Three years of shameless decadence.

Writing this blog has been a fun and tawdry treat, and I'm very pleased with the comradeships I've developed among my fellow sexbloggers. I've had opportunity to share ideas, networking, and more with some of you, and I hope the Fates see some of us meeting, um, in person some day.

For the thousands (wow...) who have come to read the exploits saucily detailed here, I hope this blog has and will continue to bring you oodles of pleasure. By all means, keep your comments coming: often, it's your remarks that give me the additional enjoyment to keep at it.

It's been three years since my fingers began alternating between my black keyboard and the glass of red wine on my desk as my naughty head retells the dastardly deeds of my straining cock, lubricated fingers, and firm paddles. Before I continue, I thought I'd take a moment at this juncture to put a spotlight on some the past and present vixens, daughters of Aphrodite all, of whom you've read and crested your orgasms over.

Where are they now?

Through a variety of ebbs, swells, lows, and rekindlings, the loverly Shayne and me remain close to one another. She recently made a small coup at her job with a publishing firm that has her feeling groovy, and after a brief hiatus, is slowly going back into her dating scene again for extra play. We're tentatively planning to see each other for American Thanksgiving, when we intend on field-testing the Iris, and I'm eager to have her in my arms again. We have fun, talk and share a lot, and she's definitely among my best friends. Sometimes we discuss the possibility of her moving to my city. Recently, she began a sexblog of her own. I love her.

I'm really enjoying my new friendship with Morgan, and the feeling seems to be nicely mutual. A publicist and freelance writer in cahoots with a bevy of excellent freelance writers, she wowed her two sons when she brought them to my pad for the weekly snake feeding. How cool is that? What's begun between us as a Craigslisted, discrete, over-the-knee spanking buddyship seems to be developing nicely, and I'm enjoying it a lot. She's one cool woman with one deliciously spankable butt. I like her lots.

I still enjoy a very occasional fuckbuddyship with "Ponytail Girl" Molly, the rubensque brunette who who recently travelled throughout the US and Mexico for the hell of it. To my shock, she actually got a job recently. At the risk of sounding arrogant, she probably wants more from me than I'm really willing to give, but she's also casually dating at least three other dudes in the local polyamory circuit (ever notice how some people confuse "polyamory" with "swinging"?), so I'm confident that she'll be fine.

Despite having been my first love and the partner I had been with the longest, I have yet to retell any of the sordid tales involving me and Diva. It's odd, really. There is so much blog-worthy stuff that we shared: threesomes, foursomes, moresomes, strip clubs, fetish play, etc etc. Together, we were involved in the founding of at least one bdsm network in New England. After seven years, our relationship ended twelve years ago and we remain friendly to one another. She was a former Marine and ex-stripper when I met her, a postal worker when we were together, and since became a landscape architect doing some bodybuilding on the side. I understand that she raced motorcycles in Italy for a time. She recently became single again, I had heard, which really is a pity for the guy who's been dicking her around because, despite her flaring temper, she's really quite the catch.

To my confusion and disappointment, The Grrl and I aren't in touch any longer. I know precious little about what's happened with her now, and she's become scarce among some of our mutual friends as well. Not long after our break, she fucked at least one man whom I have a long-standing enmity with, and that distressed me for a time. She spent some time doing relief work in New Orleans with some anarchists and a woman she was in lust with, then started working in an art gallery in the Philadelphia area. We worked very hard at trying to remain friends, and for reasons I still don't comprehend, she pulled the plug on that in a sudden email perhaps two years ago now. I think she's a little messed up, but I do miss her. I miss her style, her 'tude, her vibe, and I definitely miss our sex.

The Tomboy and I remain friends, and she's still happily involved with her yoga instructor dude, who recently moved in with her. She's active with one of the local polyamory social groups in my area and still doing her best to not get deployed in Afganistan. I really should call her about a skiing or caving trip sometime.

My insane ex-wife, Heidi, actually seems to have her act together finally. She ended things with the convict and has been involved with with a reasonably decent guy for a few years now. She bought a condo (not far from where I live), trimmed down magnificently, and has since become a semiprofessional boxer. Six years after our divorce, we ran into one another three times in one week, which gave us some opportunity to talk. While our first re-meeting was warm and huggy, but I suppose she 'thought the better of it' by our third re-meeting and things cooled. Pity: I would enjoyed developing a nice friendship with the goof. Her loss, man.

