Action: A Book About Sex (23 page)

We were looking for, at least, the basics. For us, this meant: cloth restraints that attached with Velcro, a plain rubber six-inch dildo, a whip, and an uncomplicated three-speed, phallic six-inch vibrator. We made that last purchase because it’s really fun for someone to pick out a new solo sex toy for you to use with them on the brain: “You know what would be hot? If you picked out the vibrator that you want me to use when I’m touching myself and thinking of you.” I watched as my dude’s eyes exploded, then promised him I’d send pictures of myself using it.

If you’re the giver of such a gift—and this works for all genders with the sex toy of your choosing!—re-order some of the wording above. “It would be so sexy if you used this when you thought of me.” The only practical alteration you might want to make here: Let the person choose the toy that reminds them of you. This
does not
mean in appearance. No good vibrators, except for super-specialized and well-crafted models made
exactly to this specification, look anything like real penises, similar to how you would never confuse a Fleshlight with a vagina. They’ll want to pick something that
feels
as good as you do, which could be kind of weird-looking. I have never seen a part of the human body that looks like my Hitachi Magic Wand, about which I will write and all but perform a moan-based aria in a bit.

After we stocked the pantry with these household staples, my companion in the village and I strayed over to shelves in further reaches of the store. “Have you ever tried one of these?” he asked, studying the box of an electric-shock device.

“I have, but never with you.” It was added to the growing pile on the counter, along with a full-body trussing kit and a few bottles of lube, which was all we could manage before we had to split back to my apartment. Of course, we didn’t quite make it: Sometimes carfucking is surreptitious cabfucking! Who knew? (We did. We did it all the time, and it was unsurpassable.)

TOOLS OF THE LAID

When it comes to the assemblage of my stockpile of sexual apparatuses, textiles, and machinery, I apply the same practicalities as when I’m shopping for clothes. If I’m picking out super-brash or unconventional-feeling pieces that I know won’t make it into my regular rotation, I tend to buy cheap ones. I’m not insistent upon copping the inscrutable Tantric Master’s Golden Temple Glass-Blown Staff–type goods of the sort that, despite some cost like $397 MSRP, are indistinguishable from the contents of packages with greasy hunks smiling on their cardboard backing. Though I have used expensive equipment with those who are extra-selective about their sexual accessories, my body didn’t respond better to them—I just felt like a rich person for a second. This dissipated hastily. Outside of my $100+ Hitachi, sex toys in the $50-and-under range work fine for me.

I don’t go for toys of unknown provenance that seem human-rights-impingingly low-cost and break on their first rodeo. I’m long past the days of picking up whatever my local head shop had on offer and calling it a day. Unless I’m in the market for something extra-specific, I favor visiting a sex-positive specialty store, like Babeland, and getting the most inexpensive kink-aids they’ve got on offer. Since they won’t have to withstand much wear and I don’t much care if they break, they don’t have to cost me much.

For pieces that I know I’ll be using with great regularity, like my “anchor” vibrator that lives on a hidden ledge on the side of my bed, I’m willing to invest more to guarantee that I’ve got something both long-lasting and exactly right for my specific needs. I spent slightly over $100 on the vibrator I’ve had for the past three years, and my feelings about it are such that they make me sound like a contented husband:
She’s still just as beautiful as the day I met her. She still surprises me every day
. I also spend extra if a partner and I are picking out a toy to use together, like a two-way vibrator or a silicone strap-on situation.

Something More Comfortable

Though their novelty factors are unparalleled, cheap lingerie and intimates from porn stores, outside of stockings and panties (especially the edible ones, which, by the by, make for a great on-the-go snack any ol’ time), are rarely good fits for anyone. I can’t tell you how many balls of tangled pink ribbon and scarlet lace haunt the farthest reaches of my bureau, unworn. You usually can’t try trashy lingerie on in adult emporiums, and because they’re usually offered in letter sizes but include cups on the bust and also cover your waist/hip areas, it’s rare to find one that actually looks like your body makes sense in it, and if a piece of clothing intended to help you feel sexy feels instead like an unflattering nuisance, you should definitely
not
buy it. Stay
away unless you’re fine with spending money on something that might not fit.

If you’re buying lingerie for someone else at a sleaze vendor, it’s even harder to guess their size. The exceptions: You can usually ballpark anything made out of fishnet or any other stretchy materials (so long as the garment in question doesn’t have molded bra cups), any one-panel front-covering-type piece that’s skirted and ties in the back like an apron as well as over the shoulders, and pasties are pretty intuitive.

Another rule for those browsing on behalf of their partners: The rule of sex-clothes is that, if you particularly like a certain style of clothing, shoe, or toy that your person doesn’t already own, you buy it for them—the prime technique if you want to annoy me with your fetishes is to expect me to furnish them, when springing for an article of lacy fabric that I know someone is particularly into is reserved for days when I want to show them that I’ve gotten them a gift. If a person wants their partner to experiment with a certain utensil, or drape themselves in tawdry fabrics, footwear, or accessories of their loftiest onanistic dreams, and the desired doesn’t already own that thing, the desirous party is also the purchasing one. When you’re shopping for non-trashy lingerie, whether that’s for yourself or your partner, invest in it as you would any other nice, formal outfit, and go to a specialty store.

