**Warning: Some of the photos in this article err on the NSFW side… but I was at a nude beach after all**

Given the fact that Montreal is an island, one thing it is seriously lacking in is a soft, sandy beach for tanning by day and all-night beach parties complete with the most liberating summertime activity of all: skinny dipping. Sure, there’s the wimpy man-made “beach” at Ile Notre-Dame, but you can tell the scratchy sand was just brought in on a giant truck, the water is so murky and unappealing and it’s always overcrowded with screaming children.  There are a few notable pools and secret swimming holes scattered throughout the island, but none come close to the sublime paradise of Oka Beach on the shore of the Lake of Two Mountains.

Getting There:

Oka National Park  is easily accessible by car, at about an hour’s drive out on highways 13 and 360. However, if you’re vehicular-challenged like me and pretty much all my friends, two wheels will get you there almost as easily. You can opt for the 50 kilometer bike ride along the scenic Route Verte, part of Quebec’s intricate system of cycling trails.  Instead, we chose to take the AMT train to suburban big-box wasteland of Vaudreuil. After that, we biked about 10 kilometers to Hudson and took the ferry across the lake to Oka for a total cost of $9. After that it was only about a 20 minute ride to the campsite, through the tree-laden path to the National Park.

No Tan Lines!

The beach at Oka has two distinct sections: the family-friendly side near the campsite that is littered with brightly-colored umbrellas. Finding a prime spot can be difficult, especially during summer weekends as the sandy real estate becomes densely populated with towels and suntanners. A short walk to the left of the main beach is where the fun begins – there’s a magical yellow pole that welcomes you into a public space where it’s completely legal to remove your clothes and frolic in the sun, sand and surf.

You’ll know you’ve reached the nude section of the beach when you spot boats and jetskis docked near the shore, as they are not permitted to park on the main beach. Another dead giveaway is the buck naked middle-aged men with leather skin tans that proudly walk the shoreline, stealing glances at the swimmers and sunbathers. One of the best things about a nude beach is no tan lines, but make sure to pack plenty of sunscreen so you have enough to cover all your bits for the nude beach – nothing hurts more than sunburnt nipples.

Beware the Rustling Bushes

When I mentioned to a friend that I was spending the weekend at Oka, she told me last time she was on the nude beach, she was openly propositioned by a man who asked if she wanted to have sex with right there on the sand. “It really put a damper on my nude frolicking,” she lamented. I wasn’t going to let any of those unabashed perverts ruin my naked fun… but luckily I didn’t encounter any of them. I did see many groups of happy people of all ages in various states of undress. Every once in awhile, my eyes would drift to the tree-lined edge of the beach where I would see a rustling in behind the leaves that I was pretty sure wasn’t the racoons that roamed the campsites when darkness fell.

Do Not Feed The Raccoons, As They Will Eat Anything

Camping facilities were standard at the National Park – we opted for the cheapest type of site without electricity. I noticed signs throughout the park that offered the standard “do not feed the wildlife” refrain, and as such we tried to keep a very close watch on our food… however we soon learned that hungry raccoons will eat almost anything.

After having a little too much to drink, one of my friends threw up all that excess liquor into a clearing at the side of our campsite. When the raccoons arrived that night, they must have been intrigued by the vomit’s sweet smell, as they proceeded to chow down. Word to the wise – if you thought raccoons were crazy, you’ve never met a drunken raccoon. Luckily we had consumed the rest of the booze and with our food safely stowed away, the raccoons stumbled off into the night to look for more puddles of alcoholic vomit.

Photos: Top by Jessica Klein, others by Marlon Francescini.


Some of the competitors at the London Olympic Games are lusting for more than just a gold medal. Sex in the Olympic Village certainly isn’t a recent phenomenon. It’s hard to imagine that you could gather together 10,000 of the world’s fittest bodies in one sweaty space and not expect them to want to “unwind”. When the athletes ran through the supply of 70,000 condoms at the Sydney 2000 Games, organizers ordered another 20,000, prompting a new standing order of 100,000 at subsequent Summer Games.

