Avery’s Top 40 Worst Sex Toys from a 2007 CalExotics Catalog

So with all the awesome blessings in my life right now, I’ve been busy packing up 6 years worth of belongings before my upcoming move to Somerville next Tuesday. I forgot I had a bunch of shit from my childhood in boxes up in the attic. One of these boxes had a whole batch of photo albums from disposable cameras during my teen years. I flipped through the albums, cringing, NOT at the photos themselves but the way I had captioned them. Things like “WUTZ ↑,” “Biffles 4ever!,” “Leonardo DiCaprio, eat ur heart out,” “We ArE sO kEwL!” You get the idea. I now realize this is psychologically genetic. My dad has kept photo albums since my childhood and captioned each picture with equally generationally corny subtitles. Even when he digitized these photos to an external hard drive, he kept all the awful captions in the fucking FILE NAMES.

I also found another relic in these boxes, a 2007 California Exotics catalogue, complete with vinyl-clad models in ridiculous positions on every other page. We stocked so much of this junk at Essex Adult Emporium, I could virtually smell the phthalates when flipping through the pages. I was blown away by how many shitty names, claims, materials, and packaging were in this magazine. I distinctly recall encouraging my manager to switch our inventory to better manufacturers, but I also remember there being at lease SOME toys from CalExotics that weren’t completely horrible. I mean, yeah, the hard plastic vibrators are still an okay start, bullets work too, but I’ll be damned if I could find a single silicone toy in this entire 300 page catalogue. Plenty of toys SAID they were silicone, but as most of us know, that’s a whole other thing.

So without further ado, I will begin a series of horribly captioned pictures for my “Top 40 Worst Toys” from the 2007 California Exotics magazine. I’ll describe the captions and use alt text with a bit of color commentary in between. I’ll also try to rank them from bad to worst but some of them are so off the map I don’t even know where they fit.

40

40 Shane's World Girl's Night Out swirly dual point vibrator with vibrating elephant

Starting out at number 40 is the Shane’s World Girl’s Night out. This dual-stim vibrator features an “EZ load battery case” and is made with “high grade, hygienically superior silicone,” two things I immediately think of when it comes to going on the town with my “girlfriends.” The toy is clearly not silicone and I guess having a jelly elephant twiddling your clit is the ultimate bonding experience during femme hijinks?

39

39 Remote Control Silicone Arouser not actual silicone meant to be inserted and worn internally with straps

39 is the Remote Control Silicone Arouser. Totally not silicone, totally thrown together with flimsy bra straps, complete with a protruding nubbin which I can only assume is supposed to vibrate internally while the rest vibrates externally. Full disclosure here, since I had a 50% off discount while working at the sex shop, I actually bought one of these as my first “couples toy.” Nothing about it fit any part of my body and I lost the remote after the first failed use. Garbage. Trash. Next.

38

38 Scintillating Sunflower strappy "hands-free" jelly vibrator shaped like a pink flower

38 is another one of those “hands free” strappy jelly vibrators, except this time it comes with a wired controller so I’m not really sure how this would pan out in one of those scenarios where you are trying to have a stealthy orgasm in public. I can just imagine the neon pink controller looking somewhat suspicious as the matching pink wire runs down your pants. What really got me laughing was the name, “Scintillating Sunflower (TM).” Note the trademark. I can only assume it’s because whoever named it thought “scintillating” was a fancy word and the alliteration was poetic genius.

37

37 Silicone Ultra Wireless Exciter with Sleeve clearly not silicone sleeved mini vibrator

Back in fake “silicone” land is the Silicone Ultra Wireless Exciter with Sleeve at 37. Normally when I think wireless I think there’s a remote option to control it. It’s just a mini bullet vibe. A mini bullet vibe with a control for “vibration, pulsation, and escalation” (These modes sure escalated quickly!). Again, the “hygienically superior” pitch becomes more and more common as these toys continue to profess their silicone composition. Over it.

36

36 35 Silicone Ultra Flashing Crystal Bunny supposedly silicone dual point vibrator plus grape scented jelly double dildo

In similar veins, 36 and 35 are featured on the same page. 36 is again, the fake Silicone ULTRA Flashing Crystal Bunny, y’know, in case you get lost in the woods or need to defend yourself against a bear. We sold this in the store and it smelled like absolute death. The texture was rough and bumpy, a perfect recipe for irritation.

35

35 also smelled horrible despite its description as a grape-scented Veined Double Dong. There are only a few fruity-scented items in the catalogue, but many of the worst smelling phthalate-ridden toys interestingly have a “Pleasantly Scented” stamp on them. My main issue aside from grape stench, is the description that it has an “AC/DC head.” I’ve never understood the AC/DC thing when describing sex toys. I’ve heard it referred to in voltage, I know it’s a band and also a pretty shitty way to describe bisexual people. But as far as double-ended dildos go, just…why?

34

34 33 Grape Vagina Strawberry Ass two strokers, one purple, one pink, grape and strawberry scented, vibrating

34 continues the aroma trend with the purple Grape Vagina and the pink Strawberry Ass. Smell aside, the descriptions are what kill me. The grape “vagina” (not “vulva,” mind you, which seems to be a reoccurring theme in the catalogue) is described as “Freshly scented,” while the Strawberry Ass is described as an “anus with noduled sleeve and succulent aroma.”

33

32 Cherry Scented Vibro-Dong vibrating jelly red dildo with a cherry aroma

33 culminates our scent series with the Cherry Scented Vibro-Dong, most often recognized for Epiphora’s hilarious April Fool’s joke a few years back. We also sold this at the store and not only is it fucking HUGE, but it was always covered with an oily sheen of chemical leakage. Delicious.

32

31 Love Vibes Double Lover supposed jelly dual stimulator covered in hearts but external heart nub contains no vibrator

Red wasn’t a very common color in CalExotics toys circa early 00’s, so most red toys were either fire-themed, berry-themed, or love themed. And what says love like number 32’s Love Vibes Double Lover, a supposed dual-stimulator covered in a swirl of hearts for texture. I say “supposed dual-stim” because the external part has absolutely no vibrating mechanism inside of it. It’s just this strange heart-shaped appendage barely attached to the rest of the vibe. AND the heart has hearts on it! That’s some meta lovin’ right there.

31

30 Bendi Clitifier dual point jelly stimulator with beads and assorted vibrating animals

In the theme of bad concepts for dual-stimulators is the Bendi Clitifier at number 31. Yes, “Bendi Clitifier.” I’m pretty sure neither of those are actual words. I understand “Bendi” means “bendy,” since the external attachment has an accordion-like stem to position the bullet. Now someone, please tell me what the hell is a “Clitifier?” I feel like that would be an awesome wrestling name or something in the campy horror-porn genre.

30

29 Pink Jelly Ele with Turbo Pearls dual point vibrator loaded with plastic pearls, pink jelly, and an elephant vibrator

Sometimes it’s a combination of the toy design and the name that makes my nethers twinge. 30’s Pink Jelly Ele with Turbo Pearls embodies that reaction. The shaft of this thing is entirely made up of “gyrating” plastic pearl beads with a vibrating elephant on the end. I can only assume the pearls jam up easily, as most of the shitty pearl rabbits we used to sell always broke even if just one or two pearls stopped working. I am, however, a huge fan of the description at the top of the box, “The Mystical Elephant.” It’s as though there were two sides in the naming process, one trying to make it cute as a “Jelly Ele,” the other trying to give it a supernatural spin. Either way, as my annoying handwritten caption states, I am completely mystified.

