Drenched in sweat, starfished on the kitchen floor, the dehumidifier blowing musty air in my face as I come back into my body… it’s the closest I’ve been to anything like an orgasm in what feels like ages and it’s tachycardia. I’ve just installed a new bike seat on the vintage Schwinn my landlord gifted me a month ago, lime green with a hole cutout in the middle, a reminder of yet another accommodation for what’s between my legs, but at least I get to make it green to compliment the purple bars of the bike, a genderqueer tribute to my dysphoria. Biking surprisingly doesn’t hurt my discs, and while the soreness of my groin is the closest I’ll be to a hard fucking in a long time, I lost most desire for sex since my breakup anyway.
I need the new seat otherwise I can’t handle the freedom and endorphins of the 11 mile trail I’ve been blessed with outside my home. Although I loathe the 90 degree weather and humidity signature to Jersey summers, I’m completely claustrophobic with the contexts of this particular July from academic to personal obligations. My mental health is rapidly deteriorating to the point where I don’t even know what self-care looks like anymore. Today it looked like a new bike seat and a quick ride to test it out, but it also neglected hydration and included caffeine; it forgot that I took a Vicodin for my back last night after 10 days of classes sleeping without an actual bed and how opiates trigger my SVT episodes. So my last mile push home included palpitations, followed by a half hour sweat-out on the kitchen floor, my only space left in this apartment currently to sprawl in semi-privacy.
I’d cry if I had the tears, the heart-rate, the spoons, the understanding of what I should mourn first. The cats who aren’t even my cats came to lick the sweat out of my hair as I nudged them away, reminders of what I can’t handle. I looked to the ceiling fan, a snakeskin lightning bolt charm hanging from a chain reminding me of power symbols as I tried to focus my eyes and breath to cut the palpitations. I meditated and affirmed myself as best I could, prayed nobody came into the room and the cats could give me some peace.
As the 180 finally went back to 60 bpm, I opened my palms to the ceiling and noticed my right arm had been touching my No-Face backpack of books the entire time. At first I went to push it away with disdain and then recognized the conflict of this action. How my academics are the source of my frustration and strength, how my love and hate and fear and insecurity are all blended together through my journey and academia is what taught me to blend my heart and my brain. How appropriate I chose No-Face as my bookbag for all the character represents and how placeless I feel in life all the time, how dependent I am on others for my own existence, how the familiarity of this hard kitchen floor brings back the warmth I felt sleeping on wood during my stay in Philadelphia and how I thought my self-care this week would include solitude but it really requires comfort around positive people.
I still firmly believe my heart thrives in nature, that I cannot handle living in a city for all the infinitely unique thoughts of people buzzing directly around me, but right now I feel so ungrounded. My skin hunger is nauseated but present, my boundaries of self-in-world are blurring, and there is so much I want to do but here I am: starfished on a kitchen floor trying to figure out my next move.
Ohhhh yes. My upcoming summer semester (and hopefully final semester at Widener) is quickly approaching and I’ve just begun plugging my due dates into Google Calendar…this one is going to be a doozy. Three courses wedged into the entire month of July, class nonstop from the 8th to the 16th, papers galore…I may have bitten off more than I can chew when I said I needed more of a challenge at this school. We shall see.
What it has done is given me a swift kick in the ass to get my writing flow back into gear, which is a bonus. I’ve basically spent the last two weeks getting back in touch with my roots, revisiting parts of my identity I had once abandoned with shame and regret. A trip to Aruba spent solely with Mom and Dad, a weekend of Punk Rock Bowling with a best friend, videogames with Steam friends…I needed the familiarity of these things accompanied by a deeper introspection of what they have meant historically to me through the years. How many times I’ve enjoyed the company of friends on my Aruba trips only to later make enemies with them, how many punk buddies I’ve pushed away never to speak to again, how, even now, I am constantly navigating the paranoia of annoying my Steam friends and sometimes I intentionally “fall off the map” because I think I’ve been a burden to them.
I was diagnosed with BPD in 2010 only to later be dually diagnosed with Bipolar II three years ago. Meanwhile, I’ve had one or two exes who have armchair diagnosed me with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, something I’ve mentioned to every psych professional I’ve seen since undergrad and has been consistently shot down…so who knows. I overproject intellectualism, have an ever-escaping self-awareness of my neurodivergences, and I’m definitely insecure… Probably going to delete all of this anyway because why on earth would anyone want to read something this personal in someone’s sex blog? Wouldn’t you rather read about handjobs or my gag reflex?
I guess the point of this reflection is that I’m trying not to be scared of looking back at who I was or being open about it to anyone (and I mean anyone). The 25 years spent chasing iguanas by the beach, the 15 years making out with sweaty folx in mosh pits, and now the recent years finding a community who shares my same love for gaming. I’ve fucked up a lot of it, but it’s not all bad, and neither am I. I NEED to start believing this. If I keep wasting time shitting on myself, I’ll never get back to blogging from a positive headspace, I’ll never learn how to love other people the way I want to be loved, I’ll never take the time to appreciate the world outside my head, beyond anything I could ever imagine. The whole concept of self-love terrifies me sometimes, because deep down I don’t think I really understand it, and I’m scared I never will.
This post was ACTUALLY supposed to be a review, believe it or not. I had every intention of getting punnily detailed with my recent usage of the Tantus ProTouch, a versatile toy I’ve been promoting since my days at the porn store but never actually tried. I opted for the Grab Bag version and ended up with literally the SAME fucking color (like a more translucent version of “wine”) it comes in normally (I swear to goddess, I have the worst luck with Tantus Grab Bag colors). I got so bitter about it I never ended up using the fucking thing.
Yesterday I finally had my first masturbatory release in months…a little Nine Inch Nails and a Wartenberg Wheel was enough to get me going. My butt just kind of wanted everything on the shelf. I went for each anal toy I could find, starting small, eventually working my way up to an Echo Handle. It was an intense afternoon and I direly needed it. But the ProTouch surprised the hell out of me. I was expecting the curve to be painful, uncomfortable, anything like any other curved butt product I’ve used before. It wasn’t at all. Sure, it’s made with the same shore silicone in most Tantus products, but maybe because of the hollow middle (which is meant for a vibrating bullet though I left it empty), it had some squish.
