sexuality Archives - Page 4 of 4

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

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

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

Avery’s cautious optimism – Day 1 Woodhull

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

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

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

Private queerspace play party at Woodhull!

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

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

Second to last day at TOT, burnout imminent.

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

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

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

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

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

/mic drop

Review of Vixen’s Tristan 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vixen Tristan 1 Butt Plug in a Dunkin Donuts Coffee Mug

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

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

Review of Tantus’s Echo Handle

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

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

Tantus Echo Handle

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

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

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

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

Tantus Echo Handle

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

Handle of the Tantus Echo Handle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With love,

Avery

Review of The PicoBong Transformer

June 25, 2016 palimpsex review, sex toys, sexuality, storytelling

I was ridiculously excited to receive the Pico Bong Transformer for review from my dear friend and Widener cohort, Carli Blau. It’s a versatile vibrator marketed as couples-friendly and gender neutral. I dig the hell out of their manifesto and love what they are going for (and the artwork, too). There are no overtly phallic shapes to it or one recommended way to use it. Your imagination is really the limit. This is all very ideal, but the structure and firmness of the toy doesn’t really allow for what one might envision it is capable of. For example, one of PicoBong’s suggestions was twisting the toy twice and using it as a multipoint, “rabbit-style” vibrator, and although it looked great in theory, it was totally pinchy with the wrong angles of stimulation.

I love that it’s a completely different aesthetic than most of the couple’s/double-sided type toys I’m familiar with. Most double-sided toys these days either take on a phallic shape or have a g-spot/p-spot end ala the Nexus, Share, or Feeldoe, which is sometimes just too mashy on my bits or my kegels just don’t feel like being grabby. I’ve always liked the fantasy of a double-sided dildo where I could have some distance from my partner for a different view, and the stem length of the Transformer is perfect for this. The extended length is also great for different kinds of bodies and different positions. Its pliability is amazing…super flexible but holds its form easily. I also love how great the Transformer is in addressing disabilities, between the graspable bulbs, the reach of the stem, and how it can bend.

PicoBong Transformer Chair

From stem to bulb, the graduation is a bit too severe for my liking. It’s fine on the insert, but on the removal from full insertion, my partner and I can definitely feel a slight snag. The bulb size is moderate which makes it great for people who aren’t fans of big butt stuff. This toy doesn’t have a flared base, so if you have a greedy asshole, it could feasibly get all the way up there, but if that’s really a concern, bend the bottom part into an L-shape (I assure you, the stem is pretty stiff and it will more than likely make the toy anal-safe). I knew this was going to be an anal toy, between the shape of each end and the vibrations. The vibrations are definitely buzzy, not deep, which is a minus for my clit stimulation. It definitely doesn’t resonate into the crura. But in the butt and against the prostate the vibrations and their various modes feel wonderful.

PicoBong Transformer in a Tree

If only we had a way to control the modes once they were in our butts! Jesus, Pico Bong, the BUTTONS! I’m glad Pico Bong has changed their models from yesteryears and taken the + and – out of the actual letters, but they seriously couldn’t raise them a little for visibility and tactile sake? They are almost impossible to see even in the brightest of light because of the toy’s neon yellow color (which I love, by the way). And they’re on the fucking bulb that’s supposed to go inside one of you, so you had better be certain what strength vibration or mode you like, otherwise you’re going to be taking it out to fiddle with some slimy, barely visible buttons (sorry, my sphincter is not that talented). Why didn’t they put them on the stem? Not to mention the mode has to get hit over and over until you cycle back to what you like, one of my least favorite things about some vibrators.

PicoBong Transformer Charging Port

The weight of the toy feels good: it’s not cheap feeling, but doesn’t hang out of your asshole like an Njoy wand, which normally I wouldn’t mind, except when you’re sharing it with someone, you want the thing to stay somewhat lifted. Which brings me to the sharing bit. Silicone makes this thing easy to clean, not boilable of course due to the mechanics inside, but considering I’ve designated this a “butts-only” toy for my primary partner and I, I think a mild bleach solution or antibacterial soap will do just fine. The charging port irks me a little. It’s a flimsy silicone flap and I get the feeling it will not last long. It’s also on one of the bulbs, not the stem, so whoever gets the end with the port has the extra risk of the flap nicking the inside of them if it flips up. It’s just more edges for bacteria to get in, really. I wish it was one of those tiny holes that the Jopen Vanity line has. The toy comes with a USB charger but no port to plug it into. But on the plus side, a one year warranty is always nice. All in all, I applaud Pico Bong for what they are trying to do. The Transformer is a frontrunner of creativity and is, for the most part, a structurally sound item. It doesn’t completely succeed in its aim, but it certainly sets the bar and I hope they continue to improve on the model as time and feedback progresses, because it is really is one of a kind.

