fellow victim gave his dancer $40, to pay for both him and me.

I didn’t see him do this, but my dancer did.

Never the less, she then turned to me and said “a dance is $30”.
I paid, (not knowing she was blatantly ripping me off) but thinking “oh well, let’s see if this dance is worth it”.

It wasn’t.

to be continued…

When we first entered the building, our group was greeted by a squinty-eyed old codger who was older than dirt.

Really. I’m not kidding.

I’m betting this guy played the banjo while Nero fiddled.

I was in awe over his appearance, which was somewhere between “classic cave-dwelling hermit” and “western gold rush coalminer”.

He was awesome!

He barked something unintelligible in our general direction that sounded like “murble murble crumbcakes snarf”, and then proceeded to forget we were there.

I looked back at the men to see if they had understood whatever secret military code he was speaking in, but by their blank looks I could see that they hadn’t.

I tried talking to him, but he was locked inside some kind of old-man-meditative-trance.

At that point I did the only thing you can do in that sort of situation:

I poked him with a pen.

It wasn’t quite the same as poking him with a stick, but it did the job.

Suddenly he snapped back to reality, extending a hand and pointing a withered finger in my direction.

“The lady gets in for free.” he solemnly intoned.

Hooray! Who knew childhood tendencies would serve me so well?

I skipped ahead into the club, feeling his myopic glare boring into my back for the entire length of the hall.

It was finally time to see if all the rumors about this club were true.

We all regrouped at the main dance area, and took our time glancing around at this notorious den of iniquity.

Huh.

As it turns out, it was a pretty nice setup. The girls I saw were all attractive, well groomed, with perfect makeup and amazing bodies. The ones I spoke with were also fairly intelligent and had a sense of humor.

I was surprised.

Frankly, I had been told that the O’Farrell theatre was raunchy as hell.

Was my info wrong?

I decided the best way to find out was to get a lap dance.

Looking around, I spotted a gorgeous brunette and asked her for the basic lap dance info.

She smiled at me, licked her lips, and then started quoting positions and prices like some kind of kinky maitre d’.

As it turns out, the girls in this place all do more than just a few “extras”.

In fact, the extras are so common that they take the place of normal strip club activities. If I was so inclined, I could fuck my beautiful brunette for just $300.

For $400, I could fuck her for an hour. The prices worked on a sliding scale, depending on what I wanted to do.

I was… surprised.

Not because of what they were doing, but because of the way they were doing it. there was not even a hint of dancing in that place. The girls walked across the stage like contestants in a Miss America contest.

They didn’t even touch the pole.

As far as I could tell, the O’Farrell theatre was more or less a nice quality brothel.

Beautiful girls, set prices, and private rooms.

We left to go find some places were the girls actually danced, but I considered it an altogether interesting and informative experience.

to be continued…

Recently, I helped plan a bachelor party.

Now, I have seen, attended, and taken blackmail photos of many bachelor parties in the past, but I had never officially been part of one.

The day of the party I was called up, given an “honorary male” status, and invited along for fun and shenanigans. It seems that a number of the guys invited had canceled at the last minute, due to girlfriend/wife/partner disapproval. This made the party pathetically small, and I was tapped to fill the gap.

I told them I would put on a fake moustache for the occasion.

The groom-to-be was a sweet, quiet, mellow guy who plays online role-playing games and paints lead figurines. The best man (my co-conspirator in this little adventure) is a batshit-crazy nuclear scientist from Kentucky who looks like a giant hairy Viking.
I knew from the start that this night would end up as a quirky story about prostitutes.

We started our night of debauchery at a nice restaurant, then had drinks at a local martini bar while we mulled over our choices.

“Would you like to go to an upscale strip club?” I innocently inquired “I happen to know of several”

“We want sleaze!” The boys declared in unison.

“Take us to where old strippers go to die!”

… Hrmmmmm.

Skanky hellholes were a little out of my expert field, but I am always willing to embark on a scientific experiment. I told the group that I’d heard nasty things about the Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell theatre, but had never personally gone.

When I described its history and all the rumors I’d heard, the group instantly agreed that it sounded like a splendid place to start out.

Our mission was set, and off we went.

to be continued…

A while back, I was given a sizeable range of sample products to test out and review. Included in this goodie bag was a small sample of Kama Sutra’s “Love liquid sensual lubricant”.

Now, I have already reviewed several Kama Sutra products on this site, and by now you should be aware that my feelings for this brand can be summed up in three words:

“Worth the price”.

When I first popped the top of my little sample bottle, I was expecting to catch a whiff of exotic perfume. After all, every other Kama Sutra product I have tried in the past yielded a distinct scent. This product, however, was unscented.

I decided to try a little taste test, to see if there was any trace of flavor.

After making faces that my assistants classified as “a puppy with peanut butter stuck to the roof of its mouth” I came to two conclusions:

1: There was no artificial flavor. Just the taste of lube. (I’m sure several of you know exactly what that taste is, and how hard it is to describe.)

2: I do not enjoy unflavored lube on my tongue. Its texture gives me the Oogies.

All in all, I was a bit surprised, but far from disappointed. This was a good, old fashioned lube without all the bells and whistles. It didn’t have any sugar, so I could use it internally. It didn’t have any scent, so there were no worries about perfume allergies. It is water based and colorless, so it won’t stain my sheets or clothes.

Recently, I just worked my way through a huge pile of self-warming, fruit-scented, rainbow-colored, will-do-my-taxes-and-walk-my-dog style lubes.

Frankly, I found it a bit refreshing to find one that simply does its job and cleans up easily.

For a lube, I’d say this product has a medium viscosity. It’s smooth and light, but not runny. I would recommend Love Liquid for hand jobs, masturbation (both manually and with toys), and intercourse.

I would not recommend it for oral endeavors (since I dislike the flavor of plain lube), or anal play (this would probably work fine, but I like to recommend more heavy-duty lube for that).

