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The lovely reviewers at Jane’s Guide have awarded Having My Cake and Eating It Too their ‘Original and Quality’ badge and reviewed it thus:
Joanna Cake is a UK woman who writes about sensuality and sex. She also posts a lot of original images of herself in lingerie, writes sex toy reviews, and comments on recent articles and programs. Her blog is a bit of a self proclaimed mish mash of subjects, but they hover around the central theme of sexual discovery and introspection. There is also a rather unique feature every Wednesday, in which she reviews a movie and posts a clip. The movies are generally not porn, but rather mainstream films that have some sexual element. Chatty, informal, and fun! – Vamp
Damn, I’m going to have to fight Anonymous Boxer when she tries to wrest Movie Clip Wednesday back!
Jane and her team trawl the sexual Blogosphere and review everything in their path – the Good, the Bad and the downright Ugly. If you feel the need to add some extra breadth to your current favourites, Jane’s is a great place to get some clues about where to start.
I am quite surprised by the horrendous reviews that Sex and the City 2 seems to have received.
But the media machine is the reason that I ensured I got tickets for the first night it was out. I am so fed up with trying to avoid spoilers when I want to see a movie because there is nothing worse than knowing the best bits. Which is why this review will not be addressing the plot other than in passing.
Having thoroughly enjoyed the film, I was surprised to hear about the critical panning. So I sat down and read through a few.
Wow, there sure was some vitriol in there!
I think the thing that offended me most was the idea that it was somehow not ok for Samantha to be dealing with her Menopause so openly. As a woman of a certain age, who still wants to have lots of sex and is horrified by the way that hormonal imbalance is suddenly making that more difficult, I applaud the writer for allowing this natural phenomenon to be addressed in such an honest way.
Carrie’s storyline was also very revealing in that her relationship issues seemed to stem from her rather immature approach to life, a factor which was prevalent throughout the series and so it was unsurprising that two years into her marriage, she would hit some tricky points.
Every mother in the audience will have empathised with Charlotte’s feelings about the difficulties of raising babies in an age where we and they are supposed to be able to have it all without actually instilling any discipline into our offspring.
And Miranda’s work difficulties would have been felt by many career women.
The underlying theme of the film was just as it always has been throughout the series, dealing with relationships and talking through all the different scenarios and repercussions with your friends.
It would have been nice to have a little more input from the males who are integral to the story but at almost 2.5 hours, the film was long enough. Maybe next time… and I really do hope that there is a next time, despite the vituperative mauling from those who were paid to watch it.
All the other elements were there too – the ridiculous fashions and a healthy disrespect for the more rigid cultural taboos, all reinforced with a liberal helping of humour and it was great to see our heroines maturing gracefully. I really appreciated the fact that they looked as though they were aging along with the timelines of their alter egos. And it was great to see them continuing to learn life’s lessons whilst retaining their innate characters and goals.
It wasn’t a five star film, but I would certainly have given it three because it managed to cross the 30 year divide between a mother and daughter and give us lots of things to talk about over the next few months.
I hated this song when I first heard it a couple of decades ago.
Endless Love was the theme to a movie of the same name starring Brooke Shields. For some reason, I have it imprinted on my memory as her being some kind of teenage castaway who experiences love for the first time on a desert island. Which, of course, does not tally at all with the accompanying movie clip to the song on youtube. I never liked Brooke Shields as an actress – something to do with her huge beetly black eyebrows – so I didn’t watch the Endless Love film. And, even though I love Lionel Richie and Diana Ross, the song just seemed incredibly cheesy so it was not a favourite.
However, these days, the lyrics have become so poignant. They crystallise so many emotions that I find it hard to enunciate.
The way that his presence has brought such a sparkle to my life. Ok, so he’s not my first love but something about our relationship makes it feel as if he is. Perhaps it’s because I’ve changed to dramatically recently that I feel reborn. And I want to talk to him about everything that I experience and do.
Maybe it’s the part about the eyes. Because when I look into them – whether we’re making love or just across a room full of our friends – I can see how much he loves me.
Two hearts beating as one, well I think I’ve tried to convey that feeling before. Sometimes I forget where I start and he begins. And yet, at others, we are two completely different and separate entities that are able to co-exist in harmony (well, most of the time).
The fact that he means the world to me and I find it so hard not to talk about him all the time. Yes, they got those sentiments exactly right.
