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!
Considering sex toy storage? Look no further!
I’ve also reviewed sexual health goodies.
Don’t forget all those accessories and non-sex toy reviews.
If you’re looking for a particular review, please use the search bar at the right.
In previous years my best — and worst of — lists included multiple sex toys. In 2019, I reviewed mostly books and not that many of them. So you’ll find a handful of them on this list along with only one sex toy!
Sex meets tech in this entertaining and informative book by Kate Devlin
The first book I’ll recommend is Revolting Prostitutes, which examines the different legal frameworks and how those affect sex workers. It also explains how sex workers’ rights are ultimately women’s rights. If you want to learn more about how legalizing or decriminalizing sex work plays out, this is the book for you!
While I wasn’t intending to review Screwed, it wound up being a fast read that I enjoyed as well as a compelling argument that looked into the ways that society fails women when it comes to sex.
I thought I knew a lot about the menstrual cycle, but Heavy Flow explained some things that weren’t quite clear and helped paint a picture of menstruation as part of the larger picture and a person’s life and not just compartmentalized, relegated to exist only for 4-7 days out of the month.
If you want to know the state of sex robots and contemplate what this means for you, then I cannot recommend Turned On enough. It’s witty and wise and truly enjoyable to read.
I only reviewed a few sex toys this year, and only one is worth recommending. The revamped Laya II is stronger than the first Laya II and allowed me to enjoy Fun Factory’s Laya line once more.
On the other hand, Vibease and its terrible audio erotica failed to please. And months later, I am still struggling to get Coochy Plus shaving cream out of the broken pump bottle it came in.
Interestingly, while I had a somewhat favorable opinion of Mimi Soft when I reviewed it at the beginning of the year, I actually forgot I even tried it. Oops!
Screwed: How Women Are Set Up to Fail at Sex
$8.69 (Kindle)
from Amazon
You wouldn’t necessarily think that a book about how society sets women up to fail at sex would be fun, but you might be wrong. “Fun” may not even be the right word to described Screwed, but it was a real page-turner, and I found myself eager to pick it back up after a break and reluctant to put it back down. This was a surprise, considering that the book hadn’t even been on my radar before I picked it up.
Screwed would be a brisk read for anyone at fewer than 160 pages, of course. But the content within those pages is shrewd in its wisdom and well-timed, at least, as well-timed as it can be considering that not everyone has pondered these things before. Sex, while it can be great, is generally less good for women than men, especially when the desires and even consent of those women is ignored and when those women are not taught how to get what want — and deserve. Screwed tackles all of this.
The book is written by Lil Boisvert, a French-Canadian and host of the show Sexplora, a six-episode documentary, which is “thirty minutes of orgasmic television focused on sex and IQ.” Unfortunately for me, it’s in a mix of English and French, which I haven’t studied in over 15 years. Fortunately, Boisvert brings the same IQ to her Screwed.
Lili actively avoids staying into telling the reader what to do. There are plenty of resources that do this (including Becoming Cliterate and Better Sex Through Mindfulness). Screwed’s focus is how we got to where we are as a society and not how individual women must remedy that to (re)claim their sexualities. Lili Boisvert is transparent about this from the very start. Her warning prefaces the book, stating what it is not and what it is. That includes a note that the slant is heterosexual because it’s the different ways society handles sex in regard to men and women that is so often the problem.
With that in mind, Boisvert jumps out of the gate, explaining how sex in western society is something done for and originating with the man and being done to the woman. This, she says, is the “cumshot principle,” and she’ll references it many times before the end of the book. She quickly breaks down the different roles that we have been taught: how women are the gatekeepers of sex that they “possess,” how men must make the first move even as women seduce (and must be visually appealing to do so), how women must remain passive, and how women must simultaneously fend off unwanted interest and advances from men while also appearing receptive if they do not want to offend. Boisvert even breaks down how women are expected to act in the bedroom. From here, she segues to a reflection on how this impacts a woman’s libido — as the “prey,” she isn’t allowed to focus on her desires the way a man is. Of course, this all paves the way for rape culture, and the author wraps up the chapter with an analysis of that.