My epic quest for the perfect lube has been a journey fraught with both peril and trepidation.

Will this product evaporate in the middle of an adventure?

Will it ruin the sheets?

Can I use it with condoms/dental dams/synthetic toys?

Can it be used for anal play?

Does it have any sugar in it?

And (for one particular adventure) is it flammable?

Yes, I ask a lot out of my lube. I put it through rigorous series of tests that may or may not include a centrifuge. But these tests are necessary, since I have faced much disappointment over the years.

Recently, I was given a couple dozen test samples for Motion Lotion, a nice brand of flavored personal lube that heats up if you so much as leer at it. The consistency was good, (not too viscous and not too thin) and the heating action was a nice touch. In fact, it began to heat up as soon as it was applied.

I think this product is particularly good for oral, since the heat is activated by both breath and friction. Each lap of the tongue creates a warm, tingly heat that adds immeasurably to oral endeavors. Vibrators are also improved with this lovely lube, since the vibrations have the same heat-inducing effect.

Here are some quick facts about this delicious little product.

*It won’t harm rubber or plastic, so go ahead and vibe or slide away with the toy of your choosing.

*It tastes great. Not too sweet, but not chemically artificial either. The hot cinnamon or hot cherry are just that. Hot. They have an added spiciness to them that I find wonderful, but if you prefer more mellow fare, they have that as well.

* As far as I can tell, it won’t stain the sheets. I’ve tried it on cotton sheets and had no problems, but as with any lube I wouldn’t recommend splashing it all over your silk kimonos.

* It cleans off easily. Also, on my walk to the shower I noticed something interesting. The simple act of walking makes it heat up both inside (if you got any in there) and out, creating warm tingles. Very nice, and something I will remember for later.

* It does have fructose in it, so for the most part I try to avoid getting any inside me (I try to avoid internal lubes that have sugar, since a woman’s PH balance is a finicky mistress). However, for an external lube (as in, just for oral or used with external vibrators) it is a great product.

* I would not use this for anal play. That is not to say you can’t, but…. I just wouldn’t. let’s all err on the side of caution.

I really like this particular lube, and am slowly working my way through all the flavors. I highly encourage you to do the same.

Allright my lovely readers, I know I have left you alone for far too long.
I can hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth all the way up here in my new digs, and have valiantly arrived to rescue you from boredom.

“Oh Tessa!” I hear you cry, “Why have you forsaken us for so long!?”

The answers, my little chickadees, are many and varied. I had a giant moving experience (of the geographical kind, just to be clear.) As well as other developments in my personal life that required my attention.
Plus, I just tend to get distracted by shiny objects. Especially when those objects come over in skimpy clothes and bring Vodka.

That is not to say I haven’t been reviewing products and videos.

No, out of the goodness in my heart I have forced (FORCED I say!) myself to watch porn and test out sex toys. It was a mighty task and a heavy burden to bear, but I struggled on, comforted with the knowledge that I was helping to make the world a better place.

As a peace offering, I have brought along some pictures of the various products up for review. Aren’t I sweet? The updates and reviews will continue as before, there will be joyous celebrations, dancing in the streets, and all will be right with the world.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Hey chickieboos!

I’m in the middle of a epic moving fiasco, so updates will be sporadic for the next couple of weeks. Sorry for the inconvenience, but soon things will be back to the usual schedule.

In the meantime, i thank you for your patience.

:)

Hello boys and girls!

Today’s review is brought to you by the letter “K”, and In keeping with my promise I will be reviewing another kama Sutra product.

As a few of you may remember from a previous post, I’ve not had much luck with massage oils.
Granted, this was mostly due to my own clumsiness and oil-slicked hands, but still it left me a bit shell shocked when it came to traditional oils.

A couple of weeks ago, a freakish accident sent me on an epic search for massage oil that wouldn’t leap from my slippery hands and destroy the curtains, the bedspread, the rug, and whatever books I had scattered around the nightstand. There may have been ropes and fire involved as well. That incident shall forever be known to me and my assistants as “the dark time” and shall only be spoken of in hushed voices and downcast eyes..

Anyway, I wasn’t having much luck until I decided to try out a good vibrations massage bar, and was convinced I had found my savior.

I forswore any and all involvement with liquid massage oils, and shunned them as a cursed thing.

Kama Sutra may have restored my faith.

You see, I was given a small vial of Kama Sutra brand “sweet almond massage oil”, and it had all the properties I was looking for.

• It comes with an easily-capped-with-a-single-flick-of-a-finger top. No more fumbling with oily hands while trying to screw the top back on a slippery bottle. (Trust me, that is how tragedies happen.)
• You can control the amount you dispense easily. A few drops or a healthy stream of oil, you don’t have to worry about over-tipping the bottle and creating a mini lagoon in the small of your lover’s back. It’s as convenient as a squeeze bottle, but sexier.
• It is good for your skin. Made with vitamin E and essential oils, it leaves you with a light, non-greasy feeling. (Of course, you’ll still want to shower afterwards. But you won’t feel like a surfboard that just got waxed.)

I love the scent of the one I have (sweet almond. It smells downright breathtaking.) And I can’t wait to try the other varieties.

Halleluiah!

So for a while, I was amassing a collection of disguised or transformer style vibrators.
You know the type. The kind of vibrators that look like a cell phone, a tube of lipstick, a hairbrush, or a rubber duckie.

Yes, a rubber duckie.

I’m pretty sure anyone who is reading this blog has either seen these cute little toys for sale, or currently owns one. They are rather prolific. You can get mini ones, big ones, black ones, bondage ones, devil ones, or pretty much any variation that your humorous little heart desires.

When I first moved away from home, my mother had a habit of dropping by my apartment at unexpected times. This was all fine and dandy, except for the fact that I was living in a studio apartment, and the bed was right in the middle of the room.