Stacy was and remains an enigma. To date, we haven't been in touch since things ended. While I don't miss her neuroticism, secrets, and lousy communication skills, I do miss her fantastic ass and the look on her face when I entertained her ravishment fantasies. I expect that she's still in grad school.

Alix and I have been friends for so many years, and even though we're on different coasts, we continue to tease the hell out of one another over textmessages. She eventually divorced her husband in a very amicable way, and I understand she's become quite the activist and hottie in the northwest polyamory and fetish scenes. She's made it clear that should I ever get to her area, she wants my cock in her generous ass. How can you not love friends like that?

Pamela and Tari are definitely in the "ones that got away" camp. Tari is probably still somewhere in New England, still skinnydipping at night and catching Ren & Stimpy reruns. Pamela is probably still in New Jersey, and I expect her baby is about ten years old now. Wow.

Caylynn completely changed her entire life since when I had known her. I had known her as the Bast-worshipping, condo-dwelling, Vespa-speeding, sorta-cheating-on-her-military-husband ex-nurse. Since then, she's become the Catholic, suburban, remarried-to-a-cop soccer Mom. We're still in touch, though very rarely, and she insists that she's blissfully happy.

As much as I'd still love to make the trip to meet her, randy textmessages and phoneplay with Kay largely tapered off. We're still friendly to one another, and who knows what may happen someday. She's deliciously active in the swinging community in her region, and one of these days I may take her up on some offers. She's very cool and I like her.

The Panther and I drifted apart not long after she reconnected with an old beau of hers, but we're still cordial and friendly when we see each other at local events.

To this day, occasionally I try networking through my high school alumni organization to relocate Joan. That would be a major coup for me. I have no idea of what ever became of her, but I bet it's something like her becoming a leather-clad, Harley-riding dyke in a punk band, jail, or fetish show. Where the hell are you, Hawk? Moo moo baa baa.

Jez, tragically, was a one-afternoon-stand. Janelle got married some years ago, and they're happy surburbanites. We're still friends, though we rarely get to see one another. Veronica hit the high road after I told her about my HSV status. That's a shame, because I really liked her friendship (and, ok, her hot tub). After one date with Carly, we never seemed to reconnect, though I understand she's active with some HSV social groups in my area. The same might be said of Roane. We've never met, and who knows if we ever will, but I love teasing Catalina. I saw Connie for a while, but that fizzled also after a tiring trip to the local carnival together. I simply didn't sense any real spark between us, and that might be just as well, because while she was elegant and charming and graceful, I really wasn't warming up to her slobbering dog.

After the rustle of the leaves.

Satisfied with a thorough reorganizing of the bedroom and my wardrobe, I turn to the cat who watches me from the softness of the bed.

"It's starting to feel like a normal room in here again, isn't it?" I asked her, turning to open the window behind me. Just as the glass pane is moved to the side, the crisp and eager autumn's night breeze swirls past my face, across my chest, and into the room. The papery sound of rustling, crinkled leaves comes with it and is immediately followed by something far less chilly.

It's a moan, a long and drawn-out woman's moan. It wavers and crests. It's almost a spirit's keening, a cry under the rustle and faintly accompanied by my tiny windchimes. It lasts for only a bare moment, but it's full of such longing desire and needed satisfaction. Her hunger has been deeply answered and clearly, it calls for an open-mouthed wail from a nearby windowsill and into the blackened October night.

I smile as I enjoy it. It falls into silence. Only the rustling of the dry leaves and tinkle of the chimes remain on the flowing breeze into my bedroom.

Queen Street.

The woman with the shaved head, black stubble crowning her, laughs spiritfully among her friends as they stroll slowly past the pizzeria. The redhead among them brightens her eyes as she giggles about the new man in her world.

Cannabis sifts through the cool autumn breeze while the Paris Hilton-wannabe, her facial tan showing strain around her eyes, bends over and greets the small terriers held by the unsmiling dude with dreadlocks. Loud jazz from the sex shop storefront behind them leaves the brunette waiting on the corner bopping to the sax. The red streetcar whispers by, drenched leaves cascading in its wake along the blackened tracks.