It might sound like this first chapter of Screwed covers a lot, but it set the foundation for all of the arguments that follow. Boisvert paints a picture of the cumshot principal and the hunter/prey dynamic as the string that ties the greater mistreatment of women’s sexuality together.
From here, Boisvert jumps into a critical examination of why young women are prizes the way they are, Cougar culture, and whether those arguments that these preferences are all based in biology hold any water. The author continues her forward charge as she takes on the idea that a woman/girl must be pure and that a sexually promiscuous woman is immoral. Boisvert even examines why other women contribute to slut-shaming, including policing the bodies of girls and women.
We’re halfway through the book, now, and Boisvert isn’t nearly finished. She moves from policing of bodies to the way that the sexes are segregated, starting with clothing and moving on the cosmetics, hair, and body hair. It’s here that she swings at feminity, itself a prison that keeps women objectified.
From there, the author deconstructs the very reasons why women, as a whole, cannot objectify men, as a whole. She argues that men are subjectified while women are objectified and examines the way this unfolds every day. Of course, Boisvert comments on how porn upholds these views.
Perhaps the most contentious claim that Boisvert makes comes in the next chapter, where she explains that women who engage in casual sex are not playing on an even playing field because of the way that women have been socialized to seek love and men sex, and everyone is taught that the other team is only out for their single-minded goal. Yet I do not disagree with the author’s reasoning; it’s absolutely true that we are taught these things. Yet, Boisvert breaks down how this is not actually the case, using science to back up her argument. But even when that isn’t the case, Boisvert continues, these lessons color our sexual interactions and often result in women getting less out of sex than men.
Boisvert is no more fired up than she is in the final chapter, perhaps her coup de grace. What might be the ultimate result of this uneven playing field? That’s right, the orgasm gap. The author rails against the continued prioritization of men’s pleasure over women’s and penis-centric sex, which can make many women wonder what’s wrong with them when they do not orgasm easily (or at all) from vaginal penetration. She takes umbrage with Freud’s persistent teachings that clitoral orgasms are lesser than vaginal ones, which has, perhaps, lead to an over-emphasis on finding and stimulating the G-spot. In this final chapter, Boisvert gives a brief anatomy lesson that so many people dearly need before neatly wrapping up the book with a reminder that advice for women to explore their bodies may be misguided until we deal with sexism in sexuality (and life) on a large scale.
I did not intend to summarize Screwed as I did, but the structure is thoughtful, and the argument only picks up more speed and becomes fiery as the book presses on. While the book isn’t especially long, Boisvert manages to be articulate and pragmatic about complex topics in a way that’s accessible without being too daunting or minimizing. It is a book I wound encourage my teenaged sister to read as she considers becoming sexually active and one that I would recommend to any feminists, not to mention a primer on why so many women find sex to be bad or, at the very least, disappointing.
There are very few things that I didn’t love about Screwed; one of them is the tagline. Women don’t fail at sex; society fails women when it comes to sex. and I think “How society fails women when it comes to sex” is just as pithy and perhaps less open to misinterpretation than the tagline we actually got. However, this is really a small thing to pick at when considering the book overall.
Secondly, I was a bit surprised that Boisvert didn’t take on the issue of spontaneous versus responsive desire more thoroughly. She could have if she wanted to. As it stands, she mentions it but perhaps not to the extent that would impress upon the reader how much it impacts sexual frustation between men and women. Perhaps this would treat too far into the territory of telling women what to do individually, rather than criticizing how society views sex. Unfortunately, Screwed doesn’t include a list of resources or recommended reads, but it wouldn’t hurt if it did.
Still, what Boisvert says in these pages remains valuable, and for many people, the book could open their eyes to these issues and start them on their journey to doing better, learning more, and having better sex, even if the intent of the book is to illustrate the way that women are collectively failed when it comes to sex.
Heavy Flow: Breaking the Curse of Menstruation
$20 physical/$10 digital
from Amazon
I came across Heavy Flow when it was “reviewed” by another blogger. Her review piqued my interest, but I didn’t feel as though I had enough information on the book. Still, I know it’s a topic that deserves to be talked about and taught with information and no shame. I was lucky enough that the publisher sent me a digital copy.
