Wankers unite! There is a revolution upon us and it’s important that you’re part of it. Wipe up the jizz, pull up your trousers, and join your brethren in the march for acceptance.

A while ago I wrote about male sex toys, and a desperately judgmental article at Jezebel that described the guys who used them as ‘lonely fucks.’ But it’s not just Jezebel – I’m frequently coming across examples of the double-standards we have around what men and women do to get off. The overall narrative goes a little something like this:

Men masturbate loads as a matter of necessity, and hence their wanking is something filthy and sordid that should be done behind closed doors, like defecation or voting UKIP. Women don’t really need to wank, because they don’t need sex, so female masturbation is empowering, yet also gentle and feminine and pink. 

From this narrative, a lot of bullshit flows, of which the following is just a tiny snippet:

• Female sex toys must be pink and sparkly and ‘unintimidating’ and should mainly be used to ‘enhance’ a woman’s sex life with a partner.
• Male sex toys are a bit shameful and dirty, and must be hidden in a drawer so no one ever finds out.
• Porn for women is basically a romance novel with a bit of shagging in it. Which men will never read.

All these things are bullshit, but it can be hard to discern that they’re bullshit because so much of our culture plays along to this tune. But even the most basic of research (and I cannot stress enough just how basic my ‘research’ is) shows that sexuality – male, female, or not-easily-forced-into-a-gender-binary – is clearly far more interesting than that.

Male and female sex toys

How many times have you read a mainstream sex advice article that recommends straight guys include vibrators during sex to please their partner? Loads, right? And now count up the number of sex advice articles that recommend women use a masturbator when they give hand jobs because holy Jesus they’re amazing and they make it way more fun? I bet you could count those articles on one hand, and at least two were written by me.

Similarly, guys using toys during solo masturbation is only just beginning to get talked about – traditionally our culture told the dude buying sex dolls and wanking sheaths that he was a lonely, desperate perv. So what’s the deal – are male sex toys only bought by lonely dudes? Or are they, in fact, bought by a significant number of people?

It’s the latter.

Thanks to sextoys.co.uk for giving me some info – here are the most viewed toys on their site.

• Mojo Vigor Cock Ring (does what it says on the tin – designed to go round the penis)
• PDX Big Cock Brad (sex doll in the shape of a dude)
• PDX Slutty Sisters 2 Life-Size Dolls (two sex dolls in the shape of ladies)
• Pulse by Hot Octopuss (amazing penis-masturbator thing, which I really really want to get and use on my dude)
• Loving Joy Real Feel Mr Big 10” suction cup dong (huge dildo with suction cup, could be used by anyone)

To be fair, they have recently been doing some research and surveys into sex doll use, so it’s possible that’s what’s bumped ‘Brad’ and the ‘sisters’ up the list, but of the three remaining one could be used by anyone, and two are specifically designed to be used on a penis. Taking a peek at the top five search terms…

• anal beads
• bullet
• strap on
• vibrator
• masturbator

See? The search terms are delightfully universal – some of these toys can be used no matter what configuration of genitals you have. And as for the top toys, most are aimed at people with dicks. I appreciate this doesn’t prove that every guy has a Fleshlight in the cupboard, but I think it shows that male sex toys are not – as the general narrative has us believe – things bought by the few to sate loneliness or desperation. Male sex toys are, in fact, exactly the same as female sex toys: fun, optional additions to your sex life, whether you’re with a partner or on your own.

Men reading erotica

If you’ve been reading my blog for more than a post or two then you have read erotica. I don’t call it erotica, though, I call it filth. And there’s a bloody good reason for that: as soon as you call writing ‘erotic’ people file it away in the ‘just for women’ bank. As if men can’t cope with porn that’s told via this mysterious medium of ‘words on a page.’

I’ve lost count of the number of times someone publishing-related (not my publisher though, natch) has told me ‘oh but men don’t buy books, and they definitely don’t buy erotica, so we make the covers to appeal to women.’ Can you see the flaw in this? Course you can – covers designed to appeal to women may well put men off, because men are human and therefore influenced by their peers: they’re less likely to buy a book with a cover they interpret as ‘female-friendly’ because someone has effectively painted a barrier around it saying ‘this isn’t for you. If you buy it you’ll be the odd one out.’

I’ve used Google stats for the following, and it’s worth noting that Google’s demographic info can never be 100% accurate (and it also forces people into a gender binary, which naturally is a flaw in and of itself). But anyway. Here are my gender demographics – blue is male, green is female:

Sexuality isn’t simple

The info above doesn’t conclusively prove anything, so don’t go showing it to a proper journalist or anything. But what it does show, I think, is that sexuality is far more complicated than we’re tricked into believing.