Yes. My bed.

As you are probably aware by now, it wasn’t a princess canopy with pretty pink sheets.

I had customized it quite a bit, and had installed shelves over the headboard to hold all my…ummm… toys. Frankly, since I saw them every day I’d just gotten use to their presence, like they were simple furniture pieces or something equally banal.
This became a problem when my mom would drop by for tea, and I’d forget to cover them or put them away.

Ugh.

I’ll never forget the first time that happened.

I was chatting with my mother about her garden, and realized after 20 minutes that she was studiously keeping her eyes on her teacup. I glanced around the room, and realized with slowly dawning horror that a few feet away, right in my mother’s line of sight, was a shelf proudly displaying a colorful assortment of vibrators, restraints, oils, lotions, whips, and a single, glorious, no-nonsense strap-on.

Yeah.

She never mentioned it, but that was the day I took a deep interest in disguised vibrators.

The first addition to my new collection was an “I rub my duckie”

It looks, feels, and floats in the tub like a normal bath toy. Despite being a little heavier than your average rubber duck, I’d say it makes a great incognito vibe for those living with roommates or parents. Just make sure not to let anyone squeeze the back, since that’s how you turn it on.

Personally, I used it more as a novelty item than as a serious sex toy, since the shape of the duck makes clit stimulation a bit of an effort. You more or less just press the duck up against yourself while it’s vibing away.

A fun thing to do when you’re bored is to turn it on and let it float in the bath, since the vibrations make it swim around.

For myself, I like it for it’s novelty value, it’s nostalgia, and the fact that despite it’s awkward shape, it’s good for bath time relaxation.

Just be aware that it’s a loud little fucker.

Is it wrong that one of the best sex accoutrements I’ve ever gotten is from the children’s section of Ikea?

Perhaps, but I like to think all’s fair in love and war.

The particular device I’m referring to is called “Ekorre hand rings”
And is a pair of long sturdy ropes ending in perfectly curved wooden handles.
It is sturdily constructed, and can support an obscene amount of pressure or dead weight.
Apparently, this is to help your child become an Olympic athlete, or train them to be a super hero with enough upper body strength to rival Tarzan.

However, my first thought upon seeing them was “dear god! They look like stirrups, and you can bolt them into the wall! for the love of all things good and just, THEY MUST BE MINE!!!!”

Now, I had picked out my bed with two things in mind.

• It must be made of solid wood and not make any squeaking or thumping noises, no matter the kind of crazy-voodoo-monkey-sex you forced upon it.
• It must have strong posts and sections at the head and foot so you could tie scarves or attach handcuffs without risk of breaking the bed.

Due to my incredibly sexy foresight, I now have a bed with stirrups that can be easily hidden away when I invite a cloister of nuns over for tea and crumpets.

I cannot stress enough just how awesome these things are.

They are comfortably fitted to the arch of your foot, and can be tied to the headboard, screwed into the wall, or hung from the ceiling with equal ease.
The sturdy-yet-flexible rope allows you to comfortably maneuver your legs into positions that are impractical, uncomfortable, or otherwise impossible without 10 years of gymnastics training.

In the T.B.S (time before stirrups) I’ve tried to do some of the more complicated positions in the Kama Sutra, and either failed completely or got cramps that took all the fun out of experimentation. This takes the pressure off and allows for better balance, and is compatible with most any position you can think of.

Go out and get some.

Seriously.

You can get a pair at Ikea for under ten dollars, and it’s worth it at least ten times the price.

Ah, honey dust.
This was actually my first experience with Kama Sutra products.

I was delighted by the beautiful satin bag and rooster feathers, thinking that it was probably one of the most elegant things I had ever seen relating to the mystical world of sex. I went to a local adult store and bought a cheaper version with a cornstarch base and a powder puff.

It just wasn’t the same.

Now that I’m older and can afford the real thing, I’m still impressed.
Honey is supposed to be good for your skin, and Kama Sutra uses real powdered honey as a base for their product. It doesn’t get sticky like I would imagine, but brushes on lightly and almost seems to disappear onto the skin rather than coat it.

There are currently four different flavors to choose from:

Sweet honeysuckle,

Raspberry kiss,

Tangerines and cream,

And strawberries and champaigne.

The one I’m reviewing today is the Sweet honeysuckle variety, and it’s rather nice.
The scent is amazing, more like an exotic perfume than I expected. It has tones of honeysuckle, but also hints of amber, gardenia, and white ginger.

The downside is that I can taste the perfume through the sweetness, and I do consider that a bit of a drawback. It has more of a chemical taste than any of the other Kama Sutra products I’ve reviewed so far.
The scent lingers on your skin LONG after a shower or post-sex cleanup. I get the impression Kama Sutra expects you to just walk out of the house after a sexy romp, and wants to be prepared.

“For the woman on the go” should be their motto, and their advertisements should feature exotic quickies in the corporate boardroom.

Heck, I’d do it.

I’d love to just cover myself in a light brush of honey dust and hit the town. It smells more sexy and exotic than half my perfumes.

In the world of edible oil-based lubricants that double as massage oils, there are a surprising number of choices available.

Today, however, we will be discussing “Kama Sutra original oil of love.”
This is actually a really nice little specimen of oily goodness, and comes in a beautiful little glass bottle with a cork stopper.

Now, I’m eventually going to review the many different “oil of love” flavors, but I figured I’d start with their most popular first.
The Original oil of love has a nice consistency. Not terribly viscous, not super oily.
This makes it pretty darn easy to clean up afterwards. I recommend a tongue bath.
The color of this particular one is a pale golden green, like first press olive oil.

The flavor is cinnamon based, but has a hint of chi and vanilla to it as well. I sat tasting it for almost five minutes before giving up and just going with “incredibly tasty and complex range of delicately flavored spiciness.”

It’s good, folks. I like it.

