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I was reading a great article by Anna Hodgekiss on IOL Lifestyle about how having regular sex helps you to live longer.
It’s a great way of alleviating neck and shoulder tension. I’ve noticed the relaxing effects of sex on my muscles myself. I always carry my stress in my neck and shoulders. Sometimes, I can do a very good impression of the Hunchback of Notre Dame with one shoulder significantly higher than the other as they both seek to achieve contact with my ears. And it works for men too with a powerful orgasm being the equivalent of having a 2-3mg shot of diazepam (or Valium), a muscle relaxant – which is why so many men nod off after finishing.
However, I was not so impressed with the comment of Dr Arun Ghosh, a GP specialising in sexual health at the Spire Liverpool Hospital that blurred vision after sex can mean that you need to get glasses. I always thought that it was just a natural response to the blissful effects of all that intensity but he says: “What’s happened is that, like all the other muscles in the body, the eye muscles have relaxed and are performing at their true ability, rather than straining and squinting as they would normally.”
Recent studies have also found that having sex three times a week could halve the risk of heart attack or stroke and women who have two orgasms a week are up to 30 percent less likely to have heart disease than their sisters who don’t have such a good time.
Fluctuating levels of oestrogen in peri- and Menopausal women are renowned for causing depression, which has been linked to an increased risk of heart attack, but the happy hormone, serotonin, which released during sex neutralise the stress hormones in the body and reduce the risk of heart disease. But it is the endogenous ‘orgasm’ endorphin, which creates a sense of bliss for five to ten seconds in men and four to five minutes in women which really works the magic. Thinking back to times when I would arrive at Ruf’s almost beside myself with unhappiness at the futility of my existence and with no libido whatsoever, he would gently comfort me and relax me before giving me the full benefits of his attentions. I always felt so much better afterwards and my bi-weekly excursions to his manly lair helped me to survive the heartbreak of my marriage for far longer than I would otherwise have been able to endure.
That lack of oestrogen also causes problems with bone health as its protective effect is reduced after Menopause with the possibility of osteoporosis. However, research in the US has found that regular sex increases the production of oestrogen with women who have sex every week having double the levels of those who do not.
For men of a certain age, midlife prostate problems can also be improved by a regular sex life as researchers at Nottingham University, who studied celibate monks, discovered that they had a higher chance of developing prostate cancer and suspect that clearing the prostate out regularly could be behind this.
Regular sex as both sexes age is important for both prevention of incontinence and impotence – it’s that pelvic floor exercise thing so women need to be active during sex, squeezing and working that pelvic floor to guard against leakage and prolapse later in life, both of which are very common. And for men, keeping a regular blood flow to the penis to stop atrophy of the delicate tissues there is vital – a Finnish study of 1000 men aged 55-75 has revealed that men who have sex less than once a week are twice as likely to develop erectile dysfunction as those who had it at least once a week and those who had sex more than three times per week lowered their risk by 400%.
Use it or lose it – in effect, sex is another form of exercise, no matter how old you are.
When Ruf comes to live here, he starts assimilating some of my diet and losing his own rigorous exercise protocols.
When Ruf comes to live here, I forget to do my own exercise regimes.
We both end up getting bloated and doing too much work.
In terms of portion size, I can usually eat as much as Ruf of certain foods – roast potatoes spring to mind. But I do find that huge bowlfuls of lentils can be a little daunting. He puts loads of chilli in his but I’m a bland food girl who relies on the starch and the gravy to provide the flavour. Lentils can be a little challenging in that regard.
We definitely drink a bit more alcohol when we are together and lie around in bed a whole lot more. But then I guess that does sort of constitute exercise…
I shook him off as best I could. It’s uncomfortable… even when they’re not quite touching. Knowing that they’re there, millimetres away from my body. Like a forcefield that I’m about to crash into.
His rhythmic breathing showed that he was definitely asleep.
Then his palm moved onto my shoulder.
I tried to twitch it away without success. So I lay there for a while and wondered at his subconscious motivation for such an action.
But it was ever so.
Unable to voluntarily manifest affection either physically or verbally in the daylight world, his sleeping mind would initiate it in the darkness.
In the past, I would recognise this plea for love in the form of sex and submit. Give him what he wanted and needed and hope that he would return the favour in reverse… knowing in my heart of hearts that it was unlikely to result in a satisfactory ending from my point of view.
On this day, for the first time, I stuck firm to my decision.
I shrugged him away and, when that was unsuccessful, I withdrew my body to the farthest reaches of the bed…
… and wished that things could have been different.
‘…I understand that a lot of people find the sight of two grown men kissing in public really creepy…’
Nick Griffin, BNP, on Question Time, October 2009
In our politically correct society, it is not something that people necessarily admit to, even though that might be how many of them feel.
Teenagers today are far more accepting of differing sexual preferences and orientations. In their computer-led search for knowledge about their bodies and desires, their exposure to many more variations has meant that they don’t see things as unusual in the same way that our more rigid upbringing makes us.
However, a straw poll of males of my acquaintance seems to suggest that none of them feel comfortable watching adult males kissing, whether it be in a film or on the street. Look at the furore over ‘Brokeback Mountain’. There are some men I know who actively refuse to watch it because of the subject matter.
I was born at the tale end of a generation of stiff-upper-lipped Brits who really do feel that open homosexuality is something very embarrassing and rather dirty. These men were conditioned never to show emotion and, through the strict regimes of their public schools, many refused to speak of some of the more salacious acts that seem to have been part and parcel of life within a single sex boarding school. One cannot help wondering if this type of exposure is part of the reason for their determination not to accept same-sex relationships as being anything other than wrong.