What follows is a list of the collection of products I keep in my bedside drawer, how I choose each object, and discussion of the various offshoots of each that I’ve used, too. This is only a tiny excerpt of all the sex toys on offer for those looking for suggestions about where to begin:

•
Lubricant.
This is another area where a higher investment pays off, since nothing wrecks my momentous enjoyment of whatever lascivious thing I need extra wetness for than gummy, sticky K-Y Jelly. I find that gross lube also puts off newcomers when it
comes to acts that require it. It’s supremely unhelpful, when you’re trying to establish something as awesome, normal, and totally not a big deal, to involve a slimy, tacky-feeling substance in those things.

Though amateurish moves like that can be appealing in their own right, I’m more inclined to focus on making a person feel good as best I know how. My favorite lube is the water-based ID Glide, which feels sleek against skin and is compatible with latex condoms and silicone sex toys. Water-based is usually best, regardless of what brand you pick up: Though silicone lubes are definitely the silkiest, I recommend them only if you’re not incorporating sex toys into your encounters, since their active ingredient can corrode the silicone or other synthetics your tools are made of. I stay away from oil-based lubricants altogether—they weaken condoms, can stain sheets, clothes, and toys, and feel like grease. The most utilitarian lube investment you can make: A bottle of silicone lube, 250 ml or bigger, will last you for a long-ass time and is economical, since you can get one for under $20 if you’re scrupulous.

•
Dildos.
Though there’s a vast world of fake dicks to explore, one utilitarian crowd-pleaser is a six-inch hollow silicone phallus. If you’re using this kind of toy to explore anal activities, you might prefer something smaller (or larger). These come in rubber, jelly, glass, and all kinds of other materials—pay attention to what yours is made of, what kind of lubricant it’s compatible with, and if it needs any special cleansers. Smaller toys follow the same guidelines.

•
Two-person toys.
Since items designed for simultaneous usage can serve myriad different wants and needs, talk to your person before springing for one. Browse all the different options together: Do you both want to be penetrated at once? Does one of you want to remotely command the toy pleasuring the other (e.g., operate a vibrating egg)? Invest in a quality product that you can agree on. Picking out a specialized toy together is super-sexy: You’re harboring and employing what feels like secret sexual contraband, and there is pretty much nothing hotter than that.

•
Strap-on harnesses.
These can be used as a part of bondage, but it’s also common that people without dicks belt them around their hips in order to accommodate a hands-free. It’s a good idea to purchase this at the same time you do the toy you intend to use it with to guarantee a fit, but if not, measure the circumference of your dick before you pick one of these, and shop accordingly.

•
Ball gags.
Outside of my color preferences for these (black or red, please), the various ones I’ve used were pretty uniform in terms of how they felt and looked, although if you get off on these specifically, there are more sophisticated-looking models for your enjoyment. For the rest of us: Go cheap, because these are basically interchangeable.

•
Rope.
Rope is rope. Nylon and cotton weaves are both great for bondage. Get it at the hardware store, why don’t you—that makes it feel extra fucked-up and hot.

•
Ben wa balls.
These are strings or sets of spheres most commonly made of steel. They are inserted into an orifice for “training” said part of the body: The person accepting them is supposed to clench their muscles around the weights, which vary in size, in order to train their control of that part of their body. Since Ben wa balls are essentially just heavy metal circles, you don’t have to be too picky.

•
Whips, crops, and paddles.
My favorites of this category are more bark than bite. Sex stores sell plenty of these that don’t hurt outside of the tiniest pleasant stinging, no matter how hard (and how loudly) they hit your skin. Ask about it! You can try them for yourself at many places, albeit on the palms of your hands instead of your butt.

•
Restraints.
You can get cuffs made of fabric or sturdier materials for wrists, ankles, or a person’s entire body. These include handcuffs, elaborate bondage systems that render a person motionless, and chains, and can be used by themselves or to bind a person to a bed or other area. Anything that restricts a person’s motion counts.

•
Bondage tape.
After you’re done in the rope aisle of your local home improvement emporium, pick a wide roll made of PVC so that it doesn’t run the risk of tugging at your skin or hair—it should adhere mostly to itself.

•
Blindfolds.
Unless you specifically like a certain shape or material for these: You can use the one you got on your last flight, or underwear, or a scarf, or basically any cloth you want. But use underwear.

ELECTRIC LADY

My first vibrator came from that most ennobled of mall smut-gateways, the crass chain-emporium of trucker hats and dreadful novelty shot glasses known as Spencer’s Gifts. Spencer’s gift to teenage-me was my first assured source for regular orgasms, after my first girlfriend and I picked up matching dough-colored six-inchers on a lark. They ran on two AAs and pluck, and I burned mine out within three months. I worked through several more cylindrical cheapos, all battery-operated and built to crash, in the next seven months before deciding to pick a more sustainable option because I adore the environment and care deeply about climate change (read: yes, those things, but also my access to quick, low-effort climaxin’).

The first contender was, as recommended by the guttural titterings of my collegiate dining-hall companions, the luckless Rabbit model. I hit up Babeland, one of my favorite sex stores exactly because it’s so unsexy, to try it out—when I say it leaves me cold, imagine a benevolent-looking person with a calm demeanor and asymmetrical haircut pressing a writhing bit of silicone against your palm and saying, as though prescribing you medicine, “The level of pressure is perfect for the average G-spot.” The warty-surfaced Rabbit was not for me, and not just because of the way it was pitched—it just didn’t feel right.