geekery Archives - Page 3 of 3

Thoughts on Woodhull and The Transgender Training Institute’s Training of Trainers

August 11, 2016 palimpsex geekery, reflection, relationships, sexuality, storytelling, trans*, Uncategorized

Today marks the one week anniversary of a journey into two conferences I never in a million years thought I would have had the balls to attend, much let alone participate actively. From Thursday morning until Sunday evening, I spent my time in Alexandria, Virginia at the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit, and from Monday morning until Wednesday evening I was in Philadelphia for the Transgender Training Institute’s Training of Trainers. Right now I am typing this blog entry fully aware that I will be taking breaks, maybe to get a cookie, maybe to switch a load of laundry (of which there are so many), maybe to watch an episode of Pokemon Indigo League on Netflix, or maybe just to cry. It’s possible I may abandon this entry altogether, and it’s possible I may put it down for the evening when my partner comes home so I can spend some time with him as we have not seen each other in a week and have much to catch up on.

Avery’s cautious optimism – Day 1 Woodhull

I had so many ideas for directions in which I wanted this entry to go. As my week progressed, I talked with my peers about how I wanted to write about my experience, each idea changing, refining into something not completely new or different but a lesson scaffolded onto another lesson. Where the beginning of my week I focused quite bitterly on my sense of being outcast from a blogging community I had expected to welcome me with open arms, a community that treated me like the new kid on the block in not so nice ways, I also realized this was a community made up of individuals going through their own shit and experiencing a drastic change in social environment in their own ways as well. I tried to empathize via messages I was learning about mental health through amazing workshops, but my own mental health and the difficulty I had processing a recent failed relationship with underpinnings of emotional abuse left me untrusting of those around me and suspicious of why people were not extending hands of support when I consistently asked for them, be it through social media, during audience participation, or outright face to face in hallway conversation. I found myself feeling not welcome in blogger spaces, and grappled with how much of this was a projection of my own insecurities and how much was legitimate. Had I been identified as the “needy new neurodivergent blogger with overambitious aspirations of making friends?” Everyone seemed settled with their groups. I felt invasive.

Fleeting negative thoughts were carefully mitigated with the positivity of a community I had known for years, friends and lovers I had known for decades, partners of partners, educational cohorts that have now become lovers, this huge mishmash of intersectional (in the least trivial sense of the word) eros that was aggressively unapologetic, forcing me under their wings. I find myself crying right now thinking about my gratitude for a queerness of bodies and minds that didn’t just give me permission to join them, but danced with me until the day I walked back to my car, smelling them and feeling them and imagining their words and spirits and the grazes of their beard on my thighs and their giggles around the lube bottles I had tried gagging them with and the cupcakes I had licked off their fingers and the way their underwear rippled when I beat them gently and the beauty of their tattoos and the violence in their hand gestures as they spoke of the illusions in idolatry and the way pool water made their t-shirt float all around them and I thought GOD I WANT TO BE THAT T-SHIRT and I thought, “I love you people.” I fucking love you people.

I was so proud to be a part of that brilliance. I was so thrilled to share true magic, in all of its wooey exuberance, with my hematite in one hand and the possibility of failure in the other, and know that no matter where I ended up this week, I would fail beautifully and with people who were willing to help me. I reaffirmed my beliefs in the humanness of wanting to be happy vicariously. If I saw others crying, my heart hurt. The stories I heard, the microaggression activities and other practices of facing transphobia during my TOT Conference, there was so much pain. At one point my cohort, Emily Nagoski turned to me and said “You know what, Avery, I kinda like that you identify ‘punk’ as one of your genders.” And I do. I think I need that hardness. Because if I spent all this time in my heart, in this empathy and in this affect, I’d fucking flounder.

Private queerspace play party at Woodhull!

So these two conferences taught me to feel. They taught me that when I get defensive, I intellectualize, I overanalyze, I try to get into other people’s heads, I reflect on the past, I try to do exactly what I’m doing now. I don’t feel because it’s a completely fucking vulnerable place. Case in point: where I was in tears writing the paragraph about my experiences at Woodhull I was a sobbing mess. Right now, I am dissociated to the point of disinterest, to the point of ending the entry and wondering why I wrote it in the first place.

