Below you’ll find all of the sex toy reviews I’ve written at Of Sex and Love. Find my opinions on vibrators, dildos, media (sex education books, porn, DVDs and erotica), bondage and BDSM gear, lingerie, anal toys, lube, massage products, and more!
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I’ve also reviewed sexual health goodies.
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JOPEN Pavé Grace
$48
from Amazon
I’ve been at this a long time, but sometimes something happens that reminds me just how long. Like sitting down to write this review of a Jopen toy and realizing that I’ve reviewed a vibrator from what I considered to be a new brand 11 years ago. 11 years ago. 11. years. ago. Eleven.
So I guess it’s time to give props to CalExotics for keeping their more premium line/sister brand going. It’s also time to go through my past reviews to fix some images and links, but that’s neither here nor there.
Jopen’s current offerings are more varied than the purple duel stimulators they started with. You can not buy a variety of clitoral, internal, and anal vibes from the line, although they have dropped the Comet vibrators and dildos, which many people (not me) loved.
The company is attempting to differentiate this line with touches of glam, which has resulted in the four current lines: Pavé, Amour, Starstruck, and Callie. Each line comes in its own color variations, and I have no complaints about the Pavé Grace’s light mint/teal color. I wasn’t swayed by the faux crystals; I just wanted to try another clit stimulator.
The faux crystals don’t necessarily look great in photos, and they’re not better in person. There’s also the potential for them to collect fluids. You might think that the top of the vibrator is less likely to come into contact with those, but the gem is actually a button that cycles through functions and powers on the toy, so you don’t want a lube or cum-covered finger sliding around that.
The placement of the gems forced CalExotics to get creative because this is where many toy makers would have placed the intensity controls. The result is something that is accidentally genius. I’ve raved about it before, and I’ll say it again: the controls on the side edge of Grace are intuitive to use, and more companies should take note. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like CalExotics has realized what they’ve discovered because the only other vibrator with a side button is the Chic Violet. I think it’s only designed like that because it has a grip on the top, preventing the buttons from being placed there. These aren’t even the only buttons on the toy, which is a shame.
Side button placement should be standard. It just makes sense. We’re used to the volume buttons on the sides of our phones, and many remotes now follow suit. I don’t think sex toys should necessarily take after smartphones, but I do think that placing controls there naturally takes advantage of our thumbs, which often don’t do anything while using toys. If you happen to hold the Grace in your left hand, as I do, the controls are easily pressed with your index finger, which still works pretty well.
The buttons are small, however, and even though they’re embossed, I prefer something a little more obvious. It might not be as chic, but I’m all about function over form at this point. Fortunately, there’s a nice clicky feedback when you press the buttons. I wish they weren’t quite so close together, however.
I mentioned that the gem is a button, and you need to hold it down to power the toy on or off. Each setting has 5 speeds, controlled by the buttons on the side. They start on the lowest setting. If you keep pressing the gem, you’ll cycle back through all the settings. Its first setting is steady vibration that’s fairly powerful for the size of the toy but not super deep. They quickly turn uncomfortably buzzy when you increase them (with the side buttons) however. Page through the other 7 settings, and you’ll find pulsation, escalation, and combinations of both. These settings have personally never done much for me, and Grace’s buzzy vibrations aren’t about to change my mind on that. It’s not that it’s awful per se, especially when compared to some similar toys, but it’s not my preference.
I think Grace is probably a little loud for its power output. It won’t wake the neighbors or even the roommates, and pressing it against your body (or using it under the blanket of with the shower on) can muffle some of the sound. But it’s definitely not whisper quiet. Of course, this is rarely an issue when you love the feel of the vibrations.
The rest of the toy’s design is.. okay. I think a lot of similar clit toys are too flat along the side that makes contact with your body. I wish the Siri, for example, was more convex than it is. I always wind up using my fingertips to press toys against my body because they’re not pronounced enough. That’s why I enjoyed the Laya‘s shape. Grace has a slightly more defined nub along the bottom, which is good, but it could have been.. more.
Grace is covered with a semi-soft silicone. At the edges and edges, there’s some give. This includes the nub, and might be a selling point for people who don’t like rigid toys, which a lot of clit vibrators seem to be. It’s the type of silicone that has a ton of drag and collects lint like crazy, however. You win some, you lose some, I guess.
