‘Twould be lovely if there were a direct correlation between an item’s price and its usefulness. Think of the time you’d save in picking out…well, anything, really. You’d spend a few moments deciding your maximum budget, then once faced with a range of products, you’d simply point to the one priced closest to that number with no doubt but that it was the absolute best that you could afford.

If I were queen of the world this would be so, but alas I am not. Thus in some cases terribly pricey objects are not particularly functional, such as $14,000 boots (would you use them in the rain?),  a bra made from diamonds (would you use it ever?) or a solid gold toilet (they wouldn’t let you use it).

Expensive-yet-useless products can be found in every sector of commerce but at no time is it more annoying to acquire one than when you intend to put it in your holiest of holies. Has anyone (er, at least anyone reading this blog) escaped the trauma of buying an expensive product said to be indescribably pleasurable only to find that it is at best mediocre?

I haven’t. I’ve personally re-homed more once-used sexytime objects than most folks will ever own, which is bearable only because taste in toys is so varied that what I find abhorrent (*cough*The Cone*cough*), others hold to their bosoms (or elsewhere) with the devotion usually reserved for children, chocolate or currency.

But in at least one happy example there’s an inverse instead of a direct correlation between a sex toy’s price and its usefulness. The scandalously inexpensive Blueberry Buzz puts many pricier toys to shame. It has impressed me ten times more than other toys costing ten times as much. It makes a brief appearance in many more than a quorum of my sexual shenanigans. It has doubly proven itself as a meet masturbatory machine and a phenomenal partnered pleasure product. It is, in a word, super-rad.

Ah, the amaranthine usefulness of this unassuming little vibe! A simple knob changes the intensity from a delicate flutter to a robust roar and doubles as a non-slip finger hold. Smooth bloops above the knob give even more gripability; they also mark the point of no return should you dare to use the toy in your behind. A genius designer located the vibrating mechanism appealingly close to the tip, ensuring that as much power as possible would be transferred to flesh. It’s small enough to snuggle between two but large enough to be held by one. It makes me scream.

Now isn’t that better than any expensive yet ridiculous boots, bras or toilets?

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Between writing a personal blog, reviewing porn, editing a repository of sex-ed stories, raising children and reading lots of books, aag enjoys petting her cats. No that is not a euphemism. Well, maybe it is.

Though it may cause my mother undue stress to read this, I have to get it off my chest:  I’m a radical feminist who loves good porn.  And it goes without saying that there’s all too much terrible porn out there — porn that’s degrading, misogynist, or even just poorly lit/scripted/acted.  So when I get my grubby little hands on a DVD that portrays sex — queer sex, to be exact — in all its raw honesty, undeniable chemistry, quirks, and messiness, I get pretty excited.  And that’s what I’ve got in my hands right now:  friends, I bring you Courtney Trouble’s debut film, Roulette.

Fresh from an avalanche of community recognition, accolades, and awards, Courtney has agreed to let me pick her brain and show you what I find.  (Thanks, Courtney!)  But before I do, a little background:  Courtney’s the founder of the alternative web porn site Nofauxxx.com, and she’s a pioneer in the world of showing queer bodies and sex for the gorgeous, wide-ranging, flawed, and delicious things they are.  Join me, won’t you, as I get inside her head a little bit about what it’s like to break down sexual boundaries through a steamy camera lens.

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A zig by my daughter concurrent with a zag by my son resulted in one forehead bonk, one knee owie, screeching, recriminations, tears and a brief time-out between siblings.

Distraction in the form of a book cured my son’s sore knee first; he approached his sister with an lisped apology and arms held out for a hug. Only a rock would have been unmoved by such a sweet display, but even accidental head bumps turn my daughter to icy stone. It’s good manners yet ultimately futile to try making peace with her until she’s ready for it. She crossed her arms and stuck her nose into the air. I believe she might have said “harrumph.”

The boy turned back to his blocks with nothing more than a shrug, but his grandmother was not satisfied. (more…)