Did you guys know that Mrs. Toy with Me is totally into horses?

Well, she is.  She looooves them, but not in an icky Igottahaveabighorsedick way, you guys.  She loves them in a normal way.  But there are some people who love ponies so much, they actually want to BE them.

Recently, my  pain in the ass husband who wants me to be some sort of raging sex kitten sweet and loving husband bought me a sexy book on Amazon. That book opened my eyes (very widely) to the world of what is called “pony play.”

At first glance, pony play sounds like pretending to be a pony.  Like, my five-year-old daughter engages in pony play all the time!  We play My Little Pony and Barbie’s Tawny horse, and she likes to pretend she’s a pony sometimes, etc. but it’s not all about that all the time, Toy with Mes.  Not everyone is in it just to comb Pinkie Pie pony’s hair to get her ready for the big birthday party in Ponyville.

Shocking, I know.

If you’ve read any of The Sleeping Beauty trilogy by Anne Rice, particularly Beauty’s Release, “pony play” conjures up images of male slaves being adorned like horses and trotted out around town in full horsey regalia.  It’s super dirty and sexy and  S&M-ish.  Other people would assume it to be about something naughty with real animals (and therefore under the zoophilia or bestiality category).  For a few practitioners, this is surely the case, but for the majority of pony players, the motivations are far more mainstream (if not a little fucking weird) and far less, like, GAH!

Pony play can be divided into two main motivations:  for some, its attraction is in the granting and assumption of power over another person.  This play is a subset of BDSM, and more about role playing or fetish playing. A pony so identified is sometimes categorized as a “fetish pony.”

BDSM usually defines a “top” and a “bottom.”  In pony play the “top” is the rider or owner, and the “bottom” is the pony.  Pony play practitioners are very quick to point out it is NOT about abuse or non-consensual pain/humiliation, but rather a consensual exchange of power.

Another motivation for pony players is to actually express themselves as a pony. Terms used to describe this form are “furry pony” or “equine identified.”  By prancing around like a pretty pretty pony, they connect with their equine inner nature.  These players usually cite a return to innocent childhood fun and imagination as factors in their play.

The next time my husband gives horsie rides to the kids around the house, I’m totally going to ask him if he feels connected to his inner pony.  Also, the next time my daughter pretends to be a pony by stomping and running and snorting when we’re out in public, I plan to tell all the assholes who look at her funny that she’s “equine identified.”  It totally makes acting weird sound very fancy!

Some pony-players make further distinctions about motivations (such as whether sex is involved or not), but nearly all ponies express an interest in escaping the anxieties and pressures of being human.

Now that part makes sense to me.  Maybe I’ll try it!  Being human sucks ass sometimes, amiright?

Rumor has it that even fucking Aristotle used to like being ridden like a horse, so pony play is also referred to as “the Aristotelian perversion.”  (Those ancient Greeks were some freaky mofos, right??)

Regardless of motivation, ponies at play can be broken up into three major categories (although many ponies cross over amongst the three):

First, we have Cart Ponies:

Cart ponies are trained to pull carts.  A “sulky” is often employed as the cart.  This is a chariot-like vehicle, usually with one axle (though two may be used).  The name stems from the fact that they’re single passenger vehicles and so the driver must ride alone, “sulking.”  Since most of the weight is supported by the wheels, smaller ponies can carry much larger people.  Sulkies are commercially available but many are homemade.  The more elaborate include suspension systems to provide additional rider comfort over bumpy or uneven terrain.

Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Sorry.  I’m trying to handle this as maturely as possible.

It’s not working.

Ahem…

Cart Ponies often have their arms fastened closely to their bodies to prevent  use.  Real ponies don’t have arms, see? They may be behind the back or secured to the support arms of the sulky. Most cart ponies wear blinders.  This is one of the most popular forms of pony play, but can you imagine riding in your “sulky” and just being all “Left!  NO!  TURN LEFT!  Pay attention motherfucker!  You’re gonna hit some shit!  If you bang up my ride I’m gonna whip your ass.  It took me two weeks to make this bitch!”

The next category is Riding Ponies:

Riding Ponies are ponies who are directly ridden, without the use of a sulky or cart.  This can be in three basic positions: on the shoulders while standing, on the hips while standing, or on the back while on all fours.  Because of proportions of strength and size, most riding ponies are male, though this is far from a rule.  Ponygirls are more likely to be ridden while on hands and knees.  Kneepads are often used to protect the riding pony.

Can you imagine seeing that at the mall?

Of all the types, this category can be the cheapest since it can be done completely nude and without any accessories (besides knee pads).  As a result, it’s often where experimentation with pony play starts. As play complexity progresses a bitgag/bridle, harness, saddle, blinders, hoofed boots, etc wind up getting busted out.   You can even have a custom made saddle which will of course cost you thousands of dollars, not to mention that you’ll have to endure the awkward silence after you tell the guy you want him to make the saddle to fit your girlfriend.

Finally, we have Show Ponies:

Show Ponies show off their dressage skills and often wear elaborate harnesses, plumes and so on.  This, I can see… I totally want to be a Show Pony!!!!  The accessories available are extensive and more are available all the time.  Generally speaking they are, like real riding tack, very expensive due to their custom or handmade nature and nearly exclusive use of leather.   A lot of the accessories have functional uses and are often crossed over into “cart” or “riding” play because it’s always good to be practical in your fetishes.  Like, I like to be spanked with a wooden spoon because whenever we can have one thing serve two purposes, it’s a good thing.  We save money, have less clutter around the house, and feel very smart and creative and smug about how “green” we’re being.

