Posts Tagged ‘I love that when I type in “anal” wordpress suggests “analysis”’

Review: The Njoy Fun Wand

March 12, 2010  |  reviews  |  3 Comments

Let’s have a review, shall we?

I’m way behind on product reviews, I have a list and it kinda just keeps getting longer. I’m moving away from doing reviews, actually, trying to be much more discerning about which sites and which products I take on, especially since I don’t use all that I already have. And of course I’m still taking some products for Babeland, which continues to be one of my favorite toy shops. I’ve probably told my Babeland story a dozen times, but I credit their sex-positivity, queer-friendly staff and products, and endlessly useful workshops with a lot of my own queer sexual awakening. I made a special trip to the Capitol Hill store in Seattle when I moved there in 1999 and, like many first-time visitors, purchased the Dirty Dice before I left. It took me another year or so to actually purchase my first strap-on and attend a spanking workshop, and I’ve been learning from them ever since.

They are such an excellent introduction to the worlds of sex-positivity and sex toys, that is precisely their strength and still something they do better than just about any other queer and feminist toy store, in my opinion. That reminds me—the founders of Babeland, Claire Cavanaugh and Rachel Venning (who are included on the Top Hot Butches list, though I’m told that Clare does not identify as butch, though Rachel does), have a new book out! Moregasm: Babeland’s Guide to Mind-Blowing Sex is out and fantastic. I especially like the design of the book, it’s so much fun to flip through. The graphic design and layout is fantastic, and it’s kind of like the sex ed class that should have been available when you went to college in a book form. The site calls it “a warm, expert, and witty guide to a truly satisfying and exciting sex life. Especially helpful for those at the beginning of their sexual self-discovery, Moregasm combines gorgeous, glossy visuals with real-world advice and the frank, reliable information you’ve come to expect from Babeland.”

On to the toy!

Behold: the Njoy Fun Wand.

I kind of feel like the Njoy toys review themselves. I mean do I even have to say anything about the actual function? I kind of want a fancy stand for it (does anybody make those? Someone should!) so I can display it on my coffee table or on a lighted shelf. It really is as beautiful as it seems.

Babeland says it used to be called the Saturn Wand, which to me seems boyish, maybe because Saturn was a god? It doesn’t seem like the Fun Wand is marketed as an anal toy, but that seems like the best use of it, personally. It’s kind of small.

Look at this photo from Babeland’s site of a hand holding the Fun Wand, you’ll see how small it is. Barely larger than a finger, really. The big difference between the Fun Wand and a finger, of course, aside from the hard stainless steel, is the strong curve and the texture, kind of like anal beads, which are um, awesome.

In the months that I’ve had this toy, after trying it out (both on myself and on Kristen, since it is easily sterilizable for sharing), I haven’t used it much. I’m more inclined to use strap-on cocks, harnesses, and bondage toys when playing with Kristen, and though we have started using some anal plugs of sorts fairly regularly, I am more inclined to use my fingers as a supplement to my strap-on than to get out another toy like this one.

I do tend to bust out the Njoy toys during my own solo masturbation play, though; both this one and the Pure Wand. Partly it might be that it does not have a flared base (and therefore makes it a little bit dangerous to play with anally—things actually can get lost up there you know, unlike the vagina which has nowhere to go. Do NOT insert it all the way and be sure to keep a strong grip on the end), and because I only insert it about halfway, it’s not the most comfortable to use when on your back.

Since this review has been half in photographs, I’m going to give you one more:

To be honest, I’ve lost the photographer of this shot. I think I found it on Tumblr, and my best guess (thanks Dacia) is that it’s a shot by Aeric Meredith-Goujon. All I can remember is that I’m pretty sure it was shot by a guy, and that when I found him on Twitter his icon was one of those make-yourself-a-Mad-Men-character cartoon. Going through Aeric’s daily photo blog, I did come across this shot: Ponderosa also, and the style is similar enough that it’s quite likely that is his photo. If you know for sure, or if you have this sourced somewhere else, please tell me! I want to give proper credit! Photograph is by Melvin Moten, aka mErocrush, reprinted with permission. Model: StephyC, taken August 2009 in Tampa during FetishCon ‘09.

