Lube science is kind of amazing – it never fails to blow me away when some completely new formulation hits the market. Just when you think all options must have been explored, there’s something new on the market.

One thing all lubes (and in particular, all water based lubes) have in common is a need for preservatives in the formulation. Microorganisms would invade lube rapidly and efficiently if not for preservatives – a water based gel is perfect for housing and feeding bacteria. But then, of course, most ‘preservatives’ work by making the medium inhospitable to microorganisms, and often time this means ingredients that would be crazy toxic by the spoonful but are perfectly safe to use in light concentrations. However, chemicals that makes things inhospitable to microorganisms are exactly the sort of chemicals people sometimes get allergies and sensitivities to. The delicate balance between preservative cocktails and skin sensitivity is no doubt of high importance for most lube manufacturers, and explains (to me, anyways) the huge variety of preservative mixes seen in otherwise similar products.

Of the many types of preservatives available, there is a class called the parabens that needs to be approached with some caution. I like to think of parabens the same way I like to think about old school “PABA” that you used to see all the time in sunscreen: effective, yes, but there are better options. In terms of function, PABA in sunscreen and parabens in foods and cosmetics are totally different – one kills of bacteria, the other absorbs UV rays – but structurally they are very similar and thus have similar sensativity causing issues for many people.

Beyond being sensitizers that can cause irritation to some folks, parabens have a darker side. There have been studies (spanning decades, I might add) that link parabens to breast cancer. Reports have been made about elevated concentrations of parabens in breast tumours, and is has also been noted that parabens have a estrogen mimicing effect. This is scary because estrogen and estrogen mimicers can accelerate the rate of tumour cell growth. The question of HOW the parabens enter the body remains one of much speculation and debate. Remember those spam emails about deoderant causing breast cancer? Those came to be BECAUSE it was actually suggested (and since rejected) that parabens somehow move from being rubbed onto skin in the underarm region into the breast tissues that are in that area. While this is known to not be the route whereby parabens can accumulate in breast tissue, the fact of the matter is that high levels of parabens are reported (specifically) in breast tumors, and parabens accelerate the growth rate of tumour cells in the lab. To me, this makes it a good idea to limit my exposure to parabens whenever possible – although admittedly, I’m mostly inspired to this by the fact that my skin is sensitive and develops allergies easily. I’m not interested in being neurotic about it – after all, there is plenty of stuff in this world that I am exposed to daily that is carcinogenic (what isn’t?), and plenty of stuff that is estrogen mimicking (*ahem* hormonal birth control…).

So what does that mean to you, as a consumer shopping for lube? I think it essentially boils down to the following: read your labels and blame parabens if you feel “burning” with a particular lube (they are the likely culprit, although it could be something else), and by all means, avoid them if possible. With so many good, quality, body safe options out there by lube companies that have decided that parabens are not a good preservative to use, it’s pretty easy to be picky.

Do you ever wonder how to say that word, or do you have it ‘down’? What is
it anyways – “Pee-thal-ates”? “Faal-ates”? “Fail-lates”? “Thay-lates”? At
this point, we all know to avoid phthalates in sex toys, right? They’re
toxic, they’re in jelly toys – down with jelly…yada yada.

Phthalates, pronounced “thay-lates”, are everywhere in our world. Blame
plastic, the 1950′s, lax health regulations – whatever you want. But it is
true. Phthalates are in our lives because they soften vinyl and allow a
plethora of soft PVC products to be made, plain and simple. Think about it:
linoleum, shower curtains, children’s toys, vinyl clothing, vinyl car
seats…etc. This is just an evolution ‘thang’ – soft natural rubbers dry
and crack, so when looking for alternatives we came up with plastics and a
way to make them hard as a rock or soft and squishy, and we’ve never really
looked back. In addition to making PVC soft, phthalates are also widely used
in scented products as fragrance ‘fixers’ (they kind of help the fragrances
molecules stick around longer) and in beauty products like nail polish where
they help create a slick and chip free coat. Of particular interest to the
sex toy consumer, however, is the fact that phthalates can be found in toys
made with PVC or PVC composites such as the nebulous jellee seen in cheap
porn store dildos.

But why are they bad? Well, it’s hard to explain in a precise way that
sounds very threatening, but phthalate exposure has been loosely correlated
with certain population trends having to do with hormonally controlled
female sexual characteristics, and have been shown to cause tumors and a few
other fun things in rats and mice. Do note, however, that there is no
obvious smoking gun linking these issues directly to health problems people
face. There is, however, a mounting pile of evidence. I think it’s important
to understand this distinction, because there is actually a huge phthalate
debate raging – plastics is BIG business and having phthalates labeled as
toxic represents a lot of business money lost.