The punkette on the antique bicycle silently breezes by, her jeans tight against her bottom and pleasantly offering a view of her teen behind. A winsome blonde emerges happily from a gallery clutching a framed painting wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. A pair of women kiss over smokes as they hang out in front of the tattoo parlour. The feral scent of rain and leaves hang in the air.

She uses me and then she's out the door.

Shayne is a riot when she texts me in the morning.

Shayne: : : ahhyawnnumnum : : snoodle... I want to wiggle my naked butt into your lap, hear your voice whisper in my ear, and feel your hands on my waist and belly.

Me: Mm... yumm. I do miss that nekkid butt of yours.

Shayne: Mm. You want me wiggle it against you some more honey?

Me: Oh. Oh my. Oh dear. Mm. Um. Yes please... ...Ooo.

Shayne: We wiggle together, warming from sleep to arousal. I feel my pussy start to purr. You kiss my neck and shoulders. We writhe, spooning each other. You tell me you want my ass. I ask you to be patient. I want your mouth first.

Me: One last nibble to your shoulder before I slide down to the foot of the bed, your back still to me. Caressing your legs, I raise your knees to your chest. Such a lovely bum. Your closed petals peek from between your compressed thighs as I tilt my head and swab you gently with a soft tongue. I enjoy parting your ass open when I taste you this way.

Shayne: I like knowing youre looking and enjoying while i slip into the luxury of your mouth on my wet cunt.

Me: Fingers spread, palm warm, I'm holding your asscheek high into the air as my head moves slowly between your thighs. Enjoy my tongue, other fingers, teasing, probing you. Your flesh darkens, glistens. My quiet moans as my tongue delves deep and flicks.

There's a long pause.

Shayne: It's a blustery fall day here... Ah! WHERE ARE MY PANTS?!

Me: I hid them. So there.

Shayne: It's COLD OUT HERE! And people are staring...

Me: Serves you right, tramp! ;)

Retail therapy.

Not to be entirely restrained by even the most tragic of events, I sought solace in charming decadence. I found it when the last of a half-dozen Prince Edward Island malpeque oysters slid easily down my eager throat, followed by a cold sip of Smirnoff Ice, and as my eyes enjoyed the shaven quim of a cute blonde getting soundly pounded on a big screen. Milling around me were couples of all bodytypes and adult age brackets, throughly enjoying the scores the vendors adjacent to this little gypsy bistro set in the middle of the convention centre. I smiled to myself as I waited in line behind a pair of long-haired women who were so very into one another. I smirked saucily as the various inter-racial couples passed me in the crowd (always the mental picture of the-her sucking the-him). I tiled my view to the side and grinned as I enjoyed the fashion sense, or the laughter, or the shy discovery in the eyes of others.

But truly, it was a stroke of genius to have oysters available at the 2008 Everything To Do With Sex Show. I was almost glad that neither Shayne nor Morgan were with me... I would have had to share. Oh, and how the eye candy abounded.

While this trade show has been larger and more comprehensive in previous years, it was still a good night out. Being among thousands of sex-positive people always put me in a good mood, especially when there's a sexy rubensque brunette or a bodypainted redhead smiling from behind a vendor booth in my direction. Featured events included the ribald and fun Got Ass? competition, and an excellent workshop on G-spots from Good For Her founder Carlyle Jansen. It's fabulous when I get to learn new details about stuff I love to do with a partner: you're never so experienced that there isn't something more to learn.

But the entire point of a trade show is the trading. Scoping through the aisles of vendor booths, I unsuccessfully hoped to find some networking or other resource group for sex-positive bloggers (subtle hint, subtle hint, Catalina...), but I did spot some excellent gems among the stacks of adult DVDs, lingerie shoppes, clothiers, bedsheet manufacturers, condom retailers, erotic bakeries, dominatrices, and... um... hot sauce makers.

The glaziers at Love Style makes some of the most elegant and interesting handmade pyrex glass dildos I think I have ever seen. Each piece a work of art, and I could easily have spent money there had I not been attending this event stag. (Bend over, Shayne.)

Body jewellers Maracuja & Co. fashion some unique and beautifully elegant silver and gold works for enhancing the breasts, ankles, waist, cock, and more. If Santa is reading, I'm partial to their Anneau Heurtoir (Argent) cockring...