Plus every time I stir the stew I can’t help but smile and feel a little tingle…

Anyway, the pony/trainer relationship that focuses on the power exchange (aka fetish pony) has a lot greater potential for discipline/pain play than does the furry pony.  Crops, whips, etc are easily incorporated into the training.  The furry pony, on the other hand, will often enjoy loving discipline, focusing more on improvement of behavior or skills.  The loss of human faculties such as speech objectifies the pony, and the gentle caregiving of the trainer relaxes anxieties.  I guess I wouldn’t mind being groomed and paid attention to and told what to do for a couple of hours.  Get a bath, eat some carrots, have my hair combed and braided…

Some players will nearly always adopt the pony/trainer relationship, even in “normal life,” while others adopt it during specific role playing episodes.  I always thought that in every relationship there was a gardener and a rose.  Like, in my relationship with my husband, I’m totally the rose.  I guess that would make me the pony?

As long as I get to be the Show Pony, I’m okay with it.

So what do you think, Toy with Mes?  Have you ever played pony?  Is it the power exchange, or do you really really love horses?  Are you a most likely to be a Cart Pony, a Riding Pony, or are you more of a Show Pony like me?

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Post from: Toy With Me

Dressing Up Like A Pony – Would You Saddle Up?

Possibly related goodness:

1. Dressing Like A Slut For Halloween

I come to you this week with a new perspective on life, Toy with Mes.

You see, I’ve been facing some minor, yet nonetheless incredibly scary health problems. It’s been one thing after another and I’ve been feeling really shitty–like a rag doll getting tossed all over the place.

Where do I begin?

My hormones have been a mess, I’ve been having double periods and scary but ultimately okay ultrasound results of a “thickened uterus,” a viral chest cold with cough leading to bronchitis leading to a round of ineffective antibiotics, swollen and painful lymph nodes under my arms, a head-so-stuffed-I-can-hear-my-blood-circulate cold, LACTATION when I’m not nursing anymore (which happens to be a pituitary gland releasing prolactin in response of extreme stress–who knew?) …you name it.

It’s just been one shitty couple of months. I mean two months is almost three months and three months is a quarter of year or a WHOLE FUCKING SEASON.

And since my hormones have been screwy, AND I’ve been feeling so crappy, I’ve gotten a good head of anxiety built up. First of all, I’m normally pretty anxious to begin with, and I can get stuck in my head very easily. Before I know it, my imagination takes over and all of a sudden, that slightly concerning ultrasound becomes a fucking death sentence in my mind. I wind up shaking and crying and losing weight from not eating and clutching and holding my children so tightly they can’t breathe.

I suspect I haven’t been a lot of fun to be around the last couple of months. My husband and kids, bless them, haven’t asked me to move out. Yet.

I’ve been a walking box of banana crackers. Determined to “do something about it,” I wound up in my therapist’s office, totally fruiting my loop, reviewing some breathing techniques and trying to get my anxiety down to a manageable level. All that helped, but there’s one thing that worked faster than the breathing techniques and the yoga and the talking and you’re gonna shit when I tell you what it is.

It’s spanking.

When I was pacing around the house wringing my hands and crying because I was just so twisted up in my head, my husband suddenly whipped out a large wooden spoon from his back pocket that he’d grabbed from the kitchen and the bastard slapped me really hard on the ass with it. It immediately jolted me out of my head and back into my body and to my utter shock it felt really good. Like, really, really good!

I’ve heard of people with anxiety problems keeping a rubber band on their wrist and snapping it when they feel themselves lifting off. In the past I’ve bitten my tongue or pinched myself. Those things are helpful, but that hard slap was the best. It was more pain than I would have inflicted on myself, and I needed a BIG jolt. It wasn’t sexual when my husband did it, but in that split second of moderately intense pain on my left cheek I suddenly saw Sexy Time spanking in a whole new light. That flash of pain was what I needed to seat me back into myself.

After catching a glimpse of the response he was looking for, he chased me around the house hitting, spanking, and slapping my ass and thighs with the spoon. Before I even knew it, even as I was begging him to stop, I was laughing, despite the fact that only a few moments earlier I had absolutely no sense of humor because, well, you know–I was preparing to die.

Now I find myself wondering how to translate that miraculously rewarding experience to the bedroom because, to be honest, I’ve never quite understood the whole spanking thing before. It always seemed kind of silly to me and I’ve always pictured some old dude in his black socks and undershirt with his boxers around his ankles getting spanked with a paddle over the lap of some leather clad dominatrix. Or I envision some of the cheesy butt slapping that goes on in basically every porno ever made.

But maybe it’s not like that, huh?

Maybe it’s actually kind of fun and soothing in a strange kinky ironic way and not something reserved solely for repressed business men and girls who like to be treated like naughty little sluts. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Far be it from me to judge repressed business men and naughty little sluts. In fact, if it weren’t for repressed business men and naughty little sluts, nobody would read this blog!) Maybe spanking can be for people like me–people who need a little help getting seated within themselves before they can truly and fully enjoy a little Sexy Time. Maybe pain can bring healing as long as it’s applied by the right hand (or the right wooden spoon).

I’ll tell you what: it seemed to work a treat for me. And I never ever thought I’d be anything but emotionally and physically traumatized by such a thing.

A couple of posts ago, I said that I loved the movie Secretary. In that film, Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character was a mentally disturbed woman with a miserable home life who resorted to cutting as a means of releasing all that bad tension.

As the movie progressed, her boss commanded her to stop cutting herself and then he started spanking her whenever she made a mistake. She stopped cutting herself and started purposefully making mistakes so she could get her spanking, because–just like cutting–the spanking made her feel better. The bonus was that it was actually healthier than cutting. It turned out to be a pretty good deal and the two fell in love. It was a twisty kind of love, but it healed them both in a way that was far healthier than they were before.

I understand that movie on a far deeper level today than I did ten days ago, I can tell you that.

