Thursday, August 19, 2004

Birthday Party Goody Bags

So, went to the Cliterati 4th Birthday last night.

It was a rather extraordinary do, all in all.

Not because it was outrageous - hell, the stripperonly got down to a babydoll nightie, and the human canape platters were wearing pants - but because of the strange mix of people, and of corporate sponsorship.

Admittedly, some of the scruffier buggers were in my party, and there was a slight element of liggery, but... it was the rather lovely elderly couple in dinner dress. And the young chap in brown biker boots, a Vivienne Westwood tshirt, a suit jacket and a padded sun vizor.

Sir, whoever you are, you look like an utter cock.

I know that a lot of the point for the lovely Miss Dubberly was to promote her book, her site, and various other commercial ventures. And that's cool. But sweet christ, what poor products decided to promote themselves around her success.

Sarah and I sat excitedly on the bus, furtively taking inventory of our take-home goody bags, and eating sweeties. Sadly, my bottle of moisturising lube had exploded in the bottom of the bag, so my pack of strawberry gummi lips were deemed inedible.

(And yes, I know that lube is specially made to be edible and taste nice; frankly, it doesn't. Especially the flavoured stuff. Never, never use Pina Colada flavoured lube. It tastes terrible, and has too much sugar in it, which is a very elegant way to give yourself thrush.)

The excitement on unpacking - two! two! vibrators! Porn! on!DVD! A big! bottle! of lube! A book! Clitoral! Stimulators! - slightly paled when we investigated the products more thoroughly. The huge bottle of lube turned out to be a poncy bottle of buxton spring water. The porn, despite being shot by a girl (hurrah, applause, good thing, etc) was absolutely terrible. Maybe I've been spolit by two many high quality gay productions, but... at least invest in some lighting. And show us a cock without a strange 15 minute 'acting' preamble. And, you know, I don't actually mind more than a strand of public hair.

And the vibrators. Well.

Both hard cased, one 'micro-bullett' with a remote control, one conventional. Now, if you're designing a hard-case plastic vibrator meant for... well, penetration, don't design battery access involving twisiting it appart half way down the shaft. Why? Well, you get a sharp ridge of flashed plastic running around the circumference of the vibe. This causes all kind of exciting internal injuries; this was something I learnt many years ago, and had no desire to repeat last night.

Also, don't choose an uncommon battery type, or an odd number. No-one has 3 AAA batteries lying around the place, and there's nothing more annoying than getting a vibe home and not having sufficient juice. Ahem. There's also something a bit irritating about poor battery fit - putting in one of your precious rechargeable batteries (and yes, this is exactly the reason we have a big battery charger in the house) only to discover it's irretrievably stuck, and the spring has contracted too far to make a proper connection.

And then... volume. We got one of the minivibes up and running, and played with it's seven variable pulsing patterns. It sounded like a magimix with epilepsy, or possibly a small motorboat in trouble on the river. And... well, intensity. I'm all for a good strong buzz, but not one that is going vaporise your clit in under thirty seconds in some kind of genital sanding apocalypse.

The lesson from all of this? Well, both products were marked as being reccomended by Cosmopolitain. So, never, ever trust Cosmo for good advice about a vibrator. It's that simple.

I'm sure there's more. Possibly something about the 'Black Porn by Black Writers' that was written in transliterated Jamaican Patois, and seemed to have booze and coke on every page I flicked to. Possibly something about the oil for increacing labial bloodflow that smelt exactly like Juicy Fruit Gum, and faded to smell exactly like sump-oil. But frankly, I'm just a bit too depressed by the state of the smut industry to go on.

Poor Emily. She's a brilliant person, runs a great site, and is a wonderful sex-positive activist. But she's beeing badly let down by her sponsors.

Nice cocktail frock, tho.

1 comment:

wonderful_electric said...

That's the problem with the sex industry. Not much actual quality control. The consumers need to rise, as one, and say we want more nobbly bits! Or whatever floats your boat...

And if you want to read awful ethnic erotica, try the Chinese-American collection of erotic short stories. Uwch a fi, as they say.