I’m not usually a fan of the freebie bullets that come with Tantus toys anyway (kinda weak), and the depth of the hole inside the ProTouch is too shallow for the WeVibe Tango. Besides, it actually made it more grippy for me because I could just stick my finger inside it while I hooked the flare with my thumb. Regardless, the curve of the ProTouch conformed nicely to my body and was actually relatively comfortable. My other surprise was that I could actually feel all the textures of it in the best ways possible. I went back to the ProTouch after using the Echo Handle and the ProTouch still had quite a…how shall I say…presence? The curves were stimulating enough to remind me it was inside, but not too scrapey or pinchy. So I’ll be damned. That thing has been sitting on my shelf for months now and I’ve just discovered I actually rather like it.
Sometimes I learn a lesson or two about myself when it comes to toys. I’ve been thematically discovering through blogging how the toys I think I’ll like, I don’t end up enjoying very much and the toys I don’t expect to like, I do. Or the toys I’ve loved for years suddenly don’t do it for me anymore, that my body and mind can change, that pleasure isn’t linear or orderly…it doesn’t obey any logic or mapping and what feels right to me one day might feel absolutely backwards the next.
I’m looking at my shelf and getting a little weepy now. These toys have taught me a lot. I cherish them. Beyond pride, beyond memory…there’s a little bit of magic in each of them and I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever understand. Maybe that’s what makes reviewing them so exciting. Because who knows? Two years from now, my body might be able to tolerate Aloe, and I might actually dig soft silicone. These reviews aren’t just unique to us as individuals, but unique to our place and time in life. It’s the futile but delicate attempt at grabbing a bit of eggshell through the yolk…always almost there but always slipping away.
I think about Audre Lorde’s “Poetry is Not a Luxury,” and how she spoke of words, how “Possibility is neither forever not instant,” and yet there is always a validity in her phrase “it feels right to me.” Each toy has its purpose, its opportunity to “feel right” for someone, as does each review. Maybe a time in my life will come when things begin to holistically “feel right,” maybe not. So for as disjointed and (perhaps inappropriately, to some) unsteady this blog post may seem, I think I’ll actually leave it as is, consciously unedited. I suppose it just feels right to me.
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.
Recently I’ve noticed a lot of sex bloggers posting about how sometimes the most recommended items in the sex industry may not work for everyone. And I’m finding so much comfort in this. I remember the moment I read JoEllen’s post about the Womanizer and why it was crucial to talk about how highly-hyped toys can really affect people’s self-esteem; no words can describe how that article spoke to me.
Just recently Epiphora and Lilly went on an awesome search to find water-based lubes without aloe, citric acid, parabens, or propylene glycol, which made my heart sing and sink at the same time because the market is so limited for this. To think of it as such a “strangely” specific request to help “some” people makes me feel, well…”strange.” Do my needs represent a strange minority or are they just different needs? I really don’t know, but I think the language needs to change. I do know that Piph just posted an awesome tweet about why glycerin shouldn’t be in lube anymore and the first response was in essence: “YEAH! Sliquid all the way!” Which, along with lots of other reasons, leads me to my post.
“But it’s ___! Everybody likes ___!” Well guess what? My fronthole is not everybody’s fronthole. My butt is not everybody’s butt. There is nothing worse feeling as a neurodivergent human who already gets excluded from general life things for their GSM and disability identities to also feel excluded because they don’t get mindblowing orgasms from seemingly universally-lauded sex things. So I’ve decided to make a list. Instead of blogging entry-by-entry on the things that “shoulda, coulda, woulda” gotten me off, I’d rather have a massive “cleanse post” because frankly, I’ve been in that mode lately. Call it “spring cleaning.”
These are the items that gather the most dust on my shelf. And while I dusted them off for one last try, I was still left mostly underwhelmed, angry, even sometimes downright dysphoric. So this massive review is going to come with a bit of a content warning. But then again, there are some positives, so I really don’t know. A bit stream-of-consciousness here…please bear with me:
Let’s start with an easy one. And by easy I mean a gratingly painful torture device that frequently turns into battery acid and breaks in ten different ways. Satisfyer contacted me a little more than a month ago, and being the naive blogger I am, I thought it had something to do with my recent Liberatorposts or all the circulation my handle had been getting in a Twitter thread on trans and non-binary bloggers with disabilities. I thought I actually started making a name for myself, but no.
Satisfyer contacted literally almost every sex blogger in the fucking industry. As in, I’m genuinely curious how that mailing algorithm worked, because every blogger I followed on every form of social media got a Satisfyer kit. A hell of a pitch, I thought. Also incredibly suspicious, but whatever, I’ll take free toys with no contract attachments. I also knew I’d hate the thing since I once tried my ex girlfriend’s Womanizer and screeched in pain after a 30 minute attempt to orgasm. I figured this thing would be no different, and it really wasn’t.
A couple more modes of suction intensity, which were even more difficult to figure out. Buttons even further away from the flimsy Satisfyer 2 handle, almost impossible to discern, whatever. It still provided the most painful orgasm I have ever experienced. Have you ever had a UTI where you felt like you might be horny but really you just needed to pee really badly? And then, of course, because it’s a FUCKING UTI you don’t actually have any pee, just burning and throbbing sensations of HELL by your urethra? Yeah, that’s the Satisfyer 2 for me. That’s pretty much any of these Satanic suction devices for me. They feel like a goddamned UTI. I’ll pass.
Speaking of UTI’s, YI’s, BV, and all that awesome fun that happens because hey, I LOVE having a fronthole NO I DON’T WELL OK SOMETIMES BUT MOSTLY NO: enter Sliquid. Sliquid is the “do no harm” of the lube world. It took me years working at the sex shop to get them to stock it, and it was my pride and joy once they did. I introduced my mom to Sliquid Swirl and she was so thankful for it. At one point in time my body actually really liked Sliquid Sea. But hey, at one point my body also liked KY Yours and Mine, so I think I’ve just ritualistically trained my parts to hate anything but self-produced lubrication now.