Of course, there’s a lot of stuff in this world that is troubling if let
loose in our bodies. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, car exhaust, trans fats, heck
– even sunshine. I am a strong believer in taking everything into
perspective, but toxins of course should be avoided when possible. Toxins
enter our bodies via a number of routes, but thin mucous membranes allow
them to adsorb into the body better than regular skin. So if you handle a
bunch of phthalate ridden dildos with your hands, not really that big a
deal. Yes, it is exposure, but really – an hour in the sun is likely worse
for you. When you start sticking those phthalate ridden dildos into bodily
orifices, however, amount of phthalates you are potentially adsorbing
increases to a level most would agree is unsafe. It is something I strive to
avoid, and you probably should too. This is doubly true for women who one
day wish to have children, considering the fact that the toxicity of
phthalates seems to effect the ‘future children’ of those exposed.

So the quick and dirty cheat sheet on phthalates? They’re in PVC (aka
vinyl) and can be assumed to be in any soft plasticy material that does not
specifically say that it is phthalate free. Yes avoid them, for they are up
to no good, but keep a perspective on things. There are just certain things
– like a cute and kinky, cleavage-enhancing vinyl jacket or an awesome
pleather bag – that one needs. And there are things that can’t be avoided –
like linoleum. Sex toys that contain phthalates are where a line should be
drawn.

As an active sex toy reviewer, there are times it is prudent to say no and then there are times where it is impossible to say anything but yes. The chocolate cock was the latter. Chocolate cock was something new, something I’d never tried out nor even seen in my wanderings – a silicone penis extension. So of course I said yes, of course I wanted to review it. Duh.

But now, here’s the thing. At the time Chocolate Cock was offered, I was in a different country than my husband. And although we are poly and enjoy certain levels of open-ness, PiV sex – penis extension or no – was not something I had access to. What I did have access to, however, was an enthusiastic test subject – a fellow I am calling Paul. Paul was kind enough to be the shipping address (I was living with my parents, and was not interested in explaining packages). He was CRAZY excited about this toy, and when it arrived, sent me an amusingly racy text message about a fresh chocolate cock waiting for me at his place.

After getting the green light from my husband to play around with the chocolate cock (without actual intercourse) with Paul, we set up a date to do just that. Being the cool poly cat that he is, Paul didn’t even try on Chocolate Cock till I told him that it was OK with my husband, despite looking up and memorizing the instructions on how to don. Once given the all clear, we got down to business trying to get Chocolate Cock in place. Or rather, Paul go down to business – I sat back and observed.

And oh – how he struggled. He had this crazy idea whereby he was supposed to squeeze Chocolate Cock and use the vacuum created to suck his flaccid member into it. It just didn’t work – despite trying varying levels of erectness, varying amounts of lube. Just, no. As I sat back and watched, however, I saw something very interesting. Paul wanted Chocolate Cock so bad, it was written all over his face as he struggled. The slightest amount of success in getting Chocolate Cock in place made him rise immediately to attention, usually meaning Chocolate Cock popped free. He labored far beyond the point that any reasonable person would. He was in lust, or he was obsessed. Chocolate Cock had cast a spell.

He never got it to work that day, but he swore he would conquer Chocolate Cock before we next met. And indeed, the next time I went to his place, he answered his door in a towel, displaying a very impressive and eye catching bulge. Seems Paul had indeed conquered Chocolate Cock – and beyond that, had taken to casually wearing it around home. Not that I was complaining – it really did make for an impressive sight. I made an attempt to get him to wear just the towel for the rest of the evening but a pair of worn jeans won out, and Chocolate Cock looked pretty amazing in worn jeans too. Paul was beaming – I could see the love in his eyes. Chocolate Cock had found its way into his heart in a way only very very special sex toys do.

So of course, when the time came for me to collect Chocolate Cock – I was moving after all – I could not do it. Chocolate Cock belonged with Paul, I couldn’t come between them. After all, when a sex toy chooses an owner, nothing can change its mind.

Word Of The Week: Buzz

Buzz is an onomatopoeia, a word that sounds like its meaning. When I hear ‘buzz’, vibrators immediately come to mind. Now, of course *you*may prefer to call what vibrators do “throb” or “pulse” or “whirr” or “brr” but come on now, be honest – its all about the buzz.

