Liberated - Installment I
Well, it appears this month's attempt at procreating has turned out fruitless.
If you've noticed it's been awhile since I've blogged, it's because I've been working on this review piece for a company that makes "Bedroom adventure gear." The following is Installment I.
Please note: if you are offended by graphic depictions of the chubby and aging human form in ridiculous and embarrassing sexual situations, read no further!
...but if you're like the rest of us, enjoy!
— Brykman
Liberated
We didn’t think there was a problem. It wasn’t like we weren’t trying, my wife Raegan and I, and it wasn’t like we were. We’d been simply going about our business — doing it fairly regularly and letting nature take its course. The Latinos were stunned. “Where are your kids?” they would ask. As if we should file a missing persons. But soon, we began to wonder the same thing ourselves. Where were our children? At the mall? Had we forgotten we’d already had kids? Had they grown up and moved out of the house? And if so, why didn’t they call more often?
“Settle down,” Raegan says. “Stop being ridiculous.”
But when Maria, the housekeeper, asked, “Why don’t you have any kids?” and Mauro, the foundation man, chimed in: “Married two years and no children?” We guessed there might be a problem. Perhaps even a condition.
We wondered if maybe we had waited too long. Then we realized we hadn’t been waiting. We hadn’t been waiting and we hadn’t not been waiting. Now it was high time to get scientific, before it really did get too late. Raegan bought a fertility book that advised keeping track of the woman’s “cervical fluid patterns.” As in: “Sticky” vs. “Springy” vs. “Creamy” vs. “Slippery/Egg White.” As a last resort, the book suggested keeping the woman’s hips elevated during sex to a) shorten the gap between penis and cervix and also to b) help the sperm along, give the little guys a running start, let gravity work in their favor. So, eager to help, but not eager to reach into my wife’s vagina and squeegee her cervix, I instead hopped online and ordered a velveteen sex ramp from a company called The Liberator.1
Clearly intended for more erotic experimentation, and for people fed-up with horizontality, the “Bedroom Adventure Gear” nevertheless aroused my curiosity (among other things). Besides, the angles we’d been having sex at clearly weren’t working. I selected the Wedge/Ramp Combo Pack, proud that I was doing my part to help out in the baby-making process, while at the same time broadening our sexual horizons. A couple weeks later, an enormous non-descript brown box appeared at our door. It contained the following items:
2 Ankle Tethers
2 Wrist Restraints
2 Misc Nylon Straps
1 Blindfold
1 Liberator Wedge (W24” x L14” x H7”)
1 Liberator Ramp (W24” x L34” x H12”)
1 LoveArt Position Guide
1 LoveArt DVD (52 min)
I wasn’t sure how the tethers, restraints, or blindfold might factor into our particular agenda, but I wasn’t about to send them back. I got a considerable thrill at the notion of immobilizing my wife in her most fertile position and at the moment of climax shouting, “I’m impregnating you!!” Though I was sure when the moment actually arrived I’d probably just let out my customary grunt.
The wrist restraints are covered with leopard print and are as cushioned as a comfy chair. I’m not sure how leopard ever became the default pattern for sexiness, because in all my life, I’ve never once had any desire to fuck on, in, under, or around a feline. Call me crazy, but when it comes to sex, I’m very species-specific.2
The Liberator blindfold is also well-cushioned and leopardy. Though, when it comes to sex, I never quite understood the appeal of self-imposed blindness. Do blind people have better sex than the sighted? Personally, I’ve always found it much sexier knowing exactly what’s coming and anticipating its arrival rather than being surprised by having things suddenly thrust upon me. And frankly, if your partner is so ugly you got to put on a blindfold in order to get your splooge on, then brother, you need to seriously rethink the whole situation. See a therapist, get a grip on your life, do whatever you have to do.
And what about the deaf? Maybe they’re having the best sex of all, free from every auditory distraction: car horns and commercials. But no one ever talks about wearing earplugs during sex. So why the blindfold? How did the blindfold manage to rise from the ranks of plank-walking and firing squad-facing to achieve such high erotic standing while the lowly earplug remains a tool exclusively for use with shotguns and heavy machinery? Helen Keller, I’ve been told, was the freakiest bitch out there.
Certainly many might consider it a major improvement to be prevented from smelling their partner. Particularly in certain inverted positions or when ones deodorant has ceased to be effective. But try clipping on a clothespin and you’ll be laughed right out of the bedroom. Following this to its logical conclusion, perhaps the best sex of all might happen in a sensory deprivation tank where you don’t have to see, hear, or smell anything. At least I’m confident my wife would say so.
-----
1. To be honest, I didn’t actually order the products. Rather, being too cheap to purchase the shapes, I wrote the Liberator company, introduced myself as a sex writer, told them my predicament, and offered to write what you’re now reading in exchange for anything they might see fit to send me. So if it seems as though I’m obsessing on the details of the sex-merch, don’t blame me. They asked me to.
2. Once, after an episode of Wild Kingdom, I may have harbored some affection for an ocelot, but that was a short-lived affair that bears no relevance to this discussion.