When you lick it (and you know you will) it warms on your tongue with a genuine heat, not a jalapeno pepper style burning. This also is true when you rub it on skin and then gently blow on the area. Very nice. This baby was custom made for oral endeavors.

This is definitely an upper scale little multi-tasker, and I strongly recommend it for those who can afford the price tag.

So my Lovely assistant just returned home with a sexy little package (thanks beautiful!) chock full of wonderfull goodies, including a small sample of Kama Sutra brand “mint pleasure balm”.

Now, at first I wasn’t sure what it was for, or how to use it.

It had a REALLY strong mint scent (think radioactive Altoids), and a green, gooey appearance.
Since my pervious experiences with kama Sutra products has proven 99% of them to be edible, I gave it a little taste test.

In the 8 seconds or so before my tongue went numb, I regretted that decision immensely.
“ah-HA!” I thought, “Unless this is some uber-concentrated-breath-freshener-from beyond-the-grave, I think this product might be for men!”

After this brilliant thought entered my head (and while I waited for my tongue to revive) I ran to my computer and Googled this mysterious gel.

Sure enough, it’s marked as a “prolonging” agent designed for men who are too quick on the draw. Its purpose is to desensitize the penis and therefore make the sex last longer.

There was mention of it being pleasantly minty when used for oral, but from the potency of this stuff it could probably double as a dental anesthesia, so be careful. When you give head, it’s kind of important to feel your tongue and to know where your teeth are.

A drawback to this balm is that it can’t be used with a condom, so there is a certain amount of numbness-sharing between partners. It is supposed to retain its numbing qualities for a while after you wipe it off, so I’m guessing that would be the way to go. Just be sure to get it all, or it might not end up being the romantic evening both partners were hoping for.

I don’t think I’ll be using this product as a sex aid, but I think I’ll keep it in my first aid box as an emergency anesthetic.

I happen to be a huge sucker for presentation and packaging when it comes to sex products.

Take, for example, Kama Sutra brand products.

They are, in my opinion, hugely overpriced. The quality is really, really good, but there are others out there that are just as useful, tasty, slippery, or sweetly scented for a mere fraction of the price.

However, none have the allure or presentation power to rival these costly little treats.

In the end, Kama Sutra products look damn good displayed on your bedside table, and I feel sexy and decadent buying them.

Is it worth it? I think it is.

If sexual desire starts in the mind, then whatever makes you feel sexy and trips your trigger is, for me, well worth the price difference.
The fact that these products also stimulate areas other than your mind is quite nice as well.

Over the next few days I’m going to try out and discuss several different Kama Sutra products, so don’t bother trying to contact me or my trusty assistants.

The phone will be off the hook, the door will be barricaded, and the neighbors will be warned about the moans and spicy scents coming from my home.

Don’t worry though, dear readers.

I’ll keep you updated even If I have to type through handcuffs and sticky fingers.

So I was ordering some toys a few weeks back, and I came across an interesting little accessory that immediately piqued my interest.
It’s called “I like it doggy style”, and it’s a sort of padded strap that fits under your belly with grips on either end.

“My goodness!” I thought. “What a coincidence, I DO like doggy style! This contraption must be mine without further delay!”
So with the quick, decisive, and slightly intoxicated determination that only comes with sleep deprived shopping, I ordered the device and then promptly forgot about it.

Now fast forward to yesterday, when I get a mysterious package in the mail.

After the few moments it took for me to remember that I did, in fact, order this (and it wasn’t a present from the gods of booty) I opened it with glee and called my trusty assistants to my side.
“Assistants!” I shouted, “We have a job to do! This strange product must be reviewed at once!”
The next hour and a half went by in a blur, but I came away from the experience knowing three things:

1) The strap is pretty comfortable, but I happen to have an ass. This allows for a set of natural…ummm…handles, so to speak. This would be more useful for someone without much in the way of hips.

2) You can adjust the length of the loop handles, so a variety of interesting positions can be achieved.

3) The padded section for the belly is nice, but presses on your bladder a bit more than I liked.

All in all, I think it’s a nice idea, but not all that necessary. I do love doggy style, but if you can’t find a grip with the hips I’ve got then honey, you ain’t trying.

Ouch!

What the hell? I feel like I was beaten about the legs and back with an angry porcupine.

I’m not positive what is causing this sensation (mostly because my old nemesis Mr. Tequila seems to have sneakily made off with a chunk of short term memories) but I think I have an idea. This weekend, I was at a party where the hosts just happened to have a violet wand.

After a few drinks and several dares, the amazing contraption was pulled out and passed around with…er…electrifying results.

Fortified with alcohol and feeling no pain, I subjected my poor legs and feet to more voltage than I probably should have. This morning I discovered little tiny burns (rather like itty bitty sunburns) all over my calves from the nerve wheel, and all over my arms from the Mylar “whip”.

(Incidentally, I think the funniest thing about getting attacked with a Mylar whip is that the wielder looks like a demented cheerleader. They resemble the pom-poms from a kid’s discount Halloween costume, but with a fairly intense zing and lots of sparks. Good stuff.)

The metal beaded whip wasn’t that interesting for me, but the glass rake and the small glass rod worked out well. I tend to like things with less surface area, so the jolt is more concentrated and intense.

I learned a lesson last night that I will take with me to the grave: DO NOT LICK THE VIOLET WAND. Trust me on that one.

I prefer using my hands as the instrument of zappiness, since I can feel how high the voltage is turned. However, the metal banjo picks my hosts supplied (slipped over the tips of the fingers like claws) kept the intimacy but added a bit more zing.

Hmmm…I think I’ll add this to my birthday list.

I’ll just try and resist the temptation to zap the cats when they misbehave.

So today I went out to lunch with a few of my female friends, and we got into a discussion about kegel muscles.