Mental health wise, I am a person with Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and several instances of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Sometimes these blend wonderfully to make me a hyperaware, feelings-sensitive, intelligent being who is very careful with my assumptions. Sometimes the blends bring me to other places, some good, some great, some downright horrible. I don’t have any complete or concluding verdicts to round up my experiences at Woodhull or the TOT to make this a digestible blog post. I’ll probably revisit it and do quite a bit of editing and adding later on. But something needed to be said. Something deserved to be written. It has been a powerful, emotionally exhausting, and life-changing week to the point where I’m not quite sure who I am right now (I thought today was Friday for a few hours).

Second to last day at TOT, burnout imminent.

One final thing I want to say about Woodhull, though I’m not sure the order it should be included in this entry, but I wanted to put it in before I forget it, is how much the last week has taught me about the concept of status in the field of Sexuality. Whether a blogger, educator, sex worker, activist, clinician, so much more that I feel partially terrible for marginalizing the “so much more” bit, you are important for whatever you do. Not like I need to be the one validating your work, but still. I saw so many “famous” and “well-known” people this week that were just fucking humans like everyone else. I even feel a little guilty for name-dropping Emily Nagoski and am debating that redaction…going to sit on it for a bit and why I felt the need to include that. I had so many great conversations with all of these “big names” this week and didn’t tweet them, didn’t tell anyone else about them, because I respected them for what they were, great conversations. And I’m a little salty and a lot confused why celebrity has become a thing in the field of sexuality. I get the whole giving creedence and respect. I definitely agree with live tweeting hashtagging and giving proper citation for brilliant ideas being generated during workshops. But when I see stuff like “OMG selfie with ___ look who I just met!” I’m left with a really puzzled feeling. I don’t really know what that feeling is, other than maybe fear of capitalist tendencies or going back to that status of not being the cool kid I discussed in the earlier parts of my blog, but it’s like, we’re all part of one community here. One of the “celebs” I was hanging out with after Woodhull said they deliberately wore a hat the entire time because they wanted to avoid that kind of response, and I totally get it. Like, maybe they’re here to learn, too?

I mean, my toy lineup from our play party made me semi-famous the morning after.

When I went to the Transgender Training of Trainers, Dr. Green even said something along the lines of “Yeah, you can totally tell people you passed this course…you get a certificate, you know! But you don’t have to go throwing my name around, even though technically it is my course!” When you use the image of a celebrity, big name, well-established community figure, when you name-drop, what kind of agency are you taking from that person? What kind of subalternity are you creating and in a community promoting sex-positivity; do we really want to get that gross about it? To me, it just cheapens the whole idea.

Yes, I am super fucking proud of myself for pulling through this week. I most definitely had a deep con-drop on Sunday night, collapsing on a dear friends chaise lounger in the dark and calling my partner in Jersey on the phone crying, “I can’t do the next three days, I don’t even have the energy to shower.” But I fucking pulled my shit together, I smelted one last spoon, and I held my own during this training. So yeah, I’m going to toot my own horn. I’m going to be confident for the first time in a long fucking time and say, “Not only did I do the thing, but I did the thing FUCKING WELL!”

So thank you to Woodhull and TOT for helping me feel all the feels, and to reduce my temptation to get Butlerian with this entry and to let it come from my heart.

/mic drop

Review of Vixen’s Tristan 1

July 24, 2016 palimpsex geekery, music, relationships, review, sex toys, sexuality, storytelling, trans*

I don’t know what it is about ass talk that makes me either smother it with puns or anthropomorphize all things butt-related. I’ve never been the kid who drew dick graffiti (ok maybe sometimes) or called someone a pussy…my lexicon has always been oriented towards the posterior. I guess I’m just an ass man. Or an asshole. Or just an ass, in general. I still remember having to sing alto in sixth grade Chorale for “Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day,” and NEVER being able to make it through the lyric, “Between an ox and a silly poor ass” without losing my shit. That horrible commercial where the guy accidentally calls his interviewer “Dumbass” when his name is actually “Mr. Dumas?” Unforgettable. So yeah, it’s really hard for me to write any review about anal toys, any blog post about anal health, or any commentary on anal sex without getting a little ridiculous. Sorry, but also, maybe a little not sorry? Anyway…

The Vixen Tristan 1 has been in my anal toy repertoire since its days known only as the Tristan, before the Tristan 2 came to be. Given that the Tristan 2 is a little more short and stout when the Tristan 1 is already too girthy and not long enough for me, I don’t think I’ll be buying the Tristan 2 anytime soon, but more on that later. I initially bought the Tristan 1 because it checked off several points of interest for me in a butt plug. It had a seemingly reasonably long shaft, a flanged (flared) base that was meant to fit between buttcheeks comfortably so I could potentially walk around with it or have double penetrative sex more easily with it, it was tauted to stay put and not “pop out,” it was silicone and black, a color I like for anal toys because it doesn’t show any santorum-y goodness after a rough go, and it was named and endorsed by Tristan Taormino herself.