A titillating article in ESPN The Magazine reports on a variety of tawdry tales from Olympiads past ranging from French handballers stripping down to their skivvies and neckties and feeding each other in the cafeteria to sex out in the open, on the green lawns and between buildings. Swimmer Ryan Lochte estimates that up to 75 percent of Olympians are hooking up in the Village, and when you think about it, why not?

In fact, the recent surge of Olympians in London caused the popular gay pick-up app Grindr to crash last week. As a resident told a local paper, “It happened almost as soon as the teams got here. Either loads of athletes were logging on to meet fellow Olympians or were looking to bag a local.” If it’s a Brit they seek, they have quite a few to choose from – the city boasts 350,000 Grindr users and counting.

The Huffington Post speculated that the incident might have been an elaborate stunt orchestrated by the app’s creators, who used their apology of the 24-hour suspension of service in London to reveal that an updated version will debut later in the summer.

Not only are the athletes hungry for sex, so are the tourists that flood the city to attend the Games. There are differing reports of the exact influence on sex tourism resulting from a large scale sporting event. The BBC predicted that thousands of site workers, spectators and athletes are expected to fuel the sex industry boom at the London Games, resulting in an increase in human trafficking.

Since the 2004 Athens Games first invoked warnings about the increase in sex tourism, most other major international sporting events such as the World Cup have followed suit. While it was initially reported that sex trafficking doubled during the Athens Games, it was later found that cases rose from 93 to 181, none of which were found to be linked to the Olympics in any way by Greek authorities.

In keeping with London mayor Boris Johnson’s vocal crackdown on prostitution and human trafficking in the lead up the Games, 80 brothels were temporarily closed in the east London borough of Newham, which is home to the central stadium. Sex workers were said to be “cleared from the streets” around the stadium by the AFP, making it more presentable for the 2 million expected to descend upon the area. Critics of the crackdown point out that displacing sex workers merely endangers their welfare and does little curb the sex trade as a whole.


Photo credit: http://www.blippitt.com/emergency-condom-shipment-heads-to-olympic-athlete

Last summer, women flocked in droves to see members of a bridal party dramatically desecrate a flashy wedding gown, take out their crazy on a chocolate fountain and fart joke their way to the top of the box office. This summer’s runaway film hit with female audiences goes for a complete different type of girl bonding experience that involves watching buff, bare-chested heartthrobs perform a series of coordinated pelvic thrusts before brazenly ripping off their tear-away pants. Welcome to the seedy underbelly of the Florida stripping scene, filtered through the lens of Stephen Soderburgh.

You can practically smell the ball sweat coming off the screen as Channing Tatum, one of Hollywood’s rising stars, reprises a role that he played in real life. He sure has come a long way since flaunting his fancy footwork in Ricky Martin’s “She Bangs” video and the “Step Up” franchise. As the titular character, Tatum takes the fresh-faced youngster Alex Pettyfer, affectionately referred to as “The Kid”, under his wing and thrusts him into the spotlight, pun intended. The plot proceeds exactly as you’re predicting it might – before strip club owner (and scene-stealer) Matthew McConaughey can eke out another Wooderson-inspired “alright alright alright”, the Kid gets corrupted and Magic Mike’s whole world goes up in smoke.

While the screening of “Magic Mike” that I attended wasn’t exactly packed with rowdy, ravenous ladies, there were many moments that elicited hoots and hollers from the crowd. Unsurprisingly, there were quite a lot more chuckles at the dance sequences than ooohs and ahhhhs. The film confirmed one of my suspicions about male stripping – it’s clearly a lot more ridiculous than it is sexy.

It’s difficult to pin down exactly what about male stripping is so silly. All the elements for arousal are there on paper – subjectively attractive bodies, glistening skin, simulated sex… ok, there’s no way I can even write this without it venturing into Harlequin romance territory.  And while there are some women out there whose panties get a little wet at the aforementioned scenario – approximately one third, if you believe in anthropologist Carole S. Vance’s “One-Third Rule”, which supposes that when an erotic image is presented to a group of women, one-third of them will find it disgusting, one-third will find it ridiculous, and one-third will find it hot – but I regrettably am not one of them.