Are there any water-based lubes that have NONE OF THE FOLLOWING: aloe, citric acid, parabens, glycerin?
But seriously though, Sliquid. Come on! You’re supposed to be the best of the best! The gentlest! The friendliest! Citric acid and aloe? It’s so burny! As someone with a sensitivity to garlic and onions, the aloe really does me in. When I say sensitive I mean sensitive: if you take the onions off a salad I will still have onion breath for the next two days. If I touch a piece of garlic, my fingernails will smell that way for a week minimum. So nowadays if I use a Sliquid with aloe, my nethers are a flaming Greek Salad for a week. It is beyond upsetting. One of my biggest dysphorias about that part of my body is the smell. I can pack and wear all the briefs I want, but it’s still going to smell like something I enjoy on other people, but not myself. And for a lube which is supposedly so body-positive, it makes me feel incredibly negative not only about my body, but about my gendered body as well.
On the upswing (pun intended), I’ve recently found a reason to not entirely dislike my Feeldoe. At first I was absolutely going to jump on the bandwagon of “It doesn’t work like it’s supposed to!” but then I realized that sex toys shouldn’t really be proscriptive to begin with. Yeah, you’re shelling out a lot of dough for a hard silicone two-fer that might look like it’s meant for a particular type of partnered penetration.
But a.) I bought my Feeldoe secondhand from an r/sextoys exchange for a whopping $60 (yes, boil and bleach), b.) I love Tantus’s hard silicone and am realizing hard silicone really is my jam after all, and c.) I am really enjoying the Feeldoe as a trans-identified person. For one, blowjobs are great with it. I love that I can stretch my partner’s mouth, that the slickness of the dildo lets them give me really sloppy blowjobs where I can watch their spit drip all the way down the glossy shaft. I love that the shaft is extra long so I don’t have to worry about their face getting too close to my mons when I’m feeling dysphoric. I love that they can jerk me off during a blowjob to stimulate me and they can fucking cradle my balls too.
For me, the Feeldoe is just blowjob gold. I also discovered during solo play last night that the Feeldoe is actually really amazing for jerking off. I already knew I liked jerking off the way I use my Jopen Vr6, and with a We-Vibe Tango popped in to the Feeldoe, I can actually feel the vibrations through the ribbed part. Jerking off felt extremely affirming, all the way down to the angle of it, how I’d hold my cock pointed towards me instead of going straight up. So yeah, if I’m walking around, the Feeldoe’s going to fall out. If I’m trying to peg with it, the Feeldoe’s going to fall out. But if I’m getting head or having a rough wank, which doesn’t seem to be a main narrative surrounding Feeldoe reviews, this toy is fucking great.
Which transitions to the Tango. Another toy I was ready to fall in love with and then…didn’t. I won the Tango through Ninja Lunabelle‘s awesome Great Dildo Weigh-In Giveaway and was so excited. I’d never won a giveaway before, let alone for something I really wanted! I even got it in blue, which excited me even more. Everything about the Tango sounded perfect. The wedged tip, the smooth acrylic, the rumbly motor, the various features. Literally every one of the perks people praised were the things I loathed. The plastic was far too hard, giving me no grip for my fingers or my flesh, the motor, while rumbly, had an even worse dampening effect than the Lust 2.5, and the features were cumbersome to cycle through.
There is literally one speed on the Tango that comes close to getting me off, and that is with some serious effort. I was probably the most let down by the Tango, a toy with such history and typically recommended to people who want a small toy with strong vibrations. I could not believe how much those vibrations dampened to almost virtual silence upon skin contact. It wasn’t until I put the Tango inside the Feeldoe that the vibrations actually transferred properly. Up until last night I was afraid I’d have no use for the Tango anymore, but now I’ve found a really good one.
A fitting end to the favorites would be the Njoy Pure Plug. I bought mine in medium, as the small looks teensy and the large looks like it would be a bit of a struggle for me. The medium, however, goes in smooth. Too smooth. As in I barely feel it. There is no pressure, no stimulation on insertion, none of that satisfying stretch you get when you’re slipping a plug in and taking a deep breath. It just pops right in and I’m left going, “That’s it?” Except then I’m not, because about one minute later I get an intense stabby feeling in the front wall of my rectum as the Pure Plug angles itself with its own weight.
If I become too aroused, I swell up and it pinches. If I sit up, it pinches. If I use a toy in my fronthole, it pinches. If I turn the handle so it’s not blocking said fronthole with vertical alignment, it pinches. There is really a limited amount of what I can do with the Pure Plug. It’s not particularly good for thrusting, more like a wiggly toy, and even then I have to be careful not to hit an uncomfortable spot. I thought it might be good for prostate play, but the two prostatepeople who have tried it have also said it gives a rather “pointy sensation.” So I don’t know, really. Love the company, really wanted to love this toy.
So that’s pretty much it. A collection of toys and lubes that may be majority favorites, but don’t really do it for me. Which isn’t meant to be discouraging, but rather a reminder that we all have different minds and bodies and that we should remember this not only as consumers providing feedback but also as companies who are constantly looking to innovate new products with inclusive designs.
Bonus gif of Ollie batting away a Hitachi similarly to how I might. The way it vibrates into my femoral artery freaks me the fuck out sometimes.
So my birthday recently passed on March 31st, and despite living that typical Aries life for now 32 years…firey, stubborn, willing to get into fights with “high-horsed” folx, I’ve also heard the Zodiac has changed and supposedly I’m a Pisces? Which, to be honest, sort of makes sense. The water to my fire, the manic depression of my life, my tendency to socially withdraw but also want to flow and enjoy the fluidity of existence…even the way I write with ellipsis because I find discomfort in the permanence of a period. My living space has gradually taken on water themes in my places of relaxation, namely the bathroom and bedroom. (Interestingly enough my living room has always had red and blue themes…fire and water perhaps?) So I know the Zodiac is often what we make of it and many folx are saying the new shift is kind of BS, but if I could pick any other sign to replace the Aries I’ve strongly identified with for all these years, it’d probably have to be a Pisces.