If you think back to the days of the Greeks and the Romans and through to the romantic poets, bi-sexuality seems to have been quite common.
So when did intimate relationships between people of the same gender become something sinister, that Society deemed had to be hidden away? Was it like sex generally within the Victorian age? Something that only took place behind closed doors? Did sex between consenting same-sex couples become reviled because it was something that happened within the confines of male-only bastions of society – boarding school? Or the army? Or was it what happened in prisons that caused the problem? Where it was forced upon the unconsenting?
And yet, judging by the number of men I know who refuse to even hold hands with their girlfriend in the street, perhaps it is more to do with perception. With a moral code that makes public displays of affection unwelcome, including those between opposite genders. Or, maybe, with their own inability to express themselves emotionally? Their inner refusal to connect in private or in front of other people because they see it as somehow weak.
Sure, I can understand that not everyone wants to share their romantic passionate snog with the outside world – and that a lot of passersby would probably feel similarly about viewing it – but holding hands? There’s nothing remotely offensive about that… by anyone… whatever the gender of the participants.
Ruf lives in a big city and his circle of friends is far more liberal than in my own small, sleepy suburb. I have to say that I don’t know of any gay or lesbian partnerships within my own local web of acquaintances. This is unlikely to be because they aren’t any, rather that it is just not something that people seem to admit to openly in this small town.
This means that, if a same-sex couple – male or female – were to walk down the street holding hands, let alone kissing, it would be noticed. Not necessarily frowned upon, but noticed because it was unusual.
When I talked to Ruf about it, I wondered if more exposure to hand holding would make it seem more acceptable or was it that people didn’t want to offend or be noticed and so they didn’t do it openly in our town? Ruf said that his friends would do it deliberately to be noticed and cause comment or offence to any stuffed shirt. Through him, I have become friendly with several same-sex partnerships, who are quite open about their domestic arrangements and their public affection for each other but I still find myself covertly watching them with fascination.
However, what I have come to understand is that it is actually my problem, not theirs. Everyone has the right to give and receive affection in public and no one should think they have the right to judge them for it.
Television seems to deal with the issue of same-sex partnerships mostly in stereotypes, the butch lesbian and the girly girl or the leather-clad, Village People look-a-like with the effeminate or androgynous boy. Or in The L Word, where they all live some impossibly glamorous lifestyle and snog and fuck whenever and wherever.
This does not help matters, it emphasises the extremes and fuels the feeling that liking someone of the same gender sexually makes a person somehow different to a heterosexual. Not like normal people.
The sooner we can all come to terms with the fact that it is ok to demonstrate affection, no matter what your sexuality, the better we will become as a Society.
Nineteen years ago today, I was lying in a hospital bed enduring the pains of an induced labour.
They insisted on interfering because they said I was ten days overdue. I kept bleating on about my five-week cycle and the fact that the labour, which had started at about midnight, was pretty much spot on the 40 weeks according to my calculation. Like I didn’t know which day my baby was conceived and the vagaries of my own cycle!
Anyway, they persisted with their interventions and at about 10.30pm on that St Patrick’s Day, I was wheeled up to theatre for an emergency caesarean whilst they awaited the arrival of the Chief Anaesthetist because the duty doctor was too frightened to administer the pain blocker as I was having some kind of allergic reaction. My face had swollen up and my body was covered in itchy red spots!
My teenager was born at 1.30am on the 18th and we’re going out for a mother/daughter birthday lunch to celebrate tomorrow. More on that later :)
But, back to St Patrick’s Day or Lá Fhéile Pádraig. He is thought to have been born in fifth century Britain, where his father was the deacon of the local Church. As a teenager, he was kidnapped by Irish raiders and taken back to a life of slavery somewhere on the west coast of Ireland. He later said that he had a dream in which God told him to escape and so he fled to the coast and ended up studying to be a priest in France.
Legend has it that, after becoming a bishop, he was called back to ‘save the Irish’ by converting them to Christianity in 432 and his favourite teaching method, until his death 30 years later, utilised the Shamrock to symbolise the Holy Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
It was not until the 1600s that green ribbons and shamrocks began to be worn in celebration of a specific St Patrick’s Day – prior to that the colour associated with his mission was blue – but it did not become an official public holiday until 1903, as a result of the Money Bank (Ireland) Act 1903, an Act of the United Kingdom Parliament introduced by the Irish MP James O’Mara. However, it was also O’Mara who later introduced the law closing pubs on 17 March after drinking got out-of-hand and this provision was not repealed until the 1970s.
Whilst the first Saint Patrick’s Day parade held in the Irish Free State was held in Dublin in 1931, the first St Patrick’s Day Festival, designed to showcase Ireland and its culture was not held until 17 March, 1996. In subsequent years, it grew from a one day festival to a five day event of concerts and outdoor theatre performances attended by over 600,000 visitors.
Michaal Parkinson asked the poet Auden ‘..what was the purpose of a poet’ and he said, ‘‘As a poet one has a political duty, which is to try, by one’s example, to protect the purity of the language. Because when words lose their meaning then I’m quite sure physical violence takes over.”
I think this is a really compelling statement.
Probably because it explains why so many people stay in relationships that make them unhappy and then blog about it.
Where words have lost the power to convey our feelings or elicit some change in behaviour, venom and fury begin to take over.
By writing down the enormity of the frustrated emotions that have overtaken them, bloggers feel they can, at least, be heard by someone.
And, thus, avoid the need to engage in some form of violent confrontation.
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.