Buzz: The Stimulating History of the Sex Toy

December 20th, 2018

Buzz: The Stimulating History of the Sex Toy starts with an introduction to home sex toy parties and the author’s own history as a salesperson. We learn firsthand how she was taught to push toys to bored housewives despite the very act being illegal in so many places. In her introduction, Hallie explains to the reader how she always had an interest in sex toys. And while she could no longer support companies that mislead their customers, her curiosity continued — enough to write the history of sex toys.
She continues on with the ancient history of sex toys (there are some photos of ancient devices and early sex toy ads included), which may be older than you think, and continues to bust some oft-touted stories about sex toys. Pop culture doesn’t always get it right, and our author wants us to know better.
In Buzz, the reader learns about the competing factions that helped to legitimize or, at least, make saleable sex toys. This includes seedy porn store operators, dedicated toy makers, feminists (both those for and against sex toys, especially dildos), mom-and-pop shops, and mega-corporations. Lieberman attempts to illustrate these forces while clearing supporting/promoting the feminist-run stores, a point-of-view I also agree with.
As readers, we learn about original stores such as The Pleasure Chest and Eve’s Garden. We discover the history of Good Vibes, Babeland, and masturbation month and feminists such as Joani Blank, Betty Dodson, Claire Cavanah, Del Williams, Susie Bright, and more who fought for sex toys and a woman’s sexual autonomy. Buzz discusses how seedy businessmen will always be businessmen, even while paying million-dollar fines and sitting in jail. The reader also has a chance to learn how far back the practice of using sex toys goes and how able-bodied people were able to experience sex toys due in part to their marketing as devices for people who were disabled.
Two other opposing forces that the author does a great job at depicting is how sex does indeed sell and how the American public and government railed against sex toys for so long. Lieberman lists case after historical case against sex toys. It’s amazing that any of the smaller stores or chains managed to stay in business while they were fighting the law and competing with unscrupulous competitors.
However, by trying to tackle every angle in Buzz, Lieberman has produced a book that is sometimes confusing and frazzled. These opposing forces are working simultaneously but the retelling is not quite as skillful as I would have liked.
For example, the author illustrates how important sex toys were as a way for women to revolt and yet how divisive toys were among feminists. Lieberman also dedicates time to discussing Friedan and Dodson, and while these women influence feminism and female sexuality greatly, this section seems to veer away from the topic (less time may have been spent on the biggest online retailer: Adam & Eve). Yet, we’re thrust back into it (no pun intended) with force when she introduces Ron Sturman, the founder of Doc Johnson and owner of numerous sex toy stores and distribution centers.
A large chunk of Buzz is dedicated to Doc Johnson, Sturman, his many business associates (including Ron Braverman) and the sordid history involved. It’s fascinating (and I have no idea how I didn’t come across more of this information/history before) but, at times, this book seems more like a history of that drama than an overall history of sex toys. Although the author does frame each chapter with a message about the progression of sex toys through the eras, it’s easy to forget that Buzz is not a book about Doc Johnson specifically; although, I suspect there’s enough history there that one could be written.
While Lieberman spends so much time on the Sturman era, much less time is dedicated to changes in sex toy culture in the 1990s and beyond. I suppose it may be too soon to write about the more recent drama, which I’ve experienced as a sex toy reviewer in the last decade, but it seems remiss for the author not to mention that Good Vibes bought out Babeland while referencing other sex toy news from 2017.
The author may have simply published this book too soon to mention smart sex toys and other advancements in sex tech, but there have been a lot of changes over the last few years that I would love to see chronicled. I suppose that will have to wait until the sequel.
Toward the end, Hallie writes perhaps the most forgiving description of Fifty Shades that I’ve ever heard while quickly (phew!) following it up with a warning that the sex toys used within those pages and sold and merchandise are acceptable because they still focus on sex toys as devices for couples to use and a woman’s sexuality as under the control of a man. The reader is reminded that all the progress we’ve made as a sexual society is impeded still.
Ms. Lieberman ends her book with a reminder that sex toys are important and not shameful, that we should not still feel ashamed about using or selling them, and they she personally will not be shamed. It’s a strong ending after a somewhat shaky middle.
Lieberman’s voice is the strongest and possesses the most clarity when she’s making those impassioned pleas. And I would have been thrilled to read a manifesto by Lieberman that lauded significance of sex toys when it comes to a woman’s autonomy and independence while highlighting the ways that sex toys remain unaccepted and in some jurisdictions illegal.
But Buzz is not that book. The strengths of Lieberman’s voice become lost in the making of this historical tome. Lieberman is not a bad writer, she simply attempted to write the wrong type of book. As a writer myself, I empathize. I, too, I’ve tried my hand at types of writing only to realize that they were not my forte. So while I look forward to what she might write in the future. I am not sure that Buzz is the strongest example of her talent.
With that said, I would recommend this book if you’re interested in the sordid history of Doc Johnson, the way that feminist leaders such as Dodson helped politicize sex toys, and the antics of at-home sexually parties. I plan on reading a similar book titled Vibrator Nation and posting my review of that here to compare with Buzz. Perhaps that book will garner my recommendation, but until now, I’m glad that I did read this book.