And the way that we both give all our love to each other is a fundamental part of this relationship.
Will it be an endless love? I suspect it may – whatever form that love may take. And, even if we don’t make it as a couple, I am secure in the knowledge that our friendship will endure… no matter what.
With five girls under the age of eight, SuperMum is an absolutely wonderful and cheerful lady. Slim, confident and I have never heard her shout.
I was amazed when she told me that she was pregnant again. It hardly showed and she only had four weeks to go.
She was really excited because she knew that, this time it was a BOY!
This morning, I laughed at her husband as he pushed the big double buggy in a very inexpert manner. He grinned back and nodded his head along the path towards SuperMum, who was carrying a baby sling. Less than a year after I had last seen her with it, SuperMum had produced again.
At 10.45 the previous evening.
And, at 8.45am, she was on the school run, proudly displaying her new son.
As another pregnant mum of two commented on her way back, ‘She’s set the new standard in the playground!’
It was not nasty or malicious, just a sentiment that we all shared.
How come some ladies can just squat behind a bush and the baby falls out, whereas the rest of us suffer the indignity and agony of having our body’s almost ripped in two trying to expel the little darlings?
There are suggestions in recent research that lack of sleep can be associated with increased risk of some cancers, heart disease and diabetes, as well as obesity. Our vital hormonal systems regulate and rest the body at night so our sleep patterns are vital to our wellbeing during the day.
The National Sleep Foundation in America has revealed that sleep controls the levels of both the hormone that makes the body think it needs more food leptin (sleep keeps its levels up) and ghrelin, the one that drives the appetite (sleep drives its levels down). So lack of sleep can lead to obesity as studies have shown that lack of sleep can lead the body to believe that it is short of up to 900 calories per day.
We feel tired, we eat sugary foods as a pick me up and then, when we come down from the sugar rush, we feel tired again… so we eat more sugary foods.
And not only do we then put on weight, but that diet can also be responsible for other health symptoms which are related to yeast infections and thrush in men and women.
The yeast microbes feed on the excess sugar in our bloodstream and proliferate, spreading throughout the body and infesting different areas to produce skin complaints, bad breath, digestive difficulties, toe nail rot and genital discomfort.
One of the things I love about my relationship with Ruf is the way we can experiment.
Earlier this week, I was lying on my back with my leg on his shoulder whilst he was inside me, I flexed my hamstring and then pushed my heel up towards the ceiling.
‘Can you feel that?’
For me, it seemed to stretch my hip flexors and adductors – the strips of cartilege and muscle that connect your thigh to your pelvis and pubic bone.
For him, it constricted the muscles inside me so that they flattened down around him, pressing the spongy tissue that surrounds my G Spot onto his hard penis.
And, whilst we were midway through a wake-up wood, that moment became the start of a journey of exploration that lasted until well after lunch, taking us from him on top through me on top and finally to doggy fashion with the aid of the ‘My Secret Love Passion Pointer‘ .
It’s a hand held electric massager, similar to the Hitachi Magic Wand but rechargeable so you don’t have to worry about the lead. Because the shaft of the device is so long, it can still be a bit cumbersome, but it’s the power that was the key here. My poor clitoris was being wobbled to within an inch of its life as Ruf plunged in and out of me from behind.
The secret to what happened next is actually contained in a small, rarely used jar that sits beside the bed.
Durex Play O is what I have learned to reach for when I’ve been rogered repeatedly for three days straight and my external bits are starting to reach that point where they shift between being over-sensitive and almost desensitised.
It’s not so much that they’re numb, just that they don’t respond so delightfully as they did when I first arrived because they’ve been over-stimulated. I have discovered that a small pea-sized blob of this innocuous looking gel spread around my clitoris and vulva can bring the old girl a whole new lease of life.
At first, it just feels cold at the point of contact. But then that chill starts to seep into the surrounding tissue. Now, like me, at first you may well think this is a bad thing. However, what it seems to do is make the area less sensitive. I know, I know, that seems to contradict what I said in the paragraph above.
What I’m trying to say is that you can be far rougher with your bits without it feeling unbearably uncomfortable but, at the same time, the neural pathways from your most erogenous zones to your brain just seem to be heightened.
As Ruf finally squirted his semen up my exposed back and directed the flow to ensure that the remnants trickled down between my butt cheeks, I knew that, even though I had lost count of the number of orgasms I’d already experienced that morning, there was still a lot more in the tank.