Working in a porn store for 8 plus years, Tristan had become my go-to educator and filmmaker when customers asked me about trying anal sex, comparing it to what they had seen in hardcore porn like Evil Angel’s Anal Acrobats and the like. Don’t get me wrong, I have a serious respect for stars like Proxy Paige and HotKinkyJo who can stretch their anuses with supernatural ability, but Tristan gave a really casual accessibility to education through porn using actual porn stars to demonstrate a less intimidating approach to anal. It’s still mindblowing to look back to the books and films and think they were made from ten to sixteen years ago. What she did was absolutely groundbreaking then, and she continues to work her ass off to this day, educating and promoting sexuality awareness and positivity. I’ll be attending the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit come August, and can’t wait to see her there.

I don’t usually spend a lot of time discussing packaging, but Vixen’s packaging of the Tristan was amazing. It came in this clear plastic cylindrical tub (a photo from Smitten Kitten’s website that gives you an idea) that was perfect for storage. If I didn’t want to display my Tristan on my toy shelf, I would definitely have kept it in here, and I hung onto this container for quite some time, trying to figure out some other use for it because it was just that cool. I can understand why the Tristan comes with this container, though, as the Vixen silicone used to make it is an absolute lint magnet. Granted, most silicone tends to attract lint and dust…my traditional Tantus silicone will snag a cat hair mid air from almost four inches away, but the Tristan, put on the bottom shelf of my toy rack after a wash and dry, will be covered in dust in less than a day. This is definitely an anal toy you are going to need to rinse off before usage each time, or at least have baby wipes handy.

The material is SO squishy. I had felt Vixskin in my partner’s neon green Mustang they affectionately named “Patient Zero,” but the squish and give of the Tristan, even with a solid inner core, made it really difficult to insert, especially when lubed up. It has a very rounded head with only a slightly pointed tip, so my ass is very hesitant to take it and I can’t really apply firm pressure to squeeze it inside of me without the neck of the toy bending and slipping the bulb out of place. With enough breathing and a vibrator on my clit, more often than not I am able to get the Tristan inside of me, and it is THEN that the softness of the silicone feels amazing. The clenching of my sphincter makes the silicone conform nicely to my insides and it’s super comfortable. This feeling usually doesn’t last very long, however, as when I use a vibrator and bring myself to orgasm, the way my bits swell does not work together with how the bulb rests inside of me. It’s almost like it’s too short, like if the bulb were just a half inch higher, my ass would have something more to grab onto while everything swelled and contracted during orgasm and it wouldn’t feel so achy and painful.

And while Tristan’s right, it doesn’t pop out during orgasm or contractions the way a lot of my other butt toys have, this one goes flying when I am double penetrating myself with something else. Even the slimmest and softest of dildos will make the Tristan immediately slip out of me when I insert them vaginally. I do love how the cut of the base fits between my butt cheeks, but conversely, it does mean this is less material to grab onto if I want to wiggle the butt plug slightly in and out of me while I hold a vibe on my clit. And given that the Vixen silicone is so soft to begin with, I can’t really get much of a grip on the flange to work the butt plug, so the Tristan really is just one of those plugs that has to stay put once it’s in me.

Vixen Tristan 1 Butt Plug in a Dunkin Donuts Coffee Mug

I feel like if they made a Tristan 3 with a longer neck, more of a taper to the head, and more of a severe graduation from the bulb to the neck so it truly stays put during things like double penetration, I’d have a new favorite butt plug. But for now, the Tristan takes a little too much work to make it worth it for me.