29

28 Jesse's Climactic Climaxer Jelly "Vaginal" arouser clearly meant to be used externally

Now at 29, we’re back to the alliteration game. California Exotics went all out on naming this toy. It doesn’t rhyme, it flat out uses the SAME WORD TWICE. Kind of. The Climactic Climaxer is described as an “ultra-powerful vaginal arouser with 3 seductive pistolettes and a luscious, soft mouth that forms a gentle yet secure suction cup over your vagina or nipples.” I just had to type out that whole description, it was too good. Though I’m not sure if it’s actually possible to suction “over” a vagina? I’ve had a menstrual cup crookedly suck against my vaginal wall but again, not really any vagina sucking happening.

28

27 Reverberating Jelly Beads purple jelly graduated vibrating anal beads

I think you get where I’m going by this point. 28’s Reverberating Jelly Beads are mostly on the list because of the word “reverberating.” I’m pretty sure someone just went to Thesaurus.com and typed in words like “vibrating,” “arousing,” “sexy,” and picked out any synonym they hadn’t used yet. “Reverberating” hasn’t been a go-to descriptor for anal beads as far as I’ve seen in the toy industry, but points for creativity.

27

26 Head Coach Pump Jelly sleeved penis pump

There are pages upon pages of penis pumps with their own personalities. There were fireman-themed pumps, military-themed pumps, matador-themed pumps, but the one that really intrigued me was the Head Coach Pump at number 27. Complete with a picture on the box of a shirtless (what I assume to be) football player, the Head Coach Pump emphasizes the sports theme by claiming the product is “ERECTION TRAINING!” (Caps on the packaging).

26

23 Shane's World Orgasm Balls kegel balls with cloth string shaped like 8 balls, basketballs, footballs, and soccer balls

Building off the sports theme is 26’s Shane’s World Orgasm Balls, kegel balls connected by string in various sports- themed shapes. Are you a renowned pool shark? A huge March Madness fan? Attending the next Super Bowl? In love with David Beckham? You’re set. Unless you really like badminton, then you’re just shit out of luck.

25

25 The Facilitator latex vibrating strap on with flimsy straps

Back during my years attending Widener’s Human Sexuality program, one of the most common phrases uttered by my classmates would be “Well, as an educator, I think…” Often our classes would be shared with therapy-track students and the phrase broadened to “As a facilitator, I think…” Number 25’s latex “dong” is aptly named The Facilitator. This giant chunk of bulky latex comes with a corded remote vibrator which will inevitably break after a few uses and is held up entirely by what looks to be a thin, adjustable bra strap. Funny names aside, this toy looks structurally impractical in every way.

24

24 Gold Balls in Presentation Box mystery metal kegel balls in a red box

24’s toy doesn’t have cords, strings, or any name in particular. It is simply titled Gold Balls in Presentation Box, like it’s a fucking Monet painting. If there are any artists reading this, I implore you to name your next piece “Gold Balls in Presentation Box.” Except trademark it since CalExotics didn’t. I know I don’t need to say these balls are probably made of crappy mystery metal, but I’m saying it anyway.

23

22 Colt Power Balls with Metal Chain anal beads with flimsy metal keyring attached

23 introduces a whole page of Colt Products, typically designed for “The Gay Male (TM)” demographic. You can tell it’s for particularly EXTREME gay men because there’s a metal chain and a key ring at the base of every toy. And for some reason the Colt Rammer with Metal Chain includes spikes on what might be described as testicles? I don’t know. I can’t imagine that chain being a very powerful retrieval cord, but at least it’s not string.

22

21 Silicone Ultra Probes clearly not silicone anal probe with no flared base

At least Colt uses retrieval cords, because 22’s Silicone Ultra Probes (almost accidentally typed “Problems,” but that would have been just as accurate) has nothing at all. No string, no loop, no cord, no flare. Just pointy, “hygienically superior silicone” with a rough, bumpy texture that is bound to destroy your intestines the moment your lubey fingers lose their grip. I’m baffled at how many anal products California Exotics sell with no method of retrieval or security whatsoever.

21

20 Waterproof Anal Probe plastic vibrating anal toy with no flared base

Number 21’s Waterproof Anal Probe is at least hard plastic, but again, where is the fucking flare? There are NO excuses on this one because the prescribed usage is literally in the name “Anal Probe.” It is definitely going to probe. It is definitely going to go where no other butt toy has gone before. My insides hurt thinking about how it would feel to have a hard plastic probe working its way through my guts while left on vibrate. If this grosses you out, it well should. Not trying to yuck yums, but getting a toy lodged further and further up your intestines is pretty dangerous and a very expensive trip to the ER.

20

19 Alexa's Crystal Wand jelly clear anal wand with no flared base

20. We’re almost there. Alexa’s Crystal Wand is not made of crystal. Its “stimulation beads” are well embedded in the toy for decoration, not sensation. There’s no flare. Moving on.

19

18 Hearts of Love jelly clear butt plug shaped with graduated hearts

I keep thinking about the uselessness of the heart nubbin on 32’s Love Vibes Double Lover. I appreciate that 19’s Hearts of Love butt plug puts some function into the heart shapes. It’s really just the name I can’t get past. Like, “Happy Anniversary, honey! I got you a smelly jelly graduated butt plug with a ‘superior suction base!’” I’m pretty sure we stocked this at the store and it was so unpopular we took it off the shelves.

18 and 17

17 Waterproof Bunny Treat Carrot Shaped Vibrator16 Vibra Dolce Corn Cob Vibrator

So anyone who’s read my blog knows I appreciate silly toys, so long as they’re actually body safe. Funkit’s Pumpkin Almond and Gespensts Farmer’s Delight mingle humor with functionality, and that’s really how it should be. 18 and 17 miss the mark by miles. 18’s Waterproof Bunny Treat is quoted as “Just like the real thing!” Except I don’t want the real thing. A hard, pointy carrot has zero appeal for any hole but my mouth. 17’s Vibra Dolce has me confused by the name. If they have to call the carrot a “Bunny Treat” couldn’t they call the corn a “Squirrel Treat” or something? Where the heck does the name “Vibra Dolce” come from?

16

15 Dr. Z Loving Vibrations purple jelly vibrator shaped like a penis covered in nodules

Similar in texture is the bizarre number 16. Kind of a corn cob with the leafy base and the texture except not, because it’s pale purple and has a dick tip. What confuses me even more than the corn/glans combination is the name: Dr. Z’s Loving Vibrations. This is apparently a whole line by Dr. Z, also known as Victoria Zdrok, a sex therapist, playmate, and clinical psychologist. I’m wondering if she actually signed off on this toy and if so, WHY?

15

14 Dr. Joel Kaplan Prostate Probe anal beads that look sharply spiked on each bead

Another Doctor with their name attached to a CalExotics toy line is Dr. Joel Kaplan. I find the promotional methods interesting in comparison, Zdrok is dressed in a revealing nurse’s outfit and Kaplan is in a suit and tie. What’s more interesting is that I can’t actually find anything certifying Kaplan as a doctor except for a case filed by the FDA in 2001 telling him that his products are ineffective if not outright harmful. Makes sense when you look at number 15, the Dr. Joel Kaplan Prostate Probe. There are spikes on every ball of these anal beads. I don’t care if it’s the softest jelly in the world, that shit can’t feel good.

14

13 Man Shark Enhancer Ring Clear jelly cock ring with dozens of jelly teeth

Another toy that looks far too spiky to be pleasurable is 14’s Man Shark Enhancer Ring. Even if these shark teeth did feel good, the “silicone soft ticklers” are clearly jelly and the whole thing looks like a bacterial gunk trap. All I can think of when seeing this is the “Suck my diiiiiick! I’m a shaaaark!” meme, hence the googly eyes I drew on the page.