Various unusual bonuses to having strong kegels were bandied about (tales about pulling in, pushing out, or keeping a deathgrip on your lover’s finger/penis/strap-on, feats of tampon winding, and perfecting your target practice with assorted items) as well as the downsides (the countless deaths of pearl rabbits and other vibrators due to clenching too tightly and burning out the motors).

I love going out with the girls. We may get odd looks from the other patrons when they wander too close and overhear us discussing the strange, girly things we do in private (like using our naughty bits to suck in and shoot out the bathwater like a fountain. extra points for distance!) but I don’t care. Going out with my Viking clan of sexy broads always reminds me that women in general are a freaky bunch, and I am damn glad to be one.

After I rolled myself home to digest and recover, I started thinking about vaginal barbells.

In my post food-coma delirium, I vaguely recalled these strange contraptions being mentioned at lunch, and how we had all seen them in several adult stores. My chief sexy broad (C.S.B for short) had announced that she not only owned one, she owned several in ascending weights. This brought on hushed awe and looks of respect from all of us at the table. C.S.B wasn’t one to mess with. She could kill you with her vagina, and the only way to identify the body would be with dental records. That baby had a kung-fu grip.

I think I may just have to go out and get one of these strange weight sets.

What sort of diet regime do you go on when you are training up your vaginal muscles?

Will I drive my trusty assistants crazy by playing the theme for Rocky while I “work out”?

I’ll keep you posted, my lovely readers.

When I’m done I want to be able to shoot throwing stars and pick pockets with no hands.

It will be my secret ninja weapon.

A few days ago I gave a rather unflattering review of a chocolate body painting product.
I have tried several over the years, and most have left me distinctly unenthused.
However, I want you, my lovely readers, to know that not all hope is lost in the realm of edible body confections.

I have just tried a new product today, and it is one of the closest things to resemble chocolate I’ve yet to find in an “adult” toy store.
It’s called chocoholics divine desserts “chocolate tattoo set”.

It tastes rather a lot like chocolate flavored cake frosting, and is quite a bit thicker than other chocolate body paint I’ve tried before. The paint brush is just that, a paint brush. Well made, with a long handle and soft fur bristles. Even when the jar of chocolate is gone (and frankly, unless I have a twelve person orgy every day for six months, I can’t see using up this much chocolate paint) I’m definitely keeping the brush for further use.

The added bonuses to this set are the stencils. They come with sexy words, symbols, and pictures to make writing on your lover picture perfect every time.
I tried the paint on my lovely assistant to see if it would run off her skin.

It didn’t.

It stayed put remarkably well, and only smeared a tiny bit when she gave a particularly convulsive wriggle.
A further taste test proved that you have to give several licks to get all the chocolate off, which I viewed as an added mark in its favor. I like a little effort in my oral endeavors, and was a little disappointed when the others came up so easily.
After all, it takes more than one lick to get to the center of a tootsie pop.

In the end, this product surprised me with how well it was made. It’s not true chocolate, but it’s probably one of the best edible body paints you will be able to find without visiting a specialist boutique.

I would suggest giving this one a shot.

Ahhhh… whipped cream.
It’s considered an erotic staple by a good majority of the population, and various women’s magazines routinely suggest it as a way to “spice things up in the bedroom”.
However, things rarely work out quite the way they describe in those glossy paged articles.
A typical problem you experience with canned aerosol dairy products is that when it sits for even a moment on hot skin, it melts and begins to slide off.

My first experiments with whipped cream as a teenager left both me and my partner covered in a migratory mess of cream, cherries, and tangled sheets.
(As a side note, and as many of you are probably aware, maraschino cherries do in fact stain the skin.)

After that fiasco, I just started using cool whip.

Sure you have to sacrifice the cool rosettes you can make with the canned variety, but as far as I’m concerned the benefits are worth it.
For starters, it stays where you put it. This is important if your partner is wiggling about, and you care about your sheets.

Also, I like how you can thaw it to room temperature without making it loose form or body. Cold creaminess is wonderful for certain situations, but it’s nice to have the option of comfort.

A while back I discovered cool whip come out with seasonal flavors, and have given a few of them a try in the bedroom. So far, I’d have to say my favorite is chocolate. The French vanilla is nice, and eggnog puts you in the holiday spirit, but the chocolate variety tastes like a whipped chocolate mousse.

A few nights ago it was mentioned to me that alcohol can be added to the whip to give it an interesting kick. I think I may just have to try it out in the name of science, and let you all know the results.

Hey folks!

So I was out recently trying to find some good massage oil.

A terrible accident involving half a bottle of sandalwood massage oil, my new down comforter, and a lit candle resulted in my having to go on an expensive shopping excursion.

Yes, I am a bit accident prone. In my defense, not all my blood was getting to my head at the time and my hands were slippery.

Still, it was worth it.

Anyway, I wanted something less likely to spill and make me lunge across the ropes to try and catch it.

This gave me two options:

The first was to get a bottle that only poured a drop or two at a time. This was not all that appealing, since it would take a long time and a lot of shaking to get the quantity needed for a good rub-down, and it could still leak.

The second option was to get a massage bar.

My wanderings took me far and wide (well…ok, I only wandered a bit. I’m lazy and was lugging several shopping bags) but as usually happens I ended up in Good Vibrations.

Did you know they make their own brand of massage bars?

These were awesome. I had been going through the ingredients on several brands (not just the bars, but also the ones in tins that looked like pomade) and I was a little sketchy since most of them had various waxes as a base. I try and pamper my skin, and that means I go to great lengths to minimize breakouts or clogged pores.

That’s when I saw the Good Vibrations brand of massage bars.

Their ingredients?

Pure cocoa butter, shea butter and peppermint.
They seemed far better than any of the other selections there, so I chose one that smelled like pomegranate-mint to try at home.

WOW.

Ok, first off they melt to your body heat, so when you rub the bar on your massage recipient, you get the perfect amount of oil. No more, no less.

