Mona Wave

March 2nd, 2015

Mona Wave
$179 from Lelo

Listen, guys. Lelo is trying really hard to be innovative. It’s not enough to make toys of silicone that are rechargeable. They did that. And then everyone else did that. They’ve got to get a couple steps ahead of the game.

It certainly wasn’t cutting it for them to try to revamp some of their most-loved items. The sophomore versions of most toys, including the Gigi, just fell short. Perhaps the second Mona was an improvement.

And Lelo took heart, maybe? Because they tried to do something completely different with Ora, which was met with disdain from almost the entire sex-toy-buying community. I liked it, but the original obviously wasn’t ready to be released. And Siri 2? Props on increasing the motor for one of my favorite clit toys, but that whole “music vibe” thing is a joke.

So what else can Lelo do? Fun Factory has already done something interesting and relatively successful with the Stronic line, so I guess Lelo’s going to stick to mimicking manual g-spot stimulation.

That’s where this whole Wave thing comes in. Lelo picked two popular toys, Mona and Ina, to “upgrade.” Rather than just creating another g-spot vibe, Lelo has allowed the head of Mona to wag back and forth — like the “come hither” motion. There is also vibration, and you can use them together or separately if you’d like.

The vibration alone isn’t any better than the original Mona or Mona 2. The original has been discontinued, but you’re going to save a chunk of money if you buy Mona 2. To be honest, this is probably the best option for anyone who isn’t entirely sure that Mona Wave isn’t for them. Unless you’re comfortable throwing away money. And this is why.

The problem, I think, with Mona Wave is that it’s one size fits most. And if it fits me fairly well, that means it’s going to fall short for a lot of other people.

The back-and-forth motion performs at a uniform pace. If it works for you, that’s great. It’s just kind of boring. And there’s no increase or decrease in intensity to get you to the point where you’re going to have a g-spot orgasm or squirt. This is going to mean that “one size fits most,” results in some pretty unhappy customers.

As far as toys go, the Mona Wave is all about providing the same sensation instantly. Maybe you’ll reach for it after another toy has gotten you almost there.. but why would you? You could use the vibration and curved shaft to stimulate your G-spot and then turn on the wave function, but that seems kinda fickle, and you may find yourself removing the toy to look at the buttons.

This is always an issue with me when I’m using toys that have more than one function. I can never just switch between them, and I’ve never thought that Lelo’s standard 4-button control panel was quite as intuitive as it could be.

Mona Wave might have 10 speeds, be waterproof and come with a warranty, but none of that is going to mean much to disappointed sex toy lovers who aren’t able to successfully cater their masturbation style to the Mona Wave rather than the other way around, which I think many people argue is the better way. So Lelo’s claims that Mona Wave is the first of its kind that will revolutionize vibrators is just a claim the company can’t back up.



Five Head Wartenberg Wheel

February 23rd, 2015

The five heads work exactly the same as a single head — except there’s more. They’ll cover a wider path and the prongs won’t line up exactly, so there will be more variation in sensation. However. they’ll all move in the same direction.

The appearance of this is a little more “Wicked” than the regular pinwheel. Indeed, people who have seen this or my single Wartenberg wheel have assumed it was a tool of punishment that would make anyone squeal. They’re not quite right; although, they’re not quite wrong, either.

Obviously, stimulation can range from a light to possibly breaking the skin. I’v yet to be able to achieve that, but with firm pressure, I was able to achieve a nice “perforation” effect on my skin. It took a few moments for the tracks to really show up, though. I like the marks left by a Wartenberg wheel and they’re not permanent, which is nice.

If you do use it with enough pressure to draw blood, it will be a little more difficult to clean around each pinwheel and all the spokes. I’m thinking a brush or cloth would do the trick without causing it to rust, because that would suck. I definitely wouldn’t let it soak.

The Five Head Wartenberg Pinwheel is everything you like about the original, just more. In fact, I think the quality of this one is higher than that of my original pinwheel, which seem to have edges of different sharpnesses and a few imperfections. When it comes to metal, it’s pretty easy to tell when companies have skimped because of imperfections on the surface. This isn’t the case with the Five Head Wartenberg Pinwheel.

