Toy Tuesday! Wet Synergy Lube, my kitty purred

If my natural juices could make my clitoris tingle as much as this gel like lubricant does, I would almost CERTAINLY never get out of the bed.

This weeks review is brought to you by the sextastic ppl over at EdenFantasys.com. I’m not really a lube girl, in all honesty I’ve always had the notion I get TOO wet in my lady pool but being as I am becoming more and more curious with sex add-ons, I purchased my first “clitoris stimulating gel“.

Texture wise, the lube is thick and creamy so you don’t have to worry about it running all over your bed and ruining your sheets (I’m sure you don’t care about them at this point but I digress). The gel comes in two choices, cooling or warming and I picked the cooling gel. I love when my partner blows softly on my clit because it gives me this cold yet nerve rattling sensation that drives me CRAZY! Although the gel doesn’t last very long, it does the exact same job.

Taste wise, synergy cool is very minty. Imagine his penis is a candy cane- now enjoy as your mouth becomes minty fresh! It will tingle immediately once on your tongue which made my tongue and mouth go numb for about 2 minutes. When using externally, the lube tingles for about 5-8 minutes. No sticky residue, in fact your hands will not feel any trace of the gel once it has absorbed into your skin. The other lubes I have tried out tended to be a bit too messy for me but Synergy is in a tall bottle with a flip lid and you can squeeze however much you want out. Portion control people! No wasted product while maintaining the quality inside.

Next up….it’s warm, caring and loving alter ego- warming.

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Gay Pride Month! Being Bisexual in a Homophobic Family

Since June is recognized as Gay Pride Month, I figured what better time to tell my coming out story and the ‘ever-after’ that has followed! Before I begin I want to send a big hug and all the love I can muster to my LGBT community, family and friends. Happy Gay Pride Month!

In 2002 I was driving with my best friend at the time to a store to go shopping for her birthday party. We were listening to the radio and the song playing mentioned something about girls kissing girls. My friend J* then turned the station and said something along the lines of “gay people love rubbing their gayness in your face“. I sat there feeling so uneasy that I am sure my face was beet red. A year prior I had sex with a female classmate, not just “making out” but full-on lesbian sex. Since then I secretly dated girls, secretly had sex with girls and secretly LOVED it. It felt normal, in fact I felt more comfortable at that time with girls than I had felt with my male suitors. Being born in brazilian culture and a heavy catholic rod on my neck, I knew better than to think I was normal. I kept my “sinful” thoughts to myself and let shame replace joy. Once J and I pulled into the Macy’s parking lot I asked her “what if I were gay?”, she turned around and said “I would buy some dick to rape you so you wouldn’t go to hell.” 

College came and I was in heaven, I was dating a female secretly behind my boyfriends back. I kept him around to keep the questions at bay. My life in college had NOTHING to do with my family or upbringing so I felt completely free to be me. I would kiss her in public, go to gay clubs and bars and this is when Facebook emerged. My photos were filled with me being at nothing BUT gay clubs or frat parties. I was so carefree that I forgot that some of my relatives had access to my photos and were secretly showing my mom what I was doing and the profiles of some of my college friends. I remember her calling me one night asking me about my boyfriend, she drilled me for about an hour, she wanted to know how our dates were and if I was “keeping the devil out of my head”. I played along and said yes to everything, hung up and rolled over to my girlfriend. That was the beauty of being in the closet at that time to me, what I did was NO ONES BUSINESS. I felt I was an adult and since I wasn’t living at home- why should I tell her?! I never knew that telling her would feel like my soul taking a big sigh after years of holding its’ breath.

That Christmas came and I went home to visit for a month. During this time my girlfriend and I were fighting and damn near broken up. Every phone call resulted in a screaming match and me crying for at least 2 hours. During one of these fights, I forgot to call her by her nickname and I said “Stephanie“, I had no idea my 12-year old cousin was behind me recording me on his video camera. It was 2am and I thought being on the back porch was private enough. The next morning I wake up to a house full of silent people and my every move being followed. My mother was short with me, my aunt refused to say anything and my brother ignored me. I think my family is weird anyway so at first I thought they were just being their usual, odd selves until I heard my mom say “So you are a full blown dyke now???

