The Palimpsex

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).