The Ghost of Sex Toys Past (Part One of Three)

I’ve been meaning to talk about sex toys for awhile now. Just another subject on the long list of topics that makes up the blog’s ‘to-do’ list. I’ve even had a couple of intro sentences rattling around in my head for the piece:

“I don’t have anyone to have sex with. (A complaint my readers hear from me time and time again.) So here’s a slightly different complaint, just for variety – I don’t have anyTHING to have sex with, either.”

Of course, that’s no longer accurate. I now have a couple of sex toys. (I had an strange couple of weeks, several weeks back.) But I’ll get back to that in part two.

“Do Blowjobs Always Make Your Hand Hurt This Bad?”

A long, long time ago (maybe ten or fifteen years?), I sent off for a product I found advertised in an adult mail-order catalog. My often faulty memory tells me it was called an ‘oral-simulator’, or something along those lines.

The thing looked like it was the illegitimate child of a piece of a fish tank filtration system and something you’d find in a toilet tank. (“Mmm . . . sexy? No.”) The business end was a hard plastic cylinder, the back of which connected (via soft rubber tubing) to a hard rubber squeeze bulb. I hesitate to say ‘rubber squeeze bulb’, because it will no doubt make you think ‘rubber’. This thing felt like plastic. Not soft plastic, either.

Anyway, it came with a latex sleeve that you had to fit over the open end of the cylinder. Once it was attached thusly, the next step was to reverse the remainder of the sleeve, stuffing it into the cylinder. The instructions then said to lube up the inside of the sleeve, lube up your erection, and slide it in. Then you just squeeze the bulb, which supposedly provided you with oral sex-like suction. You were to do this over and over again until you came.

I tried using this thing three or four times, each time succumbing to Santayana’s definition of insanity by thinking, “By God, maybe this time the damn thing will work!” Invariably. by the third pump my hand cramped up. By the fifth I’d get sharp pains in my hand. I don’t think I was ever able to pump the thing more than ten times, at which point my whole arm was throbbing and riddled with sharp, shooting pains.

The device claimed to feel JUST like a real blow job. Uh-huh. Somehow I doubted it. (I think if I was left handed if might have felt JUST like a real heart attack.)

Each time I’d give up on the device’s proper use, I’d go ahead and detach the latex sleeve from the friendly little torture unit, and finish myself off (practically from the starting line, for all the good the pump and suck did me) by sliding the lubed sleeve up and down on my cock.

CJ’s Toy Collection

During my occasional get-together’s with CJ, she’d usually bring an assortment of her toys along with her. The usual girlie toys – dildos, and vibrators, and the like. (She owned buttplugs, but they never accompanied her on one of our naughty little trysts. Sadly.)

Despite not losing my virginity during our association (or indeed ever, as of this writing – and I’m so fucking horny!), I did get to play with her pussy. I would finger her. I’d fuck her with the dildo du jour. I’d occasionally hold a vibrator to her clit while she squirmed and writhed around on my couch.

But interestingly enough, the very first foreign object I penetrated her wasn’t a regulation sex toy. There were a few classic ‘improvised’ toys that she was fond of, and one of them factored into the correspondence leading up to our initial physical encounters. So, early on in our erotic affiliation, I used my first dildo-like object to fuck a woman. But not actually a dildo.

Strangely, being a picky eater, I had always thought that a cucumber had NO viable uses up until that point. But when you peel about two thirds of the length of one, exposing it’s slippery insides (and leaving you the unpeeled third as a handle) you’ve got an interesting object to play with. Especially if you’ve also got a naked woman laying on the bed, her legs spread, asking you to put it in her.

Now, I don’t get hard walking down the produce aisle or anything, but I do have some very fond memories of that night. Sliding that slippery cuke into CJ’s even slipperier cunt. Sliding it slowly in and out of her. Slowly at first. Picking up speed when it seemed natural to do so. Driving Mother Nature’s sex toy with my right hand, locating and playing with her clit (CJ’s, not Mother Nature’s) with my left.

Wow. I’m picturing CJ naked with a cucumber sticking out of her, and I think I’ve gotten somewhat off track. What was the topic of this post again?