Review of The L’amourose Prism V

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reflections on Sobriety, Relationships, and Self

June 7, 2016 palimpsex reflection, relationships, sexuality, storytelling

Please be aware of the “content” in this entry before you continue reading. (I still don’t know how I feel about the labels “Trigger” or even “Warning,” because they can sometimes be alarmist and also paint my authenticity as negative. If anyone has suggestions for how to label blog posts with sensitive topic material, please let me know.) This entry is going to deal with some of my histories with addiction, substance abuse, emotional abuse, and my current relationship with sobriety.

So I made my official decision to stop drinking and using cannabis around Labor Day of last year. I am hesitant to scroll through text messages to figure out the exact day because I don’t want to quantify my sobriety in terms of an anniversary. I’ve found that sobriety, much like many other things in my life, has been a very fluid, spectral concept. I know it is not always this way with other people and it may not always be this way during my trajectory. Growing up in a music scene that was heavily populated by straight-edge folks, I know that some may frown upon what appears to be a lack of commitment, but the ideologies behind abstinence make me really squirmy.

I decided to stop drinking as a response to many years of binge events, nights where I would use alcohol to allay social anxiety but instead I would turn into a monstrously abusive person. When drunk, not tipsy, not buzzed, but full-on hammered, I would become so reckless that I picked verbal fights with loved ones, had sex with people without even learning their names, drove drunk, pissed in public (my first experience at age 15 was on a cop car in Spain after downing a pint of vodka), threw up, chain smoked, and did virtually anything I could think of to be the center of attention.

shotglass jameson — This shot glass never got washed because it was constantly in use.

My first year at undergrad, I was on the planning committee for one of the biggest LGBTQ events of the semester, and I ended up getting alcohol poisoning before the dance even started. I was one of a dozen students that ended up being hospitalized for acute alcohol intoxication, and DIVA Night was cancelled for almost a decade following this incident. So many people from my Pride Alliance, the Women’s and Gender Studies Department, and other feminist organizations I was a part of were commenting on how, if you needed to be that drunk for a night based in Drag and “gender-bending,” you clearly had some insecurities about attending an LGBTQ event. Even more humiliating, a fellow student had filmed me getting carried out of my dorm in a stretcher into the ambulance, and used it for her documentary about DIVA night. So there I was, outed to these organizations I was a part of, a queer kid with a drinking problem whose irresponsibility had now been lumped in with speculations of internalized homophobia.

collection of bowls in college — The “Gay House” bowl collection, 2003.

And I did nothing to improve my reputation. I moved out of the dorms to the LGBTQ off-campus housing, which was a huge deal because I was a freshman living with all seniors, and we ended up being one of the bigger stoner houses in our complex. I lived in LGBTQ houses for the rest of my years in undergrad, carrying the stoner reputation with me in my social life, battling a brief cocaine addiction in my antisocial life, and drinking what I thought were normal amounts according to college standards. I mean, I hung out with kids who had a phrase called “Puke and Rally,” where you kept drinking even after throwing up. Drinking to the point of vomiting once a month is totally normal, right?

microbrew sideproject fruit — A fruit Belgian side-project we named “Queer Beer.”

College ended, and the local microbrew scene greeted me with open arms when I moved back home. My dad and I began brewing our own beer and we enrolled in our local pub’s beer program, where you had to drink every kind of beer they offered in order to win all sorts of points, perks, and prizes. All my friends became obsessed with this pub, which I had been eating at since I was a small child. I became really chummy with the owners and staff…I even got a tattoo of their logo on my forearm one drunken night in my basement by a guy I was buying weed from and cheating on my current partner with. Most of the beers there were high ABV (alcohol percentage), and I would still chug them like they were Bud Light. I did gain an appreciation and knowledge of different beers (along with 30 pounds), but it was mostly just an excuse to binge drink three times a week, go to my friends house down the street to smoke weed, and attempt a very foggy drive home. How I have lived my life without any DUIs is an absolute blessing beyond comprehension.

I went right from getting the tattoo to showing it off at the bar. Ugh…

beer flight sampler — Flights were a personal favorite when I was the designated driver.