-insert 50lb weight in your belly, nausea, confusion and fear-

The tv turns to camera mode and my cousin hits play and on a 52″ flat screen, I watch myself arguing with Stephanie. I am crying and clearly in the midst of a lovers quarrel so denying anything would not only make me look crazy but also a terrible liar. But I still deny, I said her name was Stephen and the camera heard it wrong and then I just sat there. Head down and crying, ashamed, feeling bad for being me. No one persuaded me to like girls, I’ve always had a natural attraction. I listened to my aunt tell me that my soul was on the “betting table and I was giving the devil the upper hand“. I was confused. I was too young to even know what being gay is! Gay women only exist in prison! womp, womp, womp. I eventually excused myself from the table and retreated to my room to call my girlfriend, and the only other person I knew I could turn to- my neighbor in Columbus. He was a 50+ homosexual reverend. I stayed in my room for the majority of the week, I only went downstairs when everyone else was gone or sleep. I kept headphones on and pretended to have a lot of work to do while on vacation. I sat on my bed and realized, although I was confronted I had never came out. I wasn’t ashamed of who I was or who I dated, I was still me! I was still on the deans’ list at O State, I still worked hard and I wasn’t riddled with diseases. I felt like my home was kindergarten and I had the cooties, everyone became scared to interact with me on any level besides confrontational.

That night I came downstairs while everyone was eating and I said “I’m NOT a lesbian, I just so happen to like men AND women. Nothing is wrong with me, God knew what I liked the day he decided to keep me and you can’t tell me otherwise“. And like that I was open and out of my closet. My mom proceeded to wake me up at 3am “praying the gay away”. I had holy oil thrown on me and at me everyday, I was fanned with smoke sticks to lure the demon out, I was ignored, I was talked at and around in such a mean way while I was right there in ear shot as if I were not human, but I stopped crying. Every day that passed I felt better, I felt encouraged, I was not ashamed of me and if they had a problem with who I had sex with they ought not imagine the kinky shit I partake in. Eventually the silence stopped and that awkward shift relaxed. It wasn’t instant, it took YEARS. My mom all but disowned me, but now she defends me. My aunt has stopped throwing holy water on me, she still tells me I’m going to hell but she’s making progress.

I am the only same-sex lover in my family – that is out and I am okay with that. My family allows my little cousins to judge, ridicule and in some ways bully a transgendered classmate of his. I work twice as hard to explain to him, in front of them, that being LGBT does not make you a bad person and that everyone has a one way ticket to earth, once we board our next flight NO MAN knows our next destination. It has been a struggle, sometimes I walk into my mothers home to hear the word “faggot” 20 times and “those people“, I had to learn how to not fight everything at once with my family. I fought them several times a day, everyday, when I first came out. Every wrong thing they said or did, I was there with a rod in my hand to verbally beat them. Since then I’ve learned that this is totally new for them as well, throwing my opinion around makes for week-long arguments. Now I just hit them with references and facts, my point gets across with no elevated voices and eventually a calm ” I understand”. I don’t rub my “gay” in their face but I will not hide who I am as if it were a bad report card. Shame no longer lives here. I am Afro-Brazilian, Bisexual and Proud!

Toy Tuesday (delayed lol): Lelo Ella

Orgasms are like unicorns to me. They are magical, mythical experiences that some women still have yet to find. Because of this, I have become the puppet master of masturbation and a unicorn grabber so when I find a toy that can harness my orgasms in like a magician – I fall face down in love. I was sent the beautiful Lelo Ella by EroticToyTown a few weeks ago, our order had a bit of a mix up because I was expecting a vibrator so when this dildo arrived I was a tad confused. I am usually a vibe girl, they get me straight to the point and back home in no time. But the Ella was a date, the whole dinner and a movie of masturbation. She is designed to massage the G-spot and she does it with so much ease and skill. The feel of the Ella is much like velvet, smooth with no ridges. No slipping and the curve from heaven. She arrived at my home discreetly dressed, in a sleek black box. She came paired with a satin pouch to store her in. It took me awhile to want to play with her because in all honesty, she is so PRETTY. She is so soft to hold and touch that I wanted to pass her off as a massager just to show her off like a new dress. Holding the Ella is not hard, there is no bulk of incredible length to try and steady. She is light as a feather, no upper body workout with her.