So I think I might try bringing the spanking thing to the next level. Maybe we’ll bring it into the bedroom, try it in a more sexual environment. Who knows? Maybe it will help me stop thinking about my damned grocery list and start thinking more about what’s going on RIGHT NOW THIS MOMENT. To get me out of my head and into my body? That’s something that’s been a problem for me for a very long time…

You find new things at strange times and in strange places sometimes, Toy with Mes. Tell me, are you into a little pain in the bedroom? Are you a spanker or a spankee? Do you need it to get off? Have you ever even considered it? Do you find yourself considering it now, like I do?

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Post from: Toy With Me

Have You Ever Wanted To Be Spanked?

Note: This is part two of a discussion about threesomes. In Part one, Ken’s wife Crissy shares her thoughts on having a MMF threesome.

———–

So a little while ago, I confessed in the comments of my wife’s post about FFM threesomes:

“for whatever reason, i’d actually rather have a MMF than a FFM.
bonus for you! me and my tag teammate’ll work you over real good.”

Now, I know very well that MOST male fantasies involving more than two participants revolve around the FFM variety: that is, two females, one male. Ask just about any guy out there what their #1 wish would be, and you’ll probably get the “two chicks at once” answer. A guaranteed top three rank for sure. Hell, it’s in MY top three.

So when I commented what I did, I knew it would come as a bit of a surprise to some. I knew I was going against the status quo.  I also knew I was being honest.

As it turned out, that day, at lunch, one of my coworkers said, “I read your comment. I thought it was kind of weird.”

“Weird?” I asked. “How so?”

“Well you said you’d actually PREFER it to the FFM version.”

Now, he was totally 100% on board with the “two chicks at once” version, but the inverse was a lot less palatable.  That I’d actually RATHER partner up with a dude to take on my luscious wife was beyond his understanding.

When I dug at him for the reason, he confessed that it was because he couldn’t watch his wife fuck another man.  At that point, one of my other coworkers chimed in and said, “Don’t worry, Ken–I’ve got your back.  Well, actually, your wife’s back.”

Thank god for good friends!

One of the replies (TWM’s, actually) to my original comment offered up the idea that more men probably share the same fantasy, but are dissuaded from admitting it due to the fear of it being perceived as a (at least partially) homosexual act.

So, seeing as MOST men seem to have little to no trouble with introducing another female to the mix (and actually will proudly admit to such), but there are multiple stigmas attached to adding another male, I decided to compare the two.  I wanted to really get at this issue of why, for most men, is FFM > MMF?

Typical/actual responses:

• MMF — There’s another dude fucking the same girl as me. What if that dude is just a better fucker than I am?  What if the girl likes him better?
• FFM – One chick is great. Two chicks is more than twice as good. Who cares if one is hotter than the other?  I’ll love fucking them both.
• MMF – Hey, there’s two dicks in the room. They might even touch each other, or there may be some other kind of guy-guy contact. That’s gay!
• FFM – Two chicks getting it on is just plain hot. Lesbian or not, my dick is hard.
• MMF – If the female is “my girl” then she’s cheating on me! That makes her a whore.  And that’s a bad thing.
• FFM – That motherfucker is one lucky bastard.  God I envy him!

Same scenario, different ratios–very different feelings.

WHY?  *rubs chin*

The FFM is obviously male-centric. If there’s any dick action going on, you know whose it’s going to be. There is one object of worship: the singular penis in the room.  Sounds great, no?  But practically speaking, this is the biggest issue for the FFM situation.  You really can’t fuck two things at the same time with one cock.  Sure, you can switch it up a lot, but it’s still only in one place at one time. If you want multiple penetrations you’re going to have to use something else (dildo, bedpost, finger, vibrator, eggplant, toe, etc).  When the only cock in the room blows its load, that’s it for a little while.

In the MMF case, it’s the other way around: the woman is now the commodity which is in short supply. She is the object to be worshipped and attended to, totally unique in her abilities and characteristics.

(I recognize that I am leaving out the other permutations of MMF coupling–those which involve direct male/male contact.  This in no way treats them as less valid or less satisfying forms, but was done intentionally to sidestep the “homosexual” aspect which I believe clouds the issue of a direct comparison between MMF and FFM.  There seems to be NO evidence to suggest female homosexuality is any kind of deterrent to the FFM instance, in direct contrast to those objections raised over MMF.  I believe it is possible to be completely heterosexual and still engage in threesomes of either flavor.)

Like most human beings, I like to be worshiped.  It makes you feel special, right?  What’s not to like.  The thing is, that’s not the BIGGEST turn on for me.  What really gets me going is the EFFECT I have on my wife.  I want to worship HER, to see how, with my art and craft and strength, I make HER wriggle and squirm and moan.  It’s for exactly this reason that while a playthrough helps let off steam and retain harmony in the pack, it’s no replacement for those times that I really have my wife begging for it.  THAT’S the good stuff… When she’s so turned on she can’t see straight or form coherent sentences. Giggity giggity!

For the same reason, the idea of double-teaming a woman has an incredibly naughty allure.  I believe it’s actually MORE naughty and taboo than the FFM case, which has really become quite socially acceptable and mundane (see: homophobia). It’s all about her!

After all, the woman in an MMF threesome is ipso facto more girl than one guy can handle. Unlike FFM, with MMF there are MULTIPLE cocks, and MULTIPLE holes.  More opportunity to give it and take it.  Suddenly a new option “opens up”: double penetration. Not “simulated” DP… we’re talking about the real deal. Lots of motion, lots of friction, different partners, different cocks, different rhythms.   A whole new world of combinations (DP, DAP, DPP, oral/vag, oral/anal) becomes possible.  The center wants attention.  She wants affection.  She wants to be fucked senseless. The men in the room are tools–sexual tools that exist only for her masturbatory pleasure.  They have been objectified into dicks and fingers and mouths–inanimate objects that serve only one purpose: to get her off.  She is a sex-starved, take-everything-you-can-dish-out woman–begging for it all, begging for release–and she can’t get enough of it.

What is that but the very definition of sluttiness (and my definition of epically fucking hot)?

FFM threesome?  Fun, for sure.  Exciting too!