13

12 Futurotic Clitoral Stimulator with Floral Prongs Corded bullet with futurotic sleeve that looks like a facehugger from Alien

As many folx already know, jelly and other shitty toy materials are often labeled with ridiculous names, like Sil-a-Gel or Cyberskin. Enter number 13’s Futurotic(R) Clitoral Stimulator with Floral Prongs. FLORAL PRONGS. This thing looks like a combination of an anemone and a face-hugger but pink. I could see it possibly feeling good if the material were better quality. Then again, the sleeve is removable so you could potentially use it once and just keep the bullet, but nah, pass.

12

11 Stroker Bud masturbation sleeves internally colored to look like flowers

The Floral Prongs look as much like a flower as the Stroker Bud does. This jelly masturbation sleeve is clear, but dyed on the inside to look like a tulip. The green part seems ridged and I’m willing to bet that after one use the dye rubs off all over whatever you’re fucking it with. There are a lot of fantasy sleeves out there made with far better materials that won’t fall apart after one use. The Stroker Bud lands at number 12 mostly because it makes me want to see some dude in an Easter bunny costume fuck it while lying in a spring meadow.

11

10 Senso Pocket Penis masturbation sleeve shaped like a penis

Or, if sticking your dick in a flower stroker isn’t your thing, you could always stick your dick in number 11’s Senso Pocket Penis. So, there’s no measurements in the description, meaning this stroker could very well be used for all sizes and types of dicks, kind of like how the Buck-Off operates. The dickception part is what gives me the giggles. Dicks in dicks. And if the person using it is a jerk named Richard, it could be dick Dick’s dick in a dick.

10

9 Linn Thomas Talking Love Doll with pre-recorded sex talk

Then again, you could always stick your dick in Linn Thomas’s Talking Love Doll (number 10…we’re almost there!) It includes pre-recorded “sex talk” which has me wondering if there’s a way to hack the recording box to make the doll sing Pavarotti or yodel. This brings back childhood memories of my Teddy Ruxpin, which was cute until my sister hit me with it and the speaker inside is hard as a rock. I also just noticed that the description has “jointed arms” and “orbital sockets” in bold font as some sort of selling point. I don’t like to shame fuck dolls, but this is just some sloppy next level disaster shit.

9

8 Vibra Phone Vibrating Flip Phone

A toy I WISH had a talking feature would sensibly be the Vibra Phone at number 9. The toy clearly dates the catalogue as it is a flip phone with an antenna, not even that cool RAZR I had freshman year of college. I’m not entirely sure which part of the phone vibrates, and its “Secret Agent” description has me thinking it had some real Talkboy potential. Okay, now I’M dating myself.

8

7 Funky Jelly Vibe in tye-dye colors

Continuing with the retro theme is the Funky Jelly Vibe at number 8. Coming in either pink and purple tye-dye or Nickelodeon-style orange and green, this vibrator could have had some real potential if the materials were better. This toy is unintentionally honest in its title, since Funky Jelly is likely to be the first thing you smell when opening the package.

7

6 Waterproof Mood-Light Jelly Penis Vibrator with a color-changing light at the tip

Right now this is easily the longest and most extensive blog post of my adult life. I’m feeling exhausted and cranky. If only I had the Waterproof Mood-Light vibrator (number 7) to tell me my true emotions. It seems like only the head of the vibe changes colors and I doubt it’s actually thermal reactive which gets me thinking, is it possible to manufacture body-safe glass “mood” dildos? Because the 90’s kid in me would totally buy that.

6

6 Pussy Whip Flavored Cream Cherry Rum, Cinnamon Schnapps, Blackberry Brandy

My final throwback item from this catalogue that really makes me scratch my head is number 6’s Pussy Whip Flavored Body Topping. It’s obviously non-dairy and I really, REALLY don’t want to know what the ingredients are. I am cracking up at the flavors, though! First of all, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Cherry Rum. I’ve seen Cinnamon Schnapps and I used to nip my mom’s Blackberry Brandy when I was a teenager, but what the ever-living fuck is “Cherry Rum?” And WHY did they choose these flavors? Like, what would that demographic even be?

5

5 Body Teasers Vibrator with Hair Bristles on the other end

If you wanted to get creative, you could always apply your gross Pussy Whip with a vibrator that doubles as a basting brush! Number 5’s Body Teaser combines a hard plastic G-spot vibrator with what CalExotics calls “soft teasers,” aka polyester bristles with what I assume are for tickling purposes. Or a really ineffective toothbrush. Either way, it’s a bacterial breeding ground and one of the weirdest multipurpose “add-ons” I’ve ever seen on a sex toy.

4

4 Universal Adult Toy Lubricant Silicone on Silicone

Number 4 gives me flashbacks from my awful experience with MEO. Ruining one of my favorite toys with what MEO called a water-based lube (it was actually silicone) always makes me wary of any lube that is dubbed “Universal.” Like, nothing is universal, especially when it comes to sexuality. So when I saw this Universal Adult Toy Lubricant was “safe for all toys and materials” AND “silicone based” I wish I could say I was surprised at the error. I wish I could say this was the first time a company has been dishonest or uninformed about their lube ingredients. Number 4 is just frustrating on so many levels.

3

3 Gerbil Flex Stimulator

I think South Park is problematic for a lot of reasons and I grew up in a time where Snopes didn’t exist to debunk myths. There used to be unconfirmed rumors about Richard Gere putting a gerbil in his ass with a toilet paper roll, something so outrageous that people didn’t care about the validity but enjoyed the absurdity of it all. I once included this toy in a college sociology paper based on the folklore of “gerbilling.” That was in 2005. That’s how long this toy has been in existence. I can’t tell if there’s actually a market for it or if California Exotics is just too stubborn to discontinue it. The Gerbil Flex Stimulator is a bronze color with a little rodent face at the tip of the bullet. I feel like no further explanation is required for why it landed at number 3.

2

2 Butt Candy Prickly Butt Plugs

Butt Candy. Number 2. Appropriate, considering these plugs are essentially designed to scrape the shit right out of your colon. Even if these were silicone, there is NO WAY they could ever be “Hygienically Superior” based on texture alone. Yikes.

1

1 Dick and Balls Latex Penis Mask

You made it! Number 1! Number 1 is so bad that you probably looked at the picture before reading the description. It is ALL HORRIFYING. The Dick & Balls Latex Penis Mask contributes the inspiring quote “Sometimes, you just gotta be!” Remember listen as your mask unfolds, challenge what the dickhead holds, try and scare your roommates in your own sweet time. Some may have more sense than you, others never want this view, my oh my…

Hey, hey, hey.

The Woodhull Redux

I’ve been having the most vivid dreams lately. Nightmares, dreams that mimic all-too-close the reality I live in, lots of dreams bringing up past parts of me I had long forgotten. I’ve also been fighting a really nasty stomach bug (potentially C. Diff) and night fevers, so combined with all this “Mars in retrograde” stuff, my continual spurts of con drop since Woodhull, and the ongoing management of self-care versus advocacy (and I realize the two are not mutually exclusive), it’s no wonder my dreams have been disturbingly realistic. I feel stuck lately, scared even, sensing a greater threat to my physical and emotional safety than I’m able to fully grasp. I also feel super paranoid lately, and I think that has a lot to do with what I once thought was paranoia in this particular field being affirmed more and more over the past month.