 

Our first night together was greatness personified. I judge toys on two things: how fast can I cum and how many times. The Ella is the G-spot puppet master hands down. Just using the curved in resulted in 3 orgasms that night within 40 minutes and an urge to try the other end of her out but due to exhaustion I packed her away. The Ella is only $39.99 USD, forget wasting your money on a movie date and get something I can guarantee you will thoroughly enjoy, repeatedly.

Specifications

  • Made of phthalate free silicone.
  • 7″ long and 1¼ ” at widest point.
  • Weighs 3½ oz.
  • Available in black,white,purple.

Features

  • Waterproof. you can get her wet in every way possible
  • Soft and silky finish. she feels so buttery soft
  • Dual function toy. I’m sure you can figure that out

Includes

  • Satin travel pouch.
  • Detailed instruction and care manual.
  • One-year warranty.

Man Monday: The False Face of Infidelity

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*This post is authored by a man and from a males point of view*

There’s a common notion that irks me, because I know a lot better than to ever believe it to even be partially true. When a relationship goes sour because the other person is dealing with another person,11 out of 10 times, the first and second glance will be towards the man. There’s a belief that women are unfailingly loyal, and that men are essentially capable of spinning their heads at every women around them in a style that even the little chick from the Exorcist would have to appreciate. It’s one of those developed and expected social norms that have become an unfortunately true default.

I’ll admit many of the issues I’ve seen and heard of in life have been because of a man doing something he knows is out of pocket. There’s a great many habitual line steppers that have created a Two-Faced man. Two-Face is seen as existing for every man, regardless of what he truly is. It’s always allegedly lurking, waiting to emerge. But that twisted part of it is, it can be a far more effective identity for a woman to put to use, because everybody is paying attention to the other half way more. Stealth will always have a better chance of walking away after an attack. If nobody sees it coming, it’s way too late to stop it once it’s in play.

Here’s an unfortunate scenario that I came across recently. Travel a few years back. Long-time guy about town meets his ideal, settles in. Likes girl, deals only with girl, marries girl. All is seemingly well. Time goes by, and girl gets unsettled…

Now STOP. *Cues Dramatic Zack Morris pause*

This is where things may get hazy. The common notion is that women hit the finish line when they meet THEE guy, get THEE ring and then get THEE title, and all the property that comes with it. This would also be known as the greatest generally accepted lie in common society. Women are creatures of progress; it is what makes them so dynamic in life and what makes them the absolute most evolutionary creatures ever created. Women go for theirs harder, and with less conflict than anything else. For better or worse, til death do them part…from this Earth. It is simultaneously the best and worst thing about them. Never think otherwise.

*End pause…*

Aforementioned, recently unsettled girl goes on trip with friends. She meets a lad that is new, and one that doesn’t have her recently acquired new last name. She keeps contact with new guy, even after she returns home. Her husband goes on a trip to visit his family, and she timely opts out of the visit. Instead, she says she wants to use this time to go see a friend. This friend ends up blowing her brains out and knocking her cool back. While this cool is gone, she doesn’t answer any of her husband’s calls and can’t even give a straight answer back. The truth doesn’t need to be pulled out of her; it opens the door and walks out mid-conversation, with its hands up. The gig is up, the dance is over & the marriage is done.

The blame can be assessed anywhere here. The absolute is that she was wrong and ruined her life willingly. Blame can also be assessed to the husband, who perhaps didn’t keep the world fresh for the ever evolving nature of the woman. Perhaps the woman never told the truth in the first place, as it was also soon revealed that she had a penchant for women as well as extra men. The possibilities are endless, and truthfully, irrelevant to the point here.

