This week’s sex product review isn’t a toy per se (although there is a Spareparts HardWear Harness in the review for a minute), today I, sex educator JamYe WaXman review the butt. I prefer the word ass honestly, but whatever word you like for your rear, I hope you like (and love) your bum a lot.

This week’s sex product review is the very basic Screaming O disposable vibrating ring. Designed to be worn on a penis, it can also be used with a dildo, another extremity, or other sex toys. The Screaming O vibrating ring is an easy introduction into the world of love rings, or as they’re more likely called, cock rings. So what is a cock ring? Watch the review and find out.

Website: www.thescreamingo.com

There’s a lot I’ve been meaning to post but travel and fatigue have kept me from writing too much. But I wanted to share some thoughts, and experiences, I had last week upon participating in Barbara Carrellas’ magnificent Urban Tantra Teacher Training. If you don’t know about Barbara, or her amazing book, you should watch my review here.

Now, on to some of what I took away from five days with the most magical, magnificent group of urban tantra enthusiasts a girl could ask for.

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Lady Gaga says blah-blah on celibacy. I couldn’t agree with her more.

Lady Gaga, whom I now have the utmost respect for after reading this article, has recently “come out” about her choice to not have sex.

“I’m single right now and I’ve chosen to be single because I don’t have the time to get to know anybody. So it’s OK not to have sex, it’s OK to get to know people. I’m celibate, celibacy’s fine.”

As a sex educator who has, for the past seven months, struggled with my own teaching verse doing, I couldn’t agree more. For me, having just emerged from six months of celibacy, I can say “man, I needed that!” It was a chance and a choice to regroup and reevaluate what I want out of my self and my sex. Sometimes we all need space from other people and I needed space from being in my space with them. It’s not like I didn’t have sex with myself, I just chose to keep it within the confines of me and my accoutrements. And when I finally did have sex, it was someone I knew well enough to know I wanted to know him better.

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For some reason, filming in certain areas of my, uhm, “set” makes thing very yellow, as you will see in the video below:

While recent research out of England claims the G-spot doesn’t exist, those of us who don’t believe the research can play with another recent “study” out of England that’s designed to help you enjoy G-spot stimulation. It’s the G-ki by JeJoue.

NOTE: Just realized that this toy is not available yet (doh!), but you can pre-order it here, and as soon as it’s available everywhere, I’ll link to it, k?

I didn’t edit the video. So for no editing, what do you think? Would you try the G-ki?

Life is changing for me as I post this, which is also the excuse as to why it’s been so difficult to keep up with my blog these past two weeks. I want to write about it ALL, or at least about this Sex in America panel I went to two weeks ago, and also about my trip to Jamaica, but right now I’m moving things around and shaking them up, and the truth is I have a mess to clean up (literally, in the room I now sit). So for now I will leave you with an HNT from last Thursday, in my hotel room at Hedo 2 where yes, there are mirrors on the ceilings.

Pardon my french,but this is ridiculous: N.Y. county sends out absentee ballots listing Barack ‘Osama.’

Goes to show you that it’s way more common for guys to get fucked in politics than in a bar with a room full of drunk bachelorette’s and free booze. Politics is so much dirtier than my grandma panties on the second day of my period.

*this is not to say that all grandma’s wear these panties (the kind with elastic waistbands and cotton liners) but these types of panties are most often associated with grandmas. I, however, am weening myself off of said panties even during my visits with “Harry with the red hair.” In fact, I think I just threw out my last pair. Oh, and I don’t really have a heavy flow. I know. TMI.