Also, it’s a really fucking hot photo. Add to the list of more amazing ideas of what to do with a Fun Wand.

Njoy Fun Wand photos from njoytoys.com. The Njoy Fun Wand was sent to me from Babeland to review. Buy the Fun Wand and other fabulous sex toys at your local feminist sex-positive queer-friendly shop, or, of course, at Babeland.

Fucking & Making Love

November 11, 2009  |  dirty stories, essays  |  11 Comments

She looked so damn hot yesterday.

I don’t know what it was exactly. She was in an outfit I’ve seen, tight slim jeans, her girly black tank top with the silver star pattern, little yellow sweater with the clear buttons. Maybe it was her hair, she’s been letting it grow and it’s getting longer, almost to her chin, it’s thin so it’s starting to flip up at the ends. So. Fucking. Cute. Maybe it was the earrings, simple large silver hoops, the ones she’s worried are a cliche but I keep trying to assure her they’re classic, sexy.

Off hand, she said yesterday that I am obsessed with my hair. I said ‘obsessed’ was a bit strong, but I see her point. Maybe it’s not just my hair, either, but hair in general. Still, I don’t want to pressure her into doing things like growing her hair long because that’s what I like – I hope it’s okay for me to state my personal preference while at the same time accepting however she prefers to present. Because while it’s true, I do prefer long hair, even more than that I prefer her to make decisions based on her own wants and needs and personal expression, not on what I desire.

Still. Her hair was so much shorter when we met, nearly as short as mine is now; I’ve been growing mine too, going for that early Elvis look. I’d dye it blue-black like his but I really like the few strands of gray that are coming in at my temples.

I guess I really am obsessed with hair.

Point is: she looked so, so good. Fun, flirty. Femme.

We chatted on the couch after I got to her house. How are you, how’s your day, how’s your sister. Maybe it was that I hadn’t seen her in more than a day after spending many days in a row with her. I felt my appetite for her growing, bubbling up. At one point she tipped her head just slightly sideways, her hair doing this little flip on both sides, the lines of her silhouette so perfect, those big hoop earrings brushing her neck, and she gave me a little smile, eyes twinkling. If I’d been on a TV show, it would’ve cut to a shot of me, my spine becoming jelly, my hands to my face, crying OH GOD as I slide off the couch before springing up and throwing myself on her, wrapping around her and kissing her hard, my mouth wherever she’d let me put it, then the camera would snap back to the shot of us on the couch as we were before and nothing would’ve actually happened, just me, sitting there blinking, in awe, probably totally transparent and readable and ooey gooey in love. Am I so obvious? Moments like that I feel oafish, bull in a china shop, too big and awkward next to such grace and elegance, like I am certain how much she knows she’s got me wrapped around her little finger.

Oh and here I am being all dramatic and admirational again. Are you bored of this femme-worship yet? Three and a half years of Sugarbutch and I only love femmes more, I am only more certain of my orientation to them in such a specific way. Only three and a half years of Sugarbutch, but I met my first femme nine years ago, and I knew then … what? Something. The way she shocked me to life, lit up the night like a shower of sparks from fireworks.

And I’ve never had it this good. I tell myself that every day: every day of this relationship I am grateful, so appreciative of every minute we have together. I’ve not known a bliss like this and I’ve never known it to last this long.

When Jesse was here, she had a brief little snag with Violet, some conversation where it wasn’t quite perfect, but she didn’t let it phase her or lose her unwavering faith in their relationship. “We’ve always been able to talk it through, whatever it is,” she said. And so far, Kristen and I have that too – not big explosive fights and feelings getting deeply hurt, but conversations of honesty and self-awareness and accountability and care. There are some things looming, a little, I’ve felt their weight lately, our differences and complications and inadequacies and places where we need more support, but we have always been able to talk things through, even if the journey is more illuminating than the destination, even if the only conclusion is, “well, now we know, that’s how we work, that’s my particular quirks and assumptions coming up against yours in our unique relationship way. We’ll just have to watch how this plays out.” We still come back together, appreciate each other, speak the deep truths. I feel like I am heard, always. And oh how important that is, what a relief to have it in my relationship, with her.