The five head pinwheel comes in the same sort of plastic sheath as other Wartenberg pinwheels. It might be a bit wider to fit it. It’s not wide enough, however. It should be more box-like or have a flared end (like a condom) to better with the pinwheel. Because it’s so sharp, it’s cut the shit out of the sheath during shipping alone. Frequent use, which would involve removing and replacing the pinwheel, would only exacerbate this. Needless to say, I won’t be keeping mine in the plastic cover.

Despite its looks, the Wartenberg wheel can be newb-friendly while still offering more intense sensations for people who like it a bit rougher. There’s not a huge difference in sensation between this one and the pinwheel with the single head, however, so I would based my decision on price and quality.



She, Tigress

February 22nd, 2015

When my best friend talks about her marriage, it’s as though she’s describing life as a caged tiger in a zoo. But she wasn’t plucked from her homeland by hunters who wanted to make a quick buck and fast. Rather, she followed the metaphorical steak, so tantalizing that it usurped her entire field of vision, right into that cage. And she was the one who locked it tight after the door swung shut.

My best friend, the tiger, spends most of her time lamenting about unhappiness inside the cage. Yet, she sees no way to make her escape. Not only has she locked the door behind her, but the things that happen once one marries — financial burdens and children specifically — have piled up on the inside of that door, making it seem all bit impossible that she could even escape.

After some eight years of marriage, three children, moving across the world and back and no less than three Army bases, she has begun to lose some of her luster. Her hair is thinning. She looks more haggard than ever before. We play, but not as frequently as before and, perhaps more importantly, it lacks a certain sense of freedom that we once shared. This, I imagine, is similar to the tiger’s life in captivity. His stripes will be a little less intense. His fur will be less shiny. He might mope around, or he may do nothing at all.

My friend’s thoughts of liberation are confused at best. She fiercely wants to protect her cubs. From the cruel world outside. From her husband and their terrible never-ending fights and sometimes, I suspect, from her own self. It cannot be an easy slavery. She describes the lack of romance from her husband. Sex occurs rarely. I suspect he views physical coupling as a way for them to connect. She does not. He must coerce her. The times that their romps have been notable she can count on one hand. I cannot imagine a sex life so dismal.

And I would be remiss if I called her husband her captive. I think, if I am being honest, he is like another animal. I am not entirely sure that he is a tiger she like, and this might be where the problems arise. But he is also a caged beast, and like most beasts, he does not know how to communicate his thoughts or feelings. Instead, he emits a roar loud enough to get attention but perhaps too feeble to get anything done.

Thus, the pair of them, with their litters, lives in a cage from which they both would like freedom but neither of them are sure how to escape. Truth be told, they’re not entirely sure what freedom looks like anymore. and that scares them. They’ve been together for most of a decade, and the world outside their cage surely doesn’t resemble their lives before their mating in any way. Freedom is change, and change is terrifying.

Isn’t it unfortunate, then, that everyone on the outside of the cage feels so sorry for these two? My heart breaks for my best friend, but she is in part master of her own captivity. The boulders against the door are as much in her head and, from the outside, I can see that the key has never been removed from the lock. All she has to do is reach around to open the door.

Scary? Absolutely. I’ve been in a similar position, and looking forward was nigh impossible given how terrifying it was. Damning? Hardly. Here I stand, on the other side, ready to hold her hand and help her to take her first shaky steps on new legs. If only she would stand up first.


My Life on the Swingset: Adventures in Swinging & Polyamory

February 17th, 2015

My Life on the Swingset
$6.99 (Kindle) from Amazon

When I was initially approached by author and lifestyle swinger Cooper Beckett to review his book, My Life on the Swingset, I was interested. But I had never heard of the guy or his podcast or website before. I’m no swinger, and I’m not much into podcasts, so maybe this isn’t to be surprised. However, I said “Yes” anyway.

My Life on the Swingset is a collection of edited writings from the Cooper’s blog, along with some new works by Cooper. If you’re already familiar with his previous works, then you’ll be acquainted with some of the characters and events, including the annual swingers retreat Desire, that are mentioned in this book. However, this is absolutely not necessary. You’ll also already be aware of the conversation way that Beckett speaks, with nerdy quips and nested brackets that I couldn’t help myself but smile at.