There’s another type of buzz out there of course – buzz, meaning “mumbling” or “excited rumors” or “the word” (as in “on the street”). Anytime there’s a new hyped up sex toy entering the market – most often a vibrator of some kind (or in the case of the recent ‘Sqweel’, a clit stimulator). This kind of buzz is mostly no good, because it is synonymous with hype, but it occasionally leads to wonderful things (your mileage may vary).

Anyways, back to the more exciting buzz – the kind that actually comes from a vibrator. In vibrator reviews, it is prudent to add in information about the buzz factor of a vibrator. Eden Fantasys requires this as a “Bee” rating. Bees buzz. Rating a toy from one bee to five bees can be awfully tricky. What makes a three? What makes a two? Is anything a one? Further – what makes sense to one person will not necessarily translate to someone else.

Without a “Bee” rating, of course, it gets more complicated to pin down. The buzz can be heard through a door! It sounds like a toothbrush! It’s really loud, I was embarrassed! How’s a person to decipher the buzz factor from that, I ask you?

Buzz is too subjective.

Buzz buzz buzz.

“Exchanging Intimate Energy??” I know, I rolled my eyes the first
time I was told about it as well. I remember thinking disparaging
things about the “woooo wooooo” side of sexuality (you know, where
everything is ultimately about energy flow or whatever) and wondering
why it can’t just be taken at face value as a sensation. But the more
I dabbled the more I understood – play piercing can be taken at face
value, but it’s always going to be so much more

One of the people who taught me to do needles told me that for years
she never believed needles were anything but a tool to go to a
spiritual and mellow place – till she took up with a particularly
sadistic needle loving partner. It’s true, too – play piercing so
easily takes a scene to a serene place as a result of its intensity
and quick mind altering abilities. But in the wrong hands (discussion
point: wrong or “oh-so-right”?) it can go to a place filled with very
unusual pain sensations. Some seek out Play Piercing for that
masochistic outlet, and some seek it out as a spiritual tool. The
fascinating thing is that while those two extremes can blend, it is
actually possible to take it to one end of the spectrum or the other
and keep it there, and with very little effort, I might add.

Play Piercing is a way to easily and effectively deliver an endorphin
buzz. Also easy to control is the relief from adrenaline surges – if
the person getting pierced gets overwhelmed and starts feeling
flustered or faint, removing needles is a quick way to ratchet down
the intensity, even if the needles are just hanging out and doing
nothing more than simply being there. Needles are kind of cool that
way. Control is key – I, personally, am a bit of a control freak –
you can apply intense sensation to a specific location, leading
quickly to an endorphin buzz, and you can pretty easily lead the
resulting intensity in the direction of your choosing. And, really,
it’s easy to do – it is a staple in my lazy top toolbox.

But, you know, there’s more to it than that. There’s an almost
addictive exchange of energy that happens when I pierce someone else.
It’s tough to predict how that energy exchange will feel with a new
person, and circumstances will have a lot to do with what happens as
well – but beneath all that, in a way that is sometimes difficult to
see and sometimes impossible to miss, there is a deep intimacy.
Inviting another to guide a foreign object in and out of your body
again requires an astounding amount of trust – and it is an honor
every time someone gives me that trust. I can be clinical about it
very easily, but it still makes me smile knowing that trust is being
given to me, especially if I’m cherry popping as well. Guiding
someone thorough their first needle experience is a vicarious delight.

I have learned that the intimacy happens unavoidably, and the exchange
of energy is inevitable. It’s intent that directs that energy to
wherever the focus of the event is going – be it learning, processing
or feeling. There is a dance between the intentions of the giver and
receiver, with the result being a marriage of their goals. Reading
the others intent is key, and it comes with practice. Balancing their
intent with yours to get a result you want takes skills – ones I like
to think I have (and I do – except when I don’t…)

If I let myself, though, I can really revel in that deep intimacy,
feeling the exchange of energy flowing between my fingers and the skin
presented to the needle. I need to be cautious about who I let go
with – play piercing is intense, and the intimacy that can be
exchanged as a result is potent. If I’m not careful, I develop mad
crushes and sometimes crazy lust as a result of a particularly intense
play piercing experience with intimate friends. It is my cupid’s
arrow, and its dangerously addictive.

Admittedly, it does sound a bit disconcerting – I mean, really, who ‘plays’ with ‘piercing’? It sounds a bit like a cautionary poster at a fencing club “Jimmy’s fencing partner Dean though play piercing would be fun. Now Jimmy can’t see out of his right eye – DON’T BE A DEAN! CAP YOUR FOIL!”