The carpenters and cabinetmakers at Rouge River Woodworks have an excellent and fun sideline. When these guys aren't planing and staining your mother-in-law's new bookcase (ho hum!), their alter-ego as Porte Rouge is plotting for ways to magically convert that same bookcase into your next bondage rack (hot damn!). A coffee table? Now it's a dual restraint system. An end table? Now it's a spanking bench. Their wooden paddles also feature a charming country, neo-Amish or frathouse feel to them, and I'm certain I'll be adding some to my collection soon now. (Bend over, Morgan.)

For me, I learned a long time ago that finding superior floggers is like finding the right kind of spice. Sure, I can use any ol' supermarket blend of chili powder to make pollo mole, but why skimp when I know this little place that has the best ancho chili in town? Most mass-produced floggers seem to feature the leather strips that are secured onto wooden or leather-covered PVC handles with grommets or, worse, staples.

The geniuses at Kitchener-based Kaos Floggers blew me away. Not since my clubbing days had I seen steel swivel-based flogging tools fashioned with buttery-soft leather strips and braids. Add to that their collection of horsehair whips, the likes of which I hadn't seen in many years. I only made one purchase during my trip to the Sex Show this year, and it was for one of Kaos' handsomely made horsehairs, a 17-inch black beauty with a wrapped-leatherstrip and lead crystal pommel. Perhaps I've been looking in all thr wrong places all these years, but finding Kaos felt like a goal achieved.

A treat also to meet some of my region's adult performers, including fetish diva Maxine X, buxom pro-amateur Amazon Carrie Moon, burlesque starlet Sienna Sinclaire, and a few very bored Suicide Girls. I was warmed by the erotic art of Jocelyn Parenteau, and eye-rollingly amused by the vibes from the Wicked Club staff and the "Canadian Ass Man," Uncle D.

Finally, the last high point for me was getting to shake some hands and network with kinksters in my area. It's always intrigued me that, for all of our collective mystique at being bad to the bone, bdsm enthusiasts are just the friendliest people. A special wing of the trade show featured an active dungeon area where the kinksters and the kurious alike enjoyed viewing an assortment of play. A large rope spiderweb had captured its victim, a sensual blonde BBW who enjoyably endured the attention of her Top. A spanking bench was graced by a laughing jeans-clad brunette as she experienced her first light paddling, much to the amusement of her girlfriends. The cracks of a bullwhip echoed throughout the hall. Outside the dungeon area, a like-minded vendor demonstrated a combination rack/swing device with a so-very-willing partner. The folks from the EhBC and Deviant Toronto networks were cordial and relaxed as we talked shop and upcoming events such as Tease 2009 and Fet Fair.

Strolling back to my pad through the rain, my evening concluded with a serendipitous little moment of fun. Passing an apartment complex, I had looked up at just the right time to fully view an attractive brunette, topless, watering plants near her parlor window. It made me smile as I crossed railroad tracks and called it a night.

Photo Essay: Craigslist courtesans of Brooklyn.

Mom.

Unbeknownst to her, I already had a well-rounded understanding about sexual basics when my mother sat me at the kitchen table, took a breath, and started talking. Once I grasped what the subject at hand would be, my nervousness was more because of her own obvious discomfort than because of the subject.

"This is really your father's job, but he's not here, so...," she began, almost apologetically and definitely with annoyance. I tried to contain my smirk as she pointed to the electric socket that was in the wall, just over my shoulder from where I sat, and described it as being "female." Producing an extension cord from my father's toolbox (oh, the irony), she held the plug between her thumb and index finger, wagging it almost scoldingly before me as she pronounced it as the "male." From there, I shifted in my seat as little as possible as Mom did her best to clue me into the world of intercourse, puberty, vaginas, and childbirth. It was a rudimentary discussion. If the nature of pleasure, or even condoms, was mentioned, I have no memory of it.

It was with my mother when, quite by accident, I saw my first erotic film. HBO had just been installed in our Brooklyn apartment (any of you remember the days when "paying for TV" seemed like a ludicrous idea?), when she asked if I'd enjoy catching a sci-fi flick with her. Both of us were completely unprepared when Hanoi Jane, as Barbarella, came on the screen. I sat still and stayed quiet as the scenes of erotic "torture" (not to mention the space-age titties) gradually infused themselves into my already testosterone-laden head. Still, I'm certain that adolescent me was a stark, beet-red as I hid the pulsing, oh-so-young erection in my crossed legs.