Conversational tone can be difficult to pull off, but it looks like years writing for Life on the Swingset has helped Cooper Beckett find his voice. In fact, I’d probably be willing to read a paper or novel on just about anything that he wrote if he did so in this style. It took very little time to think of Cooper as a friend and someone with whom I might enjoy a cup of coffee. No doubt it helped that he refers to his mistakes, his awkwardness and his geeky (a common interest!) in ways that make him seem utterly approachable. While My Life on the Swingset might not be an instructional manual, there is a lesson to be learned from this: anyone can be a swinger. It’s not a lifestyle from which you should exclude yourself if you’re interested.

There are other lessons to be found in this book, which was a quick and enjoyable read. Cooper walks us through his experimentation with swinging and the true difficulties that lay ahead for him and his now ex-wife. He talks about new relationships, becoming polyamorous and discovering himself as a bisexual man in a scene that so often discriminates against that sort of creature.

The inside look shows the sort of prejudices even swingers and self-proclaimed sex-positive kinksters can hold and use against one another, and as Beckett moves between the different types of open relationships, he shows this with honesty. Could it possibly offend some people who only want to paint the perfect picture of this lifestyle? Perhaps. But Cooper Beckett is human, after all, just like all of us any anyone who might be in any sort of open relationship. And Cooper isn’t afraid to call those humans his friends or name drop where it’s appropriate. My reading list has grown from suggestions mentioned in these pages alone.

Honesty is key to the stories told within these pages. It makes them enjoyable, and it also makes Cooper seem like the type of person I’d like to better know. Cooper also does his own self-discovery, and he reiterates how becoming polyamorous has helped him learn more about himself. There’s a child-like amazement that, even as his age, he can grow and learn about himself. It’s something that I also love about being alive.

Ultimately, ending My Life On the Swingset was like finishing an amazing conversation with a person who completely surprised me. It finished too soon, and I was sad. But the bitter was married with sweet; surely there will be other chances to pick up the conversation again. And if Cooper’s ultimate goal was to draw me in, make me a friend and motivate me to stop by the website to continue that conversation, I think we can call My Life on the Swingset a success!



Judging His Cover

February 15th, 2015

He was plain. There was nothing special about him. He was lanky with too much gut from years of drinking. His hair was thinning prematurely, and he tried to hide it by wearing it long or, more frequently, wearing hats.

He was tall enough to look awkward. All of his t-shirts looked two sizes too large. If we’re being honest, they were. It’s hard to clothe that frame.

He wore glasses ill-suited to his face shape. Without anti-glare, looking at him was like looking into some sort of abyss. It was empty and soulless.

Whenever he gained weight, his face ballooned out like a chipmunk foraging for its very survival. He tried to hide this by growing a beard. To a certain extent, it worked, but he let it become unruly. At this point, his childlike nose poked out from between the whiskers, and he just looked silly.

That’s all he was: silly.

And yet with all this silliness, his mediocrity and his inability to style himself in a manner that indicated any thought at all, he was confident. He was cool. He was fun. He was the laid back type of person whom you always want to be around because he makes everything look so damned easy.

So despite his awkwardness, his overly-worn hats and glasses that made it impossible to tell whether his eyes were green or blue anyway, I fell in love with him. In spite of myself, I found my mind drifting to him whenever it wanted, whether or not I wanted it to at all.

And despite all of his own insecurities, he carried himself with enough confidence that he was magnetic, his charisma always pulling me closer to him when his arms weren’t physically wrapping around me and bending me to his will. He twisted and pulled and I melted against him, this plain, not-special, awkward boy who was trying too hard to be a man.

What was it about him? It wasn’t visible. It was chemical, running through his veins and jolting across neural pathways. It was gustatory, sliding across my tongue and sticking in my mouth with a sweetness that was only as bitter as I imagined. It was tangible, electric, breath-quickening and pulse-quickening.

What it was that drew me to him, kept me at his side and begging for me, left me looking after him when he’d already walked away, was an eddy of forces so subtle and quick that I was already gasping for breath by the time that I realized what had happened. And by then, his animal magnetism had already replaced oxygen as my primary source of survival.