MMF threesome?  Now that’s a thing which promises to unleash the immense latent female sexual power and capacity that must otherwise be kept deep and held secret for fear of pejorative judgments and social stigma.

To behold that bottomless pool of raw dripping lust, exposed and revealed, and to recklessly throw one’s self into it, is, to me, the ultimate form of worship and intimacy.

So here’s the part where I ask the TWMs (particularly you men) to chime in with their own thoughts/experiences/reactions/criticisms/accolades.  GO!

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Post from: Toy With Me

Why I Want A Threesome With My Wife

Possibly related goodness:

1. My Husband Wants To Have A Threesome
2. The Weirdest Threesome Ever

You know what my husband wants?

A threesome.

I know, I know, everyone’s husband wants a threesome, but the kind of threesome my husband wants does not involve me and another chick.

No, no, Toy with Mes.  He wants it to be with…

Wait for it…

A dog!

I am completely not serious.

No. He wants it to be with another man (mostly because he’s not a dog person).

Up until last week, I had no idea that this is kind of unusual. Apparently it is! Last week someone suggested that perhaps a lot of guys aren’t admitting this is a fantasy of theirs for fear of sounding gay.  I would explain his feelings on the subject to you, but I’m going to save it for him to explain.  Instead, I’m going to share my thoughts on the subject because I am infinitely more interesting than he is.

In theory, this threesome thing sounds like a good idea for a lot of reasons:

• For one, sometimes in a relationship, that new relationship buzz wears off and you kind of get settled into things and you don’t get that whole super exciting new guy sex feeling anymore.  People try to get that back through role play and going to bars and pretending to pick each other up, but this is a new twist on that.  This is a way to get that new guy sex–without cheating!  HUH!  In my case, it’s even encouraged! Double HUH.  Sign me up!
• If one penis is good, two must be better, right?  I’ve taken inventory and I can definitely accommodate more than one guest at the hotel at once.
• Sometimes I get distracted while doing the sexy time.  More people = more stuff going on = more stuff to keep me focused on the task at hand(s).
• Group sex.  It just sounds naughty and fun!
• As it happens, I’ve already got the perfect person all picked out for us.  It’s my husband’s friend who plays the drums in his garage band.  Readers of my personal blog know exactly who I’m talking about and trust me you guys–he’s fucking hotter than Hades in August. In fact, many of my readers would gladly throw down for a chance at him.  He’s that strong, blue collar type with the muscles and the perfect hairless chest and the arms and the tanned skin and…oh dear.  I’m working myself into a kerfuffle again.

The problem is that nothing is black and white.  As many reasons as I can think of to get “double teamed,” I can think of an equal number NOT to go through with it…

• First, I worry about the emotional implications such an act would have on my relationship with Dreamy Drummer Boy.  I think I’ve told you guys before that I’ve never been able to separate love and sex, and so to have this kind of encounter with my husband’s BFF–who I’ve known for 14 years now and love already–would probably wreak havoc on my emotional life.  That’s not to mention the awkwardness on band practice nights.
• He’s married-ish to a psychotic alcoholic who could totally kick my ass and would love to have a reason to.
• DDB is physically terrified of me.  If I even so much as reach for him to brush something off his shoulder, he winces and shrinks away like I’m made of flaming cat shit.  I’m serious.  He about yells “GAH!” if I even get within foot of him.  His hands fly out to his sides like he’s trying not to get any of me on him.
• Birth control!  Unlike hubby, DDB has not had the pleasure of having a vasectomy.

It’s very sad because I think I/we could show him a pretty good time.  You know if I had the balls to actually go through with it, but I don’t think I could.  I can talk a good game and fantasize about being the type of woman who has a wild sex life like that, but if actually faced with the moment, I’m not so sure.

So then I got to thinking that it just can’t be with someone I already know and trust and will undoubtedly see again.  Perhaps a stranger instead of dreamy drummer boy.  But then there’s no free lunch there either!

• What happens when I develop feelings for New Guy.  That could be really messy.
• STDs!
• What if my husband, for all his fantasizing, discovers he does not like it and gets jealous or hurt?  I cannot risk damaging our marriage and relationship for one evening of woo-hoo.
• And what happens after everyone cums? How awkward is that? Does everyone just sort of get up, put their clothes back on and walk away? I mean, the guy doesn’t sleep over, right, because if they do, we’re going to need a bigger bed because a Queen size is just not big enough for three adults and I really need my sleep.
• It’s a lot of work constantly screening and picking up strangers.  As it stands I don’t have time to put my laundry away.

And then my mind moves away from practical, emotional concerns toward the ridiculous.

• Knowing me, I’d either run giggling into the bathroom as soon as my panties came off, leaving them standing there, quite literally with their dicks in their hands, OR I’d be totally mortified as soon as people started touching me and like, freak out.  It’s bad enough when I leave my husband with blue balls.  This is TWICE as bad.
• If by some miracle I actually got past the initial awkwardness, I’d probably play party hostess and make sure everyone is having a good time and check to see if anyone needs anything and if anyone is feeling left out and so on.  I would be my typical self and that means I’d be overly concerned with everyone else’s welfare–especially the “honored guest.”
• The epic nervousness means I would also be distracted by horrifying thoughts like, “OMG!  What if I pee?” or “Did I shave well enough?”
• What if I try to do some sort of fancy maneuver and fall off the bed or accidentally hit someone in the head or kick them in the face?
• Holy hell, what if I have…The Gas?

Oh, lord.  I am way too much of a spaz for this.  I am not made for exciting things.

Before you all get mad at me because I’m being a Negative Nancy, realize that I’m not totally closed to the idea, it’s just that I recognize my anxiety disorder would preclude me from actually enjoying it to the fullest.  I would not be able to just let go, sit back, and enjoy it!  If you’ve been paying attention, you would know that’s not how I roll: if there’s something to worry about, I will find that something and obsess on it.  It’s one of my many talents, actually.   It’s part of what makes me a super special snowflake.