My mother remained calm. She didn't instruct me to leave; after all, I was watching this movie at her completely-innocent invitation, wasn't I? When the credits started rolling, she looked at me from across the room and heartfully complimented me on how maturely I had handled myself. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the short stories I had been tinkering with, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

With only the rarest of exceptions, she never harshly judged my girlfriends. She gave me my privacy when, at age eighteen, I began working at bdsm clubs, concerned only if I was safe and would be home at the (incredibly late) hour I said I would be. She disliked the idea of me bringing girlfriends to the house when I was a kid, but accepted it gracefully as I grew older and life partners (such as Diva or The Grrl) came with me for the holidays.

I would like to say that I knew more about my mother's sexuality. She came of age during the mid-1950s, so she was part of that pin-up girl, rollerskating waitress, poodle-skirt period that's so back in vogue today. While she was perhaps half a generation away from being a personal part of the sexual revolution, she witnessed it first-hand. While she may have never burned her own bra or brought herself to take The Pill, she had heard the earliest cries of women's renewed sociopolitical empowerment as the "Establishment" values of her generation were ravaged by the Kerouacs, Thompsons, Joplins, Twiggys, Jongs, and Steinhems of the world. While we lived in a politically conservative Brooklyn neighborhood full of Italian and Irish immigrant families, I never heard her utter a sexist or homophobic word.

Yet she never so much as had an affair after her separation from my father in 1968. To the best of my knowledge, the social part of her sexuality stopped dead then, although I would occasionally tease her about finding a boyfriend again.

She had bravely persevered through a myriad of life-affecting illnesses, but always with courage and defiance. Last Wednesday, I held her close and spoke quietly into her ear as she gently passed on.

A sexblog really isn't the place to eulogize one's mother. Still, I have to say that while I am far from perfect as a man and as a mate, it was she who taught me the vital (and often forgotten) basics of what it means to be good at both for oneself and for a woman. Mom gave me so many important gifts, and as I continue to see elder women in the world while my own life moves forward, I hope to see her face from time to time.

Love you, Mom. Thanks for everything. You did good.

Musings in Brooklyn.

The Fates have brought me back to Brooklyn.

I've been here, back home, for a little more than a week. While the reasons that brought me here are not particularly pleasant, I've somehow still managed to enjoy some of the better memories about the ol' neighborhood.

o Roxanne was a tiny, longhaired, petite brunette who was among the entourage of the local band, Jail Bait, that friends of mine were part of. We were in Tony's place (ok, his parents' place), sucking down Molson's and being totally amused with both Tony's minah bird and his excellent Eddie VanHalen renditions. Later duting that party, we relaxed on a double bed as I caressed her arms, then her back, and gradually her tiny Sergio Valente-clad ass with just a fingertip. It was fairly innocent, experimental, discovery-based play really, but I remember how she made me incredibly hot. She was shy and quiet, but it became clear to me later how much she enjoyed the attention when I walked her home from the party. As we strolled (stumbled?) down the middle of the street, she turned and laid one nice, endearing kiss on my lips. It might not have been my First Kiss, but it was definitely among the most memorable of them. Why didn't I pursue thing further with her?

o In my mother's apartment, in what was once the bedroom I shared with her, I'm reminded of the time a hot brunette picked me up at my best friend's party in another apartment. I was around eighteen, we were hammered, and my mother had fallen asleep on the living room couch. I wasn't as confident in myself then as I am now (find me one teenager who completely is), and I was dumbfounded that this hot girl was into me. Desperately trying to stay quiet, we made out on my mother's bed until she awoke, which spooked the girl off. I never saw or heard from her again, and Mom gave me a fingerwag about how I "should have taken her to a motel." Me, I figured having her in my home was 'classier,' but what did I know.

o Mandy, a sexy Puertorriqueña with curly dark locks, was one of my girlfriends from high school. I remember creating an eerily sensual setting for us in the projection room at school, a hidden alcove situated in the balcony area of the massive auditorium. The code for kids in-the-know was that if a wire coat-hanger hung on the doorknob, the room was "in use." After affixing one, I had set dozens upon dozens of tealights throughout its shelves. With the projection equipment, antique 78's, and rolls of movie film, the candlelight made for a bizarre ambience for our necking session. I went down on her. She chickened out on going down on me. Later that year however, and also back at my mother's apartment, she gave it a try and discovered how she liked it. She was also the first girlfriend I enjoying taking seminude and nude photos of, although those images are long since gone now.