After finally diving into the world of fantasy dildos with my Phoenix Flame Forge Monty the Manticore, I wanted to continue my collection, but also learned through my Damn AverageLumpy that soft silicone just wasn’t for me. I knew Tails and Portholes had so many beautiful nautically-themed pieces that came with dual density options, but was hesitant to shell out the doubloons right away. When the announcement came that Brandie would be closing up shop for good, the choice was made. The Leviathan I’d been scoping out needed to become a reality. I picked my colors (Mermaid’s Tail, a beautiful swirl of glittery blue and green), selected the dual density option, and waited for my loot to arrive.
What came in a lovely organza pouch was my Leviathan, a squishy, intricately detailed work of art with a gorgeous gloss and an extremely wide base. This is easily the most beautiful toy in my collection now. Every sucker, every ridge, every dip is so deliberately and brilliantly placed all the way down to the logo at the dorsal base of the toy. SO much thought went into the exterior design of this toy and I wish I could find more ways to show it off because it seems tragic to have it sitting on a shelf all day.
As far as function goes, I found myself expecting the wide tip and expansive shaft to leave me feeling full, which didn’t quite happen. During thrusting, the Leviathan just sort of mushed into me, and while the flayed head does give me that initial G-spot shock of “oh hello” when it pops inside, once I get to a thrusting motion I find myself wanting more. I tried using the Leviathan as a G-spotter to orgasm by pulling the head slightly out of me instead of thrusting it, but the softness of the head conformed to the shape of my G-spot instead of stimulating it.
Even with the dual-density, the silicone was just too soft to offer enough pressure, and the dual-density itself does not reach the G-spot tip. When I use it vigorously, I’m just wiggling it all over the place, going left and right but not really in and out. The Leviathan is acharacteristic from my experience with dual-densities like the Vixskin Mustang, Tantus’s Mikey, or my NYTC Shilo. Because The Leviathan’s dual-density doesn’t flare throughout its extremely wide base, the base itself gets a little floppy and bends when I try to get a grip. Even though the base is still really nicely designed, (there’s even a little thumb-dip) something still isn’t working and I think it might just be the large base circumference combined with the softness and overall weight of the toy. If my hands were a little bigger or my grip a little stronger this might work but right now I just keep cramping up.
The advantage of the dual-density core not reaching the base, however, is that I am able to curl the Leviathan once it’s inside of me in order to rub all of the tentacle suckers against my bits. I can bend it in all different ways to meet different angles of my anatomy in order to stimulate my sensitive parts. It’s pretty electric for someone who doesn’t normally use texture for clitoral stimulation. (This is giving me a newfound curiosity towards Funkit’s Signet project). The suckers also make great sounds for folks into auditory stuffs, kind of like really yummy sex as each tentacle catches a bit of air and lube and flesh. It’s sort of a slurpy sex feeling I wasn’t really expecting, so added bonus! The suckers also work as little lube trappers, keeping the Leviathan from getting too slippery but somehow making it slick enough once the shaft is inside me.
For science’s sake, I used Phoenix Flame Forge’s Monty the Manticore directly after The Leviathan to see what the difference in orgasms would be like. While I had difficulty orgasming with The Leviathan because of penetration frustration, I noticed that the Monty’s density was actually a bit firmer and Monty’s pointy tip actually gave me great G-spot stimulation as it held form during thrusting. Because of Monty’s slickness and shape, however, it was even more difficult getting a grip once fully lubed.
Whereas The Leviathan’s flayed tip and bumpy texture kept it snug inside of me during orgasm spasms, the Monty went shooting out the moment I started pulsing. Both toys have their pluses and minuses. Overall, I continue to learn that I just really am not a fan of soft silicone, but given the beauty and now the rarity of The Leviathan and the incredible work Brandie does for Tails and Portholes, I am so proud to have this new addition in my home.
When I was approached by Liberator to review their Black Label Esse Chaise, I was sort of mystified. Like this blog post and even the Chaise itself, I didn’t know where to start or how to react. I was excited, I was intimidated, I knew the possibilities would be beyond my imagination and I knew things were really up to me for direction and choice.
Now, I’m switchy in all aspects of my life: kink, academia, picking a place to eat…when it comes to fucking on a gorgeous piece of furniture or choosing how to write about it, the same principles apply. Do I take the cerebral road and wax poetic about how this item has led me to reconsider disability, particularly in my anxieties over using it? Do I just get straight into the meat of the review because I think readers would be more interested in the form and function of the chaise for their own personal considerations, particularly given the price-point of the toy and the decisions required to make such an investment? I really don’t know.
I know I could write a really lengthy post about the whole experience, and I’ve only really used the chaise for sex three times after having it for a month, but to be completely transparent, I’m contracted by Liberator to write this free review within 30 days, so time is somewhat a factor. Which plays into the first theme of my thoughts on disability. I’ve never reviewed something for a company before. Every review I’ve ever done has been without contract and that’s sort of alienated me from the rest of the professional blogging community because I fear my work has less value. I worry folks think I don’t put as much care into what I do because I’m not getting paid for it. I’m still not getting paid here, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t get a massively gorgeous $600 furniture kit for the quality of my writing, so here goes:
No, maybe I’m not a legit blogger. And that does do my head in a bit, mental healthwise. Seeing a contract for the first time certainly triggered some unexpected anxiety, and considering my primary partner and I don’t have the most frequent sex, scheduling time between my stressful semester, my back, his job, and our sick kitty to try out the Chaise has been a little tricky. What I have discovered, though, is that this Chaise is great not only for physical disabilities, but has done wonders for our neurodivergences as well.
Being that it is so supportive, grippy where it needs to be, the texture of the faux leather cover, the strong D-rings on the bottom, and the angles of the curves, the Chaise is like a little mental vacation once we get onto it. It’s like a really gentle inversion table at times, except I’m consenting to the bloodflow differential and I have all the fluff and back support I need. The headspace change happens almost the second I touch the Chaise. Just feeling the texture of faux leather in comparison with everything else in my apartment brings me a visceral awareness of my sexuality. It’s not as though I’ve fetishized the Chaise (well maybe I have, a bit), but rather just something about it that fits so appropriately with my identity, physically and spiritually.