This is a facet of female arousal that I’ve only started to fully comprehend recently, since Ruf discovered the key to making me squirt by applying a lot of friction and pressure as he rubbed the area on the front wall of my vagina. Once that area gets warmed up, I am really smokin’ and, if I can just relax, the multiples will come.
Ruf can see the signs and, ever ready to comply with the unspoken desires of my body language, even though he was physically depleted, he grabbed hold of a long-standing favourite from the toybox – the Ann Summers Ultra 7. It’s been upgraded to the Ultra 10 Vibrator these days I believe, but we manage with just the seven settings. It is designed to look like a penis, complete with moulded head in blue gel
When I first felt him pushing it inside me, he had not activated the vibration but just the action of penetration in combination with the lower setting of the Passion Pointer set my foot firmly on the path with the first climax. Rhythmically thrusting it into me so that he got that same sensation of friction and pressure that he usually manages to achieve with his fingers, I started to lose count as each peak and trough made its way from my nether regions to my brain.
I switched the Passion Pointer from low to high whilst he responded by activating the Ultra 7′s constant vibration and off I went. One after another until I was screaming like a banshee without a thought for the poor neighbours in the flat upstairs.
There was a point where I lifted up from the pillows onto my knees and looked back at him, plaintively shaking my head: ‘I can’t…’
It was an echo of an earlier moment when, riding him whilst I used my Vibratex Mystic Wand, I had flung the toy across the bed complaining that my poor brain just couldn’t cope with yet another climax.
This time, he was having none of it. ‘Oh yes you can,’ he instructed, as he pushed me back onto the supporting pillows and ramped up his thrusting. ‘Just relax and let it happen!’
Some time later, my convulsive grip released the handle of the Passion Pointer in an effort to stem the flow, but he just used his other hand to jam the whirring head against my vulva and redoubled his efforts. Each climax melded into the next until there was just a continuous tide of energy; a vortex looping around from between my legs to my brain and back again and I could hear the squelches punctuating the movement of the Ultra 7. Still not squirting, more of a series of gushes as the Skene’s glands refilled and expelled their contents in response.
I have no idea how long it went on for… or exactly how many of those waves washed over me but he finally relented because his arms were just too tired to carry on.
When I finally summoned the strength to pull myself from the catatonic state induced by all that activity, wiping the drool from my mouth and hair onto the pillow, I looked up to see him lying back on the bed with a satisfied grin.
‘You look so beautiful,‘ was all he said as he pulled the duvet over me and retired to the kitchen to make a rejuvenating cup of herbal tea.
The Hitachi Wand is a multifunctional megabeast that straddles the twin worlds of sex toy and muscle massager like a behemoth. Not for nothing was it chosen by Samantha in that famous episode of Sex and the City ‘Critical Condition’.
Carrie bribes Samantha into helping Miranda out with the baby. Samantha very reluctantly agrees and gives up her fabulous hair appointment that was impossible to get to let Miranda take her place on the spur of the moment. Miranda’s icy neighbor has taken pity and stopped by with a vibrating chair that calms Brady down. She’s amazed that Miranda doesn’t know about this wonder-chair, but Miranda explains that none of her friends have babies. Miranda admonishes Samantha not to take Brady out of the chair, but when the chair breaks (or runs out of batteries or something), she’s at a loss. She then remembers her earlier trip to The Sharper Image, where she tried to exchange her broken vibrator. (She had an argument with the salesman who insisted that it was a neck massager – “The Sharper Image does not sell vibrators.” In the end she got a replacement “neck massager.”) So she puts the “neck massager” in the chair with Brady, who’s as happy as a clam.
As this demonstrates, the thing about the Hitachi is that it has enough power to be both an effective muscle massager AND a very satisfying sex toy.
After all, as Samantha says about a different ‘neck massager’ in the same episode: ‘That one actually works against you. If we wanted to work that hard we’d find ourselves a man, am I right?’
I read recently that the older woman requires more stimulation than her younger sisters and so it’s been on my list of things to try for some time. When the lovely Rick at Vibrator Toys sent me one to review, I was very excited.
But this was somewhat short lived because, on plugging it in, the thing in my hands became absolutely terrifying. I was certainly of the opinion that if I put that between my legs, I was likely to fry my most delicately sensitive bits… and that was on the ‘Low’ setting. This was like the industrial catering version of any of my kitchen implements when it came to power comparison.
