SexVoxing: Mentioning the Unmentionables
My bedside table drawer is a verifiable sex toy cache. We’ve got a silver bullet, a butterfly kiss, a remote control butterfly, a Double Bunny Rotating Vibe, a traditional white vibrator, a virtuality sleeve, buttercream flavored clitoral stimulating cream, and an array of lube that would make any porn star jealous. That would probably lead you to believe that we are having a lot of sex, no? Yeah, well, with two kids and full-time jobs, not so much. But when we do, let’s just say we are never in need of anything to enhance the experience. And every now and then when the spirit finds me, I have my choice of self-stimulating products to scratch my itch. I am convinced that someday we will return to our five times a week routine. It might be after the last one graduates high school, but it’s gonna happen. And when it does, we will be more than prepared.
—Wise Young Mommy
Honestly, I don’t have a bedside table drawer, nightstand, toy basket, or anything like that. We got hosed on the housing market when our house in the Carolinas sat empty and unsold for nearly two years, so we ended up renting a teensy place here in the Sunshine State. Most of our goodies are in storage a few states away. But if I had the room and access to my stash of stuff, I’d probably have the following:
a) six packs of Energizer AA batteries (just in case)
b) a tube of Astroglide
c) a VHS tape of the ’92 Dream Team’s gold medal game vs. Croatia
d) a Fukuoku Five-Finger Massage Glove
e) an extra pair of wool socks (my feet get cold)
f) my extra iPod Nano with mini speakers
g) an 8x10 of Julia Roberts signed Kisses! Love, Julia in blue Sharpie
Sneak a peak into my bedside table drawer, you’ll find leashes, dog collars, a couple of muzzles, and a bunch of cleanup rags. Sounds mega hot, I know. But actually, all those goodies are for the sibling puppies we adopted two years ago. They’ve taken over the house. They make sure bed is strictly for sleeping. If I try to get anywhere near my partner, even for a little innocent spooning action, I find a big hairy beast in my arms—and it’s not my partner. It’s a jealous pooch coming between us. We aren’t allowed to touch each other anymore. On nights when the pups decide to stretch across the mattress instead of curling up in balls, there’s not even room enough for both of us, so I end up spending the night on the couch. If I get lucky enough to spot an opening in bed in the middle of the night, and try to sneak under the covers with the pack, my partner grumbles that he feels all crowded in and goes to sleep in the guest bed! And we thought being gay and not having kids was going to be great for our sex life….
—Daniel W. Kelly
In the naughty drawer: My party undies—panties too cute to throw out and too uncomfortable to wear for long i.e. party undies. (Why do I continue to buy corseted thongs and anal floss with rhinestones and maribo feathers when I’m a commando style gal? It’s a sickness.) Various lingerie abandoned by various exes. A Flicker vibe that eats batteries like Tic Tacs and is made of that cyberskin that attracts lint and hair from surrounding counties. A half-a-dozen dead batteries. (Secretly I must believe in a resurrection day for dead batteries. I can never throw them out.) A crossword puzzle book. Old Porn: Libido magazine, On Our Backs, a terribly written smutty novel (the title is a random combination of the following words: Lesbo, Cheerleader, Slut, Frenzy, Sex-slaves, Virgin, Spanking) and an overdue hentai DVD rental featuring tentacle rape. Lube. Dried up body paints. My favorite black 100-percent platinum grade silicone dildo. A rabbit fur mitten. Half a box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Cookies. A plug-in Wahl “massager” and its various attachments. Laundry money. Wet wipes. Q-tips. An old cell phone.
I take a Girl Scout’s approach to my bedside table—always be prepared! Within easy reach I keep a small collection of my favorite vibrators—one G-spot stimulator, one dual-action, a tapered slim-line and a bullet. I also have extra batteries in a variety of sizes. I keep Astroglide and K-Y Silk nearby, too. I still have a few leftover condoms from before I went on a contraceptive ring.
And then there’s the really good stuff: bondage tape, a studded leather collar, three pairs of handcuffs, a butt plug, a cock ring, and two flavors of head gel. For sensual evenings, I have massage oil, a blindfold, some scented tealights and a silk scarf. And, because I have two kids, I also keep a box of earplugs by the bed so that after staying up late together on Friday night, my spouse and I can take turns having Saturday afternoon naps!
