Going Out: National Orgasm Day with LELO at Sh! Hoxton

So who knew? - July 31st is National Orgasm day, and I was invited along to attend a party thrown by luxury lifestyle brand LELO at Sh! Erotic Emporium in Hoxton to celebrate. Alongside fizz, strawberries and a whole load of vibrators, we listened to an orgasm masterclass by the founder of Sh! - Kathryn Hoyle, which was inspiring as much as exciting; Kathryn founded Sh! in 1992 to combat the idea of sex shops as sleazy, and to create a place where women could share sex stories whilst stocking up on their latest rabbit.

Central to the evening were the amazing LELO range- which I have only recently stumbled upon (as it were). LELO prides itself on hi-end luxe products, and being introduced to their Smart Wands, Luna Beads and Tiani 2 I couldn't help but feel that these guys are the Beyonce of sex toys. If you're just starting off in the world of rechargeable sex look no further than their MIA2, small, pretty yet helluva powerful, the MIA2 disguises itself as a lipstick and charges via USB: ideal for the woman on the go. After last night however, and hearing Kathryn's take on it all, I've got my eyes fixed on the INA2 - a dual action vibrator which offers G-spot and clitoral stimulation. Ummmmmm.

The evening certainly got us thinking about how much fun can be stylishly had 'in the bedroom'. The LELO girls explained about their remote-controlled range which adds a nice new dimension to foreplay, with your partner being put in control of any toys you might use. The Lyla2, Tiani2 and the Oden2 all come with LELO's sense motion remote control, so with the flick of the wrist pleasures can intensify or lighten.

At the end of the evening I left with an amazing goodie bag, which amazingly included a LELO 'Pleasure Set' - complete with Tiani, a feature tickler and silk blindfold. I'll let you know how that goes down...

DATING: The one with the BBMs, The Ex Ex and the Strip Club

In a vain attempt to make sure last week was not 'the week I got finished with over BBM' (yes casual SATC reference there) it somehow morphed into 'the week I almost ended up in a strip club with my ex ex/ love of my life'. After having a pretty dire week I decided I needed a trip to stay in my old flat in London. Finding that almost the entire constituents of my phonebook had mysteriously disappeared from the city that weekend, I was left with one number to beg for a drink and chat: my ex of 3 1/2 years.

Being male, the 'Ex ex' seemed pretty nonchalant about meeting up and invited me out with some of our old school-friends that night. We chatted about life and work and he seemed genuinely impressed with what  I was up to, telling me in return that he was not quite in the job he had hoped for. Then, what had meant to be 'a few casual drinks' - that mythical social ritual that rarely anyone makes it through - turned into a night of drinking with the lads. So perhaps I shouldn't have been too surprised where things ended up....

By about 1am the 'Ex ex' turned to me and announced: 'I want some t**s in my face'. Once upon a time this might have been a casual suggestion between two consenting adults, but in this instance it only meant one thing: trip to the strip club.

I dont know how many people have been in the position of being asked by their ex to visit a strip club - but if you ARE thinking of getting into that situation, my suggestion is maybe do. Seeing a guy who I'd once imagined was the most perfect man in my (very small) world, desperate for a cheap thrill, was strangely liberating. I like to think I'm pretty chilled about stuff, me and my friends tend to take the whole 'boyfriend looking at porn' thing as a totally acceptable given, but there's something about strip clubs I find seriously, well, lame.

Despite being smugly in long term relationships ever since we split it seems the 'Ex ex' certainly doesn't have it all, and his new girlfriend is more than welcome to him. Having said that, I will certainly be keeping him in mind as an accessory to necessary confidence boosters in the future: I'm free, single, in a great job, and I don't have to pay nuffin' to see t**s.
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DATING: The Vanishing Man

Recent reports suggest that a new and dangerous illness is affecting the young men of Britain, and no, this time it isn’t an STD. Recent months have seen a rapid increase in the number of reported cases of what experts call ‘Vanishing Man Syndrome’ (VMS), with examples being seen as far afield as Birmingham and even Devon.

Experts on the syndrome, such as Dr Hesadickhead at the Plenty More Fish in the Sea Research Institute, explain that the illness can cause erratic and unexplainable behaviour, especially in young men who aren’t quite young enough to not know better. “In the early stages of the illness the main side effect is that it causes the young man to take an eager and keen interest in a young woman he meets, spending valuable money and time getting to know her. It is just at the climax of this stage that the second phase of the illness kicks in, the main symptoms being that he unexplainably loses interest over night, never wants to see them again regardless of what he may have said before, and in technical, scientific jargon, ‘drops off the radar’.”