I thought it was just me who felt that way, as the first time I used it I masturbated alone while my partner was at work. I worked myself into what felt like ten different positions with my Hitachi. I rarely orgasm that many times from a Hitachi; it’s usually one or two and I’m over-sensitized and blissed out, but something about the Chaise had this organically coaching feeling telling me that I could keep going if I wanted to, and I did. It didn’t cradle me like a bed. It was comfortable, but I didn’t want to just sprawl out and nod off into a sweaty mess like I usually do. I felt a weird out of body experience as the sun shone through the snake tank and onto my beating chest, like I was on display…for myself. It was really erotic and very confidence-building.
My partner had a similar experience when he used it on his own and felt really sexy afterwards, describing an energized state and attributing it to the position he was in, back rested against the higher slope and one foot on each side, toes dug into the carpet. He said that because of this, it didn’t strain him or tire him, but it also didn’t feel like a sleepy wank either, where he usually wants to sink back into bed afterwards.
The angles of the Chaise make it very easy to get out of, even if I’ve got my head at the lower slope and my ass at the highest slope, all I need to do is move one leg with gravity and I’ve got a firm plant on the floor. There is no “turtling” required, which I usually need to do to get off of my back once I’ve been in a sunken bed for a while. The Chaise is firm and supportive, but not stiff, so it holds both my 200 pound body and my partner’s 130 pound body in many different positions. I could be on my knees with this thing and it will barely make a dent. The Chaise really is a solid piece of material.
So the day finally came when my partner and I got to use it together. And it was funny, because we were both just casually showing each other how we each masturbated on it, but watching each other do that was so arousing that a full session evolved from there. Everything felt so good! I was amazed at how easy it was to be on top again, with him lying down and my legs on either side of the Chaise. It was the perfect height, and the dip in the middle gave him a great space for thrusting while I could use my legs to lift myself up and down off of him, plus the slope behind his head was great to grab onto for additional support.
I don’t think sex with me on top has ever been that easy in my entire life. The other position that blew us away because we never get to do it was doggy style. Normally, even off the edge of the bed, doggy style is extremely tiring on his legs, and I can never arch my back properly without it hurting my discs or triggering my sciatica. This has been so disappointing for us as doggy style was always my favorite position, and I used to be able to arch my back to work my G-spot really well. By positioning me in the dip of the chaise with him at the top of the lowest slope, he was able to use physics of all things, the gravity of the cushioning to help spring him back up each time he came down from behind. I’m not sure how much sense that makes, but if I’m laid out, hugging the higher slope with my legs spread, and he’s on the other slope with his legs together, he was able to get a really great entry angle for a virtually inexhaustible doggy style that left both of us very satisfied at the end.
Something I find equally valuable about the Chaise is the many usages for it. Currently it sits in our pet room between two bookcases. I keep discovering new things every day for this lounger. Just this week I needed to flip through about 20 books on sex therapy for a paper, and instead of kneeling on the floor, I luxuriously flopped over the chaise to read Jessica Benjamin’s The Bonds of Love. (Paging Dr. Freud!) My partner loves to steal the grippy pillow that comes with the chaise, as it has all these little nubbins on the back and looks identical to one of those medical lumbar pillows you put on a computer chair…which is exactly what he uses it for. We both love using the chaise as our viewing couch when we feed our snake, Princess Buttercup.
I should also mention that the D rings at the base of the Chaise have a distinctly kinky function for bondage, and Liberator was kind enough to send us a pack of their modular ankle and wrist cuffs, but for some reason we were unable to thread them through the D rings. The clips and straps were too thick to fit through, and to be completely honest, were a bit too complicated for our liking. The blindfold was fantastic, though! It even had a little lip of padding at the bottom for cheek comfort and kept me from being able to peek out the bottom (also great for multi-purpose, as my partner uses this blindfold to block out my laptop light when I’m up late nights in bed).
We do like the D rings because they are sturdy as hell. They make lifting and moving the Chaise so easy, and for someone with a bad back, this is so crucial. Lifting by the D rings gives us a great grip on the thing and we have no fear of the cover ripping at all. They’re actually part of the removable cover, as the Chaise has two covers which are simple to take off, and as with any Liberator product, totally washable. Though to be honest, given the smoothness of the faux leather, I think a simple spot treatment should do. Overall I am so impressed with this massive product and would highly recommend the Black Label Esse Chaise for anyone who has the space for it!
Ever since I got to poke my friend’s cephalapod (yes I know that might sound strange on any other blog), I knew I wanted a Damn Average toy of my own. Their range of density in silicone is impressive, from super soft to hard, and their comparisons to gummy candy and erect tissue are spot on. I also love that Sheep, the creator, has synesthesia, because it manifests beautifully in each toy’s color, shape, and texture. Damn Average even has squishy grab bags and silicone stress relievers in all sorts of cool shapes, and as somebody who is really into fidgets and slimes, I’ll definitely be buying one with my next purchase.
Valentime’s Day came and went, and as per usual I did nothing special to celebrate. I usually scourge the shelves of CVS or hit up the Lindt store’s 100 truffles for $30 sale for post-Valentine discounts, but this time I saw a very different discounted chocolate pop up on my Twitter feed. Damn Average was holding a Discount Chocolate Day, with an assortment of amazingly shaped toys all in beautifully marbled colors from mint to shimmered pinks and reds, all blended with rich brown tones to give a chocolatey effect. Talk about synesthesia, the color pours were enough to make my mouth water, and not in one of those cheesy “this sex toy is better than chocolate” type ways. Like, these things actually looked good enough to sink my teeth into. And knowing the gummy consistency of them, unf…
I immediately sent the Etsy page to my partner, since he been on a quest for the perfect butt toy and I knew there would absolutely be something on here to fit his parameters. Nothing pokey. Nothing too firm. Nothing too curved. Not too big or too small. My partner has the Goldilocks of buttholes. He wants something he can “go to town with.” After feeling DA’s super soft density in their cephalopod and seeing the shapes and girths on their website, I knew my partner was going to be like a me in a candy shop. It was tough narrowing it down, but we settled on the soft Lumpy, a semi-phallic dildo with a bit of a glans and several cascading bulges reaching a flared base with a tiny nub for additional stimulation (or grip).