You may already be familiar with the author, Amanda Laird, if you’ve heard her podcast of the same name. She’s a registered holistic nutritionist, which is apparent throughout the book. I must admit that I was surprised to learn a medical doctor didn’t write this book. It may be a bit elitist of me, and I know that doctors aren’t infallible and that other medical professionals have important experience, but Ms. Laird only adds to this skepticism at times when she refers to a holistic approach.
Readers should beware that Heavy Flow relies heavily on Laird’s professional experience and a bit less so on medical research. So while much of what she says seems factually correct, there are times when it may be wiser to take her advice with a grain of salt, at least, until science and medicine have evidence to back it up.
That’s not to say that the book or Laird’s experience are without value. There are times when her experience provides unique insight into the menstrual cycle. When Laird talks about how diet can affect the menstrual cycle, her experience as a registered holistic nutritionist shows. This is a concept that I’ve never really heard discussed before, and I think it’s worth thinking about. It certainly encouraged me to rethink my relationship with certain foods.
Laird does rely on science and medicine in the first section of the book, wherein she introduces the reader to the biology of the menstrual cycle and goes well beyond what we may have learned in health class. Specifically, she describes the complex role that hormones play during the menstrual cycle and its phases. It’s often not represented as complicated as it is.
It is here that Laird introduces the idea of the menstrual cycle as a vital sign. My familiarity with the phrase is limited to TV shows, where they use vital signs to check if a person is alive or dead, so this usage expanded my definition. But it sometimes seems a bit heavy-handed, especially when considering how vital signs such as pulse, blood pressure, or breathing provide such immediate and actional information. Still, there isn’t a ton of consensus on just what counts as a vital sign: organizations recognize between four and eight vital signs. This lends some credence to Laird’s suggestion that the state of the menstrual cycle could be one.
One of the more helpful ideas that Laird presents to the reader is that of finding their own normal and tracking their cycle. The length of your menstrual cycle, for example, may not be the average. She discusses how birth control affects the menstrual cycle and while the “period” experienced by most people who take birth control is not really a period at all. This is something that is often overlooked. Laird also explains how life changes, such as pregnancy and menopause, can affect your cycle.
As she rounds out the biology section, Laird discusses unpleasant side effects of menstruation as well as outlining some abnormalities/conditions such as endometriosis and PCOS, which can impact menstrual cycle. She then takes the time to bust some myths and answer some crucial questions about the menstrual cycle, including:
You know, the sort of things we might have better knowledge about if we talked about periods less shamefully.
Laird’s good advice continues as she teaches readers how to advocate for themselves when dealing with doctors and read test results. In the second section. It is here where she recommends alternative medical professionals, and I had to roll my eyes a bit. However, the power of placebo is strong, and these approaches may be helpful.
The chapter about nutrition follows, and it includes helpful advice about topics such as reducing inflammation, which can be an issue at certain points of the menstrual cycle. There is an entire chapter dedicated to foods that support hormonal health, which includes information about vitamin deficiencies. However, I think it may be easy to overlook this chapter, especially if the reader simply wants to know more about how their cycle works and not change it. The author introduces readers to the concept or seed cycling or adding specific seeds to their diet during particular phases of their cycle. This was one of those sections that seemed a bit too “crunchie” for me, no pun intended.
However, the advice in the following chapter about stress and your cycle is important. I think most of us understand that stress can impact our cycle but not necessarily how. Heavy Flow continues in its goal to educate readers and empower them to make choices about how they view and deal with their cycles. Laird advises against endocrine-disrupting chemicals and makes suggestions for menstrual products, including the suggestion for using natural sea sponges to absorb menstrual blood. This was the first time I’d heard of that option; although, they seem relatively easy to buy. Again, this chapter jumps between alternative methods and those that are more traditional/accepted by science. Laird recommends getting enough sleep just pages before discussing vaginal steaming.
After spending the first two sections educating the reader, Laird dedicates the last to helping them embrace their cycles. The third section lacks in cohesion but makes up for it with information. The first chapter in this section revolves around working with your hormones rather than against them. As the book comes to its conclusion, Laird also has words for parents and people who may have to discuss periods with adolescents.