Second, the bar re-solidifies when away from the body. No muss, no fuss. Just re-wrap and put back in the drawer.

Third, it washes off well, leaving the skin soft without any lingering residue.

However, the best part of all was how good it smelled. I washed it off with an unscented soap, so I was lightly perfumed with pomegranate all day long. I got several compliments from random people throughout the day.

I’m going back to pick up some more in different scents.

I highly recommend these to anyone who likes giving or receiving massages, or anyone who likes to pamper their skin.

Hello my little chickadees!

I would like to share with you an item that is near and dear to my hygienic little heart.

I call them “the best things to happen to after-sex-cleanup ever”, but most people know them as “cum kleen wipes”.

Back when I was still living at home with my parents, my bedroom and the common bathroom were at opposite ends of the house. Later, the same situation presented itself with my apartment and roommates. The bottom line being that whenever I was entertaining a love interest, we had to go through at least one room and past several people to “freshen up”.

Of course early on I had a box of tissues in my room, but as most of you well know they only do a partial cleaning job. I am a bit of a hygiene nut, and that slightly sticky feeling drove me crazy until I could hop in the shower. I got tired of having to cut the cuddling short in order to go wash up immediately, and eventually added a box of baby wipes and one of those electric baby wipe warmers to my after sex routine.

That was a major improvement.

However, the wipes were too small and I didn’t really like the scent.

That’s when a friend recommended these “cum kleen wipes”. They come in individual little packets (great for road trips or weekend romps), and are much, much larger than a typical baby wipe. They also come in either a really nice vanilla scent, or a tropical mango.

Personally, I find them a luxurious ending to a fun activity.

I highly suggest a few for anyone’s nightstand drawers.

Aaaahhhh… chocolate.

Such a lovely word, for such a lovely confection.

Chocolate has long been regarded as a tasty aphrodisiac, so it comes as no surprise to find such a wide assortment of spreadable, edible chocolate products at your local adult stores.

The question we must ask is: Are they any good?

Unfortunately, the answer is mostly no.

There are a few that are better quality, and some that are actually quite good, but they are usually specialty items and rare indeed.

The bulk of the ones offered are in pretty bottles, but in reality no closer to chocolate than a tootsie roll. Oh sure, there will be cocoa in them, but that’s pretty much where the similarity ends.

I like giving good reviews, I really do.

But I also like chocolate, and am damn picky about the quality of the chocolate I buy.

Lured in by the pretty bottle, I decided to give “chocolate body painting by Shunga erotic arts” a try.

The packaging is lovely. The product tastes like Hershey’s syrup mated with a tootsie roll during a wild weekend in Cancun.

Not terrible, but not exactly chocolate.

Now granted, the taste wasn’t perfect. However, that alone wasn’t enough to give the product a bad review. What ended up digging the poor product’s grave was the fact that it beads and runs off the skin.

This is SUPPOSED to be for BODY PAINTING! How could they make a product that not only won’t stay put, but will most likely ruin your sheets beyond even the most determined of dry cleaners?!

Honestly, Shunga. Try and work with me here.

The “brush” they supply (for the supposed painting this product utterly fails at), is a thin bit of sponge tied onto a stick. Needless to say, it didn’t work all that well.

In the end, I was left with much less of a “sexy chocolate body painting” and more of a “vaguely cocoa flavored smear”.

Oh well. It does look pretty on the nightstand.

The first scene starts out as a wistful reminiscence from the sewer worker about how great the original club café flesh was. In particular, he remembers a French Girl (played by Rebecca Lord). We fade to a scene of Rebecca on stage, telling the gathered audience how the life of a prostitute is really great, except when she has to fuck all those mimes.

Yes, mimes. You read that correctly.

Next we lead into a scene of her doing just that.

Now, what really stands out in this scene is just how well everyone stays in character. The guys playing the mimes never speak, and do some pretty cool pantomime tricks that you wouldn’t expect most actors to just randomly know. Rebecca is wonderful, and does a great job of acting exasperated at them, as well as somehow resisting the urge to laugh. In the end, everyone looked like they had fun.

The next scene we get is a dream sequence starring Violet Chinchilla (played by Jeanna Fine).

Now normally, I’d think an active welding torch on a porn set would be a really bad idea.

However, in this particular case it meshes with the industrial/post-apocalyptic vibe and makes for a really hot scene. With Jeanna decked out in a kinky rubber costume, her semi-romantic seduction of an equally fetishized forge worker is almost sweet. He gives her flowers before fucking her against a shopping cart, proving that all a post-apocalyptic dominatrix REALLY wants is a little love and tenderness.

Or maybe a puppy.

The hulking metalworker welding, watching, and drinking coffee only a few feet away from the couple added a fun touch as well.

Once Violet wakes up, the plot continues on as plots so often do.

We don’t get another sex scene until Violet daydreams about a stage event from the heyday of the original club. Golly, what a dreamer that girl is.

It’s a wonder she gets anything done.

Anyway, the daydream involves a 1950’s scene with two hep cats and one busty blonde (played by the lovely, but unfortunately wigged Sally Layd). Many cocktails are consumed, and before you can say “Jane Mansfield” a rollicking threesome is underway.

After this spirited recollection, Buffy (played by Stacy Valentine) gives an enthusiastic blowjob to snake (Vince Voyeur) and then dreams about her lost boyfriend.

As far as dreams in this movie go, it was fairly normal. Buffy and her boyfriend Biff (played by T.T Boy) are having sex on a picnic cloth while giant daisies spin in the background, the sun rises and sets over a cut-out city, and a space alien takes notes and photographs a few feet away. You know. The usual.

Characters develop, plot points move on, and then we get to Mookie’s first scene (played by the smokin’ hot Raylene). Mookie is the opening act for the new club, and she starts with a bang. The stage is set as a bullfighting arena, with giant flames burning in the background. Mookie is dressed in the sexiest matador outfit on the planet.