Another reason why audiences might turn to laughter at the trying-to-be sexy moments is that engaging this seemingly naughty act with a group of friends instills an elementary school level of giddiness attained when skipping school together for the first time. Male strip clubs provide a relatively safe environment for women to play the role of the desirer, whether that makes them uncomfortable or not.

In her interesting review of the film, Tracy Clark-Flory of Salon.com pondered whether male strippers were a bit too in need of being desired, rather than doing the desiring that supposedly turns straight women on. “Men objectifying themselves is feminizing,” she notes, quoting journalist Susannah Breslin, especially when they choose to do so in a traditionally female-dominated industry.


Photo by Markus Mueller

I was hanging out at my place earlier this week, drinking some beers with three of my heterosexual male friends when the topic of motorboating came up. Two of the guys regrettably admitted they’d never enjoyed the sweet pleasure of “pushing one’s face in between two ample breasts, and rocking one’s head side to side very rapidly while making a vigorous, lip-vibrating ‘brrr’ sound”. While the third had tried it, he wasn’t so enthused about it.

“They’re just boobs,” he lamented. “They’ve got nothing on a sweet, juicy ass that you can grab hold of and hang on to for the ride.”

While it may seem somewhat crude to break male to female attraction down into such a simple binary, it is undeniable that people are attracted to particular aspects of a prospect’s physique. It seems that when given the choice, most men would ultimately declare themselves as either a tit-man or an ass-man. Since many men develop their sexual desires and quirks in their teenage years and tend to remain relatively rigid in regards to what turns them on, and if the Internet is a mirror of what men like, the majority reach for the mammaries.

According to Ogi Ogas and Sai Gaddam, authors of “A Billion Wicked Thoughts”, breasts, regardless of the size, are the most popular body part in sexual searches in every country from the United States to Saudi Arabia. Breasts account for about 4% of all sexual searches on the conglomerate search engine Dogpile, placing them fourth above MILFs (4.27%), gay (4.7%) and youth (13.54%). Butts came in at number 21 with 0.9% of all searches. The only other body parts to crack the top 100 were vaginas (2.82%), penises (2.41%), feet (0.24%) and testicles (0.05%), while other breast and butt-related topics were often searched like spanking (0.52%) and lactation (0.03%).

So what exactly makes a nice pair of breasts so special, and wherein lies the male fascination with them? Every guy I’ve ever posed the question to has answered in a similar manner – because we don’t have them.

The bias towards titties is unsurprising, given their prominence in the worlds of advertising and popular culture. Maybe their inherent appeal lies in the fact that they are the first food source for many of us, thus the positive reinforcement is made at a very young age.

I myself always thought my boobs were my best physical feature – an average-sized C cup, a decent handful, a really nice squeeze. I’ve never really understood the fascination with a nice ass. If I were a dude, I’d totally be a tit-guy. I mean, a nice ass is a nice ass, but in my mind it certainly doesn’t beat a nice rack.

Some men argue that you just can’t trust tits, given contemporary advancements in the field of water bras and silicone implants. When you see a girl in a pair of body-hugging jeans or prancing around in a lacy thong, there’s very little room for deception… at least until rear end-padded shapewear or butt-lifts really take off.

“Plus, chicks don’t know when you’re checking out their ass like they do when you’re checking out their rack,” chimed in my male friend.

But who’s to say you can’t have both? Or, why bother reducing someone to their most “attractive” quality in the first place??

So readers out there, are you a tit-guy or an ass-guy and why? Wherein lies the appeal of the boobies or the badonkadonk??


Photo credit – from a German advertising campaign, spotted at here.

With the arrival of last week’s solstice, summer is finally in full swing, and no other season brings out the fine looking people this city is known for with such sweaty fervor. And while the movies have turned it into a well-worn cliche, there is still something to be said for the summer romance. Wintertime couplings tend to involve hibernation and bonding over favorite movies or TV shows, where as summer love has the potential for those unforgettable, sun-soaked adventures that can form the base of a strong union or help bored couples bust out  of our their dull ruts. Here are my favorite summer date suggestions that won’t break the bank:

