Sex, Sex, More Sex (Toys)

My last semester at university has kept me rather busy; busy with, interestingly, sex! Oh, not me having sex - if only that were true! Unfortunately, my dear SO lives too far away for me to spend time cuddling OR having mindblowingly hot sex. This difficulty is eased by having mindblowingly hot phone sex.

Anyway, back to the sex that I'm not getting, as related to academia. I'm taking two courses related to sex this semester. The first is an anthropology course titled, aptly, "Sex and Gender". It's absolutely fascinating so far; we're reading articles and scholarly books on gender and sex differences not just in the US but across cultures. For example, Nanda's Gender Diversity surveys transgendered and third-gender systems across the world - from India's hijras to the sworn virgins of the Balkans.

The second course is a course on 18th century literature, as it describes and relates to various forms of deviancy! For example, we're reading some of Defoe's works, as well as extraordinary explicit excerpts (practically pornography!) from Libertine literature. When Flesh Becomes Word is definitely not a book to read in public - explicit illustrations abound.

I tried out the Impulse Flexi P, as mentioned in my last blog post. It's a traditional vibrator that can "flex", and I absolutely adore it. It's my new favorite toy!

Stats:
Insertable Length: 5.5"
Circumference: 5" (not too big, but definitely not for a total beginner)
Functions: 4 straight vibration settings, 1 "revving"/wave setting, 1 pulse, 1 pulse-vibe setting.
Maker: CEN

Why do I like it so much? It's pretty good to "fuck" with, but the best part is that it can be bent up toward the g-spot, and then just left in on the highest vibration or, if you're like me, the pulsation setting, use your fingers or another vibe on the clitoris, and off you go to a really, really, REALLY nice orgasm. The Flexi is phthalate-free, which is always good, though it's made of TPR, not silicone. That's kind of a bummer, especially considering that it's almost $50, but if you're worried about the TPR or you want to share it, stick a condom over it.

Disclaimer: I Find Complaining Cathartic

So, being a student, especially a student of history, it is my responsibility to read lots and lots of historically relevant texts for class. Sometimes these are really interesting (check out Jeanne de Jussie's "The Short Chronicle"). Some of these are, unfortunately, extremely boring (at least to me; I find Polunov's "Russia in the Nineteenth Century" dry as a bone).

Most unfortunately, however, some of these books are extremely depressing, however well-written they are. Primo Levi's "Survival in Auschwitz", Anna Seghers' "The Seventh Cross" and Graham Swift's postmodernist novel "Waterland" are all, frankly, a drag; and I'm reading all three of them at the same time. In fact, I should really have finished Seghers and Levi, since I have a relatively short essay due on the pair tomorrow.

Instead I'm 100+ pages short of the finish in Seghers' novel and about the same amount in Levi's (which is sad really, because Levi's book is only 172 pages long!). What this should tell me is to stop procrastinating.

What it does tell me is that, for all my ranting and raving (don't worry, it's upcoming) about feminism, women's rights, liberation and whatnot, I am quite nearly pathetic in my preference for fluffy novels. Give me a book by Mercedes Lackey or Christine Feehan. Give me a book by Robin McKinley (admittedly, "Deerskin" is about as fluffy as broken glass), Sharon Shinn, Kelly McCullough. Argh! I want something with romance and a happy ending, not books of human pain and suffering.

This is so un-sexy. Oh well. I feel as sexy as an elephant, between the need for chocolate, my depressed mood (due 90% to these books I do assure you; the rest is general stress-related at the moment) and the realization that yes, I really should lose weight. I've switched from excessive sugar in my coffee to stevia; that's a good start, right?

Time to read another 100 pages of Levi and maybe bullshit a little on the Seghers book; I'm not sure I can take another 200 pages of sadness and desperation.