But then my tulip gave up the ghost and, needs must, I turned to the Hitachi. At first, outside of my clothes. So, whilst I was straddling Ruf’s back and using it as a massage tool, I discovered that it was actually very pleasant to press my most intimate parts against the vibrating bulb as it did its work on his tense musculature. I could feel the powerful buzz transmitting itself through my flesh to my g-spot with the most pleasant results.
Since then I have used it against my clit through my pants and I can pretty much guarantee an orgasm within a minute. It’s so powerful that even though it doesnt actually press directly against the clitoris in the way that my toothbrush/tingle tip would, that doesn’t matter. It vibrates the whole area so vigorously that all the important points, both internally and externally, are somehow activated.
There are a couple of downsides in that it is a bit cumbersome because of its size and the electric flex plus adaptor. It is also pretty noisy – but then most neck massagers of this power would be in order to be effective.
In a conversation with Marianne, we were trying to work out if one should even attempt to insert the implement but, fearing some form of vaginal scrape as a result, I decided to consult an expert. When I first wrote on my Joanna Cake Facebook page that I was awaiting my Hitachi, Curvaceous Dee made a very excited comment extolling its virtues. By chance, she happened to be online so I was able to get chapter and verse about the Hitachi attachments for extending its pleasure capacity.
I am pleased to report that this really sorted me out, although it reminded me of Gonzo from the Muppets. It was made of a material called TPE which is non-porous and so can be cleaned with hot water and anti-bacterial soap to prevent the spread of bacteria. Suffering from recurring cystitis, this is very important to me. It also contains no phthalates or latex which is also imperative.
It has two floppy sort of beaks. One for the clit and one for insertion. The fabulous effect of the material is that the intensity of the vibration is diffused so there is not so much friction against the clitoris as I would have imagined and the part that is inside you is responsible for the most divine sensations.
My only complaint would be that the insertion piece could be slightly longer and perhaps a fraction stiffer for the best results.
Since its first use, it has been responsible for a number of most unladylike fantasies… hopefully, I shall be able to tell you the tales of their fruition over the next couple of months.
All in all, it is a beast, but a very reliable one. Whether you want it to release the tension in a sore muscle or your frustrated genitals, the Hitachi Wand is guaranteed to do the job toute de suite.
The Hitachi Wand Executive Pack is available from Stressnomore It now contains a variable speed control which is so vital to improve the experience, as well as an attachment.
‘If, after years of abuse, you fight back against your husband, make sure that you kill him. If you only injure him, then you cannot use provocation as a defence.’ From the BBC’s ‘Criminal Justice’
‘My husband is allowed to hit me with a stick, providing it is no thicker than his thumb.’
From ‘The Duchess’
The implications behind both of these statements have remained with me long after the exact words were forgotten.
Criminal Justice was an amazing piece of television. Shown over five consecutive nights, its central premise was of a woman who was repeatedly buggered against her will by the husband who had managed to achieve complete control over her life, whilst seeming to be doing it with her best interests at heart. To the outside world, the perfect caring husband but, to his wife, a cold-hearted monster who photographed her life to spot the smallest of differences in her behaviour and punished her for it.
The contrast between her deep shame at being subjected to the act itself and the way that many in the blogging world view anal intercourse as part of their normal sexual bag of tricks was quite striking.
I got Ruf to watch the final episode with me, after spending several minutes setting up what had gone before. I think it really brought home to him the enormity of the gift that I bestow upon him when I allow him to penetrate me through that orifice. That such an act is not part and parcel of normal sexual activity in many relationships. But also that it is just as much a rape if taken non-consensually.
The second statement was from the film, ‘The Duchess’, where Keira Knightley recreates the role of a forebear of Diana, Princess of Wales, in Lady Georgeanna Spencer, the Duchess of Devonshire. Beautifully filmed, with a fabulous cast of both personnel and settings, this was a delight to the eye, but a conundrum to the brain.
Yes, she led a pampered and moneyed life, but also a very sad one, married to a man twice her age who is incapable of emotional closeness with her. But worse, takes as his mistress her best friend and forces her to remain in a curious menage a trois in the same house whilst refusing to allow his wife the same freedom with her own lover.
The fact that he could evict her, stop her from seeing her children and close every society door in London to her aspiring politician lover if she did not toe the line that he proscribed was quite frightening and I think the whole ‘stick’ thing just exemplifies the power that men had over their wives during this period of history.