We took one look at this thing and both agreed it needed to be in our butts. A mutual butt toy. The marbling on it looked gorgeous in pictures, described as a pink-gold shimmer but actually appearing very peachy in person. Something about the Lumpy (or “Lumpy Little Fucker, the Devil” as it was originally named by Damn Average), just says “I resemble a dick, a turd, and a delicious piece of chocolate, please put me in your bum ASAP.” Everything about it looks like it’s going to feel amazing, and it translates beautifully into action.
When I received the Lumpy, it was already wrapped in heart-printed tissue paper, an adorable touch, and I’ve never seen my partner so eager to use a toy right away. Usually it takes a few days before one of us uses a toy, but when I went to work that night, I came home to see the Lumpy freshly boiled on the dish rack. Without even asking, my partner went right into it: “It’s perfect! I can bend it in any direction, I can fit my whole hand around it, I was ramming it as hard as I could and it felt so good! I almost came without jerking off; I’ve never done that before!” Clearly, it was my turn.
I wish I could say the Lumpy also had these life-changing experiences for me, but I’m honestly so happy that my partner has finally found his “go-to” anal toy. The Lumpy is still great, don’t get me wrong. But for me, the softness makes insertion a little tricky. I say a little and not a lot because the angle of the tip definitely helps for the initial point of entry, and the length of the Lumpy lets me pinch the shaft and guide it in. It sort of reminds me when I’m being anally penetrated by my partner when he’s like 90% erect. The other thing that surprised me about the Lumpy was my inability to get past the final bulge. I could not for the life of me get it completely in, which was all I really wanted. No matter how many times I orgasmed (and I think I came about 5 times with the Lumpy…it’s still a great feeling toy!) I couldn’t stretch enough to accommodate that last bump.
Comparing the Lumpy to some of my other dildos I’ve used anally, the girth is no thicker than the head of my Shilo and similar in softness. So I grabbed the Shilo and was able to insert it quite easily on my first try. What I’ve come to realize about my preference in dildos is that, while in theory I like the idea of a softer density, in practice they do not offer the thrusting power or insertion pressure I enjoy with firmer toys. They are more difficult to grip and tend to bend in all different directions, and they squeeze to fit my insides instead of pushing against them. While this is great for an anal toy that is meant to comfortably stay in place, for example the Bingo, for a toy I am trying to actively feel, not so much.
It all clicked when I started using the Shilo directly after the Lumpy and appreciated the Shilo’s firm, wide base as well as its dual-density core, which supported more rigorous use. But this is absolutely a case of different strokes for different folks, as my partner dislikes the pressure of firmer silicone and really enjoys the bendy aspects of squishy silicone. One other issue worth mentioning with soft silicone, which we hadn’t experienced until now, was the odor-trapping experience. I had read about it in Lilly’s post, where softer silicone can be more likely to bond with butt smells. Our Bingo, Shilo, and Crista hadn’t picked anything up yet, but after just two uses, Lumpy had begun to get a bit…pungent.
We are big fans of coconut oil, so I was hoping this would prevent the toy from picking up any smells, but unfortunately even after boiling the toy (actually, especially after boiling…it was particularly stinky when it got warm) the Lumpy still retained a smell mimicking its very shape and color. The odor got stronger if we bent the tip of the head to the left or the right, stretching the silicone a bit. Bleach didn’t help, but some of the smell came out after soaking Lumpy overnight in giant container of white vinegar. There are still faint traces of Anus, but since a.) we know the thing is sterilized and b.) it’s going to remain a butt toy, we’re not too worried about it as long as we don’t hold our noses right up to it. It does give me yet another reason to buy a Lumpy of my own in a harder firmness, though. Marbled March has begun and it looks like Sheep and I both share a birth month…perhaps I may treat myself to a toy or two…
I want to begin this post with a content warning. While it’s super empowering to talk about my disabilities for the next few paragraphs and how they relate to my upcoming review of the Liberator Jaz, they also cover topics of body dysphoria, PTSD, and some allusions to abuse. This entry is my version of self-care. Please do what you need to do for your own self-care. My review of the Jaz will begin with the first image, if you want to scroll ahead.
Phew. So 24 hours and some leftover Chinese food later, let’s see if I can take another crack at this entry. I tried making a post that went a little bit into my various disabilities and how they affected my sexuality and sexual identity, only to realize that “No, Avery, that is not for your blog, that is for your fucking thesis.” I also had no idea how traumatic of a writing experience that would be, thinking I had a conceptual handle on how to frame my disabilities when it always ends up a moving target.
What started out as a breakdown of each disability through different models, discussing diagnoses, language, my social positionality, and a lot of body image issues, kept coming back to this holistic traumatic revelation of how each of my disabilities are so deeply ingrained within one another. How my panic attacks from my degenerative disc disease can also send my SVT into atrial fibrillations. How my ongoing weight gain isn’t just from my bipolar meds, it’s from years of calcium channel blockers and my extremely limited exercise regimen on account of my rottedback. And how it’s a terrifying feedback loop because exercise is the one thing that will help my heart, my back (losing weight eases stress on my lumbar discs), and my mind.
What began to resonate the deepest was discussing my lifelong history with PTSD and how scared I am to talk about it in the blogging world because I don’t want to trigger folks or misuse language. I have been so dissociative with PTSD throughout my life and this past year is really the first time I’ve let things in. I know why, and I’ve discussed this with some people but kept largely silent about it. I’ve tried to speak up when I hear folks praise kink/queer/poly relationships as the highest levels of consent and communication. But I’ve also been very coded with my language. I am not ready to address what has happened to me publicly, but someday soon I will find an appropriate avenue to open up about my abuse.
These last few months have been a blessing in terms of honoring disability. I’m taking a class with Bethany Stevens on Sexuality, Chronic Illness, and Disability, and it’s reintroduced me to amazing writers like Clementine Morrigan, Sunaura Taylor, and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, as well as some beautiful performances like those of Sins Invalid. It’s also encouraged me to start bringing more direct approaches towards sexuality into my eldercare group therapy sessions, particularly after I screened Salome Chasnoff’s “Code of the Freaks” and offered a nudity content warning, only to be chided by the group (“What do you think we are, a bunch of prudes?”)