The package touts Grace’s water resistance, and the charging port is a self-closing hole in the soft silicone, so I think it’ll do fine. For lint magnets like this, being able to withstand a full rinse is a must. Speaking of the charger, it slides right into the port with ease, something that doesn’t always happen with toys that use the hidden port design. I enjoy that I don’t have to fuss with it, and an LED by the side buttons and glows red to indicate that the toy is charged and also lights up. When the toy is on, the light glows white, which is not necessary but acceptable.
I think “acceptable” might be a good word for this toy. It’s certainly not the worst. It will get the job done, perhaps with a little effort. A lot of people will probably be content with grace, especially at its price point. Amazon has it for less than $50, although that’s below MSRP. With so many premium brands selling their toys well over $100 and other affordable toys disappearing the price might be what pushes people to buy Grace. I can’t really blame them, but I can wax nostalgic about a time when strong, deep, clitoral vibrators didn’t break the bank.
Thanks to Vibrators.com for sending me this to review, although my review took long enough that they no longer carry the Grace.
Fun Factory Laya III
$109
from Fun Factory
I cannot believe Fun Factory has released three new versions of the Laya, and I have yet to wax poetic about its meaning in my life.
So why don’t I do that?
I have fond memories of using the original Laya Spot while sprawled sideways on my oversized armchair as Family Guy played in the background. I was in my San Antonio apartment, which I shared with my then-husband, who was, at the time, deployed. It was a difficult time in many ways, but I had my cats and a few trustworthy toys to get me three. Indeed, that was the year when I discovered I could squirt.
Much has changed since then: my relationship status, my pets, my location, and my education level, to name just a few. How often I use sex toys is also not the same. As it turns out, Fun Factory’s “lay on” vibrator isn’t the same, either. If you can believe it, they’re now on the fourth version of the Laya, although it’s the Laya III because one was just an iteration of the Laya II, which I had things to say about.
Laya III is a noticeably different toy from these previous options. The new light teal (which Fun Factory calls “Sage Green” but is definitely not) or lavender options remind me more of the original’s colors than either of the Laya II revamps. Folks might not remember, but the Laya Spot came in a variety of dual-color combinations. It was fun, if not financially feasible in the long run. However, Fun Factory has done away entirely with the contrasting side panels, instead opting for an allover color. This makes it a seamless toy, however.
Another change comes in the texture, which is now diagonally ribbed along the top and sides of the toy–everywhere but the place where it will make contact with your clitoris. To be honest, I’m not sure that this achieves much other than aesthetics. I suppose if your hands are full of lube, it might be easier to grasp, but I did not typically use lube with clitoral toys, and if your fingers were that coated, they would slip right off the smooth buttons.
As for the silicone itself, it’s more velvety and has less drag. It’s not a lint magnet like the Laya Black Line, which my pictures clearly show. I swear, there is no way to remove lint from this thing, but that is, fortunately, not an issue carried over to the Laya III. Of course, the hard plastic of the original didn’t attract lint, so it’s nice not to have to worry about this again.
I still don’t know if I really like the placement of these buttons, but I think that’s a me problem. The bubble design from the Laya II carried over, meaning it’s far easier to press than those on the original Laya Spot. However, I just don’t love them. Truthfully, I want something bigger, flatter, and just… impossible to miss. I’ve spent too much time using vibrators to fumble for the controls that are less than obvious.
But what about the vibrations controlled by those buttons? A side-by-side comparison of the Laya III and Black Line Laya shows that the Black Line’s lowest level of vibrations is stronger, but it has fewer (3) levels of steady vibrations than the Laya III. The highest level seems about the same on both, so the change in the Laya III’s 5 levels is more incremental, something that is absolutely not needed. That makes it bizarre that they toute these unnecessary incremental changes as a customizable experience.
And while the vibrations on the highest setting are similar, they are not identical. The Black Line’s vibrations feel more targeted, although “pinpoint” wouldn’t be accurate. The Laya III feels chaotically diffused in contrast. I actually prefer the Black Line, a toy that previously left me incredibly disappointed. When you consider that the Laya II is stronger than the Black Line, it’s clear that Laya III’s motor is a step backyard.