So, yes. I’m not going to say it will never happen.  It’s just gonna take gallons of wine and an astronomical alignment.

But enough about me.  I want to hear about you guys now. Have any of you TWMs ever had an MMF threesome?  How did that work out?  Did you have The Gas or did you cause the end of one or more relationships or did you accidentally kick someone in the face?

**Catch the male perspective tomorrow with a special guest post by: Ken Gilbert!  (Crissy’s husband)

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Post from: Toy With Me

My Husband Wants To Have A Threesome

Possibly related goodness:

1. Why I Want A Threesome With My Wife
2. The Weirdest Threesome Ever
3. My Husband Posted Pictures Of Me On A Porn Site. I Liked It.

I know I write a lot of stuff about stuff I don’t understand because OMG there’s sooooo much of that and so little of the stuff that I do understand, and now I’ve got another one for you: food and sex.

Does not compute.

Here’s an image for you so you can see where I’m going with this:  Mario Batali in a teddy.

SEE?  That’s what food + sex is for me.

They DO NOT go together.  There’s your proof right there!  And before some smartypants gets all up in ma grill and comes over here to tell me that Giada De Laurentiis in a teddy is proof that food and sex in fact do go together, I say “shuttie. uppie.”  and present to you this sort of yucky picture of her rolling around in spaghetti sauce:

Ew, right?

I rest my case.  I didn’t even have to bust out Julia Child, God rest her sweet soul.

And don’t get me wrong Toy with Mes!  I love food. I think about food as often as most men think about sex.  In fact, while I’m eating, I’m already thinking about what I’m going to have next time I eat.  Based on my extensive observations,  it’s the same way with men and sex.  In fact, someone should do a study to find out if women think about food as much as men think about sex.  I think it’d be worth doing, right, because most women I know would rather eat than fuck.

It is like that with your friends too, or am I just hangin’ with a bunch of Hungry Harriets?

I went to that brown bag party I was telling you about the other day. It was fun and we didn’t have to do any humiliating games.  Whew.  As it turned out, The Rabbi got drunk on cosmos and ordered herself a a little something that her sober self might be a little scared of, and I won a set of bondage cuffs.  I always seem to leave these parties with a prize.  (The cuffs haven’t been put into rotation yet.  I’ll let you know.)

At some point during the party, we were asked to lick our arms which had been covered in a veritable fruit stand of  differently flavored massage oils, like peach, strawberry, cherry, mint.  They all tasted pretty good and stuff, I guess, but I got to wondering why they’re necessary.  Judging by my husband’s appetite, I think I probably taste pretty good all by myself.

I mean, how do I even know what flavor to get?  What goes good with ME?  I have no idea!  It seems to me the idea is to create a PARTY in someone’s mouth, not a BRAWL.  Who wants to choose the wrong flavor and produce some sort of culinary abortion like chocolate pudding on pizza, or taco ice cream?  Those are some great tastes that do not go great together!  But somehow, having one before the other is perfectly fine.  Just like food and sex!

Interesting…

I guess I  kinda understand how people get all jazzed about a little whipped cream or whatever in the boudoir because sex is delicious, whipped cream is delicious, put them together and you have a super-delicious doublefecta!  You also have a sticky mess, but I guess the sex was going to make a sticky mess anyway so who cares?  Throw in a little of that sticky flavored massage oil and it’d prolly just be easier to push the bed out the window and start over.  You might as well add a four-finger scoop of Crisco while you’re at it.  My problem is that I’m lazy.  Once my bell’s rung, I want to bask in the afterglow and drift off to la-la-land.  Swapping out the rubber sheets and mopping the floor is NOT on the list.

My husband tells me this is why we need to do wall-to-wall tile in our scary red carpeted porn basement.  He wants to put a drain in the center of the floor, of course, for easy hose-down.  He can keep on dreaming about that one.

Some people really like to overdo it and they just take it way, way, too far and get into the really pervy shit like ass smoothies and fat lady food orgy porn.  Can you imagine making your lovah a nice morning smoothie in your  butt? I guess you wouldn’t have a pain in the ass blender to wash out afterward?  That could be good.  Or you could pull out a chicken leg from between the rolls of your belly, rub it on the barbecue sauce on your thigh, and feed it to your husband.  Convenience!

Some OTHER people (and you’re gonna shit when I tell you that my daughter’s play kitchen vegetables just made me think about this) like to put actual FOOD and whatnot up inside their nether-belows.  I bet the local farmer’s market is a veritable orgasmifest for those people–a wonderland of toys!  Imagine the poor farmer sitting there with her lovingly grown produce, just beaming with pride as a  horny young couple fondle and fuss over the thickness and length of her vegetables?  They’d buy some carrots and small cucumbers to warm up with and move onto maybe a banana, then a squash, and end with a  zucchini.  The best part is that the toys become dinner and in these difficult economic times, it’s best to re-use whatever you can.  Just, rinse, chop, cook, and serve it up for a post-coital snack.  Butt zucchini for all!

Anyway, those are my fascinating thoughts on food and sex.  What do you guys think?  Did anyone find the Giada marinara picture sexy?

Photo Source

Post from: Toy With Me

Lets Talk About Food And The Sex

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Let’s chat about how over the course of just one hour of internet research, I’ve come to learn that I’m not quite as sexually experimental as I thought I was. In fact, I’m maybe a little bit of a naive prude because oh my GOD do you have any idea how weird some of the things are that people do in bed?? Weird. So weird.

You’re curious now, right? I know, I figured, so I made a list of nine of the things and part of me wants to say “you’re welcome” but a bigger part of me wants to apologize profusely in advance because the entire list is like a train wreck in that you’ll be horrified by it but you won’t be able to look away no matter what because you just absolutely have to see what happens next.