The point of this tale is not to say that all of anything is a “dog” or to even say that women “are just as bad as men” (a highly assumptive and damning theory that shoots both sexes in the foot for believing any part of it to be right). It’s not to say don’t trust people away from you. Trust is beautiful, and when rightly placed it’s the best thing in the world. Refusing to give it is a lonely, insecure life that goes nowhere. What’s going to happen will happen, whether it works in your favor or no. The only point here is to highlight the fact that there are no absolutes. When assessing a characteristic to an individual, holding them to popular law of what they are by sexual association is a practice in stereotypes. And as this bit of story can easily show, the only way to be absolutely wrong 100% of the time, is believe a stereotype, because all of nothing behaves the same way, every time.

Gentlemen, I urge you to stay progressive with your woman. Do not settle in, because she is just as
capable of being what you allegedly are supposed to be: a hunter. Nobody wants to feel stagnant, nobody wants to be settled but stuck. The progressive forces of nature that are women are the absolute most resistant to this. They want to be persued, wanted, strived for, desired; constantly. The wonderful thing about them is the mostly, they can lock in on that, stay focused and pour all of that progression into sharing it with you.

But if it’s pulled away and they feel nothing…that’s when the search begins, and you may look into your lady’s eyes and be seeing the face that everybody expects you to be wearing on her. Not even know it.

-@CheapSeatFan

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

– Maya Angelou

I’ve been here before. Eerily enough almost 10 years to the date. I’ve always been the one that everyone comes to, my family and friends have always had my ear. I never judge, I try to point you in the direction of the rainbow amidst the storm. Maybe that’s why psychology came easy to me, I’ve mastered the art of listening.

10 years ago I listened as I was instructed to finish high school, graduate from college and look after my little sister and mom. My dad smoked his Kool cigarette outside of the Cleveland Clinic so nonchalantly that I forgot he was telling me he was going to die within 6 months. I listened as he told me my responsibilities after he passed on. I was 16 years old with a brother 13 years older than me yet I was the one given this list of to-do’s. My dad never cried, so I took my cue from him and walked back inside the hospital and continued on as if that conversation had never taken place.

I’m not writing this for pity, I don’t want any pseudo support. I need to write. I can’t cry anymore so I write. Four months after him and I had that conversation, I woke up to my father vomiting blood all over the bathroom. I remember hearing my mom telling me to close the door and to call his doctor- they were on their way in. I never paid much attention to the condition my father had, I just knew that if he started bleeding he would die. My father was spewing blood from every hole in his body. I didn’t cry. My grandmother pulled into our driveway and I laid plastic down in the backseat of her oldsmobile. I remember his smell, he always smelled sick. His liver was decaying inside of him and no transplant was coming. I watched them place my father in the car and I watched him looking at me. Not one tear but I could tell he knew this was it. No hug, no ‘I love you’. Two months after turning 17 I walked into a hospital room to see my father stare at me and flatline.

I didn’t cry.

I watched my mother and his twin sister break down over his body, I kissed his face and told him not to worry and went back into our waiting area. It took his body a month to give out, the morning he went into the hospital he was placed on life support. By the time I had dressed and arrived with my aunts, he was in a coma. I never had a goodbye. I knew my father accepted his fate so I accepted it, I didn’t have to face what I faced today.

Almost 10 years to the date I had to watch my mother, my last parent, break down and cry in front of me. I had to watch her mumble as a child would through her tears as she told me for the first time she has congestive heart failure at 57. I had to listen to her as she cried saying she didn’t want to die and how badly she wanted her life back and to live. I had to watch her age 25-30 years in 6 months. I had to watch her go from traveling and moving and dancing with joy and ease to walking with a cane and barely breathing. How can I fix that? I had to look the woman I call mother in the eye as she looked for help, an answer..SOMETHING other than what she is facing. Much like the last time, I had to give a vow of secrecy. No one knows this but me- again.

I can’t do this again.

“Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between.”

I find myself back in the same place. The one with the burden of being the “chosen” child. The burden of being the one who can “handle everything”, even if I am slowly dying inside. I’m only 26, I should have at least one parent still, right? I didn’t cry with my father and I wasn’t allowed to cry today. I had a strawberry pie to finish cooking and a roast to take out of the oven. I have a brain disorder I have to keep in order, too much stress lands me in the hospital so I must keep a tight grip on my emotional handle. I had to smile to stop my mother from crying like a child. I had to….deal.