The Art Of Summer

Experiencing something new together is a great way to get to know someone. The permanent collection at the Musee Des Beaux-Arts (1380 Sherbrooke Street West) is free at all times. It features a unique array of Canadian and international art spanning many centuries that ranges from Egyptian and African sculptures to the massively chaotic canvasses of Jean-Paul Riopelle. The Musee D’Art Contemporain de Montreal (185 Sainte-Catherine West) is free on Wednesday evenings from 5-9pm. Their current exhibition, ZOO, might inspire you to unleash some of your inner animal magnetism, as it explores the role of animals and nature in today’s universe. Highlights include Trevor Gould’s installation in the Sculpture Garden and the Canadian premiere of the work “Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads: Gold” by controversial Chinese artist and political dissident Ai Weiwei

If you’re trying to impress an art-lover with less mainstream tastes, try Under Pressure’s Fresh Paint Gallery (180 Sainte-Catherine East). Led by Sterling Downey, it focuses on the many facets of street art and its unconventional methods like spray paint, sculptures, serigraphy, and multimedia installations. Between August 2011 and August 2012, over a hundred local and international artists will display their work at this up-and-coming space.

Added bonus: Museums are air-conditioned!

Date of the Dead

Going for an afternoon walk up the mountain is about as cliche as the summer romance itself, so you can turn that tired idea on its head by exploring the other side of the mountain, starting with the expansive Mount-Royal and Notre-Dame-des-Neiges cemeteries. The latter contains over 5,300 trees, about a hundred of which are from the natural forest that stood on the spot before the cemetery’s founding in 1854. Look for the 250-year old oak tree by the John Paul II mausoleum and the final resting places of Montreal legends such as Maurice Richard and Mordecai Richler.

Added bonus: if you go at night, your date might get spooked and run to you for comfort!

It’s Not What You’re Like, It’s What You Like

Even though July 1st is Montreal’s unofficial moving day, the city’s sidewalks and alleys are filled weekly all summer long with heaping piles of unwanted clothes, chipped set of unmatched dishes and furniture that just wouldn’t fit in the truck. Take your sweetie scavenging and you can have fun imaging the lives these discarded objects had before they were so casually tossed aside. If garbage picking isn’t quite your style, similar entertainment can be sought at garage sales or church bazaars.

Added bonus: the better the bargain, the more turned on I am!

*                                                                                      *                                                                                   *

Last week, we received the shocking news of the abrupt end of the Montreal Mirror, a paper I’d read faithfully for the duration of my 10 years in Montreal. Often I would read it backwards by starting with Sasha’s informative and eloquent sex advice column where she helped out the lovers, the loveless and the lovelorn… who can now direct their most burning questions to morningafter@forgetthebox.net.


Women didn’t have very much to look forward to during Victorian life: they couldn’t own property or vote in elections, nor were they allowed go to university and were consequently relegated to domestic tasks, though they weren’t formally permitted to keep their earnings until 1870. Ideally, they were to expected be of pure, chaste and of refined moral character, even in the face of glaring double-standards. For example, a woman that had sexual contact with a man other than her husband was considered to be ruined or fallen, whereas it was socially acceptable for men to have multiple sexual partners. When the pressures of this repressed and decidedly unfair society got to be too much for women, they simply visited their local doctor for a “pelvic massage” to cure their bad case of hysteria. This interesting chapter in the history of female sexuality is explored in Tanya Wexler’s new film “Hysteria”, starring Maggie Gyllenhaal, Hugh Dancy and Rupert Everett.

In the 1850s and 60s, physicians believed that as many as half of all women suffered from hysteria, a blanket condition to explain a wide variety of symptoms including nervousness, insomnia, fainting, irritability, shortness of breath, loss of sexual desire or appetite, or just a general tendency to cause trouble. While a severe case of hysteria could land you in a sanatorium, it was generally treated with manual stimulation of the genitals by a doctor until the woman experience a “hysterical paroxysm”, contemporarily referred to as an orgasm, and their symptoms magically waned. Funny how masturbation can cure what ails you, although the doctors of the era certainly wouldn’t call it that.