Laird leaves the reader with hopeful words about understanding and embracing their menstrual cycles to break the societal taboo about menstruation. Heavy Flow can certainly be part of those efforts. For most people, the information in these pages will expand their knowledge of menstruation and the menstrual cycle exponentially, even if some of the author’s words and experience teeter a bit too far to the alternative for my tastes.
And since I haven’t managed to work it into this post before now, Laird uses mostly inclusive language in Heavy Flow to acknowledge that not everyone with a menstrual cycle is a woman. In her introduction, she warns that she may use binary terminology in places when comparing the experience of men and women.
Vibease Remote Control Vibrator
$94
from Vibease
The next time I agree to review an app-based toy? Don’t let me. Whatever you do, don’t let me. I’ve had more than my fair amount of frustrations trying to connect smart toys to apps. Either they won’t pair, or they won’t stay paired.
And maybe warn me against a toy whose name reminds us of something intended to help make a bowel movement easier. But I digress.
Vibease, at least, seems to have removed some of the frustration from the Bluetooth process. Connecting the toy to my phone was easy. Open the app, click the vibe icon, and follow the on-screen instructions. But while the connection was easy enough, the company struggles to figure out how to make it work best. Vibease tries to revolutionize smart toys with their clitoral vibrator, but does it work?
First, the not-so-new feature: you can see a handful of preset vibration settings or edit them. It reminded me of the MysteryVibe Crescendo quite a bit. Like that vibe, it’s so much more intuitive and easier to use the buttons on the toy (one is a power button, and the other cycles through the five default modes) rather than to open an app and get to the right menu.
Make no mistake, however, the main focus of the Vibease app seems to be the erotica library. I guess it makes sense to add another function to the app that you’re already using. And if you’re a sex toy company and want to expand to related sexual markets, erotica also makes sense.
But all of this ignores the fact that many people don’t want to use apps, not when one hand is full of lube or both are busy. It detracts from the moment, and the idea of cross-contamination makes my skin crawl.
With the Vibease toy, I’d prefer to just use the buttons. And with the app? I find that I wish the stories could be downloaded via browser, whether I’m on my laptop or phone. This would make the content accessible from a wider variety of devices, but it also means that you wouldn’t need to waste space for the app itself. Plus, I think it’s easier to keep prying eyes away from files than an app.
Furthermore, browsing the library varies depending on your device. I can see new, top, and featured stories on my phone or in my browser. But there’s only a link to see more in my browser, and on my phone, premium stories seem to be prioritized. While I think the browser-based erotica “store” is well organized to help users find something they might like, the app library is much more difficult to use. You can listen to samples before you download, which I find incredibly useful, but recent use comments on show up on the browser. In the browser, you can easily follow an author that you like or look at tags, which include whether a story is read by a male or female voice (some stories are notated but lack a clickable tag). I cannot locate a way to search tags or look at more stories in the categories in the app.
It seems like you pretty much have to use the browser version to find stories and authors you like and then like/fav them to access in the app. While you can like stories in the app, they’re much harder to find, and you must download them first. It doesn’t appear that you can remove likes from the app, either. It’s very frustrating.
I listened to about over a dozen samples, and none of them really worked for me save for one, but it wasn’t free. I wasn’t interested enough to download them ket alone pay for any of them. That’s right, some of these cost credits, which costs 10 for $1! Most of the premium stories cost 20 or 25 credits as far as I can tell, but some cost 50 or more credits.
As I was sampling, I physically cringed when one narrator began making weird noises with his mouth to imitate going down on a woman. Many of the stories are the narrator talking to the listener, which seems cheesy. The writing really varies in quality, as well. It just all seemed.. so bad.
Now, I am not super experienced with audio erotica, so it’s really hard for me to say if this is low-quality and everyone should skip it, perhaps heading to their favorite sources for high-quality audio erotica, or if it’s just not my thing. I guess if my readers like the genre, they should check it out and see if anything piques their interest. And if they do? Leave me a comment so I can know if I am wrong.
For the sake of this review, I downloaded a free tory. It took much longer than I expect compared to streaming audio or video content on my phone. Honestly, that would be pretty offputting if I wanted to get off. The download tracker doesn’t estimate how much time is remaining, nor does it allow you to download in the background. Backing out cancels the download entirely. Eventually, you’ll get the story downloaded and will judge if the preview leads you astray or not.