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Categories: Books, Reviews

A Lover’s Pinch: A Cultural History of Sadomasochism

December 15th, 2018

A Lover's Pinch: A Cultural History of Sadomasochism
%18.70 (Kindle) from Amazon

Although there are many books about S&M, most of them focus on the erotic or instructional. This isn’t the case with A Lover’s Pinch: A Cultural History of Sadomasochism, a book by kinkster Peter Tupper. This means that A Lover’s Pinch fills a void, and it dives to depths I couldn’t have imagined before I started reading.

A Lover’s Pinch is a deep dive that goes far beyond Leopold von Sacher-Masoch the Marquis de Sade. Admittedly, I wasn’t expected to read analyses of how religion, war, and slavery impacted our sexualities (and relevant imagery is included on some pages), but the author of this book is not afraid to broach those subjects.

I wouldn’t say that tricky subjects aren’t handled with care within these pages or that it’s un-PC, but the tone is sometimes decidedly frank. If you’re especially religious or still experience trauma from war or slavery, then A Lover’s Pinch might not be a book you wish to pick up (or you may wish to skip those specific chapters).

With this in mind, the book starts with a strong historical tone. The author touche on worldwide (sometimes longstanding) stereotypes of sex and power including the Orient as well as Nazis (and the strange, erotic movies inspired by them).  It’s, thorough and interesting to learn but definitely dry and perhaps not applicable to modern kinksters.

I found that A Lover’s Pinch really picked up as Tupper dove into Victorian England’s relationship with sex, one that is similar to that in modern America: both obsessed and prudish. As he analyzes the (not-so) secret kink in this era, describes the lives of specific individuals and introduces the reader to publications that deal with S&M, you really get a feel for how long we’ve been into power exchange in our sex (and lives). Of course, these ongoings are generally fragmented, and there isn’t much to speak of in terms of community.

The reader watches the community come and build together in the 20th century, and this is where I think Tupper does the best at describing how things really were. Yes, some men returned from war, donned leather vests, and continued to live within the structure they’d grown to know in the service by practicing S&M with other men. But the author describes how, for some, the leather community was not one that was sexual.

As the book — and time — progresses, we learn how the kink community overlaps with the gay community and how, slowly but surely, gay women and, eventually, straight people join the S&M community. Tupper discusses some of the better-known groups from across the country and world, including DC’s Black Rose, Janus, and the many gay and lesbian communities that supported — and sometimes opposed — such activities.

I was especially struck by the way that the book describes how some feminists railed against S&M as something that was misogynistic. I learned of similar opposition from feminists to sex toys, especially dildos when I read Buzz.

Tupper’s analysis of gay, lesbian, and straight S&M is important, and he impresses upon the reader how these communities are still separated in ways — and even the division within the leather/gay S&M communities due to an entire generation succumbing to AIDS. If there is a more overarching theme of A Lover’s Pinch, I don’t know what it is. While many people are into S&M, and there are groups in many major cities, it’s still as fragmented as the Android market.

Still, S&M has followed a similar trajectory as homosexuality, first ignored and denied, then pathologized and illegalized, next slowly decriminalized, increasingly understand, and, to some extent, accepted. Tupper skillfully draws the parallel.

It was interesting to see the progression from haphazardly-created communities and risky scenes to planned organizations (and to learn the origin of munches) to the adoption of the “Safe, Sane, Consensual” creed, which was never intended to guide an entire sexual subculture. In some ways, BDSM became commodified alongside these other cultural shifts.

My favorite chapter in this book may have been that on “Alt.sex”. Although I am too young to have used Usenet, I remember the days of HTML-based chatrooms, which may have been my own introduction to BDSM. Tupper discusses the usefulness (and lack thereof) of capitalization conventions and how S&M relationships have existed solely in the online realm. He touches on Gor communities and online roleplaying. I remember many of these things fondly, and while they’re in relatively recent past when it comes to the overall history of S&M (as this book does a good job at pointing out), my own memories from 15-20 years ago seem so long ago.

As the book wraps up, Tupper reveals his own interest in S&M and coming out, and how coming out is different for kinksters than those in the LGBTQIA+ community, especially when it comes to the still-existing ramifications for those who might like their sex on the kinky side. Tupper discusses specific cases as recent as 2001 in which S&M interests left people ostracized and unable to find employment. And this is all despite the strides society has made to accept those who practice consensual S&M.

Finally, the author makes the case that S&M has both expanded sex and brought the idea of consent to the forefront in sexual and nonsexual interactions. He makes a nod to Fifty Shades while arguing that thanks to its popularity, BDSM is more visible than ever but still not part of the mainstream because the story wraps mild kink in a package of acceptable hetero romance. In comparison to this and other pop culture representations, BDSM can much more extreme, and mainstream portrayals still struggle to get it right.