Early in the film, when young Doctor Mortimer Granville (Dancy) first witnesses the procedure being performed by the venerable specialist in women’s medicine, Doctor Robert Dalrymple (Jonathan Pryce), Granger inquires as to whether the women are experiencing sexual pleasure, to which Dallyrimple replies that since there’s no penetration involved, she is not experiencing any pleasure. Dalyrimple’s office is soon bursting at the seams with eager women seeking “treatment” from the attractive, young Dr. Granville, who in turn develops a bad case of carpal tunnel, leading him to create one of the first electromechanical vibrators. At the turn of the 20th century, the vibrator became the fifth domestic appliance to be electrified, after the sewing machine, fan, tea kettle and toaster, a decade before women used electric irons or vacuums in their homes.

Ads of the era boasted that “vibration promotes life and vigor, strength and beauty… vibrate your body and make it well”. When the devices began appearing in pornographic films of the 1920s, they were dropped from companies like Sears and Women’s Home Companion, fading away from the mainstream until the sexual liberation of the 1960’s and 70’s.

Apart from this film being a hilarious case study of the faces and sounds middle-aged Victorian women made when they orgasm, it’s also a social commentary on the class and gender roles of the era, exemplified in the binary opposite personalities of Dr. Dalyrimple’s daughters, Emily and Charlotte. Emily, played by Felicity Jones, values etiquette above all else and behaves in a chaste and ladylike manner, whereas Charlotte, played by Gyllenhaal, is hot headed and not afraid to speak her mind, rides around town on a bicycle and puts helping the less fortunate above everything else, much to the chagrin of her father and sister. Initially, Dr. Granville is quite taken with the proper beauty Emily, though in true rom-com fashion, he inevitably falls for Charlotte, and comes to her defense against charges of hysteria in the film’s climactic scene.

Needless to say, “female hysteria” is no longer recognized by modern medical authorities as a legitimate condition, and vibrator use is as common as ever amongst contemporary women. In a 2010 study by the Kinsey Institute, 52.5% of adult women between the ages of 18-60 said they have used a vibrator at least once in their lives, and they have Dr. Mortimer Granville at least partially to thank for that.

Something’s not quite right over at Café Cleopatre, home of the rare winged unicorn of burlesque troupes, the one and only Glam Gam Productions. Since their emergence on the Montreal burlesque scene in 2009 with the Yuletide spectacle “Tits The Season”, they’ve gone on to produce a series of themed variety shows before venturing into a theatre-based structure. Glam Gam gained some recent notoriety when their murder mystery sensation “If Looks Can Kill… They Will” was named best play by the in the Montreal Mirror’s annual Best Of Montreal poll and it seems like it may be going to their heads.

The polyamorous triad of Michael J. McCarthy, Sarah Murphy-McCarthy and Julie Paquet McCarthy are celebrating the third anniversary of wedded bliss by getting the whole gang together for the sexiest reunion show ever featuring full frontal nudity, live music and Clue-inspired antics, all staged in the cabaret room of the only remaining strip club in the former red light district on the Main, Cafe Cleopatre.

If you missed the smash hit production last August, you’ll have a chance to see it again at the Montreal Fringe Festival… if the actors are able to make it to opening night without letting tension get the best of them.

“I don’t know how much more of these idiots I can take, honestly,” lamented bartender Cherie Charles as she vented her frustrations with the group at a recent practice. “They are the most pathetic group of dancers I’ve seen in my entire life. Everybody knows I’m the only real burlesque dancer in this whole troupe.” Rumour has it she recently split for Paris, possibly hoping to shake her tail feathers at the famed Moulin Rouge.

When asked for a comment on the mounting animosity between troupe members, Julie Paquet-McCarthy screamed, “I have no time for an interview right now! I have to practice my big tap solo!”

Some are starting to wonder if the production is befalling a showbiz curse worthy of that Scottish play. While investigating the scene, detective Sherlock Homo took a nasty spill down the steep backstairs at Cleo’s, throwing out his back in the process. An anonymous source revealed to me that this fall might not have been an accident, leading this reporter to wonder how far they would really take the old adage “the show must go on”.

Visit glamgam.com for video introductions to each of play’s main characters and watch for clues to help discover the killer. “If Looks Can Kill…. They Will” runs for six harrowing nights, with a different outcome each night to keep things interesting. You can buy your tickets online at http://montrealfringe.ca/en/show/if-looks-can-killthey-will, or at the Mainline Theatre box office, 3997 St. Laurent. Tickets will also be sold at the door, if available, at a cost of $12.