Once you get something downloaded, the toy will vibrate with the story. The Vibease site describes it this way:
When the audiobook says “I’m touching you softly”, Vibease vibrates slowly.
When the audiobook says “I’m touching you roughly”, Vibease vibrates hard.
So every story will feel different. But I don’t think I am alone when I suggest that variety isn’t really the spice of life here. I want dependable, and Vibease isn’t. “Anticipations and surprises” aren’t a positive here.
At first, this paired vibration function didn’t even work. Manual buttons are supposed to deactivate when the toy is paired, but I was able to control it despite the app telling me it was paid. I don’t know why. I had to restart the vibrator.
Then, it was, as expected, vibrating in a way that was not at all dependable — or strong enough. The app has a weird visualizer that you can use to adjust the speed and strength of the current setting as created by the story; what I saw was different than the provided screenshot. Perhaps that explains why it was so confusing to use. There was no tutorial to use the app to make this easier.
Because you can change these settings (and precisely adjust speed and strength, which I’ll touch on later), Vibease doesn’t really have specific strength levels. Regardless, Vibease is still weak and make-your-hands-tickle buzzy even at its highest setting. I would almost rather turn the toy off and grind it against myself. But what’s the point of it being a vibrator, then? And the lackluster vibrations mean that all of the presets are pretty forgettable. Besides, I’d almost always rather have steady vibrations.
And, as also expected, the vibes changed at the most inopportune of time. The narration was poorly timed for me, as well.
I tried so very hard. I gave it more than my all in order to write a comprehensive review. In the end, I grabbed another toy and eeked out a less-than-impressive orgasm. I was more than giddy to shut off the toy and delete the app from my phone — forever.
Now, you might think you can avoid this by using the app as a remote without the story-guided vibrations. But you’d be wrong. I honestly couldn’t find a way to do this. Without this function, I wouldn’t even call Vibease a “remote control vibrator.”
I guess this argument works because you can connect with a partner who can control your toy, which seems to require that they also have the app. I wasn’t able to test this out, but Vibease functions as a sort of weird chat app if you connect it to you other apps, so you can ostensibly call, text, or cam with someone while you masturbate.
App aside, Vibease is yet another clitoral vibrator. Its strongest point is the shape. I like clitoral toys that are less of a gradual curve and are more angular or have a pronounced protrusion for clitoral stimulation. That’s part of the reason I have loved Laya since I first laid my hands on it a decade ago, and while Lelo’s Lily, for example, never did much for me. Siri has enough of a nub to work for me, but I wish it were more drastic.
Vibease has a more defined shape, which allows me to get a lot of pressure when using the vibe. But I wish it was bigger and wider. The vibe is still too small to for my hands to comfortably use without cramping.
The company may be onto something with its plan to pair erotica with a vibrator, but it all seems too premature to be released to the public. The app needs to incorporate desktop features that enable the user to more easily find stories and actually work as a remote. Then, it needs to have some sort of tutorial or, at the very least, a help center that explains how the hell to work it. It was so frustrating to even get to the point where I could listen to the damned story. I had to force myself to listen.
On top of that, the vibrator needs to be refined and the motor needs to be much stronger. Who cares if the toy is smart, waterproof, made from body-safe silicone, or USB rechargeable if it can’t meet that basic criteria?
With those changes, people might find it easier to use Vibease and want to use it over other toys. But I would hesitate to recommend this vibe, at just shy of $100, when I know there are vibrators out there that are cheaper and better.
Although I do not generally list the chapters in every book review that I write, I think it’s important to so to explain how Good Sexual Citizenship strives to create a “sexually safer world.”
Whu do I list these? Because I consistently struggled to understand the overall structure that the author, Ellen Friedrichs, was aiming for. I am not sure if it’s the examples the author uses to introduce each chapter that makes them feel so disjointed rather than work in congress, but it’s so distracting. I don’t want to be stuck on the author’s organizational choices over her words, especially when I agree with what she has to say.