That is the power of the main who looks plain from the outside but feels like a storm once he’s inside you. Flowery descriptions seem so far from apropos when it comes to the boy who slouches and drinks too much and isn’t sure of his own self worth.

But when I think of the awkward boy with all his flaws, even through the filter of my broken heart, I cannot help but see a little beauty.



February 8th, 2015

It must be hard being silicone lube in my possession. First, it sits on my counter or my table for a few days. Days turn into weeks, and the lube makes it way into my bedroom. There, it sits on my dresser before taking months to move to my nightstand, where it will sit a while more until I can think about using it.

You see, it doesn’t matter if you’re nice and slick, perfect for partner vaginal or anal sex. Long-lasting doesn’t matter. A lack of stick is just great.. someone else. Silicone lube can be compatible with most of my toys and all condoms, and it can come in a cute pump bottle that’s also made of glass. An ingredient list that’s short and easy to pronounce should be something that I approve of. But none of that just really matters.

At the end of the day, silicone-based lubes get the short end of the stick because they feel so artificial to me. There’s no way around it. Water-based lubes are shorter lasting and become sticky as they dry, but it feels closer to my natural lubrication. It’s more natural feeling, less like a plastic bag in my vagina.

So, you see, UberLube didn’t have a chance. Umlaut and everything, I still wasn’t swayed. It was just another silicone-based lube that will likely collect dust because I don’t particularly care for that type of lube. I don’t like how it feels inside me, on my hands or on my toys despite how often and long I’ve washed them.

And while the pump bottle is cute, it’s also not travel friendly because it could break and there’s no way to lock it. And $19 is far more than I would spend on any bottle of lube. If I was a die-hard silicone lube fan, I’d probably recommend a lube like System Jo for Women, which is a hair more affordable. If you’re really interested in Uberlube, Good Vibes does sell travel sets, which cost $16 each, but the other silicone-based lubes offer a more competitive price.


My Sex Life Can Legally Vote

February 3rd, 2015

And marry. And it can drink in Japan.

That is, to say, I’ve been a consciously sexual being since I was around 8 years old. Give or take.

I don’t remember the first time I masturbated exactly. I remember simply grinding against balled up blankets — never pillows — until I became sweaty and hot and felt finished. In hindsight, that must have been an orgasm. But either I didn’t know the word or maybe it really wasn’t. Perhaps I felt some sort of other closure. And I would stop for the night.

Some twenty years later, I occasionally find myself getting off in the same way. I almost-but-not-quite wake up in the middle of the night, reach down for a corner of my blanket and grind against it for dear life. I’ve always been a fan of grinding.

Of course, it’s not the only routine in my repertoire now, but that’s how this all got started. I was still in the single digits, and I was humping blankets when I was supposed to be sleeping. I suppose I became bolder, sometimes doing it during the day time. I recall masturbating in my best friend’s bed one night while she talked in the other room. I couldn’t quite remember where her brother was. I was relieved to know he wasn’t in the room.

I remember, in high school, masturbating with the door to my room not quite closed. Could someone in the living room see the movement of my feet and legs and guess what was happening even though I wasn’t making a noise?

It wasn’t that I was a voyeur. I was just a horny teenager, and I couldn’t resist if the mood strike. And strike it did — hard and often.

During my teen years, I spent countless hours in chatrooms talking to boys, men, women. Cyber sex, they called it. Back then, it was simply erotic roleplaying. There were no photos and videos, not really. People would try to encourage them, but I wasn’t comfortable in my skin in any way shape or form. During those times, the blood would rush to my clit and my G-spot, making me feel like I had to pee. I read plenty of articles about G-spot stimulation, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t impending orgasm. I just mistook the equivalent of blue balls as a different sort of bodily fluid.

I experimented with technique during these times. I once read that you could use the handle of a Venus razor as an impromptu dildo. I tried. It wasn’t necessarily pleasurable and I freaked out when I realized I was bleeding. I was never entirely sure if it was a cut from vigorous thrusting of a first-time penetrator or if that was my hymen. It didn’t hurt, and neither did sex for the first time. I didn’t give it much thought. I was happy to be masturbating and having sex.