Well, it appears this month's attempt at procreating has turned out fruitless.
If you've noticed it's been awhile since I've blogged, it's because I've been working on this review piece for a company that makes "Bedroom adventure gear." The following is Installment I.
Please note: if you are offended by graphic depictions of the chubby and aging human form in ridiculous and embarrassing sexual situations, read no further!
...but if you're like the rest of us, enjoy!
— Brykman
Liberated
We didn’t think there was a problem. It wasn’t like we weren’t trying, my wife Raegan and I, and it wasn’t like we were. We’d been simply going about our business — doing it fairly regularly and letting nature take its course. The Latinos were stunned. “Where are your kids?” they would ask. As if we should file a missing persons. But soon, we began to wonder the same thing ourselves. Where were our children? At the mall? Had we forgotten we’d already had kids? Had they grown up and moved out of the house? And if so, why didn’t they call more often?
“Settle down,” Raegan says. “Stop being ridiculous.”
But when Maria, the housekeeper, asked, “Why don’t you have any kids?” and Mauro, the foundation man, chimed in: “Married two years and no children?” We guessed there might be a problem. Perhaps even a condition.
We wondered if maybe we had waited too long. Then we realized we hadn’t been waiting. We hadn’t been waiting and we hadn’t not been waiting. Now it was high time to get scientific, before it really did get too late. Raegan bought a fertility book that advised keeping track of the woman’s “cervical fluid patterns.” As in: “Sticky” vs. “Springy” vs. “Creamy” vs. “Slippery/Egg White.” As a last resort, the book suggested keeping the woman’s hips elevated during sex to a) shorten the gap between penis and cervix and also to b) help the sperm along, give the little guys a running start, let gravity work in their favor. So, eager to help, but not eager to reach into my wife’s vagina and squeegee her cervix, I instead hopped online and ordered a velveteen sex ramp from a company called The Liberator.1
Clearly intended for more erotic experimentation, and for people fed-up with horizontality, the “Bedroom Adventure Gear” nevertheless aroused my curiosity (among other things). Besides, the angles we’d been having sex at clearly weren’t working. I selected the Wedge/Ramp Combo Pack, proud that I was doing my part to help out in the baby-making process, while at the same time broadening our sexual horizons. A couple weeks later, an enormous non-descript brown box appeared at our door. It contained the following items:
2 Ankle Tethers
2 Wrist Restraints
2 Misc Nylon Straps
1 Blindfold
1 Liberator Wedge (W24” x L14” x H7”)
1 Liberator Ramp (W24” x L34” x H12”)
1 LoveArt Position Guide
1 LoveArt DVD (52 min)
I wasn’t sure how the tethers, restraints, or blindfold might factor into our particular agenda, but I wasn’t about to send them back. I got a considerable thrill at the notion of immobilizing my wife in her most fertile position and at the moment of climax shouting, “I’m impregnating you!!” Though I was sure when the moment actually arrived I’d probably just let out my customary grunt.
The wrist restraints are covered with leopard print and are as cushioned as a comfy chair. I’m not sure how leopard ever became the default pattern for sexiness, because in all my life, I’ve never once had any desire to fuck on, in, under, or around a feline. Call me crazy, but when it comes to sex, I’m very species-specific.2
The Liberator blindfold is also well-cushioned and leopardy. Though, when it comes to sex, I never quite understood the appeal of self-imposed blindness. Do blind people have better sex than the sighted? Personally, I’ve always found it much sexier knowing exactly what’s coming and anticipating its arrival rather than being surprised by having things suddenly thrust upon me. And frankly, if your partner is so ugly you got to put on a blindfold in order to get your splooge on, then brother, you need to seriously rethink the whole situation. See a therapist, get a grip on your life, do whatever you have to do.
And what about the deaf? Maybe they’re having the best sex of all, free from every auditory distraction: car horns and commercials. But no one ever talks about wearing earplugs during sex. So why the blindfold? How did the blindfold manage to rise from the ranks of plank-walking and firing squad-facing to achieve such high erotic standing while the lowly earplug remains a tool exclusively for use with shotguns and heavy machinery? Helen Keller, I’ve been told, was the freakiest bitch out there.
Certainly many might consider it a major improvement to be prevented from smelling their partner. Particularly in certain inverted positions or when ones deodorant has ceased to be effective. But try clipping on a clothespin and you’ll be laughed right out of the bedroom. Following this to its logical conclusion, perhaps the best sex of all might happen in a sensory deprivation tank where you don’t have to see, hear, or smell anything. At least I’m confident my wife would say so.
-----
1. To be honest, I didn’t actually order the products. Rather, being too cheap to purchase the shapes, I wrote the Liberator company, introduced myself as a sex writer, told them my predicament, and offered to write what you’re now reading in exchange for anything they might see fit to send me. So if it seems as though I’m obsessing on the details of the sex-merch, don’t blame me. They asked me to.
2. Once, after an episode of Wild Kingdom, I may have harbored some affection for an ocelot, but that was a short-lived affair that bears no relevance to this discussion.
posted by the Brykmans at 5:48 PM
2 comments