1. Feeding the Horse: Stimulation of the vaginal lips with the hand in a manner similar to feeding a hungry horse.
Okay, so, I’ve fed horses before and my strongest memory from it wasn’t what I did with my hand while putting the food close to their mouths, it was how weird the movement of their mouth felt in my hand as they were eating. Can a vagina replicate this? I don’t know, but I’m totally sitting here trying to do some weird vagina squeezing thing but all I’m accomplishing is round after round of solid Kegels, which I guess is better than nothing. But really, let’s not feed my vagina anything that you’d feed a horse, okay? Actually, can we agree to just not feed my vagina at all? Awesome. Thanks.

2. Donkey Punch: Dude fucks someone in the ass from behind. Dude punches that someone in the back of the head or neck while fucking them in the ass from behind, which in turn forces them to tighten their ass muscles and make it all the more pleasurable for said Dude.
Punching? Seriously? I mean, what? Let’s get something straight here, if I’m going to be cool enough to let you put it in my ass, you sure as hell better not do something like, oh, I don’t know, PUNCH ME IN THE HEAD WHILE I’M BEING GENEROUS AND GIVING YOU A PIECE OF THIS ASS.

3. Dirty Sanchez: Right after anal sex, the guy takes his penis out and rubs it on his partner’s upper lip, leaving a “moustache.”
Excuse me, but what did I just say? I’m being generous by giving you a piece of this ass! Please tell me you are not even considering putting your post-anal dick on my face. My face! Near my mouth! What the fuck is the MATTER with you.

4. Boston Pancake: When a dude defecates on the other person’s chest, pats down the feces with his ass to make it into a flat surface, and then ejaculates on it to create the “syrup.”
I mean. I just. It’s just. I can’t. Do people really? I mean. Like. But. Vomit stab vomit stab.

5. Alligator Fuckhouse: During sex, one person bites the other person’s neck, locks their arms and legs down and goes into a deathroll, all while maintaining insertion.
I’m not going to lie, this one is amazing. In fact, this is the only one on the list that I actually want to try. And by “want to try” I mean “would consider doing on a one night stand before getting up, fist pumping, yelling ‘alligator fuckhouse!’ and walking out.”

6. Abe Lincoln: When a guy ejaculates on the face of his unconscious partner and then shaves off his pubic hair and applies it to the semen covered area to form a beard.
Imagine this scenario for a second. Seriously, imagine that you drank a little too much tequila one night, passed out at a guy’s house, and woke up with a SEMEN AND PUBIC HAIR BEARD the next day. How do you get through that? Where do you even go with your entire life from there? God, and what if you also woke up wearing a black top hat? WHAT THEN!

7. Snowballing: The act of passing cum back and forth between two or more people’s mouths. As it gets passed, the amount of saliva and cum gets larger and larger. As in, it snowballs.
Who’s sitting around after giving a blowjob thinking, “Man, I haven’t swallowed yet, I wonder if this dude and his roommate and that chick on the street want to snowball with me.” No one, that’s who. Except there’s a name for it, so obviously someone is doing this and if that person is you it would be stellar if you could please raise your hand so I know not to share a water bottle with you ever, ever again.

8. Felching: The act of sucking semen from the anus. When the semen is too deep inside the rectum, it can be done with a drinking straw.
A drinking straw. A DRINKING STRAW. I have nothing else to say about this. Someone please remove my eyes so I can stop with this list. Maybe you could just suck them out with a drinking straw. Sigh. THE HORROR.

9. Bukkake: A group of dudes getting together to masturbate and ejaculate on one woman. The objective (because apparently things like this come with objectives) is to get as much cum on her as possible.
Yeah bro, this is exactly what every woman wants. Oh no wait, I don’t think there’s anything I’d want less than this. Except to do the thing with the semen and the anus and the drinking straw.

Okay, deep breath, that’s it. I mean, that’s NOT it but I had to stop somewhere because otherwise I’d go on forever and ever because the realm of weird sex is virtually limitless. But I’m stopping because I’m pretty sure you already hate me. Do you hate me? It’s okay, I understand if you do, even I hate me right now. Oh well, at least if you’ve made it this far you know all the same fucked up things that I know and I can now be all, “welcome to the dark side see you in hell thank you the end.”

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9 Sexual Terms You’ll Immediately Wish You Didn’t Know

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Last week we talked about the inappropriateness of semen as a recipe ingredient, and we choked and we gagged and we barfed on our keyboards. My poor husband was terribly depressed by this as he was under the impression that most women love the taste of semen (porn being his only point of reference here) and he was disheartened to learn that I am not the only woman on the planet who gags at the thought of it rolling down her throat.  We all think it’s gross, dear.  Porn actresses are, well, ACTING like they like it.  But they don’t.  I promise.  Even the girls who smile while they perform gokkun with a full 1000cc beaker.

Some commenters even said they’d rather cook with breast milk than semen, and I couldn’t agree more.  At least it’s meant to be consumed.  Semen on the other hand, is NOT.  That’s why it doesn’t taste good.  Semen — not food — tastes bad.  Breast milk tastes good, because it’s food.

Just ask the kids in this video:

See?  Delicious!

I couldn’t watch that whole thing, could you?  Once they started drawing pictures of mommy’s boobs, and giving them names, I was out.  I feel really, very sorry for those poor little girls once the kids at school catch wind of this insanity.  Those kids are way too old to be nursing.

You know who else is too old?

My husband.

The other night, our baby fell asleep before being nursed for the night, and I was getting a little uncomfortable with all the boob juice on deck and I didn’t feel like pumping,  so being the good and selfless husband he is, my beloved offered to help me out.

By drinking it… from the tap.

And he was really serious.

He would have done it if I had let him, but I didn’t because the very idea of nursing my husband makes me die a little bit inside.

No, scratch that–Actually, it makes me die a lot inside and it gives me the heebie-jeebies and I want to jump all around the room shouting Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! When I mentioned this to a friend over dinner, she told me her husband has offered to do the same thing and we were both just like what the fucking fuck is up with that?