I frequently talk about how women like sex too, and that it isn’t just a currency with which we barter for money or love, despite the constant stream of depressing sex advice that seems to assume it is. I think that male sexuality falls victim to the same assumptions. This idea that men are sex-obsessed, and only after one thing, is one of the foundations on which the original bullshit story is built. If sex is such a grotesque necessity for men then everything they do with it must be disgusting: the porn they watch, the toys they use, the dirty things they get up to alone behind closed doors, etc.

But actually that’s just as crap as the claim that women lie back and think of England. Not only does it paint every single man into the same sexual corner, but it spectacularly fails to understand the vast differences between individual sexuality (not to mention those who don’t identify with one side or other of the gender binary). It also fucks with morality, assigning moral actions to things which are at best amoral (such as wanking) and painting men as creatures incapable of making moral choices when their sexual desires are involved.

This started as a light-hearted blog, aimed at showing men that they’re being short-changed by society’s views on how they should and shouldn’t wank. It’s turned into something much more depressing. But it doesn’t always have to be this way. As women have gradually changed society’s views on female sexuality (Women can wank too! And watch porn! And be the architects of our own sexual fulfilment!) I think we can change what people think about men as well.

We can start by not giggling when guys buy sex toys, or read erotic stories. When we’ve mastered that, perhaps we can move on to the idea that men – like women – are unique individuals, whose sexuality can’t be easily generalised about or packaged. Then comes the wankers’ revolution. If you don’t want to join in then please step aside: it might get a little bit sticky.

Earlier this year someone gave me a Doxy massager. I had never had a wand toy before, and had imagined that it would be a bit like any other vibrator, just a bit more powerful and with a much bigger head.

I was wrong beyond all possible belief.

The Doxy is to sex toys what the microwave was to home cooking. What the printing press was to education. What Galileo was to the motherfucking Sun. It is a seismic revolution in my pants.

When my dude first used it on me I went from ‘curious’ to ‘tearing down the walls’ within about three seconds. Yelping, gargling, moaning and shouting ‘jjjggg ammm ffffkkk’ until the neighbours must have thought we were performing some sort of terrifying Satanic ritual.

Nowadays, having owned this clit-battering pleasure-sceptre for around six months, I am torn between wanting to chain it to my person so it never leaves my sight, and hurling it into a chasm because hand wanking will never be the same again. I’ve opted for the former, because if I lost this toy my life would be empty and miserable and I would probably never love again.

Given my excessive enthusiasm for Doxy both here and on Twitter, this competition has clearly been a long time in coming (unlike myself, when armed with one). If you want to win one of these amazing fuckwands, you can enter via the widget below, and at 8pm on the 29th September I’ll pick a winner, and the ace people at Doxy will send one out to you.

You just need to give them your address, and let them know what kind of plug you need (Doxy comes with UK, Euro, Aussie and USA (works in Japan too) plugs) and what colour you’d like – I recommend purple because it’s the BEST, but it comes in black, white and pink too. Ts and Cs are in the widget, but you’ll be delighted to know that you don’t have to be UK based to enter this. If you’re from anywhere mentioned above, you’re more than welcome to enter.

And if you can’t wait, or if you don’t win the comp, you can buy a Doxy direct from my awesome sponsors at sextoys.co.uk, and get 10% off if you type ‘GOTN10’ at the checkout. So there we go – click below to enter the comp, and maybe win a Doxy.

Not mine, though – you can pry that out of my cold, dead fingers.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

In case you’re not familiar with it, here are some FAQs about the Doxy:

How does the Doxy massager compare to the Hitachi Magic Wand?

I have no idea, because I’ve never had a Hitachi. But Erika Moen of Oh Joy Sex Toy has! Spoiler alert: the Doxy wins. Obviously.

I have a dick. Can I have a Doxy massager?

Sure – ANYONE can have one. Although I have a feeling you won’t get the same sensations as I did if you don’t have a clitoris. Have a go though, or just try to win it and then give it to someone you know who does have a clitoris, and is keen to try it.

I’d like to buy a Doxy massager for my female partner but I am worried that she will love it more than me. Any thoughts?

I feel your pain, and I understand that some people might be worried that a sex toy so awesome could usurp their own value.

Me: You don’t get jealous of my @doxymassager, do you? Him: No, but could you at least turn it off while we have this conversation?

— Girl on the Net (@girlonthenet) September 3, 2014

But please don’t sweat it. I love my Doxy more than I love my right hand, but naturally it’s never going to fulfil the place that gentlemen hold in my heart (and knickers). In fact, if you apply the Doxy to your partner’s clitoris while you guys are banging, the resultant twitching cuntspasms may well cause you to fall in love with it too.

Isn’t it a bit TOO powerful?

I… I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.

Well, like, don’t the vibrations make your vulva feel a bit numb?

