As I approached the one-year anniversary of my mother’s death, I started to take stock in all the ways I’ve changed over the past year. Some things were in the works long before Mom died, but others were a direct result of this. See, my mom was 53 years old, and as a 30-year old woman, that seems awfully young. It is awfully young, to be honest. A sense of urgency has developed in me to live as fully as I can. Some of that means that I want to be out in the world more. It has directly caused me to shed the chains of depression as much as I possibly can, and to recapture as much of who I am, or at the very least, try and figure that out.

In the past year, I’ve slowly fallen away from my relationship with God. I tried to hold on to it for a long time, often feeling like I needed to be the biggest, most assured voice of faith out there because maybe if I said it loud enough, it would take root and I would believe it myself. Now, while I still hold onto my faith as a part of who I am, I’m very private about it. Not because I don’t want to let anyone know about my beliefs, but because I don’t feel like it’s anyone’s business what my beliefs are. Hell, to some degree, I don’t know what my beliefs are. I mean, I believe, but what do I believe?

I’ve also come out (again… SURPRISE!) to my husband. This wasn’t news to him. I mean, I told him when we met that I liked women, but now it seems to be so much more of how I identify. I didn’t mean for it to sow discord in our marriage, but it has. He doesn’t know what it means for us, and while I’ve told him that it changes nothing in our marriage, he’s still skeptical, and it’s very scary for him. It’s been months since I expressed these things to him, and he takes little steps closer to accepting me as I am, but he has a really hard time understanding. I’m trying to be patient, because I do want our marriage to work.

I started leaving the house a lot more. This seems so strange to say, “I’ve started leaving the house.” I was beyond depressed when my mom died. I really didn’t want to leave the house for more than a trip to the grocery store for nearly six months. I started asking myself if I was living in a way that would make my mom proud of me. The answer, truly, was no. My mom, in her youth and in her life until the time she got sick, was a vibrant, energetic, and independent woman. While she was far from a “perfect mother,” she was still someone I looked up to as having a world view to emulate and strive for. She was a woman who took chances, who paved her way, who lived and loved true to herself.

I see how I’ve changed when I see how others see me now. My sister came over the other day, and in our talking, she looked at me and said, “I really love the person you’re becoming.” All I could think of in reply to the words that were bringing tears to my eyes was, “Me too, honey.” I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know what the results or consequences of my changing life will be. I don’t know where I’ll be in a year, or five years, or twenty. I just know that the woman I will be, will be incredible. I’ll be a woman my daughters can look up to and desire to emulate. I will be a woman that I respect, and a woman I will honor.

Being a mom and being a sexual creature is sometimes an oxymoron. Obviously mothers are sexual or there would be no conception. However, the first three years of the life of a child are wrought with diapers, vomit, cracked nipples, unwanted weight, sleepless nights, and much, much more in varying degrees. It usually gets better in the second year of life when you have fewer sleepless nights and no more breastfeeding or bottles. It’s still not very glamorous. Any attempt to recapture even a small portion of your sexuality and allure is usually canceled by the fact that you are holding a dirty diaper, or have a spit-up rag on your shoulder, or are cleaning something off their faces for the millionth time.

If you’re a stay-at-home mom, this is often intensified by the fact that you probably own sweat pants that are grubby and dress up sweats. So sad, but it’s true. Who wants to put on jeans and a shirt that is just going to get smeared with peanut butter, or get sat on with a leaky diaper? Umm, not me! These images, of course, do very little for our own sense of sexuality, and it does even less for our partners to come home and find their lover in the same pajamas they were wearing when he/she left that morning. So not sexy!

Being a sex toy reviewer makes all of this a mixed bag! I’m highly sexual, and will often steal away for five or ten minutes while the youngin’ is watching cartoons, to take care of a little business. Sometimes I enjoy the time that she’s napping to take a longer session for myself. It’s like my version of getting a manicure or going for a massage. (Talk about your happy endings!) It also serves the purpose of making sure my juices are flowing more easily for my Mr. You know what they say: If you don’t use it, you lose it!