Y’all, I gotta be honest, I didn’t look much into the Laya III before I tried it. I saw the name, and I wanted it. I completely missed the fact that the motor apparently vibrates and taps until I watched the video after starting this review. And if that’s supposed to be true, I literally cannot feel it. It feels like marketing BS, and I hate typing that.
This is where I also admit that I didn’t realize the texture is supposed to hold lube with the suggestion that you can use either end of the Laya III for pinpoint stimulation. But we’ve already established that the vibrations feel more diffuse at the stronger end than previous of the toy, so there’s no way the weaker end will somehow feel more targeted.
So, really, why did Fun Factory make this toy?
Or, rather, why didn’t they just promote a previous iteration of the Laya that showed how it could be versatile? Because I think it has always deserved more love than it got, and there was no need to improve upon a perfectly good design once they upgraded to a rechargeable motor with decent strength.
Barring a drastic change, I think we got the best Laya we’re going to get our hands on a few years ago. Of course, not everyone has a previous version, so the Laya III isn’t a terrible option for them. After all, if you don’t know what you’re missing, how can you miss it? Some folks might swoon over Laya III, especially if they don’t have much to compare it to, but we’re long past the days of the original, which cost less than $50.
Editor’s note: I was unaware of the Collinses’ pronatalist views and connections to far-right politics, including tacit support of eugenics, when I began reading this book. The review will remain up because it offers a critical look at a publication with many flaws that have received favorable reviews from people who often don’t know better and/or support harmful essentialist or misogynistic views.
I’ll be honest: I’m not sure when I first discovered The Pragmatist’s Guide to Sexuality and began reading it. Nevertheless, I know it was closer to my return to school, which may have been fortuitous. You see, I initially began the book and found myself confused over both the argument the authors, Malcolm and Simone Collins, were making, and the format of the book, That’s never a good thing. I wound up taking a break from reading The Pragmatist’s Guide to Sexuality while I focused on other books, specifically those for my classes. When I finally returned to the book, I had a better understanding of what the authors were trying to say–and the weaknesses in their argument.
You see, Malcolm Collins views himself as a “gentleman researcher,” and I can’t fault him for that. Who hasn’t had questions about sexuality? And thanks to the Internet, anyone can put up a poll or a survey–or even a Reddit thread if you want to be even more informal–to try to get answers to questions about our weird turn-ons. Not everyone understands how to design and run research that is as ethical, educational, and representative as possible. By the time I returned to the book, I had taken a psychological statistics course and written my own paper, which enabled me to apply a critical eye when reading this book. Malcolm Collins and his wife, Simone, come from a business background, so I suppose it’s no surprise that the pair weren’t able to apply the same critical eye to their book.
Unfortunately, The Pragmatist’s Guide to Sexuality suffers for it. At various points, I wondered whether and how the authors disqualified participants who were essentially trolling or applied statistical analyses to the data to determine significance, things which were sometimes discussed in passing but the authors failed to make explicit. Furthermore, I noticed inconsistencies in language that weakened the book’s argument. Specifically, the authors seemed unsure whether they wanted to use “males” and “females” as nouns or “men” and “women,” respectively. Although I prefer the use of “women” in everyday language because to call us “females” is often dehumanizing, I understand that researchers typically use the more detached “females.” The Collinses flipped between the two, sometimes in the same sentence or paragraph, in a way that suggested the need for more stringent editing at the very least.
When it comes to what helped me better understand this book’s arguments, I cannot name a reason as easily as taking a class. Perhaps it was simply my time away that made this possible. Nevertheless, I can now sum it up as research based on unusual arousal responses or patterns. Specifically, the Collinses suggest that sexual orientation or attraction is less about gender than it is about dominance or power. For example, straight women are typically attracted to more dominant men, but some women may be attracted to other women who display similar characteristics. I am being reductive, but the main point is that this book suggests another lens through which we can consider sexuality.
It’s not that the ideas presented in this book aren’t worth considering. What is sexual orientation? What if gender isn’t the only or even the most important component of sexual orientation? Sari van Anders, a respected researcher in the field, tackles this very idea in her sexual configurations theory (SCT), which encourages us to expand our view of sexuality past attraction based on gender and has been praised for its inclusiveness. However, van Anders has published peer-reviewed papers on the topic.