When I moved to California for six months, I began to develop a completely new relationship with cannabis, using it medically to replace my prescriptions for insomnia and anxiety. I found that by smoking, I rarely drank alcohol, and my cannabis use was also relatively infrequent (maybe once or twice a week if I was having a tough time sleeping or had a big social event in San Francisco). The level of responsibility and accuracy of treatment, plus the attitudes of my friends around me towards cannabis was totally foreign. It was no longer a substance to abuse, but a medium to titrate in order to regulate daily life. I don’t want to glorify it, there were certainly still people abusing cannabis in California, but the general attitudes were much more mature than anything I had ever experienced on the East Coast. When I moved back home to Jersey, I brought what little of my prescribed cannabis I had left and lived off of that until it was gone. I will not buy anything illegally here, mostly because I have no idea what strains I am smoking or whether it is benefitting my mental state, but also because a lot of the mindset around here still treats cannabis like a fucking novelty. It has its place for recreation, I understand, but I can’t be around people who use it like that given my efforts towards sobriety and clearer thinking.

dog bowl weed beer — I used to glorify my substance abuse by trying to take “artsy” pictures.

So if I were to ever start using medical cannabis again… would that mean I was no longer sober? I’m not sure. I was able to maintain self-awareness and was never abusive when using medical cannabis. At my SMART meetings, they tell us that if we are on psych meds, it is absolutely acceptable. I had to take Norco (an opioid) during my back surgery, and I did so responsibly. There is a difference between using chemicals as medicine and as an escape. When I think of my sobriety, I think of a very strong mindfulness that comes with levels of responsibility to myself and others.

What I do know is that I am not abusive when I am sober. That is the only sure thing I understand so far. Living a sober life these past ten months has taught me new introspection, new methods of social interaction, given me new confidence, and kept my anger at bay. Most importantly, sober life has saved my relationship with my primary partner. Where we spent every night drinking and every weekend drunk, frequently blowing up these intoxicated evenings into fights and days of not talking, my partner and I communicate more now than I have in any previous relationships (poly family excluded, they have been outstanding communicators). We emotionally process each other’s feelings now, we slow the pace of our conversations, and we check our assumptions.

keurig cup post it — We also drink inhuman amounts of coffee, tea, and seltzer.

During these ten months I have had a drink or two, and I don’t consider it a “fall from the wagon.” I have enjoyed a nice glass of red wine with my family for my father’s 60th, and I definitely had a Manhattan to honor the death of my grandma who drank one before her evening programs until the day she died. My beautiful partners in Philadelphia made me a soul-warming Hot Toddy for Boxing Day with their family. These have been significant moments with what I consider libations in the most fundamental sense of the word. I have not consumed these drinks for the sake of intoxication, but rather to honor the moment and its rarity in my ongoing commitment to remain sober for the sake of myself and the ones I love.

I still pee in public these days, but with a much more discerning eye, and usually with a functional objective rather than drunkenly marking my territory.

A regrettable purchase finally meets its end (now with butt puns)!

June 4, 2016 palimpsex review, science!, sex toys, sexuality, storytelling

Good lord. So I had this toy:

It’s a California Exotics Art Deco Jelly Butt Plug. I am deliberately not linking to it. I bought this toy in September 2008, the first week my employee discount ever went into effect at the adult store. We hadn’t really started stocking much glass or silicone at this point, and I would like to blame my purchase on a combination of that, not “knowing any better,” and this plug being the closest thing to glass “aesthetics-wise.” It was also beyond anything my ass could handle in my early butt play years, so it stayed unused for many moons (I liiiiive for ass puns) before I was able to use it comfortably.

Even now, it’s still not a toy that works well with my ass. Its width stays too wide for far too long. I’d rather have a plug with a brief moment of wide girth before it tapers back down to something tolerable that my butt can hold onto. But I kept this plug, if for no other reason than it still looked really pretty, so long as you didn’t touch it or look at up close to realize it was jelly (it never had a chemical smell to it, and the texture, though rubbery, was not sticky or tacky at all). As years went by, I had decreasing room for this plug in my arsenal, and considered throwing it away except that my one partner really liked it and insisted they didn’t care about the debatable material. That was until last night, when I got home from my second partner’s burlesque competition at 4 am only to discover the plug in a tupperware container full of soapy water at the bottom of our shower with a post it note, like some sort of crime scene. On the post it note was an apology:

“I washed this 5 TIMES and it still smells bad 🙁 Hope you made the best of your night. Love, Partner.” (I should mention I later confirmed my suspicions, that the “smell” was of anal descent, not the material itself. Lilly has some good tips for ridding your butt toys of lingering odors, but this was beyond hope.)

Cackling, I left the aberration in its watery prison and forwarded a video of the hilarity to the third partner in our poly family, asking them what the fate of said plug should be:

Judge, Jury, and Executioner of Bad Butt Plugs — Sorry to the twitching recyclers: since we live in the middle of nowhere we have to burn most of our cardboard.