This begins with the first chapter, which delves into sexism. Honestly? I understand why discussing sex (and gender) and sexism is a sensical place to start when it comes to discussing the issue of a safer sexual world, but others may not. Some people may be on the word but haven’t fully formed their thoughts on the subject. It seems a bit presumptuous to me that the reader should have to already know this. At the very least, it could be overwhelming to the reader. There is room to make the argument and it may be necessary to do so that we cannot start a book without first examining gender. Perhaps the author things the entire first chapter accomplishes this, but it would not hurt for the point to be more explicitly, either in the introduction or at the start of the chapter itself.
As Friedrich moves into a history of sex culture and education (and the lack thereof), she paints the bigger picture of how we got to where we are. including casual sex and hookup culture, and what’s wrong with that if you want to build a sex-positive society. I suspect this is where many people would expect the book to begin. From there, it makes more sense to move onto the topic of consent, which includes discussion of how it plays out in college hookups and established relationships as well as how we define sexual assault, in the next chapter. Framing consent as a simple but essential solution to sexual assault is so important. The questions Ellen asks readers to consider about consent at the end of the chapter are especially poignant.
But the segue to teaching children about sex is almost nonexistent. It would be so easy to explain that if we teach children about sexuality and consent from a young age, providing them with age-appropriate information so that we can impress upon them the importance of consent. The chapter that follows, on teenaged sexuality, is the clearest transition in the book.
Her final chapter does reiterate why we are where we are as a society and ties together how all the misinformation or simply lack of education has contributed to that in a way that makes the preceding chapters make more sense. I just wish there was more of a common thread throughout the pages.
With that said, each chapter in this book relies on research, which is referenced throughout the book and listed in the notes, to make points that I do often agree with. And as readers move through those chapters, there are asides that help to challenge the unhealthy, harmful, and sex-negative messages we may have absorbed from living in a society that has created such a dangerous culture around sex. Each chapter also ends with a worksheet containing questions to gauge the reader’s knowledge, opinion, and comfort with the topics discussed in the chapter that encourage the reader to consider the topics on a personal level and rethink the ways they navigate sexuality.
As Ellen Friedrich makes her points and educates the reader to dispels myths, she makes sure to include LGBTQ+ members and to point out how sexism and these ideas about sex hurt men as well. However, she’s careful to point out how these limited narratives depict sex and gender at the same and a binary and how sexism against women has allowed the current sexual culture to proliferate.
The author also takes the time to point out the actions people can actually take not just to change their own minds but to impact sexuality in society from their interactions with other people on a daily basis to how they vote. Good Sexual Citizenship doesn’t just describe a problem without offering solutions. It didn’t leave me feeling hopeless as it very well could have. At points, the advice might have been a little superficial, but the reader is given enough information that they can seek out other resources, which they will have to do on their own because aside from references used, Friedrich doesn’t list any resources that her readers may want to read in addition to her book.
One thing that I found was interesting was that Friedrichs initially uses a couple of footnotes to define terminology with which the reader may not be familiar. I mean literally two in the introduction, and then she never does this again in the book. It’s confusing. But there were also places where I thought that those definitions would be incredibly useful to a reader who has maybe never heard a term before or isn’t quite sure what it means. “Slut-shaming” is a good example; yet, the author quickly seemed to forget about using definitions or decided that the only two terms that would benefit from them were in the beginning of the book.
Although there are many points with which I agree in Good Sexual Citizenship, and I’d like to see them made more often and vocally, I still felt that the book lacked an overall narrative to help the reader progress from one chapter or point to the next. Although I could draw some conclusions because the content was familiar to me, this might not be the case for others. The reader shouldn’t have to make assumptions or have a ton of prior knowledge to understand the overall argument made by a book. That’s the point of the book.
I wonder if the imperfection of Good Sexual Citizenship would leave others frustrated or cause them to set it aside, perhaps before they even pick it up, rather than just leaving them confused like I was. However, I still recommend this book, perhaps just as a starting point. And it’s not only that there are some weak points in Good Sexual Citizenships, it’s just that no one book or source can provide all the information we need to truly become good sexual citizens. As long as the reader understands this and that the onus is on each of us to create a sexually healthy world after reading the last page, I think this book will ultimately be helpful.