I will say, though, that the Tristan stretched me out just enough to take my Shilo really comfortably tonight, and although my primary partner didn’t enjoy the Shilo for pegging his butthole, I am telling you, that toy is amazing in my ass. Like holy shit, I have a dick in my ass (technically my dick in my ass, which is even hotter). If my boyfriend took his dick out of my ass and put the Shilo in already warmed up, I swear to Bowie I wouldn’t know the difference. I was so fucking impressed. So while the Tristan may not be my favorite anal toy, I may have just now found my new favorite pegging toy. So thanks Tristan. I couldn’t have discovered this without you! <3

Review of Tantus’s Echo Handle

July 14, 2016 palimpsex geekery, relationships, review, sex toys, sexuality, storytelling

The Tantus Echo Handle is a manifold experience that begs lots of explanation on my part. I’ve been putting off this review for several reasons. One, because I’ve been really enjoying my repeated trials of the toy and have found new things I like about it during each use, two, because the overall process of acquiring this toy was a bit of a bear and I wanted to find a useful way to incorporate it into my blog.

Tantus Echo Handle

I bought the Echo Handle as a grab bag item which was part of an additional Tantus promotion on their website. Word to the wise: follow Tantus’s social media, because they very frequently have awesome sales going on. The “grab bag” option, though, is an ongoing deal Tantus offers where they use whatever leftover silicone from previous toy pours to make toys in random colors. This provides less picky customers with an affordable product. I thought I was one of those “less picky” customers. I thought there was no possible color that a random color option could go wrong. Clear, brown, red…a swirly mess resembling a tutti frutti jellybean, whatever, I thought I would be happy with it. Especially when I had seen the Echo Handle grab bag item my fellow Business of Blogging classmate received as part of our class review assignment. It seemed as though several reviewers had gotten awesome color combinations in their grab bags (just Google “Echo Handle” and “grab bag” and you’ll see what I mean), so I was super hopeful for something awesome.

What came in the mail was a paler version of the slime from Ghostbusters 2, almost fleshy but too translucent to convince myself it was a realistic dil like my other Tantus favorites, the Mikey O2 and the Vamp. I was already a bit sour after Tantus didn’t honor my promotional discount I tried to use via Dangerous Lilly’s website after I hastily clicked “submit” on my order, despite their not shipping or fulfilling the order until a full two weeks later (and adding insult to injury, making the order ship later than Tantus’s usual delivery dates). I didn’t get to take my Echo Handle on vacation, and when I got home, I returned to see a really basic colored dildo with imperfections galore: excess silicone that needed cutting at the base of the handle, weird smudges that looked like fingerprints where shine should have been, and the grossest part was a fleck of black mystery material embedded in the silicone itself. After stewing over it on social media, I decided to be a bit more mature and give Tantus the credit they are due as a reputable and responsive company and contacted them regarding my disappointment with the order. I figured that even if I didn’t get a refund, an exchange, or anything of the like, it would open up some sort of dialogue with the company regarding this outlier in grab bag quality.

Black Inclusion in Tantus Toy — Featuring the mystery fleck, ~2mm under the silicone surface.

Tantus’s customer service response was exemplary. With true professionalism and empathy, Kimberly (their Customer Service Representative) apologized for each complaint I offered (which I did so in much more constructive terms than the ranty tantrums provided above), and two weeks later I had a new Echo Handle shipped to me free of charge. Kimberly promised Tantus would ensure they would use colors marbled from a vibrant pour, and I got a rich dark chocolate brown fading into black mixed with a pinkish red. The thing looks like a cross between a truffle and some sort of wooden staff. It is absolutely gorgeous and truly unique. I’ve seen a lot of pinks and blues and greens and yellows, but never a color combination as nuanced as this. Tantus really seemed to have put a lot of thought into this pour. And for someone like me who is so obsessed with the aesthetics of sex toys, particularly when the Echo Handle is already such a visually unique item, the new colors I received complimented the shape of it perfectly.

Tantus Echo Handle

Now, onto the functionality and feel of it all. The Echo Handle is a solid toy. Not solid as in firm, although the toy offers Tantus’s traditional firmness of the silicone you might find in the Vamp or other basic models, but solid as in a structurally sound, well thought out piece. It has flop, which is sort of part and parcel to the physics of having an 11 inch long toy (7 inches insertable) molded with a grippable handle that allows you to whip it around like Ivy’s snake sword from Soulcalibur. The texture of the handle is subtle but genius, tiny pits mixed with the actual divots molded for your fingers keep the handle from getting slippery with lube. It’s so deliberately brilliant, because think about it, if Tantus just made the handle matte in contrast to the rest of the Echo’s shine, it would still get slimy with lube and lose grip. The pitted surface makes for a perfect texture combined with the finger moldings.