I didn’t think they were prudes, but we also spent the previous 15 minutes talking about curb cuts in their local parish and how the visiting pastor never speaks loudly enough, so I made the terrible assumption that Jesus and erotica were mutually exclusive lifestyles (I mean, yes and no?). So yesterday I went full-in: sex toys. Well, sort of full-in. I segued with the discussion of the Sportsheets line for Veterans with disabilities and followed up by talking about Liberator’s variety of wedges. I’ve disclosed my degenerative disc disease with the group several times…if only they knew how crucial Liberator has been for my own disabilities.
I write this post propped up on my Jaz, relieving my legs from the usual sciatica I get from sitting in bed. The Liberator Jaz has been an assistive device for me in myriad ways. After my microdiscectomy, I was able to use it for at-home physical therapy by propping it under my knees during strength band exercise. It’s great for my posture when I’m sitting at the computer for extended periods of time. Under my 200 pounds, the cushion of the Jaz pops right back into place once I stand up.
Most importantly though, the Jaz helped me reinvent old sex positions I could no longer get into comfortably after surgery and my cortisone epidurals. Missionary tends to be my favorite as there is no twisting or arching like doggy style/spooning, and I don’t get as tired as I would if I were on top. With missionary I can’t tilt my hips as high as I used to without getting a shooting pain through my left hamstring. On really bad days my sciatica can extend all the way down to my heel, and with the Jaz I can prop my hips/ass in the air for better G-spot stimulation without any added strain.
One of my other favorite positions with the Jaz is with my partner bent over it, his ass in the air. By using the thicker side of the wedge to push him up, his testicles don’t get as squished during pegging and he does not have to strain his legs when I peg him from behind. This way, I can put my weight on top of him while I fuck him and he still has the Jaz keeping a comfy distance between his bits and the bed, so if he wants to reach down to jerk off he has the freedom to do so. The angle is also much more pleasurable for insertion as I am penetrating in a way that doesn’t poke his prostate too much.
So this Jaz is a very versatile little pillow. I say little because it’s pretty much the exact same size as my 15″ Macbook Pro. One might think that’s not big enough to have an effect, but I’m 200 lbs, 5’10”, a size 38 mens, and there’s plenty of room for me on the Jaz. My partner is my same height but about 130 lbs and a 28 mens, and the Jaz is still a perfect size for him. I’m telling you, it’s versatile.
Cleaning is so easy, and I love that it comes with not one, but two covers. I literally just throw the cover in the wash on cold delicates, no fabric softener, and hang it to dry. It comes out perfect every time. You can always spot clean yours but we tend to get ours a little…messy. Also, this thing IS a total cat hair magnet, but I’ve found that those lint brushes (not the sticky ones but the fuzzy ones) pick everything up really nicely. One final bonus about the Liberator Jaz is price. At $54 it’s worth every penny for the durability, ease of use, and innovation. I honestly think it should be in every person’s arsenal, regardless of ability or if they’re going to use it for sex. I guarantee you will find a really good purpose for this thing one day.
Wellllll…the semester didn’t start quite how I wanted it to. A lot of us found out for the first time that Widener is no longer AASECT-accredited and so we do not get automatically certified upon graduation. This was apparently told to us during orientation but many of my classmates and myself remember it quite the opposite. Anyway. Not much I can do about it now with graduation coming in May.
Masakhane is getting really intense now that it’s incorporated into my practicum. I’m super excited for an upcoming Sex Positive Sex Toy Bingo we are hosting at Hell’s Kitchen Lounge in Newark. It’s been a LONG time since we held a fundraiser there and they’re always really fun. Hell’s makes a special “Masakhane” shot and we give away all sorts of goodies; this year all our toys are coming from SheVibe and I made sure they were blue and orange themed (Masakhane’s colors). I did throw twonew Tokidoki products in the mix because they had devils on them…maybe a Hell’s staff can win one or a hockey fan hanging out before the game.
Either way, I’m stoked, particularly after the abomination of a Sex Toy Bingo I attended at Capitoline in Asbury Park last month. They used to host it at Asbury Lanes and it was amazing…we even saw Rubber Doll perform and Bettina May performed some burlesque numbers. What it’s become and the quality of the prizes was gut-wrenching and I really hope Masakhane can offer folks a proper Sex Toy Bingo.
The one great thing about starting a new semester is catching up with my cohort. Two of my best mates in the program did a holiday gift exchange with me, and this past weekend we got to give each other all presents. My two awesome gifts from them were interestingly enough both necklaces with secret functions. One is a tiny glass-blown oil diffuser, currently filled with Jasmine oil (my favorite flower). The other is a Crave Vesper, and well…it functions as a “Holy Shit” machine.
Remembered that Sex Therapy class starts next weekend and one of my classmates is gifting me a Vesper necklace. ::excitement intensifies::
I had wanted a Vesper for a few years now after seeing it in Kink Shoppe and one of my other classmates had one. But despite demoing it on my fingertips I never really understood how it would operate on my nethers, especially being so pinpoint. The price intimidated me, though it has since gone down considerably ($70 for the stainless steel). And though the novelty of having a stealth vibrator necklace seemed cool, I wasn’t gangbusters about it. As a gift however, the Vesper couldn’t fail. It looked cool, it finally gave me the opportunity to try it at no cost, and it looked to be a great conversation starter.
I won’t say I had low expectations for the Vesper, because the vibrations are strong. They tread the border between buzzy and rumbly, particularly at the strongest setting. With three speeds and one pulse function (which is way too fast and also way too weak), I really only use the highest speed of the Vesper. What suspended my hopes was the size of the tip, being that my typical clitoral approach is with broadly applied vibration. Particularly left crural radiating-type orgasms. Where the hell was I supposed to poke this thing? Would I just lay it flat?
Anything I put directly on my clit tends to get really achy or sore, especially as I get hard. The Vesper went against my instincts and indeed worked best with the tip pointed directly onto my clit. It’s shockingly stimulating in a way I haven’t felt since I started using vibrate-y things in high school. To be completely honest, it reminds me of being fourteen years old again and using the bristle-free side of my Sonicare electric toothbrush which then I shamefully hid in the dusty corners of my bathroom cabinet until throwing it out a decade later.