Nor would I argue that a book is never the right format to publish research. Dr. Justin Lehmiller, to name just one example, chose a book to write about his research into fantasies in more depth than a paper or even a series of papers might allow. However, the format doesn’t change the scholarly rigor readers would expect from his work. Collins and Collins fail to bring this rigor to their work.
Ultimately, The Pragmatist’s Guide to Sexuality doesn’t make sense as a book. The type of research and results are better suited for a blog post (or series thereof) and some infographics. This would also cut down on some of the redundancies–the research itself is repeated in a section at the end of the book that I personally found more compelling than most of the rest. A change in format would also remedy the problem of confusing organization. Why bother with longer chapters when a shorter post with headings will do, instead?
As far as I can tell, the best reason for publishing their research in a book is to profit directly rather than creating other Web content that might profit them through ads or content creation incentives. However, all proceeds from their books go to “the nonprofit,” which I assume means the Pragmatist Foundation (according to Amazon book descriptions). The website is similarly vague save for describing the Pragmatist “Foundation” that was designed to
- [C]reate “shepherd free” guides dedicated to assisting individuals in self reflection and challenging their core beliefs without biasing them to specific answers.
- [R]eview and conduct research with the goal of helping people engage in self reflection and seriously consider new ideas so that they can independently determine—for themselves— the best possible ideas and solutions to adopt.
- [C]reate a culture in which people are celebrated for exploring new and alternate ideas, engaging in critical self reflection, and intellectually engaging with the views of those who disagree with them.
Maybe Malcolm Collins just wants an excuse to ask questions and posit theories in a way that feels more grandiose than web content.
I suppose the foundation has accomplished at least some of the outlined goals with this book, which has, in some part, encouraged me to “consider new ideas.” I’m not entirely sure that anything about this book was personally pragmatic, however. What do I do with this suggestion? Some people might focus less on gender when seeking sexual partners, but I’m already bisexual, so perhaps I am not the target audience. I suspect that a more comprehensive theory like that under development by Sari van Anders might be more pragmatic for me specifically. In fact, Alex Iantaffi and Meg-John Barker have written a zine offering some questions for self-reflection, among other guidance based on SCT that I find more actionable at less than 20 pages.
Still, if you’re intrigued by The Pragmatist’s Guide to Sexuality, you can purchase the Kindle version for $2.99 (it’s free if you’re a Kindle Unlimited member). Amazon also carries hard and softcover versions of the book, although I’m not sure the higher price tag is warranted.
Although I meant to sit down to write this review months ago, I’ve actually done it in far less time than it took to actually read this book since placing it on my to-read list (which badly needs and update). In fact, that delay contributes largely to my review as you’ll see when you keep reading…
The field of sex research is an interesting one. Because it was for so long viewed as inappropriate or unimportant, it has lagged behind other fields. This simultaneously means that we missed out on opportunities to learn about sexuality, and now that sex research is well underway, it’s happening at a rapid-fire pace. The downside of this frenzy of activity is that research or publications about research can quickly become dated, even painfully so. This doesn’t bode with for Daniel Bergner’s book What Do Women Want?
Published in 2013, this book isn’t quite a decade old. Yet, I was shocked at how unfamiliar I was with some of the researchers Bergner interviewed or cited aside from Lori Brotto. Some of the names I know indirectly because they’ve been cited by researchers with whom I am familiar. As I read this book, it almost seemed to focus on a different generation of researchers–and thus their research–than the articles, books, and podcasts I’ve consumed about sexuality over the last decade. Without more recent research, What Do Women Want? seems lacking.
Although I hesitate to say it, I think a project of this nature might have been overly ambitious, given the state of research in 2013. Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but Bergner’s book just doesn’t stand on its own two feet. Because the author’s ultimate point is that, yet, women do want to have sex and not necessarily in relationships. Yet that hardly seems groundbreaking or all that helpful, at least in 2022 2023.
After finishing the book, I was left wondering, “So what?” What are readers supposed to do with this argument, even if it’s the first time they’ve considered it (and I concede that this book might have been more revelatory when it was first published). There’s no thoughtful analysis about why we’ve come to a place where we believe women aren’t interested in sex, or women may not feel comfortable expressing that interest, let alone suggestions about what to do with this information. If women want to have sex, how do we get them there? Of course, the answers to these questions are inextricably related.