Doors will open an hour before the show. Showtimes are as follows:

Friday June 8th: 22h00
Saturday June 9th: 22h00
Wednesday June 13th: 20h00
Thursday June 14th: 20h00
Friday June 15th: 22h00
Saturday June 16th: 22h00

As if this wasn’t enough to entice you to come to show, I found an exclusive reel of footage marked “Opening Credits” while snooping around backstage at Cleo’s, which I present to you now.  Warning: as with all Glam Gam endeavors, there is nudity in the video.


It takes a lot to impress me with a sex scene in a movie, because sex is one of those things that isn’t exactly universally appealing. One person’s turn on is another’s revulsion. While the basic act in itself can be downright crude, it gets elevated by the connection you feel with your partner.

This authentic connection can be very tricky to capture and is almost impossible to fake, which makes really good on-screen sex stand out.

1 – MOST SALACIOUS: One of the first times I witnessed raw sexuality portrayed in film was Natural Born Killers. (I’d stay up late on Saturdays to watch the Drambuie Showcase Review, which screened the most licentious, violent, and deliciously racy R-rated films that my fifteen-year old self would have a hard time renting at the local Family Video.) It stars Woody Harellson and Juliette Lewis as  Mickey and Mallory Knox, a  young newly-wed couple on a mass murdering spree.

Here we had the bar boy from Cheers whom we all had a little crush on, and who would continue to hold my affections with his emphatic pro-marijuana politics. I came from a good family, and I’d still have considered running off on a wild streak with him too!

From the handie under the table in the prison visiting room, to the leering gaze in Mickey’s eyes as he stares at a half undressed young female hostage in the corner while fucking Mallory in a seedy motel room, these two exert pure lustful energy and undeniable chemistry.

2 – MOST TITILATING:   Another woman who’s not afraid to use her feminine wiles to turn a situation in her favour is the indelible Nancy Botwin, played by Mary-Louise Parker on the Showtime comedy Weeds. The single mom of two boys, she turns to dealing drugs after her breadwinner husband drops dead, relying on her charm and chuztpah to get her out of some sticky situations.

For example, when she goes above her drug dealer to get a bigger piece of the action, the Mexican drug lord she encounters throws her over his knee in the back of his limo and spanks her a good dozen times. Her ass cheek reddens beneath her black lace panties, and the look on her face afterwards is priceless – she’s clearly shocked, but definitely a little turned on…

Not to mention her fulfilling a pre-teen fantasy for a good many of us children of the 80s by having hot sex with Zach Morris (aka Mark Paul Gosselaar), who had a steamy guest appearance this season as a bartender Nancy seduces. Makes me want to drop in on more small town bars in the middle of the afternoon when I’ve got nothing else to do.

3 – MOST GRAPHIC: Oddly enough, the most graphic scene on this list involves no actual penetration or genetalia, because the participants are as neutered as Ken and Barbie dolls. Of course, I’m speaking of the infamous puppet sex scene in Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s Team America: World Police.

It starts off like so many amorous encounters: a tender moment at sunset between a woman and her secret crush. He makes false promises and reveals his vulnerability, and they tumble into bed together. What follows is nearly a minute of the raunchiest acts Parker could slip past the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA).

It runs the whole gamut of sex acts from 69, reverse cowgirl, rim job, and water sports, to the classic “shit on my face”. The MPAA rejected the first eight cuts of the scene in order to finally grant the R-rating, which really has me intrigued at what vile acts got left on the cutting-room floor.

4- MOST BRILLIANT: I’ve saved my personal favourite for last. This particular scene has all the elements: a killer soundtrack courtesy of Blondie, a sense of humour, and the hallowed full frontal shot, a relative rarity in mainstream cinema.

The film is Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting, another favourite of mine from adolescence. It follows the trials and tribulations of a group of junkies in Edinburgh, and features Ewan McGregor in one of his first starring roles as Mark Renton.