Not for me personally, but I cannot vouch for your vulva. If powerful stuff sends you a bit numb and tingly, I’d advise using Doxy on the lower settings. I usually have it at about 7 or 8, and I often use the ‘pulse’ mode, which goes from soft to intense in a cool pattern. Like this: “vrrrrrrrrrrrrrVRRRRRRvvvvrrrrrrr” but I have seen a fair few other reviews from people who say they prefer to use it on the lower settings – there’s quite a range. But I like my Doxy like I like my men: loud and powerful and next to my bed at all times. Or something.

I don’t suppose you have any audio clips of you using the Doxy, do you? For ‘research’?

Sure thing. Here are some audio clips of me using the Doxy massager.

Do you have a picture of a really hot lady using a Doxy massager?

Why yes I do. She also appears to be partaking in the kind of self-bondage with tight corsets that I have a bit of a thing for myself.

 

About three minutes after I tweet one of my filthy blogs, I’ll usually get a DM, email or reply saying “thanks a fucking bunch, GOTN, I just read that on the bus.” Sorry about that, commuters – while I try my best to keep the timings of the dirtier posts to those bits of the day when most people aren’t at work, it’s inevitable that – with Twitter and Facebook and all the things that ping through to your phone – most of us will get horny at inopportune moments.

This week’s guest blog is from just such a guy, and one of the reasons I love it is because it captures that exact feeling of ‘oh God I need to come right this minute and I can’t.’ While I can’t pretend I suffer from the same degree of sexual frustration, I can certainly empathise – and I suspect many of you do too. So read, enjoy, and then let me know if you’ve found any ingenious hiding places to have a quick one to calm the nerves…

The lament of the sexually frustrated…

When I read Girl on the Net’s column, I revel in the joyful atmosphere of sexual freedom, honesty and opportunity. But it’s not all saucy happy funtimes, because although reading her site gives me the massive and righteous horn every time, I’m almost never in a situation where I can do something about it.

Her book lies half-read on my Kindle, the screen metaphorically stained not with the ultraviolet evidence of excited DNA, but with the sweaty misery of tube-ride blue-balls and the anguished tears of tossing (not like that) impotently next to a light-sleeping partner.

And of course it’s not just GotN who’s responsible for inopportune arousal. Chemistry lends a hand, raising testosterone levels first thing every day, and just the act of turning over in bed, or pulling on a pair of pants, can provide friction that, if not dealt with, causes eye-rolling distraction until some mundane task that nevertheless requires concentration removes the physical need. Or I sneak to the bathroom for a speedy one off the wrist.

So it’s clear that the baby Jesus wants us to be getting it on before the sun even gets close to the yardarm. Heh, “yardarm”. But then the baby Jesus never had a baby of his own. Mornings no longer belong to either of you (or even to your left hand), but to the crapping, moaning thing that needs feeding, wiping and reading the same bloody book eight times in a row.

Dreams should be the perfect place to let off steam sexually, right? My god, if I were one of the lucky few who could lucid dream, I’d wake up exhausted every morning after a long night fulfilling every erotic fantasy I’ve ever had and several I thought might make a nice change. But no. Even worse, when I do have a hot dream, my subconscious (usually) wags a scolding finger and reminds me I’m in a monogamous relationship.

Location is another big factor in the unwelcome stiffness stakes. Unlike some people, I seldom get actively frisky on the train or the bus, but when my mind is set off in that direction there’s no delicious sense of naughtiness or anticipation, just a frustration that whatever is stimulating me, I can absolutely guarantee I won’t be fucking it.

Work has more potential, if only because I figured out how to lock the other cubicle door even when I’m not in it, thereby giving my colleagues no reason to hang around in the loos. It’s usually a release-type situation, rather than something to be savoured, though sometimes – and they are a bit glorious – it’s a 2 or 3 times a day thing. The exception to this limitation – and I don’t know if this happens to everyone or if it’s just a superpower of mine – is when I’m hungover. I’d love to know the physiological mechanism behind it, but when hungover I can more or less have as many orgasms as I like without the fundamental drive dissipating as it normally does. Silver linings, eh? Though on the down side, I invariably don’t look great, definitely don’t smell great, and if she’s had a skinful too then no amount of pleading or prodding is going to get me what I (repeatedly) want.

Of course, it’s not all doom and gloomily rearranging my privates on the 38. There are times when the stars and schedules align, and I know nothing will interrupt me until either I’m utterly sated or the dishwasher needs emptying. Woody Allen got it right (not words you hear often these days) in “Annie Hall” (mmm, ’70s Diane Keaton, I’ll be in my bunk, etc.): “don’t knock masturbation, it’s sex with someone I love”.

What all the above does tend to mean is that when I do get time to myself, I spend a lot more of it on self-abuse than, say, doing an open university course, playing squash or learning Flemish. But I’ve long since come to terms with this outcome, because it’s fucking great, regardless of whether or not I’m misunderstood in Oostende.

The gent who wrote this blog post has donated his guest blog payment to the next person, so the next accepted guest blog submission will get £20 instead of the usual tenner. If you have an idea for one, check out the guest blog page and get in touch!