Rest assured that plenty of researchers and sex educators, often women, have discussed both the causes and potential solutions. They’re written ad nauseam about how society slut-shames women, how sex education has failed us, and how we prioritize men’s pleasure over women’s to such an extent that we view women’s sexuality as lesser than men’s to the extent that we have pathologized it and normalized misogyny and rape culture.
And, you guessed it, all those things contribute to women’s inability to speak up about their desires and get what they want. Advocating for our sexuality can seem a losing battle when the sex we wind up having, the very sex that’s accepted as “normal,” is so subpar that we’d rather do literally anything else.
Of course, understanding these causes directly suggests what we need to do to improve the situation and both Emily Nagoski and Lori Brotto have written useful and timeless books that touch on ways women can improve their sex lives–from desire to orgasm. I’m talking about Come As You Are and Better Sex Through Mindfulness, respectively. Even Peggy Kleinpart’z Magnificent Sex, which is written less for the lay reader, offers more actionable advice.
But Bergner doesn’t touch on any of this. He only cherry-picks data that indicates women want more sex than they’re having or are willing to admit. While I think that’s ultimately true, it doesn’t make for a riveting book in the 2020s. It feels like I picked up a dusty relic, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it became forgotten as so many books do.
Perhaps that’s to be expected. Bergner, as both an author and journalist, doesn’t focus on sexuality–or even health. His choice of research and argument might reflect a base unfamiliarity with the topic, and this might still be true for many readers, even in 2023.
Emily Nagoski once replied to me on Twitter, saying that she and Bergner used much of the same research but came to different conclusions. I am not sure that’s entirely accurate. The two authors stopped their research at different points, which is why Bergner’s conclusion in this book is where the conversation should really begin, not end. It’s why this book didn’t knock my socks off and likely would be frustrating for anyone who wants to better understand their sexuality or that of their women partners.
Fortunately, other books have done both of those things, and there are many more options since this one hit the shelves. That leaves What Do Women Want? for those who are more interested in research that affirms women’s desire or learning about how sex research has changed through the ages, and an actual textbook (Justin Lehmiller’s Psychology of Human Sexuality comes to mind) inevitably does it better.
It has been a good while since I’ve read any erotica, let alone reviewed some. But I couldn’t pass up the newest anthology from the New Smut Project. You might remember me reviewing Between the Shores a few years ago.
Scratch that?
2015?!
I guess that’s more than a few years.
But I digress.
That erotica anthology tackled something that some people (erroneously) consider unsexy: consent.
I’ll be honest, I don’t remember the specifics, but I do recall the stories being unique, enjoyable, and well-written. So I agreed to review Erato when the opportunity arose. Let’s start with its official description.
Short, short tales from 50 experienced storytellers and hot new talent bring readers to Paleolithic caves and far-flung planets, seducing them with magic, mythology, and dreams while wryly acknowledging the reality that sometimes sex requires stretching. Alongside old favorites like temperature play and strap-ons, have you considered the erotic potential of shaving or a handful of coins?
Erato: Flash Fiction
$6.99
from Amazon
While the New Smut Project’s other books were themed by subject, the thing that pulls each of the 50 stories in Erato together is their length: they’re brief. You might recall that I am a fan of flash fiction when it comes to my erotica. To this day, I still have both Five Minute Erotica and Got A Minute? on my bookshelf. And while I haven’t gotten around to it, I fully intend on rereading them both at some point. Erato will soon join these volumes. Like them, this anthology spans a variety of themes, from Sci-fi/fantasy to period pieces to BDSM to queer erotica.
However, there are some keys differences that make this anthology stand out, and I think some of them have to do with this being a more recent book. It might seem arbitrary that Erato is a much newer book of flash erotica, but I can’t imagine an anthology as inclusive as this being released even just a few years ago. In fact, few organizations would strive for inclusivity the way New Smut Project has with Erato. Heteronormativity? No, sir! The stories include trans and nonbinary and characters requesting and using pronouns other than he, she, or even, they.
I think anyone who finds most erotica too limiting or irrelevant, might find Eratot to be much more accessible because of this. Of course, there’s a subset of people who would criticize this move or claim that this book is all clear, but that’s not true (and the overlap with my blog readers is probably small). Many of the stories have different themes but just happen to have characters that fall a little outside the gender and sexual binary.
