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March 2005: PAUL SMITH’S DEVIANT’S DIARY - The Toy Story Pixar didn't want to make.
I approach this month's column with unusual trepidation. To be honest, I've had to sneak up on it and mount a surprise attack from the rear. In the past I've been called a wanker and I'm about to arm the world with irrefutable proof that I am. As you read on I hope you'll appreciate the level of commitment, integrity and out-and-out self-sacrifice I've brought to this feature. Since Boy's Toys are core to this issue I thought it would be only right and proper to 'road test' some and give a dispassionate balanced review, like the proper investigative freelance journalist that I feel in my heart I am. If my mother ever reads this, I want her to know I'm sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Toys are - or rather were - an area I'd little direct personal experience of. I bought a girlfriend a vibrator when I was 21 because she told me she kept borrowing ones from her Sister's Ann Summers Party Case when everyone was out of the house. I didn't think that was very hygienic. You can imagine the scene at one of her sister's demonstrations if a pube was ever found. To the best of my knowledge she was never caught but even the memory of it now makes me squirm. Yes, I am stalling for time.
Vibrators are a mainstay of the female-orientated, vagicentric sex toy industry. My intimate battery-driven moments had been limited to a girlfriend (yes, the same one) who liked DP. Particularly having one in her boot and me up front in the driver's seat. As I recall, she was on top and the tightness and sensations of the vibe against me inside her had been very nice. That's until the vibe (never an ideal anal toy as they can -and do- get lost up rectums. But we were both young, dumb and full of cum then) slid part-way out and pressed hard against my bollocks, trapping one against my thigh as she bounced away, oblivious. I gave a deep subsonic bellow like the call of a distressed Sperm Whale (fittingly) and she leaned forward, allowing the buzzing bastard to fall fully against my balls and 'taint', sending shivers through me which she rode like a champion white water rafter. Oh the imagery! More recently, I played with a knobbly offering from Ann Summers and as a heterosexual male, found this psychologically more comfortable than one in an anatomically accurate penis design. From a male perspective I see vibrators as more of a tease toy, and like someone trying to tickle themselves, I find a bedroom buddy to be in a better position to do the teasing, with or without a feather, silk scarf or batter-powered love-wand.
Cock Rings. I couldn't find one in my size. This is the truth and I've left it deliberately ambiguous to avoid suggestions of using my position writing for this magazine as some sort of advertising and bragging soapbox. I'm also somewhat suspicious of them, even the ones which vibrate. Those at least I can see some potential in. There's the adjustable type which I can imagine getting caught and resulting in a swift visit to A&E before things turn black and drop off. So, just who are these things for? Sure, they're sported by the Gentleman, but what immediate benefit to him is a bigger, stiffer cock? I put it to you, the jury, that cock-rings are primarily intended to improve the experience of the partner, not the wearer. See exhibit A, which looks like the aftermath of a vicious gangland killing of a rabbit by a tiny Polaris missile to the head. It is complete with clitoral stimulator in bunny-ear form. I rest my case.
In, or over, a similar vein are Textured Sheaths such as the amusingly named 'Super Magic Fun Sleeves' I saw advertised at sextingles.co.uk. I suppose you could try turning it inside out and seeing if that does anything for you, other than rubbing your bits raw. It's my earnest belief that raw bits are not sexy.
The FleshLight, like other orifice-simulators, is a curious thing. When I first saw one, via a link on the ever popular TheHun.net web site, I thought them an expensive gimmick. Destined to be bought on a whim, used a few times and then consigned to the dusty sockville that's under the bed. I kept an open mind and did more research. They come in several colours and designs. There's a 'neutral' one with just a slit that looks like an unusual piggybank. Thanks to a generous supplier I now own mouth and vagina versions but an anal variant is also available. I emailed the distributor (Red Claw) to ask whether they supply a version where you have to lift a tail out of the way first. As I type, I've not yet had a reply. The models also differ internally. The pinkish mouth one I have is smooth inside which I can imagine gripping and sliding, but not feeling 'special' next to a good honest old fashioned wank. The 'furry friend' version, in contrast, is ribbed inside so it's that one I decided to experience first. The FleshLight's outer case - which holds the soft inner form - has a screw end [Note to self: Avoid predictable joke here] that allows you to adjust the amount of vacuum created by vigorous 'doing' of the toy. With careful adjustment I found I could get it to make satisfying farting noises, further adding to the pseudo-realism of the experience. After use, the instructions directed me to remove the inner soft silicon sheaf from the 'device' and wash it in warm water. Doing this removed the soft, smooth cornstarch coating of the wobbly contoured tube. When I happened to brush past it later, drying on the back of the sofa (where else?) it felt like cold, clammy dead flesh. Since that I've not been able to bring myself to try the mouth version out. By out I don't mean outdoors. I have however dusted the other one with talc which seems to have brought it back to life. It is under my bed though. Unless I find a girlfriend with certain voyeuristic desires, I think it might stay there.