There are, of course, difficult and sometimes humorous things that go along with being a mom and being a sex toy reviewer. From finding the time to properly test a product, to toddlers running around with bouncy dildos. There are definitely obstacles. It’s also very rewarding, and I don’t just mean orgasms.

I think it makes me a better wife and mother. Aside from the fact that I’m less stressed due to more frequent orgasms, I tend to be much more open since beginning to review toys. Part of that is I can see the humor in sex more. Part of that is I’ve learned a lot about different things sexually, and it makes me more open to accepting things. Part of that is I feel I will be a better communicator with my girls when they hit adolescence. That reason is probably one of my most rewarding.

I never had a very open relationship with my mom when I was a teenager. There were so many reasons for that. Mostly, I never felt that I could tell her anything without her going crazy. I’m so glad I’m not like that. I hope that I can be a person that my daughters can turn to for real information and honest guidance. Will I ever go ballistic when they tell me something I may not want to hear? Of course. I’m human, and I love them, and I’m protective of them. I just hope that I can get over that part quickly, so that I can be that guiding hand I’m meant to be.

Is all of that just because I’m a sex toy reviewer? Of course not, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t help!

With shows ranging from America’s Next Top Model to Bridalplasty, the media is obsessed with telling us what is beautiful and what is not. They tell you what you must look like to be attractive, and what is clearly not attractive; not to mention commercials for strip clubs on the radio, and billboards screaming across the skyline. It’s no wonder that eating disorders are such a problem, and on the rise at that.

I’ve struggled with my own eating disorder. I’m a chronic overeater, and tend to binge on occasion. I’m not bulimic because I never purge. It has been my coping mechanism since I was a young girl. It was my way to hide from the things that were happening to me. I didn’t have the loving, supportive family members you see on TV, telling me how beautiful I was, or trying to teach me about health and beauty. Nope, I was shamed when I would eat as a young child, and forced on diets from as early as 8 (as far as I can remember).

To break free from the chains of abuse that I suffered (mentioned in a previous post), and fully reclaim my sexuality, there were things I had to do. I had to accept my body the way it is now, even though I intend on changing it. I had to change my views on health. Most importantly, I had to change what I accepted to interpret as beautiful. I had to change what I allowed to filter into my mind. I had to do this, not only for myself, but for my daughters as well.

I really want my daughters to grow up as independent, confident women. I want them to look in the mirror and be confident about themselves. I want them to find partners in life that see them as they are, and are awed. That means I have a job to do.

It is not up to the media to tell my children what is beautiful. It’s up to me! It’s up to me to tell them that it’s important to take care of their bodies. It’s up to me to tell them that being respectful of the people around them is a characteristic that radiates beauty. It’s up to me to tell them that integrity is important. It’s up to me to tell them that the outside is changeable, and changes over time, but the inside is forever. It’s up to me to tell them that not everyone will think they are beautiful, and that it’s okay, because the outside is perceived differently by different people. It’s up to me to teach them that they are deserving of loyalty, friendship, respect, and love.

It’s up to you too, you know? It’s up to you to teach your own daughters those things. It’s up to you to teach your sons that women are to be respected. It’s up to you to teach your sons that women are to be cherished. It’s up to you to teach your sons that women of all shapes, colors, and social status are worthy of love and respect. It’s up to you to teach your sons that it’s okay to be attracted to whatever they are attracted to, as long as they don’t shame the women they are not attracted to.

It’s easy to blame the media. Saying, “Such and such company put an ad on TV about losing weight to be attractive to men”, or “So and so’s company is advertising breast augmentation and Botox.” Yes, I think these ads are despicable as well. I’m not saying we shouldn’t do something about that. I just also think that we put too much responsibility on the outside forces, so we don’t have to take responsibility for failing to do our jobs as parents.