Another consideration, which is true for all collections, is that if you especially like a story, it’s just one in the bigger collection. Because Erato focuses on shorter stories, you might find your interest is piqued but your appetite isn’t sated. Fortunately, some of the pieces in this book are chapters or snippets from the authors’ own longer works. There’s something.. wholesome… about the promotion that authors might get from Erato.
The other distinguishing feature of Erato is simply the quality of the stories. Multiple times I found myself thinking not just that something was interesting or hot, but that it was literature. Erato is the book you give someone if you want to prove that erotica has artistic merit. It’s not a guilty pleasure because there’s no way to feel guilt about something so excellent. Editors Alex Freeman, Guinevere Chase, and T.C. Mill so carefully curated this collection, and it shows.
So which of those stories are my favorite?
Erato starts out strong with Gerri Green’s “Anthing For the Mission,” a story of exploration that’s out of this world. The momentum continues with “Touch” by D. Fostalove, a story most certainly inspired by COVID-19–but with a sexy twist. The visuals of R.F. Marazas’s “Dressing Dana” are topnotch, and Alain Bell’s “Contentment” is a story imbued with the universal feelings being in love brings forth from us.
Don’t even get me started with the second of Lawrence Schimel’s three pieces (expertly translated by Sandra Kingery), which includes a line that makes me want to cry. Somehow he uses words that perfectly capture the how pain and arousal can become intertwined after loss. I even laughed out loud a time or two while reading the stories in these pages.
No matter how fantastic the plot, there’s always a reminder of how human we are–and by extension, sex is.
Like I said, it’s literature.
And that’s just the first quarter of the book.
If you want to experience Erato for yourself, you can purchase digital or Kindle versions on Amazon. And if you’re trying to boycott Amazon, I get it. There are a few purchase options on the New Smut Project’s website, including some with discounts!
I Love BDSM
$5.99
from Amazon
From my experiences with Ayzad’s books, I would struggle to adequately do him justice as an author. I jumped into the deep end with the first book I read by him BDSM: A Guide for Explorers of Extreme Eroticism that’s an encyclopedic wealth of information for those who are really into BDSM and knowledge in general. But that tome would be intimidating for someone who either isn’t sure about their interest or even the topic in general. Ayzad’s newest book, I Love BDSM falls on the other end of the spectrum. Ayzad kept this book fairly brief at just 124 pages, some of which include photos or illustrations, and his adoration for BDSM shines through. Both of these things make the book approachable. Further lending to the accessibility is the conversational tone he uses.
While other books teach technical skills, and BDSM: A Guide for Explorers of Extreme Eroticism is certainly one of them, I Love BDSM focuses more on how BDSM can be personally fulfilling and rewarding within relationships. That angle can be appealing to those who might be dipping a toe in the water and wondering why they are–or anyone else is–attracted to the idea of erotic power exchange. I think the bold title of this book and the tone Ayzad uses in it both emphasize that BDSM can be a positive in someone’s life.
It’s reasonable that someone who first stumbles upon BDSM through Fifty Shades of Grey or some other media that’s not entirely realistic might decide to further research and happen upon I Love BDSM. For this, this book is a great introduction, not just for the aforementioned reasons but for the way it spells out the definition of BDSM while emphasizing that the images some people conjure of BDSM are devoid of context or downright wrong. Ayzad makes a poignant argument that the same happens with vanilla sex all the time, and we should be wary not to do the same with BDSM. As he says,
The only trick is to remember that the basis of any relationship – even the most casual ones – is always people.
While not about technical skills, I Love BDSM does not gloss over the potential risks and need to proceed safely. It discusses negotiation and safe words, for example. But this section, like all of them in the book, is short, and I worry that some might read only this book and think it’s enough before diving in fully. This isn’t to say anything against Ayzad or his book; some people just always bite off more than they can chew.
After safety, the book includes a section on finding partners both online and off before dedicating a chapter each to bondage, domination and discipline, submission, and sensory exploration. Ayzad opted to move away from “sadism” and “masochism” for this book. I think the effect may be more inviting and less intimidating for someone who is unfamiliar with BDSM, and it’s actually a great descriptor for many activities enjoyed by kinksters. Still, it did throw me for a loop to see the acronym changed up.