Handle of the Tantus Echo Handle

The space between the handle and the dildo itself is also relatively bendy, allowing me to reposition my usage without pushing the dildo into any uncomfortable angles while it’s already inside of me. This flexibility is wonderful for my partner when he fucks me with it, as he can adjust his body for comfort while he penetrates me with the Echo Handle and it doesn’t make it pop out of me. And the insertable part? Oh my god. I’ve never been a huge fan of textured dildos aside from a bent or bulged tip, but these repeated ridges are fucking glorious. Every single thrust is a new opportunity for g-spot stimulation. The girth combined with the ridges and generous length stimulates my vaginal opening…you know that feeling you get right as something’s being pushed inside you? Right before you get to the pressure of the fullness? Yeah, somehow the Echo gives you THAT sensation combined WITH the fullness and my brain can’t understand it.

It just feels delicious, and the simplicity of achieving that sensation with the handle makes this all so accessible. It makes the thrusting and the grip so easy. It makes me come almost too fast, and I love that my fingers don’t have to cramp up forming a death claw around a flimsy base on a short dildo. Cleanup is boil, bleach, top-rack dishwasher, towel dry, or swing around water droplets at your partner screaming “THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU” to terrify them, whatever. The Echo Handle can also stand up on its own if you balance it verrrrry delicately and no strong winds blow by. All in all I am really pleased with the Echo Handle’s design, and if you truly don’t care about the color (look deep into your heart, because I thought I was among that population once), the grab bag is a wonderful option to get your hands on a great toy at an unbeatable price point.

Now the gods grew quite scared of our strength and defiance…

July 6, 2016 palimpsex geekery, introduction, reflection, relationships, science!, sex toys, sexuality, storytelling, trans*

and Thor said, “I’m gonna kill ’em all with my hammer, like I killed the giants.”

As part of our Business of Blogging course with Epiphora and JoEllen Notte (The Redhead Bedhead) this past spring, my fellow bloggers and I were given the task of coming up with an origin story…something that encapsulated our desires to blog about sex, sexuality, identity, toys, and all the other delightful things we write about on a regular basis. I loved this assignment so much; it gave each member of our cohort such unique opportunities to express our backgrounds in so many different formats. It was a delightful way to learn about each other and I had tons of fun writing it. So here it is, in all its unedited glory:

The concept of an “Origin Story” has put Hedwig and the Angry Inch’s “Origin of Love” in my head on a loop all week with the simultaneous imagery of Weapon X from the Marvel universe (Uncanny X-men story arc ALWAYS). And I’ve sort of been traversing head and heart for my story. Do I illustrate a mosaic of snapshots from my life with a lens covered in more vaseline than RuPaul’s Drag Race seasons 1 and 2? Do I pick one cathartic moment and deconstruct that in order to respect its own value as life is full of origin stories? And then I realized my “Origin Story” had been staring me in the face the whole time. Hedwig and X-men. So what’s the connection to blogging, toys, my passions for sex education, sexual self-discovery and exploration?

First of all, I had discovered both Hedwig and the Angry Inch and X-men comics at hugely transformative stages of my life. I was around 7 years old when X-men entered my life. It was one of the first cartoons I ever really engaged with, the first arcade game I punched rolls of quarters into, the first comic series I began reading, and Goddess help me, when that 1994 Fleer Trading Card Series came out, the first thing I had ever began collecting feverishly (I still have every card, mint condition, in a plastic binder on my bookshelf).

I understood the higher value of the foil cards that shimmered with their metallic colors, the importance of collecting every card for the triptych stories in order to get the full picture, and I also loved talking about collecting these cards with other kids. It reminds me a lot of my sex toy collecting now. Between my highest quality “gets,” to fawning over other collectors’ toy displays, to wishing for those “rares” that were in such limited production that even if I didn’t want them, I NEEDED them, my appreciation for the different artists and aesthetics in the ’94 Fleer Set was really precocious for a 9 year old kid.