And yet, is it just confined to ‘the olden days’? The husband in ‘Criminal Justice’ could behave with equal cruelty and yet, if she fought back, the wife could not bring up his persistent provocation in her defence… unless she was defending herself against the charge of murdering him.
Sometimes the law does seem to tend towards ass-like.
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #136? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
The internet has changed so much since I first went online back in 2002.
Back then, there were lots of games and forums.
Nowadays, everyone has a computer in the palm of their hand.
And we’re all full of questions.
Rather than consult an encyclopedia, they immediately turn to their tablet or mobile and ask Google.
Access to the world’s biggest database combined with anonymity means that people are no longer afraid to ask stupid questions.
Which, in turn, makes Google are the recipient of some very strange search terms based around sexual proclivities, as well as the standard run of the mill enquiries about the opening hours of a local store.
But is the internet really such a den of iniquity? Are we really obsessed with sex to that extent?
In our new world, Ruf and I work really hard on making our business successful.
Sometimes I miss those days when I didn’t even consider the long drive to his flat – all I could think of was the unstoppable desire to be in his arms and to have him inside me.
The problem is that, in this new phase of our relationship, it is very easy to lose the romance purely because we just don’t have time for such niceties. And exhaustion tends to preclude the long weekends of passion that used to punctuate the passing of the months.
There are times when I do imagine us taking a holiday, lying next to each other under a parasol which protects us from the heat of the sun but allows us to be warm, naked and exposed to the elements. Feeling the light breeze caressing our skin as we rejoice in the peace, secure in the knowledge that we don’t have to get up and do stuff on the computer – unless it’s to check in on Facebook, of course!
I’m not really a beach girl as such, because I’m an English rose who never tans. My skin is either so pale that you could miss me on the white sand of a Caribbean beach or sufficiently lobster red as to not look very attractive at all.
But there is something about the words “St Lucia” that conjures up this idyllic image of the perfect romantic getaway. It has become ingrained in my psyche as the epitome of paradise. I can visualise the crystal clear water that allows me to see the other inhabitants swimming around my paddling toes, feel the warmth of the sun through my straw hat and taste the coconut cocktail that Ruf has just given me.
In such surroundings, how could one not just want to while away the hours making love in a sumptuous bedroom, followed by a candle lit dinner on the beach and a post-prandial stroll through the warm waves.
From all my business and self-improvement courses, I know that it is important to have a goal, which means that our holiday in the Caribbean just became something to aim for.
‘Right, I’m off. See you on Monday, you know where I am if you need me,’ I would call back as I closed the door behind me prior to beginning the long drive… and one day I half-heard his muttered response.
‘Well, no, actually I don’t…’
Part of me was glad that he didn’t say it louder so I would not have to give the lie in return but another, much smaller, part wished that he would have the courage to speak the words out loud, to facilitate the confrontation.
He wasn’t stupid, but maybe he lacked the imagination to contemplate the inevitable outcome of our physical estrangement.
I hated betraying him and yet, in many ways, it was no more than he had done to me in different circumstances. He destroyed my position as a mother, just as surely as I had gone on to wreck any possibility of saving our marriage.
And yet it was never tit for tat. I would have done anything to avoid being in this situation… and for many years I let the inequity and injustice consume me rather than break the vows I had taken in such good faith.
But, on the fateful day that I made the decision to speak, I knew that I could do it no longer.
Couldn’t risk seeing the hurt look in his eyes upon the discovery, didn’t want to continue in this unhappy mess, devoid of affection and respect.
When I told him I was leaving, he seemed to think it was the fault of the children, that I would return to him once they had left the nest. That was the hardest moment really. To recognise the full extent of his denial. A complete refusal to accept that he had done anything to deserve this.
And when I asked for the divorce, he seemed stunned. To answer his question, I said the first thing that came into my head about wanting to date other people.
That’s when the reality seemed to hit him, that there must be someone else… or maybe it was his pride and his stubborn determination that nothing was ever his fault.
I must have met someone else and been an unfaithful wife to want to leave. That was the only reason for such inexplicable behaviour.
There have never been any admissions on my part, no matter what he may think – in fact my continuing to live locally and alone should have confirmed the contrary.
I don’t want to hurt him but I need to get on with my life. And that means beginning to introduce Ruf to people who know us both and trying to avoid the awkward questions like ‘How long have you been together…?’