There’s something about the initial jolt of contact that sends my legs twitching and bring me close to orgasm almost right away. It’s not effortless…the stimulation becomes so intense that I need to take the Vesper off of me for moments, creating this building momentum which is again, an orgasm method I haven’t employed since my younger years. So it’s nostalgic in a sense. Frustrating, but in an endearing way, not in a “fuck it, I give up” way. The other thing about the hardness of the stainless steel concentrated against the hardness of my clit is I can feel the tip roll over my boner if I press hard enough, slipping side to side, which is a little uncomfortable. So I have to be precise with my positioning which gets a bit difficult as my legs are twitching and I’m doing this tantric “mounting orgasm” method and contorting my face and hands into all sorts of wacky shapes.
I absolutely love how the Vesper warms up. I definitely think that has something to do with my ultimate orgasm. It’s supposed to warm up, unlike the Jopen Lust 2.5, so I’m able to just let go and enjoy the sensation of increased temperature instead of worrying if I’m about to set my pubes on fire. Fashion-wise, the chain is a perfect length for my neck (bare but censored chest in the link), and the hole in the Vesper is wide enough to fit any chain of your choosing. Any toy with a DIY option makes me super happy, and I can imagine the Vesper looking awesome with a leather slipknot cord.
Cleaning is a little intimidating as the toy is splash but not waterproof, so I try to keep the pad of my thumb over the silicone button when washing it. Charging is really cool, just unscrew the top, screw the charging dongle to the Vesper, and plug it into any USB charger. In all my uses, I’ve never drained the battery completely, and I am pretty diligent about keeping my toys charged, so I don’t foresee any charging issues with this toy.
Overall I’m really tickled by how much I liked the Vesper…here I was thinking it would be another Lust 2.5 situation, a vibrator that was too pinpoint to make me orgasm on my own, something I’d need to use in the heat of the moment with a partner. And what I have is a really great quality pinpoint vibrator that I’d happily use on my own by itself as a standalone. This year has definitely been one of discoveries, between realizing how much I love girth to now learning that I may enjoy pinpoint stimulation after all. So thanks Crave, for teaching me a little bit more about my body. Ah, the beauty of good sex toys.
I feel like 2017 has already been a year of anticipation for many folks. In good ways and bad. I’ve had wonderful moments to celebrate, opportunities to reconnect with old friends, beautiful sessions with clients, and many new toys on the way. I’m also about to begin a new semester at Widener this weekend, one potentially full of improvements and chances to connect further with the rest of my cohort. But it’s already been a bit of a FOMO year for me, missing out on the amazing Creating Change conference in Philadelphia as well as today’s Women’s March on Washington. Both powerful gatherings of celebration, resistance, reflection and exchange, sending messages of not only tolerance but unabashed need for awareness as a means of survival in ongoing generations of misinformation and hate. I am and will absolutely be there in spirit and will do what I can from my emotional and physical locations to support and reciprocate the positive energy of these movements.
At this time, it feels cosmically organic for me to review the NS Novelties Pride Dildo, a realistic phallic-shaped dildo striped with rainbow colors. So many of the workshops I teach use rainbows. From color therapy glasses to rainbow Mr. Sketch markers to mixing rainbows in Oobleck to theming subject matter around chakra colors, rainbows have been thematically elemental throughout my entire life for their multitude of representations. Spectrums, diversity, pride, vibrancy… everything I can possibly associate with rainbows always enhances my well-being. During my “Beyond LGBTQ 101” workshops, I love teaching folks what the colors of the Pride Flag signify: sexuality, life, healing, sunlight, nature, magic, art, serenity, harmony, and spirit. The takeaway of the discussion usually ends up being how each of us, no matter our identity, has the profound capacity to value and cherish each of these symbols. And so when I use my Pride Dildo, I do it mindfully. And when I review it today, I want to do it mindfully, because today is a day when symbols of hate and intolerance are all over my television, all over my computer screen…I would much rather wield my rainbow dick and align my chakras through a patriarchy-smashing orgasm than pay any attention to that man behind the curtain.
I used to be repulsed by dildos that resembled dicks. I disowned them with indignant disdain until I realized I could use the master’s tools to dismantle the master’s house and that language and symbolism can perpetually be reclaimed. This dick is nobody’s dick but my own, and it can represent whatever I want it to. So when I got the large Pride Dildo and saw that exactly how “realistic” it was, asymmetrically shaped with a bit of a curve, a smaller head, vascular but not grotesquely so, even a scrotal raphe, I was actually kind of stoked. Granted, the Pride is huge in length and girthy in some spots of the shaft, but I felt like I had gotten an actual mold of someone’s cock. The subtle wrinkles of insinuated foreskin underneath the glans hold onto lube nicely, particularly coconut oil (my lube of choice), which can get runny during warmer application.
I love having the extra length as an option for deeper penetration, and my partner likes the stripes because he can see how deep he is going inside me according to what color he has gotten to. The silicone is relatively matte and doesn’t attract dust like a lot of my other toys, which is an added bonus. I do wonder how this dildo would have felt if the silicone were a softer shore. Not complaining though, the density of the silicone, similar to Tantus, gives the Pride plenty of oomph. Plus it’s reasonably inexpensive and comes in a smaller size, which I’m honestly debating on buying for my nonprofit to use during condom demonstrations.
The suction cup at the base is rather floppy, so not really gripping material, but since the testicles are nice and hard, I ended up using them for a handle. The suction cup is the strongest I’ve experienced in any sex toy. Despite the weight of this toy, the cup held it firmly onto everything, from textured linoleum tiles to drywall (I know…how?!). I thought I’d really have no purpose for a suction cup until I remembered how much I used to enjoy orgasming on my knees. I have now discovered a new orgasmic witching hour, 2 o’clock in the morning on the kitchen floor while my partner is soundly snoring in the bedroom. I’m really fucking satisfied with this dildo and and pleasantly relieved it was able to fulfill my expectations. I highly recommend it and am so glad to add it to my ever-growing rainbow collection of toys.