Photo by Circe

I’ve had this secret, or not so secret – depending on how close you are to me and how much you know about me – fantasy to become a burlesque supastar. I’ve got the name picked out (Rockie Rhode), and even my first song (that you’ll have to wait for), but up until now I haven’t had the incentive to actually get out there and take it off. Or maybe it’s not the incentive I lack (loads of eager eyes staring at my body as I wriggle and writhe on stage, as opposed to loads of eager construction workers oggling my body as I walk down the street, is good enough for me) but the motivation to learn a routine to make me look like a pro has taken a tad bit longer than expected. I’ve been promising myself the outfit, the pasties — another of my mental obstacles since I have those really large areola, and since said really large areola make me want to wear really large pasties, which then leads me to a mental discussion and overanalysis of my overly large areolas cause hey we’ve all got our issues — and the space to do it in, and now, suddenly, it’s happening..to me…for me…with me.. YES!

But before I tell you more, my mind must make one small digression. It’s about pasties. About an appreciation I have for them. Cause one thing I really like about pasties is how they can make some of the saggier sets of sisters look like a pair of perky potatoes (pre-schoolers and pre-pubescents also came to mind when I was looking for a “p” word to go with perky, but there’s something inherently wrong with associating either of these things with my breasts). That is all. Let’s return to some regularly scheduled thoughts.

This all leads me to Tess, my dear friend and certified sexpot, who lovingly emailed me (and 11 others) a few weeks back with a raison d’etre. Yes, finally I have the even-more-added-incentive-and-motivation to take it all off.  And BTW, if you haven’t seen Tess’ cleavage of the day posts, you really should…I’m talking some of the best! boobs! like ever!

So without further ado, I am going to take most of it off, and Rockie Rhode will spring forth from my loins, and boobs will bounce, and pasties will sparkle and I will be reborn a calendar girl/burlesque supastar (or at least a Burlesque supastar in training).

One more thing. You can be a part of it too. (I can see the excitment bursting from your loins as well now).  Cause me, and those 11 others like me, or not like me, or maybe they don’t like me - hello paranoia! are getting together a week from Sunday to shoot the 2009 Sex Bloggers Calendar. All proceeds go to Audacia Ray’s Sex Work Awareness project.

You know you want to buy a calendar. Or even a day in it. It’s going to be sexy. All the info you need to know (like the who, how and why) can be found on the calendars’ blog. So check it out. And check me out. Construction workers and all!

Dildo Art on the Playa. Burning Man. 2008.

Wow.

I just got back from a two week trip to Burning Man and it’s hard to land again. For starters, I do not have sand in strange places, which I am sure some people do, and which I would imagine could make it hard to land, or sit, but I have showered numerous times since leaving the playa and I haven’t found any weird sand, or other unidentifiable objects, anywhere near my nether regions. And I know it’s always hard to land, but this time it feels really hard. Something is shifting for me here in New York Shitty City, and it has nothing to do with sand. Okay, now I’m just bringing up sand for sand’s sake. Right now I’m lethargic and it has nothing, well, almost nothing, to do with the late nights out (I didn’t have all that many of them) or the fact that my skin started to cook if I stayed in my tent after 8AM. Back home I still can’t sleep all that well, and I think this overall sense of lumping around has to with me. here. now.

In the desert I lived my whole week in the moment. I seriously spent almost every second being exactly where I was. Sure I thought about things at home – mainly my man and my cat – but on the whole, I didn’t think hard about what wasn’t in my control. I lived in a way where I was always where I was supposed to be. And it changed me. Something inside of me has shifted to this place of presence and it’s where I want to stay.

A place where I’m a little kinder. A little gentler. A touch wiser. A whole lot hornier.

I am really horny right now. I’ve been really horny since this past Saturday at Burning Man. Before that I was only feeling dusty, but something shifted in me the day before the last day of the event. It wasn’t that I wanted, or needed, to hump, in fact the two major dust storms really put a damper on my mojo, but something shifted in me on Saturday. I can actually feel the shift in my organs, my systems, my internal structure. I realize now that for the past few months I haven’t been present in my body for more than a few hours at a time. And now, after a week without email, the Internet or Obama/McCain, I am me again. All of me.