How my vibrator ruined my night!

You all know what it’s like!  You get a new toy.  It’s shiny, and smooth, and has all the right vibrations and patterns.  You lay down with your husband.  You get all lubed up.  You start to warm up…
Vrrroooom.  Vroom. Vroom. Vroom.  *nothing*

You think to yourself… “Well, damnit!  Maybe it’s not the batteries.  Maybe the battery compartment is not closed right.”  You open the compartment, check the batteries, make sure everything’s secure, and close it up.  Hit the “On” button and VROOOOOOOOOM.  Yes! Victory! “It’s OK honey, I must have done something to knock the battery compartment loose.” You start cycling through the patterns, warming yourself up.  Again!
Vrrooom. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. Vrroooooommmm. *nothing*

“Well, ain’t that a SONOFABITCH!”  You admit to yourself that the batteries must be the culprit.  You dig around the night stand.  You know you had a couple of extra batteries in there!  Finding them, you hurry up and get them into the vibrator.  You’re irritated and frustrated, but you know that as soon as you get the compartment closed you’re going to have the five (yes, FIVE! I’m multiorgasmic, thankyouverymuch!) best orgasms you’ve ever had because you worked so damn hard for them!

Turn it on. *nothing*

*Grumblegrumble, mother fucking piece of shit, damnit to hell in a hand basket, I wanted orgasms mother fucker! grumblegrumble*

Now you have a pout face on.  You’re pissed off.  Horny, but not turned on anymore. And then….
Your husband says to you, “Don’t worry about it sweetie, we have more AAAs in the basement.  If you really want to use this toy, just go get them, they’re in the end table drawer.”

“I’m not going to get pants on to walk down two flights of stairs into the cold basement just to get some batteries!”

“Well, I can just give you one manually!  Or you can get your glass toy warmed up!”
Ordinarily, those options would be fantastic, but you’re already over the whole damn thing!  You’re mad that your toy isn’t turning on.  You have that vague thought in the back of your head that says, “What if I go to the store and get batteries and it still doesn’t work?  Did I get a dud?  Did I do something wrong cleaning it after last time?  I checked for water and didn’t find any!”

“Nah, honey.  Thanks.  I am just not in the mood anymore.”  Which is mostly true.  Truthfully you’re still thinking about the offer of the glass with your favorite clit stimulator, which your husband has been fidgeting with since this whole ordeal started.  You get up and open your drawer to retrieve your pouch when you hear: “Uh oh.  This one just broke!”  You look around and sure enough, the base that was only slightly cracked (from a child-related incident involving snoopy, kids, and them stepping on it) is now broken to the point where it no longer closes.  At all.  No more vibrations.

“Well. SHIT!  Now I’m DONE!”

What?  That’s never happened to you?

I think one thing that I see, and have experienced, in the world of sex toys is that sometimes men are not always keen on their women being assigned some items.  I have even seen in the forums where some men absolutely hate that their women even have sex toys period.

I am, by no means, a psychologist or an expert sex toy enthusiast or even a marriage pro.  I still have a lot to learn about marriage.  I am, however, in a very communicative marriage.  We haven’t even been married a decade yet, but we have gone through some pretty rough things.  With counseling and lots of research on communication and what men like, I think I’ve gained some interesting knowledge.

So if you have a man who is less-than-enthusiastic about your foray into the world of sex toys, sit back, buckle up, and listen close.  Some of these things may seem like common sense, but sometimes a reminder of these things can make a big difference.  Some of these things might seem a little misogynistic, but the basic structure of how men work has not changed since the dawn of time.

One on the most important things you should know about a man is that they live in their ego.  They want, no need, to know that you are proud of them.  Their ego needs stroking and it needs to be stroked often and honestly; especially in the bedroom.  Say to him, “You are the best lover.” Or, “Our lovemaking often has me blushing throughout the day.”  But, not only bedroom related, “How hard you work for our family makes me proud to be your wife/partner/girlfriend,” is something a man would love to hear.  Or you could try, “You’re so handsome, when you take me out it makes me glow with pride that I am on your arm.”  These are things that, when men hear them, make them more confident and reassured; and thus, more open to being the loving partner you need.