o B.J. (yes, that was her name) was a casual friend from high school. We rode the R train together to DeKalb Avenue every day, but I had no idea she was also into me until the day she invited me back to her family's 69th Street apartment. Her face was totally straight when she suggested this, and never had we been flirty with one another, so I was utterly clueless that she had something hot in mind. Arriving at the apartment, her father was practicing the piano as we hung in her room. B.J. stunned me then as she produced a jar of honey and bade me to relax on the floor. Asking me to remove my pants, she coated me with its stickysweetness as she introduced herself to cocksucking. Naturally, we were a nervous wreck since her father was close by... until we realized that as long as we heard the piano, B.J. was safely free to BJ. What it was that she enjoyed about having a mouthful more of honey than my flesh is something I've long pondered over.

Naturally, being here again also reminds me of Jackie. Walking along Third Avenue yesterday, I passed the deli where I was deliciously serviced by an anonymous blonde. I think of how my coming-of-age was elicited quickly as my sexlife skyrocketed from nil to nihilistic between ages seventeen and eighteen.

There's no sexuality for me here this time, for this trip. I have reconnected with a cousin (yes, you read that right) who, honestly, I had pre-adolescent hots for when we were kids, and whom I still find to be amazingly sexy... and at least one doctor and a few nurses I've met lately have cast me some bright smiles... but the reasons I'm here right now aren't exactly the stuff of sexblogging.

Yet sex is the power of life, the visceral timbre of creation and happiness. At this moment, the power of life feels particularly precious.

Saturday night at the movies.

Sadly, this makes the last instalment of this excellent spanking-in-movies series, researched by MovieSpank, that's been appearing here in the last few weeks. I hope you've enjoyed them as much as I.

Photo Essay: Bums on the street.

"When I've painted a woman's bottom so that I want to touch it, then the painting is finished.”
Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Saturday night at the movies.

The Toybox: Doc Johnson's Anal Enchantment.

I smiled to myself as she closed her eyes and raised her lovely butt higher into the air for me. She bit her lower lip as I gently lubed her there, and giggled as she watched the lubricant drizzle down the length of the bulbs. Her eyes opened when she felt the first ball at her tightness, and with enough wiggling and pressing, we both felt it pop inside gently. I leaned closer and kissed her as I worked the next bulb, and the next, inside. Her tongue danced around mine as she felt herself gradually widen as I fucked her with the toy...

Sex toys rule. I don't understand how or why some other guys might feel threatened by them, as if toys were a "replacement" for our own fantastic and diverse fuckgear. Was your Tonka bulldozer a "replacement" for your Hot Wheels Camaro? Was that baseball mitt a "replacement" for your own hand? Nah. A diverse lover is a well appreciated lover, especially if you're bringing fun and frolic into the scene.

Besides, and trust me on this: one day in your life, you will have had too much to drink/not enough sleep/a rough week at work/a belly full of too much pasta and your cock is. just. not. going to. respond. It's a fact of life that you are not a mechanical piston with an "on" and "off" switch, no matter what you tell yourself or what she might be misinformed enough to expect. So whatareya gonna do? Pout? Apologize? No. It's going to be Toy Night, my friend, and that will make you Superman even if your dick feels more like Underdog.

So thanks to the sexy people at VibeReview here is the first of a coming series of posts reviewing sextoys that have made their scandalous way across my sheets.

The Anal Enchantment

Available in clear or pink jelly, the Anal Enchantment, or Anal Delight is a 5-inch (14.5cm) flexible probe with five bulbous spheres that's ideal for beginners and experienced anal play enthusiasts alike. Once inserted, the spheres gradually widen the sphincter from a 2.5cm diameter through 3cm, 3.25cm, and two bulbs at 3.5cm, much smaller than the average cock or dildo. The final bulb is longer than the others, giving the receiver opportunity to experience depth without additional width, and secured with the very necessary widened base. Always avoid anal insertion toys that do not have a flanged, widened base. Slow pumping brings optimum sensation, and especially so for stroking a male partner's prostate. For me, prostate play is a new territory, but I can already say that I received stronger sensation from the Enchantment than from other, more sophisticated toys designed expressly for the so-called P-spot. The little fucker is pretty cool.