The characters in X-men have also been an evolving (see what I did there?) inspiration throughout my life. As a child, I dressed up as Storm for Halloween one year and Jubilee the next. In my preteen years, X-men gave me an immense respect for powerful women, but simultaneously allowed me to eroticize them, as my first fantasies as a kid were Psylocke and Polaris. Purple and green is still my favorite color combination, go figure. As I got older, and began to understand the political context behind X-men as mutant “others” and my own morphing (again, X-men puns) LGBTQ identity, I saw these characters less as fictional impossibilities and more as realistic role models than most celebrities in early 2000’s culture.

When the live action movies began coming out, I sort of twinged at their “artistic license” with the canon, but was really excited that they were getting more people interested in X-men…people that previously may not have considered themselves “comic folk” or “superhero affiliated.” It’s sort of like how Sex and the City and Fifty Shades of Grey are all types of frustrating and problematic as introductions to sex toys, but they create dialogue among audiences that might never have happened, and that is something of merit. I was also really jazzed that Bryan Singer, one of the directors for several of the movies, was openly bisexual until I heard about all the cases of sexual abuse filed against him. My heart dropped. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, it created a lot of conflict as to whether I wanted to continue supporting X-men films, where that would compromise my ethics, or if it might trigger me along the way.

I liken this a lot to my immediate knee-jerk reactions to companies like JimmyJane affiliating themselves with larger, “morally corrupt” corporations like Pipedream or concurrently wondering why She-Vibe continues to stock JimmyJane products. I see that when inserting my own personal narrative into someone else’s decisions without understanding the individual perspectives of everyone involved, it is really difficult to control my emotional reactions. I couldn’t rationalize any positives in the X-men films, for example, Anna Paquin, who is also openly bisexual and a proactive figure within several advocacy groups, and I was quick to write off an X-men movie if Bryan Singer had any affiliation with it. So this is definitely an ongoing battle of mediating my own impulse to “throw the baby out with the bathwater,” which is something that will require extensive work if my blogging aims to explore sociopolitical subtexts behind the production and promotion of sex toys.

Yup. This was a thing. This was absolutely a thing.

Where the X-men had jumpstarted my sexual exploration in childhood and LGBTQ affiliations in teen years, Hedwig and the Angry inch engaged my sensitivity to self in terms of love, mental well-being, and using my “rebel roots” to connect with people instead of isolating. My early angsty teens were fueled by punk rock, Ani Difranco, and a complete transformation into masculine-leaning androgyny. I hadn’t begun identifying as genderqueer, but after seeing Hedwig in my best friend’s living room my sophomore year, I learned that just like my fluid understandings of gender, my ideas of appearing “hard” and “soft” to people were equally blurry. It became the pitch for my sex education from undergrad onward: because I looked “alternative,” I was actually “accessible.” People would understand that I wasn’t judging them because I was probably always being judged. Hedwig taught me to embrace my vulnerabilities in praxis, that I’m not going to get anywhere in life without taking risks, and that mistakes are a part of the process.

But most of all, Hedwig taught me love in a profound way. I learned about love as a spiritual process, love as a means of connecting to people, love as a foundation for creation, love as the element that runs through everything we do as humans. And today, it still holds true. Every paper I have written, every thesis, practicum, or capstone I have ever worked on has emphasized the importance of love in your work. It is the great equalizer in that it is indefinable and yet always felt in some form. I use love in how I teach students, how I work with clients in therapy, I am using love right now in how I write this entry. It is nebulous, explosive of time and space, heady yet simple, spectral beyond anything narrowed down to a “concept.” I still write anonymous letters to randomized addresses I find from whitepages.com telling people “I have no idea who you are, but you are beautiful and I love you.” It’s worth doing. Love makes this all worth doing.

https://www.instagram.com/p/5isfZIMtTm/?taken-by=thepalimpsex

Reflecting on X-men and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, I think not only of Stan Lee and John Cameron Mitchell, but everyone else that has had input in the creation and writing of these stories. These stories are rich with value, complexity in symbolism that are universal enough that almost anyone can connect with them, but nuanced enough that they are not two-dimensional and individuals can take away different messages. These writers are absolutely brilliant at their craft and it takes a network of support and years of effort to achieve such excellence. But they are also unique as human beings, they had their own “Origin Stories” to bring them to writing.

Everyone has an origin story, if not one, than many, or even infinite. Some may say every moment is a new opportunity for an origin story. I am curious to hear yours, if you’d be willing to share. If you click on this entry, it will take you to the post where you can add your comments, or you can email me.