Another thing that is important for us to understand is that we need to be available for our men sexually.  Again, this may seem like a no-brainer.  One of my husband’s biggest concerns with sex toys, that I hope I’ve been able to resolve, is that if I’m engaging in self-love or using toys that I won’t want him.  Not only that I won’t prefer him to a dildo or some other toy, but that I won’t be interested in sex because I’ll already have satisfied my urges earlier in the day.  This goes back to stroking his ego, because it is very important to make sure he knows that he is much more preferable to any toy.  It also means having some discernment in knowing when the best times to engage in extra-bedroom activities.  Don’t engage in self-love if you know that you aren’t going to want to have sex later.

Could you imagine having this conversation?

About 18 years ago, the course of my sexual identity was altered.  I was placed down a path that would transform me into a broken being.  Then, some six years later, that brokenness would be shattered beyond recognition, and turn me into someone I never thought I would be.
I’m speaking of sexual abuse and rape.  Yes, both.  Roughly at the age of 11 or 12, and then again at 15, my mother’s ex-husband stole my innocence by coming into my room and fondling my buttocks or breasts while I slept.  Then, at the age of 19, a boy stole my virginity against my will.  The cumulative damage of these two things would spiral me out of control into a world of drugs and sexual promiscuity.  Then later, once sober and married, it turned me into someone who was afraid of my husband’s desire for me.  In essence, I turned him into a monster in my mind, because obviously, all I was good for was sex.
My husband and I have been together nine years and married eight years.  During the first 8 ½ years of our entire relationship, I did experience sexual pleasure and I did experience intimacy with my husband.  My husband is an excellent lover and he is very generous.  He makes sure I orgasm every time.  Looking back at those past 8 years, however, I know that it could have been so much more.  I could have been so much more.  So, now I am.
If I went into every hurt and damaging thing that ever occurred to me, we would be here for a novel, and I don’t really want to write a novel.  What I have come to realize is this:
The things that have happened to me are a part of me.  I can never get rid of them.  Honestly, though, they have had too much control over me!  There’s not enough time in this life to let these things own me.

So I have decided to take back my body.   A decision, as you can imagine, that greatly pleases my husband!  This decision has caused me to pay attention to what my body feels.  It has allowed me to relax during sex and feel things that I’ve never really felt before.  For the first time in my life that I can ever recall, I love sex.  I mean, I crave it, need it, and can’t get enough of it.  I am wearing my poor husband out!  I am getting arousal from my body in erogenous zones that I never have been able to even feel anything before.
One of the things that brought me to Eden Fantasys is that I have been more open to trying new things.  Sure, I had a vibrator before, but it was pretty basic.  I was always more open to using things on my husband than I was on myself.  Now, when I search products on the website, I think mostly of what I would like.  Of course, I still think about my husband, but really, much of that is thinking about what I would like to do to my husband!
I have now discovered an untapped source of sexual energy.  I really hope it’s a regenerating well of pleasure, because I tap it often and I don’t have any desire to stop!  I have begun a quest for the elusive g-spot orgasm and, hopefully, the ability to squirt.  We are slowly testing the waters of kinkier fetishes and role-playing.  I’m discovering new materials and textures and temperatures.  I have accepted the fact that more things turn me on that I never had the courage to admit before.  Most excitingly, I’ve discovered a real desire to explore my exhibitionist and voyeur sides.  Yes, I like both.  This has been the focus of discussion for many fantasies and we’ve even been on an exhibitionist “date”!
I won’t say that I don’t get hung up with where I’ve been and scared about where I’m heading.  The biggest thrill, though, is that I now truly know in my heart and head that my abuse and rape do not own me anymore.