Sex Dolls are the creepiest thing in the world to me. Those dull lifeless eyes looking up at you, while you wheeze asthmatically away having blowing him or her up. The fixed expression, as if just presented with a huge tax demand. The laughable claims of lifelike holes, made tragicomic by the ill conceived placing of a rough seam where it'll catch your nuts. I imagine. The box: A picture of a beautiful Southern Californian babe, made perfect by blessed genes, the sun, months of painful surgery and a talented Photoshop technician. The contents: Artificial-limb pink vinyl balloon which when inflated has the vague passing appearance of a human form. Couple this with 'real' pubic hair like a cheap fake nylon goatee (a big seller in my town) and breasts more plastic and less believable than the ones on the model on the front. Basically I see these things as chronic, distilled disappointment in a box. One I (just) looked at vibrates. And it still says lifelike on the packaging. When was the last time you felt a real one vibrating? Never, that's when! (Readers who have a partner with a neurological motor control condition like Parkinson's disease not included.) Nevertheless they've been a popular seller since the 60's so perhaps I'm just weird.
Butt Plugs have always been one of those things I looked at and said to myself, "You can stick that up your arse, for starters", if you follow my meaning. An incident this morning reminded me that usually the only time anything goes up my bum it's the result of overestimating the thickness and strength of toilet paper.
The anus is one of nature's exits and to push anything up there is tantamount to walking up a down escalator; it might be fun for a while but it is ultimately maximum work for minimal results. Having tried a jelly plug for size, I can report it feels like taking a poo. It was as erotic as a colonoscopy, and at least with one of those you might get to chat to a pretty nurse. The metal plug, on the other hand (and I rather wish it had just been on my hand) was pleasantly heavy, cool and hard. Mixed sensations then.
While 'in this area', I had to try Anal Beads. I have nothing to report other than they have a name which makes me think of haemorrhoids. Also, the set I'm looking at were poignantly made in Taiwan.
Then there's Penis Pumps. Not something I've ever thought seriously about, and one I couldn't track down for this feature. I am curious though. What happens if you keep pumping? Something's got to give eventually. Are these things fitted with a spring-loaded safety valve? What exactly would I do with a two foot long, 6" fat cock, apart from scare anyone in their right mind or use it as a draft excluder?
Lube is where my extended search for enhanced gratification hits a new high-point. At last, something which, for me at least, actually makes masturbation nicer. I don't feel self conscious, ridiculous or like the novelty wore off somewhere between paying and leaving the shop. The liquid gliding effect makes the motion extra nice, and for once I'm seriously chuffed to have a good sized knob. It does stop my hand slipping off the end. Hooray for me!
So what's my take on the difference between toys for boys and a girl's best friend? I've talked about this with some of my more sexually liberated female friends and the answer seems a very clear one. I think the stigma of a 'Pussy in my Pocket' comes from the relative ease most women can get their hands on a man, always assuming they want one. If they have an 8" plastic-pal in their handbag it's because they're fussy, sexual-health-conscious and can't be bothered with all the testosterone which comes with the real thing. And if the 'real thing' isn't cock-shaped, there's nothing to say a lesbian can't enjoy penetration without the complication of having to find a like-minded friend to have her periods synchronise with. It's a choice they've made. The vibe is hard-on-demand, only runs out of gusto when the D-cells have had enough punishment and it won't try to borrow money off them. On this basis alone our species may be doomed. For a man, an aid to masturbation is more of a poor substitute for the real thing. Conceptually they're the last resort of someone too ugly, smelly or dull to get lucky with a sober woman or choosey moustachioed chum. The very nature of 'wanker' as an insult tells us this is true. Women might be bitches, sluts or slags, but they're rarely wankers. Men are wankers. Especially the ones in a BMW 4" from your bumper in the fast lane.
There's also an honesty to women's (or gender irrelevant) toys. A vibrator vibrates. A butt plug plugs your butt. Nipple clamps are clamps - wait for it - for your nipples. Male-specific toys, conversely, seem to be based on cynical lies. 'Kylie's Arse' is nothing more than a lump of pink silicon with a hole in the middle. The Dominator cock-ring will not make you an Alpha Male and the only word on the average sex doll box you can believe is 'compliant'. In a relationship many toys are transformed, but as a soloist, I think I'll stick to my tissues and Abi Titmus video. Not literally, mind. Not with all this water-based lube around.
Paul Smith is still free to a good home. Kinky Job offers to info@snapsandbytes.co.uk please.
2000ish words on toying with toys, Dale. Thank gawd I don't need to do this again!
Paul.