Not everyone feels this way.  For some people, it ain’t no big thang.  In fact, they think of an adult nursing relationship as an act of love and intimacy.

Honestly?

I find this a little creepy.

I guess I’m not enough of an earth mother as to embrace the notion of feeding all creatures big and small from my bosom.  Shit, I don’t even get all the way naked when we do Sexy Time because my top half belongs to the baby, and it’s totally off limits as far as anything sexual is concerned.  I don’t even want my husband to touch them, and it’s not because they hurt or anything, it’s just because they’re strictly for utilitarian purposes; right now, they’re for FEEDING THE BABY, and that’s it.

Don’t get me wrong, when I’m finished nursing in a couple of months, it. is. on. honey.   But until then, it’s ix-nay on the boob-play.

And so for me, the whole idea of people nursing other grown people is just…confusing.  It’s not because  I  have hang-ups about breast milk.  It’s not gross.  I’ve tasted it.  It’s baby food, and if I can feed it to my baby, I can feed it to my husband, right?

Nay, nay.  I don’t get how people can have milk to nourish an infant, and then turn around and involve that same milk in Sexy Time.  I’m never one to be bringing The Almighty into things, but it is not what God intended.

I mean, I can understand that adults are attracted to the “packaging” because it’s rather nice, and gets even nicer when engorged, but actually drinking milk from the boobages opens the door for the sucky-fucky to rise to a new level of kinky. If we’re breastfeeding our boyfriend/husband/neighbor/fuckbuddy/uncle, are we also putting diapers on him and cleaning up when there’s  a stinky in his pants? Where does one draw the line?

Sometimes I feel like my husband’s mother as it is: I remind him to take a bath and to brush his teeth.  I buy him clothes.  I schedule his doctor’s appointments.  I send him to go and “play outside” (aka yard work).  I make sure he eats his vegetables.  I scold him when he eats too much candy and stays up till 2 in the morning playing on the Wii.  I don’t really think I need to nurture him any more than I already do.

Also, he calls me “mommy.”

Now that I think about it, we’ve already crossed some lines…

Anymyrelationshipwithmyhusbandmightbetotallysick, I want to leave some room in this conversation for your comments (that’s a fancy way of saying I ran out of shit to say).  Sooooooo, do any of you Toy With Mes engage in this nursing behavior?  Have you ever tasted the boobie juice?  Have you made it a part of Sexy Time?  Are you horrified right now?  OR are you totally turned on??

Post from: Toy With Me

Breastfeed My Husband? Hell No!

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There’s a huge taboo in Judaism against idol worship. We view the image of Jesus on a cross, and most statues made of Christian saints to be idolatry, as Christians tend to kneel in front of them during prayer. Yeah, it kinda freaks us out. But there’s a difference between a graven image that is worshiped, and a graven image for enjoyment. Most people don’t worship Barbie… unless you’re my friend, Dave.

The $6,000 Sex Doll

Dave wrote me an email this week to let me know he was now an “I-Doll-atrist,” I had no idea what to say. Being in the world of BDSM, you try to go non – judgmental, but let’s face it; that’s a “what the fuck?” situation. It turns out that Dave had recently purchased his first “Real Doll.” This is the next step in the old blow – up date. These things are anatomically correct, start at aboout $6,000.00 and look almost perfectly real… you know, except for the giant boobs and perfect makeup. To be fair to Dave, he has always considered himself to be a – sexual until fairly recently when he felt that he was just not good at being social. And as much as I have no problem with this from the sexual perspective (because, hey, who am I to judge what is “weird” anymore?), I do have a problem with it from the social perspective.

Just Buy A Partner!

Is this what we’re coming to now? You can order you videos and groceries online. Get your books in a digital form. Even my water filter has a small computer in it to tell me when I should switch it out. And now, if you’re not good at being social, you don’t have to practice; just buy a partner! Tell the company what color hair you want, what size breast, and ignore the fact that the chief part of the concept of companionship is that you have a companion.

Now, I know a few women who have chosen not to have partners, not to have kids, and to live their lives the way they want, and I totally applaud that. But, I think that if you’re going to decide to have a partner, then woman/ man – up and improve yourself to the point where you feel comfortable with an “organic” human being.

A Fucked Up Trend In The Sex Culture

Technically, this fetish is called “Pygmalianism,” which is the sexualization of an inanimate object (don’t you feel all smart now?), like a Love Doll, or that guy in England who has sex with cars (seriously, and no, I don’t know how. The tailpipe? I feel gross knowing I just considered that option). What concerns me is that there is a big enough market for this sort of thing, that there is more than just one company. There are a few. And now there are films about it. My deep love of Ryan Gosling aside, this is a pretty fucked up trend in the sex culture. What really bothers me, aside from the fact that a person who buys a Love Doll is essentially giving up, even for a short time, on significant human relationships, is that most of these dolls are women. Yes, there are a few men, but I’ll bet you good money that 90% of the dolls sold are female. What the hell does that say about our culture?! That a plastic, non – threatening woman is becoming the woman of choice?

Sex With A Giant Barbie

From a Jewish perspective, Dave’s decision would be entirely unacceptable as idol worship. Not because the man is bowing down to the doll, though if he’s willing to do oral on a doll who will never feel it, then points to him for effort, but because he’s choosing to hold his fantasy world as more important than the real world. Of course, then you could get into a philosophical debate about what’s real… but I don’t think I can swing that right now. And does this count as masturbation? I mean, technically you’re alone, except for those custom made, never – blinking glass eye balls that just stare at you all the time. Creepy. And while most people believe that masturbation is frowned on by Judaism (it’s not, most sects believe the “Onanism” issue to be one of disobedience, not of choking the chicken), it’s still gotta be weird to have sex with a giant Barbie, and then have to clean her up when you’re done. No? Am I wrong here?