I guess there must have been other household objects, but nothing stuck. It was that blanket or nothing. At some point, I added in fingers to rub my clit, which afforded me the opportunity to jack off wherever the hell I wanted. Eventually, the feeling-like-I-needed-to-pee sensation would fade away, and I’d forget about it.

It wasn’t until 10 years after I started masturbating that I bought my first sex toy, a purple jelly beast. In hindsight, it might have been a bit large. But I used it for a couple years, and it worked for several years after that without the purple glitter jelly leaking. I was surprised. I enjoyed this toy internally and externally, but it wasn’t doing me any favors. I can now recognize that my body just wasn’t used to masturbating in different ways.

I decided that I need clitoral stimulation, too, and plopped down money on another purple beast: the Rabbit Habit. In less than a month’s time, I had broken it because my tendency was to pull the base upward, forcing the shaft to bend. I bought another, not realizing the dubious construction or materials were something that should prevent me from doing so. I hadn’t ever thought about silicone, even though the original Form 6 had already been added to my wishlist.

The second rabbit eventually broke, too, but because loose beads are simply a terrible idea. But between the two bunnies, I had managed to have a toy-induced orgasm. Except, I had no fucking idea what it was. The quick contractions of my vagina felt like an alien, and that’s literally how I described it to a Livejournal group I was part of. Some women replied with “Yes! That’s an orgasm.” Others thought I should see a doctor.

I spend a lot of time researching whether or not a person, especially a woman, could have an orgasm and not realize it. Weren’t they all supposed to be toe-curling and earth-shattering? Mine surely weren’t. In fact, to this day, I’d still describe them as somewhat perfunctory. There have certainly been some pleasurable orgasms, but they’re notable, not frequent.

A few more shitty toys, including pocket rockets, would call my makeshift converted shoebox home before I would finally upgrade to something better, mostly thanks to this blog.  I still focus on clitoral stimulation, and I often use nothing more than my fingers despite my growing collection.

Rabbit after rabbit followed. An interesting night with k-balls and the Miracle Massager led to me squirting for the first time, awakening my G-spot. Or perhaps re-awakening it and reminding me of sensations I had experienced but learned to fight years before.

The years following would include more clitoral and G-spot vibrators, glass, wood, stainless steel and various ceramic toys. Several of those years were spent with my ex-husband.

5 years ago, my marriage started to crumble. Although masturbation was much the same, my sex life would change forever when the divroce was finalized a little over 4 years ago. For months, I would struggled to be aroused and masturbate without fantasizing about my ex, an issue I still face when dealing with heartbreak.

For three years, I would remain sexually celibate. It wasn’t necessarily on purpose, but I also didn’t want to deal with the hassle that came with romance and/or sex. I was sick of terrible first dates. And for nearly two of those years, the hot geek was unintentionally breaking my heart.

2 years ago, I finally left my celibacy behind. I was glad to have broken the fast, but it didn’t enhance my sex life. My drive might have been kicked alive once more, but the very act that was the catalyst for this change also opened my eyes to the fact that there would be no coming back for seconds with this person.

Just under 2 years ago, I would begin a haphazard romantic and sexual relationship with the bartender. There were as many highs as there were lows, but the sex was some of the best in my life. It brought out parts of me that I hadn’t understood or perhaps had even hidden from light for years. I felt whole and I finally understood that my sexuality can never be quite complete without a partner.

1 day, 1 week, 1 month from now, I don’t know how my sex life might look. I can imagine. I can hope that the next time I have sex, it will satiate me in every way. But if there’s anything that the past two decades have taught me, it’s that the life my sexuality takes on is bigger, bolder and better than I can imagine.


Bruce Jenner Might Be Trans And It’s None Of Your Business

February 2nd, 2015

I first heard rumors about Bruce Jenner possibly being transgender a few weeks ago. I didn’t give it any thought for a couple reasons:

  1. It’s Bruce Jenner, who cares?
  2. Even if I cared about him personally, what does his gender identity have to do with me?

Now that there’s a so-called sourced out there confirming that Bruce is transitioning, a lot more people are bound to pay attention. After reading a few comments on the Internet, I can rest assured that ignorant, bigoted and sexist idiots are definitely among those people — even though my first two points stand pretty firm for them as well as me!