I thought about it once – for ages – and couldn’t come up with another name that was any better. ‘Needle Play’ – too potentially needlephobic. ‘Fun With Sharps!’ – too mixed message. ‘Pricks’ – too dickish. Nope, like it or not, it’s called Play Piercing. It gets lumped in with cutting and blood draws under the equally unsettling category “Blood Sports”. It makes it onto a lot of “hard limit” lists and many see it as edge play that only very intense people do.
Well, I am one of those people. I’m not that intense but Play Piercing is indeed one of my most favorite activities.

I adore piercing others. It’s *fun*. Occasionally, I indulge in the decadent sensation overload that comes with being pierced, but only occasionally – I identify as much more of a top when it comes to needles. For a while I actually ran the “needle booth” at a local tasting style event, once every month or two month. I popped dozens of needle cherries doing those events, and got pretty darned good (in my most humble of opinions) at giving a lovely first needle experience and at explaining *why* someone would bother doing “this needle stuff in the first place.”

It scares a lot of people, you know. The whole needle thing, for one, and then the whole taboo of breaking the skin barrier. That’s pretty edgy to many – for some, as a fundamental feeling of dislike, but to most, simply as a knee jerk reaction to a heavily ingrained taboo. After all, most of us caught on pretty early in life that anything causing the cutting/splitting/ripping skin just plain sucks, and should be avoided. Like many sadomasochistic delights, there is a particular joy to be found in overcoming that taboo – playing with it if you will. Many, many, many people I have pierced got a rush out of getting past the fear of how bad the needle is going to feel (not bad at all, by the way) – the after effects, while pleasant, did not compare to that onetime rush of conquering a deep seeded fear.

But I digress. So – why get pierced? Well, simply put, play piercing gets you high – a natural, completely substance free high, but a real body response high (just like a runners high) nonetheless. And, not only does it release endorphins (which make you feel great and a little dopey) Play Piercing does so immediately. Pop a needle in, and you take a hit of endorphins, immediately and in response to the act of piercing. It’s a beautiful thing, the effect that one tiny little needle kind of like having a glass of red wine. Moreover, Play Piercing is easy to control and apply when desired, and, it works with very fine needles that can feel like nothing – or next to nothing – when slid under your skin. No need to do hour long floggings to hit endorphin euphoria – get there immediately with one tiny prick.

Couple the excitement of playing with a taboo with the allure of subspace on demand, and that pretty much explains why someone would dabble in Play Piercing. One of the amazing things about play piercing is that that exciting new feeling can carry on for years and years because the list of tricks and added sensations that can be done with and to Play Piercing is enormous, allowing for a continuous spectrum of boundary pushing. As an added bonus, because Play Piercing dabbles with a strongly ingrained taboo, things that can seem very intense will leave nominal marks afterwards. It’s an economical way to get the most bang for your buck, in the currency that represents play time, healing time and stamina.

I could go on, and talk about the sensuality of the act of piercing, both for the piercer and piercee. I could tell you why someone would want to be on the giving end of the needles. I could get into the potential for ritual and deep relaxation. But for now I think I’ll leave it there, as a seed planed in your mind. Play Piercing. Bet you’re a smidgen more curious now than when you started reading…

When someone says Orgy, what do you think? I often think of the “Orgy Guy” as defined by Seinfeld, on an episode called “The Switch”. In that episode, Jerry is bemoaning the fact that his girlfriend is into the idea of a threesome, and exclaims that he’s not ready to be an “orgy guy”, that he would need all kinds of robes and lotions, thick carpeting and weirdo lighting.

This is particularly funny, when you think about it, because really – is a threesome an orgy?

Some would say yes, of course, but I think I would say no. An orgy, to me, implies something along the lines of an undulating mass of bodies, all intertwined in some sort of insanely complex, multi-person carnal embrace. A threesome? Dude, so not an orgy. Three is still a very intimate and personal gathering. Three is MAYBE an orgy-lite but no, I don’t think it’s an orgy.

So what’s the magic number? Four? Eh…again, I don’t think so. Considering that four can easily turn into combo pairs of two, I’d hesitate to call it an orgy. An orgy really implies, again, a giant carnal mass of bodies. In fact, I’d imagine that in larger gatherings of people having sex, even numbers might often cause what COULD be an orgy to simply be public partnered sex.

It’s complicated, you know, but in my world, I like things defined nice and simply. As such, I decree an orgy is an affair that involves odd numbers of five or more.