Seriously. I really want that outfit.

Her opponent is a man dressed up as a Minotaur, in a black latex bodysuit and with dildos for horns.

They fight, she calms him, he fucks her, and then she stabs him through the heart with her sword.

Hmmmm… maybe he should have given her flowers.

After all that drama, Snake fucking Buffy inside an elevator shaft seems rather tame.

There isn’t much to say about it except Buffy has very pretty girly bits, and it’s one of the longest scenes on the film.

Next we get to the Grand finale and the last sex scene in the movie.

As it turns out, it’s a big, psychedelic wedding between Mookie and her boyfriend Chappy. Hurrah!

The happy couple is married by a floating brain in a tank, while two freaky fetish twins are being electrocuted in the background. The twins are actually fairly hot (in a cyber-goth sort of way), but their twitching spasms are a bit unnerving. However, their presence adds a nice touch of wrongness to the scene, and so gives it a bit of spice.

The groom doffs his gas mask, the bride removes her rubber veil, and they proceed to get freaky like only married couples can.

That’s it!

Now go out and rent it.

Trust me, it’s stranger than I can adequately describe.

The plot for the sequel basically goes like this:

Roughly 20 years after the events of the first Café Flesh, the extreme lack of sex positives has driven down the population, and forced the voyeur clubs to close one by one.

However, while flushing out the sewers amid the rubble of the old city, our narrator (a gruff voiced, ugly old coot) discovers the cryogenically frozen body of a blonde, virgin debutante named Buffy (played by Stacy Valentine).

Since she was frozen before the great annihilation, she is a guaranteed sex positive.

He sends a message to violet chinchilla (Jeanna Fine, playing a negative with dreams of opening her own club, and who just happens to know a few remaining positives) and sells the now-thawed but traumatized and confused girl to her.

Violet takes out a loan from the crime lord Max (a brain floating in a vat of liquid, kept alive by two freaky nurses) and re-opens Café Flesh with Buffy as the star attraction.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the city we find a sex positive beauty named Mookie (played by Raylene) arguing with her sex negative boyfriend Chappy (Played by Alex Metro)

The argument consists of whether it’s better to stay free, but starve to death, or to contract her to a sex club and force her boyfriend to see her fucking other men.

Since it IS a porn film we’re talking about, I think you can guess what they decide.

Back at the club, the still traumatized Buffy is being briefed on the realities of her situation, and asked to give a practice blowjob to snake (Vince Voyeur, playing an attractive but sleazy sex positive who was recruited to be her show partner).

This makes Buffy believe she and snake are in love, and that they share a special connection.

When Mookie and Chappy arrive at the club, she is immediately accepted as a performer. Her boyfriend, however, is mocked by snake until he can’t take it anymore and runs off to sulk.

Later that night, Snake convinces Buffy to run off with him and start their own club together. Believing she is in love, Buffy agrees.

When Violet discovers Snake and Buffy missing (on the day of the club’s grand re-opening, no less) she flips out and vows to hunt them down. Mookie discovers her boyfriend has run off, and is so worried for his safety she refuses to perform.

While in the radioactive rubble on the outskirts of the city, Chappy meets Moms, the Old owner of the original Café Flesh. She reminisces with him for a while, and decides to give him the last known vial of a serum that will allow a negative to touch a positive without fatal results. It only works temporarily, but it’s all the motivation he needs to go back and propose to Mookie.

Once he takes the serum, they get married by Max the brain in one of the strangest ceremonies ever caught on film.

That’s pretty much it.

The club doesn’t open, Violet doesn’t get revenge, and no one gets paid.

However, none of that really matters.

After all, I’ve yet to even mentioned the best parts…

The sex scenes!!!

TO BE CONTINUED…

Ahhh, the wide and varied world of pornography…

I think it would be fair to say that I have collected more than my fair share of porn over the years.

It started out innocently enough. A few classics from the 70’s, a scattering of Jenna Jameson videos, a spattering of Hentai… But since those humble beginnings, my porn collection has grown by leaps and bounds.

Want a good recommendation for Bondage clown porn? You’ve come to the right girl.

Want something funny and disarming to watch with your squeamish girlfriend?

Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.

Want to see a man dressed up as a Minotaur, banging a female matador into submission before being impaled through the heart with her sword?

Well then my little chickadees, you want to watch CAFÉ FLESH 2.

Now, I know everyone plus their grandma has written a review of the original 1982 Café Flesh, and for good reason. As one of the most innovative porn movies of its day, it is a must-have classic for everyone’s collection.

But what about the sequel? Is it any good? Can it possibly compare?

The answer my dears, is yes.

Directed by Antonio Passolini, the new café flesh takes place some 20 years after the first. It’s more on the silly side than straight-up-freaky, and a LOT more lighthearted. There is a fun, psychedelic feel to it that is good for couples, but still kinky enough to be interesting.

The first thing that snagged my attention was the intro. A little backlight skeleton toy, dancing to the creepy tune of a music box while the even creepier narrator fills you in on the plot.

Beautiful.

The visuals themselves are geared quite a bit to the original audience of Café Flesh (that is to say; art students, Goths, industrial kids, post-apocalyptic aficionados, etc.) and keep up their end nicely.

For those who aren’t familiar with the original, I’ll quickly summarize the plot:

After a horrific world war, the combination of radiation and bio-warfare kill off most of the world’s population. Those left alive are grouped into two categories. There are the sex negatives (98%) and the sex positives (2%).

The sex negatives (or “neggies”, as they’re called) cannot have the pleasure center in their brain triggered without experiencing severe pain, nausea, or even death. The sex positives (or “possies”) are immune to the problem, but are rare and hard to find.