Each chapter includes brief descriptions of the people, tools, and skills that might be involved in the specific activity. For example, Ayzard illustrates basic ties in the chapter on bondage and the desired traits of a submissive in that respective chapter. It’s all enough to give an idea and perhaps leave the reader wanting more without droning on. By the time I Love BDSM nears completion, Ayzad assumes that the reader will be ready to try their first not-super-intense scene. Presumably, the reader has gotten that far and feels the same, even if they’re not sure whether this whole BDSM thing is for them.
By now, it might be apparent that I struggled to read this book as someone who might just be coming to terms with the idea of BDSM or their interest in it. I want something meatier, with more science (Ayzad hasn’t ignored research on BDSM; it’s just scant). I Love BDSM isn’t that book but, of course, it’s not intended to be. This is the book that you read before you set out to engage in BDSM in your relationship or local community. You might (read: should) pick up a few more books before you get to that point. And if you stick with it, you might eventually find more Ayzad books on your proverbial shelf.
I’ve also considered how this BDSM primer stands out from other similar books. As Kinky as You Wanna Be: Your Guide to Safe, Sane and Smart BDSM comes to mind; although, these two are far from the only examples in the genre. One way in which Ayzad makes a name for himself is through his real-life experience as a BDSM practitioner and a member–and leader–of his local community. It can seem a little old-school when so much information is available for free online that one doesn’t necessarily need to seek out community to learn.
But Ayzad reminds the reader that not all of that information is accurate. Community can provide safety and hands-on knowledge that would otherwise be missed. Whether someone lives in a city with a thriving community or, like myself, would need to travel for hours to find one, certainly impacts how applicable certain information is, of course.
Another notable difference is the inclusion of black-and-white photos. I could go either way on them, but it probably lends to the air of approachability that Ayzad was going for. The illustrations of different knots/ties are useful, however, but the links to Ayzad’s videos are even more useful. This brings me to my next point.
I Love BDSM feels like it’s only meant to be a digital book. Some passages are highlighted in pink that matches the heart on the cover. Furthermore, Ayzad includes links to other resources, including illustrative videos and articles on his website. This puts additional information at the reader’s fingertips, but I would have preferred footnotes or a list, which would make it easier to see them all at a glance at the end of the book. The link icons make the book a bit messier than I prefer, and you might not realize how helpful they are if you focus on reading rather than clicking them.
Similarly, while Ayzad links to a section of recommended books on his site, I would have found it easier for him to list a few in I Love BDSM.
Finally, because so many of the links go to Ayzad’s own website, it feels a little self-promotional. Of course, there are many helpful articles, and it’s one way to ensure the links remain relevant, but I can’t but wonder if it could have been done differently. Something just a bit more refined or including some other resources, perhaps?
So where does that leave us? I Love BDSM would be ideal for someone who has never read any books about BDSM, but they should remember to broaden their educational horizons beyond this one title (and that’s true for anyone interested in BDSM). It’s a good introduction but less useful as a resource for those who are more knowledgeable and experienced unless they want an easy read to recommend to newbies.
There isn’t much to lose by purchasing this book, however. Even if it doesn’t introduce much new content, I Love BDSM costs less than $6 on Amazon.
It’s still masturbation May, and I am here to give you the first sex toy review in over two years and my first dual stimulator review since 2018 if you count the ridiculous toy Gvibe 2. Otherwise, you need to head way back into the archives to 2014 to find any sort of traditional rabbit vibrator (and it’s actually a butterfly).
Do you all remember the last time I wrote about air suction toys? I’ll forgive you if you don’t. It’s been almost four years! And I wasn’t particularly impressed, so I didn’t write a raving review. I quietly figured these toys weren’t for me until just recently. I figured that maybe the technology had improved, my body had changed, or I had simply used cheaper toys the first time around. This time, I was going to try a premium toy by Womanizer, one of the first companies to make clitoral suction toys, and Lovehoney. That’s how I wound up with the InsideOut, a dual stimulator that combines internal vibrators with clitoral suction, in my hands.
Womanizer X Lovehoney InsideOut
$149.99
from Lovehoney
This toy doesn’t look like ye old rabbit vibrators, of which I tried quite a few before eventually backing away, too. I am sensing a theme here. The InsideOut does look quite bulky due to the clitoral stimulator. And the shaft, while described as for G-spot stimulation, doesn’t have any texture or much contouring. There’s a very similar toy, the Duo, with a shaft that looks a bit more interesting.