Someone use the word sensualist to describe themselves to me, and ever since it’s been stuck in my head like gum on the sidewalk (which btw, if you haven’t ever noticed, in NY there’s not a square of sidewalk without gum). I like the idea of living my life as a sensualist. Of not only being present, but of feeling that presence. Of getting turned on by everything. Wind, sound, a certain look. It’s as if every moment, every breath, is a tangible, graspable entity and once it I can notice things, I can really experience them as they are. I want to feel the world, as well as experience it, and think sensually even when I’m not thinking sexually.

For some reason the word sensualist makes my skin tingle. I’m going to go with this feeling for as long as I can. I want to touch my life, not just live it. I want to experience my partner, not just fuck him. I want to find the sensual in everything I do, even as my fingers touch each key as I type these words. It’s not going to be easy to make this last, but the more I think about it all, the hornier I get.

Cover of Spanked. The book that sparked a thousand thoughts.

Last night J. and I shared a few choice words. The kind of words that suck when they’re the last words you say to your lover before bed. The kind of words that solidified my decision to go to sleep without the exchange of any other kinder, gentler words. No “good night, sleep tight.” And forget “I love you.” I was pissed, and not in the English sense of the word.

Alas, today’s another day. Besides the fact that we talked this morning (communication is good!) I’ve also given some thought to his much needed punishment, some thought to how I may let him know he was a bad boy, but also let him know how good he usually makes me feel. Punishment is not my favorite activity mind you, especially since I received heaping portions of it as a child, but people think I should be good at delivering ample “sexual” punishment when necessary. People who know me think that when it comes to my sex life I’m a natural dominant/top, and they say this because of my seeming heaps-o-confidence and jiccy-ness (JIC stands for Jamye’s in Charge). And while perception is one thing, truth be told, I’m more apt to let someone else get the best of me when I’m naked and horny. But not after reading Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Cleis Press. Nope. After reading over half the stories from the hottest book on spanking ever, I am so ready to be the one doing the spanking.

While I’m thinking ass spanks for J., the book is not just about the ass. It covers spanking anywhere, and everywhere, one could imagine delivering a spanking (of course places like the kidneys and spine are off-limits, and you should read up on how to spank before you decide where to spank). And while it’s totally turn-on-able writing, I’m also happy that it’s got little bits of instructional advice dangling within the text. Like if you’ve never spanked before, take Elizabeth Coldwell’s advice in “Through A Glass, Sharply”:

…my gentle caresses have become firm taps. Not enough to make Elliot flinch, but enough to begin the process of warming up his bottom, ready for the harder blows to come.

Or L. Elise Bland’s description of her favorite spanking utensils, from the short story “The Breeding Barn.”

…some of the most exciting toys are those I find in the everyday kitchen – wooden spoons, spatulas, Japanese rice cake molds, pizza servers, breadboards and ice-cold marble rolling pins to cool off a pair of hot buns after a good waling. Still, the hardiest paddle of all is the human hand. You never leave home without it, and it never raises eyebrows in public.

Good advice, and there’s heaps more of it, as well as totally well-written erotica in Spanked (not to mention some fun-tastic cover art). Personally, I found myself more turned on when the woman was in the role of the spanker, and not the spankee. Maybe it’s because it’s where I now fantasize going with J. Because some time this week I’m going to force him to take his place over my knee and give him the punishment I didn’t know he deserved until I plunged deeper into Spanked. That being said, “Laser Tag” by Madeline Glass, and “Pink Cheeks” by Fiona Locke (both stories with a male spanker) got me hot, and it wasn’t because I was reading them while doing cardio at the gym. Seriously I’m hard-pressed to find a story that smacks of boredom in this book.

I didn’t know it was possible to write so much hotness about spanking. But now I do. And I also know where my hand will be going sometime later this week. J. I hope your ass is ready.

For more on spanking:

Check out Spanked: The Blog
Tomorrow Babeland’s blog will continue the Spanked virtual book tour/review