Similar experiences can be had with the Vibrating Spectra Probe, a beaded jelly shaft affixed to a waterproof vibrator, or the Ripple, a beaded shaft also ideal for beginners but with a firmer feel.

For someone with even a little experience in anal play, the flexibility of the Enchantment can make for easy and relaxed insertion and a comfortable fit. It's thicker than a typical beginner's butt plug (like the Red Stallion), but the material has enough give to make it easy to use. Absolute beginners might find its flexibility challenging sometimes, as its comparative lack of rigidness can make insertion difficult to achieve. A well-lubed Enchantment against a tight anus is just going to slip and slide everywhere but where you want it to go. ssssloop!

To be this flexible however, this toy has some cause for concern. The Enchantment is among that gradually-decreasing number of adult toys that have been made with phthalates, a family of softening chemicals found in other products (such as some foods, paint, and until recently, baby toys) that are shown in some studies to cause testicular damage in men, adversely affect genital development in infants, and possibly cause liver and kidney damage.

As part of a comprehensive German study, phthalate concentration in some sex toys has been found to be upwards of 243000 ppm, compared to Health Canada's maximum daily exposure of no more than 3000 ppm. Potentially harmful compounds in these products (including latex, for those allergic to that) are also known to leach out when in contact with certain fats, and "jelly" toys in general also have a reputation for breaking down when around other compounds, excessive heat or light, or when improperly washed. This poses the risk of even the smallest portions of material possibly extracting within the body, and for these reasons, "jelly" toys are best used with a condom.

Sexologist Violet Blue tells us that these health risks, coupled with the unregulated manufacture of adult toys, is what prompts many manufacturers to market them as "novelties," implying a use for the object other than bodily insertion. United States-based manufacturer Doc Johnson's packaging for the Enchantment, like its larger counterparts the Anal Starter, the Ballsy Supercock, and others in its "Crystal Jellies" line, lists this product as "sold as an adult novelty only."

Still, the Enchantment offers a subtle experience that, even if covered, provides sensual play alone or with a partner. Despite the limitations it might have because of the "jelly" material, it can be an easy toy to experiment with and enjoy.

Real men make quiche.

Late last night, she texts me while I'm sound asleep. What a perfect message to awaken to. I go about my morning, and some time when I figure she's about to awaken and start her day, I text her back.

Shayne: My love, I want to suck your cock.

Me: *snuggles up close* Not lettinya go ta work taday. Yer shtayin in bed wif me.

Shayne: Oop... ok. :)

Me: That blowjob last night was *amazing* baby, and just what I needed... ...but now its your turn...

Shayne: I feel ravenous this morning.

Me: I made quiche for you. It didn't threaten my manhood.

Shayne: Chocolate quiche? I went out last night and met a really sweet group of queers and had a good time. I was charming.

Me: Quiche lorraine. More breakfasty. But there's a chocolate/pear clafouti with melon slices in the fridge.

Shayne: Lots of talk in their group of moving to your city. Mmm... the crust is divine. And youre SO cute in an apron.

Me: So your date with Malie tanked?

Shayne: Mm. You are so good! No, it was during my date with Amelie.

Me: Especially when Im nekkid under the apron. I think you should consider their advice. *munch* I thlike da hammy bith.

Shayne: Whose advice?

Me: The advice of the cool dykes who like my city. Is there more coffee?

Shayne: Yes, I'll get it. They weren't all dykes, you girl crazy man.

Me: Oh, Im sure. But, yes, I am girlcrazy. Especially if that girl is you. Good coffee, thanks.

Shayne: Nice save, Mr. Man. Now can i have that return favor you mentioned when we woke up?

Me: *smiles, drains pottery mug, dabs lips with linen serviette, and slowly slinks to kneel on the kitchen floor* *gently parts your legs as you enjoy breakfast*

Shayne: *pats head* You're so good, honey. *kisses cheeks* *purrs* *lays back and sighs*

Me: Mm. Look at this... arent you pretty. *winks* *smiles* *moves closer to your chair, caresses your calves, leans forward* Mmm. Do you like it when I give you a long, slow, gentle swab with my tongue that way? ...I think you do.

Shayne: I love it. I love how you enjoy me so much. I love your slow, deliberate movements.