Woodhull, after my second time around from my stint in 2016, was meant to be a redemption story. I went to the conference with blazing positivity, ready to socialize, network, reach out to potential sponsors, thank those who awarded me my scholarship, and most of all, detach from my trauma. I accomplished some of those things in a similar fashion to 2016: through ways I’d least expect. Socializing involved getting to know conference keynotes and organizers, photographers, folx I’d admired for years but never thought I had the chutzpah to approach. And I didn’t really need said chutzpah; things evolved organically through friends of friends the way networking can.

Justyn, Frankie, Kate, and Carmen right after admiring a spider web. Photo by Louis Shackleton.

Thursday night was spent by my lonesome after a failed attempt at socializing at yet another cocktail party catered towards introverts (when will they learn that’s not how this works?), only to be swept into a wonderful evening of smoking Marlboro Reds, talking antifa, laughing at plastic pachysandra walls and taking pictures of orb weavers on the bridge to the Retreat Center. My best decision of the conference was booking a room in the Retreat Center, almost the very same room we had in 2016. A balcony and a refrigerator, the privacy of trees and the loud rush of a fountain delivered sanctuary on so many private scales I wouldn’t know where to begin.

In what seems to be an emerging pattern, Thursday set the tone for the rest of the weekend in terms of reaching for challenging conversations, feeling unwelcome and questioning the validity of said feeling, and finally finding solace in quiet spots among kind faces. Each day I made several attempts at visiting the “Blogger Lounge” only partially successfully. I toured Lunabelle’s infamous dildo forest and documented this event like a kid in a candy shop. Only now in this moment do I realize how this became an improved version of my 2016 experience with Lilly’s infamous Jar of Horrors. This time I was invited to spectate and encouraged to interact with Lunabelle’s spread, where in 2016 I felt like a total creep barging into a silent conference room to take a few selfies with a glass jar of sludge only to scurry off after failed attempts at small talk. Validation number one: I can reinvent how I involve myself with traditions which have existed before me.

Smirking in front of the fake plant wall. Photo by SexBloggess.

I finally got to meet a few of the “newbie/baby” (are these terms really necessary though?) bloggers who have been so supportive of me over the last year as well as one of my Business of Blogging alums, Laurieann. Thursday came to a close and Friday I got to witness some of my favorite people conduct their No Daddies, No Masters presentation. Unlike 2016 where I was still reeling from fresh relationship trauma with my D/S triad, 2018 me felt refreshed by the workshop, empowered by the choices I’ve made and the ways I thinkfeel.

I bolted for the bathroom during the No Daddies workshop only to cross paths with the speakers for the upcoming workshop in the very same room, a workshop I had been looking forward to attending. My head dinged like I was a boxing arena since this had been the third time I’d stumbled into certain bloggers in less than 24 hours only to get nasty looks and no discernable acknowledgements of my head nods or vocal “hello’s.” I prepared for the conference by curating a schedule of workshops I wanted to attend, reminding myself not to be scared of perceived bullies but also to respect their boundaries because I didn’t want to contribute to the negativity. After encountering said negativity in the hallway, I did what I usually do when faced with potential confrontation in a vulnerably passionate field of my life: I clung to a friend and ducked out.

Validation number two: I can trust my instincts. During my egress to a different workshop about Sex Work and Disability, I ran into a fellow blogger who expressed disinterest in the workshop I had run from. They understandably wanted to support their blogmates by being physically present at the workshop, but also noted that the workshop would unlikely teach them anything new. I never realized how attending that workshop would not have challenged my brainspace because it was all familiar subject matter. How going to workshops to encourage colleagues is important, but it can also potentially sacrifice the opportunities for challenging discourse and dialogue when throwing yourself into the unfamiliar.

When the Sex Work and Disability workshop was over, it clicked. I needed to be in workshops where I’d actually work, emotionally, mentally, sociopolitically, everything. From then on the workshops I participated in were about law, chosen family, capitalism, and privilege…I didn’t go with the expectation to settle into common ground or settle altogether. A moment of catharsis slowly manifested into tangible actions over the weekend where I no longer felt like a “reject blogger” but rather my own unique flavor of sex work which didn’t have to fit anyone’s standards but my own. I transcended the habitual desire to peek into the blogger lounge, to obsessively check social media, to get mired in resentment or feelings of exclusion.

Boogieing down on the dance floor. Photo by Erika Kapin.

Like 2016, I relearned the importance of finding a collective of beautiful humans willing to engage in difficult conversations and actually DO THE FUCKING WORK. I’ll never detach from my trauma, be it from relationships, my current housing, my disabilities, or my ongoing Woodhull experiences. Perhaps I really don’t want to detach from my trauma because it makes me who I am and I am strong as hell. Friday night I danced my ass off at Bubbles and Burlesque after far too much champagne, stuck dicklets in my earholes, and giggled my way into Saturday.

I honestly don’t remember much from Saturday because I had started winding myself into one of the worst dissociative panic attacks I’ve had since March. Saturday afternoon had me curled into a chair on my balcony, unable to feel my feet or see straight in front of me, smoking a joint and listening to my partner guide me back into reality via speakerphone. I spent a lot more time in my room this go-around, enjoying quiet company, listening to roommates read Howl’s Moving Castle aloud, talking to Overwatch buddies via Discord, and unsuccessfully napping. Thank goddess for medical cannabis, something I utilized throughout Saturday and Sunday, as I was able to manage my anxiety so much better for those increasingly con-droppy moments.

Saturday evening also brought the treasured tradition of #SFSAfterDark, a QTPOC play space with an epic toy spread, a buffet of play choices, incredible people, and an evolving sense of community. 2016’s SFSAfterDark left my butt cheeks purple, my cheek cheeks sore from laughing at a human lube dispenser, and lots of towels stained red from a VERY messy cupcake scene. 2018’s SFSAfterDark had a distinctly different vibe, providing education for some, service for others, and holistic sanctuary for all. Folx left and right teaching each other, some connecting for the first time, some nurturing with mindful care.

We began this year’s SFSAfterDark with a midnight circle of intention where folx could speak a bit about themselves, what they felt the room needed to know, what would make the space feel safer, and what they were looking to get from it. After three days of bloated period shits, my turn in the circle became a solicitation for back massages and cuddles. Little did I know I was about to get one of the best massages of my life (two different hands at the same time…WHAT?!) which grounded me in my body in the most relieving way.

Squatting in performative contemplation. Photo by SexBloggess.

I listened to several conversations throughout the night where folx expressed their own dissatisfaction with the blogging field lately, their disappointment with ongoing cliqueyness, and their sympathy with my experiences over these last two years. People said they appreciated how unapologetically vocal I have been and that yes, I am an identified pariah but I am also a visible ally for other bloggers. Some of this I knew; over the years my DMs have been flooded with at least a dozen bloggers of all kinds, all equally frustrated but too scared to voice their concerns due to potential repercussions/being cast out.

Validation number three of the weekend came when one of the bloggers at the party said how angry they were to see me gaslit for speaking out about my trauma in the blogosphere. Me, someone who has been open about my neurodivegences at the very forefront of my practice, someone willing to share my vulnerability with the consent of anyone willing to listen, gaslit into silence because of my fear of worsening ostracization.

Audre Lorde flowed through the entire conference this year with her philosophies and beliefs in the erotic, the uses of anger, and the infinite resources we can find in creating loving coalitions. As someone who has lived through Audre’s words for the better half of my life, it would be fucking hypocritical for me to stay silent on the issues with the Blogsquad™. I cannot go on in this field forging alliances and soaking in the beauty of our unique experiences by shutting my mouth and swallowing my fear. Each day brings a new person, a new perspective confirming that I HAVE experienced trauma and I HAVE been shut out. I’m not imagining this. I’m not dismissing it as paranoia or some comorbid transference of insecurity. These things are really happening and know I am not alone.