Sex toys. Right. I remember now. Yeah. She had a fair collection of sex toys. (Man I want to fuck someone with a cucumber again. Bananas, too. Actually, mainly bananas. If I could take a banana and . . . okay, getting off track again)

Sex Toy Discrimination

One year, around some gift-giving occasion (Christmas? Birthday? Valentine’s Day? Arbor Day? The Anniversary of the Death of Richard Nixon?) CJ mentioned that she’d thought about getting me a sex toy of my own – something I could use to get off with.

But she’d never paid any attention to toys other than vibrators and insertables before, and she was flabbergasted by the price difference between what she usually shopped for and her speculative shopping trip for me.

“Boys’ toys are so much more expensive than girls’ toys!” she told me. (And thus, no gift of a sex toy for me that Cinco De Mayo or Klingon New Year. Or whatever the occasion was.)

Of course boys’ toys cost more. How do you manufacture and sell a hole? You need quantum physics. Or the ACME corporation. (Didn’t Wile E. Coyote have a portable hole at one point? Or was that just a Dungeons and Dragons thing?)

Okay, I’m going to admit that it’s not so much just a hole as it is an object with a hole in it. Because otherwise I’m sure I’d get off on some weird tangent comparing artificial vaginas to donut holes, and – well, nobody wants musings like that.

The Anal Experiment

A couple of years ago I’d been in a particularly anal-oriented mood for a week or so when I was sitting at a computer doing some on-line Christmas shopping. One thing led to another, and ten to fourteen business days later I was the proud owner of a Doc Johnston Anal Probe.

A foot-long hand-held butt-fucker. (Huh. Used up a lot of hyphens back there.) About five of the overall twelve inches were handle. The rest was intended to go up the ass. (To go up MY ass.) Most of the ‘probing’ length was slender, but it had a good-sized bulb atop the thing. Something intended to make you say, “Hello!” upon initial entry.

I successfully used this toy three times. I attempted to use this toy over a dozen times. I think it’s a good toy – it’s just not a good toy for me.

It’s floppy. And I’m obese. I don’t know how many of you have ever tried to put a floppy foot-long sex toy in your ass while being obese, but it’s not something I recommend.

Plus, at my size, I’m not really built for a prolonged connection between my fingertips and my butthole. They can reach, but they can’t stay for very long. Floppy toy renders the handle relatively useless for the purpose of initial insertion. Which means grabbing onto the bulb and pushing it directly into my anus. The lubricated bulb. Into my lubricated anus. Even starting with bone-dry fingers, you’re soon working with lubricated digits.

So, it’s not a good toy for times when I think, “Gee, I think I’d like to go fuck my ass with a sex toy.” It would probably be a great toy if the sentence “Darling, would you please come fuck my ass with the anal probe?” worked, but without the ‘darling’ in question . . . useless.

But my not being able to get the most out of the probe isn’t the best part of the story. Oh, no.

When the toy wasn’t in use, it was wrapped in a towel behind a box on the top shelf of my closet. The last time I used it (or attempted to use it, as case may be), I washed it afterwards, like always. Let it dry. Wrapped it in it’s towel, and put it where it got stored.

And there it stayed for about six months or so. Until I was in the right mood (horny, anal, and desperate) to try it again. So, I reached back, retrieved it – towel and all – and discovered something weird.

Mice had eaten it.

Oh, they hadn’t ‘eaten it’ eaten it. It’s not like there was nothing but a plate of anal probe crumbs and a note reading, “Thank you for the snack – signed, the Mice”. But they had chewed on it. It had been nibbled on. There were chunks missing. (They’d eaten through the towel to get to it.)

Is the material that Doc Johnston makes his anal probes out of really tasty? (To mice, at least.) Or is it that the flavor of the inside of my ass is a rodent delicacy? (Good God, I hope that’s not it.)

Needless to say, it went into the trashcan instead of my ass. Didn’t even use lube, and it went right in. (Trashcan’s a fucking show-off.)

Wrapping This Up

Anyway, that’s my basic history with sex toys. Not really much to speak of. Definitely not much to speak of successfully. (Except for that cucumber, of course . . . )

I’m planning on posting part two of this series (“The Ghost of Sex Toys Present”) early next week. That’s where I’ll talk about the two new sex toys that I recently obtained.

And the predictably named “The Ghost of Sex Toys Future” follows at some point after that.

Now if I can just get out of here without making a lame Charles ‘DICK-ens’ joke . . .