Since the world has devolved into an anarchistic society, the ones who have risen to power (apparently a small society of club owners) send out scouts to round up all the positives and force them to perform sex acts on stage. These take place in strange, cabaret-style nightclubs. The positives have no choice, and they are considered the property of whatever club they are drafted into.

To be continued…

Hey my little chickadees!

Today’s review is for the fun and festively patterned “jungle Bullet” vibrator.

Why is it called a jungle bullet you ask?

Well, as far as I can tell it’s because this sexy little vibe comes in a really cool looking black and red tiger pattern.

You know, fierce authentic jungle cat by way of hot topic.

Just kidding! Actually it IS one of the cooler looking bullet vibes out there, and the pattern is on both the controller and the bullet itself. The vibration controls can be adjusted using only one finger (which is pretty useful when you’re hands are otherwise occupied.) and it’s water proof for easy cleaning.

Now, the water proof aspect was one of my main reasons for picking up this particular item.

The helpful saleslady over at Good Vibrations had told me that bullet vibrators are almost exclusively used for external stimulation. However, I am a shameless rebel who is willing to take many fun and sassy risks in the name of science, and slipped it in anyway just to see what would happen.

I have to say, I think she was right.

It was nice, and when you cranked the power up all the way you got a fun buzz, but that was about it. After a few minutes I decided to experiment, and used my muscles to push and pull it inside. That actually worked a lot better, until I squeezed a little too hard and the bullet shot out like a rocket, smacking me in the kneecap and leaving a small bruise.

I think I need to work on my aim. That trick could really come in handy some day.

There is a fairly large seam about halfway down the vibe itself , but it didn’t cause a problem either for insertion or for clitoral stimulation, so I won’t count that as a downside.

I was going to try and experiment with it in the bath, but I never got the chance.

After cleaning and putting it away in a drawer, I went out to get the mail.

When I got back to the apartment, I found that my evil little devil kitties had opened the drawer (something they had never done before) pulled it out, and begun batting it around the living room like a mouse.

One of them grabbed the bullet part, the other grabbed the controller, and in the ensuing scuffle it got turned on.

This was not good.

They BOTH freaked out, decided that this little bastard of a jungle-patterned mouse had insulted the honor of their ancestors, and proceeded to rip the cord to shreds before I could intervene.

Rest in pieces, dear little jungle bullet vibe.

We hardly knew you.

This is Brilliant!!

I just got back from Good Vibrations, and have discovered they sell black latex gloves!!!

I’m not talking about “spank me, dark mistress!” black latex gloves, I’m talking about the kind you normally would see at a doctor’s office. They’re about wrist length, with a tiny bit of unobtrusive texture to them, and they come in a lovely charcoal black color.

Have I mentioned enough times that they’re black?

The geeky goth girl inside me is doing cartwheels and blowing bubbles of sheer joy at this discovery. I’m going to find so many uses for these!

Want Impromptu fashion for clubbing?

Electrical tape and black latex gloves!

Want to grope a cutie that should have a Bio-hazard symbol tattooed on their forehead?

Disinfectant and Black Latex gloves!!! (Then get yourself home in a cab, since you’re judgment is obviously impaired.)

Want to play “stranger” with yourself and feel sexy while doing it?

Personal lube and Black latex gloves!

I have no doubt all you sneaky little monkeys out there will be able to think of many other uses as well.

They seem to be a pretty decent one-size fit, since they worked for both my hands and the hands of my trusty male assistant. The texturing is incredibly subtle (no big bumps or raised ridges) but it IS there, and can be felt on the… more sensitive bits of your anatomy.

These bad boys are even a tiny bit more substantial than the usual variety of thin latex gloves, and were pretty hard to break ( believe me, I tried.).

They come in packets of ten gloves (five pairs) each, and I will be buying several just to have around the house.

Oh, and by the way. When you smack an ass while wearing these, the smack is louder and stings a bit more.

You know.

Just in case you were wondering.

Wow.

Ok folks, I’m sure at one point or another we’ve all gone through the same situation.

There you are, out and about with some cute new thing. If you’re lucky, you have anticipated this night well enough in advance that you brought the necessary precautions.

(If you are like me, then chances are you run, drive, or pole-vault to the local convenience store, realize that they NEVER sell dental dams at these places, and try to slit a banana-flavored condom down one side in an attempt to improvise. But that’s a story for another day.)

Now, I don’t know about most people, but my clubbing purse is pretty small. It’s only just big enough to have some money, my I.D, emergency makeup, and a spare thong.

I actually tried to bring a package of dams with me one time, but when I was rooting for my I.D, the purse was so full I couldn’t find it. Since I was holding up the line, I ended up pulling the dams and thong out, and making the bouncer hold them while the search continued.

Yes folks, I have no shame.

On the plus side, the bouncers all remember me now.

Anyway, I recently stopped off at a typical “adult store” on my way to lunch (don’t ask) and they only offered two kinds of dams:

The giant red rubber-looking ones that appeared about as appetizing as a chastity belt (and about as easy to feel a tongue through) and a brand called “slicks”.

Slicks dams are wide enough, but so thin they fold them up in a condom package, which is MUCH easier to tote around. They also tried to be nice and make them “strawberry scented” but they frankly smell like strawberry latex. Fortunately, they were unflavored and un-lubed, so I didn’t have to contend with “cherry passion” or “zesty ranch” while my mind was on other things. I’ve gotten used to the flavor of latex, and if I want to taste something else I’ll bring my own lube, thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, I was much impressed and will be taking them with me for emergencies from now on.

Did I use them? Yes.

Did I like them? Yes.

Were they thin enough? Yes.

Did they have any downside? Well, they were so thin that I kept inhaling one edge up my nostril, so I guess that’s a bit of a downside.
Next time I’ll bring bricks to weigh it down with.

All in all, i found them convenient, discreet, and well suited for my purposes. In the area of dental dams, I’m giving these a high recommendation.