I’m going to assume, and I may be wrong, but I’ll assume anyway.. That this person has been considering this for a while. Perhaps for their entire life. They may have always felt some amount of gender dysphoria. It may have reared its ugly head in ways that strained relationships, hurt careers and otherwise made life a living hell for Bruce.

And I cannot imagine what I would do if I was so close to the limelight yet lived in a society that is, at best, ignorant about trans issues. At worst, they’re all bigots. The truth is somewhere in the middle, with some people being surprisingly open-minded while others are so closed-minded it makes me wonder how natural selection hasn’t wiped them out already!

Back to my point, which is all about how difficult it must be to be any sort of public figure and come out as trans. According to people, Bruce Jenner is being supported by family, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe their publicist just makes it seem that way because it’s better to provide a united front?

Perhaps there is no source and this is just the tabloids running among with speculation. Who knows? Maybe Bruce Jenner just likes the long hair. Maybe it’s not a trans thing after all. Ultimately, it won’t affect me either way. And it won’t affect anyone who’s not Bruce, truly. But I’m kind of sick of the media using it as a sensationalist story just to get clicks.

And I’m sick of the people who take the bait!


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Lelo Siri 2

January 27th, 2015

Siri 2
$119 from SheVibe

If you were to look at Siri 2 without the original to compare, you’d think they were exactly the same design. This isn’t exactly true. Siri 2 is a little sleeker, for example. Perhaps to make it less obtrusive during use with a partner. Siri 2 is completely waterproof, though. Bonus if you like shower masturbation, but you’re definitely not going to get use out of the sound-response feature in the shower.

The silicone on Siri 2 also feels more plush and smooth to the touch. Although, this isn’t something I really noticed in use. Siri 2 is just a hair shorter from tip to tip, and the silicone tip is a bit more pointy than the original. But these are all minuscule changes that neither enhance or detract from the design of the original. I do like my Siri 2 in black, but you have to choose from pink or purple if you don’t like black.

Unlike Lelo’s other sophomore vibrators, Siri 2 is noticeably stronger than the original. However, the increase in power also comes with an increase in vibration frequency, so it feels buzzier. I can deal with a vibration that’s a little weaker but more rumbly. It’s part of the reason why I still love my Layaspot. However, the buzzy vibrations of the Siri 2 could be improved upon. I’m not sure they’re a deal breaker.

Although.. the weird music-inspired settings of this clitoral vibe aren’t really doing it for me. I’m not a fan of those extra modes at all, so I’m a bit surprised that I like even one of them. However, there’s something about a steady pulsation that seems preferable to me than these musical vibration modes, which don’t have quite the right rhythm to keep my clit interested. And let’s be honest, the description is pretty pretentious, too:  classical, reggae, rumba, folk, hip hop, soul, techno, and jazz. Uh, okay. Right.

But maybe that’s not why you’re looking at Siri 2. You want to know about how a vibrator can interact with sound because that sounds (pun intended) interesting at the very least. You want to know if it’s a feature worth adding to a toy to begin with let alone buying as a consumer?

Well. Nah. Not really.

Let’s back up. This vibrator “listens” to sounds. It can be any type of sound as far as I can tell. For example, blowing on it will cause it to respond. So will singing and moaning.. if you’re in the right position. You see, the microphone or whatever-it-may be exists at the end where the charting port it. Tapping the port is enough to get the vibrator to respond.

But the sound needs to be close enough to Siri 2; otherwise? Nada. So while I was trying to use it and sing or moan, it couldn’t pick me up.  I don’t particular masturbate to some sound. Although, I happened to have my earbuds on the nightstand next to me, so I gave it a test. I cannot begin to describe how awkward this was, but I can tell you that all my awkward effort was for nothing. Even with sound on max and my earbuds right next to Siri 2, it couldn’t pick it up.

Now, this might work if someone was using it on me and their mouth was closer to the toy, but it makes the function pretty much useless if you’re using it solo. And the argument could be made that you should pop in your favorite CD or log on to a porn site and turn up your speakers. Indeed, those background noises might even drown you out but it doesn’t even work. I have to turn my laptop on maximum and hold Siri 2 right next to my speakers to get it to respond. I don’t think my neighbors like that, folks.