Whilst these symptoms are dangerous and frightening in themselves, undoubtedly the most serious side effect is that it leaves attractive, intelligent young women feeling unnecessary self doubt and confusion. Theorists on the syndrome believe that the malignity of this side effect is so extreme that women come to blame themselves, and it is indirectly responsible for articles such as ‘how to bag your man’ and ‘how to stop your man cheating’ pervading popular female literature of today; as a man evidently has the luxury of waiting to be ‘bagged’ and if a man strays God forbid it should actually be down to his inability to keep it in his pants, but really because she was probably nagging too much.

It’s hard to spot the warning signs of a sufferer of VMS, and a bit like a nasty itch you don’t realise you’re dealing with it until it’s too late. Unfortunately he will appear a decent, interesting and interested guy, making them particularly hard to spot. One thing which helps trigger the second phase of VMS, the vanishing itself, is if the female shows the same level of interest in the male as he has in her. Therefore the best way to avoid becoming a secondary victim of VMS is to behave like an emotionally stunted and crippled being with a range of feeling equivalent to that of a plastic cup.

If you are a secondary victim of VMS don’t worry you’re not alone, and whilst this article may sound like it’s going to lead you down the path to bitter spinsterhood, really all VMS means is that he probably wasn’t worth your time in the first place, and definitely isn’t now. There have also been cases where young men have been lucky enough to escape VMS all together and, shock horror, are able to co-exist in an emotionally functioning capacity… so don’t resign yourself to the shelf and a life with cats as companions just yet. 


DW

DATING: Textual Intercourse

I feel like some sort of Sex and the City/ Absolutely Fabulous hybrid right now.  Sat at my desk (I work in PR), surrounded by rose quartz (brings love apparently – I have a very handy spirit guide one desk down from me), willing my phone to go.  I hate to be a cliché, and I hate waiting for men, but here I am indulging in “The Game”. It p***es me off for a number of reasons. Firstly I can’t stand the artifice of being all nonchalant when it comes to flirting; why do we have to spend so much of it pretending like we don’t find the object of attraction, attractive? Secondly, it’s a dull waste of my time to be willing my phone to go off – a text is rarely that thrilling and I’d told the guy to ring me if he was interested – instead he’s persisted in the random odd message.

I pulled said guy in the Haunt Saturday night. After years of finding him insanely sexually attractive from afar, it took me 3 of their £3 G&T’s and a couple of seconds to subtley go over to him and whisper (/shout):  ‘I find you really attractive!’. After declining a bit of ‘smirting’ with him outside (I don’t smoke) and pulling off a bit of sexy dancing – my life long obsession with music videos has taught me well, ask my friends – I pulled the guy all night.

Well all night until he decided to dramatically leave, telling me to take his number. Another thing I hate, because it usually leads to the above problems…

I gave in because he has a pretty face and reckoned I’d give him a call later that week. Then on the drunken taxi ride home, mid Southern Fried Chicken wing, he text my mate for my number. I then got some kind of badly disguised booty call, followed by two (hardly verbose) texts, and a Facebook add (gah). I’d kind of be excited, except that he clearly did it all in some kind of drunken furore. When I finally replied to his late night (early morning?) messages – no reply, nada, for 3 whole days, so I left it. Now, last night he’s text me to ask if I’m out at the weekend – ok, unoriginal, but fine. On the advice of my desk-next-door-neighbour I text back WITH a question; again no reply.   

It’s not a big deal by any means; it’s just frustrating because if he’s decided now, in the cold light of sobriety that he doesn’t fancy me, then I just don’t need the random (non)messages. It’s not like he’s rejected my winning personality or blinding intelligence after one night pulling.  But if he does fancy me (god I sound like a teenage girl) – why the games? I’ve never got the reluctance to tell some one you think they’re hot. Sexual attraction is good right? Requited, or un-requited. Plus by doing so I PROMISE I won’t run out to plan a wedding, or even hope that we fall in love etc etc. Again, I barely know you – I just think you’re VERY fit. I might book in for my next Brazillian, fuck it – if I’m really keen I might invest in some underwear – but its really not going to unhinge my female brain. Cryptic texting does though. And it kinda makes me lose interest…

So why this textual intercourse? Its about as thrilling as foreplay without the tongues: answers on the back of a postcard please.

Or you could just wait a couple of days, till you’ve had a drink, and send me a half-assed text. Either is fine.


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