He follows the little bit crazy, little bit bad Diane home from a bar, where they engage in realistic, raw and downright sexy drunken one-night stand sex, a kind I would come to know and love.

Post-coitus Renton even likens it to some famous football goal he’d witnessed years before, some footage of which his buddy is watching at the exact same moment while attempting to find a tape of homemade porn showing him and his girlfriend…a tape that the sneaky bastard Renton himself had switched days earlier.

It’s directly after the coitus that Diane kicks Renton out of her bed, and lo and behold, a brief glimpse of Ewan’s beautiful light saber. For a better view, try Velvet Goldmine, in which he jumps around bottomless on stage.

We’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of PG-13 and R-rated encounters in cinema. Film writer Stephanie Laughlin wrote about some of her favorite sex scenes yesterday if you haven’t got enough yet! Have you got a favourite scene you’d like to recommend?? Leave a comment below.

I’ve got a confession to make: I’m cheating on my vibrator with a dildo.

It’s not that I’m bored with her – after all, we’ve only been together for about five months, and with her eight different modes and five speeds ranging from “soft flutter” to “intense pulsation”, boredom is but a distant memory. But lately, I’ve been craving something different, something deeper.

Seriously readers, I know you’ve heard this before, but if you don’t own a sex toy that sends thundering waves of bliss through your entire body, you should consider investing. Not that fingers aren’t fun too. I mean, they’re always there, right?

Until recently, I had surprisingly little experience with sex toys. My first vibrator was actually a gift when I was 19. I broke my wrist during my first and only time snowboarding, which forced me to take six weeks off from the coffee shop where I worked. One night, my co-worker Kendra called me to the café because she had a gift for me. She wrote this long, rambling card that talked about how it was something very valuable that I could use with only one hand, something every lady over 40 owns, and so why not be 20 years ahead of the game, and so on.

Here I thought she was cleverly insinuating it was a vibrator, but that it would end up being a back scratcher, so I opened it in front of everyone – and turned beet red when indeed, lo and behold, a pearly pink phallus. And while I did enjoy my time with that toy, it lacked the intensity I craved and the curve needed to stimulate my G-spot in ways that I didn’t even know were possible. Furthermore, it guzzled batteries like a Hummer guzzles gas.

Avid readers may remember my trip to the Everything to do with Sex Convention back in January. It was there that my very wise companion turned me on to Lelo, a Swedish company that prides themselves as one of the world’s leading providers of the most stylish and luxurious intimate lifestyle products. They even name each of their toys, and came up with a whole new term for them: pleasure objects.

And that’s where I met Ina, “a sleek, dual-action vibrator that reaches out seamlessly to the most erogenous zones… motors in each pleasure point to allow simultaneous or alternating vibrations as and when desired, tantalizing her user before delivering prolonged feelings of satisfaction, time and time again.”

All of Lelo’s products are made from ultra smooth, FDA-approved body-safe silicone. And, perhaps best of all, they solved the battery problem: Ina comes with her own charger! Plug her in for two hours and she’s good for up to four hours of pure bliss.

If I had to give one small piece of advice to Lelo, the controls aren’t as intuitive as I want them to be. After all, who wants to be fumbling for a button in the throes of passion?

But still, even with all that going for her, it was time to try something with a little more weight and girth. Meet the Pure Wand from Njoy. Crafted from 1.5 pounds of medical grade stainless steel, the Pure Wand packs quite a punch. If anyone tried to break into my apartment, one crack over the head with the Pure Wand and they’d be regretting their decision to match with this vixen!

A double-ended dildo with a 3-inch ball on one side and a mighty 5-inch ball on the other, it features what can only be described as the perfect curve. And my G-spot rejoiced! Run it under hot water or pop it in the freezer for a spine-tingling chill. And this one’s great for the guys too since it doubles as a prostate massager.

Someone recently asked me which was better, but it’s like comparing apples and oranges. They’re both great at what they do, and the sensations they provide are plentiful but different. At the end of the day, if I’d known I was coming home to either one of these two fabulous friends, I would have left the bar earlier… satisfied, disease-free and without questions.

If anything in here has piqued your interest, or if you have questions about finding the right toy for you, I recommend speaking to Phong at Joy Toyz.