This is one of my most random yet personal and emotional post, I may even remove it in the next few hours but for now these words are my tears. I can’t heal my mothers heart, so I am here writing. I can’t reverse her degenerative bone disease, so I am here writing. I can’t speed up her case with disability so she can get the care she needs, so I am here writing. I cook for her, I clean, I do her laundry but I can’t give her the oxygen she needs to walk up 12 steps to her bedroom. So I am here, writing.

whatever.

You Don’t Like Your Lips Licked?!

This is a unisex blog, this isn’t a how-to more so an explanation or reasoning perhaps.

                              

My first encounter with having oral sex performed on was on my 13th birthday by the 18 year old boy who was my babysitter when I insisted on playing basketball on the courts a few blocks from my house. On that day, I was so excited to finally be a teen that I wore my money clip proudly. I had B cup boobs, I had long track legs and a mean June tan. I walked to the courts hoping to get more money and bumped into Andre*. The conversation wasn’t slick at all and I was completely clueless as to what I was saying yes to:

Andre: You turned 13 today right?

Me: Yup! 

Andre: You ever been ate out?

Me: o_O what’s that?

Andre: Come with me real quick

and there you have it, in my innocent mind I thought he was asking me to dinner or lunch but never did I imagine he meant oral sex. I couldn’t process how pervy I was about to become because of this day. He only did that to me and we never did that again, how fucking evil right?! Now I was obsessed with that feeling!

Today, at the age of 26, I meet many women who not only request that their partner doesn’t do it but when it’s done they hate it. My cousin is one of those women. When she first told me about how she gets nervous when her boyfriends head goes between her thighs and the odd feeling she has I immediately thought “she’s self conscious”

After my first oral encounter I didn’t have any kind of sex again with a guy until college. The first time a guy went down on me, as an adult, I did have this fear and I really didn’t know why. I was clean, in every meaning of the word, I didn’t have an odor but I had this nagging thought of what if. What if I didn’t taste right? what if my natural body chemistry smells like the 5th ring of hell? what if I have a hair bump from my first attempt at shaving? what if? what if? what if? I didn’t enjoy it that night, I couldn’t orgasm and I wanted nothing more than for him to just fuck me and leave my love ocean the hell alone. I psyched myself out of nut that night.

After that night I looked up all the best of everything for vaginal care. I know some of you are giggling but the fact of the matter is a lot of women are still using Lever 2000 to wash your vagina and at 18 I was right there with you. I found out about proper vaginal hygiene and care because nothing is worse than having a willing tongue, a wet lady pool and negative self-taunting thoughts running off your pleasure. I learned all about Lemisol and Summers Eve, I didn’t eat certain foods when I knew my suitor had an appetite and I began waxing. I stopped myself mentally from fucking up my physical/sexual greatness.

Women are thinkers, we over think and then think about why we think so much. Although brain productivity is encouraged in my world, we need to learn how to shut it down. I have so many women who ask me why they can’t enjoy it and the answer is simple. You won’t allow yourself to enjoy it. 

If you really want to experience it fully, be honest about what worries you about it. Are you concerned about your natural smell and taste?

Are you concerned with how your vagina looks? 

Are your concerns not physical but a control issue? having oral sex performed on you makes you feel extremely vulnerable, your legs are wide open, your partner can make you cry (if they’re any good) with the flick of the tongue.

I know these questions seem juvenile in theory but I’m a woman and although many will not admit it, these are questions we’ve seriously inwardly asked ourselves. My reason for asking my female audience is because once you address your issues, concerns, questions is the moment you can start removing that shield, relax and enjoy yourself. You can see that vaginas all look different, some lips are small and some are big, you will learn how your diet can control your bodily odor and taste, you will learn the best products to use for cleaning your lady of love. 

Once I realized my concerns were things that weren’t a problem but a mental nagger, I went out and resolved each issue. So the next time he offered his tongue as a spoon, I gleefully accepted multiple times that night. 

So much of our time, energy, and attention is wasted trying to convince other people how wrong they are about us. People have a right to think whatever they choose to think. Just because they think it does not make it right.

– Iyanla Vanzant 

A lesson I’m learning in all facets of my life currently.