Turned On: Science, Sex and Robots
$9.99 (Kindle)
from Amazon
Writing about science, sex, and robots is a daunting task, but one that Dr. Kate Devlin, computer scientist and AI expert, proves she is up to in Turned On. Almost immediately, I found Turned On to be a delight, mostly because Kate Devlin is funny and uses her humor in this book. However, that specific brand of British humor that I became accustomed to when reading authors such as Douglas Adams is also present in this book, which made it all the more entertaining for me.
Rest assured that while Turned On is entertaining, it’s also incredibly educational. Whether Devlin is writing us about the current state of sex dolls and robots (hint: less advanced than some people would have us believe or fear) or examining the implications of sex dolls that might look like minors, Kate Devin did her homework. Devlin’s research took her around the world, and she brings the reader with her to attend English conferences, speak with sex doll connoisseurs in Michigan, meet the manufacturers in California, and more. In this way, the reader gets an overall picture that sex tech is truly a worldwide affair.
Before diving into where we are right now, Kate Devlin writes about the history of sex toys and erotic representations and breaks down the myth that vibrator was created to cure hysteria in women. Rather, its use as a sexual device was known but not discussed. This wasn’t news to me and wouldn’t be anyone who is familiar with the history of sex toys, but the myth is pervasive. I’ve read it in more than one book. Devlin doesn’t settle for pervasive myths, however.
Even if you are intimately familiar with sex toys and their sex toys, you may not really know the current state sex robots or what is on the horizon for teledildonics. This is where Devlin’s research sheds new light on the subject. She goes back to basics when she defines robots and discusses the reality and implication of them. In many ways, robots have improved our lives, and the reader gets the feeling that Kate Devlin thinks they can improve our sex lives as well. As she dives into computers and how machines can learn to think, and the relationship between man and machine, she illustrates the finer details and outlines the broad context that helps the reader understand the significance of sex robots.
While this book is ostensibly about science sex and robots, you can’t help it feel like it’s actually about what it means to be human and to interact with other people. I think that’s the crux of the sex robot debate. When Devlin delves into the more recent history of sex dolls and those who purchase them, she doesn’t fall into the trap of picking fun at the people who choose to use them. She approaches the subject with a kind of necessary sensitivity. Yes, these people are mostly men, but they’re still human, after all, even if their companions are robots.
Turned On isn’t the only book I’ve read recently that tackles how technological changes will affect us. However, it’s the only one that’s thought to broach the topic of sex let alone sex robots. Devlin gives the subject its due respect. It’s not something that everyone can do well or would even be willing to do, yet Devlin does. Judging from the public’s obsession with sex robots, it’s difficult to understand why so many academics ignore the subject. Kate writes about how the 2016 Love and Sex with Robots conference she attended was moved twice before finding a home at Goldsmiths, University of London.
The questions that she attempts to answer and even those that she admits cannot be answered at this point in time are those that anyone who has given any thought to sex robots has entertained at one point or another:
Just what is sex, and is sex with a robot masturbation? Can sex robots mitigate violence, especially sexual violence, against humans or will it worsen objectification of women? If robots become sentient, will we need to protect them from violent offenders (the author busts the incorrectly reported myth that robot “Samantha” was “molested” at one con) or protect ourselves? How will sex robots affect sex work? What are the legal implications of sex robots or someone else using your likeness to create one? Will people want to marry robots and, if so, what will that mean? Is sex with a robot still sex? Do robot opponents have a point when they say that sex robots only contribute to further objectification of women? Will we see sex robot brothels like the doll brothels that already exist in Japan and Europe?
In Turned On, Devlin spends some time examining why sex robots so often look and sound like women (at least one misunderstood study has been cited by those who choose to use female sounding voices) and the implications of this. Again, she pulls back the curtain to reveal how the state of robots is a commentary on the state of humanity.
Fembots are designed to play to cultural stereotypes, generally taking an eroticized form: shapely, sexy and obedient. There’s an essence of the Femme Fatale about some of them – the perfect woman, but without an underlying potential for danger.
The author’s background in technology is never more apparent than when she considers the privacy risks that sex robots present. She points to the vulnerabilities of one of We-Vibe’s smart toys that were revealed by hackers in 2016 who were able to access information collected from toys. There are so many implications of sex robotics, and Devlin leaves out none.