Future Shock

People eschew human interaction to play video games, knit, work on cars, all sorts of things. I hate to make a judgment call here, but I think when you start to replace people with dolls in a long – term situation, you start really having problems. I love Dave, I think he’s great, but I can see why he has troubles being social. Maybe he has Asperger’s, or maybe he just never learned to make friends with girls. Either way, are dolls the wave of the future?

Are we seriously going to stop socializing and talking to each other in favor of machines that will do everything for us? Will sex with real humans go the way of the hoop skirt and hand – written letters? More importantly to those of us in the Kink community; how exactly do you flog a doll?

I don’t think I’m ready for the sex of the future. I can barely get behind the electronic “books” I see people reading on the metro! If this is “future shock” I think I need a paper bag to breathe into. I mean, would you encourage a friend to buy a sex doll? Is one enough, or is variety the spice of life? Is it pathetic, brave, or something in the middle? I want to hear your thoughts.

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This Isn’t Your Fathers Sex Doll

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Of all the fetishes I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few, the thing that still gets me is food fetishes. Well, food and needles, but I really don’t think we want to have a conversation about needles, do we? The piercing and the blood and the accidental ripping when they catch on things (I’ve seen it happen)…

Still reading? Cuz I totally just threw up in my own mouth a little bit there. Let’s move on…

Crissy’s weird fetishes article made me think about some of the things that most of us take for granted every day, and yet still others of us find unbearably erotic. I myself never found pouring honey on my partner to be all that sexy.

1. Honey is great, in small doses. After about three tablespoons, I imagine I would have lapsed into a diabetic coma.
2. 99% of my partners have been male. Nothing seems less sexy to me than drizzling warm honey on my partner, going in to lick it off, and getting a back – hair stuck between my teeth. Which is worse: pubic hair, or back hair? I think this should be a topic of conversation. Leave your opinion in the comments section.

I do understand how some people could enjoy it, it just never worked for me. But on the spectrum of “socially acceptable” fetishes, such as tying your partner up with silk scarves or shouting “WHO’S YO DADDY!” during the money – shot, the food fetish is, to me, the only area in which you can really run the gamut.

Sure, you can go with the plain old chocolate – sauce on your partner’s legs, but that’s so 1990′s! This is a whole new century! Welcome to the century of SPLOSHING.

No. Seriously.

Sploshing is a “fringe” fetish, meaning that while it’s an accepted part of the fetish community, it’s not as popular as, say, rope play. What is sploshing, you ask? Well, thanks for asking! It’s about sitting in food, rolling around in food, throwing food, and just generally doing everything you can think of, except eating it. Well, I guess your partner does eat it off of you/ out of you, but the main turn on is feeling is squish around in your bits. So this, my ToyWithMe friends, is officially the decade of Sploshing!

Love Of Flan Squished Between My Thighs

Sploshing can be done with beans, guacamole, cakes, and anything that can get messy. But people, I think the real question here is, how exactly do you prepare your house for this? I mean, let’s say you read this article and you think to yourself, “THANK YOU, Kinky Jew! For so long I thought my deep, penetrating love of flan squished between my thighs was weird and bizarre (it is), but now you have shown me that there is a NAME for folks like me! I must try this at home tonight!” Ok, but do you have to coat your entire house in plastic like you’re reliving a murder scene from Dexter? That seems a little intense, I gotta be honest. Plastic everywhere, someone is wearing a HAZMAT outfit… is it me? I don’t find that hot. Ehh. Maybe it’s me.

Trussed Up Like A Turkey

But alright, let’s say that you have coated your entire house in plastic, you’ve sent the kids off to their friends’ houses tonight, you have a whole supply of cupcakes in your fridge, and you and your partner are ready and raring to go! Do, ummm… do you just take your clothes off and start going to town? What about steaks? Do you think more solid foods count? Is there a set of standards here or something? I had a friend who once let his boyfriend truss him up like a turkey. Is that Sploshing, or just weird? Do you think he got tired and fell asleep in front of a football game after they were done?

I Want To Sit On A Chocolate Cake

This is all relatively new to me. I had heard of this before, but it seems that Sploshing is becoming increasingly popular. It is to the modern Western sexual relationship what oral sex was in the 1960′s: something fairly new and unheard of in your parent’s generation, but with an exciting potential. I mean, on the one hand, I am totally fascinated by this! What the hell DOES it feel like to sit on a chocolate cake? On the other hand, how many women have been told, either by doctors or our friends, “Don’t let any sugar go near your girly bits if you don’t want a raging yeast infection.” Yeah, if you didn’t know that before, you do now. No honey near the honey pot.

You’re welcome.

I’m like a fucking Mother Theresa here, saving vaginas everywhere I go.

A  Jew Sitting In A bowl Of Chicken Soup

And then the Jewish part of me wakes up, looks around and thinks, “What a horrible waste of food! There are people STARVING out there, and you’re shoving apple pie up the hair – pie? What’s next?!” And to be fair, even as a fetishist, there are times when I think, what ever happened to dinner, a movie, a boy giving your his varsity jacket, and making out in the back of his Dodge before he walked you to your door? Did those days ever exist? Have we always been these perverts, constantly looking for our next fringe fetish to keep our appetites going? Are there some people out there who are really happy with dinner, missionary position, and think only about the roses, and never look at the thorns? I wonder some times.

Then, of course, I hang out with my friends, and talk about Sploshing, and wonder: what would a KinkyJew look like, sitting in a bowl of chicken soup? Is that “sexy,” or just catering to the stereotype? And, is it wrong that I’m just a little bit hungry now??

What about you? Does the sight of food ever turn you on? What’s the weirdest sex story you have involved you (possibly a partner) and food? Do you think you could ever get into Sploshing? If you do, will you send me pics? I feel like we should be cool like that by now.

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Sploshing – A Whole New Meaning To Getting Porked