Dacia has a piece she’s read in public a few times lately which has the lines, “I write about the relationship I wish I was having,” and “I buy my own bullshit.” I’ve done that, here, in the past. I’ve written myself into love, used this site to woo and court. I haven’t wanted to do that with Kristen. It’s too precious, too real; I’ve learned from my mistakes, or rather, I am learning, I am trying to learn. That is a major reason why I haven’t written about her like I have others.

Plus, I’m all the more protective of my heart these days. How many heartbreaks is one heart made to withstand, anyway? I love writing about my relationships, but it can also be a crutch – I become obsessed with micro-articulating my feelings and emotional landscapes in writing, sometimes to my own detriment, overdramatizing and letting the articulation of the emotion be more important than the experience, the story, the audience, the effects.

I don’t want to do that anymore.

So I am protective of this relationship, as it has swelled and sometimes burst, its ups and downs. I haven’t chronicled it all here, preferring instead to articulate it to her as best I can. And there are things, snags, places between us which are murky and lurking a little for me right now, things that have come up and we’ve said “we should talk about that more later,” but now it’s later and I don’t even remember what they were, so that makes me all the more nervous. The unknown rather than the known. I should’ve kept a list, I keep thinking. But I’ve got to calm my nerves about this, not let it affect the really good highs inside of which we still so easily slip. So far, we’ve been able to talk through everything, and for now I’ll rest comfortable on presuming we’ll be able to do that in the future, too.

Yes, I was high when I reached out for her upper arm and pulled her onto my lap, and she’d just told me about how she’d done her homework this morning by playing with her ass while getting off, but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t also in love, wanting to make love, wanting to be inside of her, drinking her in as I sucked her nipples into my mouth and left bite marks on her neck and shoulders. She cried out and I thought, someone should be videotaping this she is so goddamn hot.

In the bedroom we slipped off her clothes. “Take off your shirt.” I slid her tight jeans down her legs. She was in this matching bra and panties I hadn’t seen her wear before – she does wear the bra, a little white one with pink polka dots and pink satin bows, very femme, but the matching panties have layers of ruffles. I’ve never seen her in them.

I didn’t take them off.

“I want to see your ass. Turn over.” She does, gets on all fours. “Show it to me. Get down on your elbows.” She parts her knees a little and arches her back, I run my hand over her curves and feel the outline of her cunt and ass under the thin fabric. I let my fingers trail over her softly, slowly. My mind raced. There’s so much I wanted to do to her, with her. All that ass talk earlier made me want my fingers in her there, to get out the little plug I’d brought to leave at her place (her further homework), wanted to plow her ass hard and make her scream. I won’t do that, yet, of course, it’ll take some time to work up to it. I wanted her to stay on her knees, ass in the air, while I gripped her hips and fucked her slow and hard. I wanted her on her knees, mouth full of spit eyes looking up at me as she sucked me down.

But most of all I wanted to be close, pressed against her, kissing her, wrapped around each other. So I strapped on, peeled off her pretty bra and panties, told her to turn over, slid inside, and got lost in her, got lost in the way we wind around and hold each other. We barely spoke, just felt each other, just took it all in with our bodies.

There were a few times I slowed down, savored her, looked at her, but the vibration was so strong between us, I couldn’t didn’t want to stop. Sometimes I wondered if I should, if her hips were okay, if she needed more of a break, but I kept getting so close and ultimately was able to come inside of her for the first time in a long time, I was glad I didn’t stop. (I don’t know why I haven’t been coming lately. I broke out the Spartacus harness I’d retired hoping that would help. It did, apparently.)

Later, she said, “I thought you were going to stop … but you didn’t. That was good.”

Yeah, that was good. And I’m glad she said that. Always affirming to know I wasn’t pushing her. I want to push her, I want to have that kind of power and trust and knowledge and skill, but that has to be earned, that has to be worthy. I want to do so much more with her, to her, want to take her to all sorts of dirty places and cradle her and worship her and honor her and fuck her and smack her around and force her and hold her and let go with her and trust her.

There’s time. It’s been almost a year, but I know enough to know that we’re in this. And that we’ll keep building, and exploring, as this keeps getting deeper and stronger.