In all of it, the good, the bad, the muddy, the messy, the brilliant, the unresolvable…I’m not alone. If I learned anything from this year’s 2018 Woodhull experience it would be that I am not alone. That my traumas are inseparable from how I travel through life but that they do not have to create a negative lens nor do they require overcoming. That I don’t need a fucking redemption story because I am always already redeemed through the people who choose to be around me and the company I keep within myself. That the erotic is alive and well, that silence can mean survival but it also comes at a cost, that anger can unite, that every experience is relevant.

So what now? How is this usable; how can we, me, you, anyone extrapolate these disclosures into something that produces results? Taylor J Mace created an awesome thread asking folx for feedback on how to create a more welcoming environment for bloggers, online and in person. The response has been phenomenal. Combine that with Caz Killjoy’s killer spreadsheet of conferences and already there is momentum and strategy to move forward. Some folx have mentioned resurrecting “featured blogger” options on their websites at low to no cost, which I know may not be the most realistic option but it’s still a great signal-boost.

Scientific fact: Salt just makes sweet things taste sweeter.

I once joined a blogging Slack only for my ideas about examining privilege and segregation to be relocated to a separate channel. I guess critical analysis clashes with the overall vibe of emoji’s and inside jokes? ::inserts bread emoji:: Maybe there is another virtual medium where folx can real-time bond and bounce ideas off one another? Are blogrolls still a thing and if so, how can we reimagine them with inclusive purpose? Just spitballing ideas for now, but with everything I’ve taken from Woodhull and beyond, I feel hopeful and humbled by the people I have met and continue to meet in the ever-changing fields of sexuality. A sincere thanks for the work that has been done and a warm welcome to the work that is being done.

Thoughts on Pride™

CN: Brief mention of trauma in the italicized paragraph below.

This has been a PRIDE MONTH. Like, imagine me screaming “PRIDE MONTH” with emphatic hand gestures representing part exhaustion, part awe, and a generous helping of frustration. My patience has been at an historic low these weeks…I wouldn’t say “short fuse,” but something along the lines of “my depression has no room for the inconceivable amount of bullshit the world has to offer lately.” Nevertheless, with joy comes sorrow and all of the emotional spectrums in between.

Take a seat, things are about to get real.

I had started this post at the beginning of June, feeling deeply inspired by the Sense8 finale and finding all of this resonance with the world around me, beyond me, inside of me. When the show concluded with The Magnetic Field’s “Nothing Matters When We’re Dancing,” I felt this uncanny connection to the conclusion of José Esteban Muñoz’s Cruising Utopia. The book ends with lyrics from The Magnetic Fields’s “Take Ecstasy with Me,” discussing the importance of vacillation within our given queer time and space. Knowing the importance of emotion beyond feeling, of living beyond existing, but simultaneously conscious of how everything is born from something else and it’s all fucking inseparable.

I’m confusing myself a lot lately and while it’s completely overwhelming, it’s also a profound experience of what it’s like to process my thoughts through a raw and affective glow. Random bursts of tears, laughing harder than I should, desperately trying to smile but not understanding how all of this emotion is supposed to manifest in my body. My sex drive has taken an almost political strength, where I masturbate with militant intention, slipping into orgasm with a sharp awareness of the ongoing and worsening struggles around me and inside me. I don’t understand myself, but I’m not sure I have to right now.

I know that pride is really complex and sometimes universally simple, but I know I’ve also grown really tired of this assimilationist conglomeration of “Love is love” when it’s worth so much more than that. The simplification of critically uncomfortable discussions and the capitalization of queer visibility scares the shit out of me. It’s nothing new; I’ve been preaching “self-preservation versus self-advocacy” for years. I had a conversation with one of my beloved exes and explained to him how I started this beautiful blog post in early June and it got deleted…how that just sucked all the momentum out of me because I felt like I finally contextualized something unnameable that has threaded through my life since my first experiences of trauma and love. I told him that I’d never be able to rewrite it and how I felt it offered such a value of insight to this blog, how I know I needed to just “let go” (another mantra for 2018 so far) and push forward. How I feared disclosing all of the above for the sake of a blog post because I’m not looking to capitalize off of my work but also, I kind of am? He told me to stop thinking and just do. I say, why not both?

At age sixteen I was skanking with my ex-girlfriend during prom to Reel Big Fish’s “Sell-Out,” laughing at the irony, yet not realizing how much more disgusting the irony would get throughout my life. I haven’t been to a Pride Parade in over a decade and yet still garnish my lifestyle with rainbows like my “baby gay” self did at age sixteen. Justin Vivian Bond posted an Instagram clip of a New York Times article entitled “5 Ways to Celebrate Pride Away from the Mainstream,” and I have to say, I’ve felt like such a bad gay for not marching with my queer families today. But I also know I’m celebrating and making myself visible in ways that still matter.

The since discontinued Tantus Rocket. The Asteroid is still available in this color scheme on their website.

I typically spend most of Pride month with my biological family, one full of queer positivity and queer-identified members. These past few Junes have been increasingly soul-searching and I don’t think I could have done a lot of that introspection without the support of my family. How instead of being at New York’s parade today, I was helping my sister unwrap her baby shower gifts and sipping mimosas. And while I was mired in baby obligations, I know I more than likely would have avoided NYC Pride even if I could go.

NYC pride 2007 I believe? @laura_scarano #tbt

A post shared by Avery (@thepalimpsex) on

A lot of this avoidance comes from the trauma I associate with cities. I have a tremendous fear of cities in general. New York was a place for me to explore my queerness as a springy teenager where I’d romp around St. Mark’s getting piercings or buying overpriced vintage Doc Martens and sneaking into bars. New York was also my first kink scene, introduced to me by a dear friend from college. But with “The City” came a lot of phobias and fears: fears of being trapped, not being able to find a bathroom, not being able to rest, not being able to breathe. I used to enjoy the astounding empathy of eye contact when walking past New Yorkers, wondering what each and every one of them were thinking, what their stories were. I tried to be a city kid when I moved to the Bay, but even then, I rarely crossed into San Francisco. My car window was smashed on my birthday while living in Oakland. I narrowly escaped a mugging during SF Pride by using the pepper spray I never thought I’d have to use. Even Philadelphia was a great nugget of gayness for a while until I no longer felt safe going back to the clubs where my abuser is still currently performing. Cities mean people, people mean unpredictability and inevitable conflict.

I’ve tried to honor these conflicts by picking my battles, and I know I can’t live in the woods forever. I know things balance out and time provides a great avenue to reflect on change, but for now I celebrate my pride by spending private time with other queers playing Overwatch, eating sushi with the enby loves of my life, sobbing over the new season of Queer Eye, and fucking myself with Pride-colored toys. And even THEN! Even then, I worry about which companies to support and which ones are just feeding into some messy agenda.

I see companies making “Pride-Themed” toys out the ass lately and part of me is elated that these things are now so widely available. The last minute of Sense8 featured a cum-covered Fun Factory Amor Pride laying on the sheets after a celebration of unity…I squealed. But then there are companies with really problematic behaviors auctioning off one-of-a-kind Pride items at ridiculous prices just because it’s for a “good cause.” Shouldn’t accessibility be a part of this picture? Is that really how to run a fundraiser, through exclusivity, rather than making your work available to all à la Kenton’s Red NoFrillDo campaign?