Perhaps the most important question of all and the one that Devlin ends the book with is where we go from here. After reading Turned On, I found myself curious and hopeful but also with a side of trepidation. Like any technological breakthrough, sex robots have the potential to change the world. But if humanity misuses that power, those changes could be awful instead of awesome. Kate makes a plea at the end of her book for designers to think abstract and fantastic — outside of the box — when creating sex robots. She implores the world to focus on how a robot can give pleasure and why they don’t have to imitate women to do so. It might surprise some that Devlin believes the current fembot style robots will remain a niche market and that true innovation can go much further when those limitations are lifted.
And those changes are happening. In fact, Kate added an epilogue after she wrote the initial bulk of the book about how technology had already changed so much. Turned On may not be accurate for long if changes keep occurring at this pace. Yet it’s still a good resource for anyone who wants to know how we got to where we are. Kate Devlin makes you laugh along the way, which helps balance any worries you may have about sex robots and the influence of technology on our sex lives. Her writing similarly balances education and entertainment, and I’m glad to recommend Turned On to anyone who has an interest in the subject.
Coochy Plus Intimate Shaving Cream
$12.95
from Amazon
There are at least three brands that use some variation of “Coochy” for their “intimate” shaving creams. Classic Erotica makes the products I typically use, Pure Romance also uses the same name. The third I found on Amazon under the moniker Coochy Plus made by IntiMD.
The company actually has a review program that will reimburse you for their product, even if you don’t write a review. I guess it’s risk-free for users. I’d also hazard a guess that’s why there are so many positive reviews.
So I browsed the scents. IntiMD does have detailed descriptions, which are described similar to perfumes. That should have given me an idea what this might smell like in person, but I overlooked that. I went with Citrus Elixir, described as:
Citrus Elixir is all about rejuvenation and healing. Natural exotic mandarin and orange can’t fail to stimulate your senses and revive your mind as you pamper your body with this restorative intimate shaving cream.
At the heart of Citrus Elixir is a fruity accord of plum, pear and summer melon, along with a spray of fresh ocean marine muguet to refresh you like a sea breeze. Dry, Citrus Elixir delivers evocative scents of warm amber, sandalwood, and vanilla for an all over shave that leaves you feeling invigorated and brand new.
I like sweet and fruity scents, and this one seemed the best fit. All of the scents are reviewed highly, however.
Thanks to Prime, the shaving cream showed up quickly. I was a little surprised by the size of the bottle. I had focused on photos and not the specs. A squat bottle is usually larger. 8-ounce bottles tend to be taller and more narrow. If you make that mistake, you might not be happy with paying $13 for the product. That’s about what I’m used to, however.
I do have issues with the bottle, though. The pump never worked. I’ve spent almost half an hour turning it, and it never sprung up. This meant I just had to dump product in my hand from the bottle, which negates having a pump at all. Had I read reviews, I would have seen this is a common problem.
It also makes the scent different. There’s something about the pump that seems to aerate the cream and help diffuse the scent. Without the pump, all I could smell was this horrendous perfume smell. This shaving cream just reminded me of old ladies and, man, was it overpowering!
Others have complimented this line for not smelling like typical shave cream but if perfume is a plus, it’s not for me. Fortunately, the smell fades fast.
I have since transferred some of the product to an empty pump bottle, which makes it easier to use and makes the scent a little less hard on the nose. I still don’t detect any of the “notes” – no orange, no mandarin, no plum, no pear, and definitely no melon. It’s just a little less.. offensive.
It’s palatable enough that a good shave would make it worthwhile. But is it?
Eh, kinda. It’s not the worst shaving cream I’ve ever used. But it’s not the best, either. The formula is.. different from what I expected, less slick. I feel like I need either slickness or lather to get a shave as close as I’d like. This means the hair is a little longer by the end of the day that I prefer. It’s doable but not preferable.
My skin doesn’t feel dry or sensitive after using it; although, I haven’t used it where I tend to get razor bumps to test if it helps with those.
I also feel as though I need to use more of this shaving cream than others. Considering that it’s more expensive than what I typically use, I am not inclined to buy it again.
But, like I said, you can try it for free if you join the Care Insider Community, so it may be worth the risk to try. Just beware that your pump will likely come broken, and the scent may not be what you’re looking for.
