Tag Archives: masturbation
What is the Doxy Skittle and how do I use it?
Allow me to answer the question on everyone’s lips: what on Earth is this for?
When I first had a look at a Doxy Skittle – at Eroticon this year – I asked the boss of Doxy. He said: “Well, what would you use it for?” to which I naturally replied:
“Butt stuff.”
For confirmation, I took a picture and emailed it to a bloke I like with the subject line: “Butt stuff?” and he confirmed: “Butt stuff.”
Last week I got hold of one, and it sat on my bedside table, occasionally whispering temptingly to me until it was all I could do to grab the nearest willing bloke and cover him in lube and enthusiasm. Then on Friday night I got to use it and… holy shit. That is definitely at least one of the things you can use it for.
Here comes the usual caveat about how I don’t do sex toy reviews. Other people do them way better than I could, which is why I run the Sex Fairies thing (to let other people try out toys), and why so far I’ve only really reviewed the Doxy massager (love of my life). I’m only writing about this Skittle thingy because I love the Doxy massager so much that I wanted to see if any other Doxy toy could work the same kind of magic. If you want to know the details of a toy: what it’s made from, how big it is, how it compares to others, all that jazz, then you need to go to an expert – Cara Sutra has a review up with more info, and she knows her stuff.
So yeah, if you want all the technical details, go there. If, on the other hand, you want to know how to grind out a sweaty, desperate orgasm by shoving something really hard into your ass, then here’s my two cents.
New masturbation tricks, and the hottest thing this year
There are plenty of things in life I love right now, which I’ll inevitably tire of in the future; painting weird patterns on my nails, eating coleslaw directly from the tub, occasional incompetent gardening. But there is one thing I will never ever tire of: hearing new masturbation tricks.
The following story was told to me by a smoking hot stoner guy – the same guy who taught me blowbacks could be a form of breath play. I’m going to tell it to you in his own words, as closely as I can remember. If you would like to picture him speaking, understand that however you see his face, you must give him big hands and broad shoulders: strong, hefty arms in a loose t-shirt. Picture it now: imagine him reaching down to grip his cock.
Got it? Then let’s begin.
Lube: way fucking better than I used to think it was
Confession: I used to hate lube. Not all the time, I could see it had its merits. When you’re bumming, for instance, there is no natural lubricant up your arse, so a fuckload of the sticky stuff is as essential as a safety rope if you’re climbing a mountain.
For hand jobs, I could get on board with lube as a means of making the whole thing more special – just the right kind of tingling lube at the perfect moment, or a good dollop to enable better use of a masturbation sheath. Fine.
But for sex? I wasn’t sure. I feel like a total nob for admitting this but lube used to seem like a sign of personal failure.
I haven’t talked about this much before, and to wrench a nugget of total honesty out of my cringing heart, I hadn’t really discussed it with my partners either. Occasionally, if I was horny but a bit too drunk to slick my knickers, I’d pop to the bathroom on the way to the bedroom. Pull down my pants, spit on my hand, and rub it in the right places: fake what I couldn’t make.
Sex and death: A hot story I wrote for Eroticon
This post wraps some of my darker fantasies (about predatory fucking, sex and death, as well as other odd things that come into my head) with warmer things. Please take that as a content note, and don’t read on if that kind of stuff disturbs you.
And you know how jokes work waaaay better if you explain them in detail? Yeah? If you don’t want the explanation just skip to the hot sex story below.
If you want the explanation then here it is: I wanted to write something specifically for Eroticon, because I couldn’t decide which of my blog posts (or extracts from my book </plug>) to read in the session on the final day. So I wrote this, and it’s a bit more personal than a normal post because I wasn’t intending to put it online. Then some people told me to, so here it is. It’s a darker interpretation of the ‘questions I have asked my boyfriend‘ post from ages ago, and I wanted to try and get across the feeling of being so utterly comfortable and safe that you can embrace your darker and more terrifying thoughts without fear or shame or… well.
Is it cheating if you fuck a robot?
If you’re not yet up to date on Channel 4’s uncanny-valley AI drama Humans, then please note that this blog post contains spoilers up to episode 5.
Never one to shy away from the big questions, this week I had a fairly heated debate with a gentleman about the issue of whether robot sex is cheating. I know, it doesn’t really seem relevant, right? After all, this is far-into-the-future shit that we won’t have to deal with for hundreds of years yet. How close are we really to creating a fuckable robot?
Well, depending on your definition of ‘fuckable robot’, one already exists. Sure, we’re still in the early days, but there are many cool techy pleasure toys on the market (I’m thinking fucking machines or masturbators with some kind of mechanical/buzzy element, toys designed with wifi/bluetooth apps, that kind of thing) but realistically we’re getting pretty inventive. There are toys which you can pair together over long distances (like this Kiiroo masturbator, which twins with an insertable vibrator, and aims to wank you off in time to the vibrator use). We also have fairly realistic-looking sex dolls, which – if twinned with this kind of technology – would create a passably robotic lover.
It is well exciting.
I’ve talked before about robot sex, when a bloody strange opinion poll reported that only 17% of people said they’d have sex with a robot. My answer to this question is ‘hell yes,’ especially if the robot is pretty good at sex. But what prompted the debate the other day wasn’t whether or not either of us would do it, but whether doing it would count – to either of us – as ‘cheating.’