I’m running out of steam. A blog post that was meant to be a mental check-in before a full-fledged review will have to organically take its course. I have a veritable fuckton of Pride toys now and I’m extremely proud of them. And while I absolutely adore my new Avant Beyond butt plug for how it feels and works, I’d much rather praise it for the role it has in reimagining my sexual ferocity. How right here, right now, in this very moment, I am conflicted and conflicting, overprojected and verbose, shamelessly navel-gazing in a swirl of color, filled with love and gratitude for the things I have learned during this particular Pride Month. The sheer volume of work that needs to be done, the distinctions we need to make between visibility and safety, the specificity and power of words which complement actions, and the courage to face the unknown are all somehow connected to or fueled by some form of love.

I’d meant to write this post in the beginning of June. I’m finishing it now. And crying. Also crying. One of my clients at work keeps reminding me to “trust the process.” So here goes.

Review of Funkit’s NoFrillDo

So my previous post talked a lot about sponsorship and the financing of this blog. It’s a subject that’s had a lot of broader applications in my life, as I am looking to go back to Rutgers for my MSW and third Master’s degree overall. Widener, among its many injustices during my time enrolled there, refused my application for a clinical track switch within the Human Sexuality program. I attempted this switch with a ton of support, professionalism, and credentials, but because I was not “dual-degreeing” in THEIR Social Work program I was considered a “legal liability” and subsequently denied. So despite a decade in Sex Education and a Master’s in Gender and Sexuality from Rutgers, I didn’t have any extra cash to feed the Widener machine for their Social Work degree.

I was forced back into the Education track which was a curse and a blessing. I was lucky enough to meet so many amazing people who were also experiencing similar struggles with the program, and I learned more from my peers than the course material itself. I would never call Widener’s Human Sexuality program a total waste of money, but the educational experience seemed like a reductive and homogenized version of my Rutgers degree. They rarely allowed course credits from “outside” programs (because, c’mon, who really wants to save money?), insisting that their Human Sexuality program was uniquely intended to streamline students directly into the professional field.

Except not, because AASECT certification was withdrawn from Widener in 2014 and our graduating class was never grandfathered in or financially compensated for a very empty promise (one which still exists on Widener’s website even after certs have long ended…CTRL+F “AASECT”). And I agree with many folx that AASECT is not the “be-all-end-all” for an established career in sexuality. It’s again, often more money than it’s worth, and full of the same bureaucracies I fought at Widener. So I pick and I choose where my money goes, where my energy goes. A course on sponsorship by a fellow blogger I respect and admire? Well worth it. Inspiring dildos from aspiring individuals and ethical businesses? Fuck yes.

[Ironically, I’m listening to an M83 playlist on Youtube as I write this post and a fucking HPV commercial comes on, reminding me that I actually graduated Widener with fellow students who STILL don’t understand the importance of destigmatizing STI’s and that yeah, HPV is literally the common cold of the bunch. I’d shake my head in disappointment, but my fibro is making that painful today. Oh, and as for sex and disability? We got ONE course for it, an elective with Bethany Stevens…but where was it in the rest of our curricula? Okay, okay, I’ll try to stop perseverating and unclench my jaw. Which, in some ways, positively segues to the review below.]

Funkit Kenton NoFrillDo

 

My previous post also talked about how I’d be willing and happy to provide reviews to support brilliant makers, folx with their minds and hearts devoted to making this industry an informed and inclusive one. I’ve already reviewed two of Kenton’s works on behalf of his investments as Funkit and his overall awesome contributions to the community. I am stoked to be reviewing the NoFrillDo. I talk a lot about this new line for so many wonderful reasons.

Kenton is, in all senses of the word, an outstanding educator. The rationality behind every product, the attention to detail, the approach and interpretation is all meticulously thought out, from versatility to the way toys can fuck with expectations. Funkit makes toys that sort of “Easter Egg” me every time I buy one. As in, I’ll think about aesthetic, function, or design, and every so often go, “Oh shit, that’s something I didn’t think of!”

Funkit Kenton NoFrillDo

The NoFrillDo takes affordability, basic innovation in shapes, durability and ease, and mixes it with this really practical CMYK color model alluding to a digital era, one also characterized through Kenton’s process of 3-D printing. I’ve seen so many mindblowing ambitions for 3-D printing these days, but Funkit has given me a complex appreciation for it. Even how Funkit’s social media documents Kenton’s methods, models, molds, curing spaces, and pigmentation is a testament to the craft. The juxtaposition of flowing and organic colors within their computer-generated dimensions gives a delightful contrast, almost microcosmic to some spectrums of sexuality itself.

Making affordable NoFrillDos, promoting them with a well-conceived Indiegogo campaign, distributing them to sex-positive companies, getting them in the hands of eager reviewers, retaining the simplicity of selection…the whole significance of the NoFrillDo brings about such a breadth of opportunities that touches my heart and energizes my spirit. Masakhane’s next board meeting is before the Newark AIDS Walk this Sunday, and I’ll be recommending we buy as many of these as possible for our trainings and fundraisers.

I’ve had enormous success teaching condom demonstrations with non-representational dildos, opening up great discussions of sex toys in general. To be able to provide economically-sustainable silicone products to non-profits like ours would fuel a much-needed shift in narrative for how learners conceptualize sexuality on a holistic level. How one yellow, spiraled piece of silicone can be used non-proscriptively, how its size and form encourage play that connects mind and body.

Funkit Kenton NoFrillDo

I love this dildo for pegging. It is textured just enough for G-spot stimulation. Its shape prevents my TMJ from acting up during oral. Its base is firm but not too wide or thick, making it stable in harness or hands. Even the subtle ridges from the 3-D molds help my lubey fingers grip the shaft. It is an easy clean and repels dust. Whenever my eyes cascade my rainbow toy arrangement, the NoFrillDo always stands out, maybe due to its vibrant color, maybe due to its symbolism of what sex toys could mean to the world when created by the right people with the right intentions. It sincerely gives me hope for what was, is, and can be a reimagining of advocacy through sex toys.

Review of Simply Elegant Glass’s Tentacle Dildo

Spoons have been so painfully low lately.  Life is stressful but somehow I’m jerking off way more than usual.  Sometimes I convince myself to do it because I know it will give me some good chemicals, and sometimes I do it because it’s the only way to incorporate exercise into my otherwise busy schedule.  Stationary bike or a vigorous session of orgasms on my knees?  Tough choice.  I still have so many toys to review, but I’m noticing a theme when it comes to the toys I actually review.  The newest “gets” are always fresh in my mind/body, so they tend to get documentation priority.  Which is a slippery slope, really, because a lot of the toys I intend on reviewing are pretty fucking amazing and still get frequent use, but the novelty has worn off a little.
Glass by Woozy
And when it comes to shiny, glittery tentacled fuckable art…it feels almost instinctive to write about it.  I acquired a girthy piece of glass shaped like a dichroic tentacle through a r/sextoys sale…completely unopened and in pristine condition.  I’ve always wanted a piece by Woozy aka Simply Elegant Glass, and I wouldn’t have cared even if it had been used because hey, boil, bleach, good to go.  I’ve been really curious about textures lately, particularly after my squishy corn cob experiences, and wondered how it would feel to use a heavily textured dildo with more firmness.
Glass by Woozy
Can’t really get much firmer than glass, and I love glass dildos.  So it really checked off a lot of “wants” for me, from the rainbow and blue color scheme to the amber/purple suckers.  I’ve always been a sucker myself for glass between my plug collection for my ears and my pipe collection for my pot.  This is definitely a dildo I would want in any form, even if it was a fucking paperweight.
Glass by Woozy
The handle, albeit much smaller than I had anticipated, is shaped perfectly for various grips…I can slip a thumb through it or just grab the whole thing since it’s molded into a loose coil.  Plenty of options for thrusting, although after insertion I didn’t really do much of that.  The combination of the dildo’s girth and the hard suckers was enough stimulation on its own.  In fact, I found that moving the dildo around too much while inside me was a touch uncomfortable.  Those suckers actually suck; their concave array opposed to some of Woozy’s more bubbly dildos gripped at my g-spot for dear life.
Glass by Woozy
It felt sort of alien, inorganic and medical, which typically are all positives for me, but combined with the effect of glass it just squicked me.  As long as I left the dildo inside while using a vibrator, it stayed put (probably because of the suckers) and I was able to orgasm relatively quickly.  The suckers, like some of my other textured toys, were great little receptacles for coconut oil, but I found myself needing more lube than usual despite the slickness of the rest of the dildo.
Glass by Woozy
It didn’t affect my grip of the handle, and I think I’ll probably use this dildo more with my partner than solo.  I love roughing up my g-spot, but for some reason when I do it myself I’m less comfortable than having someone do it for me.  I don’t really understand the psychology of that, since when I stimulate other folks’ g-spots I am not shy about it.  Either way, this piece is absolutely visually and physically stunning, even if it takes some getting used to.  Now that I know Woozy’s work is even more beautiful in person, I’ll be sure to pick up a few more pieces.  So here it is, your moment of “zen.”