Knowing full well how jelly goes up in flames like a dried out Christmas tree, I was ready with camera in hand. I had hoped for effects akin to Lilly torching that Screaming-O cock ring, and I was NOT disappointed.

So rest in peace, stinky jelly toy. As Lao Tzu once said, “The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.” I’m pretty sure that was never meant to be applied to a CalExotics Art Deco butt plug, but it works.

The Palimpsex’s Playlists

June 2, 2016 palimpsex music, sexuality, storytelling

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.

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!

Review of New York Toy Collective’s Shilo

May 31, 2016 palimpsex sex toys, sexuality, storytelling, trans*

Confession: I have been procrastinating on my culminating paper of the semester for a month now. I was graciously given three extensions on the thing and I still would rather write here than punch out the last two pages of it. Once it’s done, my semester is over, but here I am, delaying my release from academia by crafting a review. It makes me wonder whether this is really procrastination or academic edgeplay. /endrant

Once upon a time (yes, I am going to be that blogger), a much more social (but still awkward) Avery used to frequent the New York kink scene on a monthly basis, the favorite of which was an awesome event called Myth. Myth is a super inclusive and sex positive kink event that has had brilliant incarnations: outdoors retreats, sexy dungeons, even Webster Hall! Myth has collaborated with amazing artists and had creative themes such as Star Trek and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Myth was the only event in NYC where I felt comfortable being a gender non-conforming Creeper (literal Creeper, as in Minecraft cosplay). Actual creeping may have ensued, always with consent.

creeper minecraft rice krispie treats — My first and only attempt making Rice Krispies treats for Myth: FiM

Myth was also the first introduction I had to New York Toy Collective‘s wonderful products. I distinctly remember shyly shuffling up to the NYTC table and being greeted enthusiastically with candy. I remember squishing their Love Bumps and marveling at the optional hole for a bullet vibe.

Webster Hall Marquee — Seeing this on the Marquee made me almost wet myself.

Most of all, I remember the first time I saw a Shilo, thinking “There is no way that is an actual functioning pack-and-play. Truly functional pack-and-plays don’t exist, and I’m not going to risk $150 on wishful thinking that it might really work.”

I figured yeah, it’s posable, but how long can it possibly hold its shape? Sure, it’s squishy but will it actually withstand repeated boiling? Can I actually fuck with this thing? Answers: 1.) forever, 2.) yes, and 3.) oh my god YES. For four years I drooled over the beaming blog reviews of the Shilo before I finally came to my senses and bought one at Kink Shoppe last fall. Blue and pink tye-dye, no less. (How’s THAT for genderfuckery?)

Shilo dildo — Gaze upon my cock in all its arboreal glory!

My years of packing with a Cyberskin Mr. Limpy were over. No more cornstarch dustings and flaccid blowjobs (although it was admittedly arousing to watch my partner tongue my balls). No more clumsily switching to a dildo when I’m ready to have sex. I also love that the Shilo gives me significant bulge, as it doesn’t bend sharply down during packing…it makes more of a “J” shape sticking out from my pubic bone. When my partners grab my junk, they can feel how hard I am. My favorite thing about the Shilo is how nicely it fits through the hole of my boxer briefs when I fuck. I don’t need a harness, though for more vigorous penetration I could certainly use one.
The Shilo makes packing so much easier. I don’t even use a packing strap, though again, I could if I wanted to. The ease of use makes it feel that much more a part of me. Even the color, though not skin toned, feels more organic to my sexual being. When I fuck it, the cushy silicone feels incredibly real and the head has just enough pronunciation to stimulate my g-spot (it’s also a mindfuck to have sex with my own dick). And when I fuck with it, I can feel it slide in and out of my partners. ::heavy breathing:: ANYWAY, the Shilo and everything it represents to my identity in terms of body safety, functionality, appearance, and accessibility has earned it the first review in my blog. I tried using it for pegging recently with limited success… one of my partners said that despite the softness of the silicone, the Shilo’s head is just too big in comparison to the shaft, and once fully inserted, their tight butthole tensed so much that they didn’t notice the softness anymore. They are nudging me as I type this, insisting that they would still like to have one more go at it, so I will keep you updated.

My partner and I decided go to on a little hike today and I couldn’t resist getting nature shots of my Shilo (Action Packer, ENGAGE!). A fisherman totally walked by us photographing it in a stream and while I briefly scrambled to put it away, I thought to myself “You know what? Even if he saw what this was, I am so fucking proud of my packer.” So there you have it..my love for the Shilo: a pack-and-play so awesome that I’d show it to an anonymous fisherman (again, with consent).