It’s weird. When Siri 2 does manage to respond to sound, there’s a delay. I understand why this might be the case, but it’s altogether too distracting to find the perfect blend of volume and rhythm to get myself off when I know that simply using Siri 2 as a vibrator will work just as well. Plus, you can’t really recognize the “source” sound, anyway.

Original Siri (red) versus Siri 2

Original Siri (red) versus Siri 2

PLUS! Lelo’s 4-button configuration is really not the smartest way to go about this. It works fine for the steady vibration and music-inspired modes, but you have to simultaneously hold two buttons (either the + and – or the two arrows, I forget) for 5 seconds to turn on the stupid audio-responsive mode, anyway. It’s finicky and clumsy and not something I’m going to bother with. Sorry not sorry. That extra button that you’ll find on Ora 2 and other Insignia vibes would have been a much better option to control this addition setting, but I do understand that Lelo would have to redesign the control pad to

So while I have plenty of negatives to say about Lelo’s newest Siri, I will probably keep it charged for use. Because it is a more-powerful version of a vibrator that I’ve already come to like, and the form factor works pretty well if I’ve got another vibe or dildo inserted. In fact, I really enjoyed using it in conjunction with Lelo’s Mona Wave, another new-ish vibe that I’ll be reviewing shortly.

However, that’s not what Lelo wants us to focus on. It’s not the selling point, and I’m not sure if you can be sold when there are other alternatives for less than $100 that aren’t as frustrating and gimmicky!

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No Pretenses

January 26th, 2015

The other day I read a post by the wonderful, articulate and talented Rachel Kramer Bussel on Thought Catalog. I’ve read her tweets, her stories and plenty of collections she’s edited. In fact, I will soon be published in one of those very collections! Her recent piece “Sorry, But I’m Not A Sexpert” was as well-written as any. But it was was than that.

To me, the words my eyes were absorbing were like something I could have written. I wouldn’t dare to compare myself to Rachel, who has years of experience and has done more to make a career from her love of writing and sex than I ever might. But the thoughts in those paragraphs spoke to me nonetheless.

There are certainly some people who would call Ms. Bussel an expert in her own way, but she dispels the idea that her longevity and interest alone are enough to make her a sexpert. She goes on to explain how she feels more like a student than a teacher, and while people might learn something from her, she’s focusing on sharing her ideas, opinions and experiences with the world as a person who loves sex.

She will “play” with words to tell of her life and fantasies and to lend advice when appropriate, but it’s all based on her own experiences and nothing about it makes her an expert. And that’s okay.

I was particularly struck by this line:

There are plenty of amazing, smart, talented and dedicated sex educators out there who rightly deserve the title of sexpert.

What I hope to offer readers is something else: amateur honesty.

Rachel Kramer Bussel calls herself an amateur. Albeit an honest one, but an amateur nonetheless! And that’s still okay. If Rachel doesn’t need to be an expert, then I sure the hell don’t.

I think I really needed to read this post as my brokenhearted love life and nonexistent sex life — I’ve masturbated twice in approximately two months — had me wondering why I still have this blog. What could I offer to the world? What words can I type on the screen that haven’t already been said? And if I can’t say it better, should I even bother?

But here I am, overlooking the one difference that no one — not even I — can deny: I am me. There are no other mes in this world. So while I may not be able to write about Peachy escorts in London — at least, not yet — or sex rooms in Amsterdam, I can unapologetically stand up for a sex toy that I love. Or speak out against transphobia. Or offer a little advice based on my own experience as a human being who loves and fucks.

I toyed with calling this post “Rachel Kramer Bussel is who I want to be when I grow up.” And it’s not entirely untrue. But it also misses one of the points of her recent post: her value as an “amateur” extends directly from her individuality as a human being. To quote her again:

No, not everyone wants to share their sex lives, but for those who do, their stories are fascinating not because they know everything there is to know about a given sexual topic, but because they are individuals.

So I shouldn’t aim to be another person when I grow up. Rather, I should try to be me. Just, perhaps, a me who understands that it’s okay not to have all the answers. Like Rachel Kramer Bussel, I might help people find them, but I don’t have to pretend to have them all, even answers about my own life.