…with your own understanding of what it means to suffer.

I keep thinking in lyrics lately, sometimes verses that will play over and over in my head until I realize what their repetition means.  I think the universe has been trying to talk to me lately through the arts. I’ve been drawing all sorts of genitalia for more inclusivity in our Sex Ed Manual at Masakhane, doing puzzles with friends, sewing, discovering new music, redecorating…but I haven’t been writing. I cannot bring myself to write these days. I wish I could say I don’t know why, but I do.

I can think of so many reasons whirring about, sending me into a panicky malaise when it comes to approaching a blog post. From the ending of an intense semester to the ending of my most serious long-term relationship, I’ve been drained of all desire to speak, wax poetic, theorize…things that typically drive my posts. I’ve also all but completely lost my sex drive to the point where masturbation renders me to tears as I get so caught up in my thoughts and completely dissociate from my body. I find myself attracted to other people, but when it comes to wanting a sexual experience I cannot help but ache for my ex. Breakups, man.

I keep thinking, “Pick a toy, use it, review it, BOOM…content!” and then I also think “Don’t write if your heart’s not in it.” I’m not afraid of showing vulnerability in my work: it’s been one of my greatest strengths and weaknesses in all areas of my life. Those flickers of emotional nakedness where I worry whether I’ve said too much and if it will push people away. That balance, the social cues, the honesty with my fears and passions…they leave me constantly paranoid that people dislike me. And then when a breakup happens, especially a rough breakup, the paranoia seems justified and I just flail.

I oscillate from the need for self-love and reflection to complete isolation and loneliness. I’ll reach out to friends, family, familiar faces for validation and then come home to an empty bed, feeling sick. This weekend I decided to clean all the dust off of my dildo shelf…all the toys that hadn’t been used in months and are unlikely to be used anytime soon. I still don’t have the heart to throw away his Tengas. They’re just sitting in my closet in case I decide to “science” them. I had just bought him a new Fliphole in silver to replace his worn-through white one and I’m pretty sure he never even used it. Looking at my Tantus harness, I think about how excited we were to try it and now it just sits there hanging in wait.

As the moon wanes I want to bless these shelves, make them mine again, reaffirm what they mean to me…but I feel like there’s so much work to do in so many other facets of my life. Ideally my collection would be an arsenal of identity, but right now I feel lost. The least I could do was verbalize where I’m at right now for the sake of transparency. The anniversary of my blog’s creation is this month and I want to do something really special. But again, spoons. My love goes out to those reading this and those who aren’t. Comfort is something I took too much for granted during my almost 3 year relationship, and a redefinition is in due order.

 

Wishing comfort for everyone…
Avery

“Can’t change the world by hating men”

“Can’t change the world by blaming men.”  And yes, NOFX is problematic.  But they taught me to challenge a lot of fucked up systems at a very young age.  I don’t discredit transformation.  More on punks later.

I wrote a blog post almost a month ago but waited to post it until I attended the Widener Careers in Sexuality Conference this past weekend. I’m glad I did. It added a whole new perspective on masculinity and hatred towards variations of masculinity in how it intersects with men and maleness. I attended Wesley K. Thomas’s “Lets Talk Effemiphobia: Dismantling the New Homophobia for Black Gay Men” workshop.

What impacted me most was how much we, as a broad society made up of all our intersecting identities, tend to dismiss mental health in men. Gay men, men of color, trans men, white men, men of all religions and social economic statuses. Mental health is rendered so invisible for men, to the point where when we look at mappingpoliceviolence.org, how many of these folx were battling mental illness at the time they were murdered? How many of them were getting help? How many of them had the health insurance coverage for a treatment plan that covered medications, talk therapy, in-patient facilities, anything they needed to improve their mental well-being?

During Wesley’s workshop we talked about how compulsory masculinity, effemiphobia, and the measures men make to avoid being seen as weak…how these are traumatic and tied to mental illness. It’s all fucking feeding into each other. When feminists hate on men for “acting like men,” we are just reinforcing the structures that could be broken down with discussion, questioning, critique and analysis like Wesley’s workshop. It’s not easy, but WHY are we not trying? Why “build a wall?” Doesn’t that sound familiar? I understand that there is a balance between self-preservation and advocacy, but isolation that resorts to these trendy fucking tumblr posts that make kitschy “radical” (in terms of 90’s radfem nostalgia and a tribute to the lingo of the era) slogans about how men should die and are worthless and expendable, but really? FUCKING REALLY?

http://thoodleoo.tumblr.com/post/148994395493/careers-that-i-am-looking-into-harpy-beautiful

I remember Brené Brown talking about shame and vulnerability in one of her TED talks and how a father and husband disclosed his vulnerability with her at a signing. I remember how that stuck with me just as much as the rest of her talk. We are all together in this. Dr. Jayleen Galarza spoke in her keynote about privileged folx needing to make ourselves vulnerable and do something when we witness all this awful shit happening. One of my classmates mentioned that our Widener department has made zero acknowledgement of the pain or to help us process the endless murders of black men at the hands of police day after day in this country. I am publishing that here. That is something I can do. I am also sticking up for men, in all their beautiful forms on this post today, because while sometimes I identify as male, people keep telling me I’m not, so I’m going to use that position of non-maleness to stick up for men and say that they deserve better than being shit on day in and day out for being too sissy, too powerful, too loud, too ignorant, too rich, too lazy, whatever it is they have been lumped into because of the refusal for one person to see another person as an individual.

Now to the original post from September 11th:

“I see a lot of hate on cis dudes in my various queer and trans communities and it’s never really sat right, like, ever.  It’s not to say I haven’t witnessed male privilege or experienced my share of trauma by the hands of men and boys.  And it’s not to say the kindnesses I have witnessed on behalf of men and boys excuses the experiences of people who experience and relive their traumas every day.  I don’t willingly ignore male privilege.  I don’t protect the patriarchy.  But I don’t hate men.  I grew up with a really honorable father who, in my later years, I am now getting to see as a man with all his own faults as a human being, and it’s a humbling process.  I did the thing a lot of people do, mostly having all cismale friends through my childhood and adolescent life, finding little judgement from them, cherishing the ability to have my words taken at face value, and even in my thirties, seeing those friends still bonded and loyal.