With love,

Avery

Review of The L’amourose Prism V

June 17, 2016 palimpsex geekery, review, sex toys, sexuality, storytelling

So I’ve had this L’amourose Prism V for over 3 months now. I got a great deal on it from SheVibe, and after hearing that it had similar deep and resonant rumbling vibrations to the Jopen Vanity Vr6, I had to try it. After all, there were days where I would use the Vr6’s G-spot stimulating end externally when I wanted broad clitoral stimulation. For me, clitoral orgasms are a lot like Choco Liebniz cookies. The first one is good, the second one is usually even better, and after that I just keep at it until I’ve fulfilled some ritualistic process.

What shocked me was how much I love the patterns the Prism V offers. I have never been a “pattern person” (imagine my disappointment after buying the tech-heavy Minna Ola only to discover I just wanted to constantly squeeze it), but the buildup in the Prism’s first pattern and the randomness that teases me in its final pattern have brought me to some really unexpected orgasms. And the best kind of clitoral orgasm for me is brought on by a vibration I can feel throughout the entire nether. Wands tend to have too much strength and the heads are a little too broad, plus the concept that they vibrate so hard I can feel the wavelengths in my femoral artery kind of freaks me out. Rounded, more nestled vibrations in a head about two to three fingers wide give just the right amount of pressure and distribution. Which is something the Prism delivers with mystifying elegance.

Prism V Vibrator — The Sunset Red during my vacation sunset.

The bulbed curve of the G-spot head is not a perfectly smooth bulb…it has edges, not sharp ones though. The underside of the bulb has just enough of a lip to remind my G-Spot that, along with the acute bend and virtually no give (this is not a squishy toy by any means), the Prism V is going to give me the rigorous stimulation I need for optimal penetrative orgasms. And squirting. Oh my god this is the ideal toy for squirting. Whereas with the Vr6, I needed to pull it out right before I squirted because the insertable end blocked any release, the narrow stem of the Prism V allows me to rock the toy back and forth with an easily maneuverable handle (though some folks have said that the usability of the Rosa’s handle is better) and projectile squirt with the Prism still inside me.

So internal, external, the Prism V has been an incredible product. It has also been great to use with my partners. I love using it on my clit while another partner is penetrating me…the curve of the head and its angular proportions connecting to the handle keep it from being cumbersome during that process. It just kind of curves nicely between bodies without getting in the way. Both of my cunted-companions who swear by their Hitachis fell in love with my Prism V when I brought it over. My one partner even said it was one of the best orgasms they have ever had. ::Proceeds to brush my shoulders off:: In all seriousness, the L’amourose Prism V has been the total package for me. It has taken everything I have liked in my previous toys and finally fit all the best qualities into one.

The aesthetics of this toy have been reviewed over and over again, and rightfully so. It is a sculpted work, with a faceted base, flattened perfectly to let it stand on its own. It arches into G-spot formation at the bulb, but with a really narrow stem where each underside protrudes in an ever so slightly platysmic nature. Its a detail that has gives an organic illusion akin to something you’d see in Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, and offers a unique contrast to the gem-like structure of the base.

What fascinates me even more are the color choices. Diverging from typical pinks and purples with names like Sunset Red, Azure Blue, and Sky Blue, the matte finish of the Prism V pops these unusual hues in such a way they bring memories of the Crayola Crayons of my childhood. The handle does have an “ar” engraved on both sides which can accrue gunk if you are not careful with cleaning. The buttons are really easy for me to use as they light up upon pushing, the plus and minus symbols are slightly raised in texture as is the mode button in the middle. I just hold the plus or push it in intervals to increase intensity and vice versa for the minus. It has a similar locking mechanism as the Vr6, where I hold the plus and minus for three seconds to lock it and the same thing to unlock it. This was particularly crucial in bringing the Prism V on vacation this week as I didn’t have to worry about it going off in my carry-on bag.

The charging port is at the base, and is a magnetic triple pronged dongle that has some good strength…it doesn’t flop off at the slightest repositioning the way the Minna Ola’s magnetic charger does. The other end is a USB plug, so if you have a laptop or a wall unit you’re good to go. Cleaning is so easy with the matte silicone material. With warm soapy water, things just come right off the Prism. I’m ridiculously excited it comes with a warranty, because I have now found my new favorite. Sorry for all the gushing. Also the puns.