But hang on then – what of gender rations? If you have three men and a woman, is that an orgy, or simply a gang bang? What if you double everything – six men and two women. That SOUNDS like an orgy, but what if it splits into two gang bangs? What then? To me, arbitrarily, you need a gender ratio around 50/50 – plus or minus, oh, twenty percent in either direction. That sounds about right.

Want another wrench to throw into the mix? What of sexual orientations? My three-man-one-woman gang bang mentioned above can easily be an orgy if the men intermingle…but is most certainly a gang bang if they insist on playing it straight (aside: boo on them, where’s the fun in that?). And what if they pair off because of matching sexual orientations? Like, what if two of the guys are happily bisexual but one is decidedly straight. We’re back to square one – partnered, public sex. So maybe instead of requiring it to be a 50/50 (+/- 20%) gender ratio, I should call it a 50% favorable sexual orientation ratio? Wait…what the hell does that even mean?

Aw crap, I don’t even know what I’m talking about any more. So much for careful definitions.

Orgy. What does it mean to you?

Stop Watching, Please!

So the other night I had my girlfriend over for a date. I had some rough ideas in my mind as to how the date would go – a hot queer porn and an introduction to my “creme de la crème” sex toys. I ran around like crazy making sure everything was perfect. Toys boiled? Check. Stack of towels? Check. Liberator Throwe at the ready? Check. Pillows and a plush carpet laid out all over the living room floor? Check. Porn loaded in the DVD, ready to play at the push of a button? Check. Coffee made? Check. Dog walked? Check…

Now clearly, one of these things is not like the others. Who walks their dog in preparation for a hot date? Well, I don’t know, exactly – it’s not my dog. You see, I’m currently housesitting, and along with the house came a dog. She’s cute and little and quite charming to be around….and she seems to sleep after taking a walk. Sleeping dog was what I needed to ensure I’d have plenty of uninterrupted time for debauchery.

Fast forward a few hours, and there I was with my girlfriend, sitting on the couch, necking madly while porn lazily droned on in the background. Suddenly, my girlfriend stopped kissing and started laughing. Seems the dog wasn’t so tired after all, and was at her feet making sweet sweet oral love to her ankle. As kinky as I am, this was *not* what I had in mind for my date, so I wisked rover off into another room and implored her to catch some Z’s, but to no avail – whenever I retreated back to the living room, rover was at my heels, panting merrily and wagging her tail with excitement. She wanted in on the action and was not going to take no as an answer.

Eventually the dog settled out on some pillows I stacked for her on the couch, and nodded off – thankfully – while my girlfriend and I transitioned to the floor where I proceeded to make her writhe and squirt in pleasure. Intent on returning the favor, she excused herself for a moment and went to retrieve a strap on harness from her bag, waking the dog as she did. Well, next thing I know, the dog is pawing away at the wet towels my girlfriend and I had started to accumulate, sniffing loudly and incessantly. Ew, right?

Moving into ‘damage control’ mode, I batted the dog off with a stern “NO!” I tried to lead her back to her makeshift pillow bed on the couch, but she wasn’t interested in sleep anymore – we were playing, and she wanted to play. My girlfriend chuckled at the situation while adjusting her strap on harness and fitting it with a large, sparkly dildo. Talk about incentive! I begged the dog – sleep, please. I pet the dog – shhh, shhhhh. I threw more pillows onto the couch, trying to make the makeshift bed look more enticing…still, no dice. In frustration, I sat down on the floor next to my girlfriend, hoping the dog would just freaking relax somewhere and fell asleep, and surprisingly, she immediately did just that – right beside where I was sitting.

Not being one to pass up an opportunity, I shrugged and got down to business with my girl – teasing her by licking and sucking her sparkly dildo before climbing on for a wild ride. It was good – no, it was great. It was the sex I didn’t know I needed, and man, did I need it badly. We got wild, we got noisy, we got physical. And we woke the dog. I promise you something – there is nothing quite as unnerving as opening your eyes in a post orgasmic bliss and seeing a dog leaning in to get a sniff of your neither regions. Nothing.

My girlfriend and I stopped the action for a while after that – and I took the time I get the dog to fall asleep back up on the couch before we resumed our antics. And believe me, we worked hard to stay quiet from then on – but still, whenever I looked over to check and make sure the dog was far away and not bothering us, her little doggie eyes were open and would be staring at me, as if to say “Why can’t I play too?”

Honestly, I don’t know how dog owners have any semblance of a regular sex life.