I’d like to tell you that my bedside is a veritable pornucopia of sexiliciousness; the truth is that it’s just a lot of books (Neil deGrasse Tyson is currently atop the stack), a corresponding stack of unwatched DVDs/Blu-Rays (the Blu-Ray Criterion print of The Seventh Seal is atop this stack), a plush Cthulhu doll, a few action figures (Rorschach, Boba Fett, Spider-Man), a box of earplugs (because the only thing in this world that snores more loudly than me is she), several stacks of work (the writing staff will be horrified to learn that I do some of my editing whilst in bed), and, depending on the time of day, air pressure, and the placement of the moon, sometimes there’s a cat up there. Or three.
Tantalizing glimpses, flesh and gesture reflected as art, a montage of vintage mirrors frame the walls of my boudoir. More tactical than titillating, a body wills a restless mind to stay engaged, voyeur to its own production.
Prone to stray and trained to multitask, a keen and capricious mind slips in and out of context and time with ease. Impervious to command, it sways only to seduction. Just as Narcissus fell for his own likeness, unable to leave his reflection, so my mind, in seeing itself, elects to linger.
And through the looking glass, sight amplifies sensation. With the rear view no longer a blind spot, the panoramic echoing of features and form presents an optical orgy that quickens arousal and focuses desire.
I have a lot of toys. I’ve gone from using the bedside drawer—which now holds a television remote and a rubber band ball—to a large, decorative wooden box and a lovely pink satchel and I still don’t have room for all of them.
There is one toy, however, that seems to follow me around the house. Everywhere I look, there is the Liv in her little white satin bag. She appears in my desk drawer and on my bookshelf, on my pillow and in my satchel. She materializes in the bathroom and on the kitchen table and even next to the coffee pot one morning. Every time I reach for another toy, that satiny bag ends up in my fingers and I have to turn her away lest the other toys get jealous. She creeps between Taylor and I when we’re having sex and buzzes incessantly, teaming up with him to leave me stuttering and stupid.
Should I ever get another Lelo toy, I’m half afraid Liv would end up in a fight to the death, so attached is she to me and I to her.
And, no, I’m not going to tell you about the rubber band ball.
In the wicker basket on my nightstand shelf, I have: a prototype toy from In Her Tube—a Kong dog toy (you know, the bloopy butt-plug-looking ones) filled with silicone and mounted on a foot of rubber-wrapped broom handle; a colorful stuffed dragon; and a knot of wires and cords to various electronic devices (none of which are actual sex toys). I have a long box I keep under the bed like a pull-out drawer which houses the actual supplies: three kinds of gloves (in their boxes and upside down, so the opening is covered to avoid cat hair as much as possible), a variety of play piercing needles (and my full piercing toolkit), leather cuffs and quick-release Velcro ones, a few lengths of rope, my FeelDoe and harness. Then there’s the bookshelf, which houses the stuff I need most/fastest: Liquid Silk, condoms, a little stash of each of the glove types, First Aid kit, flashlight, paramedic scissors for the rope, various snacks for low blood sugar after a rollicking good time. And if I’m in the bed, my trusty electronic lover Ted (aka my iPhone) is in one of those spots somewhere. He’s a voyeur like that.
The detritus on top of my side table includes a pile of hair management tools (including pony tail holders, barrettes, combs), a stack of paperback books (currently includes A. Lee Martinez, Patrick Califia, Terry Pratchett, and some other SciFi brain candy), a few candles, three lube bottles (Sliquid Organics Silk, Sliquid Organics, and Liquid Silk), a few banjo picks (great for sensual scritches for my partner who loves such things), and a bottle of soda. On the other levels of the nightstand, there are a few small vibrating things, a weird silicone kid’s fun bracelet that does excellent double duty as a cock ring for my local guy partner, a bunch of condoms (Magnum, One, and LifeStyles brands), the charger for my Lelo “Gigi” vibe, my handgun (a Kel-Tec P-32), the gun cleaning kit, and some stitch markers for my knitting.