This toy doesn’t come charged like so many, so I had to charge it. It’s interesting because the charging light is inside the toy and easy to miss. It turns green when charging and appears red when powered on, making no sense because the nozzle blocks the light. What a strange and unhelpful design choice!
So how is it in use?
The InsideOut runs into the same problems that separately plague both dual stimulators and suction toys: no two bodies are exactly alike. It’s why so many reviewers quickly gave up on rabbit vibrators. It’s also why Womanizer sends multiple nozzles with its toys. InsideOut came with two to ensure the best fit.
My first go ’round with the InsideOut was a bit ill-advised. I was clearly not aroused enough. I didn’t use enough lube–or perhaps the wrong kind, and the thin shaft felt.. pokey. Furthermore, while I never felt like I got the proper seal, the suction was uncomfortable and overwhelming. I figured I’d give it a second go in the future.
A few erotica stories later with my body more aroused, I was ready to give this toy a second shot. This time, I used a thicker lube, and the shaft of the InsideOut was much more comfortable.
I am happy to report that the base, which initially seemed quite bulky, does effectively rest atop my thighs if I want a hands-free experience. If this toy works for you, you can sit back and let the toy do the work. In this position, the buttons face up, which makes them accessible but not viewable to me. I do wish the buttons were more distinct, both from the rest of the toy and from each other–each function has a + and – button, and you can operate the functions separately. The + buttons are raised, but the – buttons are inset and difficult for my fingers to find easily. The diamond layout also makes it a bit harder to discern which set of buttons I’m pushing.
I still find the general shape of the shaft to be rather bland. I think this was exacerbated by the fact that this toy is supposed to be all “Set it and forget it.” Womanizer highlights the contact-less usability of these dual stimulators. Still, I’ve always liked pressure and motion, both of which are limited with the InsideOut just as they are like Lelo’s Ora and most rabbit vibrators. If you move the external portion too much, you break the seal. Although, I have to admit that I never achieved the sort of seal that I was expecting with either of the nozzles. They’re easy to swap out and remove for cleaning, however.
Furthermore, the suction of this toy is ridiculously, distractingly loud. Like, I can’t believe it made it through quality control. I would have sent someone back to the drawing board. We’re not talking Hitachi levels of volume, but you can’t hear the vibrations at all when the suction is on. Combined with the fact that the vibrations are quite weak and buzzy, even on maximum, and this isn’t a good look. I honestly had to turn off the suction to even tell if the vibrations were on.
Once aroused, I no longer found the clitoral suction overwhelming. In fact, at points, I found it to be the exact opposite, perhaps due to me preferring pressure. And while the shaft was no pokey, it didn’t do much, and it still felt uncomfortably.. long? It’s only 4.5 inches long, but it’s so narrow, and you need to ensure the base is lined up properly, too. It didn’t just completely miss my G-spot, it targeted my cervix like an expert swordsman (I guess, I’m no medieval princess) and left me a bit crampy afterward.
Now, it might be due to the distance between my clitoris and vaginal opening, which requires me to insert the toy full to make contact externally. The base of the toy runs more parallel to my body than perpendicular. Some people with a shorter distance might be able to bend the shaft more, which means the base would be at more of an angle. But then I imagine you’d have to force the shaft against the back wall of your vagina, and that would be uncomfortable, too. I just want something a little plusher and more filling.
Anyway, by the end, I managed to get myself off. Not hands-free, of course. I rocked the base as much as possible against my body to get the pressure that I needed, but my orgasm was all due to my own efforts and not because of anything the toy brought to the table. If that’s going to be the case, I might as well reach for a standard vibrator.
Despite every effort by Lovehoney and Womanizer, the InsideOut doesn’t manage to avoid the pitfalls of a dual stimulator. Indeed, it actually manages to make them a bit worse because you don’t simply need to press a bullet against your clitoris, you need to line up the nozzle perfectly.
This doesn’t mean that InsideOut won’t work for anyone. In fact, many people might have bodies that are just more receptive to what this toy does, and hopefully, those people who you (or don’t) will stumble across this review and find it helpful.
