That’s the other thing about sex toys: despite all the “Fifty Shades of Grey” seriousness, a sense of humor is often more helpful. You’re trying to give each other orgasms, not an appendectomy.
“I feel like I’m eating appetizers with my vagina,” I told my fiance Greg as he inserted the lubricated, pink glass Octopussy Dildo inside me. “First calamari, then chimichangas.”
We were sprawled on my bed, beginning our sex toy experiment for STACKEDD Magazine. Our goal wasn’t merely to play with sex toys–anyone with a brain stem and genitalia can do that–but to discover new ways to communicate sexually. Each of us had played with toys with past partners, but not to this extent. And as a newly engaged couple, this was an optimum time to find out what new kinks we share, and some we might not even be aware of ourselves.
We’ve already got great sexual chemistry, but the funny and maybe counterintuitive part about sex toys is they require talking. They bring an aura of mystique, sure, and maybe even a bit of transgression, but if you’re not clear about what you like where and why, you’ll end up with something lodged in the wrong hole or clamped to the wrong nerve endings. And if you’re reading this, you’re smart enough to know real life is not like porn. Women like to experiment at least as much as men do, but we don’t want sexual surprises. I might have had a pink glass Octopussy Dildo inside me, but only because I explicitly asked for it.
So, I was aroused but, also, amused. When your betrothed slides a sex toy shaped like an octopus tentacle inside your lady parts and makes an awesome joke about your “joie de beav”, it’s good to keep things playful. That’s the other thing about sex toys: despite all the “Fifty Shades of Grey” seriousness, a sense of humor is often more helpful. You’re trying to give each other orgasms, not an appendectomy. Be careful handling the tools, but it’s not like your partner will get a staph infection if you drop something on the bedroom carpet. (Unless your bedroom is a nest of filth. In which case, re-evaluate your life.)
I spread my legs farther apart and leaned back on my elbows, but kept laughing. I was having fun, but also difficulty circumventing the ridiculous visual. I needed to find a balance. “Try not thinking about the octopus part,” Greg whispered and lightly bit my ear. That did the trick. It was a warm night and the cool glass “suction cups,” as such, prompted great clitoral stimulation and vaginal arousal.
As long as I thought of it as a sex toy and not a cephalopod, it worked. Soon I was wet and moaning and banished all thoughts of dead octopi I’d seen hanging outside seaside butcher shops when I was a kid in Greece. (According to Babeland, the renowned feminist sex shop, the Octopussy is dishwasher safe and for partnered or solo use. I whiffed on the latter, though: I felt like an idiot and gave up and used my hand, replete with its convenient opposable thumb. Thank you, evolution.)
I was now eager for our next toy. Greg blindfolded me with the Candy Apple Blindfold. Its name describes its slick red surface, not its texture, so don’t worry, your eyes won’t get epoxied shut. They will, however, get scratched by the fake fur lining should you accidentally open them. So, keep your eyes shut. Which begs the question, “Why do I need a blindfold?” With its cat-eye shape, it looks super-cute, but unless you and your partner really get off on the visual, you can save money here and just close your eyes (Again, see “evolution.”).
But before I took off the blindfold, I asked Greg to cuff me. With the right partner, I sometimes like having my hands tied above my head. (The first time I asked my then-boyfriend to tie my hands, I suggested using my black tights. Which worked great to tie my wrists together and then to the headboard, but stretched so much, there was no restraint at all. Learn from my mistake.) Greg often strokes then ties me with one of the silk scarves we purchased for bondage play (I just discovered there are Pinterest boards devoted to silk bondage scarves, so move over ombre Jello Nutella cupcakes: It’s delightful being tied with a scarf dampened by your own juices).
This was my first time in proper cuffs, though. As such, Kinklab Neoprene Cuffs were perfect. Anyone into hardcore submission is mocking me right now because these are black fabric cuffs you tighten with the affixed pink velcro. And each cuff has a hook that can attach to the other hook, or anywhere else you choose. If you’re dexterous, you can even undo them yourself. Ideal for those who like to play with submission, but still like some control.
With the blindfold and cuffs secure, Greg reached for our trusty Foxtails Leather Flogger and began lightly flogging my ass, sheathed in Hanky Panky lace panties in “Iris” (Hanky Panky is my favorite brand: it fits and wears beautifully, comes in myriad colors, and is surprisingly comfortable, even if it’ll be on your floor in 30 seconds anyway). 
The Foxtails flogger is perfect because while it’s black leather, its tails are relatively short and soft, allowing the person wielding it optimum control–i.e., no one’s going to accidentally whip your torso unless he or she is a total klutz. In the past, Greg has used it with varying degrees of strength on my ass and lightly on my clit and inner thighs, each time to great effect, leaving me writhing in ecstasy. And I writhe because I’m turned on, obviously, but also because I trust Greg. If I didn’t trust him and he flogged me against my will, the night would end with a series of cock-punches.
This time, however, the combination of the blindfold, cuffs and flogger proved too much. It triggered a primal fight-or-flight reaction and after the second stroke, I asked Greg to stop (We joke that our safe word is “Pomeranian,” after my dog, but we don’t have one. Not because we’re nuts, but because we just communicate like adults. Once again, see: “evolution”). Greg said he sensed I wasn’t enjoying it and was about to stop anyway. I appreciate how attuned he is to my responses. That has to be the key to this whole shebang (Pun intended). Listening to each other. Don’t worry: you’ll end up with much hotter sex, not a Dr. Phil-type session.
Let’s pause to note that, so far, Greg had used all the toys on me. I hadn’t used them on him. That’s due to our specific tastes and proclivities. I’m an ardent feminist, but think it’s really fun to be tied up or lightly flogged, etc. It’s pretty much a stereotype that strong personalities often enjoy varying degrees of submission in bed. In my case, it’s true. That said, if your lady or dude partner wants to use the toys on you, well, fair’s fair. Don’t assume that because most sex toys are marketed to be used on women, that your female partner won’t instead, or also, want to use them on you.
Greg and I took a break and had some orange San Pellegrino, a wonderfully refreshing way to replenish your fluids, as such. For the sake of research, neither of us had come yet, but we were by now hyper-charged and our break was short-lived.
I lay back on my pillows and Greg opted for my Liv 2 vibrator, rotating its wonderfully smooth surface slowly on my clit and increasing the speed as he inserted it into me, harder with each thrust. By now, I was nearly out of mind from joy–and I like that for us, joy never falls victim to experimentation–and I asked him to stop, because I wanted him inside me instead. (He carefully placed Liv 2 on my nightstand, because once I accidentally left it on the bed, within my dog’s jumping reach. I turned around just in time to see him lick it. This is my Normandy. You will speak of it at my funeral.)
With some maneuvering, we managed to stretch the rubber Wave Rider Cock Ring with Bullet Vibrator around Greg (ideally, you should attach it while your or your guy is still flaccid, but the Wave Rider does stretch and contract nicely and that leads to its own fun) and turned on the Bullet Vibrator. (This is where evolution failed. All penises should have a clitoral vibrator on top. Come on, mutation!)
Unsurprisingly, by this point we were so spectacularly aroused, we each came with the strength of a meteor shower. As I mentioned above, it was a warm night. The windows were open. Even four floors up, I’m certain that pedestrians in my crowded neighborhood heard us on the sidewalk below. I regret nothing. This is what fucking should be.
Now get out there, listen to each other, and make some noise.
