Good good good GOOOOOD vibrations

Today, a film will be unleashed on the public. A film entitled Hysteria. You may have heard of it. And if you have, you will realise that this is a film, I simply cannot let slip by unnoticed.

It is a film about an ordinary everyday household object. And the origins thereof.

Yes. I am talking about a woman's best friend. Anyone, at this stage, who is thinking - 'Iron', is going to get a swift kick in the ankle from me.

I am of course referring to a single woman's solace, a married woman's guarantee of joy, a husband's nemesis, The Vibrator.

Any woman who tells you she has never owned or used a vibrator is a liar or a nun. It is the equivalent of a sixteen year old boy saying 'I can use my right hand for WHAT?! How very dare you?! I would never! I have exams to think of.... The very idea....'

These days they come in so many shapes, sizes, colours and creeds, the choice can be as difficult as deciding which chocolate to take in a big 'ol box of Milk Tray... You can even buy them off the shelf in Boots. (The shop. They aren't wearing boots, I think you have to go to a very specialist store for that).

They even come in a lots of different animal shapes. A menagerie a trois if you will... (sorry... couldn't resist) for the....umm.... discerning animal.... ahem.... lover..... 

There is the Rabbit... of course. Yes, we ALL know about the rabbit, but were you aware of the dolphin? The whale? And Oh My God I Wish I Was Kidding.... the HELLO KITTY VIBRATOR. 

Those three words sum up why the Japanese need to be stopped. Now.

The vibrator is no longer a tool for the sad single spinster. They are enjoyed by couples, frequently as 'spicing up' type equipment. Men even have their own fun jiggly rings of joy. 

Whilst it is becoming more and more common for women to discuss the latest in buzzing technology, it still remains a thing of great fear and excitement to men, a bit like a roller coaster, costs a lot, it looks fun and colourful and there's lots of screaming.....

But, one thing that scares them is, what if it does a better job? Will they be demoted? And why is it so much bigger than their own appendage? Isn't that just a rubbery smack in the face?

Well, they have no one to blame but themselves.

The vibrator was invented by doctors in the Victorian age to 'cure' women of 'hysteria'. The usual method of this was for the doctor to stimulate a women's vagina with their finger until they reached 'completion'. Men mixing their laziness with their love of toys invented a device to do the job for them. Which meant it was developed with a very male take on what women would find stimulating. Hence the supersized phallus.

If it had been invented by a woman, it would probably resemble a sort of tiny Ryan Gosling and would project pictures of shoes on the wall during usage.

It wasn't long before women were taking smaller versions of this 'cure' home, and funnily enough, hysteria suddenly became a very common complaint.

I am sure that no man, unless truly confident in himself, will believe me when I say no woman would choose a plastic wobbly device over a real, living breathing human. And why should he believe me, when he is told time and time again that that is not true?

Sex and the City, and any female orientated show is constantly digging away at masculinity and telling them all that they are useless and will never live up to the treasures that are nestled in Ann Summers. But it's okay, because it's always meant as a bit of fun, a little emasculating joke. 

Why can't we just tell them the truth? We would chuck out our rabbits, our tingletips and our black knights for just one evening with the man of our dreams.

But not Hello Kitty. You will have to fight me to get that one. 

50 Shades of Wahey!

So, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's been an ever so quiet discussion going on about a certain novel. It's probably passed you by, as it has barely been mention in the press, on Twitter, Facebook and every conversation you overhear. Hardly anyone has mimicked its title for comedy effect. It has its own sort of cult following. And if I were to spoon anymore sarcasm into this blog it would overspill causing everyone to be washed in a sea of low humour shouting - "Drowning am I?! Oh that's original"

50 Shades of Shite, as I like to call it, cannot be ignored unfortunately. Believe me I've tried. I threw a copy out of the window but the postman brought it back. I tossed it in a river, but it came through my tap when I poured myself a glass of water. This book is like a slimy leech. A slimy leech that I have unfortunately read.

I am not here to bore you my literary critiques or to tell you not to bother with this poorly written excuse for erotica. (Though I have achieved both of those things in the above).

What I thought we could chat about today is fetishes and kinky sex. 
Yes. That got your attention didn't it?

Sex. 

Sex sex sex.

A long time ago I met a gentleman. A very lovely guy, who told me I was beautiful and asked for my number. I wasn't even at a Home for the Blind or anything! Result.

We had a few lovely dates, and this guy was such a sweetie. And, it would seem, adored me. Which was, well... great! He was a handsome, kind, generous man. My luck was in. Right?

It was on, I think, the third date that he admitted that his sexual preferences were, well, unexpected. He was a little on the S&M side of the bedroom. And liked his women to be Dominatrices. I was, a little surprised. Actually, that's an understatement. I'm not sure if I would have been more surprised if he'd told me that on the odd occasion, he loves to sit on top of his roof, dressed as The Queen throwing fecal matter at passing wildlife.  

This was a gateway into a world I had never even looked into before. I know it exists, sure. It is like the holiday resort that you have heard tales of, and you are sure is lovely for certain types of people, (you know, those people) but really isn't your cup of tea.

So I had a lot to ponder.

Now before I continue that story, let me move on to the tale of a friend of mine - Andy. So, Andy and I were chatting recently about our love lives, sex and lack thereof. As Andy is a gay man, he isn't a stranger to the various sexual liaisons that occur between two consenting males who have met over the wonderful world wide web. So, not so long ago, Andy is chatting to a guy online and they are getting on really well, and have a lot in common. Then this guy asks Andy if he likes CMNM?

Andy is a little confused.

So before answering, he does what any upstanding (pardon the pun) gentleman would do. He consults Google.

So, for those of you uneducated types, who weren't aware. CMNM stands for Clothed Male, Naked Male. Apparently, this is a 'thing'. There are people in the world who prefer to stay fully clothed whilst others get completely naked. Often, I believe this can be linked to voyeurism. There are WHOLE websites dedicated to it! I'm not that surprised. I think in this day and age, you can find websites for everything. I imagine if your thing is men dressed as nuns on rollerskates you can probably find at least four websites to chose from depending on what colour of habit you would prefer.

My question in all of this, which is vaguely related to 50 shades, is how far should you be willing to stretch your sexual boundaries for the possibility of a wonderful relationship?

If their 'thing', really isn't your 'thing' then surely the relationship can't last. I know that sex isn't everything but at the end of the day, sex actually is everything. And if one of you isn't getting the sex they want how long are they gonna hang round. Even if the person fulfills them in all other areas.

In fifty shades, Miss Twatty McGinty (I can't remember her actual name, so this will do), pretty much gives herself over to something she isn't entirely comfortable with for a man she loves. This is not a great role model for young women who are ready to start exploring their sexuality. Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Eyre are far stronger than Miss McGinty. And they were written a long time before feminism, suffragettes and the sexual revolution.

Andy? Well, Andy tried it out and didn't find it too hideous a prospect. In the end, the relationship didn't work out for other reasons. So, I guess dipping your toe in from time to time isn't the worst thing. Don't knock it till you've tried it, so to speak.

Interestingly, I wonder, does having a particular, shall we say, fetish make it more difficult to find love? It's hard enough to find someone you fancy who like the same sort of food as you let alone someone who also loves to be tied to a car bonnet, covered in red paint and force fed fish. (Just for the record, I have not just let slip any of my own fantasies).

And me? Well, I don't have a wardrobe full of PVC catsuits and gimp masks, that's for sure. I think some things are a bit too scary, even for me. 

Checkout my new website though - www.dragnunsonskates.com. 
I think you'll like it.