I’m coming back from a hardcore show in a New Brunswick basement tonight.  It’s a tradition that dates back decades now and there is still so much heart in it.  Going to shows has always been a cathartic process for me.  Every therapist I have ever been to has always recommended I go to a show when I start feeling emotionally stuck because they know what it does. It’s just this energy, this excitement, uncertainty, positivity, an evolving sense of camaraderie and yet my individual moment of peace.  It’s kinetic love and sometimes primal rage.  It’s Audre Lorde’s erotic and I feel like I’ve written about my passion for going to shows in my Livejournal and physical diaries of the past, but the fondness of paying tribute to them never grows old.

These shows are usually predominantly cismale.  I went to one show once, well more of an arts and music festival geared towards feminism and queerness, and it was one of the most isolated events I have ever been to.  Every person looked like they had stepped out of a Delia*s magazine, clutching their cans of Tecate, slumped against the walls or standing by zine tables but not actually interacting with anyone.  I’ve totally bought into this 90’s fashion now, two years later, because I am a fucking hypocrite and it gives me an excuse to wear my combat boots with a dress.  I still don’t consider this femme for me, despite the feminist Riot Grrl aesthetic it seems to connote for most folks.  It’s just kind of a comfortable, witchy genderfuck, and though trendy, it gets me a little nostalgic for an era I missed by a few years and 3,000 miles.
chokers and stone rings never go out of style
Anyway, back to the shows I like.  The sweaty shows, the kinds of shows where if you get knocked to the floor in a pit there are always three people’s hands ready to help you get back up and at least one person to ask if you’re alright.  The kind of shows where the band is standing right there on the floor with you, or if it’s not their set, all their members are in the crowd supporting the other bands.  The kind of shows where you make fast friends with a skinhead over absolute nonsense only to see that person decades later crowdsurfing in a wheelchair or officiating roller derby with the name “Gimpy McLegsdontwork.”
Lenny will always be the iconic punk rock kid.

Tonight, the first band, Weather Lore, started off thanking all the fellow brown and black punks in the room, proceeded to chant in Spanish, “this is not just your world, this is our world, this is our pain” (I speak Spanish so I understood, but I appreciated the concept that maybe as a white person I was not meant to understand), and brought the entire crowd as close as we could get (“don’t be afraid of the Spics”) as the lead singer ran through and started a pit big enough to fill the whole basement.  The sheer aggression in addressing racism and the significance of the date, all in combination with the growls and energy with the crowd made for a beautiful set.

The closing band’s bassist shared a personal disclosure of his family’s history with domestic violence on behalf of his late father and how that has brought disarray to his home even now when he visits to see them.  He said that nothing has ever been the same and coming to hardcore shows was his outlet, his source of strength for over 20 years, and it became a whole family on its own.  He told us to think about each other in this room, and that domestic violence and abuse is so common that there was probably a good portion of us that had or were currently experiencing it, and not to lose that opportunity to reach out to one another and become each other’s family.  It reminded me of being 16 years old again when Geoff Rickly from Thursday told the audience he wrote Concealer all about his past history with abuse.

For all the stuffy air and the mattress-blocked windows in that basement, you could practically feel the circulated sighs from each person during this man’s speech, people holding in tears, folks holding hands and patting each other on the back, kids looking around, everything.  It was so unifying and moving to know that people were honoring his story and implicitly honoring each other at the same time.  These shows, the voices and advocacy, the humility in the men I encounter…I cannot hate them.  I love these people.  I grew up a punk.  I grew up a ska kid.  It’s part of my gender identity.  I also wonder sometimes if being cismale is part of my gender identity.  I really think that’s in me.  You grow up in a punk community, a real punk community (whatever the fuck that is), the kids you’re with hate authority.  They hate “the man.”  They actively squirm at structures that are meant to put people down and oppress marginalized populations.  They fight.  I love that fight.  Audre Lorde’s Uses of Anger RIGHT FUCKING THERE.
15 was as good an age as any

The white men I know at these shows, they talk privilege.  I’m willing to bet that they’d have a great conversation about white male privilege if folks just gave them the chance.  I see people writing off all cismen, or saying “Ok SOME cismen are fine, but they need to be x, y, z and need to REALLY work at earning respectability.”  We all have fucking privilege.  We should all be working towards being better people.  I’m not going to get into some pissing contest about the Oppression Olympics because my TERF-in-denial ex-girlfriend thinks my gender nonconforming cismale partner is the Paragon of Patriarchy.  I don’t love ALL men.  I also don’t love ALL people.  But goddamn was tonight precious to me, and looking around at this crowd thinking about all the folks that would readily cast them aside for their gender makes me confused and angry.  I’m trans.  I’m nonbinary.  I’m fluid.  I’m whatever fucking word of the day that will never accurately describe my weirdass gender identity that is or isn’t male, female, human, or transcendent of language/existence itself.  But what I’m not is a manhater.”

With love, my partner and I made this cover tonight.  We are now eating cheesy soft-pretzels with shit-eating grins and stuffy noses.  We are sending out good energy to anyone reading this right now.

Review of Vixen’s Tristan 1

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…

 

Tristan 1

 

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.

 

Tristan 1

 

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

The Palimpsex’s Playlists

First things first, play the above song while you read the following post to get an idea of the moods I’ve been in for the last six hours while creating playlists on Spotify.  Or, if you don’t multitask (for example, my brain can NOT listen to lyrics while I’m reading something else), listen to the song before you start reading further.

Music can have a really profound effect on emotion and energy, particularly when it comes to sexuality.  It can put me in an entirely different headspace, bring back waves of nostalgia, motivate me to “do the thing!” or even leave me so confused as to who could possibly enjoy what I’m listening to (how is there a Kidz Bop 32 now?).

So, I have zero musical talent.  But apparently I have a finely tuned skill at making mixes which began in the sixth grade when I used to record radio songs onto tapes and give them out to my friends.  To this day, I still have that god awful stereo I painted in multicolor nail polish and I occasionally make cassette mixes for my one friend whose Crown Victoria uses a tape deck.  In my late teens and early college years I discovered CD burning and Napster/Kazaa/Limewire/The Pirate Bay (I mean, the iTunes store?) and proceeded to woo my potential lovers with really well thought out mixes that somehow applied to our relationships.  To this day, my mixes contain lyrical significance and have deliberate song orders.

Mix Making
Told you I still had it.

I’ve noticed my sex mixes usually have three or four different themes.  I have my “Dark” mixes, which usually include heavier, angrier music that helps put me in a kinky headspace, my “Chill” mixes which usually consist of slow beats, someone singing seductively, and an occasional synth beat, and my “Tender” mixes which are a whole blend of lyrical mushy business and variations of your typical I–V–vi–IV progression (aka the love song riff).  I notice that no matter the mix I choose, they all make me very toppy, whereas if I fuck in silence I’m sort of aimless, easily distracted, and less confident.

Back when I was still working at the adult store and using my birth name, my dear friend Lynn from Homoground (we met back during the dyke_riot community days on Livejournal 10 years ago) posted one of my mixes here.  Yes, that is a bandolier of vibrating bullets I’m wearing.  I seriously had SO much fun making that mix.   

And today I’ve made some mixes for YOU!!!

THE ROUGH!  THE SMOOTH!  and THE SWEET!

These Spotify compilations include some songs that I’ve been fucking to for over 15 years.  Some are songs I’ve just discovered by listening to the Nice and Slow channel on Google Play music.  I am a little bummed that Spotify didn’t have Tattle Tale’s Glass Vase Cello Case so I’m including it here because it’s that important to me.  After I saw But I’m A Cheerleader in high school this became one of my favorite songs for really intimate moments.

So what songs get you in the mood?  Do they fit into any genres?  Comment with some songs and I’ll make a Palimpsex Reader Playlist on my Spotify!