On the other hand, Peter Tupper has worked hard to “get it right” in A Lover’s Pinch. His hard work is noticeable. It’s easy to appreciate the research that went into making this history of sadomasochism.

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Categories: Books, Reviews

Bijoux Indiscrets cosmetics for better sex

The Mysteries of Female Sexuality

April 19th, 2009

The female body, ever mysterious; men have been trying to divine its meaning and function for years to no avail. This fact is often a point of laughter among those who wear said body and a point of frustration among groups of men who share their foibles. Sadly, the mystery of the female body, while alluring, is not one to just the lesser sex (I kid) but to those who have spent their entire life in the body as well.

I can’t tell you the number of times a woman my age has shown ignorance about her own body. Worse yet, woman the age of my mother and grandmother seem to know even less and these are the women who are passing on knowledge to the woman who will come after them. Fortunately, sex and body education is growing increasingly more helpful and accurate but it means not all women have the same information regarding their bodies. Indeed, some women even have inaccurate information which was fed to them as a means of deterring them from sex. They believe their genitals and even their sexuality is something which is dirty and shameful and should be treated with such regard. They are not encouraged to explore or enjoy themselves. They are simply a receptacle for production and while I could never belittle the strength it takes to be a mother, I can also never stress enough how important those same parts and systems are to female sexuality and how beneficial it can be. Thus, it’s no surprise that I do encourage healthy sex education.

I am surprised, however, when I hear from people near my age who still carry with them inaccurate or incomplete sexual information. After all, my own sex education, while not the best ever, seemed to be far ahead of the pack in many aspects. So, when a female peer looks at me in shock when I mention that, yes, females can masturbate, I tend to return just the same look. Why is it that women seem strangers to their own bodies? What is the big gender difference that makes being a man and having a penis more acceptable than being a woman with a vagina?

I think a large portion of our misunderstanding when it comes to the female body is due to the fact that it is simply less accessible than the male body. Whereas males can easily find and manipulate their sexual parts, location and successful stimulation for females can be much more difficult. Consider that there is a generally acceptable mode of masturbation for men but not so much for females; perhaps this is simply due to the fact that it is easier to understand what we can see. After all, fear of the unknown is nothing new to humankind. Our internal parts are not the only ones difficult to spot; even our external genitals are less obvious than those of our male counterparts.

I have read, on multiple occasions, that females should take the time to get to know their body with their eyes. For those of us who are not astounding gymnasts, I would suggest using a small hand or makeup mirror to become more familiar and comfortable with our parts. If a mirror is out of the question, it would also work to take a picture. If you have a digital camera, you can examine and delete it without anyone else discovering it.

However, there’s one big disadvantage to being female and knowing your body well and that is menstruation. While I know there are some women who feel blessed to be female and are ecstatic over menstrual bleeding, I am not one. And I’m not alone in dreading the one week a month when my body seems to want to work against me and my hormones fluctuate without warning.

The drawback to knowing your body is knowing what it can do and not all of those things are pleasant. When bleeding is a prominent component, it’s easy to apply the word “dirty” to female sexuality. Even if no one around us holds those negative attitudes, it’s easy enough to think negatively about ourselves. When you add in moodiness and irritability that menstruation frequently causes, it can easily become a downward spiral and add negative overtones to our sexuality. Shame is only a short step away, especially if those about us enforce those attitudes.

Of course, this alone does not have to be a road block to exploration and understanding of our sexual selves. While I do not relish menstruation, I do not hate my body or sexuality either. If nothing else, I grew tolerant of the way my body worked despite its differences from my male peers.

Those differences can also enforce negative attitudes and the proliferation of false truths about female sexuality. Men and women have always had their differences and only in the recent past has the idea of “different but equal” arose. True, men and women excel in different ways but for too long these differences were seen as irrefutable proof that the male gender exceeded the female gender. These differences were used to control and own people in a way that most would now agree is unethical.

For thousands of years, women were told they could not work outside the home, be members of the military or even vote. For thousands of years, women were taught to be subservient and to please their husbands. Their wants and their needs always coming in second place, if they even placed at all. It took many generations for these ideals to become ingrained in countless societies and I have no doubt it will take just as many generations for new ideals to be adopted, no matter how contemporary we may think ourselves to be.

And these differences? These inequalities? They must exist for a reason. Women must suffer with the “monthly curse” for a reason. Instead of our differences being used to further society, women dealt with the stigma that they were intrinsically inferior to men because of some historic sin (perhaps the forbidden fruit?), rendering them less important, less human than men. Why would they explore these differences when they represent such shame?

At surface level, I am shocked by just how far we have to go in understanding the female body and by association, female sexuality. Still, when I consider all the contributing factors, such as how women have been regarded for thousands of years, the attitudes which have become second nature to us and how our bodies can sometimes feel like our enemies by “hiding” our most sexual parts or bleeding once a month, the mystery begins to unravel. When we see that, we can also see that there is nothing wrong with exploring our bodies and sexuality.

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